This is based off of an old RP of mine that I had hoped to complete yet it died early on. I had alot of story developed for it and I figured i'd put it into fan fic form so I could write about it one way or another.

Part One - The family.

"Well, I finally made it to Cyrodiil dad," Spoke an average looking Imperial as he crouched next to a tombstone, "it's nice, but I'm here on formal matters, I finally decided to take your advice you know, got a job at the fighters guild here. Big one too apparently ? Mom wasn't too pleased." the man chuckled and smiled weakly, his chiselled features giving way for a second before they returned back into the half smile he always wore. "She never really approved of much that we did though, did she? But that's fine, she'll understand. You know what you told me about Cyrodiil? Well, it hasn't changed much: The memorial statue of the great 'oblivion crisis' still stands high and it really doesn't feel like that nonsense was only about 60 years ago. Akatosh be praised this place looks as good as it does in your stories. You never would've figured that anything like that would've happened here." As the man spoke, his voice became coarse and quiet, much like a voice does when someone tries not to cry. "But, that suits me fine. It's better then home, right? Heh, no gaping holes in cliffsides here ? No sir. You'd like it dad, I know you would." At this the man stood up and saluted for a second. "You look over Mom dad, by the gods she needs you now."

He reached into the pocket of his long, thick and grey coloured trench coat and withdrew a book- He placed it at the foot of the grave and walked away, his boots creating deep imprints in the snow. As he got to the exit of the graveyard he took out a thin cigarette and lit it- The smoke of the cigarette filled out into the morning fog that had engulfed the city of Bruma. He looked back at the grave one last time and finally began to make his way into the city.

Although it was morning, the city was bustling. Travellers, merchants, guards and other such folk filed out of every building. The noise was more then enough to annoy anyone attempting to sleep in, but today was unlike most days. For today they were celebrating the mid year festival. It was a very busy time of year, everyone had somewhere to be and the churches were just as busy if not more so then most of the taverns in Cyrodiil. (Which was unusually busy in Bruma.) Nonetheless however, Crook, as he liked to be called had found his destination.

With heavy feet and a cold shiver he entered the fighters guild. He quickly looked around and saw that nothing had changed since last evening. Save for now the room was full of men and women all shouting something about their troubles. Crook shuffled past the crowd and walked upstairs into one of the member rooms where a long table and two well dressed men were sitting at. One of them looked to Crook and flinched, "Please, no cigarettes in here, it makes the place smell horrid." he stated in a thick cyrodiilic accent. Crook nodded, dropped the cigarette to the floor and much to the other mans dismay ? Stomped it out on his rug. "Forgive me." he said and half bowed.

"Well, uhh, quite right." Spoke the other man as he stood up to shake Crook's hand, "My name is Matthew Johnstone, I am to be your employer for this mission." The two men shook hands briefly and it was Crook who spoke next.

"Christopher King, but call me Crook. It's an old nickname." He added with a smile, noticing how the man often looked at the put out cigarette. "So, Mr Johnstone, is this it? Just myself and this other gentleman here?" He asked as he sat down next to a Dunmer man who had yet to be introduced. Crook and this Dunmer man both met eyes and smiled weakly. He was used to that ? After living in Vvardenfell for most of his life, he'd kinda gotten used to how they viewed other species. "Oh, no. There is one other and I don't expect him to be here for the moment. This here is.. Uthire, a Dunmer mage from the Telvanni." Mr Johnstone said proudly, almost showing off his new pet.

Uthire wasn't happy about it though and waved his hand, "That is enough Matthew, do you wish to embarrass me?" He spoke and turned to look at Crook again, "Well, 'Crook', I had not expected to see someone like yourself here for this mission." he mumbled and sighed, turning his attention away from Crook.

Crook frowned, "Quite." he responded as he noticed there was a small map on the table. He reached out for it and pushed it closer. Various markers had been imprinted upon it and Crook began to read out the names of the locations under his breath. "Is this where we're heading? Skyrim?" He asked, not taking his attention away from the map. He'd never been to Skyrim, and he hated the cold ? This is going to be fun. he thought dryly, but in truth he couldn't be happier. He'd heard of tall tales about giant beasts that roam the wastelands of the snowy province and had always wanted to defeat one. He was about to ask another question when his attention was taken away from the map and to what was possibly the largest man he'd ever seen.

"Gro Grahz, reportin' fur duty sire." insisted the great dark skinned orc. The ugly thing was decked out in some strange armour Crook had never seen before, it looked thick and clumsy yet the Orc walked in without struggle and even stretched his arms out.

"Ahai! Grahz, it's good to see you again. Please, uhh, take a spot at the table." started Mr Johnstone as he pointed towards the table, his face showing a wide grin that betrayed his earlier mannerisms. The great orc nodded and stomped towards the table but decided not to sit down, after all, he was covered in armour.

"Well, now that the family is all here, I guess it's time to tell you all of the mission, first off though, I want to stress to you the importance of this mission: If Skyrim officials become aware of your presence, no way must you tell them your true objective, for if you do, you will plunge both cyrodiil and Skyrim into war. And that is something we cannot allow for ? You are all trusted members of your respective establishments and thus I have no reason to not trust you." He addressed the three of them as he pointed towards the map. "But I cannot stress enough ? You must keep this mission secretive. Not even your closest friends can know about this." After he finished with his speech which picked Crooks interest, Mr Johnstone walked towards a side door and knocked loudly. He then waited for the door to open before returning back to the table where he was followed by a well built Redoran, "This here is General Havir, a member of the secret order of the blades. He will inform you of your mission."

You certainly caught my interest. I really like the monologue in the first paragraph.

This one stood for me because it seemed, well out of pace. It felt too much like an infodump which I am sure you can make a lot better. I can see it in the rest of your writing.

I wanted to portray that he was having a really hard time speaking to his fathers grave. I didn't know quite how to go about it and this was all I could do. I wasn't too happy with it and I'm glad someone picked it up.

Anyone got any thoughts on how I can portray such an emotion?

Ah, good to see you writing fan fiction If you don't mind I have a few things to say about this introduction. Please keep in mind that everything I say is in the best interests of your writing, and I in no way am trying to put you down or hurt your feelings. I know sometimes it sounds that way when I give advice, and I am trying to work on it. Thank you.


Alright, first things first: your bit of dialogue with his dead father is a very powerful characterizing piece, it's very creative and just gets a very good feel going. However, when you have such a scene, you want to keep all the important elements in balance, to optimize the effect on the reader. It needs to have good pacing, good emotion, vivid descriptions, and realistic dialogue.

Pacing seems to be one of the biggest problems in this introduction, it reads very quickly and without much of the information sinking in. Pacing is the general speed at which the reader takes in the passage, and how much detail they get from it. A quick pace conveys a kind of hurry, the likes of which you would find in scenes where everything is moving quickly, such as fights or disasters. The protagonist shouldn't have enough time to describe most of what they see, and it leads to short, action filled paragraphs. Slower pacing, on the other hand, is used when you want to describe a scene in detail, showing a lot of the surroundings. It's used when introducing the scene to the reader, and during things like conversations.

Just about all of this introduction should be paced very slow, and the key to slow pacing is a lot of description. Use a lot of words for very little action, as not much is really happening here (aside from dialogue). You want to focus in on everything your character is feeling, especially sights and emotions. The first part with the graveyard should not just take up one paragraph, you need to devote at least a page to it. Things happen in conversation besides just the words, and a large monologue doesn't convey as much emotion as you need for such a scene.

Not to mention a lot of what you are saying there is an infodump, telling us all that backstory at one time when we really don't need to know it all. Him talking to his dad about what is going on and when the story takes place is fine, but going off on a tangent about the oblivion crisis felt too unnatural. If you decide that you really want your readers to know that information, I would at least slow the pacing down (use dialogue tags, show what the graveyard looks like, etc.) so it has more effect and flows better.

Now, emotion goes without saying in that part where he is talking to his dad. You tried to put it in, but the pacing really ruined the effect, and it just felt out of place. You did a good job with it, but the pacing ruined any characterization it would have caused.

That third little part is one of the most important parts of a story, the descriptions. If the reader can't see in his head what the scene and the character looks like, they'll quickly get confused. You need to show the setting a bit more, just saying it's a graveyard really doesn't help us imagine what it looks like. This falls under the rule of "Show, don't tell", in that you want to paint a picture of what this graveyard looks like, what it feels like, instead of just saying that it's a graveyard. More description leads to slower pacing, which leads to better emotion, which leads to better characterization; and characterization is the key to making an interesting story, having your audience fall in love with your protagonist.

Finally we get to dialogue Conversations make up the meat of any scene that isn't based on action, and if they're not believable readers lose interest in these slow parts. They are the best way to reveal a non-protagonist character's personality, and they are the key to a succesful story. And the best way to making them believable, aside from the actual words they are saying, are dialogue tags and the pacing. Pacing we've already talked about, but dialogue tags are the key to succesful dialogue. They encompass just about everything that isn't dialogue in a conversation, and they are mostly used to convey body language, inflection, and describing the scene. People don't stand still during conversations, they aren't expresionless statues. Adding these in, along with speech quirks (which you already have), make your characters memorable, and their dialogue realistic.

Agh, I have more to say but I'm afraid I am out of time. If you have any questions let me know, I'll be back later to talk more

Thanks for writing, and keep up the good work :goodjob:


PS As to your question, I tend to focus on describing what the character's eyes look like in such a situation. I usually use the word "clouded" or "hazy", meaning they grow unfocused, as if in thought. That, coupled with making his voice grow softer, I find tends to work to convey that emotion (a reflective sadness). Thanks again



EDIT: Always glad to help I had more, but I lost most of it. I'll just wait until the next chapter then, I wouldn't want to overload this one.

Thanks

Wow! A wealth of knowledge. Cheers mate, I appreciate this. I'll certainly remember this! :D

I figured that after reading what you said I could probably make a much improved version of my first post. Please, I would like to know your thoughts to see if I have indeed taken upon what you said or I haven't really understood the points:

***The Family mk2.0***

"Well, I finally made it to Cyrodiil dad," Spoke an average looking Imperial as he crouched next to a tombstone, his eyes glanced over it and watched as his hand rested fondly atop the stone, "it's nice, but I'm here on formal matters, I finally decided to take your advice you know, got a job at the fighters guild here. Big one too apparently ? Mom wasn't too pleased." he chuckled slightly but it was short lived, his chiseled features giving way for a second before they returned back to their normal position. He took a deep breath of air, pulled off his coat hood and ran a hand through his short black hair before he continued, "She never really approved of much that we did though, did she? But that's fine, she'll understand eventually. You know what you told me about Cyrodiil?" He asked, his voice picking up for a moment as he tried to change the subject He shuffled his feet to get more comfortable and ended up crouching,"Well, it hasn't changed much: The memorial statue of the great 'oblivion crisis' still stands high and it really doesn't feel like that nonsense was only about 60 years ago. Akatosh be praised this place looks as good as it does in your stories." He said with a smile, the man glanced around at his surroundings for a short while, his eyes hovering on the stone chapel that stood beside him ? It's spire just hiding the morning sun, casting a shadow over the large graveyard, he took another sigh before turning his attention back to the gravestone, " You never would've figured that anything like that would've happened here." As the man spoke, his eyes became hazy and his voice coarse, he shuffled again and began to pick at the moss that covered parts of the gravestone, he seemed to almost become fixated upon the action. "But, that suits me fine. It's better then home, right? Heh, no gaping holes in cliffsides here ? No sir." He laughed suddenly, the sound echoing around the empty graveyard, a warm smile crept across his face, "You'd like it dad.. I know you would." He insisted, his voice trailing off as he stood up and let his hand return to his side. "You look over Mom dad, by the gods she needs you now."

Slowly, he reached into the pocket of his long, thick and grey coloured trench coat and withdrew a book, the deep brown leather looked worn and a ribbon of deep blue kept it closed- The imperial let his hands run across the spine before he placed it at the foot of the grave, he looked at it for a second and began to walk away from the gravestone, his boots creating a deep imprint in the snow. As he walked towards the exit of the graveyard, he noticed another man kneeling by a stone, he too appeared to be talking to it, the imperial smiled at this and stood watching for a moment. Once again he glanced over the graveyard, it's tall stone walls and large statues were ominous in sight, yet he couldn't help but feel an a strong sense of tranquillity. The imperial turned away from the grieving man and headed towards the exit of the graveyard, taking out a long thing cigarette from his trenchcoat and stopping for but a second to light it and carry on. The smoke of the cigarette filled out into the morning fog that had engulfed the city of Bruma. He looked back at the grave one last time and finally began to make his way into the city.

Although it was morning, the city was bustling: Travellers, merchants, guards and other such folk filed out of every building. The noise was more then enough to annoy anyone attempting to sleep in, but today was unlike most days. For today they were celebrating the mid year festival. It was a very busy time of year, everyone had somewhere to be and the churches were just as busy if not more so then most of the taverns in Cyrodiil. (Which was unusually busy in Bruma.) However, Crook as he liked to be called was taller than most men and was able to navigate his way around the huge town, his sharp eyes picking out every detail as he tried to make his way towards his destination. At long last he made it to the fighters guild, it's warm coloured oak walls and rich tapestries that hung around the entrance were hard to miss.

With heavy feet and a cold shiver he entered the fighters guild. He quickly looked around and saw that nothing had changed since last evening. Save for now the room was full of men and women all shouting something about their troubles. Crook shuffled past the crowd and walked upstairs into one of the member rooms where a long table and two well dressed men were sitting at. One of them looked to Crook and flinched, his bushy eyebrows connected into a frown, "Please, no cigarettes in here, it makes the place smell horrid." he stated in a thick cyrodiilic accent. Crook nodded, dropped the cigarette to the floor and much to the other mans dismay ? Stomped it out on his rug. "Forgive me." he said and half bowed.

"Well, uhh, quite right." Spoke the other man as he stood up to shake Crook's hand, "My name is Matthew Johnstone, I am to be your employer for this mission." The two men shook hands briefly and it was Crook who spoke next.

"Christopher King, but call me Crook. It's an old nickname." He added, noticing how the man often looked at the put out cigarette. "So, Mr Johnstone, is this it? Just myself and this other gentleman here?" He asked as he sat down next to a Dunmer man who had yet to be introduced. Crook and this Dunmer man both met eyes and smiled weakly, the dunmer had a full facial tattoo of a spider web and when Crook tried to anolyse it more closely the dunmer snorted and looked away. He was used to that ? After living in Vvardenfell for most of his life, he'd kinda gotten used to how they viewed other species. "Oh, no. There is one other and I don't expect him to be here for the moment. This here is.. Uthire, a Dunmer mage from the Telvanni." Mr Johnstone said proudly, almost showing off his new pet.

Uthire wasn't happy about it though and waved his hand, "That is enough Matthew, do you wish to embarrass me?" He spoke and turned to look at Crook again, "Well, 'Crook', I had not expected to see someone like yourself here for this mission." he mumbled, his bright red eyes glancing over Crook once again, the dunmer turned away and let his thin, tight lips open for a long sigh.

Crook frowned, "Quite." he responded as he noticed there was a small map on the table. He reached out for it and pushed it closer. Various markers had been imprinted upon it and Crook began to read out the names of the locations under his breath. "Is this where we're heading? Skyrim?" He asked, not taking his attention away from the map. He'd never been to Skyrim, and he hated the cold ? This is going to be fun. he thought dryly, but in truth he couldn't be happier. He'd heard of tall tales about giant beasts that roam the wastelands of the snowy province and had always wanted to defeat one. He was about to ask another question when his attention was taken away from the map and to what was possibly the largest man he'd ever seen.

"Gro Grahz, reportin' fur duty sire." insisted the great dark skinned orc. The ugly thing was decked out in some strange armour Crook had never seen before, it looked thick and clumsy yet the Orc walked in without struggle and even stretched his arms out.

"Ahai! Grahz, it's good to see you again. Please, uhh, take a spot at the table." started Mr Johnstone as he pointed towards the table, his face showing a wide grin that betrayed his earlier mannerisms. The great orc nodded and stomped towards the table but decided not to sit down, after all, he was covered in armour.

"Well, now that the family is all here, I guess it's time to tell you all of the mission, first off though, I want to stress to you the importance of this mission: If Skyrim officials become aware of your presence, no way must you tell them your true objective, for if you do, you will plunge both cyrodiil and Skyrim into war. And that is something we cannot allow for ? You are all trusted members of your respective establishments and thus I have no reason to not trust you." He addressed the three of them as he pointed towards the map. "But I cannot stress enough ? You must keep this mission secretive. Not even your closest friends can know about this." After he finished with his speech which picked Crooks interest, Mr Johnstone walked towards a side door and knocked loudly. He then waited for the door to open before returning back to the table where he was followed by a well built Redoran, "This here is General Havir, a member of the secret order of the blades. He will inform you of your mission."

Has it been a while since I posted in this or what? Well, needless to say i can come up with several excuses but I wont - I decided to churn this out, if you're looking forward to more, don't expect a regular posting schedule!

Part Two - Of Necromancers, Skyrim and Truth.

The old mans words seemed to spur both of Crooks' companions into action as at the mention of the name 'General Havir', both men stood up in respect of him, in fact, they'd done it so enthusiastically that Crook had done the same, fearing something was wrong. However, his mind was put to ease when he inspected the elderly Redoran that stepped through, the man wore a simple black tunic with gold lace lining, his trousers were of similar colours, all in all – The look complimented the old man well, the simple clothes showed off his thuggish face and short curly grey hair. The man looked to the three mercenaries and smiled warmly, “It is good to see you two again.” He greeted warmly, shaking the hands of both Ulthire and Grahz before turning his head to Crook, “I see before me an old face atop new shoulders.” The man said plainly, his eyes wandered across the now confused man, Crook was about to enquire when the Redoran turned to Ulthire, “He looks just like his father, it's incredible..” He mumbled and nodded, this piqued Crooks interest greatly, he didn't know much of his fathers later years, the task he was given before he died was clouded with much mystery and Crook never found out what truly happened, however, the men were now talking about other things like their old contracts, of previous battles or of jokes that only they could laugh at. Truth be told – The whole thing seemed to bore Crook, he had no interest in things he couldn't join in and at the mention of his father, all he wanted to do was talk about him.

But, before he was given the chance, the Redoran stood up again, “Alright, I think it's probably a good idea we got on with the mission details, eh?” He stated, chuckling slightly as he turned to Crook, “Tell me, Christopher.” The man said, for some reason; Crook found it strange to be hearing someone use his real name, especially someone he'd never met, “What do you know of your fathers death?” he asked again, this time his tone was more serious and Crook could feel everyone's eyes digging into him.

“I.. Uhh..” He mumbled quietly, he didn't like talking about things which upset him, he found it uncomfortable but he knew he wouldn't be able to get away from it this time, “Not much to be honest, all I know was he died in Skyrim on a mission – They said it was wild men but there was no official report about such things.” He added, finding the words came easier to him now, he turned his eyes to both his companions, they both had pained expressions upon their faces, What's wrong with them? he thought, beginning to feel that something wasn't quite right, “Why?” he asked curiously, his eyes meeting those of the old Redoran.

Havir sat down, letting out a sigh of relief as he did so, “Well, it might please you to know that, that is not strictly true.” The man stated, his old eyes glanced across at the others at the table, his hand absently going to his chin that was dotted with stubble as if the man hadn't shaven in a day or two, “Instead, he died holding off an attack from a very powerful sorcerer that saved many lives.” He added, he could see that Crook wanted to ask questions but Havir didn't have time for such things, “This Sorcerers name is Draku Telvanni, yes, a powerful mage from the great house Telvanni.” he stated, nodding in the direction of Ulthire who simply nodded along and bit his lip in anger at the mention of such a thing.
“He is no longer of the great house.” he interrupted, the dark elf's voice hissed of hate. Crook looked shocked at first, he knew of how the dunmer prided themselves on their heritage and that being kicked from one of the houses was a grave dishonour, but he hadn't seen such hate for someone in quite some time. “Either way, you may remember the time when the Imperial City was laid siege by an army of undead – This was his doing.” Havir continued cooly, he was now pacing the side of the room, his hands tucked neatly behind his back which showed off his strong arm muscles. “He then fled, for whatever reason – To Skyriim where we quickly sent out spies after him. Your father – Stationed at one of the northernmost villages, found Draku in the middle of casting a ritual which was going to turn a village into a horde of undead monsters – Or so we believe. Either way, your father went to stop him and actually succeeded, but, while saving the village, he sacrificed his own life. He has since then; become somewhat of a legend to the northern nordic tribesmen and women.”

“However, our relations with Skyrim recently have been far from favourable, and it is only now we have decided we might get away with sending a small task force of unofficial agents into Skyrim with the purpose of finding and eliminating the threat. Obviously – Any sign of official imperial involvement will only harm the task force and the province's relations.” Havir finished, turning towards a glass jug of water where he began to pour himself a drink.

This small break, while only short – Felt like an eternity for Crook, he couldn't help but try to get his head around things, for so long – He'd always thought his dad had died a merc, not better or worse than the ordinary man, but now he was learning he was a hero and a martyr to nords? The idea puzzled him and he could feel a headache coming along due to the tension. He also began to notice Grahz staring at him and Crook decided to change his trail of thought least it become obvious he was distracted, he didn't want them to have second thoughts about him coming along on this mission. “Uhh, so.. This village, where was it again?” He asked, his words came out clumsily as if he was out of breath.

Havir looked up from his pouring, “Hmm?” he grunted as he quickly set about placing the jug where it was, “Oh yes ofcourse, I was just getting to that..” He added as he sat back down, he looked to Crook who smiled politely at him, “A place called.. Bears Bane..” he read the name out as if it confused him, “that's a loose translation anyway, we don't really have any official maps of the villages that far north and those that we do have are unreadable.” The man shrugged and pointed towards the part of skyrim he meant, “Your father, Crook – He found the necromancers cave, just a few miles.. Round about... here.” He related, his fingers tracing a circle around a dot on the map.

Crook could only look at the map and nod, he didn't know where it meant relative to anything else in the world, he'd rarely left Cyrodiil, and even then it was only for a week or two. He'd never ventured far from the roads and had stayed to main cities or small towns. The thought of it scared him a little, or was it excitement? He couldn't tell the difference. He looked to his two companions, “How do you want us to get there?” asked Grahz, the great orc stood up and began to talk about routes and paths through the great icy tundra, all of which was lost on Crook, instead, he sat back and let his thoughts wonder to his father, he remembered him well, he was tall, handsome or so he thought and strong, he was very strong. He'd been an ex-legionnaire but after experiencing the loss of his commanding officer and most of his squad to an ambush near Chorral, he quit and joined the fighters guild as a mercenary for hire, it wasn't long before he was earning more as a mercenary than he was as a soldier. With a smile, Crook recalled the number of times he'd come home with a trophy or news of his advancement, it always excited his mother and him and they all seemed happy until he started to travel to Skyrim, Crook always thought something changed him up there, whether it was the weather or the isolation he'd often talk about Crook didn't know, he figured both attributed but he definitely began to feel that his father was becoming more and more like the snowy landscape itself; cold and lonely.

His name interrupted his thoughts and he glazed quickly over the table, jumping slightly in mild surprise, “I asked if you had any further questions? Grahz and Ulthire here will fill you in on the main details of the mission and the terrain, but do you have anything you want to ask me?” Crook noticed a hint of sympathy in the mans voice, he'd obviously noticed that Crook had been distracted since his father was mentioned but he simply shook his head, “No no, I understand it all quite clearly, when do we leave?” he asked, his eyes darting between each member at the table.

This time it was Johnstone that spoke, the old man had been leaning back in his chair watching the whole event unfold, “Tomorrow, at latest, our timing is crucial- There's a supply train leaving Bruma tomorrow and it's heading through skyrim, you can leave under the pretence of being interested traders leaving to make a deal, the necessary forms are being forged as we speak.” He said smiling slightly, with that the man stood up, “Well gentleman, the walk home will be cold and I'm awfully tired, I must take my leave. I probably wont see you tomorrow, and in the event that I don't- I wish you good luck, I have a feeling you'll need it!” The old man chuckled as he left the room to which was filled with the talk of Ulthire and Havir – Both of them seemed to be good friends and he couldn't believe it but he often spied a grind on Ulthires rigid mouth.

In awkwardness, Crook turned to Grahz, “So Grahz, why do you think they picked you to come along?” He asked curiously, the great orc looked as if he could carry the weight of several men and his armour was fine and well made – Crook assumed he was royalty, but he'd never really seen an Orc noble; or atleast, he didn't think he had.

A bit longer than I'm used to, so sorry if this went on or it seems as if things don't really fit in, this spent me a couple of days to finish.

-----

During his conversation with Grahz, Crook found out a lot about the great Orc, he was born in cyrodiil; his teenage years were spent in the fighters guild whom he considered to be his parents in a non-literal sense. Normally, this sort of talk would've bored Crook, his answers would've come out as groans and he wouldn't of asked further questions about it ? But considering this was probably his first real conversation with an Orc, he found it fascinating.

Crook's opinion on Orcs were that they were beasts, similar to the giant Khajiit that roamed Elswyr, he thought both species held no real intelligence and simply did what they were told, yet now he found out that Grahz had a personality, he had a sense of humour and weirdly enough ? He had opinions. The Orismer spoke well too and prided himself on speaking more than just Cyrodiilic ? Crook blushed at this, he couldn't attempt to speak another language if he tried, and for quite some time after, he felt almost embarrassed to sit next to Grahz. Luckily for him, he saw an opening out of the conversation which had now become almost awkward as Crook felt overwhelmed by the great man, "Well Grahz," He said cooly, yawning slightly and stretching his arms, "I think I might go to bed, all this sitting down has worn me out." He added with a smile, Grahz simply nodded, Hah, it worked. he thought, preening himself fondly about his small victory over the Orc. "I'll see you tomorrow then, goodnight you two." He added to the others, standing up and leaving Grahz to himself.

As he closed the door behind him, he looked out into the street via a window, apparently he'd been in the room far longer than he'd realised as all he could see were shadows cast by lamp light. "Bugger." He mumbled and fumbled in his coat pocket as he stepped outside of the guild, to his surprise the festival was still going strong, and instead of merchant stalls lining the streets, musicians and artists of various natures entertained the crowd who danced and cheered and some even sang. Crook found it all rather silly but couldn't help but smile and tap his hand against his side to the beat of the music.

As he walked past a food stall, his belly rumbled and he was quickly realised that he hadn't eaten for most of the day, he frowned and hurriedly ordered a bowl of chicken broth. The stall owned pointed him to a chair and began to pour some broth from one of the large pots next to him into a small bowl, after Crook had paid the man, he quickly delved into the warm meal and began to look around him, Bruma's normally cold and bitter weather was unfelt against the mass of people and it seemed strange to see women in low dresses that had nothing more than straps to cover the shoulders. He quickly finished off his broth by raising the bowl to his mouth and drinking the rest, the action earned him a stern eye from the redguard that sat beside him. Crook smiled awkwardly back and walked off, his mood increasing with every step. Infact, he was in such a good mood, that when he was bowled over by a woman who wasn't looking where he was going, he laughed happily. His laugh soon turned into a wide grin when he figured out who it was, the woman who now fumbled across the floor as she tried to pick herself up with some dignity was Jezebele Yuri, a breton barmaid from one of the local taverns. Crook and her were good friends, ever since he could remember they'd always known one another, brief memories of his time spent with her flashed before him briefly before he quickly handed her an arm. "You're getting more and more clumsy everyday." He teased and prodded her, disapprovingly she span around, her face a mix of embarrassment and anger, that was until she noticed it was Crook, "Chris!" she called out happily and wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug, "Where've you been? I heard you were in town but I couldn't find you." She asked, her eyes scanning his face for some mark of change before she pulled him away from the crowd. Crook shrugged and nervously looked away, he wondered for a second if he should tell her about the news he found out today about his father, Would this be the wrong time? he asked himself, but before he could answer, Jezebele was prodding him in the ribs for an answer, "Come on! Speak up! Where were you?"

Crook laughed and pretended to be hurt so as to make her feel bad, "I've been in the fighters guild, I'm going up to Northern Skyriim." He said, he smiled proudly, Jezebele had always wanted to see Skyriim, but her family always fought against it, she was born in Balmora but her family moved to Bruma when she was 18 and Crook was 19, now she was to be raised in Bruma for the rest of her life and she hated the idea of it. "You're lying again!" She called out and pulled him away in jest, "You know I've always wanted to see Skyriim, where were you really?" She added, defiant on finding out the truth.
"No no, I was being serious, I'm actually going to Northern Skyriim, there's this Orc and Dunmer that are going with me- The Orc is actually a really nice guy, funny really, consdering we both had them down as oafs with no more sense than a nordic dru-"
"You're ranting again.." She cut him off, her voice teased but her face was somewhat serious, "But really, you're going to Northern Skyriim? Isn't that where.. Well.. Isn't that where your father died?" She asked, sitting down on a sturdy crate, "Aren't you scared it's going to be dangerous?" she added cautiously, as good friends Jezebele cared deeply about Crooks safety, but she always considered him to be more of an older brother than anything else. To her question; Crook shrugged again, he sat down next to her and sighed, "Maybe? I dunno, I've always wanted to go up north, you know ? See what it's like, maybe find out what my father did up there, but now I'm a bit worried, maybe it is really dangerous, maybe I too will be brutally murdered by.. Wildmen." He stated, deciding it wasn't the right time to tell her it was actually a necromancer and not nordic tribesmen. She sighed in despair, "I wish I could go with you, it sounds truly fantastic, I hear the bears in Skyriim are twice the size of the ones in Cyrodiil and three times as strong!" She called out, throwing her arms up as if she had claws and made an impression of a bear, she growled childishly at him and quickly started laughing, "How about some beer? Before you go and whatnot, we can get a small discount if we drink at the tavern I work at." She hinted, her smile warmed up and her eyes almost began to sparkle in the lamp light. Crook laughed, "Ofcourse, aslong as it's not that stuff that you imported from Vvardenfell, no offence to Dark Elves, but they can't brew beer for Akatosh."

As the two walked to the Tavern, he could feel himself becoming more and more lost in the atmosphere of the festival, to such an extent that both Jezebele and Crook began dancing for a short period of time, much to the amusemant of a passing drunk who called her the 'maiden of the night' and Crook the 'lucky bastard who had such a fine woman' both wore their titles with pride as they entered the pub where the atmosphere was similar if not a little more relaxed. The drunks walked outside and danced in the streets while everyone else who was sober came in to talk. It was a nice change and Crook was able to find a table in a quiet corner, overlooking the main square. When Jezebele returned, juggling the weight of two large tankards of beer under her slim arms, Crook began to almost inspect her, he hadn't seen her for a while, and now that the light was finally proper, he began to notice she had changed her hair colour since last he saw, instead of the dark brown she had always had, she had coloured it a deep auburn colour which suited her soft figure perfectly, her green eyes and her rosy cheeks seemed almost out of place on her pale skin, but she was beautiful nonetheless, her parents were very proud of her, and often took great care to make sure she got the best skin care available, she smiled at him and blushed when she noticed he was staring at her, "Do you like my new hair?" She asked, plonking the drink infront of him, Crook cupped his hand around the drink and took a large swig of it, he nodded to her question, "Mmhm, looks really nice, when did you get it done?"

Their conversation ran for what seemed like hours, both of them recalled stories of their recent adventures, Jezebele told him of how Skyriim had pretty much closed its borders to Cyrodiil and that trade had been slow, but they'd opened them for the festival as Skyriim villages were beginning to complain about the lack of trade ? Afterall, it was almost impossible to grow vegetables in skyriim, let alone fruit like pears. She also told him of her travels to Anvil, and how she'd been able to sail all the way back to the Imperial City, Crook loved hearing her talk about things like this, it made him take a greater appreciation for his travels, afterall ? He'd been to every province atleast once, seen all sorts of things and fought against skeletons and on occasion a scamp! (Although he never liked telling tales of them, their screeches still haunted his mind.) Either way, he soon had to tell her of his adventures, of how he'd travelled to Hammerfall to capture a wanted criminal, to reclaim this old mans land from half a dozen bandits and how he'd helped a pilgrim for a few months. (He didn't mention that the man had actually paid him for an extra months salary.) All in all, Jezebele was literally sitting on the tip of her chair in excitement, as if leaning closer to him would make the stories more real. As he ended his story he waved his hand to back her off, "I'd like to see the Imperial City one day, what was it like?" He asked her, he'd always been curious about Cyrodiil, growing up in Vvardenfell as an Imperial hadn't been easy, the dunmer always tried to find a reason to hit you with something and more often or not it was for something trivial. And then there were the Dark Elf guards.. It was said that if ever a murder occurred and a Ordinator arrived at the scene, he'd always choose the sleeping Imperial over the Dunmer that was still stabbing the corpse. The thought of it made him smile ? Ofcourse, it hadn't been all that bad. He'd met Jezebele at what they called "School" and their bond became extremely strong as they grew up, so much so that they would weekly send letters to one another and she would on occasion visit him. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts as Jezebele kicked him under the table, "Don't drift off yet! I was just getting to the good part!" She squirmed and wriggled her nose disapprovingly, Crook laughed loudly but quickly cut it out as Jezebele began to continue her story, "Well, as I was saying, the elven gardens district looks absolutely amazing, I don't think I've ever seen anywhere so beautiful, you know after the Oblivion Crisis, they completely remodelled it, it's now got overhanging tree, beautiful budding flowers that somehow stay green throughout the year and there's most incredible statue I've ever seen, it's of this small boy and girl who are holding hands and crying over a broken sword, inscribed on the side are the words, "Least we forget." She smiled fondly at it's memory, Crook almost got a little worked up at the memories of the destruction, unlike Cryodiil, most of the world never had a "Champion", most of the world never had someone that was blessed by Akatosh, and thus the destruction that was wreaked upon the other provinces was devastating, he recalled parts of Old Balmora, and the ruin of the sunken cantons in Vivec. His eyes glanced back to Jezebele who was still talking about the Imperial City, he smiled comfortably to her and took another swig of his ale and took out a cigarette, slowly he brought it to his mouth and lit it against a candle, he took a long drag, sat back and kept his smile of content.

Today had been a very, very good day...

There are a couple of things that irked me. I really like the story but some things were, well quite frankly, inconsistent
First, you state he rarely left Cyrodill but you also say he was proud of his travels.
I quote:
Also because you open the story with: "well Dad, finally made it to Cyrodiil"...
See what I mean?

Another thing: I think it's rather odd for such a young man to have an old nickname (you said yourself it was an old nickname) like "Crook" I can only imagine it's actually his dad who gave him this nickname as a kid but the story doesn't really clarify this (yet). If you were planning on going into this later, I apologise for my impatience.

And then there is this part:

I want to SEE this conversation. :icecream: I think it would be fun writing it.

Aye, I have to confess - When I first started this, (i think a few months back?) I had a vague image of what I wanted Crook to be like, where he was from, etc. (I rarely write notes or anything like that down) and sadly I took a break from writing due to a few other hobbies catching up on me but when I came back to it, my idea of what I wanted Crook to be had completely changed to such an extent where I found myself looking over previous chapters just to find out who he used to be. It was a bit of a shame and I tried to make the transition between the Crook then and the Crook now to be as unoticable as possible because well - I prefer this Crook. I overlooked a few things apparently. :/ I'm not too sure I want to go back and edit any of the previous posts, but I hope such a thing doesn't happen again, it really was a bit of a bummer.

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To the nickname part, I never really gave it much thought, as a child of 14, I already had nicknames and such, like closey or as one of my oldest friends used to call me - C. I can understand the curiousity and I'll have to find out a way of bringing it in; maybe our dunmer companion attempting an insult to Crook?

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And yes, I at the time wanted to write it, but I was impatient, I felt like moving on from that room because I had so many great things I wanted to write about the festival and well - it all got the better of me. But like I said, I'm not too sure I want to add anything large to any of my posts just yet.

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I honestly have to thank you for your feedback, while I really, really enjoy writing this story and about the characters, it can get a tad lonely when no one posts! :foodndrink:

Well, to be honest, I'd say it's either editing to make it consistant with the later installments or start over. But ultimately, it's up to you.


That's an option but you better find a really good reason for a Dunmer to call him Crook. Perhaps out of camaraderie (maybe Crook always wins with playing cards??)

I know what's that like, but I must emphasize writing is about patience but mostly about enjoying the writing itself m8!


You're most welcome, feel free to return the favour! I would also like to suggest you to read some of the awesome Fan-fics on this forum, some are proper gems! I learned a lot from it. And as a side-effect, commentingt on someone else's thread will get yours more attention as well. It's just how it works on a forum.

Oh wow, I just read through the entire thing and I see what you mean.. I might create a new thread with edited versions. Bummer!

We'll lock this up so you can use the other.