Foreigners are Always Interesting (Working Title) Options

[legionslayer]

Hello all! I'm new to the Chorral.com forums but I've been playing and modding in Elder Scrolls (mainly Oblivion) for some time. As of now I'm really trying to get a feel for the lore, speech patterns and beliefs of the various races, starting with those I'm most familiar with, the Nords and the Dark Elves.

For my first project, I'm posting the first draft of the start of some fanfiction set in the Third Era (3E?), Oblivion time period. Though this is still a rough draft, I'd appreciate any comments you might have. I'm particularly interested in errors in how I've characterized the various races, tips regarding how they talk and relate to each other, and any other backstory I might have misinterpreted from what little I got in the game (sadly, I hurried through most of Oblivion) and from the UESPwiki. I'd particularly welcome suggestions for making the dialogue fit better with each race, with links to appropriate samples if they're available. Also, if I've tripped up somewhere in the weapons or armor, feel free to point that out as well.

I've worked regularly with a writer's group for a good while and have a fairly thick skin when it comes to my work, so feel free to comment on anything you think could use improvement--it's doubtful you'll hurt my feelings. All I ask is that you provide specifics as to why it stuck out to you and a suggestion for how to fix it. And, of course, I'll happily return the favor by taking a look at anything you might have up.

Thanks all!



Foreigners are Always Interesting (Working Title)

1.

It was not the ringing sound of blades colliding that roused Tarel from his slumber underneath the overhang of massive Prayer Rock, nor the grunts and cries of men as they were struck or cut or fell with a crunch against the newly fallen snow. It was the cursing—-particularly, the shrill, female voice that was doing it and the strange, slippery sounding words she used.

The clash of blades as they spilled the blood of men was nothing to get upset about—-Tarel was a Nord, after all, as accustomed to blades clashing and men shouting as he was to breathing and eating—-but the cursing of so obviously foreign a tongue this deep in Skyrim had him curious. He laid quiet with his ears open and listened as the men screamed murder, the woman shrieked curses, and blades rang together in the cacophonous singsong of combat. Yes, the woman—-he'd assume she was a woman, because the idea of a man with such a high voice was unsettling—-the woman doing the cursing was doing it in a way that almost sounded like poetry, if poetry could be made of shouted statements that one's parents made babies with goats. Nords and most especially Tarel cursed often, and heartily, and with good reason, but never had Tarel heard a string of curses that sounded as pretty as this.

Tarel pondered a moment, the sat up and stretched his arms to the sky with a massive yawn. His brother Havel had the daytime patrol (Tarel had the night) and would certainly have roused him had the fracas Tarel heard been any threat to Lorna, the small hometown they shared. Whatever the fight was about, it was obviously none of their business. Even so, Tarel pushed off the pleasant sloth of his late morning nap and grinned. Foreigners, by nature, were always interesting. He stomped out his sputtering fire, took up his greatsword, and lumbered into the snowy wilderness beyond his shelter to see what all the fuss was about.

Tarel found 'the fuss' not twenty paces distant, stretched out in a tableau of blood-stained and trampled snow in a small pass, directly below his sheltered lookout. Three dead foreigners, Redguard and Breton by the look of them, were lying in pieces spread out in a circle around a pair of harried looking Dark Elves in tattered, flowing cloaks. Five more warriors in mismatched armor and gray snow cloaks ringed the two elves in the middle, circling warily.

The first elf they hunted was a frothing red-eyed maniac wielding what looked to be a claymore far larger than seemed practical. It was most likely the weapon responsible for cutting three of the unfortunate hunters into so many pieces. His thick black cloak had been tattered by blades and rocks, and it rippled in the wind to reveal hard boiled leather armor underneath. Pressing her back to his was a slight Dark Elf in a tattered brown robe wielding a glittering blood-stained dirk in each hand. A ponytail of dark hair whipped against her cheek, and her snarling mouth matched the curses flying from her lips. She screamed at the men surrounding them, all in that strange, foreign tongue that sounded so new and pretty to Tarel's ears.

Tarel watched as the remaining five foreigners moved in on the two Dark Elves from all sides, the motions beneath their mismatched leather armor and billowing gray cloaks suggesting a Khajiit, an Argonian, and a Nord, as well as a pair of fresh green Imperials whose swords were shaking in their hands. The Dark Elves had the experience, to be sure, but the five that ringed them had the numbers. As Tarel knew from his many scuffles in the Imperial Army before his discharge and return to his hometown of Lorna, even a cluster of relatively unskilled swordsmen could still draw blood from the best of veteran blades. All the mob had to do was attack all at once, from all sides, with absolutely no idea just how badly they were outmatched.

The large Dark Elf frothed at the mouth as he watched his hunters come, a mountain of barely contained rage. By comparison, the smaller female at his back was a picture of restrained energy, snarling and cursing as her dirks practically danced in her hands. Tarel settled cross-legged on the edge of his lookout and balanced the cool steel of his greatsword across the massive muscles of his thighs.

No matter how it turned out, this was going to be an impressive fight.

[Shades]

Like you said, working title. It sounds like a 30's buddy movie.

The first paragraph is too short and the information doesn't seem all in order of how you should tell it. It doesn't feel necessary to be specific yet where he is sleeping or what is going on below, you unfold all that as the story goes on. In this first paragraph you should give the reader the same curiousity about the situation that Tarel has; not really knowing whats going on and feeling the need to find out.

You keep saying in the story "Nord do this" and "Nords do that" and so on, that also grates a bit. You kinda have to assume your readers are TES fans to get the most part of the story anyway, and they would know the stereotypes about Nords without being reminded. What you need to do is show your characters as individuals beyond stereotypes.

It's a little drawn out when Tarel decides that it's a woman's voice. As a reader I'm willing to take his best guess. You don't really need to describe the male dark elf as frothing twice, or someone with combat experience as a maniac I wouldn't think. It just gives me a weird picture in my head. Have him be very aggressive but collected so he can contrast the chick who is yelling. Which reminds me of something earlier, slippery words as a phrase invokes the image of a used car salesman more than someone trying to be offensive. Just think it over.

The large Dark Elf frothed at the mouth as he watched his hunters come, a mountain of barely contained rage. By comparison, the smaller female at his back was a picture of restrained energy, snarling and cursing as her dirks practically danced in her hands. Tarel settled cross-legged on the edge of his lookout and balanced the cool steel of his greatsword across the massive muscles of his thighs.

This whole paragraph doesn't resonate with me. He's barely contained, she's restrained, yet they're both just standing there? It's as if you're describing something repetitively, because you already went over what they were doing before. I'm not sure what you mean by the dirks dancing in her hands unless she is tossing them around or something, which seems inappropriate. The last sentence seems like something out of Peterotica, but you really just put in too many adjectives.

Tarel settled cross-legged on the edge of his lookout and balanced the cool steel of his greatsword across the massive muscles of his thighs.

The first fight between the argonian and the elf in the next chapter seems a bit implausible in that someone with a flail and no shield would have to be suicidal to try and attack someone with a greatsword. If he's there spinning it around he hasn't much chance. Make him more of a supporter to someone who may be able to defend against a greatsword, flail users without shields just can't defend themselves.

Then you keep telling us how big the greatsword is. We get it, really. You can trust the readers a little more to figure that wielding a large sword with a hurt wrist is going to severely hamper him.

Just for my interest, what is the difference between sheepskin boots and lamb skin and how can you spot it? And why would you use a lamb instead of sheep for making your boots?

As a general comment on the fighting, sometimes you present things as a little too epic. Cutting off heads isn't a likely thing to happen anyway, but doing it with a self described "ridiculous" sword when he's got a broken wrist? It could use a toned down approach where he is hurting them but not cutting them to bits. And the chick is way too busy to go around taking off heads.

Once again your wrap-up paragraph is strange.

Her victory was an empty one, for her companion, her big, stalwart friend, lie unmoving at her side with a knife sticking out of his eye. The woman clutched her side as she leaned over him, and Tarel only then remembered she'd been cut as well, by the dying Imperial. She fell face and hand first across the chest of her partner, letting loose an anguished wail that echoed off the walls around her.

The first sentence has three commas too many for what you're trying to say. We know she was cut by the Imperial, not enough time has passed that you need to remind the readers. Saying she fell face and hand first just inspires a "umm, whut?" in that it doesn't seem to matter about her hands at the moment. And then, what walls? Weren't they in a pass at the time?

Chapter three, you did the Nords are this thing again. It strikes me now that Tarel shouldn't know the relationship between the elves, so maybe it would be better (as you follow his perspective) to keep away from saying the elves are friends or anything that makes inferences about their relationship until he can find out.

During the conversation between Tarel and the dark elf his manner of speaking seems more British than backwoods. I'm not sure how to remedy this, but give it some thought.

Tarel was sitting on a rock, it's not reasonable to say he thought he was being inconspicuous. Just have him be impressed that she saw him while she was busy killing. Her suicidal rush works pretty well in defining her character, but Havel coming in doesn't work so well. He was supposed to be the lookout, why is he having to ask what's going on? The honoured user was sleeping on the job! Or something, but it seems he should have been better informed about the situation if he was awake and in the area the whole time.

This post has been edited by Shades: Aug 23 2008, 09:15 PM