Well, here I am again. This is the first time I have truly been impressed by my own writing. You might of read one of my previous works, and it died after the first prologue. I am to tell you that this will continue on as long as there is a reader willing to read it. This, also, is the first time any of my writing has been accompanied by art. I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

For your Pleasure:

Poet

---------------------------------
They Call Me Faric
Evening Star 11th


As I perch upon this branch,
The wind beneath me sway,
The blue sky reaches infinite,
Roll on this endless day.

I sit--

The paper was quickly torn up and discarded in anger. The scraps were rolled up into a ball and tossed towards the wastebasket, which hit the rim and bounced harmlessly onto the floor. It was joined by ten or more wads or paper that held similar rhymes and rhythms.

They call me Faric. Faric the Poet. For days?maybe three or so?I really can't ever remember those things?I have been trying to come up with a new poem. As you can see, nothing really good has been the product of my recent labors. My rhymes of late have?rather grown dull. Cooped up in this house?

My name has grown some fame in the past days. My recent release of Dynasty of the Ayleid sold a good deal at the recent bookstore. The name of the bookstore?it?er, it escapes me. Darn! I hate forgetting things like that. Anyways, the recent release of my poem brought me a bit of fame and wealth and I was able to move out of the slums and into the Elven Gardens District. It really is amazing, this house. I am still getting used to all the space I have acquired.

Well, reader, I do believe, now that we have formally met, I can tell you a bit about myself. Ever since--First Edition! That was the name of the bookstore, sorry, that was killing me. I couldn't remember it for the life of me--and, well?that's a tale for another time.

Ever since I was a small boy, I have always found myself lost in the rhythmic lore of poetry. They were almost hypnotic, especially the works of Taarwa¹. Taarwa is my favorite author, if I can ever find one of her books in all this?clutter?I'll have to show you one. But, for the moment, I can't find anything here?Oh, here is that one book I was looking for. I swear, I spend more time looking for books than ever reading one?

Well, I grew up in a pretty wealthy family. We lived all the way up in High Rock, a nice place. However, it was too?how do I put this?prissy. They were very high-maintenance, and I am just not that kind of person. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not filthy, but I can see why you would make that assumption. Anyways, I vowed to become a poet. My inspiration was from Taarwa, whom I was talking about earlier. Her poetry really is the one that sealed the deal?but, man!, I wish that I knew where one of her poetry books were.

Anyway, I moved down here to the Imperial City. My parents did not exactly support my decision, so I received little funding. It was really a big change, having to live on the waterfront. My neighbors were crooks, my landlord a thief. Really not a good place to live, that waterfront. I was lucky that I was able to get Dynasty of the Ayleid out so I got the funding to leave that dump.

Funny story, about that, I must tell you. See, I had this idea to do this, well, more of a historical poem. Anyway, to get the information, I had to take a rather scary dive into this one ruin. The name evades me, but, it was close to the Imperial City. I had to do a small hike to get there, take a canoe ride across the better part of the river to get to the island. I had to escape on a quick note--the place was crawling with axe-slinging bandits.

http://i739.photobucket.com/albums/xx31/Elite_BDay/Chapter1--CanoeRide.png

I returned with a small Imperial Legion force, and they got the job done. They cleared it out, gave me a nod, and went on with their lives. I really did not envy the number of dead bodies that were strewn about the place. I found an interesting amount of lore that was hidden deep within, along with a good bit of necromancy. The legionaries weren't able to dig that deep within the ruin to find it, but it was there alright. I made sure not to delve within the ruin too far in, didn't want to get mixed up with whatever was in there?I still have nightmares about the moaning and the dead bodies.

Well, I have to call it a night. I bid you farewell reader, but I am sure we are to meet again.

--

--

Sorry, friend, to get back at you so late. I couldn't sleep. The name of the ruin was Vilverin. That was killing me.

^{1. Taarwa is the Cyrodiilic equivalent to Edgar Allen Poe. A Dark Romantic poet, often writing about her fascinations with the supernatural. A difference between her and Poe is that she refrains from short stories. Thus, Taarwa would not be considered the "Mother of the Short Story."}

Well, that was... interesting. This is the first time I'd read a "stream of thought" piece, though it seems different from the definition. It feels like a mix between a conversation and a letter; as though you are sitting there listening to him speak.

I don't have much experience with that kind of story, but this is moderately interesting, to be honest. It grabbed my attention, if not as much as some other things, but for the life of me, I have reached the rare occasion of having nothing to say All I can say is that it feels like it jumps around a bit, and I would advise focusing on this character before going into things like a story of a ruin.

Also, if you really want to make it feel like a conversation, describe the room around the protagonist and what he is doing as he is speaking. Leave the writing you have now as dialogue, but add in bits about him moving around the room or his facial expressions. You don't have to, I just think it would add to the general effect of the story. Like the first paragraph with the paper ball.

All in all a fairly enjoyable read, I'm looking forward to more, and I welcome you back :goodjob: Thanks for writing, and keep it up!

Yeah, I agree with Darkom on this. It sounded like a letter in some parts, and a piece of conversation in others. If you are going for a more 'stream of thought' story, (as Darkom put it) maybe take away from the parts that sound so much like a letter. It's kinda hard to distinguish, where it differs but read closely, I found some. Anyway, I like 'stream of thought' stories (Tropic of Cancer & Capricorn come to mind, and others) and if done well enough, can be good. The thing about them though, is they lack detail in where or what the character is looking at.

For example, most stories when talking about a room they put detail into the objects and maybe some in the people, in the room. But 'stream of though' doesn't do that really. The writer/character usually just states the name, how they look (not detailed into what exactly they wear, but just if they look rich, middle class, or poor etc.) and often what they say. But usually, when the person speaks (not the writer/character) the writer/character paraphrases it, as not to use quotes most of the time. Such as: He looked at me funny, asking: Hey did you see that man looking at us from over there?

I dunno why this is, but from the 'stream of thought' books I've read, paraphrasing is used A LOT while quotations are used here and there just to distinguish between who's talking at a time, sometimes. Also, like Darkom said, it jumps around a bit; but if you are using 'stream of thought' then it's fine because that's how most writers I've read using that type of writing do it. One minute, they could be looking through a window watching the people pass by, the next paragraph or even sentence, the character/writer is talking about how many chickens he killed today? So it's not so bad. I like it. :goodjob:

The guys above have pretty much said how I felt.
I like it.

The drawing made me laugh.

Indeed, Dr. Strangeglove is right. You are kind of halfway between a conversation story and a stream of thought story, if I were you I would pick one and commit to it. Either go all the way stream of thought or all the way conversation, this limbo is only half as good as either.

But it shows promise, I know few people who could pull something like this off Thanks.

Upon rereading this and comparing it to my second chapter, it is different. This one only has this odd limbo between conversation and stream of thought because I was really trying to introduce the character, get his background and all that stuff. My next chapter focuses more on his describing of himself going through places, doing events, etc. So, there is a slight change in my next chapter which sort of chooses one side and goes with it.



Well, I hope that's a good thing. I know it kind of looks sloppy, but I only have Paint so it's the best I can do. My next drawings will be something or other like that, kind of made of scribbles.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, more is to come.

The Collector
Evening Star 12th


I frowned. Puzzled. The cold winter breeze filtered through the open doorway, mixing with the fire-heated house temperature. The man standing in my doorway was dressed in a dark green shirt, lavishly adorned with gold thread. He had lost most of his hair, and from the sheer size of the man, I guessed he was Nordic.

“And what is your name, sir?” I quizzed politely. The man whom had just knocked at my door had requested my having an audience with his master. It was really impolite, I must say, as he suggests I am some mere pet to be summoned at wish.

“Jollring,”, he said, “my master has an interest in your Poem.” the man answered. He carried a heavy, snobbish accent that mixed with his racial northern Nord accent. He was the kind of person you would expect from someone who has devoted his life to another living being. That job, honestly, would svck. I would not want to live my life svcking up to some guy who thinks you are a waste of time. There is really no point in it…I took a minute to try and wrap the childish name around my brain. I swam through memories of the past, opening locked doors of my mind to see if that name rung a bell. Nothing.

“And,” I answered, mostly confused, “this master of whom you speak of…who is he? What is his name?” I tried to be polite, but honestly, he was sort of annoying.

“Ah,” he said. I detected a bit of sarcasm, which is usually prevalent in people such as himself. This Jollring fellow was really getting on my nerves.

“My deepest apologies, sir poet.” More sarcasm. “My master, Umbacano, is a collector of Ayleid Treasures. Your poem…” Jollring looked a bit confused and reached into his pocket. He produced a small, withered peace of parchment that looked like it had ink scratches all over it. “Legacy of the Ayleids interests my master. My lord would like an audience with you to discuss your poem.” I flinched when he said the name of my poem. Rather…not the name. It was Dynasty of the Ayleid, not whatever he said…

The man bid farewell, and I retreated back to my desk. I grabbed an empty book off the top of the desk, and began to scribble on it.

I've received a note from a man called Umbacano; he's interested in the Ayleid statue I found and sold. I should find him in the Imperial City and see what he wants.

I reread what I just wrote down, and closed the journal. Keeping track of what is going on always helps me, especially due to my horrible forgetfulness. Ah, that reminds me. Or…uh…it reminded me of something to say, but I have already forgotten what it was. Something about Shepard Pie I believe? Possibly not. Agh, that is annoying.

***********

The next morning I awoke at noon. My eyes were greeted with the overhead sun, and they stung with the winter air. I put on a cozy robe made of Wolf Fur. My cousin, a hunter, got it for me for my last birthday. A good fellow he is…

Oh, well, anyways. After putting that on, I exited my house and locked the place up. I didn’t necessarily know where this…Umbacano is. The winter cold nipped at wherever the robe wasn’t covering, and so I decided that I need to find this fellow before I froze.

I looked up and down the cobblestone street, houses lining both sides. I frowned as I found myself alone on this street. Red banners decorated the street, dulled by the winter frost. I picked one way and started down it. I found myself annoyed that guards didn’t patrol around here. What if someone was breaking into my house and no guards to be found?

I continued up the snow-filled street, kicking a rather large pile. I later regretted it as the tiny flecks that somehow made their way into my shoes soon melted and left a spot of freezing water. I cursed under my breath, and finally found the plaza of the district. A guard was stationed at each side, talking to their partner who stood beside him.

With a quick thanks to Akatosh, I walked up to one of the guards. I approached the armor-laden fellow and asked, “Do you know where,” I gave a short pause as I tried to remember his name, “Umbacano lives?” I was glad that I didn’t have to pull out the journal that I had brought to look up the man’s name, as it would be pretty embarrassing.

“Ye,” the guard grunted exhaustedly. I wasn’t surprised to hear the fatigue in his voice, a guard was a long and hard job. “Umbacano lives o’er in Umbacano Manor.” He quickly consulted his guard partner and continued, “O’er in the Talos Plaza District’. If ye go ask one of those guards, they’ll point ye to ‘em.” The fatigue in the guards voice slurred his words, and I found myself almost scrutinizing each word to try and understand it. I finally understood that I was to ask at the Talos Plaza District.

I was glad that I didn’t have to walk any further, this frost was getting the better of me. I pulled my robe closer to my body, thanked the guard, and rushed toward the subjacent district.

I opened the large door and proceeded down the long avenue. I grew colder with each step, and I was eager to get inside that house. I finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, approached the plaza. I could have been mistaken for a snowman, because I was sure I was turning blue. I quickly asked a guard the location of the manner, and he pointed at a huge house facing the plaza. I tell you, those guards must have it awful, I’ve been out here half an hour, but these guards have been here overnight. I shuddered at the thought.

I quickly made my way to the fa?ade and knocked on the door. It was quickly answered by the weary-looking Nord, Jollring.

“How wonderful of you to show up.” I don’t even have to tell you about the sarcasm. He welcomed me in, and I slowly stepped into the house. The first feeling was warmth. The warm air of the house wrapped around my body, and I was never so happy to not see my breath in the cold air. I took a minute to warm up, and noticed something scary. Very scary.

An Argonian.

I’ve always been afraid of Argonians. They were ruthless, awful creatures. They stopped at nothing for what they want, and the worst part is, you never know what they’ll do. Will they sneak up and slice your head off? Will they simply just walk up and pull you in two? Will they wrap you up in their tail and bite your face off? Probably all three.

The hulking Argonian, and I mean this guy was huge, was by the fire. He was decked out in gold armor, and this further increased his size. I am no blacksmith, but I would say that armor is Dwemer. And the huge, steel sword hanging on his hip? That didn’t help my fears. He was dark red, the colour of blood, and his tail sneaked around a cup that was soon lifted up to his mouth.

He looked happy to see me, I bet this was all a trap! Yes, it’s a trap! They brought me here just to kill me! My father’s finally got tired of his weakling poet son, and he’s hired that…beast to kill me! I slowly backed away towards the door--

“Come,” Jollring said forcibly, taking my shoulder, “my master awaits.” My weak muscles were no match. He forced me to up the stairs, where we were followed by that Argonian. We proceeded through a door and walked up into a lavish room. It was a rich place, filled with lavish this and elegant that. I really wished that I lived here. However, that barely filled my head as it was filled with fear at the moment…

Umbacano was sitting in a chair. I assumed it was him because of the lavish robe that he was wearing, and the air of elegance that surrounded him. My head was turning, I was swimming in my own sweat. My head was rapidly switching from hot to cold to hot to cold, as if the sweat itself was freezing my heated brow. The wealthy Altmer must of noticed, because he said:

“Faric, is it?, not to worry! We are all safe under this house. Matthias himself is at the door now! You saw him, no?” I, actually, don’t remember seeing him…

“Well, anyways, I would like to talk to you about your poem. Please, have a seat!”

I slowly made my way to a red, satin seat where I sat. The Golden-Armored Argonian sat down in a chair next to mine. It was rather uncomfortable, his razor-sharp teeth gleaming under his blood-colored lips. His sword, which, at this distance, turned out to be Silver, glistened angrily at me.

“Not to worry about our friend, Rakeem, here, he is my personal Ayleid treasure hunter.” The hulking Argonian, Rakeem, nodded politely toward me. I was actually shocked in disbelief, staring at the Argonian in astonishment. I was unaware that these…lizards…were able to show kindness. I truly thought that only hatred and greed was cast into their hearts, but this one, happiness shone through his face!

Umbacano turned around and plucked something off the table behind him. He revealed it, and it had an odd composure. It was made of bronze, brass or something like it, with a glowing blue center. Words fail to describe it. My inability to describe things well might also add to it, but, still, even the best of storytellers would be lost for words.

“A beautiful work of the Ayleids, the best, in my humble opinion.” He stared at it proudly, and set it on the table that separated him and I. I took a good minute to stare at it, admiring it’s artful construction.

http://i739.photobucket.com/albums/xx31/Elite_BDay/Chapter2--AyleidWonder.png

“I, unfortunately, do not find this mentioned in your poem. I ask you, do you know anything of it’s center? The glow?”, the Altmer earnestly asked him.

I honestly, was dumbfounded. I had no idea. The welkynd stones that were inside of the ruin also glowed mysteriously like this, but I still had no idea why they glowed. My voice was still choked, remnants of the fear that had consumed me moments before. It is odd that such art can numb a person’s senses and dull him into a state of bliss.

“Well, uh, err… I do not. I have seen something like it in the ruin, Vilverian--”

“You mean Vilverin?” Umbacano asked.

I stopped, embarrassed that I had forgotten the name of it, but quickly continued: “Yes, Vilverin, I found these little stones, which I found out were called Welkynd Stones, and they produce a similar glow.” I looked on Umbacano’s face to see if my information was of use to him. He seemed to stare at the statue further, nod slightly, and look at me.

“Well, that is good news. I do have a proposition for you, Faric, if you choose to accept.”

My mind’s racing stopped in confusion. A sudden “proposition”? What is he talking about?

“What kind of proposition, Mr. Umbacano?” I asked interested. I awaited eagerly for an answer. He picked up his Ayleid Statue carefully, and held it in his hand.

“There are nine more of these. Rakeem found one in a ruin named Wendir, and now I seek the rest. The others are scattered throughout Tamriel, but I know the location of one. Vilverin. I would like you to accompany Rakeem inside the ruin. I will award you with 250 septims. What do you say, friend?”

My first instinct was no. I don’t want to get to any more trouble; no more bandits or canoeing for me, I have done that already. I am a poet, not any adventurer. However, the more I thought about it, the more my mind slipped back to last night when I was attempting to create poetry, but as you might remember, I wasn’t doing so well… Perhaps, this is what I need. I took another look at the Argonian beside me. He, if anyone, could rip anything apart. I sighed, I knew I would hate myself for this decision later…

“I…I accept.” I slowly said, closing my eyes. I opened them up to see the two brightened faces of Rakeem and Umbacano, smiling happily at me.

“Grand, Grand! Oh, my, I knew I made a good decision in choosing you! This will be wonderful!” Umbacano was nearly jumping off the walls. Dear Akatosh, what have I gotten myself into?

After happy goodbyes and wishful thanks, I finally left the Umbacano manor. Surprisingly, it was dark. How much time was I in there? Wow, time really flies I suppose… As I was retracing my steps back to my house, I pulled out my journal. I opened up the book to the first page and pulled out a quill. I dipped it in a corked--well, uncorked now--inkwell I produced from my pack, and jotted down what happened.

I've spoken to a collector of Ayleid artifacts named Umbacano. He has offered to pay me handsomely for any Ayleid Ancestor statues that I bring him.

I closed the book, and stored it back inside of my pack and continued through the doors that led into the Elven Garden’s District. I walked down my street until I finally found my house. I produced the keys out of my pack, fumbled with them a bit, and unlocked the door to my house.

I set my pack down and finally realized my fatigue. I really should work out more. I discarded my fur robe and most of my clothes, and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I cursed when I tried to open the locked door and wondered why these doors came locked. I mean, it’s not like I am trying to break in to my own bedroom, what’s up with that!?

I finally had to go back down to get the key, and I was not very happy about it. I finally opened the door and slumped into my bed, where I fell asleep immediately.

Tomorrow is a big day, I need my rest.

Good chapter. I continue to be amused by the dry wit the poet displays and his forgetfullness.
Small nitpicking, you broke tense in this sentence:

I suppose you should end with past tense {froze}, rather than present tense {freeze}

And I didn't get why he was starting to look like a snowman when he was turning blue. Now, if you had commented he was covered in snow, that would've made sense.

The drawing made a laugh in a positive way. I had expected a screen-shot or something like that.

Note: I was too lazy to draw up any "artwork" for this chapter, and I really couldn't find anything suitable to draw about so yeah. Excuse the absence of MS Paint Wonder. :{P

Rakeem and the Ruin
Evening Star 13th

Thump Thump Thump.

I could barely believe my ears. Here, already!? I shoved the covers off my body and lazily threw on my clothes. My laziness was rewarded with a couple more knocks, fiercer than before.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I yelled, wondering what in the blazes he was doing here so early. I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over one, and finally made it down the stairs. I unlocked the latch and opened the door. I huge figure loomed in the doorway. I jumped in fear.

"AH." I squealed. The figure produced a raspy laugh and it stepped into the house. The light that was produced by the candle reflected off the recently-polished gold armor of Rakeem the Argonian. I knew originally who he was, but the figure sort of scared me. The friendly Argonian, Rakeem, as I knew him, laughed in his Argonian tongue.

"H-how early is it? It's--" I looked out the window, "still dark out! Why are you so early!?" I took a few steps back, reached into the barrel that held the water and splashed myself with it. The cold frost of the water stung my face, and my eyes were flung open. I wiped the water off my face with the sleeve of my robe, and felt a cold chill fly into the room. Door was still open.

I walked over to shut it, stopping the flow of hot air through my door and into the world. I grabbed my pack off my desk, and stuffed the journal inside. I grabbed a couple of things from the cupboard and shoved them inside the pack, as well. Rakeem watched politely from the sidelines, checking his equipment as well. That's when I noticed the large, Dwemer shield on his left forearm. He must be ready for heavy combat.

I donned my pack, and nodded at the Argonian. He nodded back, and out the door we went. I followed him through the labyrinth that they named Imperial City, and the funny thing was, Rakeem was bigger and scarier than any Imperial Guard. It seemed that the guards actually clenched when he came by, preying to the divines that he did not start causing trouble.

We traveled through the city, finally getting to the waterfront. Rakeem and I walked up to a small-looking boat, which produced a tough looking Redguard. You could barely seem him in contrast to the dark background, but I somehow made out his outline. He hugged the huge Argonian as if they were old friends. They exchanged a few words, and the Redguard pointed at me once, and my heart skipped a beat. More words were exchanged, and the friendly Argonian motioned me to get onboard.

To tell you the truth, I have never been on a boat. As it swayed with the tides of the moon, my stomach churned with it. It seemed like I sat here forever, as the Redguard sailor and Rakeem took forever readying the boat. Couldn't the Redguard have prepared it before we arrived?

Well, after a day and a half (not really), we finally set sail. Sailing actually is worse than just sitting there, and I threw up a couple of times. So when Rakeem offered me some breakfast, I turned it down. I threw up some more and we finally arrived. I don't think that the Redguard was too happy to have me on board, with my throwing up all over his boat and all. He shooed me off and I felt dry land beneath my feat as I disembarked. I fell over, dazed, and I felt a huge, scaly hand pick me up and place me on my feet.

"Not too fond of the sea, are we?" He said, chuckling. I felt like throwing up again. He told me we were to walk about a quarter mile and then canoe to where the ruin is. The sun had come up, and light flooded world. And, sure enough, that memorable ruin shone through the morning frost, looming over the Rumare.

I shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the dead bandits that littered the ruin. However, that didn't stop Rakeem from dragging me toward it. I was seriously having some second thoughts as I approached the ruin. I actually became so scared that I forgot how cold I was, the cold nipping at my bare fingers.

After what seemed like thirty seconds, we approached the dock. The boards creaked beneath our feet, screaming out in pain as the armored Argonian stepped on them.

"It's a good thing that this morning fog is covering our interest, there could be bandits waiting for us." Rakeem said. A shiver ran down my spine at the word 'bandits'.

"B-but, the last time I w-was here, t-the Imperial G-Guard took care of most of the b-ban-bandits." I said. I couldn't believe my stuttering, Rakeem must of thought pretty lowly of me. But, his voice didn't give anything away.

"That won't stop them. They'll come back, it's like they never die." He said in a quiet tone. He must of recognized how much fear that inspired into me, because he quickly apologized. He got into a canoe, and motioned for me to get in. At first, I refused, but he finally convinced me that nothing bad was going to happen. A second look at his sword reassured me, and I hesitantly stepped in. He pushed the canoe off, and we set sail. No turning back now?

The canoe ride seemed like it took forever. The ruin looming over the Rumare and the canoe didn't really help any fears that I was having about this excursion. Cold silence wrapped around us as we neared the ruin. I slowly watched Rakeem's metamorphosis of a nice, loving Argonian into a deadly, experienced adventurer. Warmness evaded him, and he stared coldly at the ruin. Then there was a lurch in the canoe. We hit land.

He was the first to step out, walking quietly and slowly toward the ruin. I was in true fear, myself, as I followed the Argonian. This was a time I really wished I had a weapon, something I could defend myself with. I wouldn't be any good with a weapon, but hey, it's better than nothing. The fear of foreboding death made itself present as we neared the ruin.

Rakeem found a broken wall, about 4 yards long, that was facing the ruin. He slumped up against it, and peeked around the corner. Just as soon as he poked his head around the wall, he brought it back. I was sure that he saw something. I got up against the wall next to him, and he turned my way.

"Faric, there are two bandits up there. One Dunmer archer, one Khajiit." I honestly had no idea how he understood that much from a tiny glance. "Faric, I am going to fight and kill them. Promise me, don't try to be a hero. If I die, and it can happen, then you run back to Umbacano. Don't try to recover the statue. If I am rendered unconscious, run. If I am incapacitated, ruin. Do not try and save me, understand?"

With each word, I grew more afraid. This didn't even cross my mind, so far, I only had thought about my own health. What if something happened to Rakeem? What could I do about it? Right then and there, I decided to not leave Rakeem behind. I don't care if he told me not to, he is too nice of a person to be left behind. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that?

I nodded, and he nodded back. He turned the corner and sort-of ran-walked toward a ruined pillar. I can't explain what a run-walk is, well, because, I really don't know. I turned the corner, and my heart sank. He was right. Two bandits. I watched as Rakeem yelled a war-cry and run toward the Khajiit. The next few moments were in slow-motion.

The Khajiit, frozen by the war-cry, turned to face her enemy. She pointed at him, and yelled to her Dunmer ally. The Dunmer grabbed an arrow, and drew it back. The Khajiit raised her axe, ready to smash her enemy. However, she seemed to falter. I don't know the reason for this, but my guess was, she couldn't see Rakeem. She just now noticed him, this huge, gold-armored Argonian, sword ablaze. That single falter was her flaw, and she was felled for it. Rakeem took advantage of her falter and stabbed her through the torso.

It was disgusting. A sword was thrust through a living being, and I watched her die. I watched her die. Right in front of my eyes, Rakeem took the life of another living being. My heart stopped beating. The world froze.

Rakeem didn't falter, however, and pulled the sword out of the Khajiit. I watched the body slump toward the ground, lifeless. That moment changed my life. I heard an arrow streak through the air, and heard the thunk of it knocking off his shield. She tried to draw back another arrow, but Rakeem was already upon her. I saw true horror and fear in her face. She dropped her bow and tried to run, but she was too late. Rakeem swung her sword, and caught her in the back. Blood erupted from her body, and she fell to the ground.

He checked the dead bodies, and motioned me it was all clear. He took the next five minutes hunting for any other bandits that were lying around. I couldn't bring myself to look at the dead bodies. The expression of horror on their faces? Rakeem, on the other hand, didn't seem to care. He went checking all the pockets on the bodies, picking up some nice loot, actually. I didn't want to feel like dead weight, so I checked the campground that they had made outside the ruin. After ransacking through all their stuff, I actually felt a little better.

I felt proud of what I have contributed, because I found a book! I looked over the crimson cover. The title: Immortal Blood was etched in gold lettering. I happily stored the book in my bag, feeling much better.

"So ready to go inside?" Rakeem asked, smiling. I wasn't. But, we had to, and I hesitantly nodded my head. We walked toward the entrance, and I opened the door. Through the doorway was an infinite blackness.

"Well, let's go." The Argonian said.

Well it definitely seems you're taking the 'stream of thought' approach to the story. Which isn't a bad idea at all, but don't be afraid to paraphrase things here and there. It's your story, but 'stream of thought' stories usually consist of some paraphrasing here and there.

Anyway, good story I'm enjoying it. :goodjob:

I really liked it but sometimes you get a bit repetitive in your wordchoice.

Some examples:
falter appears quite often nearby eachother
A shiver ran down my spine; twice within several sentences (the first one was actually: I shiver ran down, rather than A shiver....)
A small thing about punctuation:
You continue the sentence so the period behind bandits should be a comma.

The same here:

In this case, "the" isn't supposed to be "The". It's behind a comma so with a small "t"

I found this sentence rather awkward:
{reached into a waterbarrel, nearly frozen over} I added "nearly frozen over" to indicate it's really, really cold. Thus, the barrel is outside.

A small typo:
{run}

Edit: Short chapter. Sowwy.

Unwelcome Guests
Evening Star 13th

The ancient dust that hung on the time-old air that populated the ruin did not agree with my lungs, forcing me to cough up all the crap that was in the air I breathed. The perverted shadows of the ruin cast a dark state of mind on those who dare dwell there, as if the ruin were alive itself, foredooming those who wish to gamble their lives for the riches and fame that the ruin beheld.

I, myself, am feeling quite changed by the ruin. As I watched Rakeem’s sudden metamorphosis on the queer canoe ride over here, it is like I am going through the same thing. The darkened ruin has shed light on me, and, in an odd sense, flooded me with an eerie salvation of calmness, brought upon through the terror that the ruin instilled in me. My Argonian accomplice nods at me, as if we mutually understood his superiority in dealing with this situation, and headed within the derelict domicile.

I stood before the entrance to the dilapidated ruin, waiting for my legs to willingly walk inside. The glint of my friend’s armor faded as he proceeded further within the confines of the ruin, and, feeling abandoned, followed him hastily.

As I walked into the ruin, the light grew scarce. As I walked further into the shadows, the cold, relentless air that has hung about the ruin for Gods only know how long, embraced me with almost a malicious intent, a vampire svcking the heat out of my very core. Cold sweat beaded my forehead, and I did not feel safe until I finally got sight of my Argonian friend.

I ran my hands down the limestone hall, nearly tripping on every step that I took. I could barely see, yet I tried to make up for my lack of sight with the sense of feel. I was able to find Rakeem by the glint of his armor, and haphazardly made my way toward him. I grabbed him by the shoulder to make sure it was him, and in a mad fury, he spun on me, his arm raised. At the last second, he stopped his sword from flying into my flesh, realizing who it was.

“Settle down, It--” I tried to reassure my identity, but he covered my mouth with his scaly hand. At first, I silently protested, but then I heard something. The small click of a boot, followed by a symphony of footsteps. I dared not move. A silence gathered about myself and my friend, and hung there, only being broken by the distant click…clack of the boot that had caused the silence in the first place. Rakeem’s head was glued in the direction of the sound, his hand gripping his sword tightly. I, still being gagged by the Argonian’s hand, barely took a breath, wondering if such a sound could alert the unknown enemy to our presence.

I prayed to the gods that the click-clack of the boot would disappear, fade into the blackness of the ruin, but it refused. The sentry refused to abandon his post, and honorably kept his vigil. Rakeem decided to take the offensive, and withdrew his hand from my mouth. He walked very slowly toward the sound of the boot. I slowly followed him, finding it easier to produce little sound with my leather shoes.

The white, limestone walls of the Ayelid ruin gave way to an adjacent hallway, connected to this spiraling hallway by two doorways. They had no doors, and gave an adventurer a sense of exposure, forcing him to slink lower and move quieter than before. Rakeem, on the other hand, did not feel the intimidating affects that this doorway produced. The mind bending effects that architecture had during a hostile situation were not studied by scholars, nor usually mentioned during someone’s tales. However, experiencing the firsthand sense of the architecture’s effect on a persons mind pushes him to tell someone, as if it were a deep secret destroying his very core.

Rakeem, not fazed by this, continued toward the entrance, hugging the wall. I got behind him, and decided to wait until it was over. I closed my eyes, and waited for it to be over. I saw nothing, but heard everything. There was the footsteps of Rakeem rushing to the battle, the yell of the Bandit, clashing of metal, the haunting sound of steel meeting flesh, and the last sound that the bandit would ever make in his life: a cry of hopelessness.

When I heard the bandit’s lifeless body hit the floor, it was like the whole ruin jumped. I, sitting against the limestone wall, felt something rush over me, as if a gust of wind knocked me over. I fell out of consciousness for a second, than recovered in a booming sensation. The cold sweat that was on my forehead gave me a sense of doom and death, which was reassured by the running blood that fled from the body of the bandit.

I wiped my forehead, stood up, and smashed my head against the wall. I regained sanity, and all was well. Rakeem poked his head around the corner inquisitively to discover what had made the small thumping noise that had echoed through the hall. I gave him a thumbs-up sign, and he nodded back at me.

I walked into the hallway where Rakeem had dealt with the bandit, and immediately covered my nose. The horrible stench of death had evaded my earlier, but now, it was cooped up inside of this underground ruin, building upon itself, seeping through my skin. Rakeem gave a hearty chuckle as my eyes watered.

He rummaged through the bandit’s pockets, looking for anything valuable. While he was busy defiling the body, I took a minute to look at the bandit’s weapon. An iron mace, by the looks of it. The worn wood stock looked like it was oak, and at the tip, four “L”-shaped blades sat equidistant towards each other. I picked it up, choking up on the wood stock. I swung at the empty air, feeling the weight of the mace throw me off balance, and I spiraled to the floor.

“You are holding it too far up, poet.” Said Rakeem, abandoning his futile search for anything valuable. He grabbed my hand, and forced it further down on the wood stock.

“Plus, you need to--here, just read this.” He stopped himself and looked in his pack. He produced an aged book entitled Mace Etiquette.

“And you carry this around with you?” I quizzed. He shrugged. He gave me the worn book, and I blew the dust off the leather cover. It was a tiny book, almost simply a pamphlet, so I decided to read it right then and there.

Upon reading this book, I felt like a veteran warrior. I read the book again, accompanying each word with it’s corresponding action. I positioned the mace and let it fly. Rakeem seemed impressed with my progress, so I reluctantly handed him back his book and we continued on our way.

[[ Hey everyone. Just letting you guys know I haven't given up on ya. I should be posting up another chapter by the end of the week. Finals have kept me from completing my next chapter, so ya. Look forward to reviews. Soo, see you later! ]]

Good, look forward to it! The grammar and style improvement is staggering!

Black Magic
Evening Star 13th

Why do we fight? Civilization, the force of which we are a part of, have decided that fighting is the best way to settle our differences. Striking death upon our foes is looked upon as a great honour, and the most glorious of warriors are revered. But, we, that same force of civilization, fail to realize that the glorious warrior is no more than a murderer. Much will contradict me on this, but, truly, he is no more than a murderer defending some 'believed' cause which is never conveyed to the public. The Imperial City Arena is a fine example of relentless, barbaric bloodshed; money exchanged for blood, that is the way the world works. Fighting, killing namely, is a cardinal sin. We, the people, have forgotten that.

Life is the most precious thing bestowed upon our cursed race. My head, unusually clear, has had time to decide and think on such controversial things, such as this. Previous thoughts now conflict with my current, which, I suppose, would put me under the favor of transcendentalists. Besides the point, my beliefs have swayed after having the view point of an adventurer; a swashbuckler?a killer. This reason has made itself manifest through my Argonian friend, who has taught me a little more about fighting. All man fights for something, whether it be for material positions, for a loved one, for one's country, or for fun. While a good deal of those listed might not be as virtuous as some should be, but when a person takes up arms, it is to defend something. Bandits, those who have decided to live their lives in an outlaw attitude hide from civilization, and will do anything to protect themselves and their morals. And that is what it boils down to, protecting your morals.

Much of this is besides the point-and we must get going further into the ruin.

After a couple more swings with the mace, Rakeem gave an understanding nod and we were on our way. We made our way out of the adjacent hallway and proceeded further down into the ruin. Cautiously we rounded the corner, checking for anyone who would not warmly accept our arrival. The immediate area was clear of any evil-doers, so we proceeded down the marble, downward spiral staircase. I walked very carefully, as not to make any perceptible noise, but, somehow, I was not paying too much attention. As I took a step on a seemingly normal step, the step shifted under my weight, and thus a small metal clinking was heard from above. I was not able to process the information in time; I was not able to move as a spiked mace swung down towards my face. My heart dropped into my feet--this was how it was going to end. A scaly hand grabbed my hair, and yanked it back. Pain exploded into my scalp, begging for mercy. My head was pulled back, barely--just barely missing the trap. I felt the wind that the trap produced, and it swung up in an arc, and back down again.


A sigh escaped me, and I fell over in pure relief. I feeling of rapture washed over me, just to be alive seemed like a thing of wonder; a miracle. Rakeem, crouched down, looked at my face. I could see obvious lacerations from the previous battle on his face, but he seemed not to care. He checked me for any injuries, then grabbed my shirt and pulled me back on my feet. I swayed, as if the entire ground moved under me. He held onto me, and I grabbed him for support. The world span for a second, and I shook my head. Everything was clear again, and I thanked my companion. He decided to take point, and we moved deeper into the ruin. A staircase was the only thing that separated us from a giant chamber. That, and a pair of bandits. A orange light danced atop a torch, hiding our presence. Due to the lack of light from where we were, there was no way they could see us. Rakeem sheathed his blade, and pulled out three little things that glimmered in the light. Upon inspecting further, I found out that they were actually knives.

His arm came back as if to throw, and it all became clear to me. His arm snapped down, the knife exploding from his hand. I looked on in anticipation, hoping that the projectile hit it's mark. One of the bandits fell, and the other one jumped in complete surprise. The second bandit, a Male Redguard, discovered our presence. However, his life was cut short by a second throw by the knife-throwing Argonian beside me. I looked at him in wonder, and he stood up.

"Well," he said, putting the third knife back in his pocket, "let's get going."

And so, with little effort by myself, we, one-by-one cleared the ruin of the enemy. As we dived further into the cave, the pressure that was put upon us escalated, and we began to conjugate with the undead-zombies and skeletons-remnants of those who have once died, then have had the curse to rise once again as somebody's servant. We dived further and further, and it seemed like it would never end. The Argonian even commented that he had never been in a ruin that went this deep. The comment startled me deeply, bringing up the possibility that we were lost-doomed to wander around this forsaken place for as long as time stands.

Somehow we were able to find the Ayleid statue that was buried deep within the ruin, and we began to make our escape--?

There was a lone statue that was connected to the atrium that we discovered the statue in. It went up instead of down, and, for a moment, I let myself believe that this staircase led us out. With asinine haste, I ran up the stairs. Rakeem, knowing that I had made a foolish mistake, tried after me. With every step I was closer to freedom, free from the chains that had been locked around us when we entered this hell?

I reached the top?Rakeem was not far behind?

A cloaked man sat there?He lifted a finger?

Rakeem was thrown across the room, smashing into an opposite wall--and, now, I was alone?

Write on my friend, write on.