Aha! George Foreman!

That is him! But which Ali/Foreman fight was it?

Ah, not a fan of boxing myself. There was more than one?

I would suppose it was the first one?

Methinks GF would learn from his mistakes and put up a better fight the second time around, and the way you wrote it strikes me that Kurz doesn't know better at this point (i.e. meeting Ancondil/Ali's style of fighting the first time around).

George Foreman was really getting "grilled" in this episode. HA !!!

Actually there was only one Ali/Foreman fight, but it had a cool name to it (like the Thrilla in Manila had), that I was kind of hoping someone might recall.

It was an interesting fight, strategy-wise, because in the pre-fight build-up, Ali bragged about how he was doing to dance around Foreman with his superior speed and agility, and Foreman would never hit him. Foreman on the other hand, trained to cut off the ring, which basically backs the other fighter in the corner where they cannot move. Foreman's fights in the previous two years never went beyond two rounds. He simply destroyed everyone he faced with his crushing punches before it could get to round three. Everyone in the world picked Ali to lose.

When the fight happened however, Ali did not try to stay away from Foreman at all. He stood up and tried to simply out punch him with right hand leads in the first round. Which had no effect on Foreman. Then in the second round Ali started taunting Foreman, and invented the rope a dope. Like Ancondil, he literally covered up and just stood there and took everything Foreman could dish out. But he still kept trash-talking Foreman. He drove Foreman into a rage, where his blows were crushing, but poorly aimed. Ali even leaned against the rope to conserve energy, and leaned against Foreman in the clinches, so Foreman would have to hold him up.

When Foreman finally got worn down, Ali still had the energy left to come out swinging, and put Foreman down.

It was not really the best fight in the world (that might be The Thrilla in Manila), but it is a great example of the strategy and planning that can go into boxing. Ali could never have out-punched Foreman. He out-thought him instead. You can see it here.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 25 2011, 12:14 AM

Rumble in the Jungle, I’m late to the party with this one! I especially love Tadrose’s description of how Kurz punches all the way from his feet. Chance is going to hate that he missed this, but I’m sure his guild mates will tell him all about it! What great fun to read. Of course my favorite part was the very end, when they shook hands and headed back in for drinks.

I too seem to be late to the Party. Good part though, an unexpected heartpounder! And a good lesson in boxing.

As ever it served other purposes too though. You developed the idea of commeraderie within the guild well, rather than different halls competing they all get on and having fought things might be settled. I also agree that it showed the characters well in their behaviour when the betting started (and a new side to Teresa, I can't imagine her having entered that bet or been so calm before she joined up). The line about Chance was spot on, I was just wondering about him as it came and thinking the same thing.

Kurz seems like he might mellow a bit now too... perhaps they will get on.

One thing I would say is that it seems unlikely you could have a decent boxing match without a referee, to break clinches as much as anything.

Don't think there's much I can add onto the brawl at this point, only that Ancodil does sound like an expert boxer.

I'm back up to speed now, though.

haute ecole rider: Who can resist a good fist-fight? Not an orc, that is for sure! Ancondil is of course a gracious winner.


mALX: Well, Ancondil is not shooting tomorrow. Kurz on the other hand...


Acadian: Hopefully this will keep all your guys' testosterone topped off for the rest of the tourney, since there will not be (much) more violent action in the rest of the chapter. The betting was an outgrowth of using the Baa Baa Blacksheep show and Greg Boyington as inspiration for Pappy Vitellus. I could not imagine any chapter of his not having fistfights and gambling on the outcome! I kept thinking of Dr. Strangelove as I wrote that part, and the scene where the President says "There's no fighting in the war room!" Well, there certainly is in the Fighters Guild. How can there not be?


Grits: The Rumble in the Jungle it was! That was back in the good old days when fights were so cool that they had names, like The Fight of the Century, The Thrilla in Manila, etc... Poor Chance will indeed be beating his head against the wall for missing the Brawl in Bravil.


Olen: I did a lot of studying when I wrote that episode, in order to make it plausible. I do agree that without a ref you cannot have a real boxing match, let alone things like ropes to cordon off an area, rounds being kept, etc... I just hope that disbelief can be suspended enough for most folks not to care.

It is funny, but three dog's latest post in BotM pretty much mirrored the same mentality in the Fighters Guild, concerning fist fighting. As long as it does not get out of hand and turn lethal, it can be a great way to let off steam.


Thomas Kaira: We will be seeing exactly why Ancondil is such a good boxer this coming segment.


Previously on Teresa of the Faint Smile: Kurz picked a fight with Ancondil, which resulted in a boxing match that was not only entertaining for the other guild members, but very instructive to Teresa concerning the use of skill and tactics in combat. Next, Teresa learns a little bit more about the elegant orc, and about herself as well.


Chapter 34.9 - The Tournament Of Archers

"I never did have the opportunity to thank you for that delicious meal," Ancondil said. "Your stuffed cabbage was superb."

Ancondil sat on his rattan bed. His face and bare chest were livid with bruises and scabbed over cuts. Yet his eyes were bloodshot not from fighting, but rather from the alcohol he had put down with Kurz, Lum, and the other men afterward. Teresa still could not believe how the Chorrol orc had turned from bully to best friend so quickly. It was as if Ancondil had somehow knocked some decency into him.

"I didn't make all of them." Teresa bit her lip. She stared at the cut that ran down the center of the Orisimer's own lower lip. That was where the other orc's crushing left cross had landed near the start of the fight. "Pappy made the ones with meat in them."

"Perhaps, but I could not tell one from the other by the taste," Ancondil smiled.

"That's not what Vincent said." Teresa frowned as she stared at the floor.

"Well, some people have no taste," Ancondil laughed. "You cannot please everyone."

"Well you don't have to please me," Teresa said, looking back at his bruises. He had stood up to Kurz because of her, when she should have done it herself. Why had Tadrose stopped her? Was the dark elf afraid of what would have happened? To her? or to Kurz? She stared down at her hand. Thanks to Culotte, she knew full well what her Burning Hand could do, and the spell had been firmly etched in her mind when Kurz had taunted her.

But she could do more than destroy with magic. She could heal. With that in mind, Teresa closed her eyes and thought of Bear. Slowing down her breathing as she did when she entered her Astral Temple, she let the world fall away. She pictured Bear in her mind, and as if summoned by her thoughts, warm fur spread over her arms. Rising up her shoulders, the curly brown hairs went on to enfold the rest of her body. Staring down, Teresa looked at the black claws that tipped her paws. Sniffing the air with her muzzle, she smelled dried blood and sweat.

She reached out with one paw to Ancondil, and felt his heart beating under the pad of her forefoot. She let the beat of her heart match his, felt his blood pumping through her veins, and his breath hot in her lungs. She felt the aches and pains that wracked his muscles, and stung through his cuts and bruises.

In her mind she saw him, healthy and whole. A smile crossed his features, and he stood with muscular arms stretched high. He moved fluidly, without pain or hindrance. His eyes glowed with delight, and his cheeks flushed a healthy shade of green.

Teresa summoned her magicka and poured it into that image. She could feel it flowing from her body like a river of energy. As it poured, she felt Ancondil's cut flesh knit together, his bruises fade clear, and his aches vanish.

Teresa opened her eyes and stared back down at the Orisimer. A look of amazement was etched upon his strong features. Swaying on her feet for a moment, she could not resist the yawn that erupted from her mouth. Bear, that was tiring!

"My stars Teresa, you healed me!" he gasped. He reached up with one hand and slid a finger along his now healthy and whole lip. "I had heard you healed a bear, but I thought it was with potions. When did you learn to do that?"

"I did heal her with potions," Teresa bit her lip as she stared down at the muscular Orisimer. She wondered what he had seen? Had it been a wood elf, or a bear? She imagined that his reaction would have been more extreme if it had been a bear. So perhaps no one else could see it when she called up Bear to join her. "That wasn't enough though. So I just… did what I had to. The same as now."

"That is amazing!" Ancondil gasped. "You are the most incredible woman I have ever met Teresa. Always full of surprises. But you really did not have to do anything. It was just a few cuts and bruises."

"I don't care. I don't like it when the people I care about are hurt." Teresa bit her lip once more. "Besides, you didn't have to do what you did for me."

"Eat the stuffed cabbage? I assure you, the pleasure was all mine!"

"No," Teresa fought to keep a serious face. Thankfully eighteen years on the street gave her the victory. So while the ghost of a smile escaped her features for a moment, it was quickly subdued. "I mean fight Kurz. You could have gotten your head smashed in by that ogre."

"Teresa, as much as I would like to play the gallant hero, I must confess I did not fight him for you." Now Ancondil reached out to take one of Teresa's hands in his own. She stared down at the massive green fingers that enfolded hers. Now so very gentle in spite of the obvious power that was wrapped within them.

Her mind traveled back in time, to the night they first met. He had walked her to her room at Silverhome on the Water, and had been looking for much more than that. "If you were a woman I would love to spend the evening with you, alone," she had told him. If only you were a woman Ancondil, Teresa sighed, then even the mysterious Tadrose Helas would not be able to hold candle to you!

"I faced down Kurz because I had to," Ancondil explained, seemingly oblivious to Teresa's sojourn down memory lane. "He wanted that fight very badly. Insulting you was just a means to an end, as his discourtesy toward me was getting him nowhere. That made me see that there was no avoiding it, so I finally threw down the glove."

"You certainly did throw it down!" Teresa breathed. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Why the Mages Guild of course!" Ancondil smiled.

"The what?" Teresa wondered if the blows to Ancondil's head had split more than just his lip.

"That is right, the Mages Guild, back in Cheydinhal," Ancondil continued. "Trayvon the Redguard taught me the manly art of self defense when I was a boy."

"I thought that Redguards didn't like magic?" Teresa blinked.

"Most of them do not. Which is why Trayvon learned pugilism." Ancondil winked. "I imagine that he must have seen much of himself in me."

"What do you mean?" Teresa sat down beside the orc on the bed. If it were any other man, she never would have done such a thing. But thankfully she had been through all of that with Ancondil already. She knew the Orisimer's true measure, as he did hers.

"Oh, I was quite the Daedra when I was young," Ancondil said, his eyes taking that slightly glassy look of one who is reliving the past. "I was like Red Mountain, ready to erupt at any moment. Much like Kurz is. Being an orc with high elves for parents, I had no shortage of opportunities. Among elves I was always a savage: a half-animal orc. Other Orisimer however, said I was green on the outside, but gold on the inside. Soft from Altmer ways, and too good for my own race."

"So that's what Kurz was getting at then?" Teresa bit her lip a third time as she stared at her friend, imagining the taunting and abuse he must have suffered. Some people liked to believe that children were cute little Aedra. But as a wood elf who grew up on the streets of the Imperial City, she knew that Daedra were closer to the reality.

"Kurz has some things he must deal with," Ancondil sighed. "I do not know exactly what. He is clearly very frustrated, and has a great deal of anger buried within him."

"You seem to know a lot about this?" Teresa observed.

"Like the old saying, it takes one to know one," Ancondil admitted.

"But you are nothing like that," Teresa insisted. "Even with Kurz needling you, and then during that fight, you never once lost your temper. I never could have stayed so calm!"

"At one time I would have went as berserk as Kurz did at the end," Ancondil explained. "When I was young, I was always starting fights or throwing tantrums. Any little thing could set me off. You know, this reminds me of those days in fact."

"How is that?" Teresa looked at the orc with curious eyes. The young orc Ancondil described seemed nothing like the man she saw before her. Could a person really change so much?

"I cannot recount the number of times I came home with a split lip or black eye," the Orisimer explained. "My father would send me to bed without dinner, and refuse to heal me. He said the bruises would help me think over my choices in life. Then my mother would sneak in later with a healing potion and a plate of leftovers."

Teresa did not fight a real smile as she pictured that. It reminded her so much of Simplicia, and how the Imperial would save her begging money to buy her goat's milk and bread.

"Thankfully I have learned how to control my temper since then," the orc said.

"How did you do it?" Teresa asked. Images of how she had stormed from the guild on her first day in Bravil rose up from the depths of her memory. Alongside them came other unflattering portraits from her past. Punching Volsinius in his breastplate. Snapping at Simplicia just before the Oblivion Crisis, as well as when Umbacano's manservant had found them at Jensine's afterward. Finally, there was the death of the Emperor, where she had been so overcome by rage that even Kurz would have been terrified to witness her.

"Ohtesse from the Chapel of Mara helped me," Ancondil explained. "She taught me to meditate, and how to appreciate the good things I have in life. But most importantly, she taught me to face my Shadow."

"Your shadow?" Teresa raised a dubious eyebrow.

"No, my Shadow, with a capital 'S'," Ancondil replied. "Not the shadow you see on the floor, but the Shadow that is cast in your Lower Self. We all have things about ourselves that we do not like. Things that we are ashamed of, things that we hate. We often want to pretend these parts of ourselves do not exist, and stuff them away in some deep, dark corner of our mind. With it unseen and unheard, we go on as if it never existed in the first place. Like throwing a pair of old shoes in a chest."

"But when you repress feelings like that, you also divest yourself of control over them," the Orisimer continued. "Left in the darkness, the Shadow grows into something fearsome and terrible. While we may have willfully forgotten it, it remembers us, and will not be ignored. In time it finds ways to break free of its prison. Usually in the most socially unacceptable moments. In the end, there is no escaping it."

"So how do you defeat it?" Teresa asked. Was this why she kept losing her temper? Was it this Shadow? feelings deep down within her that she did not want to admit to having?

"You don't," Ancondil smiled. "It is not a battle. That is the very mentality that creates the Shadow in the first place. Instead you have to embrace it. The Altmer say you must make a feast for your Daedra. Invite them to come down and sit, stuff them with sweet meats and heap praises upon them, show them how you love them. The point is that you must accept those things that you have tried to repress, and openly acknowledge that they are a part of you. That is the only way that you can regain control over them."

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 26 2011, 10:08 PM

I absoloutly love this chapter!

It is very beautifully written and quite mysterious, which for me makes it all the more gripping!

I love how Teresa got anger management tips from an Orc. It made me chuckle a bit, i'm not sure why

Great write

This rings oh so true - in RL as well as in the best fiction. As the song goes, we all have a face that we hide away forever; we take them out to show ourselves when everyone is gone.

I really loved how you (and Teresa) dealt with the aftermath. And of course, Ancondil's gallantry in the face of surprising events - His sense of humor is also quite wonderful. Ah, if only he was a woman indeed! Teresa would have it easier with him than she has with Tadrose so far!

Agreed on the anger managment from an orc, though our red haired bosmer rather needs it. Quite a spiritual approach to it Ancondil has to it too, I suspect it may suit Teresa.

It was nice to see more of Ancondil's history too, I suspect there's reams of information on all the characters hidden away (certainly this piece has that feel) and it's always nice to see some emerge. And realistic too, I can't imagine it would have been an easy way to grow up. I'm sure speciesism has far more potential than racism...

I enjoyed Ancondil's reaction to her healing too...

11a - 12.2

I enjoyed Teresa's return to the Imperial City. She really notices the closeness and the unpleasant odor of the crowd after being out so long. I like the differences between her and Simplicia. For Teresa, mere survival isn't enough any more. Simplicia is trying to protect her the best she can the only way she knows how, but Teresa doesn't want to live like that. Then the Oblivion Gates open in the city, and Teresa has to work with a man that she has hated since childhood and finds that while she might not like him, she respects him and no longer fears him. She might even grow to like him, though I cannot tell at this point.

Fantastic story! I'm actually glad I'm so far behind so I can read as much as I want without running into the end!

This post has been edited by King Coin: Apr 26 2011, 11:54 PM

A wonderful episode. Teresa is always at her best when bringing out the nature of others as she does here with Ancondil. And what a nature it is. As I have said before, how can one not love Ancondil?

"I don't care. I don't like it when the people I care about are hurt." Teresa bit her lip once more. "Besides, you didn't have to do what you did for me."
"Eat the stuffed cabbage? I assure you, the pleasure was all mine!"
This was so perfect and delightfully unexpected! Wrapping Ancondil's gallantry in humor was a wonderful touch here.

"Kurz has some things he must deal with," Ancondil sighed. "I do not know exactly what. He is clearly very frustrated, and has a great deal of anger buried within him."
Oh noes! I hope Kurz' unsuccessful bid for a before dinner appetizer at The Star Wars Cantina Lonely Suitor Lodge didn't have anything to do with his foul mood?

Great depiction of Teresa's bear-assisted healing.

Ancondil's history and Shadow talk. What a wonderful way to work to what I suspect is the meat of this cabbage roll: Anger management. I bet Ancondil's 'lesson' will not be lost on Teresa as she better learns to control her healing and burning hands.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Apr 27 2011, 01:40 AM

I love how Teresa learned healing from Bear, not from some random bored mage. The description of her healing Ancondil was just beautiful.

I found Teresa’s tender moment with Ancondil quite touching. There are lots of different loves, and the most enduring have nothing to do with body parts.

12.2

You really characterized Umbacano as an evil man. When I played the game I thought it was the standard adventure and fetch quest. Umbacano was pleasant enough that I never suspected that he was evil until the end. He knows how to take advantage of Teresa as well knowing she comes from a poor background and offers a pretty low price to her for those statues. I only hope that she renegotiates with him later.

12.3

It was pretty exciting to finally have Teresa meet Julian and have a good conversation with her.
Baurus, and Jauffre, one always dies in the game it seems, and here too.

12.4

I was wondering if she'd go see Methredhel. Delightful little chapter.

Rihanae: Who would know more about anger than an orc?


haute ecole rider: Ancondil cannot help but to be gallant. Things would be so much easier for Teresa if he were a she. But like the song goes: love stinks.


Olen: Ancondil's talk of the Shadow is Jungian Psychology. Although it has been integrated into modern Paganism nearly seamlessly. Which probably accounts for the spiritualist feel to it.

Many of the NPCs do have a large amounts of backstories written by me (Tadrose especially). It was good to have the opportunity to show some of Ancondil's. In spite of being raised by a moderately well-to-do family, he has been miserable for much of his life because he does not fit in anywhere. On the other hand, all those trials have made him who he is today.


King Coin: Teresa indeed moved on from her old life as a street urchin, something Simplicia has a hard time dealing with on many levels.

Umbacano is not a bad man, he's just misunderstood. Okay, so he's a bad man... He was fun to write, since I got to be really creepy. Julian was fun to write as well, although not for that reason!


Acadian: Another vote for the stuffed cabbage line? I am glad it worked for people, I wanted that to be funny. As usually happens in such cases, it just came out naturally when I was writing, and I kept it because I thought it was funny, as well as being so in character for Ancondil.

Fear not, Kurz's unpleasantness at the FG has nothing to do with the wood nymph he was trying to make a move on having blood lung. His issues go much deeper (and should be revealed in the story I am currently working on).

As you noted, the main thrust of that last episode was Teresa finally gaining some direction in learning to control her anger. We will be seeing more about it later this chapter, and throughout the future chapters.


Grits: Teresa's learning to heal from Bear was something I had planned out way back when she first met Morcant, and the Witch told her that she learned her magic from her spirit guides, rather than from the Mages Guild. It is one of the ways that I wanted to show that spirit guides have a palpable effect upon the people who listen to them.


Previously on Teresa of the Faint Smile: Teresa had a long talk with Ancondil after his fight with Kurz. She discovered that he was a problem child, and deals with a great deal of prejudice due to being an Orisimer with Altmer parents. Most importantly, she learned that she could control her anger by facing her Shadow. Next, we finally get to the tournament, as the FG goes to qualify.


Chapter 34.10 - The Tournament Of Archers

The next morning Pappy gave them a break from their training routine so that they could all go to the fairgrounds to qualify. Teresa discovered that they had been joined in the evening by half a dozen more members of the guild. A few she recognized by face from the Imperial City chapter. The others she had never seen before.

With Pappy in the lead, they all left the guild hall after breakfast and headed west down Lady Street. Only Storm-Tail and Chance were missing, and Tadrose said that they were already working on contracts. The small army of fighters made an impression on the people they passed by, who all stopped to point and stare. At one time Teresa would have wilted under the attention. But not now. Instead she could not deny a twinge of pride within her, to be marching with such an accomplished band of warriors.

"Time to get lucky meatheads!" Pappy declared. He pointed to the statue of the Lucky Old Lady, who rose up in the middle of a small square in the street. Made of bronze turned green from age, the Lady was an old woman wearing a dress whose skirt seemed to flow like water around her legs. Surrounding her were several dancing children, whom she looked down upon with warm, caring eyes.

Screenshot

"That's not exactly my idea of getting lucky!" one of the new arrivals shouted, causing a peal of laughter from the crowd of fighters. Teresa ignored them and strode forward. Laying one hand on the cool bronze of the Lady's skirt, she closed her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her. As with every other time she had kissed the statue, she felt no different afterward.

But that did not mean that her luck had not improved.

Opening her eyes, she gazed back at the fighters lining up behind her. A flash of motion from farther down the street caught her eyes, and a faint smile crossed her lips when she saw who it was.

"Parwen!" she cried, "I thought we had lost you. Where have you been all this time?"

"Fathis invited me to stay in the castle." The older wood elf caught her breath as she stopped before Teresa. The forester imagined that she must have ran all the way from the fortress. "I'm sorry for leaving you like that. But when fate smiles on you, you can't turn away."

Teresa remembered Culotte. How she had looked at the ruin and just known that she had to go within. She wondered if Fathis had looked the same to the older elf? Hopefully it had been a more pleasant experience for Parwen!

"So what is this statue?" Parwen asked. "Why is everyone kissing it?"

"This is the Lucky Old Lady," Teresa explained. "They say whoever kisses her will have good luck that day. It's a guild tradition to come here and kiss her before every contract."

"Does it work?"

Teresa shrugged. "Give her a try and tell me tomorrow."

The mail-clad archer snorted. But that did not stop her from taking her turn at kissing the Lady's skirt.

Then they were on the march again. Following Lady Street back to Silver Avenue, they turned north and made their way out of the city. Gazing down at the Larsius as they crossed the bridge outside of the North Gate, Teresa was gripped by the desire to leap over the edge and splash down into the water below. But she reined in the feeling, and kept both her feet firmly on the wooden planks of the bridge.

Then the wattle fence of the fairgrounds rose before them. After parting with four remans for the entry fee, Teresa marched into the tent city with the others. She found that they did stamp her hand with different color ink this time. Today it was yellow.

Again, Teresa was amazed at the sheer number of kiosks packed into the space. Merchants sold everything from clothing and jewelry to weapons and armor. Others hawked hot and cold food, while minstrels strummed, jugglers performed, and mimes acted out their routines.

"Look Tadrose, a little shop full of nothing but shoes!" Teresa exclaimed to the armorer. The dark elf laid a gentle hand on the forester's arm and guided her back into the group. It was only then that Teresa realized that she had already taken several steps toward the merchant's tent.

"We can come back later," Tadrose said quietly in her ear. Teresa vowed to make it so. Then she realized that the dark elf had said 'we', and she could not contain a broad smile.

Pappy led them to the wooden stands that rose in the center of the tent city. Stretching high into the sky, the bleachers blotted out the sun from where they stood beneath them. Several tunnels were cut into the side of the wooden arena, but the guild commander led them past each, until he came upon one marked for contestants only.

This they trod through, passing by a pair of mail-clad Nibeneans standing guard at the entrance. They gave a nod to Pappy and the other fighters as they passed. Teresa wondered why they did not stop them. Then she recalled what Pappy had said to her about having Vincent sign her up. Obviously he had arranged it ahead of time. Since they were all wearing their guild medallions, there would be no mistaking them.

They emerged from the darkness of the tunnel and Teresa blinked in the morning sunlight. Looking around herself, she had to stifle the urge to gasp. The arena rose up all around her. Shaped like an oval, its rows of benches stretched high into the sky. Down nearest to the ground she saw a row of private boxes, separated from the rest of the amphitheater by wooden walls draped with tapestries depicting hunting scenes. Those were for the patricians, Teresa thought, like Lady Scaurus and Lord Regillus.

Teresa was surprised at how many people were in the stands. They were over a quarter full, and it was only morning. She tried to imagine how it would look when the benches were packed with mortals. Twenty thousand people, Pappy had said, and Teresa gulped at the thought.

Following the others, she looked up to see a large scoreboard erected at one end of the stadium. It was a framework of wood, with the names of contestants painted on long plaques and suspended from pegs nailed into the boards. Beside each name were three smaller wooden cards denoting their scores for each flight of arrows, plus a fourth that gave a total. Teresa noted the name of Daenlin near the top, with a total score of eighty seven. Under him was someone named Dame Buffy, with a score just one point lower.

Then they came to the judging station, which sat under a white tarp with broad red stripes. Again, Teresa saw a pair of mail-clad guardians standing watch. She wondered if the guild had been turned down for the job of standing guard. Then again, she doubted that they had enough people to do it in the first place, given the sheer size of the tournament.

A long table sat within the station, and Teresa saw that over half of it was taken up by wooden plaques like those saw on the scoreboard. Some had names already on them, and she noted those of Parwen and Lum at her casual glance. Most were empty however.

A pair of Nibeneans in their teens stood behind the table, dressed in fine linen. They flanked a seated Imperial, whose hair had gone white with age, making him look like an eagle. He wore red and gold velvet, and sat upon his chair as if it was a throne.

"The Fighters Guild I see," he declared as Pappy stepped up with Teresa and the other archers in tow. "Since we have already received the entry tribute let me go over the rules of the competition with your archers."

"They're all yours Titus," Pappy motioned a hand to the guild members behind him.

"Qualification consists of three flights of three arrows each, for a total of nine arrows and a maximum score of ninety. The first flight is untimed at medium range. The second flight, at the same range, is a rapid-fire event limited to thirty seconds. The final flight is untimed against a long range target." The Imperial paused for a short breath and continued, "all arrows must come from your quiver or arrow bag - no prestaging in the ground by your feet is allowed. The top ten archers over the next three days will advance to the finals. Good luck."

The highest score possible was ninety, Teresa thought, and Daenlin had shot eighty seven! She felt as if an ogre had landed atop her, and struggled for breath. How on Nirn was she going to do this?

The ragged cry of a raven caused her to turn. Sitting there atop the scoreboard was the sleek, black bird. It turned its head to regard her, and cawed once more. With that the anxiety vanished from Teresa's breast, just as quickly as it had erupted. It was no different from practice, she thought, or combat. She would just do what she had to. The same as always.

She marched back out onto the field with the other archers, and they lined up to begin taking their turns. A Redguard wearing linen waited for them. "I'm Sinia, one of the line judges," she proclaimed. Smiling, she pointed down range. "There's your target, who wants to start?"

"I suppose I might just as well get it over with," said one of the Chorrol orcs. "Lum gro-Baroth."

The bare-chested orc strung his bow. While he was busy working at it, one of the teens from the judging tent ran to the scoreboard with a plaque. He handed it to another Imperial waiting there, who hooked it on the end of a long pole. Using that, he raised the plaque up to an empty row on the scoreboard and suspended it in the left-most column. Once there, Teresa saw that it bore Lum's full name. A moment later the scorekeeper added a small red plaque next to his name, and Teresa imagined that it marked him as being the person shooting.

"Now shooting for the Chorrol Fighters Guild, Lum gro-Baroth!" The voice boomed through the stadium, drowning out all other sounds. Teresa looked around, but could not see the speaker. Whoever it was, she imagined that they were using magic to amplify their voice, not to mention throw it around the amphitheater.

She turned back as Lum raised his bow and nocked his first arrow. The muscular orc pulled the flaxen string all the way back to his cheek and took his time to aim at the target down the field. Teresa marveled. He did not have to pull back to half-tension to aim, then quickly bring the string all the way back and fire immediately. He had the strength to keep the bow at full tension for long seconds instead. For as long as he wanted to, Teresa imagined. Her mind boggled at the sight. She could barely keep her bow at full tension for a second!

His first three shots were strong. One even landing in the bullseye. His flight of rapid fire shots were not quite as expert, but were still solid hits. He paused as the line judge stepped before him, and the target was carried further downrange. Once the attendants were clear of the target, the judge stepped away, and Lum took his final three shots. Not as good as the other flights, Teresa noted. But still good shooting all around.

Gods, Teresa thought to herself. What a strange thing it was to be watching and critiquing other archers!

Lum returned to a chorus of cheers from the other fighters, and a healthy dose of applause from the stands. Teresa added her own voice to the tumult. He was a good archer, she thought, and seemed like a decent enough person in the bargain. Even if he did not own a shirt. Then his brother Kurz stepped up to the firing line, and they waited while his name was added to the scoreboard.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 29 2011, 08:30 PM

Some nice details here. I see you have collborated with Acadian to ensure consistency - notably with the observations of the physical grunt used in Orc archery! Shame they aren't as accurate as Bosmer.

I also enjoyed the previous episode which examined mixed race individuals in Tamriel and Ancodil's struggle for acceptance. That is not really covered much in Oblivion although mixed race relationships are mentioned (e.g. Heinrich Oaken-Hull - although one suspects he spends more time at the Fo'c's'le than with his wife!). As with other things you take the material in Oblivion and use your imagination to extend it.

Small nit: you used the possessive form ("Mime's" and "juggler's") instead of the plural (mimes and jugglers) some way down.

This post has been edited by Ceidwad: Apr 29 2011, 05:33 PM

Let's get the nits out of the way: Ciedwad already noticed the same ones I did.

Now on to the good stuff!

I enjoyed seeing the qualifying trials from another perspective. The intense collaboration between you and Acadian - so subtle in previous chapters - is in its full glory here. I already know how Teresa does here, and I am proud of her performance, but even more proud of her attitude toward it. I'm not competitive by nature, so when I do compete, I don't worry about winning or losing, but only doing the best I can in that moment. I guess that's why I enjoy dressage so much - it's all about your personal best. And that's a great attitude for Teresa to have.

Seeing Teresa's assessment of Lum's shooting style echo Buffy's further reinforces the character you have created for our favorite shirtless Orsimer. I look forward to Kurz's turn.

I liked the little scene of Teresa finding her inner Imelda Marcos. What is it about shoes? Especially in Cyrodiil where the skirts drag along the ground.

And the details of the scoreboard painted a vivid picture. It's getting as much character as a character, if you know what I mean.