My Turn
Morrowind Fan Fiction by Dagoth Jeff

I
Meril Hlaano sat at his usual table and sipped a bottle of brandy. It was raining fiercely outside, and he didn't have anywhere else to go. The Eight Plates was where he could be found whenever he did have someplace else to go. But he was a Hlaalu noble, and fortunately for him, rank has privileges.
"Need another bottle?" Dulnea asked from behind the bar. She knew that his bottle was still fresh. She was trying to make conversation to liven up her otherwise boring evening.
"Bah." Meril never looked in her direction. He stared at the wall, as if in deep thought. Perhaps he was depressed.
She glanced at the other tables. The place was empty aside from two other patrons, both well-known Hlaalu rogues.
The one known as Alvis always wore a full suit of bonemold armor, and never removes his helmet. Dulnea always felt that this was a rude gesture, but thought against asking him what he was trying to hide. As far as she knew, no one has seen his face. And Balmora's a place where talk is cheap and rumors travel fast. As far as she was concerned he was either a wanted fugitive or he was hiding battle scars.
Traven, the other rogue, nodded in her direction. She hurriedly opened another bottle of greef and took it to his table.
"I needed that." Traven appeared to be nervous, and often looked down the hallway to the front door, as if expecting someone.
She counted out 30 septims from the pile on his table and returned to her place behind the bar. Alvis, seated alone at a far table, was busy reading a rolled document. He slipped a hackle-lo leaf beneath his helmet, and didn't appear to need anything else.
The front door opened, and the sounds of thunder penetrated Eight Plates. The pattering of rain was audible until the door closed again, followed by the visitor's scuffing shoes across the floormat.
Traven slowly reached for his silver war axe, which leaned against his chair, and kept his hand on the handle.
Meril sighed as he ran a hand through his Mohawk, and Alvis never looked up from his document.

There has to be a more organic and drawn out way to do this segment of story. It's hard to provide criticism on the story itself as barely anything happened yet, but you should ease us into the room or introduce things slower so it doesn't feel like you're trying to over-explain things too quickly. Since there are several characters coming together in this meeting point, a fun way of doing things might be to write three separate chapters introducing us to them and then bringing them together in the Eight Plates and kicking things off from there. Then the normalcy of the situation will be in place.

No thanks, JK Rowling.

'It's hard to criticism on the story'?
Looks like you need some grammar advice.
A fun way of doing things is to casually proofread your post before posting.
Then the normalcy of your situation will be in place.

I missed a word, sorry. I'm all embarrassed and stuff. Who is JK Rowling?

Wow... somebody never learned to take criticism. I have to agree with him, it was short and almost nothing was accomplished besides a setting being vaugely established. Use your words to show us what your characters are like other than that they never take off a helmet. Also, you should have developed a plot somemore, I couldn't tell what was going on...

EDIT: JK Rowling wrote the Harry Potter series, it's a long series of long books written for kiddies. In dagoth jeff's sarcasm he was referring to JK Rowling as a great author, and if that's the best he could think of then I understand his paragraph-story.

Wow, it's only part one.
I was under the impression that creative writing comes in many styles. If everyone were to adhere to some critic's advice, the writings should all have a similar formula, which would make things pretty boring.
It was short because it's part one. I kept part one short, because as I scanned through the replies throughout the forum, I saw that some people preferred something short.
In case you didn't notice, the characters are already in-game. I left their descriptions vague on purpose, because they already exist. If someone else were to write about them, these backgrounds could clash.
It's too soon for a plot, because it's part one. That's also why you don't know what's going on. With these vague fragments I'm trying to jostle your imagination.

Is it normal here to release everything in a part one?
Is it normal here to devote a whole chapter to a character?
I'm just doing some writing. I wasn't looking to get published, so relax.

It's normal for a story to tell a story around here

If you can't take the heat then you probably shouldn't be posting writing here. It's a good thing Frodo didn't critique this, or myself.

Well, I'm not trying to get published, and I'm not posting in here for grammar lessons.
So yeah, you're right - it is a good thing you or Frodo didn't critique this.
Thanks!

What struck me first in the story is that the characters really are not explained. Even for so short a period of time or dialog, you could have gotten a few paragraphs out of the location. While I realize the inn and many characters are actually in the Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, game... not everybody actually has the game, and depending on where you live, Morrowind can be hard to find.

You could try adding in some additional description into your chapter so that it grabs the reader's attention more. To me, the writing seemed a bit 'iffy' in terms of being captivating. Usually with fanfictions or writing of any sort, you want to try and grab the reader's attention within the first five hundred words. Usually this is done with a hint of plot. It's never too early to include some plot, but if you want to keep things mysterious, what I would suggest is a bit of intrigue. For example, your main character could be puzzling over why exactly Alvis never takes off his helmet in public? Does he have a facial disfigurement? Is he really a wanted outlaw? Could he be a vampire trying to hide his identity from the unsuspecting populace? There are lots of possibilities, and I feel you really could have expanded onto that. I, for one, would have been very interested to see a fanfic based on characters featured in-game, but this honestly read like a bit of Morrowind NPC voice acting; that is to say, there was not really much of anything there.

One thing I should suggest, though, is that you decide if you are going to type in past or present tense. Nearly every other sentence (and sometimes within the same sentence) the text switches from past to present tense. It would make for an easier read to use the same style of prose while writing

Ooh, meow pvssycat. I can't really tell if you're just a defensive male or a catty female.
But your name does say Jeff, so I'm gonna guess you're a defensive male - well, in that case, you should stop acting like a catty female.
The writing was like a paragraph long, nothing really interesting happened at all, and it's also hard to CRITIQUE a baseless story.
So put your claws away, and go take the advice these wonderful people have given you, and go improve your writing.
And if you don't? Well then just go away, because you're being unbearably unpleasant.

Very constructive, thanks.
My past and present tenses are a train wreck...

II

A stranger rounded the hallway corner, out of breath and soaked to the bone. As he approached the bar, his squishing footsteps disturbed the tranquility.
"Does it always rain like this here?" He asked aloud. His legs were shivering. The question was mostly for the bartender, but anyone could have replied. No one bothered.
An outlander, thought Traven. He could be a Nord, but he wasn't built like one. Traven relaxed, and tried not to act interested.
The stranger gave a smile to the bartender. He was fishing for some hospitality. Her vacant stare wasn't offering any.
"Outlander," she said impatiently, "what do you need?"
The stranger sat on the stool in front of him, and grabbed a plaid folded cloth from the bar.
"How about some shein?" He asked, sounding unsure of his decision. He dried his face with the cloth.
She set the bottle in front of him, and he paid her.
He took a swig from the bottle and winced. He glanced around the room as he forced the drink down. There were three other people. Two were dark elves, and the third wore bony-looking armor. Perhaps he was a guard. The stranger took another drink and smiled again at the bartender. He almost made another weather comment, but thought against it.
"Come in through Seyda Neen?" asked a gravelly voice behind him.
He turned his head to meet the gaze of a dark elf. The elf motioned to an empty chair at his table. The stranger nodded and eagerly joined him.
"Traven." The introduction was nearly drowned out as the greef bottle met his lips.
"Svaaldig." He drank from his bottle, more as a courtesy.
"Svaaldig? I figured you to be an Imperial. You from Solstheim or Skyrim?"
"Neither." Svaaldig said, clearing his throat. "My father was from Skyrim." He patted his pocket, making sure that his only two remaining septims were still there.
Traven studied Svaaldig's common clothing. This guy must be desperate, he thought.
"I have a job for you, if you need the money." He offered, in a hushed tone.
Svaaldig took another drink and pretended to consider the question. He would do anything for money, given the circumstances. He ran a hand through his short brown hair.
"What do you need done?" Svaaldig surprised himself with his confident tone.
Traven waved off Dulnea's offer for another drink, and checked to see if the others were eavesdropping. They didn't appear to be.
"I'm a bit of a treasure hunter." Admitted Traven.
"Aren't we all?" Svaaldig grinned.

III
Svaaldig awoke early the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings. Aside from the red tapestry that hung above his head, the other three walls were bare. He lay motionless for a moment, somewhat tired, and watched orange hues dance across the ceiling from his bedside candle.
He sat up when he heard some faint voices from somewhere outside his door. If he was a guest in someone's house, he didn't want to appear to be rude by sleeping late. A simple wooden chair and table sat in the corner. His shirt and pants were draqed over the chair. A blue pitcher of water and a goblet waited for him on the table. A smaller green candle from the tabletop illuminated his shoes near the door, and an empty shein bottle lying on its side.
I'm still at Eight Plates, he finally remembered. His head throbbed a little. That's the last time I'll drink shein.
He groggily rose out of bed and his feet felt relieved as the stone floor's chill penetrated his soles. He approached the table and eagerly tipped the water pitcher into the goblet, and swallowed the liquid with one gulp.
I'm supposed to meet Traven soon. Svaaldig's memories became clearer. What was it he said? In front of the temple. Hang a right after leaving Eight Plates.
He quickly threw on his pants and shirt. The two septims stowed in his pocket softly clinked against foreign metal. He reached his hand inside his still damp pocket and produced a small iron key. He shrugged and left it on the table, and sat in the chair to put his shoes on.
He bid Dulnea a good day as he left Eight Plates. She merely nodded.
A heavy fog had settled around Balmora. The morning air felt damp, and Svaaldig was content that it wasn't raining.

Traven was patiently standing where he said he'd be. He wore netch leather greaves and matching boots, and leaned against a large boulder. His silver war axe leaned beside him in plain view. He shook his head in feigned disappointment as Svaaldig approached him.
"Am I late?" Svaaldig asked with a hopeful smile.
"Right on time." Traven leaned down and grabbed his axe, and walked past Svaaldig, back toward Eight Plates.
"Where are we going?" Svaaldig asked as he hurried to catch up. An attractive blonde Nord woman walked past them dressed in fur armor. Svaaldig offered her an awkward smile, but she didn't seem to acknowledge him.
They turned right, after the Mages Guild entrance, and entered a shop.
Svaaldig's eyes marveled at the strange and curious displays of a fully stocked shelf to his immediate left. He recognized the commonly crafted iron boots and helmet, but the rest of the armor pieces were made from primitive animal parts and odd bony materials. The skull of a fierce beast bared its lethal fangs at him in the form of a helmet. Another helmet and nearby matching shield resembled segments of a large lobster-like creature. Polished bonemold and bleached chitin made up the rest of the display. A statuesque guard stood on the other side of the shelves, equipped from head to toe in the same bonemold armor. He reminded Svaaldig of the armored man at Eight Plates.
"Greetings and salutations!" Piped a high-pitched and nasally voice of a male Wood Elf from behind the counter. He had just finished wiping down an iron briast plate with a cloth. He stuffed the cloth into his pocket and placed a gnarly chitin shortsword with the briastplate.
"Good to see you , Meldor." Traven said, politely bowing. He pulled a shiny stone from his pocket and slapped it sharply on the countertop. It was an emerald.
"I have a feeling that you and I are about to become very close." Meldor excitedly snatched it up and held it at arm's length above his head. He squinted an eye as he peered through the flawless green into the brighter parts of the candlelit ceiling.
Svaaldig remembered his payment conditions when he saw the emerald. He was about to check with Traven about it, but Traven addressed him before he could speak.
"And this one is yours." He placed an identical emerald in Svaaldig's palm. "If all goes well, and you want to work for me in the future, the sword and armor's on me."
Svaaldig was speechless. He'd never held that much money in his hand before. His past adventure payments were pathetic in comparison.
"It's only part." Traven added. "You'll get the rest when we get back, and then we can celebrate." He thanked Meldor, who was still eyeing his emerald's impressive purity, and turned to leave the shop.
Svaaldig quickly grabbed the briastplate and sword off the counter and jogged after him.

The briastplate was a perfect fit for Svaaldig. He wondered if Traven had recorded his chest measurements while he was passed out drunk. The sword was relatively light compared to what Svaaldig was used to. As they traveled towards the north end of town, he practiced his swordplay. It felt natural as he deftly cleaved the open air.
Traven didn't wear any additional armor besides his netch greaves and boots. He preferred full upper body mobility whenever he swung his axe in combat. He explained to Svaaldig that the last time he wore a cuirass he received a near fatal wounding from a crazed raider with a spear, and a cliffracer. Both wounds were in his chest area, and both incidents were on the same day. He took it as a sign of bad luck, and has preferred only lower body armor ever since.
They turned right at Traven's appointed meeting spot, and descended a stone staircase near the Odai River in town. The Balmora Temple was nearly rendered invisible through the dense fog. Traven wasn't sure if it was going to be a curse or a blessing.
"Traven!" A gruff and deep voice came from behind them. It gave Svaaldig a startle, and he nearly dropped his sword. An Orc quickly approached them wearing a blue shirt and brown pants. He pointed a meaty green finger at Traven's chest. His dagger-like fingernail penetrated Traven's shirt cloth.
Traven rolled his eyes at him and sighed. Svaaldig wondered if this was going to turn into a fight.
"Don't get yourself killed out there! You still owe me a lot of money, fetcher." The Orc said, adding particular emphasis to fetcher. He looked at Svaaldig and gave a throaty growl.
Svaaldig's mouth went dry. He silently prayed that he wouldn't have to prove himself to Traven by defeating this monstrous Orc. He gripped the sword tightly at his side, and looked at Traven for a signal.
Traven still had his axe casually slung over his shoulder. He didn't appear to be intimidated.
"You'll get your money, Shargam." Traven sounded agitated. "I told you I'll have it by the end of the week." He looked down at Shargam's pestering talon as it continued to ruin his common shirt fabric. The scratches on his chest were starting to sting, but he didn't want Shargam to see him flinch.
Shargam retracted his finger and crossed his bulging arms. "I thought you said by today." He gave a snort through his lower tusks. "Who's the fresh meat?" He studied Svaaldig. Thunder rumbled overhead and rain started to trickle down.
"That skull of yours must be solid bone." Traven hopped the axe off his shoulder and let it swing to his side, gripped by his right hand. "Should I open it up for you?" He brought the axe blade up to chest height, and checked the sharpness of the blade's edge with his left thumb. "You might remember it next time, s'wit."
Svaaldig spread his feet wider apart as he assumed a better fighting stance. Shargam wasn't armed, but Svaaldig had no doubt that an Orc of this size had the potential to ruin almost anyone's day. He tensed and waited for Traven to act first.
Shargam gave a grunt and stared into Traven's eyes. His large hands lowered to his sides, balled into gargantuan fists. He cracked a grin at the corner of his snarled mouth.
"Ready, Svaaldig?" Traven said, not breaking away from Shargam's challenging stare. He had both hands on the axe handle.
"Ready." Svaaldig raised the shortsword to waist height. He held out his left hand, palm down, for balance. He had never fought an Orc before, and was definitely frightened of this one. He was confident that Traven's axe would do most of the work. If he could sneak in a few jabs, he'd stand a better chance of surviving.
If Traven goes down first? Svaaldig considered the worst case scenario. He could almost feel his neck snapping effortlessly in the Orc's merciless grip.
Svaaldig checked his surroundings. A small group of people were pointing at them from across the river. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the silhouettes of two fully armored guards perched on a rooftop. The chilly rain slowly soaked his pants, and it made his legs shiver.
Shargam released deep-throated huffs that turned into loud, hearty laughter. Traven's eyes lit up, and he joined him. Traven laughed so hard that he weakly dropped his axe to the stone riverwalk with a noisy clatter. They embraced, and both wiped at teary eyes. Svaaldig still held his sword at the ready. He was confused at the friendly display before him.
"You weren't at the bar last night. I would have paid you then, you fool." Traven said, shaking Shargam's hand.
"I was over at Dura's. He motioned with his head vaguely behind him, to the south. "You know how it goes." He grinned and jabbed a thumb in the direction of Svaaldig.
They both looked at Svaaldig's wavering sword and burst into laughter again. Svaaldig shook his head in bewilderment and relaxed the weapon to his side. He nodded at Shargam, somewhat embarrassed.
"Going on a trip?" Shargam asked Traven. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on.
"My scout suggested I take a look into some ruins near Caldera. This is Svaaldig." Traven slapped his hand on Svaaldig's shoulder. "My new assistant."

IV
They left Balmora behind them on a sparsely cobbled dirt road headed northeast. The rain came down harder, and Svaaldig wondered if his clothes would ever have a chance to fully dry. The briastplate kept his chest dry and comfortable, and his misery was quickly forgotten as he admired the beautiful country before him. He watched in wonderment as a large fish darted by them south down the Odai River, back into town. Shrubbery and trees dotted the brown landscape, their swollen roots thrust downward into the saturated soil. Even the steep banks east of the river couldn't dissuade the unrelenting trees from sprouting.
They ascended a few stone steps that led to a short stone walkway that ran alongside the river. The craggy hillside shot up steeply to their left, and Traven paused to look upwards for any signs of danger. Svaaldig studied a small stone obelisk nearby. It was eroded and he couldn't determine its purpose. He assumed that it served as a boundary marker for Balmora. He followed Traven onward.
Roped safety lines supported by wooden posts laced the landscape to their right. They surrounded a steeply banked spring, the birthplace of the serene Odai. Svaaldig thought he saw something unusual in the dark waters. He froze in his tracks as he tried to glimpse it again.
"What's wrong?" Traven asked, as he glared at the swirling surface of the spring. "See anything?"
Svaaldig just shrugged. He didn't want to burden Traven with more questions.

Ropes lined both sides of the path, marking the way to a road junction with a wooden sign post.
"Pelagiad's that way." Traven tipped the axe blade from his shoulder to the eastern road. "Caldera's where we're going."
Svaaldig didn't hear him. He was staring at the magnificent rock formations behind Traven. His eyes followed a peculiar natural archway and noticed something out of place beneath it. Someone was either sleeping or dead, and the greed inside of him whispered possibilities of a discovery reward if it was the latter. He pointed his sword in the direction of the body to inform Traven about it.
A piercing shrill came from behind the sign post. They both spun around towards the sound, but the giant rat was already closing distance on Svaaldig. He instinctively raised his shortsword to fend off the attack, but his back heel slipped on the muddy ground. He cursed as he helplessly fell to his left knee. The large rodent lunged towards his terror-stricken face, and Svaaldig could smell his wet rancid fur. Rain water trickled from Svaaldig's bangs directly into his eyes, and he had to shut them to cease the stinging sensation.
Ssshink!
Traven's axe cleanly decapitated the rat in mid-air. It wasn't the rain in Svaaldig's eyes, but the creature's blood. His face was splashed with warm crimson, but the rain had most of it washed off quickly. He opened his eyes to Traven's hand. He grabbed it and rose to his feet, wiping the sticky mud from his pants.
"Let's move before another one shows up." Traven said in a lowered tone. His left foot pushed the severed head into the mud as he jogged towards the north road.
Svaaldig was right behind him, wiping his face with his sleeve.

I especially took my time writing these next parts. Having been humbled by some of you, I wrote with your critiques in the front of my mind. Is this past tense? Present? Future? Which one am I writing in? I've always wrestled with tenses. I have no idea why. So as far as I could tell, my tenses made more sense this time around - with a couple exceptions that I'm slightly concerned about, but I could think of no alternative. I am, however, definitely open to any suggestions. Thank you.