'ello, mates. I doubt any of you remember me, but I used to write stories! And here's my latest attempt after not writing for billions and billions of years. It's part one, obviously it will continue. If y'all like it.
Amongst Thieves
By Sesetter Twile
And now, dear reader, let me spin you a tale. But be warned! tis' not one of glory or riches or love, nor of dances nor war nor the heavens above- tis' a tale of death and deceit and murder and theft; of horrors, of darkness, and of killers most deft. This is not a tale of a pauper fallen in with princes, nor of princes and their baubles and coin; this is a tale of a pauper fallen in amongst thieves, and of murderers and dishonor and those who purloin. So a warning to thee; if thy constitution is said to lack, put down this story and never look back.
Book One
_______
These were desperate times, and as Corr crouched behind an abandoned traveler's cart in a squalid back alley situated in the worst part of the most dilapidated section of Cyrrodil, his fingers covered in grime and his own blood grasping a stolen half-loaf of bread, he thought of his grandfather. Had his grandfather seen him now, hidden from pursuing city guards so far from his high-bred Altmer home... well, he didn't know what he would do. His grandfather had beaten his sister within an inch of her life for kissing a Breton boy when she was twelve- for disgracing the family name and living here, off scraps and stolen bread, Corr's grandfather would most likely kill him in cold blood. He had been rumored to murder business associates for much less.
Corr's knees began to ache. His grandfather, of course, did not know where he was. Corr had borrowed thousands of Septims from the family treasury in order to start his diamond shop in Cyrrodil, but it was all gone now, and his grandfather was a very tight gripped miser.
There was a clatter from the street. He heard an orc grunt. "I think he went this way," growled another. Corr huddled down further, wishing sincerely that he was just a bit shorter and not so brightly skinned. The guards rounded the corner and gazed in the abandoned windows. They entered a door no more than six feet from where Corr was crouched. He held his breath and heard crashing sounds inside, then a door open and close. He risked a glimpse from where he sat with knees bent, and saw nothing on the deserted street. Realizing that they might reemerge from the deserted building on which his back faced at any moment and see him there, he leapt up and dashed across the cobblestone street.
He ran into the third orc like a brick wall. Corr fell back against the stones paving the ground and tried to crawl away as the armored guardsman laughed raspily and picked him up by his tattered and torn shirt, once made of the finest silks but now one would be hard pressed to find anything fine about it. The orc grinned, baring his sharp, crooked teeth and breathed his foul, stale stench into Corr's face. "Dur'ok like bread," he growled lightheartedly, and tore the half-loaf from Corr's hands. He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then raised his fist and brought it down on Corr's high Altmer forehead.
****************
When Corr awoke, he was sideways on a cold dirt floor. He tasted the inside of his cheek to find a fair amount of dried blood, and then coughed painfully. He lifted his arm with a fair amount of exertion and felt his ribs- two were definately broken, and one other probably was. He raised his eyes to the door of the cell he was laying in and saw an Imperial Guard standing there, finishing off a meal. The guard glanced down at him.
"Fifteen days in jail. Consider yourself lucky they didn't kill you while you were out."
The man then began to pick a piece of meat from between his teeth with a small dagger. Corr pushed himself up painfully onto his elbow, and put one hand through the bars in the door. "Please... sir... I need... food..."
The guard looked down at him disdainfully. "Dinner will be in six hours. If you behave yourself." Apparently having dislodged the fragment of horsemeat from between his teeth, he turned and left Corr to his thoughts.
****************
Fifteen days later, Corr was thrown from the jail with a quick beating and a stern warning. He landed in the street and slowly got up to find somewhere to sleep. The streets were endless, with each step shooting pain through his abdomen and his ribs, but by putting one foot after the other he finally found a back alley to rest in just as night fell. He closed his eyes.
"Corr Tanum." He opened his eyes and squinted at the bright morning sun. A Dumner stood over him, a silhouette in the blinding light. "You will meet a Khajit female at midnight, in the Tavern of the Twelve Tails. She will respond to the name 'Silver Tongue'. You may be early, but do not be one second late. Tell no one." Corr shielded his eyes to see the dark elf more clearly, but he was gone.
He grimaced into the sun. "Well," he thought to himself, "it's not like I have any prior appointments to attend." Corr then set about finding the Tavern of the Twelve Tails.
And Part Two...
Amongst Thieves
By Sesetter Twile
The higher one goes in life, the more theft looks like a crime- but the lower one sinks, theft begins to look as society fine. Theft is sometimes a matter of relieving great strife- yet it too can be but another way of life.
Book Two
_____________________
The Tavern of the Twelve Tails, Corr discovered moments after entering the seedy establishment, seemed to be a Khajit only pub. Nowhere could he see a head not covered in fur and jewelry- the slanted cat-eyes of the denizens of this place rested on him suspiciously, then slipped away, as if a serpent through oils. The air clouded with various smokes, of which Corr could only identify one or possibly two. A male catperson with extraordinarily long lip hairs and his tall ears pierced with every color imaginable dispensed drinks slowly to the waiting customers, all while keeping his eyes set firmly on Corr.
Not knowing where to start on his quest to find this "Silver Tongue", and feeling rather stupid about the whole matter, the Altmer turned to leave through the door he had entered seconds before. Instead of passing through the doorway, however, he nearly collided with a barrel chested male Khajit standing in his way, rising up and down on the balls of his furry feet. "You are heeere to sssee Ssilvertongue, yess?" Still reeling from the shock, Corr nodded dumbly. The Khajit rolled his tongue,picked him up, and turned him around to face the tavern, who were now all looking at him unabashedly and grinning their special catlike grins. "You aren't going to find her outssside, then. She's in the firsst table to your left." The Khajits roared, laughing raspily until their fur was damp with tears. Corr stumbled to where the catperson had pointed, his light skin burning fiercely with embarrasment. He sat down with a thump and stared furiously at a knot in the wooden table.
"Corr Tanum, yess?" Silvertongue rolled the r's in his name, but differently than most of the breeds of Khajit Corr had come across in Cyrodiil. He looked up and saw a smiling face, covered in soft down fur; all light tan except for a dark triangle on her forehead. She wore an blouse embroidered with a thin blue tree, the leaves made of orange thread, over which she wore an amulet bearing an odd light-refracting stone of blood-red hue. "Um... yes. Yes, I am. How do you know my name?"
Silvertongue blinked. "It iss my businesss to know these thingss, Altmer. For instance, I know you were jusst let out of prissson for theft, yess?" Corr nodded. "...yess. And you are the sson of the late Lesin Tanum, grandsson of wealthy merchant Naptoc Tanum, yess? Good. I am Silvertongue, one of the Thieves Guild in this part of Cyrodiil. I wish to offer you placement in our... association."
Corr looked Silvertongue full in the face. "Why?" he asked. "Sure, I stole a loaf of bread, but theft isn't my profession. Why single me out?" Corr smiled politely and leaned foreward, putting her chin on her paw. "To be honessst, you're alsso a terrible thief. You were caught by three extremely stupid and eassily evaded sssentries. But I feel I musst be square with you- we are not contacting you for your ability, but for your... background. There are very few high-class Altmerss that would be willing to help us. But you, you are exactly what we need: someone with classs, someone with charm, and ssomeone to get uss where we need to be. An insside man, if you will."
Corr stood up rapidly, his aristocratic airs returning through his grimy exterior and tattered outfit. "I'm no thief! I won't help you steal from anyone! And I won't be your 'inside man'!" He turned to leave.
"Where will you go, Corr?" He stopped, but did not turn around. "Out there, you have nowhere TO go. You've dissgraced your family, ruined your name and career- do you honesstly want to sspend the rest of your life wandering through the rotting streets of lower Cyrodiil, looking for an odd job to buy the next piece of bread ssso you won't starve? What I'm offering might not be palatable to your conscience right now, but it's not that bad a life. You'll always eat. With enough practice, you might even become a rich man of your own right. There is honor amongst thieves- you will be counted amongsst our brothers. What do you ssay?"
Corr closed his eyes, then slowly turned and sat back down at the table. When he opened them, Silvertongue was sitting foreward, looking at him.
"Good. Now, let'sss talk about your firsst job..."
Psyborg's Showcase Thread of Doom
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Psyborg
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Psyborg's Showcase Thread of Doom
Last edited by Psyborg on Fri Feb 24, 2006 4:54 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Lady Nerevar
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Anonymous
Re: Psyborg's Showcase Thread of Doom
Very good. I like it. One thing that I noticed, however, is that you mispelled "Cyrodiil". I can't wait to see more. 
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Silverwood
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And now, dear reader, let me spin you a tale. But be warned! Tis' not one of glory or riches or love, nor of dances, nor war, nor the heavens above- tis' a tale of death, and deceit, and murder, and theft; of horrors, of darkness, and of killers most deft. This is not a tale of a pauper fallen in love with a princes, nor of princes and their baubles and coin; this is a tale of a pauper fallen in amongst thieves, and of murderers and dishonor and those who purloin. So a warning to thee; if thy constitution is said to lack, put down this story and never look back.
_______
There was a time when what you thought as low standards were riches. These were very Desperate times. As Corr crouched behind an abandoned traveler's cart in a squalid back alley situated in the worst part of the most dilapidated section of Cyrrodil, his fingers covered in grime and his own blood grasping a stolen half-loaf of bread, he thought of his grandfather. Had his grandfather seen him now, hidden from pursuing city guards so far from his high-bred Altmer home... well, he didn't know what he would do. His grandfather had beaten his sister within an inch of her life for kissing a Breton boy when she was twelve- for disgracing the family name... and living here, off scraps and stolen bread, Corr's grandfather would most likely kill him in cold blood. He had been rumored to murder business associates for much less.
Corr's knees began to ache. His grandfather, of course, did not know where he was. Corr had borrowed thousands of Septims from the family treasury in order to start his diamond shop in Cyrrodil, but it was all gone now, and his grandfather was a very tight gripped miser.
There was a clatter from the street. He heard an orc grunt. "I think he went this way," growled another. Corr huddled down further, wishing sincerely that he was just a bit shorter and not so brightly skinned. The guards rounded the corner and gazed in the abandoned windows. They entered a door no more than six feet from where Corr was crouched. He held his breath and heard crashing sounds inside, then a door open and close. He risked a glimpse from where he sat with knees bent, and saw nothing on the deserted street. Realizing that they might reemerge from the deserted building on which his back faced at any moment and see him there, he leapt up and dashed across the cobblestone street.
He ran into the third orc like a brick wall. Corr fell back against the stones paving the ground, and tried to crawl away as the armored guardsman laughed raspily and picked him up by his tattered and torn shirt. It was once made of the finest silks, but now one would be hard pressed to find anything fine about it. The orc grinned, baring his sharp, crooked teeth and breathed his foul, stale stench into Corr's face. "Dur'ok like bread," he growled lightheartedly, and tore the half-loaf from Corr's hands. He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then raised his fist and brought it down on Corr's high Altmer forehead.
When Corr awoke, he was sideways on a cold dirt floor. He tasted the inside of his cheek to find a fair amount of dried blood, and then coughed painfully. He lifted his arm with a fair amount of exertion and felt his ribs- two were definately broken, and one other probably was. He raised his eyes to the door of the cell he was laying in and saw an Imperial Guard standing there, finishing off a meal. The guard glanced down at him.
"Fifteen days in jail. Consider yourself lucky they didn't kill you while you were out."
The man then began to pick a piece of meat from between his teeth with a small dagger. Corr pushed himself up painfully onto his elbow, and put one hand through the bars in the door. "Please... sir... I need... food..."
The guard looked down at him disdainfully. "Dinner will be in six hours. If you behave yourself." Apparently having dislodged the fragment of horsemeat from between his teeth, he turned and left Corr to his thoughts.
Fifteen days later, Corr was thrown from the jail with a quick beating and a stern warning. He landed in the street and slowly got up to find somewhere to sleep. The streets were endless, with each step shooting pain through his abdomen and his ribs, but by putting one foot after the other he finally found a back alley to rest in just as night fell. He closed his eyes.
"Corr Tanum." He opened his eyes and squinted at the bright morning sun. A Dumner stood over him, a silhouette in the blinding light. "You will meet a Khajiit female at midnight, in the Tavern of the Twelve Tails. She will respond to the name 'Silver Tongue'. You may be early, but do not be one second late. Tell no one." Corr shielded his eyes to see the dark elf more clearly, but he was gone.
He grimaced into the sun. "Well," he thought to himself, "it's not like I have any prior appointments to attend." Corr then set about finding the Tavern of the Twelve Tails.
---
Awsome story, just some unprofesional things needed to be taken out, such as the stars. Since we're focusing on Hammerfell, you might be asked to change teh story to that region. I can't wait until your next one
I say Psyborgs writing ability is high enough for TR standards. Could someone please premote him to TR modder?
_______
There was a time when what you thought as low standards were riches. These were very Desperate times. As Corr crouched behind an abandoned traveler's cart in a squalid back alley situated in the worst part of the most dilapidated section of Cyrrodil, his fingers covered in grime and his own blood grasping a stolen half-loaf of bread, he thought of his grandfather. Had his grandfather seen him now, hidden from pursuing city guards so far from his high-bred Altmer home... well, he didn't know what he would do. His grandfather had beaten his sister within an inch of her life for kissing a Breton boy when she was twelve- for disgracing the family name... and living here, off scraps and stolen bread, Corr's grandfather would most likely kill him in cold blood. He had been rumored to murder business associates for much less.
Corr's knees began to ache. His grandfather, of course, did not know where he was. Corr had borrowed thousands of Septims from the family treasury in order to start his diamond shop in Cyrrodil, but it was all gone now, and his grandfather was a very tight gripped miser.
There was a clatter from the street. He heard an orc grunt. "I think he went this way," growled another. Corr huddled down further, wishing sincerely that he was just a bit shorter and not so brightly skinned. The guards rounded the corner and gazed in the abandoned windows. They entered a door no more than six feet from where Corr was crouched. He held his breath and heard crashing sounds inside, then a door open and close. He risked a glimpse from where he sat with knees bent, and saw nothing on the deserted street. Realizing that they might reemerge from the deserted building on which his back faced at any moment and see him there, he leapt up and dashed across the cobblestone street.
He ran into the third orc like a brick wall. Corr fell back against the stones paving the ground, and tried to crawl away as the armored guardsman laughed raspily and picked him up by his tattered and torn shirt. It was once made of the finest silks, but now one would be hard pressed to find anything fine about it. The orc grinned, baring his sharp, crooked teeth and breathed his foul, stale stench into Corr's face. "Dur'ok like bread," he growled lightheartedly, and tore the half-loaf from Corr's hands. He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then raised his fist and brought it down on Corr's high Altmer forehead.
When Corr awoke, he was sideways on a cold dirt floor. He tasted the inside of his cheek to find a fair amount of dried blood, and then coughed painfully. He lifted his arm with a fair amount of exertion and felt his ribs- two were definately broken, and one other probably was. He raised his eyes to the door of the cell he was laying in and saw an Imperial Guard standing there, finishing off a meal. The guard glanced down at him.
"Fifteen days in jail. Consider yourself lucky they didn't kill you while you were out."
The man then began to pick a piece of meat from between his teeth with a small dagger. Corr pushed himself up painfully onto his elbow, and put one hand through the bars in the door. "Please... sir... I need... food..."
The guard looked down at him disdainfully. "Dinner will be in six hours. If you behave yourself." Apparently having dislodged the fragment of horsemeat from between his teeth, he turned and left Corr to his thoughts.
Fifteen days later, Corr was thrown from the jail with a quick beating and a stern warning. He landed in the street and slowly got up to find somewhere to sleep. The streets were endless, with each step shooting pain through his abdomen and his ribs, but by putting one foot after the other he finally found a back alley to rest in just as night fell. He closed his eyes.
"Corr Tanum." He opened his eyes and squinted at the bright morning sun. A Dumner stood over him, a silhouette in the blinding light. "You will meet a Khajiit female at midnight, in the Tavern of the Twelve Tails. She will respond to the name 'Silver Tongue'. You may be early, but do not be one second late. Tell no one." Corr shielded his eyes to see the dark elf more clearly, but he was gone.
He grimaced into the sun. "Well," he thought to himself, "it's not like I have any prior appointments to attend." Corr then set about finding the Tavern of the Twelve Tails.
---
Awsome story, just some unprofesional things needed to be taken out, such as the stars. Since we're focusing on Hammerfell, you might be asked to change teh story to that region. I can't wait until your next one
I say Psyborgs writing ability is high enough for TR standards. Could someone please premote him to TR modder?
