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> The stories so far, Edited and ready to roll.
Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:28 PM
Post #41


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Bagarn

By Forrest

"Be careful now." was the last thing his friend Nargum said to Yagrum before he
left for the Outer Realms. When Yagrum returned to Druscashti he was surprised
to find no one at home. No one ever left a Dwemer community completely
abandoned. He moved in cautious of what may be hiding in the shadows. He started
shouting the names of his friends. "Snargrim, Nargum? Anyone here?" No answer.
He continued to move through the chambers. A light that used to illuminate the
passages of this small Dwemer laboratory was broken. Yagrum found no living
thing or piece of evidence in Druscashti. He had absolutely no idea as to where all his
old friends were. He decided that he would walk over to Bthungthumz. Bthungthumz
was just a little south-east of Duscashti, and he knew some of the people there.
Yagrum Bagarn traveled to Bthungthumz, and the result was the same, no one was
there. Frustrated, confused, and feeling alone Yagrum traveled to other Dwemer
establishments hoping but failing at each turn. He went to Arkngthand,
Arkngthunch-Sturdumz, Nchurdamz, Almurba-larammi, and many other Dwemer
labs and facilities. He always got the same result. Nothing.
Depressed and alone he began wandering the lands searching for any traces of
his lost race.
He decided that he would explore Red Mountain in hopes of finding any evidence
to what had happened. Upon arriving at the foot of Red Mountain, Yagrum was
down-hearted, confused, and exhausted. This was to be his last effort. Yagrum
walked for hours and searched through all the Dwemer Ruins: Endusal, Tureynulal,
Vemynal, Odrosal, and Bthanchend. He found nothing. While exiting Odrosal he
saw a strange creature. It was oddly disfigured and the left side of its body was
large and misformed. Its head was also disformed, and it lamely limped over Bagarn.
It was a Lame Corprus. Disgusted at what he saw, Yagrum shouted "Get away
sickening creature!", and he rushed at it swinging his Dwarven Mace. After a
long and vigorous fight, Bagarn had finally slain the creature but not without
some sacrifice. Yagrum could tell he was sick. He felt awful. He knew he had Corprus.
Remembering something that one of his scholars had taught him long ago,
Bagarn had some hope left in him. It was a place called Tel Fyr. He knew if he
could find this tower he would be able to get cured.
During his travel to Tel Fyr, he stopped off at a few cities and everywhere that
he went he was cursed and shamed. He avoided civilization as much as possible
from then on. The only thing that kept Yagrum going was the thought of arriving
at Tel Fyr and getting cured. Well, Bagarn traveled for days and nights. One morning
on the sixth day of Sun's Height, he saw a tower looming over the horizon.
The tower grew larger and larger until he had to cross a wide passage of water to
get there. He arrived at the tower and saw a sign waving in the breeze which read
“Tel Fyr.” "Finally" Yagrum said to himself, surprised he still knew language after
not talking for so long (actually it was only years, but to him it felt like centuries).
Beyond the sign was a winding path made of a tree.
When he entered the tower, a young girl was there to greet him. She said
"Hello, are you here to see Master Divayth Fyr? I assume you are afflicted with
Divine Disease?" Yagrum surprised at the young girl’s hospitality replied
"Yes, could you tell me where I could locate him?” “He's down in the
Corprusarium, just take the passage to your left, go down, and the girl there will
give you the rest of the directions" She said to him.
Yagrum walked downwards, recalling something that one of his old colleagues
once told him after visiting the Telvanni, "Those Telvanni, they don't believe
in stairs. Sheer walls, I say. You have to have the powers of levitation to
access anything above you." Once Yagrum was in the Corprusarium, he noted
all the strange creatures. His legs were about to fall out from under him after
all the traveling he had done to get here. He was ready to rest for a long time.
"Hello,I am Divayth Fyr. I assume you seek a cure for Corprus?" A Dunmer
man asked him. Yagrum nodded his head eagerly. "Well,sorry but there is
no cure as of yet. The reason I built the Corprusarium was to find a cure for
Corprus. In fact I have gotten close to finding it, but every subject that has taken
it hasn't lived to tell whether it works or not." Divayth Fyr said. Yagrum was
heart-broken. His last hope, his last single thing to live for was ripped up from
his hands and crushed right before his very eyes.
Divayth Fyr offered to let Yagrum stay in the Corprusarium in exchange for
all he knew about the Disappearance of the Dwarves, which was nothing. But
Fyr did appreciate the Dwemer artifacts the Yagrum gave him.
For years Yagrum thought and thought about all that had transpired since his
return from the Outer Realms. One day Divayth came down from his study, where he
spent most of his days when he wasn't experimenting in the Corprusarium, and told
Yagrum that he thought he had found another way to cure the Corprus. A way
that he thought would not harm the victim. Yagrum watched as Fyr gave the cure
to the Lame Corprus that stood before him. The infected victim gulped down the
formula and nothing happened. "It may take a few days for the disfiguration to
disappear." Fyr told Yagrum. Sure enough, two days passed and the Corprus began
to look more human. Another few days and the victim looked like he had not been
infected at all. He even spoke to Fyr and thanked him. But it was about that
time, while Yagrums hopes were high, when the cured Corprus started wheezing. It
fell to its knees and grabbed its chest and took shallow breaths. All at once the
victims eyes rolled back into its head. The Corprus, the so-called-cured victim died.
Yagrum feeling hopeless began to change. He was slowly becoming deformed. He
was crippled now, but Divayth had constructed a new prosthesis using parts from an
old Centurion Spider found in a Dwemer ruin.
Over the years many scholars and archaeologists heard about this last Dwemer
and searched for him. Yagrum was always happy to share all he knew of the
disappearance of the Dwemer, and he shared some of the knowledge from his race.
His mind, partly deteriorated because of Corprus, could not recall everything
about the Dwemer or his early life, but he always did the best he could.
After a while, Corprus began to really take its toll on Yagrum. He became
bloated, and even though he had prosthesis they were hard to control. So Yagrum
spent most of his time in his study area of the Corprusarium, where he delved
into every book he could get his hands on. Divayth Fyr would send his family out
to retrieve as many rare books as they could for Yagrum. Every night, after most
of the workers were asleep, Divayth would go down to the Corprusarium and talk
for hours with Yagrum about the Dwemer.
Giving up on getting cured and pretty much finding out what happened to his
friends and family, Yagrum continued to live out his days in the Corprusarium,
waiting for life's final hours to come.
Instead of death, something else came. One day a strange person arrived, who
claimed the title Nerevar. This person traveled to the Corprusarium because of Corprus
itself. Divayth Fyr asked this person to retrieve the Dwemer Boots of Flying that Yagrum
had been holding for such a long time. Yagrum gave them up, seeing that there was
no need for them now, because of his condition.
It was a couple of days later when Divayth began talking excitedly about a
new cure for Corprus. Yagrum, of course, was doubtful after seeing all of Divayths
other 'cures'. "But this one works! I saw it for myself. It's been tested, Yagrum
I want you to be the second one to be cured." Divayth said, trying to convince
Yagrum. Finally Yagrum said "I will try it only after I have seen it cure
somebody before my eyes." So Divayth had one of the worker women calm the
Corprus' with her drum and he administered the cure to a Lame Corprus. The
infected victim wheezed, collapsed to the floor, and died. "That must have really
been the Incarnate. The Corprus was meant to fulfill the prophesy and nothing
else." Fyr said.

And so, if you seek the knowledge of this legendary Dwarve, he can still be
found in Tel Fyr in the province of Morrowind, Vvardenfell district. But beware
for within the Corprusarium, you could also contract the Divine Disease.

The End
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:29 PM
Post #42


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (Avis)


Harnteg Ancestral Tomb

Written by Avis

It was a snowy day on Solstheim. You could hear wolves howling in the forest; bears foraging for food in the brush. Harkflynn Bearclaw was venturing through the vast forests, riding his tamed tusked bristleback, Hragg. Harkflynn was staring at the sky wondering while he was riding. Then he heard a scream, not female but male. It came from his right, so he rode in that direction. He rode for about five minutes when then he came to a tomb. He walked to the door and put his hand on a wolf paw on the door. The bear paw lit up, a shining blue light, Harkflynn jumped back, and the door opened. Harkflynn tied Hragg to a tree, pulled out his Huntsmen axe, and walked in. Harkflynn went down a path that led to the left. He started down very slowly. He started to pick up a little speed every few seconds. Then, he got to a chamber, but it was empty. Then, his eye sight went black, and he saw the Grahls corner a woman. Then, a man came running towards the Grahls with a Stalhrim long sword with the word ‘Harnteg’ scribed into it. One Grahl took a swipe and ended the man’s life. The girl screamed with all of her breath, but then Harnteg began to glow. It then flew into the air and went straight through one of the Grahls’ back. The other Grahl turned to his partner, but then in one quick slash, it was killed. The woman stared at the sword and was shocked, happy, and frightened at the same time. Then the sword lost its glow and landed on the ground, and the Grahls blood just disappeared from the blade. Then Harkflynn could see normally again, but the chamber had changed. There were two Grahl skeletons in the corner, and a Stalhrim long sword on a stone table in the middle of the room. It was stabbed into the table. Harkflynn, very carefully, walked over to the table. He grabbed the sword by the handle and lifted it out with great ease. Then, the sword began to glow. Harkflynn got scared and tried to drop, but he couldn’t. For some reason he just couldn’t. Then the glowing stopped, and the blade now said ‘Harkflynn’. Then, there was a blurry shadow in front of him, and it changed shape into a beautiful Nordic woman, with long blonde hair, and she said, “This sword was used to keep the Skaal village safe, and everyone else. I hope you use it the same.” Then the image disappeared. Harkflynn then heard the sound of feet behind him, and quickly turned around sword in hand. Then he saw it was just Hragg who had gnawed the rope of the tree and came in. Harkflynn walked over and patted Hragg on the back and said, “Well ol’ friend, I guess we have a story to tell tonight at the fire.” With that Harkflynn got on Hragg, and they left the tomb and went back home to the Skaal village. Little did Harkflynn notice, that the tomb door said ‘Harkflynn Ancestral Tomb ’, and there was a bear paw on the door.

The End.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:30 PM
Post #43


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Keric Du Tahrellian (Nog Robbins)


Service to the Crown

Account recorded by Keric Du Tahrellian - seer, historian and scribe.

Fer’ar Mellarn sat atop his world, looking down on the chaos he had created and the territories he had subdued in his name.
Standing wearily, the aged general ran a blood covered hand through his hair, hair that was lank with the efforts of battle and plastered to his head by his steel helm, a helm that now lay in ruins at his feet. The once proud emblem of his family, the single heirloom passed from father to first born son when they came of age since records began, now a shattered wreck. Sighing he glanced at the fresh blood dripping from his fingers and felt once again in his mind the sword blow that had almost shorn the helmet in two. By law he should have been dead. The blow was clean and cruel. Yet somehow he survived, and his assailant lay dead in a puddle of his own entrails. He had been ripped apart by the general’s closest guardian. Stooping gingerly, he retrieved the ruined item, his calloused fingers first tracing the sharp edges along gash, and then more reverently brushing across the intricate inscriptions that lay on the banding.
Turning to face the trail that had led him to the peak, he acknowledged the presence of his loyal protectors. Only three remained from the twelve that had served him since he reached maturity. Nine lost and soon to be forgotten, for none but their brothers truly knew them.
"This is it" they intoned together, eyes downcast. "Your success is complete. None remain to stand against you as was decreed."
Fer’ar glanced down once at the broken remains of his helm, still held in his bloodied hand. With a shrug he dropped the item to the dirt and turned his back on it. A new symbol for his family would now be drawn up, one to stand for the ages remaining, one to represent his achievements, one to be remembered by all, and one to be viewed with awe.
Striding as majestically as he could in his current state Fer’ar began the trek down the mountain, with visions in his mind of his now elevated position in the land, the tributes due him, and images of a crown placed upon his head in place of the helmet. One hundred paces later the emptiness of being alone seeped through his musings and took foremost place in his conscious thought. Looking back along the trail he could easily perceive his remaining protectors still standing atop the peak, facing each other, but unmoving, their hands clasped behind their backs.
"Am I so safe here I need no protection?" he growled. "Am I so unimportant as to not warrant a procession in my moment of victory?"
The dark shrouded shapes remained as statues. With a rising sense of exasperation at the apparent insubordination of his loyal protectors, Fer’ar strode back to the summit.
"Loyal though you may have proved to be, unswerving in your duties no matter how callous I have demanded you be, you still serve ME!" he roared, standing in the centre of them.
"This is it" they intoned together.
The first raised its head, and red eyes bored into the warrior from beneath the cowl. Bringing its hands from behind its back it revealed half of the shattered helm.
"Your success is complete." the voices intoned.
The second raised it head, and again, red eyes bored into the aged general. Bringing its hands from behind its back it revealed the second half of the broken heirloom.
"None remain to stand against you."
A sharp pain entered the soldier’s side just beneath the ribs, a searing heat flooding his chest. Staggering, he turned to face the last protector, a serrated blade held in its hands.
With blood bubbling in his lungs, Fer’ar stumbled to his knees, a look of shock on his creased features.
"As was decreed" the protectors intoned.
And as the life seeped from Fer’ar, the light fading from his eyes, so to did his protectors fade.
A single word hung on the calm breeze, to be carried away and lost.
"Released..."
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:32 PM
Post #44


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Sedath Dun (weakmasterofunivrerse)


The Worshipper of Boethiah
Part 1
The Truth about the White Katana of High Rock
Sedath Dun


This book of facts starts with the birth of a certain man named Kiu. He was born to paupers working for the local rulers. He grew up living a humble life with two sisters and a brother. But one day, his quiet life was violently interrupted by his house being broken into by Aldmeri assassins. They killed his father, but not before his father told Kiu one last thing: the secret his family had kept for ages.
His father directed him to a strongbox in the corner of the room. Kiu’s father gave him the key, and then the Noble Treserk of Daggerfell, father of Kiu of Daggerfell, died. Kiu dropped the key after he saw his father’s body grow limp. Wishing to fulfill his father’s last wish, Kiu picked the key back up. It took all his confidence and courage he could muster, but he opened the chest to find an old dusty tome with Deadric letters on the front. He opened it to find the letters written in his own tongue, and so he read the peculiar book:
Under Great stress, you will find it;
Under great pressure, you will find it;
The one of them all;
The sacred blade;
Of the one who forged this nation;
You will find the blade of White.
Kiu read this scripture with great interest, wondering what it meant. He read further in the tome to find that it will be found in a renowned area. So Kiu walked out of his house to the street. He thought to himself, “If this Belonged to my father, then my grandfather must know of this story.”
He made it to his Grandfather’s hut in the hills and asked him about the tome. His grandfather took out another tome which looked exactly the same; except, it had almost no ware. Kiu took it happily and took to the road. He opened the Tome to find it with more clues about the ‘Sacred Blade’. The tome mentioned a place that would rival Daggerfell in the future. It also mentioned it being a city by a river; but Kiu had no idea ‘which’ river it was talking about.
He walked back to Daggerfell to find the gates barred shut. “It seems that the attack on father had been reported,” thought Kiu. He walked past the city to the docks and talked to one of the guards there to learn that there was a recent string of assassinations by a group of fervent Malacath worshippers. Kiu walked to the docks to find a boat to take him to the mouth of the Bjoulsae River to start his search there.
His first impression when he got there was that it was a backwater. The city was about as big as his clan’s farm. As he walked through the town, people around him kept giving him stares like he was the enemy. Kiu went into a stone house and saw a man of a different stock, most likely from the tropical rainforests of the godforsaken Cyrodil Region. Kiu walked up to him and asked him,” Do you know of any burial grounds or dungeons around here?” The burly Imperial replied,” Yes, but it is only accessible to those I sanction.”
Then Kiu noticed a book on the desk that had the same markings as his father’s book. His next question was, “Do you know a man by the name of Treserk of Daggerfell?” The man stepped back in surprise, and answered, “Who are you? Why do you ask these questions?”
“I am Kiu of Daggerfell, son of Treserk of Daggerfell. Now it is my turn: what is your name and why do you have that book and how do you know my father?”
The Imperial, which later Kiu found that his name was Qertas Jinter, told him of the order he and Kiu’s father were apart of. They were the protectors of a relic of great power: the White Armour of the Black Marsh and the White Katana of High Rock. These artifacts, if wielded by one person, could shape the continent of Tamriel. He went on about a dungeon of little renown; it was hardly even known to the locals.
“My tome has what is needed. It has the complete map to the dungeon, but the only way into the dungeon is by the blood of the Noble One, the one destined to hold its contents.” Kiu thought on this and remembered a passage from his father’s tome:
The one child of many;
The one child of a Noble forgotten;
The one Child of a Protector;
Shall find the Power;
Lying in himself.

“Qertas, I believe I am the one; read this passage. It works perfectly; I am a child of many, I am a child of Protector, and a child of a Noble forgotten.” Qertas looked at Kiu like he was crazy. But he picked himself up and replied, “Well, it’s worth a try. The dungeon is north of here. I suggest you get some locals to come with you for protection. This book will tell us where the White Katana is but not where the danger is.”
Kiu and Qertas walked out and looked around at the locals and found some younger warriors willing to follow them in their expedition. The walk to the dungeon took them longer then expected, but they still got there before a day went by. Kiu and Qertas noticed that the locals were spooked by the dungeon, for the locals supposedly thought that this place was pure evil and that it was cursed by the gods.
Kiu and Qertas ignored them and proceeded to the door. Qertas recited some text from his tome:
”Only the touch of the one will break the bind;
The bind of stone magic;
For his touch shall warm the stones of the evil;
And lift the burden from the people.”
Kiu extended his hand to the door and touched the ice cold stone. Suddenly, while everyone watched, the door started melting. It started flowing down into a tube made of a peculiar white metal. Kiu was the first to step through and noticed something different about the dungeon; it was not all stone like most were, but made out of hedge and tree roots. He walked on through, with the others following and found a door made of what seemed to be steel.
“Qertas, do you know what this door is made of?”
“I am not sure, but it seems to be made of silver.” He went on to say,” It looks likes it has runes from Snow Elves imbedded in it.”
Kiu proceeded to open, and to his surprise and his companions’ surprise, it was Snow Elf enclave. Kiu walked through to find a local and asked, “What is this place?”
“This is the grove of the White Katana. It is here where the Protectors reside. And for one thing, how did you get here? It is impossible to get here through that way. Unless…..” The man suddenly stopped and called for the guard. Kiu noticed the guards wearing a suit of what seemed polished silver; almost white in the light. The guards took them to the tower overlooking the whole settlement and threw them down in front of a long table of what seemed wise men.
“You, newcomers, how did you find your way in here?” asked the one sitting on the very edge.
“We came through the stone door.”
“You mean the sacred door of Boethiah; the door that is to be only broken through by the chosen one?”
“Yes, I came here to take the White Katana.”
“WHAT!?!?! You must be crazy! That weapon is meant for one person only, the son of Treserk of Daggerfell.” said the stout Wood Elf sitting at the far end of the council table. Kiu replied,” I am the son of Treserk of Daggerfell, for I am Kiu of Daggerfell.” There was great clamor among the counsel members, all wondering if he was telling the truth. Then Qertas spoke up, “This is the man that has been destined to wield the White Katana. He fits in with all the prophecies.” The Counsel jumped back in surprise from these words.” Qertas? We thought that you had died many years ago, but it seems you are alive. Tell me this: why do you put your faith behind this man? Isn’t your tribe enemies of his people?” asked the Head of the Counsel. Qertas replied, “This man has lived up to the prophecies, and he is from a Noble family. I suggest we at least consult Boethiah about this.”
The next morning, after everyone had a good night’s rest, they started to recite the invocations of Boethiah. Within the second invocation, the Lord Boethiah appeared before them.” This man is the one. He is the only being on this continent able to wield the White Katana with my blessing. This is what I ask: That he will be led to the other artifact, the White Armour of the Black Marsh. With these two artifacts, he shall own Tamriel in short time. Now, release him from this place, and bring him to the Path of Destined.”
The Counsel sat back after that and pondered on what she had said. The Head of the Counsel, said to Kiu, “You will be led to the path of destiny by my daughter, Aerdbe. She will lead you to the Path of Destiny, and you will go on your own from there. Here is something that will lead you through the paths, if you are the one.” The Head of Counsel reached out his hand and opened it, showing a sparkling amulet. “It is the Amulet of the White Light. It will guide you to it if you are true.”
After saying goodbye, Kiu and his companions’ set off for the place of meeting for their guide. When they got there, Kiu was amazed to find her to be a fellow Wood Elf. He was dumbstruck by her complexion; he thought of her as being divine. He stumbled with his words, but finally found what he wanted, “Where is this fabled Path?”
Aerdbe instantly noticed that he was staring at her and stumbling. She wondered about this, but came back after hearing his question. “It is this way, past our Grove and into the darkness.” Kiu and his companions followed her as she led them to what seemed like a wall, but when they became closer they noticed the door. “Here is the door to the caverns. But I warn you; the things down there are all out to kill the chosen one. Each one is a test to see if you can handle the responsibility of holding the White Katana.” Kiu looked back at her with confidence and pride in his eyes, and Aerdbe got the sign. She opened the door and Kiu entered. He found himself in a dark cavern, with no light whatsoever. He took out the Amulet the lead Elder had given to him, and it shone as bright as any torch. He looked back, hoping to see his group of Bretons and Qertas, but no one was behind him.
Kiu was a little spooked, but he kept going in deeper to the center of the Path, with his light guiding him. His first test was the most obvious: being able to fend for himself. A Dremora jumped right in front of Kiu while he was walking. Kiu lifted up his light to blind the Dremora and then drew his ebony longsword to do the final blow. He stabbed through its abdomen, instantly killing it. The Dremora turned to dust while falling.
As Kiu walked on, he noticed a shadow behind him, constantly changing. Kiu then unsheathed his weapon and walked back. He was startled by the thing he saw. It was a stout man, with hardly any muscle. “What are you doing here?!?!” asked Kiu in surprise.
“I came here from the Grove and am in need of some assistance. These monsters have been attacking me on and off. Do you have any health potions on you?” Kiu thought about this request, and decided finally to give him his health potion. Right when the stout man took the potion, he turned into an Iron Atronach and instantly swung his fist right at Kiu’s head. Kiu was able to dodge the first blow, but not the second. The Iron Atronach’s fist hit him right in the chest. Kiu went back against the wall, feeling beaten.
But then he saw a light coming; with shadows of what seemed to be men behind it. Kiu mustered the rest of his strength and gave the monster a mortal blow, through the heart. It fell down on its knees dead. But then Kiu went totally blank and fainted.
Kiu woke to find himself in a beautiful palace, full of gold ornaments. “He’s awake, Master Refreh.” Said what seemed to be a Bosmer.
”Where am I? What am I doing here?”
“Don’t worry. This is the Sanctus. We’ll help you from here.”
“But what about the dungeon, and the man and the…..”
“Don’t worry. You have made it through the Path of Destiny. It is now your time to take the White Katana.”
Kiu got up, and instantly noticed his injury from the Iron Atronach, but he kept walking. The Bosmer led him to what seemed to be an oracle of some sorts. She led him down a staircase which led to a garden. In the very center of it was a gleaming white sword. Kiu limped up to it and grabbed the scabbard. He pulled out the sword, and started his destiny.

The End
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:33 PM
Post #45


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

The Worshipper of Boethiah
Part 2
The truth about the White Armour of the Black Marsh
Sedath Dun


It was a cold day in the swamps of Argonia. Kiu of Daggerfell walked up to the road with his companions who had their weapons drawn. Coming at them was a train of men and horses with a carriage in the back. Kiu unsheathed his longbow and shot down the armed guards protecting the carriage. His companions dashed at the other riders while Kiu went for the carriage. Upon opening the carriage, he found a Daedra standing right in front of him. He quickly rolled to the side to dodge the Daedra’s first spell. He found himself at the feet of a guard. The guard came suddenly at his head with a mace, but Kiu was able to dodge it.
He drew his katana and stabbed it through the guard’s ebony cuirass. The Daedra had then come out and took a swing at Kiu with his longsword. Kiu countered with his sword and in the process shattered the Daedra’s longsword. He then stabbed his katana through the Daedra’s heart. His companions were failing in their job of holding off the guards, so Kiu grabbed a single chest on the carriage floor and proceeded into the swamp.
Qertas Jinter, one of Kiu’s longtime friends, saw him take off into the swamp. Qertas followed Kiu while the others held off the rest of the men in the train. Qertas saw Kiu walk off into their lair. Qertas followed him for he was the master locksmith. When Qertas went into the lair, Kiu stood there waiting for him to open it.
“Qertas, come here and open this lock. If Boethiah told us right, then this is what we were looking for.” Kiu said with anticipation. Qertas quickly went to work to open the lock, but he could not. So he took a scroll out of one of the crates and used its incantation to open it. The chest’s lock popped off, to the surprise of Qertas.
As Kiu was watching, he grew greedy and instantly shoved Qertas out of the way to open the chest. When the chest’s lid was opened, he stared down in amazement at the item in it.” Qertas, this is the find of a life time!” Kiu shouted with exuberance. “We will be the new leaders of the continent. This continent will feel our might!”
The pair proceeded to gawk at the contents of the chest. After they had rested, they set off with the chest to the shrine of Boethiah. There, Kiu asked Boethiah to bless this armour with her mighty powers. “You, Boethiah, are our god. I ask you to bless this suit of armour, so that I will have your power flowing through me when I strike down my enemies.”
Boethiah, speaking through the statue, said in reply, “You must trek to my shrine in the wilderness of the west, for this is where I will bless it. But first you must dedicate you life to me.”
Kiu answered instantaneously, “Yes Lord, I will dedicate my life to you.”
[It seems the rest of the text has been ripped out of the book]
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:35 PM
Post #46


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Rain
Part One of Adanjar

By Forrest

Rain's Hand 18th,Six in the Evening

Alabaster,Elsweyr 2E175

Adanjar sat calmly under her awning, listening to the rain beat on her roof.
It was days like these when she was glad to be wealthy. No need for worrying
about where her money would come from. Just to relax whenever she felt like it.
She watched the people scurry to and fro, trying to get out of the rain. "Pity
the poor fools," she said to herself, "they don't know what true life is like."
Adanjar's father, the wealthiest Khajiit in Alabaster, worked as a slave
at a mining site in Morrowind until he was release by a kind soul. As he escaped,
he managed to smuggle a good bit of raw ebony. Knowing the right people, he
cashed in and from that moment had lived in the lap of luxury. M'nasha, her
father, was a respected man here and had never been questioned as to if he really
smuggled the ebony. There were, of course, rumors, but this meant nothing in a
community of Khajiits.
Deciding she would make an entry in her diary about what a beautiful day it
had been, Adanjar stood up and walked inside. She walked upstairs to her room
and sat down at her desk. Taking quill in hand, she opened her diary and turned
to the next blank page.


Adanjar's Diary

Eighteenth Rain's Hand

What a wonderful day, it has been today. The rain cascades down making a
harmonious sound. It is a shame to see everyone else hurrying about, not taking
time to notice such a wonder of nature. Ever since Qa'Bakha left me, my happiness
has seemed to have been drained right out of me. But today the majesty of the
world is enough to bring pleasure to the grimmest of all souls. Mother says that
when she was my age, suitors would come and go just as would night and day. I
surely hope this is the case with me, for it would not do for me to feel alone
for the rest of my life. I really mustn't speak of such things as they are too
depressing.
Father says that the rains will bring good crops to Alabaster, which will
cause Father to buy more stock at the market. The store will flourish with all
the fresh crops coming in. I have tried to speak with Father about his horrible
habit of gambling but to no avail. It's not like we don't have the money, because we
have the shop and are extremely wealthy in the first place. It still is a habit
worth kicking.
Mother's Florist Shop has been thriving as well. She leaves every morning at
four to gather different kinds of flowers, before it's time to open her shop.
Mother says that with as much money as this family will have in the future, there
will be no need for me or my future-husband to have to work a day in our lives.
Of course, my husband will work in order to retain the family's wealth. Well I'd
better go as mother is preparing dinner and she might need my help.

Adanjar closed her book, placed her quill pen in the inkwell, and walked
downstairs. “Hello,mother. What are we having for dinner tonight?" Adanjar
questioned when she saw her mother standing at the foot of the stairs. "We? We?"
her mother asked, "We aren't having anything. You and I are leaving this forsaken
house." She said in a fit of rage as she charged up the stairs and into the
master bedroom.
She frantically began throwing clothes into a small pack. "Mother, whatever
are you talking about?" Adanjar said slightly frightened at her mother's rage.
"That man! Your...father has done it! He's finally done it! He's gambled us
right into poverty!" Her mother replied. Her voice still alarmingly loud.
"W-what? What do you mean mother? Sure, father gambles, but he's never put our
comfort on the line." Adanjar was very frightened and frustrated at her lack of
knowledge of the situation.
Just about that time the front door slammed. And up the stairs came Adanjar’s
father. "Listen, Ajirab! Put that pack down! I order you to not leave this
house." In a bellowing tone M'nasha replied. "Oh, so now you're ordering me?!
What am I your slave? You gonna bet me too? Huh? I wouldn't put it past you!
You, you, you horrible man!" Adanjar's mother replied. At this time Adanjar
was in tears. She had a faint idea of what was going on, but it wasn't
enough. Her parents were fighting, and she was in the middle of it. “This is
life! You move on when things like this happens. It can't be helped! We're a
family, we'll get through this together!” Her father replied. Ajirab
shouted back in hysterical rage, "No! This isn't life! It can be helped! If you
would have stopped gambling! But noooo, you have to keep on and keep on until we
have nothing left. You figured we'd come out of this together. Well you figured
wrong! You got yourself into this. You get yourself out!" Ajirab shot a look at
Adanjar and said, "Come on Adanjar. We're leaving! I won't let you stay with this
filthy creature!" But before Adanjar could say anything M'nasha spurted out "No
way. You aren't taking my daughter. If you leave the family, Ajirab, then you leave
Adanjar too. Adanjar you're staying here right?"
Adanjar was sobbing hysterically. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and then
looked at both her parents. Her mother with the pack slung over shoulder with
the friendly, loving mother-hood look on her face. Her father stood with the bold,
kind, loving feature. Confused beyond belief, Adanjar turned and ran to her
room. She grabbed her journal and quill pen, and then she shot out the back door. Both
her parents followed her out, but it was dark and the rain kept them from seeing
anything.
"Well I hope you’re happy. You've scared off my daughter!" Ajirab said scowling
at M'nasha. "I did? You were the one going crazy back there! How could she make
a decision like that?" M'nasha said in reply. "If you remember you were the one
who asked her." With that Ajirab slung the pack over her shoulder and walked out
the front door into the rain. "And where will you go?" M'nasha asked. "Wouldn't
you like to know?" Ajirab shouted back. Ajirab slammed the door shut, leaving
M'nasha alone in his soon-to-be-lost home. The rain splashed on the roof and the
thunder rumbled, and for once, in a long time M'nasha was the poorest man alive.

End of Part One
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:36 PM
Post #47


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Dawn
Part Two of Adanjar

By Forrest

Rain's Hand 18th,Nine at Night

Alabaster, Elsweyr 2E 175

With tears still in her eyes, Adanjar darted through the woods. Her mind was
racing. She still hadn't put all of the pieces together. Okay, her mother came
home and acted very irritated. Her mother told Adanjar that she was leaving. Her father
came in, and they had a big fight about his gambling. They had asked her whether
she wanted to stay with her father or go with her mother. Not knowing exactly
what to do, she had run out into the cold, rainy night. Now she was cold, wet, and
alone. She had no place to sleep.
She figured she would travel to Rimmen. She had an uncle there. No, her
parents would suspect that. They would come for her. Maybe she wanted them to
come for her. She wasn't sure. She decided that she would go to Rimmen and
decide what she would do from there.
It was her first night alone. Sure she was twenty-one, but when you lived as
this particular wealthy Khajiit did, you really had no need to leave home. The
rain shimmered down while the thunder rumbled overhead. Lightning flashed
across the blue, creamy sky.

Rain's Hand 18th, Eleven at Night

Outskirts of Rimmen, Elsweyr

The rain was starting to slacken up a bit, when she saw the outlines of
buildings ahead. The pounding rain had turned into a cooling mist when she
entered the city. She immediately recognized her uncle's house, having made many
trips there with her parents. Her parents...back when they were a family. No!
She couldn't think about them. They weren't a family anymore. Her mother had
given up on her family, so she had done the same.
When she arrived at her uncle's door, she gave it three rapid knocks. No
answer. She knocked again. Still nobody came to the door. She tried opening the
door, only to find it locked. Fatigue took its toll on Adanjar, and she crouched
down on the steps of her uncle's house. The rain shimmered down gently on
Adanjar, and one last rumble of thunder sounded in the sky.

Rain's Hand 19th, Seven in the Morning

Red Tail Inn, Rimmen, Elsweyr

Adanjar awoke to find herself in a bed with a golden-haired Nordic woman
sitting beside her bed. "Good morning." The woman said, "If you don't mind me
asking, what exactly were you doing out so late last night in the rain?" Adanjar
had a slight recollection of what had happened the night before. She arrived in
Rimmen to find that her uncle was not at home. Ignoring the woman's
question, Adanjar asked "Where am I?" "You're in the Red Tail Inn in Rimmen."
The woman replied. "Do you know where I can find my uncle, M'nashan?" Adanjar
said instantaneously. The woman politely replied "You mean the Moon Sugar addict?
Yes, M'nashan left for Camlorn about a year ago." Well that was one place down.
She still could go to Arenthia in Valenwood. Her ex-lover lived there. Qa'Bakha
had left her a half of a year ago after he proposed. Adanjar had accepted but
was unwilling to move away from her parents. He had wanted to go to Valenwood,
but she did not. So he went anyway and left her there.
"Thank you." Adanjar said. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I really
must be going." "Ok, but let me at least make you breakfast." Adanjar politely
accepted. When the girl lef,t she pulled her diary out of her pack and grabbed a
pen.

Adanjar's Diary

Nineteenth Rain's Hand

Let me start with what happened right after my last entry. Mother came in
looking stark mad. She started raving about how father had bet everything and
lost. Then father came in, and they started battling it out right in their
bedroom. Finally mother said she was leaving and asked me whether I wanted to
come with her or stay with father.
I didn't know what to do so I ran. I ran all the way to Uncle M'nashan's
house and found it locked with no one home. Then I passed out in front of Uncle
M'nashan's old house. I awoke this morning at the Red Tail Inn. I asked a woman
here if she knew where I could find my uncle. She said that he had left for High
Rock about a year ago. It is odd that we never heard about it.
So now,I've no where,in Elsweyr,to go. I guess I could go to Valenwood. But
I don't know if Qa'Bakha will take me in or not.
After I eat breakfast I will go to Orcrest and try to figure out what to do
from there. Well, I hear the girl already coming with my breakfast. I better
stop for now. I will write again when I get time.

The young Nordic girl's head popped up from the stairwell. Soon her entire
body emerged with a silver tray in her hands. On the tray was a bowl of soup, a
piece of toast, and a glass of water. "Eat well, and I hope you enjoy." the woman
said, sitting the tray on the desk at which Adanjar was sitting.
Adanjar ate heartily, and when she was finished, she carried the tray
downstairs and gave it to the girl simply saying "It was great thanks. I have to
be going now." And with that Adanjar walked outside in the daylight. Even though
she felt a little remorse for running out on her parents, Adanjar was looking
forward with hopes for the rest of her life when she arrived at Qa'Bakha's
doorstep with news that she was ready to begin a life of her own.

End of Part Two
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:37 PM
Post #48


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Thunder
Part Three of Adanjar

By Forrest

Rain's Hand 18th, Nine at Night

Alabaster, Elsweyr 2E 175

"Come on Adanjar. We're leaving! I won't let you stay with this filthy
creature!" But before Adanjar could say anything M'nasha spurted out "No way. You
aren't taking my daughter. If you leave the family, Ajirab, then you leave Adanjar
too. Adanjar you're staying here right?"
Adanjar was sobbing hysterically. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and then
looked at both her parents. Her mother with the pack slung over shoulder with
the friendly, loving mother-hood look on her face. Her father stood with the bold,
kind, loving feature. Confused beyond belief, Adanjar turned and ran to her
room. She grabbed her journal and quill pen, and then she shot out the back door. Both
her parents followed her out, but it was dark and the rain kept them from seeing
anything.
"Well I hope you’re happy. You've scared off my daughter!" Ajirab said scowling
at M'nasha. "I did? You were the one going crazy back there! How could she make
a decision like that?" M'nasha said in reply. "If you remember you were the one
who asked her." With that Ajirab slung the pack over her shoulder and walked out
the front door into the rain. "And where will you go?" M'nasha asked. "Wouldn't
you like to know?" Ajirab shouted back. Ajirab slammed the door.
The rain was heavy, and Ajirab knew she wouldn't be able to find her daughter
when it was this dark. Adanjar would probably go to her uncle's house. The only thing
was that Adanjar didn't know that M'nashan was a moon sugar addict. He had
gotten himself in debt and left for High Rock. He left his house and belongings where
they were and took off in the middle of the night. So Adanjar would not have
anyone in Rimmen. The only other place for her to go would be Valenwood where
Qa'Bakha lived.
The thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Ajirab walked to the Topal Bay
docks and got on a boat to Anvil. From there, she could ride horse-back to
Arenthia, where Adanjar was most likely to go.

* * *

The rain splashed on the roof and the thunder rumbled, and for once, in a long
time M'nasha was the poorest man alive. M'nasha had no where to go. He had to
be out of the house by tomorrow morning because had bet everything he owned, the
stores, the house, all his belongings. "I guess I deserved it. Ajirab always told
me that my gambling problem would be the end of us. She was right." he said to
himself quietly.
M'nasha grabbed a piece of paper and wrote on it "Dro'Sakhari, the door is
unlocked. Everything is yours. There is a spare key in the basement. Take good
care of the manor. I'm leaving for Windhelm tonight. I've always wanted to go to
the frigid north." Then he signed it M'nasha. He stepped outside where he shut the door and
pinned the note on the door. He then headed towards the docks, seeing his wife
step onto the boat that would take her to Valenwood.

Rain's Hand 21st, Eight in the Morning

Remains of Arenthia, Valenwood

Adanjar was walking down the pathway when she saw a sign saying “Welcome to
Arenthia.” She had a confused look on her face because she saw no city. After
looking closely at the ground she saw rubble, ash, and nails covering a big area.
All at once she realized that she was in Arenthia. It had burned till there was
only a trace of evidence that there was a city here once before.
Slumping to the ground, Adanjar burst into tears. Qa'Bakha was her last
stronghold. Now she truly had no where to go. Wait. There was still her uncle in
Camlorn. High Rock was far away, but what other choice did she have?
Feeling she had nothing else to do, Adanjar opened her journal and pulled
out her quill pen. She took out her inkwell, pulled the cork out, and dipped her
pen in it.

Adanjar's Diary

Twenty-First Rain's Hand

Well, I arrived at Arenthia full of hopes but found the city in ashes. I
could probably walk to Anvil in Cyrodiil and get a boat there to Camlorn. I
only wish that Qa'Bakha was not in the city when it burned down, but there is
probably a small chance of that having happened.
I wonder where mother and father are. Father probably moved up north to
Skyrim or Solstheim somewhere. Mother would probably come here to Arenth...

Adanjar slammed the book shut as fast as she could. She stuck it in her pack,
and she ran around the remains of Arenthia looking for her mother's rings. She
burst into tears, fearing the worst...that her mother had burned to death. "Maybe
I'm getting ahead of myself, but mother probably never even suspected that I would
come here." she said to herself.
Adanjar sat down on the ground again and pulled out her diary and continued
where she left off.

...ia, where she would suspect I would be. But then again she probably never
came here. She might have gone to Rimme, thinking I would go to Uncle M'nashan's
house.
Well, if I want to make any progress then I need to stop writing and need to
start walking to Anvil.

Adanjar closed her diary and got up. "I have long way to go before I get to
Camlorn, and I better get started." She said to herself, finding a new sense of
pride within her.

* * *

About a mile outside of Anvil she saw a shipwreck on the shore. She ran to
it and hopped on board. She found many dead bodies on and in the ship. Deep inside
the ship she saw her mother's clothes but not her mother. She took them in her hands and
cried her eyes out in them. She could hear thunder rumbling outside and the
pitter patter of the rain hitting the deck of the ship that caused a peaceful
tranquility to come over Adanjar.

End of Part Three
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:38 PM
Post #49


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Wind
Part Four of Adanjar

By Forrest

Rain's Hand 21st, Nine in the Morning

Somewhere Near Stirk, Cyrodiil 2E175

Ajirab was more frightened than she had ever been. The pirates had attacked the boat she was on and took her as a slave. They had stripped her of her clothes, and now she was wearing nothing but a slave bracer. They would probably take her to Morrowind where she could be sold legally. All she could think of was how Adanjar had run out on her and M'nasha that night.
After the Dunmer pirates attacked the ship she was on, they pillaged Arenthia and burned it to the ground. The city of course would rebuild, but what if Adanjar was staying there when it burned. She was probably worrying too much. Adanjar would not have any reason to go there. Qa'Bahka had run out on her, so why would she go to him?
One of the pirates, the one who was guarding her, had taken to her. He'd been talking to her off and on for about three hours. Ajirab thought on this and figured out how she could use this to her advantage. "Where are we going?" Ajirab asked the guard. "Well, we're going to stop off at Stirk. That's when you remain absolutely silent. Then, if all goes well, we'll go to Morrowind. And you can guess the rest" he said solemnly. Ajirab worked it out in her head and figured out that she would escape at Stirk. She would stay there a couple of days until she was sure the pirates were either gone or imprisoned and would then leave for Alabaster.
Ajirab knew that Adanjar would either go to Camlarn or go back to Alabaster. So Ajirab chose to first go to Alabaster.

* * * *

Rain's Hand 21st, One in the Evening

One Mile outside Anvil, Cyrodiil

Adanjar solemnly sombered down the trail from where the shipwreck was. She was still clutching her mother's clothes that she had found inside the ship. A tear was still in her eye. She knew her mother was dead, and there was nothing that she could do. Anvil appeared before he,r and her heart went all to pieces. She remembered her father and mother in Alabaster. She had had such wonderful times in Alabaster. But now those times were over. Her father had lost everything, her mother was dead, and Qa'Bahka was probably dead too. She walked into the city and into the nearest inn that she saw.
"Can I please have a bed for the night?" Adanjar asked the barkeeper. "It's a little early for bed, but yes, I have one. It's ten septims for the night." The bartender replied.
Adanjar walked upstairs and threw down her pack and the clothing she had found on board the ship that she believed her mother had perished on. She collapsed onto the bed, curled into a ball, and cried herself to sleep.

* * * *

Rain's Hand 21st, Nine at Night

Windhelm, Skyrim

M'nasha arrived in Windhelm, the wet, cold snow fell onto his face. He was not used to this harsh climate. Skyrim was not what he had expected. He didn't even have a place to stay; he had no money at all. He lost it all gambling.
"I wonder where Adanjar and Ajirab are right now." M'nasha said to himself. He finally decided that if he did not get used to Skyrim in three days then he would go to Camlorn where his brother lived. He was sure that M'nashan would take him with open arms.

* * * *

Rain's Hand 22nd, Ten in the Morning

Alabaster, Elsweyr

Qa'Bahka gently tapped on the door of Adanjar's estate. It had been months since he had last seen her, and he was bursting with excitement.
The door slowly opened and the face of an old Khajiit appeared. "Who are you and what do you want?" he said. "Is Adanjar here?" Qa'Bahka asked the old man. "You mean M'nasha's daughter? No, the family split up almost five days ago. M'nasha went to Skyrim. Nobody knows where Adanjar and her mother went though. M'nasha said he thought Adanjar probably went to Arenthia, some sort of ex-lover there or something." the old Khajiit said. "Thank you, you've been very helpful." Qa'Bahka said to him, then he closed the door.
Qa'Bahka said to himself silently," Well,this was a wasted trip. Adanjar's might have gone to Arenthia, and here I am in Alabaster." Qa'Bahka then started his trip out of Arenthia.

* * * *

Rain's Hand 22nd, Ten in the Morning

Anvil, Cyrodiil

Adanjar awoke to see the sun shimmering in through the window. She still had tears in her eyes. She'd cried for hours before she had finally fallen asleep last night.
She crawled out of bed, still dressed in her robe that she had been wearing for days now. She opened up her pack and began writing in her diary.

Adanjar's Diary

Twenty-Second Rain's Hand

Mother is dead. I found her clothes within the belly of a ship near Anvil. My heart is bitter. My tears are plenteous. My mother and my lover are both dead. And there is nothing that I can do to bring them back.

Adanjar closed her journal and put it in her pack. She stepped outside and a cold wind blew across her face. The weather was as she was cold and emotionless.

End of Part Four
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:39 PM
Post #50


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Dusk
Part Five of Adanjar

By Forrest

Rain's Hand 23rd, Eight in the Morning

Stirk, Cyrodiil 2E 175

Adanjar stepped off the dock onto dry land. She was only making a momentary stop at Stirk while the ship exchanged passengers. She thought she'd look around a bit. Although the nagging that she felt about her mothers death hurt, it had not left her. She thought it'd be best to get out of the ship for a while. Adanjar walked around for a bit, did a little shopping, and started back for the boat. All of a sudden, a Khajiit woman went darting past Adanjar, followed by two Dunmer men. The woman had gone by so fast, she could hardly recognize her. But to Adanjar, it looked as if she were wearing slave bracers. She was in Cyrodiil, where slavery was illegal. Then she saw three Imperial Guards chase after them. Curious and confused, Adanjar began to follow them. They led her and a crowd of people to the ship in which Adanjar was traveling to Camlorn. "Ha! We've been trying to catch you for months now. Think you're pretty clever, sneaking slaves in and out of this port every week. We know what you've been doing; we just haven't been able to get hold of you yet!" The guard said to him. "I don't know what you're talking about?" One of the Dunmer said, "This is my wife!" He continued. "Then why does she parade around here dressed only in what can be described as a 'slave bracer'?" The guard said brandishing his sword in front of the two Dunmer. They gave no reply. "That's what I thought. Come on, we'll hold you until we decide what to do with you." One of the guards said. With that, two of the guards took the Dunmer away. Adanjar could clearly see now that the Khajiit woman was in fact her very own mother. "Are you going to be okay?" The remaining guard asked her. "Yes, I'll be fine. I stole the key from one of those men, and I have it here. That's why they were chasing me. They were afraid I'd take off this bracer. I remember seeing a third Dunmer on the ship the other day." Ajirab said to the officer.
No longer able to contain her emotions, Adanjar leaped forward from among the crowd and into her mothers arms all the while shouting "Mother, mother! You're alive! Alive!" Her mother replied saying "Of course I'm alive. But I thought you probably went to Arenthia and burned to death!" "I did, but it was already destroyed when I got there." Adanjar said to her mother while wiping a tear from her eye. Now she was beginning to feel pretty foolish. The crowd of people stared at her until the guard began shouting "Okay, okay. Nothing to see here! Move along, move along." "What were you thinking, running out into the night like that? You could've been killed or worse. Do you know what kind of men lurk around at night?!?" Ajirab scolded. "Oh please. I can take care of myself. I'm an adult. I had no other choice but to do what I did. Anyway that's all behind us. Let's go to Camlorn. Uncle M'nashan is there, and I'm sure he'd take us in. I was going there anyway." Adanjar replied to her mother, with a new sense of happiness. Adanjar’s mother agreed, and they set out for Camlorn that morning.

Rain's Hand 23rd, Seven in the Morning

Camlorn, High Rock

M'nashan dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.

Dear M'nasha,

I do not wish to trouble you, but it has been a while since my last visit. How are things at Topal Bay? I was thinking of taking a visit there pretty soon. I think things in Rimmen may have settled down by now. Besides it's not like I can't come see my own family every once in a while? By the way how are Ajirab and Adanjar? Last I heard young Adanjar was engaged to that nice Qa'Bahka lad. They sure grow up fast don't they? I remember how every week, you and the family would come visit me in Rimmen. We had pretty good times.
Things here are nice. Nothing out of the ordinary. Like I said earlier, I was thinking of making a visit. If it's ok with you, how about I come down next week and stay a month or two? Anyway, it has been a while since I have heard from the family, so I thought that I'd just keep in check.

Your Brother,
M'nashan

M'nashan sealed the letter and put it aside. It had felt like so long since he had last seen them. And now that he only had two months to live, he wanted to spend them among friends.

Rain's Hand 24th, Four in the Morning

Windhelm, Skyrim

M'nasha had decided to leave Skyrim. It was not what he had hoped for. It was cold and wet, nothing like he remembered from when he was a child. He had packed his bags the night before and was ready to leave for High Rock any time he wanted. He had enough of the cold, wet snow. M'nasha left for Camlorn by boat that morning.

Rain's Hand 24th, Eleven in the Morning

Alabaster, Elsweyr

Qa'Bahka had decided to stay in Alabaster the night before and was going to leave for Arenthia this morning. The man who now lived in Adanjar’s house kindly let him stay the night. The man had said that if he wanted to find Adanjar, he should probably look in Camlorn, that's where her uncle lived.
That morning the man, whose name turned out to be Dro'Sakhari, invited Qa'Bahka to have breakfast with him. Qa'Bahka kindly accepted, not having eaten in days. They were enjoying their breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Dro'Sakhari got up from the table and answered the door. When he opened, there was a young Khajiit lad holding a piece of parchment paper. "Can I help you?" Dro'Sakhari asked him. "This came through the Mages Guild yesterday, from High Rock. It said it was to be delivered here." The boy replied handing him the paper. Dro'Sakhari took the letter and shut the door. The letter was written to M'nasha, evidently from his brother M'nashan. "You can finish your breakfast. I have to attend to something upstairs in my study." Dro'Sakhari said to Qa'Bahka. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather be getting on. I have a good ways ahead of me. I thank you for your hospitality." Qa'Bahka said, getting up. Dro'Sakhari nodded and quietly walked upstairs.
Dro'Sakhari sat down at his desk, grabbed a piece of paper and began writing.

Dear Sir,

I believe you intended this message to be sent to M'nasha. M'nasha no longer lives here. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but M'nasha has moved to Windhelm, Skyrim. Ajirab and Adanjar have run off somewhere. I do not like to be the one to give you this disturbing news, but it seems as if the family has broken up.
Again I am sorry for this inconvenience.

From Dro'Sakhari

* * *

Rain's Hand 24th, Noon

Camlorn, High Rock

M'nashan opened his door to find Ajirab and Adanjar on his doorstep. He was quite surprised to see them. "What are you two doing here? Where is M'nasha?" He asked them. Adanjar looked at her mother distressfully. Ajirab for no reason at all blurted out "He'll be here. He wanted to stay behind, to make sure the house would be okay. We wanted to surprise you!" "Well, you certainly did that! Adanjar, how you've grown since I last saw you! You must be four feet taller!" He shouted. Adanjar slightly smiled at him. M'nashan invited them inside, and they accepted. "We decided to come visit for a few weeks." Ajirab said, while sitting down. "Well, I certainly have no objection to that. Did you get my letter? Oh, I suppose you wouldn't have had time to." M'nashan said cheerily. "Would you like something to eat?" He asked them. They both nodded violently. Ajirab and Adanjar were so hungry they could hardly contain themselves. All Adanjar had had to eat was the food in Rimmen, and that was days ago. Ajirab had some very disgusting slop onboard the slave ship.
That night Adanjar and Ajirab ate heartily and slept soundly.

Rain's Hand 25th, Ten in the Morning

Camlorn, High Rock

M'nasha knocked vigorously on his brothers door. The door opened and there was Ajirab, staring him right in the face. "Who is it, Ajirab?" he could hear M'nashan shout. "Nobody, they have the wrong house." she said as she slammed the door. M'nasha knocked even harder this time. "Are you sure?" M'nashan asked her, as he opened the door for himself. There was an angry-faced M'nasha staring at him. "Well, if it isn't M'nasha! My brother! I tell you it's been so long! How could you mistake your own husband for someone else, Ajirab?" M'nashan said just as cheery as ever. "Yes, Ajirab, how could you not remember your very own husband?" M'nasha asked her, gritting his teeth.
M'nashan invited him in for lunch. Just as they were sitting down, there came another knock at the door. M'nashan stepped away from the table to answer it. "What are you doing here?!" Ajirab whispered angrily. "What am I doing here? This is my brother’s house! What are you doing here?!" he whispered back to her. At this time Adanjar walked sleepily downstairs and into the kitchen where the "silent" argument was taking place. "Father!" Adanjar shouted. For a moment M'nasha forgot his quarrel with Ajirab and embraced his daughter, while tears running down his eyes.
M'nashan returned to the table with a piece of paper in his hand and a confused look on his face. "You broke up?" he said in confusion. "Well, I wouldn't say so much as broke up. Let's just say most of the family abandoned me." M'nasha said. "Then what are you doing here? Together?" M'nashan asked, not quite getting what was going on.
As if M'nashan wasn't already confused enough, a third knock at the door came. He stepped away to answer it and just as soon came back with Qa'Bahka standing beside him. "Qa'Bahka!" Adanjar shouted, leaping into his arms. "I thought you had burned to death!" she said to him. "What are you talking about?" he asked her looking at her longingly. "The fire, Arenthia burned to the ground. But that doesn't matter, what matters is that you're alive and you're here!" she said, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Now, I honestly have no idea what's going here, except that a good marriage has been split apart. Now, I've known you two ever since you were engaged. I never met two happier people. I don't know what it is you're fighting about but can't you just make amends?" He said looking at Ajirab and M'nasha. M'nasha looked at Ajirab and said "Ajirab, honey, I'm sorry I gambled away everything. I still love you. I can understand if you don't want to be with me, but I just want to let you know that if you want to start over, I'd be willing to give up gambling." Ajirab thought this over for a minute and finally said, "I guess we could give it another try. But you'll have to promise me, no more gambling." "I promise." M'nasha said to her proudly. Adanjar burst into tears. Her life was coming back together at last. Just when she thought things couldn't get any better, Qa'Bahka turned to her and said "Adanjar, I asked you to marry me before. And you said no, because you didn't want to leave your parents. Well, considering I have no home in Arenthia to go to, I would like to stay here and take you as my wife. Your parents can live here too, it's not like they have anywhere to go either. What do you say, Adanjar?" Adanjar looked at Qa'Bahka, then her parents, and her uncle and said "I'd love to."
So, Adanjar and Qa'Bahka were married the Twenty-Seventh of Rain's Hand. They rented out a house next to M'nashan’s house, where Adanjar’s parents stayed until they could get back onto their feet.

Three Years Later

Adanjar laid in bed, nursing her newborn baby. M'nashan had passed away, and he had left his home and belongings to M'nasha and Ajirab. And the harmonic pitter patter of the rain sent Adanjar and Anjari to sleep. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the wind blew the trees back and forth into the night.

The End
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:40 PM
Post #51


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Balgor Serranium (Pinehead)


A Change of Luck
By Balgor ‘Pinehead’ Serranium

When the door of the Madach Tradehouse was quietly opened, nobody even noticed the small figure stepping into the warm light of the tavern. The tradehouse was quite empty, which wasn't a surprise at this time of year in Gnisis, when most miners went to bed tired and the legionnaires were on duty. General Darius was conferring with some higher-ranking legionnaires and some shabby people were drinking their cheap drinks. Fenas Madach was just polishing one of his more expensive silver goblets when he noticed a small Bosmer sitting on one of the bar stools. The little fellow looked like he had just healed himself from some serious injury and he had a very large and heavy bag at his feet. "What can I do for you?” asked Fenas. "I'd like some greef please. I need some place to rest this night as well. You won't believe what I've been through today," said the Wood Elf with a large smile. The Breton chuckled and handed the Bosmer a mug of greef, "I've heard some really weird stories in my life, but they all turned out to be true," he replied. "Well, if you have time, I could tell you what happened. I could even make you a great deal," said the Bosmer, "I'm called Balgor by the way, but most people call me Pinehead." "Pleased to meet you Pinehead. I'm Fenas Madach. Please carry on." Pinehead took a swift sip of his greef and started talking. "Well, I've had some trouble earning money when I was released from that prison ship in Seyda Neen and I was doing some odd jobs for different people in Ald'Ruhn. One of these people wanted me to fetch something in Maar Gan. I was kinda broke, so I couldn't afford the Silt Strider. I decided to walk to Maar Gan. Sure, I knew it could be dangerous, but I needed the money and how hard could it be? I had a weapon and a map and I could find shelter in an ancestral tomb if an ash storm would cross my path. The first part of the journey was quite easy, and I was already looking forward to arriving in Maar Gan, when quite suddenly an ash storm hit. I immediately looked for shelter, but it only made me wander off the path. I wanted to find my way back to the path with my map, but when I was attacked by a cliffracer while holding my map, it was blown out of my hand and so, there I was, alone...naked (no, not naked, but you get the point don't you?) I had a clue of what was the north, so I continued that way. I eventually emerged in the Azura's Coast region when I got out of the ash storm. I knew Maar Gan was in the Ashlands, so I had probably wandered far off. But I wasn't looking forward to that ash storm, so I thought I'd just look for some town to get directions. But it was quite hard to get back to the civilized world. After some hours of searching I came across a distressed Redguard. He told me some mad cultists had taken his wife and he made the impression he would pay me a good price to get her back. I had become quite proficient in fighting in the few days I had spent on Vvardenfell. I decided I would look for this Daedric ruin (I had never seen one in my life) and get this woman back. I think the ruin was called Ashalmawia. I found the ruin quite quickly, but when I entered I found myself surrounded by several vicious cultists. For a brief moment, I really believed I was going to die, but then I remembered something. I still had a levitation potion from my last alchemy experiment. Just before the cultists clashed into me I drunk the potion and I levitated on the great statue in the shrine. I had learned to summon a bound bow from Oblivion during my work for the mages guild. After several attempts to get the spell right, I finally had my bound bow and soon a rain of arrows (yes, I carried quite a lot of arrows) showered on the cultists. After the cultists were dead and I had plundered the bodies I went to search for the Redguard's wife. There were two ways I could choose from, so I just chose a one at random. The passage led me to an underground Daedric ruin, in the rooftops. I snuck around in the heights and spotted someone in the depths. Before I could take a closer look, a fireball was heading my way. I skillfully dodged it and summoned my bound bow once again. I shot the rest of my arrows at the man, but he didn't die. I jumped down at the man in a weird kind of fury, launching a group of greater shockballs and hacking away with my sword. The man hit me heavily, but my arrows had taken their toll, and he finally fell dead to the ground. When I eventually looked down at the dead Dunmer I saw he was wearing a complete ebony armor and was wielding a Daedric war axe. There was so much expensive stuff that I couldn't carry all of it, so I had to drink my only blessed feather potion to get all the stuff with me. I quickly found the Redguard's wife through the other passage and soon the two Redguards were reunited. I wasn't paid as much as I expected, but I had so much loot I wasn't at all disappointed. Besides, he said he would recommend me at Great House Redoran. He gave me directions to Gnisis and now here I am. My only problem is... My feather potion has stopped working and I need to get these things to my house. I'll give you ebony bracer if you help me to get these things to my house, deal? Fenas? Fenas?" But it was no use, as Fenas Madach was fast asleep.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:41 PM
Post #52


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Ferrin Trieteip (Michael Edwards)


Written by Michael Edwards

Fate and Fortune

Ferrin Trietep


Rain pattered on the roof, it's rhythm growing and fading as the storm let off for a bit. The hooded traveler would have burst out laughing with glee, had he not been running for his life. Apparently, guards didn't take to well to having their mothers compared with women of ill-repute. Or to being spit on by a wanted man. And so, here he was, hiding in the upper floor of the nearest house he could sneak into, listening intently for footsteps. Or at least he would have been if the damned rain hadn't been making such a racket. As it was, he sat listening for telltale signs of entry . . . such as a key scraping in the lock, or someone swearing at the sight of his muddy boots on the floor.

"Pity I didn't notice them until I was halfway across the floor . . ." Giladar shrugged off the thought as a useless wish. As it was, the owner of the house would come home to find his lovely, expensive, deerskin rug tramped over in boots, slick with mud from the rain outside and soaked besides. But, as always, Giladar had made this piece of misfortune into a helping hand, tramping over the rug and opening the window just beyond in an attempt to fool the authorities into believing he had gone out the window. The wizened dark elf laughed to himself, imagining the consternation his most recent 'acquisition' must be causing. He fingered the jeweled amulet in amusement, having just stolen it from the manor on the high side of town.

"This must be worth at least six-hundred drakes . . ." Giladar could almost make out his reflection, even in the dark of the crate in which he currently resided. He would sell it for a fair amount to a friend of his, who took care of such matters. It saddened him to think that he might have to give up his profession soon, being so well-known. After all, who could trust a man whose face was on wanted posters in at least six different towns? His smile twisted into a frown.

"It is a pity to have to give up such an amusing sport in so short of time. Price of being too lucky. Ah well, I've made enough out of it so far . . ." The thought made him chortle with amusement as he recalled various escapades where his good fortune had just barely seen him through.

"Old Jaden . . . I would love him to see me now . . ." The wood-elf and he had been . . . rather bitter rivals. Never violent, but always scheming against one another. There differing styles had clashed many times, most of which had put Jaden just a few steps behind the thieving dark elf. Where Jaden was slow, but thoughtful, Giladar was rash but quick. Where Giladar was inexplicably fortunate, Jaden was seemingly cursed with bad luck. He smiled in amusement at their last conversation, held in a crowded bar in a town long-forgotten.

"It appears my luck is better than your skill yet again, wood-elf."

Jaden had smiled, partly in amusement, partly to keep up the appearance of two old friends. It wouldn't have done to call the town guard on them both for brawling.

"You trust too much to your luck Giladar. It blows with the wind, you know." And with that, Jaden had finished his drink and left. Giladar had never heard of him again until a few days ago, he was reported dead after rather uncharacteristically missing a poisonous trap in a nobleman's home.

A scrape came from the door, jerking Giladar out of his reverie. He tensed, fingering his dagger in his nervousness.

". . . time delay . . . of thing." The conversation was quiet, and he couldn't hear it all. "Amulet . . . stolen . . . luck . . . Jaden" So, they were discussing his find, and his rival. Giladar nearly laughed at the irony. Footsteps, slow and thumping, came across the downstairs floor.

"Son of a miserable imperial heliopause!"

Giladar fair shook with laughter, and holding it down was perhaps his hardest task of the evening. His handiwork with the rug had indeed been discovered.

The blade against his throat, however, caused him to stop. Thoughts of escape flashed through his brain, and he pushed his arm up to parry the blade away. Except his arm wouldn't move. He realized in horror that his entire body was frozen, the amulet now glowing malevolently in his right hand.

"So you are the thief, aren't you? Not that you can talk, of course." The mysterious man laughed as the town guard tramped into his home. "Guards! Up here." Again the man laughed. "Jaden, come in here."

Jaden . . . but he's died . . . Giladar thought, his breath escaping in what would have been a moan.

"You were right Jaden, that amulet's done the trick. How did you know he would hit that house?"

"We were rivals. I was certain he wouldn't be able to let go of it without proving, once and for all, that he was better than I."

"Well, in either case, he’s stolen enough to warrant the death sentence. To be carried out in a week or so. Should we remove the amulet?"

"And be paralyzed yourself? Why don't we just let him stay that way?"

Giladar would have cursed fate and fortune, had his throat been capable of moving.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:42 PM
Post #53


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Stars-Night (Stargate525)


The Tree
By Star’s-Night

There was once a tree in the forest behind my hometown... go figure. But this tree was special. On windy days, the wind would howl through knots in the tree’s branches and make the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. The tree was old; it outdated the oldest man‘s great-grandfather. I am to this day convinced it was the first woodwind in Cyrodiil. The sound it produced was marvelous, a great chorus of different keys, coming together to make a single note that rose to a crescendo with gusts and dropped to the smallest piano when the wind died. Children from the village would go out to the forest and cover up some of the holes, making their own wind-choirs. Every child had its favorite set of knots, including me. Mine were near the base of the tree, great big ones that I could climb into when I was young. They were at the base of the tree’s chorus, and when I covered them up, I liked to imagine I could see all the other notes of the tree being knocked off their feet in their absence.
I grew older, and I did not come to the tree as often. I could hear it when I was apprenticing with the blacksmith in town, and its subtle orchestra would follow me as I did chores for my mother. But the tree had lost its magic for me. I no longer would spend my free time sitting in its branches, or make songs by plugging the holes. Instead I choose to pursue ’higher’, more ’lofty’ goals; like that one Argonian girl on the outside of town...
Time passed, I finished my apprenticeship with the blacksmith, youngsters had grown up to take my place, the elders died and the middle-aged men replaced them, and I never did manage to catch that Argonian girl on the outside of town. I moved away, had some adventures, settled down, had kids, and I even opened a small smithy In Cyrodiil.
I had all but forgotten about the great tree in my hometown when it came pushing back into my life for one final, tragic time.
An Imperial came to my shop one day, not so strange of an occurrence. What was strange, however, was that he was a legionary. Legionaries didn't come to my shop often, for they had a host of better supply shops available in their fort. What was stranger was that I recognized him as a messenger. But what did the imperials want with me?
“Are you the one called Star’s Night?” He asked.
“I am.”
“I am to give you this dossier,” He explained, handing me a think packet of sheets, “We wish you to build the item defined in the papers. We shall supply the material, and it should be arriving tomorrow.” With that, he turned about, and left the way he came.
I closed the shop and began to examine the papers. One was a rather elongated contract for building this mysterious article. The remainder of the document was a description of the item I was to build, as well as some (badly drawn) sketches of what they wanted.
I was to build them a...planter. But it was the most extravagant planter I had ever seen. Wrought entirely of silver and gold, it would be big enough to fit an entire tree into it. I was also to decorate it in a manner ‘fitting of the Emperor’. I still could not understand why they had chosen me, a lowly Argonian smith, to do this work of art.
The messenger had been true to his word; the next day at sunrise saw three wagons full of the finest quality silver and gold arriving for me to craft with. I immediately set to work, forging in front of my shop as usual, crafting with gold and silver where I had just the previous night wrought in iron and steel.
During the day, people gathered around me to watch me working. In the evening I closed shop, and the people left rather reluctantly. To my surprise, even more people showed up the following day, crowding the street to the point of impassability. In the following days, my project brought the entire neighborhood to a screeching halt; all of the people watching my planter come to life.
Nearly a week later it was finished. I had made the body in interlocking gold sections, with silver designs of dragons, trees, cities, and a rather beautiful (if I do say so myself) portrait of Tiber Septim himself. The Imperials came to take the planter and me to the palace for its installation. My neighborhood followed the cart in a throng, which quickly escalated to a great cavalcade as we reached the palace.
We entered, leaving the crowds behind us. I assembled the planter in the Emperor’s private garden, a lush green forest planted in the middle of a stonework city. I finished, and they brought in the plant that would grace my work of art.
To my horror it was the tree; the tree that I had grown up with outside my hometown. I fell onto the path in shock. Nobody, save royalty, would ever get to see it again, or hear its beautiful singing. I left the palace and returned to my shop, saddened at the loss of an artifact of my youth.
So to you, dear reader, I tell you this. Don’t let your past be forgotten. Don’t allow fond memories to slip away from you for even the smallest instant. For when it does, it may be too late. Like it was for me.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:43 PM
Post #54


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


Synollian and Ales

{This story has been lost for many years. But there was one wise man left who
told it to me before he died. At once I recorded it so that it would not be lost
again.}


By Forrest

Once ,a long time ago in the land of Cyrodiil, there lived an Imperial young man named Synollian who lived next to a Breton lady name Ales. They were madly in love, but Ales' parents always said "It would be a shame for a Breton to marry an Imperial!" Synollian's parents always said "A civilized family of Imperials such as we shall not continue the family line through a Breton!" Their family’s would not permit them to see each other.

But unknown to their parents that in Ales' bedroom there was a crack in the wall. And their rooms being in the same building, the crack peered into Synollian's room also. Ales and Synollian would talk for hours and hours through this crack. Over the years their love grew and blossomed into a beautiful relationship. This carried on without their family ever finding out.

One day, they decided that they needed to see each other, they were tired of living out their romance through a hole. So that night they would meet in an abandoned field, next to a tomb.

So that night at the stroke of twelve, Ales arrived in the field before
Synollian did. So she decided to wait. The moon was full and it's light shone
down to the ground. This time she heard a heart racing growl. Seeking shelter she
ducked back behind a tree. She saw the creature step out under the moonlight. It
was a Were-Wolf. Blood dripped from its mouth and the crimson froth foamed down
its chin. This time she noticed her shoe had fell off onto the ground. The Were-Wolf sniffed it and took it into its mouth.

Synollian arrived at the spot and saw the Were-Wolf holding a shoe in its
mouth, with blood dripping from its mouth.

"Oh God! Have I arrived too late! Has my dear beloved been devoured by this evil beast!" He cried into the night.

Ales were going to shout to him, when he pulled his silver sword from his sheath and slew the creature of the night. "You will not take another’s beloved, for I have vanquished you from your evil patrols. Now, I will join my love!" He shouted again, took his sword and plunged it into his chest.

Then Ales ran out from behind the tree into the moonlight. She ran to
Synollian's side and whispered to him "My dear! What have you done? I have not
been taken by this beast!" while sobbing, with tears running down her eyes. His
eyes opened as blood spurt from his breast, he died with a peaceful look on his
face, as if he had seen an angel before he went. Then Ales took the sword, with
her lovers warm red blood, and plunged it into her breast. Her lifeless body fell
onto Synollian's and their blood mixed together under the moonlight.

End
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:44 PM
Post #55


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (Franc Kaos)


The Dream of Tanyaria.

“She lives in our dreams now, our queen who saw beyond the veil.”

Even the heavens, it seemed, were in mourning, dark clouds scudding across the skies, a false night for her funeral rites, tears from the Gods themselves. Her name was… had been, Tanyaria, a young High Elf, well versed in the ways of Mysticism, partner to Franteira Taosene, who now stood in grim silence, rain washing down his cheek.

It was his first funeral, and he was unsure of how to comport himself. Even the Arch Magister, Galerian, was there, holding the ceremony in his musical voice. Franteira wiped at his eyes. He loved her, and had expected to spend many centuries with her, yet now she was gone.

Tanyaria had been elemental, measured even by High Elven standards, she danced on the periphery of peoples lives like a barely recalled song of childhood or a burst of nostalgic sunlight, barely intruding but enriching all the same.

Franteira had met her when his parents and those others had been exiled from Alinor. The second time in his young life he’d lost a home. They’d met when he’d been exploring the old ruins of the Ceporah Tower, around which the High Elves had made their new home. Tanyaria had been sitting on the highest floor, looking out to the horizon, a distant look in her eye, a half smile on her lips. He fell in love with her instantly.

She glanced at him then, “You’re not High Elf born, what are you.”

He grinned self consciously, “Um, I’m Ayleid, a wild elf, my, er, parents found me in the wilderness, and… adopted me.” He shrugged.

She patted the floor beside her, “Come sit with me awhile, I’m trying to see where I came from.”

He sat, and learned a valuable lesson about touch, surely she could hear the blood roaring through his veins, feel it pumping through his body… but below that he could still feel the old tug of the wilderness, he pointed in a direction to her right.

“That’s home.”

She looked to where he was pointing, and her chin brushed his arm, closely followed by a rush of electricity and a growing arousal. Their eyes locked. She smiled, and the rest was beautiful history.

The rain was being kept off her body by an invisible force, held together by the communities will, her ending would be discorporation, base elements flung out to the four corners of Nirn as was befitting one that had died so young.

They had both been on the verge of leaving the Isle of Artaeum, ready to begin new lives as councilors in the kingdom of Sunhold… Far from being exiles, the Order of the Psijics had now become advisors to kings, and Artaeum had become a paradise. It was also rumored that Vanus Galerion, the head of their order was moving to Firsthold, that Sotha Sil was gone… Though he would miss his home and teachers and friends, a great adventure lay before him, with the girl he loved.

Another memory…

They’d escaped from a meditation class from old Iachesis and had wandered back to their old haunt atop the tower. It was a safe place for all the students had been forbidden access to it. He sat with his back to a wall with Tanyaria laying perpendicular to him, her head resting on his stomach, facing the same way they’d been on that first day so many years ago., enjoying the solitude, the quiet. He must have dozed, for suddenly he stood on the top of the world, all of Tamriel spread out before him. From his vantage point he saw the crystal tower on Summerset Isle, the spires and battlement in Cyrodiil, the belching mouth of Dagoth Ur. From North Point in High Rock down to Lilmoth in Black Marsh he could see everything with pinpoint clarity…

A dreamy voice said, “I wonder how those Tzerapods see us, it must be wonderful to wander so high above the world.”

He snapped back to follow her finger high in the sky. A herd of Tzerapods was floating idly past, creatures peculiar only to Summerset Isle, inordinately shy, and poisonous to the taste they were left alone, moving unhurriedly through the gardens of Nirns sky, beautiful and enigmatic.

Tanyaria continued, “It’s so strange, we know so little about them. I secretly call them ‘dreamers’ and sometimes I like to pretend I dream what they do. I’ve finally decided… I will make it my life’s work to unravel their secrets, for too long have we ignored each other.”

“Perhaps,” Franteira said, “They are not even aware of us…”

She inclined her head up to look at him, and her eyes were wistful, “I also have had this thought, that we High Elves, in our vainglory, believe all things bend to our will. How wonderful it would be, if one part of nature was not even conscious of our existence.”

Franteira laughed, “Even for a mystic you ponder far further than any I know, you would give the Arch Magister a run for his gold.” Yet his heart raced as her lips reached up to brush his.

Basking in the heat of her body she leaned in close, “My dearest Franteira, I think, because you are an orphan, because you are Ayleid bonding and High Elf rearing, you too possess the alien qualities of the Dreamers. Sometimes I think it’s why I fell in love with you.”

It was true, growing up he’d had to work twice as hard as the others to reach the same place. His birthright gave him the advantage of slipping unseen away when needed, and he’d been gifted with an unusual skill in the mundane arts of sword and staff play, but the arts of Magika had been hard won. No one had been prouder than himself when Galerion approved his magical training, though his parents had been beaming from ear to ear.

As the rain washed freely down his cheeks, he vowed there and then to dedicate his life to her dream of uncovering the Tzerapods mysteries. He went to see his old teacher Iachesis and asked that his post to Firsthold be postponed and was granted leave to go to the caverns of the dreaming…

Some five centuries later he finally realized his goal. The details are unclear but he found a way to merge his consciousness with theirs wherein a symbiotic relationship would occur. He left only instructions on how this fusing could take place. Only a few thousand followed his path before the knowledge was withdrawn, and of those two thousand three hundred, none has spoken, to this day, about their experiences, but, from that day forth, the Tzerapods began to die out, all except those that had merged. There are rumors that to this day, if you see one of these creatures, it is an omen of good luck. For whatever else their secrets were, unnatural long life is one of them, and in the skies of Nirn there are twenty three hundred Tzerapods with their… owners, pets, charges, and friends? For their does appear to be an intimate relationship between ride and rider. What have they become? for when separated (apparently they still wander at will amongst us), they move as sleepwalkers, and their talk is dreamlike and nonsensical, until they return to their home in the sky.

A new consciousness, observers of the human condition, able to see beyond the limits of the mundane world…

Only the twenty-three hundred know, and they’re not talking.

Franc Kaos.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:49 PM
Post #56


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Hemal Navonne (TSBasilisk)


The Chest of Debt
by Hemal Navonne

In Wayrest, there lived a powerful and rich merchant. The merchant held control over all the trade routes in his city and extorted exorbitant rates from the other traders for use of the areas he held sway over. Some stores run by other men almost belonged to him, with a thin line between debt and servitude.

He had everything but always craved more, for gold was his greatest and only love.

One day, a poor purveyor of artifacts and curios came to the merchant's house. He bowed before the powerful man and begged him for his aid. "Please, milord", he moaned, "I cannot pay this month's rent and debts. If you do not help me, I will surely lose everything."

The merchant sneered at him. "Fool. I help no one. You will never be able to pay me enough for this request you ask of me. Your appearance fills me with distaste, and I wish to have appetite for dinner." As he raised his hand to summon his guards, the poor man reached into his tattered cloak and drew forth a small chest.

"Great one, it is true I cannot pay you fully now, but every day I can bring what gold I can to you. I will place it in this chest while you sleep so as not to affront your eyes," he begged. "Please, just give me one week, and the debt will be fulfilled."

The merchant pondered. Throwing this mendicant from his hovel would bring no profit, save for the cost of firewood which his walls might provide. He offered gold, and if he did not carry through, his house could still readily furnish the merchant's fireplace. Still, he needed to see the gold as proof.

"Very well then. Place the chest before me. If the amount is sufficient, I will release you from this month's rent," the merchant proclaimed. "Now, place the chest before me."

The chest was filled with good, bright gold. This should have been more than enough for the rent, but the merchant saw no reason to object. He could always raise the rent, seeing how much the man seemed to have stored here. The purveyor was dismissed, and the merchant added the gold to his vault.

The next morning, the chest was filled again, and the merchant smiled at how well the curios trade must be flourishing. After this, he must see about getting a larger cut of the trade.

Every morning for a week, gold was added to the merchant's vault through the chest, but the merchant grew discontent. Why did the shop-keeper pay so much and yet claim to have not enough for rent. The store he owned was small and run-down. He could not possibly be providing this.

On the last day, the merchant had his guards bring the purveyor to him. After sending them away, the merchant glared at the trembling man before him. "Where does it come from?" he demanded. "Where do you find this gold for the chest? Tell me!"

The man trembled but did not speak.

"I know you cannot have this much money," the merchant growled, spinning the chest to reveal its contents. "You cannot fool me. You are a thief or worse. Tell me!"

The man shook but did not speak.

The merchant glowered. "So be it. I will report you as a burglar to the authorities. I will see to it that you pay fully for not telling me. They will hear a far different story of your recent escapades, and how you robbed me. Then I will use your little house to warm my guard room."

Turning upon the trembling, rag-tag man, he put the coins into secret vault. It wouldn't matter if he saw, as soon enough he would have the man blinded and muted.

When he turned, however, the man was different. The purveyor was gone, replaced by a tall, old man in a black robe. And beside him stood something the merchant could not quite see, for it seemed to vanish whenever looked at fully.

The merchant wondered fleetingly where the purveyor had gone, but suddenly a deep chill went through him as the misty being suddenly spoke. "The pact is fulfilled. I will now take payment."

The merchant realized with a sinking heart that HE was the subject of this declaration. "B-but what pact?"

"He who draws gold from the Coffer of King Orgnum for seven days shall owe payment to my master. You have done so, and thus I will now take payment."

The merchant felt the blood drain from his face. The man in the black robe spoke quietly. "As you did to my son, who lost his life to pay his debts, and my daughter, who sacrificed everything to save him from your greed, so shall happen to you." The sorceror turned and walked from the room, as the spirit moved towards the merchant.

"What!?! What!?! What do you want!?! I will give you all my gold, everything I took and more!"

"No. I will now take payment."

"Anything!"

"Yes. I will now take payment."

"What? And...for whom?"

Silence came form the room before a despairing scream and the answer. "Your soul...for Clavicus Vile."
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:50 PM
Post #57


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Raithen Arthat (raithen)


The Mage, The Warrior, and The Thief

The mage was ready. His life added up to this moment-This moment alone. Ever since he was a child, he has known he must do this. He remembered the first time he met Swellen, the warrior… the first time they became friends. It was a bright day. The autumn leaves were just beginning to swirl to the ground, all different colours. A rainbow of reds, yellows, browns, and oranges. Beautiful as it was, it barred a dark destiny of three children, soon to be men.

The mage reached for his staff and whispered an incantation upon it. At once he felt the swirl of his magic, his magic, the magic as to which would kill his ex-friend. He then found his silver sword, used once on the isle of Solstheim to ward off werewolves. Not needed that much anymore, he merely brought it along to slay his enemies. He stepped out into the bright summer’s day. It was beautiful. But this day held something else… Something almost forbidding…

The warrior fastened the clasps on his chestplate and tied the knots needed to keep it in place. He then pulled on his gauntlet tight and flexed his hand. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, Deathslay, and felt the power pulse through his veins. This was the day he would strike down all his enemies; he would kill that mage or die trying. The warrior’s name was Swellen, and his opponent was De’ Apstose, the mage. His enemy was powerful, but the knight was immortal-And the mage did not know that…

The mage traveled on. He knew where the knight would be. They both had the intention of killing each other, so they would go to the place where it began-To end it. They would not go to an arena in some city in this province. That would not be honorable. They must end this- He, De’ Apstose, must end this. For he was immortal, and the warrior did not know that…

Only one weapon could strike either of these two down. And it was called “Breath of the Immortals”. This weapon was in the hands of a man, who knew what he would have to do. He would have to kill both the other men who have been granted an immortal life.

The warrior found the clearing, he drew his weapon, and he waited. Suddenly, a swirl of mist came out of nowhere, and the mage appeared. The warrior readied himself, already thinking of the best way to slay his opponent.

“Hello, warrior. It seems you have guessed the right spot for our final battle.”
“I shall silence you with my blade, mage!” said the warrior.
“Aha, as you think.”
“That is what I know!” And the warrior thrusted forward with his sword. Instantly, the mage and warrior were locked in an endless struggle. Neither of them knowing the other was immortal.

Soon the man came upon their fight, and he knocked a silver arrow into his bow. He pulled back the string and let it fly. The arrow was an amazing sight. It flew right through the warrior, killing him instantly, and then through the mage, who disappeared into a pile of robes. As soon as the arrow had appeared, it disappeared over the horizon.

The man walked over to the fallen immortals. His duty fulfilled. He thought he could even here the gods thank him. He reached down and took the warrior’s sword, tied it to his side, then took the mage’s staff. He took one last look around, then shouldered the bow and set off through the forest.

If one might have sat there and watched the clearing after the thief had left, one might have noticed a little silver arrow glide silently through the air and land peacefully on what was left of the mage.

Written by Raithen Arthat
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:51 PM
Post #58


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Ralik (Perseus)


Love reversed.

Written by: Ralik

"You are sure of this?"
The answer came after quite a while. It was as if the other had to think hard of an answer that would fit the question.
"Yes, indeed I am." A simple reply that did not seem to satisfy his companion. "If you do not know for sure, we cannot..". He stopped, looked around him but found no reason to be suspicious of his environment. He moved his hand away from his sword. "If we are heard talking about this, we will surely die." Ralik shuddered and thought about what made him betray his master and those he had called his friends. Even his most trusted friend, Eryet who would have followed him to the moon had there been a ladder long enough.

Ralik
Once, everything had been so simple. He served master Arthan, a man with considerable wealth. Arthan had worked hard to get there. He had often told his servants of how he, his father Arec and his mother Sedrin had worked day and night to sell otherwise useless objects found by the wayside to traders. Sedrin one time had been seized by a thief, mistaking them for wealthy travellers. When he found out about the woman's bleak existance, the thief ended her life. Arthan's father Arec drowned in a river, trying to pursue her killer wearing armor. Indeed Arthan had fought hard for his money and only had his daughter left to bring joy to his life. His wife Chira had died of an unknown disease.
Master Arthan had gotten him out of prison, where his innocent mind was trapped between the guilty. He owed him his service. He owed him his life. More than that, he owed him his friendship.
A man who believed in his innocence, set him free and became his friend. All that had changed.
Aseli. There was nothing he would not have done for her, when she told him she loved him. Nothing he would not do, except betray his master. "None but a nobleman may ask for my daughter's hand." A painful memory. "Those who betray me will die." Equally painful. He knew Aseli was out of his reach. Even if they ran away together, disappeared into the night, master Arthan would come after them. Riding a horse called Anger and carrying a sword called Vengeance. Arthan had no such belongings but would not hold back his wrath. He would do all in his power to find his daughter. And kill her captor.
Ralik had told no one but Eryet. Aseli was beyond his doubts, never would his trust in her fail. Jostil, the maid, Isslar the stable boy and Vitti he could not tell. Though they were friends, they would never understand him. Wodin and Klaen, tall men, he had never trusted. They would seem kind and gentle in conversation, but Ralik knew they would instantly tell master Arthan about his plans. He felt guilty, not because he would break his vow to Arthan, but because he had dragged Eyret into it.
Master Arthan would know he was involved and unleash his wrath on Eryet.
Ralik could not allow that. Eryet would have to come with them.

Eryet
After hearing Ralik's tale, he had promised to help. He understood what he would have to do. Love after all, was more important than loyalty. His mother always told him the importance of things. Love, loyalty, honor. Always in that order. He had lived by that code for as long as he could remember. Even as a child, he had never strayed from his beliefs. He did want to talk about it anywhere near Arec manor however. He lead his friend to places in the woods.
Master Arthan was very friendly to both of them, but he would neither let his daughter marry a mere servant nor let his daughter's kidnappers live.
Beneath the trees, they completed their plan. Whispering, making sure no one followed, plotting. Things Eryet had despised. Things he had lowed. Things now necessary to be true to his friend.
If love, friendship and honor were diseases that could not be cured easily, life itsself had to be a plague of some sort.

Aseli
She had seen how Ralik looked at her. Still she was in doubt. If she was wrong, she would look ridiculous. Moreover, he would tell her father, who would not be kind. She decided her love for him would be worth a beating and told him during a horseride. Ralik, surprised and amazed nearly fell from his horse. They started slipping away from the manor together and their love grew. At some point, they realized they could never be together this way. Only one choice remained after careful consideration. They would have to flee from the manor and master Arthan and travel far in little time.

"So master Arthan will not come back for a week?" It wasn't a question, merely an observation. "It matters not if it were a year, as soon as he finds out, he will follow us Eryet. We will have to find a way to make sure our names will not be known where we will go. And I have a plan."
Eryet mounted his horse looked at the darkening sky and shook his head. "Somehow, some way, this is just", he spoke loudly as they rode back.

None of master Arthan's servants was awake when the three got on their horses. They took a dirtroad into the woods, riding slowly, towards the creek. They would be following it for quite a while, making sure there were no tracks to follow. After that, they would travel south along a cobblestone path though they would not be entering the city at its end. He had listened to other prisoner's tales and knew no hunter would find them if they also left their names behind.

Klaen and his brother Wodin, who shared a small room behind the stables had seen them leave. "We have no right to keep this from the master, yet...", Klaen paused. "Yet what brother?" Klaen hung his head. "Yet, Aseli specificly asked us to make sure master will not find out. That her heart chose Ralik instead of me, or you, does not make any difference. We will do as she asked." Wodin glanced at the clearing sky. "Very well, but we will not clear the tracks they made. Instead, we will ask Isslar to come with us and make our own."

As Ralik predicted, master Arthan hired riders to find his daughter. He would not think of business or anything else. "I will reopen the damned shop when I find my Aseli", he had shouted. "My finest two servants and best friend. No, they will not go unpunished." His servants dared not agrue with him. He had questioned all of them, thoroughly, yet learned nothing. The trackers he paid had little to go on. There were so many tracks around the manor, that they feared the Ralik and Eryet had released three horses to make sure they weren't followed.
Thus, they only had a description of Arthan's daughter and her name. Knowing Arthan's former servants would not give their names, they would ask villagers if they knew of any new people around, hoping to hear one of the names they were looking for.

After months of looking, Arthan had given up on his daughter who would surely be beyond his reach by now.
"I am sorry to disturb you", Candar started, "but a woman told me you and two others just settled here. I represent the magistrate and wish to know your names for our records." A woman with dark hair looked up and lead Candar inside.
Outside, two horses stopped near the farm. "Ilesa? Could you come and help for a minute?." The woman walked to the door and asked both men, who had just arrived to come inside instead. "This man stopped by to record our names for the magistrate", she said. "I have never heard of such a thing."
"There can be harm in knowing our names", one of the two men said, "welcome to our farm. I am Kilar, this is my wife Ilesa and my best friend Teyre. Do you require anything from me?"

He knew, it was risky to keep the conversation going, but he saw Candar look more at ease. As if he had dropped his guard. "Again, I am sorry", Candar spoke, "I work as a tracker for a man known as Arthan, son of Arec. I am trying to find his daughter Aseli and two of his former servants, Ralik and Eryet. Master Arthan called off the search yesterday, but I had to check all possibilities."

Kilar stood up. "If that is all, I would like to get back to my crops."
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:52 PM
Post #59


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Vutier (Perseus)


A Knight’s Honor

Written by Vutier


Too bloody a fight to be called a skirmish. Yet it was too small to be seen as a battle.
Things had always gone ill in this region. There had been many vicious fights like the one Vutier and his friends had just witnessed. He would have no part of it.

They no longer heard swords clash together. The fighting had stopped. Initially, the ambushers had an advantage. Knocking the surprised riders of their horses and killing two of them before they could react. It was clear though that the riders that had now lost their horses were better trained and better equipped. The attackers, in their black armor and blue and black shields had outnumbered them.
The knights retreated, holding off a force of marauders and a great number of spears. Wearing silver armor which shone brightly in the sunlight, the knights took their stand on a muddy hilltop. The marauding force charged up, only to get violently beaten back. The knights, though wearing fine armor, carried no shields.

His father Herad had always said: “He who enters battle with no shield will die of his own stupidity.” Then again, his father had been like these men. As a spearman, he had worn the black and blue in service of his lord. Never again would his father swing his spear in combat. The arrogant man had died, defending a small area from those blasted knights.

Still amazed, he looked at one of the knights. He held his sword in both hands, swinging it from shoulder to shoulder. Because he kept swinging, he could not be attacked easily. The powerful blows that mostly landed on the shields of frightened spearmen sometimes knocked a foe down. With no hopes of getting up, a long sword would come down on that foe. “Two soldiers are more powerful than one.” His father must have been wrong. These knights were winning a battle that had seemed hopeless.

But it was not to be that way. Bloodshed continued as another group of soldiers in black armor entered the field. Nine men in black and three in silver, dead in the dirt. Two more joined the nine and one of the knights fell to his knees and buried his face in the mud. The fight raged on. The knights could not be defeated easily, but they would not last against a much larger force. After an hour, only two spearmen and a single knight were still standing. The knight killed one with a quick thrust. The other pierced the knight’s chest near his shoulder, making the bloody silver fall from his hand. The knight, who initially rode up front, picked up a dagger from the mud and killed the last remaining marauder.

At that point, Vutier and his companions ran up the hill. They cared not for the dead. Nor for the lords these men had fought for. Their belongings were all that mattered. They had no family to turn to. They would look after themselves. Jerrik and Alkar had never even seen their parents. Josten’s father and mother had been imprisoned for betraying their lord. Karben’s parents were both dead, his mother died at his birth and his father had fallen in battle. Vutier had never known his mother. His father had always said she left one day. Vutier however, had not seen the lie in his eyes.

“Let us loot these bodies and be done with it.” Business as usual. Karben would take charge here, as he always did. Though he was a good friend of Vutier, he never liked Karben’s need to take command all the time. “Well come on, we haven’t got all day. If we don’t do it now, we will not be gone before the next soldiers arrive. And if we don’t do it, you know someone else will.”

They started with the weaponry. Most of the weapons had belonged to the larger force. Mostly spears and daggers. Fabricated of cheap metal, not worth taking along, but Vutier had taught his friends a way to use them anyway. They used spears bound together and made a small platform to put loot on, so they could carry their new belongings off as quickly as possible. They took the silver swords that were on the hill, and put them on the spears. There was little else of value, the horses had run away and the armor was too heavy to carry off. It was poor mostly, but the knights’ armor was exquisite, so they took their time to bury some of the undamaged armor. The swords would be enough to survive for quite a while longer.

“It’s a pity they did not carry much gold,” Karben spoke finally.

“Though these swords will do fine.” Vutier looked at the knight that tried to get back up.

“Still, my friends, it is wrong. Indeed, these men are dead or dying. But what right have we to steal from them? Assuming we have the right to do so, are we less barbaric than the lord that is supposed to rule these lands?” Josten, Jerrik and Alkar knew arguing would be pointless. Vutier would never stop disapproving what they did to survive. Karben however, felt the need to make his point.

“You’re a fool, Vutier! We have to do something to survive on our own. You know we are too young to go into someone’s service, and no one is likely to take us in until we are old enough. What would you propose? Steal from living people instead? How is that less immoral?”

Vutier shook his head. “No, I know why we don’t steal from living people. Because it is too risky. Because someone with a need to commandeer me is afraid to die.”

“Fighting amongst yourselves will only ensure victory of those that oppose you.”

Karben turned to the knight, who now stood on the middle of the hill, leaning on a large rock. “Stay out of this, do us all a favor and die quickly and silently.” Unimpressed the knight continued:

“That last soldier pierced my armor, yes. But he only managed to cut me in the arm. I cannot hold a sword right now, but he will never do so again.” He grinned. “They call me Krindis. I will not stop you from looting these men, if that is your destiny in life. But you have no right to call Vutier here a fool if you do so. As a knight, I serve the people rather than my lord and do not lie. Not even to treacherous beings such as yourself. And I speak the truth if I claim Vutier was the name I gave my son, before he was taken by an enemy soldier in a raid long ago. Vutier looked at the knight, who seemed more honest than his father had ever been to him and far more honorable.

“Perhaps you would recognize this half amulet? I see you still carry its other half.”

Vutier looked down and held his amulet in his hand. The head and belly of a dragon. He saw the knight holding a similar amulet, with a tail, rear and a piece of its wings that seemed distorted. “I recognize it. Yes, something from long ago. But how do I know you have not lied to me as Herad has? Besides, it did not have wings.”

Krindis smiled, knowing his son was testing his knowledge of the object. “It had wings, but a part of it broke off when your mother bathed you when you were younger.”

Karben looked skeptically to his friend. Was he seriously thinking of leaving with this stranger? “That is quite enough. You should leave now, knight, I have heard enough of your…”

Vutier interrupted: “No, he is my father, I’m absolutely sure of it. Somehow, I knew it when he said my name.”

Josten could not believe what he was hearing. “You will leave us for him?”

Vutier smiled. “I’ve never been here, Josten. You should know that by now. I never agreed to Karben’s looting plans and always seem to disagree with him. However, if you wish, you can come with me. Have a life away from poverty and theft.”

“No, I will not betray my land.” Jerrik spoke loudly, as if he was speaking to an army of men.

“Nor will I.” Alkar, even louder continued. “You will not convince Josten or Karben to follow this man into a trap. Clearly he disapproves of our business.” Karben picked up one of the shorter swords on the hill. Josten gave a spear to Alkar and took two of the short swords. Jerrik, who had gone back for shields, gave them to his friends.

“Father? What will we do now?” Krindis sighed and picked up two daggers. “I see no way to avoid a fight. I will make my stand here. Get yourself a weapon.” Vutier instinctively reached for the sword his father dropped earlier. Its blood wasn’t yet dry.

“Now die, you worthless knights. Pay for the blood of my father”, Karben yelled. The four ran at Krindis. Krindis backed out, took one step to his right, turned and stabbed Josten in his neck.

Jerrik was next to die. He had seen the dagger in Josten’s body and assumed Krindis was now unarmed. He did not see the other dagger because his own shield hid the weapon from view. He charged, and stabbed his sword forward, missing the knight who quickly stabbed him twice.

With Jerrik and Josten dead, Alkar and Karben threw a net over the knight. It was no more than a common fishing net, but Kindris was trapped underneath. Vutier, who saw his father move swiftly in his armor, rushed to his aid. Swinging the sword as he had seen one of the knights do before.

He hit the inside of Alkar’s shield, and quickly slashed the sword across the chest. Only Karben was left. Though Vutier fought the best he could, he was destined to lose. Finally, Karben gained the upper hand and moved in for the kill.

“You see your death. Look at it again because it is the last you will see.” Karben smiled at first, then looked surprised and gasped for breath. A long dagger had pierced his chest between the shoulders.

“Indeed it is the last thing you will see,” said Krindis.

“Father! You have stabbed him in the back. I thought knights considered that to be a cowardly.” The tall man looked at his son.

“No, my son. Saving those you love is more important than honor. Remember that as long as you live.”


I still remember
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:53 PM
Post #60


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Sun's-Day (stargate525)


Kasa-Mei
By Sun’s-Day

I was a pretty handsome Argonian in my youth if I do say so myself. Sure I wasn’t the most strapping youth in town, (though working at my father’s shop would later take care of that problem), but I was pretty fine looking nonetheless. I would chase after girls, same as any other teenager, but the tail and the fact that I was only three years old made the difficulty rather high.
I had always known about Kasa-Mei, after all, she was Flamescales sister. But I began to see her in a whole new light shortly after my fourth birthday. I guess that’s when my instincts took over and my reason made way for it. The next time I saw her, I managed to get away from Flamescales and ask Kasa-Mei out. As I look back on it, I am thoroughly amazed that she accepted. Either way, we agreed to meet at sunset on a hill in the forest, from the small divots on the north side, you could overlook the river and see the town. Quite a beautiful place, and the favorite spot for any teenaged couples hoping for an illicit get-together.
We met on the hill, both of us had snuck out of our houses for this, and I was not going to waste any time. We quickly chose a divot we both liked, and we both settled down to watch the sun set over the town. If any elven eyes would have looked toward the hill that night, they would have seen Kasa-Mei and I on the hill, she cradled over my legs, tails wrapped around each other.
We both basked in the presence of each other, the golden light of the setting sun reflecting marvelously against her green skin, sleek, warm, and toned from work in the fields. It was not until well after the sun had set, and the many stars came out to light us both in a silver sheen, that she spoke.
“The stars are beautiful tonight.” She murmured, nuzzling close to my chest.
“Not as pretty as you are though.” I replied as I threw a blanket that I had brought over us.
She looked at me, not a passing glance, no; this was different. I got lost in her eyes, two dark blue orbs, so trusting and innocent, the two great moons reflected in their smoothness. “That is so sweet...” I could feel her tail unwind from mine and snake its way over to my hip. “Nobody has ever said that to me before...” that tail of hers was sending a tingle as it journeyed up my chest, underneath my shirt.
“I-I-I,” I stuttered. But she wasn’t listening. Her tail had apparently reached its final destination, absentmindedly stroking my neck, flooding my mind with the pleasantness of that sensation. She wrapped her arms around me, and we kissed, long and hard...

We went to that hill at least once a week together after that until Flamescales and I left. She said that she would wait for me to return. I wonder if she is there now, waiting for me, looking out from the hill, our hill. But until I return, My memories will have to keep me company in this lone world.
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