Hi Danielle,

I just finished the second chapter, and I enjoyed it immensely. Like others, I did not realize that we had shifted characters until half way through when Vecillius is addressed by name. I saw her name at the top of the post, but did not realize it meant a shift of pov when I read it.


I was particularly fond of this line:

Rumors slide from conversation to conversation like a hungry snake.

Very well done, the anology slithers through our fingers just like the serpent it alludes to.


I was very impressed with your description of the council session, the chaotic nature of it all, the bullying personality of Valga, the legionary's sense of being overwhelmed, etc... It really did look just our own Senate in action, which is to say, realistic.


I also was struck by this quote of Phillida:
"You know, I used to be a warrior." I turn back towards him and now he's staring over my head, towards the White Gold Tower. "I mean, I really used to fight. I was a soldier. I campaigned, I fought battles. I had an enemy and I fought that enemy. Now I'm a guard. And I became a guard because people, the Emperor, they said it would be safer, easier, better for the Empire. But damned if I can tell who the enemy is anymore. Dammed if I can see him." He looks at me and I can see the red weariness in the whites of his eyes. "This is new kind of fight, a new kind of war. I don't understand it."


This really sets the stage for this being a story based on mystery and intrigue, rather than one that faithfully goes along the main quest of the game where the protagonist is closing Oblivion Gates and rescuing princes. I hope I am right in that estimation? It reminds me of The Final Reflection, by John Ford. It is one of the only Star Trek novels I have ever read, and the title is an anology for the Klingon game of chess, which has a variant called the Reflective Game played with only one set of pieces rather than two. Each player takes turns using the same pieces. So it is basically a game of coup or civil war. I can see the pieces of the Legion such as Phillida and Vecillius being moved in just such a fashion by the varying sides in the power vacuum created from the Emperor's death.

And I'm not being sensitive. I do appreciate hearing people react to my writing - which means I appreciate both RemkoNL and you being honest.

First, thank you so much for the comments. They were kind and I really appreciate them. I do wonder, though, if the POV thing is going to confuse people. There really isn't an easy fix, unless I switch to third person POV and start each chapter/scene with the character's name, as in "Anatonia Vecillius unlocked the door" or whatever. If anyone else is confused, please post a note, because, well, I really don't want to be confusing.

This story does follow the main quest line, with some "realistic" adjustments. There will be action scenes, although the beginning tends to drag a bit in that respect. The mystery, or one of the linking mysteries, has been identified: What's up with Kaira's father? This, like the jailing of Edmund Dantes, is the defining theme in this story. Which means, if you start thinking about it, this book will end at the Siege of Bruma (it's about 50k words, but I anticipate going to around 70k).

As I noted in an earlier post, my recent discovery of Dune has probably shaped this story as much as anything. In the end, what is the truth? What is right and what is wrong? Are we pure moralists, or utilitarians letting the situation determine our morality? How much do we really know about the people around us? Those are the some of the things this will explore.

I'll check out The Final Reflection, although I'm not a huge Star Trek fan.

I'm about to be in the exact same situation - different first person narrators - and the way I'd decided I was going to resolve it was a short Author's Note at the start of each changeover. Or make the name a bigger font so it will stand out. People will get used to looking out for the change in perspective after a few updates, it's just that it's not a technique frequently used on these forums.

Very interesting start so far, it would seem your poor character's are really going to be put through the ringer. Goody! Looks like conflict and emotion galore. Can't wait! Treachery, ambition, politics, murder - this promises to be a very fascinating tale

Speaking about Dune, one particular saying comes to mind: The only constant in this universe is change.

Just thought I should share it.

Now that know, it is not going to confuse me anymore. I think at best that is only might confuse people who read for the first time. So I would not worry about it too much.




Neither am I. It was pointed out to me by a friend, and it is one of the only two trek books I have ever read, the other being How Much For Just The Planet, also by John Ford. The Final Reflection will be hard to find, as it is old. One thing I liked about it is that it does not have any of the Star Trek characters in it. It is all new, and in fact set before the events of the original series.

Chapter 3 – The Monk

*


Anatonia Vecillius.

"Drop the dagger." Behind me, the two guards move into position, one on either side of me, wide on the flank. "Now."

"Please help me." She's regaining her breath, her composure. "I found them like this."

"Drop the blade and we can talk."

Glancing down at the dagger, she hesitates, then slowly opens her hand, letting the blade roll off her white fingers. It clatters to the floor by her feet. "Kick it over here," I order her. With one silk-clad foot, she sends the dagger sliding across the stone floor towards me. Sighing, I step forward quickly, kicking the dagger backwards towards the door. "Good." I glance at Catraso, the guard to my right. "Find some rope. We'll bind her hands."

"Please. You have to help me."

I don't answer. I'll make no promises and give no refusals, until those arms are tied. Catraso disappears into the adjoining room, returning a moment later with several feet of dirty rope. "Good." I look at her, avoiding her eyes. "Hands behind your back."

"Please!"

"Do it!"

"I found them like this. I didn't kill them."

"Hands behind your back! Now!"

For an instant, things look to get rough. She's got her composure back; she glares at me like I'm Cyrodill's favorite idiot. But for her wild hair, she's the same arrogant girl I questioned in the Arboretum earlier. Don't be stupid, please, don't make this hard. "We will kill you," I say flatly.

Catraso shuffles towards her, watching her carefully, hand reaching for her arm.

Then it's over. She sighs and swings both arms behind her back. Catraso immediately goes to work on her hands, wrapping the dirty rope around her wrists again and again. "You're making a mistake," she says.

"Maybe." Outside I hear a rattling at the gate. Looking to other guard, I recall he's new, that I don't even know his name. "Check that out," I say, and he nods, moving behind me and outside. I hear voices, soft conversation. Catraso finishes off with the rope and stands. "Okay, we're going for a walk. You first." My lips and throat are dry; I can feel the lack of sleep like an ache in my body.

"Please help me," she says one final time.

"I can't," I reply, "I have my orders."

The new guy returns. "Group of monks begging for septims."

"Well, get rid of them." Then I see Catraso staring towards the doorway. As I turn, four monks sweep into the room, the last one kicking the door closed behind him. "What the hell?" I cry, as they pull katanas from beneath their robes. Catraso makes a grab for his sword, but the new guard turns the point of his blade towards him.

Seeing my look of shock, he shrugs and smiles. "Sorry. I let 'em in."

One of the monks moves towards me. Suddenly, I recall the face – he's the monk standing next to Captain Montrose in the Elder Council Chamber, the monk with the sharp, intelligent eyes. Those eyes are now studying me carefully. "What do you want?" I ask.

He extends his katana towards me. "Sword, please."

I bite my lip, but keep my blade up. "Who are you?"

"Who we are is not as important as what we are." He slides a foot closer and I slide a step back, sword at the ready. His eyes glance from my face to my blade. "Don't be stupid," he says, repeating my thoughts of earlier. "We are Blades."

"Blades?"

"The Emperor's bodyguards," he says.

"I know who they are," I snap. "The Emperor is dead. Aren't you out of a job?"

His smile is genuine enough. "Not just yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet." His smile disappears. "Now hand over your sword."

"Not on your life. I'll warn you, I'm a legion officer – "

"And a good one, from what I hear." He steps closer, moving a little to my left. I turn just a bit to meet his attack. At my movement, he smiles again. "Think. A move like this, attacking Blades on the business of the Empire – "

"What business?"

"A thing like that can ruin a career. Even in the Legion." His smile deepens. "Come now, don't be foolish. There are five of us and two of you." He raises his katana to attack. Light shimmers along the edge of the polished blade.

I glance at Catraso, seeing his wide eyes, his lowering blade. He's not thinking of fighting back. He's thinking of the future, of the ales he'll drink tonight at The Foaming Flask, of that farm, near Anvil, that he'll retire to – if he lives long enough. With a sigh, I upend my blade, holding the handle out. The monk exhales deeply and takes it. "Thank you," he bows, slightly, "I didn't want a fight with you."

"What do you want, then?"

"The girl."

"What?!" I glance at her, immediately wishing I hadn't surrendered my sword. Her face is a mask, her eyes staring straight ahead. "That is my prisoner."

"It would appear she's now our prisoner."

"Wait. You were at the Council today. You know I need that prisoner, I have to take her to the Prison." Suddenly, I recalled the accusing, critical glare of Tyronius Valga. "I can't go back without her. I can't."

"And yet you will." Behind him, the other monks move quickly. Catraso's sword is taken from him by the new guard, who I suppose I'll never see again, not in Imperial Watch armor. One of the monks produces a length of rope, heavier and thicker than the rope Catraso used. This they began wrapping around her legs, just below the knees.

"Why do you want her?" I ask the Monk, while I commit the face of the new guard to memory. If ever I see you again. He feels my eyes upon him and, turning, gives me a sly smile.

The monk's gaze shifts from me to the girl. He smiles and looks back at me as the others finish binding her legs. The guard, the new one, pushes a table aside and pulls a large carpet from the floor. The girl is forced down on this, and is then rolled into the carpet. The entire operation has the polished performance of a maneuver that's been executed to perfection many times before.

"You won't get away," I say, hating that my words sound pathetic. He smiles as if I were an angry, impatient child. "The Watch'll catch you. I'll raise the alarm as soon as you're gone."

"Then I think we three will wait here with you." Two of the monks lift the carpet and step out the door. "You will keep still," he says, his katana pointed at my chest. It's still early, just after dawn. The streets of the city will be quiet and two monks, carrying a carpet, would attract no significant attention.

Yes, this was a well-planned maneuver. Frustration burns in my throat. I curse softly, then say, "You didn't answer my question. What do the Blades want with that girl?"

The carpet gone, he lowers his sword. Stepping with care, he approaches the body of the old woman. Then he kneels, his fingers brushing the dark black cut on her throat. "Did you take a look at this?" He glances up at me. "One thrust, right into the neck." Looking around the floor, he adds, "So little blood."

Angry but intrigued, I kneel by the woman, studying the cut on the woman's throat. The blood had thickened around the wound, clotting quickly, but there were thin lines of a yellow-green substance in the dried blood. "Poison?" I ask, our eyes meeting over the body.

Nodding, he replies, "Exactly. Probably a powerful one. Notice how dry the blood is? Death occurred quickly and hours ago." He rises slowly. "My guess? These two were killed about the time Councilor Valga was putting Phillida in his place." He glances at the orc, then slowly takes in the room. "No signs of a fight, so it was someone they knew, probably someone they were familiar with, someone they'd let get close enough to paralyze them."

I stand up. "You mean the girl."

His smile is a mask. "Haven't I given you enough?" Sheathing his katana, he slips it under his robes. "Anyway, you have a killer to find. I leave you to that search."

"But you don't think it was her?"

He pauses at the door, waiting as the other two Blades slip out into the morning. The one, the new guard, still in Watch armor, gives me a wink as he leaves. "It's better that we deal with the girl," the Monk says with a frown, "You clearly have no idea what you're dealing with."

"So tell me."

But he walks through the door, closing it behind him. A moment later, the gate clinks and I knew they're gone. On the floor, by the door, lies the dagger. Picking it up, I inspect the blade. Okay, she may have wiped it clean before we got there, but then she wouldn't have been wide-eyed and out of breath, would she? I shake my head slowly as Catraso rushes past me, banging out the door.

Something isn't right.

It's more than the fact that the blade of the dagger is perfectly clean. It's more than the two bodies, now cold and stiff, or the surprise arrival of the Blades. It's a feeling I have, deep in my gut, that this girl is innocent and is caught up in something I can't begin to understand but which the Monk understands perfectly, but has no intention of explaining. It's all of that and the fact that, if I don't do something to help her, that girl will never be seen again. Not alive, at any rate.

Closing my eyes, I weigh the dagger in my fingers.

*

Tyronius Valga.

I take a deep breath, my fingers gripping the polished blackwood edge of my desk. "Tell me right now why I shouldn't have you killed," I whisper to the man in the black hooded robe. "Tell me," I whisper again, as he takes a step back, moving deeper into the corner and closer to the open window, "why I shouldn't hand you over to my sister and her little friends?"

He hesitates, standing in my office on the second floor of my sister's Imperial City townhouse. His eyes, glowing the color of dark blood, study my face closely. "Because, Master, I know the truth," he says, sliding a booted foot closer to the window.

"My friend, that knowledge will only keep you alive for so long." Suddenly, I slam my arm down on the polished surface of my desk. "You left her alive! Alive!"

"She wasn't there, Master." With his raw Vvardenfellian accent, he sounds particularly petulant. "Besides, there are others who want her dead, too."

"But I'm not paying them, am I? You killed the wrong people! The wrong people!" I stop, breathless. Somewhere in the house, an Argonian screams, the voice fading to an eerie screech. My sister at play. "My bumbling friend, I think I may arrange a play date for you with my sister. Would you like that?"

He doesn't answer, he just watches me, his eyes flickering in the firelight.

I slip down into the chair behind my desk, rubbing my wrist. "I paid you gold, you and yours. Good gold. Wasn't anything wrong with the gold, was there?" I glance at him, but he just stares back at me. "I thought not." I pat the top of my desk with my hand. "Then, I arranged for you to be in the perfect position, in the right place at the right time. To do just this one thing. And you fail. You fail! Why, why should I leave you alive?"

Still I get only silence. Not even a promise to try again or a plea for another chance. This is troubling. There's something he's not telling me. "The girl? She's still at the house, right?"

A soft growl as he clears his throat. "She's . . . gone. The Blades have her."

"The Blades!!" My scream echoes off the stone walls of my office as I beat the top of the desk with my fist again and again and again. Fortunately, the wood is strong and solid. When I'm finished, the only evidence of the beating are the smears of blood on the polished surface.

"But, Master," he whispers hurriedly, his voice trembling, "the Blades want her dead, too."

"Oh, don't be an idiot." My face is hot, my voice is ragged. I yank open a drawer, removing a slender bottle of opaque glass and small cloth. The cloth is stained and smeared in patches of black and dark brown. Opening the bottle, I pour a bit of the potion onto the cloth, then dab the cloth on my wrist, where the skin is broken and bruised. "Do you think I trust the Blades to do this?" I glance at him, wincing as the potion begins its work. "If I did, would I have paid your organization so many good and useful septims? Be serious. The Blades are an artifact of a dying order, just about as useful as that silly red amulet everyone worships. The Blades!" I chuckle softly. "They couldn't even keep the Emperor alive." Raising my wrist, I wipe off the remaining blood, blowing on the skin, then admiring my work. The skin is healed.

Leaning forward, I wipe off the top of the desk carefully. "Of course, you too are proving to be a bit less competent than I originally thought."

In the corner, he growled.

"What? You're offended?" I replaced the bottle and the cloth to the drawer. "By your own admission, the girl is still alive and is now aware that there's an assassin after her. She may even have reasoned out who that assassin is. We, I, may never get another chance, thanks to you." I lean back in the chair, caressing the edge of the desk with my fingertips. "Still, we can't give up. You, at least, should try to earn your gold." Glancing at him, I ask, "Where do you think she'll go next?"

"Next?" he whispers.

"Yes, next. Her options are running low." I close my eyes, musing aloud. "Perhaps back to Skyrim? To bury her father in some pathetic Nordic rite of death and honor? Or maybe she'll stay here, lying low, making herself a very brittle little thorn in our side until someone finally puts her down. You know her. What do you think?"

After a moment, he says, "She would stay. If she has a work to do here."

"Which she does, thanks to you, my incompetent friend."

"But, Master, this speculation – the Blades have her. They mean to kill her. She cannot escape from the Blades."

I close my eyes. "When did they take her?"

"Just after dawn this morning."

I turn towards the open window. The moon was crossing the apex of the White Gold Tower, the streets quiet, just the occasional voice of a passerby chatting with the Imperial Watch. "My friend, I suspect she already has." He made a sound, but I glanced at him, at his almond-shaped red eyes. "Which then begs the question, why are you still here? Don't you have work to do? Or would you like to meet my sister? Point of fact, she doesn't she like your kind very much, but she isn't above healing you a bit to make the fun last a little longer . . ."

A whisper of sound, a creak of the window sill, and he's gone. Closing my eyes, I rub my wrist. Healed, the bone still aches. Need to calm myself. Need to rethink this course of action. It was rash, entrusting something so critical to this fumbling fool. Maybe there's another way, a way to get her here.

Maybe.

Her. Here. I smile. Yes, that could be fun. She would be a pleasant little toy. I entertain that thought for a moment, then reluctantly push it from my mind. Pleasant as the thought is, it's also rash and dangerous and the last thing I need now is rash and dangerous. Things are moving, taking shape. Opportunities are opening up all around me. Don't want to misstep, not now. Besides, there are other toys; toys less likely to kill you in your sleep.

Standing up, I moved shut the window, pausing for a moment to watch the dark, empty streets. If he fails this time, well, I'll introduce him to my sister.

*

Kaira Svanhit.

I sleep and I dream.

The boat rests on a mirror-smooth sea. We stand on the deck, myself and others, our bodies weighed down with robes and furs. The air is still, there is no wind – but the water is still cold enough to sustain ice.

Her name is Rostra. She stands naked on the deck, her red-orange hair pulled back into a single, long braid. Rahling kneels at her slender feet, wrapping and tying the thick rope. The skin of her legs and arms pimples in the freezing cold. The bag of stones, roughly the size of a soup cauldron, lies on the wooden deck next to her, connected to her by the umbilical cord of rope. Behind me, someone stamps their feet. Finally, Rahling stands, glancing up at us, then at her. "Are you ready?" he says. In the cold, his voice sounds oddly thick, as if he's breathless, excited.

She nods, a shuddering movement that betrays her cold, and turns to face us. Her eyes find mine and I smile. I wonder if others smile, too. Her body is strong, the muscles like polished marble, but her eyes worry me. There's fear shining in them. But, I suppose, I was afraid, too, when I stood naked on that deck.

Rahling places his hands on her slender waist. Lifting her with a grunt, he rests her feet on the narrow railing running along the edge of the ship. His face red, he turns and, grunting, lifts the bag of rocks. Crossing to the edge of the boat, he heaves the bag over the side.

Instantly, she disappears, pulled into the sea by the rope.

Around me, voices break out in whispers. My eyes stare at the cold steel sea, watching the ripples subside, the bubble break the surface. She'll be sinking deeper and deeper and deeper. She'll need to start swimming and soon. We wait, all watching the sea, watching for bubbles, watching for movement. We watch and we wait, eventually in silence. The bubbles slow and slow, eventually stopping completely. Still we wait.

When the sun is directly overhead, the Matron gives a quiet order. Rahling, his eyes red, calls to the sailors to lower the sail, to draw on the oars. Someone says something to me but I cannot speak. My eyes are still watching the steel gray water, still searching for movement which will never come.

From the corner of my eyes, tears roll, freezing on the cold, burning skin of my cheeks.

*

3320/8804

Author's Notes: First, thanks to everyone for reading. Chapter 4 will post by Friday and Chapter 5 may post on Saturday or Sunday.

Regarding this Chapter: This was the original Chapter 2 that I wrote for NaNoWriMo. (By the by, I don't know if anyone finds these "notes" useful or not, but I keep throwing them on at the end. If they're particularly annoying, let me know and I'll stop.) In the process of rewriting this chapter, I realized I didn't have near enough development for my story. Rewriting it over the last couple of days to clean it up, I recalled how much I enjoyed writing it originally, how the words just "sang" out of me, if that makes sense. I particularly enjoyed writing the section on Tyronius Valga, how he beats his hand to a pulp on the top of the desk, then pops open a potion to heal himself. Ah, alchemy!

One thing I strive to do is reveal my story, not tell it. ("Don't tell me the moon is shining," Chekhov advised, "show me the glint of light on broken glass.") One of my dreams, seriously, is to write an entire book without a single "revealing" adjective. None of the characters will "smile sweetly" or "fight bravely" or "glare menacingly". Instead, the character and emotion will be revealed by action. In my opinion, no single adjective will every reveal character, establish emotion, or create a mood better than a well-written piece of action. Example:

"You got be kidding," Biff said angrily. ("angrily" tells us how Biff feels.)

"You gotta be kidding, Biff said, throwing his hands in the air. ("Throwing his hands in the air" shows us Biff is frustrated.)

Kazuo Ishiguro's book, An Artist of the Floating World, is a beautiful example of this type of writing. The entire book, the entire story, is revealed through the eyes of the main character and, to understand it, you have to filter your understanding through the eyes and motivations of this character and the actions of others. It's an amazing book, a great story, and a fairly quick read (I read it in a weekend).

Sorry to go on. I love writing and I love to talk about writing.

I continue very much to like how you are telling this. The shifting first person POV is quite enjoyable, and I'm glad you agreed it was not necessary to change how you do this. Placing the name at the beginning of the POV change is great!

I don't have any critique here, so let me simply share some impressions that reading Ch 3 gave this humble reader:

Anatonia's part- This was very comfortable and immersive. I felt what she felt and it was a joy to read. I understood every bit of it. I smiled as you addressed more details about the dagger - at a time and point of your own choosing.

Tyronius' part - Not so comfortable. Plenty of questions and mystery here. A bungled assassination that left Kaira alive, and Tyronius is not a nice fellow (as I suspected from his performance at the Council meeting earlier).

Kaira's part - Darn, she is still such a mystery. I think this was a dream and reminds me of the opening of your story. I want know more about her. I also see a level of skill in your writing overall that causes me to suspect my hopes will be fulfulled.

Why did the Blades wrap Kaira up like that if all they wanted to do was kill her? I suspect something is amiss in this theory.

That last scene made me sad. Isn't it a shame to waste their young like this?


Ah yes. I know the tune of that song.


I agree but one thing I've learned: the showing slows down the pace of the story considerably. If for some reason you want to quicken it up, telling some bits is the way to go. In the current chapter of my fanfic I get the feeling if I were to write every gesture by showing, the important ones would lose their interest. Therefore, I use tell when I'm doing something that is not crucial. Personally, I don't think about this stuff anymore. I write so I find it interesting. But perhaps you just made me want to correct that issue.

I don't know what it is in your writing that makes me picture the scenes so clearly. In this your story measures up to the great ones.

So far everything was gripping. I am hooked. Do continue.

I couldn't have said it better than the two before me,

Small nitpicking, I noticed two typo's
Here:

I am sure you meant rattling

And here:

I think you initially wanted to write job in stead of work and left the "a" dangling.

Very gripping, especially the part with Valga. Also very mysterious. Why do the Blades want Kaira? Are they rescuing her from the Legion? Or do they have designs of their own upon her? Why does Valga want her dead? He seems to be covering his tracks (or someone else's) by killing everyone in the house. Was he involved in the Emperor's assassination? Or just the prince's? Who is this Dunmer reporting to him? Dunmer + assassin makes one jumps to the conclusion of Morag Tong, although this is not necessarily the case. With all these questions we have it sets the mind to percolating on the possibilities, which in turn draws us into the story as we breathlessly wait for what happens next.

I think you are doing an excellent job of showing rather than telling, as you said you strive for in your notes. All good writers show. The way that Anatonia does not know the second guard's name immediately made me wonder if he was a plant by some other faction, as it turns out he was. That was very subtly done. :goodjob:


A few nits:

This paragraph is confusing, I think you are changing speakers within it? If you are you need to start a new paragraph when the speaker changes.



Also there is the business with Valga's wrist. In your notes you say he was bashing his hand against the desk. But in the actual writing I do not recall seeing any mention of that, just his hand gripping the edge of the desk at the beginning. Then later he is applying a potion to it. Did I miss something? (I may have).

Thanks to everyone for the replies. To simplify matters I'm consolidating all my responses into one note.

@ Acadian:

Thanks for your kind comments and for taking the time to keep reading. Revelation (some) is coming. I've pushed the envelope on keeping people in the dark.

@ Pelius:

You are very a observant reader. Thank you for you comments.

I agree with your comment about speeding the story up; my preference in that case is to "tell" things through dialog, but I do find myself telling rather than showing at times (although when I read these passages later I always wince). An example of telling through dialog would be the killing of Matta and Ra'Bul. Other than the bodies on the floor, most of what you learn about their deaths is from a few brief comments by the Monk and the conversation between Valga and the mysterious man. Would it have been faster to describe the killing? Maybe. But I think this way makes a more pleasant experience for both me and the reader.

@ RemkoNL:

Again, thanks for reading. Yes, the first one is a typo. Thanks for catching it.

The second, "a work", was intentional. This was my attempt to (1) suggest someone who might not be familiar with Cyrodillic and therefore not speaking in their native language, and (2) to suggest a singular enterprise, a mission, if you will. I'll think on this a bit. Not certain I want to change it, but if it's confusing readers or diverting them by suggesting an error, then I'll need to fix it.

@ SubRosa:

Thank you for your kind comments, as always.

With respect to the first paragraph, no, the speaker doesn't change - that's all Valga, which is why it's all in one paragraph. The paragraph says, (1) don't take offense, (2) that, in telling me you failed, you admit the girl's still alive and, because of the dead bodies in her house, probably knows someone's trying to kill her, (3) Thanks to your blunder, my mission to kill her - which is why I hired you - is now thwarted, but we cannot give up because this is important to me, (4) you've been paid, so do your job, and (5) where do think she'll go next?

On outlining this, I think I see the problem; it's with the last question. This, the comment earlier in this scene about Valga placing the man in the shadows in the right place at the right time, the Monk's comment in the first scene that the victims knew their killer and were familiar with him/her, suggests that the man in the shadows is already familiar with the family and would then know Kaira personally. Maybe too subtle? Again something that will be revealed in the future.

Sorry that it was confusing. Do I need to develop this more?

With respect to his hand, well, he bangs and bangs and bangs his hand on the desk repeatedly until there's blood on it. You must have missed it because I thought it was fairly obvious. But I'll read through it again just to make sure.

ADDED LATER:



This is the paragraph I think you missed.

Hi Danielle,

Actually the part that caused me confusion with that first paragraph was that it started out with him saying "please". It just did not sound like something that Valga would say, given his bullying behaviour in the council meeting, and threatening to have the Dunmer killed/tortured at the start of his scene. He does not seem like a very nice man, or one who is polite to people he does not have to be with. So I thought it was the Dummer begging off to avoid a grisly fate.

You are right about the banging his hand on the desk part. I completely missed that. My brother called me on the phone while I was reading, and I probably picked back up reading the story in the wrong place afterward. Sorry about that.

And, actually, you're right. On further reading, it does come off a little out of character (and confusing). The "please" was meant to be sarcastic, but sometimes slang usage doesn't translate so well in print.

I've changed it. Thanks for the suggestion.

Chapter 1 pulled me in directly. My favorite part is the build up to and execution of...


I became Kaira as the chills danced across the back of my skull and I felt drawn to immediately continue with Chapter 2. In my rush I held onto the POV of Kaira until the end of the first line when I realized Vecillius holds my point of view. I found the transition between POV was not an issue and without delay continued.

I especially like the whole cine after the meeting of the council in Chapter 2 between Phillida and Vecillius but a specific line keeps coming to mind?


I connect with this line because I've been there a time or two which only adds to the realism.

Within this character building cine I spotted a possible typo?

when he held up a hand.

And Chapter 3 Tyronius Valga's first comment "Tell my right now?" should be "Tell me".

But back to the important stuff.

The dream sequences are intriguing, through these might we learn the truth to the mysteries of "The Valkyrie"?

I value your notes at the end of each chapter, a nice touch. Do keep them coming, they add personality that makes reading your work even more pleasurable.

Gwenearth:

Thank you for your comments - particularly the corrections.

A lot has changed in the story since I originally wrote it a month ago. In rewriting it, I decided to change the plot a bit and how the story is revealed through the characters. Probably the biggest change is in the character of Anantonia Vecillius, whose role in the original writing was quite a bit different than her role in this rewrite.

I'm considering limiting all of Kaira's POVs to a dream or recollection state. Anything you learn about her has to come through (1) dialogue or (2) these "flashbacks". This way, I can control how much the reader knows until the ending (although, arguably, you could do the same thing with a plain-jane third person POV). I really like this idea because of the intimacy - you know something no one else in the story knows . . . Kaira's thoughts and dreams.

But as I said, the story is now moving in a slightly different direction. The mythical theme will still be there, of course; one reason I wrote the story in the first place was to explore the Valkyrie mythology in a Joseph Campbell, Hero With A Thousand Faces, kind of way. Who is the hero? How are myths born and how do they effect our day to day decisions? This Valkyrie mythology, as set forth in Prose Edda, is fairly gruesome. Accompanied by ravens, they arrive on the battlefield to choose who will live and who will die, and who will have victory. What makes it interesting to me, in addition to the gothic nature of the story, is that they are women warriors in what was predominantly a male warrior society. And, of course, the powerful role it creates for a female character.

Anyway, this is probably more than you wanted to know. Thanks again for the comments.

One thing I would like to add: Valga threatens the Dunmer by "introducing you to my sister" three times and thinks it again in the end. It loses some punch because of over-use.

Chapter 4 – The Silence of Snow

*

Kaira Svanhit.

I dream of the silence of snow.

Ice hangs like shards of glass from the branches of trees. The snow on the hillside is new, fallen before the dawn, and is so perfectly white the trees fade to black against it. Rahling, standing on the other side of the tree, looks like a shadow of the man he is. The steel sword in my hand feels as heavy as a log and my arm aches from my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. The cold air burns in my lungs; my breath rolls from between my lips like steam.

"Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!" Rahlings voice cuts through the silence of the morning. "Faster, Kaira! You must be faster than that!"

The dream turns, tarnishes, becomes a memory.

I recall the moment, remember the pain, see the girl of fourteen winters who could barely shuffle through forest beneath the weight of her armor. I feel the shock as the tip of sword jabs again and again into the trunk of the towering pine. In the center of the trunk is a hole, the size of human fist, where the sword has ripped through the bark, exposing the golden-white wood beneath. Sap runs from the hole in the tree like blood, clotting in a glob in the cold. Again and again and again, I stab the tree, as hard as I can. Finally, Rahling shakes his head. "Enough, enough. Stop."

Breathless, I let the tip of the sword fall to the ground.

"Pick up your sword, Kaira," Rahlings says, his voice rough, but his eyes gentle. "You're a shieldmaiden now. If your sword is drawn, it is at the ready."

I nod, raising the tip of the sword. My fingers feel like wet leather, my arm like squid jelly.

"Keep the tip pointed at your enemy at all times," Rahling says, squatting before the tree, rolling a ball of beeswax in his fingers, warming it. "You must work on getting faster. If you want to be Valkyrie - and if you want to live - you must be able to strike your enemy three times for every one time he strikes you. And you have to be able to block his one strike. And your strike has to be powerful enough to penetrate leather or pierce the chinks in metal." He glances over his shoulder at me. "Do you understand, Kaira?"

"I understand." And I do. I watch as he carefully presses the beeswax into the ripped hole, stopping the running sap, preserving the life of the tree. "Is it true?" I ask. "What they say about Matron Thoralynne?"

"What's that?" Rahling stands, his head rising over mine, his eyes looking down upon me.

"They say she once did a thousand sword strikes in a row, without stopping once."

"Heard that story, have you?" Rahling smiles down at me. "Yes, it's true. I was there. She used a silver sword and when she was finished, the tip was completely ruined." Laughing, he slipped what was left of the beeswax in his pocket. "Everyone kept waiting for her to stop, to fall from exhaustion. She was older than you, by a few years." He paused, glancing around the forest. "She was strong, too. She struck so hard that needles fell like snow from the pine. By the time she was done, the skin on her hands had cracked and blood was dripping from between her closed fingers. That tree died. I can show it to you some time, if you want to see it."

I nod slowly.

"Do you want to be that strong, Kaira?"

Again, I nod.

"Then we best find another tree." He walks past me, his fur boots crunching on the snow, his tracks scarring the innocent surface. I heft the steel sword, feeling the pain radiating through my shoulder and neck, and follow him through the trees.

*

Grandmaster Jauffre.

Knees aching, I lean forward, placing a single gold Septim on the Altar of Talos. Sunlight flows through the stained glass window above me, bathing the Chapel in warm shades of brilliant color. The time for prayer is past. I should return to my office, but I linger in this peaceful sanctuary, turning the question over and over in my mind.

Why won't she talk?

A full day has passed and not a word from her. Time is a commodity I cannot spare and yet she remains silent, staring at the wall, refusing even to acknowledge us or our questions. She's not deaf. I know she can talk. So, by Talos, why won't she talk to me?

An unsettling whisper slips through my thoughts. Perhaps she knows what plans you have for her? What will come of her - eventually? For you know in your heart she cannot live. The risk is too great. The damage to the Empire, the Imperial line, to the Blades, and, of course, to you, would be irreversible.

You know this is true.

So even if she does eventually speak to you and even if her words allay your fears and even if, by her actions and oaths, she proves loyal to the Empire, you, Grandmaster Jaufree, sworn servant to the Imperial line, will still have to take her life. There is no other way.

I close my eyes against the brightness of the sunlight. "There might be another way," I whisper aloud. "If she would speak."

You know there is not.

"She could give assurances, take oaths." My whisper rises to a plea.

But the voice is silent.

Sighing, I rise, coming to my feet with the ease of a man years younger. Talos has been good to me; in the strength of my body, at least, I am blessed. That is some small comfort against the ever present threat of chaos.

When the time comes, can I kill the girl? Can I order her death? What if the stories are true? By Talos, to have such a warrior on our side, at this, our very hour of need! Excited, I pound my fist into my palm. Since my childhood, I've heard legends of these shieldmaidens, women with the power of several men, the strength to slay dozens, hundreds, of the enemy in a single battle. Even if the stories were exaggerated, even if they were only true by a tenth, her value to an Empire under attack would be immeasurable.

But not if she knows the truth. Her father knew, he must have known, that's why he called off the wedding. There's no other explanation. And she would naturally wonder, and in her wondering, ask questions . . .

Would her father tell her? Or would he lie?

By Talos, I need her to talk.

Behind me, the Chapel door creaks. I breath in, compose my face, and turn towards the sound. Prior Maborel approaches at a brisk trot, bowing quickly. "What is it?" I ask immediately. "Has she spoken?"

"No, Brother Jauffre." A look of pain crosses his face. "It's . . . she's gone. Escaped."

I can only stare. "Are you certain? When? How?"

"Yes. During the night. She forced the door from the inside, pulling the frame out of the stone wall. To do that, and do it quietly, must have taken – " His voice trailed off.

"Strength and patience? Yes." Swallowing hard, I shake my head. The news, frustrating though it is, was not unforeseeable. After all, I heard the rumors, knew the stories. Keeping her here, at the Priory, where there are no adequate cells, was a risk I assumed and I alone am now responsible for. Trusting that she would eventually come around, that she would say the words I wanted to hear; well, perhaps that was foolish.

But in her escape, my prayers have been answered, for the way is now clear. The path I must follow has been set by Talos.

"Have you sent the runners to Cloud Ruler Temple?" I ask.

"Yes, at dusk last night."

"Very good. Send a second messenger by horse." I hesitate. I must give the order. There is no other way. "To all Blades: The woman, Kaira Svanhit, has escaped our custody. She is to be killed on sight. Do not attempt to capture her or take her alive. Advise that all caution should be taken and she is to be considered extremely dangerous."

Prior Maborel's face pales, but he nods quickly. "Yes, sir. You don't think that she knows, do you?"

I stop, my hand on the Chapel door. "Knows? How could she?"

"Well, she was here when the messenger arrived. She was in the library."

Now I felt my own face blanche. By Talos, she was in the library! My attempt to show her kindness, to make her comfortable, while asking questions she refused to answer. Then the messenger, down at the door. Martin, the illegitimate son of Uriel Septim, alive and well and serving at the temple in Kvatch. And my order to to all Blades: proceed to Kvatch to protect the Emperor and bring him to me.

She could have heard every word.

Another mistake, and a very foolish one, at that. But I had assumed . . . too much. I won't make that mistake again.

"Very well," I say. "Advise the Blades to proceed to Kvatch immediately."

*

1602/10,406

[Author's Note: If this chapter seems a bit smaller than my other chapters, it's because I removed a lengthy third scene that follows the Grandmaster Jauffre scene. That scene and another scene will make up Chapter 5, and then we should be back on track with Chapter 6, and have a better, deeper story. I've also gone through and set all Kaira's dream scenes to italics, so they would conform to generally accepted formatting practices.

The dream scene at the beginning, Kaira in the snow, is actually based on a scene from Mark Salzman's book, Iron and Silk, which records the year he lived in China, study martial arts and teaching English. It's a beautiful and poetic study of a culture very different from mine, more disciplined, more intense. In the book, a martial arts master wields a spear for a thousand thrusts and when he's finished, he's worn the skin from his hands, covering the mat beneath his feet with blood. Since reading Iron and Silk, that image has lingered in my mind as the quintessential example of self-sacrifice in the pursuit of perfection.

As always, thanks for reading. :)]

More info revealed. Does Kaira intend to kill Martin or preserve him? And what was that talk about a wedding?

I am eager to see the outcome.

For now i've only read a short of chapter 1...

but... wow....

This is way more better then the intro i read of the Infernal City wich seems to boring and class-related to me....

But this... this is beautifull...

You should publisch a Elder Scrolls Novel..... not that guy from the Infernal City who just ruins much lore and has stupid names.... You have cool lore and cool names
I'll start preying that you're book will be plubisched

:read: Ok. Yummy. :liplick:

I really enjoy your style, to include the changing, first person pov's in present tense. I was so engrossed in reading Kaira's scene (that is testimony to your skill) that I almost missed the jump to Jauffre - thank you for the * and starting the scene with his name as you do.

Everything is very effective - dialogue, pace and such. I very much liked your descriptions in the first sequence - I was quite reaching for my furs to keep warm in the eerie, quiet snowlands.

I love the game Oblivion and really like how you are beginning to weave the game into your story. The familiar characters and feel of the Weynon Priory were quite welcome. I know your story is not 'tightly' bound to Oblvion and that is great - I just enjoy the occasional familiar references you are working in.

I think a tiny error escaped your final edits here perhaps?
"You're a shieldmaiden now. If you sword is drawn, it is at the ready."
Please do not let that detract from the fact that your overall editing for little 'nits' is superb.

I learned quite a bit about Kaira here. Her scene revealed much. Jauffre's scene 'showed' a lot about Kaira as well.

Jauffre's scene was also quite solid and seemed to really reveal a lot.

I hope I am where you want me, as a reader to be right now: I am very curious as to what Kaira is doing in the Chorrol area and what business she may have had with Jauffre. It is clear that Jauffre is impressed with the legendary skills of this shieldmaiden, but the reason for his trepidation about her motivation is unclear. It is also unclear why he would have attempted to restrain her. It seems some other party visited Jauffre and delivered the Amulet of Kings. Therefore, it seems clear to me that Kaira is likely the lead character of your story, yet she is not the one who delivered the amulet. I therefore see (I think), the reason for your vagueness about 'who is the protagonist'. If I am correct, I think that is very neat. At this point, I am ready for the person who delivered the amulet to play a key role or perhaps remain unknown and insignificant. I am not very good at unraveling plots so I thought I would just share where I am. If you can keep this simple minded reader with you, then your plot is clear.

I want more Kaira!

At any and all rates however, WELL DONE!

Well done once more!

This story is like an onion, every time we peel away one layer, we find another layer of mystery underneath. Why does Jauffre want Kaira dead? What threat does she post to the empire? What are these mysterious Valkyries? Plenty of questions to bubble in our imaginations.

Your Jauffre is certainly much more interesting than the one in the game, I might add.

I am not sure how much realism is important to you. For some people it matters, and for others not at all. If it is, then you should know that silver weapons would be useless for real combat, as the metal is too soft. If realism is not an issue for you, then obviously do not worry about it.




A pale-skinned and red-haired wood elf perhaps? Or slender (not stringy) blond-haired wood nymph?

Sorry for the slow reply, but had an exam today, work today, and was late getting home.

@ Peleus: Thank you so much for your interest. I'll try to post another chapter tomorrow.

@ Egypt Raider: I saw The Infernal City and wondered how good it was. I can see the potential for some excellent Elder Scroll stories. Morrowind is an amazing game idea and could give rise to some seriously deep fanfics. If I do another fanfic, I'd like it set in Morrowind.

Names can be tough. I use Tamriel Rebuilt's name generator and play with the names a bit. The only truly unique name is Kaira Svanhit, which is an alteration of the Nordic name "wild white swan", and is a combination of the names of two Valkyrie from the Poetic Edda. Thanks to SubRosa's suggestion regarding the Roman influence in the Imperial Army, I'm going use the Roman Name website for future Imperial names. Otherwise, I just go in game and play with the names I find.

Lore I still struggle with. Others know more about the game than I do, although UESP Wiki helps. Some of it, however, you just have to make up. For example, what happens if the Emperor has no children and the Imperial line dies? I mean, we can't always hope for illegitimate children? (Although one thing I gleamed from a review of The Infernal City: as part of the plot line, they find another heir to the Emperor. I mean, seriously? Is Uriel Septim just, uh, impregnating women all over Tamriel? But I digress . . .) Assuming the Amulet of Kings is truly magical, there must be a mechanism in place, some ritual, that will allow a chosen Emperor to become "dragon born." These are the kinds of things I struggle with, trying to make solutions realistic.

@ Acadian: Thank you for catching the error. Sorry about that. And thank you for reading and posting your wonderful comments.

One thing I should make clear: I plan on following the events of the game, but not the way they are set forth in the game. One example is the amulet of kings. No, a prisoner did not deliver it to Jauffre, someone else did, someone more likely. Also, now that Martin is the last heir, Jauffre obviously is going to do everything in his power to protect this heir, by sending as many Blades as he can to Kvatch. But will they get there in time?

In order to understand the protagonist, you have to let go of the game. The protagonist will do some of the things the player does in the game, but not all of the things. The events in the game become a backdrop for the primary story arch, which is not really about the game at all, but about who Kaira is and what she's doing in Tamriel. All right, enough said about that.

You will get a lot more Kaira in upcoming chapters.

@ SubRosa: Thanks. (By the way, you're new avatar looks great!) Right about layers, but some issues will not be resolved until the end of the story.

Jauffre is an interesting character. A monastic life in service, not to the Empire really, but to the Emperor and his family. "The eyes and ears of the Emperor", as the Blades are referred to in Morrowind. Delivering children "somewhere safe" in the dark of night. A keeper of secrets. From the first time I played Oblivion, I thought Bethesda didn't do near a good enough job developing Jauffre's character. What does all that secret keeping do to someone? How much power would they hold? Where would his true allegiances lie? How would he react to the Blade's failure to keep the Emperor alive? Add a world where magic is a real, religion dominates life, and the Emperor is a Dragon-God, and the possibilities for Jauffre's character are almost endless.

Silver weapons: I'd considered that before but, to be honest, not with this writing. I'm not really sure how to handle it. There are no gold weapons, for example, and I assume for that reason. Also consider glass, which would likely shatter on impact (although I have a theory that glass in Oblivion is more rock-like, since it seems to be mined). It would a substance of diamond or a very hard quartz.

But back to silver. This is my explanation: the guards all use silver swords, so somehow the armorers of Tamriel must have learned a method of purifying iron, a process that includes a merger and folding of iron ore into carbonized silver and other alloys, and dipping the same into a cleansing acid, resulting in a kind of silver-steel. The result are beautiful, polished weapons that give the appearance of silver but have an approximate strength of steel. The process is difficult, and expensive, explaining the increased value in "silver" weapons. Because the undead are a reality in Tamriel, these silver-steel weapons be in high demand, for their ability to inflict pain these enemies. The down side would be, as you suggest, the more silver in the sword, the weaker the blade.

Not terribly realistic, but the best idea I have at this time.

I really like how you weave your story "around" the game rather than "in" the game (hope that makes sense). A bit like I tried with "The Assassin." Unfortunately for me, your writing skill far exceeds mine so you get away with it.
Kudo's :goodjob:

I can send you a rather large list of Roman names if you like.




I have the same problem. Oblivion is my first ES game, and I have only played it a few months. So there is a lot of the lore I am clueless about. The wiki is nice, but if you do not know what you are looking for in the first place, it can be impossible to find things. On the subject of the Aumulet, there did seem to be a way that a non-Septim could use the amulet, because the original Emperors/Empresses starting with Alessia were not Septims, and there seems to have been several different Imperial bloodlines throughout the ages. Apparently there was some way that if a person was worthy enough they would qualify. But if you keep to the game plot and Martin dies destroying the amulet, that is all null anyhow. At that point I suppose the Elder Council could name anyone Emperor. Granted that person staying Emperor (and staying alive) is an entirely different story...





That is the best explanation for silver weapons being workable that I have ever heard. I would not worry too much about trying to explain it however. This is a fantasy setting after all, so a certain suspension of disbelief is a given after all. I only brought it up because some writers really try to keep it extremely gritty and realistic, while others are the complete opposite. Neither is right or wrong, it is just a matter of vision. I am somewhere in the middle myself. If I can make it real I will, just so long as it does not hurt the story. Basically I want verisimilitude.