After some serious thought, I've decided to halt any further installments to "Fortuna!", due to lack of readers. I've been working on this story for quite some time. This fanfic will be written by both Darkom and myself. And now for the prologue. I hope everyone enjoys the effort. Criticism will be gladly accepted.
...............................


The Trials and Sorts of Two-Face Ojenjii

Prologue
The Inn of Ill Omen

I only faintly remember that day, having drowned myself in the coldest and finest brewed ales Cyrodiil had to offer an old coot like myself. I can honestly admit with worn-out shame, that in these days, I spend most of my time binge drinking and carousing with women further out of my league than should be legal.

I can also admit, that had I not decided to drink that night I would've never been around when the fiesty looking Breton woman walked in. Although she didn't look of royalty, the intoxicating perfume that trailed behind her could've objectively suggested otherwise. Why she had decided to stray into this particular inn escapes me even today. Considering that the fine upper class ladies and gentlemen of a "civilized" Cyrodiil would frown upon her blasphemy, having socialized with low-life penny pinchers like myself. Still, despite the frowns her 'kind' may have given her, her presence in the inn gave us all a sickly feeling of warmth.

Either it was that or the umphteen cauldrons of brandy we'd each half-heartedly consumed. I do hope it wasn't the latter, for as she turned to walk towards me, I began to think maybe my elderly charm had finally scored with the kinky dames of nobility.

By the Nine could I be so lucky? I thought foolishly.

Looking back on it now, I should've felt sorry for her. Her intentions were only of decent conversation. There I sat, pondering on how best to seduce her. My thoughts were of course interrupted by an, "Ehm."

I hadn't realized just how close she'd gotten. I could practically taste her perfume now. It smelled of heavy cinnamon, and perhaps a bit of pine. Of course, who am I to recollect such description? I'd been thinking about bedding her, nevermind how pretty she smelled.

I felt a fool by the time I'd realized she still stood before me, staring at me in confusion. I made eye contact with her and hid my blush well enough for my own satisfaction. I finally replied in a muffled, if not slurred jumble of sloppily collaberated words. "Uh, yes?"

"Oh, good. You're awake. Um, I was wondering if you possibly knew of any merchants or travellers who are heading to Morrowind?" she asked, clenching the deep pockets of her waistcoat as a pair of drunken Nords began shuffling about in a heated arguement.

"Just ignore them." I said, noticing just how uncomfortable she was. "Well," I paused to belch, "every other Mondas evening you can catch a..."

"Hey you! That's a pretty lady you got there ya know?" One of the Nords shouted obnoxiously. His eye was swollen and purple, with traces of a sickly-looking green. He'd clearly taken a nice punch from his Nordic comrade.

The Breton girl turned to face the Nord, her eyes squinted and her pleasant demeanor taking on a more hostile tone. "You watch your mouth you little purse-snatching scoundrel. I'll cut your tongue out and make you eat it!" she sputtered.

The Nord stepped back, his hands up in surrender. "Wrong time of the month I believe, eh?" He quickly drew up a chair, those around him laughing in both astonishment and amusemant at his cowardice.

The Breton touched her fingers together, took a deep breath, and exhaled calmly. "I apologize. As you were..."

Whoa! Lord Dren, I'm pulled right in here!

This is very neat. Of course just being the prologue, it is too early to tell much about the story, but if the purpose here is to ensure I come back for the next installment, congratulations!

The writing - descriptions, pacing, dialogue seems great to me!

Fun, quality stuff so far. Let's see some more! :goodjob:

Well, I hadn't expected this so early, but as Dren said, I shall be co-writing this little piece. I can't write anything at the moment, but I'll be back on Friday, once we get a little more planning done. But while I'm waiting, I do happen to have enough time to give a little critique

Phew, it's been a while, but I think I've got a few things to say, if you don't mind me giving advice on what is essentially partly my own

The first few statements are a little strange. We get a general feel for the character, but we don't get the kind of impression we need in an introduction. What you did with the phrases like "penny-pinching" and "elderly charm" was pretty good, but it left me with kind of a half formed picture. Now, with first person this can be difficult, but you need to give people something to immediately go on, to remember your character. Whether it's an interesting physical feature, their profession, or some kind of crazy situation, there needs to be a hook for the main character as well. If you've read Peleus' "A New Kind of Warfare" you might remember how he used a familiar character to narrate (which already gives us a hook and a description), as well as giving heartfelt, realistic reactions to the situation at hand. Now, your character is a bit humorous, and fairly interesting, but there's no real "wow" hook. Not saying you didn't do a good job, but that's just something to consider.

Also, I think you spend a bit too much time in the second paragraph telling us how she shouldn't be there. A simple one sentence phrase would do the trick, it just feels like it drags a little.

At the beginning you are telling it like the character is recollecting something, but then as we get closer to the bottom the detail becomes more and more focused, the action shifting more from the past to present tense (not literally, but just how the dialogue and action made it feel. You still used past tense verbs and the like). Now, there's nothing wrong with starting off like you're retelling a story, but if you want to go to a more detailed description you need some kind of device to tell the audience this, or they end up getting confused. Usually in a movie it would be a hazy fade out, then it shows the same character only younger. Anything will do, but it can't just jump into the action without any kind of pause or indication. I like to spend a little bit of time to describe the scene in little bits of detail, to set the mood. But that's your call.

Your dialogue seems okay, but it does read a little flat. Neither character has much emotion, which usually comes with descriptions of their appearances or dialogue tags. I use both, because I like character driven stories where you always know what is going on with each character. Now, in first person it's a tad bit harder to do, you just need to focus on the obvious signs from the girl and more of the inner things from the narrator. Like show the girl's eyes, but give us a view of the old man's thoughts.

The setting is pretty common, the same tavern full of the regular drunkards, but it couldn't hurt to describe it a little. Give it a little life, point out some of the interesting things about it, anything at all. If there's a goat head mounted over the fireplace, if the bartender only has one eye, if the tables always smell like cats, anything at all. But then, that's my style, and not something that is a general rule of writing, so you can do whatever you'd like. All I advise is that you focus on the scene a bit more.

I have a few more wandering thoughts, but I can't organize them well enough to give a decent statement, so I'll end off with this: introductions, and any chapter really, can't just end like that. You need some kind of conclusion to the chapter, whether it be a cliffhanger or a little fade off, or if it is the girl walking out of the tavern. Chapters can't just end mid-dialogue, it feels incomplete and rather shabby. I advise starting the flashback story (if, that is, where you are headed), then ending the chapter there. Or at the first mention of this Ojenjii, with a little cliffhanger mystery that leaves the character shocked, if not the reader. Though I have to say, I still don't approve of your idea of using a random tavern goer, which is one of the many things I wanted to say in planning.

Well, it was pretty good overall, though I still think a little planning beforehand would have helped :nono:

Thanks for writing, and get in contact with me as soon as you can


EDIT: Ah, I see Acadian got here first, as usual. Well, I have to disagree that I found the pacing a tad off, but not enough to worry about. It seems too fast at the dialogue and too slow at the beginning, without any really worthwhile description in the slow section. But that's just me, I might just be seeing things. Pacing is a general "feel" thing, a gut instinct that I rarely find correct. So I might be wrong, who knows :shrug:

A fun story so far. It has a very unpretentious charm, based on the main character's musings (and belching!), which makes it very engaging. I will be keeping my eyes peeled for further installments.

Just saw Darkom's post. If you want to give the inn some more personality, you might mention that the proprieter - Manheim - does not wear pants. http://www.uesp.net/w/images/images.new/5/51/OB-npc-Manheim_Maulhand.jpg

Darkom you never cease to provide the best criticism possible. I decided to go ahead and post the prologue of my own accord. As far as the description on why the Breton shouldn't be there, it was intentionally suppose to seem exaggerated, especially from the point-of-view of a lonely old drunkard. As I was writing, I tried to keep in mind that this a man from a poor and tasteless background, therefore he finds just about everything about the Breton women fascinating.

When I read the beginning myself, I felt it gives off the feeling of someone with practically no life. I disagree about the ending, I feel it gives the reader something to cling to and wonder about until the next chapter.

I felt that the drunkard wouldn't take the time to note each and every thing about the bar, having been there for most of his life. I do plan on using the Breton to explain the environment so as give the reader a mood to set themselves in. And with that being said, I appreciate the criticism. I don't know how you won't be nominated as the best fanfic critique/reviewer of 2009 Darkom. Haha. Thanks as well to Acadian and Sub Rosa. Hpoefully I can mend some of the mistakes I've made in the prologue and smoothen it out some.

@Sub: I'd never noticed that... I'll try to sneak it in wherever I can.

I agree, first person can restrict description quite a bit. Though I love how well it works for characterization, I prefer third person. I tried first with Garzog, and found myself writing a lot about nothing :shrug: Personal preference (doubt you'll like me changing points of view during our story though )

About the ending, there is a blurry line of what is and is not a descent conclusion. My point was that mid-conversation is not the best place. Once again, that's just my opinion, but if I'm ending a chapter, someone is either going to sleep or entering a timeskip. Cliffhangers only come midchapter, I don't like to use them at the ends, it feels tacky.

:blink: What? I have never noticed that, and I've had to go into that inn several times to kill Grumio. Well, I am not going to talk to him anymore until I patch it up with a mod I don't want to give my innocent characters nightmares about an old innkeeper that buys stolen goods with no pants on. Maybe if I sell him some stolen pants...

Shame you discontinued Fortuna, I thought you had a rather nice hook on that one. Ah well; up and over.

From my experience, writing too much about a certain aspect, for example a tavern, from first person disengages from the character. Less is more. Far more interesting is what he thinks about it, not just state a bartender has only one eye but have your character comment on it when it makes sense. Like when he orders a drink or something like that.

I know I am only an aspiring writer and can't be considered as knowledgable with criticism as Darkom but I thought I'd share my limited insight anyway.

I had no clue myself, even having been in the inn several times as well. I discovered it in mALX1's Maxical fiction. She had fun with that little quirk of his (naturally! )

Standing Out
Direnni Tower, Isles of Balfiera


She'd been lying motionless in her bed, staring up at the ceiling unable to drift off into any sort of sleep, be it pleasant or not. Her thoughts were of the journey to Morrowind and how exactly she could go about accomplishing it while also keeping safe. She'd noticed just how hot she'd become, tossing and turning uncomfortably, despite having changed into a two piece night gown. This time of year promised only swimming weather during the day and humid, uneasy sleeping in the afternoon.

Her room was adorned in mahogany furnishing and exotic paintings of beasts from the Summerset Isles. Soft, satin draqes tied in nicely with the thick matching carpets and their delicately sewn designs of gold thread, portaying a queen bestowing a man knighthood. She'd always liked that carpet, having found a message of just deliberance in it: that there can be no greater symbol of honor and duty than of the design on her carpet.

Thoughts of honor and duty compelled her to clamber from bed. She dressed in a pastel blue tunic with a knee-length skirt and a pair of fairly expensive yet exceptionally worn grey clogs. She'd never been one to splurge on meaningless gowns or jewellry that would glint in the sunlight: hardly worth how cumbersome it truly was.

Her brothers and sisters, of whom she'd avoided most of her advlt life, delved into nobility, as well as their father's pockets, with a sense of senselessness. Despite who won the most attention in the royal court, Ania knew her father loved her most. As terrible as it might sound, it was true.

The Castellan family had long been a family of wealth, having defended the Isles of Balfiera from Iliac Bay pirates. It's a well-known fact that the Isles of Balfiera are a meeting place for treaties in High Rock. Therefore security of the Isles is imperative. It's also the location of Direnni Tower, one of the oldest towers in Tamriel -- dating back to around ME 2500.

Ania now had the tower all to herself. Her siblings had moved on to bigger and better things long ago. The peace and quiet provided some room for imaginative thinking, not to mention some curious exploring.

After her father passed, he'd left countless vaults of expensive wares, foreign sewing materials, and even his personal journal. Apparently he'd kept records of the last mission he'd never completed. Ania had stumbled acorss the journal and spent a week and a half reading it. The valuable merchandise hadn't attracted her in any way.

Her father had been quite reknown for his ability to track and capture pirates that once terrorized the coast of High Rock. The Empire contracted her father to track and bring in a Khajiit by the name of Ojenjii. He was a convicted con-artist and thief. The first journal entry began with her father saying goodbye to his children before leaving to hunt down the Khjaiit.

Ania remembered that day so vividly it seemed to have happened just yesterday. Her mission was as clear to her as her father's was to him. Ania was getting older, having celebrated her thirty-fourth birthday just a month ago. Her father left just a month after her thirteenth birthday. (Under the care of a grumpy old Dunmer woman she might add)

That entire eighteen years, the only news she recieved from her father was the occasional letter once every week or so. He'd write about the forests of Cyrodiil or the ash of Morrowind. He even once told a magnificent story about Elsweyr.

How hungry was Ania to undertake such adventure herself. She'd decided, nearing the end of the journal, to undergo this same hunt her father had long ago. Besides, Direnni tower would be fine without any threat from pirates.

"I'm sure Drarayne can take care of herself," she mumbled to no one inparticular. That old windbag.


Journal of Neoah Castellan

Day 3

Iakan and I agreed this would be as good a spot as any to set up camp. We've travelled for two days straight now. After we disembarked from the port at Balfiera and arrived at the coast of High Rock it was already near mid-day. It's been far too long since I've sat in a saddle. I'm afraid my bottom hurts, quite satisfied with the ride today. The weather has been decent to us so far. Let us thank the Nine for that. We hope to smother the fire and leave early tommorrow, just after a light breakfast. It would be unwise to eat to our stomach's content. I'm afraid at my age should we run into trouble, which I doubt nonetheless, my movement would be restricted by indigestion. Iakan's a fine comrade. He keeps me entertained with stories of past conflicts he was involved in. I must say, it's more amusing to think his 'involvement' was much less important than he excitedly recollects it to be.

I'm growing weary as I write this. Perhaps it's time to call it a night.

Until next time journal,
Neoah

I liked it. Here is what this reader got:

I loved the lavishly detailed description of Ania's surroundings/furnishings. I am quite happy with the gradual detail you seem to loosing on Ania herself. It certainly makes me want to learn more about her.

Speaking of Ania, I quite like what I know so far. For me at least, you seem to be creating an endearing character.

The journal entry from her father was there and it did the job, but I found myself hoping for more Ania.

So there you go. I hope those simple impressions are of some help. I sure hope you keep going with this. :goodjob:

Oh, I did note one minor error: 'Ania had stumbled acorss the journal'

I plan to transition between characters. When I feel the readers may want the attention of a different character, I'll hop to that character. I'm planning on doing plenty of foreshadowing, flashbacking, recollecting, and time-skips -- the works!
I myself must agree with you. As I was writing, I felt that stopping to write her father's journal entry broke the flow I had going with Ania. The first thing I did wrong in 'Fortuna!' was rushing the story. I hope to take up as much thread space with detail as possible. So do not fret, plenty more detail will be poured into the story as far as Ania goes. Thank-you for the overall helpful tips and support. And I do plan to continue with this story.

On that note, Fortuna! is not out for the count. I just have nothing to post after the death of Amarha. I can't conjure up anything original.

Anything happening at Direnni Tower has me hooked! I really like the way you've introduced Ania. I look forward to reading about her voyage to Morrowind.

I don't have much to add to what Darkom and Acadian have already brought to your attention. But I do have a pair of observations:

-In the prologue you describe the 'Breton women'. Was your use of the plural form of woman intentional?

-In the first chapter it seems a bit redundant for a character to sign his own journal entries.

I'm sorry to say that I never read Fortuna but, after seeing this, I'm going to remedy that. :read:

@Destri: Ah. You caught me. 'Women' was a very grammatically incorrect but utterly minor typo. Haha. I'll go back and change it.

And I believe in the journal entries in Oblivion, most of them are signed by the owner. It being day one of the journal entry, I thought maybe it would give the entry a feeling of realism. For if he were killed how would anyone identify that it belonged to him. The subtitle, "Journal of Neoah", wouldn't actually be written on his journal, but I can see where you're coming from.

As for 'Fortuna!', I'd be glad to have someone reading it. I only ask that you not post anything in it. The mods never closed it so it's still an active thread. Once I finish this story I plan to bring it back up and continue it. But by all means, read away. I'll be posting another installment or two later.

Edit: I just realized I said in the story that her father's first journal entry was of him saying goodbye to his children. Then I continued and put something totally different for Day 1. Since you all know what his first journal entry was, I'll go ahead and put Day 3. The first day he leaves, and the two days it takes for him to reach a decent camp site. There, I fixed it.

The Old Windbag
Direnni Tower, Isles of Balfiera


Ania listened intently, reminiscent of the days before advlthood, her ear pressed against the heavy mahgony door as Drarayne strummed out a soft tune on her priceless harp of solid gold. She'd always liked listening to the Dunmer play but never found the time to actually sit and enjoy it. She'd kept her liking of the melodies all to herself throughout her childhood, having found indulgence in such a rare gift of talent all too uncommon amongst a household of spoiled brats.

"They'd just ruin it," she told herself one Frostfall morning after contemplating in perhaps telling one or two of her siblings. Drarayne played as wonderfully now as she did then. Her soft wrinkled fingers gently rolling across the thick intertwined cords, which rang out a tune that fluttered Ania's heart and often brought her to tears. It reminded her of her mother, whom she'd hardly known. Illness had claimed her mother's life. It seemed as though Drarayne played with the same tender love and care a mother might show her child -- her daughter.

Ania still wore the same pastel blue tunic and weathered clogs, even though it was nearing mid-day, which would be a sign to her brothers and sisters that is was time to dress in attire that appealled more to the finer things in lifelessness.

A large, thick leather pouch hung loosely at her side. It contained a small silver ceremonial dagger, passed down through the generations as a symbol of a true Castellan. Ania took pride in carrying it with her while taking the risky journey to Morrowind. Perhaps it would bring her some luck along the road.

As Drarayne finished up the last few notes on her staff, she then began pricking each string, creating a sharp, almost jolly sort of tune. It always forced Ania to smile away her problems. She'd always thought Drarayne knew she was there and was having a bad day; and so intentionally played the harp that way just to cheer her up.

It still worked.

Ania tapped at the door with the top of her knuckles. "Drarayne..." she mumbled softly.

"Yes, child."

"I've decided to do something for myself." she replied.

The room on the other side of the door where Draryane was fell silent. "I'm going to find the Khajiit my father spoke of in his journal," she continued.

"I think... I think maybe something unnatural might've happened to him to cause his death. I need to know what."

Drarayne remained silent but stood and lifted her dress from the waist and paced gracefully across the lengthy room. The sounds her heels made gave Ania the impression that they seemed to burrow into the wood with each step, like the hilt of an axe tapping against soft wood. Ania jumped back as the door between her and the room swung open sharply.

Ania immediately noticed a heavy fragrance of lavender as it poured out of Drarayne's room in strong, almost vibrant wafts.

"And who's going with you?" Draryane shouted, as if to announce to the whole of the empty tower and every living infestation within.

"I don't suppose anyone. Why?" Ania replied.

Drarayne wrinkled her nose and stuck her bottom lip out, a common expression of disbelief for her. "Bah! i won't have the daughter of my late master roaming around the whole of Tamriel doing Azura knows what! I'm coming with you," she nodded with a wrinkled grin.

"But, eh, what about the tower?" Ania retorted.

"It'll be fine darling. I'll through a little mysticism about it and that should keep anyone from entering." Drarayne replied.

Ania still hadn't come to terms with just how powerful her mentor was. "You can do that?" she asked, truly awe-struck.

"Of course you can child. Mysticism for a Dunmer is as easy as thieving is for a Khajiit. You're a Breton after all, aren't you?"

"Well I suppoe I..."

"Of course you are! You should be tossing spells like Zurin Arctus -- effortlessly." Drarayne interrupted. "Besides, you hardly know your way around the castle let alone western Tamriel. I'm going and that's final." she barked.

"I'm leaving tommorrow morning. You'd better not be late." she called after Drarayne as the Dunmer turned back into her room and slammed the door behind her.

"You'd better not make breakfast," Drarayne countered, "you'll kill us all before we can even set sail for Volenfel."

Ania blew at her bangs and made for the dining hall.

My cooking isn't that bad, she told herself, still convinced her venison delight could rival that of finest chefs in the west. I'm just a little underpracticed.

:read: I am thoroughly enjoying this! It moved along nicely with a natural flow for me. You used the harp music nicely, and I especially liked the humor near the end. Let me point out some things usings some of your own passages:



I sort of felt as if the pov involved was 3d person Ania up to this point. I was a bit surprised to see the pov change here to Drarayne (Ania couldn't see through the door). After this passage, the pov returned to Ania, as you can see in the next passage that I quote below.



The first dialogue is Drarayne's (btw, you might add a possesive apostrophe there). The second is Ania's. Sparrow told me to try and start a new paragraph whenever the speaker changes, and I try to do what she says. I think that would help.



I suspect perhaps, you mean 'throw'? Also, please forgive my Oblivion background that may cause me to err here - is not locking and unlocking things alteration?



The last part seemed a tad redundant and perhaps even awkwardly tacked on. Would you consider something like: "You'd better not make breakfast," the Dunmer countered, "you'll kill us all before we can even set sail for Volenfel."



So simply said. Yet this passage beautifully, and with crystal clarity, conjures this endearing image to perfection. I loved this passage! :wub:

Indeed, as I have said, I quite like this entire thread. Now, let me stop before I get accused of going friggin' long. :goodjob:

Thank-you for the helpful criticism and praise Acadian. I had intended the mysticism spell to be a barrier, not really a lock on the door. After all, not many of relative skill would enter a house from the front to steal something. But I can see where this was misleading. I've changed some of the things you mentioned. Hopefully to your liking.

If you happen to have a nvde mod you can see his round butt cheeks protruding out from the back of his apron. Leydenne thought it was a mod conflict, so I donned chameleon and crept behind the bar to get the real scoop. Turns out Manheim is a would be nudist except for the diaper Bethesda has glued on him. Strictly in the name of science I downloaded a nvde mod, and sure enough, the moon was out in the Inn of Ill Omen. However, you cannot remove his apron, so he remains only a nudist as he walks away from you. (unless you download a spell you can cast on him to remove the apron, but then he runs and hides).

He has no options to talk about witches, so not sure if he is supposed to be one of the Naked Barbarian Nords from Morrowind.


@ Lord Dren - ARGH!!! First you quit on Fortuna of which I have been an avid reader; then you start this thread up and slip it by me!! How did I miss seeing this? I claim the holiday season, I was probably out shopping or thought this was an RP thread since it didn't say "Fortuna" in front of it, and I just knew you would never leave your fans hanging....ARGH!

The upshot is that you have totally intrigued me with the idea of you and Darkom co-writing a story! So far it is Awesome, I know you and Darkom can each in your own right (and write) keep the readers riveted!!

*BUMP*

If I continue this fanfic will I still have readers? Hmm... Thoughts?

I will always read your writing if I can SEE it! I usually just scan the first page, unless I am particularly looking for a certain fanfic. Somehow our timing is off, because I keep missing your posts on this new thread. I read Fortuna avidly and loved it!

What you have to do on these fanfics is NOT look at your comment figures as much as you look at your READ (or Viewed) column. There are a lot of people on this site that read, but don't like to leave comments, or may once in a blue moon. As long as you are getting regular views from someone, they are a fan of your story whether they comment or not.

No matter which story you choose to keep, please keep writing! You are way too good to quit!

I have quite enjoyed the first three installments. You are a fine writer and I would be happy to continue reading this.

Speaking only for me, I will share that my favorite stories are character-driven and revolve around an endearing primary character. It is wanting to read more of Ania and what appears to be shaping up as her adventure that I like so much here. I realize that is not completely consistent with your words below:


Regardless, you are a good writer and run a gracious thread. I'll be here for you.

Absolutely! :foodndrink:

@ Acadian and mALX1: This is all I needed to continue. Thanks to both of you. Truly. I'll continue the story Monday. I have some things I have to take care of this weekend but I'll definitely continue.

-Dren

Good !!! You write too well to drop off these forums !!

Unexpected Visitors
Direnni Tower, Isles of Balfiera

Ania gazed out to sea, her mind swirling with thoughts of what might come to pass during her journey. This trip could very well be the death of her should the Divine allow it.

At least I'll be out of the tower and away from all this seclusion -- peaceful as it may be, she thought gratefully.

A chill had set upon her that forced her to retreat from the balcony of her quarters and into the warmth. She shivered some as the change in temperature caused her skin to tingle approvingly. All about her room lay clothing, potions, alchemical ingredients, paperwork, and even a small section she'd chosen to lay out her collection of weaponry. Although Ania knew which weapon she wanted to use should the oppurtunity allow, the idea of having a choice left her feeling somewhat accomplished.

Soon after allowing her skin to warm and cease from tingling, she began about the tedious task of packing her equipment. As if this chore weren't bothersome enough, Drarayne made a practice of interrupting her as frequently as possible.

"Child, should I take these heels or these?" she'd asked once.

Ania simply smiled, nodded her head, and gave her a quiet "mhmm." This seemed to suffice.

As Ania finished up the last of her packing and cramming, she tossed herself back against her soft cover and sighed in content. "Finally..." she yawned, stretching her arms and legs out and curling into a tight ball.

Someone must've snuck into her room and pulled the covers over her while she slept, for when a yelp of urgency echoed throughout the tower, she struggled to scramble from bed and grab her beloved dagger, tucking it inside the hem of her bottoms and flipping her top shirt over both to conceal it.

She tip-toed to her door and quietly cracked it open. All seemed well.

"Drarayne?" she shouted while whispering.

A chilling quiet overcame her as she assumed the worst. Her father had told her countless tales of nobles and retired knights who'd had the misfortune of being robbed, their folly being in the assumption that a clumsy servant had simply dropped a dish or something of the like. In knowing this, Ania remained as still as possible, her gaze focused down the dark hallway. She'd somewhat despised the fact that she'd given away her presence by calling out for Drarayne. Her doubt soon subsided as a faint reply caught her ear and she pushed the door open a few more centimeters to see the door to Drarayne's chambers.

"I'm here child. Did you hear it too?" she asked, matching Ania's own cautiousness with an even fainter more practiced voice of silence.

Ania nodded at the Dunmer and opened her door enough to slip past without giving the hinges a reason to moan or creak a betraying whine. Drarayne did the same and soon they both creapt, Drarayne in front, down the length of the corridor towards the spiral stairwell that led to the bottom floors.

Ania halted as Drarayne pressed her thin fingered hand against her bosom, the opposite hand pointing towards an opened door leading to Ania's office. From where she stood, Ania could see a sheet of paper and a few other unassorted items scattered out into the hallway. She trembled with a heightened sense of fear, drawing her dagger and holding it in front of her. She'd hardly noticed the whitewood wand Drarayne held out likewise.

If she hadn't been in such a situation, she would've asked Drarayne if she could learn how to use magic more acutely. Her father had always warned her about the deadliness of a powerful magician and their wands. In this, Ania felt comforted but still remained focused and alert.

Now that they were sure the man or woman scouraging their tower hadn't noticed their presence, they stood just a mere foot from the entrance to Ania's office. They'd both determined it was a man inside, flipping through ancient tomes, pillaging the drawers and drawers of documents, tipping over countless bottles of ink, blotching and ruining years of work with thick, black uselessness.

It was Drarayne who first stepped into the candlelit doorway, her wand pointed at the man's back.

"You there!" she shouted.

From what Ania could guess, the man had nearly leapt from his skin, thinking the tower to be nigh empty, aside from poor old Borus, whom he'd probably either killed or tied up upon sneaking into the tower.

The man turned and drew a glinting sword of steel, pulling a cowl down around his face and smiling at the sight of Drarayne in her nightgown, pointing a wooden stick at him. Although she had truly caught him off guard, the sight of her defenseless looking posture and even the weapon of choice she'd chosen to wield, did nothing to ail his surprise.

"And you could've lopped meh head off right then and there, milady. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I guess I'll have to teach you a little someth'n." he said, taking a careless step towards the old windbag.

With one swift motion, her wand in hand, a cascade of hot, bright grey light emitted from the tip of her wand and into the leather cuirass of the man in front of it.
He flew back into the bookshelf he'd so foolishly torn apart. He moaned from underneath his now askew cowl and wiped a thin trail of blood from his bottom lip. Ania now stood in the doorway alongside Drarayne, awe-struck at the Dunmer's display of magical prowess.

"Stand!" Drarayne hissed through bared teeth. As if her words forced compliance, the man stood. He grimaced in pain.

"Your name!" she demanded.

"My name is Igor. To most I am Igor the wretched, milady." he replied.

How is she making him do this? Ania thought, keeping her face as stern and furrowed as Drarayne's.

As Draryane continued her probe for information, it suddenly dawned on her as to how the Dunmer could force the man to answer her every question. A long while ago, when her father still lived, he'd said something about classes the Psijiic Order initiates must undergo to be accepted. It involved using ones own mind to mentally breakdown an oppenent, forcing them to surrender to the will of their manipulator. Apparently such classes are rigorous and can drive one to insanity if practiced incorrectly.

Ania hadn't the time to ponder over it at the moment, her adrenaline still pumping vigorously at the initial shock of the situation.

She's a Psijiic Order reject... That explains quite a bit.

After her search was complete, Drarayne ordered the man into a holding chamber in the middle floor of the tower. There she locked him within using magic and had Ania bring Borus to her for inspection and healing. The intruder had bump him across the head and tied him to a chair in the dining room.

Once the feeling of excitement died down within Direnni Tower, Ania made her way back to her chambers. She felt a chill overcome her that made her question every dark corner or unlit passage she came across.

I can't stay here. I feel like a rodent.

Awesome Write - I loved this line:

- :rofl: - great line, really natural humor !!!