TES: Community novels/storys

[MasterRokon]

This isn't trying to be a post your character thread, but rather a post your character story
I hope you get what i mean, and this is in TES general because your story can take place in any of the games setting or any time period of the lore
Ie: from the times of oblivion or the floating city of umbreil.
Also due to storys being long and people having to scroll thru a tower of words i would like all storys in spoiler tags, as tonot clutter things up.
No posting
Name
Race
Class
Etc.

I havent actually finished my partys short novel yet, but have many thoughts. Also feel free to post uncompleted storys and have people critic, and give ideas how to improve and what not.

Note: im sorry if this has been posted, seems like a spam post, or anything seen as not needed
and if so please mods feel free to take it down. Also to mods, it takes time to make a story so is there anywayfrom this becoming necro while we are coming up with our stories.

[Norroen Dyrd]

I'd personally really love this thread to persist.
Here is an extract of what is supposed to be a tale of how two my Oblivion characters could have adventured if they could meet.

Spoiler:

The night had just spread out its bedclothes, velvety-soft and serenely blue, and as the city of Kvatch was stretching itself snugly, about to go off to sleep, a man whose destiny was a transaction, signed and sealed, sat down to a solitary supper, not knowing that every helping which he lifted on a silver fork to his mouth, every bit that he chewed, leisurely, rolling it over with his tongue, savouring the juice that spurted out into his mouth as he plunged his teeth deep into the succulent flesh, every mouthful that he swallowed, his eyes half-closed with pleasure, was closely followed by a stare, dark, intense, and unblinking, of two large, blood-red eyes that gleamed steadily like smoldering coals on a face shrouded in shadows. Long the man sat at his table, munching noisily, grease dripping down his double chin, and all the time the red eyes never left his face - watching, waiting. Finally, having washed down his hearty meal with a prolonged draught of Tamika's best, the man stretched his hand over a bowl of fruit, his fat, many-ringed fingers hovering over the glistening apples and oranges, his full lips making an unpleasant sucking noise - apparently, he was hesitating over a choice of dessert. The red eyes narrowed a little, betraying for the first time a sign of impatience. The man licked his lips and selected a particularly large red apple with perfectly smooth, waxen peel and a sweet, honey-like scent. The red eyes narrowed even more, but now the emotion that flickered in their crimson depth was satisfaction. With a tremendous crunch, the man took a bite of the apple - and the moment he swallowed, his face suddenly grew ashen-white, a thin film of perspiration covered his sloping forehead; he coughed violently, as if he was being smothered, and with a long, hoarse groan bent over the table, which creaked shrilly under his weight; his fingers, now strangely bluish in colour, scraped the wooden surface till the neat half-moons of their nails grew dark with blood; he drew a deep, raspy breath, saliva drooling out of the corner of his mouth, and finally lay still, his sagging cheeks spread over the plate out of which he had been eating, staring in front of him with the whites of his eyes.

Moments later, the owner of the two fiery red eyes stepped out of the dark corner where she had been concealing herself - for it was a woman, clad in tight-fitting clothing the colour of starless night, and so slim that her shadow, distorted by candle-light, looked like a black blade. She had skin of an unusual inky-purple colour, long, silvery-white hair combed carelessly behind her pointed ears, and a large burn mark warping the skin on her left cheek.

She made her way swiftly towards the bulky figure seated motionlessly at the little lopsided table, turned over the limp, blood-stained hand and pressed her bony fingers against the swollen wrist. No pulse. The woman's thin lips twitched in a small complacent smile; she picked up the half-eaten apple, muttering to herself, 'Oh, Lachance, you clever devil,' and wrapped it carefully into a piece of cloth.

She had barely straightened herself up and turned away from the dead man when the whole house was shaken by a sudden, inexplicable rumble, so violent that the window glass burst and came clinking down to the floor; the candle went out, and the room was instantly plunged into a strange, reddish murk. The woman, who had miraculously managed to keep her balance, run up to the window, making hardly any more noise than a shadow gliding across the floor, and looked out. What she saw made her draw back into the room with a puzzled frown and clasp instinctively at the hilt of her dagger.

The colour of the sky had changed. It was bright crimson now, with dark swirling clouds that looked like blood clods that a sick person spits into a bowl of water. Every now and then, a lightning bolt would flash blindingly in the bloody gloom, splitting the sky in two and casting a pale, unearthly gleam on the dark outlines of buildings which stood out sharply against another, altogether different light source. The city was burning.

As the dark-skinned woman lingered in the room, apparently undecided about her further actions, the night stillness, which after the rumble had grown almost unnatural, was pierced by a loud shriek that throbbed, strained and so loud that it hurt to hear it, and then ended abruptly, sinking in the sea of silence. It was soon followed by another shriek, and another, till the whole city became alive with cries of pain and terror, twisting with each other like thorny tendrils of some monstrous plant, thrashing against the night like a beast thrashes against the bars of its cage. The woman raced towards the front door, guided, apparently, by an impulse to leave the house, and the city as well, as soon as possible - but she never reached it. For the door was slashed into pieces by a fierce blow of a battle axe, which sent splinters flying in all directions like darts. And through the gap that appeared there came a huge hulk of a Xivilai, its broad shoulders hunched menacingly, with a particularly vicious-looking Daedroth trudging heavily in its wake.

The woman stopped in her tracks and waited while the Xivilai brandished its axe, growling what sounded like curses in its own tongue. As it thrust the axe downwards, clearly aiming at the woman, she jumped aside with cat-like grace, smiling contemptuously as the axe's blade stuck deep in the floor boards and the Xivilai struggled to tear it out. Seizing the moment, the woman leaped onto the Daedroth and clung tight to its gnarled scales, withstanding all its attempts to shake her off. Scissoring the creature's back between her knees, as if it were a horse she was trying to tame, she stretched out one hand and thrust her dagger, hilt-deep, into the flesh of the Daedroth's head, right between the eyes. The creature reeled with a roar of pain and then tumbled down, burying the Xivilai beneath itself. The woman, who had slid off the Daedroth's back moments before it fell, seized the battle axe that the Xivilai had managed to tug out of the floor, and with all her might hacked at the Daedra's head, visible just enough under the Daedroth's body.

'By Sithis, this thing is heavy!' she gasped, throwing the axe back to the floor and wiping the dark specks of the Xivilai's blood off her face, 'I wonder how Gogron manages?'. The only reply she received to her question was a loud, confusing tumult of voices, shrill and incoherent, that burst into the house through the broken door like a wild river, almost knocking the woman off her feet as she was about to step over the jagged edge of the hole the Xivilai had made. The voices were soon followed by the arrival of new intruders - Scamps this time, a countless number of them, rushing past the dumbfounded woman through the door, climbing over the windowsills, crawling, bat-like, over the walls and ceiling, filling the room with their small, squirmy, rancid bodies, hissing and snapping at each other, breaking and tearing whatever they came across. They swept over the woman's head like an avalanche, clawing and biting at her whenever she tried to hit one with a spell. Overwhelmed, shaken, defeated, the woman retreated up the stairs leading to the dead man's bedroom, wading through the scamps as through a deep bog. Hardly had she done so, when a tall, hooded figure appeared on the threshold, so suddenly that it seemed that it had woven itself out of the surrounding blood-coloured gloom. Oblivious of the dark-skinned woman's presence, for she had used her skill to merge with the shadows, the figure lifted its hand in an imperious gesture and commanded in a high-pitched, impatient voice, 'Stop fooling around and do your duty'.

Grunting and growling, the scamps started casting fireballs, aiming at wall hangings and wooden furniture. After making sure that everything they had hit with their spells had caught fire, they scurried off almost as quickly as they had appeared. The whole of downstairs now turned into a raging fiery tempest, the woman hastily picked the lock on the bedroom door, her hands admirably steady, though the fire was dancing its enthralling dance of death behind her back, threatening to devour her if she lingered but a moment. She went inside, sprinted across the room to the window, and jumped out of it, the fire bellowing angrily behind her, enraged that its victim had escaped.

She landed roughly on a gigantic pile of debris that, but a few hours ago, must have been the neighbouring house. Her leg caught into a narrow crack in between two mis-shaped stones, and she winced uncontrollably. She pulled the leg out, but soon it became clear that she could not step on it without causing herself intense pain; grumbling to herself in the tongue of her kinsfolk, she slid, the best she could, down the side of the mound-like ruin, and limped off, looking cautiously about her, in what she believed to be the direction of the city gates.

Kvatch had become unrecognizable. The peaceful, thriving community where she had arrived that night with the instructions to eliminate a wealthy Imperial merchant, was now reduced to a dark, smoldering wasteland, illuminated only by he glare of the crimson sky and by the flames that were having a wild orgy in the street, engulfing anything they came across. And there were also the Daedra - marching through the streets, bold, victorious, striking down the trembling few that remained standing in their path. Reasoning that she, in her torn armour and with her fractured leg, was no match for the creatures that were massing the main streets, the woman decided to turn into a narrow passageway winding among the houses which were being destroyed before her very eyes. But she soon discovered that it was hardly the safest way, for, at every step she made, she risked being buried under a crumbling wall. Her weary wandering along the side streets soon ended, when she tripped over a prostrate body of an elderly Breton, wearing nothing but a nightshirt, with a hole singed in it where a Spider Daedra's shock spell had hit him. As she fell across the unfortunate old man, she realized that she would not be able get up again, not with her leg broken. She closed her eyes and listened resignedly as two buildings came collapsing around her on both sides, thus caving her in. 'Well,' she said quietly, addressing no one in particular, 'One can't deny that I completed the contract'.

She must have fallen into an uneasy doze, for the next thing she became conscious of was a ringing, childish voice, calling out pleadingly somewhere from above, 'I say... Oh, I say! Are you alive down there? Please, oh, please be alive! I can't bear seeing any more dead people! I don't think anyone has ever seen so frightfully many dead people - not even my Auntie Olwen, though she fought in the Five-Year War...' She looked up. Standing on top of the fractured wall, balancing herself with her outstretched arms, like a boy who shows his bravery by walking along a narrow wooden plank across a stream, there was a Wood Elf girl, barely out of her teens, with a round rosy face, flyaway copper hair and genial hazel eyes, which glinted joyfully when she saw the woman stir. 'So you are alive!' she exclaimed, 'How jolly! What about the other guy? Why doesn't he move? Is he unconscious?'
'He is dead,' the woman replied curtly, with apparent reluctance, 'And trust me, he isn't too comfortable to lie on'.
The young Wood Elf frowned thoughtfully, 'I say! Why are you lying there in the first place?' she asked, a little puzzled, 'I mean, it's rather an odd thing to be doing, isn't it? Not unless you like it, of course... My Auntie Olwen always says that you have to make allowances for people who like doing odd things. You wouldn't believe how many people liked doing odd things in the town where I grew up, back in Valenwood... Then one day there came two men in weird clothes, one of them was bald, with a sour face, and another was bearded, with funny eyes and even a funnier accent - and what do you know, they took half of the town away with them! Oh, wait, I get it! You're wounded, right? You can't move because you are wounded! How very silly of me not to notice it right away! I say, may I heal you? Pretty, pretty please? Because I'd totally love to heal you - I'm good at healing, well, not as good as my Auntie Olwen, and I am definitely far better at baking than at healing - I gave the nice lady at the Gray Mare in Chorrol a special sweetcake recipe; now she is gonna lure away the customers from the Oak and Crosier - but though it will be good for her, it will surely be bad for that Khajiit lady - I wonder if I can give her some recipe too? You see, I just adore helping people, because...'
The woman cut short the girl's artless soliloquy with an ill-tempered 'Well, if you are so kind-hearted, why don't you get down here and see for yourself?' It seemed that, though exceedingly irritated by the girl's demeanour, she regarded her as her only chance to get out of the current scrape.
'Sure thing,' the young Wood Elf beamed, tumbling down the debris to the narrow space where the woman lay sprawled awkwardly over the old Breton's body.

'Where does it hurt then?' she asked, kneeling beside the woman and trying hard to imitate the cooing intonations of a healer - her Auntie Olwen perhaps? -addressing a sickly patient.
'I broke my left leg. This one. Don't tell me you can't tell left from right! I could have healed myself without any assistance from anyone - especially from any nincompoops like you, - but Restoration magic just happens to be my weak point... No, let me take off the boot - you are tugging at it the wrong way, you brainless little n'wah!'
This time the woman spoke so rudely that it finally dawned on the cheerful Wood Elf that something was amiss.
'I am sorry if I made you lose your temper,' she apologized hurriedly, passing her small, neat, dimpled hands over the woman's throbbing, swollen flesh, 'I know I talk too much - and I am clumsy, and careless, and distracted... 'Nimrodel,' my Auntie Olwen always says to me (my name is Nimrodel, by the way, but friends can call me Nim), 'Nimrodel, you are such a little scatterbrain!' And she is right, because... Well, what do you know - it works!'

This time the young Wood Elf's stumbling, wordy speech was interrupted by a sudden flash of bright blue light that burst in broad, blinding rays from beneath her fingers and twisted itself, ivy-like, around the woman's leg. The woman's dark, strained face relaxed, as pain, little by little, ebbed away from her; and Nimrodel broke into a fit of wild, ecstatic joy, leaping up from the ground, clapping her hands and whirling round and round in a triumphant dance, raising a cloud of dark dust as she stomped her chainmail-clad feet. 'I did it, I did it, I did it!' she cried out at the top of her voice, 'I cast my Auntie Olwen's super-duper-extra-special-broken-bone-mending spell! Oh my, oh my, oh my, I never thought I'd actually... I mean, it's such a super-duper-extra-special kind of spell! And I pulled it off! It was so totally awesome of me - wasn't it? I am so excited! I've never been so excited! Are you excited?'
'Nimrodel,' the woman said slowly, getting to her feet and starting to climb up the pile of rubble in order to get to its other side and out of the trap she had found herself in, 'You are so... random!'.

'Fancy!' Nimrodel exclaimed, following closely in the woman's wake, 'That's just what everyone else says! Why, even that nice Emperor fellow...'
'Excuse me a moment,' Nimrodel's newly healed patient turned away from her and with a swift, well-aimed spell knocked down a Clannfear that had been hovering on the topmost edge of the debris mound, sniffing around for living mortal flesh, 'You were saying?'
'Wow!' Nimrodel gasped, awestruck, 'That was pretty impressive!'
'I did say that Restoration magic was my weak point - I am quite familiar with all the other schools,' the woman replied complacently.
'I say!' Nimrodel began, blushing a little, 'Could you - pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please!!! - help me out with a teeny-weeny quest? You are so awesome, it shouldn't be much of a problem. The thing is, I am supposed to fetch a guy called Martin from here to Chorrol, but he won't budge unless all the survivors here are safe - and they can't be safe until guards clear the streets of the Daedra - and the guards won't do their stuff because there is a ginormously huge gate thing outside the walls that keeps coughing up more and more Daedra! It's like in that old Dunmer nursery story when the Nix Hound won't bite the Guar, and the Guar won't cross the foyada, and no one can get home before midnight. And I am supposed to get inside that gate and get it closed so the story can move on! And I am kinda unsure if I'm up to it, because everyone relies on me, but I am not that good with fighting, really - but I do want to help everyone out, so...'
By the time Nimrodel paused to catch her breath, the two had already clambered over the rubble and were standing in an open space that had once been a street and now resembled a picture in a geography book labelled "Typical Ashland landscape".
'Let me guess,' said the woman, half-closing her eyes with weary resignation, 'You won't leave me alone until I agree to do whatever it is you want me to do, though I didn't understand half of what you just said - am I right?'
Nimrodel nodded, grinning broadly.
'Well, let's go and see that ginormously huge gate thing then. I do owe you a favour, after all. Incidentally, should you suddenly feel inclined to address me by my name - it's Etanni'.

[MasterRokon]

Really nice i want this thread to become a nice place for our novelist, ive been meaning to write a story for a long time, but im no good at coming up with dialouge or details. And i have 6 characters i really like to include in my games and in my head dreams but am now contemplating wether or not to have a full 6 party or two seperate teams, one well chaotic, and the other good. Any suggestions to make this easier for me?

[Hyder]

I'm sorry, just to clarify... is this about character that you've created independantly from roleplaying here? Because I happen to have something of a timeline for my overlapping characters in the works, in a slightly altered Oblivion universe. Would it be alright to post that here, or have I misunderstood?

[MasterRokon]

I'm sorry, just to clarify... is this about character that you've created independantly from roleplaying here? Because I happen to have something of a timeline for my overlapping characters in the works, in a slightly altered Oblivion universe. Would it be alright to post that here, or have I misunderstood?

Anything that comes off as a story, heck if you wanna compile a roleplay into one post for a novel you can too. Also you can post mutiple stories with the same characters, even if its eras away from each other.

[Hyder]

I'm sorry, just to clarify... is this about character that you've created independantly from roleplaying here? Because I happen to have something of a timeline for my overlapping characters in the works, in a slightly altered Oblivion universe. Would it be alright to post that here, or have I misunderstood?

If i am intrupting what your saying correctly then yes, this is basically short stories/novels, but no.
Name
Race
Class
Etc.
Anything that comes off as a story, heck if you wanna compile a roleplay into one post for a novel you can too. Also you can post mutiple stories with the same characters, even if its eras away from each other.

Well if my... timeline... isn't really to be posted here, that's fine. I was thinking of doing more novel-like writing once it was finished anyway, so I'll post them here once they're done.

[Norroen Dyrd]

@ Hyder: I think that by "no" the OP meant not "no stories from you", but "no listing character attributes". Since we already have a thread which describes character stats; this, as far as I understand, is purely for TES-related fiction, so anything goes.

[MasterRokon]

@ Hyder: I think that by "no" the OP meant not "no stories from you", but "no listing character attributes". Since we already have a thread which describes character stats; this, as far as I understand, is purely for TES-related fiction, so anything goes.

Pretty much hit it, he/she can do their time line just put it in a spoiler to save space if its really huge.

[Hyder]

Oh, right! Thanks for clearing that up... I got a little confused...

Guess I'll post up my character timeline once it's finished. Probably tomorrow, depending on how much I get done tonight, and how much spare time I have tomorrow afternoon...

[Assassin540]

Valund grew up in a small village in Skyrim where they lived off the land he lived with his Grandfather and Mother Valund never knew much about his father except that he beat his mother and wasn't nice to her and left when he was a small child and never came back. His Grandfather taught him and his brother how to hunt with a bow how to skin an animal and how to forge weapons. He loved his Grandfather he was loving and caring. But oneday when Valund was 12 years old he came back from gathering to find his entire village had been massacred he promised from that day forward no matter how long it took he would avenge his families death by killing whoever did this but he knew he couldn't stay here so he went through his Grandfathers old chest where his Grandfather would always tell him and his brother to stay out of it was the only thing still remaining intact in their hut hoping to find something useful he found some dark light weight armor that couldn't fit him yet so he threw it aside then under the armor was a letter he picked it up it read (Dear Grandchildren if your reading this it means I have died the reason I am writing this letter is that I want you to know what I truly am. What I am is an assassin I am a member of the Dark Brotherhood I was an assassin ever since I was young I was raised by the Dark Brotherhood they where my family they took me in raised me taught me to be what I am today and I taught you the same way they taught me even if you don't know it. Now what I want you to do is go to your Uncle Savard in Bravil he will guide you from there I love you be strong no matter what). So he knew what to do he had an uncle in Cyrodil in the city of Bravil so he took his Grandfathers dagger and a bow and headed to Bravil the quest took him many days but he finally found Bravil then after asking a few people he found uncle Savard's shack but when he opened the door Uncle Savard was lying in the middle of the floor dead with skooma laying all around him.

So Valund wandered the strange city for a few months living on the streets and killing rats to eat so he didn't starve. Until oneday he found an orphanage so he went to the orphanage the head master of the orphanage let him in and gave Valund a place to sleep. But not long after Valund found out the head master wasn't such a nice lady at all she would beat the children and make them clean. Everyday Hisin would wish he would get taken by a rich family but it never happened he never got picked. He lived miserbly for a long time.

Until he was 15 he and he and his friends from the orphanage by the names of Philip,Vilem and his best friend Ireunhart the Brave decided to run away from the orphanage. And live on the streets here he learned fast how to fend for himself while living on the streets and his friends always had his back but life was tough in the slums they had steal and fight just to get by they would spend their days scrounging for gold coins and every once and a while doing small jobs for the local crime guild members that's how they would earn most of their gold by doing jobs for the Red Hand Guild.

But back to his friends he hung out with a crowd most would call undesirable but to him they where his best friends yeah they where rough and tumble kids but they where his friends. They would get in fights sprawl rooftops and steal things but that was just the way life was in Bravil it wasn't easy. So after while his friends got to know him as a pretty good fighter so they where all thinking hey maybe we should hold fights with other kids and bet on Valund well they started to do this and sure enough Valund was great he won against most of his foes.

Valund is now 16.This is his last fight before he gets to face the champion Agrum gro-Agrob a hulking orc who has never been defeated. But thats for later lets focuse on the fight at hand Hisin is an an alley with people all standing around him and he's staring down this very large Nord by the name of Sven The-Gruesome but he's waring Sven down he's starting to get tired he can see so Sven throws a punch to Valunds face Valund ducks and finishes him with an uppercut. All his friends cheer it also happens to be his 16th birthday so after they go to the tavern and buy drinks while their drinking Agrum and his Clan of orcs happen to walk through the door and Agrum sits right next to Valund and says im gonna crush you when the fight comes then leaves. By this Valund is very angry but his friends tell him to save it for the fight. So finally the day of the fight comes he walks down the stairs to the basement where it's ment to be held. Then walks through the crowd of people into the center of the circle and sees Agrum standing there with a grin on this face then Valund puts his hands up then Agrum pauses a second then swings a crushing blow to Valund's eye where it starts to bleed then Valund punches Agrum in the mouth and Agrum starts to bleed but he smiles then starts repeadidly swinging on Valund untill he beats him to the ground then Jumps on top of him and starts to beat him again then pauses for a second and looks at the crowd and as he opens his mouth to say something Hisin headbutts him then flips Agrum to the ground and starts to repeatidly beat and headbutt him until he no longer moves then everyone starts to cheer he is the champion of the slums. Him and his friends go out and celebrate. Now that he is the toughest man in the neighborhood he is very well respected and he and his friends aren't so poor anymore.

A few days after Valund becomes champion he is walking around town and an Imperial in fine linen approaches him and says i've heard about you and I would like you to join my guild immediatly Valund knew who he was it was Vinnus Valodius he was the leader of the strongest crime guild in Bravil the Red Hand Guild.So Valund immediatly jumped at the offer and accepted because he always looked up to these guys when he was a child he strived to be like them and now he could. So he was initiated and then started of as a low level member whose job was to just sit around with other guild members and make sure no rival guilds would come on their turf and he was quite good at that the few times they had a problem Valund would beat the rivals senseless or worse at that age was the age he first killed a man while Valund was watching for rival guild members he saw one it was a Redguard Hisin approached him and they exchanged words then the Redguard tackled him and got on top of him and pulled out a dagger and slowly started to inch it towards Valund's eye Valund was trying to resist but he couldn't the Redguard slowly cut from his eyebrow to his cheek and then as he went to stab him in the throught Valund grabbed his hand and pushed the dagger into his heart when (how he got his name) he killed him he was not sorry at all being brought up his father always told him sometimes you must kill besides in the slums it was nothing to take ones life it happened all the time Valund took the life with no remorse and left him bleeding in an alley and later celebrated with his friends. now after a year of doing this Hisin rose in rank and was now extorting business owners and all three of his friends had now joined and where low level members.

By now he was 18 years of age and was now a higher up in the Guild and now sold skooma to people in the slums so it's like any other day he's standing in the alley selling to customers while Philip watched the left side of the alley Ireunhart watched the right and Vilem watched from the balcony and after the day was over he went to Vinnus and gave him his cut of the gold and was headed for the door when Vinnus stopped him and told him he had a diffrent job the next day he said he needed him to kill someone he said that if he did this he would rise in rank so Hisin accepts and tells him about a new upstart Guild of skooma dealers that was trying to move in on their turf he gave him the information on them where they hung out what they looked like.

So the next day he woke up got his crew all together and one extra guy who Vinnus sent to help an Argonian by the name of Scar-Face who was one of Vinnus's best assassins anyway he got together with them and they started to plan they had to take out 6 guys 2 Dark Elf's they where the leaders the Vinlethi twins they where the main targets. The rest where less important but still needed to be murdered so they planned it they knew exactly where they where going to be at a local tavern where Vinnus was paying the owner to look the other way and to make sure nobody else was there but the Vinlethi twins and their guild.Finally the time had come it was midnight Valund got his dagger slid it into his sheath and he and the rest of the guys walked to the tavern where Vilem covered the back door and the rest walked through the front door as they walked in Valund was greeted with a strike to the face by one of the twins they must of seen them coming from out the window this wasn't good then the fight broke out everyone took out there daggers including the rival guild and there was a giant fight then the last thing after that that Hisin could remember was him stabbing one twin in the throat and then plunging his dagger into an Imperial then he felt something hard hit the back of his head then everything went black.

When Valund awoke he was on the floor of the tavern in a puddle of blood when he looked to his right he saw his best friend Ireunhart laying next to him eyes open and a slit through his neck. than as Hisin stood up he started to look around and he saw everyone else he had brought with him also dead every single one of his friends dead now he had no one his friends where the closest thing to family he ever had and now they where gone he felt anger and despair but he knew what he must do he had to get out of their fast out of Cyrodil so right then and there he decided he had to go back home to Skyrim hopes to feel as though he is somebody not just some peasant somebody who belongs to something somebody who is part of something bigger than he is somebody to guide him and he promised himself the second he entered Skyrim Valund was dead he would cut his long hair and he would become Hauk he would no longer be a scared and confused peasant boy he would find answers that he he had been wanting to find ever since he was little and he would take revenge on the man or men who killed his family and he knew how he would find the Dark Brotherhood they would be able to help him just like they helped his grandfather as a young boy this is what his grandfather would have wanted to follow in his footsteps as an Assassin for the Dark Brotherhood.

[Norroen Dyrd]

I am so glad that the thread is gradually getting filled up with stories. I'd love to see the community members keep up the good work.
@Master Rokon: I believe that you mentioned being in need of advice with weaving a storyline. It is my personal belief that in order to learn how to write, one has to read much - at least, that's what my personal experience tells me. People who have already succeeded in creating stories can be regarded as teachers when it comes to style and composition.

As for me, I don't seem to be able to stop myself from writing. This is the first part of a story I am polishing at the moment - I call it "The Innkeeper's Tale". It also involves my player character, Etanni, but only as a background figure.

Spoiler:

Dravol Raalen, the proud proprietor of The Limping Guar, a dingy little inn lost somewhere in the middle of the murky wastelands of Vvardenfell, carefully wiped a pewter mug with a greasy snatch of cloth, which only made it grimier, and looked around with a very peculiar expression on his dark, deeply lined face - a mixture of the usual derisive contempt of a true-born Dunmer who is forced to mingle with outlanders and the vague, detached interest of someone who is bored to death and has nothing better to do than watch the people around. For his instinct of an experienced innkeeper, which was seldom wrong, had told him that the customers were about to start fighting - and Dravol regarded tavern brawls as a sort of entertainment, amusing, but only mildly so, like a jesters' performance that keeps being repeated day after day with the same slapstick jokes.

This time Dravol's instinct did not let him down either. Hardly had he finished rubbing fiercely at the mug and put it down on the bar counter with a loud thump, when an Imperial Legion soldier, who had previously bawled for a double helping of scrib jerky and gulped it down with the greed of a Hunger, suddenly decided to be patriotic and declared, loudly and rather thickly, "This is muck! Muck, I tell you! In Cee-Ceer-Ceerdl" he waved his hand resignedly, failing to pronounce the name of his homeland, "That's where a fellow can eat real food!".
"Maybe the honourable sera should go back to Cyrodiil, then?" snarled a nearby Dunmer regular with a sizeable chunk of flesh missing from his right ear and a more than a little frivolous-looking Golden Saint tattooed across his bare chest.
"Yeah! Imperials go home!" joined in a bulky, bleary-eyed Nord, whose abundant straw-coloured stubble was wet with mazte. "You can't force your ways on us forever! Some day the sons of Skyrim will rise from their knees and shake off your - whatever it is folks shake off," he concluded this vehement utterance with an eloquent belch, which made the legionary wince uncontrollably and mutter, "That sort of thing should be counted as offence against the autho-authorities!".
"You ain't in Skyrim, sonny," remarked an elderly Redguard who was sitting opposite the Nord, his eyes glinting mockingly through a thick cloud of pipe smoke.
The ardent opponent of the Imperial hegemony turned away from the legionary, knocking down a rickety stool as he did so, and stared fixedly at the Redguard, looking rather like a bull about to charge. "I wasn't talking to you, you old fart!" he roared, clenching and unclenching his hairy fists.
At these words a Bosmer with ruffled grey hair and a puffy face, who had been dozing in the corner, hugging his mug as if it were a tibby bear (one of those toys people sleep with, supposedly named after Tiber Septim, who is said to have once spared a bear while hunting), jerked his head upwards, gaped around wildly and cried out in a shrill, offended voice, "I am no old fart! Who said that? Let me at him!".

Afterwards, the usual followed. Glares and curses were exchanged, knuckles were flexed, knives and daggers were drawn, and old Dravol made himself comfortable behind his counter, preparing for the show. But at the most crucial moment, when the tattooed Dunmer lifted his fist to strike the legionary, who was making loud puffing noises to show that he was also prepared to attack, and the Nord reached out for a chair, and the Redguard, having extinguished his pipe, rose from his seat, turning out to be hardly less tall and intimidating than his younger adversary, and the Bosmer leaped onto a table, a fireball flaring up menacingly in the palm of his hand, a small, skinny figure, covered with bandages from head to foot, peeped into the inn out of the back door, which presumably led to whatever meagre living quarters Dravol had, and said, in voice that, though girlish, already had the characteristic roughness of a Dunmer, "Hey, can I stop being sick already?".
The old innkeeper started and exclaimed, in an all too apparent effort to seem severe, "Etanni, you little squirt! Get back to bed if you don't want a thrashing!".
"But I've been in bed all day," the child moaned in protest, "And it's boring, boring, boring!".
Dravol shrugged his shoulders, "Well, you ought to have known better than try to ride a Cliffracer!".

The customers froze just as they were, reaching for each other's throat. The bandaged little girl was Dravol's granddaughter, whose story was obscure and full of bloodshed, but not too uncommon in Morrowind. Little Etanni was the child of what the tactful Imperials call "guilty love" between the old innkeeper's son and a married woman, whose jealous spouse, a strange fellow born on a certain day to uncertain parents, ended up killing both his unfaithful wife and her lover shortly after he learned of Etanni's origin, for which crime he was promptly imprisoned. There being no one else left to take care of the baby girl, her grandfather took her in, and ever since then she had been the apple of the old elf's eye, though, valuing his reputation of a harsh Dunmer loner more than anything else, he did his utmost to pretend otherwise. In a few years' time Etanni grew up to be a cheeky, stubborn little tomboy who took great pleasure in running off into the wilderness, dragging all manner of odd creatures home as pets and teasing the customers, with serving whom she was supposed to help Dravol. It really was no wonder that her sudden appearance after a whole day of not showing herself in the inn stopped the oncoming fight - for most of the inn regulars, no matter how drunk and uncouth, had a soft spot for the mischievous elven child, whose ringing laughter seemed so out of place in the gruesome establishment, and thus, was all the more welcome.

"How are you doing, little one?" the tattooed Dunmer asked, instantly forgetting about the legionary and squatting down so that his face and Etanni's would be level.
"We missed you," growled the Nord, giving the girl an unsure, clumsy pat on the head.
"Tried to ride a Cliffracer, did you now?" the Bosmer inquired with great interest, climbing down noisily from his battle position, "Good show, good show!".
"Hi, guys," Etanni replied with the casual absent-mindedness of someone who is used to receiving a lot of attention. "Can you please go on fighting? I am so bored, I'd love to see you give each other a few good punches".
Dravol smirked into the palm of his hand; he and his granddaughter shared a lot of common interests.
"I don't think we're in the mood any longer," the Redguard replied, eyeing all the others with the same air of calm mockery that had never left him throughout the whole incident. And he was right: people who suddenly become enemies over a mug of beer can just as suddenly take to each other like the best of friends.

Etanni seemed very disappointed. "Well then," she said firmly, turning to her grandfather and stomping her foot in order to highlight the urgency of her order, "Tell me a story!".
Dravol lifted his eyebrows. "A story?" he echoed, "Has the Cliffracer shaken the last brains out of your little head? Can't you see I am attending to my customers?".
"We wouldn't mind hearing a good yarn either, now would we?" the tattooed Dunmer responded promptly. He was supported by an approving murmur from all the others present; and the legionary, apparently feeling that he just had to put in his two septims, added in a rather audible whisper, "And besides, I haven't seen too much attending here". Having said that, he shrank cautiously away from the Dunmer and the Nord, just to be on the safe side; but the former had already made himself busy arranging the chairs so that everyone would see and hear the storyteller well, while the latter just swayed from side to side, his hands thrust deep into his pockets and a broad grin on his unshaven face.

In a matter of a few minutes, everyone was assembled in a semi-circle facing the counter, with a special seat reserved for Etanni so that she would be directly opposite her grandfather. Seeing the listeners ready, the old innkeeper, who had shown neither reluctance nor particular eagerness to amuse Etanni with a story, cleared his throat and began, slowly and thoughtfully, deliberately addressing only his granddaughter and tattooed kinsman,

"I have not always owned this place. The fellow who had it before me was called Rendil Drarara, and he kept feeding people with crushed glass and such, till one stormy night he just vanished into nothing - they say Sheogorath took him," all those present gasped in awe, "The Imperials seized his property," the tattooed Dunmer gave the legionary a meaningful glare, "And I just happened to offer the most when they put it on sale again. But this story is not about how I got the inn," both Etanni and the Nord sighed with relief, "This story is about what I did before I bought it. And I did many things. I was a miner, a Netch herder, a huntsman - but my very, very first job was a wilderness guide. And this is how I got it..." Etanni shifted impatiently in her seat.

"When I was a youngster, about three hundred years ago, give or take a couple of decades," the Redguard gave a prolonged whistle of admiration and envy, "I was working one morning - in summer, I think, it was - in my father's saltrice field, when an annoyingly high-pitched voice of some elven outlander..." the Bosmer made a sour face and uttered an offended 'Hey!', but the Nord nudged him in the ribs, which prompted him to go quiet, "...made me look up from my weeding. It turned out to be an Altmer," the Bosmer's face instantly cleared of all sourness, "I think I recall him having a whole mane of white hair and a wrinkled face and wearing some bright, flashy wizard robes. He was waving his hands and calling out to me in a most ridiculous way, saying things like 'Me come from very far away' and 'Me need help, you help?'. He must have thought I was some kind of savage..."
"Can't say I blame him," the legionary piped in; Dravol took no notice of him and went on.

"I soon got tired of his prattling and turned to look at his companions, who were hovering behind his back, looking rather embarrassed. There were three of them: a huge bulk of an Orc, I remember, bent in two under a heap of some bizarre equipment, and two Bretons, a man and a woman, in quality travelling clothing. They looked very much alike - as I learned later, they were brother and sister, - only he was a bit thinner and darker, and she - well, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen before - or since".

"What about Grandma?" Etanni asked, her eyes lighting up with eagerness to hear a love story, "Wasn't she beautiful?".
Dravol's thin lips twitched - he was not too good at smiling. "I met your grandmother a hundred years afterwards - and I assure you, she was beautiful as well, but in an altogether different way. Her beauty was like a gorge in the Ashlands when the night sky clears up after a sandstorm, and the moons come out - and that young Breton's beauty was like soft grazelands basking in the glare of the afternoon sun".
"My, you are a poet, my good friend!" the legionary exclaimed, brandishing his mug in noisy approval, "Did you know that?".
Dravol once again ignored him, addressing instead the tattooed Dunmer, who had muttered, a bit disgruntled, "So you are saying you fell for an outlander?".
'I never said anything of the sort," he said, his expression hardly changing, but with a strange new ring to his voice, "I was young, and my mind was as simple as the work I had to do day in, day out. I had never been with a woman, and I did not know what I was supposed to feel when I saw one. I just..." he paused, considering whether or not to disclose his feelings; noting that the customers' level of intoxication was sufficient enough to make them forget whatever they were being told the following morning and that Etanni was jumping up and down in her seat with excitement, he made up his mind.

"I stood in awe of something enchantingly beautiful, something that I had never seen before. I must have looked pretty stupid, gaping at her like that, for she blushed a little and said to the Altmer, 'Oh, Master Girion... I don't think he understands you'. Her voice, quiet and gentle like a young child's, brought me back to my senses. I can clearly see it all now before my mind's eye. I jerked my head, trying to shake off the Breton's charm, and retorted in perfect Imperial, with all the haughtiness I could muster, 'No, as a matter of fact, I don't understand a word of what you are saying, outlander'. The Altmer burst into a fit of coughing - it looked like his pride had been put down a notch..." several listeners snickered, "...and said..."Dravol put on a comically snooty expression and imitated the high-pitched tones of an Altmer, "...and said something along these lines,
'Oh, well, what I meant was: we are heading for (he named one of those bizarre Dwemer places, making me wonder how he managed to get his tongue around it), but since we are, as you justly pointed out, outlanders, we need someone local to show us the way. Will you take the job? There is money to be earned.' I just happened to know of the ruin he mentioned, and I immediately pictured myself rescuing the Breton woman from an unfriendly metallic contraption of the kind that run about in old Dwarven tunnels - so I said, 'Count me in' or something equally boyish. The Breton man smirked, regarding me mockingly, his eyes narrowed and his arms folded in front of him, and said - I can't recall his exact words, not after three hundred years, but he certainly sounded just as full of himself as the Altmer - 'I suppose some introductions are in order. I wouldn't like to address this excellent fellow with 'Hey, you over there!'; nor am I thrilled at the prospect of being called 'outlander' all the time'. The Altmer shrugged his shoulders impatiently..."
The Nord stretched himself and said, "You bet he was impatient! There is way too much talking going on!"
Etanni nodded in strong approval. Seeing that, Dravol snorted irritably, "Well, you can't get to the action without getting through all the talking first! That's the way life goes for people with a brain," the Nord went into a sulk, which Dravol, naturally, pretended not to notice,

"As I was saying, the Altmer shrugged his shoulders, so the Breton went on, turning to me, 'You already know the name of Master Girion - memorize it well, for he is a renowned scholar of the Dwemer culture; this worthy Orc who acts as bearer of artifacts in our little party is Gorbog gro-Shag; the young enchantress you ogle in such an inappropriate fashion is my sister Paola, the pride and joy of the Valtieri family; and my given name is Vicente, though you yet have to prove yourself worthy to call me by it'.

[MasterRokon]

That actually makes sense my close friends who are into writing read alot, as for me i dont read often not many books grab my attention. My friends who are into reading are doing a novel in a month thing with 50,000 words by the end of november and they are 1/10 of the way done already, maybe i can just find enjoyment from reading my fellow uespers XD.

[Hyder]

It seems I made a great miscalculation... Other stuff got in the way, so I apologise for not posting when I said I would.

However, with most of tomorrow free I should finish up, then make way for some more novel-style writing. I've had some ideas brewing...

[cyberius]

THE DIVIDING LINE
book 1- Bitter Morrowind

Spoiler:

Chapter 1 (out of 3)- Enslavement

In Morrowind... the slave laws, of Argonians and Khajiits, do not apply. In Morrowind, Dunmer ruthlessly enslave Argonians, and Khajiits.
This is the story, of a brave Argonian slave, named Drelion, and his best-frien, a khajiit, named Khaj'iir.

1 month ago...

Im running- Im running- I cannot be caught, by the dunmer- if i am, i'll be enslaved!
voice: We won't be caught, by the dark elves, Drelion, we can't! Our speed is top notch!
Your right Khaj'iir! As long, as we are nimble, and quick, we will be fine.
Now Khaj'iir, how far are they from us?
Khaj'iir: Their right behind us, we better hurry!
Drelion: They have bows and arrows! Dodge them!

Knowing, that the dunmer are great archers, they keep running, and swaying, right to left... left to right...
Occasionally, resting behind a tree.
Khaj'iir: Drelion... your bleeding... you wer'e hit!
Drelion: no! no...
Khaj'iir: im staying with you, let's go!
Drelion: no, if you wait for me, we will be caught! you must go without me!
Khaj'iir: i Cant!!!!!!!
Dunmer: Their they are, catch 'em!

As they are surrounded, and netted, both of them feel a horrid feeling, of horror.

Current time-

Dunmer slave owner: Keep picking, khajiit, the corn isn't going to be picked by itself!
Dunmer slave owner: COME ON!

Suddenly, Khaj'iir feels the burning sensation on his back, like a sting from a scorpion, or a bite from a snake.
He looks at a big shard of glass, and sees a lash mark on his back.
While on the pumpkin fields, Drelion is learning a hard lesson

Dunmer: come on, you have to cut the shell, and pick all the seeds out, then go to the next!
Drelion keeps quiet, and hastens his hands a bit more.

Later that night, Drelion, sneaks out of his quarter, sneaks into Khaj' iir's quarter, and gives the code: " The Bird meets the Lizard"
Khaj'iir wakes up, instantly knowing the one out of many of the codes, the bird meaning drelion, and the lizard, Khaj'iir.
Khaj'iir replies with: " The lizard excepts the Bird's invitation."
Khaj'iir: Tell me the latest news, friend!
Drelion: All of the "birds" are planning a rebellion.
Khaj'iir: let the bird fill the lizard with information.
Drelion: Tomorrow, 6 after sun's drop.
Khaj'iir: The lizard will tell the other lizards of the rebellion.
Drelion quietly rushes back to his quarter, sleeps more.

Chapter 2- The Rebellion
6 hours after sunset-

Argonian slave: Is everyone ready?
Argonian Slave: yes, it's all here:
5 iron daggers
6 steel shortswords
3 steel longswords
15 steel bows
55 steel arrows
6 clubs
Argonian Slave: Are the lizards ready?
Drelion: Yes, they are waiting for the signal.
Drelion tweets like a bird, Khaj'iir hisses like a lizard.
All of the Khajiit and Argonian slaves, grab their weapons, sneak throught the bushes,
silent kill all guards outside, while they are sleeping.
They take the keys.
They storm inside each of the houses, slaughtering anyone, in their way.
They come out, feeling pride that they have killed everyone.
But they haven't. The Plantation master is alive.
The master, walks outside, summons a skeleton hero, and easily paralyzes all of them. They awake
in their quarters, fifteen lashings, on each back.

15 days later

Khaj'iir: how have your whippings been going??
Drelion: they are sore everyday, so bad.
Khaj'iir: well, the master hired much better guards, who have shifts.
Drelion: Well, we shouldn't of rebelled... It was foolish
Khaj'iir: no it wasn't! We felt pride for a minute, and thats what matters!
Drelion: Yeah, but we had no defense, no mages... no training...
Khaj'iir: we could do it again, in sometime.
Drelion: Yeah, but we would have to get shields, better armor, better weapons.
Khaj'iir: I heard a carriage, full of Weapons comes by the plantation every Middas.
And a carriage of armor too, on Turdas.
Drelion: where are you getting to?
Khaj'iir: Well, if we could hi-jack the carriage, every few days, and hide the evidence, and train when the
Slave owners aren't watching, we could train.
During the night, too.
Drelion: well, i guess so.
Wait, isn't it Middas, today?
Khaj'iir: yeah. are you thinking what i'm thinking?
Drelion: yeah. Midnight, tonight.

Midnight, that very night.

Khaj'iir: The lizard, is ready. Is the bird, ready?
Drelion: The bird is ready. Let's go.

The two easily hi-jack the carriage, steal all of the armor, with a few other slaves, and go back.
They put the armor, in a hole, in the ground, with grass, over it.
The next day, they do the same, to the weapons, carriage.
1/4 out of all the weapons, and armor they need, they have.
They continue the same thing, three more times.
4 hours, before the rebellion, the maiden, slave, an argonian named:Okeva, and her friend, a khajiit, named Els'wayna, meet the slaves.
Drelion: Ok you have the orders, right?
Okeva: Yes. Replace all apples, with poisonous apples. Got it.
Khaj'iir: You know what to do, right, Els'Wayna?
Els'Wayna: Yeah, replace all the beverages, with poison.
Later, at midnight...
Argonian Slave: ok, is everyone, armored with a shield, some armor, and a weapon?
Khajiit slave: yeah. As soon as those two give us the signal, we will go.
Khaj'iir and Drelion: Are the other birds, and lizards, ready?
Khajiit and Argonian Slave: Yes. The other birds and lizards, are ready.
Khajiit slave: LET's GO!!!

The Khajiits easily take the east of the plantation, while the argonians, kill the master.
The two races, group together, and quickly take the west.

The slaves, try to escape, and get on a carriage.
The carriage is inspected, and the slaves, arrested.
The next day...

The slaves have been sold.
This time, the family that owns them, are a group of hunters.

Drelion: I can't take it anymore!
drelion attacks the plantation watcher, and is whipped.

Chapter 3- Phrophytic Hemophilia

Drelion: i heard their is a horrible disease, turning people, especially farm owners, into blood-suckers.
Khaj'iir: could that possibly, be an advantage?
Drelion: Yes. And it will be OURS. See, the plantation master, was infected, and he is very ill.
All of the guards and watchers, are with him.
Khaj'iir: I get it. What time?
Drelion: Three days from now. He is supposed to die then. Everyone will be mourning his death, which is a perfect chance for freedom.

SEE NEXT BOOK, THE DIVIDING LINE, BOOK 2- THE GREAT ESCAPE.
WHERE DRELION AND KHAJ'IIR FINALLY LEARN THE TASTE OF FREEDOM.


This story is cyberius' story. Cyberius is not responsible for this, if you have an offense to it.

[cyberius]

THE DIVIDING LINE
book 1- Bitter Morrowind

Spoiler:

Chapter 1 (out of 3)- Enslavement

In Morrowind... the slave laws, of Argonians and Khajiits, do not apply. In Morrowind, Dunmer ruthlessly enslave Argonians, and Khajiits.
This is the story, of a brave Argonian slave, named Drelion, and his best-frien, a khajiit, named Khaj'iir.

1 month ago...

Im running- Im running- I cannot be caught, by the dunmer- if i am, i'll be enslaved!
voice: We won't be caught, by the dark elves, Drelion, we can't! Our speed is top notch!
Your right Khaj'iir! As long, as we are nimble, and quick, we will be fine.
Now Khaj'iir, how far are they from us?
Khaj'iir: Their right behind us, we better hurry!
Drelion: They have bows and arrows! Dodge them!

Knowing, that the dunmer are great archers, they keep running, and swaying, right to left... left to right...
Occasionally, resting behind a tree.
Khaj'iir: Drelion... your bleeding... you wer'e hit!
Drelion: no! no...
Khaj'iir: im staying with you, let's go!
Drelion: no, if you wait for me, we will be caught! you must go without me!
Khaj'iir: i Cant!!!!!!!
Dunmer: Their they are, catch 'em!

As they are surrounded, and netted, both of them feel a horrid feeling, of horror.

Current time-

Dunmer slave owner: Keep picking, khajiit, the corn isn't going to be picked by itself!
Dunmer slave owner: COME ON!

Suddenly, Khaj'iir feels the burning sensation on his back, like a sting from a scorpion, or a bite from a snake.
He looks at a big shard of glass, and sees a lash mark on his back.
While on the pumpkin fields, Drelion is learning a hard lesson

Dunmer: come on, you have to cut the shell, and pick all the seeds out, then go to the next!
Drelion keeps quiet, and hastens his hands a bit more.

Later that night, Drelion, sneaks out of his quarter, sneaks into Khaj' iir's quarter, and gives the code: " The Bird meets the Lizard"
Khaj'iir wakes up, instantly knowing the one out of many of the codes, the bird meaning drelion, and the lizard, Khaj'iir.
Khaj'iir replies with: " The lizard excepts the Bird's invitation."
Khaj'iir: Tell me the latest news, friend!
Drelion: All of the "birds" are planning a rebellion.
Khaj'iir: let the bird fill the lizard with information.
Drelion: Tomorrow, 6 after sun's drop.
Khaj'iir: The lizard will tell the other lizards of the rebellion.
Drelion quietly rushes back to his quarter, sleeps more.

Chapter 2- The Rebellion
6 hours after sunset-

Argonian slave: Is everyone ready?
Argonian Slave: yes, it's all here:
5 iron daggers
6 steel shortswords
3 steel longswords
15 steel bows
55 steel arrows
6 clubs
Argonian Slave: Are the lizards ready?
Drelion: Yes, they are waiting for the signal.
Drelion tweets like a bird, Khaj'iir hisses like a lizard.
All of the Khajiit and Argonian slaves, grab their weapons, sneak throught the bushes,
silent kill all guards outside, while they are sleeping.
They take the keys.
They storm inside each of the houses, slaughtering anyone, in their way.
They come out, feeling pride that they have killed everyone.
But they haven't. The Plantation master is alive.
The master, walks outside, summons a skeleton hero, and easily paralyzes all of them. They awake
in their quarters, fifteen lashings, on each back.

15 days later

Khaj'iir: how have your whippings been going??
Drelion: they are sore everyday, so bad.
Khaj'iir: well, the master hired much better guards, who have shifts.
Drelion: Well, we shouldn't of rebelled... It was foolish
Khaj'iir: no it wasn't! We felt pride for a minute, and thats what matters!
Drelion: Yeah, but we had no defense, no mages... no training...
Khaj'iir: we could do it again, in sometime.
Drelion: Yeah, but we would have to get shields, better armor, better weapons.
Khaj'iir: I heard a carriage, full of Weapons comes by the plantation every Middas.
And a carriage of armor too, on Turdas.
Drelion: where are you getting to?
Khaj'iir: Well, if we could hi-jack the carriage, every few days, and hide the evidence, and train when the
Slave owners aren't watching, we could train.
During the night, too.
Drelion: well, i guess so.
Wait, isn't it Middas, today?
Khaj'iir: yeah. are you thinking what i'm thinking?
Drelion: yeah. Midnight, tonight.

Midnight, that very night.

Khaj'iir: The lizard, is ready. Is the bird, ready?
Drelion: The bird is ready. Let's go.

The two easily hi-jack the carriage, steal all of the armor, with a few other slaves, and go back.
They put the armor, in a hole, in the ground, with grass, over it.
The next day, they do the same, to the weapons, carriage.
1/4 out of all the weapons, and armor they need, they have.
They continue the same thing, three more times.
4 hours, before the rebellion, the maiden, slave, an argonian named:Okeva, and her friend, a khajiit, named Els'wayna, meet the slaves.
Drelion: Ok you have the orders, right?
Okeva: Yes. Replace all apples, with poisonous apples. Got it.
Khaj'iir: You know what to do, right, Els'Wayna?
Els'Wayna: Yeah, replace all the beverages, with poison.
Later, at midnight...
Argonian Slave: ok, is everyone, armored with a shield, some armor, and a weapon?
Khajiit slave: yeah. As soon as those two give us the signal, we will go.
Khaj'iir and Drelion: Are the other birds, and lizards, ready?
Khajiit and Argonian Slave: Yes. The other birds and lizards, are ready.
Khajiit slave: LET's GO!!!

The Khajiits easily take the east of the plantation, while the argonians, kill the master.
The two races, group together, and quickly take the west.

The slaves, try to escape, and get on a carriage.
The carriage is inspected, and the slaves, arrested.
The next day...

The slaves have been sold.
This time, the family that owns them, are a group of hunters.

Drelion: I can't take it anymore!
drelion attacks the plantation watcher, and is whipped.

Chapter 3- Phrophytic Hemophilia

Drelion: i heard their is a horrible disease, turning people, especially farm owners, into blood-suckers.
Khaj'iir: could that possibly, be an advantage?
Drelion: Yes. And it will be OURS. See, the plantation master, was infected, and he is very ill.
All of the guards and watchers, are with him.
Khaj'iir: I get it. What time?
Drelion: Three days from now. He is supposed to die then. Everyone will be mourning his death, which is a perfect chance for freedom.

SEE NEXT BOOK, THE DIVIDING LINE, BOOK 2- THE GREAT ESCAPE.
WHERE DRELION AND KHAJ'IIR FINALLY LEARN THE TASTE OF FREEDOM.


This story is cyberius' story. Cyberius is not responsible for this, if you have an offense to it.

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

THE DIVIDING LINE
book 2- The Great Escape

Chapter 1- The Final Rebellion
Chapter 2- Pirates vs Slaves
Chapter 3- The Last Dash to Freedom

CHAPTER 1- THE FINAL REBELLION

Drelion: Let's go!
Khaj'iir: OK, c'mon!
Argonian Slave: I got the mpa from the masters room.
It says, that their is one quick way from here, to Cheydinhal... in Cyrodiil.
First, we have to go through Trollback Cave.
Then, to Weeper's Hill,
Then, through Dead Lagoon.

15 hours later. Trollback cave.

Khaj'iir: Watch out for trolls, bandits, anything.
WROOOOOOOOOOOOOARR!!!!
Drelion: WHAT WAS THAT??!
Khaj'iir: L-LOOK BEHIND YOU!!!!
Drelion: w-w-w- what is that!?!
Khaj'iir: its an ogre!!!!!!
Drelion: RUN!!!!!!
everyone starts running.
into the hole, in the cave!
its too small for an ogre!
RUN!!!
Ogre: WROOOOOOARRRRRRR!!!!!!!!
the ogre smashes, and bashes, but everyone get's in the hole, alive.
let's go, i see a light
as the light get's bigger, they start seeing people there.
Bandits...
Attack, birds and lizards!
WRAA!
WROAHH!
HISS

the bandits are defeated.

they exit the cave.

Chapter Two- Pirates vs Slaves

To weeper's hill!
Khaj'iir: hey drelion, why do they call this hill, Weeper's Hill?
Drelion: Legend says, that a lady lost her husband, a soldier in a war. she kept waiting for his return, but he never did.
Drelion: hey do you see a figure? like a person?
Khaj'iir: yeah... now that youv'e mentioned it, i have.
Drelion: looks like a lady! Stop here, everyone!
Drelion: Are you ok, Mistress?
Mistress: I'm waiting...
Drelion: for who
Mistress: im waiting... for my..
The mistress suddenly turns into a hideous wraith-like, creature
Lady's Ghost: HERO!!!

khaj'iir: Woah! attack!
drelion: keep doing it!
two minutes later-
she can't be defeated... it's impossible...
Drelion: there has to be some way...
The lady's ghost stumbles into some fire, and she screams in pain
Khaj'iir: thats it! everyone, grab a torch, start attacking the ghost, with them!
everyone picks up a torch, and starts pushing away the ghost, to the cliff.
they finally, all throw their torches at it. The ghost perishes.
Drelion: wooh... ok, so far wer'e good.

Continue, on, to Dead, Lagoon!

At Deadly Lagoon...

This place doesn't look very hard, to pass. But there is a ship...
The ship draws closer, then pirates come off
Zombie Captain: attack!
Drelion: attack!
The battle is hard, and long.
Some slaves die. Some pirates die.
Finally, a match between Khaj'iir, drelion, and the captain
Drelion: Hiss!!!!
Kha'jiir: WROARR!
the captain's cutlass falls.
Khaj'iir: die!
khaj'iir smiles, while he stabs the captain.
the pirates are dead!!!!

Chapter 3- The Last Dash to Freedom

All of the places are secure... we should be entering cyrodiil, about... NOW!
everyone: HOORAY!
Khaj'iir: one problem though.
Drelion: What?
Khaj'iir: i hear, our old master's carriage... and barking...
Drelion: HE TRACKED US! run to cheydinhal, it's just past that hill, RUNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Arrows are fired at the slaves, but no casualties.

Almost THERE!

Cheydinhal guards, rush over, and start fighting the slave owner, and is slave owners.
WER'e FREE! were in cheydinhal!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And for the rest of their life, they wer'e happy.
Drelion got a house, at Rosethorn Hall, and a job, as a courrier.
Khaj'iir got a weapons store, and published the stories, on him, and his friend, Drelion.
In his first series, he is a khajiit, named Roh'nor, and his friend, Felishk
Drelion married a young argonian, named, Arava, and had two children; a son they named Khajiin, after khaj'iir, and
the girl, eliska
Khaj'iir married another khajiit, named Mer'nena
and had four kids. three boys, one girl the three boys were name:
Ele'ron
Bel-frine
Heg-Fraste
and the girl's name is: Fal'icicte

[AddictedtoMorrowind]

Maybe you could place your stories under spoilers...

[Avron the S'wit]

Maybe you could place your stories under spoilers...

I fixed this, and it's a good idea. It saves a lot of room and makes the page easier to read than those giant textwalls!

I am actually working on a piece with my character from Oblivion, but it...got a little crazy. I ended up making it a post-Oblivion story and then, of course, got lost in the lore and speculation of what happens afterwards, in that I hardly wrote the story but instead have pages and pages of "notes" about the Empire's history. (Originally, I shall have you know, why I first signed up for this site: to talk with people and get ideas. Obviously I got pretty side tracked fairly early on. ) I actually put it aside and forgot about it and only just recently found it again, and I might sit down and give it some time between my Skyrim plays.

Selfish plug ahead:

Spoiler:

In the meantime I am writing about two characters I crafted up in my free time and picked my favorite Oblivion guild, the Fighters Guild, to sort of practice how I would write the TES universe in my own style. I haven't updated the piece yet (although I did just start the next chapter), but you can read what's up here if you're interested.