» Tue Dec 06, 2011 1:28 pm I'm definitely hoping for some critiquing, as I know my grammar and sentence structure aren't perfect and I'd like to improve them.
Chapter One
Spoiler
Amidst the rumble of the crowded inn, little attention was given to the shrouded figure stepping through the front door. Inside, the figure paused for a moment, using a slender hand to brisk the door shut. The warm glow of the inn revealed a figure encased within a robe, colored a weather worn wash of green. Red eyes glared out from the shadow cast by the figure’s hood. Gray fingers poked out from drooping sleeves, and folds of fabric bunched at the feet. The figure seemed to glide as it paced towards the bar.
Several long strides brought the figure upon this destination. Behind the bar was a man furiously scrubbing at an assortment of bowls and goblets, oblivious to the figure across from him. At once, the figure gave a loud knock upon the wood of the bar, capturing the attention of the man. Looking up from his labors, the subtle features of a Breton became visible.
“Terribly sorry,” sputtered the Breton. “I’ve been quite busy tonight, what with the Indarys kid lodging here. What can I get for you?”
The figure drew its hands up, throwing back the hood. The bartender found himself staring into an ashen face that he hadn’t seen in years. A smile beamed across the lips of the Dunmer as he spoke. “How about an ear for an old friend?”
*
The two friends sat across from each other in a small room tucked behind the bar, drinking mead and sharing stories of their exploits.
“Of course, Vilvan,” laughed the Breton. “It seems only fitting that you would get in to nothing but trouble after you left.”
“I certainly do know what I saw!” spurted Vilvan, downing a gulp of mead.
“As an innkeeper, I’ve heard my share of ridiculous stories, but nothing as ridiculous as this! I’m sure the only truth of this little tale is that you got yourself thrown in the Seyda Neen dungeons.”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I’m telling you, Relie, I saw the Nerevarine! I was as surprised as you are now when I first learned of it.”
Relie leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “So, you truly did see the Nerevarine?” Vilvan nodded. “Well then,” continued Relie, “what exactly did this legendary hero look like?”
Vilvan stammered as he replied. “I didn’t get a very good look at him… or her, actually, I’m not quite sure, I didn’t pay it much attention at the time. I was a bit rattled after getting knocked in the head, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course, I understand. Blows to the head do have a way of joggling the memory.” Relie reached for his glass and downed the last sliver of mead. Muffled sounds of laughter resonated in from the common room. “Enough talk of adventure for now; I’m starting to regret spending these past years sitting in an inn.”
Taking a moment to refill his glass, Relie continued. “Now, I don’t suppose you came all this way just to talk with an old friend. So, I must ask, what brings you back to Cheydinhal?”
At these words, Vilvan glanced to the floor, hiding the flicker of regret in his eyes. “I thought you might eventually ask that. I had hoped to spend a few days reveling in the past before revealing my true intentions. But, I would not conceal such things had you asked. And so you have.”
He paused to gather his thoughts before speaking again. “It feels wrong, to ask anything of you, after the hospitality that you and your family showed me. After my mother died, who knows what might have happened had your father not took me in. No, I’m not in a position to make any requests. Yet, I do not wish to undertake a task such as this without the aid of a friend...”
Before he could continue, Relie gave a frustrated interruption. “You can quit beating around the damned bush. You know I won’t think any less of you, no matter what you ask.”
A short silence passed before Vilvan continued. “Yes, I know. But I wouldn’t feel estimable asking this of anyone, much less a close friend like you. I’m sorry if I’m dragging this out, I should be more forthright: Do you remember back when my father left me… Well, the final time that he left?”
“Hmm,” pondered Relie. “We were both young. I don’t remember much of those days.”
“I don’t really remember much either, it wasn’t important back then. But my mother would always ramble on about it. He’d left us many times before, I’m sure you know. Yet, he had always come back, with some fantastic stories about the places he’d been, and the things he’d seen. Always bringing back some little souvenir for me, telling me all about it… Ah,” he chuckled, ”look at me, rambling on too.”
“Well, my mother told me that he had returned home one day from a short trip to the city. He kept going on about this map, he’d found a map in some old journal or something. Talked about this old legend, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Some place called...”
“The Grotto of Springtide,” Relie finished. “Yes, now I remember my father saying something about it, after your father had left. But, you’re not suggesting what I think? To follow in your fathers’ footsteps?”
The elf gave his friend a look of sincerity, pleading his motivations. “Yes, that is my intention. Would you not do the same, were it your father?”
“It is nothing but an old legend! Your father made the mistake of running off in search of a fluke. And how do you know he didn’t just invent this story, as an excuse to leave this wretched city?”
Angered at this idea, Vilvan shot a finger at his friend. “Don’t you dare accuse my father of lying!”
Immense shame filled Relie, and he chose his next words carefully. “I’m sorry, I let my emotions take control. But, you don’t mean to take off in search of The Grotto without any sort of proof that it even exists?”
“I cannot live my life without ever even trying to find this place! Do you not understand that?”
Relie saw the desperation in Vilvan’s eyes, and tried to reason with him. “Yes, I do, but you don’t have any idea how to find this place, if it even exists… how long ago was it that your father left in search of this place? At least twenty years, and never has he returned. You cannot just blindly wander the land hoping to find this place. How do you even plan on finding this place?”
Vilvan extended a hand into his robe, and withdrew a rolled parchment from his briast pocket. Unfurling it, he laid it flat on the table, revealing a map drawn across the parchment’s surface. He slammed a finger on the map, and stared confidently at his Breton friend.
“This, is how I plan on finding the place.”
Several long strides brought the figure upon this destination. Behind the bar was a man furiously scrubbing at an assortment of bowls and goblets, oblivious to the figure across from him. At once, the figure gave a loud knock upon the wood of the bar, capturing the attention of the man. Looking up from his labors, the subtle features of a Breton became visible.
“Terribly sorry,” sputtered the Breton. “I’ve been quite busy tonight, what with the Indarys kid lodging here. What can I get for you?”
The figure drew its hands up, throwing back the hood. The bartender found himself staring into an ashen face that he hadn’t seen in years. A smile beamed across the lips of the Dunmer as he spoke. “How about an ear for an old friend?”
*
The two friends sat across from each other in a small room tucked behind the bar, drinking mead and sharing stories of their exploits.
“Of course, Vilvan,” laughed the Breton. “It seems only fitting that you would get in to nothing but trouble after you left.”
“I certainly do know what I saw!” spurted Vilvan, downing a gulp of mead.
“As an innkeeper, I’ve heard my share of ridiculous stories, but nothing as ridiculous as this! I’m sure the only truth of this little tale is that you got yourself thrown in the Seyda Neen dungeons.”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I’m telling you, Relie, I saw the Nerevarine! I was as surprised as you are now when I first learned of it.”
Relie leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “So, you truly did see the Nerevarine?” Vilvan nodded. “Well then,” continued Relie, “what exactly did this legendary hero look like?”
Vilvan stammered as he replied. “I didn’t get a very good look at him… or her, actually, I’m not quite sure, I didn’t pay it much attention at the time. I was a bit rattled after getting knocked in the head, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course, I understand. Blows to the head do have a way of joggling the memory.” Relie reached for his glass and downed the last sliver of mead. Muffled sounds of laughter resonated in from the common room. “Enough talk of adventure for now; I’m starting to regret spending these past years sitting in an inn.”
Taking a moment to refill his glass, Relie continued. “Now, I don’t suppose you came all this way just to talk with an old friend. So, I must ask, what brings you back to Cheydinhal?”
At these words, Vilvan glanced to the floor, hiding the flicker of regret in his eyes. “I thought you might eventually ask that. I had hoped to spend a few days reveling in the past before revealing my true intentions. But, I would not conceal such things had you asked. And so you have.”
He paused to gather his thoughts before speaking again. “It feels wrong, to ask anything of you, after the hospitality that you and your family showed me. After my mother died, who knows what might have happened had your father not took me in. No, I’m not in a position to make any requests. Yet, I do not wish to undertake a task such as this without the aid of a friend...”
Before he could continue, Relie gave a frustrated interruption. “You can quit beating around the damned bush. You know I won’t think any less of you, no matter what you ask.”
A short silence passed before Vilvan continued. “Yes, I know. But I wouldn’t feel estimable asking this of anyone, much less a close friend like you. I’m sorry if I’m dragging this out, I should be more forthright: Do you remember back when my father left me… Well, the final time that he left?”
“Hmm,” pondered Relie. “We were both young. I don’t remember much of those days.”
“I don’t really remember much either, it wasn’t important back then. But my mother would always ramble on about it. He’d left us many times before, I’m sure you know. Yet, he had always come back, with some fantastic stories about the places he’d been, and the things he’d seen. Always bringing back some little souvenir for me, telling me all about it… Ah,” he chuckled, ”look at me, rambling on too.”
“Well, my mother told me that he had returned home one day from a short trip to the city. He kept going on about this map, he’d found a map in some old journal or something. Talked about this old legend, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Some place called...”
“The Grotto of Springtide,” Relie finished. “Yes, now I remember my father saying something about it, after your father had left. But, you’re not suggesting what I think? To follow in your fathers’ footsteps?”
The elf gave his friend a look of sincerity, pleading his motivations. “Yes, that is my intention. Would you not do the same, were it your father?”
“It is nothing but an old legend! Your father made the mistake of running off in search of a fluke. And how do you know he didn’t just invent this story, as an excuse to leave this wretched city?”
Angered at this idea, Vilvan shot a finger at his friend. “Don’t you dare accuse my father of lying!”
Immense shame filled Relie, and he chose his next words carefully. “I’m sorry, I let my emotions take control. But, you don’t mean to take off in search of The Grotto without any sort of proof that it even exists?”
“I cannot live my life without ever even trying to find this place! Do you not understand that?”
Relie saw the desperation in Vilvan’s eyes, and tried to reason with him. “Yes, I do, but you don’t have any idea how to find this place, if it even exists… how long ago was it that your father left in search of this place? At least twenty years, and never has he returned. You cannot just blindly wander the land hoping to find this place. How do you even plan on finding this place?”
Vilvan extended a hand into his robe, and withdrew a rolled parchment from his briast pocket. Unfurling it, he laid it flat on the table, revealing a map drawn across the parchment’s surface. He slammed a finger on the map, and stared confidently at his Breton friend.
“This, is how I plan on finding the place.”
