*Raises finger and opens mouth to make point...*...Nah...Leave it... ...

I agree with the second bit...I know the Altmers tend to be a bit high-and-mighty anyways, but some of the "I have the Amulet, I'd better be paid." stuff made me laugh... ...

Awesome writing...

Love your style...Brilliant!!... ...

Looking forward to whatever he gets himself into next...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

@Renee: Thanks! I had to smile at your nitpick I've no idea what went on there, when I edited it there was something else wrong with it

@Colonel: Heh, you think this guy's arrogant? Compared to a previous character I had and wrote about over at Bethsoft, Telindil's not even close to being arrogant. That said, that other character was great fun to write.

@McBadgere: That came off as arrogant? I was aiming for mercenary self-interest, must have overshot. Oh well, I'll just have to run with it

And now for another Telindil update, of a shorter, darker sort...


A nightmare. A memory

The billowing black smoke chokes Telindil. The still glowing embers burn his hands as he scrabbles through them on his hands and knees, throwing aside pieces of smouldering timber. He tries not to think about what is outside, about what they did to her. He tries not to think of what he's looking for, but keeps digging through the wreckage. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop digging. He needs to see with his own eyes. He knows it's too late, but he can't stop digging.

He can't stop digging.

He pushes aside another chunk of debris, and finds them: Two small, charred skeletons.

The life drains out of him. He slumps backwards, resting heavily on his heels, before throwing his head back and screaming. It is a terrible thing, born of grief and agony, pain and loss and despair. Were any around to hear it it would surely break their heart, but he is alone. There's no-one else left.

He was too late, far too late.

Telindil snapped awake, the scream in his throat dying stillborn, choked by his rising gorge. He fought to master himself, to keep from throwing up. He weakly kicked off the sheets, soaked with cold sweat, his whole body trembling. He laid there for a long while, the only light in the room that of the moon shining through the window. In time the trembling ceased, and he felt a measure of his strength return. He cursed viciously.

The dreams were coming back.

They were part of the reason he'd fled Cyrodiil, three decades ago. For thirty years the thought of them had kept him away, and he'd hoped they had passed. But now he was back, and so were they. Silent, bitter tears ran down Telindil's face.

He no longer knew who they were for; himself, or them.

Ahah! A glimpse into Telendil’s past. It sounds like returning to Cyrodiil has rekindled dark memories of lost. . . family?

Very mysterious and nicely done!

Thanks, Acadian.

And now for the next part:

Chapter 3 Part 1: Guilds

Chorrol, Last Seed 29 3E 433, Fighters Guild.

“So you want to join the Fighters Guild?” The question was asked by a Dunmer clad in Ebony armour, with a matching mace at his hip. Telindil could tell just by the casual way the Dunmer stood in all that armour that he was a veteran warrior. No one stood in platemail as if it weighed nothing unless they'd spent decades training and fighting in it. His expression conveyed that fact even more than his stance. It was the sort of expression generally seen on drillmasters for the Imperial Legion, when presented with a particularly feeble group of recruits.

“That's why I'm here.” Telindil answered, unfazed by the Dunmer's glare.

“Then you'll need to speak to Vilena Donton. She's the Mistress of the Guild, and handles the administration. She's upstairs, the second flight's round the corner.” The Dunmer made no move to stand aside though, and in response to Telindil's confused look, continued speaking. “But you'll get to her later. She may be the Mistress, but I'm Modryn Oreyn, the Fighter's Guild Champion. I'm the Master. She can administrate all she likes, but make no mistake, this is my Guild. And in Chorrol, no-one joins unless I say so. And I don't say so until you've shown me you can fight. Still interested in joining?”

“Like I said, that's why I'm here.”

Oreyn's fierce countenance actually cracked at that, and the merest ghost of a smile blurred across his features. “Good. First things first, a few questions.” Oreyn plucked a piece of paper from a stack on a nearby table, along with a quill and ink bottle. “Name?”

“Telindil”

“Occupation?”

“Freelance Spellsword”

“Guild certified?”

“I was until Traven revoked everyone's certification. I'm here in Cyrodiil to join the Guild.”

“Why haven't you joined already?”

“I just got into town. I stopped in at the Guildhall before coming here. The Argonian who runs the place likes to sleep late.”

This time Oreyn really did smile. “Ha! Mages. Too fond of comfort. That's why I don't trust them. I make an exception for those that learn to fight properly, but I put my faith in steel and sinew rather than magic. I take it you're an experienced fighter?”

“More than 50 years, all told. All of it mercenary work.”

“Good. And your magic? With that much experience I expect you to have some powerful spells at your disposal.”

“Not any more. I recently suffered a near death experience, or at least I'm pretty sure that's the case. My memory's a little hazy on that front, unsurprisingly. It seems the shock or trauma pretty much knocked them out of my memory.”

This had Oreyn frowning again. “Hmm, disappointing. I assume you'll be getting new spells and training as needed?”

“Of course”

“Very well. Any trouble with the law? And we will find out if you're lying.”

“There was an issue in the Imperial City, but that's been resolved. Or at least it will be in a day or two. You know how bureaucracy is. No-one's happy until they've got a stack of papers for something you can sum up in a sentence.”

Oreyn glared at him, as if to see inside Telindil's head by sheer force of will. “Good enough. But if the matter isn't resolved by the time our runner gets to the Capital, I will personally throw you out of my Guild. From a second storey window. Understood?”

Telindil nodded. Oreyn put the form aside, and crossed to a bell, ringing it loudly twice before shouting “Fresh meat!” There was a brief commotion as apparently all the members present assembled. Oreyn beckoned to Telindil, and led him downstairs. “This is out training hall, and also serves as a proving ground for new members. If you want in, you need to impress me. The test comes in three stages: First I test your bladework, then your footwork, and finally you face me with everything you've got. We fight with practice blades. They're wooden, but have a steel core, for the weight and balance.” He picked up one of the practice blades and threw it to Telindil, arcing it through the air to let him catch it safely, before taking up one for himself.

“For this first part, I will only defend. Come at me.” Oreyn suited action to words, slipping into a combat stance, his blade held low in his right hand. He held it pointing upwards and inwards, so that it rose across him. Telindil assumed a ready stance of his own, left hand forward, raised to cast as he had been trained. His sword was held behind him, arm extended and sloping downwards, blade pointing toward the ground. He took two quick steps forward, bringing his practice blade in a rising slash from right to left. Oreyn advanced a single step, setting himself as he brought his blade around in a sold block. The force of the block rang down Telindil's arm, and he used it, turning a quick spin to lead into another attack. As his blade arced towards Oreyn's head, the Dunmer's blade was there waiting for him, with another powerful parry.

The test continued for a few minutes, Telindil's every strike blocked, before Oreyn decided he'd seen enough. “Now for the second stage, you defend I attack” Again Oreyn suited action to words, not giving Telindil any time to gather himself. Oreyn moved like water, swift flowing steps and slashes that should have been impossible in that armour. Telindil spent more time staggering and reeling than actually blocking or parrying, to say nothing of his more frantic dodges. But he managed to stay just ahead of the blade, most of the time. By the time Oreyn called time on the second stage he could feel a few bruises forming under his armour.

Oreyn gave Telindil some time to recover, his expression showing no sign of the old drillmasters glare. Telindil took this as a good sign. Oreyn walked to a chest standing against the back wall and unlocked, retrieving a potion vial and an amulet. “Between these two, I will gain the ability to absorb any magicka you throw at me, for a time. This last test will end when the potion does. I need to see everything you've got, so don't hold back. Telindil dropped into his ready stance once more as Oreyn downed the potion and placed the amulet reverently around his neck. He stood three paces away from Telindil, and assumed the same stance as before. “Begin.”

Again, Telindil came forward in a rush, his blade arcing round. This time he bent his arm at the elbow, turning a sweeping slash into a sudden thrust. Oreyn batted it aside and lashed out with an elbow aimed at Telindil's head, forcing him to duck the arm and sidestep. The two danced around each other, Oreyn the faster and more graceful despite his heavy armour. Telindil stuck to his preferred method of fighting a heavily armoured opponent, using his blade to keep Oreyn's at bay and open them up for touch based magic, which armour did nothing to stop without enchantment. He took more than a few knocks in the process, but by the time they were done Oreyn was smiling warmly. “You'll do Altmer, you'll do.”

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Jan 8 2014, 06:40 PM

I loved how Telindil came to the FG this day because the Chorrol MG branch guildmagister was sleeping in! Oreyn is right – lazy mages.

So Oreyn is in charge and Vilena just does mistressy things. Seriously, nice job of showing us much of who Oreyn is and his powerful skillset. If we get to meet Vilena, it’ll be interesting to see Telindil’s perception of her.

Well, it looks like he is adequately proving his mettle and may soon join the FG, giving him some brothers/sisters-in-arms, not to mention a convenient ‘base’ in each city.

So does a Spellsword feel more at home in the guild of mages or fighters? Same question a Mystic Archer faces. In Telindil’s case, it seems ‘both’ may be the right answer.


Nit: ‘He took two quick steps forward, bring his practice blade in a rising slash from right to left.’ - - Here, I think you want ‘bringing’ vs ‘bring’?

The dream was a good way to provide some background for Telindil. Nicely done.

Oreyn put the form aside, and crossed to a bell, ringing it loudly twice before shouting “Fresh meat!”



I really enjoyed the way Oreyn tested Telindil. That was fun to read!

Thanks guys!

@Acadian: Telindil's meeting with Vilena will have to wait it seems. he didn't seem to have anything to say about her, maybe there'll be something later. As to where Telindil feels more at home? Only time will tell, though I suspect he's more of a fighter than a mage. But he may yet surprise me...


So, here's the next update. I'm a little uncertain about it. I tend to find the conversations trickier, so any advice or nitpicks are especially welcome with this one.

Chapter 3 Part 2: An Old Friend

Chorrol, Last Seed 29 3E 433, Mages Guild.

Teekeeus was just sitting down to a late breakfast, when he heard a voice behind him, a voice straight out of the past. “Still sleeping late, Teekeeus?” It said, thick with wry humour.

Teekeeus almost jumped out of his seat, and turned to face the speaker. “Telindil? Haha! My old friend, please, sit.” Teekeeus gestured to the empty seat opposite him. “I haven't seen or heard from you since-”

“Since I left Cyrodiil.” Telindil interrupted, his steely tone cutting Teekeeus off, as he sat down. “I see they finally shifted you out of Anvil. How'd that happen? Carahil? She always did have a chip on her shoulder for you conjurers.”

Teekeeus chuckled, dry and throaty as only an Argonian can be. “No, Carahil had to put up with me for quite some time. It wasn't until Traven became Arch-Mage and reorganised the guild that I was moved here. With the decision to specialise in a single school of magic in each of the guildhalls I was sent here, and given the task of running things. So what brings you back to Cyrodiil my friend, I thought this would be the last place you'd want to be.”

Telindil couldn't stop a grimace from painting itself across his features. “True enough, but I'm not here by choice. Traven's decision to revoke the certifications of all guild affiliates has made it very hard to find decent work as a Spellsword. So I'm here because I need to join the guild.”

“Well that shouldn't be a problem, unless you've run into some trouble with the law in Cyrodiil?”

“A little, but that's being taken care of.”

“Good. The last thing we need is loose cannons running around the guild. It was only a few days ago that a pair of drunken Spellswords all but sunk the Bloated Float in the Imperial City, can you believe it? That's the sort of magic user we don't need in the guild.” Teekeeus threw a speculative glance Telindil's way, but the Altmer's face was as unreadable as ever. “Anyway, it'll take a couple of days for the courier to get to the Capital and back, so you're best off staying in Chorrol for a few days.”

“Yes, Oreyn at the Fighters Guild said the same. I'll be staying there. If I might ask, why does the Mages Guild use the couriers? I thought you used crystal balls instead.”

“When communicating between guildhalls we do, but for everything else we use the Black Horse Courier, as does the Fighters Guild. We both pay a quarterly fee, and their couriers carry our messages, and they act on our behalf when we make enquiries about new members. Then, if the background check is clean, then the couriers carry a message to every guildhall telling them to update the guild roster. That way every branch of the guilds keeps an up to date record of their respective members, without having to go out of their way to do so. It's quite an effective system.”

“One of Traven's innovations, I take it?” Telindil paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But you know what? There's something that's been off about you, something different, but I can't put my finger on it.”

“Are you ssure?” Teekeeus replied, a toothy Argonian grin underlining the mischief in his voice.

“That's what it is, you're speaking differently. What happened?”

“The demands of the conjurer. Conjuration magic relies a more precise vocal component. The typical Argonian speech was complicating things. It took me two decades to learn to speak like this, relearning to talk is a slow process, but that's what got me this position.”

“So that's why you don't see many Argonians who specialise in conjuration.”

“Exactly. But enough about me, old friend. I haven't seen or heard from you in three decades, how have you fared?” Teekeeus' eyes were filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. Argonians are slow to make friends, and prize highly those they do. Three decades without word from a friend means a great deal of worrying for an Argonian. This was not unknown to Telindil, nor did his friend's expression go unnoticed.

“When I left, I took your advice. I made my way to Black Marsh, spent ten years out there, helping fight off the slave raids of House Dres.” At the mention of House Dres, Teekeeus let slip a low, serpentine growl of hatred. “Your homeland has a strange beauty to it, Teekeeus, in a way I could never have imagined. The descriptions of it can't do it justice, and nor could I. It seems one moment to have the beauty of an untamed forest, growing wild for the simple joy of living. And the next that of a blade, finely crafted and without ornamentation, a well made tool designed solely for killing. It's as if it strives both to live and to take life, with as much ease as you or I draw breath. I got to know some of your people there rather well, and gained a great deal of respect for Argonian warriors. I was sad to leave it, in a way. I should like to return one day, if only for a time.

“After that I found my way to Skyrim, going the long way around Morrowind. I spent a few years there, though I found it to be terribly cold at first, having become accustomed to the thick heat of Black Marsh. Nothing of note happened there, but I managed to earn a living, slaying monsters for the most part. I tired of that and made my way out to High Rock, and of course like so many other mercenaries who go there got dragged into the infighting. Out there it was city-fighting, intense skirmishes in alleyways and the like, with knives in every shadow and ambushes at every corner. At least that's how it seemed at times. Still, it was good work, the sort that keeps you sharp, and that pays well.

“I stayed in High Rock for quite some time. I found it comforting, that despite all the politicking, what really mattered was blood and steel. Elaborate plans and schemes, all balancing on the simple, impartial scales of trial by blood. I didn't leave there until my certification was revoked, and I was forced to return. Perhaps I'll go back, perhaps not. I'll have to wait and see.

“But that's a question for later. For now what I want to know is: Any work available? I know you can't give me any official work until you hear back from the Imperial City, but there's always some odd-jobs that need doing.”

“Not too much at present. Speak to the alchemist, Angalmo. We just received a large order for nighteye potions, if he needs more ingredients he should be happy to pay you for them.” Telindil nodded his thanks to Teekeeus, but as he was getting to his feet he felt Teekeeus' hand on his arm. “Be careful Telindil, this is not the Cyrodiil you used to know, not anymore. It's more dangerous now.”

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Jan 15 2014, 05:27 PM

Gee, I wonder if Telindil knows anything about that pair of drunken Spellswords who almost sank the Bloated Float?

I enjoyed hearing how the Black Horse Courier service helps the guilds. Things like that help bring all the pieces of life in Cyrodiil together.

The dialogue worked well, as you smoothly gave us a recap of Telindil’s missing history of the last thirty years. Loved your description of the Black Marsh.


Nits:

“If I might ask, why does te Mages Guild use the couriers?” - - Misspelled the first ‘the’ in this sentence.

”I was sad to leave it, in a way. I should like to return one day, if only for a time. - - Missing the closing quotation (”) at the end of the dialogue.

Only a short chapter today, but one I'd prefer to stand alone. I could continue on after it, but I don't think it would really fit.

Chapter 4: Surprise!

Last Seed 30 3E 433

The Orc's hammer came down like it was Stendarr's own, and Telindil knew he couldn't even begin to block such a mighty swing.

He didn't even try.

The Orc had caught him by surprise, a heavy kick to the thigh had knocked Telindil off balance for just a moment, a moment long enough for the Orc to launch his attack. Now it was Telindil's turn to surprise his foe. His blade rang against the hammer's haft, not to block, but to parry, to prevent the Orc's prodigious strength from turning the swing as Telindil side-stepped to the left. As the Orc's hammer smashed into the ground, which trembled beneath such abuse beneath Telindil's feet, Telindil struck. He took a single step forward, bringing him almost alongside the Orc, bringing his blade up to strike the Orc's throat, while his leading foot hooked the back of the Orc's knee. The Orc collapsed onto his back heavily, unable to keep his balance in the wake of his hefty swing, not to mention Telindil's assault.

Lum gro-Baroth gasped from the floor. “Malacath's balls, you're fast Altmer.”

Telindil smiled. “And you Orc, swing that hammer of yours with enough force to level a mountain.” He reached down and grabbed Lum's arm, hauling him back to his feet. “But you're lucky this was practise, or I wouldn't have reversed my grip on the blade.”

“I'm not the only lucky one. If this wasn't practise, I wouldn't have kicked you in the thigh. And even if you had beaten me, you wouldn't be walking away the victor. Or pissing straight for a week.” The two of them laughed, Telindil's light laughter drowned out by Lum's roaring laugh, straight from his belly. They were still laughing when Oreyn walked in.

“Telindil, I need to speak to you. Get this room squared away, then come find me, I'll be in Vilena's office.” And with that he left, pausing just long enough to tell Lum his brother was looking for him. Telindil set about clearing up the room, setting his practise blade back in its rack while Lum unwound the thick felt that swathed the head of his hammer, before leaving in search of his brother. Having cleaned up after the practise session, he made his way to Vilena's office, to find his guildmates there waiting for him. Vilena, however, was not in her office. Oreyn stood beside the large windows as Lum and his brother Lurz moved behind Telindil, blocking the stairs down. Oreyn walked over and threw an arm around Telindil's shoulders, leading him across the room to stand before the windows, with his back to his guildmates.

“Telindil, do you remember what I told you when you signed up? Do you remember what I told you I'd do if your background check didn't come back clean?” Telindil's blood ran cold, and his mouth was suddenly unbearably dry. He swallowed uncomfortably as he felt Oreyn grip on his shoulders tighten. “Well, the courier arrived today, and do you know what he carried? That's right, your background check. And do you know what it told me? I'll just give you the summary.” He paused while pushing Telindil even closer to the window, his grip on Telindil's shoulders all but unbreakable. He tilted his head closer to Telindil's, close enough to whisper in his hear, “You're in, Altmer, welcome to the guild.” Telindil's knees nearly buckled at that, much to the amusement of his guildmates, who were laughing uproariously.

Telindil, finding his voice, managed to speak. “You're an evil Mer, Oreyn.” That just made them laugh all the harder.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Jan 21 2014, 06:27 PM

A neat start as you drop us into the middle of what surely sounds like a dire fight. Then a smile as we realize Telindil is sparring with Lum. I like Lum very much in the game and you did a nice job with him.

Ooh, that Oreyn’s a stinker, making Telindil sweat like that.


Nits:
‘...setting his practise blade back in it's rack...’ - - Always remember this: Its = possessive; It’s = it is.

In your last paragraph, where Oreyn is speaking, you have a line of dialogue by Telindil at the end. One of the rules when writing dialogue is to always start a new paragraph when you change speakers. The convention is a good one for helping to prevent any confusion about who is speaking.

Another short one here, part one of three. The fighting starts next time.


Chapter 5 Part 1: I ain't afraid of no ghosts*

Chorrol, Last Seed 30 3E 433, Fighters Guild


“Now I'm afraid I can't give you any official work yet, Telindil, your rank in the guild isn't high enough. However, there is an unofficial matter of sorts that you can help out with.

“About a week ago, a band of adventurers passed through. You see them often enough: sons and daughters of the idle rich, with a few mercenaries hired on as babysitters, bored and looking to get an exaggerated tale of their 'heroism' out of it. Well this group tried their luck in Black Rock Cavern. There'd been a few reports of bandits up there, but not in any real numbers, so nothing had been done. No one was willing to pay us, and the Legion had more important matters to attend to, so they were just left alone. Until these adventurers turned up, and fair enough, it looked like they could deal with half a dozen or so bandits, so we let 'em be.

“They came running back the next day, the rich kids all pale-faced and brown-trousered, screaming and crying about ghosts. The mercenaries were more helpful, but I sent them over to Teekeeus. Fighters Guild policy is to refer anything involving ethereals; ghosts and wraiths and whatever else you can't kill with steel, to the Mages Guild. After all, they've got those Battlemages for a reason, right? But before one could be sent out, the Guild recalled them all following the Emperor's assassination, and I hear half were drafted straight into the Legion.”

“So Teekeeus has been looking for someone to investigate, and since I'm going to need a recommendation...”

“Exactly, a perfect job for a Spellsword. I'm afraid that's all there is, the other guildhalls might have something, apart from Bruma. That far north everything freezes to death before you can stick a sword in it. Up there they just sit in the guildhall drinking.” Oreyn shook his head, the smile that had accompanied his joke vanishing, crushed under the weight of his disappointment. “Anyway, off with you. Go kill something.” With that Oreyn headed towards the door to the training hall, clearly needing to work out some aggression. Telindil made his way next door to find Teekeeus.


“Telindil, there you are. Good news, my friend. You are now officially a member of the guild.” Another hard to spot Argonian smile lit his features as he relayed the news. Telindil smiled back.

“Thank you Teekeeus. I understand I need to earn recommendations from all the guildhalls in Cyrodiil. I'd like to get started immediately. Oreyn said you have something that might be suited to my skills?”

“Yes, Black Rock Cavern. From what I could get out of the mercenaries accompanying the 'adventurers', it seems to be infested by some type of ghost, one I've not heard of. Investigate the cavern, find out what they are and deal with them if possible. According to the mercenaries, they found a handle embedded in the rock, against the wall of a large chamber, and one of their charges turned it. A wall of rock covered one of the passages, and two of these ghosts were waiting for them at the other. The 'adventurers' panicked and ran, and the mercenaries covered them, but all their weapons were useless. That's all I can tell you I'm afraid. Good luck my friend, and be careful.”




*Yeah, I know, it's cheesy as hell, but I just couldn't resist

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Jan 29 2014, 10:02 PM

Lum gro-Baroth gasped from the floor. “Malacath's balls, you're fast Altmer.”

Oh neat, they were sparring! And also lol.

I really like that you are taking people and places in the game and creating your own quests. Nice job of showing the differing guilds working together and even the impact of the Emperor’s death on them.

Being a ‘waterfall’ cave, Buffy’s well-familiar with Black Rock Cavern. I look forward to Telindil’s quest there.


Nit: “Thankyou Teekeeus." - - Thankyouallonewordlol.

@Acadian: Thanks. I'll be honest, the main reason I'm making up a new recommendation quest is that I've written them too many times before, and I really can't be bothered to do it again. Besides, the Chorrol one makes no sense anyway Some of them I'll stick with, but the rest are being replaced.

@Grits: Heh, once I had the idea for starting the chapter like that, I just couldn't resist it. That and writing Lum's half of the convo was fun.


Chapter 5 Part 2: Ghosts?

Last Seed 30 3E 433, Black Rock Cavern

The inside of the cave was a charnel house. The bandits had numbered more than the reports had suggested, but there hadn't been enough of them. A dozen or so bodies were strewn across the first part of the cave, literally in some cases, where an axe had clearly been brought to bear. The air was thick with the tang of spilled blood, pools of it gleaming black in the magical light Telindil had conjured. And lurking in the background, a hint of something older, something foul and rotten.

Telindil cast a practised eye over the bodies, noting that most bore the clean, precise wounds you'd expect to see from veterans. Clearly the mercenaries had done most of the killing, though several of the bodies differed. These Telindil found in the corners, each bearing multiple wounds, some shallow and poorly placed, the work of amateurs. He snorted derisively. The mercenaries had backed them into corners one at a time, and let the rich kids bloody their sword. No doubt they'd puked afterwards, and would go home with tales of an epic struggle against worthy foes. He shook his head and spat in disgust. He wasn't sure who it was directed at though, the rich kids or the bandits.

The next area, a large chamber, was similar. Dead bodies and pools of blood everywhere, most of the heavy work clearly done by the mercenaries. He poked around the bodies, finding that the 'adventurers' had been too scared to loot the corpses, so helped himself to the coin they carried. Ten minutes or so of wandering and he'd seen everything the cave had to offer, at first glance at least, and returned to the large chamber. There he walked a slow circuit of the room, sticking close to the walls, looking for the handle Teekeeus had spoken of. Finding it took two more circuits of the room, the green light of Telindil's spell deepening as many shadows as it lightened. He felt a tingle run up his arm as he turned it, cold and sharp, and heard a grinding of stone. Sure enough, one of the two passageway into the chamber was now sealed by a wall of rock. Only one route was left to him.

They were waiting for him, two of them. Telindil had only a moment to take in the sight of them, so different from the usual ghosts or wraiths. These spectres were fully formed, as if some terrible force had simply ripped the flesh and bones from a person, and left their spirit standing for all the world to see. They were painful to look at, not because their eerie glow was too bright, it was something else. Telindil had a spine chilling realisation that he was seeing something that eyes were not made to see, that these were something far more terrifying than mere ghosts.

Unbidden, his hand leapt to his sword, the blade gleaming dully in the spectral glow Telindil's assailants cast as he drew it. Telindil knew better than to try and attack ethereal foes with a mundane blade and he felt his left hand begin to tingle as he prepared his shocking touch spell. As one of them rushed him, drawing a cutlass, the other retreated and readied a bow. Telindil exploded into motion, dashing past the first of the spectres to close in on the second, casting a shield spell as he went. He knew it left himself open to a strike at his back, but he also knew he had a better chance against two swordsmen than a swordsman and an archer. The shield spell caught the first arrow too, making it ricochet off Telindil's shoulder as he charged, and dulled the force of the second that dug into his left thigh. That was all the time the archer had to fire, and he threw aside the bow and drew his cutlass as Telindil came close enough.

Trusting in his shield spell again, Telindil dashed past him as well, before turning to face the two. His sword wove a web of iron before him, parrying the bulk of their strikes and letting him strike back with his shocking touch. He gradually wore the two of them down until one after another they slumped to the ground, motionless. Recovering from the fight, Telindil took the time to examine his foes more closely. Even now, they held their shape, unlike the wraiths and ghosts he had faced in the past. Each of them was armoured, though the armour seemed only half there, as if that too were some form of ghost. He reached for one of their cutlasses, but when he picked it up it burned with cold, and he could not hold it. Telindil reeled backwards in shock, seeking to put as much distance as he could between himself and them. Their blades had not been cold when they had struck him, only when they were beaten did they affect him so.

Abandoning the inspection of his foes, Telindil looked around the chamber he was in, and soon enough found the object of his search. The spectres had been there because they were guarding something, another handle. Telindil turned it and again felt a chill tingle run up his arm, and heard the grinding of stone. He returned to the large chamber where the first handle had been, and after a few minutes of searching found a trapdoor. He grasped the rusted handle with both hands and heaved, the ancient wood of the trapdoor groaning and creaking in protest at being disturbed from their rest before yielding. Telindil threw the hatch open, and staggered backwards at the stench that spewed from the opening. It reeked of death, ancient death, and behind it carried the subtle but recognisable malodour of necromancy.

Telindil took a few moments to brace himself before climbing down the ancient, rickety ladder into the depths of Black Rock Cavern.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Jan 31 2014, 08:32 PM

Wow, this was tense! You did a great job of portraying the ‘sort of’ ghosts. Very nice how this ‘feels’ like that cave in the game. . . but different, as you make it your own. Clever of Telindil to ‘turn’ the archer into another swordsman and also to parry with his mundane sword while using magic to strike. Once more, we got to see the spellsword at work.


Nit: ‘He knew it left left himself open to a strike at his bacck,’ - - Two 'lefts'. Also an extra 'c' in 'back'.

Liked the tactics against the archer - that works whether they're spectral or otherwise. I was a bit surprised that he was parrying with a sword rather than blocking with a shield, but that's down to Oblivion not letting you use shield + spell. And of course, it looks more stylish!

Let him heal that leg before he goes further. It may be a minor wound, but ouch!

Nice justification for him not using their own weapons. I imagine he'd check everything, hoping for a magical blade he could use against them.

Was that first paragraph intended to be italic, or was that unintended hangover from the dateline before? I ead it a couple of times thinking I'd missed whatever set it apart.

@Acadian: Thanks. I've got a whole story as to what they really are, and why, but that comes next time

@Ghastley: Shield and spell would be nice, but I'd consider that more how a Sorcerer would fight than a Spellsword. Heh, and I couldn't really call him a Spellsword Sellsword if he didn't use one, could I?

As for the first paragraph, the italics re intentional, guess I just missed my target with it.


Right, part three of chapter 5. This was supposed to be the final part, but it seems it's all gone a bit Hitchhikers and become a trilogy in four parts. Unfortunately that means no fighting next time, I'll try to make it plenty interesting though.

And I'm not going to lie, just writing this one made me tired.


Chapter 5 part 3: What on Nirn...?

Last Seed 30 3E 433, Black Rock Cavern

Telindil moves awkwardly through the dark tunnels. He's tense, so tense his movements are jerky and unbalanced, as he fights the tension that sinks into his muscles with every step. His right hand is locked in a vice-like grip about the hilt of his sword, gripping so tightly his knuckles are white as bone. His left hand is no less tense, but lacking anything to grasp has tightened itself into something resembling a claw. Both arms tremble slightly, and Telindil's eyes search the darkness constantly, as if to pierce the darkness by force of will. He doesn't dare use his light spell, so the darkness enfolds him as he moves, smothering his senses as the feel of necromantic magic ahead clouds his mind.

The tunnels leading down are cramped, ancient, and littered with corpses. Some of the bodies were recent additions, others had died so long ago they were little more than powder and dust. Dread weighing heavily about his shoulders, Telindil ventured on. The tunnels led to a vast underground chamber, partly flooded like the lower level of the tunnels, and which contained a sight that made Telindil doubt his eyes. In Black Rock Cavern, hidden by magic and buried deep below the surface, was the still recognisable wreckage of a pirate ship.

No sooner had Telindil resolved himself that that was indeed what he was seeing, than two more of the spectres charged towards him, cutlasses raised. Telindil retreated back into the tunnels, forcing them to fight him one at a time in the narrow confines. One by one he faced them, parrying with his sword and dumping magical shocks into their ethereal bodies. He couldn't help but noticing the uncanny way in which they hovered above the knee-high water, putting him at a disadvantage as their strikes arced down towards him. Blades struck sparks as they scraped against the tight walls and clashed iron to steel. Every shock spell Telindil used he felt a little of as the water carried a portion back to him, and the spectres proved just how different they were from ghosts, turning invisible briefly or healing themselves on occasion.

Eventually, the second of the spectres fell. It had been a more gruelling fight than the previous, seeming to be both shorter and longer, and the darkness had made it worse. As Telindil looked down at the ethereal bodies, he couldn't suppress the rising tide of horror he felt within, now that he knew what those spectres were. Even though he knew, he still had a hard time believing it, but the evidence was right before him. The spectres had not been ghosts, and their remains were unchanged, unlike ghosts or wraiths which largely dissipate when defeated. To do such a thing as this...

Telindil made his way towards the ruined ship, though his mind still reeled at the thought of what it must have taken to get it here. Nothing but magic could have accomplished this, and no mages lived today who could have accomplished such a feat, save perhaps Divayth Fyr or the legendary Psijics. But the lingering, oppressive weight of forbidden magics told Telindil precisely who was responsible for this madness. There was only one being that could have both accomplished this feat and left this magic corrupting the air with its perversion.

Putting aside the thoughts, Telindil looked around spotting another of the spectres to the side of the ship, surrounded by crates, barrels, and chests. It looked as though these spectres, pirates it seemed safe now to guess, had been alive when they were entombed here, and had moved their loot from within the ruined ship. Telindil looked over his sword, noting the notches that marred its once sharp edge, almost lending it the appearance of serrations. He shook his head; Sabine would kill him for bringing his sword back like this, especially seeing as it was one she had made. Shrugging to himself, he readied the battered blade and advanced on the spectre, lightning crackling around his fingers.

This spectre seemed more skilled than the others had, both with the blade and with its ethereal abilities. Bit by bit Telindil wore it down, until with the last of its strength it launched its final attack, putting everything it had behind it. Telindil was caught off guard by the sudden ferocity of the strike, and missed the chance to parry, forcing him to block with the weakened blade. The ancient steel, magically preserved, dug three quarters of the way through the iron blade, before snapping the top third off. Telindil threw as much as he could into his shocking touch spell, dropping the spectre to the floor, unmoving. Exhausted by the hectic fights, he slumped to his knees, his chest heaving from his exertions, the ruined blade slipping from his fingers.

Then he saw the faint glow out of the corner of his eye, there was still one more of them left. Healing himself as best he could, waited as long as he dared before advancing on the final spectre, taking as much time as he could to let his magicka replenish. He had planned to use solely spells, and hope to deal with it quickly, but something Teekeeus had said to him in Chorrol popped into his mind. “Though you are no conjurer, there's no reason you can't learn a little of it. Speak to Alberic, he has a basic spell, bound dagger, that you might find helpful. A blade, perhaps, when all others fail you.” His weary mind almost stumbled over the spell, but a daedric dagger wove its way into existence in his grasp.

Telindil charged the final spectre, slashing his dagger like a maniac at the spectre, who hurriedly discarded the bow he'd been holding in favour of a cutlass. Telindil knew he couldn't hope to block or parry the spectre's lengthier weapon, and so settled for not giving his foe room or time to use it. Telindil buried the spectre under a veritable storm of frenzied slashes and shocking touches, until it fell to the ground, not exactly dead, but close enough to it. Telindil barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before his dagger disappeared.

Making his way back to the area with the crates, Telindil noticed something he hadn't before. The air there seemed less foul, and the crates and chests didn't carry the same ferocious chill as the spectres' cutlasses. 'That must have been why one of the spectres was here,' he mused to himself, 'it must have been the captain'. The cargo, or perhaps more accurately the loot, was unaffected by the magic that blighted the caverns. The cutlasses sticking out of a barrel were like all the others, but the chests contained a dagger with a fire enchantment and an enchanted shield, both of which Telindil took. He also pocketed whatever other valuables he could find in the crates and barrels before dragging himself wearily out of the caverns and back to the surface, glad to put that place behind him.

It had been a long day.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Feb 6 2014, 05:43 PM

Telindil had only a moment to take in the sight of them, so different from the usual ghosts or wraiths. These spectres were fully formed, as if some terrible force had simply ripped the flesh and bones from a person, and left their spirit standing for all the world to see.

What a fascinating description.

This was a neat adventure! I’ve never found the secret of Black Rock Cavern. I’m glad Telindil found a fire-enchanted dagger to carry along now that he is temporarily without a sword.

Mighty magicks indeed to somehow get that ship into that cave. I can only guess that the pirates tried to take down the ship of a very might mage (with a fun sense of humor).

An exhausting series of fights for sure! Fortuitous in a way that Telindil’s blade was trashed, for it reminded him to summon a bound blade. I like how you showed that the bound dagger carried both the advantage of harming ethereals and the potential drawback of evaporating at an inopportune time.


Nits:

’...he couldn't hope to block or parry the spectres lengthier weapon,’ - - The word specters needs an apostrophe to make it possessive.

Heh, we’ve talked about it's vs its several times. What dear mALX had to do was make up a little sign to stick by her puter that said:
It’s = It is; Its = possessive.
In each case below, you want the possessive form (its):
‘...and left this magic corrupting the air with it's perversion.’
‘...noting the notches that marred it's once sharp edge,’
‘...and with it's ethereal abilities.’
‘...it launched it's final attack,’

You may want to consider banning it's from your writing completely for a while and using 'tis instead. It won't hurt the narrative, and you'll get used to where "the one with the apostrophe" goes.