Hey everybody! I'm new to the forum but love TES and writing so I figure I'd give this a shot. Here's the first part of a little short story I've been thinking of writing. I'm open to criticism and suggestions and would like to perhaps join an RP if anyone has one that someone new to roleplaying could get acclimated to. Thank you all in advance!

Part 1:

Alvuris Crein had never been fond of darkness. That being said, he used the better part of his discretion and kept the torch unlit. He crouched down to catch his breath and attempted to take in his surroundings. The only sounds to be heard in that particular corner of the unnamed cave was the monotonous drip of what Alvuris hoped was water and his own hushed breathing. A sharp crack followed by a scream caught the young Breton's attention and caused him to instinctively tighten his grip on the crudely fashioned mace. After a brief prayer to Stendarr, Alvuris stood upright and slowly made his way towards the noise with his mace raised in anticipation.

The young vigilant of Stendarr didn't make it more than two steps before stumbling over a small boulder. Alvuris let out an involuntary gasp as his wrist slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch. The Breton cursed his foul luck as he scrambled back onto his feet. His left wrist was painful to the touch and Alvuris knew just by feeling that he had shattered a bone. After mulling over whether stealth or health would best help him see tomorrow, Alvuris Crein opted for the latter and concentrated his grasp on the Aether.

A dull blue light lit the small pocket of the cave that Alvuris was currently occupying. The vigilant was forced to put away his mace to better concentrate the restorative qualities of the magicka he was manipulating. An observer would see a homely looking man in his late twenties. Alvuris was shorter than average and still had a boyish face lined with pudginess and baby fat. His blood stained auburn hair was kept short for practicalities sake rather than fashion and his big blue eyes completed the mask naivety. Alvuris Crein was a healer not a fighter and his small arms and round belly were proof of a lifetime studying spells rather than swinging a mace.

Luckily, Alvuris was an especially talented mage in the art of restoration for his age. In little time his wrist was more or less back to normal. Shortly after, Alvuris lit the torch figuring that he'd rather chance being torn to shreds by a werewolf than trip on a rock and crack open his skull. Werewolves Just the thought of lycanthropes made the chubby vigilant shudder. But here he was. Alvuris never imagined he'd have to ever face a werewolf in his life, let alone three.

Or two perhaps? Alvuris wasn't sure if his late comrades were able to kill one of them. All he knew was that at least one of the werewolves had taken a few nasty hits. What he did know for sure was that all of his friends were dead or dying. If he wasn't the one involved, Alvuris might have been able to appreciate the irony of the worst fighter of the group being the only one to survive, thought Alvuris doubted that he'd be making it out of this ordeal alive. The werewolves had sealed off the entrance to the cave after all.

Alvuris had a bad feeling about the mission from the start. An anonymous letter had claimed that there were foul Daedra worshipers were using the unnamed caverns near one of the lesser traveled roads leading to Wayrest as a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon. Alvuris was the only one in his eight man unit to object to going. His suspicions of the letter being a trap were confirmed when the entrance to the cave was sealed off with a boulder and Marcus was decapitated by a large furry claw.

It was all downhill from there. Alvuris didn't even get to get one swing in with his mace before he was inadvertantly pushed to the ground by the flayed body of Striner, a very large Redguard, and into the darkness. The fear of death overtook his sense of loyalty and Alvuris took the opportunity to flee. After an hour or two of wandering aimlessly in the dark, Alvuris gathered what little courage he had to make his escape- or die trying.