Morrowfall, a peice in my spare time... Options

[stargate525]

Read it, comment on it, suggest for improvement on it, etc. more will follow.


Morrowfall Ch.1

I had done it. I had finally beaten it. Morrowind, the game that had occupied all my time for the past three months. Not particularly good, for my health or my college grades, but tonight was what it had all lead up to, I had beaten the game, United the houses, learned the truth about the temple, and defeated Dagoth Ur. Call me a geek, but I intended to celebrate.
And celebrate I did. I depleted my horde of liquor, including the Schmirnoff I had been saving for my birthday. I was good at saving things, but not at holding my liquor. These two things collided to spell my doom that night. The last thing I remember is my roommates coming back from the restaurant, me yelling at them for breathing too loud, and them falling off the loft’s edge, bottle of half-empty Captain Morgan’s still in hand.

This post has been edited by stargate525: Sep 11 2005, 07:43 PM

[stargate525]

Chapter 18

Once again I found myself in the Arena Canton of Vivec. Although it had been almost a month since my little 'visit' here, it seemed like only yesterday. This time, I was cloaked in black robes, cape, and hood, partially against the rain, partially to hide the fact that I was an Argonian, and partially to hide my visage as the most wanted man in Vvardenfell.

It's ironic I thought to myself, dark day for dark buisness.

And it was dark buisness that brought me here. Some would call it madness. Waltz into the Nerevarine's own arena dungeon, release a prisoner there, and get him out of the city without any of the guards being any the wiser.

Alone.

The crowds thinned as I moved farther down the canton, until I was alone in the dry beige hallways. I checked the map I had gotten from the informant, and headed towords the dungeon. Inside, miraculously, there were no guards, but the retreating footsteps from the door across the chamber showed they were taking another victim up to the arena floor to be eaten by soem vicious creature.

I moved down the row of doors, checking the paper scrawlings of each, until I reached the one I was looking for. I quickly 'persuaded' the lock by way of scroll, and entered the cell. Inside was a man; aged and decrepit, his grey hair, at least what was left of it, was matted down on his head by layers of dirt, grime, and sweat. This most certainly did not look like the master strategist I had come to collect, but, checking the door's nameplate again, it must be the right person. I hefted his unconsious figure over my shoulder and staggered out of the prison block, down to the underworks below.

We met the informant there, an argonian freedom-fighter by the name of Runs-the-race. He got us out of the city that night by way of 'borrowed' gondola, with the promise of being ready for our signal.

It was at this time that my jailbird friend decided to awake. He looked at me and asked, "Who are you?"

"A friend Caius," I replied, "a friend."