This was my entry for the last competition, and I'll listen if you'd care to tell me what needs shoring up or what strikes you as a strong point. If you haven't played the main quest of Daggerfall you probably haven't seen the quest that this is taken from, but you can take a look at it here. All the persons and locations are accurate except the name Lysayne, which was a guy I found on the street in Daggerfall.



Dear sister Cyndassa,

I am uncertain if you have learned to read yet, and if it is someone you trust reading you this, I ask you make sure you trust them very much indeed. The contents of this correspondence shall not be my undoing.

Shall a man know his own heart? Am I even here a man? These many months I have been gone have shown me wonders and revelations that people do not see. In my time as a Brother of the Temple of Julianos I was concerned with the span and not the steady. What I mean by that is how I would study the history in the books, study the prophesy laid by the Moth Priests, study my hands with the arcane. In my seclusion, I did not see the world around me. Sills presented themselves, but I would not take them. As I wander the wilderness of this world within the tight walls of this holding I saw no dream for myself. There is a power in words, Cyndassa. Though you, sister, do not have them, when they do creep upon you they are like fire to our fields.

What do I tell you at this time? Should I say that I am sorry? I can’t, I was not the solution and my reach was shorter than a man’s would have been. Yet I was not a man then, much like now though in a different sense I am in the span while firmly standing in the steady. I can’t know what you saw that day three years ago when I was beaten and taken. It hurts that I won’t be able to hear from you what became of mother when they conscripted father that day for the War of Betony. A scribe traveling from Daggerfall was able to tell me you were taken there to serve as a maid for Mynisera, though I know not what could have happened after the death of Lysandus. I wish in earnest this letter makes its way to you.

I wouldn’t be sharing my feelings this way if I hoped to see you again: I do not. The day we were separated changed me. When the Lord Woodhouse and his company rode into our farmstead, our younger brothers carrying produce rushed to the road to wave at the horsemen. I saw the troops trample our brothers underfoot without even breaking stride. I was broken. My old ways had left me and I crumpled in despair, hating my own weakness that I couldn’t change the situation. I was to be a page boy, but a priest saw potential through mystic means and pulled me away to the Temple of Julianos in Grimtower Hollow. Retracting from the world I read as much as I could, anything and everything to shut that day from my mind. After accepting the deaths of our brothers, I realized I couldn’t even know if father lived through the war or if mother could maintain the farm. It leaves you as the only one to leave my thoughts to.

A ravenous beast came to upon us during the night while we prepared the livestock for the sacrifice within the temple court. The smell of the blood must have attracted him, but whatever the cause it was cruel irony that as the animals could do petty little to resist our putting the knives to their throats, we could do petty little to save our throats from the ripping jaws. As I have learned, curses are blessings and blessings are curses. What did I have left when even my temple brethren lay dead? I was scratched deeply and two of my temple sisters were not among the dead, though they were not among the present. It was my lot to live. Standing alone in a temple of none, covered in the blood of others, naked to the world, I shouted with the voice of one crying in the wilderness.

The thoughts, the dreams! What to see and what can be seen! I continued on the mission of the temple; I taught, I stood before them and blessed, I comforted and clave. Always and always the sun would set, the thoughts gave way to visions, the visions expand to dreams! I saw men in transition, men becoming themselves. By the moons they stand in honor. Are we to deny our calling? It is fallacious, our gifts are our own and not to be denied by the will of another. With this on our minds we excel and proceed, we accomplish and force the events to transpire.

They within you are you, but how should you know? When your senses misdirect you there is no course but to believe as you had before. There is no more convincing though once you’ve seen it, heard it, tasted it, everything. All senses in one voice proclaim it and you will know.

Within the week it happened. Come night, I became. No horror or spectre, only me. I only visited one house; a mother was inside nursing her son as the father walked with the town guard. Without knowledge of it their walks ended. His prematurely, hers undeservedly. My earlier howling surely caused a stir, guards indeed ran with torches house to house but I wasn’t there. In this place there is no sound. Her mouth released her gentle nature with a gasp and he was concealed in my belly.

Morning brought me pain again, and I concealed myself in the wine cellar of the Temple. How should I explain this fulfillment? A murderer might say he regrets it and the people might expect that would be the case. The murderer could be lying, but lying or not he hangs. It was not for me to hang, just as it is not for me to regret. Even here I proudly proclaim my actions. I was “awakened” (that I had slept!) by the tortured cries of the guardsman discovering his love laid low and her soul departed. In agony he cursed his gods and they heard him, I know. I know their condition and temperament, who else in this village? He needed relief from his burden, but I would not give it to him. The gods needed to be cursed.

As it happens, his burden could not be borne. He fell on his sword by nightfall. I moved from the town to explore my nature. Moons and howling, release and the break. No, we don’t howl at the moons. They are simple faces above, forsaken sons of the sun found unworthy to stand at his side. Wandering the sky they reflect a diminishment of his glory and defy our grace, the night, her place in the heavens. At the edge of the darkness we stand in wait. With a cloak of ubiquity she shrouds us, and in pain we sing her praises. Becoming ourselves once again is breathtaking in an un-poetic sense, and in agony we can hardly help but cry out. Our change is from the inside, we rip and push our way out with the acute mind of that which we were. Young hunger is the purest I have found, and nearly the time of each full moon by cycle the hunger is irresistible to us while we emerge bloody and ruddy.

Firmly I walk knowing who I am now. Gifts of power cannot compare to how I feel in the moment. It is my foul lust and my intense bliss. Strength of the gargoyles, speed of the tigers, agility of seducers, the endurance of giants; all mine, all powers I abuse to the brink of no return. Steel and arrows don’t even catch my attention as I am pummeled, as I exert myself by quantity. The wings of the night carry me again to my prey and soon their clawed remains decorate my lair. Oh yes, my lair. Seemingly taken for granted, it never occurred to me before why I would keep one. Glory. Honor. A legacy of my deeds most noble. That a pond could reflect who I am, the moons would hide for shame!

Lord Tristynak Woodhouse, of course him you know: the man who initiated the end of our family. War or no war, we were cleaved apart like the swine at the butcher. Vengeance has been had sister. Vengeance is the essence and deliverance of justice, rights are repaid, imbalance is set right. As grace would have it, the Baron had four children. I invaded his keep at Newcester to fulfill their written destiny of years before. His two eldest were women, his two youngest were boys. With roar and release the boys were slain as they tried to defend their siblings with daggers and planks. The Lord was not present, but all the same it was not for him to die; I couldn’t know the condition of our father.

Oh, his beautiful daughters! As our lives were destroyed sister, theirs have been as well. I took them to my lair and kept them chained to the walls, just out of sight from each other, but well within earshot. Nightly with them I defiled the teaching of Dibella, I defied the preaching of Stendarr, and I decried the love of Mara. Indeed, the eight were all blasphemed in the brand of life I allowed the daughters. Then I released them back to his care, as the search parties expanded their touch. His fury would not be satiated without my head. What would I respond? The just should fear no man, for it is they who tread the road of righteousness! He would send the scared troops to search me out, I would attack his holdings improperly defended. The more he pursues me, the more he would lose. It is his livelihood and that of his people; it is my midnight fun in darkness joyful and deep.

It is my blessing to walk as I do, by form and with purpose. I am more than a man, and fully myself. I am powerful. In a place that has always hated me I now control my destiny. As the gods once gave to those who followed them, I give to everyone freely. My noble deeds will be spoken of across High Rock. I teach the nature I wish by claw and fang. Those who fight are pushed aside, those hide are hunted out. I see all around me, with expanse my sight ever reaches! I live free from hate, free from misery, regret, remorse… What can I explain of a perfect state to someone who holds their grip on the former things?

Here I stand produced, the world has me. I cleave the humanity from me with joy. My victims live inside my eyes, and I live in their blood.

It’s not the same, Cyndassa. There’s a heart that beats within me, but it’s not the same.

Lysayne

Interesting format... the letter shows the story of his life quite well though I didn't quite follow some bits (I never played daggerfall so I may have missed something because of that). The very fast nature of it prevents much tension or storng plot developing I find but I don't think that was the aim of a piece so short.

Overall quite nicely done.

Thankyou. If there were parts you didn't quite follow I can walk you through them, I was trying to hide some parts behind gentle terms to keep the story from getting into R rated stuff. The four rapes, and the mental and physical torture were things I went into a bit deeper on the first draft but scaled them back so it wouldn't offend the powers that be.

From the start it should have been seen as containing strong elements of irony, right from when he says that this letter will not be his undoing as this letter is meant to be what initiates the girl to send you on the quest. And then the irony that this has Jekyll and Hyde elements, but Hyde is convinced he is a noble warrior while Jekyll is using Hyde to conduct his revenge.

Another thing I tried but wasn't brought up by anyone I showed this to was the reverse of blessings and curses. After reading the line where Lysayne claimed blessings were curses and curses were blessings, I wanted the reader to switch the two when they read it. But then on another level, what other things can be considered blessings? Children? What else are curses?

Sorry it took me so long to get around to posting a review for this--I've been meaning too for a time but a week long move, two more weeks to get solid internet and starting a new job kept me occupied. Here's my thoughts.

I'll start with positives. You did a good job of providing believable and rational motivations for the narrator. The passages about his father's conscription, the soldiers tramping his brothers, then beating him and taking him away gets our sympathy almost immediately. After the narrator survives a monster attack (and presumably is affected with whatever were-version the monster was) and starts killing people, we haven't completely lost sympathy for him yet.

By the time he's killing the children of the man who sent the soldiers to conscript his father we've lost sympathy for him but at least understand why he's doing what he's doing, even if we find it repulsive. So overall you did a good job of introducing a sympathic character, showing his descent into a monstrous being, and how the wrongs done to him before he gained his evil power guided his evil actions after it. Pretty much what you intended, I'm sure.

Finally, this read very much like the books or letters you'd find scattered around Morrowind in various TES games--bits of lore (usually focusing on a specific monster, race or historic event) as told through the eyes of a normal Tamriel inhabitant. So, that worked well for you.

Since this is written very much stream of consciousness with the narrator delivering the letter in first person, I'm not really going to comment too much on the grammar or how things were put together. The only things I really noticed were the tendency of the narrator to run on for quite some time in the same sentence--while this works fine if spoken, it does jar a bit if you're under the assumption it's written. I'd break up the longer thoughts wherever possible without ruining the flow. Using shorter sentences will also let you emphasize important thoughts.

The next thing you mentioned was to read the Daggerfall quest if people weren't familiar with it. I think this might be asking too much. If possible, I'd try to work any pertinent information into the letter itself--people are less likely to go and research the origins of your story unless they're really, really interested in it. :0 I'd find a way to summarize the critical plot elements you're expecting the reader to already be familar with here (from the quest) and work them into the narrative. That way, playing Daggerfall or knowing the quest isn't necessary. Assume the reader doesn't know anything going in and give it all to them in a few concise lines.

As your next step, I think you could cut down the introduction a bit. The narrator spends a great deal of time rambling while you're really just trying to establish the important stuff--he was beaten and abducted by soldiers, he saw his brothers ridden down by those same soldiers, and his father was conscripted to join the army, while he never saw his mother and sister again. He was sent to a temple where he studied for a time, but the traumatic experience left him scarred and emotionally damaged. All that's great and works well, but you spend a little too long working it in. I think I know what you're doing with establishing the thinking of your narrator and giving us a feel for him by how he speaks, and for the most part it's good--I just think you might be doing too much of it. I feel like you've already tried to cut this down, but I'd cut it down even further if possible. Get to that monster attack at the temple more quickly--that's when the story really peaked my interest. When cutting down my own stuff, I find it very useful to set a maximum word count (usually less than what I end up with) then eliminate until I reach it. It's amazing what you find you can live without after completing a first draft without fundamentally changing the story.

As far as the story being told through the letter itself, I think single biggest problem you currently have is that the nature of the monster into which the narrator has turned is nebulous. To give you the progression of my impressions of it, at first I simply assumed the narrator and his temple brothers had been attacked by a werewolf--the mention of claws, teeth, and feral animals gives that impression quite clearly.

"A ravenous beast came to upon us during the night while we prepared the livestock for the sacrifice within the temple court. The smell of the blood must have attracted him, but whatever the cause it was cruel irony that as the animals could do petty little to resist our putting the knives to their throats, we could do petty little to save our throats from the ripping jaws."

The first mention of the beast's activities diverges from the impression of a berserking, feral beast. However, later passages imply something far different. In particular, this passage...

"Within the week it happened. Come night, I became. No horror or spectre, only me. "

The words horror and spectre conjure something undead or ghostly (at least to me). If the narrator is a werewolf, I'd expect phrases like 'wild dogs', 'mad animals', and so on, something violent, feral and alive. This and the idea of moving silently throughout the town, unheard by the guards, make me think of something more ghostly.

The part describing the slaughter of the guardman's wife and unborn baby is even more confusing.

"My earlier howling surely caused a stir, guards indeed ran with torches house to house but I wasn’t there."

Still thinking werewolf here.

"In this place there is no sound."

Now you're getting a bit too confusing. This place refers to the house where the mother and baby are? Someplace else? I think you're going too far with your poetic language here, to the point where it confuses your readers.

"Her mouth released her gentle nature with a gasp and he was concealed in my belly."

The first thing this made me think of was the narrator sucking the woman's soul out through her mouth, like a mummy or undead. I'd expect a werewolf to just rip her apart, so again, I find myself questioning what type of monster I'm being told about. The fact that I don't have a clear idea of what the monster is continues to distract me as I read on through the story. So, I think in this part you might be allowing the narrator to get too poetic with his language for his own good. I'd revise it to make several things clearer...

1) More clearly establish what type of monster the narrator has become.
2) More clearly establish how the woman and her baby are slain.
3) Make sure all the narrator's language seems fitting with actions a werewolf would take and impressions of what people seeing a werewolf would witness (teeth, claws, fur, shadows, glowing eyes, snarling, drool, etc).

Eliminating the ambiguity should prevent people (or at least me :0) from being distracted by it.

"Moons and howling, release and the break. No, we don’t howl at the moons. They are simple faces above, forsaken sons of the sun found unworthy to stand at his side. "

We're definately back to werewolf here, no mistaking it.

"The wings of the night carry me again to my prey and soon their clawed remains decorate my lair. Oh yes, my lair. Seemingly taken for granted, it never occurred to me before why I would keep one. Glory. Honor. A legacy of my deeds most noble. That a pond could reflect who I am, the moons would hide for shame!"

Now I'm confused again. Wings of the night carrying the narrator? I've never heard of a winged werewolf, so this makes me thing he's a gargoyle, demonic thing or even a dragon. The idea of him maintaining a lair also suggests such--don't werewolves normally hunt for food, tear it open, and move on during their hunts? When I hear lair I think of a dragon gathering trophies and gold. So again, I'm confused about what the narrator is and it's distracting me from the story.

Again, I think you're biggest problem is allowing the narrator to get too flowery with his own language, or perhaps incongruencies in Daggerfall/TES specific lore that aren't immediately apparent when regarding werewolves (for which you have to acknowledge there is already a ton of established beliefs about). I'd just do a self check anywhere you're being poetic and make sure you're not sacrificing clarity for interesting word flow.

That's pretty much all I have, since this seems intended as a stand alone 'slice of life' of the narrator. an interesting read that could benefit greatly from a bit of trimming and some work done to eliminate ambiguity caused by the narrator's language.

And, as always, this is just one guy's opinion. Hope this helps, and thanks again for your critique! Now that I'm not as busy I'll try to be more prompt in the future. :0

Thanks for helping me out here man.

Since it was based off a quest in Daggerfall it would have been clear to people who played the main quest in the game, and I was worried most people hadn't. Most people seem to have joined the fanbase with the later games. This was expanding on a "kill the werewolf" quest, and all the names and places mentioned are actually there.

I'll try to cut it back a bit, but he also has to related everything that's happened to him since that day. He hasn't had any contact with his sister in years and he wanted to tell her. During this though he's trying to hold back the influce of his better half, and he thinks this will be the last letter he'll write.

"I wouldn’t be sharing my feelings this way if I hoped to see you again: I do not. The day we were separated changed me."

If he was entirely in control of what he was doing, he wouldn't have written. It's really that there are two of them in his body. Lysayne is the bitter book worm who is using the werewolf to exact his revenge. The werewolf is proud and arrogant, thinking he is the greatest evolution of man. One of these personalities is going to become dominant, and Lysayne knows it isn't him. That's why he's using the powers he has now to complete things while he has time, and while he's human he isn't powerful enough to get things done. The last line is saying he knows he isn't a man anymore, so this letter becomes his suicide note.

He is a bit nebulous in that he isn't fully one thing or the other yet and he's try to work it out. You are supposed to assume it was a werewolf or wereboar, but it seemed crass to just point out out the obvious by naming it and it didn't fit Lysayne's thought pattern.

Right, he is saying horror and spectre to contrast what he is. Werewolves weren't that common in Daggerfall and ghosts really were. A legion of ghosts walked the streets of Daggerfall (the city) at night, and they were the worry of the country in other ways. He was trying to say he wasn't something to fear, he was becoming something he always should have been. Now the first time you become a werewolf isn't the full moon, so it isn't a quick ripping transition like he talks about later. And you aren't a crazy beast in the beginning, you're excited and hungry. He is beastly, but still about the size he was before and he was scared. He doesn't know his own strength so he takes the easy prey.

The bit about there being no sound references what you would expect a woman and her child would do if a hairy beast came in. They would scream, right? So saying there was no sound means he kills them both without a seconds hesitation. I just thought it was a nicer way of implying that he murdered them, and it's Lysayne writing about that happening.

Saying that her mouth released ect means he slashed her throat and her last breath went out with a gasp, an alternate to the poetic cliche of final breath/gave up the ghost.

Gotcha, I can do that.

It gets into a poetic nature about the respect of a werewolf for the night, their guardian, and the embodiment of the night Nocturnal. To say he rides of the wings of the night poetically says the ravens of Nocturnal guide his path and give him speed. He's rejected the gods of his past and has a new master.

Alright, I'll look into it. I didn't want to feel like I was lecturing about werewolf lore in TES games though, and seeing that Bloodmoon was the only other souce and it was meager it became difficult not to explain more about them.

I quite liked this story. The use of poetic language is fantastic, almost to the point where it's hard to read. However, I don't consider this to be a problem at all. I like this kind of density. It provides a clear image in my head and very effectively conveys a man who has gone mad. It's the kind of quality you see in the best Romanticists - Poe, Lovecraft, and the like. The way the rape was described in particular made it seem even more horrifying than if you had been explicit.

I really can't come up with anything substantial to complain about here. I happen to like this style of writing, and I think you nailed it.