What a man does for money, can bring him to the sky, for a woman, he's going past the moons.
Oran, the mercenary...
He deftly turned the blade aside, striking another heavy blow to its red-hot surface. The clanging of the smithy echoed through the small town, as the black smith once again took up his morning work. A legionarre passed by, glacing in at the smith creating his newest sword. Sweating profusely, he doused the blade in the water barrel, a cloud of steam rising as it cooled. As if timed, the customer, another legionarre from the nearby fort, came in.
"Here you are," the blacksmith said "a blade, tenfold steel, with silver tracings, as always."
The legionarre grunted and dropped a bag of coins onto the counter. Oran turned, his normally bronze-hued skin flushed reddish, and covered in ashes from the fire. Counting out the coins he smiled, another days work finished, he thought to himself, as the legionarre turned and stepped out his door. Almost as soon as the guard left, a scuffy dressed man stepped into his small smithy.
"H'ndrud guld fe ye ter repar meh gar" the man muttered, barely comprehensible, as he dropped a pile of broken leather jerkins, rusty short swords, and various pieces of armour, all ill-matched and rough.
"Are you sure you can pay for the fixing, it'll be at least five hundred gold.... sir..." Oran anwsered the dirty fellow, eyeing him suspiciously.
The fellow spat on the floor, and lifted a blood stained canvas bag from inside the rags. "Tha'll pey fe 't"
Oran eyed the bag and touched it, hearing the clink of coins within, "Very well, come back tommorow and I'll have it patched up for you."
The bandit, for thats what he was, turned and hobbled out, "I se ye 'n the mornin' ten" he called back.
Oran set to work first on the swords, carving off the rust and letting in fall in flakes around his stool, once he had cleaned as many swords as would hold together during the derusting, he set to work on patching the leath jerkins...
The next morning...
Mist flowed down the hillsides from the nearby mountians, turning a light blue in the morning light, slowly fading as the sun rose in the sky. The morning was pristine, the mist had left tiny dew drops on the grass that glistened in the morning sun. The gear that had been left old and ragged, was sitting well repaired and restitched on the counter of the smithy, Oran sleeping soundly in the small room in the back. A sudden rapping broke the morning tranquility as the bandit rapped on the door of the smithy with a rough cane that he leaned heavily on...
Full Version: A beginning
Good Start here Darkie. I want to see what this bandit is up too....
An interesting start so far. We learn that the main character is probably an Altmer or maybe a Bosmer though I lean towards Altmer. We learn that he's a simple smith who is contend with his job. We also get to see a 'mysterious' bandit. This story has potential. That, and its title already makes me wonder about what might happen.
I want to see more of this please. It's an intriguing beginning and well written.
QUOTE(jack cloudy @ Jan 25 2007, 01:11 PM) 
We learn that the main character is probably an Altmer or maybe a Bosmer though I lean towards Altmer.
Imperial-Wood Elf, but anyway
Edit: Right now!
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A second step
The rapping continued as Oran dragged himself from his bed, shuffled his robes on over the loose hanging jerkin he had left on when he finished it. Trudging to the door, he unlocked it and let it slide open as the ragged bandit, though Oran knew it not, went along the counter colllecting thepiles of gear that he had left to be mended the previous day. Sliding each blade from its sheath, and inspecting its finely sharpened edges, its new shine, and the repair work done to the hilt.
"Thanc ye, I khew ye coud de 't" The bandit mumbled, trudging slowly out the door.
Oran listened and he could hear a few half hearted cheers and a gaggle of men running off. He glanced out the door and saw a rag-tag band fitting on thier fresh armour and swinging thier much improved blades about. Oran eased the door closed as the band ran off into the nearby woods, and smiled. He whistled loudly, a sort of short melody, and his horse came trotting down the street. He mounted and took the short trip over to the Blackfire imperial fort, dismounted in the courtyard, and walked over to the captian.
"Sir, it'd please you to know there's yet another band of bandits in Yezle" he grinned "You know that nasty little hole just past the swamp?"
The captian sighed, took out a bag of gold, counted it, and poured it into Oran's hands. "A thousand gold as usual, right?" The captian asked, Oran nodded as he turned away, heading back toward his horse. Taking the ride back to town, he slipped small notes, on blue writ paper, under the doors of fives houses...
Three hours Later...
His usual band of men, and Matile, were gathered outside his door and she tapped three times on the door with the tip of her bow. Oran opened it, stepping out in his bonemeld armour, and smiled as he looked at his usual choice of men to clear out bandits. Matile, a fiery little wood elf she was, excellent with a bow, and fair with her little dagger from her father. Goasa, his bond-brother, who stood proudly in his steel plate armour holding a gold trimmed claymore, and who had a deep hatred for bandits,as they had killed his family when he was young. Torpin, his half-cousin or some such, who loved adventure and could almost match Matile with the bow, and finally Kiul, Torpin's brother-in-law who worked as the groups sorcerer, and was quite adept at bending fire, and fire magika, to his will.
He grinned ferally, raising his fist with his fathers ancient blade, passed down for generations since the time of the first Neravine. He had managed, himself, to live through the havoc of the oblivion gates and was still thinking about the old sword he held as his little group set off on horses into the forest. They arrived at the door, relocked once more, to Yezle. Kiul stepped forward, and set into a quiet chant and a few gestures, soon he had a fair red glow around his hands, and he slowly pressed one finger to the keyhole, and melted his way through it...
(Sorry about the double post...)
The rapping continued as Oran dragged himself from his bed, shuffled his robes on over the loose hanging jerkin he had left on when he finished it. Trudging to the door, he unlocked it and let it slide open as the ragged bandit, though Oran knew it not, went along the counter colllecting thepiles of gear that he had left to be mended the previous day. Sliding each blade from its sheath, and inspecting its finely sharpened edges, its new shine, and the repair work done to the hilt.
"Thanc ye, I khew ye coud de 't" The bandit mumbled, trudging slowly out the door.
Oran listened and he could hear a few half hearted cheers and a gaggle of men running off. He glanced out the door and saw a rag-tag band fitting on thier fresh armour and swinging thier much improved blades about. Oran eased the door closed as the band ran off into the nearby woods, and smiled. He whistled loudly, a sort of short melody, and his horse came trotting down the street. He mounted and took the short trip over to the Blackfire imperial fort, dismounted in the courtyard, and walked over to the captian.
"Sir, it'd please you to know there's yet another band of bandits in Yezle" he grinned "You know that nasty little hole just past the swamp?"
The captian sighed, took out a bag of gold, counted it, and poured it into Oran's hands. "A thousand gold as usual, right?" The captian asked, Oran nodded as he turned away, heading back toward his horse. Taking the ride back to town, he slipped small notes, on blue writ paper, under the doors of fives houses...
Three hours Later...
His usual band of men, and Matile, were gathered outside his door and she tapped three times on the door with the tip of her bow. Oran opened it, stepping out in his bonemeld armour, and smiled as he looked at his usual choice of men to clear out bandits. Matile, a fiery little wood elf she was, excellent with a bow, and fair with her little dagger from her father. Goasa, his bond-brother, who stood proudly in his steel plate armour holding a gold trimmed claymore, and who had a deep hatred for bandits,as they had killed his family when he was young. Torpin, his half-cousin or some such, who loved adventure and could almost match Matile with the bow, and finally Kiul, Torpin's brother-in-law who worked as the groups sorcerer, and was quite adept at bending fire, and fire magika, to his will.
He grinned ferally, raising his fist with his fathers ancient blade, passed down for generations since the time of the first Neravine. He had managed, himself, to live through the havoc of the oblivion gates and was still thinking about the old sword he held as his little group set off on horses into the forest. They arrived at the door, relocked once more, to Yezle. Kiul stepped forward, and set into a quiet chant and a few gestures, soon he had a fair red glow around his hands, and he slowly pressed one finger to the keyhole, and melted his way through it...
(Sorry about the double post...)
Ah! A Group of vengeful adventurers. Nice little twist there!
No problem. Neat twist there. Our innocent smith turns out to be the master of a gang of mercenaries. Hmm, I personally would cheat with the repair work for a bit, making the blades look like new yet snap like a twig during the first time they're truly used. Meh, I just lack honour. Sue me. 
Go big, or go home...
Oran kicked the door, a loud echo sounding down the cave behind. A pair of bandits braced against the door, and archer standing ready his bow nocked, and waiting. A second crashing sound echoed, then a third...fourth...fifth... the bandits glanced down nervously, as the banging stopped. The one on the right turned, still leaning on the door, "Ye think thier gone?" He asked his buddy. He friend, a dunmer, coughed a string of dark red blood, slumped and fell over, revelaing where a large blade had been jammed through the door, and into the bandits ribs.
"Fire!" Was yelled simultaneously, the bandit frightened and nervous fired, his arrow sticking into the door just above the gap, a second thud sounded in the same area on the outside of the door, but a third arrow shot through the crack, faster than the eye could track, and stuck into the bandit archers neck, where slippery with blood, the bandit scrabbled at it until the rest of his life-blood spilled in a little lake around him.
More crashing sounded, and the surviving bandit backed away slowly, and just as he turned to run a bonemeld armoured warrior crashed through the door. The bandit turned, facing down the warrior, rather than be shot in the back as he ran...
Oran grinned as the door came apart, revealing a crumpled body with a large hole through its weak leather jerkin, and another bandit still slowly running his hands along a blood soaked arrow protruding from his neck. The last bandit looked around nervously, and raised his steel katana, Oran charged him, his ancient long sword swinging in a vicious upward hack, the bandit jumped back from the swing, and took a poor horizontal swing back at Oran, which was parried, and the defect in the design revealed. As the bandit went to cross blades in a test of strength, Oran's blade slide down, and the katana, lacking a crossguard of any real significance, allowed the blade to slide down and split the bandit's wrist to the bone.
The dunmer screamed in pain, and tried with a bloody arm to strike the next blow, but the small form of Oran stepped aside and let Goasa sink his claymore halfway up the blade into the bandit who blinked heavily and sunk unto the blade. Goasa slipped the claymore back out, and lead the chrage deeper into the cave. Familiar passages and corridors opened before them as they moved to the communal fire pit in the heart of the cave. Matile and Torpin put down the pair of bandit guards at the enterance with four arrows each, and Oran stepped into the heart of the cave once more.
It had changed dramatically than any other bandit group that had inhabited this wretched hole, the walls were draped with heavy hangings, the cave floor rugged, and a desk and lanterns were sitting in the middle. The old bandit who had ordered the armour and weapons repaired sat behind the desk, looking clean and better off than when he had entered the shop. A quartet of bandits with halberds stepped out from behind natural pillars and stood around their leader...
Oran kicked the door, a loud echo sounding down the cave behind. A pair of bandits braced against the door, and archer standing ready his bow nocked, and waiting. A second crashing sound echoed, then a third...fourth...fifth... the bandits glanced down nervously, as the banging stopped. The one on the right turned, still leaning on the door, "Ye think thier gone?" He asked his buddy. He friend, a dunmer, coughed a string of dark red blood, slumped and fell over, revelaing where a large blade had been jammed through the door, and into the bandits ribs.
"Fire!" Was yelled simultaneously, the bandit frightened and nervous fired, his arrow sticking into the door just above the gap, a second thud sounded in the same area on the outside of the door, but a third arrow shot through the crack, faster than the eye could track, and stuck into the bandit archers neck, where slippery with blood, the bandit scrabbled at it until the rest of his life-blood spilled in a little lake around him.
More crashing sounded, and the surviving bandit backed away slowly, and just as he turned to run a bonemeld armoured warrior crashed through the door. The bandit turned, facing down the warrior, rather than be shot in the back as he ran...
Oran grinned as the door came apart, revealing a crumpled body with a large hole through its weak leather jerkin, and another bandit still slowly running his hands along a blood soaked arrow protruding from his neck. The last bandit looked around nervously, and raised his steel katana, Oran charged him, his ancient long sword swinging in a vicious upward hack, the bandit jumped back from the swing, and took a poor horizontal swing back at Oran, which was parried, and the defect in the design revealed. As the bandit went to cross blades in a test of strength, Oran's blade slide down, and the katana, lacking a crossguard of any real significance, allowed the blade to slide down and split the bandit's wrist to the bone.
The dunmer screamed in pain, and tried with a bloody arm to strike the next blow, but the small form of Oran stepped aside and let Goasa sink his claymore halfway up the blade into the bandit who blinked heavily and sunk unto the blade. Goasa slipped the claymore back out, and lead the chrage deeper into the cave. Familiar passages and corridors opened before them as they moved to the communal fire pit in the heart of the cave. Matile and Torpin put down the pair of bandit guards at the enterance with four arrows each, and Oran stepped into the heart of the cave once more.
It had changed dramatically than any other bandit group that had inhabited this wretched hole, the walls were draped with heavy hangings, the cave floor rugged, and a desk and lanterns were sitting in the middle. The old bandit who had ordered the armour and weapons repaired sat behind the desk, looking clean and better off than when he had entered the shop. A quartet of bandits with halberds stepped out from behind natural pillars and stood around their leader...
Haha! A trap! Nice collection of twists ya set up there Dark. Really nice stuff going on so far. I can't wait to see how this ragtag group of mercs will get outta this.
One foot in front of the other...
Oran stepped forward, and made a punching motion toward the forward-right guard. A lash of fire flicked past his head and burned the man's skin as it wrapped around his arm, crisping flesh and creating a sickening sizzling sound, and the smell of burning fat. The other guards recoiled from thier unfortunate fellow bandit, as he dropped to the ground, madly clawing at his burning arm. A pair of twangs of bow strings then another pair, and another, and the forward-left bandit dropped, pincouchined with green-quilled arrows.
The old man stood quickly, a throwing dagger appearing in each hand, as his bandit guards, Oran, and Goasa locked into a furious meele. Throwing daggers and arrow whistled through the fight, making each of the warriors spend more time ducking and weaving than partaking in the fight itself. Oran, scored the first true hit, through both sides in the fight were bleeding from small cuts and puncture holes. The hit was to the back of the knee of one of the bandits, which caused him to drop to his knees, and leave him a target for the arrow fired by Matile, which sunk to the quills into the bandits shoulder. Oran turned in time to see Goasa hack down his oppenent, and grimace in pain as he tugged a throwing dagger out from between his shoulder-guard and curiass.
Oran lifted the old man from under his desk, and held him over it, the ancient blade he used, held inches from the mans throat.
"Wait!" The man cryed out, and Oran paused as the bandit pulled a writ from his clothes. Oran glanced at it, reading it over:
Mokali Noxis has the permission and consent of the Comma Tong
to create a outpost within a place of his choice near Blackfire Imperial Fort.
The holder of this writ is granted amnesty from all and any charges and is to
be treated with utmost respect.
Moal Taan, of the Comma Tong
Mokali grinned, feeling certian that his safty was insured, a second rate band of mercenaries wouldn't dare deal with a organization such as the Comma Tong in a disrespectful manner...
Oran lifted the man, stone-hard muscles from blacksmithing straining to lift a man not only his own wieght, but a foot taller than him, up. "Comma Tong, pah" Oran spat, "I'll let the Comma tong clean your blood from the carpet." He threw the man back, Mokali stumbled over the burning bandit as he tried to regain his balance. Oran turned away, and a pair of muffled thumps and a whoosing noise, told him that Mokali wouldn't regain his balance.
He started the journey back to thier home town, and as they went he split the coins from the captian into even shares, a normal going-home ritual for one of the more unusual jobs. He stopped at the house where the fifth note was slipped, knocked on the door and was greeted by a short imperial who looked quite a bit like a little rat. Owis Nocti, was his name he ran a General store that, as was local knowledge, was filled with loot from the town's mercenary brigade. Owis ferreted through the loot, and hummed a strange melody,
"Come back tomorrow, I'll see what I can sell this for..." the little weasle said quietly, taking most of the loot...
Oran stepped forward, and made a punching motion toward the forward-right guard. A lash of fire flicked past his head and burned the man's skin as it wrapped around his arm, crisping flesh and creating a sickening sizzling sound, and the smell of burning fat. The other guards recoiled from thier unfortunate fellow bandit, as he dropped to the ground, madly clawing at his burning arm. A pair of twangs of bow strings then another pair, and another, and the forward-left bandit dropped, pincouchined with green-quilled arrows.
The old man stood quickly, a throwing dagger appearing in each hand, as his bandit guards, Oran, and Goasa locked into a furious meele. Throwing daggers and arrow whistled through the fight, making each of the warriors spend more time ducking and weaving than partaking in the fight itself. Oran, scored the first true hit, through both sides in the fight were bleeding from small cuts and puncture holes. The hit was to the back of the knee of one of the bandits, which caused him to drop to his knees, and leave him a target for the arrow fired by Matile, which sunk to the quills into the bandits shoulder. Oran turned in time to see Goasa hack down his oppenent, and grimace in pain as he tugged a throwing dagger out from between his shoulder-guard and curiass.
Oran lifted the old man from under his desk, and held him over it, the ancient blade he used, held inches from the mans throat.
"Wait!" The man cryed out, and Oran paused as the bandit pulled a writ from his clothes. Oran glanced at it, reading it over:
Mokali Noxis has the permission and consent of the Comma Tong
to create a outpost within a place of his choice near Blackfire Imperial Fort.
The holder of this writ is granted amnesty from all and any charges and is to
be treated with utmost respect.
Moal Taan, of the Comma Tong
Mokali grinned, feeling certian that his safty was insured, a second rate band of mercenaries wouldn't dare deal with a organization such as the Comma Tong in a disrespectful manner...
Oran lifted the man, stone-hard muscles from blacksmithing straining to lift a man not only his own wieght, but a foot taller than him, up. "Comma Tong, pah" Oran spat, "I'll let the Comma tong clean your blood from the carpet." He threw the man back, Mokali stumbled over the burning bandit as he tried to regain his balance. Oran turned away, and a pair of muffled thumps and a whoosing noise, told him that Mokali wouldn't regain his balance.
He started the journey back to thier home town, and as they went he split the coins from the captian into even shares, a normal going-home ritual for one of the more unusual jobs. He stopped at the house where the fifth note was slipped, knocked on the door and was greeted by a short imperial who looked quite a bit like a little rat. Owis Nocti, was his name he ran a General store that, as was local knowledge, was filled with loot from the town's mercenary brigade. Owis ferreted through the loot, and hummed a strange melody,
"Come back tomorrow, I'll see what I can sell this for..." the little weasle said quietly, taking most of the loot...
Trouble comes... in three's...
Oran left Owis to his bartering and thievery, and headed up the road to the Blackfire fort, stopping by at each house on his way over. Goasa split off by himself and headed of Caila, the healers, house, although Oran figured that Goasa was going there just to see her, instead of any real need of healing. Oran trotted up the cobbled path to the fort, admiring the noon sun over the community pond where little children played, mothers washed clothes, and Matile sat, looking into the pond. Oran turned his back on the pond, and entered the courtyard of the fort.
"Eh! Captian!" He called, "I got rid of those bandits!" The captian smiled, but looked a little puzzled when Oran climbed down off his horse and headed over to him.
"Although...there's going to be a little trouble..." Oran told him, passing the Comma Tong writ over. The captian sighed as he read it over, "You'll have to go talk to Braccus...again..."
Oran winced, Braccus was known to support the Comma Tong, instead of the Imperial Thieves Guild, even though he was an Imperial, himself. Oran opened the door to the interior of the fort, and stepped inside, bright sun shifting to the lower glow of lanterns. Walking down the tunnel, and taking the first doorway into the main hall, he shifted in his bonemeld. Braccus was most likely to send him, and his men, on yet another dangerous mission for seemingly useless arifacts.
"Hey-ho" Braccus greeted him, "In trouble again, are we?" Oran nodded, deciding not to talk... for once.
Braccus called him over to the table where, what seemed like a toothed wheel sat on the table. Braccus explained what it was, and gestured to a ragged piece of paper covered in outline drawings and seemingly random numbers and runes. Appearntly he would have to go find a matching piece as the cog, and bring it back to Braccus, undamaged, more so at least.
Oran sighed, and told Braccus that they'd set off in the morning, but as he did a wicked grin spread across Braccus' face, "No, not WE, just YOU." Oran growled as he realized what Braccus meant, he was to go into one of these cursed ruins by himself, and fetch this useless cog. He muttered a curse in Bosmeri, and stalked off, mounting his horse and riding back down to his smithy. He removed the bonemeld and stretched out on the bunk, deciding to fix the chips and gashes in his armour the next morning...
Oran left Owis to his bartering and thievery, and headed up the road to the Blackfire fort, stopping by at each house on his way over. Goasa split off by himself and headed of Caila, the healers, house, although Oran figured that Goasa was going there just to see her, instead of any real need of healing. Oran trotted up the cobbled path to the fort, admiring the noon sun over the community pond where little children played, mothers washed clothes, and Matile sat, looking into the pond. Oran turned his back on the pond, and entered the courtyard of the fort.
"Eh! Captian!" He called, "I got rid of those bandits!" The captian smiled, but looked a little puzzled when Oran climbed down off his horse and headed over to him.
"Although...there's going to be a little trouble..." Oran told him, passing the Comma Tong writ over. The captian sighed as he read it over, "You'll have to go talk to Braccus...again..."
Oran winced, Braccus was known to support the Comma Tong, instead of the Imperial Thieves Guild, even though he was an Imperial, himself. Oran opened the door to the interior of the fort, and stepped inside, bright sun shifting to the lower glow of lanterns. Walking down the tunnel, and taking the first doorway into the main hall, he shifted in his bonemeld. Braccus was most likely to send him, and his men, on yet another dangerous mission for seemingly useless arifacts.
"Hey-ho" Braccus greeted him, "In trouble again, are we?" Oran nodded, deciding not to talk... for once.
Braccus called him over to the table where, what seemed like a toothed wheel sat on the table. Braccus explained what it was, and gestured to a ragged piece of paper covered in outline drawings and seemingly random numbers and runes. Appearntly he would have to go find a matching piece as the cog, and bring it back to Braccus, undamaged, more so at least.
Oran sighed, and told Braccus that they'd set off in the morning, but as he did a wicked grin spread across Braccus' face, "No, not WE, just YOU." Oran growled as he realized what Braccus meant, he was to go into one of these cursed ruins by himself, and fetch this useless cog. He muttered a curse in Bosmeri, and stalked off, mounting his horse and riding back down to his smithy. He removed the bonemeld and stretched out on the bunk, deciding to fix the chips and gashes in his armour the next morning...
Paying off the Camonna Tong? I personally wonder just what those Dunmer rascists are doing in the Imperial province but nevermind. Tell Oran to be careful in the Dwemer fort, ok? Centurions can be rather tough opponents though some ice will surely slow them down. I don't know if Oran has got any ice though.
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