QUOTE(mALX @ Jun 25 2015, 08:34 PM)
Your writing is wonderful! Don't ever let self doubt in, it creates those writer's blocks that kills your inspirations. It will block you from seeing how good you really are; and will keep you from becoming how good you can be.
QUOTE(mALX @ Jun 25 2015, 08:34 PM)
I could never figure out what it was that kept me from loving it; because I liked everything about it. Maybe it was that first Oblivion game I played when my son left Lucien Lachance's body in there. That may have tainted me liking it, lol.
That incident it what caused me to buy my own 360 and my own Oblivion game, because my son and I were playing on the same game back then. I started playing and found that dead body in the bedroom, it was awful! I couldn't sleep in there, or get him out through a door. His body did not spawn out of the game, either.
At first I sat him up against the dresser on the other side of the room and covered him with stuff; but that looked awful and I couldn't sleep in the same room with his body. Then I dragged it into the alchemy garden and stuffed it down into the lava in the Oblivion part of the garden.
Heh, dead assassins are terrible for the decor
That'd definitely put me off a place.
QUOTE(mALX @ Jun 25 2015, 08:34 PM)
But I very much like the tower itself, the thought behind everything they put into that tower. I just stopped liking living in it, lol.
Whereas I have to stop myself setting up every character I create in it
Anyway, Orvas has been busy. He harvested everything he could in the alchemy garden at Frostcrag Spire, then teleported to the Imperial City, glaring at the mages standing around in the atrium of the Arcane University as he left. Now he's wondering how he's going to get together the 15,000 septims he's going to need to restore the Spire, especially since he spent most of what he'd gathered together on some necessary shopping. He did a little exploring of the Imperial City isle, after hearing a couple of merchants talking about "outlaws, highwaymen, and mercenary bands who've decided that robbing caravans pays better than guarding them", which led him to Dzonot cave.
Which he ended up leaving in disgust, because the residents were able to afford locks beyond his ability to open. While he'd been picking up some new spells in the Imperial City he'd been given the rundown on how the Mages Guild handles the sale of spells, so he set off for Cheydinhal. He stopped off at Fort Empire, where an imp attacked him, so he cleared the place out. He didn't get much in the way of loot, the only noteworthy item was a spell tome for a novice level absorb magic spell. He's not sure yet if he'll learn it or not.
Orvas hated the fort, it made his skin crawl. Back in Vvardenfell, he'd been inside an Ancestral Tomb once, and this fort had the same feel. Despite the creatures that now lived in it, the building itself was dead, a dusty tomb. Orvas could taste it on the stale air, feel it in the gritty dust that clung to the walls, and hear it in the echoes of leathery wings flapping in the dark, dull and flat.
The darkness was total, too much for his novice level light spell to have any real effect on. A torch would serve no better, not in this oppressive gloom. Hearing was of more use to Orvas than sight, but though he heard the sounds of wings moving closer, the direction was lost among the echoes.
A lightning bolt burst from the blackness, striking Orvas in the right side of his chest, staggering him, the brightness of it driving needles into his eyes, now used to the prevalent gloom. Fighting to keep his iron armour from toppling him, he closed his eyes, of no use in the darkness, now overlaid with random splotches of colour. He cast a spell of detect life, and a vibrant silhouette of an imp coalesced in his mind's eye. He oriented on it, and hurled three flares in quick succession, causing the imp's wings to flap spastically as it panicked in the grip of the magical flames for the brief moments before it expired.
One down, who knew how many to go...Once he got to Cheydinhal he bought some more spells, leaving him flat broke. He barely had enough for a room and a meal that night. On the way back he cleared out a vampire nest that he'd been pointed to by the Cheydinhal guildhall's alchemist. Not much in the way of loot, but he got a steel cuirass out of it, and a couple more black and burgundy outfits, so important for someone living at Frostcrag Spire.
A master thief even? 
Well, then it shouldn't be a problem to "acquire" some items from the Museum for his collection. Come on, mirocoo, it would be fun and you could write about it too. 
