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

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

So here we go again:

Prologue


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoa!! Talk about an intense opening, Callidus! And whatta cliffhanger! What is it that McB use to say....


Oh, yeah!

*applauds heartily*

Fair dues!!...Excellent stuff...

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

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

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

Proper good stuff matey!!...

Oh, Crow-boy...

Thusly -

*Adopts stance*...

*Inclines head*...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

...

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

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

That was pretty damn good. The fight between Tellybox and Casanova* was damn intense and the magical side-effects on the rest of the tavern was some nice use of detail.

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



*Sorry, couldn't resist

I love it when characters seize you by the keyboard and demand their own story. That was a great fight scene! Ormil is not going to be pleased with the results.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

Two tiny typos:

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

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

Mirocu: Thanks. If you're going to be reading, does this mean I don't need to put updates in the "Where are you Today?" thread?

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

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

Colonel Mustard: Tellybox and Casanova?

Just kidding.

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

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


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

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

Chapter 1 part 1: Condemned

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Nitty gritty stuff:

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

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

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

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

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

@Acadian: Thanks for the advice. I hadn't thought about the length of paragraphs, I'll add that to the list of things to keep track of.

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


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

Chapter 1 part 2: Absolved

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Like this one.’

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

Incredibly well-written, Callidus! I couldn´t stop reading when I had begun! Now, I don´t read fan fiction regularly or anything, but this was good!

!


And no, short updates is not something you can escape from

Acadian:

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

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



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

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

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

Chapter 2 Part 1:

City Isle, Last Seed 27.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you Jauffre?”

Doubling up:

Chapter 2 Part 2: Jauffre

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

Dude...Slow down!!... ...I'm trying to keep up, but I almost get there and there's two more!!...

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

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

Awesome stuff though...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I enjoy reading different characters’ experiences in the tutorial dungeon. Since the events are familiar it’s easy to focus intently on Telindil’s reactions and learn a lot about him. Like how Baurus taking Captain Renault’s katana back pushed him too far.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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



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



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

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

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

You've done a really good job of writing a proper arrogant [censored] of a character, by the way. Two chapters and a prologue and I already want to punch him in the face and set him on fire; good work!

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



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

*Raises finger and opens mouth to make point...*...Nah...Leave it... ...

I agree with the second bit...I know the Altmers tend to be a bit high-and-mighty anyways, but some of the "I have the Amulet, I'd better be paid." stuff made me laugh... ...

Awesome writing...

Love your style...Brilliant!!... ...

Looking forward to whatever he gets himself into next...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

@Renee: Thanks! I had to smile at your nitpick I've no idea what went on there, when I edited it there was something else wrong with it

@Colonel: Heh, you think this guy's arrogant? Compared to a previous character I had and wrote about over at Bethsoft, Telindil's not even close to being arrogant. That said, that other character was great fun to write.

@McBadgere: That came off as arrogant? I was aiming for mercenary self-interest, must have overshot. Oh well, I'll just have to run with it

And now for another Telindil update, of a shorter, darker sort...


A nightmare. A memory

The billowing black smoke chokes Telindil. The still glowing embers burn his hands as he scrabbles through them on his hands and knees, throwing aside pieces of smouldering timber. He tries not to think about what is outside, about what they did to her. He tries not to think of what he's looking for, but keeps digging through the wreckage. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop digging. He needs to see with his own eyes. He knows it's too late, but he can't stop digging.

He can't stop digging.

He pushes aside another chunk of debris, and finds them: Two small, charred skeletons.

The life drains out of him. He slumps backwards, resting heavily on his heels, before throwing his head back and screaming. It is a terrible thing, born of grief and agony, pain and loss and despair. Were any around to hear it it would surely break their heart, but he is alone. There's no-one else left.

He was too late, far too late.

Telindil snapped awake, the scream in his throat dying stillborn, choked by his rising gorge. He fought to master himself, to keep from throwing up. He weakly kicked off the sheets, soaked with cold sweat, his whole body trembling. He laid there for a long while, the only light in the room that of the moon shining through the window. In time the trembling ceased, and he felt a measure of his strength return. He cursed viciously.

The dreams were coming back.

They were part of the reason he'd fled Cyrodiil, three decades ago. For thirty years the thought of them had kept him away, and he'd hoped they had passed. But now he was back, and so were they. Silent, bitter tears ran down Telindil's face.

He no longer knew who they were for; himself, or them.

Ahah! A glimpse into Telendil’s past. It sounds like returning to Cyrodiil has rekindled dark memories of lost. . . family?

Very mysterious and nicely done!

Thanks, Acadian.

And now for the next part:

Chapter 3 Part 1: Guilds

Chorrol, Last Seed 29 3E 433, Fighters Guild.

“So you want to join the Fighters Guild?” The question was asked by a Dunmer clad in Ebony armour, with a matching mace at his hip. Telindil could tell just by the casual way the Dunmer stood in all that armour that he was a veteran warrior. No one stood in platemail as if it weighed nothing unless they'd spent decades training and fighting in it. His expression conveyed that fact even more than his stance. It was the sort of expression generally seen on drillmasters for the Imperial Legion, when presented with a particularly feeble group of recruits.

“That's why I'm here.” Telindil answered, unfazed by the Dunmer's glare.

“Then you'll need to speak to Vilena Donton. She's the Mistress of the Guild, and handles the administration. She's upstairs, the second flight's round the corner.” The Dunmer made no move to stand aside though, and in response to Telindil's confused look, continued speaking. “But you'll get to her later. She may be the Mistress, but I'm Modryn Oreyn, the Fighter's Guild Champion. I'm the Master. She can administrate all she likes, but make no mistake, this is my Guild. And in Chorrol, no-one joins unless I say so. And I don't say so until you've shown me you can fight. Still interested in joining?”

“Like I said, that's why I'm here.”

Oreyn's fierce countenance actually cracked at that, and the merest ghost of a smile blurred across his features. “Good. First things first, a few questions.” Oreyn plucked a piece of paper from a stack on a nearby table, along with a quill and ink bottle. “Name?”

“Telindil”

“Occupation?”

“Freelance Spellsword”

“Guild certified?”

“I was until Traven revoked everyone's certification. I'm here in Cyrodiil to join the Guild.”

“Why haven't you joined already?”

“I just got into town. I stopped in at the Guildhall before coming here. The Argonian who runs the place likes to sleep late.”

This time Oreyn really did smile. “Ha! Mages. Too fond of comfort. That's why I don't trust them. I make an exception for those that learn to fight properly, but I put my faith in steel and sinew rather than magic. I take it you're an experienced fighter?”

“More than 50 years, all told. All of it mercenary work.”

“Good. And your magic? With that much experience I expect you to have some powerful spells at your disposal.”

“Not any more. I recently suffered a near death experience, or at least I'm pretty sure that's the case. My memory's a little hazy on that front, unsurprisingly. It seems the shock or trauma pretty much knocked them out of my memory.”

This had Oreyn frowning again. “Hmm, disappointing. I assume you'll be getting new spells and training as needed?”

“Of course”

“Very well. Any trouble with the law? And we will find out if you're lying.”

“There was an issue in the Imperial City, but that's been resolved. Or at least it will be in a day or two. You know how bureaucracy is. No-one's happy until they've got a stack of papers for something you can sum up in a sentence.”

Oreyn glared at him, as if to see inside Telindil's head by sheer force of will. “Good enough. But if the matter isn't resolved by the time our runner gets to the Capital, I will personally throw you out of my Guild. From a second storey window. Understood?”

Telindil nodded. Oreyn put the form aside, and crossed to a bell, ringing it loudly twice before shouting “Fresh meat!” There was a brief commotion as apparently all the members present assembled. Oreyn beckoned to Telindil, and led him downstairs. “This is out training hall, and also serves as a proving ground for new members. If you want in, you need to impress me. The test comes in three stages: First I test your bladework, then your footwork, and finally you face me with everything you've got. We fight with practice blades. They're wooden, but have a steel core, for the weight and balance.” He picked up one of the practice blades and threw it to Telindil, arcing it through the air to let him catch it safely, before taking up one for himself.

“For this first part, I will only defend. Come at me.” Oreyn suited action to words, slipping into a combat stance, his blade held low in his right hand. He held it pointing upwards and inwards, so that it rose across him. Telindil assumed a ready stance of his own, left hand forward, raised to cast as he had been trained. His sword was held behind him, arm extended and sloping downwards, blade pointing toward the ground. He took two quick steps forward, bringing his practice blade in a rising slash from right to left. Oreyn advanced a single step, setting himself as he brought his blade around in a sold block. The force of the block rang down Telindil's arm, and he used it, turning a quick spin to lead into another attack. As his blade arced towards Oreyn's head, the Dunmer's blade was there waiting for him, with another powerful parry.

The test continued for a few minutes, Telindil's every strike blocked, before Oreyn decided he'd seen enough. “Now for the second stage, you defend I attack” Again Oreyn suited action to words, not giving Telindil any time to gather himself. Oreyn moved like water, swift flowing steps and slashes that should have been impossible in that armour. Telindil spent more time staggering and reeling than actually blocking or parrying, to say nothing of his more frantic dodges. But he managed to stay just ahead of the blade, most of the time. By the time Oreyn called time on the second stage he could feel a few bruises forming under his armour.

Oreyn gave Telindil some time to recover, his expression showing no sign of the old drillmasters glare. Telindil took this as a good sign. Oreyn walked to a chest standing against the back wall and unlocked, retrieving a potion vial and an amulet. “Between these two, I will gain the ability to absorb any magicka you throw at me, for a time. This last test will end when the potion does. I need to see everything you've got, so don't hold back. Telindil dropped into his ready stance once more as Oreyn downed the potion and placed the amulet reverently around his neck. He stood three paces away from Telindil, and assumed the same stance as before. “Begin.”

Again, Telindil came forward in a rush, his blade arcing round. This time he bent his arm at the elbow, turning a sweeping slash into a sudden thrust. Oreyn batted it aside and lashed out with an elbow aimed at Telindil's head, forcing him to duck the arm and sidestep. The two danced around each other, Oreyn the faster and more graceful despite his heavy armour. Telindil stuck to his preferred method of fighting a heavily armoured opponent, using his blade to keep Oreyn's at bay and open them up for touch based magic, which armour did nothing to stop without enchantment. He took more than a few knocks in the process, but by the time they were done Oreyn was smiling warmly. “You'll do Altmer, you'll do.”

I loved how Telindil came to the FG this day because the Chorrol MG branch guildmagister was sleeping in! Oreyn is right – lazy mages.

So Oreyn is in charge and Vilena just does mistressy things. Seriously, nice job of showing us much of who Oreyn is and his powerful skillset. If we get to meet Vilena, it’ll be interesting to see Telindil’s perception of her.

Well, it looks like he is adequately proving his mettle and may soon join the FG, giving him some brothers/sisters-in-arms, not to mention a convenient ‘base’ in each city.

So does a Spellsword feel more at home in the guild of mages or fighters? Same question a Mystic Archer faces. In Telindil’s case, it seems ‘both’ may be the right answer.


Nit: ‘He took two quick steps forward, bring his practice blade in a rising slash from right to left.’ - - Here, I think you want ‘bringing’ vs ‘bring’?

The dream was a good way to provide some background for Telindil. Nicely done.

Oreyn put the form aside, and crossed to a bell, ringing it loudly twice before shouting “Fresh meat!”



I really enjoyed the way Oreyn tested Telindil. That was fun to read!

Thanks guys!

@Acadian: Telindil's meeting with Vilena will have to wait it seems. he didn't seem to have anything to say about her, maybe there'll be something later. As to where Telindil feels more at home? Only time will tell, though I suspect he's more of a fighter than a mage. But he may yet surprise me...


So, here's the next update. I'm a little uncertain about it. I tend to find the conversations trickier, so any advice or nitpicks are especially welcome with this one.

Chapter 3 Part 2: An Old Friend

Chorrol, Last Seed 29 3E 433, Mages Guild.

Teekeeus was just sitting down to a late breakfast, when he heard a voice behind him, a voice straight out of the past. “Still sleeping late, Teekeeus?” It said, thick with wry humour.

Teekeeus almost jumped out of his seat, and turned to face the speaker. “Telindil? Haha! My old friend, please, sit.” Teekeeus gestured to the empty seat opposite him. “I haven't seen or heard from you since-”

“Since I left Cyrodiil.” Telindil interrupted, his steely tone cutting Teekeeus off, as he sat down. “I see they finally shifted you out of Anvil. How'd that happen? Carahil? She always did have a chip on her shoulder for you conjurers.”

Teekeeus chuckled, dry and throaty as only an Argonian can be. “No, Carahil had to put up with me for quite some time. It wasn't until Traven became Arch-Mage and reorganised the guild that I was moved here. With the decision to specialise in a single school of magic in each of the guildhalls I was sent here, and given the task of running things. So what brings you back to Cyrodiil my friend, I thought this would be the last place you'd want to be.”

Telindil couldn't stop a grimace from painting itself across his features. “True enough, but I'm not here by choice. Traven's decision to revoke the certifications of all guild affiliates has made it very hard to find decent work as a Spellsword. So I'm here because I need to join the guild.”

“Well that shouldn't be a problem, unless you've run into some trouble with the law in Cyrodiil?”

“A little, but that's being taken care of.”

“Good. The last thing we need is loose cannons running around the guild. It was only a few days ago that a pair of drunken Spellswords all but sunk the Bloated Float in the Imperial City, can you believe it? That's the sort of magic user we don't need in the guild.” Teekeeus threw a speculative glance Telindil's way, but the Altmer's face was as unreadable as ever. “Anyway, it'll take a couple of days for the courier to get to the Capital and back, so you're best off staying in Chorrol for a few days.”

“Yes, Oreyn at the Fighters Guild said the same. I'll be staying there. If I might ask, why does the Mages Guild use the couriers? I thought you used crystal balls instead.”

“When communicating between guildhalls we do, but for everything else we use the Black Horse Courier, as does the Fighters Guild. We both pay a quarterly fee, and their couriers carry our messages, and they act on our behalf when we make enquiries about new members. Then, if the background check is clean, then the couriers carry a message to every guildhall telling them to update the guild roster. That way every branch of the guilds keeps an up to date record of their respective members, without having to go out of their way to do so. It's quite an effective system.”

“One of Traven's innovations, I take it?” Telindil paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But you know what? There's something that's been off about you, something different, but I can't put my finger on it.”

“Are you ssure?” Teekeeus replied, a toothy Argonian grin underlining the mischief in his voice.

“That's what it is, you're speaking differently. What happened?”

“The demands of the conjurer. Conjuration magic relies a more precise vocal component. The typical Argonian speech was complicating things. It took me two decades to learn to speak like this, relearning to talk is a slow process, but that's what got me this position.”

“So that's why you don't see many Argonians who specialise in conjuration.”

“Exactly. But enough about me, old friend. I haven't seen or heard from you in three decades, how have you fared?” Teekeeus' eyes were filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. Argonians are slow to make friends, and prize highly those they do. Three decades without word from a friend means a great deal of worrying for an Argonian. This was not unknown to Telindil, nor did his friend's expression go unnoticed.

“When I left, I took your advice. I made my way to Black Marsh, spent ten years out there, helping fight off the slave raids of House Dres.” At the mention of House Dres, Teekeeus let slip a low, serpentine growl of hatred. “Your homeland has a strange beauty to it, Teekeeus, in a way I could never have imagined. The descriptions of it can't do it justice, and nor could I. It seems one moment to have the beauty of an untamed forest, growing wild for the simple joy of living. And the next that of a blade, finely crafted and without ornamentation, a well made tool designed solely for killing. It's as if it strives both to live and to take life, with as much ease as you or I draw breath. I got to know some of your people there rather well, and gained a great deal of respect for Argonian warriors. I was sad to leave it, in a way. I should like to return one day, if only for a time.

“After that I found my way to Skyrim, going the long way around Morrowind. I spent a few years there, though I found it to be terribly cold at first, having become accustomed to the thick heat of Black Marsh. Nothing of note happened there, but I managed to earn a living, slaying monsters for the most part. I tired of that and made my way out to High Rock, and of course like so many other mercenaries who go there got dragged into the infighting. Out there it was city-fighting, intense skirmishes in alleyways and the like, with knives in every shadow and ambushes at every corner. At least that's how it seemed at times. Still, it was good work, the sort that keeps you sharp, and that pays well.

“I stayed in High Rock for quite some time. I found it comforting, that despite all the politicking, what really mattered was blood and steel. Elaborate plans and schemes, all balancing on the simple, impartial scales of trial by blood. I didn't leave there until my certification was revoked, and I was forced to return. Perhaps I'll go back, perhaps not. I'll have to wait and see.

“But that's a question for later. For now what I want to know is: Any work available? I know you can't give me any official work until you hear back from the Imperial City, but there's always some odd-jobs that need doing.”

“Not too much at present. Speak to the alchemist, Angalmo. We just received a large order for nighteye potions, if he needs more ingredients he should be happy to pay you for them.” Telindil nodded his thanks to Teekeeus, but as he was getting to his feet he felt Teekeeus' hand on his arm. “Be careful Telindil, this is not the Cyrodiil you used to know, not anymore. It's more dangerous now.”

Gee, I wonder if Telindil knows anything about that pair of drunken Spellswords who almost sank the Bloated Float?

I enjoyed hearing how the Black Horse Courier service helps the guilds. Things like that help bring all the pieces of life in Cyrodiil together.

The dialogue worked well, as you smoothly gave us a recap of Telindil’s missing history of the last thirty years. Loved your description of the Black Marsh.


Nits:

“If I might ask, why does te Mages Guild use the couriers?” - - Misspelled the first ‘the’ in this sentence.

”I was sad to leave it, in a way. I should like to return one day, if only for a time. - - Missing the closing quotation (”) at the end of the dialogue.

Only a short chapter today, but one I'd prefer to stand alone. I could continue on after it, but I don't think it would really fit.

Chapter 4: Surprise!

Last Seed 30 3E 433

The Orc's hammer came down like it was Stendarr's own, and Telindil knew he couldn't even begin to block such a mighty swing.

He didn't even try.

The Orc had caught him by surprise, a heavy kick to the thigh had knocked Telindil off balance for just a moment, a moment long enough for the Orc to launch his attack. Now it was Telindil's turn to surprise his foe. His blade rang against the hammer's haft, not to block, but to parry, to prevent the Orc's prodigious strength from turning the swing as Telindil side-stepped to the left. As the Orc's hammer smashed into the ground, which trembled beneath such abuse beneath Telindil's feet, Telindil struck. He took a single step forward, bringing him almost alongside the Orc, bringing his blade up to strike the Orc's throat, while his leading foot hooked the back of the Orc's knee. The Orc collapsed onto his back heavily, unable to keep his balance in the wake of his hefty swing, not to mention Telindil's assault.

Lum gro-Baroth gasped from the floor. “Malacath's balls, you're fast Altmer.”

Telindil smiled. “And you Orc, swing that hammer of yours with enough force to level a mountain.” He reached down and grabbed Lum's arm, hauling him back to his feet. “But you're lucky this was practise, or I wouldn't have reversed my grip on the blade.”

“I'm not the only lucky one. If this wasn't practise, I wouldn't have kicked you in the thigh. And even if you had beaten me, you wouldn't be walking away the victor. Or pissing straight for a week.” The two of them laughed, Telindil's light laughter drowned out by Lum's roaring laugh, straight from his belly. They were still laughing when Oreyn walked in.

“Telindil, I need to speak to you. Get this room squared away, then come find me, I'll be in Vilena's office.” And with that he left, pausing just long enough to tell Lum his brother was looking for him. Telindil set about clearing up the room, setting his practise blade back in its rack while Lum unwound the thick felt that swathed the head of his hammer, before leaving in search of his brother. Having cleaned up after the practise session, he made his way to Vilena's office, to find his guildmates there waiting for him. Vilena, however, was not in her office. Oreyn stood beside the large windows as Lum and his brother Lurz moved behind Telindil, blocking the stairs down. Oreyn walked over and threw an arm around Telindil's shoulders, leading him across the room to stand before the windows, with his back to his guildmates.

“Telindil, do you remember what I told you when you signed up? Do you remember what I told you I'd do if your background check didn't come back clean?” Telindil's blood ran cold, and his mouth was suddenly unbearably dry. He swallowed uncomfortably as he felt Oreyn grip on his shoulders tighten. “Well, the courier arrived today, and do you know what he carried? That's right, your background check. And do you know what it told me? I'll just give you the summary.” He paused while pushing Telindil even closer to the window, his grip on Telindil's shoulders all but unbreakable. He tilted his head closer to Telindil's, close enough to whisper in his hear, “You're in, Altmer, welcome to the guild.” Telindil's knees nearly buckled at that, much to the amusement of his guildmates, who were laughing uproariously.

Telindil, finding his voice, managed to speak. “You're an evil Mer, Oreyn.” That just made them laugh all the harder.

A neat start as you drop us into the middle of what surely sounds like a dire fight. Then a smile as we realize Telindil is sparring with Lum. I like Lum very much in the game and you did a nice job with him.

Ooh, that Oreyn’s a stinker, making Telindil sweat like that.


Nits:
‘...setting his practise blade back in it's rack...’ - - Always remember this: Its = possessive; It’s = it is.

In your last paragraph, where Oreyn is speaking, you have a line of dialogue by Telindil at the end. One of the rules when writing dialogue is to always start a new paragraph when you change speakers. The convention is a good one for helping to prevent any confusion about who is speaking.

Another short one here, part one of three. The fighting starts next time.


Chapter 5 Part 1: I ain't afraid of no ghosts*

Chorrol, Last Seed 30 3E 433, Fighters Guild


“Now I'm afraid I can't give you any official work yet, Telindil, your rank in the guild isn't high enough. However, there is an unofficial matter of sorts that you can help out with.

“About a week ago, a band of adventurers passed through. You see them often enough: sons and daughters of the idle rich, with a few mercenaries hired on as babysitters, bored and looking to get an exaggerated tale of their 'heroism' out of it. Well this group tried their luck in Black Rock Cavern. There'd been a few reports of bandits up there, but not in any real numbers, so nothing had been done. No one was willing to pay us, and the Legion had more important matters to attend to, so they were just left alone. Until these adventurers turned up, and fair enough, it looked like they could deal with half a dozen or so bandits, so we let 'em be.

“They came running back the next day, the rich kids all pale-faced and brown-trousered, screaming and crying about ghosts. The mercenaries were more helpful, but I sent them over to Teekeeus. Fighters Guild policy is to refer anything involving ethereals; ghosts and wraiths and whatever else you can't kill with steel, to the Mages Guild. After all, they've got those Battlemages for a reason, right? But before one could be sent out, the Guild recalled them all following the Emperor's assassination, and I hear half were drafted straight into the Legion.”

“So Teekeeus has been looking for someone to investigate, and since I'm going to need a recommendation...”

“Exactly, a perfect job for a Spellsword. I'm afraid that's all there is, the other guildhalls might have something, apart from Bruma. That far north everything freezes to death before you can stick a sword in it. Up there they just sit in the guildhall drinking.” Oreyn shook his head, the smile that had accompanied his joke vanishing, crushed under the weight of his disappointment. “Anyway, off with you. Go kill something.” With that Oreyn headed towards the door to the training hall, clearly needing to work out some aggression. Telindil made his way next door to find Teekeeus.


“Telindil, there you are. Good news, my friend. You are now officially a member of the guild.” Another hard to spot Argonian smile lit his features as he relayed the news. Telindil smiled back.

“Thank you Teekeeus. I understand I need to earn recommendations from all the guildhalls in Cyrodiil. I'd like to get started immediately. Oreyn said you have something that might be suited to my skills?”

“Yes, Black Rock Cavern. From what I could get out of the mercenaries accompanying the 'adventurers', it seems to be infested by some type of ghost, one I've not heard of. Investigate the cavern, find out what they are and deal with them if possible. According to the mercenaries, they found a handle embedded in the rock, against the wall of a large chamber, and one of their charges turned it. A wall of rock covered one of the passages, and two of these ghosts were waiting for them at the other. The 'adventurers' panicked and ran, and the mercenaries covered them, but all their weapons were useless. That's all I can tell you I'm afraid. Good luck my friend, and be careful.”




*Yeah, I know, it's cheesy as hell, but I just couldn't resist

Lum gro-Baroth gasped from the floor. “Malacath's balls, you're fast Altmer.”

Oh neat, they were sparring! And also lol.

I really like that you are taking people and places in the game and creating your own quests. Nice job of showing the differing guilds working together and even the impact of the Emperor’s death on them.

Being a ‘waterfall’ cave, Buffy’s well-familiar with Black Rock Cavern. I look forward to Telindil’s quest there.


Nit: “Thankyou Teekeeus." - - Thankyouallonewordlol.

@Acadian: Thanks. I'll be honest, the main reason I'm making up a new recommendation quest is that I've written them too many times before, and I really can't be bothered to do it again. Besides, the Chorrol one makes no sense anyway Some of them I'll stick with, but the rest are being replaced.

@Grits: Heh, once I had the idea for starting the chapter like that, I just couldn't resist it. That and writing Lum's half of the convo was fun.


Chapter 5 Part 2: Ghosts?

Last Seed 30 3E 433, Black Rock Cavern

The inside of the cave was a charnel house. The bandits had numbered more than the reports had suggested, but there hadn't been enough of them. A dozen or so bodies were strewn across the first part of the cave, literally in some cases, where an axe had clearly been brought to bear. The air was thick with the tang of spilled blood, pools of it gleaming black in the magical light Telindil had conjured. And lurking in the background, a hint of something older, something foul and rotten.

Telindil cast a practised eye over the bodies, noting that most bore the clean, precise wounds you'd expect to see from veterans. Clearly the mercenaries had done most of the killing, though several of the bodies differed. These Telindil found in the corners, each bearing multiple wounds, some shallow and poorly placed, the work of amateurs. He snorted derisively. The mercenaries had backed them into corners one at a time, and let the rich kids bloody their sword. No doubt they'd puked afterwards, and would go home with tales of an epic struggle against worthy foes. He shook his head and spat in disgust. He wasn't sure who it was directed at though, the rich kids or the bandits.

The next area, a large chamber, was similar. Dead bodies and pools of blood everywhere, most of the heavy work clearly done by the mercenaries. He poked around the bodies, finding that the 'adventurers' had been too scared to loot the corpses, so helped himself to the coin they carried. Ten minutes or so of wandering and he'd seen everything the cave had to offer, at first glance at least, and returned to the large chamber. There he walked a slow circuit of the room, sticking close to the walls, looking for the handle Teekeeus had spoken of. Finding it took two more circuits of the room, the green light of Telindil's spell deepening as many shadows as it lightened. He felt a tingle run up his arm as he turned it, cold and sharp, and heard a grinding of stone. Sure enough, one of the two passageway into the chamber was now sealed by a wall of rock. Only one route was left to him.

They were waiting for him, two of them. Telindil had only a moment to take in the sight of them, so different from the usual ghosts or wraiths. These spectres were fully formed, as if some terrible force had simply ripped the flesh and bones from a person, and left their spirit standing for all the world to see. They were painful to look at, not because their eerie glow was too bright, it was something else. Telindil had a spine chilling realisation that he was seeing something that eyes were not made to see, that these were something far more terrifying than mere ghosts.

Unbidden, his hand leapt to his sword, the blade gleaming dully in the spectral glow Telindil's assailants cast as he drew it. Telindil knew better than to try and attack ethereal foes with a mundane blade and he felt his left hand begin to tingle as he prepared his shocking touch spell. As one of them rushed him, drawing a cutlass, the other retreated and readied a bow. Telindil exploded into motion, dashing past the first of the spectres to close in on the second, casting a shield spell as he went. He knew it left himself open to a strike at his back, but he also knew he had a better chance against two swordsmen than a swordsman and an archer. The shield spell caught the first arrow too, making it ricochet off Telindil's shoulder as he charged, and dulled the force of the second that dug into his left thigh. That was all the time the archer had to fire, and he threw aside the bow and drew his cutlass as Telindil came close enough.

Trusting in his shield spell again, Telindil dashed past him as well, before turning to face the two. His sword wove a web of iron before him, parrying the bulk of their strikes and letting him strike back with his shocking touch. He gradually wore the two of them down until one after another they slumped to the ground, motionless. Recovering from the fight, Telindil took the time to examine his foes more closely. Even now, they held their shape, unlike the wraiths and ghosts he had faced in the past. Each of them was armoured, though the armour seemed only half there, as if that too were some form of ghost. He reached for one of their cutlasses, but when he picked it up it burned with cold, and he could not hold it. Telindil reeled backwards in shock, seeking to put as much distance as he could between himself and them. Their blades had not been cold when they had struck him, only when they were beaten did they affect him so.

Abandoning the inspection of his foes, Telindil looked around the chamber he was in, and soon enough found the object of his search. The spectres had been there because they were guarding something, another handle. Telindil turned it and again felt a chill tingle run up his arm, and heard the grinding of stone. He returned to the large chamber where the first handle had been, and after a few minutes of searching found a trapdoor. He grasped the rusted handle with both hands and heaved, the ancient wood of the trapdoor groaning and creaking in protest at being disturbed from their rest before yielding. Telindil threw the hatch open, and staggered backwards at the stench that spewed from the opening. It reeked of death, ancient death, and behind it carried the subtle but recognisable malodour of necromancy.

Telindil took a few moments to brace himself before climbing down the ancient, rickety ladder into the depths of Black Rock Cavern.

Wow, this was tense! You did a great job of portraying the ‘sort of’ ghosts. Very nice how this ‘feels’ like that cave in the game. . . but different, as you make it your own. Clever of Telindil to ‘turn’ the archer into another swordsman and also to parry with his mundane sword while using magic to strike. Once more, we got to see the spellsword at work.


Nit: ‘He knew it left left himself open to a strike at his bacck,’ - - Two 'lefts'. Also an extra 'c' in 'back'.

Liked the tactics against the archer - that works whether they're spectral or otherwise. I was a bit surprised that he was parrying with a sword rather than blocking with a shield, but that's down to Oblivion not letting you use shield + spell. And of course, it looks more stylish!

Let him heal that leg before he goes further. It may be a minor wound, but ouch!

Nice justification for him not using their own weapons. I imagine he'd check everything, hoping for a magical blade he could use against them.

Was that first paragraph intended to be italic, or was that unintended hangover from the dateline before? I ead it a couple of times thinking I'd missed whatever set it apart.

@Acadian: Thanks. I've got a whole story as to what they really are, and why, but that comes next time

@Ghastley: Shield and spell would be nice, but I'd consider that more how a Sorcerer would fight than a Spellsword. Heh, and I couldn't really call him a Spellsword Sellsword if he didn't use one, could I?

As for the first paragraph, the italics re intentional, guess I just missed my target with it.


Right, part three of chapter 5. This was supposed to be the final part, but it seems it's all gone a bit Hitchhikers and become a trilogy in four parts. Unfortunately that means no fighting next time, I'll try to make it plenty interesting though.

And I'm not going to lie, just writing this one made me tired.


Chapter 5 part 3: What on Nirn...?

Last Seed 30 3E 433, Black Rock Cavern

Telindil moves awkwardly through the dark tunnels. He's tense, so tense his movements are jerky and unbalanced, as he fights the tension that sinks into his muscles with every step. His right hand is locked in a vice-like grip about the hilt of his sword, gripping so tightly his knuckles are white as bone. His left hand is no less tense, but lacking anything to grasp has tightened itself into something resembling a claw. Both arms tremble slightly, and Telindil's eyes search the darkness constantly, as if to pierce the darkness by force of will. He doesn't dare use his light spell, so the darkness enfolds him as he moves, smothering his senses as the feel of necromantic magic ahead clouds his mind.

The tunnels leading down are cramped, ancient, and littered with corpses. Some of the bodies were recent additions, others had died so long ago they were little more than powder and dust. Dread weighing heavily about his shoulders, Telindil ventured on. The tunnels led to a vast underground chamber, partly flooded like the lower level of the tunnels, and which contained a sight that made Telindil doubt his eyes. In Black Rock Cavern, hidden by magic and buried deep below the surface, was the still recognisable wreckage of a pirate ship.

No sooner had Telindil resolved himself that that was indeed what he was seeing, than two more of the spectres charged towards him, cutlasses raised. Telindil retreated back into the tunnels, forcing them to fight him one at a time in the narrow confines. One by one he faced them, parrying with his sword and dumping magical shocks into their ethereal bodies. He couldn't help but noticing the uncanny way in which they hovered above the knee-high water, putting him at a disadvantage as their strikes arced down towards him. Blades struck sparks as they scraped against the tight walls and clashed iron to steel. Every shock spell Telindil used he felt a little of as the water carried a portion back to him, and the spectres proved just how different they were from ghosts, turning invisible briefly or healing themselves on occasion.

Eventually, the second of the spectres fell. It had been a more gruelling fight than the previous, seeming to be both shorter and longer, and the darkness had made it worse. As Telindil looked down at the ethereal bodies, he couldn't suppress the rising tide of horror he felt within, now that he knew what those spectres were. Even though he knew, he still had a hard time believing it, but the evidence was right before him. The spectres had not been ghosts, and their remains were unchanged, unlike ghosts or wraiths which largely dissipate when defeated. To do such a thing as this...

Telindil made his way towards the ruined ship, though his mind still reeled at the thought of what it must have taken to get it here. Nothing but magic could have accomplished this, and no mages lived today who could have accomplished such a feat, save perhaps Divayth Fyr or the legendary Psijics. But the lingering, oppressive weight of forbidden magics told Telindil precisely who was responsible for this madness. There was only one being that could have both accomplished this feat and left this magic corrupting the air with its perversion.

Putting aside the thoughts, Telindil looked around spotting another of the spectres to the side of the ship, surrounded by crates, barrels, and chests. It looked as though these spectres, pirates it seemed safe now to guess, had been alive when they were entombed here, and had moved their loot from within the ruined ship. Telindil looked over his sword, noting the notches that marred its once sharp edge, almost lending it the appearance of serrations. He shook his head; Sabine would kill him for bringing his sword back like this, especially seeing as it was one she had made. Shrugging to himself, he readied the battered blade and advanced on the spectre, lightning crackling around his fingers.

This spectre seemed more skilled than the others had, both with the blade and with its ethereal abilities. Bit by bit Telindil wore it down, until with the last of its strength it launched its final attack, putting everything it had behind it. Telindil was caught off guard by the sudden ferocity of the strike, and missed the chance to parry, forcing him to block with the weakened blade. The ancient steel, magically preserved, dug three quarters of the way through the iron blade, before snapping the top third off. Telindil threw as much as he could into his shocking touch spell, dropping the spectre to the floor, unmoving. Exhausted by the hectic fights, he slumped to his knees, his chest heaving from his exertions, the ruined blade slipping from his fingers.

Then he saw the faint glow out of the corner of his eye, there was still one more of them left. Healing himself as best he could, waited as long as he dared before advancing on the final spectre, taking as much time as he could to let his magicka replenish. He had planned to use solely spells, and hope to deal with it quickly, but something Teekeeus had said to him in Chorrol popped into his mind. “Though you are no conjurer, there's no reason you can't learn a little of it. Speak to Alberic, he has a basic spell, bound dagger, that you might find helpful. A blade, perhaps, when all others fail you.” His weary mind almost stumbled over the spell, but a daedric dagger wove its way into existence in his grasp.

Telindil charged the final spectre, slashing his dagger like a maniac at the spectre, who hurriedly discarded the bow he'd been holding in favour of a cutlass. Telindil knew he couldn't hope to block or parry the spectre's lengthier weapon, and so settled for not giving his foe room or time to use it. Telindil buried the spectre under a veritable storm of frenzied slashes and shocking touches, until it fell to the ground, not exactly dead, but close enough to it. Telindil barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before his dagger disappeared.

Making his way back to the area with the crates, Telindil noticed something he hadn't before. The air there seemed less foul, and the crates and chests didn't carry the same ferocious chill as the spectres' cutlasses. 'That must have been why one of the spectres was here,' he mused to himself, 'it must have been the captain'. The cargo, or perhaps more accurately the loot, was unaffected by the magic that blighted the caverns. The cutlasses sticking out of a barrel were like all the others, but the chests contained a dagger with a fire enchantment and an enchanted shield, both of which Telindil took. He also pocketed whatever other valuables he could find in the crates and barrels before dragging himself wearily out of the caverns and back to the surface, glad to put that place behind him.

It had been a long day.

Telindil had only a moment to take in the sight of them, so different from the usual ghosts or wraiths. These spectres were fully formed, as if some terrible force had simply ripped the flesh and bones from a person, and left their spirit standing for all the world to see.

What a fascinating description.

This was a neat adventure! I’ve never found the secret of Black Rock Cavern. I’m glad Telindil found a fire-enchanted dagger to carry along now that he is temporarily without a sword.

Mighty magicks indeed to somehow get that ship into that cave. I can only guess that the pirates tried to take down the ship of a very might mage (with a fun sense of humor).

An exhausting series of fights for sure! Fortuitous in a way that Telindil’s blade was trashed, for it reminded him to summon a bound blade. I like how you showed that the bound dagger carried both the advantage of harming ethereals and the potential drawback of evaporating at an inopportune time.


Nits:

’...he couldn't hope to block or parry the spectres lengthier weapon,’ - - The word specters needs an apostrophe to make it possessive.

Heh, we’ve talked about it's vs its several times. What dear mALX had to do was make up a little sign to stick by her puter that said:
It’s = It is; Its = possessive.
In each case below, you want the possessive form (its):
‘...and left this magic corrupting the air with it's perversion.’
‘...noting the notches that marred it's once sharp edge,’
‘...and with it's ethereal abilities.’
‘...it launched it's final attack,’

You may want to consider banning it's from your writing completely for a while and using 'tis instead. It won't hurt the narrative, and you'll get used to where "the one with the apostrophe" goes.

Unfortunately I don't think either will work. I wasn't even aware the apostrophes were there. I don't recall typing them in, or thinking its vs it's, so I guess it's just my hands running on automatic as they try to keep up. I might have to come up with a typing exercise, maybe something like: It's not its fault it's on its own, or something like that. Typed out a couple of hundred times it might help.

Okay, here's another rewrite, and I'm much happier with this one.

Chapter 5 part 4: Dead Men's Tale.

Chorrol, Last Seed 30 3E 433, Mages Guild; Dining Hall

Three figures sit at the dining table; a weary and haggard looking Altmer, clad in slashed and torn leather stained with dirt and blood. To his left is a Dunmer, even at this late hour he still wears his ebony armour, and opposite him is an Argonian garbed in the blue robes ubiquitous in the Mages Guild. Concern is written across the faces of the latter two, though it's harder to read in the lizard-like features of the Argonian.

“Are you sure you're up to this Telindil? We can do this tomorrow if you'd prefer.”

Telindil poured himself a goblet of Tamika's 415, and drained it far more swiftly than the vintage deserved. He refilled the goblet before replying. “Thanks Oreyn, but no. I'd rather get this done tonight. There are no ghosts in Black Rock Cavern.”

Oreyn opened his mouth to speak, but Teekeeus cut in ahead of him. “My friend, please, let's discuss this in the morning, when you'll feel better.”

“In the morning I expect I'll have a hangover, and be no use to you before midday because of it.”

“Let him speak Teekeeus, he looks like a man who needs to get something off his chest. If they weren't ghosts, then why did the sellswords think they were? And what were they?”

“The sellswords are no mages, they probably call anything ethereal a ghost. As to what they were... I can guess, but I can't say for certain.”

“Wait, Telindil. What makes you so certain that they weren't ghosts?” Teekeeus leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table as his tail twitched on the seat beside him.

“Their form, for starters. These had coherent forms, complete with legs and faces, I've never heard of that in a ghost. They had abilities beyond those of ghosts, healing and invisibility. They carried weapons, cutlasses and bows, and they wore armour.”

Teekeeus scaly brow furrowed at that, and he was silent for several long moments before shaking his head. “I don't know Telindil. I've not heard of any ethereal entities that match your description, outside of folktales about ghosts. You said you can guess at what they are? Let's hear it then.”

Telindil took a fortifying gulp of wine before continuing, feeling it's warmth trace it's way down his throat. “I think... I think they were trapped souls.”

Teekeeus hissed, both from disgust and horror. Oreyn looked on, bemused. “What's so strange about that? More than a few souls went into enchanting my weapons and armour.”

Teekeeus shook his head. “They are not souls Oreyn. Soul gems have no power over souls, despite their name. The energy trapped in a soul gem is like a soul, but only as much as your reflection in a mirror is like you. It might look the same, but there is no substance to it. What the soul trap spell catches is in essence the energy that links the body to the soul. It takes on some characteristics of both, but it isn't truly a part of either. This energy can allow a soul to linger, becoming the sort of ghost you hear of in stories, or can sometimes become a typical ghost.”

Teekeeus poured a goblet of wine, offering the bottle to Oreyn before continuing. “There are accounts of souls lingering, or of necromantic magics that bind a soul to another, but binding souls to a place?” Teekeeus shook his head mournfully. “There is only one necromancer I've ever heard of who could accomplish such an abominable thing. Mannimarco.”

“It would take a magic user of his skill, or near to it to accomplish the rest. There was a hidden area of the cave, concealed by magic. The air there was thick with the feel of necromancy, and in that cave, deep under the mountain, there lies a pirate ship. It's wrecked, but still recognisable. There are only a handful of mages who could have moved it this far inland, and fewer still that could have buried it under a mountain and hidden it away. But only one person could have done all that and placed a necromantic curse that powerful on the cave.”

Telindil drained his goblet again, but didn't reach for the bottle. “Those poor bastards must have crossed Mannimarco somehow, centuries ago judging by the bodies I found down there. He dropped them and their ship under the mountain and left them there to die, cursed to remain there, even after death, protecting their loot and their ship.”

“So these trapped souls, how dangerous would you say they are?” Now it was Oreyn's turn to lean forwards in his seat.

“Now? I don't know. They might be released, they might just be brought back again by the curse. Probably best to post a notice in the guildhall saying it's off limits.”

“I'll get it done tomorrow. I'll speak to the town guard too, and send the word 'round the guildhalls, just in case someone hears a rumour and gets stupid. All this talk of necromancy and curses, an honest fighters got no business meddling in them. No offence meant Teekeeus, but each to his own. I'll make sure no idiots wander in, leastways none we'll miss anyhow, and leave the matter to you.”

Teekeeus nodded cordially. “Thank you Oreyn. I'll send word to the Arcane University tomorrow, tell them what happened, advise them of Telindil's theory and request a team be sent to investigate.”

Telindil shuddered at the thought. “Better tell them to send some Battlemages along as escort, just in case.”

“Of course. Would you be interested in accompanying them?”

Telindil's face grew pale. “Mehrunes Dagon will be giving teddy bears to orphans, and the priestesses of Dibella will take vows of celibacy, before I set foot in that godsforsaken place again.”

That had them all laughing, Oreyn's booming laugh an odd accompaniment to Teekeeus' sibilant chuckling. Teekeeus took a sip of wine and turned his attention to Oreyn. “Perhaps if Battlemages can't be spared, your fighters could be hired as guards?”

“You'd have to supply us with weapons. We don't have the equipment, as I've been telling you mages for years. If you want to hire as guards for your expeditions then you're going to have to pay us in arms. Iron and steel are fine against man, mer, and beasts, but the things you mages get up to...” Oreyn shook his head. “You'd better go get some sleep Telindil, Teekeeus and I'll be at this for a while.”

“Not a bad idea. I've a mind to leave for Bruma in the morning.”

“Whatever you do, don't go near Sabine. She'll use you for an anvil if she finds out you wrecked one of her swords in a single day. And she's been knocking boots with Lum, so don't think your sparring partner'll back you, he's more likely to truss you up and hand you over as a gift.”

Telindil couldn't stop himself from smiling, weary though he was. “I think that's an Orcish courtship ritual. Didn't know Lum was such a traditionalist. Thanks for the warning. I'll leave you two to your haggling.”

Well...

I think it's time to call it quits on this one.

Mistakes were made, and it's too far past the point to correct them. And if I'm honest, I'm not even sure Telindil was in that last part.

Lessons learned.

Thanks to everyone for the advice, the kind words, and hell, thanks for reading.

Sorry to hear that, CT.

I hope the fact that no one read your latest episode is not the problem. I think everyone saw it when you posted and edited the content out. . . then didn't notice when you edited in a revised version, since editing doesn't bounce the thread back into the 'unread' status.

On the other hand, if you have decided that this story no longer holds your focus or is not proceeding how you wanted it to, then I fully understand. In that case, chalk it up to gaining valuable experience writing and try again when you're ready.

Best wishes on your writing, regardless.

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m just now catching up. I hope you’ll write some more when another character or story grabs you.

I liked Teekeeus’ discussion of soul and soul gems. Orcish courtship ritual, lol.