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> A Spellsword Sellsword: Telindil's Tale
Callidus Thorn
post Dec 12 2013, 02:47 PM
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Okay, here goes my second stab at a fanfiction. This wasn't intended to be fanfiction, Telindil was supposed to be a character to write about in the "Today in Cyrodiil" thread, so shorter, more game based updates. That went out the window when I tired writing up the tutorial section, and realised I'd been at it for two hours, had written two pages, and had only just gotten past the first wave of attackers. By the time I was done it covered four pages. Since Telindil clearly wasn't happy being dealt with in brief, a second attempt at fanfiction seemed the thing to do.

As with my last attempt, all criticisms, nitpicks, comments, suggestions and such are welcome, again, don't pull your punches people. And if you feel you need to break out a baseball bat, then you go right ahead and do it. biggrin.gif

So here we go again:

Prologue


The Imperial City, Last Seed 24 3E 433, The Bloated Float

The tavern was busy. It was early in the evening, so the dockrats had started turning up, to drink away the aches of the day's labour. Two Altmer are sat at the bar, each on opposite sides. One of them is Ormil, the owner, and the other is a Spellsword called Telindil. The latter is clad in Mithril armour with an Altmeri longsword to match, and arrived by ship that same afternoon. Despite the friendly, jovial atmosphere in the tavern, his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword. Ormil pretended not to notice. The two had been chatting for a while, mostly Ormil repeating the rumours running around, the two of them interrupted occasionally by a burst of song from one corner of the tavern or other.


“So what brings you to Cyrodiil?” Ormil asked Telindil, glad of another Altmer to talk to, and having run out of rumours to pass on.

“Business and bureaucracy. I'm a freelance Spellsword, a mercenary, and since Traven reorganised the guild I've been told I need to reapply to get my certification back.”

“Your certification?” Ormil was confused by this. He knew Traven had made some changes, like the ban on necromancy, but this hadn't been covered by rumour or the Black Horse Courier.

“The guild's way of keeping track of freelance magic users. You need to be able to show basic proficiency in the schools of magic you employ, prove that you can use them safely, but you're not actually part of the guild. Well Traven put a stop to all that, and revoked everyone's certification So I've come to Cyrodiil to find out what I need to do, since my local guildhall told me it was necessary. So I go to the Arcane University, only to be told that I'm required to sign up to the Mages Guild if I want to practise magic legally.” Telindil shook his head and drank deeply from his tankard, the cool ale doing little to quench his anger.

“That seems rather excessive. I could understand him requesting that everyone reapply for certification if he'd made some changes to what was required, but this? It makes no sense.”

“Well they say that Traven's paranoid, convinced that Necromancers are plotting to attack the guild, or so they say, and that he wants every magic user under his command or in shackles.”

“But the-” Ormil never got to finish his sentence.

“Barkeep!” a voice roared out from behind Telindil, “Your finest ale, and be quick about it.”

Telindil groaned inwardly. He knew that voice. Casamir Lanier, a Breton. The two of them were in the same profession, and were apparently now in the same boat, literally and figuratively. Ormil scurried off, tankard in hand, and Telindil braced for the inevitable. He and Casamir had crossed paths more than a few times over the years, and never without a fight. And by the sounds of things, Casamir was already deep into his cups.

“What's that I see over there?! Lindy? Is that you, you goblin-fondling son of a swine?”

This time Telindil didn't bother keeping his groan in.

“I still owe you for that last run-in, back in Hammerfell. You damn near crippled me, you bastard.” Casamir was glaring at Telindil from across the tavern, sparks flying from both his eyes and his fingers. Telindil stood and turned to face him. Casamir had an unusual build for a Breton, broad shouldered and heavily muscled, and he took more than a little pride in that. Some said he had Nord blood in him, and looking at him in his Orcish forged armour, with a Dwemer claymore slung over his right shoulder, Telindil believed them. He ran through his defensive spells, trying to guess how Casamir would strike. He didn't like having to go defensive, to let Casamir launch the first attack, but he had no choice. He didn't dare try hurling an offensive spell with so many people in the tavern, it was too likely to hit a bystander, but Casamir was reckless enough and apparently drunk enough not to care. It was only then that Telindil realised how quiet The Bloated Float had suddenly become, and looked around at the patrons, frozen in place, fear etched deeply into their features. Then the tension shattered as one of them a young Imperial woman, ran for the door, screaming for the guards. No sooner had she left than the rest of the patrons, Ormil and the Orc bouncer along with them, fled.

Telindil breathed a sigh of relief as the tavern emptied, and it almost cost him his life. Casamir was already hurling a fireball Telindil's way, who barely countered it with a spell of fire shield, though it knocked him off his feet. Telindil expected Casamir to press the advantage, but was able to right himself unimpeded, just in time to see Casamir drop a potion vial carelessly to the floor. Before Telindil's eyes Casamir seemed to change. His stance tightened, his eyes became clearer, and his balance returned. “Still can't hold your ale Casamir? A potion of cure poison again? I thought you Bretons were supposed to be good at restoration?” Had Casamir's potion been a little less potent, or had he been more drunk, Telindil might have been able to goad him. The Breton just sneered at him in response, then the fight began in earnest.

Fireballs hurtled back and forth, lightning bolts tore through the air, and radiant orbs of frost froze everything they touched. Magic was gathered and hurled, only to splash or ricochet off armour reinforced by defensive spells, and the force of their battle wreaked havoc on the tavern. Drinks froze, thawed, then refroze, only to be shattered in a hail of twinkling shards by stray lightning bolts. Half the tables were frozen into a semi-solid mass to one side, the walls were covered by the crazed burn marks of lightning, and the bar was blazing merrily. There was nothing subtle or delicate about the magic used, it was brute force elemental strikes being blocked by defensive spells, a battle of mace and shield by magical proxy. Two spellcasters slugging it out like a pair of punch-drunk brawlers, in a display sure to make any of their old tutors wince at its crudeness.

Telindil knew he was in trouble. Casamir's innate Breton resistance to magic kept the worst of Telindil's spells at bay, letting him use weaker defensive spells, and focus more on attacking. Meanwhile Telindil was being stung by every spell Casamir threw, his Altmer heritage working against him, even through his defenses. He knew he had to end this fight, while he still could. Batting aside an orb of frost with his blade, he charged Casamir, and the next phase of the duel began. Telindil wore only light armour of Mithril, rather than the heavy Orcish-forged steel plates favoured by Casamir, so he was more agile than the Breton. The two danced around each other, Casamir's armour clanking with every step, their blades catching the flickering glow of the fires they'd started, the only source of light remaining in the tavern. The two combatants forgot about offensive magic, instead reinforcing their shield spells whenever they could, and here Telindil had the advantage. His blade carried an enchantment of dispel, though Casamir's armour meant he was still well protected. Telindil began to grow desperate. He might have been the better magic user, but Casamir's defences were near impenetrable, and he wielded his claymore like an expert. Telindil had to dodge most of Casamir's strikes, huge diagonal swings from above his shoulder, which tore gouges in the wooden floor, and threw splinters everywhere. But his dodging left him unable to counter-attack, at least in any effective way. Telindil knew that he was outmatched, and struggled to find a way to either end the fight or escape.

And in his desperation, an idea took hold. As their blades met once more, Telindil brought his free hand up before Casamir's face, and conjured the brightest light he could, shutting his eyes just before the brief flash of light. Casamir staggered backwards, blinking furiously and waving his sword blindly, his other arm waving frantically as he fought to keep his feet and clear his sight. Telindil dodged the blade and drove his sword deep into Casamir's side, piercing one of the few points he was vulnerable, under his arms. Casamir roared with pain, and swung his own sword with what remained of his fast-fading strength, burying it in Telindil's side. Both collapsed to the floor, and that was how the guards found them.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Dec 13 2013, 06:33 PM


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mirocu
post Dec 12 2013, 04:47 PM
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Whoa!! Talk about an intense opening, Callidus! And whatta cliffhanger! What is it that McB use to say....


Oh, yeah!

*applauds heartily*

biggrin.gif


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McBadgere
post Dec 13 2013, 05:41 AM
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Fair dues!!...Excellent stuff...

I like your style...The fast flowing nature of the fight was excellent...

I thought it was very cool, the way you had the two different styles of fighter go up against each other, neither able to finish off the other 'cause of their respective strengths was excellent!...

Made me laugh when the bar just cleared that way... biggrin.gif ...

Proper good stuff matey!!...

Oh, Crow-boy...

Thusly -

*Adopts stance*...

*Inclines head*...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

biggrin.gif ...

(Be honoured, first one back for some months... wink.gif ... tongue.gif ...)...

Keep going, awesome start!...(Re-start?)...

This post has been edited by McBadgere: Dec 13 2013, 05:42 AM
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Colonel Mustard
post Dec 13 2013, 11:43 AM
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That was pretty damn good. The fight between Tellybox and Casanova* was damn intense and the magical side-effects on the rest of the tavern was some nice use of detail.

In terms of nits, you did use past tense in the first paragraph before switching to present, which made made me do a bit of a double-take while reading and left me a bit 'off-balance' as a reader for the rest of that paragraph as I wasn't sure which tense you wanted to use and whether you were going to switch back.



*Sorry, couldn't resist
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Grits
post Dec 13 2013, 04:38 PM
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I love it when characters seize you by the keyboard and demand their own story. biggrin.gif That was a great fight scene! Ormil is not going to be pleased with the results.

Great opener to Telindil’s adventures! I’m hooked. smile.gif


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Acadian
post Dec 13 2013, 05:47 PM
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Welcome back to another go at fanfic! This was surely an attention-grabbing opener! It was replete with a wonderful display of what Spellswords can do with their deadly combination of magic and blade. The action was easy to follow, fast paced and really highlighted the Breton/Altmer pros and cons as mages.

"Lindy? Is that you, you goblin-fondling son of a swine?” - - I love this line! laugh.gif

'Fireballs hurtled back and forth, lightning bolts tore through the air, and radiant orbs of frost froze everything they touched.' - - The whole paragraph that this leads into was very well done and really gives a neat impression of elemental destruction in combat. The poor old Bloated Float will never be the same!

*

‘As with my last attempt, all criticisms, nitpicks, comments, suggestions and such are welcome, again, don't pull your punches people. And if you feel you need to break out a baseball bat, then you go right ahead and do it.‘ - - Your great storytelling and solid talent for prose hardly require a baseball bat. Merely some tiny tweaks.

In general, you are still using over-long and complex sentences. Rather than cobbling multiple clauses together with a fist full of comments, you are much better to break things into more, but simple and crisp sentences. Here is just one example of a sentence that needs such attention:
‘One of them is Ormil, the owner, and the other is a Spellsword called Telindil, clad in Mithril armour with an Altmeri longsword to match, who arrived by ship that same afternoon.’

Two tiny typos:

‘...revoked everyone 's certification.’ - - You have an extra space near the end of everyone’s.

‘...a display sure to make any of their old tutors wince at it's crudeness.’ - - Remember this: It’s = It is. Its = possessive. You want the latter in this sentence, of course.


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Callidus Thorn
post Dec 15 2013, 09:11 PM
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Mirocu: Thanks. If you're going to be reading, does this mean I don't need to put updates in the "Where are you Today?" thread? biggrin.gif

McBadgere: I had way too much fun with that fight. I didn't actually plan them to have such different styles, it just happened. Glad you liked it.

And it's all new, not a restart, though one or two elements might get recycled later on. Who knows?

Colonel Mustard: Tellybox and Casanova? dry.gif

Just kidding.

Grits: That definitely what Telindil did. Now it seems he's reaching through screens and demanding readers laugh.gif

Acadian: Thanks for pointing that out again. I've been going over what I've got written so far trying to catch them, but I find it a bit tricky. I often talk like that, so I have a hard time spotting them. And thanks for catching those typos, guess my fingers got away from me a little there. biggrin.gif


Yikes! Seems I've given myself a tough act to follow mellow.gif

Okay, here's part one of Chapter 1. I wasn't originally going to post it in two parts, but it's pretty long and I've only finished editing half of it so far. Since I've reached a good point to split it in two, I thought "why not?".

Chapter 1 part 1: Condemned

The Imperial City, Last Seed 27 3E 433, Prison

Telindil lies unconscious, stuffed into a set of ill fitting, rough-spun prison issue clothes, a dull red stain on one side of his chest. His breathing is laboured, but steady. A healer had tended to him before they put him in the cell, but his wound has not been fully healed. “No point restoring a man to full health only to hang him the next day”, one of the guards had joked when they noticed the red stain on his clothes as they carried him in. The cell is dimly lit, by a small window set high in the wall. On the one side a single stool stands before a table, upon which stand a jug of water and a cup beside it. The floor is littered with humanoid bones, and rusted manacles stained with blood hang from the opposite wall on thick iron chains.


Telindil began to stir, then woke. Alarmed at waking in unfamiliar surroundings, he sat bolt upright, then screamed in agony as he almost tore wide the wound in his chest once more. Collapsing backward, he smacked his head against the thin straw sack posing as a mattress, though the pain barely registered amidst the near blinding agony from his side. He lay there for a while, he didn't know how long, and looked around as best he could without rising. It was only then he realised where he was. Slowly he forced himself to his feet, fighting for every breath and gasping in pain with every move, desperate to stand. In his weakened state he couldn't cast anything powerful, let alone remember any of the powerful spells he knew. There were only two within his grasp: A basic flare spell, clearly of no use, and a minor healing spell. It was not intended for such dire wounds, but perhaps with enough casts it would suffice.

Leaning heavily against the cold stone wall for support, he cast his spell over and over again, feeling an infinitesimal fraction of his strength return each time. He was interrupted before he could finish the long, drawn-out process. Four figures came down the stairs, one locking the door behind them before joining the other three, talking quietly about something. Three of them wore identical armour and matching blades, two Redguard men and a woman. He couldn't tell at first whether she was Imperial, Breton, or even Nord, though he doubted the latter. As they stopped before his cell, Telindil got a better look. Only then was he able to pick out the faintest of merish features in her face, the hallmark of the Bretons. She returned his gaze with a look typically reserved for something disgusting clinging to the underside of her boot.

“What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits.” She barked at one of the two Redguards, clearly they were her subordinates.

“Usual mixup with the Watch, I -” The Redguard began.

“Never mind. Get that gate open. Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way.” Telindil wasted no time in moving right up against the back wall, thankful he'd had enough time to restore some freedom of movement, if not heal himself completely. It wasn't until they walked into his cell that he got a good look at the fourth person, and his knees buckled beneath him in shock. He fell to one knee, head bowed. It was the Emperor.

“Yes Telindil, it is I.” Telindil's eyes snapped upwards, his face a study in astonishment, his jaw slack. “I have seen your face often, Telindil, and heard your name called out amidst dreams of blood and fire. Even now your feet are set upon the path you must walk, and for a time we shall walk it together, until my journey's end. The dawn approaches, and with its coming night shall fall forever.”

Telindil was still trying to make sense of this when a section of cell wall swung open, revealing a secret passageway. A gust of stagnant air, thick with dust, wafted into the cell."Please, sire, we must keep moving.” The woman's voice was insistent. “Better not close this one. There's no way to open it from the other side” She said to the other two, before leading the Emperor through the passageway, into old sections of the city long abandoned. Telindil followed them, having nothing else he could do, leaving a fair distance between himself and the Emperor's party. The walls and floor were covered with a thick layer of dust, the stonework beginning to crack and crumble from age. The stagnant air caught in his throat with every breath, forcing him to fight back coughing fits and sneezes. He watched from a distance as shadowy figures burst from hiding, conjuring weapons and armour with a spell unlike anything Telindil had seen before. Without any apparent discipline they charged to attack the Emperor and his bodyguards.

The Breton woman went down early in the fight. A mace swung by one of the four attackers breaking her sword arm, before the return stroke crushed her face and shattered her skull. The two Redguards finished off the attackers, and left the Breton woman where she lay. They ushered the Emperor through a door at the far end of the chamber, and as Telindil approached it to follow them he heard the click of the lock. He was trapped. He turned back to the bodies of the attackers, and began searching them for anything of value. Their robes were useless, sodden with blood and slashed by the blades the Emperor's bodyguards had carried. Two of them each carried a potion, which Telindil pocketed before he caught sight of the Breton woman's body. She had a shortsword at her waist, and her curved sword lay on the floor where it had fallen. He took the shortsword, testing the balance before taking the scabbard from the woman's belt. Then he picked up her other sword, and took a few practise swings with it. “Too good a blade to leave to rust” he muttered to himself. He was about to turn back towards his cell with the idea of perhaps forcing the lock on the door, when he heard something.

He turned as the noise increased, the squeaking of rats giving way to the sound of stone grinding across stone, followed by several dull thuds that echoed around the room. Telindil searched for the source of the sound, finding that two rats had broken through a section of ancient wall. Neither had fully cleared the hole, making them easy targets for his flare spell. He peered through for a few moments, noting the rougher construction of the room beyond before heading through. Again he fought down a coughing fit at the air, more stale than ever, and thick with the stench of vermin and filth. He drew his salvaged blade at the sound of more squeaking, and cut a pouncing rat nearly in half as it threw itself at him. He found the skeletal remains of an archer nearby, the bones long since picked clean by the rats, leaving no sign of what had killed him or her. Nor was there any sign of how they had gotten there. The skeleton did at least possess some armour, though the leather was rough and old, and he hesitated only briefly before struggling to put it on. It was a poor fit, but it was better than nothing. He stumbled around the room, using his healing spell again, both to help his chest, and to light the area for a moment. He found a locked door with the body of some sort of goblin nearby, it seemed they were down here as well, and were undoubtedly responsible for the death of the archer.

The dead goblin had the key to the door in one of its pockets, Telindil spent a minute or two trying to wrap his head around that particular locked-room mystery, before shrugging it off and continuing. The next room added the stench of death to the mix, and Telindil advanced cautiously, not daring to light a torch, which would mean having no hand free to cast his flare spell. Experience had taught him never to give up the advantage of range, better to fight whatever was out there at a distance. Especially considering he wasn't at full strength yet. He struggled to see what was ahead of him through the ever-present darkness, blade in hand and flare ready to cast, when he made out the faint shape of a rat coming towards him. But it didn't move to attack, instead it ignored him and scurried past, as did the one behind, and he could hear the squeaking of a third somewhere in the dark.

Then he saw it. Lurching out of the darkness like something from a nightmare, a zombie was only a handful of paces away. It staggered towards him with an ungainliness that belied its speed, a dry groan issuing from its dead lungs. Telindil's blood ran cold at the sight of it, and his stomach churned at the foul reek coming from it, almost unbearable at close range. He managed to land a pair of flares on the thing, filling the air with an even more nauseating stench as the dead, rotting flesh was cooked and charred by the magical flames. After the second it was too close to risk another flare, so he led with his sword arm. He slashed at the monstrosity and weaved as best he could around its cumbersome attacks, until it shivered and fell to the ground beneath the assault. Telindil staggered backwards, needing to draw a deeper breath but not daring to do so in such close proximity to the twice-dead corpse. After retreating some distance back up the slope behind him, he managed to catch his breath again, and pressed onwards.

The tunnels began to grow even cruder, clearly dug later, probably by goblins. He knew they were down there, or that they used to be, at least. The tunnels gave way to a series of rough caverns, which were occupied by goblins, as expected. They were spread out, so Telindil only had to fight one or two at a time, brief fights swiftly resolved by flares. Because these were rough tunnels and caves, they were damp and humid in places, letting mushrooms grow. Telindil recognised them, and since they had uses in alchemy, harvested what he could. After slaying a half dozen or so of the wretched goblins, Telindil found his way into a large cavern, lit faintly by the light from a couple of cooking fires. A little light filtered in through cracks in the ceiling, but not enough to see by in its own right. There were several goblins in there, but the first three were brought down by flares before they even got close to him. Telindil exploited the general stupidity of goblins. If they were facing away, then as soon as the first flare he fired hit them, they would turn around to see where it came from before moving. This allowed enough time for a second flare, hot on the heels of the first, to hit them before they became a moving target. It even worked on the goblin witch who led them, dropping the creature before it could even use the primitive staff it carried.

After slaying the goblin witch he searched the body for anything of value, reasoning that the one in charge would hold the best loot, but found nothing save the staff. It might be crude, but it was still magical, and that guaranteed it to be worth decent coin. Exiting the cavern, he found himself back in the older tunnels, as they began to rise again, and finally lead through another hole in the wall back into the passageways and chambers beneath the prison. Below the Emperor and his bodyguards were under attack once more, from only a pair of the would-be assassins this time. Both of whom were cut down with ease by the skilled Redguards. The bodyguards seemed keen to move on but the Emperor seemed intent on lingering, as if waiting for something. Telindil was too far away to make out what was being said, but was curious at the Emperor's behaviour. Choosing to wait while assassins chased him from his own capital? What in Boethiah's name was going on? He had to find out. So while the two Redguards restlessly patrolled the room, watching the shadows for any sign of movement, Telindil jumped down. No sooner had he landed than one of the Redguards barked “Dammit, it's that prisoner again! Kill him, he might be working with the assassins.”

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Dec 17 2013, 12:27 PM


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Acadian
post Dec 17 2013, 01:55 AM
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So poor Telindil awakens to familiar (to us, not to him) circumstances. Even though the general flow of events in Oblivion’s tutorial is known, I simply love hearing the impressions of someone’s character as they navigate the perils therein. You were wise to break this up; after all, there’s no harm at all in ‘growing’ more episodes when the scope of a scene expands as you write. And shorter episodes make it easy to retain the attention of your readers. Face it, most folks are going to read a forum fanfic episode in one sitting. The bigger the episode is, the greater the chance that readers will miss some of your intended details or (Mara forbid) begin to skim.

‘She returned his gaze with a look typically reserved for something disgusting clinging to the underside of her boot.’ - - Eww! But wonderful put! tongue.gif

As Telindil makes his way, favoring magic in one hand and blade in the other, we see the Spellsword in him again.

I look forward to seeing how our rat & goblin-slaying Altmer reacts, now that he is rejoining the royal entourage. smile.gif


Nitty gritty stuff:

My advice would be to completely avoid the present tense for your fiction, except for very rare dream/flashback type small segments when appropriate. Your first paragraph could arguably fit the bill here, as the italics indicate something special about it. Your second paragraph is clearly normal narrative however. As such, it opens in the present tense but, by mid-paragraph switches to the past tense. Trying to use present tense for narrative quickly becomes very challenging and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a writer attempting it who does not slip predictably into past tense. Best to use and stay in past tense for narrative, methinks.

I can see you are working on the length and complexity of your sentences – keep that up. goodjob.gif Short crisp sentences are your friend!

One challenge, that is aggravated by the forum venue, is the ‘wall of text’ syndrome. Long paragraphs on the forum cause readers skip over things, lose their place or their eyes to glaze over. ohmy.gif Some of your paragraphs trend toward about twice the maximum length I would generally use for forum posting - most notably your next to the last paragraph in this episode. I know you have recently completed reading the stories of Buffy and Teresa, and are now reading the wonderful adventures of Jerric. The shorter paragraph length you see used in such tales is not coincidence; rather, it is born from experience.

As I mentioned when commenting on your last episode: It’s = it is; Its = possessive. In each of the following passages, you want the possessive form (its) -
- The dawn approaches, and with it's coming night shall fall forever
- ‘The dead goblin had the key to the door in one of it's pockets,’
- ‘It staggered towards him with an ungainliness that belied it's speed,’
- ‘a dry groan issuing from it's dead lungs.’
- ‘and weaved as best he could around it's cumbersome attacks’
-’but not enough to see by in it's own right.’

‘Neither had fully cleared the hole, making them easy target's for his flare spell.’ - - Here you want targets vs target’s of course.


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Callidus Thorn
post Dec 18 2013, 11:12 AM
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@Acadian: Thanks for the advice. I hadn't thought about the length of paragraphs, I'll add that to the list of things to keep track of.

And I've no idea what was going on with all those apostrophes, must have been an off day when I wrote that part.


And now the latter half of the tutorial, where we see a little of Telindil's character:

Chapter 1 part 2: Absolved

“No. He is not one of them. He can help us. He must help us.” At the Emperor's words, the Redguards calmed down and returned to patrolling, while the Emperor beckoned Telindil over to him. “They cannot understand why I trust you. They've not seen what I have seen. My Blades are the finest warriors in Cyrodiil, but they cannot stand against fate, though they would still try. The gods have granted me the grace to see the path ahead, though that sight ends this night, the dreams they have sent me do not go beyond the gates of death. But they have shown me a glimmer of hope, one last sight of the stars before the darkness falls.”

“I don't understand, Sire. What do you mean? What glimmer of hope?”

“My Blades could not defy what is coming, but you are not one of my Blades. You are the unknown quantity, and so it will be up to you to decide what comes next. For I go this night to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. But my fate is not yours, and in that there is hope.” And with that, the Emperor called to his Blades, and they set off once more, fighting their way through wave after wave of the mysterious attackers. Telindil hung back from the fighting, unable to match the prowess of the Blades, and wanting to think about what the Emperor had said. As they passed through yet another door, the Blades seemed to tense, as if sensing something amiss. One of them moved forward to scout ahead, before calling back that all was clear. Then it became obvious that something was wrong. A gate barred their way, locked from the opposite side. They were trapped.

The only other door led to a room with no other exit, through a short, arched passage. The Blades left the Emperor there, before returning to the larger chamber, one of them pausing to order Telindil; “Stay with the Emperor, guard him with your life.” Telindil took up a position in the arched passage, sword drawn and flare ready to cast, and then their mysterious assailants revealed themselves.

They attacked in two's and threes, making straight for the Blades. The two of them fought with a strength and skill born of desperation, the strength of men who know that salvation can only be reached by climbing over the dead. Wave after wave of the attackers broke upon them, but for each who fell another took their place. And just as in time even the mightiest of rocks may be washed away by the sea, they could not hold forever.

“Telindil” The Emperor's voice, though quiet, seemed to cut through the noise of combat only yards away. “We must talk, you and I.” Telindil tore his attention from the battle, and moved to stand before the Emperor. “You must listen. The Prince of Destruction awakes, those attacking us are his servants. Take my Amulet, the Amulet of Kings, take it to Jauffre, tell him to find my secret son. He must be kept safe! All hope rests with him now, him and with yourself.” Telindil took the Amulet and tucked it away inside his cuirass, then turned sharply at a shout of pain from behind him. He turned just in time to see one of the Blades fall to the ground, sword clattering to the floor from fingers no longer able to hold it.

As he turned back to face the Emperor, his blood ran cold. Behind the Emperor was another of the attackers, covered in dust and powdered stone. A hole in the wall behind revealing him to be the final part of the trap. From where Telindil stood it seemed the assassin carried no weapon, but then he saw the growing red stain on the front of the Emperor's robes, and realised what had happened. They had failed. The Emperor fell to the ground, no hint of pain on his features, as if one or all of The Nine had shielded him from the pain of his passing. Telindil saw the blade held in the assassins hand, the Emperor's blood dripping from the blade, and for the first time he could remember he was paralysed with fear.

The last Blade saved him. Battered and bruised, but unbroken, he charged past Telindil. He met the assassin blade to blade, and hacked him down with fierce, brutal strokes. Then he stood, chest heaving from exertion, and Telindil got a good look at him. His armour was torn, sections of it hanging loose, and was covered in blood. His sword was notched in places, and he bled from a score of wounds. His shield was a mass of scrapes and dents, barely even round anymore. The sword and shield fell from the Blade's fingers, as though he suddenly lacked the strength to carry them, and then his knees buckled. He looked like a great weight had landed upon him, a burden he had never thought he would have to bear. He knelt beside the Emperor, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he said; “No, Talos save us. We've failed.” He cocked his head to the side briefly in confusion, and turned to Telindil. “The Amulet, the Amulet of Kings, where is it? It's not with the Emperor, did they take it?”

Telindil shook his head, reaching into his cuirass and pulling the Amulet out to show the Blade. “No, the Emperor gave it to me just before...” His eyes drifted to the body of the Emperor, he didn't need to finish.

“He gave it to you? Why?” The Blade asked Telindil, confusion warring with suspicion in his eyes and voice.

“He told me to take it to Jauffre. He said there is another heir, a secret son.”

“Another heir? Then all is not lost. But why you? Why not give the Amulet to one of his Blades, to Glenroy or myself?”

“He said that you could not stop what is coming, that the Blades couldn't stand against his fate. He said I was the “unknown quantity”, that my fate was not his, and that in that there is hope. And at the end... He said that all hopes rests with his secret son, and with myself. I don't really know what he meant.”

“Hmm, he must have seen something in you, or perhaps something of what is to come. They say the Dragonblood gives a man strange sight, lets him see events before their time, or things that can't be seen by mortal eyes.” He wearily pushed himself to his feet before continuing. “I must remain here with the Emperor's body.” He pulled a key from a pouch at his belt, and handed it to Telindil. “This will open the door to the sewers, you can get out that way. Take the Amulet to Jauffre, tell him Baurus sent you. Tell him the Emperor's last words. Go.”

Telindil turned towards the hole in the wall, the only way forward, but stopped as Baurus laid a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, that sword you carry, that was Captain Renault's sword, wasn't it?” Telindil nodded and Baurus continued. “It is tradition among the Blades that when they die, their swords are taken to our fortress. I cannot let you leave with that sword.” Telindil didn't want to part with it, but even wounded as Baurus was, Telindil didn't think he could best him if it came to a fight. Sighing resignedly, he handed the sword to Baurus, who nodded his thanks.

“This Jauffre had better pay well for this” Telindil muttered to himself as he turned away from Baurus, who could not restrain himself.

“Pay?! Pay?! You listen, prisoner, the Emperor has given you an order, it is your duty to see it done.” The Redguard was furious. The Emperor lay dead, and this Altmer sought to profit from it?

“Duty? I'm a mercenary. When I'm not employed I have no duty to anyone but myself. And yes, I expect to be paid for this. My property has been confiscated, and will no doubt be sold to cover the damages I caused before I was arrested. I am a broke mercenary, with a plundered steel short sword and second-hand armour older than I am. And I'm charged with protecting the most valuable artefact in the whole of Cyrodiil, possibly the whole of Tamriel.” Telindil was just as angry as Baurus, and was getting angrier, his voice growing louder as he continued his tirade.

“I've just survived the Emperor's assassination, while two members of the Blades didn't, and now you want me to risk my life for free? To carry the Amulet of Kings halfway across Cyrodiil, without being detained by the Legion or killed by outlaws, with equipment not fit for a child playing at being a hero in some game with their friends? And that's assuming the assassins don't want it. It's only because the Emperor asked me to do it that I'm even considering it. I'm not part of the Legion, I'm not a city guard, I'm not a member of the Blades. I've sworn no oath of allegiance, made no vow to serve the Empire, so I've no obligation to do this. So yes, I do expect to be paid.”

Baurus glowered at Telindil, disgust etched across his features, and his words dripped with venom. “If coin is all that matters to you, then I'm sure Jauffre will reward you. Now get out of my sight mercenary, you insult the Emperor by being here.” Baurus placed one hand on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip, and Telindil did not take the threat lightly, heading through the hole the assassin made and into the sewers.

He emerged onto the banks of Lake Rumare a short while later, his rough leather boots encrusted with filth and excrement, his leather cuirass and sack cloth trousers stained with goblin blood, and the most valuable artefact in the empire in his possession. He sat down on the shore, looking out across the water, and asked himself why he didn't just stay in his damn cell.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Dec 24 2013, 03:08 PM


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Acadian
post Dec 19 2013, 03:43 PM
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A brave stand against the assassins fails – as the Emperor forecast. kvright.gif Telindil’s timing about discussing payment may not have been impeccable as he shared what the defeated and distraught Baurus surely did not want to hear. You did a good job of showing the Blade's grief and displeasure. Nevertheless, we get a glimpse into the Altmer’s nature. Will events that have yet to pass change Telindil’s mercenary nature? We shall see. I look forward to a meeting between he and Jauffre.

I had to chuckle at the first thing the filth-encrusted Telindil did upon successfully getting out of the sewers: He sat down to ponder his situation. Perhaps it is only the ladies who, under the same circumstances, absolutely insist upon a bath in that lake as priority number one. tongue.gif

Heh, with a little digging, I learned something new. Among the long list of words that I know Brits, Aussies and Kiwis spell differently than Yanks, I just added a new one: Artifact (US) / artefact(UK).

Nice job on controlling paragraph length in this episode. I vividly remember, years ago, BSparrow on another forum offering me the same advice on my early attempts at forum fan fiction. After a tactful explanation, she concluded, 'Don’t be afraid of short paragraphs.’ Then she illustrated her point by adding:

‘Like this one.’ wink.gif

And I see you’re still making good progress reducing that tendency toward over-long, complex sentences. goodjob.gif


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mirocu
post Dec 19 2013, 09:36 PM
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Incredibly well-written, Callidus! I couldn´t stop reading when I had begun! Now, I don´t read fan fiction regularly or anything, but this was good!

goodjob.gif !


And no, short updates is not something you can escape from wink.gif laugh.gif


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Callidus Thorn
post Dec 21 2013, 10:09 PM
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Acadian:
QUOTE
I had to chuckle at the first thing the filth-encrusted Telindil did upon successfully getting out of the sewers: He sat down to ponder his situation. Perhaps it is only the ladies who, under the same circumstances, absolutely insist upon a bath in that lake as priority number one. tongue.gif


Telindil's thoughts on the matter: If I have to swim the lake to get anywhere, why take a bath first?

Though he couldn't sit in his armour thinking for too long, as we see below.

QUOTE
Heh, with a little digging, I learned something new. Among the long list of words that I know Brits, Aussies and Kiwis spell differently than Yanks, I just added a new one: Artifact (US) / artefact(UK).


Reminds me of a joke about the english language: The English don't speak it, the Americans can't speak it, and the Australians have never heard of it. laugh.gif

Mirocu:Thanks. I guess I'll have to find some things for Telindil to do between chapters for some short updates.

Well, this was intended to be the update where he gets to Jauffre, but a few things happened along the way, and it ended up longer than I'd planned, so I've broken it in two. This bit isn't as good as I'd like, but here it is:

Chapter 2 Part 1:

City Isle, Last Seed 27.

Telindil sits on the bank of Lake Rumare, looking out across the lake, enjoying the afternoon sun. He is dressed only in his loincloth, his filth-encrusted armour thrown into a haphazard pile a short distance away, far enough for him not to smell it. With one hand he holds the Amulet of Kings before his face, gazing into it, watching the way its facets catch the light. It looks dull and plain in his hands, while around the Emperor's neck it had seemed that flames or light danced within. Behind him, the Imperial city gleams in the sunlight, a beautiful sight. But to Telindil it is a mass of forbidding stone, a dark city of death, where only the gallows awaits him.


It was only as Telindil sat on the bank of the lake that he finally had some time to think; about the Emperor's last words, about what he had found himself in, and about what to do next. One thing for certain, he really didn't want to get caught up in whatever it was that was going on. The Emperor assassinated, the Prince of Destruction waking, dreams of blood and fire, and darkness falling? This was the stuff of bards' tales, or legends, where some hero or other rises to save the day. And maybe one would, but Telindil would sooner sleep with an Orc than let it be him. Half the time they died in the process, and no-one ever gets rich saving the world. But, hero or no, he had to deliver the Amulet. He couldn't just toss it in the lake, much as he might like to. Not because he had any interest in being a hero, but because he should be able to get some coin for delivering it. And since Baurus knew he had it, if Telindil disappeared someone would undoubtedly come looking for him.

Telindil sighed deeply and pushed himself to his feet, and was surprised that his chest didn't hurt as he did so. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and called to mind all the spells he could remember, only to find the majority of them gone. He remembered knowing them, but it seemed the trauma and near death experience on the Bloated Float had driven them from his mind. At least he had some spells back, even if they were only the ones he'd learned as a novice. He ran through them a few times, re-familiarising himself with them. Most he hadn't used in years, but novice spells tend to get firmly wedged in the mind through repetition, so he wasn't too surprised to remember them.

He looked over to his “armour” and sighed heavily before pulling it back on, being very careful about which parts of it he grabbed, and doing his best to breathe shallowly. Once it was back on he dove into the lake, swimming across to the far shore, where an Ayleid ruin blazed a brilliant white in the mid-afternoon light. He crawled out of the water, as quietly as he could. As he'd swum over he'd seen the tell-tale smoke of a campfire, and knew someone was there. Telindil might have no skill at stealth, but he was naturally agile, thanks to being born under the Thief. He was able to get a good look at them before they saw him.

They were armed and armoured, a Dunmer archer and a Redguard with a warhammer. Telindil called out to them as he approached, not wanting to surprise them by getting too close to their camp before being seen. The Dunmer didn't seem to hear him, but the Redguard turned to face him, and immediately drew his hammer and charged. Telindil response was to hurl flares at the Redguard, who was too heavily under the influence of adrenaline to even think to dodge. He charged at Telindil with an almost berserker-like intensity, roaring through the pain of the flares that struck him. He fell to the ground still some distance from Telindil, having taken a pair of flares to the face, as well as a several more to the chest.

Telindil didn't bother calling to the archer. Drawing his shortsword and wrapping a shield spell about himself, he charged. He'd managed to halve the distance before the archer noticed him. He raced towards the Dunmer, a hastily fired arrow ricocheting from his shoulder, deflected by his spell. After that the Dunmer threw his bow aside and snatched a dagger from his belt, but could do little more than flail with the blade, and so posed no challenge to Telindil. The Dunmer's wild, undirected blows skittered off his spell-reinforced armour, and Telindil's return blows pierced and slashed the fur armour that protected the Dunmer's chest, and stilled him. Telindil ran a quick mental check for injuries, finding only a few bruises that he soon healed before returning to the Redguard's body. He pulled the fur armour off the corpse, and discarded the foetid leather and sack cloth that he wore. The fur armour wasn't the best fit, but it was far better than what Telindil had been wearing, if only because it didn't smell as bad.

Telindil looked down at the body of the Redguard and spat in disgust. Bandits. He despised bandits. Petty criminals and thugs, banding together to prey on merchants and travellers, they were no threat to a trained fighter, except as a group. The only ones that tended to be dangerous were the ringleaders, typically the strongest of the bunch. Presumably they were using the Ayleid ruin as a base of sorts, and targeting travellers on the nearby Red Ring Road. He was sorely tempted to enter and clear the place out, but he had bigger fish to fry, and a payday to get to. With that thought in the forefront of his mind, he set off for Weynon Priory, relying on the roadsigns to guide him to Chorrol. It had been quite some time since he had last been in Cyrodiil.

He moved at a steady jog, at a pace he knew he could keep up for hours before getting exhausted, but found his journey interrupted a few times. Twice by Khajiit highwaymen, both of whom demanded more money than Telindil had, not that he'd have given it to them anyway, and so gave them cold steel in lieu of payment. And there was also a brief run-in with a pair of imps that yielded an unexpected bonus. They'd been lurking in an abandoned fort next to the road, and in an old wooden chest on one of the above-ground floors Telindil found a tattered old robe, which carried a shield enchantment. It was only weak, but it provided better protection than the fur cuirass and blacksmith's trousers he was wearing. And it meant he no longer looked like one of those bandits, and less likely to attract the attention of the Legion. He'd already had to keep his distance from the road three or four times to stop a Legionary getting too close a look at him.

It grew dark before Telindil reached the Priory, forcing him to rely on his starlight spell. This was a source of embarrassment to him, and had been ever since his training. For some reason, one unknown to his former tutors, light was the only magic from the illusion school that he could cast. As it was only the weakest form of the spell, casting light a mere 20 feet, he had to alternate between casting it and detect life, as it grew too dark to see much of anything beyond the circle of magical illumination.

By the time he reached Weynon Priory it was late evening, not that it meant much to him, he didn't care how late the hour was, so long as he got paid. No sooner had he entered than one of the monks rushed over to ask his business, but Telindil just brushed past him, and made his way up the stairs. He knew that if Jauffre was half as important as Baurus has implied, he wouldn't be greeting guests when they entered, and there was no-one else downstairs. From the stairs he could see that to the left of the stairs was the dormitory, so headed right, finding an elderly man sat at a desk. Telindil at first took him to be a scholar, his aged, Breton features intent upon the book in his hand, until he cast a more critical eye over him. The grey hair and monk's robes failed to disguise his frame, which clearly had belonged to an experienced fighter.

“Are you Jauffre?”


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Callidus Thorn
post Dec 22 2013, 10:29 AM
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Doubling up:

Chapter 2 Part 2: Jauffre

The Grandmaster of the Blades snapped his gaze from the book in his hands to the scruffy High Elf vagabond stood before his desk, dressed in a tattered robe with worn fur boots and gloves. He had to fight down a sneer at the stranger's appearance, reminding himself that such an action was not becoming of a monk. “I am Jauffre, is there something I can help you with?”

The High Elf smiled; a cold, grim smile, that lacked both warmth and courtesy. “That depends. I have no use for Jauffre the monk, and have been led to believe that you are something more. Someone who can pay me for the news I carry, and for the relic in my possession. So, are you simply a monk?”

Jauffre's eyes hardened, becoming as cold and grim as the High Elf's smile. He closed the book sharply, noting the way the stranger's hand jerked ever so slightly towards the shortsword sheathed on his hip at the sudden movement. “Who are you, stranger? And who spoke of me to you?”

“My name is Telindil, and I was told to find you by two people; a Redguard called Baurus, and by Emperor Uriel Septim.” He said, with the calm deliberation of a man laying a trump card.

“Then I am Jauffre, Grandmaster of the Blades. What is this news you carry?”

“The Emperor is dead, as are the Blades assigned to guard him, all save Baurus. I carry the Emperor's last command, and the Amulet of Kings..”

Jauffre's face flushed red with anger. “The Emperor's death? The Amulet of Kings? What nonsense is thi-” His sentence ended as he choked into silence. Telindil had reached into a pocket and withdrawn the Amulet of Kings, dangling it before him on its chain. The blood drained from Jauffre's face, and his breath caught in his throat as it hit him. The only one allowed to hold the Amulet of Kings was the Emperor, so if this Telindil had it... “What happened? You must tell me everything”

“I will, just as soon as I'm paid for my services. You can tell even from there that this is the Amulet of Kings, so you know I'm not lying, I can see that in your reaction. So what is it worth to you?”

Jauffre almost choked with indignation. Telindil sought to blackmail him? The Grandmaster of the Blades? And with this? The Emperor's death, and holding the Amulet of Kings to ransom? The blood rushed back to Jauffre's face, and he was on the verge of reaching for the katana he kept under the desk when Telindil spoke again.

“Easy there, Jauffre. You'll give yourself a heart attack if you keep that up. Baurus told me you'd see me rewarded for my efforts. I just want to make certain that's the case, and that I get it before you decide you don't like what I have to tell you.”

This did little to calm Jauffre, but it did keep him from snatching up his sword. Instead he rose from his chair and unlocked the chest that stood against the left-hand wall. “We keep little in the way of coin here” he said to Telindil, struggling to keep his tone even. “All I can offer you is the contents of this chest, supplies I keep for travelling Blades on missions. Take what you will, but that is all I can offer you.”

Telindil rummaged through its contents, stuffing some leather armour, scrolls, and potions into a sturdy pack that was in there. “It'll do for a start. As Grandmaster of the Blades you must have influence, yes? I ran into a spot of trouble with the guards in The Capital a few days ago. A fight with an old rival of mine. Between the two of us we must have nearly sunk The Bloated Float, and I'm pretty sure he ended up dead. I was probably supposed to hang for it, so perhaps you could see that I'm pardoned? I'll even tell you everything before letting you decide, just to show I'm not trying to pull one over on you.

“I'll skip over the details, but I woke up in prison after the fight on the Bloated Float. I wasn't fully healed, just enough to survive until they hanged me. Since I'd been unconscious and half dead they hadn't bothered with manacles, so my hands were free. I was using a healing spell I remembered when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, the Emperor escorted by three Blades.”

“Only three? There should have been a dozen Blades guarding the Emperor. What happened to them?”

“I don't know, none of them said anything about it. The secret passage they were using happened to be accessed through my cell. I followed along behind them, not exactly keen on waiting to be hanged. The assassins were already waiting. Somehow they knew the route, and ways into it the Blades didn't seem to be aware of. The Captain, Renault I think Baurus called her, died in the first fight. The others pressed on and locked the door behind them, leaving me behind. I rejoined them later, having found another route, and they were still being attacked. The assassins had some bound armour spell I've never seen before, and used bound weapons. They all wore robes, like a cult or something. The Emperor was waiting, as if he had been expecting me to find them again. We continued onwards, and I hung back where I was out of the way. The Blades were better armed and armoured than I was, and they weren't carrying a wound like mine. The assassins were ahead of us, and blocked the exit to the sewers, trapping us.

Glenroy and Baurus fought off the assassins, while I waited with the Emperor in an adjoining room. Baurus told me to stand with the Emperor, the last defence should they fall. The Emperor gave me the Amulet and told me to take it to you, to tell you to find his secret son, that he must be kept safe. He said all hope rests with him. I turned when I heard Glenroy shout, and turned just in time to see him die. When I turned back one of the assassins had come through a weak spot in the wall, they'd probably prepared it earlier. He'd already stabbed the Emperor, there was nothing we could do. The Emperor had told me that he would die that night, though I didn't really believe him until that moment. He knew he couldn't be saved.”

Jauffre wasn't quite sure what to make of this brief account. The failure of the Blades assigned to protect the Emperor was unthinkable, but there was no mistaking the Amulet of Kings, and no way Telindil could have simply stolen it. And if Telindil was working with the assassins, why bring the Amulet here and tell all this to him, the Grandmaster of the Blades? “I'm not sure I entirely believe you Telindil, and I certainly don't trust you. But your story holds together well enough, and the fact that you hold the Amulet of Kings says much. Events had a habit of unfolding in mysterious ways around the Emperor, which is one of the reasons I don't dismiss your story out of hand.” He paused for a few moments, watching Telindil for any sign of deceit, but finding him difficult to read. “I'll see that you're pardoned, but only for the Bloated Float incident, nothing else. Any other outstanding issues with the guards are your own problems. I've given you all I mean to. Now, the Amulet” Jauffre held out a hand, and Telindil handed him the Amulet, inwardly sighing with relief at having gotten rid of it.

*

Telindil was pleased with how things went. He might not have any more coin, but at least with his new leather armour he'd look more the fighter and less the bandit or tramp. And the Imperial City was no longer off limits to him, or wouldn't be, in a few days.

Leaving the Priory, he made his way straight to Chorrol, and asked a guard about the local taverns. Of the two the guard told him of, he headed for the Oak and Crosier, grateful for those highwaymen who had tried to rob him, and were now paying for his room and meal for the night.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Dec 22 2013, 11:25 PM


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McBadgere
post Dec 22 2013, 10:46 AM
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Dude...Slow down!!... tongue.gif ...I'm trying to keep up, but I almost get there and there's two more!!...

I'm loving your stuff...It's amazing work...

Keep writing...But maybe an update every 5 days is quick enough?... biggrin.gif ...

Awesome stuff though...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...
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Grits
post Dec 22 2013, 10:47 PM
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I enjoy reading different characters’ experiences in the tutorial dungeon. Since the events are familiar it’s easy to focus intently on Telindil’s reactions and learn a lot about him. Like how Baurus taking Captain Renault’s katana back pushed him too far.

Great explanation of why he could only remember his Novice spells!

I like your portrayal of both Baurus and Jauffre. By the end of the last section I did not expect Jauffre to try to recruit Telindil, but rather to just take the Amulet and get rid of him which is exactly what he did. Good job.

And now to Chorrol in a new set of leather armor. The world awaits! smile.gif


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Acadian
post Dec 22 2013, 11:21 PM
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The wise McBadgere is correct in urging a slower posting pace so folks are encouraged to both keep up and fully savor/digest. It is difficult to run a journal style fanfic on an active character who plays (lots) everyday. I ran into the challenge with Buffy that she could complete things in her game in days that took months to relay via fanfic. I used to hold back her play to try and keep things synched with her story, but that made for a cranky elf and frustrated paladin. The solution for us was to go ahead and play at full speed, but mentally treat the fanfic as her memoires. That kind of thinking helped me a lot. All the stuff in our fic happened, but quite some time before it was ever posted. I’m not saying that is the answer, simply one technique that I found useful – for what it’s worth.

‘This was the stuff of bards' tales, or legends, where some hero or other rises to save the day. And maybe one would, but Telindil would sooner sleep with an Orc than let it be him.’ - - I’m with you, Teli! goodjob.gif

Nice job of explaining the limited suite of spells that Telindil emerged from the prison with, and slipping in his birthsign.

So, Jauffre buys the story (easy enough with Telindil carrying the Amulet of Kings) and it seems our Almer may be ‘Main Quest Complete’. If Grits and I are right, he has the whole of Cyrodiil at his front door now!

Couple little nits:
- ‘...while I waited with the Emperor in a adjoining room.’ - - I’m sure you want ‘an’ instead of ‘a’ in front of the vowel that begins ‘adjoining’.
- “...one of the reasons I don't dismiss your story put of hand.” - - Put of hand or out of hand? Methinks the latter?


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Callidus Thorn
post Dec 23 2013, 09:04 AM
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From: Midgard, Cyrodiil, one or two others.



McBadgere: Thanks. I wasn't planning on posting the second part of chapter 2 so soon, but I felt the first part was too weak to stand on it's own. But I've now almost caught up with what I've got written so far, so I'll have to slow it down a bit.

Grits: Glad you liked it, but Cyrodiil does not await him quite yet.

Acadian: Thanks for catching those two. That'll teach me not to check for mistakes by looking for the wobbly red underlines in Openoffice.

At present I've been keeping Telindil synched to what I've got written, mostly because it's the start. But once he leaves Chorrol that's going to stop. Otherwise I'll play for a couple of hours one day, then not play for three days while I get it written up. I don't want to get too far ahead of myself before I really get going.


I won't be posting the next part until probably after the new year. It's rather dark and grim, not really something to read over Christmas. I think I might have to get it looked at, just to make sure it doesn't break any rules.


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A mind without purpose will walk in dark places
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Renee
post Dec 23 2013, 04:27 PM
Post #18


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From: Ellicott City, Maryland



Hey, finally started up on this tale, and this is a nice touch.

QUOTE
In his weakened state he couldn't cast anything powerful, let alone remember any of the powerful spells he knew. There were only two within his grasp: A basic flare spell, clearly of no use, and a minor healing spell. It was not intended for such dire wounds, but perhaps with enough casts it would suffice.


That's cool how he's lost some of his abilities.

QUOTE
The tunnels began to grow even cruder, clearly dug later, probably by goblins.


This one too! First time I played Tomb Raider years and years ago, I would wonder who had built different portions of that first tomb in Peru, since it went from simple caves to crude (but obviously man-made) portions, and finally to a very extravagant lair. I'm often wondering who built certain areas of tombs.

This post has been edited by Renee Gade IV: Dec 23 2013, 04:36 PM


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Colonel Mustard
post Dec 23 2013, 06:55 PM
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From: The darkest pit of your soul. Hi there!



Oh god, so many parts. Slow down, dammit, you're giving me a lot to read and comment on in one go and actually, that makes it easier for me because I suck at giving post-by-post commentary.

Good handling of the opening sequence, and while I usually find myself skipping the 'recycled' segments of the game in these fics you added enough fresh material into it to keep it interesting. I liked the way his fight with Casamere (?) knocked his memory of his spells out, and it allayed the worries I had creeping of his character being an unstoppable, overpowered Gary Stu.

You've done a really good job of writing a proper arrogant [censored] of a character, by the way. Two chapters and a prologue and I already want to punch him in the face and set him on fire; good work! goodjob.gif
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Renee
post Dec 24 2013, 02:40 PM
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QUOTE
He sat down on the shore, looking out across the water, and asked himself why he didn't just stay in his damn cell.


Awesome. I love that sentence. And you know I'm not a nit-picker, but I finally have a criticism for ya...

QUOTE
“Pay?! Pay?! You listen, prisoner[i],


Looks like your coding got messed up on the word prisoner. wink.gif

This post has been edited by Renee Gade IV: Dec 24 2013, 02:43 PM


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