Alright, here’s the story. Thanks to everyone who’s given in a character idea, and to those who have taken the time to click on this humble thread.
Chorrol
Part 1
It was a town of words. Of stories, of literature, of poems, of stanzas, of songs, of authors and readers. A town of knowledge and learning. Where the castle had once been, a great library resided, a repository of wisdom and culture, while the Guild of Writers building bustled with activity, travelling scholars, librarians and warrior-scribes all going about their business.
It was the town of Chorrol.
The Scribbling Quill was, as usual, busy. The pub was packed with prospective authors who were busy penning their works, having them critiqued by their fellows or just sampling the pub’s famous beer, rumoured to have been made from fermented parchment and hops.
Dalton flicked idly through a half completed vignette as he manned the pub’s door. It was easy work, most of the regulars (and by that, pretty much all of the town) knew not to pick a fight with the imposing man and his legendary reputation, but occasionally an unpublished author, drunk with the despair of his or her thwarted dreams of fame, would get too inebriated for his own good. Dalton would step in and sort out the problem, usually with a swift blow to head that would leave the victim, though unharmed, with a long, long headache.
Dalton heard someone approach and looked up to see if it was anyone he recognised. Surprisingly, it wasn’t. The new arrival was an argonian, dressed in travelling clothes and carrying a worrying amount of weapons, including a fearsome looking crossbow.
“Hello,” he called out cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you around here before. You travelling?”
“I’m moving,” the argonian answered. He extended a clawed and scaled hand. “Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun, but everyone calls me Al.”
Dalton took it and shook it vigorously.
“Dalton,” he said. “I work as the bouncer here.”
“Nice to meet you,” Al answered, before making his way into the pub.
Unlike most public houses, the Scribbling Quill was actually rather quiet, the sound of industrious calm. People chatted quietly as they discussed ideas. At the bar, a rather cultured, but at the same time rather rough looking man sipped various wines and made notes, with the expression of the serious critic.
Al pulled a stool away from the bar as he made to sit down, wincing inwardly at the scraping it made in the otherwise quiet establishment. The other people there collectively glared at him.
“Your finest beer, barkeep,” he called, quietly, to the large man behind the counter and placing a handful of coins of the counter.
“Coming up,” the man said, turning away from the activity he was engrossed him. Al noticed his hands were stained by ink. He pulled a pint into a large glass and laid it down on the counter, picking up the coins. “These’ll be for any others in advance.”
Al took a sip of his beer and found it to be surprisingly good. Leaning surreptitiously, he glanced to see what the barman was doing. Writing a book, funnily enough.
“What’s that?” he asked, causing the man to jump a bit.
“Oh, this?” he said. “That’s just a book I’m writing at the moment.”
“What’s it about?” Al pressed. He knew the barkeeper was embarrassed, but sometimes Al could be one of those people who would pick a cut just to see if it bled.
“It’s a history on wines and beer and things,” the barkeeper answered, still looking uncomfortable.
“Why the secrecy then? I can hardly see the harm in a book like that,” Al said. “Probably wouldn’t mind reading something like that myself.”
“Well, you know how it is,” the barkeep said. “There goes old Svengar the barkeep, doing another thing about his beloved beers. Just because a man has an interest, it doesn’t mean that he should be made fun of, even if it is with alcohol.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Al answered, taking a long swig of his beer.
Most people would have been most unwary when taking a drink of beer, but Al had learned long ago that dropping your guard at any time could lead to a painful end. Thus, he felt the hand slipping into his pocket, grabbing a handful of coins, and leaving in a split second. Still holding his pint glass, his free hand grabbed the wrist of the offender.
Al looked up from the corner of his eye to see that he had grabbed the wrist of an Altmer girl.
“Now you are going to sit down next to me,” he hissed threateningly. “You are going to act like nothing has just happened and you and I are going to have a quick chat.”
The girl did as ordered, deciding to admit defeat.
“So,” Al said. “What’s your name then?”
The girl mumbled something.
“Speak up girl, I’m not angry,” Al answered. “In fact, I’m rather impressed.”
“You are?” the girl asked incredulously. “But I…?”
“How long have you been thieving?” Al asked.
“Not long…”
“Don’t lie, you did that better than a thief of twice your age could.”
“Um…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What’s your name.”
“Asray.”
“Asray, I’m new in town. And I can’t say I’m the most…legitimately minded person around.”
“What does that mean?”
“Any criminal circles you know of?”
“That’s a bit direct, isn’t it?”
“Yes, well you sometimes get better results than just skirting round a question. Now, you were saying?”
“One or two.”
Al put down his tankard and grinned.
“Lovely.”
I’ll put up another part with other people’s characters shortly. I hope to at least one part for every character submitted, so everyone will get their turn in the limelight.