A Spellsword Sellsword: Telindil's Tale Options

[Callidus Thorn]

Okay, here goes my second stab at a fanfiction. This wasn't intended to be fanfiction, Telindil was supposed to be a character to write about in the "Today in Cyrodiil" thread, so shorter, more game based updates. That went out the window when I tired writing up the tutorial section, and realised I'd been at it for two hours, had written two pages, and had only just gotten past the first wave of attackers. By the time I was done it covered four pages. Since Telindil clearly wasn't happy being dealt with in brief, a second attempt at fanfiction seemed the thing to do.

As with my last attempt, all criticisms, nitpicks, comments, suggestions and such are welcome, again, don't pull your punches people. And if you feel you need to break out a baseball bat, then you go right ahead and do it.

So here we go again:

Prologue


The Imperial City, Last Seed 24 3E 433, The Bloated Float

The tavern was busy. It was early in the evening, so the dockrats had started turning up, to drink away the aches of the day's labour. Two Altmer are sat at the bar, each on opposite sides. One of them is Ormil, the owner, and the other is a Spellsword called Telindil. The latter is clad in Mithril armour with an Altmeri longsword to match, and arrived by ship that same afternoon. Despite the friendly, jovial atmosphere in the tavern, his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword. Ormil pretended not to notice. The two had been chatting for a while, mostly Ormil repeating the rumours running around, the two of them interrupted occasionally by a burst of song from one corner of the tavern or other.

“So what brings you to Cyrodiil?” Ormil asked Telindil, glad of another Altmer to talk to, and having run out of rumours to pass on.

“Business and bureaucracy. I'm a freelance Spellsword, a mercenary, and since Traven reorganised the guild I've been told I need to reapply to get my certification back.”

“Your certification?” Ormil was confused by this. He knew Traven had made some changes, like the ban on necromancy, but this hadn't been covered by rumour or the Black Horse Courier.

“The guild's way of keeping track of freelance magic users. You need to be able to show basic proficiency in the schools of magic you employ, prove that you can use them safely, but you're not actually part of the guild. Well Traven put a stop to all that, and revoked everyone's certification So I've come to Cyrodiil to find out what I need to do, since my local guildhall told me it was necessary. So I go to the Arcane University, only to be told that I'm required to sign up to the Mages Guild if I want to practise magic legally.” Telindil shook his head and drank deeply from his tankard, the cool ale doing little to quench his anger.

“That seems rather excessive. I could understand him requesting that everyone reapply for certification if he'd made some changes to what was required, but this? It makes no sense.”

“Well they say that Traven's paranoid, convinced that Necromancers are plotting to attack the guild, or so they say, and that he wants every magic user under his command or in shackles.”

“But the-” Ormil never got to finish his sentence.

“Barkeep!” a voice roared out from behind Telindil, “Your finest ale, and be quick about it.”

Telindil groaned inwardly. He knew that voice. Casamir Lanier, a Breton. The two of them were in the same profession, and were apparently now in the same boat, literally and figuratively. Ormil scurried off, tankard in hand, and Telindil braced for the inevitable. He and Casamir had crossed paths more than a few times over the years, and never without a fight. And by the sounds of things, Casamir was already deep into his cups.

“What's that I see over there?! Lindy? Is that you, you goblin-fondling son of a swine?”

This time Telindil didn't bother keeping his groan in.

“I still owe you for that last run-in, back in Hammerfell. You damn near crippled me, you bastard.” Casamir was glaring at Telindil from across the tavern, sparks flying from both his eyes and his fingers. Telindil stood and turned to face him. Casamir had an unusual build for a Breton, broad shouldered and heavily muscled, and he took more than a little pride in that. Some said he had Nord blood in him, and looking at him in his Orcish forged armour, with a Dwemer claymore slung over his right shoulder, Telindil believed them. He ran through his defensive spells, trying to guess how Casamir would strike. He didn't like having to go defensive, to let Casamir launch the first attack, but he had no choice. He didn't dare try hurling an offensive spell with so many people in the tavern, it was too likely to hit a bystander, but Casamir was reckless enough and apparently drunk enough not to care. It was only then that Telindil realised how quiet The Bloated Float had suddenly become, and looked around at the patrons, frozen in place, fear etched deeply into their features. Then the tension shattered as one of them a young Imperial woman, ran for the door, screaming for the guards. No sooner had she left than the rest of the patrons, Ormil and the Orc bouncer along with them, fled.

Telindil breathed a sigh of relief as the tavern emptied, and it almost cost him his life. Casamir was already hurling a fireball Telindil's way, who barely countered it with a spell of fire shield, though it knocked him off his feet. Telindil expected Casamir to press the advantage, but was able to right himself unimpeded, just in time to see Casamir drop a potion vial carelessly to the floor. Before Telindil's eyes Casamir seemed to change. His stance tightened, his eyes became clearer, and his balance returned. “Still can't hold your ale Casamir? A potion of cure poison again? I thought you Bretons were supposed to be good at restoration?” Had Casamir's potion been a little less potent, or had he been more drunk, Telindil might have been able to goad him. The Breton just sneered at him in response, then the fight began in earnest.

Fireballs hurtled back and forth, lightning bolts tore through the air, and radiant orbs of frost froze everything they touched. Magic was gathered and hurled, only to splash or ricochet off armour reinforced by defensive spells, and the force of their battle wreaked havoc on the tavern. Drinks froze, thawed, then refroze, only to be shattered in a hail of twinkling shards by stray lightning bolts. Half the tables were frozen into a semi-solid mass to one side, the walls were covered by the crazed burn marks of lightning, and the bar was blazing merrily. There was nothing subtle or delicate about the magic used, it was brute force elemental strikes being blocked by defensive spells, a battle of mace and shield by magical proxy. Two spellcasters slugging it out like a pair of punch-drunk brawlers, in a display sure to make any of their old tutors wince at its crudeness.

Telindil knew he was in trouble. Casamir's innate Breton resistance to magic kept the worst of Telindil's spells at bay, letting him use weaker defensive spells, and focus more on attacking. Meanwhile Telindil was being stung by every spell Casamir threw, his Altmer heritage working against him, even through his defenses. He knew he had to end this fight, while he still could. Batting aside an orb of frost with his blade, he charged Casamir, and the next phase of the duel began. Telindil wore only light armour of Mithril, rather than the heavy Orcish-forged steel plates favoured by Casamir, so he was more agile than the Breton. The two danced around each other, Casamir's armour clanking with every step, their blades catching the flickering glow of the fires they'd started, the only source of light remaining in the tavern. The two combatants forgot about offensive magic, instead reinforcing their shield spells whenever they could, and here Telindil had the advantage. His blade carried an enchantment of dispel, though Casamir's armour meant he was still well protected. Telindil began to grow desperate. He might have been the better magic user, but Casamir's defences were near impenetrable, and he wielded his claymore like an expert. Telindil had to dodge most of Casamir's strikes, huge diagonal swings from above his shoulder, which tore gouges in the wooden floor, and threw splinters everywhere. But his dodging left him unable to counter-attack, at least in any effective way. Telindil knew that he was outmatched, and struggled to find a way to either end the fight or escape.

And in his desperation, an idea took hold. As their blades met once more, Telindil brought his free hand up before Casamir's face, and conjured the brightest light he could, shutting his eyes just before the brief flash of light. Casamir staggered backwards, blinking furiously and waving his sword blindly, his other arm waving frantically as he fought to keep his feet and clear his sight. Telindil dodged the blade and drove his sword deep into Casamir's side, piercing one of the few points he was vulnerable, under his arms. Casamir roared with pain, and swung his own sword with what remained of his fast-fading strength, burying it in Telindil's side. Both collapsed to the floor, and that was how the guards found them.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Dec 13 2013, 06:33 PM

[Callidus Thorn]

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