The Balance: The Neutral Spider, From the Office of Laegus Hawkherd Options

[Red]

Well, this is the starting of my new, hopefully longer living Fan Fiction. This is a very rough draft, AKA only edited and re-edited about 7 times. I know, I'm such a prefectionis. Anyways, this is an odd little gem that I have been kicking around for a while, and the name will soon mean something. Also, please reply with any comments and critiques, nagative or positive. And now, I'm off, and the story is starting. *Dissapears in a cloud of smoke*



CHAPTER ONE: The Trigger

The one question people love to ask me the most is definitely how. How I could just stroll in and out of a murder scene without any thought at all. How I could have evaded the law for so long even though I was so social. How I could possibly fit the accusations against me, and how the crimes could even be possible. I always answer these questions the same way, the cold stare they expect to see.

Lets back up a few years though, so you can understand me the way not many people can. I am Ordras Morvayn, surprisingly good-looking blacksmith living in Cyrodiil. The whole twisted, downward spiral I have been living in as of late started like most stories haven’t. Not with me angry, or happy, or doing anything interesting at all. My ash skinned hide was fast asleep on my soft, comfy bed. I wasn’t dreaming (though I wish I was because it would make this a little more interesting), nor was I looking into a black abyss for hours like normal. It was fast asleep, as in when you fall asleep and feel like you’ve napped for ten seconds. I woke up suddenly, though not groggy, not in pain, not covered in blood, but awake at least. Looking around my large, cluttered room; I noticed how early it was, as the candle I had lit earlier was still aflame. I walked through my room door, past the door of my currently travelling co-worker and past the door where my boss slept before he could afford a real house. After walking a few steps more and jumping down the stairs, all two of them, I was in the smithing room. Here, is where our story bursts from a dull cocoon and spreads the wings of an interesting plot twist.

A tall figure, at least a head taller then me, stood in the smithing room above a body. He wore loose, black leather pants with belts wrapped around various places. A dark cloak over a barely visible shirt ensured I had no guess to his weight, though he looked like he was quite lean from the little of him I could see, and he wore a Netch leather helm painted black. He looked like he killed Hitmen in his spare time. I looked at him, a monstrous looking killer clad in black, and he looked at me, an easy target Dark Elf clad in baggy underwear. He laughed a long, hardy laugh and reached into the pack on his back. I froze. He revealed something, but not a weapon. He threw a shirt and a pair of pants at me. I looked at him hard, and then the dead body of an Altmer he stood above. No one I worked with, my strange Nordic boss thought my co-worker and I were more than enough to do all the smith work his clients required. “Now” the stranger said with a booming voice, pointing at the clothes. I put them on quickly, nearly putting my head through an armhole. I can honestly say I have never felt a material so soft. Funny the things you notice while in shock fearing you might die.

The stranger blindfolded me, but he did it with care and believe you me, that wasn’t expected. He led me a few steps and then picked me up, which was probably awkward for I was pretty tall myself, and placed me in what seemed to be a cart. I heard the braying, naying and bustling of horses and then his dark, booming voice once again. “Close your eyes and your mind, Dark Elf, and fall asleep like you had been earlier” He was definitly a Dark Elf and before I could even think of something to say, I blurted out a blind sentence. “Are you violent?” I barely knew what I meant I was so sleepy and confused, but he did. He took a deep, calming breath before speaking. “No, and you can think of me as a friend as soon as you wake” he said it calmly and in a way only a good friend would, and sounded like he was smiling. What a gentleman.

This post has been edited by Red: Feb 27 2006, 04:10 AM

[Red]

*Appears in a cload of chocolate milk mix*

Sorry about the lack of updates, I just wrote like, twelve chapters that you all will enjoy. Updates ho!

Before we left for Wayrain, he searched around the tents my attacker had set up around the fire pit. We searched each tent, finding thousands of stolen Septems and many valuable weapons, armours and assorted paraphernalia. We found two old horse carts and attached them to the backs of our beasts and filled them with the stolen goods. It was funny, actually, because as we went through the goods, the unnamed Nord would say “this is my old sword!” or “this is hordurr’s staff!” and other such things along those lines. After loading our carts, we did exactly what the Redguard said not to do. He took me left on the crossroads, and then turned on to a barely visible path at a fork in the road. As we rode on, the path started to become more and more decorated. Torches coming from the ground, painted stones and the road even turned to cobblestone. We road for at least thirty minutes before we found an enormous clearing. It was covered in snow, and in the very centre a large statue of a axe-wielding Nord could be seen. The Nord cracked the brown rope hard and fast, and before I knew what this action did, I did it too in reaction. The beasts bolted forward at an incredible speed, and all I could do was hold on. He did it again and again, and his horse stayed at the speed it had been going. I cracked it twice, even though I was sure I would fall off my horse. We rode and rode before we got to the trees, and I pulled on the rope, this time not too hard, and we both slowed down. “About two hours slow riding if you want to ride slow, an hour tops if you want to speed up. I think we should let our horses get use to the cobblestone before speeding up, because we can’t stop to let them rest or heal them if they get hurt. These woods are filled with wolves and madmen because this road was used mostly when Cyrodiil was only a thought on the minds of man” He seemed to have great respect for these forests and roads, and was obviously mad that it had turned so dark.

We rode for about an hour before we could see smoke rising from the trees. “You have now passed the border to Skyrim, friend. That smoke will lead you to Wayrain, and I hope you get the welcome you deserve. I warn you though, when you decide to leave, the road we used will not bring you back to the crossroads. It is ancient, sacred and Magickal, and it is one way only. Anyways, I must be off, because my house is to the east for I hunt for a living. Good luck!” I couldn’t believe what I heard. Telvanni changing doors and warped hallways I had heard of, but a one-way forest path? How is that possible, especially for a land of swords and shields? I shook off my questions and watched as he attached his cart to mine and then rode off to the east. As I started riding again I noticed how long we had been riding because the sun, high in the sky, was now barely visible through the trees. For the last few minutes I felt like it was nighttime. Before long I could see buildings in the distance, and I heard faint sounds through the trees, which were getting less thick and some chopped down.

I rode the cobblestone path to the town, through a large, doorless stone gate with Wayrain written in square letters. The houses where made of wood and stone, and all of them had a chimney, and some had multiple ones. The town was bigger than I had expected, it was about the size of Balmora, but less organized and much more Nordic. Everyone I saw was Nordic, or a very large specimen of his or her race. All of the people just stared at me, just like what the Ashlanders did to Nerevar. I stopped my horses slow walking, as I had rode farther than my brain, with no leads to the fighting ring, or the person or people extorting it, as the people of Wayrain surrounded me getting ready to question me. Then I remembered how I could get talking instead of sitting here like a fool. “People of Wayrain!” I spoke with a confident and booming voice. “I have freed our sacred crossroads! Tribute and worship is restored!” the Nords looked to each other, with strange looks on their faces. “Our? Who are you and how do you know of the Crossroads?” a man yelled out, and people agreed with his statement by shaking their heads. “I am Ordras Morvayn, reclaimer of our crossroads and your goods!” I climbed off my beast and took out a shield and sword from the first cart. “Whom do these arms belong to?” I said, raising the items. “Uh, the sword is mine and the shield is probably Hordvjer’s” a man spoke, walking up and talking the sword. I laid the shield down until the Hordvjer fellow came and claimed it. This practice went on for an hour or two, people claiming what is rightfully theirs. During this time though, I noticed that there were at least a hundred people in this large, wooden town, how could a few thugs scare them all for so many years?

After everyone had claimed their merchandise, they hollered and yelled thanks and praise to me. Well, either thanks and praise or they were cussing at me, but I doubt the later. They showed me where to stable my horse and where I could sleep and eat, and after a long tour they went back to their jobs. Well, except for about five enormous Nords who brought me to the local and only watering hole. We sat at a large table and ordered me a Matze, demanding I tell the story of the Outlaw’s death. “Well” I started as the leaned in, waiting to hear the tale of an amazing fight. “It was more about outsmarting the oaf than being stronger than him, though I was both” they all smiled as I continued. “He ran at me exactly how I had imagined, sword in the air and brain somewhere else” they laughed hardily, I guessed they shared my insulting humour. “I simply stepped to the side and as he passed me, gave him a strong boot to the side. He tumbled over and rolled on the ground where he belonged, and I readied myself for his next try. He circled me and eventually made another strike, trying to put his sword through my stomach. I dodged to his right and swung, hitting and destroying his right Pauldron. He almost lost balance and to get his to the ground, I kicked him dead in the knee. He fell to that knee, and stood turning and swinging. I blocked vertically, but my Shald, my katana, fell from my hand. I rolled backwards twice and he picked up my sword. I raised one hand, and with barely a thought, shot a fireball at the bastard. He flew back into a tree, making a good dent in it I must say” They cheered and yelled, and one ordered me a Cyrodillic brandy. Telling that story opened my eyes finally. I killed a man.