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]

El Chupaupdate! Flee the village!

After the meeting was over, some of us left the room and then the building. I finally had my belongings back and walked straight into the pub for a drink like I did every day. And then I realized something scarier than any impending battle. I had been regularly visiting the bar since I came to this Nordic land, I was wearing pelts and furs, I’m involved in a raid and my sword had a name. I was turning Nordic. My fears didn’t clear when I entered the bar either, as I knew the names of the bartender, the two waitresses and the best hunter in town and I was drinking strange Nordic liquors. I thought about drinking away my problems like the corner club drunks did back in Morrowind, but it was no use.

“Can I get you something Ordras? The usual stupid Nordic meat with the stupid Nordic fruits?” she could tell I was angry and obviously understood I was home sick. Actually, I’ve been home sick ever since I became a smith for a Nord in Cyrodiil. “Well Ingvild White Mane, I think I’ll have anything that resembles a steak. Do you have anything that resembles a steak?” she smiled as did I. “Well, we have sheep steak, but compared to Morrowind meats…” we both laughed, and I could only answer with “Touché”. I don’t know what that means, to be honest, but apparently fencers say it in that situation. Which reminds me, I love fencers, but I guess I should get back on topic.

She walked away to fetch me my sheep steak and I simply sat and thought about the trial before me. Should I even try? I came her for the balance, not for the people of Wayrain. Although, I guess I could complete my balance job, claim that to pass the trial and then consult Cheyenne about this battle. Yes, that’s the plan. Damn was I a great thinker. In twenty years, there’s going to be a song called the great thinker and fighter about me. Oh god, another symptom of Nordishness, story songs. I was so worried about my identity crisis, I didn’t notice the brute of an Orc who walked right up beside me. “I asked around town about you Ash-king, and everyone said you can pull your weight in ebony. You wanna learn how we fight in Wayrain” I knew exactly what he meant, save the Ash-king part. Have I been complimented, or insulted? Apparently he understood exactly why I was stalling. “Oh, sorry, Ash-king is what my family called a Dunmer who can easily hold his own. It’s a high compliment” I smiled and was happy to see an Orc who wasn’t a complete and utter brute. “How about you sit down here, order something to eat and we’ll talk over some mead?” oh yeah, I knew Orc tradition. They like their talk like they like their meals, accompanied with alcohol.

He ordered a strange Orcish dish and started into his proposal quite fast. “You seem quite strong Dunmer, and you’ve proven yourself worthy of high praise. We at the, unofficial hand to hand arena, think you would be a great candidate for our wonderful organization. Now, the Empire has banned organizations like ours, but its arm is out of our reach and everyone in the town could care less. For example…” the Orc stood up on his chair and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey everybody! I’m asking our Dunmer hero if he wants to join the fighting circle! Any one care at all?” most people in the pub ignored him completely, though a few people yelled things like “join! We need more entertainment!” and “c’mon! It’ll be fun!” He sat back and continued as if nothing had just happened. “This town’s economy is expected to boom after we raid Skull Drop and we’re already seeing the positive effects of you’re fight with the highwaymen. With you fighting, people will bet more money on the arena and the money will go around even more, helping the city even more. Now, we have to ask you to do one thing for us, an outlander came months ago and has called every game correctly, becoming a very wealthy man in a small city. Something strange is going on, and its not just parlour tricks or seerism. If you can find out what he’s been doing, our town will be very grateful” the food came along with our drinks, and we had a very nice lunch. I had learned much of this town just from our meal conversation, and learned how smart these strange people were.