The Rightous Assassin, An Elder Scrolls Fan-Fiction Options

[Zalphon]

Prologue

My name is Quick-Strike. I have done things so horrible, they haunt my dreams every night. The worst of which being when the Dark Brotherhood ordered me to kill the entire Matius family. The only survivor was Savilian Matius, but I killed his little girl and his wife. That poor little girl, she still haunts my dreams. It was her fifth birthday...

That day was the day I began my revolution. I had cut all ties I had with the Brotherhood and began my career as an assassin of the Nine. Hunting down daedric worshippers, criminals, and street-thugs. With a prayer in the Temple of Mara, I firmly gripped my steel shortsword and steel dagger and donned my black-leather uniform.

Suddenly behind me appeared a tall, black-haired orc. "You killed Marza Gra-Baliz," he hissed. "That was my daughter, you pig. For this you'll die."

With haste, I put my weapons in their scabbards and kicked him in the chest. "Please, I don't want to fight," I pleaded. "I seek no trouble." In his orcish rage he charged. My fist went flying into his face and he fell to the ground, his nose bloodied and he was unconscious.

I bent down and felt for a pulse. There was none. Suddenly, two imperial legion troopers came over to me. "Hey, what have you done to this man?" they asked. "He's dead!"

The other hissed, "You're under arrest, Swamp-Slime."

I slammed their heads together and bolted past them. "Joy," I thought. "My first day of being a noble person and I already killed a man and assaulted two guards." Blood was on my hands, so I wiped it on my outfit.

The streets of the Imperial City were crowded and I had to wade through the people. I was a wanted man and I needed to get out of town. As I turned to look around, a club hit my skull. The last thing I saw was an Imperial Legion Guard with a smile on his face. The last thing I heard was, "Enjoy your time in prison, Murkscum..."

After that I faded into the realm of unconsciousness.

[Destri Melarg]

Zalphon,

I have been remiss in commenting on your work of late because I never know how long a particular thread is going to last. That said, I thought I would drop in and give this one a read (as I have done to the three that preceded it) and a righteous critique. Before we begin let me stress that this is in no way meant to be a knock against your writing. I mean these words in only the most constructive of ways. You have some excellent and intriguing characters established with Zalphon, Quick-Strike, and J’Skooma, and I look forward to more adventures from them. So, in the interest of addressing matters of craft, let us begin:

Prologue

'My name is Quick-Strike.’

I am not alone in maintaining that you can tell a lot about a story from the opening sentence. This one is almost elementary in its simplicity. It is at once direct, boastful, and strangely apologetic (after all, it takes a special kind of individual to earn the name Quick-Strike). The rest of the paragraph goes a long way toward establishing him as a killer with a conscience. I will warn you to be careful of repetition; Quick-Strike tells us that he has done things so horrible, they haunt my dreams every night. After he tells us the worst thing, in the span of two sentences, he repeats himself: That poor little girl, she still haunts my dreams. That type of repetition takes away from what is otherwise a well-written first paragraph.

The second paragraph is where your impatience begins to show. I know that the temptation is great to ‘just get on with it’, but you have to respect your audience. Sure, you know exactly what’s going on, but most of the people wandering into your thread don’t. I have read and commented on your work before so I know that Quick-Strike is Argonian, but it would have been nice if you had informed the reader of that fact before he renounces the Brotherhood and takes up arms for the Nine. From what I know of the lore, Argonians who are taken into the Dark Brotherhood are almost always shadowscales from the province of Black Marsh. The Argonians of Black Marsh worship the Hist, so the fact that Quick-Strike renounces both his heritage and his religion is kind of a big deal and needs more than a throw-away sentence to deal with it. Having said that, I want you to know how much I like the idea of the Nine using assassins against daedra worshippers and the like.

With a prayer in the Temple of Mara, I firmly gripped my steel shortsword and steel dagger and donned my black leather uniform.

This sentence starts with a nice, clever way to tell us that he is in the city of Bravil (unless there’s another Temple of Mara somewhere that I don’t know about). But I need to point out to you that it’s pretty hard to don anything with a sword and dagger ‘firmly gripped’ in each hand. Also I should remind you of the fact that the implication is that, before donning the black leather uniform, he is praying in the Temple of Mara naked with a sword and dagger ‘firmly gripped’ (the imagination boggles at what Freud would have made of that).

Suddenly behind me appeared a tall, black-haired orc.

And

Suddenly, two Imperial soldiers came over to me.

This is another repetition that you need to be careful of. Remember, the difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense. ‘Suddenly’ appearing orcs and soldiers don’t make a whole lot of sense, especially in the Temple of Mara. Having the soldiers appear because they heard a disturbance in the Temple makes more sense, but even that just sounds like an excuse to get them there so Quick-Strike can slam their heads together. I should also point out the incongruity of Quick-Strike telling the orc that ‘I seek no trouble.’ He did kill the orc’s daughter, after all. Even on a good day I doubt that an orc would be that forgiving. I do like the way that you make Quick-Strike wipe the blood on his uniform. That is a nice, symbolic touch.

Remember I said that you told us in a very subtle and clever way that we were in the city of Bravil? Well, turns out I was wrong. Quick-Strike walks outside to find himself on the streets of the Imperial City. If you want to establish that there is a Temple of Mara in the Imperial City that’s fine, but you have to play fair with your audience. You have to tell us that, in your version of the IC, there is a Temple of Mara. Don’t just trust that we as readers will go along with it.

Finally (for this chapter) the Imperial Legion Guard who knocks Quick-Strike unconscious; was he one of the soldiers from the Temple? If not then it seems unlikely that he would take a club to Quick-Strike’s head on general principal (unless, of course, he is a recent transfer from Leyawiin ). I know that the game gives us psychic guards, but in fiction every action has to have a reason, preferably one that can be explained better than merely intuition.

Chapter One: My Mentor

I will give you the benefit of the doubt that the reasons behind Korvan possessing such high end weapons, clothing, and a black wood mandolin will be made clear as we go (although Remko poses a good question). My problem occurs with the first thing that Korvan says to Quick-Strike:

“The name is Korvan Broodikus,” he chuckled. “To say the least, I am more-or-less ageless.”

Once again I will give you the benefit of the doubt that there is a reason that Korvan speaks the way he does. We know that he is jovial, convivial, and charismatic by your description of him, but is he also barking mad? He speaks like a crazy person. There are no degrees of immortality. You are either ageless, or you aren’t. ‘More-or-less ageless’ is like being ‘more-or-less pregnant’. And if that is him ‘saying the least’, I shudder to imagine what other surprises he has in store.

I have to assume that Korvan is spending time in that jail cell just waiting for Quick-Strike to show up because, again, any reasonable person locked in a cell, fully armed and carrying a lockpick with which he is sufficiently skilled would not be stuck in that cell for long. The fact that he magically summons a chest with Quick-Strike’s belongings in it seems to bear out the fact that this meeting was not coincidence. I wonder if the guards even knew he was in the cell. For the third time, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt.

To say the least, this would get interesting.

Here is another repetition to be careful of. ‘To say the least’ can be used in an ironic relaying of the facts, but use it too much and it’s almost like you can't be bothered to tell us more.

Miraculously, we were in Bravil. A town of scum and villainy.

The first thing that I want to know is how does a dart penetrate a platemail boot? Other than that, an ‘intricate’ dark elf is a confusing choice of word. I also thought that the teleportation spell was a bit abrupt, but I won’t hold your feet over the fire for that. I can also appreciate the tip of the cap to Mos Eisley. And it turns out that I wasn’t wrong after all, I was just premature. I knew that Quick-Strike would eventually get to Bravil.

To sum up you’ve got an interesting premise and an interesting character. All of your issues stem from impatience. Take your time with your updates. Illydoor has given you some excellent advice:

Show, don’t tell – we want to know about what he sees, hears, smells, and feels not just what he does.

Above all, KEEP WRITING!!! You definitely have talent. Craft will come with practice. Patience is something that you must find within yourself. I hope this (overlong) critique is helpful to you.

And, oh yeah, Happy Birthday!