The Temple of Lore, Works of the Schola Options

[jack cloudy]

Here's another short story of mine. Like the earlier one, science-fiction. Only it's a little more lighthearted. I wanted to make it clear that a computer was talking through the means of text, and I think I've got a good result like this. Well, enjoy.


Pyromaniac.

The man yawned loudly. He rubbed his eyes and vaguely stared at the part of the wall where the clock was supposed to be, only he looked two metres too far to the right. ,,What time is it?” He asked numbly, now turning his attention to the small display mounted on his desk.
[Current time is 03.14 AM.] The familiar letters flashed on the screen. He couldn’t see more than a green blur.
,,I knew I should have installed some proper audio output.” He mumbled, his eyes closing. Seconds later, the sound of heavy snoring echoed through the room.
[Professor Aldon is currently unavailable. If you wish to leave a message, that option is available.]

Professor Aldon opened his eyes. He squinted a few times in an effort to get a clear view.
[Good morning, professor. Or should I say, afternoon? I hope you now realize the proper benefits of coffee. Namely, it gets you hyped up for a while till it dumps you like a lead brick.] The display flashed at him. The man frowned.
,,I don’t remember programming sarcasm for you. Where did you get that software?” He demanded to know.
[Christmas, six years ago. You claimed it would make me more realistic. Further software installed at that date are files for humour, swearing and foul language, creative language and emotion imitation. Allow me to remind you that most of this software is highly illegal and worth twenty years of prison as well as a hefty fine up to 200.000 bucks. Cheap change compared to your hobby.] The computer replied.

The professor grumbled a few inventive curses, all of which were available in his computer’s extensive database.
,,It’s not a hobby. Miniaturization is the future! The future just happens to be expensive. Surely progress is worth a few hundred billion. Where were we when I dozed off?” He complained.
[Your idea of miniaturization is a bit extreme though. Cramming every single gadget of a state-of-the-art 125 metres tall robot into one under ten metres is a bit absurd. That was me ranting in the morning, now we return to your scheduled programme: Biggest and most expensive explosions in history. LRU-43 has been fully prepared. Everyone within a two lightsecond radius has been evacuated. All your bills have been signed and the request for a larger budget has been processed.] The computer reported.
,,Remind me to delete your sarcasm. I don’t like it. And I didn’t ask for a larger budget. Evacuating everyone within two lightseconds? What is all that good for?” He wished to know, sounding very annoyed.
[LRU-43 is just going to blow up like LRU-08 to LRU-42 did. That means we’ll need a larger budget to fund the development and construction of LRU-44. Unless you finally give me permission to conduct a few low power tests first before ramping the reactor up to 100% output. That isn’t bad though. I just love those fancy planetsized explosions.]
,,Oh, I really have to get rid of the sarcasm. Just what was I thinking?”
[You weren’t thinking. You were drunk, quite a bit I might say.]

Half an hour later, professor Aldon was sitting in the large mess hall together with everyone else who happened to be working on the project. There was a clear distinction in duties. The professor designed everything with the help of his sarcastic computer while everyone else was cursed with the job of actually finding a way to build it.
,,Alright everyone, I’d like to make a toast! We’re about to see a great event in history!” The professor shouted as he had done with all the earlier tests. By now, everyone had seen it before and he was completely ignored. There were a few chuckles when the computer took control of the giant screen built into the far wall.
[We’re going to break the record for biggest explosion ever. Again.]
,,Could you stop it?! We don’t all need to be as pessimistic as you are!” The professor argued.
[I’m not pessimistic, just realistic. Look daddy, I know how to rhyme. Want to remove my humour functions as well?]

The giant green letters vanished to be replaced with the blackness of empty space. While the professor watched in silent excitement, everyone else continued his or her lunch break. They only looked up when the counter reached zero, meaning that the test had both been completed and the light had travelled across the vast distance. Sure enough, a small pinprick of light soon grew to titanic proportions. Now everyone focussed on the screen. Overall, the behaviour was surprisingly similar to that of people standing on the airport, checking to see which flights had been cancelled. They only had to wait a few seconds for the results.
[Critical overload, contact with LRU-43 has been lost. No surprises there. Explosion radius: 35,640 kilometres. Less than last time. You’re losing your touch, professor.]

A glass broke on the floor. The professor had been infuriated by the particular low blow. He wasn’t trying to make explosions, he was trying to prevent them. He sighed as he already knew what was going to come. It happened after every test.
[Incoming call. H.I. Industries’ president of the development department. He doesn’t sound too happy.]
,,Alright, put him through.”

An older and largely bald man now took up the screen. The effect was quite intimidating, just the man’s nose had been supersized to two metres high.
,,Aldon, you’ve done it again.” The president noted dryly.
,,We are making progress, the explosion was smaller this time.” Professor Aldon replied with false enthusiasm.
,,Your assistant already put in the request for a bigger budget this morning. I honestly don’t know what the boss is thinking to achieve in letting you go on with this endless disaster. Do you know the damage you’ve caused already?” The man on the screen spoke, angrier this time.

,,Oh, just a little. All in the name of progress.” The professor countered, giving his fingers a close inspection.
,,Did you forget what happened with LRU-33? Stop looking at you fingers, Aldon!”
[Reminder: 46% of the moon was vaporised in an interdimensional transfer cascade. Not vaporised, sorry. Just flashed to another dimension.]
Aldon began to sweat. He had completely forgotten. Thinking back, he didn’t want to remember it really. No man had ever done this much damage by himself, especially in peace time.
,,Umm, oops? Hey, I wasn’t the one in control. The Princess pilots all the LRU prototypes during the test through a remote connection.” He laughed weakly.
[Go ahead, blame me. You were the one who forgot to install some output regulators.]

,,You can definitely tell that it’s oops! If it was up to me, I’d have you strapped to one of your fancy robots. Maybe then you would design them so that they don’t explode.” The president stopped, a sadistic smile creeping onto his face.
,,I have an idea. You will pilot the LRU-44 during the test, from the inside of a cockpit. A cockpit inside the robot itself. Have a nice day.” After those words, the screen went black. When everyone started laughing, the professor glared at the crew.
,,What?!”
[I believe you needed to go to the toilet. Not anymore.]
The professor looked down at his pants and swore loudly.
,,Oh, not only am I death, I lost the respect of my men.” He whispered.
[Don’t worry about it. It’s not that they’ll haunt you about it after the test. I’ll help design the LRU-44. Do you want leather interior? No need to save any money.] The computer joked.

Professor Aldon pointed at the giant screen with the green letters. A sadistic smile eerily familiar to the one the president had worn crossed his face.
,,I’ve got a great idea. I’ll have your core installed into the LRU-44. Now how’s that? At least I won’t die alone, my sarcastic computer will go with me!” He shouted and then laughed, looking completely as if he’d lost his sanity. Which he probably had.
[Oh, man. I’m so totally in trouble. Looks like remaking the complete design if I want to live. What’s needed is a way to vent the excess energy into a safe direction. Preferably out of this dimension. That should take care of the explosion problem.]
,,Why didn’t you ever tell me it was that easy?”
[You never asked. Now, about that leather interior. Do you want that? I know that I’m going to beg for some glow-in-the-dark electrical wires. That’s just so cool.]
The professor rolled his eyes and walked out of the door. He needed to find something with which to clean his pants.

[The Metal Mallet]

Since Christmas is just around the corner, I thought I would add this to the Temple to celebrate. This script will hopefully be performed at my school for their Holiday Assembly. Hopefully they have decent actors, or else my work will be ruined! Anyways, this script might be a little rough sounding, since I didn't really have time to edit it as I was working off a deadline. It's meant to be comedic and serious at moments.

Anyways, here it is!


A Christmas Murder Mystery!
By: The Metal Mallet

Characters: Santa, Mrs. Clause, Rudolph, Elf, Angel, Snowman, Blitzen, and the Inspector, as well as extras.

Scene 1- The Murder:

Mrs. Claus, Elf, Angel, and Snowman begin on stage scattered around the room or looking as if they’re in conversation. Shortly, Santa, Rudolph, and Blitzen enter.

Santa: Ho! Ho! Ho! Excellent work this evening. Excellent work!

Rudolph and Blitzen: Thanks Santa.

Mrs. Claus (rushing over to Santa): It’s good to see you all back and safe! Did the delivering of presents go well?

Santa: Splendid my Sugar plum! We almost collided with a plane, but Rudolph’s nose caught it well before we were in danger.

Mrs. Claus: Oh my! (She turns to Rudolph.) Thank you so much Rudolph! You’re always so helpful!

Rudolph (beaming a smile): It’s the least I can do, Mrs. C!

Blitzen rolls his eyes and walks over to the Elf. Santa, Mrs. Claus, and Rudolph continue to look like they’re talking to each other.

Blitzen: Hello Freddy, how’s it going now that you’re done making toys for a little while?

Elf (with a slur): Grrreat! I’ve all ready gotten into the “Nog”! (Elf air quotes the word, Nog).

Blitzen: (sighs) So it seems… (Looks over and sees Santa patting Rudolph’s back) Bah! Why does he have to get all the attention!? It wasn’t even foggy this year, but they still gush about him and his nose. It’s me who has to do all the grunt work. Why don’t I get a thank you?

The Angel glides over to the Elf and Blitzen, The Snowman follows.

Angel: Jealousy is not part of the Holiday Spirit, Blitzen.

Blitzen: I didn’t ask for your two cents, Angel.

Angel huffs and crosses their arms.

Snowman: Well here’s my two cents. Rudolph’s a spoiled punk!

Blitzen: Yea!!! (Gives him a high-five.)

Angel (glares at the two of them): You two should be ashamed at yourselves! Rudolph has a valuable gift, but you still don’t appreciate him!

Elf: (Groans) You’re nagging is killing my buzz, Angel! Can’t you fly off over there or something? ( waves in a direction away from them)

The Angel glares at the three, but glides away.

Attention is returned to Santa, Rudolph and Mrs. Claus

Mrs. Claus: Well I hope you didn’t stuff yourself on cookies and milk, because I made a big meal for everyone!

Santa: Of course I didn’t. I'm starting to get SICK of cookies and I always have room for your cooking.

Rudolph: Yea Mrs. C, your food rocks! Particularly the peas, mmmmm… peas.

Mrs. Claus: Aww how sweet of you, Rudolph. (She pats Rudolph and makes “smooch” noises)

Santa: All right everyone! At the table! Time to eat.

Everyone on set sits at the table setup. It’s setup to have Santa facing the audience at the end of the table, and everyone else is along the sides. To Santa’s right are Mrs. Claus, then the Angel, then the Elf. On Santa’s left is Rudolph, followed by the Snowman, followed by Blitzen.

Mrs. Claus: Dig in, everyone!

Everyone pretends to eat.

The lights suddenly cut out.

Mrs. Claus: Oh my! The power must be out.

Santa: Candy canes! (supposed to sound like he’s cursing)

Angel shrieks.

Elf giggling: Hehe, sorry Angel.

Horror soundtrack kicks in. I was thinking like the music for the shower scene in Psycho.

Sounds of struggle are made, and Rudolph’s nose light turns off.

Lights come back on, and everyone is sitting at their right seat, only Rudolph’s head is slumped on the table.

Santa: Well that’s better. (notices Rudolph) Holy Yuletide!

Snowman: He’s dead!

Elf: I’m going to be sick! (rushes off the stage)

Lights go off.

(End of Scene 1)


Scene 2 - The Investigation:

Lights come on and reveal the Inspector standing with Santa and Mrs. Claus. The Elf is on the far side of the stage with a bucket, The Angel is off by herself, and The Snowman and Blitzen are together nearby the table. Rudolph is still facedown on the table.

Mrs. Claus: We’re so glad you were able to make it, Inspector. Being Christmas and all…

Inspector: Not a problem, crime never sleeps or rests. Not even for the holidays… (pauses) Plus, you’re rewarding me with Egg Nog right? Damn, I love that stuff!

Elf groans from across the stage and leans into his bucket.

Santa: He had too much Nog.

The Inspector nods and heads over to Rudolph, taking out a notepad. He shakes his head sadly.

Inspector: Talk about a last meal…. He was smothered to death by this food. (jots some notes) All right, umm… Can we get someone to remove the body?

A couple of extras come onstage and remove Rudolph off the stage.

Inspector: All right, I need everyone here.

Everyone onstage gathers around the Inspector. The Elf makes sure to bring his bucket.

Inspector: Obviously, one of you murdered Rudolph, so you’re all suspects. What I intend to do is interrogate you all individually. Starting with you, Mrs. Claus.

Inspector and Mrs. Claus walk away from the group.

Inspector: First things, first. What are your feelings about Rudolph?

Mrs. Claus (tearfully): I loved that little angel! He was such a darling. I would never do anything to hurt him.

Inspector (jotting down notes): Do you know anyone who disliked or would be provoked to attack him?

Mrs. Claus: Of course not! This is the North Pole. We’re all nice people up here… except for those Yetis… Maybe they did it!!

Inspector: Mrs. Claus… I don’t think the Yetis had anything to do with this.

Mrs. Claus: You never know! Those Yetis are tricky beasts!

Inspector (sounding tired): That’ll be all, Mrs. Claus. Can you tell Santa that he’s next.

Mrs. Claus nods and goes over to Santa. She motions that he’s next and he goes over to the Inspector.

Inspector: Were you jealous of the attention Mrs. Claus gave to Rudolph?

Santa: What? What are you talking about?

Inspector: Admit it! You were jealous of him. Mrs. Claus told me she loved him. He was her little darling. You must’ve noticed this attention and it just burned you up inside! So you decided to finally get rid of him, to save your marriage.

Santa: That’s insane! I’ve been married to my wife since before I was even called Santa! We love each other very much! Plus, I couldn’t have killed him.

Inspector: And why couldn’t you?

Santa: (Hesitates and finally hangs his head.) Because I’m overweight. It takes me a long time to get out of that chair…. There! You happy!? I’m a blimp! Satisfied?

Inspector: Woah! I’m sorry Santa. I didn’t think it would go there.

Santa (sobbing): Well it did! You…. you jerk!

Inspector: Well…. Ummm… That’s all I need from you. You couldn’t have possibly done it. Can you get… the Angel for me?

Santa (sniffling): Okay…

Santa goes off and gets the Angel, who walks over to the Inspector.

Angel: Do you seriously think I’m a suspect? I’m an Angel for Gosh sakes!

Inspector: Everyone in that room is a suspect, including you. Besides…. (Pauses) You’re past isn’t a very clean one, Diabella.

Angel: How do you know that!? That was my name before I got my wings.

Inspector: We keep good records down at the precinct. Have you been killing any hobos lately?

Angel: No! That’s behind me now! Honest!

Inspector: Is it now? (Waves off stage and an extra walks on) This is Larry, he’s homeless.

Angel starts fidgeting and eventually charges the extra off the stage. Screams come from off stage but are quickly silenced. The Angel walks back onstage, brushing off their hands.

Angel: Okay, maybe I haven’t stopped my “habit”. But Rudolph’s not a hobo.

Inspector: You’re right! Ohwell, bring me the Snowman.

Angel goes gets the Snowman.

Snowman: Howdy.

Inspector: Well Mr. Snowman (pauses) Wait, Snowman? Isn’t it like 20 degrees in here? Why aren’t you melting?

Snowman: Well you see, I got this chip installed in the back of my head. This chip regulates the emission of liquid nitrogen that travels throughout my body to keep my nice and frosty! The liquid nitrogen comes from another device within my body.

Inspector: Well… I didn’t understand a word of that.

Snowman: (sighs) Basically, I have an air conditioner stuck inside of me.

Inspector: Oh! I understand that!

Snowman (sarcastically): Of course you do.

Inspector: So, does that make you part robot?

Snowman: I guess so.

Inspector: Isn’t there some law that says that robots are incapable of killing humans?

Snowman: Yes, I believe there is. Guess I couldn’t have done it then eh?

Inspector: But you’re only part robot.

Snowman: So? The rest of me is snowman, an inanimate mound of snow with buttons and carrots stuck into it.

Inspector: You got me! You’re free to go, I guess I’ll speak with the Elf next.

Snowman leaves.

Inspector: Wow, I’m dealing with a bunch of crazies here…

Light goes off.

End of Scene 2

Scene 3 - The Conclusion:

Lights come on, the Inspector is still at his spot from the last scene. The Elf is with him, their head is leaning into the bucket though. All the other characters are at the other end of the stage where they were left.

Inspector: Obviously, you were far too drunk to commit the murder. You really need to learn how to drink Egg Nog.

The Elf nods and groans into his bucket.

Inspector: Well, you’re free to go. Get me my last suspect, Blitzen.

The Elf goes and gets Blitzen.

Inspector: Well, Blitzen, how do you feel?

Blitzen: A little nervous I guess; I’ve never been interrogated before. Plus, Rudolph being dead has shaken me up a bit.

Inspector: I see. Describe to me your relationship with Rudolph.

Blitzen: We were team mates, partners, and friends. Without that nose of his, if we ever got into bad weather, we’d have trouble navigating through it. He was very valuable to our team.

Inspector: So you had a mutual respect for each other?

Blitzen: Yes we did. Sure, there were times where I would get annoyed with him, but there were times he felt the exact same way with me. We always dealt with it though.

Inspector: Were you annoyed with him tonight?

Blitzen: No I wasn’t.

The Inspector stares at him briefly, judging his believability.

Inspector: Okay. You’re free to go. I need a few seconds to myself.

Blitzen nods and walks away from Inspector.

Inspector: (sighs) Who could’ve done it? Santa was supposedly too big to get out of his chair to do it, Mrs. Claus liked him too much to do it, in a creepy sort of way. Then there’s the Angel; she’s a hobo killer, but not a reindeer killer, the Snowman can’t kill because he’s part robot and snowman, and both are unable to kill people. The Elf likely passed out shortly after the lights went out, and Blitzen seemed genuinely in grief.

Pauses

Wait, why did the lights go out?

Inspector walks over to the murder scene and notices a light switch behind Blitzen’s chair.

Inspector: All right! Everyone come here, I figured it out!

All the characters gather around the Inspector.

Inspector: After careful deliberation, I have figured out who killed Rudolph. (Pauses Dramatically and points at Blitzen) It was Blitzen the Reindeer!

Everyone gasps and Blitzen looks shocked.

Blitzen: Me!? You have no proof!

Inspector: Oh but I do. Look at this light switch, I know it’s been used lately and in an odd way. See there’s marking here that tell me you used your antlers to flick it. That’s how the lights “suddenly” went off during the murder.

Secondly, you’re the only one that acted the least bit normal around me, so that makes you the most suspicious in my books.

Blitzen gets angry.

Blitzen: Fine! I did it! But the little runt deserved it! I’m the one who did all the work! He only coasted around up front and used his nose for light every once and a wile. He was a total suck up and was asking for me to put him down. (He turns to Santa) Don’t you know this is the 21st Century! They have fog lights now! Candy canes!

Inspector: I’ve heard enough. (Looks offstage behind him) Take him away.

Extras come on and start dragging a struggling Blitzen offstage.

Blitzen: No! I can’t go to prison! No! I would’ve gotten away with it if any one of you freaks were normal!

The Extras finally get Blitzen offstage.

Santa: I would’ve never thought it would be Blitzen. This is my entire fault. I should’ve treated them both equally.

Inspector: (Puts an arm around Santa’s shoulders) Yea… you probably should’ve. But that’s in the past now. Now it’s time for me to get my reward.

Mrs. Claus: Of course, I’ll make an order to have a large supply of Egg Nog delivered to your home.

Inspector: That would be fantastic! (rubs hands greedily)

Mrs. Claus begins to walk offstage when Rudolph shouts offstage.

Rudolph: Hey! Hey! (Rudolph jogs out onto the stage, Hallelujah music plays) I’m alive! It’s a miracle!

Santa (shocked): Is that you, Rudolph?

Rudolph: Yes it is! I saw this white light, and then I saw some gates, but then Angel’s brother or something told me to go back! This is so awesome!

The Inspector turns around and pulls out a gun and points it at Rudolph.

Inspector: No! It’s an impostor!

Rudolph: What? No, I’m Rudolph. Look, I got the shining nose and everything!

Inspector: Anyone can make a shining nose, this is the 21st Century. Plus, you aren’t ruining my reward! I’m getting my Egg Nog!

Rudolph begins to back away offstage and the Inspector follows him. Once both are offstage a gun noise is played, followed by a short pause.

Rudolph (from offstage): Argh! My leg! You shot me in the leg! Are you drunk or something? Why would you do that!?

Gun noise shoots again. This time it’s followed by silence and The Inspector returns onstage and puts away his gun.

Inspector (dangerous/threatening tone): Nothing happened back there.

Everyone nods.

Inspector: Excellent, now someone go get me my Egg Nog!


Lights go off. End of Scene 3, end of play.







I only had 9 minutes to work with, so I kinda feel that some of the dialogue is a little rushed. Oh well, I'm still happy with it!

[jack cloudy]

This is my christmas gift. Don't worry if you don't understand, I did not plan to. Basically, it is the birth of an idea for the story I will write after finishing Agent. Like Mallet's, it is a bit rough. It is also rather short.



The night was chilly, not a single cloud hiding the dark sky. Silence ruled, only disturbed by the crackling of fire on the lit stone walls. The city was asleep.

A lone figure stopped at the top of the hill, overlooking the city that lay below. His breath created small puffs of smoke every time he exhaled. A smile crept along his face. The night was beautiful, as it was supposed to be. For just a moment, standing there on that hill, looking at the stars and the moons making their silent journey across the sky, the man could forget about his duties, the task he’d taken upon his shoulders. For a moment, the world was at peace, the conflicts and trouble having gone to sleep along with the people.

The man sat down, carefully putting down the staff he carried. For tonight, he would wait and enjoy this calm, refusing to disturb the peace that had come. He closed his eyes and separated his mind from his body. His spirit entered the city below, passing by houses, stopping to look at those who slept inside. Wherever he came, he met coldness. He looked upon the inhabitants and saw that unlike him, their dreams were troubled. This made him sad.

Finally, the spirit reached the tower rising up in the middle of the city. The structure was the source of the coldness. A coldness that threatened to spread and swallow everything. The spirit raised his incorporeal arms, trapping the coldness in a cage of warmth. The warmth of his soul. The warmth spread, entering the homes, entering people’s hearts. A warmth that promised peace, a better future.
,,Tonight is the longest night. Let it bring hope and happiness for tomorrow, life will continue.” The spirit said as it retreated to its body. Whenever he looked into a home now, he could see a smile on every face, the fear forgotten.

[canis216]

A note about what follows: parts that are written as [censored] were written exactly that way--no autocensor needed. I hope you enjoy this admittedly mildly baudy (and really fun to write) tale.

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Master Radrothil’s Lessons: Number Three

I know that you are skilled with your bow, Sythia, and that you can kill anyone with but a shot. Your devotion to the art serves you well, but you would be wise to listen to me when I teach you the finer points of the blade. The greatest weapon of the assassin is his mind, not just in the planning of the attack but in the creation of his self—the aura of the assassin, if you will allow me the extravagance of poesy. With your choice of weapon, you choose your self-image. The bow is for the fearful, reluctant assassin—you yourself have said that you need not see your mark’s face to strike him. I worry about how you will respond to the killing, if it becomes personal. I think you know what I mean. But to take up the dagger is to make every death personal, to always see the face of the doomed. It is also the highest expression of skill in our chosen profession. But—where was I?—the aura of which I speak, it is everything to the assassin, and thus the dagger is everything. I do not ask you to abandon the bow, for it serves you well, but I will not let you work on your own until I think you are ready. You must know the power of the dagger.

The Shadowscales of Black Marsh held the dagger “Kills-You-Dead” in high esteem. Only their most exalted master was permitted to hold the weapon. I cannot say that it was particularly special, for it was in appearance a fairly typical daedric dagger. Yet the Shadowscales exalted it, for it its health-stealing enchantment seemed to never run out, even if the wielder struck his foe a thousand times. Still, I know of countless weapons more powerful than Kills-You-Dead—I’ve wielded a few myself. But it was a weapon that all the apprentice Shadowscales aspired to, and they trained diligently in the use of a dagger. Even if, as the legend goes, the order is far more dedicated to practicing the art of illusion than the traditional method of sneak-and-stab. Indeed, the Shadowscales may have benefited from more practice in the old ways of assassination, instead of feats of magick.

Most of the apprentice Shadowscales begin their training when very young, even before they are to lick the Hist. At least, this is what I am told. I must confess that my knowledge here is second-hand. But it is a truism that every argonian in our Morag Tong is a failed Shadowscale. Huleeya could surely tell you…but, where was I? Oh yes. Every now and again an older apprentice is accepted. So it was that not too many years ago, the Shadowscales accepted an applicant of 21 years, with no formal training save that which life in the Arena supplies. His name is lost to me… oh, I remember. Yes, Heik-Auri, I believe—in the Hist tongue. As the story goes, he had been fighting with guerillas in the north of Black Marsh, resisting the Dres slave raiders.

The guerillas had been having some success against the Dres, and were planning a counterstrike—a raid into Tear itself. A bold strike indeed. The Dres, however, had managed to capture the few Shadowscale scouts and spies that the guerillas had at their disposal—and they wanted one of their own trained in the arts of assassination and obfuscation.

Heik-Auri was talented, but he did not fit in well as a Shadowscale. No doubt you have heard that all lizard-men are cunning illusionists, and to a degree this is true. The Shadowscales are far beyond cunning. When you or I cast a spell of invisibility, we reveal ourselves the moment we attempt to manipulate anything. It is one of illusion’s laws, it would seem, but the law does not apply to these Shadowscales—they are trained from their youth to bend the laws of magick. But Heik-Auri was not so cunning with magick, and was too old to forget its rules. So he lost all his sparring matches, as his partner could always cast invisibility in the heat of the fight. He lost, even though he was more skilled with a blade.

Now, you may ask, what good, then, was his skill with a blade if he could be bested by callow illusionists? And I tell you, he wondered about that too. This argonian, Heik-Auri, took to drinking, which of course only made his mood and temper worse, which only made his life more difficult. He began to spar drunk, fighting furiously and losing ignobly. The master of these Shadowscales, one called Sneaks-in-Shadows, saw the apprentice assassin failing.

“Heik-Auri, you [censored] idiot! If you could cast a simple spell of invisibility yourself, you wouldn’t get beaten so!”

But this was the wrong thing to say to a drunken, embarrassed, and angry young assassin. Heik-Auri practically shouted his response to the master.

“And if this one would dare fight with a blade instead of cowardly magic tricks, I could [censored by order of the Temple]! I could [censored] every last [censored] here if the [censored] cowards would fight me like a real [censored] killer would!”

This was also the wrong thing to say. “Heik-Auri, you forget yourself! But you shall have your wish—a battle of blades… with me.” Sneaks-in-Shadows drew a daedric dagger from within his robes, glowing with divine power. It was Kills-You-Dead.

Of course, the encampment was thrown into an uproar, dozens of hushed voices colliding to create a firestorm of whispers. Many of the apprentice Shadowscales had never even seen the sacred blade before; even less could they fathom that it would be used in combat against one so unworthy. Heik-Auri was, naturally, not so awed as the others. He was relatively new to the order, and aside from that he was terribly drunk. Still, he could not help but notice the blade’s power—but he also could not decline to fight and maintain his honor. What honor really means to a drunk, I do not know, but I do know that he agreed to the fight, drawing his own ebony shortsword—how a young guerilla came across such a pricey weapon, is perhaps a question best reserved for Heik-Auri himself. I think he may have taken it off of a Dres. They are rich, the Dres, but as the Hlaalu say… but I’m getting away from the story again, am I not?

The combatants, the apprentice Heik-Auri and the master Sneaks-in-Shadows, squared off a few yards apart as the other apprentices arrayed themselves into a great circle, wider than the greatest of their Hist trees.

Now, from what I hear, the Master made the first move, confident that he was about to give his insolent and incompetent student a good thrashing. Heik-Auri, drunk as he was, deftly avoided the slash across the chest and made his own probe toward the Master’s chest, which mostly missed but did cut a hole in Sneaks-in-Shadows’ robe. Unconcerned, the Master executed a spinning sideswipe that nearly overawed the crowd but which was successfully parried by his opponent, who responded with a blow to his master’s left shoulder. It connected, carving a long gash toward Sneaks-in-Shadows’ heart.

I cannot adequately describe how the gathered apprentices reacted to the sight of their master’s blood, drawn by one they had beaten so regularly. I can only guess that they must have been fairly stunned. Still, Heik-Auri’s cut was rather shallow; by no means was it even a crippling blow. Indeed, Sneaks-in-Shadows responded with a crushing overhand blow—or it would have been crushing had it not been dodged. The Master’s reward was a slash across the stomach.

Still drunk, and now intoxicated with the battle, Heik-Auri shouted for all to hear, “What [censored] taught you to fight, [censored]-in-Shadows? A [censored] courtesan?”

I know what you are thinking Sythia, and you are right. Heik-Auri was stupid to say such things—but it is near-impossible for the drunken and angry to reason with themselves. And indeed, the young lizard-man was both very drunk and very angry. Sneaks-in-Shadows was beyond angry now—he was furious, whipped into a rage. His response was not in words but in deed—he paralyzed his apprentice. In other words, he cheated. “Fool! Perhaps now you’ll learn the value of your [censored] magic studies!” He gave Heik-Auri a single cut across the chest with Kills-You-Dead. “Healer! Treat this [censored] idiot before he falls over and dies!”

Sythia, I know that what I have told you so far seems to emphasize the unbeatable nature of a trick like illusion, but the story is not over. The illusionist thinks he has all the answers, like that book… what was it? Incident at Necrom? But that story is so… oh, nevermind. Where was I? Oh yes, the duel is over…

Later, in the evening, Sneaks-in-Shadows retired to his chambers, up at the highest level of the Shadowscales’ monastery. Where is it? I hear that it is somewhere west of Greenglade… but that is rather immaterial to my lesson, isn’t it? In any case, the Master’s chambers were quite high, quite secure, well-guarded. He needed that sense of security this night, as his chest and shoulder still felt terrible from the wounds he had received—his healer had done good work, but still, he was sore. Cold, too, as it was an oddly cool and breezy evening in Black Marsh. He strode to the open window, to shut it, but before that he leaned out to look out over his academy. His eyes opened wide.

“Forgive me, Sneaks-in-Shadows,” spoke Heik-Auri as he plunged his ebony shortsword into the Master’s heart, “I should have killed you earlier.”

The Shadowscales lost their sacred blade because they did not also hold sacred the skills needed to wield it.

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

You have learned from this book. Your short blade skill increased to 85.


This post has been edited by canis216: Dec 26 2006, 01:30 AM

[Black Hand]

What do you get when Marks are running low on Vvardenfell?


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




The heavy rain was the only noise in Gnaar Mok, but the sounds of heavy leather boots pounding across the dock planks soon matched the pitter patter of the nights squall. The Breton traveler’s features were obscured in the faint lantern light of the fishing shacks and brown robe pulled over his head to spare him the effects of the downpour.

The Hlaalu guard patrolling the small settlement took a special note that the traveler did not make his way to Dreugh-Jiggers Rest like most of the few tourist’s and Adventurers that came through the backwater town, rather, he strode with an agile gait to Arenim Manor. Strange, he thought, must be here on business.

The Dunmer Lord Manor, Dondes Arenim took in the sharp features of the brown-haired outlander carefully. He had heard rumors of the Nightblade, and had asked for his light touch and expertise in matters such as these. “Greetings, you must be Daric Thorn, the Lawman. Are you here on business?” he asked obsequiously.

The Breton showed little interest in the code words of the Dark Elf, and gave him slight nod. “I am. Who do you want me to kill?” he said fingering the hilt of his ebony shortsword. It glowed with a strange enchantment, and his ring, which looked very expensive, seemed to glow with a powerful restorative as well.

“Straight and to the point, I like that. You must kill not one, but two. They are….dangerous, and should provide a unique challenge to one of your skills.” Said Arenim, unrolling the parchment with the description of the targets, and pulled out a fat purse stuffed to the brim with septims.

Daric intense blue eyes scanned the gold first, and then read down the parchment, stopping when he read the third paragraph on the sheet.

“What is this? Am I some apprentice in the fighters guild? Some lowly spearman in the legion? Let me guess, Avon Oran put you up to this! Tell him the Queen was already dead by the time I took his gold! He will not have the last laugh!” Thorn began chuckling and preparing to leave.

Dondes put his hands on the Bretons shoulders. “No! This is quite serious! They are threatening the town, and the guards refuse to do anything about it! We’ve reached such a crisis here, and the job requires a specialist…I’ll,..I’ll double your pay…”

The Breton scratched his stubbled chin. “Double you say?” he mused. “You’re a fine negotiator. But there is one stipulation I have…”

“That is?” asked the Desperate Dunmer.

“No one is to know that I had anything to do with this. Ever. For any reason. I’d rather steal recipes from Alchemists then have this staining my reputation.” Daric said with an intense gaze into the Dunmers red eyes.

“Agreed. Utmost secrecy.” Said Dondes.

In the morning hours, the hooded Breton took to the shores that surrounded Gnaar Mok, to the North where his marks were often spotted. Though one would expect the Smugglers Coast, ridden with Bandit Caves, Cammona Tong, and Thieves Guild members, even Sorcerers who liked to get some practice on those unwary enough to poke their nose where it did not belong, one would not think of this as a typical assassination.

Finding his quarry, the Nightblade did what those of his trade did best, and casted a strong Chameleon spell, and observed the marks movements for a few moments. Unslinging his trademark, Shortbow of Sanguine Sureflight, he called upon its spell to increase his abilities with archery.

Feet firmly planted, he brought the tail of the arrow back under his chin, and set sailing the Ebony Arrow. With a direct hit, the first mark was down. The Female of the pair. With a death spasm she fell to the ground without a sound, and immediately her lover fell into a rage, scanning his environment for the unseen assailant.

The spell, though strong, was very short lived, and Daric became visible, just in time for the mark to wreak his vengeance on the Nightblade. Apparently his mark was a spell caster too, as he sent a powerful viperbolt to him, the acidic spray burning Daric’s exposed skin.

With a leap, Daric dodged the next shot, barely, and unsheathed Shimsil, his prized ebony shortsword, claimed from a Necromancer in Mawia, and summoned forth the energies to hide him once more. He then channeled the energies from the ring that the Necromancer also carried, called the Ring of Regeneration to heal his wounds from the poison.

But the furious widower would not be stopped, and he rained blows down upon Thorn, the hits making contact, and the bruises hurting like hell. Daric responded with slashes and cuts all his own, until finally, his mark, either from exhaustion, or a desire to join his lover in the next life, gave into the thrusts, and lay down to die.

Daric took his time in returning to Arenim Manor, letting the ring heal his wounds, as it did work very slowly. The wounds he had received were painful, but he would live, and would be 2000 septims richer for it.

“Are they…?” Dondes started

“Dead. Both. Just as we agreed. My payment?” Daric said with his patience wearing thin.

“First the proof.”

Daric handed over the Netch Leather Hides.

“Excellent. Those breeding netches were causing nothing but trouble around here.” Said Dondes, handing over two fat pursese. “I’m going to turn these into a prized pair of boots!”

Daric weighed his reward. “Remember, you said that would tell no one of this! If it gets out….Ill turn YOUR hide into a prized pair of boots…” he said with a dark tone.

“Yes, yes, Lawman. No one will know. Now get out of here, before the locals start asking to many questions.”

[jack cloudy]

I suppose you could call this a teaser for my next story. (after finishing agent.) I plan on making a teaser like this for all of the main characters. It should be fun. So don't worry if things are a bit confusing, I plan on explaining them (eventually).





He had come a long way. Each scar telling a chapter of his life. Danger was his breakfast, violence his lunch, blood his dinner. Now he knelt before the small altar, giving a prayer to his ancestors. The great cheering of the crowd caught his ears. The man finished his prayer and stepped outside his alcove. There was a short silent conversation between the man and the gate’s operator. A simple wish for luck.

With the sound of rattling chains, the gate rose up into the air. The man walked through, holding up a hand to shield his eyes against the sun as he was momentarily blinded. On the far side of the sandcovered pit, he could already make out his opponent. His crimson eyes narrowed as they analyzed his opponent.

Both never withdrew their eyes from each other, not even when this fight’s sponsor entered. Only a slight frown of the man revealed that he’d heard, and recognized, his sponsor.
,,Begin!”
The man raised his weapon, so did his opponent. Both were experienced gladiators, having survived countless battles. Both knew that he who rushes in like a fool dies. Much was at stake. Their lives, the title of champion, a rivalry older then the Empire, personal honour. The man made one step forward, so did his opponent.

The man’s feet disturbed the sand only slightly, despite the heavy weight pressing down with each step. His grey skin was like the land he hailed from. He had been raised in the ashy wastes of Vvardenfell, living at the slope of a mighty volcano. Ashlander he called himself, Urshilaku. Man of ash, hunter of dangerous prey.

The other towered into the air like a walking mountain. A large beard hid his face, the blue mask of war covering his bare skin. His eyes reflected the cold that embraced him upon his birth. Nord, the great warrior of Skyrim, a land as cold as the Ashlands were warm. Opposites of birth, opposites of ideal.

Spear against Axe, fire against ice. The two gladiators quickened their pace slightly till they met at the center of the arena. Warily, they circled each other. The Ashlander probed with his spear, using its greater reach to his advantage. The Nord carefully kept his distance from the plain yet deathly tip. Then, it all happened as both exploded into combat.

The latest probe with the spear was batted aside by the waraxe and the Nord lunged forward with a blow aimed to crack his opponent’s skull. The Dunmer quickly stepped to the side, letting the axe scrape against his pauldron. Now he backed away, once again moving to a range at which his spear would grant him the advantage. The Nord followed, his only option. The axe was meant for a heavy offence, the spear for a solid defence. Unstoppable force against an unbreakable wall, it was the ancient paradox turned into reality.

This time, the axe came in low, just above the knee. The Dunmer was unable to jump the blow in his heavy suit of Iron and had to block the blow with his spear. The shaft trembled from the impact, a slight crack forming across its length. The wall had taken damage. Once more, the axe moved in, aiming for the heart. The Nord had moved too close to avoid, too close to stop. The battle had reached its final moment. The Ashlander put his life in the hands of his ancestors. Releasing one hand from the spear, he reached out with his gauntlet and grabbed the incoming blade. Leather cracked, bones shattered, flesh and muscles torn beyond repair. Gritting his teeth in pain, he thrust his spear forward, into the Nord’s heart. The two men stood there for what seemed like eternity, like statues. Then, the Nord fell, dragging his axe down with him. Cheers erupted from the wild crowd.

The Ashlander’s wounded hand dropped to his side, his blood mixing with the blood of his opponent in the sand. There was only one thing left to do. The one thing that had brought him here, so far away from his home. As his sponsor approached him with his prize, he turned to face the man. Their eyes locked, revealing the truth.
,,Murderer, I claim vengeance for my people! Vengeance to the Urshilaku who you tried to drive away from the lands given to us by our ancestors! Your friends, your Empire shall be witness to this deed!” With a final surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, he hurled his spear, splitting the man’s head like a melon. The spear's shaft, already damaged from the battle, shattered from the power with which it struck its target. The crowd fell into a frightened silence, shocked by what they'd seen.

Both hands hanging by his side, he waited silently. He had done what he needed to do, anything else was unimportant now, even his fate. The guards would later report that the man who had been such a feared foe in the arena, was now like a man whose soul had already left this world, leaving only an empty shell behind. As he was led away, the man whispered one last thing.
,,We were born in the ash, we will die in the ash. No one will ever be able to destroy the Urshilaku.”

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Dec 28 2006, 10:52 PM

[jack cloudy]

And the second teaser.


Two souls made their way trough the dark forest. Among them was the thick scent of decay. Fallen leaves and death plants had turned the forest floor into a steaming swamp that not even an Argonian would appreciate. Even though the sun shone overhead, it seemed almost night below the endless cover of leaves. The shortest of the two hopped from root to root, avoiding the halfdecayed layer of death vegetation with practised ease. The other was forced to trudge through the kneedeep mess. His face was deformed into a masque of barely contained anger. He too had tried to jump from root to root but soon discovered that such a feat was harder than it looked. Now he was covered from head to toe in the slimy mass of death plants. That was two days ago. By now, he would have killed for a bath.

An invisible animal roared somewhere in the forest around them. The short person stopped, gripping her bow for a moment and straining her ears. Satisfied, the Bosmer continued as if nothing had happened. The man followed his guide, not in the least worried about whatever was out there, hidden by countless trees. As his mood became increasingly sour, his willingness to pretend any form of fear had diminished. As they continued, the man became aware of a different scent, a scent that rivalled the scent of decaying plants in intensity. It was a scent that was not native to this world. The scent of Oblivion.

Once more, the Bosmer stopped though not because of a predator lurking among the trees. She jerked a thumb into the direction they’d been travelling.
,,The outskirts are about three hours away. Have fun.” She said and began to walk away in the opposite direction. The man stopped her impatiently.
,,Wait here. I need you to get me back out of here. If I’m not back in five days, you may leave.” He urged. The Bosmer gave him a calculating look.
,,Five days, that is ten coins a day. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty coins.”

The man swallowed back a sigh. For a barbaric tribe of cannibals, those Bosmer drove a hard bargain. A hard bargain in her opinion. In reality, escort jobs like this were worth a hundred coins a day back in civilized lands. In the end, he came out cheaper than expected.
,,Fine.” He said and walked in the direction of his destination. This time it was the Bosmer who stopped the man.
,,Pay up front.”

The man turned to face his stubborn guide.
,,Why?” He merely asked.
,,You’re likely to die there. I’m not going to sit here for nothing.” This time he failed to suppress a sigh. If he paid now, nothing would keep her from leaving without waiting. If he didn’t pay, he could be sure to see her leave.
,,I’ll give you half now and half when I come back and see you kept your word.” There was a short break in negotiations while both parties tried to figure out how far they could go.
,,Deal, half up front.”

Three and a half hours later, the man had found what he was looking for. Partially obscured by the roots of an ancient tree, he saw a pit into the ground and more importantly, the pit was illuminated by a reddish glow. Without hesitation, he slipped between the roots and ventured underground. Barely ten steps inside, he met a guardian, the first of many. The Skeleton lashed out with a Claymore covered in rust. Undisturbed, the man erected a barrier to protect him. When the old weapon it the barrier, it crumbled to dust.
,,Why don’t you turn to dust as well?” There was the flare of a spell. When the blast cleared, the Skeleton was nothing more but a few charred bits lying on the floor.

,,Such a disappointing foe. I’ll have to leave some decent replacements when I leave.” The man muttered as each guardian he met fell to the same spell. The pit lead him into a maze no mortal had wandered since the first era. At the end of the maze was his target, an altar guarded by four Atronachs. He looked at the Daedric minions and smiled. Finally a worthy protection.
,,I won’t destroy you. Rather, you will continue to serve as you’ve done till now.” He spoke to the floating collections of rock struck by lightning as he paralyzed them one by one. He walked up to the altar and casually swiped the sword off of it. The blade clattered on the stone floor, causing the rotten sheath to crumble. The man froze and looked at his reflection in the sword’s shining blade.

He bend down and touched it, barely able to believe it was real.
,,Chrysamere. What brought this weapon here? It hasn’t been seen since the first era. Why did it return now?” He wondered. As sudden as he’d swiped it off the altar, he stood up again and reached into his sack.
,,No matter, I have no use for the Paladin’s sword. Now rest here, great weapon. No one should ever be able to find you.” He spoke solemnly as he laid his object on the altar. He swiftly left, never to look back.

It took him a single day to return. He’d been gone for three days in total, with most of his time spent in the maze. To his surprise, the Bosmer was waiting for him. He paid her without a word and followed as she lead him back to civilization. Or at least, what the Bosmer saw as civilization.

[jack cloudy]

And the next one.




A shadow leapt over the edge and crouched down on top of the wall. Cold eyes surveyed the courtyard without a single shred of compassion. The eyes spoke in only one language. Death. A torchbearing man geared up in the well-known armour of an Imperial legionnaire walked by below the shadow. The shadow dropped down on the man’s shoulders, a hidden claw slitting through his throat. With a loud thump, the corpse fell on the floor.
,,Marius, what was that?” A voice called out. The shadow hid in a nearby alcove for the death man’s colleague to arrive.

,,What? Al…..” The second legionnaires alarm was cut off when the shadow emerged. Fear gripped the man’s heart till he to felt on the ground, bleeding to death. The shadow observed the two corpses lying side by side with a cold pleasure. He crossed the now empty courtyard till he reached a tall wall rising up into the sky. His eyes looked up at the wall, looking for the balcony leading to his target. There it was, halfway up into the sky. The shadow retrieved two rings from under his cloak. Both were painted black though the scent of Magicka still filled the air.

The shadow slipped the first ring onto his finger and felt how his body became lighter than air. Rapidly, he began to float upwards, towards an invisible barrier. There it was, a feeling as if his entire body had been turned to ice and then ripped apart. Yet, when he had passed the barrier, there wasn’t even a single scratch to tell the tale. He had just done something few mortals had done before, he had passed a dispel barrier that could rob even the most powerful item or spell of its strength. The shadow quickly activated his second ring before he would plummet to his doom, discarding the first one away. He no longer had any need for it.

The balcony was now within reach. A hand reached out, grabbing the ledge and pulling up the body. After having made his way through a city full of patrolling guards, a wall, two more guards, a steep ascent into the sky through a dispel barrier, only a simple wooden door remained. There was no time or need for subtlety. A powerful kick broke open the lock and threw the door wide open. The shadow jumped through, landing on the bed of his victim. His claws descended, ripping through sheets and pillows.

His attacks failed to draw any blood. The shadow froze, though not of his own will.
,,Attempted assassination of Tamriel’s Emperor. Prepare for a life in jail.” A dark voice spoke from behind the frozen frame of the shadow.
,,That you made it here is commendable, but you should have realized that your passage through the dispel barrier caused a massive flare of light. On your next attempt, stick to stealth. Unfortunately for you, there won’t be a next attempt.” The door on the other side of the room was thrown open and the sound of armoured feet marched in.
,,Take him to the darkest prison you have and chain this monster to the wall.”

[canis216]

All right, here's something totally different from me. This is part of a larger story which is a work in progress, the working title being "Monsoon Season". Yes, real-world stuff here. Crazy. Constructive criticism welcome--I'm writing this with intent to publish in an environmental literature journal my department puts out.

==============================================================

A modest little fire burns in the night, casting its amber glow upon red rock, interrupted by the odd shadow. The smell of juniper is on the air, drifting past my nostrils and up into the brilliant near-blinding sky, riddled with starry pinpricks and punctures. I’m trying to brew some Mormon tea, trying to stay awake just a little longer, at least until I can brew the next batch. The fire burning steadily, under control, I set a light framework grill over the flames, and a kettle atop the grill. Then I sit upon a rock, front facing the fire, back to the red stone overhang under which I’ve laid my sleeping bag.

Somewhere in the south, from one of the lonely prominences overlooking a tangled maze of canyons and gulches, the long pan-tonal wail of a coyote pierces the cold. I look up from the fire, expecting… I don’t know what. Perhaps one of these days I will understand the call, and know precisely what the solitary coyote means when he broadcasts his lament, joy, or both, across the mesas. In any case, I cannot help but reply, throwing my face up to the sky, trying to translate my hopes and fears into the coyote’s alien tongue.

“Would you shut up?!” The shout comes from another campsite, on the other side of the creek, where a dog is now baying his own rejoinder to the night. Well, that’s fine, I’m thinking, I can be quiet. Steam rises from the kettle—my beverage is ready. I pull it off the fire, setting it upon the nearby picnic table to cool for a moment. The night is quiet again, the dogs and people finally giving into the cold and the darkness, the somnolence of desert stars. I’m ready to try my concoction now, pouring a measure of the brew into a clear plastic mug and raising it to my lips. It is terribly bitter, and terrible, but it’s not that bad. It will do quite well, I think.

Later, much later, I slip into an uneasy sleep—uneasy because, in reality, it is my dreams that are broken occasionally by stretches of fitful rest, goddamned memories haunting my mental circuitry like some sort of loop that I just can’t find my way out of. I see a rolling creek in the great blue misty mountains of east, rolling and tumbling over boulders and rocks and worn-smooth slopes of gray stone. There’s a girl too, same one as ever, swimming in her white T-shirt, the sort of thing that drives a man to write bad poetry. And there I am, standing on a rock above the pool of cool mountain water, fumbling with my own shirt, trying not to stare or at least not to look like I’m staring. She looks up from the water, flashing a grand and intoxicating smile, and calls up to me, “Come on in. The water’s fine.” And all I can say is, “I’m sure it is.”

This post has been edited by canis216: Jan 2 2007, 02:44 AM

[Black Hand]

The blackness of the dream engulfed me. I ran, though I had no form. I was terrified, but I didn’t feel it. The formless running version of me was. What was I running from? The stern face of remorselessness. The fluttering wings of swift justice. The sharp edge of her sword.

“…only the doomed can see me…”

I breathe, hard. My heart beats with intense fear. My own karma comes to repay me for my acts. Yes. Me. She is mine, and mine alone. And I alone can see her, here and now. There is no escape; there is no point in running any longer.

“Do you know what "nemesis" means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent.”

Yes, she is real. Men are free, and men are Wretched. Hubris. My hubris, using another’s misfortune to transform myself into a superior being. And now she comes, Nemesis, the Greek Goddess of Divine Justice.

I turn. I look into her dark-face. She is beautiful. So beautiful. I smile at her, I welcome her cold calculation with open arms. I embrace my fate.

It is harsh. But perhaps, there is redemption in it. Redemption by fate, by justice. Concepts that seemed so far and away from me. And now like a cold night air, the wrap me in my final embrace.

She is so beautiful.

[jack cloudy]

Not exactly short, but this idea popped up in my head and I had to write it.




Interview with a dungeoneer.
By W. Riter.

It was a cold afternoon in Chorrol. The daily prayer at the temple of Stendarr had ended and together with the rest of the citizenry, I filed out of the grand building. As I walked across the streets, I exchanged smalltalk with those I knew. Nothing noteworthy except perhaps a thing Chanel, the countesses personal mage, told me.
,,I’ve finished your painting. It’s on your doorstep.”

Apart from being a mage, the Redguard was also quite well-known as a painter. I’d already ordered several paintings from her before and none of them had disappointed. Eager to see her latest achievement, I hurried to my home where I saw a package lying on my doorstep, just as told. I took it inside and unwrapped it, delighted at her drawing of Cyrodiil as seen from a nearby mountain, surrounded by the lake which looked like a sea of gold in the reflection of the sun. It had soon found itself a prominent place in my study, where it hangs till this very day.

This would have been the end of an otherwise unexciting day, if it weren’t for my visitor who arrived late in the night. A reluctant nod preceded his arrival. I had no idea who might be out this late, so I opened the door with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. An old man with a hunched back stood on my doorstep, dressed in simple clothing like a pilgrim.
,,Are you William Riter, the writer?” He asked. I nodded and opened the door wider so he could enter, inwardly chuckling at the wordplay. W. Riter, the writer. It was a small detail about my profession that never failed to amuse me.

Once the man had ventured inside my well-lit home, I managed to get a better look at him. While he wasn’t any bigger than I was in his current bent posture, I realized that if he stood straight, his head would reach up to the ceiling. The faded relic of a blue tattoo shaped like a bear’s paw covered most of his face. His hands bore the scars of heavy labour on the field, or perhaps heavy combat on the battlefield. His eyes shone with a perceptive gleam, which made me decide on the battlefield. He was a warrior, a retired one.

,,Welcome to Arborwatch. What can I do for you?” I asked in a courteous manner. The old Nord walked to the fireplace where he warmed his hands.
,,I heard you write stories. Not made-up stories, but stories of real people. I’ve come to tell my tale, for I think it is one worthy to be told.” He explained. I looked over him in silence. If it was his life’s story he wanted to tell me, who was I to refuse? Besides, he’d come here by himself which was enough to catch my interest. As such, I invited him to the living room where I provided him with a hearty goblet of brandy. He sat down in one chair and I in the opposite one.

,,It would be my pleasure to hear your tale. Feel free to begin.” I told him. The Nord looked at the ceiling for a moment, making up his mind of where to start.
,,I go by the name of Kersten Bear-Fang. My life was normal for a Nord till I reached adulthood at which point I took after my father and wandered the countryside as a knight, righting wrongs and protecting the weak.” He began, still gazing at the ceiling. I waited patiently for him to continue.
,,I spent a lot of time in caves, tombs and other places. Yes, now I see. That’s what I came to talk about. Not my life, which is surely the same as that of all other adventurers. No, I came here to explain about the art of venturing into the places of darkness. Advice from the old to the young. I bear many scars as a result of my mistakes. It is better if those mistakes won’t be repeated.”

I was slightly disappointed. I had been more interested in this man’s life than in his knowledge about tombs, caves and other places I’d rather not think about. Still, I understood his desire and I would not stop him. After all, there’s little to write about people who die before they’ve done a single deed of heroism.
,,Please go on. Any tips for those who are starting out?” I asked him, subtly nudging him in the right direction.

He stroke his beard with one hand and shook the now empty goblet with the other.
,,First of all, know where you’re going before you’re going. If you have a specific location in mind, perhaps because you heard about it from the locals, try to get more information. You want to know exactly where it lies, so you won’t have to spent time searching. You also want to know what to expect. I can’t stress this fact. I’ve seen many great men and women die because they didn’t know what they were getting into. I’ve made this mistake many times myself and it nearly cost me my life every single time. One important thing to know is what kind of opposition you’ll see. If undead or supernatural beings, get yourself an enchanted weapon or you’ll be unable to even scratch them.”
My quill danced across the scroll, making notes with soft scratching noises.
,,And then, after you’ve found enough information?” I asked, licking the plumed end of my quill.

,,You can never have enough information but there comes a time when you have to stop asking and start doing. Make sure you are prepared. Fix your weapons, count your potions. Getting in is hard, but getting back outside if your sword breaks halfway through is practically impossible unless you’re a monk or a mage with Magicka to burn. I can also advice to let the task of preparing be done by an expert if you doubt your own abilities. Sure, they charge a price but no price is higher than the one you pay if you die. Make sure you have a way of fighting both at melee and at longer distances. If you can avoid a hard fight by shooting an arrow while hidden by the shadows, do so. You only live once and even a goblin can kill you if you don’t know what you’re doing. Once you’ve prepared, it is time to enter.”

He put down the goblet and folded his hands into a cup.
,,Decide how you want to enter. Do you want to be intimidating, frighten whatever is in there to weaken any resistance you might encounter? Or do you want to go in quietly, so you can take down your foes without them even knowing you’re there? If it is the first one, I’d suggest to bash in the door with brute force and give a good howl if you’re a warrior or blowing it up with a spell if you’re a mage. If you go for stealth, you should open the door slowly so it doesn’t make a sound, slip through and close it after you’ve scanned the area. If anyone comes by and sees the door closed, he won’t know someone’s come through.”
I took the chance to interrupt him.
,,Entering with a bang or with a whisper. What is your preference?” I asked him.
,,That depends on what is in there. If my enemies are humans, I go in with a bang and freeze their blood with the might of my voice so they think a whole legion descends on them rather than one man. If my enemies are beasts though, I enter with a whisper, hard as it might be when wearing full plate armour. They won’t understand what I’m saying anyway so it’s hard to scare them away.”

I nodded, satisfied with the answer. This was turning out to be quite interesting.
,,Once you’re inside, you’ve gotten to the worst part of any quest. You need to keep your eyes open, your ears alert for any sound and your preferred object of death ready in your hand at all times. Be prepared for darkness. Some people suggest you carry a torch though I don’t see how a torch is helpful when trying to be stealthy. Walking around like a walking beacon of light is bad for your health. You should get a spell or item that can enhance your seeing instead. The mage guilds are a good source for this. Likewise, enchanted items tend to radiate light. You can paint them black to avoid this.” He paused for a time, lost in deep thought. I was beginning to wonder if he was now going to suggest a particular brand of paint when he continued.

,,If you have a map, that’s great. If not, you need to explore on your own. Your path is likely to branch out into multiple directions. Take the ones that are the least used first. Any opposition you find there is likely to be light and it will take a while before the corpses will be discovered there. Only after you’ve nibbled at the edges like that should you go to the heart of it. It is there that you’re likely to find the hardest opposition. If your enemies are human or even simply humanoid, like Goblins, see if you can take out the leader first with an arrow or a spell. Nothing breaks a cohesive group better than removing their leadership and lowering their morale. You should also take the fight to a more advantageous location, for example a narrow corridor where only one can reach you at a time. If you take your time and keep your head cool, you’ll find that what once seemed impossible is now very much possible. Once you’ve cleared out everything that moves, get the loot or the damsel in distress and head back for the entrance but don’t let your guard down yet. Nothing is more embarrassing than getting killed because you forgot about that one guy who ran away but came back to guard the door.”

He leaned back in his chair and I refilled his goblet for him. The talking had given him a sour throat.
,,And once you’re outside, is there still something to do?” I asked after letting him enjoy the beverage for a while. He smirked and leaned over so he had my full attention.
,,Once outside, you get to the most important thing of all. Get to town, claim your pay if you were hired and then get to the nearest pub and enjoy a good drink. You’ve deserved it.”

[jack cloudy]

They say that your mood is reflected in your writing. I don't know what this says about my mood. Whatever, let's stop the rambling and cut to the story.



Forsaken.

When it happened, it felt like eternity. Each moment stretched out into infinity. The harsh words, the curses and finally, the decision. Looking back however, only a blur lingers in my mind. A short blur, like a bolt of lightning shooting down to the land beneath the dark cloud.
That is how I feel right now, like a bolt of lightning, coming from the dark cloud of my kind, to bring the sharp edge of betrayal to the innocent. I should have seen it coming, the end. This is the price I must pay. A price that the world demands of me, for I have performed the greatest crime ever. I have tried to create a monster. I have tried to create an equal.

This blasphemy might have been forgiven, if I stopped there. But no, one monster wasn’t enough for me. I made more, four in total. And now, they are the ones who suffer for my foolishness. I suffer as well, but I deserve to suffer while they don’t.

My experiment has been discovered by the families. The speakers have spoken and revealed their verdict. If I ever want to enter the familygrave for my final rest, I must undo my mistake. I must destroy that which I’ve made with my own hands. If I refuse, my creations will be destroyed by someone else, along with me. Out of the two choices, killing my children seems to be the lesser evil. At least I’ll know that their death was relatively painless if I do it myself.

Now my feet bring me back to the small cabin where I’ve worked. Each step kicks up a cloud of rustling leaves. To me, it sounds like thunder, a steady sound of approaching doom. My doom, and theirs. Who will suffer more before this night ends? Me, or them? I’ll make sure it will be me who suffers most. That’s why I’ve chosen for the night. Hopefully, they’ll be sleeping, which will enable me to end their life with a single merciful wound.

My feet stop. I can hear a fly buzzing nearby but that’s not what has distracted me. In the distance, I can see the cabin sitting by the muddy path. But it isn’t right. I can see the flickering light of a candle shine through the window. They’re awake.

I can’t move, neither forward or backwards. I can’t do this. I can’t kill them. However, if I don’t, someone else will. And that someone won’t show the same regret I will. I must do this, for their sake. I force myself forward, slowly. Each step brings me closer and with each step, I slow down again. Five steps later, I’ve come to a halt again. A single fly buzzes around my head.

I look up at the sky, at the cold stars that are up there. It looks like a lifeless place, yet the stories say that the stars are the birthplace of the Makkrash, of the nightmares. If someone is up there, and looks down at me right now, what would he think? Would he be angry at me? ,,Stop this. You’re stalling, and it’s not working. Go in there now and finish it. There’s plenty of time to pity yourself afterwards.” I scold myself.

My hand reaches behind my back. As the heir of my family, I’m the one who has the right to possess the weapon of my ancestors. A right that is likely to be taken from me when I return. It is a peculiar item, a long needle made from a black material that has so far appeared to be completely indestructible. Or at least, it hasn’t suffered a single scratch yet despite the abuse it has been put through. What the stories claim with words, this needle backs up with solid fact. It was made by the Makkrash, somewhere in a forge up there among the stars.

My hand grips the handle so tight, I can hear my bones crack. I take a deep breath and focus my eyes on the cabin. This is it, the final act.

Time itself seems to slow down as my body enters a state of full awareness. I see the fly hovering in front of my face, its wings beating up and down slowly. I move. My feet are still planted firmly on the ground, but I’ve still moved. One moment I’m standing outside, the other moment I appear in the cabin’s only room, my body pushing the air aside as I become solid again. Outside, the air rushes to fill up the vacuum I left behind.

Now that I’m actually here, I move without thinking. I notice the first of my children, sitting in a chair and reading a book. I reach out with the black needle. The deadly tip pierces the thick air, driving through the book and into his heart. Something moves to my left, a lock of hair being set in motion by the displacement of air I’ve caused. I whirl around and she too, dies by the dreadful needle. I continue the spinning motion till I see the third one and sacrifice him in the name of my people. One last turn, and I gaze upon the last survivor. Her eyes blink slowly, her mind trying to comprehend what that lethal blur is that has appeared so sudden and disturbed the peace. The air around me becomes hot as she forces it under her will, an instinctive reaction to the threat that threatens to kill her. Soon, it will burst into flames. Too late.

This talent to command the environment was exactly what I sought to create, the bridge between my people and the ones who we’d enslaved. Now I know that my experiment has been successful. I’ve created a being, not of our origin yet with the same birthright. Yet she is untrained and can’t match the speed my kind is capable of. She dies before she can kill me. Oh, how I wish she had succeeded. Then I wouldn’t have to hate myself for the rest of my life.

The world returns to its normal pace. The sound of their corpses falling to the floor and the feeling of their blood on my hands will haunt me forever. I survey the destruction I’ve brought, and I am filled by a fury like I’ve never felt before. They didn’t deserve this, they deserved to live. I should have disobeyed, I should have thrown the entire tradition of discipline and servitude away and done what was right! I should have taken them far away from this place, far away from the wrath of my people. But I didn’t, I did what I was expected to do. I killed them. My children weren’t the monsters, I am!

I turn away from the gruesome scene and leave by walking out through the door. Once outside, I focus on the cabin, I focus on what’s inside. Roaring flames shoot out of the brick walls and consume everything within a heartbeat. I walk away, away from the blackened crater and away from the path leading back to my home. I don’t belong there, I belong nowhere. It’s better this way, not to soil the memory of my family with what I’ve done. I will vanish. No one will ever see me again.

[Zelda_Zealot]

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

___________________________

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

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

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

"Larrius Varro."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You were mocking my pain!

"How is my name mocking you?"

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

"That is insane! I never assassinated anyone!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very lucky thing he decided to do this, as an ex-member of the mages guild named "Ontus Vanin" was out shopping, and he was in a very bad mood.
_______________________

PM me if you don't get the jokes.


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

[Zelda_Zealot]

Poetic Justice

They call me crazy, a manic, demented. You however, may call me whatever your heart desires, it makes no real difference in the end. If you truly must know though, they most commonly call me The Madman. It is a very interesting little nickname if I do say so myself, for you see; they call me this as a result of my nightly habits. Ironically, it is I who find them to be the madmen, for they are the ones who cheat, lie, and destroy each-others lives. I simply eliminate the unworthy, the cheaters, the liars and the cold-blooded murderers. Though you may find it ironic that I murder the murderers, but I find it to be poetic justice.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Silently I crept across the wooden floor, careful not to place to much weight in one place for too long, lest the wood squeak. If the floor makes any noise I might end up having unwanted guests bursting through the recently unlocked doors, and that would be a bad thing to have. While I may be a master of unarmed combat, taking on multiple heavily armored guards in a relatively unknown area is a bit out of my league. However, all of my worrying was pointless; I reached the stairs with nary a creak or squeak, and let out a breath I was holding completely unawares.

I had been watching this couple for a few days, they seemed like nice people in public, but in their own home, there was evidence that said otherwise. What they did is unimportant, for their punishment has been decided, they would pay the ultimate price for their crimes, and would be removed permanently, from this plane of existence.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I had discovered their dirty little secret one hot summer day while they were off in the Elven Gardens, I had been asking around town about the couple, and it seemed like everyone simply adored them. They went to the temple every Sundas, they paid their taxes, they never had any "misunderstandings" in the local bar, in fact, they were as clean as you can imagine. However, no one is that good; no one is that clean, and that is how I knew.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I stole away up the stairs, silent as a mouse, until I reached the door to their bedroom. I had slipped a hand into my trouser pocket, searching for my lock-picking set, when the sound reached my ears, the sound of someone walking across a wooden floor. No, not just walking, stumbling, as if they were half-awake. For a split-second I panicked, but no longer. As an expert in the art of infiltration, I snuck back into the dark corner of the small landing at the top of the stairs, and waited.

It was only a moment later that the door opened and one of my marks walked sleepily to the stairs, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the latch clanked shut I pounced, slipping my arm around his neck, I dragged him away from the stairs.

"On this cool summer night, you will pay the blood price for the wrongs you have committed," I whispered into his ear, moments before I snapped his neck. Laying his body down at the top of the stairs, I opened the door.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I knew the couple I was currently watching was in the Elven Gardens District visiting a friend of theirs as I had followed them until I was satisfied they would be gone for a while, so I also knew I would not have to worry about having the residents stumbling upon me during my brief visit to their humble abode. While I did not "dilly dally" in their place of residence, I certainly did not rush through the place. I was careful, checking under the bed, behind the bookcase (It may be cliché, people do still have doors back there), and I even checked the walls for a loose stone that might be pried off, but no such luck. It was just when I was about to give up and accept that maybe they were good people that I found what I was looking for, down in the dark, dank basement.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
My second mark was on the bed in the middle of the room, sleeping, blissfully unaware of her "significant others" demise, and her own approaching doom. The rest of the room was vaguely interesting, and if I did not have the financial security I currently hold, I might have considered pilfering a few items of worth. Nevertheless, I had no need for the primarily worthless trinkets scattered about the room, I had come here for a purpose, and I intended to fulfill that purpose.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was just as I was finishing my search of the basement when I heard the sound of the front door opening and footsteps crossing the house to the basement door. Quickly I scanned the room, looking for something, anything in which I could hide. There! I spotted a crate, slightly larger then I, tucked away in one of the many recesses that comprised of the outer wall of the basement. Prying off the top of the crate as silently as I could, I slid down into the crate that was thankfully quite empty, and thus unimportant. There I waited, and listened to the horrors they committed in the basement for many hours.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
My mark shifted in her sleep, still quite unaware of the impending doom. Approaching her side of the bed I stood up and leaned over, placing my gloves hands on the base of her skull and her chin, I twisted. Thus ended the life of another murderer.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They call me crazy, a manic, demented, a Madman. For I eliminate the unworthy, the cheaters, the liars and the cold-blooded murderers. Though you may find it ironic that I murder the murderers, but I find it to be poetic justice.

[jack cloudy]

I wanted to try something else. I bet you can figure out what I based this story on.




Files of Grey-Tongue: The Case of the Silver Spoon.

13th of Talos Plaza:

It was a dreary morning. The wind threw buckets of water against the window. Grey clouds hid the sun, making the day as dark as the night. No living soul dared to go out now, not while the rain would last. It was the perfect weather for disaster.

She was an old Breton, bent down with age, like an old scarecrow wearing a hat of snow. For half an hour now, she’d rummaged through the kitchen, searching for something. Something very important. Something more important than anything else at the moment. Yet, she could not find it. And without it, she would be lost.

The woman, in her despair, knew of only one solution.
,,Sir Grey.” She spoke in a hushed tone as she entered the study. The man she’d spoken to looked up from the weathered parchment, a goldtrimmed pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth, the sweet smell of burning Hackle-lo drifting up towards the ceiling.
,,Yes, miss Wolfer. Is something the matter?” He asked back with a slightly hissing accent.

,,It’s the spoon, the silver spoon. It’s missing. I’ve looked everywhere.” Miss Wolfer explained, using her hands to illustrate her problem.
,,Then let the tea simmer on a low fire. I’ll investigate this matter at once.” Sir Grey replied and got up out of his seat, elegantly lifting his tail through the gap at the chair’s back.

The two returned to the kitchen where indeed, a pot of boiling tea stood on an open fire. Sir Grey’s eyes dashed around the room, taking in every detail, every speck of dust and every grain of sugar.
,,This is not a murdercase yet the same principle applies. Discover the crucial detail at the scene. Even the most trivial detail could be vital.” He muttered to himself. He found that talking helped him think.
,,Sugar, spilled near the medicine cabinet. Ah, miss Wolfer, did you perhaps use a silver spoon last night while brewing the concoction that alleviates your arthritis?” He asked the old maid.

,,Oh my. Why yes, sir Grey. I did.” She replied, looking at the small pile of sugar on the sink.
,,Then it would be reasonable to assume that you left your cup, with the spoon on your nightstand, am I correct? I shall investigate your bedroom at once, with your permission.”

Sir Grey ascended the stairs, his scaley arms brushing against the railing. Two minutes later, he returned to the kitchen. In his hand, he held a silver spoon still stained with a medical concoction of indeterminable flavour.
,,I believe this is the missing item.” He spoke.
,,Oh, my. Yes, it is. Thank you, sir Grey. Extra sugar in the tea?” miss Wolfer replied, struck with joy.
,,As always, miss Wolfer. As always.”

[The Metal Mallet]

Memoirs of a Dremora: Crisis in Oblivion
By Writer The Metal Mallet

It seems as though I can’t even get some peace and quiet even in Oblivion! I shall tell you, dear readers, of one such incident.


It happened some time after my first experience of having a Bosmer summon me. Mehrunes had decided that our time was better spent guarding citadels than playing cards, much to my dismay. I had been winning constantly and could almost be considered a celebrity of sorts in our plane of Oblivion. I nearly had enough souls (which is our form of currency since monetary objects like gold and gems are trivial) that rivalled Mehrunes’ champions. Now, my goals of ascertaining such volume of souls was ruined as now I was forced to pace around in a boring old citadel. At least the fountain of blood was amusing to stare at.

I guess the logic behind Mehrunes’ sudden change of down time was due to events that had happened in the mortal realm. Mehrunes was finally able to put to use his citadels once more that allowed permanent gateways to the mortal realm. It seems that we are to go and take over the mortal realm. It sounds swell and all, especially since I requested to be apart of the invading force. Yet, Mehrunes was displeased with my previous trips to Nirn which resulted in me taking guard duty.

First off, it was hardly my fault that I was stuck with idiotic, self-absorbed, fools for servants! Secondly, it should be Mehrunes’ job to inform me about what a Cliffracer is. Thirdly, a Mehrunes Cultist should know how to use a bow properly and not be cowardly! All of these were uncontrollable on my part and yet I am punished for it! Now I was stuck staring at a fountain while Bob and Phallix were out there chopping off heads and other fun things.


One day though, I was staring out the window because the fountain had lost its initial splendour and I saw a company of mortals actually enter through the gateway. Finally! I was going to have some fun. I started to head down the citadel in order to get my flame on when an arm grabbed my shoulder.

“Where are you off to, Rhuragix?” Magus Helliz asked in an authoritative tone.

I pointed to the window. “I saw mortals enter through the gateway so I’m going to go down there and blast em away!” I said gleefully.

“You were instructed to stay in the citadel, therefore, that is what you shall do,” the robed Dremora said.

Growling I returned back to my bench. That uptight wad! Just because he was a Magus, Helliz had ranking over me, yet I felt very sure I could blast him away. He’d be too busy thinking about whether or not fighting between each other was allowed. Yet I knew that destroying Helliz would only result in my further punishment so I decided to wait. Hopefully they would make it all the way up here, because I surely didn’t want to miss out on any killing.



The commotion throughout the citadel had been going on for some time now. These mortals were fighting valiantly, and fortunately they were surviving. While I paced back and forth with expectation, my partner, Helliz, stood there, facing away from the only entrance the mortals would be entering. I still couldn’t decide on whether Helliz was that stupid, or that he was simply that arrogant. The former seemed to be more fitting than the latter.

I also couldn’t decide on whether or not I wanted to use my long sword or blast them with a fireball first. Sure seeing someone roasting alive was appealing, but so was watching limbs and appendages fly of a body. Choices, choices, choices….

Finally I could actually start to understand the shouts and cries of the mortals that had entered the citadel. The constant ordering led me to believe that they were either soldiers or possibly Fighter’s Guild members. All the same, I do enjoy a good fight.

The doorway opened, and instantly I disappeared from their eyesight. Meanwhile, Helliz still simply stood there. Was he deaf? Could he not hear the rattle of their armour? Or was this just some ploy?

My last question was answered when an arrow smashed into Helliz’s face, instantly taking him out. Now some of you readers might be curious to what happens when a Dremora is “killed” in Oblivion. Well since we are immortal creatures, we merely go through a stage of “rebirth”. While that may sound convenient, it is not a fun process to undergo. As I have previously mentioned, being summoned onto Nirn is like being virtually ripped apart and reassembled. Well, going through rebirth is many times more painful and not nearly as quick. That is because your previous memory must be removed to a dull remembrance because the reason you’re dead is because you failed at something. This removal is done in hopes to remove the aspect of your mind that caused you to fail. Hopefully when Helliz eventually returns, he’ll learn how to hear next time.

The clanking of boots told me that the mortals were slowly making their way towards me.

“Haha! I got that thing right in the face!” one of them happily said.

“Nice shot!”

“It didn’t even see it coming!”

“Ha ha I know, these things are more stupid than a goblin.”

The mortals laughed at the last comment and I finally lost it. As soon at the first armoured body came into my sight I brought my long sword crashing down. The force of it was enough that my daedric steel sliced right through the body. The mortals now screamed in horror as I charged at them, swinging furiously.

My next swing caught a second mortal unexpected, severing his head completely from his body. I did not take time to relish the sight as I turned to my next foe who had tried to drive his steel sword into me. The blade bounced harmlessly off my Daedric armour and I chuckled before kicking him through the window. His scream of shock and horror was music to my ears.

Suddenly I was struck by a bolt of lightning. I didn’t expect that magic was going to be used so the attack did hurt me. The uppercut with a war hammer didn’t help either as it launched me to the other side of the room. Shaking the pain from my head, I got up in time to see the hammer wielder charging at me. The fool, he was too far ahead of the rest of them to help him. Before he knew what was happening, I had my sword driven into his body. All he could do was gurgle in pain before dropping to the floor. I instantly dove away from another lightning strike, and hurled a fireball in the vicinity of the castor. A horrified scream told me I made contact with someone.

The room was now silent. I looked around at the destruction surrounding me and smiled. Mehrunes would be pleased that I protected his citadel.

It was then that I heard a rumbling.

I cursed as the citadel rapidly began to fall apart, due to the fact that its power source had been removed. One of the mortals must’ve snuck past after I was struck by lightning. The floor beneath me feet crumbled and I cursed once more as I began my rapid descent to the ground.


I managed to drag myself out of the rubble, only to find that Mehrunes himself stood before me.

“Rhuragix! You have failed me once again!” he shouted at me, the noise was deafening.

“I am sorry, Master, one of them snuck past me unawares. If I had fought them outside of the citadel that wouldn’t have happened, but Helliz kept me from leaving,” I complained to Mehrunes.

“Helliz did what he was told to. That was to keep you from leaving and to stand around and not look at the only entrance to the room. For that he’ll be rewarded once he returns. You did not do what you were instructed to do, which was to protect the citadel. For that, I get those souls that you hold so dear,” Mehrunes said before booming into laughter.

To this day, I still believe that he was simply jealous of how many souls I had and that my failure was a giant setup. Well one day, I shall regain those souls. Somehow! But for now, my damned readers, I will end this update.

[jack cloudy]

I found this little fic while searching for my old Tes fanfics. This is an x-com one. Or two, rather. Have fun reading up the initial model on which I based Gerard Dreyfus. Warning, foul language and excessive violence. It also holds my old weakness. Dialogue. It is seriously lacking in references to who is actually talking. Ah well, enjoy.

(A short Bestiary for background)
Muton: Giant, armoured gorrillas with big guns. Bad attitude and take a lot of firepower to kill.
Sectoid: Think Grey, only with a nasty gun.
Cyberdisk: Miniature flying saucer with rapid-fire plasmagun. Likes to go BOOM.
Zombie: A zombie, duh. If killed it goes rip and out comes a fully-grown Cryssalid.
Cryssalid: Giant ant. Zombifies people by laying an egg inside them.
Flying waterballoon: Like the name, only it's filled with acid, not water.
Sectopod: Giant, twolegged, plasmathrowing tank of doom. Probably the most lethal thing in the alien army.
Ethereal: taller greys with fancy robes. Real nasty mental powers.

And another side-note. The X-com standard issue pistol is the weakest weapon ever used in x-com. It can't kill properly and it doesn't have the side-utility of stunning either. In one word, worthless.



Sergeant Ironhead goes wild (and annoys his boss)

Commander Vogel tapped with his feat on the ground in annoyance as he waited in front of the ramp of the Skyranger. Where the hell was that guy? They were going to attack an alien base somewhere in South-Eastern Asia, he needed every man or woman he could get. Just as he was about to turn around and enter the Skyranger with the intent of leaving without waiting for the late soldier, a power suited figure came running towards the Skyranger. In one hand he held a Heavy Plasma, while in the other one, he held a big bag that seemed to be filled with all kinds of things that were visible as unrecognizable shapes that were deforming the bag to the point at which it nearly burst apart. His belt and backpack were filled just as much as the bag, but this time with more clips than the rest of the squad combined. The figure skidded to a halt in front of the commander and raised a salute.

,, Sergeant Ironhead reporting for duty, sir!” He shouted with a zeal that made the commander cringe.
,,Damn right you are, sergeant. Do you know that we were supposed to be leaving seven minutes ago? And what the hell is in that bag?” Vogel replied with a harsh voice.
,,Just…”
,,Never mind, drop the bag immediately and board the Skyranger. And if you’re late again, I’ll have you promoted to grenade suicide scout duty, sergeant. Is that understood?” The man dropped the bag which fell to the ground with a lot of noise and took out his helmet which was one of the things he had put into the bag. He started to board the Skyranger, but turned around at the top and said with a quizzical expression on his face:,, I never knew we had a grenade suicide scout.”
,,I just invented it, goddamned! Now get on board!”
,,Yes, sir!”

After four hours of flight, the Skyranger finally landed near what looked like the entrance to a cave. The X-com troops quickly evacuated the transport while looking out for any alien that might have decided to give them a welcome. There was nothing in the area, except for a few birds that flew up when one of the soldiers stepped on a branch which snapped. One of the birds disappeared when it was struck by plasma.
,,Goddamned, sergeant Ironhead! What the hell is that?!” Vogel snapped at the shooter. ,,Weapon firing test, sir! To engage the enemy I have to be able to rely on my gun, sir!” The sergeant replied. All the other soldiers rolled their eyes behind their helmets.
,,Next time, you do that at base at the firing range. You got that?”
,,Yes, sir!”
,,Now all units, enter that cave but be wary of any sentry that might be in there.”

The cave led deep into the mountain side and after about three hundred metres, the solid rock was replaced with the all too familiar alien alloys. Now there was no doubt left that there was an alien base here. At the end of the long cave, the orange glow of a gravlift became visible. Carefully, the soldiers entered the lift and descended into a green room. Till now, not a single sign of an alien had been seen. It looked as if the whole place was deserted. But with the aliens, you never knew.
,,Allright, listen up. Squaddie Krauser and squaddie Perez, you’ll scout out ahead of us. The rest of us will follow behind you. Got that?” The commander said through his helmet’s communications system.
,,Yes, sir.” The two squaddies descended the big gravlift in a corner of the room. Immediately, the sound of plasma weapons discharging echoed through the base.
,,I’m going in!” Sergeant Ironhead shouted and stormed down the gravlift.
,,Sergeant, no! Come back here, you bloody buglover!” But it was too late.

At his feet, the corpses of the two unfortunate squaddies were lying on the ground. But the sergeant didn’t even noticed it, all he noticed was the Muton that was standing on the other end of the room, preparing to pull the trigger. The sergeant was quicker though, and mowed down the big alien with a barrage of his Heavy Plasma. He moved over to the Muton to check if it was death when suddenly plasma fire came flying all over the place from his left, missing him by centimetres. He spun around and fired his Heavy Plasma in the room were the plasma fire came from. He mowed down two more Mutons and completely disintegrated the alien plants that filled the room. When he entered the room, he came under fire again. He quickly turned in the direction of this new threat and tried to fire at the Muton, but his clip was empty.

,,Allright, if you wanna play rough, then let’s play rough, hotshot!” The sergeant shouted as he picked up a Muton corpse lying at his feet with his free hand and threw it at his foe. The Muton managed to get of one more shot which scratched the Sergeants shoulder plate before it was struck on the chest by the corpse of his death ally. The Muton dropped to the floor and wrestled in an attempt to get the heavy corpse off of him. It growled while showing its sharp fangs as the sergeant reloaded his weapon and moved over to the fallen alien.
,,Are you hungry? Here, eat daddy Ironhead’s special meal.” And he send a plasma bolt into the aliens wide open mouth.

,,Sergeant, how much I appreciate the fact that you’re enjoying yourself, next time you follow orders and stay with the rest of the squad, is that understood?” Vogel said once the rest of the squad had descended into the room.
,,Yes, sir!” The sergeant responded as he picked up the Heavy Plasma that the now headless Muton was carrying.
,,Now I want you to cover our rear as we advance towards the enemies command centre.”
,,Fine, sir, but I wanted to be on the front lines. I hate missing all the action.”
,,Just follow your orders sergeant! That’s what you’re being paid for, not for having some fun!”

The assault on the alien’s base went quite smoothly, and only half the squad was killed when they reached the corridors that surrounded the command centre.
,,Allright, listen up. That place will be heavily defended, we will have to overrun the enemy as quickly as possible. I want you, you, you, you and you two to charge down those corridors from both sides and take out the enemy. No not you, sergeant! You’re staying here to cover our rear, you triggerhappy freak!” The six chosen soldiers charged down the corridors and disappeared out of sight. Seconds later, the sound of a huge explosion could be heard. Then, silence.
,,Come in, answer me. Report your status immediately!” The commander’s only answer was static.
,,Finally, some action! Get ready, mutated gorillas. Here I come!” The sergeant raised his two Heavy Plasmas and stormed down the corridors towards the place were just a few moments ago, six other soldiers had found their deaths.

For minutes, the sounds of plasma and explosions echoed through the base. When it finally ended the commander rallied his two remaining soldiers, both rookies and entered the corridor, knowing that he could not abort this mission, or his superiors would surely ruin him. Death from a plasma bolt sounded a lot less painful
,,That son of a umbrella seller sure made them pay a large price for his skin. They might be softened up.” The commander muttered as he passed the six dead soldiers and approached the lift leading to the command centre. He and the two rookies quickly ascended the lift, ready to fire at anything that moved. The commander froze in disbelief at what he saw.

The walls, floor and ceiling of the room were filled with holes and scorch marks from the fire fight. Four wrecked remains of what looked like alien computers stood in the corners. Across the room, the corpses of death Mutons and a few of their terror units were lying on the floor, or what was left of them. And leaning against a wall, holding a somehow unshattered bottle of whiskey in one hand and a big smoking cigar in the other, stood sergeant Ironhead. With his armour covered in scratches and dents but miraculously, unharmed.

,,Sergeant, how do you do that?!” The sergeant blew the smoke of his cigar out of his mouth and took a long gulp of his whiskey before he answered:,, I’ll tell you how, commander. It’s all because of the character shield. I bought it from ebay, wasn’t even used! I mean, every hero needs one. Nothing is more embarrassing than suffering a lethal wound just because you left your character shield back home. I mean, with one of these, the enemy’s accuracy drops by 300%.” The commander was speechless and just stood there, mouth wide open.
,,I do wish I didn’t had to drop my bag though.” The sergeant mumbled to himself.
,,Uh…why’s that?”
,,Because I wanted to hold a big barbeque. Most of these bugs are a real delicacy you know. Man I’m hungry!”



Sergeant Ironhead sets foot on Mars.

Space, the darkest and emptiest place you can imagine, damn cold also. Yet, in some small corners, there are a bunch of rocks. And one rock is green, and blue and has this bloody annoying rain all the time. That rock is being attacked by some funny creatures from a red rock, which is where we are going now. Ironhead looked at what he had written and frowned in disgust.
,,I’ve been writing for more than a damn week at this, and I can’t even write one chapter!” Commander Vogel and the rest of the people onboard the Avenger woke up at the sudden noise.
,,Dammit, Sergeant! Can’t you be quiet for one goddamned hour?!” ,
,But, sir. I’m bored.”
,,Just shut up! Hawkins, go check our position.”
,,yes sir.”

A few days later

Mars. For years, setting foot on this planet has been one of the biggest dreams of humanity. And now it was going to happen, but a bit different than everybody imagined. The Avenger came in low through a raging storm to avoid the fleet of alien spaceships. Though with no doubt the most powerful weapon ever constructed by man, it was no match for the alien armada that was floating around the area. It touched down in the middle of the Martian night, on the outskirts of an area containing several ancient pyramids. The ramp came down and a plasma hovertank flew out of the ship, only to be torn to pieces from multiple directions by plasma fire.

,,Jenkins, Hopkins. Move to the right and take down whatever is firing at us. The rest of you, get out and head for the nearest pyramid. The tanks will clear the left.” Vogel shouted before flying out of the spaceship.
,,Hey, I hate rain!” Sergeant Ironhead said as plasma fire came down on the squad of soldiers from the top of the pyramid. With a tap on the controls placed on his chest, he flew up to the same level as a window built into the structure. He send in a volley of plasma fire with his Heavy Plasma.
,,Oops, my mom told me that throwing rocks at windows was a naughty thing to do, people might get hurt!” he said as he saw the remains of a sectoid on the floor and the damage he had caused.
,,Sergeant! Get down here!”
,,Yes, sir!”

When entering the pyramid, a soldier got taken down by a barrage of plasma fire. The sectoid that was responsible for it got taken out with a grenade, but when the squad entered, they only found an empty room with a lift leading upward to the place that had been wrecked by the sergeant. ,,Great. Allright, Alpha squad will check the left pyramids, Beta squad will check the right.”
,,Um, what about me, sir?”
,,I don’t know sergeant, just go and take a walk.”
,,yes, sir.”

The sergeant decided to check on the tanks that hadn’t said anything for the last few minutes and found their wrecked hulks on the edge of the combat zone. When he came closer, a Cyberdisk floated out of its cover and fired, missing wildly.
,,Damn Frisbees!” He shouted and ran for the only cover in the area which was the exact same pyramid where the Cyberdisk had been hiding. Once there, a game of hide and seek began with the sergeant and the alien weapon flying around in circles.
,,Man, this is getting annoying, I’ll just fly through that window and take a rest.” He had just entered the pyramid when he saw the Cyberdisk floating past underneath him.
,,Oh, boy. I feel like riding a horse.” He muttered and jumped back out of the window, right on top of the disk. The alien machine was not programmed for the sudden added weight and plunged down to the floor. It managed to correct its mistake just in time, only to get blasted by a hail of plasma fire from the sergeant who was now flying upwards to avoid the large explosion coming from the disk’s selfdestruct device.

,,What took you so long, sergeant? Now get over here and go down that elevator.” Commander Vogel said as they all sat down in a closely packed formation and looked at the insides of the mars base.
,,Yes, sir!”
Sergeant Ironhead quickly descended the elevator and looked at his surroundings. The room he was in looked empty, so he called over the rest of the squad.
,,Allright. Alpha squad goes to the left, beta squad to the right. I’ll follow Alpha. You just stay out of the way, you braindead idiot!”
,,Yes, sir!” the sergeant responded and moved off into the corridor. The base was quiet, too quiet. The silence was disturbed as the sounds of plasma started to echo through the underground labyrinth.

,,Finally, it was getting boring here!” Ironhead shouted and sprinted in the direction of the sounds. When he arrived, the fight was over.
,,Dammit, I’m too late. Now what am I going to do now? Hey, Hawkins! Umm, where is the rest of Beta squad?” The figure of Hawkins, wearing a powersuit that had been torn to pieces and with half of his head missing, came closer without responding, green ooze dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, his arms reached out and knocked the Heavy Plasma out of the sergeant’s hand.
,,Hey, calm down! What’s the matter with you? Got a bad day?” Ironhead said as he avoided the remains of Hawkins who was swinging his arms around with inhuman strength.
,,You know, you don’t look so good. Hey, wait a minute, what’s that green stuff coming out of your mouth? Hold on, the guys with the lightbulbs told me something about it.” He said while still avoiding what once had been Hawkins, finally noticing the obvious. Intelligence wasn’t Ironhead’s strongest point.

,,Hey, I remember! You’ve been zombified! Come here!” The sergeant rushed in and had his hands come down like a pair of raging elephants on the zombie’s head. The zombie staggered backwards, its head knocked of by the force of the blow. Then its chest ripped open, and a dark clawed figure crawled out of it. As the zombie’s remains fell down on the floor, the Cryssalid charged. Ironhead managed to grab his Heavy Plasma and let it rip on full auto, taking out the Cryssalid and blowing deep holes in the walls, revealing the bare rock behind it.

,,all units, we’ve found what seems to lead to a command center of sorts. Rendezvous with us at our current location!” The voice of Vogel ordered through the intercom.
,,Out of the way, you flying water balloon!” Ironhead said as he rushed towards the rendezvous point, leaving the smoking remains of several aliens behind. He rounded the last corner and immediately ducked back towards where he came from. Hot plasma flew past him, blowing chunks out of the wall. When he peaked around the corridor, he saw a grenade exploding on top of the huge alien killing machine’s head. After the explosion cleared, the Sectopod was still standing, turning towards whoever had thrown the grenade, with a few cracks and a small hole visible in its thick armour.

,,Come on, I’ll take you out!” The sergeant shouted and stepped back into the corridor. He raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
,,Oh, compassion! Here we go!” The sergeant screamed a battle cry and ran for the Sectopod that had taken out the grenade thrower, Leaving his empty Heavy Plasma behind on the floor. He jumped on top of the big metal monster and took out his X-com semi-automatic pistol, a weapon that he constantly forgot to replace by something more powerful.
,,Fred, meet big metal chicken. Big metal chicken, meet Fred.” He said and started pumping lead through the small hole in the machine’s armour, wrecking the complex control systems inside. The Sectopod stopped moving.

,,Is that all?, No other survivors?” Vogel said as the four soldiers crouched at the end of a big corridor that split further away, with gravlifts on both ends.
,,We can’t turn back. Let’s just rest and prepare for our assault.”
,,I’m not going to wait, I’m gonna kill those bugeyes!”
,,No sergeant, come back! You don’t even have a gun, you bloody stupid Rambo wannabe!”
But the sergeant already stormed up one of the gravlifts.

The room at the top of the lift was big, with rows of chairs pointing in the direction of a large alien device at the far end of the room. What was more interesting for the sergeant, however were the Ethereals that looked at him, Heavy Plasmas ready. After seeing that he was unarmed and not a threat though, they decided to make him theirs. The sergeant could hear their voices speaking in his mind, telling him to let go of his hate and serve them.
,,No, get out of my head, you dirty psychopaths!” The sergeant shouted and stormed for the group of Ethereals.

He slammed into one of them with his full weight and gave an uppercut to the one standing next to it. Both Ethereals crumpled down to the floor. He was too close to shoot, if they missed, their leader might be destroyed by their shots, so they had no choice but to do things the same way as the berserking sergeant. One of them raised its Heavy Plasma and tried to hit him on the head, while the other one used its great telekinetic powers to push him away. The sergeant grabbed the Heavy Plasma and hit its owner with it. The alien alloys bended through the massive power of the blow, making the weapon useless. The alien fell to the floor, its skull shattered and its neck broken. The other alien managed to push the sergeant away far enough to shoot and raised its weapon. The hot Plasma was taken by one end of the twisted weapon the sergeant threw while the other end slammed into the chest of the alien, making it collapse to the floor. It tried to get back up and take on the sergeant with its mind, but it succumbed to the punches that rained down on it.

,,You truly are the luckiest honoured user in the galaxy, do you know that?” Vogel said as he looked at the corpses of the Ethereals that lied on the floor. He diverted his attention to the alien device and moved over to it.
,,This must be their queen, the one the scientists told us about. It is time to finish this war and I’ll become a hero by shooting this thing.” The commander raised his weapon, but before he could pull the trigger, a screen lit up at the base of the massive alien brain, begging them to listen first to its story before making their decision. Scenes of a lush green mars filled with life were followed by images of earths history. ,,We wanted to help. You cannot destroy us, we created you. Think, if you put down your weapons, we’ll let you join us, become part of the greatest alliance in the galaxy. Think, i…..” The voice of the brain was stopped by a barrage of Plasma fire.
,,Sergeant, no! What have you done?! You just ruined everything! We could have become friends! It was right and we were wrong! They never intended to destroy us! Why?!!” The sergeant lowered the Heavy Plasma that he took from one of the death Ethereals. The now empty clip popped out of it and fell on the floor. ,,That was the worst and most boring movie I’ve ever seen. Lousy special effects.”

The Avenger was being prepared to leave, and the corpses of the death soldiers had been buried. The alien armada had been completely lost all of its coordination after the destruction of their brain. Most of them crashed, some of them simply kept flying in the direction they were moving in before, to later become a artificial comet that would plunge into a planet, asteroid or star after many years. Commander Vogel still couldn’t understand why the sergeant had pulled the trigger, but he got some hope from the knowledge that it would be a long time for the aliens to come back and take revenge, he would be dead by then.
,,Sergeant, what the hell is that?!”
,,Oh, I’ve always wanted a horse, but I’m allergic to animals. So I just thought I would take this one here.” Ironhead patted one of the legs of the remote controlled Sectopod. He then turned to the alien corpses he had thrown on a pile next to the ramp.
,,Oh yeah, I brought something else, tonight we’ll eat fried Ethereal and drink a bit of my whisky. You’ll love it!”

[The Metal Mallet]

Well instead of a new Bloodlust update I decided to release a preview of something I might be planning to work on in the future. Hopefully writing this will help with the writer's block I'm currently experiencing with Bloodlust. As I'm not much of a boat person, hopefully I don't mistake any boat lingo that I used. Please feel free to correct me if you know I'm mixing up something or if there's a more appropriate word for a certain part of a boat.

Anyways, here's the preview:


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


A cool, salty breeze flew around me as I stood on the deck of Hircine’s Wrath. Surrounding me was nothing but the sparkling crests of waves and the islands Zarifel Bay. The breeze rustled a gentle tune against the sails, the waves crashing against the hull complimenting it by providing a beat. It was a beautiful day to be out at sea to say the least.

While Zarifel Bay was known to be one of the colder seas to travel in, summertime stole the chilling effects and provided me with comfortable weather to travel in. All I needed were my pair of baggy trousers and my light, double-breasted coat. And of course my cap. What’s a Captain if he does not wear a cap?

“Captain Yves?” a sailor from the crow’s nest called out.

“Yes, that’s my name,” I replied with a grin.

“Sails off portside,” he called back.

I pointed to the helmsman who intuitively knew to begin swing the boat towards the ship. I looked back up to the crow’s nest.

“Care to identify what type of boat lies out there?”

It took the sailor a few moments of studying before he whooped aloud. “It’s definitely a merchant’s ship, Captain. It’s alone too. I see no other sails!”

I started dry washing my hands. A habit of mine when I knew an altercation was on the horizon. “Prepare to board, chaps!”

Sailors around me started whooping for joy as they eagerly retrieved weaponry and other equipment necessary to board a ship. Fanaelin, my Altmer mage approached my side.

“Of what use would you have of me?” her passive voice asked.

I placed a ringed hand upon her shoulder. “For now, stay by my side. I think the boys can take care of this boat this time. If there is another mage on board though, your help would certainly be appreciated,” I replied smugly as those around me prepared for the upcoming event.

The sailor on the crow’s nest started cackling. “Looks like they smell something fishy. They’re attempting to sail away from us.”

“No boat can out sail Hircine’s Wrath once she gets going,” I said, quoting my mantra. I am very proud of my boat’s capabilities.

“Right you are Cap’n!”

As the merchant’s ship grew in perspective my hand began to caress the hilt of my cutlass. The only possession of mine that didn’t display elegance, my cutlass was a simple bone handle with quality steel serving as the blade. Oh yes, and there’s also a deteriorate weapon enchantment placed upon it. There’s almost nothing more amusing in a fight than to see the dismay on an opponent’s face when they witness their weapon falling apart before their eyes. The appearance of my blade only helped mislead anybody willing to take on Captain Dramon Yves.

Still, even though I possess a unique weapon (of which I’m very capable in using), I still have suffered trials and tribulations in my quest to become a Captain of recognition. Most men and mer would brand me a pirate, but I am far more than that. I’m an entrepreneur. It just so happens that I deal in stolen goods. Merely coincidence I assure you.

Moments later, my men had grappling hooks attached to the merchant’s ship and quickly boarded. I calmly walked upon the deck of the merchant’s ship and looked upon the captives.

“Greetings, I am Captain Dramon Yves and I have decided that the goods upon this ship are now a part of the Yves Trading Goods Company. I hope that none of you oppose this?”

One of the captives spat at my feet. “Curse you! You damned Redguard!” he said, the hatred vivid in his eyes.

I looked down at the saliva resting close to my feet before moving closer to the captive. “And who might you be?” I asked quietly, bring my face inches from his face.

“I am the Captain of this ship!” he raged.

I recoiled backwards at the outburst and stood at my full height once more. “Well then…” I said slowly as I withdrew my cutlass, “I’m quite sure you said you’re name was ‘Deadman’ so it only sounds reasonable to make things more realistic.”

I plunged my sword into the Captain’s chest, causing the man’s eyes to bulge. The light in his eyes quickly faded away before he slumped against the blade. Distastefully, I removed the blade.

“Toss him overboard,” I ordered indifferently. My men quickly complied.

My eyes scanned over the captives once more. More fear was apparent this time. “Now, is there anymore smart mouthed sailors willing to test their testicular fortitude?” I asked awaiting an answer. After a few moments of silence I smiled. “Good. Because to tell you the truth, I hate killing. Really I do. There’s just so many more reasonable ways to solve a problem and yet you people force me to take the route of the brute. Ha!” I started laughing at my little rhyme.

“Leave them enough rations and supplies for them to make it to the next town, which I believe would be Tel Mora. Take everything else,” I instructed my men before walking back onto my deck. As I walked across a plank joining the two boats I happened to notice a small path of crimson in the water. I sighed. It wouldn’t be long until the sea dispersed the spot. The sea is perhaps the best cleaner in the world for it takes entire legions of mer or men to die for any true remnants of blood to remain in the water.

But enough of my morbid thoughts. I had cargo to investigate.

[jack cloudy]

This is part of Wings of Light. While I'm rewriting it, I've decided to try a new format. Instead of writing from one point to the next, I'm writing down all kinds of scenes and then looking for ways to connect them. Anyway, this one takes place in a cafetaria on the academy for military engineering. I need to give that place a title.

The main characters are Karl Forest, a student in his early twenties and Lo Fog, an underage teacher (16-18). And just in case you're wondering, she's quite capable of teaching her subject. Let's just say it's in her blood, literally. Have fun.



Tray in hand, he walked over to an empty table that was relatively clean. The first thing he did after putting his tray down and taking a seat, was to take out his phone.
,,I wonder if I’ve got mail.” He muttered to himself. The screen lit up when he stroked the touchscreen with his thumb. Quickly navigating the menus, he soon opened his electronic mailbox. Before his eyes, a quick list of messages appeared and vanished as the software examined and discarded them all into the ‘unwanted’ folder. Once the process had been complete, only half a dozen remained.

He opened the first one, an advertisement for cheap surgery. Having scanned the title and content, he added it to his unwanted list. Any further messages sent from the same address or with the same content would now be automatically discarded. The second was the same thing, only presenting ‘authentic plastic cups from the 22nd century’ for a ridiculously cheap price which made it all too clear to him that it was a scam. Too bored to be annoyed, he added this one to the list as well.

The third one was actually something he needed to know. It was a list regarding the documents he was to read for his next test. The documents had been sent along with the message.
,,Wow, that’s quite a lot. Hmm, nothing I’ve read before either. Ok, there goes my day off.” He muttered. The forth and the fifth were more advertisements. Even with the best scanning software available, new methods to get past them were found every day. Fortunately these methods only worked once as the same software ‘learned’ from it. The sixth was more serious. It was something he didn’t want to see. His eyes looked on the message and he struggled to keep his hand from crushing the phone in anger.

,,You look pissed. Wanna tell, or is it private?” A voice spoke with a neutral tone. He looked up from the phone to see a second tray being put down on the table, followed by the shape of a small woman sitting down in the chair opposite him. His eyes wandered up, noting the white hair, the pale skin and the pitchblack glasses.
,,Teacher?” He said. He hadn’t expected her to be here. Shouldn’t she be with the higher-ups? Her rank allowed it, even though her young age got him wondering how she got so far in the first place. The woman smiled.
,,Surprised, mr Forest? Trust me, don’t go for a career. Officer country is boring. If you want to get drunk, stick to the low ranks.” She replied and demonstratively raised a large mug filled with beer. Yet even with her smile that had now turned into a grin, her voice remained flat.
,,So, private or wanna tell?” She repeated.

Karl looked back at his phone. With a forceful tap of his finger, he deleted the message.
,,I just won the lottery.” He grumbled.
,,Goody, A millionaire. Will you marry me?” The woman answered. Karl frowned but then realized she was joking. Or was she? There had been no signs in her voice that gave even a hint at her not being serious, or joking. It was too monotone to make out anything.
,,No, not that one. It’s the children lottery.” He explained. A white eyebrow rose up from under her shades.
,,Ah, and since you’re single. It doesn’t mean anything to you. No reason to be pissed though.”

Karl sighed, put away the phone and shoved his tray to the side. Suddenly, he felt full and unable to eat.
,,It does mean something to me but you won’t understand. I’m a lottery-child. I’m some price my folks won. Do you know what that does to a guy’s social status and self-image?” He seethed. The first eyebrow was joined by a second.
,,Trust me, I understand it perfectly.” Lo claimed.
,,Or did you forget? I am an Albino and really small for my age. When people look at me, they think I’m anorexic while I simply can’t put on weight even if I wanted. If I eat any more than what’s on this tray, you’ll have to cart me off to the hospital and get my stomach pumped empty or I’ll die. Being an anorexic albino makes even more people look at me funny. And with the glasses, they think I’m blind on top of it.” She said plainly, with no hint of emotion at all.
,,Then don’t wear glasses.” Karl interrupted.

,,No, I need them. Anorexic, albino and blind is nothing compared to the shock and fear and all those responses I would get if I showed anyone my eyes. They’re not nice to look at. I’m short, light, albino, weird-eyed and I was pulled out of a tube with no one to call my parents. Many people are now grown in tubes, but all of them have some form of family to go to when they’re born. Me, I grew up in a lab, as the subject. My toys were the bandages they used to stop the bleeding after they’d taken a blood sample, my playmates were doctors and cold robots. Yet they never played, they never showed that they cared. If I did something right, they just noted it in their reports and if I did something wrong, anything, they took the time to point out how I was wasting their budget and that I should be reprocessed into dogfood so they could get some of their funds back.” Lo stood up suddenly.
,,After hearing all of that, being a lottery child isn’t so bad anymore, is it?” She whispered in his ear and walked away. For the first time, he’d heard an emotion in her voice. Sadness.

[canis216]

I'm resurrecting the old Temple of Lore, because I like the name, and because I think it somehow fits this character who I think I'll serialize but won't devote a formal fanfic to. So it's not exactly a one-shot story, is what I'm saying. But it sort of is. Plus, I've got some made-up Lore, so I've got that going for me. Anyway, on to this little scrap of writing...
====================================================

Arena Fighter

A booming, disembodied force echoed throughout the great bowl, “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Arena!”

The redguard mercenary ignored the rest of words. They were meaningless to him, just vapid grandiosity meant to whip the crowd into a unified, frothing call for blood. No, he was thinking about his shield, the wall of steel he needed to keep the archer across the way from penetrating the flimsy excuse for heavy armor he was being forced to wear. If Darnell had his druthers he would still be arrayed in his heavy steel plate.

Unfortunately, he needed the Arena’s money. He’d already depopulated his favorite stretch of Imperial City sewer and blown the proceeds on a warding charm for his sister back in Stros M’kai, for the holiday of Satakal-Don’t-Eat-Us.

The gates lifted, and both fighters sprinted a few steps out into the open, eager to put on a good show. The archer stopped and reached back to his quiver, Darnell’s cue to slow down and bring up his shield. The first shot penetrated the steel plate anyway but not all the way through; Darnell ran a few steps forward while the archer restrung his bow, then elevated the shield again.

The redguard grimaced; the second shot penetrated once more and caught his hand, holding the shield. But now he was upon the archer.

Darnell charged forward, knocking the bow away with his steel sword and then knocking down the archer with a backswipe across the chest. Blood flowed, and the crowd roared.

This post has been edited by canis216: Jan 13 2008, 10:36 AM