Introduction

I arrived in Morrowind from Cyrodil in the year 427 of the Third Era and was immediately struck by how exotic the place was, in the heartland you could stand on the plains and see for miles upon miles, to the great snowy peaks of the North to the steamy Nibenay bay and Leyawin. But after I emerged from the hold of the Pelagius, which had agreed to take me to Ebonheart before it unloaded it’s prisoners at Seyda Neen, I was immediately struck by the dense fog that lurked over the waters behind me, and the great hills and trees that blanketed the land, blocking off the horizon and permeating the land with a strangely claustrophobic feel.
I came to the volcanic island to try and make a book out of the local customs and institutions in the land, some of which bore a keen resemblance to those of the Imperials and other human races, and some that seemed completely alien to me. My journey led me to Vivec, perhaps the most spectacular city I had seen in my travels. Saying that the city is situated on the coast would be a lie, it is built directly out of the sea, the fat multi tiered cantons rising out of the muddy waters and mist like elegantly carved mountain peaks.
Unfortunately on arrival I was struck by how tired I was, as sailing had never sat well with me. After getting off of one cramped wooden prison ship and onto a cargo ship I was completely sapped of any will to begin my studies, or so I had thought. I had sat down to a strange meal in the first inn I found, a plate of the largest egg I had ever seen and some tough local tubers and plants mixed into salt-rice, when I noticed the Bosmer.

I had sat down at a table I had thought was deserted, but upon carefully examining the large “kwama” egg and not deducing any obvious way to eat it I had looked up to try and observe the locals and found myself staring directly at the man sitting opposite me. I hadn’t seen or heard him sit down and he was posed to an extent that spoke both of comfort, but also of constant awareness, that made me realise he had been here long before I had arrived. I chastised myself inwardly for being so rude and introduced myself.

“Sorry friend” I apologised quickly, smiling sheepishly at the man “I hadn’t seen you there, my names Martinus Serruq, do you mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all” the Bosmer replied, his eyes flicking to me. “I’m Threndafel”.
There was something about the man that put me on edge; he had a bluntness and carefulness you don’t usually associate with the “Tree Sap” people. He never seemed quite relaxed, his eyes moved constantly around the inn, as if he was trying to absorb as much information from his surroundings as possible, and the way the staff watched him made it seem like they expected trouble.
I coughed nervously and returned to my egg, carefully poking it with my knife while contemplating the idea of the lovely imperial barmaid who’d served me snickering in the stockroom at the stupid foreigner.
“Slice away the shell”, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the elf spoke, his voice was surprisingly hard with a hint of either boredom or annoyance in his voice. “Then section up the inside and mix it in with the rest, it’s all bland together but the tastes on their own will make you retch until you get used to the dining”
“Um, thanks” I replied, while following his advice, he was right it was quite bland, but something didn’t sit right with my palate that suggested I’d regret my order in the morning. “Could I get you something in return? Maybe a plate of, what was it, Hackle-Lo?”
The elf regarded me coolly for a moment “You don’t know much about Bosmeri do you?” he declared in a manner that suggested no matter what I thought he was right. “We’re carnivorous, or at least we Valenwood natives are.”
“Ah, well perhaps something else, maybe...” he cut me off quickly with a slight motion of his hand
“A flin would be good though”

A few drinks later we’d opened up to each other as only two and a half flasks of sujamma and a mutual dislike of mudcrabs can make you. I was busy stuttering out my plan for my book, how I’d visit all the cantons and try and get interviews with the highest ranking, and some of the locals, to learn about how the influence of Imperial guilds was changing Dunmer tradition when he stopped me in my ramblings.
“I can help” he muttered, taking another swig of the potent drinks we’d ordered “You don’t get much more traditional than my institute”. He declared, perhaps a tinge of pride creeping into his voice.
“Lemme guess” I blurted out “Telvanni, magicka and mischief righ’?”
“Do I look like ah mage?” he grinned. His eyes flicked towards a dunmer staggering out of the door in that disconcerting manner of his. As soon as the man was gone my Bosmer friend straightened, and I realised he had been acting drunk this whole time. “You don’t get more Dunmer than the Morag Tong” he said before standing, and it was only now I noticed that under the loose fitting cloth shirt and leggings he wore was a dark set of leather armour, and around his waist was a selection of knives. Then he was gone, following the man out of the door.
When I finally left in the morning I was confronted by an Ordinator, one of the elite guards of the city and of the local religion. “Sir, do you have any information regarding the assassination of a male Dunmer last night? By the name of Feruren Oran?” he growled at me, one hand resting always on the hilt of his sword.

My mind reeled with the possibilities as I politely lied my way past the masked guard and made for the balcony outside. Had I spent the last evening talking to an Assassin? A legalised murderer? Little did I know as I made my way towards the Redoran canton that I would meet the man again, and that he would form the basis of what may be my best work?.

Great Chapter !!!

This looks interesting. A story about a writer living in Tamriel!

Ahh, what better way to welcome one to Vvardenfell than with strange delicacies and legalized murder.

Anyone up for a Kwama Cuttle and Scrib Jelly sandwich? I hear they're quite an experience.

We’re carnivorous, or at least we Valenwood natives are.

Nice touch with the lore here. Here's to the Green Pact!

Nit? I'm seeing a bit of a lore contradiction here:

I was confronted by an Ordinator, one of the elite guards of the city and of the local religion.

If this is the year 4E 427, than that means the Tribunal has completely collapsed. The Three are either dead or missing, and after the events of the Infernal City, I'd be very surprised if anyone believed in them any more.



I'd sure have my beliefs shaken after all that! As it is, that far into the Fourth Era, the Dunmer have likely returned to their old ways of Daedra worship, so the Ordinators would have largely disappeared from their society.

Perhaps it would be better to have this story take place in year 427 of the Third Era? That would fix everything, AND you'd have the added bonus of the events of TES3 taking place at the same time.

Looking forward to more! Morrowind is probably my favorite province out of them all!

Ah yes, I was checking up my research on UESPWiki before writing this at 2 in the morning because I couldn't sleep, and I made a mental note to say the third era, and then my brain melted and went "Well I guess the Fourth era will do". To the edit button! But thanks for the feedback guys, I shall attempt to get the following chapter up tonight.

You've got an excellent story coming along, but could you split it up a bit more. I notice the changes in paragraphs, but I'd just like to request htat it be split up like after each paragraph a line and after each paragraph where time passes, perhaps two?

Zalphon says it all. This really makes me wish I had played the one set in the wood elfs territory.

I wonder where this is going.

Hi again all, sorry it's a bit late but I had an exam to revise for. Thanks for the feedback and i'll take it in mind, hope you all enjoy this next installment, it's a bit short but it's meant to be leading up to the follower really.

Also this is gonna be a bit of a short series, but I was mianly using it as an introduction to the characters who will have a proper adventure in the next one.

--Interview 1--

Interview 1
I spent a few days looking for the Bosmer, in between my futile attempts to interview high ranking house members, but much to my displeasure no one seemed to remember any wood elf by the name of “Threndafel” and I quickly gave up hope of finding him. A week and a half later I was becoming more and more frustrated by the task I had set myself. It appeared that simply my being an “Outlander” was enough of an incentive for people to avoid giving me interviews, and after following up some rumours about a group called “Dissident Priests” I quickly discovered that free speech was not a very highly regarded concept on the island, and that anything I published would of course be under intense scrutiny.

I had sat down in the one of the seats surrounding the Arena which seemed surprisingly ill used, a massive contrast to the arenas in Cyrodil, to try and write up some of the few notes I had managed to gather from some of my contacts in house Hlaalu. After a few minutes I heard one of the massive doors creak open and close and the soft scuffing of leather boots across the floor. Imagine my shock as I looked up to see the dark eyes of the wood elf regarding me from the bottom of the stands. It took me a minute to process during which the man climbed up to sit a few feet away from me.

“Um...Hello again?” I whispered nervously.

“Why are you whispering?” He replied bluntly “We’re alone in a giant arena, it’s not a library”

“Oh, I um...y’know with you being an....assassin...” I hissed the last word, quickly scanning the room to see if any of the non-existent spies I feared would swoop down and arrest me for being a conspirator. However I was surprised when the Bosmer burst out laughing, up until this moment he had struck me a very sullen and dark fellow, but the way his face creased showed that he was actually a lot more used to the slightly quirky smile that spread across his face.

“And? We’re a respected guild here! By the gods man, our Grandmaster is practically a celebrity!” he replied. “I know it must be a bit scary, it was for me when I started, but we’re nothing like the “Dark Brotherhood””, he practically spat the name “Or any other two bit thugs with a knife who claims to be an “assassin””

“Oh” I managed weakly, slumping back in my seat. I had been partly enjoying the idea of having to fight my way through some guards and escape back to with a good reason not to write my stupidly impossible book. “But, how do you know that someone’s in the, what was it, Morag Tong? Am I saying that right?”

“It’s fairly simple really, we’re the only ones legally permitted to write “writs”, basically we have the paperwork, by the roots these Dunmer like their paperwork.” The Bosmer replied, pulling a scroll from his bag, it was sealed with red wax and red ribbons. “If I’m required too I present this scroll and the guards have no choice but to let me walk free. Of course that doesn’t stop the few angry witnesses or family members from coming after me so I always head off and lay low for a while afterwards.”

“I see...no wait I don’t, I can’t believe you’re just allowed to go out and kill people!” I exclaimed as my mind worked overtime processing what I was being told. “I mean, how can people make a career out of killing people? It’s just...barbaric!”

“You’ve got to understand, the kind of people we are.” The Bosmer replied gently “And the kind of people the Dunmer are. And I think the easiest way to do both will be to tell you how I got involved with the Guild”
My mind reeled, two weeks ago this man had barely spoken to me, and he had only done that to get to a target! And now he wanted to tell me his life story! I double checked the arena to make sure there was no one else around for him to kill. Before giving up, for one I didn’t want to refuse a man who was trained to kill for a living, and if he was going to kill me I might as well have dragged it out and hope an ordinator turned up.

“Okay” I replied weakly, grabbing my quill and sheets of paper, my previous notes discarded and forgotten.
“Well” he began “It all started back in Valenwood...”

What an interesting twist!! I love the dilemma, is he there to kill you or someone else? OOPS! There is no one else here !!! ROFL !!! Great Write !!!

Yep, this continues to be interesting. I still like the idea of writing the story by interview.

Bah, not so happy with this one, had to write it during my exams, I would re-write it but I want to finish this story soon so I can get on with the next one. Anyway, there will be more to come. Enjoy the next slightly interesting chapter.

---Interview 1 Continued---

“I came from a small border town, on the Elsewyr border” The Bosmer began, he was no longer looking at me, but past me and he had visibly relaxed. I began reciting the instructions for a shield spell in my head, a snake always looks most relaxed just before it strikes.

“I lived a fairly normal life, grew up as a hunter, following my parent’s tradition, and got quite good with a bow and a knife, but the borders were never a quiet place. I came home from hunting one day to find the village had been burnt to the ground by bandits. I never found out whether it was the Khajit or not, no one was left to tell the tale. Not dead, they had just fled. While I was picking through the wreckage to try and find any sign of my family and friends I was found by a group of armed men and women. They were bandit hunters, everyone on the borders new of them. We praised them for being the only line of protection we had, the only people who would retaliate against the Khajit, the city folk called them troublemakers, people who incited war by striking at our neighbours.”

“Wait, you mean the army didn’t do anything?” I interrupted, his story was already pretty difficult for me to believe, sounding fairly cliché.

“Of course not, you expect Valenwood to have an army?” replied the Bosmer, a slight grin spreading across his face. “The area is massive, heavily forested, and filled with dangerous creatures. An army wouldn’t be able to respond fast enough to anything, and a full fledged invasion is pretty difficult to carry out anyway. But the country shapes every Bosmer to be a natural born hunter in some way or another, any invader has to face a nation of angry mer who can hide in trees and shoot an apple off an imp’s head from 300 feet.”
“But, that’s ludicrous! You can’t expect me to believe that there’s no official defence force for a subject of the Empire?!” I exclaimed, trying to run the logistics in my head.

“Hey, you don’t have to believe anything, i’m just telling a story” replied the Bosmer.

“Fine, fine, so what happened? I expect you join up with these people and they teach you how to be a killer right?”

“Not at all, I joined up with them all right, but I was young and actually...” Threndafel looked around quickly before leaning in closer and whispering in a hushed voice “I’d always wanted to be an actor.”

“An actor? Really?” I exclaimed. “Are you telling me that these tough, no nonsense warrior wanted you to prance around on a stage?”

“Pretty much, have to keep morale up somehow.” Threndafel replied, completely straight faced. “There were the twins, Alawen, Sylvestia and me, though Alawen always resented not being allowed to go into battle with the rest. We did our own little songs and sketches, as well as any plays we could find the script for. Eventually we left for the Imperial City to try and make some proper money. Alawen only went because the twins did, I think she was in love with Farrel.” Threndafel continued, his voice had taken on a slightly airy sound, and his eyes didn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular.

“Then it all went sour. We were on our way back from performing at an inn across the lake, in a town called Weye, when we were stopped on the bridge by some men. Three Nords and an Imperial against five Bosmers and no legionnaires in sight, it didn’t look good. They had split our group in two. Sylvestia and Farrel were in front, Alawen, Donlen and I behind. The men were obviously drunk, and had the wrong intentions for Sylvestia, she was our lure, the beautiful face for our plays, hair like autumn leaves, a pale face, small and gentle...Anyway. Farrel tried to get them to back off. I don’t know exactly what happened but suddenly there was blood all over Farrel’s chest and the Imperial had a knife. All hell broke loose, but it was mainly the two girls. Alawen wrestled a shortsword off one of the Nords and turned into a whirlwind of fury, Sylvestia was more like a trapped lion. By the end of it we were all bruised and cut, but our attackers were dead."

"We dumped the bodies over the side for the slaughterfish and carried snuck Farrel back into the city through the sewers, the guards already saw us a thieves just for our race and profession and returning beaten and bruised, we would’ve been arrested for assault. Alawen was a state, wouldn’t leave his side, he passed away in the night despite our best efforts. The next morning though...that was the worse. We were all pretty shaken up, we’d seen death, but never like this...and then...”

The Bosmer paused; his face contorted with what I could only guess was a mixture of pain and regret. I couldn’t find words to try and comfort him. He had just owned up to one of the most mysterious cases in Imperial history, I wrote my first report on the Weye Bay Bodies, the bodies of four junior watchmen washed up on shore covered with cuts and bite marks, one with a sword still buried in their stomach, and no witnesses for suspects.

Eventually he spoke again, his voice had become more and more strained throughout the tale, but now it was cool and collected once more.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to be going, avoid the mages guild tonight I’ll...we’ll see about finishing this” he mumbled before taking off through the large doors on the other side of the arena.
I sat with the beginnings of a biography, a confession, and what sounded like a fan’s terrible re working of good fiction in my hands, and mourned what I believed to be the loss of my greatest work.

This chapter is HUGE! The mystery was left hanging - but the dialogue was so intensive that it kept me wrapped from the first paragraph to the end!! Awesome Write !!!

'Bah, not so happy with this one, had to write it during my exams, I would re-write it but I want to finish this story soon so I can get on with the next one. Anyway, there will be more to come. Enjoy the next slightly interesting chapter. '
I would urge against derailing your own effort with self-criticism. If you are not satisfied, you are perhaps better served not offering it up until it sings to you.

Now, there are some minor editing oversights herein, but the story remains solid and interesting, with fine dialogue.

'But the country shapes every Bosmer to be a natural born hunter in some way or another, any invader has to face a nation of angry mer who can hide in trees and shoot an apple off an imp’s head from 300 feet.”
This was wonderfully clever!

Do I detect a warning from an assassin to avoid the mages guild this evening? Hmmm. . . .

At this point, your story is coming along nicely and it looks like you have a plan. You may want to consider reading and commenting on some of the excellent fan fiction stories here in order to benefit from the style and technique of others, as well as to garner/maintain the support and readership of other writers.

I don't know that I can add anything critique-wise, but Acadian's advise about the self-criticism is spot on.

I do know that I am hooked and enjoying the read. Keep it coming!

Mid Essay Update activate!

-----Continued-----

I had booked my passage back to Cyrodil, dejected and defeated by the wonderfully barbarous country I could not bring myself to love, nor hate. I was broke, I was heartbroken, and I was worried. Living in Morrowind is not easy, and it is not cheap, and I am far too easily brow beaten for the ruthless haggling the vendors and merchants all across the land so loved. What’s more, I had been given a taste of greatness. For a time, I had entertained the notion that I would become famous, a household name, rich leather bound tomes on noble’s shelves would bear my name in fancy gold type on the spine. But instead I had lot it all due to whim and fate, just the way I had gained it. And now I was getting more and more worried. I had not heard from the Bosmer for another month, during which I had found all my leads fading away as the temple cracked down around rumours of some form of heretical champion rising away. Now I was seeing shadows where there shouldn’t be, and within those shadows the slightest hint of movement, was I to be silenced? My body found deep within some ancestral tomb or picked apart by cliff racers on some forgotten path? Maybe I had annoyed a noble with my questioning, and they had paid for my removal...

Still, I could not bear myself to throw away my half finished work, even if I could have saved myself by destroying such evidence. It had me mesmerized, and I could not explain why. It felt heavier each day, like it was trying to anchor me to the island of Vvardenfel, begging me to finish it, to let it be what all it could. I could never do this justice though; it required the truthful heart of the story teller, not the whimsical pen of a scholar. I loathed and loved it.

My boat was not a fancy thing, plain imperial build, manned by a crew of red guards and Nords, each one seeming more scarred and bitter than the last. The captain charged me an outrageous price, the last of my remaining coin gone for a meagre hammock in the bowels of the ship. It stunk of over ripe produce and rotting wood, and echoed with the creaking of the great strained timbers that kept the ship from collapsing in on it self.

As I lamented my sorry situation, I heard the hatch at the far end of the ship open. The gruff voice of the hulking Nord who owned the ship rang clear down the hall, seeming to argue with another who I could not hear. The meagre lantern that lit my small corner of the hold was not bright enough to illuminate the figure that entered down, the hatch slamming shut barely after his head had cleared it.
My heart fluttered with hope, perhaps this trip would not be as dismal as I thought, perhaps I would have a travelling companion, a well spoken Dunmer noble, travelling to the Imperial City to capitalise on his success! Perhaps he would help me in writing a half decent book to publish, something that would save me face and help recoup my losses. Then we’d set up our own small printing company, his money and my talents allowing us to flourish, we’d become the toast of the town! Invited to functions with princes, meeting lovely elegant noblewomen, causing scandal, daring chases and risky plans that always work!

“Hail friend” I called to him as he approached the flickering light of my candle. “Welcome to the humble abode of Martinus Serruq!” He paused briefly, his cloak’s hood shadowing his face lifting like a wolf that smells a rabbit. I could feel the eyes from within, staring out at me, judging me. My hopes dashed, I pressed on, desperate to at least be on civil terms with the man I’d be stuck with for a week. “What brings you to a boat destined for Cyrodil?”
There was a pause, the hooded figure reached up and unpinned the simple clasp that held his cloak around his shoulders, before stepping into the light of my lantern. Dark, simple leathers adorned with a multitude of knives and blades, a pouch bulging with what appeared to be various amulets and rings, almost glowing with the power of the magicka within, and a pale, sharp face, framed by dark curls.

The Bosmer Assassin stared down at me, his hands resting on the handles of his long knives.
“Business” he replied softly.

The last entry in the journal of Martinus Serruq, found next to his belongings in the hold of the Racer's Beak cargo ship. Found floating adrift off the Gold Coast, all hands dead or missing.

Another riveting example of your talent! I can't even begin to quote passages that captured or intrigued without quoting the whole chapter !!! AWESOME WRITE !!!!