Hello Fan Fiction community, it's good to see you again. I am here to display my latest brainchild, Fallen Champion. Previously called Darkom's Tales, this fan fic follows an orc as he reccounts his past and tells us the story of his time as an arena combatant and, later, a bandit. It is originally a few fights in the arena, but quickly changes pace. For more information regarding the story, read it

Garzog

Prison is never any fun. The inmates are rude, the food is bad, and you never get to fight anyone. Unless of course you count the guards beating you every chance they get. But then, if you fight back, they take away your food for the day. Unless of course if you're a repeated offender, like me. Then they have a special punishment for you.

I am Garzog, an Orc, and proud of it. I have been on the other side of the law all my life. In childhood I was a delinquent who was later adopted by a wealthy family. After an uneventful upbringing in the Imperial City, I fought in the Arena for a while. After a few successful fights I? I got bored, so I became a bandit that gets thrown in jail every other month. Whenever guards would show up at our camp, my "friends" all run for their lives. I stay and fight, and usually lose. Guess that doesn't make me a very good bandit.

You see, when I was little, I was taught to never run away from a fight. Not by my adoptive father, that so called noble wouldn't fight a rat for himself. I was taught that by the arena champion.

When I was growing up in the imperial city, a stone's throw from the famous arena, a few successful combatants lived next to me. I never really paid attention to them, I was a good little pompous rich kid and did what my new family told me. Until, that is, he spoke to me.

The arena champion at the time was not Agronak gro-Malog, it was not even an orc at all. He was most likely the largest, most scarred Argonian I had ever laid eyes on. He called himself Kills-Men-Faster, but I think it was a joke, 'cause he smiled every time he said it. In the arena they called him the Crocodile, because he used his teeth almost as often as his sword when he fought.

I was walking down the street one day when he came up to me for the first time and said "Hey kid, you're an orc, why don't I ever see you practice fighting?"

I told him what I usually told the other children "Because my father tells me weapons are for brutes that never got a good education and don't want to go anywhere with their lives."

"Brutes?" He laughed "So does that make me a brute? I'm probably twice as rich as your father, ten times as famous, and I made it all with a sword."

I was amazed. How could such a big, rough guy be richer than my father, for whom money was everything? We talked almost every day after that, he trained me a few times, and the rest I picked up watching the arena fights.

"Hey, scumbag, time to go." The guard finally came to take me to my punishment.

He unlocked the door and led me out of the prison in chains. We walked through the imperial city market district streets; people stopped and stared as we passed by. I could guess where I was going from the conversations I had eavesdropped on back in prison. And once we passed Red Diamond Jewelry and were heading towards the double doors, I knew my fate. We we're definitely on our way to the Arena.


An ex-bandit in the arena can mean only one thing; I was to be set against a competitor as death sentence. I've watched Arena fights for years, including ones that involved people like me. The bandits don't win very often; I've seen it before though, once or twice.

The guards led me into the Blue Team's Bloodworks. Once we went down the stone stairs, they took off my wrist irons, telling me "If you try to run in here, there are about a dozen trained fighters to stop you."

The guard shoved me in front of the Redguard Blademaster, who I just so happened to know personally.

"Well, well, if it isn't rogue Gladiator Garzog? What are you doing here?" He asked rhetorically, looking past me, directing his question to the guard behind me.

"He was assaulting guards up in the prison. We decided this would be the best punishment. Make sure he doesn't come back, his cell is already taken!" The guard laughed.

"Lying bugger." I said as he left.

Owyn looked me up and down, cocked an eyebrow up in an inquisitive fashion and said "Assault? That doesn't sound like you."

"Yeah, well it isn't. Self defense is a bit more accurate." I said with a scowl. "So, who am I to fight first?"

"Just a couple of Pit Dogs. You think you can handle that?" He asked "I don't know what kinda shape you're in after all that time in prison." Owyn stood there; arms crossed, and stared me right in the eyes. I stared back.

"Too easy." I said, lightheartedly. I tried not to think about the more than likely end to the day. "So, you going to give me a sword, or am I fighting empty handed?"

"Yeah, yeah; I just didn't want to rush you to your death too quickly. " He trailed off at the end; I could tell he was remembering the old times. He silently handed me a long sword and shield, then motioned with his head that I could go up to the arena.

"Garzog." He called after me as I walked away.

"Yeah?" I asked, turning around to face him again.

"Give 'em a hell of a fight before you go down."

"Sorry, Owyn, I just can't do that." I said with a sad smile "I'm making it through today."


The arena is just like I remembered it. The smell, the sounds, the people; they all look the same. I felt like I was back in the good old days. The nostalgia ended abruptly when two Nords came running at me, claymores held high.


Constructive criticism is most definately what I am looking for, as I said, the whole purpose is to improve my writing. Thank you all.

EDIT: I have edited it twice now; though it is still inferior to my later chapters. Please trust me that this intro was not the best example of my writing and read on. Thanks again to everyone that has offered me criticism for this story.

I raised my shield up over my head, feeling a familiar tingle in my arm. It too ended when the huge silver claymore smashed down on my shield with an ear-splitting clang. The other Nord came up on my right side, swinging in a wide arc. I sidestepped and parried with my iron sword, swinging downward, causing a small shower of sparks where the two blades met. I spun off towards my left, running towards the large stone pillar on the side of the arena.

Meeting the pillar, hearing the Nords yell from behind me, I stopped on the outer side of the column. Turning to face my opponents, I saw them running towards me recklessly, side by side. I rested my shoulder against the stone and raised my shield with the same hand, only the top of my large head above the round piece of metal. The obviously inexperienced Nords continued towards me as I lowered my body into a crouch.

My shield raised, my legs poised and ready, and my body resting against the pillar, those Nords stood no chance. They barreled right into my shield, just as I raised it up, flipping onto their backs. I turned to face them, "Poor souls, what should I do with you?" I asked, raising my sword.

"No, please. They sent us in when they heard we would be fighting a prisoner. Don't kill us, my brother and I really needed the money." The first brother was on one knee, a look of pain on his face. The other was flat on the ground, possibly unconscious, with his right leg at an odd angle.

"Unh?" I groaned, raising my head to the sky. The crowd seemed to have mixed feelings at the sudden inaction. Some were booing, a few were cheering half-heartedly, but most were just confused. I started towards the man, sword in hand and said "He will never fight again, and you're no hot shot either. Get out of here; tell them to send someone that has fought before, at least a bloodletter. Tell them I was once blue team's infamous gladiator, Garzog Golden Hands."

"Y-yes sir." He said, terrified. He lifted his brother up from the ground, careful about his legs. He dragged him towards the yellow team gate as I turned my back on them and walked back towards my own gate. I raised my head up and let out a long breath. 'When did I start sparing opponents?'

No criticism from my side. I like this Orc character. Keep it up!

I like this. It's nicely written in my opinion.

Thank you ^_^ I will work harder and release a bit more. Criticism is welcome, but a lack of it is almost as good ^_^. My plan is to have another battle to define his combat ability and develop him a little, then take a plot turn.

I like it. The only thing I have to say is Garzog is a little out of Character. He seems to noble to be a bandit, just letting those nords live, a bandit would only stop fighting if they were losing. Unless you are trying to show he isn't really that bad.

Thank you for the concern, but I never intended for Garzog to be a true, hardcoe bandit. To reveal a bit about his past now, he started his bandit life with a group of young guys that didn't know what they were doing. He was the only one among them that could fight at all, and, as I said, the others ran when the Legion came to take care of them. So yes, he got soft as a bandit, and is a bit too noble for it. Thanks again.

I left the main arena and re-entered the bloodworks. After a quick rest at the altar, I walked through the training floor. Everyone, even the Grand Champion, stopped to look at me. They weren't used to having a criminal beat even the lowliest combatants. I just walked tall and smiled until I reached Owyn. I placed my clean long sword on the rack to my right, and kept the shield strapped to my forearm. Owyn wasn't surprised, and he wasn't happy. He stared at me with a look that spoke of a mix between guilt and shame. He spoke clearly, never looking me in the eye "The yellow team has already sent word of your next fight. They actually sent it with the first one, just in case. They want you to fight a single bloodletter, a Bosmer archer."

I was outraged at their discourtesy; to send a combatant back immediately after a fight, without asking him first, was unheard of. Then I remembered I wasn't a combatant anymore, and this wasn't supposed to be a fight. It was designed as an execution. I took my sword up again and walked away from Owyn without saying a word. This was hard enough on him already?


The announcer called my opponent's name this time. He never bothered to say mine; I was just "The Bandit". Honestly, does no one remember me? I guess a few more fights out to get their memory flowing.

He was short, even for a bosmer; I wouldn't put him over five feet tall. He also apparently had some kind of inferiority complex, because they announced his name as "The self-proclaimed King of the Bow!" Nonetheless, a gaggle of bosmer in one corner of the stands cheered him on feverishly. He fired an arrow before the gates were even all the way up.

Fortunately for me, my shield was down at my feet, waiting to be picked up, and deflected the cheap shot. The impact caused a strident noise of metal scraping metal as the arrow deflected off iron. I quickly grabbed the handle of my shield and stepped into the ring. The yellow team coward on the other end, however, chose to stay in his gate for a bit. The rules said you could stay there as long as you liked, but I doubted he would, being that it put the sides of the arena in his blind spot.

I ran out of my gate and to the right wall, stopping where a pillar interrupted his line of sight. As I had suspected, he moved into the ring to try to get a shot at me, and I made sure to keep the pillar between us. Once he was about halfway between his gate and the center circle, I crept towards the stone column. He continued to move, trying to find me along the wall, until he was almost at the middle of the ring. Once he was, I jumped out on the side of the pillar facing the yellow team gate.

He saw me running towards him, notching an arrow as I raised my shield. I heard the twang of his bow, followed immediately by a sharp pain in my left thigh. However, the injury was shallow and I kept running. As I closed in, he drew his short sword and started backpedaling. I had all the advantages: momentum, size, reach, and a shield. His only friend was speed and the fact I was injured.

I brought my sword down in a long arc, on his right side. He tried to parry, just barely avoiding fatal injury as I glanced his shoulder. My war cry reverberated throughout the arena as I brought my sword down in a back-swing, stepping forward with my left foot. He dodged out of the way nimbly, and I responded by stepping up, sword ready at my side, the tip pointing towards his gut. I stepped up again and thrust forward with my whole upper body, moving my arms last. He made an effort to parry and dodged to my right, stopping his backpedalling for a moment. I used the momentum of my blow to perform a practiced spin, going at him shield first.

He jumped to avoid my shield, but the longer reach of my sword got him as I finished my spin. He made an attempt to block it with the edge of his short sword, but my swing was too great. His sword flipped out of his hand and my blade continued towards his right shoulder. I felt the muscles and bones give way with the signature wet crunch of a defeated opponent. Blood stained my sword and body alike, warm and enveloping. As the blood hit me he gave out a bellow of pain. All five of my senses exploded with a fiery rage.

I withdrew my sword as I hit his torso with my shield. He fell backwards, right arm useless. Owyn later told me he cried for mercy, tears streamed down his face with the desperation of one who sees death in his fellow man; but at the time I couldn't tell. I brought my sword down once, twice, again and again, blood stained the dirt of the arena and its combatants. My normal vision returned first, I realized the archer no longer had a full complement of limbs, his arms more or less decimated and his legs were a bloody mess of flesh. Bones were exposed through still bleeding wounds, no longer white but red in color. Next I saw his face, crushed in on one side completely, his right eye was gone, and the bones seemed to have disappeared.

My right arm stopped when I heard the soft whimpers from his semi-conscious remains. I looked at myself, coated in blood and sweat, and felt a dull emptiness that mercifully blocked the pain of the knowledge of what I had just done. I walked back to my gate, dropping my sword on the ground. The crowd snapped out of its shock with cries of outrage. Of the section that had cheered for the elf in the beginning of the match: many were crying, and the others had left the stands in a rage. I turned my back on them again to open the door back to the bloodworks, and the furious blue team combatants it contained. I really didn't feel up to facing them, especially Owyn...

And I was right, one got right up in my face. He was a dark elf, and he demanded to know where I got off as a criminal killing a member of the arena. Truth be told, he probably wouldn't be so mad if I had stopped when the archer gave in, or even when he was dead. I walked right past him, towards Owyn, for his reassuring words to ease my despair. I found none.

"What was that? I haven't seen you like that since?" He stopped, thinking "Since you left the arena?" His eyes trailed to the ground, now feeling guilty about reminding me of that day.


My orc-craft armor gleamed in the noon sun, and my long black hair blew in the wind. I looked like a story-book hero, a knight in shining armor. I fancied myself so, too, quite the conceited gladiator. I won some fights in the arena, just like I told Crocodile I would do the day he died, and figured I could take on anyone. Unfortunately for me, I was right.

My yellow team opponent for the day was a fellow orc. He wore steel armor, and had a huge iron war hammer. Idiot thought he could catch me with that. I far preferred my silver long sword and shield.

He ran at me, yelling from the bottom of his lungs, a deep roar that would send a lesser man running. I just raised my shield and waited. I knew my shield couldn't stop that hammer, but it could be useful for countering. I decided I would sidestep to the right, and smiled over a new victory.

He swung overhead, as I expected, and made it easy for me to jump to his right. I kicked the handle of his hammer, and felt a jolt run through my body. N'wah had an enchanted hammer! Those gloves must be shock resistant, then. The fool smiled as I jumped backwards.

I sincerely hoped nothing else on him was enchanted, and ran to attack him again. He brought his hammer back up, a small lightning bolt jumping from it to the ground. He prepared for a side swing, and I knew a backwards dodge would be necessary. He swung as I expected, and I dodged perfectly, not too far or too close. I pushed off my left foot and leaped forward, sword flashing in the sun as it arced towards his chest.

He tried to bring his hammer back around, but the momentum of his last swing made it take too long. My sword connected with the joint in his cuirass, under his arm, and tore through leather and flesh. The armor kept my sword from going in further with a dull noise, and I retrieved my blade, blood flowing down to the hilt, staining my gauntlet, warming my hand.

He howled with pain, taking one hand off his hammer to feel the wound. I smirked, and his look of pain turned to rage. He brought his hammer up above his head in a predictable down swing preparation, and I responded only by scoffing at him. He started to bring it down, paying no attention to subtlety in combat, and roared again. Louder, more primitive than the war cry at the beginning of the match; he wanted to kill me. I raised my shield up and knocked it into the underside of his raised elbows, hard enough to throw him off balance.

I complimented the motion with a stab of my sword, into the chainmail between his left greave plate and his groin plate. I knew it was a low blow, literally, but I was taking no more chances. I pierced the rings and my sword went deep between the bones of his pelvis, skewering organs and tearing muscle. He fell, his hammer falling behind his head; his arms were still raised up. I let go of my sword, and let him hit the arena floor, still screaming out.

He was alive, for now, but he was fading fast. Blood stained the dirt under him, causing a puddle to form quickly. I stared down at him, feeling a fire start to burn in my gut. The flames travelled from my stomach to my lungs, and then out to my arms and head. I tasted it on my tongue, smelt it in my nostrils, and heard the howl in my green ears. My vision was gone, and I felt the familiar sensation of walking. A small, conscious corner of my mind figured my body was taking me back to the bloodworks, until I felt a rough handle, like an axe shaft, in my hands. A sudden vision of the hammer my opponent had been using flashed to my conscious mind, and I tried to drop the weapon. My arms no longer belonged to me; they were the tools of a beast.

They rose and then they lowered with a heavy force. They rose, and lowered, rose and lowered, for who knows how long. It felt like hours of mindless labor, but I never grew tired. The motion seemed only to give me strength, made me feel right. My knight in shining armor was gone, only a dark warrior remained, hungry for the blood of innocents. My mind returned to the bloodworks, into blessed relief from the memory.

When I came to that day, not only had I brutally desecrated my opponent, but several other combatants and guards that came into the arena to try and stop my fury. I was a criminal, and I thought I would be executed for my crimes. The red flame of rage was replaced with a yellow one, one of pure instinct to survive. A flight response, out of the arena, out of the gates, and to a small cave on the other side of Lake Rumare. My life of a bandit had begun that day, I was no longer a gladiator, tall and proud in my arena, I was a shell of a warrior. One of many corrupted fighters that prowled the countryside.

I broke down and cried, right in front of Owyn, right in front of Agronak gro-Malog, and all the other fighters who were only so recently furious with me.
They didn't know what to do. They were all feeling a mixture of guilt, fear, and pity. They backed away, only Owyn comforted me in my moment of shame. My large, thick head lay in my equally large hands, smearing blood on my face from the bosmer I had recently killed. It only made me sob harder.

Hooray, we should have the title changed soon^^. Thanks moderators.

In the meantime, how about another chapter?


I settled down maybe fifteen minutes later, and then put on a tough guy persona in an attempt to hold onto the sliver of reputation I had left. At least they weren't trying to kill me anymore. I was standing in a dark corner, looking sullen, when I heard the sound of metal boots on the stone steps that led down into the bloodworks. I wasn't the only one to turn my head and look at the imperial guard that stood at the bottom of the stairs, but I was the most concerned. I didn't move, and the guard took at least five minutes to find me, and by that time, he wasn't happy.

"I gotta tell ya, orc, we didn't expect to have to send anyone out to get you. But the soft idiots that organized the fights said nobody wanted to see you again, so you don't get to fight anymore. So we gotta take you back to the prison, and deal with you there." He wore no helmet, and his scowl was interrupted only by the occasional smirk when he insulted others. He twirled wrist irons around on one finger, and had apparently didn't find it necessary to bring any weapons.

"Sorry I didn't die fighting, officer. They didn't want me going out again on account of the fact that out of the three guys I fought today, one now lacks any kind of a face to speak of." I covered the grief with a bragging attitude. Maybe I could intimidate the guard.

"Maybe we can add that to your sentence." He laughed cruelly "Now come on." He held out the wrist irons, I put them on, no sense fighting him now. "Now walk." He indicated the door with his index finger, and I started towards the stairs. He followed behind me.

We made it out of the arena and through the double doors to the market district with minimal pushing and insults on his part, and muttered curses on mine. Once again the citizens leaving the stores for the day stopped and stared. Some of them pointed and whispered to each other; apparently news of my new career in the arena had spread fast. A few bosmer were staring at me with open malice, I assumed some were the fans from the arena.

The two guards opened the double doors in a showy manner; apparently they took pride in their work. I looked up at the prison tower as soon as the crack in the doors was wide enough, and then mounted the steps leading to the bridge. My eyes left the tower as I started down the bridge and gave me the chance to look around at the beautiful scenery.

Lake Rumare was all around me, and that was encircled by forest. Dense greenery, its smell permeated the lake air with an aroma that combined with my other senses to put me in complete ecstasy. It lasted only moments, but it gave me reason to live, to forgive myself for what I had done. It stabbed my empty heart like an icy dagger; it filled me with new passion.

My epiphany of bliss ended when the guard behind me delivered a swift quick to my lower back, his booted foot contacted with my spine and caused me to see spots as I fell. My face hit stone just as the guard chastised me "Get moving, orc. I don't have all day for you to look around at what you'll never have again."

His words, more than his actions, took away my euphoria. My strangely cold happiness was replaced with fiery anger, he reminded me of my hopeless situation. What I had managed to forget during my fights, my memories, and my grief returned with the hollow blaze, and I found myself trying to resist it. I couldn't dig myself in deeper, not now, but my thoughts no longer mattered. I had leaped onto my feet and turned to face my oppressor.

His face was contorted in anger, he said something, I saw his lips move, but I couldn't hear it. My conscious mind was filled with only dread as my vision faded. All I retained was the self awareness of what my body was doing. My arms went back further than the shackles should have let them, I assumed they were broken. Then they smashed forward as my legs pushed me ahead. They stopped suddenly, I couldn't feel the collision, but the only solution was that I had hit something, hard.

Every second felt like an hour in my retracted mind, so the experience of jumping, flying, and then falling felt like a millennium. The resistance felt told me I had hit the ground, my mind told me I was escaping. Suddenly, I was running. I ran, avoiding obstacles I could not see, until I felt a new sensation. My gait changed, my legs were still moving as fast as they were, but I wasn't moving as fast. I realized I was running on sand. Suddenly I hit the water. My legs kept running until my feet left the ground.

My body was sure in its strokes across the lake, but my mind was torn in half over whether I should try to turn back and give myself in, or that this was a good thing. I was going to the forest, I could feel it again, and I could be free.

I regained control of my sight in time to see myself climb onto the shore of what I assumed was the northern edge of the lake. I kept running as I slowly regained my body; I turned my head to look behind me as soon as I was able. Guards were shouting from the bridge; some were running towards the prison, but most were making their way down the hill leading to the lake. I had a precious lead, and I refused to waste it now. I kept running as fatigue struck me, losing myself took more out of me than I thought. My legs felt injured, the fall must have been severe.



Long paragraphs, trying to convey the message as much as I can from first person. If you couldn't tell, Garzog has a rare form of the orcish berserk, triggered by extreme emotional or physical stress including sensory overload. It causes a loss of senses and control over his body as a primal instinct takes over, accomplishing Garzog's underlying goal, if not what he really wanted at the time. You could call it multiple personalities...

Anyway, he has escaped the city after a few fights in the arena, and the story doesn't end there!

A thanks to the moderators (Dogsbody) for re-naming the thread. 3 cheers for a long future of fan-fics ^^.

I was right, I could tell by the spread of the city that I was on the north shore. I hadn't been this way often, but I knew a rough layout by various maps. The Red Ring Road surrounded the entire north side, and there were few inns or settlements. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I was getting as far from the capital as possible. No idea how many guards were after me, but word shouldn't have gotten to other cities yet. If only I had a horse!

I could see the road fifty feet ahead, and an inn just beyond it. How lucky I was to find somewhere to spend the night, I doubted any guards would check such a dingy inn. It was entirely wooden, with a small fence around it. As I crossed the road, looking up and down it for torches of guards, I noticed greenery surrounded the small two story house. Bushes and trees stood right against it.

No sign told me the name of the inn; I wouldn't have been able to read it in the fading light anyway. I was about to open the door when I realized I had no gold with which to buy a bed. I hoped the innkeeper wouldn't ask any questions if I sat down without buying anything as I opened the rickety door.

The inside of the inn was small but cozy. Several adventurers sat at wooden tables, mugs in their hands and weapons on their backs. Behind the counter the Nord innkeeper was talking to a redguard man. In the dim light I could make out her brown hair, tied up in a knot. I approached the counter, not knowing at all what I was going to say, when she turned to face me.

"I don't know how to make this request any simpler, but to put it bluntly, Raelynn the Gravefinder must die." To my great surprise, she addressed me with some kind of deal. I was tired, sweat lined my green brow, but apparently she took no heed.

Not wanting to possibly ruin my chance to get a bed, I tried not to let it show I was being chased by armed guards "Greetings, Miss. I was actually hoping for a place to rest."

"There's a bed, of a sort. It ain't much, but it gets the job done. Ten gold a night if you're interested." I was surprised she wasn't upset that I hadn't taken her up on her offer to kill whoever she had a grudge against.

"Umm," I sheepishly raised my hand behind my head, rubbing my neck in a symbol of discomfort "You see, I don't have any gold. I was just robbed and hoped I could hide out here." Poor choice of words, but a half decent lie.

"Oh, well then, I can't just give it out for free. These idiots would drive me out of business." She changed her half concerned look to a smile as she joked, indicating the adventurers, who were still drinking and talking amongst themselves. If they heard her, they didn't show it.

"But?There is a bedroll outside you can use. And I'll let you stay for free if you take care of Raelyn?"

Seeing as how I would be seen too easily if I slept outside, I decided I would have to take her up on her offer after all "Alright, I'll get this Raelyn person. But first, let me rest a bit in here."

Her face lit up "It's a deal, orc. Sit as long as you like, just make sure you get rid of Raelyn before tomorrow night. She hides out in a cave nearby, just up the hill behind this place. Be careful though, she is a powerful necromancer and has many undead to do her bidding. Ruining my business!" She ended, her face turning to anger.

"Got it, thanks." I gave a small farewell, and then collapsed in a chair. I rested my head in my hands and tried not to attract attention. I looked up at the fire, the flames danced and flared; smoke and embers escaped through the chimney. Out into the dying light of the wild dusk.

Sorry it took so long, I was gone for the week and busy with other Fan Fics, but I think it is well past time to update. Thanks for any criticism and a big thanks for reading this so far ^_^


I was awakened by the loud voices of the adventurers, who had apparently started singing. All of them were dead drunk, and proud of it. The two Breton men were sitting, heads barely off the table, empty mugs in their hands. One Nordic woman was standing on a chair, the loudest vocalist by far, and the last member, a khajiit, was leaning against the wall, mumbling the words to some song I had never heard. 'Most likely made up on the spot.' I thought.

The innkeeper was sleeping behind the counter, I could not see her, but her snores gave her away. I had no idea how she slept through that noise, until I realized I had probably slept through much of the first chorus. The redguard man I had seen when I first entered the inn was nowhere to be found, probably upstairs in one of the rooms.

I looked out the small window of the inn. The moons were shining brightly; night still had many hours with which to hold the land. Recalling the events of the past day, I felt lucky that no one from the Legion had checked this inn. The sooner I left, the better, but I wouldn't be able to travel on a few hours rest in a chair. I needed a bed, but the only way I was getting one would be to kill some necromancer. I decided I would take care of it the following morning, and tried to drift back to sleep.


This time I woke in relative peace and quiet, the adventurers apparently could not last the night, and the sunlight streaming through the windows caused them to groan and turn away in their slumber. I stood, my aching bones creaking and popping from a night in a chair. The innkeeper was awake as well, standing up from her seat at one of the other tables to greet me "Good morning, my orc friend. Will you take care of Raelyn today?"

"Yes." I said, not in the mood for conversation. What I was in the mood for, however, was breakfast. "Do you have anything I can eat before I go?"

"Sure, you can have a meal on the house, so long as you promise to clear out that cave." She walked behind the counter to one of the cabinets. She retrieved a loaf of bread and a pear from the cupboard, and poured a mug of ale as she continued talking "You intend to fight bare handed? I don't see any kind of sword or mace at your belt there?what was your name again?"

"Garzog," I said, forgetting the consequences of having people know my name in my drowsiness "And I have no weapon. I would use one if I could, however."

"Hmm?" She said, placing the foodstuffs on a small ceramic plate, and then taking them in one hand and the mug in the other, she walked over to me "Here you are, Garzog. I'm Malene, by the way. And if you want, you could probably borrow one of their weapons, so long as you have it back before they wake up." She designated the slumbering adventurers as she set the plate and mug on the table I had slept against.

"Thank you." I said, sitting down once more "They wouldn't mind?"

She took the seat across from me "They don't have to know. And if they do find out, I can take care of them, don't worry." She gave a smile and a wink, ending with a laugh.

"Well?" I considered the party of adventurers as I ate my small meal.

"Here, I'll get Rigmor's mace. She's a nice girl, a little fiery at times, but she wouldn't mind half as much as those men." She got up again, walking over to the Nordic woman. She was now sprawled out on the ground, leaning against the chair she had been on the night before. Malene picked up a spiked steel mace from the table nearest Rigmor, then walked back over to me "See? Fine weapon, you'll need one to kill Raelyn."

I finished my bread and took the mace from her "Thanks then, I'll make sure to deal with your necromancer problem, don't worry."

I laid the weapon down on the table and began eating the fruit on the plate. Meanwhile, Malene continued talking "You look capable enough, I don't have any doubts that you will be able to take care of her and her friends. I think she apprenticed a few other necromancers, so if you could take care of them as well, it would be very helpful."

"Mhm?" I said through bites of pear. My mind was elsewhere, I wondered if I would lose myself as I had done before. 'Would killing necromancers, evil people, make me go berserk?' I had no idea what that strange endowment would do next, or why exactly it happened. I did know that it had something to do with combat; the blood of my enemies made me go crazy. I saw no reason why necromancers would be any different from poor little bosmer in the arena, and the thought of mutilating another person, even a murderer, brought a chilling sensation to my mind.

I finished the last of my breakfast with a large gulp of ale. I stood, and said my farewell to the innkeeper "I'm off; I should be back in half an hour, with the blood of your necromancers on this mace."

I picked up my new weapon as Malene replied "Good luck, I'll wake up Pranol to come help if you don't return soon." I figured that must be the redguard she was talking to the day before, but I didn't let the thought trouble me as I approached the door. The old hinges gave a forlorn creak as the door swung shut behind me. The bright morning sun reminded me of my newfound freedom, but the cool green grass beneath my shoes made me realize it.

I've read the first two sections and something that strikes me about the story is that you try to squeeze too much into many sentences. Many sentences you write have three or four commas, so at times it feels more like he's rambling rather than having sharp memories. Like this one:

I think breaking that up and emphasizing one point or another through his history will keep it sharper in the reader's memory. Maybe make his thoughts of his history more episodic? Like including a couple strong thoughts here and there through the story and keeping it basic up front.

I'll add that details of what people are doing while having the conversation aren't always that important compared to the flow of dialogue. If we know who the two people are who are talking, we can imagine what would be going on often times. Or you can lead in with a couple details of the situation in which they are talking, then wrap with their actions to get out of it. I'm thinking of the conversation with Owyn. Make it a little snappier, like they're old friends in a tougher predicament.

In the second section, I would switch the description of how the Nords are wounded to be part of his consideration of letting them go. You can indicate that they are hurt from the action, but don't slow down to assess their damage until he is considering letting them live.

The story has an initial ring of Bloodsport to it, but skimming the rest I see it goes in another direction. I'll be reading the rest shortly. Keep it rockin'. :mohawk:

Thank you for the criticism. I started this work early on, a few months ago, thus in the beginning I was not as good at writing as I am now and made much more mistakes. Not saying that I don't currently, or even insinuating that I am very good, but I like to think that I have, in fact, improved. Thanks again, I'll look into editing those

EDIT: I did edit the first few chapters a bit, but I found Garzog's dialogue with Owyn to be un-problematic, sorry. The few comments I made seemed necessary to the action. This was the general area you were talking about, right?

Owyn looked me up and down, cocked an eyebrow up in an inquisitive fashion and said “Assault? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Sorry, but I hardly feel that would be insinuated, and although the story could go without it, I am hesitant to do so. I admit I have little knowledge of rhythm and "flow" within my stories and dialogue, so if you're sure, let me know. Thanks again.

It's not that there's some precident I'm thinking of for this, but a couple parts there felt overstated.

Like for this one I would have made it more like ["Well well, if it isn't that rogue Garzog. What brings you here?" he asked while staring at the armed men at my back.]

Here I would have cut that line because it was implied by the context. I'm not sure it's right to call the guard a liar though, self defense is assault when you're the one in prison and the cell probably has been filled.

Remember that this is just the way I would have done this, but if you make it sound like both of those actions were combined it feels like he isn't pausing the conversation much while he looks the orc over. [As Owyn looked me up and down, he cocked an eyebrow and said "Assault? That doesn't sound like you"]

People who are angry tend to be blunt. ["Self defense. Who am I up against?" I replied with a scowl.]

I see your point. I'll see what I can do, thanks.

Mhm, I totally agree, thanks for telling me specifically what was wrong. What you said looks a lot better

I'll review these two together as they run in similar vein. Some of the questioning about his actions seems inconsistent with the temperament of the Arena. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuRde4VxH4I There ought to be a ton of people cheering for him, the ones who bet in his favor. The guy he faced had better odds with the bow.

I don't know how long the story is going to be in total, but it might not suit the situation to have two similar scenes like this right next to each other. You've set up a bit of a mystery about why he is the way he is, but then you flesh it out quickly. Can the explanation be saved until a slower part of the story where you need something to break up the stillness?

I'm not sure it follows that kicking too much ass in the arena means you have to become a bandit. He can go run the fighter's guild somewhere. If there was a Bonnie to inspire this Clyde, the transition into hoodlummery would be smoother.

As a side note, Owyn doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who trails off into ellipses all the time.

You advance the story well through these sections. I'll keep reading.

True, I don't know characters much. I would have been better off doing it in the yellow team bloodworks...

The pace doesn't slow down too much, I really just took a few quests and changed them up a bit, not too original, sorry.

Hmm, you're right, I wrote the chapters that tell his past before I fully fleshed out the plot...I only have a few tricks up my sleave as far as his past goes. His personality, however, can change and be exposed further. I'm pretty sure my excuse for the whole bandit thing is that he grew up in a strict, plush home. He wanted to get out of the city, get away from the law, and yet still fight. Fights that aren't scheduled, without an audience. Needless to say, he didn't ever really find what he wanted.

Thanks again, Shades. This story taught me to really plan stuff out before I do anything, I'll make sure I do that before I continue with my Mage one, the Quest for Knowledge. Seeing as how I can only really do one now Well, I can do more, but people don't like it when you skip around the rules like that...Even when a moderator approved it.

Sorry guys, it's been a while. And another apology, this chapter will undoubtedly be of a lower quality than the others. I simply cannot write as skillfully as I wish. My descriptions are lacking, my combat is dull and repetitive, and even my characters are flat and unappealing. Hopefully I can change this someday. Oh well, enough complaining, here is a bit to get along with the plot. Hopefully I can get him out of the inn within the next chapter.


After the short trek up a wonderful grassy hill, I saw a small outcropping of rock that could only be the entrance to Moss Rock Caverns. I spied a dark crack in the rock, the only discernable entrance, and I tightened my grip on the steel mace. I approached the entrance slowly, preparing myself for the inevitable conflict ahead.

I forlornly wished I had also asked for a torch from Malene, as the darkness of the cave enveloped me. Fortunately, I could see a few torches up ahead, affixed to the walls of the cavern. Unfortunately, they also revealed two skeletal warriors, creaking as they mocked the movements of a patrolling guard. The stench of rotting flesh overwhelmed my sensitive green nose, I could see various pieces of cartilage and other bodily bits stuck to the skeletons.

They appeared not to notice me, hiding quietly in the dark, waiting for my opportunity to strike. When they both turned their off white backs to me, I crept slowly closer to them. I closed the final distance with a more or less silent leap, swinging my mace down on one of their exposed skulls. The skeleton fell to the ground, head shattered, as the other turned to face me.

It was also armed with a mace; an evil looking contraption formed of bones. I wasted no time bringing my arm back up, striking it in the side at an angle. Its ribs snapped as the heavy spiked mace swung through the skeleton, reaching its ribcage and similarly obliterating it. It fell to the hard rock floor in two pieces, making a small thumping noise as it hit. I wasted no time examining my kill, proceeding to advance through the narrow passage into a larger room.
Small stalactites dripped water hypnotically, causing small puddles to form in the cave floor. The water also allowed large patches of moss to cover the majority of the ground. Nearby torches gave a sickly, flickering yellow light, illuminating all but the corners of the cavern. I passed a hallway on my right, favoring the better lit passage at the far side of the room.

Leaving the larger room, I found the passage ended abruptly in a rotting wooden door. Stopping outside it, I could hear chanting from the other side. Some foul necromantic ritual, no doubt. I tried to find out how many voices there were, but the echoes made such a task impossible. I had no idea how they had managed it, but the moldy old door was stuck fast. The only way I would be getting in is with a key, or a strong shoulder. I chose the latter option as I swiftly broke through the door, exposing myself to the three robed necromancers within.

The chanting abruptly stopped, as they all turned to look at me. Finding myself suddenly exposed, I made a dash to a nearby column, shouting out to the dark mages.

"Give up Raelyn and the rest of you live!"

Their response was clear when a fireball exploded on the wall in front of me. Seeing as how it was pointless to simply wait there for their undead minions, I ran out from the other side of the column. My mace was raised up above my head, my legs pumping as fast as they would take me across the small cave room. I leaped up onto the upraised platform they were all standing on, flying over the few steps and landing a few feet in front of a very angry man.

I swung my mace down without hesitation, colliding with his shoulder. The crunching noise was immediately followed by a scream, then a deafening crack of thunder as a bolt of lightning magic whizzed off to my left.

I stepped over the body of the first necromancer, closing the gap to the other two. Once again I raised my mace, running madly at the man on the right. I caught a glimpse of his enraged eyes before I grabbed his small arm with my hand, swinging my mace as he tried futilely to escape. My last sight before my vision faded was the initial blood splatter.

I could not tell how much time it took before my mace swung down once more, but it felt like an eternity. I faintly heard more screams, this time it was a woman. I dully thought that it must be Raelyn.

By sheer force of will I made myself turn from the dying sorcerers, leaving them to slip away slowly, instead of my berserker mind's instinct to crush them further. To turn their bodies to bloody remains, desecrating these grave robbers and soul stealers and leave them without an intact bone. My body shook with each step as I made myself leave that evil cave. I by far favored the peace of the outside world. Where there was no one to fall prey to my violent assaults.

After returning to the now familiar inn, Malene seemed not to notice my melancholy as she celebrated the demise of her tormentor.

She tried to comfort me over my most recent victims "I realize it's in poor taste to celebrate anyone's demise, but Raelynn was evil through-and-through. You've done the right thing."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. But it doesn't make me feel better." I didn't even look her in the eyes as I said it, dropping the blood stained mace on the table where Malene had found it.

"Well, you have earned that bed upstairs, please, rest as long as you'd like."

"Thanks." I was not in the mood for conversation. I was not in the mood to think about the value of human life. I was not in the mood to think about how I had now broken my vow four times since that day. All I wanted to do was sleep, but my mind would not let me rest, keeping me up with dreams of my past.


"Father, please! I promised Crocodile I would meet him today!" I was thirteen years old, talking to the man I once called father. He looked up at me with stern eyes in his house in the Elven Gardens district of the Imperial City. I was already half a head taller than him, and at least twenty pounds heavier.

"I don't know if I like you consorting with such a heathen, son. It can't be good for you to sit and talk with that brute of an Argonian." He spat out the last word with disgust. Even though he often pretended not to care, I could tell he was not happy having an orc for a son. I heard him talking with mother before she died of how the orphanage had made a mistake, sending me instead of the Imperial son they had wanted. I stopped trusting my father that day, and haven't taken what he said at face value since.

"But Father, he's not a brute, he is very kind. He even teaches me sometimes."

"Teaches you! Teaches you what?! How to swing around axes and swords like a common soldier?! That is not the life you are going to have, son, and I don't like you wasting time doing so when you could be studying." Father would never understand. He had never been in a fight in his life, he didn't know how it felt. I doubt he ever even held a weapon.

"You know I could live a good life with a sword. He has. He told me himself how much of your precious money he has!"

"And he will one day die in that arena, killed by a bigger idiot with a sword. And the same will happen to you one day, if you keep insisting on these ridiculous fantasies about fighting for a living! The only good living you can make is the kind I can give you!"

"I don't want your kind of job, you?you weakling! I'm going to prove to you I can make a name for myself in the arena, and then you'll be begging me to simply acknowledge to people that you're my father! And you can't take this to your bank, Father, that I will never admit it again!"


Once again, thank you all for reading. Hopefully I can get out of this funk before school starts again. Maybe my next Fan Fiction will be a bit better for it

Hey, you can't criticize yourself like that! That's our job.

Yeah I talked to FC4 about it and feel a bit better about my writing. At heart I'm just another insecure teenager ^_^ Thanks for any comments, and hooray for page two!

Hooray! This chapter was much better than the last, I promise. I almost wish I could show people just this chapter when I talk about this Fic. Well, enough talk about it, read for yourself ^_^


I woke up thinking how much more comfortable the prison beds seemed to be. After a few groggy moments, I recalled how I had escaped from prison already, and the bedroll I was laying in belonged to the innkeeper downstairs. I didn't know whether to feel happy about my escape, because it meant I was a wanted criminal once more. Then again, I'd been a wanted criminal for years before my most recent prison sentence.

I found a couple of more or less new outfits in the dresser next to my bed, both of which looked like they would have still been junk when new. I opened the door to my room as I pulled the itchy shirt down over my midsection. I was surprised to see the Nordic adventurer from the day before standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the main floor.

"Why didn't you clean my mace after you killed those necromancers?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me!" The woman was wearing armor once more; the steel plates looked rather worn. She had the mace I had used yesterday in her hand and a rag in the other.

"Oh, that. Sorry." I said, rubbing sleep out of my yellow eyes. It was too early for me to care about her mace.

"Sorry?! This was a gift from my father, and if you're going to steal it, I expect you to at least take care of it!" She stepped forward; her breath stunk of day old mead.

"Okay, here! I'll take care of it for you!" I didn't bother telling her about Malene's involvement, there was a good chance this was the last I would see of this woman. Malene, however, would have to deal with her for who knows how long.

"Oh no you don't! You probably don't even know how to clean a weapon properly, I'll do it!"

"Then what did you want?!"

"Ugh!" She stormed off down the stairs, throwing the rag on the floor as she went. I probably could have handled that better, but I wasn't in the mood for apologizing to Nords. That would have been hard enough even without everything else that was going on.

I decided that I didn't want her gang jumping me later on the road, so I started down the stairs to make peace. However, one of her friends, the Khajiit stopped me three steps down.

"Well, that wasn't a good idea, prey." He was in fur armor, which I found funny being he was already covered head to tail in his own fur. However, despite his smiling demeanor, I decided not to laugh.

"Sorry, I just woke up." I started again, hoping he would get the hint and move. Whatever the reason, he didn't.

"Slow down, big orc. I'm not here to talk about Rigmor, the boss has a?proposition for you." I really just wanted to slug him in his smiling jaw, but that probably would be a bad way to introduce myself to his "boss". And besides, he felt familiar for some reason.

"Not interested." Once again I started to move down the stairs. Once again, he did not move. Now we were close enough, I could smell mead on his breath as well.

"Suit yourself, but make sure you talk to Claud before you leave." He finally stepped aside, and I walked past him without a word.

As I entered the main room, I realized I didn't really have a place to go once I left. I couldn't stay here, for certain, but I didn't really feel like becoming a bandit again either. I'd have to find a new bunch of idiots to help me out again. Suddenly, it hit me. I knew where I recognized that Khajiit from!

I turned around to face him. He was just standing there, looking down at me, smiling again. That was it, that smile!

"S'razirr?" My eyes grew wide. That had to be him, my old friend and fellow bandit S'razirr.

"Glad you remembered me, Garzog. It's been a long time." It was him!

"Indeed it has. Sorry I hadn't noticed earlier, friend. Come down, have a drink. I would say it's on me, but I don't have a single septim." I laughed; glad to have finally found a friend. Sure, he wasn't the best friend, they had left on less than pleasant terms, but he wasn't going to be the one to bring them up.
"I'm also glad to see that you are still laughing after prison. I myself took two years to laugh after I got out." His smile disappeared immediately. 'He did remember?'

"I got more years than you for that, remember? I was to be executed before I escaped."

"And you can tell me, and my new friends, all about it. Golden Hands Garzog." He spit out the last three words. He obviously hadn't forgiven me for last time?


Short, but I love it. Just wanted to post before I go to bed. I promise more tommorow. Or the next day

I liked the last chapter a lot. :goodjob:

Well, this one probably isn't as good asa last time, but it finally reveals the major plot point. Thanks for reading, everyone


"So, that's the deal, orc. You help us out with this job and we'll see what we can do about your bounty." Claud Maric, the gray haired Breton leader of the band of adventurers I had had so much trouble with today, said. I wasn't sure whether I could trust the man, but it was the best chance I had so far.

"You're saying this Umbacano can pay off all my bounty if I help you get this Ayleid carving?"

"That's right. My employer is a very rich man, and is very interested in these Ayleid artifacts. If you join my group here, then I promise you enough of the reward to make you a free man."

It sounded simple enough. I help them get through this ruin, find the carving, and they take it back to the city. The only problem is that I don't trust this man one bit.

"I'll have to think about it. When would you want to leave?"

"Alright, you think as long as you need. The ruin is a good ways away from here, near the Morrowind border, just north of the Black Marsh. It would take us quite a long time, you see, so it would be a good idea to leave soon." The Breton leaned over the table, his squinted eyes shining.

There was no reason for them not to kill me after they get the artifact they need, but there was also no reason for them to invite me along, other than S'razirr. It seemed like the group was capable enough, a single ruin shouldn't be a problem for them; so it had to be my old friend's recommendation. But he had no reason to tell his boss about me, it just meant less gold for them. 'Unless they wanted me on for good?'

"If I did come and help you out with this ruin, what would happen afterwards? You told me I would be a free man, but would continued?ah, employment be a part of this deal?"

"Umbacano might ask you for your help again, but continued work with us is your choice." His smile under any other circumstances would be very persuasive, but his answer was ambiguous enough that I couldn't tell his intentions.

"Like I said, I'll think about it."

"That's fine, my friend! Just know our reasons for haste, on top of the distance we'd need to travel, the longer you hang out in one place the higher chance of the Legion finding you."

"I'm painfully aware of my current affair with the law, thank you." My rough attitude might mar his opinion of me, but he can't think I am one easily disposed of. If he wanted to, he could easily alert the guard of my whereabouts. He had all the cards, and I hated him for it.

I stood up, the scowl obvious on my face. Perhaps my old Khajiit friend can assist me in my decision. There would be nothing strange about catching up with an old friend; I could safely discuss this with him without Claud becoming suspicious.

"S'razirr, could I talk to you for a moment?"

I watched him closely, noticing how he looked to Claud for confirmation before he answered. Claud gave a small wave of his delicate hand, obviously pleased with his power over the Khajiit.

"Of course, Garzog. What would you like to discuss?"

I walked over towards the bar, the Khajiit following me. Malene was nowhere to be found, S'razirr and I could speak in private.

"Look, I'm sorry the Legion found our camp, and I'm sorry they captured you while I escaped. But you've got to know, there was nothing any of us could have done. And you only got half a year for it! I was in there for twice as long before they tried to kill me."

If the words had any effect on him, he didn't show it. "And just how did you escape? I'm beginning to think that you were just released, and trying to play it up."

"I'm not exactly certain myself, S'razirr. I was going back to my cell after the Arena folks refused to let me fight anyone else, when my mind went blank." His look of annoyance increased, I could tell he didn't believe me "I'm telling you, when I came to I was on the other side of lake Rumare. That was only yesterday!"

"How convenient, you don't remember. I say what you're having trouble remembering is how exactly the Legion found our camp. From what they told me, you tipped them off!"

"You know I would never betray you guys! Where else would I go?" Claud and his two remaining gang members were listening from the other side of the inn, but neither of us cared anymore.

"I'd say you never did go to prison. I never saw you there, in fact, the only thing that even made me think you were there at all were the guards taunting me! And I'll wager you paid them off to say that!"

"Why would I go through all that trouble to make you think I was in prison?! Stop being selfish!" That was probably uncalled for, but he was bringing my honor into question. And if there was one thing Crocodile had told me, it was to never let anyone think you a liar.

"How should I know why you did it? Point is you don't have any proof you were ever caught!"

"You want proof?! Why would I be travelling the countryside without a single piece of gold, no weapon, no armor, and not even a loaf of bread?!"

He knew I had him beat. There was no other reason for that, unless I had just been robbed. And he and I both knew there were few men who could rob me.

"Argh!" He shouted, storming away. He'd cool down eventually, his doubts about my story refuted. However, it didn't mean he would be happy about it, and I wasn't looking forward to what his boss would say. I could very well have just lost my one chance at losing my bounty.

"Well, you two get along marvelously." He said, laughing. "So, what do you say, Garzog?"



Anyway, I feel like there is a lot to improve on in this chapter, but I can't quite think of what it is. Criticism is always welcome