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> The Mourning Stars, Bound by Prophecy, now let loose. Saved by the fire, but fully destroy
ureniashtram
post Oct 18 2010, 09:59 AM
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Joined: 12-October 09
From: The River Acheron to the Gates of Hell.



A/N: A new story again, from the crazy guy! No, wait. Make that crazy poetry guy. Y'see, I got tired of making stories that are AU that involves demi-gods and all. Granted, this is also AU, but y'get the point. I'm making an OB story! With twists and tweaks! Without further adieu, here it goes.

The Mourning Stars-

!!_{[<(*)>]}_!!-
*
1.A
Prologue
--

!!_{[<(*)>]}_!!-




"Although we struggle with hope,
To free ourselves from this chains,
We realized that we were doomed,
our sins clings to us like a stain."

-the Mourning Stars, the Pariahs of Inferno.
*

-!!_{[<(*)>]}_!!-


"....Join me, old friend, and let us finally drive the mongrel dogs out of glorious Resdayn! Can you not see the corruption they have wrought?! Even the Three Traitors have allowed this pervesion to continue! Look at what it brought, dear Nerevar, look and reflect! Malcontents and hypocrites who have the gall to call themselves the descendants of proud Chimer plague this land, and as I spread the Divine Disease to cure them of imperfection, they cast it back at my face with paranoia and point an accusing finger at me; crying foul and calling me the Shartan! This is what the fool Septim wants.

Discontent among the proud folk of Resdayn. Discontent among us will result in naught but open war and chaos. And what happens after that, Star-Blessed-One?
The weak pulling down the strong from their rightful place! You have been reduced to a tool by that mother of mine who calls Herself a Prince. Deceived by a dog who believes that Auri-El and His Kin speaks to him through a jewelry.
Join me, old friend, and let us cleanse this World of its blemish. Join me, where Destiny itself laid our path before us in the form of Akulakhan..."


"You have kept a Promise that had been unfullfilled through out milllennias beyond counting. Moon-And-Star, you are now free from your curse. And as another gift, I now rid this land of its sickness. Go, and find your own way at last.."

"... I am the true God of Morrowind, and will always be! I have offered you p-peace a-and you return it w-with his sword right th-through me?! Y-You will... kn-know.. pain.. mor-mortal. A-and.. your.. scre-screams... will..."

"The time of Triune has come at last, Incarnate. And although Oblivion would be a welcome change for me, there are still matters to attend to. Be careful where your origins began, my Hortator. Although it still stands strong, nothing is immortal or never-ending. There are those who would want Change; those who want a New Dawn. And they will carry out what they believe is a Divine Plan. Be strong in your beliefs and be loyal to those who consider you their salvation. Till we meet again, old friend."

Silence.. Dreadful, deafening silence. And then, there was an explosion of fire, followed by the nightmarish shriek of winter.. The loud unforgiving battlecry of thunder echoed, and the Other Voices began chanting.

"One thing about the Nerevarine, is that he's not the Nerevarine at all! He ripped the throat of one Caius Cosades, and convinced himself that he was speaking to him, even as the Imperial lay in the ground spitting a fountainful of blood! The Incarnate bathed in the poor man's entrails, for Mercy's sake!

He was told to kill,
Dogs and Demons gave him will!
Fear and roaming nights,
Some remember hating life!

Rise up, Son of Sin!
Seyda Neen's Lord of Flin!
With a whip in hand,
He reaps the women of Our Land!

La-la-lalala!"

"Stop! No, what are you doing?! You ignorant fool!"

---------------

A gasp borne out of suprise and fear came out from the mouth of a dunmer as he bolted upright, his body like that of a quivering wreck and showered by sweat. The elf took heaving breaths, trying to calm his plagued mind from a nightmare. The Lunar Twins, Masser and Secunda, gayly danced beneath Aetherius and the stars were by their side, the angelic sparks encouragingly lighting up the Twin's playground. The dunmer was still for a few minutes, before leaning on the tree near his current position. It was a Nibenean Fyr, strong and sturdy, ideal for making a batch of targes and bucklers but that was irrelevant.

The dunmer closed his eyes as he let out a battle-hardened sigh.

After all these years, these times... I am not given the peace of which I sought. Gods have crumbled before me, and yet my nightmare clings still like a leech.. What did I do to deserve this? I only wanted a normal life, not as a prophecied hero.. But I fail to see the reason in wallowing in self-pity. Forward, forever I go forward.

Creaks and cracks were audibly heard by animals near when the Dunmer stood to his full height. Although he barely reached a full-grown Nord's throat, nevertheless his size was daunting, further increasing his aura of intimidation. He was shoulder-leaned and his arms were like talons from an oversized eagle. An armor that could make today's finest smiths and armorers to shame was almost glued to his entire body. It was obviously made from the refined lava ore, ebony, and its color were darker than a dirty alleyway in a forsaken village.
Designs of golden and silver leaves and roses intertwined each other on the side, while the faulds were completely gold in color. A pauldron that was shaped as a head of some roaring beast was sitted on his right shoulder, making those who see it wonder in morbid interest if a demon was forever whispering things not even sacrilegious sacrosants would feign to hear. At the front was an intricate design of a waning moon, overlooking a High-Rock style tower, which in turn was above a valley of what-looked like a sea. His legs and thighs was thick with a collections of chausses and Breton-made schynbalds, and further it was fortified by greaves made of the same substance that protected his torso. Boots that was made like some beast's foot warmed his entire feet, and although it prevented him from jumping great heights, it was still crucial to him and his adventures. Amidst its seemingly perfection, one cannot possibly ignore the blows and dents that this armor endured from numberless encounters.

A series of scratches ruined the glinting beauty of the side pauldron, its golden hue replaced by silver whenever light found itself near it. The left side of his boot were slightly cracked. It was made neither by blade or bow, but a magick that was acid to anything steel or iron.

The thunder that quoted an approaching storm shook the entire forest revealed his face from his dripping hood. Gaunt and shallow, thin and stretched, strands of volcanic one might mistake this Elf from a vampire. His eyes were more of an unusual maroon rather than the expected crimson, and the eyebrows above it was non-existent. A tattoo, an interwining leaf that ran on his right eye to his left side of the mouth, was marked on his face and when in darkness, it glew a phantom red.

It began to rain, again.
He looked up, partially ignoring the droplets that landed on his sharp cheek, and stared straightly at the lightless sky and clouds. Heavens above, but he knew someone was also staring at him, observing his progress in a Realm of dreams and visions.

Azura..
By the time his eyes were set on a dirt path in front of him, his nerves were steeled and his will became iron. His determination reached its peak and his eagerness overshadowed his fear or nervousness. The burning sensation he felt at Red Mountain and at the Clockwork City became thunder in his chest, a river of flame in his veins and acid on his neck.

With one step from his foot, Change would surely follow. There were those who were afraid to make life-changing and fate-altering step; one step to be their salvation or damnation. They are the ones who are overcomed by Change, and forever be shadows because of their mistakes.

But there are those who freely accept different destinies and new begginings. By taking the first step, they have the abillity to throw mountains apart, destroy entire cities, overthrow Emperors or destroy a God. Fate no longer matters to them, for only they have the power to alter their destiny and of others.

Sybrael Aevareth, the Incarnate of Saint Nerevar, was one such individual.

*0*0*0*0

The dunmer walked where the road went, ignoring the downpour that fell from the sky and immersed within his own world. He was in Cyrodiil, that much he knew, but his memory failed when he racked his brain for an explanation of why he was lying beside a road. All he remembered was being beset by shadows that took the form of men.

It had something to do with Black and friendship... And oddly, Mournhol- Ah.

The Brotherhood were on his heels once again, trying to fulfill the contract they have failed. Sybrael mentally berated himself for thinking that Dark Brotherhood would simply give up and leave him alone. At least the Morag Tong was honourable, although being in a land full of snakes and traitors might contradict that. There was still something wrong there, something out of place. His mind was thrown upside down when he searched for an explanation regarding him laying unconscious beside a road for some unknown amount of time. He was heading towards Cloudruler Temple, that much he knew. A ship was hired for his needs and the crew set sail for the docks of Dam'Rolen, a village that wasn't even on today's maps. He recalled a villager that kept shooting glances at him, and the way he looked at Sybrael was comparable to a dremora encountering a lesser Aedra. The Nerevarine layed his suspicions that this particular man was the 'courier' of the Brotherhood, a messenger and spy combined. He remembered his existence, but oddly he didn't remembered his face. Just his gender and race; a bulking Nord.

Odd for a barbarian to involve himself in the arts of silent killing and back-stabbing. The Incarnate can care less if the northener sneaked into the Royal Palace with nothing but underclothes and entertain himself with the sleeping Emperor.

He banged his head for more information, but only blank and colorless thoughts greeted him. As he further rummaged his brain, he stumbled across not an answer, but a question. A question so vital and so plain to see that he overlooked it in his search for answers.

Where was he now?

Bitter laugh followed him as he took out his map; despite it's age, it was still lovongly cared for and it was thick with legends written by Sybrael himself. He traced a road that was near Dam'Rolen, and it ended with the dark elf pointing his finger at a legend with the name 'Cheydinhal' etched eloquently beside it.

"Hmmm.. the city's distance from my current location should be," he planned it all out of his head. Resting when dusk approached, hunting the occasional game when needed and the posibillity of being beset by outlaws or worse.. Three days.

"Considerable. Although if this storm continues still, it may hamper my speed," he then smiled as another idea formed on his head. "Why depend on skill, when the arcane can provide a whole better deal?"




------------------

3E 432, Cheydinhal. 'Rovalen's Diner'
---------

"Listen, cherry cheeks. Ro'Juba is losing his patience. Hand Ro'Juba the gold for his protection or this... fancy restaurant you got here would see some re-decorations. And it'll involve fire and wood." the gigantic Cathay-raht, Ro'Juba, softly threatened the wide-eyed Imperial in front of him. And he could see why would the girl not be scared witless.

Barrel chested and shoulders that could rival a set iron pauldrons, Ro'Juba could've rivaled an Orc in sheer body size. Muscles on his arms were simply the size of a metal girder, and fists were comparable to a plate. In fact, so massive was his muscles that the sleeves on his brown tunic was ripped. His olive colored breaches and belts somehow avoid this fate, and the leather boots that warmed his feet were made solely for a Nord, but Ro'Juba's 'persuading' skill convinced the armorer to instead hand the humongous boots to the Cathay-raht.

His face weren't different from the Khajiit, but the spots that dotted his whole face and body like wounds is simply unignorable. Rings clasped his ears and nose, glinting with malevolent vanity. THe dome of his head was devoid of any hair, and it further boosted his aura of intimidation. Standing seven feet high, a Ro'Juba enraged can put the fear of the Nine Divines inside a battle hardened pagan.

"I-I please, sir Ro'Jub-" the teenaged brunette suddenly saw the ceiling as she passed the realm of sudden pain to the realm of unconsciousness. Ro'Juba, although he demanded respect, despised his name being distilled together with 'sir' or other words that humans called respected ones. Instead of feeling complimented, the Khajiit felt that everytime someone used that array of terms about him, his face would darken and a punch would be thrown. Everytime he heard that, he would feel salt descending on psychological wounds.

He gnarled his mouth and his ears were like horns that faced the wrong angle. A demonic glint overshadowed the golden irises of Ro'Juba and the crimson that replaced it could've made the fires of the Deadlands pink. He made a motion of his hands, and as if on que, eight Suthay-raht materialized from the void, wielding the thug's expensive weapon; Scimitars. Customers that ate food, was now being fed Fear's true meaning. All were silent except for the fury that emanated from Ro'Juba. His subordinates walked around the civillians, threatening to introduce their wicked swords to their neck if need be.

"Burn this pathetic excuse for a rat-hole! And do not spare any civillians or money! S'Retizi and S'Khaj, take this to the Captain and tell him I want no interference from the authorities!" the bark that came out of Ro'Juba's mouth can be comparable to an unforgiving maelstrom, the winds of hatred whirling in a blazing circle of rage, with bitter memories being the Eye of the storm.

Some of the shell-shocked bystanders stood up and vaulted for the exit, the panic in their eyes meant that imaginary hordes of daedra were at their heels, their minds becoming like a simple animals with one objective; survival. And like animals were they slaughtered. The Khajiiti scimitars rang a relieved sigh when ripped from their scabbards, and when descending with full force to a neck, they sang a song full of violence and bloodshed. Heads rolled off without the body, limbs flew free when cut off from their respective parts and the shrill scream of agony and death that followed made the scene at the diner a bloody copy of Dagon's realm. Ro'Juba simply stared at a woman asking- no begging for mercy and release, before the claws of the Cathay-raht found her neck and blood oozed forth like fountains of intestine. The woman, a Dark elf with frowning feautures, horrifiedly stared at the burning eyes of the demon in front of her, before her ancestors greeted her.

"Filthy Elf, your kind deserves no less for what you did to mine. Immune to the element of fire? Then let fire guide you to the other World." voice dangerously low, the Khajiit simply threw the dead elf at a burning part of the crumbling building, mentally nodding in approval. It was fitting, that the elves of Morrowind die by the fire of which they were forged in.

Then, in Ro'Juba's mind, the world in front of him stopped. Every second, every moment.. it just stopped. He could even see the broken splinters of a table in mid-air as they were separated from the main wood. Droplets of blood that dripped from the scimitar of his subordinates were still clinging on the weapons, looking like a rope made of liquid rather than fibre. Alas, but the fires kept their eternal motion. It hypnotized Ro'Juba and by staring into the fires, the fire stared back, bringing with it the bitter memories of a life long past.

He could still hear the screams. He could see the angel of death ascend from the Underworld and snatch his loved ones before his eyes.. The blood-curdling shrieks of young Khajiit women begging for help.. for.. for anything, as a sick dunmer pleased himself. The unnerving laughter of the slavers as they lynched an old and wizened Khajiit elder.. Mutilazed millitia being hanged from the rafters as their helpless fledgelings stared in horror. Pregnant mothers and their children being hauled off to ships, forcefully being taken as slaves.

He could see the fires. He could see it descend upon a young Cathay-raht, bathing and showering it with unquechable flames, burning its skin. He could see the face that burned with a passionate hatred. He could see the sheer anger from its eyes and hear the promises of violence it made against the mer of Morrowind.

He saw himself stare back. Some part of him was disgusted by this.. creature, this demon from the never-ending fires of hell but by moments like these, he remembered why fire stared back and reminded him of a memory. It saved his live in the bitter past, but in return, it fully destroyed and burnt out the reasonable and rational side of him; the candle of his soul. The flames of anger melted the candle that once controlled it, and by this, all that was left of Ro'Juba was fires and the oath he swore.

"I am the fire, I am a flame that desire vengeance. Only justice can doze me forever." the Cathay-rath quietly murmured to himself.
--------------------------


EDIT: WAIT A SECOND! They change 'Frosty-toots' or ... anyway, they change that into mother of mine?

This post has been edited by ureniashtram: Oct 18 2010, 11:04 AM


--------------------
Djinn: What wish would you like to have, young master?
Random dude: SUPA POWAZ!
--
Djinn: Is there anything I could make true, lord?
Old guy: .. Youth and charisma.
--
Djinn: Your heart speaks of wanting. I could make it true, milord.
Me: Hmmm. I wish to know what I want. Then you could hook me up in some insidious deal, spirit.
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mALX
post Oct 18 2010, 03:19 PM
Post #2


Ancient
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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



This promises to be a favorite even on the first chapter! Your attention to detail and ability to describe with perfection are so evident in this first chapter !!! The storyline has my interest perked, and your ability to weave words like a tapestry is huge! The reader can visualize easily the scenes as you lay them out!

I chose only two lines to quote, for different reasons, lol :


QUOTE
He ripped the throat of one Caius Cosades


GAAAAH !!! Not Caius !!!!!

QUOTE

The Incarnate can care less if the northener sneaked into the Royal Palace with nothing but underclothes and entertain himself with the sleeping Emperor.



SPEW!!!!


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Acadian
post Nov 2 2010, 03:16 AM
Post #3


Paladin
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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Las Vegas



I detected three distinct sections in this chapter. Intro. Dunmer. Bar Fight.

I. The introduction. I could not understand this. I read it two or three times, yet I could not make anything of it. Now, I must confess that when an author buries meaning and significance deeply into words, it will fly right over my head. That is the case for me with all poetry for example. When it comes to writing and reading, I like - nay, require - simple. So perhaps it is just me.

II. The middle section
QUOTE
A gasp borne out of suprise and fear came out from the mouth of a dunmer as he bolted upright, his body like that of a quivering wreck and showered by sweat. The elf took heaving breaths, trying to calm his plagued mind from a nightmare. The Lunar Twins, Masser and Secunda, gayly danced beneath Aetherius and the stars were by their side, the angelic sparks encouragingly lighting up the Twin's playground. The dunmer was still for a few minutes, before leaning on the tree near his current position. It was a Nibenean Fyr, strong and sturdy, ideal for making a batch of targes and bucklers but that was irrelevant.
I got very excited here. Something I understand. In fact, oh my goodness what a beautifully evocative description!

I'm guessing the middle section is to introduce what may be the lead character? A Dunmer it seems. The paragraph I quoted above is a wonderful start. I then did get rather lost in the history of his armor and the weather, when what I really wanted to know was what he was doing leaning on a tree, then lying on the ground with rain in his face, apparently after being jumped by the Dark Brotherhood? Again, I feel that I do not understand what is going on. The most important thing when introducing a lead character is to establish an emotional connection with the reader. I want to know what the lead character is doing in a way that I can understand, and what he is feeling.

III. Bar fight. Again some wonderfully evocative description, but I am lost for context. Some giant Khajiit is extorting people, then burning down their tavern? Revenge? That is kind of what I got. Again, some of your descriptions are just plain brilliant:
QUOTE
the teenaged brunette suddenly saw the ceiling as she passed the realm of sudden pain to the realm of unconsciousness.


Summary. I feel there is a character and a story in here, but I can't figure it out. It is normal to have a sense of mystery and perhaps the tease of wanting to know more in the first chapter of a story, but I fear that confusion is what came through for me. I think you may be going for too sophisticated - to the point where the basics zoomed right over my simple head.

Again, let me disclaim that I am a very simple reader who adores character-driven stories that are not complex to follow. I also feel that my own writing is driven more by passion rather than skill, so my advice may certainly be suspect, or dubious. Although I hope my critique offers some food for thought, if it does not, please feel free to ignore it. Your descriptions alone are enough to testify to your talent. smile.gif


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ureniashtram
post Nov 2 2010, 11:54 AM
Post #4


Knower
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Joined: 12-October 09
From: The River Acheron to the Gates of Hell.




Thanks for the nit-picking, Acadian! And, yes, this chapter is confusing, even to me!

Hmmnn.. I guess I'll leave it at that, yes? Learn from your mistakes, that's what I always say.

Or, if you want, I could edit it out.


--------------------
Djinn: What wish would you like to have, young master?
Random dude: SUPA POWAZ!
--
Djinn: Is there anything I could make true, lord?
Old guy: .. Youth and charisma.
--
Djinn: Your heart speaks of wanting. I could make it true, milord.
Me: Hmmm. I wish to know what I want. Then you could hook me up in some insidious deal, spirit.
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ureniashtram
post Nov 11 2010, 05:22 PM
Post #5


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Joined: 12-October 09
From: The River Acheron to the Gates of Hell.



***********

First Piece to Fall

************



The sounds of city-hubbub and the mundane thundercries of activities; the interactions of the sociallites forced Carofen to groggily open his eyes and greet the new day with a hesitant heart.
The alleyway he was at provided a subterfuge, a home of sorts to him, despite the mountain of trash that was dumped here by the high-borne and blue collars. Being in the Waste Management Street, it was a glimpse of heaven for those who seek rotten food thrown by the blue-bloods.

Misty-eyed and struggling, he vainly attempted to sit down in a fetal position before the memories and pains of last night caught up to his back. Ripples of agony swam on his whole body the second he made a movement, and so unbearable it was that his back met the pavement again and landed on a slimy, smelly and rotting substance that caused an unmentionable feeling on his gut. My own puke, his mind numbly thought. So I had been drinking. No suprise there, I guess.

Giving in to his body's plea, he remained still like a ripe corpse. Moments of sober peace and fleeting milliseconds of solitude passed Carofen by, like a dusk-fog escaping the bright grasp of the rising Magnus. Bugs and flies occasionally landed an unexpected sting on the drunk's skin, resulting in them being crushed by a quick jab from the glazed man. Quick his reflexes may be, his attention towards the pests dissapitated, and green goo littered Carofen's skin like sickly blots from a dastardly disease.

For the drunken wreck, he didn't mind.

The only thing that he did mind, though, was the welcoming silence. It was such a beautiful moment to just sit back and watch the clouds of Aetherius and wish that he himself was a cloud, formless and ever changing. And the feeling of being free of the earthly burdens on his broken heart, compared to the overwhelming hostility and the feeling of being a pariah in a crowded place full of plastic-hearted fops, this angelic serenity that goes unnoticed by the general populace was a piece of Paradise for Carofen.
As he stared into the curious visages of the white colored pillows of the over-distant sleeping stars, the sensation of being pulled towards the eternity of skies grew in his chest and a smile of shattered happiness and the tears of a man who walked through hardships appeared on his face, as the main lamplight of the heavens illuminated the shadows of his countenance. His once pale skin was smothered with grimes, the aforementioned goo and dirt, with him never even trying to wipe it off. The dirtied mane in his head was long enough to reach his shoulder, scruffy and overall, his entire appearance was enough to make a beggar feel pity for him.

But in spite of that he felt warm and cared for by the Sun, and letting out a chuckle, it escalated into a melancholic whimper that continued for some time, until the drunken man thought of an idea to idly squash time.

His childhood game of imagining things in the sky.

Hmm.. A dog in the skies? And is that a... what does those Redguards call it? A ca-camil? No, a camel! And is that a pair of eyes staring down back at m- a hand made of steel? What kind of foul illusions is th-

Carofen had barely enough time to adjust his vision to actually see the Legionnaire infront of him, before his neck was seized by the guard's hand in a vicious grip that could've rivaled a bear's hug. The massive power in the legionnaire's was enough for him to lift the lightweight with one arm. Carofen, on his part, struggled and thrashed like a bird cornered by its predators. His resistance led nowhere as the kicks he sent only made bruises on his heel, rather at the guard. He sneered at the bulky mountain, spitting vile phlegm at his helm.

The Imperial replied with narrowed eyes, glinting with disgust before tightening the pressure on Carofen's neck. Fast like the spiders which retreated into their filthy webnests, the struggling ceased and gagging noises that could've made ears bleed erupted from the drunk's throat. The malignant grin that broke the brown-eyed guard's olive face sent fountains of chills on the drunk's back before he was thrown to the ground with such force that he saw parts of the bleak Void in front of him. His mind, bruised from the impact, fought the tentacles of unconsiousness that snapped to and fro in Carofen's sight. As he struggled with the pain, his eyes rested upon the heavens and the visage which stared back suprised Carofen more than the sudden blow he endured.

A . . . winged helm?

------------
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
*************************

For several hours, the whole body of Carofen remained in a comatose state before the rising urges to wake up was registered into his mind. The first thing he felt, or rather smelled, was of putrid mixture of human sweat and the repugnant incense of seaside waste. A pained sensation on his back metaphorically told him that he was lying in a bed of needles and other sharp objects. First was confusion in his eyes and then it evolved into panic.
It raced through his veins like that of Khajiiti moon sugar, and somehow ignoring the screams of agony that pulsated from his spine, he jumped to his feet and hastily scanned his surroundings.
And when he did, his hopes of escaping whatever this place was ripped of its wings and it crashed into the sea of despair.

The atmosphere of his cell was like that of any; desolate and the epithome of isolation from the world. In some ways, Carofen couldn't asked for more, but the grimy walls, grey stones that irradiated hopelessness, destroyed his contorted sense of paradise. It was because of their silence taunting, their devilish temptations to give in to the madenning panic and scream for help that would never come. The rust covered gate that barred the kiss of freedom did not help, either.

Carofen sighed.

What do did I do to get into this situation?

As if on a practiced drama cue, the sounds of metallic footsteps crushing against the equally metallic floor rang forth like a staggering thu'um, and Carofen assumed that it came from a Legionnaire, quite possibly the one who put him in this place to begin with. His suspiscions bloomed true like a summertide lily when the bulking Imperal came to view and stopped right in front of Carofen's cell. Ignoring the urge to hide, the sober drunk steeled himself and stroded towards the sneering guard.

"What the hell did I do to wind up in this place?" Carofen queried the passive guard with a brusque tone. The ferocious glare that shot from Carofen's eyes didn't do any effect on the legionnaire. It merely made his emerald eyes flash with amusement.

"Vagrancy, fool. Sleeping in the Emperor's alleys are punishable by a fine of thirty drakes or a communal job of sweeping the streets for ten days. Since you ain't got no money, I figures that you was to be cleaning the street of its trash, like you."

Righteous anger coursed through Carofen's veins like oil set aflame. His pale face contorted into a red snarl, his earlier fear relaced by cold indifference. His mind only registered one thing, and one thing only. Never-ending hatred for the abuse he always took. His amber orbs narrowed into thin, gouge slits as it locked on the guard's. The muscle on Carofen's jaw tightened and veins popped on his temple. For an instant, the Imperial in front of Carofen transformed into a golden-skinned monstrosity that needed to be slain, but the restraint he acquired during his time on the streets prevented him from fully giving in to the Red Haze. But it did not stop him from cursing.

"You insolent, son of a tied down guinea guar. Pray to whatever gods you worship that I don't escape from here, because if I do," his words became whispers, but the intent behind it made it loud as a raven's cry in the still morn. "I'll pain these walls with your blood." he kept the glare and didn't waver, and for a few minutes the two men stared each other down.

The Imperial was the first blink and the first to retreat. With their first confrontation over, Carofen walked over to his 'bed' and sat down. With his elbows on his knees, he began to contemplate his situation in darkness, before his mind started to tire and finally shut down to allow Vaernima to seize full control.
---
---------
------------------

Carofen found himself sitting on top of a dead tree's trunk, gazing ever so affectionately at the blanket of night that covered the sky. The holes to Aetherius were, as usual, awake with their glowing brightness that dimly lit the bed of the resting Sun, with Masser and Secunda taking its place as observers from afar. Such a countenance of this moment would wake the sleeping artist inside a yokel's heart, urging him to draw forth brushes to paint these serene art made by the Gods.

Even Carofen was tempted to do so.

It was simply so beautiful just to pass up. Minutes upon minutes passed Carofen's admiration by like a rolling breeze of winter, and still the apprecetiation in his eyes never wavered in its light. It did flickered however, when he bore witness upon a meteor that was descending towards the skin of Nirn.

The sight of a falling rock was enough to give the fear of death to Carofen, and he steeled both of his mind and body for the staggering impact that was sure to make Nirn cry out in anguish.
.
.
.
It never came.


--------------------
Djinn: What wish would you like to have, young master?
Random dude: SUPA POWAZ!
--
Djinn: Is there anything I could make true, lord?
Old guy: .. Youth and charisma.
--
Djinn: Your heart speaks of wanting. I could make it true, milord.
Me: Hmmm. I wish to know what I want. Then you could hook me up in some insidious deal, spirit.
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mALX
post Nov 11 2010, 06:40 PM
Post #6


Ancient
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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



This was shocking, heartwrenching, powerful, devastating - AWESOME! Your use of descriptions to set mood is amazing, you painted a picture that took the reader on a journey to places they didn't want to go, but experienced with Carofen in spite of themselves. Hugely powerful write !!!!


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Acadian
post Nov 11 2010, 09:24 PM
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From: Las Vegas



I very much liked how Carofen's drunken day dreaming of images in the clouds gradually yielded the image of a very real Legion soldier - expertly done!

As I have said, I am a very simple reader. The impression I got from the end was that Carofen had been impaled (sitting on top of a dead tree's trunk), apparently a death sentence as his punishment, and we experienced his last thoughts as he died. Am I right, or am I way off base here?

Very fun reading!


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Destri Melarg
post Nov 12 2010, 02:11 AM
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Mouth
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From: Rihad, Hammerfell



Sorry it’s taken me a while, urenia, but I finally got the chance to read this today. The whole time I was reading I kept thinking ‘Man! I wish I wrote like this when I was fourteen!’

Despite Acadian’s declarations, he does follow plots as well as he writes them. I think the confusion he felt had more to do with being unfamiliar with the lore and the Main Quest surrounding Morrowind than the words that you committed to the page. Personally I found the musings of Dagoth Ur, Azura, and even the members of the Tribunal fascinating.

I was also struck by the power of the scene in Rovalen’s Diner. Your portrayal of Ro’Juba as a psychotic driven to an unquenchable hatred of the mer of Morrowind was incredibly believable. I am anxious to see what happens when such rage pits itself against the Incarnate.

Now, I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss an area of your writing that could benefit from a few more times through the editorial phase.

I draw your attention to these three passages:
QUOTE
As he stared into the curious visages of the white colored pillows of the over distant sleeping stars, the sensation of being pulled toward the eternity of the skies grew in his chest and a smile of shattered happiness and the tears of a man who walked through hardships appeared on his face, as the main lamplight of the heavens illuminated the shadows of his countenance.

QUOTE
The Imperial replied with narrowed eyes, glinting with disgust before tightening the pressure on Carofen’s neck. Fast like spiders which retreated into their filthy webnests, the struggling ceased and gagging noises that could’ve made ears bleed erupted from the drunk’s throat. The malignant grin that broke the brown-eyed guard’s olive face sent fountains of chills on the drunk’s back before he was thrown to the ground with such force that he saw parts of the bleak Void in front of him.

QUOTE
The atmosphere of his cell was like that of any; desolate and the epitome of isolation from the world. In some ways, Carofen couldn’t ask for more, but the grimy walls, grey stones that irradiated hopelessness, destroyed his contorted sense of paradise. It was because of their silence taunting, their devilish temptations to give into the madenning panic and scream for help that would never come. The rust covered gate that barred the kiss of freedom did not help, either.

Your ability and desire to draw those moments of poetic resonance from the mundane scenes of life is admirable. But too much of it veers dangerously close to self-indulgence. Remember, true poetry in fiction is simplicity. Trust the imagination of your audience to fill in the spaces between the lines.

I’ll give you an example from my own writing. In a recent scene in Interregnum I had the Emperor Cuhlecain meeting with the Tsaesci Captain, Renald. Here is how I presented that scene in the rough draft:
QUOTE
7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Morning


The Emperor Cuhlecain set the burden of rule aside and allowed the warm, oil-scented waters of his solid gold bathtub to draw the tension from his diminutive body. The first rays of morning sunlight invaded the beveled windows and gave soothing warmth to both his mind and his chambers. The sounds of toil reached his ears, authored by the artisans who bent chisel to marble to fashion likenesses pleasing to His Majesty in the courtyard below. Across the room his guest was an impassive form of flickering tongue and golden scales held erect in attentive patience.

Not too bad, I thought. It sets the scene and gives you some insight into the two characters involved. But upon further consideration I realized that, while it does set the scene, it doesn’t move the scene. Everything is slowed down while your attention is carried to each thing that I choose to describe. Here is how I presented it when I posted it after several re-writes:
QUOTE
7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Morning


In the Royal Suite of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor Cuhlecain sat in a solid gold bathtub and gave distracted audience to a snake.

This time I simplified it. Now the scene moves. The reader’s imagination has the opportunity to fill in the details. I need no more description of the surroundings or the emotional state of the characters because the reader has already done it for me. All I need do is report what is said and incorporate a few moments of stage direction to play upon the subtext (or what isn’t being said).

In the last passage of yours that I quoted with Carofen in his cell, the last sentence is the one truly shattering and relevant description in the scene:
QUOTE
The rust covered gate that barred the kiss of freedom. . .

That is an awesome description! From that alone I can see the desolation of his cell, and the desperation of his circumstance. Good fiction is a performance by the author, but it is also an experience shared by the reader. Don’t feel like you have to do everything yourself.

All that said, I look forward to the next chapter!

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Nov 12 2010, 02:30 AM


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ureniashtram
post Dec 4 2010, 03:45 AM
Post #9


Knower
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Joined: 12-October 09
From: The River Acheron to the Gates of Hell.



Thanks, Des. Simplifying scenes so the audience can fill in the details by their own? WOW! Thanks, appreciate it.

And it pains me to say that this will be on temporary hold for now. (No ?<*!, Sherlock)

The reasons for this is well... I have new story in mind and currently in the works. Sadly, while I wish I can just write the two at the same time, I unsuprisingly can't.

So for those of you who waited for an update, with my sincere apologies, you must simply . . . I don't know, 'don't-expect-any-updates-soon'? No, really don't. I don't know if I'll even have the chance to even continue this! ohmy.gif

With that out in the way, I DO hope that you'll be prepared for another . . . Falling Star that would soon fall on Chorrol. And when I say 'Falling Star', I mean another story.

(The following is junk heap of words thrown together, without making any sense whatsoever. But, sharp eyes can make the following:

* Wasteland
*Phillipines
*Fallout
*Story)

Need I say more? No? C'est la vie. wacko.gif

This post has been edited by ureniashtram: Dec 4 2010, 03:48 AM


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Djinn: What wish would you like to have, young master?
Random dude: SUPA POWAZ!
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Djinn: Is there anything I could make true, lord?
Old guy: .. Youth and charisma.
--
Djinn: Your heart speaks of wanting. I could make it true, milord.
Me: Hmmm. I wish to know what I want. Then you could hook me up in some insidious deal, spirit.
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Zalphon
post Dec 4 2010, 07:25 AM
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From: Somewhere Outside Plato's Cave.



Good opening, Urenia smile.gif


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"You have the same twenty-four hours as me; don't be mad just because you don't use yours like I do." -Tupac Shakur
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