Elder Scrolls: The Eel, the Falcon, and the Dremora
Mar 11, 2014 10:13:38 GMT 1
Mister Buch likes this
Post by Cali on Mar 11, 2014 10:13:38 GMT 1
Hey peeps, I decided to start writing fanfiction after aeons upon grueling aeons of not. This will be a (sorta) lengthy Elder Scrolls fan novella. I can't reconcile my interest in "Skyrim Pulp", at least not yet. Doesn't mean I won't get back around to writing it.
But yeah, hopefully you guys still like the taste of sweetrolls and haven't gotten tired of the smell of Tamriel's air and soil. Because I'm going in.
Also, hold back no criticisms or nitpicks. I'm as hardy as an ebony helm when it comes to feedback, and I can almost guarantee I've been critiqued by mudcrabs more fearsome than you.
______
PROLOGUE: Three adventurers lying to eachother
“I'm not afraid of dying.” The Imperial with the goatee said, rather a matter of factly.
The other two stared at him after he interrupted them. The conversation beforehand was completely unrelated to what he had led it into, and every bit as unprovoked. The winter wind from the roofless nordic crypt howled eerily above them.
“That's great.” The redguard piped, his face contorted into a thoroughly smartass and patronizing smirk. He then dusted off one of the pauldrons of his steel armor, turning to the third, a khajiit who stood and stared, his ears perking up. He looked even more confused than the westerner.
“Eal'Blonir seriously questions whether or not you still realize that all here are in fact, in a place of death.” The desert cat held out his paw, sweeping it in a gesture which outlined the nordic ruins they were in. They were knee deep in both rubble and the corpses of the recently dead and re-killed, draugr as they were called. Nordic warriors who fought in death as they did in life.
“I never doubted that, cat.” The Imperial replied, adjusting his ornate master smithed gauntlets, partially light steel and malachite glass, like much of his other armor. He then adjusted the hood atop his head, fitting it to a more symmetrical fashion. “I never doubted much of anything that's happened these past few days.”
“Why are you talking all philosophical now?” The redguard shrugged, cackling. “Up until now you were supposed to be some sort of unwavering evil wizard! Why the thinly veiled uncertainty all of a sudden?”
“I don't know... why the analysis of my personality?” The goateed middleborn replied to his western counterpart. “It seems so unlike you, Ferey.” One thing was certain, even though the goateed man had a change of words, he had no change of expression beyond a maleviolent and ungodly scowl, with accents of fierce confidence.
“What are you implying, you brass-headed Imperial bastard?” The redguard began to approach, taking short stomps as he shrugged, arms outstretched with an angered face upon his scarred head. “That I've never had the capacity to think? To observe?”
The Imperial's expression was deadpan, not wavering or changing stance an iota. “Let's be honest, it's not like you've ever seemed very bright.”
The redguard decided to stop his approach, partially because his steel toed boot was nudging a rather large draugr corpse, but mostly because he knew he would not be able to take down the notorious Imperial spellsword in single combat without being obliterated by a spell, or struck dead by his enchanted sword. A notorious marauder Ferey may have been, but he knew his limits. “Alright old man.” He took a few steps backward, holding his gauntlet clad palms out in front of him. “It's clear you jump to conclusions. You know nothing about me.”
“You never really said, have you?” The Imperial spellsword hissed. “You were always bragging about your career in banditry, or your exploits as a former mercenary. We know nothing about you because you never tell. It's as if you're trying to stay several steps ahead of the crust of your youth. Am I wrong?”
Ferey stopped for a moment. He glared at the warrior-wizard, trying to break a smirk and humor him with all the face saving expressions he could. It was clear that the latter bought none of it, but he said nothing.
Eal'Blonir merely crossed his arms, his opal-like feline eyes darting around, and his ears sagging and lopsided nervously. The Imperial shifted his gaze toward the cat. “And speaking of that, I think our khajiit friend may have something to say.” He chuckled, rubbing his chin. “What say you, Eal'Blonir?”
“Well...” The khajiit shrugged unceremoniously. “I think if Eal'Blonir and his three acquaintances came all the way down here to kill one another over eighty talents of Imperial minted septim coins, they may as well stop borrowing time from one another and get to it.”
Simultaneously, the redguard and imperial both let out a short exclamation, the former being a dissatisfied grunt and the imperial a soft huff which was likely a one-note chuckle considering the smile upon his face.
“Now wait just a second.” The redguard groaned, shifting his weight in his clunky armor waving both his hands in a resentful manner. “How am I supposed to be certain I'm heading into a fair fight?”
“What do you mean?” Eal'Blonir began dropping a few non-essential bits of his equipment, as well as moving his belt mounted archer's quiver to the rear axis of the right side of his hip, and loosening the snag on his katana.
“What do I mean?” Ferey scoffed. “Well aside from your card-marking, dice-loading, sneak-thieving, never won a fair fight in your life furry ass, I've got to deal with a notorious conjurer of spells, plotter, and craftsman of human wreckage!” He looked toward the spellsword, who merely raised his eyebrows in reply. “I'm an honest warrior, a fighter.”
“A serial caravan robber, bandit, arsonist, and murderer. But a fair fighter none-the-less, I suppose.” The Imperial smirked, removing the cloak which covered his malachite glass armored self.
“Well... the redguard is undefeated, so it worked for him.” Eal'Blonir chuckled, walking down into the center of the room and producing an hourglass.
“Oh no you don't.” The spellsword barked, stomping toward him. “Enough tricks from you, cat.” He produced his own hourglass, setting in the center of the room. “I'd much prefer I use my equipment for this.”
“If the mage wishes.” Eal'Blonir stopped, walking back and gently tossing his own hourglass into his pile of belongings. He then returned to the circle, staring at the redguard who merely looked upon his own armored boots.
“Does Ferey wish to count the water spots on his greaves all afternoon? Or will he join us?” Eal'Blonir asked.
“If there weren't a damned thing in this for me.” He broke silence after a few moments, dropping the rucksack off his shoulders, as well as his bandoliers. “Then I wouldn't toe it with either of you milkdrinking shit-bathers.”
“Be polite redguard.” The villainous cyrodillic spoke. “These are to be our last moments together, and I'd rather you'd be exercising your best manners.”
“Khajiit is surprised to actually agree with the dremora eyed, glass-clad fiend that stands before him.” Eal'Blonir nodded. “Perhaps you should fall in before the sand runs its course.”
He dropped his steel shield with a resounding clunk, a firm grip on his ebony longsword as he walked toward them, stopping when the hourglass was perfectly centric to all of them, the three adventurers forming a bit of a circle or symmetrical tripod around it.
“So... you really not afraid of dying?” The redguard asked the imperial as the sand ran through the neck of the hourglass, the winter sky above the roofless crypt beginning to shed snowflakes.
The spellsword looked upon the armored bandit, his smirk turned into a vicious grin. “You're the most frightened soul in this crypt, and you know it, redguard. You're a chicken in knight's armor... a steel clad capon.”
“You think the constant sneers mask your real feelings you dragon-wanking Imperial ass?” Ferey was breathing heavily, as if seconds from full on hyperventilating. “Yeah I'm scared. But you, I know people like you... you're talking dirty one minute, then once your innards go on a great exodus by the helping hand of a sword, everybody like you lies on their back and using their last breaths screaming for their mother and pratting on about where it all went wrong! What did you do wrong? I know you have to have regrets, spellsword!”
Eal'Blonir caught the mage looking at him before switching between the hourglass, the rambling redguard, and back to him with no discernible pattern. “Uh-oh, times like this when khajiit has to remember that I left my chestnut dice at the tavern we were in.” He shrugged.
The hourglass was more than three quarters through. “I don't know.” He sighed. “I don't know.”
“What is you don't know, little capon?” The Imperial patronized the third duelist.
“I've never been defeated in fights to the death, nor have I been beaten in sparring matches. And now that I'm here-” The redguard made a toothy open smile on one side of his face, clearly hysterical in solid fear. “I'm going to die. Gods help me, I'm going to die in this pit. I can't beat dishonest tricksters like you.”
“But you make it more interesting.” The Imperial replied. “Put up a fight, wave your sword around a bit before we do you.”
“Heh. Do.” Eal'Blonir grinned, his neck sinking into the collar of his tunic slightly and his ears perked.
“You pieces of shit.” Ferey looked at both, the hourglass on its last dozen grains. “You!” He then fixated on the imperial his hand tightly gripping the hilt of the katana as he was ready yank it out of his scabbard like a potato from a fiercely boiling cauldron, the Imperial doing the same for his broadsword, and his free hand beginning to emanate a bold furnace-red glow. “I'm the most wanted bandit in five of Tamriel's provinces, and it shouldn't be the secret that you are the most evil, wretched man on the face of this world!”
“Eal'Blonir would prefer it if you were at your best health, Ferey. Try to keep calm my friend, it should be a relatively short ordeal.” The khajiit told him.
“I told you.” The last grain of the hourglass plummeted into the mound of it's siblings. The room reddened due to one of the Imperial's charging spells, and filled with the sound of swords hissing in their sheathes. “I'M NOT YOUR FRIEND, GODDAMMIT.”
Not too soon afterward, the crypt was slightly more full of corpses.
But yeah, hopefully you guys still like the taste of sweetrolls and haven't gotten tired of the smell of Tamriel's air and soil. Because I'm going in.
Also, hold back no criticisms or nitpicks. I'm as hardy as an ebony helm when it comes to feedback, and I can almost guarantee I've been critiqued by mudcrabs more fearsome than you.
______
PROLOGUE: Three adventurers lying to eachother
“I'm not afraid of dying.” The Imperial with the goatee said, rather a matter of factly.
The other two stared at him after he interrupted them. The conversation beforehand was completely unrelated to what he had led it into, and every bit as unprovoked. The winter wind from the roofless nordic crypt howled eerily above them.
“That's great.” The redguard piped, his face contorted into a thoroughly smartass and patronizing smirk. He then dusted off one of the pauldrons of his steel armor, turning to the third, a khajiit who stood and stared, his ears perking up. He looked even more confused than the westerner.
“Eal'Blonir seriously questions whether or not you still realize that all here are in fact, in a place of death.” The desert cat held out his paw, sweeping it in a gesture which outlined the nordic ruins they were in. They were knee deep in both rubble and the corpses of the recently dead and re-killed, draugr as they were called. Nordic warriors who fought in death as they did in life.
“I never doubted that, cat.” The Imperial replied, adjusting his ornate master smithed gauntlets, partially light steel and malachite glass, like much of his other armor. He then adjusted the hood atop his head, fitting it to a more symmetrical fashion. “I never doubted much of anything that's happened these past few days.”
“Why are you talking all philosophical now?” The redguard shrugged, cackling. “Up until now you were supposed to be some sort of unwavering evil wizard! Why the thinly veiled uncertainty all of a sudden?”
“I don't know... why the analysis of my personality?” The goateed middleborn replied to his western counterpart. “It seems so unlike you, Ferey.” One thing was certain, even though the goateed man had a change of words, he had no change of expression beyond a maleviolent and ungodly scowl, with accents of fierce confidence.
“What are you implying, you brass-headed Imperial bastard?” The redguard began to approach, taking short stomps as he shrugged, arms outstretched with an angered face upon his scarred head. “That I've never had the capacity to think? To observe?”
The Imperial's expression was deadpan, not wavering or changing stance an iota. “Let's be honest, it's not like you've ever seemed very bright.”
The redguard decided to stop his approach, partially because his steel toed boot was nudging a rather large draugr corpse, but mostly because he knew he would not be able to take down the notorious Imperial spellsword in single combat without being obliterated by a spell, or struck dead by his enchanted sword. A notorious marauder Ferey may have been, but he knew his limits. “Alright old man.” He took a few steps backward, holding his gauntlet clad palms out in front of him. “It's clear you jump to conclusions. You know nothing about me.”
“You never really said, have you?” The Imperial spellsword hissed. “You were always bragging about your career in banditry, or your exploits as a former mercenary. We know nothing about you because you never tell. It's as if you're trying to stay several steps ahead of the crust of your youth. Am I wrong?”
Ferey stopped for a moment. He glared at the warrior-wizard, trying to break a smirk and humor him with all the face saving expressions he could. It was clear that the latter bought none of it, but he said nothing.
Eal'Blonir merely crossed his arms, his opal-like feline eyes darting around, and his ears sagging and lopsided nervously. The Imperial shifted his gaze toward the cat. “And speaking of that, I think our khajiit friend may have something to say.” He chuckled, rubbing his chin. “What say you, Eal'Blonir?”
“Well...” The khajiit shrugged unceremoniously. “I think if Eal'Blonir and his three acquaintances came all the way down here to kill one another over eighty talents of Imperial minted septim coins, they may as well stop borrowing time from one another and get to it.”
Simultaneously, the redguard and imperial both let out a short exclamation, the former being a dissatisfied grunt and the imperial a soft huff which was likely a one-note chuckle considering the smile upon his face.
“Now wait just a second.” The redguard groaned, shifting his weight in his clunky armor waving both his hands in a resentful manner. “How am I supposed to be certain I'm heading into a fair fight?”
“What do you mean?” Eal'Blonir began dropping a few non-essential bits of his equipment, as well as moving his belt mounted archer's quiver to the rear axis of the right side of his hip, and loosening the snag on his katana.
“What do I mean?” Ferey scoffed. “Well aside from your card-marking, dice-loading, sneak-thieving, never won a fair fight in your life furry ass, I've got to deal with a notorious conjurer of spells, plotter, and craftsman of human wreckage!” He looked toward the spellsword, who merely raised his eyebrows in reply. “I'm an honest warrior, a fighter.”
“A serial caravan robber, bandit, arsonist, and murderer. But a fair fighter none-the-less, I suppose.” The Imperial smirked, removing the cloak which covered his malachite glass armored self.
“Well... the redguard is undefeated, so it worked for him.” Eal'Blonir chuckled, walking down into the center of the room and producing an hourglass.
“Oh no you don't.” The spellsword barked, stomping toward him. “Enough tricks from you, cat.” He produced his own hourglass, setting in the center of the room. “I'd much prefer I use my equipment for this.”
“If the mage wishes.” Eal'Blonir stopped, walking back and gently tossing his own hourglass into his pile of belongings. He then returned to the circle, staring at the redguard who merely looked upon his own armored boots.
“Does Ferey wish to count the water spots on his greaves all afternoon? Or will he join us?” Eal'Blonir asked.
“If there weren't a damned thing in this for me.” He broke silence after a few moments, dropping the rucksack off his shoulders, as well as his bandoliers. “Then I wouldn't toe it with either of you milkdrinking shit-bathers.”
“Be polite redguard.” The villainous cyrodillic spoke. “These are to be our last moments together, and I'd rather you'd be exercising your best manners.”
“Khajiit is surprised to actually agree with the dremora eyed, glass-clad fiend that stands before him.” Eal'Blonir nodded. “Perhaps you should fall in before the sand runs its course.”
He dropped his steel shield with a resounding clunk, a firm grip on his ebony longsword as he walked toward them, stopping when the hourglass was perfectly centric to all of them, the three adventurers forming a bit of a circle or symmetrical tripod around it.
“So... you really not afraid of dying?” The redguard asked the imperial as the sand ran through the neck of the hourglass, the winter sky above the roofless crypt beginning to shed snowflakes.
The spellsword looked upon the armored bandit, his smirk turned into a vicious grin. “You're the most frightened soul in this crypt, and you know it, redguard. You're a chicken in knight's armor... a steel clad capon.”
“You think the constant sneers mask your real feelings you dragon-wanking Imperial ass?” Ferey was breathing heavily, as if seconds from full on hyperventilating. “Yeah I'm scared. But you, I know people like you... you're talking dirty one minute, then once your innards go on a great exodus by the helping hand of a sword, everybody like you lies on their back and using their last breaths screaming for their mother and pratting on about where it all went wrong! What did you do wrong? I know you have to have regrets, spellsword!”
Eal'Blonir caught the mage looking at him before switching between the hourglass, the rambling redguard, and back to him with no discernible pattern. “Uh-oh, times like this when khajiit has to remember that I left my chestnut dice at the tavern we were in.” He shrugged.
The hourglass was more than three quarters through. “I don't know.” He sighed. “I don't know.”
“What is you don't know, little capon?” The Imperial patronized the third duelist.
“I've never been defeated in fights to the death, nor have I been beaten in sparring matches. And now that I'm here-” The redguard made a toothy open smile on one side of his face, clearly hysterical in solid fear. “I'm going to die. Gods help me, I'm going to die in this pit. I can't beat dishonest tricksters like you.”
“But you make it more interesting.” The Imperial replied. “Put up a fight, wave your sword around a bit before we do you.”
“Heh. Do.” Eal'Blonir grinned, his neck sinking into the collar of his tunic slightly and his ears perked.
“You pieces of shit.” Ferey looked at both, the hourglass on its last dozen grains. “You!” He then fixated on the imperial his hand tightly gripping the hilt of the katana as he was ready yank it out of his scabbard like a potato from a fiercely boiling cauldron, the Imperial doing the same for his broadsword, and his free hand beginning to emanate a bold furnace-red glow. “I'm the most wanted bandit in five of Tamriel's provinces, and it shouldn't be the secret that you are the most evil, wretched man on the face of this world!”
“Eal'Blonir would prefer it if you were at your best health, Ferey. Try to keep calm my friend, it should be a relatively short ordeal.” The khajiit told him.
“I told you.” The last grain of the hourglass plummeted into the mound of it's siblings. The room reddened due to one of the Imperial's charging spells, and filled with the sound of swords hissing in their sheathes. “I'M NOT YOUR FRIEND, GODDAMMIT.”
Not too soon afterward, the crypt was slightly more full of corpses.