In my "Books of Lorcka" topic (see my sig for a link) there are a few posters who ask me to post a 'real' story, not in the format of a book in an TES game. This is the beginning of that request. It uses the same character (to those who hate characters named after the poster - I created the name before signing up here ), the same universe and the same pasts and views he espoused in his books. To mods: I will not post in my other topic (which is essentially an 'ongoing story') until this active story is completed. Anyway, please tell me what you think:

Beauty and Darkness.
Part 1

3E435, Second Seed. The Master, the Champion, the many-titled Lord of the Never-There returns the quill to the inkpot. He was satisfied with the latest book, a thought exercise on the failure of good over evil, handing the manuscript to his housekeeper and friend, Eyja to send for publication in The Imperial City. He was many things to many people. To thousands he was the person who had killed their brother, sister, son, daughter. To others he was a champion of light, of not only magic, but a holy wielder of a heaven-send gift. To his own mind, he was simply Lorcka of Summerset.

The last years had been a time of great change, both for Tamriel and a single Altmer. Three years ago he scoffed at the lesser races, lead men to freezing death on a whim, viewed the mastery of magicka as a ends within itself. The trials of the recent past had changed everything. To the Altmer who still held this view, he was an example of perfect Altmer superiority, laying waste to primitive menfolk and demonstrating the gift of Magnus for all mer to emulate. He held a very different view. He was an embodiment of Padhome, change, chaos. Where he walked, things changed, people died. This internal conflict was anathema to his brother mer, for Altmer were the closest to the divine beings of the Dawn, the Ehlnofey who walked Tamriel. All men were simply weak souls, their brother mer corrupt copies of a dying divine spark.

It was a dangerous view. As a child, Lorcka was taught the inherant superiority of his race, the unholiness of the trickster who severed Elven souls from the divine et'Ada, forever. The Altmer child rebelled against this view, questioning his dogmatic teachers, for if all life is a constant degeneration, why not simply end it? He argued fiercely that this view lead to self-destruction, morbid dissatisfaction and endless warfare. Being sure of Altmer supremacy, he argued that they of all races should be the most thankful for an opportunity to create a better world. His classmates did not see the contradiction and mocked his confusion. His teachers said that his mind had been somehow poisoned by the similar views of the Cyrodiils. For this, he was labelled with the name Lorcka, to associate him by ear with the unholy trickster.

The young mer embraced the name, standing defiant in the face of his kinfolk. He spend long hours contemplating the problems of the common Altmer conciousness, superiority, decay, stasis, change, how to make what was taught congruent with what was practical, what was right. In debates he argued the immorality of preaching that Altmer were superior whilst insisting that all life was a corrupt simulacrum of something they could never go back to, the perfect Aldmeris of old myth. Older Altmer shook their heads, bemoaning the influence of the Cyrodiils and cursing the Brass God that brought about this doubt in Altmer mind. The most charitable debaters concluded that it was simply a phase that all young mer went through, rebelling against their past.

Eventually, he gave up. Tired of wasting his words on the old fools of Lillandril, tired of a life of magical theory without application, with a mind that thirsted for new knowledge, he set off to Stros M'Kai, in search of adventure that was to become tragedy. The losses of that voyage and the losses of those who had died as a result of his battles in Cyrodiil still weighed heavy on his mind. Wrapped up in thought, he almost missed the rapping at the door of Rosethorn Hall. Another Altmer was at the door, with a message.

I loved the unique way you presented your Books of Lorcka, it was riveting to read! Your writing is still great, of course, but I hope you didn't just quit on the other thread, I have been addicted to it! (can't please everyone, right? Lol.) I'll still read this thread, your writing is too good not to. You may want to drop an extra space between paragraphs.

Once this thread has ceased to be the active story thread I'll return to the books, don't worry!

Split up the paragraphs for ease of reading. Any comments, feedback? This is the start of my first 'proper' thread after all.

Thank you, that made it much easier for me to read!

Part 2:

The visitor was familiar to Lorcka. One of his teachers. The Altmer rarely betray their age, indeed he appeared identical to the day Lorcka had bid the Blessed Isle farewell. The years had taken a previous toll on the Altmer, however, the beginnings of grey hair and wrinkles had began to adorn his face.
"Lorcka. You young fool," he said upon setting eyes upon Lorcka, his voice intoned with jest.
"Sondil. You old obstinate," Lorcka replied in kind. "What brings you to my door, away from the Isle? I never thought to see you in Cyrodiil of all places."
"I heard you were the greatest mage in the province," explained the robed figure, "Arch-Mage, no less. Although among Imperials, it is akin to saying that a Bosmer in Skyrim is the best archer in the province...not difficult."
"I don't know about that. These Cyrodiils have more aptitude for the arcane than you would think. Please..."

Lorcka motioned the scholar inside. He cast a wry eye at the display cases.
"Saviours Hide? Raiments of Valour? What have you been practising, my dear apprentice?"
"Fighting monsters," Lorcka replied curtly. "May I offer you some refreshment? The wines and produce of this county are the finest in the province."
"No, thank you. As you might have fathomed, I did not leave our sacred homeland to simply reminisce. Tell me, what news has reached you of Summerset?"
"I have only rumours to go by. The Cyrodiils speak of rampant Daedra worship, of embargo and a return to isolationism."
"The truth is far worse than any in this place might suspect. There is a poison eating at the heart of our society, destroying our very culture. Have you heard of The Beautiful?"
"They were just starting up when I left. One of the reasons I did leave, in fact. Arkay rest the soul of poor Princess Elanin..."
"I confess that I once suspected you of sympathising with their plight, Lorcka. You were so passionate, so wilful against the elders. Typical of the rebellious youth. But what began as a drive to the past has turned into wanton destruction. The Crystal Tower stands against their futile attacks, but other areas are not so secure."
"Speak plainly. What is the threat?"
"Very well. Summerset Isle is on the brink of a civil war. The generations are tearing each other apart, the old against the new. These destructive influences have powerful allies. We must put them down, Lorcka. I know more of you than your fawning public may. You may hide things from the credulous Imperials, but against the wizards of Summerset nothing is hidden. I need a mer who can get things done."
Lorcka shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"I have done things I am not proud of. But I have repented. The Aedra themselves forgive my transgressions, yet it seems you do not."
"You misunderstand me. I am not here to judge, or blackmail. You may have cast off the embrace of Sithis, but the skills you learned in his service are not shed so easily."
"I am not a murderer for hire, Sondil. I think you should leave."
"If you wish it I shall. Allow me one question before I take my leave. Do you still care about your homeland?"
"Every Altmer does. Even at the far wastes of the north I had Summerset in my heart."
"Then come back with me. See for yourself the anarchy, the chaos brewing beneath the surface. Make up your own mind, then stay to help or depart once again, as you see fit. Simply know that there are forces at work more sinister than most are aware, and that you are expertly equipped to deal with them. Your slaughter of the Mythic Dawn. Your betrayal of Umbacano. It is all linked. In Umbacano's case, quite literally."
Lorcka stood, his head held in his armoured hands in a moment of consideration.
"I owe you that much, I suppose. Allow me a day to set my affairs in order. In the meantime, please make yourself at home."

With that, he raised his hand, clasped it to summon forth magickal energies and disappeared from sight.

I love your detail, which really came across in the "Books" tremendously. Your creativity is Awesome!

Part 3

Affairs in Cyrodiil were in order. Lorcka delegated the affairs of the Mage's Guild to Master Wizard Raminus Polus, the business of the Fighter's Guild to Modryn Oreyn. The Knights of the Nine carried on their questing under the command of Sir Thedret. The secrets of the Dark Brotherhood were left to stagnate, the legendary Gray Fox to disappear from Cyrodiil.
Master and student travelled by horse to Anvil, then by boat, to the west, to Summerset Isle. The crossing of the Abacean Sea was without incident, until the white cliffs and golden beaches of Summerset Isle came gradually into view.
"We make port in Alinor," spoke the master to the student, who was gazing longingly at his ancient homeland. "Shimmerene is our eventual destination, although it is currently inaccessible by sea. All ports on the East Coast are closed to Imperial ships. For all I know Alinor is by now, but we'll have to take our chances."
"The syndicates?"
"They grow more powerful by the day. Attempting to dock in an Imperial ship where the port is under control by syndicates would get us sunk by embargo ships in short order. In Alinor we two will be safe, although the ship will have to leave immediately."
"I can Recall back to Cyrodiil. A return journey will not be necessary."

Lorcka had spent most of his life in and about Alinor's old rival Lillandril, being born in an obscure village on the Northern Coast of the Isle, and had not seen the ancient capital of the Aldmeri capital except brief glimpses from the hills of the north. The docklands were underwhelming. The port of Alinor had long been the only place in the city where foreigners were allowed to stay. Imperial domination had changed nothing about the city, apart from the port. Apt, since it was here where the Numidium had waded ashore to subdue Alinor. Men, mer and beastfolk milled about uncomfortably, all loading goods onto ships of all shapes, taking their stored goods out of the city. Very few ships were unloading their goods. Nervous rumours told of the impending closure of Alinor's port to foreigner trade, a return to the forbidden state of the past.

None of these rumours bothered Lorcka or Sondil. Pureblood Altmer both, neither were overly concerned with the troubles of foreign merchants. Their robes flowed over the boards of the dock as they made their way into the City of Glass. Royal Guards loomed proudly in front of the shining main gate to the Alinor, eyeing the visitors with suspicion. The two threw back their hoods to reveal peaked ears and almond eyes. The guards uncrossed their spears and nodded in silent welcome.

In every direction transparent towers shot to the clear sky, sharp pointed peaks of light created for no practical purpose but the Altmer love of craftsmership and beauty. Although he hailed from Lillandril, spilling blood with Alinor in not-yet forgotten battles, he could not stifle an admiring smile to signal approval of his surroundings. All around exotic yet familiar foliage overflowed hanging alabaster pitchers, serving as garlands for flowing tapestries, adding the colour to the pearly walls stretched skyward. Centuries-old mages cast magical effects of all types as they walked without acknowledgement. Even among the common mer of the city it was unusual to see an Altmer without the glow of a magical enchantment about their person.

Knights of the Lamp stood stoically in front one of the most ancient Mage's Guild halls in all Tamriel, the very streets Galerion had walked during the turbulent years of the Second Era. Lorcka could not help but plead with his old friend for entrance to it, as a child might plead for a toy.
"We are here on dire business. We have no time for sightseeing," said Sondil in diminishing scorn. "Although, I dare not deny you a glimpse of the true Guild masters."
Upon entering the grand foyer of the guild, built of twisted columns of polished white marble and trickling fountains of pure magicka, was unlike anything in Cyrodiil. In the background flashes of light indicative of spellcasting broke the stillness. The mer-inspired Arcane University was the only thing he could compare it too, although even the centre of magical learning appeared rather shabby and unorganised in comparison. An Altmer greeter shattered Lorcka's gaping stupefaction.
"Welcome to the Mages Guild, Alinor branch. How may we serve your magickal needs?"
"I don't know," replied Lorcka. "I'm just a sightseer, really."
"Then I must ask you to leave, sir. We are dedicated to the serious study of the gifts of Aetherius."
Lorcka smiled wryly, waiting for realisation to dawn on the face of the greeter.
"Forgive me, Arch-Mage. We must treat all as if they were amateurs. We did not realise you were returning from the Arcane University so soon."
"So soon?"
"You know as well as I do all Altmer who are not disgraced will eventually come back here, or rue the fact that they cannot."
"Do not worry, I am not here for a formal inspection. Only to see how the guild operates here."
"According to the principles of your predecessor, Vanus Galerion."
"I am sure, Guildsmer," Sondil interjected with impatience. "But I am afraid we must take our leave. Thank you for your hospitality."

Lorcka grudgingly left the hall. Although confident in Sondir's plan, he asked for clarification.
"So, when we reach Shimmerene, what do we do exactly?"
"Destroy the Beautiful," replied Sondil with purpose.