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Post by dogonda on Sept 24, 2006 15:33:39 GMT -5
Dont read it unless you already know/dont care how the Lucifer Story ends.
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Post by dogonda on Sept 24, 2006 15:35:40 GMT -5
Sighing softly, Marietta was polishing the fine silver hewn mug. The usual group was quieter than usual, all the gossip focused on the new Daedra Lord of destruction. The rain pattered softly down on the wooden roof. Thunder booms as the door creaks open, illuminating the figure at the door. The figure makes its way close to the fire, silent as a stalking wolf. After the stares subside, the hushed conversations return. Mentioning toward the bar, Marietta puts down the fine crafted cup and walks over. “What will you have stranger,” Marietta says taking a pair of wrinkled paper out, reading her quill. “I will have some wine if you don’t mind.” A clear feminine voice sounds from behind the tattered brown hood. “No trouble at all stranger,” Marietta says quickly, surprised by this. Usually used by a mercenary, marauder, or bandit meeting spot, the last thing usually asked by them was a glass or bottle of wine. Making her way down to the basement, she lights the candles with a brief incantation. Light flickers as she makes her way farther back into the cellar, looking for the better and older wines. Coming to the back, Marietta scans the shelves looking for what she wants. “By Azura… Can’t a women find her own things?” Marietta muttered to herself angrily. Wiping the cobwebs from a random crimson bottle, she smiles to herself happily. Walking back upstairs, she sits the bottle down lightly and sits 2 glasses on the table also. “Its on the house.” She says to the amazement of the cloaked woman.
“Thank you!” The woman says taken aback from the apparent kindness. “Don’t mention it, compared to the usual women I get in here, your royalty.” Marietta chuckles, pointing to Rigmor, who was drinking mead by the carafe. Snorting in disgust, Marietta returns to her previous conversation. “So where are you from.” She says pouring the crimson liquid into the glasses. Raising a hand from her lap, the stranger lets frost magicka flow out slowly. Unexpectedly, the brown clothe drops back and the crimson plate armor mail peeks out for only a second. Quickly pulling it up, Marietta’s quick eyes notice it but ignore it. “I was born in Morrowind and am a native. The Temple raised me since I was but a babe. I grew up and joined both the Mage and Fighter’s guild and raised some ranks. However it all went downhill from there. Being an orphan I never learned that my parents were actually slaughtered by a famous thief at the time. I lost it and when I regained my senses. Sadly when I woke up I saw the murderer. I was convicted of murder and released when they found out whom I killed. I did some odd jobs here and there until I contracted a disease that used to run rampant around Morrowind since there was no cure. And now I’m here.” The hooded figure responds with a sigh, drinking heavily from her silver glass, the blood red fluid draining from it quickly. “What about you?” she responded quickly. “Well I was raised here in Cyrodiil and when I turned 17 I opened the Inn and 23 years later here I am.” Marietta said with a sigh, taking a long draught from her mug. “However, business has been very slow of the late as the last Daedra lord has taken over.” Sighing, she pours more of the wine from the carafe. The door flies open once again and this time Dremora walk into the room, armor clanking and blades drawn. “We are here under the order of Lucifer Sameal, Lord of Tamriel, destruction, death, and chaos. We believe you are harboring beings that hope the overthrow the Dark Lord.” The Dremora Vylkanz says with a sneer, electric yellow eyes glancing around the room quickly. “My lord, I do not hold anyone hostage that would ever dare to overthrow his lordship.” Marietta says quietly, starting at the floor. “Then you have nothing to fear from us. Do you?” The leader of the demonic group says with a slight snicker. “All of you! Show me your faces so that we can determine if one of you is the traitor.” The Vylkanz says quietly, mentioning to his group to ready his weapons. Slowly, the hooded figure readies a spell under her breath. “Surely all of this is just a brief misunderstanding.” Claude Mariac says with a small smile, drawing an Elven katana from its ordinate jeweled sheathe. ----- more to come
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Post by Dagothkitty on Sept 24, 2006 16:09:42 GMT -5
Once again, im jealous and in awe! Greatly done!
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VICTORBRAVO
Inactive Member
~The Super Soldier Writer~
RAWR! Its VICTORBRAVO!
Posts: 72
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Post by VICTORBRAVO on Sept 24, 2006 16:25:06 GMT -5
Good job! VERY good job!
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Post by RareCarpet on Sept 24, 2006 19:52:10 GMT -5
HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I read it before all of you BYAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!
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Post by DEATH97 on Sept 25, 2006 9:51:24 GMT -5
An awesome work of art. It was reading your story, and the one from VGDC, that inspired me to try my own. Thanks, and I hope too see alot more of your work.
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darknerevar
Inactive Member
I love Oblivion, and I love to write!
Posts: 5
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Post by darknerevar on Sept 25, 2006 16:22:20 GMT -5
Frickin awesome, and hopefully someone will make me a HIGHER RANK. Anyways, I made the story Decide his Fate on Gfaqs.
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Post by Maliku on Sept 26, 2006 19:57:04 GMT -5
What happened after he killed Boethia and the backstory? Is there somewhere I can read it?
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Post by dogonda on Sept 26, 2006 19:58:23 GMT -5
check the cyoas, its there
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Post by dogonda on Sept 26, 2006 19:58:41 GMT -5
oh, i didnt finish yet, i just got into the next idea alot
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Post by Maliku on Sept 26, 2006 20:03:16 GMT -5
Oh, when do you think you are going to finish it?
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Post by dogonda on Sept 26, 2006 20:08:36 GMT -5
i was almost done last night but my compy restarted, check back tomarrow.
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Post by Maliku on Sept 26, 2006 20:14:08 GMT -5
Alright, will do.
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Post by Delta1212 on Sept 29, 2006 15:09:42 GMT -5
Ok, It's not bad, but...
You made a few of your common mistakes i.e. repetition of words. Please try to vary your diction a bit more within each sentence (don't have " the usual people were quiter than usual" because I know you can come up with a synonym). Also, your telling of the backstory is a little choppy and confused. You might want to look over that again. Other than that, nicely done.
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Post by dogonda on Oct 3, 2006 18:14:50 GMT -5
“Stay your hand mortal, if the Dark Lord Sameal wanted, he could kill you and your pathetic band of treasure hunters with a mere thought. No who we seek is of special powers and importance, not swill like you.” The Vylkanz says softly, hand on the hilt of a scimitar. Slipping slowly from the group, the hooded woman makes her way to the door suddenly, bashing into both Dremora on the way. “Where do you believe your going mortal?” The Vylkanz says with a laugh, his allies snickering.
“I’m leaving, and you not a thousand of your spawn from Oblivion can stop me from doing so.” The woman says angrily, hands balling into fists.
“For your arrogance mortal ,you shall die!” The Dremora say pulling their weapons from the sheathes, the churls bound into the swords smile, the points gleaming with an unnatural light. Silently Claude, Rigmor, and S’razirr pull their weapons from their holdings.
“You are wrong…” The women whispers from the depths of her hood, “I am not mortal nor will you win!” she screams, jumping and roundhouse kicking the leader of the band of Dremora. A snap sounds over the screams of Malene as the Dremora falls lifelessly to the floor, the blade falling from limp fingers. Hesistantly, the other two Dremora raise their blades and shields wary of the threat. Smiling delicately, the hooded figure leans down and picks up the blade, the churl bound inside screaming in agony. Frowning, she mutters “Povka Somo” and the churl are expelled from the blade, leaving an ebony blade in its stead.
Flourishing it quickly, the woman raises it and charges. Shrieking in a death keen of their commander, the two demonic figures raise their blades lethargically, attempting to ward of the blows. Sparks cascade to the flood, along with the dark ebony colored blood of the Dremoras. Making one last futile attempt, the surviving Dremora raises its longsword and slashes lightning fast across the hooded woman’s chest. The sackcloth robe falls to the ground in shambles, a ruby red cuirass exposed, in the style of the bodyguards of King Helseth. Tearing the rest of the fabric from her body, it falls lazily to the floor exposing the rest of her armor. Burning red like the fires of Oblivion, many dents mar its precsion forging, obscuring its dreadful beauty. Smiling grimly the woman says, “Return the hell in which you came, swine!” and raises her mailed hand, lightning crackling across her fingertips.
(OOC: Dremora’s perspective.) His yellow eyes burn with hatred as he stares at the foolish elf. Her beauty lacking in his ancient eyes, he stares only at the way she holds her blade, how powerful the magicka is whilst still lacking the effort. “You, Elven whore cannot stop the onslaught being waged by Lucifer. He will consume you in his everlasting wrath, freezing the flesh from your bones, whilst devouring your very soul.” He says huskily, preparing himself for not only the burning pain of the spell, but the mind crushing agony of being thrown back into the realm from death, “Wait you’re the…” He says cut off in mid sentence, recognizing the figure from an ancient battle. Eyes widening in fear of being exposed, the woman mutters the final part of the spell, the lighting churning towards the Dremora. Impacting him, he coughs ichors up, the dark fluid coating his lips. Seeing the woman’s hands fill with shock magicka, he closes his yellow eyes and sighs. Muttering the final word, the spell soars through the air, heating the air where it had transversed. The spell impacts him, blowing a hole in the area his stomach was. Falling limply to the floor, he stares through clouding eyes, already feeling the tug of magicka conjuring another body, starting the cycle again. What he wouldn’t give to be able to die perminantly, he thought wearily.
Sighing softly, the Elven woman turns around. “I apologize for this. I will leave, I will not risk innocent lives for my cause.” She says wearily, pulling the final piece of the armor from her pack. Resting the helmet on her head, she opens the inn’s door once more, and walks off into the blizzard.
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