The Temple of Lore, Works of the Schola Options

[Black Hand]

This thread is for the stories of the members of Order of the Schola, for any questions you may have please click on the following link.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3495

ANYTHING that is not a story or poem or whatever should be posted on the link that was just provided. Thank you, not trying to be mean, just trying to keep our sacred temple clean. Now then, an explanation.

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The Temple of Lore is a sacred sanctum of tomes, dreams, thoughts, abstracts, histories, stories, poems, and the written word.

It exists in the twilight, between reality and fantasy, it embraces all forms and images that attempt to define it. It is perception, and the perciever.

There exists an order of men, commonly known to the masses as the Writers Guild, more accurately called the Order of the Schola who have mastered this twilight abstract in the form of storytelling, they alone have the power to transcend to the Temple of Lore, and contibute and take from its threads of knowledge.

They exist amongst us as Journalists, Bards, Old Men sitting on a porch with a glass of lemonade recanting old experiences. If you ask nicely, and your lucky to find the chosen few, a Schola can breathe life into any illusion, any thought.

[Zelda_Zealot]

I know this isn't my best work, but I never intended it to be. I just wanted to type up a humorous story about my character having the same name as a legion solder in Morrowind.. it kinda escalated from there...

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The gates to the Imperial city opened with a creak, and the footsteps of the new arrival in the Market District echoed through the dead silence of the nearly empty streets. With a minor amount of searching involved, the arrival managed to find his destination, a small shop titled "The Best Defense." Opening the creaky door to the shop and stepping inside, the arrival pondered if every door in Tamriel had to creak by law, but shortly tossed aside the notion and approached one of the two counters.

He stayed in the shop for a while after his transactions were completed; he had sparked a conversation with one of the merchants in the store, but quickly wished he had the sense to keep quiet. It was not that he did not like the man with whom he was talking to, he just simply tended to repeat the same thing repeatedly unless the topic of the conversation changed regularly. There are only so many times that you can hear someone say the same thing, with the same tone of voice several times in a row before you start to get bored after all.

So as soon as he was able to work it into the conversation (Which was not that hard, as this man liked to wait for you to speak before saying anything), he politely told the man that he had an urgent meeting to get to and said goodbye. It was at this time that the merchant asked his name, which happened to coincide with the last moments of calm before all hell broke loose.

"Larrius Varro."

"DO YOU MOCK ME?" the merchant exploded at the man we can now call "Larrius."

"I'm sorry if I offended you in any way, but I was just telling you my name."

"Do not mock me! I know who you are!"

"Larrius Varro, I just told you this. Are you okay?"

"Ha! Cracking jokes are we now? You shall feel my wrath!"

"What? I have only told you my name!"

"You were mocking my pain!

"How is my name mocking you?"

"You are the assassin that killed my uncle! I know you are! Do not deny it!

"That is insane! I never assassinated anyone!"

"My uncle was named Larrius Varro; he was stationed in Vvardenfell as part of the Imperial Legion! Now you shall pay for you sins! Help, guards! We have a psychopath on the loose!"

It was at this point that several guards burst through the squeaky doors, perhaps because they heard the yelling, or maybe were summoned by some unseen force, and began questioning the merchant. He told them that Larrius was an assassin come to taunt and possibly kill him, and upon telling them he killed a member of the Imperial Legion, the case was closed. One of the guards brought out a pair of shackles and latched them around Larrius' wrists, while the others continued to question anyone whom had even sneezed on the so-called assassin.

Along the short walk to the prison, Larrius decided this was not worth going to jail over, and attempted to break free of the guards iron grip. Although he did not at first succeed, he kept trying, until it got to the point where the second guard threw a punch at him. Deftly avoiding the blow, he managed to loosen the first guards grip when the fist collided with his face. Running as fast as he could, he leaped over a rock, but his foot nicked said rock, and he promptly became acquainted with the ground.

Flipping over onto his back, he stood up and peeked over the rock. The two guards appeared to be, for reasons perhaps not even known to themselves, fighting each other to the death. Puzzled, Larrius watched them for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that they were going to be here a while, and creped away from the spur of the moment battle.

Making his way down the cliff was rather difficult with his hands still locked together, but he managed with only a few cuts and bruises to take home with him. It was not until he was on even ground again before he spoke.

"The hell with Cyrodiil, I am going back to Morrowind, they mostly just stand around all day, not accuse you of murder."

It was a very lucky thing he decided to do this, as an ex-member of the mages guild named "Ontus Vanin" was out shopping, and he was in a very bad mood.
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PM me if you don't get the jokes.


This post has been edited by Zelda_Zealot: Apr 4 2007, 05:47 PM