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Post by Vicorva on Oct 9, 2009 17:20:43 GMT
Hmm... interesting. I can't help but feel like you're making a comment on women, though. I wanted to say- and you can tell me to stuff it if I'm being stupid- but, like I guess I've been musing a bit on your writing style and strengths and stuff. You have a natural talent for comedy, jokes, and one-liners, you have a gift for combat and bringing up tension and speculation, and you're good at dramatic characterisation, as well as RPing extremely believable 'good guys' (the knightly types) in a way that nobody else I know can. If you ever decide to write something where the main character is a knight or potential knight-to-be (as in, in mindset rather than deed), I think the main character would be extremely strong. Set in a potentially terrifying setting (ala Onyx Crusade) with some strongly characterised supporting character and maybe someone morally ambigious playing an important part, with, of course, the humour you do so well, it'd be like... a super-story. This must all be stuff you know already, but I feel like... I dunno. Like if you could somehow combine the Nathan stories, Onyx Crusade, and some of the amazingness I've seen in your RPing characters, you'd have something very much with your own flavour- but pieces of all the things you do really well, rather than just one side. Meh. Just take this as me saying I love all the stuff you write.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 9, 2009 20:16:15 GMT
Oh Illusionary...you are, at your heart of hearts, a feminist, aren't you? Besides, we all know who manages to actually save everybody in the next chapter...shouldn't that count for something?
And I really appreciate you taking the time to make those other comments, too; it's obvious you put a fair amount of thought into them. As a writer, it's often fairly difficult for me to pick out my own strengths and weaknesses, a reality I'm certain you've experienced yourself. So, again, I really appreciate it.
I think that combining these different elements of writing would certainly make for an interesting piece. I find that my darker stories, like The Onyx Crusade, are often too dark for my tastes, which is why I don't tend to get very far with them. But nor do I find that overly comedy based stories hold my attention, either. The only trouble I think that might arise would be actually finding a way to bring these different elements together, and finding an appropriate balance between them.
If it's alright with you, Illusionary, would you mind if I sent you PMs, just to bounce potential story ideas off you and get feedback on them? You obviously have a good sense of my strengths and weaknesses in this field, so it'd be great to have your input. Assuming you don't mind my constant rambling, of course.
...
That seems like it would have been a good place to put one of those 'smileys,' but anybody who knows me at all must have realized I don't use them. Ever.
But alas, I prattle on incessantly. Now let's see how Nathan and the girls are gonna get themselves outta this one.
_______________ _______________
Chapter 9: The Art of Coercion[/u] Don’t try this at home...
Nathan barely managed to dodge beneath one of Bridgette’s attacks, as the female Nord angrily swung her Orcish warhammer in a massive arc. He managed to manoeuvre to the side of his attacker, and realized that while she recovered from the effort, he was in an ideal spot to attack.
Just do it, now, while you have the chance. Just cut the Nord’s head clean off. You know she’d do the same to you...
Nathan had to fight off the urge to simply kill the Nord, right then and there. Instead, he merely shoved her to the side as both Netta and Aldera readied their own weapons nearby. “Dammit, people!” Nathan barked, turning to face the two Elves. “This whole situation is stressing me out something fierce! How about we sit down, have a nice, calm discussion about this...” He gestured at the locked door at the edge of the chamber. “And trash whatever’s in that room over there? It’ll be great!”
“We could do that,” Netta replied, poising her spear in front of her. “Or, we could hand you over to the Mabrigash as a sign of good faith.” She chuckled slightly at the prospect. “I hear that they remove them, and use them in their magic.”
Nathan pursed his lips slightly, not speaking. “I like my plan better,” Nathan countered, taking a timid step backwards. “It involves less...unpleasantness.”
The two Elves growled angrily as they attacked, Netta lashing forward with her spear while Aldera let out a quick trio of fireballs from the end of her staff. Nathan barely managed to dive away from the magical projectiles, as Netta’s weapon cut through the air just inches away from his chest.
Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just kill them? It would certainly be much easier than trying to keep them alive...not to mention much more enjoyable...
Nathan landed face first in the dirt, his hand still wrapped tightly around the hilt of his claymore. He managed to quickly roll to the side before Bridgette slammed her hammer where his head had just been, and forced himself up onto his feet. All three women now stood before him, their weapons ready.
Nathan cursed bitterly to himself. Maybe if he’d been fighting them one on one, then he could match them. But with all three of them fighting together? He didn’t have a prayer.
You should have listened. You should have killed them off one by one when you had the chance. Now, you’re finger licked.
“Wait!” Nathan shouted to the women as they slowly began closing in, his face lighting up with an idea. He turned specifically to Netta. “Dratha thinks that men are all diseased, right? That they’re no good!”
“That’s right,” Netta replied, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “What the hell’s your point?”
“Well, do you think that she’s gonna let you interact with someone who’s diseased?” Nathan asked, arching a single eyebrow. “Think about it, Netta. All the things you’ve, well, bragged about in the past. You’ll never be able to do any of them. Again. Ever.”
Netta’s eyes widened slightly, and her expression showed genuine fear. “I never thought about...I mean, I just assumed that...” The Dunmer brought a single hand up to her head as her glare softened, and her face began to take on its usual appearance. She looked up and gazed at the Imperial with terrified eyes. “Nathan?” she asked, confused.
“Yeah! It’s me, Netta!” Nathan replied excitedly, his tone hopeful. “C’mon, you’ve gotta snap out of it!”
“Don’t listen to him!” Aldera growled to Netta’s side, angrily narrowing her eyes at the Dunmer. “He’s the enemy!”
“Nathan? The enemy?” Netta asked, as if trying to resolve the situation in her mind. “No, that’s...”
“You bastard,” Bridgette growled in Nathan’s direction, hefting her warhammer. “We’re gonna get you for this...”
“Netta, please, I need your help!” Nathan cried out to the Dunmer in a last ditch effort to bring her back.
The young Elf looked up at Nathan, and her face lost the rage that had been present just moments before, replaced by the compassionate Dunmer that Nathan was accustomed to seeing. “What the hell am I doing!?” she asked, shaking her head with a horrified expression. “Nathan, I’m so sorry!”
“Alright, Netta!” Nathan exclaimed happily, his spirits lifting in his chest. “I knew you could do it!”
“Damn, she’s turned on us!” Aldera barked to Bridgette, turning her staff on the Dunmer. “Take her out!”
Nathan let out a feral roar as he lunged towards the female Altmer, knocking them both to the ground with a resounding oomph. Meanwhile, Netta ducked beneath one of Bridgette’s hammer swipes, but as opposed to attacking the Nord, the plucky young Dunmer ran to Nathan and helped him off the ground, while a still dazed Aldera shook off her disorientation.
“You okay?” Netta asked him, her expression concerned. “You’re not hurt, right?”
“Nah, I’m alright,” Nathan replied, before looking up at their Nord and Altmer attackers, readying their weapons. “But I have a feeling that might change pretty damn soon,” he grumbled, as he and Netta readied their own implements of doom.
“Netta, it’s not too late! You can still come back from this!” Bridgette exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. “Just help us kill the male, and I’m sure that Mistress Dratha will-“
“Dratha’s a tired old hag!” Netta barked in reply, narrowing her eyes. “Sorry, girls, but this here’s the line!” she explained, dragging her foot through the dirt in front of her and Nathan. “And I’m staying on this side!”
“A pity...” Aldera mumbled, levelling her staff. “I suppose we’ll just have to kill you as well, won’t we?” The Altmer thrust her staff forward, and the Imperial/Dunmer duo managed to sidestep just in time to have the burst of magic impact the wall behind them, sending dirt and debris flying in multiple directions.
“So, any brilliant plans?” Netta asked pleadingly as their Nordic opponent readied for another assault.
“Maybe...” Nathan grumbled back, his fingers thrumming the grip of his claymore. “Don’t suppose you have the key to that door back there on you, do ya?”
Netta gave the Imperial a surprised look, before quickly rummaging through the folds of her dress. “I got it!” she exclaimed excitedly, producing a small, golden key. She was forced to jump back, however, as Bridgette swung her warhammer in a massive arc. “But, how are we supposed to use it? There’s no way you can keep them both occupied by yourself!”
Nathan looked up, past the ceiling, imagining the stars that had to be overhead. “C’mon, you damn piles of crap,” he muttered. “We keep saving people and fighting evil, and we haven’t gotten jack shit in return,” he growled, before narrowing his eyes. “You owe us, and you damn well know it!”
Then, as if in answer to his...prayer...another figure, a male figure, rushed into the room. “Nathan, they’re right behind me!” Slade hollered, rushing into the room with his crossbow at the ready. Both Bridgette and Aldera quickly spun around at the sound of the new threat. “If you’re gonna do something, do it now!”
Nathan quickly lunged at Bridgette, pinning the dazed and surprised Nord to the ground. “Slade! Take care of the Altmer!” the red-headed Imperial roared to his comrade while he struggled to keep the female Nord under control. “Keep Netta covered!”
“Netta!?” Slade hollered, surprised, but headed for the Altmer nonetheless. He managed to grab the end of her staff, and kept it pointed away from himself and the others. “But I thought she was with them!”
“It’s a real fun story, Slade!” Netta hollered as she headed for the door, key in hand, but she was cutting it close; the massive army of Tel Mora’s citizens were quickly approaching the small chamber. “I’ll even tell it to you some time!”
“Assuming we live through this!” Nathan hollered, trying to keep Bridgette’s arms pinned. She wrestled one free, however, and punched him angrily in the face, sending him sprawling back. He quickly shook it off, and lunged himself at the woman yet again as she tried to reach and stop Netta. “Just hurry the hell up!”
The Dunmer opened the small circular door, and quickly rushed inside. A bright, pale green light burst forth from the room, and lit up the adjacent chamber in a predictable pattern. “There’s a big glowy...thing in here!” the Dunmer exclaimed from within the room.
“So smash it already!” Nathan roared, as the Nord woman he fought wrapped an angry fist around his neck. He grasped at the woman’s arm, trying to force her to release her grip, but to no avail.
“But...it’s so glowy!” the Dunmer’s disembodied voice cried out pleadingly.
“There they are! Get em’!” one of the Tel Mora women cried out as they entered the chamber, weapons drawn.
“NETTA!!!” Nathan hollered angrily, his voice carrying through the room as he was slowly strangled.
“Alright...here goes!” the Dunmer cried out. There was a sharp, distinct sound, like the breaking of glass, and soon everything was bathed in a bright, blinding light.
__________________________________
I still say you should have killed them. Less mess. More fun.
“Do I get extra credit if I pretend that I care what you think?”
Not really. One way or another, it will all end up the same by the time this is all over. I just thought it would be amusing to watch you and your friends kill each other.
“What!?”
That Nord and the Altmer were easy enough to provoke. But that Dunmer...I didn’t anticipate how much sway you have over her, and how strong her feelings for you are.
“What? Netta?”
And as for you...you might prove to be quite the annoyance after all.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
Well, frankly, when you wake up, you won’t remember any of it.
Nathan slowly opened his eyes, and was greeted by the sight of one of the Telvanni’s distinct looking organic ceilings. He could tell he was laying on something soft, and comfortable...it felt like a bed.
“Sure beats the hell out of those restraints...” he mumbled quietly to himself, before letting out a heavy sigh and relaxing on the furniture.
Nathan felt something beside him move, and he looked to his left to see a sleeping Netta snuggled closely beside him. She was once again adorned in her usual attire, and had an arm wrapped securely around his chest, and an innocent, contented smile on her dark-skinned face. The Imperial gave a warm chuckle, and closed his eyes as he listened to Netta breathe.
“What the hell do you mean, they’re sleeping!?” came a familiar, angry yet whiny voice from outside the room. “Step aside, you damned moron!” Nathan felt Netta stir next to him, obviously awoken by the hollering outside. “I don’t care if they need rest! Get yer damn hands off me, fascist!”
“What’s going on?” Netta asked, bewildered and confused as she propped herself up on the bed, looking around the room. “What in the – Nathan!?” she cried out, noticing the Imperial laying next to her. “What’s happening?”
Nathan looked off to the side as the door to the room opened, and Alderin, along with Bruno and Slade, and a host of the women from Tel Mora entered the small, unadorned room. “Looks like we got visitors,” he replied to the Dunmer as they both sat up to face the newcomers.
“It’s good to see you two are alright,” Slade pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest with a sense of satisfaction. “You two were asleep longer than anybody after that crystal was destroyed.”
Nathan gave a slight shrug. “Yeah, well,” he simply mumbled, unsure of how else to respond. He glanced at Bruno and Alderin, and grinned mischievously. “I see you two are no longer of the fairer-“
“That’s right,” Alderin growled, cutting the Imperial off before he could finish. “And if it’s all the same to the rest of you, I think I’d just as soon forget the whole thing ever happened!”
“I dunno, Alderin. You looked pretty good in that dress,” Netta teased, getting up off the bed. The Altmer rolled his eyes bitterly as a number of the women in the group behind him laughed at the comment.
“I was able to reverse Dratha’s spell, once you managed to stop her brainwashing,” pointed out a young Breton, the same one from their room earlier. She’d since exchanged her green dress for an unassuming cotton robe. “She had that damn thing running for months before you managed to come along and help us out.”
“And without a single casualty, I might add,” piped in another woman, a young Bosmer girl. She and the others in the group gave a slight bow of gratitude. “We really can’t thank you enough for helping us out, Nathan.”
Nathan held up a single hand defensively in front of him. “I can’t take all the credit, of course,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “Slade helped too, what with busting us both out, and keeping all of you distracted.”
“It’s what I do,” Slade explained simply, with a slight shrug.
“And I can’t forget Netta here,” Nathan added, looking at the Dunmer. “If she hadn’t come outta that brainwashing when she did, we wouldn’t be having this pleasant little conversation right now.”
Even with her dark, ashen skin, it was obvious that Netta was blushing madly as she looked timidly to the ground, a bashful smile on her face. “Thanks, Nathan,” she replied back quietly, her tone one of gratitude.
Alderin rolled his eyes in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“So what will you do with Dratha now?” Slade asked the Breton, curious.
“Well, technically we can’t really kill her,” the woman replied, disappointed. “And the Telvanni council probably won’t take any action, either. So I figure we’ll just lock her in her room, without any materials to pull anything like this again, and keep her in there.”
“That’ll teach her to mess with us!” cried out another woman excitedly from the crowd.
Nathan gave a brief nod of approval, before looking between the now restored group with a look of satisfaction. “Well, I suppose it’s time for us to go now,” the Imperial pointed out. The women of the group agreed with a series of nods, before leading the group outside, and to the docks where their boat sat waiting for them. By this time, the inky blackness of the sky had been replaced by a subtle melange of amber and crimson.
Nathan and the others calmly boarded their vessel at the docks, and Bruno quickly set about getting them back on their way to Sadrith Mora. “Goodbye!” cried the Breton woman from the dock as they departed, she and the other women seeing them off. “And thanks again, Nathan!”
“Yeah, he gets all the credit,” Alderin grumbled miserably under his breath, shaking his head.
“Well what did you do, exactly?” Slade asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides try to kill him, that is.”
“Oh, so now you have to do something helpful to get credit for things?” Alderin growled. “Sure didn’t work that way when Bruno was tagging along on the way to this dirt hole of a landmass, I’ll tell ya...”
Nathan gave a slight chuckle as Slade and Alderin headed for the stern of the ship, where Bruno was steering them southward. “Yeah, I sure am glad that your urges proved to be stronger than Dratha’s brainwashing, Netta,” Nathan pointed out happily to the Dunmer.
“Huh?” Netta asked, as if not understanding, as she turned to face Nathan with a puzzled look on her face. “What do you mean?”
“You know,” Nathan continued with a slight shrug. “Your desire to do all that crazy stuff with random men again.” He gave a slight chuckle as he followed Slade and the others to the back of the ship. “It turned out well, don’t you think?”
Netta gave a weak smile as she watched Nathan walk away. “Yeah,” she whispered quietly as she kept her gaze intently focused on the red-headed Imperial. “Random men...”
Imperial heartthrob...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 10, 2009 9:07:51 GMT
Interesting stuffs. Who knew Netta could be romantic? SMILIES! Anyway, yeah, I'm happy to help however I can. It can be really hard to find a middle ground in writing (don't I know it), and I know it can make a big difference to have someone to air ideas to.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 14, 2009 0:47:44 GMT
Ah yes, the Sadrith Mora incident...a very satisfying set of chapters to write. And some of the best in the story, if I do say so myself.
Then again, what do I know?
____________________ ____________________
Chapter 10: Playing it Wright (Is it ever simulated?)
“Alright, so what’s the deal here, Slade?” Nathan asked the blonde-haired Imperial as the group slowly disembarked from their vessel at the Sadrith Mora docks, looking upon the large Telvanni city ahead of them. Large outcroppings of rock blocked their view of the city itself, and there was only a single door at the bottom of a large building up ahead that seemed to lead inside.
“Well, I know that there’s a Speaker somewhere in the city,” Slade replied, folding his arms over the front of his robe as the group gradually approached the large building leading inside the city. “But, I’m not exactly sure who it is, or what we should be looking for.”
“Oh, no problem!” Alderin exclaimed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “We’ll just go around town, asking everybody if they’ve seen any professional killers walking around.” The Altmer folded his own arms over his chest, shaking his head miserably. “You know, for being here to help us take down the Brotherhood, you’re not very helpful.”
“Consider me here for moral support, then,” Slade countered, his tone remaining neutral, unaffected by Alderin’s criticism. “Either way, after we’re done here we can start making our way to Mournhold, the new base of the Dark Brotherhood.”
As Nathan and the others approached the gates that would lead them into Sadrith Mora, however, they noticed something odd. What sounded like the screaming of people, and loud, unfamiliar music, coming from within the city itself.
“What the hell is that?” Netta asked curiously, cocking her head slightly to the side as she stared at the large building before them. “Some kind of weird mage orgy? Because with all the Daedra summoning they do...”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Nathan remarked, furrowing his brow slightly. “After all, they are Telvanni. Seems like they’re into some pretty messed up shit.”
“Great,” Alderin griped, his stance drooping considerably. “Not only do we have to deal with another murderer who probably has some kind of really disturbing fetish, but now I have to watch a bunch of elderly Telvanni councillors getting their groove on?”
“I say we bust in there, and kick some ass!” Bruno exclaimed, readying his warhammer. “Ysmir knows I’m always up for a good smashing, especially when there’s mages involved.” The hulking Nord looked to Alderin, and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Not you though, buddy. You’re a good mage!”
“I’ll try and contain my elation,” Alderin mumbled back, unenthused, as he grabbed his staff from his back.
“Alright then,” Nathan replied as he, Netta and Slade grabbed their weapons as well. “I’m inclined to agree with Bruno. Look out for Daedra, and anything else trying to kill us!”
“Seems like standard procedure by now, doesn’t it guys?” Netta asked the others, grinning happily.
“One,” Nathan counted as he levelled his foot, readying to kick at the bronze, circular shaped door. “Two, three!”
All five members of the party rushed through the door a mere second after Nathan kicked it open, spinning it on a hinge that ran through its centre. As they emerged in the city, though, they found dozens of people wandering about the streets casually, dressed in elaborate, colourful clothing, browsing vendors with huge assortments of different food and drink that lined the streets on which they walked. Various musicians played throughout the area as well, completing the content, happy atmosphere that seemed to permeate the place.
“What the hell is going on!?” Alderin exclaimed, confused, lowering his staff. “Isn’t this the part where somebody makes a snide, condescending remark to us, before telling his henchmen to ‘get us’?”
“You sound disappointed, Alderin,” Nathan countered, lowering his blade as an Altmer with a colourful orange robe, and a loose fitting hat with three points ending in bells approached them, his attire jingling as he happily skipped towards them. “Hey, buddy, mind telling us what’s going on here?” the Imperial asked, confused.
“Why, it’s the fifteenth annual Sadrith Mora festival, of course!” the Elf announced proudly with a jovial voice. “A chance for the members of House Telvanni to forget their obligations and duties, and indulge themselves!”
“So, it’s basically like every other day for House Telvanni then, right?” Alderin pointed out, obviously quite unimpressed by the man’s speech.
“Well, the festival is open to members of the general public as well, of course,” the Elf replied, still grinning excitedly. “All are welcome during the festival!” He carefully scrutinized the quintet, humming to himself as he did so. “But, judging from your appearances, I’d say you’re one of the troupes that have come to participate in the theatrical productions of the day?”
“Huh? A troupe?” Bruno asked, puzzled as he scratched the back of his head. “What’s that?”
“Well, actually-“ Nathan began, explaining himself, before Slade placed a hand on his shoulder, signalling him to stop.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Slade replied naturally, nodding. “We’re here to participate in the plays.”
“Splendid!” the Altmer shouted happily, clasping his hands together. “I suspected as much. After all, the five of you look far too ridiculous together to be anything other than actors, yes?”
Alderin scowled at the jovial Elf. “You’re a living, breathing jingle bell, and you’re telling us that we look ridiculous?” He pompously crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes darting off to the side. “The irony is pounding us over the head.”
The other Altmer seemed to refuse to let Alderin spoil his good mood, however. “I’m afraid that I have no spots for you four at the moment,” he explained gesturing at the men. “But, there’s a troupe putting on a re-enactment of The Real Barenziah, Part Four, and they need a young Dunmer girl to play Barenziah.” He looked quizzically at Netta, smiling. “Might you be interested?”
“Sure!” Netta piped up excitedly, her eyes lighting up. “But, I don’t really know what it’s about...”
“That’s alright, we’ll get you caught up before the play starts!” the Altmer replied, leading Netta towards a distant stage. He looked back at the others. “The play starts in roughly half an hour, so make sure you don’t miss your friend up there!” he explained, before guiding Netta to the stage.
“Good luck, Netta!” Bruno called out happily after the Dunmer. “Knock em’ dead, girl!”
“You mind telling me just what the hell the big idea is, Slade?” Nathan asked, not understanding the other man’s lie. “Why’d you tell him we were here as actors?”
“It gives us a decent cover for being here, for one thing,” Slade replied simply, before looking around the nearby area, at the various people, vendors and attractions. “It’ll make it easier to figure out where the Speaker is, without drawing attention to ourselves.”
“I guess.”
“Hey, wait a second,” Bruno began, looking between the others. “I think I may have read that Bareziah thing before.”
“What!?” Alderin asked, his eyes bulging with surprise and shock. “You mean you can read!?”
Bruno narrowed his eyes as he looked out after Netta, before turning to the others again. “Not myself, really. My mom would read it to me, but never that part of the story. Said it was too graphic.” He idly scratched at the back of his head. “What do you figure she meant by that?”
Slade’s expression drooped slightly, before he pursed his lips. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that part,” he replied hesitantly, before turning to Nathan. “See, there’s a part of the story where Barenziah and this Khajiit...” Even from behind the frames, it was obvious that Slade’s expression was distraught; he didn’t seem to be able to bring himself to actually say what happened.
Nathan froze for a moment, realizing what it was that Slade was saying by not saying it. “You, you can’t be serious!?” the Imperial exclaimed, before looking frantically at Alderin. “In front of all those people!? I mean, it’s simulated, right?”
“They’re Dunmer, Nathan,” the Altmer replied with a matter-of-fact tone, leaning forward slightly. “Is it ever simulated? You need to be a little more realistic here.”
“Well that’s not gonna happen!” Nathan exclaimed, narrowing his eyes as he turned to the stage. “I’ll just have to go over there and stop them! Enough is enough!”
“You can’t do that, Nathan,” Slade pointed out, shaking his head. “This is our cover, remember? If a young, female Dunmer suddenly decides to drop out of a play for reasons of modesty, people are going to know something’s up.”
“Wait a minute, modesty? Simulated?” Bruno asked, utterly confused. He turned hopefully to Alderin. “What’s going on? I don’t get it.”
“Well,” Alderin began, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “When two Nords have had way too much to drink, and fail to take the proper preventative measures-“
“So what do you suggest we do, then?” Nathan asked, agitation building in his voice. “I don’t exactly like the idea of her being up there, in front of everybody, doing...that.”
“I’d say the best thing we can do is be mature about this,” Slade began, pumping his hands in front of him politically. “And just watch the damn play. Keep our cover up, and make sure that Netta doesn’t feel dejected.”
“That’s your brilliant plan!?” Nathan exclaimed, eyes bulging with horror. “Alderin could come up with a better plan than that!”
“Don’t worry, Nathan,” Slade said casually, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way towards the stage in the distance. “Just cover your eyes and I’ll let you know when the messy stuff is over.”
Nathan, Bruno and the others paused for a moment as they watched Slade walk off. “Man, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Nathan grumbled sourly before he and the others chased after Slade.
______________________________ Half an Hour Later... _______________________________
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, men and mer!” hollered the Altmer with the belled hat atop his head from atop the outdoor stage, arms outstretched above him. “For your viewing pleasure, we now present, The Real Barenziah, Part Four!” A large audience behind Nathan and the others hollered and cheered in reply.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Nathan grumbled miserably, hanging his head between his legs as he sat down near the stage. “I don’t know if I can do this...”
“Take it easy, Boss,” Bruno reassured him, rubbing his back in a sign of comfort. “It’ll be okay, whatever it is they’re doing up there. I’m sure Netta will be able to pull off this scene great!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Nathan groaned, placing his face in his palms.
“I don’t see why you’re getting so upset about this,” Alderin pointed out sceptically, furrowing his brow. “I mean, honestly, what the hell do you care what she does up there? It’s not like it affects us.”
Nathan shook his head miserably as a voice boomed from behind the stage curtain, and a number of actors, including Netta in a short skirt and a rather revealing white shirt, came on stage. “The young Barenziah, hoping to gain entrance into the Thieve’s Guild,” boomed the voice as Netta sat down on a bar stool next to a male Khajiit. “Offered to bed a Khajiit named Therris, should he sponsor her! But first, said he, she would have to pass a test!”
“What kind of test?” Netta asked the Khajiit next to her curiously, loud enough so the audience could hear. The audience fell deathly silent as the Khajiit turned to face her, a large smile on his lips.
“Ah, payment first, sweet thing,” the Khajiit purred, reaching towards Netta’s skirt and leaning towards her.
Nathan covered his eyes, and his head sank low as he looked away from the stage. “I can’t watch!” he exclaimed miserably.
“Shut the hell up!” an audience member roared behind him in reply.
Without explanation, however, there was a loud thud from behind the curtain of the stage, and the narrator, or rather a new one, called out. “But little did poor Barenziah know,” exclaimed the narrator, his tone one of a mocking sadness. “That she had been targeted for execution...by the Dark Brotherhood.”
“Uh oh,” Slade growled, leaning forward in his seat. “I don’t like this.”
“Is this what the problem was?” Bruno asked curiously, looking between the others as Nathan’s head perked up again. “Well, this doesn’t seem so bad.”
Suddenly, a middle aged Dunmer man, with black hair and a flowing black robe rushed onstage, and drew a short steel dagger. The Khajiit next to Netta started to get up, but was quickly dispatched by the assassin. As she attempted to get out of her seat, Netta was quickly grabbed by the assassin from behind, who spun both of them around so they were facing the audience.
“And now, dear Barenziah,” the assassin chuckled, slowly bringing the dagger close to Netta’s neck. “You shall know the wrath of Sithis.”
“Sweet!” exclaimed an audience member. “Improvisation! I love this stuff!” This was followed by a round of cheers and applause from the audience, as the assassin’s smirk grew ever wider.
“Dammit,” Nathan muttered, reaching for his blade. “I’m going up there!”
“No, wait,” Slade argued, holding him back. “Everybody thinks this is part of the act; if you go running up there, the guards will attack you instead of him.”
“So what do you suggest, now?” Nathan growled, glaring at Slade. “That we just let Netta die up there!?”
“Not at all,” Slade replied with a slight grin. “I’ve got a plan, but we’ve gotta move quickly. Follow me.” He looked briefly at Bruno and Alderin. “Watch for the signal, alright?” he asked, before heading stealthily behind the stage with Nathan.
“Wait a minute, signal? What signal!?” Alderin hollered, eyes bulging in fear. “Hey, don’t leave me alone with him!” he roared, gesturing angrily at Bruno, who seemed utterly lost.
__________________________________
“Well, my dear,” the assassin whispered in Netta’s ear with amusement, as the young Dunmer struggled to free herself. “It looks as though this is your last curtain.”
“Oh man, not a play joke,” Netta muttered back miserably, still straining to get out of the assassin’s grasp. “Just when you think things can’t get any worse.”
“Jerald! Now!” the assassin whispered towards the direction of the curtains, a gleeful smile on his face. But no response came, and the assassin’s smile soon faded. “Jerald, what’s taking so long? I said now!”
After a brief moment, there was a response, but it was not either one of the first two narrators, but a third, that sounded an awful like a particular blonde-haired ex-Speaker. “Yes, it did indeed look as though Barenziah’s life had come to an end,” this new narrator explained, his tone tragic. “But alas! A bold and noble knight, perhaps one sent by the gods themselves, emerged from the shadows, to save the young Barenziah!”
With that, Nathan, clad from neck to toe in bright steel armour, a white mantle flowing from his back and a silver longsword in hand, emerged from shadows of the stage. “You there! Brotherhood fiend!” he exclaimed dramatically. “Unhand the fair Barenziah, or I’ll surely cleave you in two!”
Netta’s face lit up with a genuine sense of elation, a look of joy spreading across her face. “Oh, Nathan...iel!” she exclaimed, trying her best to cover up their identities. Her face took on a more solemn look, however, as her gaze fell. “I must apologize for what I was about to do,” she explained sincerely, looking at the downed Therris, who twitched periodically, still alive. “For had I known what the foul beast had planned with me, I never would have-“
“It matters not, Barenziah,” Nathan replied, although his tone had an unmistakable authenticity to it. “All that matters now is that you’re returned to me safely!”
“Nathaniel!” the assassin cried out, his eyes bulging with rage, confusion and desperation as he attempted to keep the ‘improv’ going. “What are you doing here!? Methought you to be slain by some abysmal...thing!”
“Alas not!” Nathan exclaimed, bringing up his longsword. “I come to free Barenziah from your infernal clutches, and not the Night Mother herself shall impede me!”
“Then come, Nathaniel!” the assassin roared, tossing Netta errantly to the ground, but producing a pair of silver shortswords. “Let us test now your mettle!”
Convenient intermission...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 14, 2009 19:29:39 GMT
Two words. He. He.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 18, 2009 0:52:39 GMT
And here...we...
Go.
________________ ________________
Chapter 11: Brotherhood Acting Co. (And the three not-so-wise men)
“Alright, time to wrap up this little number,” Slade muttered, preparing to narrate the scene that would detail Nathan killing the Speaker onstage. Just as he prepared to call it out, however, he heard a noise behind him, and turned to see the Brotherhood narrator, a brown haired Breton man named Jerald, get up off the ground.
“Damn you, traitor,” the Breton growled, picking himself up. “What made you do it? Did you just wake up one morning and decide ‘hey, let’s take down the Dark Brotherhood today?’”
“Not really. I must’ve thought about it for a good couple hours before carrying through,” Slade replied, reaching for his crossbow. “But that’s really neither here nor there. For you, though, it’s lights out.”
The Breton man sneered slightly, as his hands crackled with bright red light. “I don’t think so,” Jerald growled, lifting his hand up into the air. At that moment, a Dremora Valkynaz and a Golden Saint Aurmazl materialized on either side of Slade, and immediately lashed out with their respective longswords. Slade barely had enough time to roll out of the way, and was quickly pursued by the Daedra pair.
“Now, where were we?” Jerald asked himself as he approached the back of the stage curtain, Slade too busy to intervene. “Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat before calling out so the audience could hear. “The foolish knight, Nathaniel, would soon find himself outnumbered, however, as the Brotherhood had prepared thoroughly for Barenziah’s assassination...”
_________________________________
Nathan’s eyes bulged slightly as he heard the Brotherhood narrator call out, and from the audience below, two men in black robes, their faces obscured by their hoods, raced onstage. Like the Speaker, they too sported silver shortswords, and together the trio slowly approached Nathan.
“Dammit all,” Nathan grumbled miserably to himself, his palms sweating as he tightly gripped his silver longsword. “Alone and outnumbered. What a pain in the ass.”
Netta tried to get up from her spot on the ground, but the Speaker simply turned to her and snarled. “Don’t even think of it, sweet cheeks,” he growled, before smiling sadistically. “Wouldn’t want to give away your boyfriend’s cover now, would you? Then even the town guards would figure out that something was going on. So just keep your royal ass planted on that floor, understand?”
Netta was about to protest when Nathan cried out, loud enough to be heard by the crowd. “Fear not, Barenziah!” he yelled, still moving back from the approaching killers. “’Tis only three against one! I’ve faced more formidable odds before!”
“Methinks you’re mistaken, Nathaniel!” Netta replied worriedly, her eyes darting nervously. “Three against one seems a bitter number!”
“You see, Netta,” Nathan growled quietly, to avoid blowing the act onstage. “This is one of those times I could use some of your abundant enthusiasm!”
“Oh, right!” Netta whispered, before furrowing her brow, trying to cook something up. “Oh, Nathaniel! Surely, with your noble spirit, you canst vanquish these murderous fiends!”
“Methinks not, Barenziah!” the Speaker hollered triumphantly, smiling. “For, it would take a sheer stroke of luck, nay, a miracle, to save Nathaniel now!”
_________________________________________
With his cue uttered, Jerald prepared to announce Nathan’s final demise. But the pained roar of his Valkynaz behind him caused him to hesitate, and turn around to view the spectacle.
Slade angrily slammed his elbow into the Dremora’s face, causing the Daedra to recoil backwards in surprise and pain. Then, after sidestepping a swipe from the Golden Saint, the ex-Speaker retrieved his steel crossbow, and, levelling it at the Saint’s exposed upper chest, fired point blank. The Aureal cried out in agony as the bolt pierced through skin and flesh.
“Get some real armour, hussy,” Slade growled, before dropping his crossbow and open fist punching the stunned Daedra in the stomach. The Saint sprawled backwards, and, with the Dremora still dazed, Slade dashed forward and slammed his clenched fist into the side of Jerald’s head like a club. The Breton fell promptly to the floor, and, with his opportunity made, Slade cried out his revision to the current predicament onstage.
“Luckily for our hero, however, he too had allies waiting to aid him. For they were the stalwart and loyal Brutus, and the wise and powerful Alderath!”
___________________________________
Alderin’s eyes shot wide as Slade’s voice carried out to the crowd, and Bruno looked over at the Altmer, confused. “Brutus and Alderath...you think he means us?” the Nord asked curiously.
“With my luck?” Alderin asked, his gaze drooping to the ground beneath him. “Probably.” As the gold skinned Elf prepared to slowly make his way onto the stage, he let out a yelp of surprise as Bruno grabbed him by the arm and quickly yanked him to Nathan’s position.
Nathan smiled happily as Bruno and Alderin took up position on either side of him, countering the Brotherhood reinforcements. “Brutus! Alderath! For a moment, my heart was low, thinking that you may not come!”
Bruno paused for a moment, trying to comprehend the odd speech he was hearing. “Don’t worry, uh, bosseth!” he exclaimed, before gripping the handle of his hammer tightly. “For Brutus is always up for a good smashing!”
“Indeed, my good man!” Nathan cried out, as the Brotherhood members nervously prepared for an attack. “Together, we shall make short work of these bastards!” He turned to Alderin, still smiling. “What say you, Alderath!?”
Alderin merely rolled his eyes, his expression one of exasperation. “Tally ho,” he muttered without enthusiasm, readying his staff before him, the end flaring a pale blue.
The six actors stood still for a moment, waiting for the next stage direction, an awkward silence settling over the stage as they did so.
______________________________________
Jerald gave a long, pained groan as his sloppily thrown punch was caught by Slade, and the blonde haired Imperial tightly gripped his fist. Slade was forced to release the man’s hand, however, when the Aurmazl and the Valkynaz, having recovered from their disorientation, rushed at him once more.
“Nathaniel and his comrades were able fighters all!” Slade exclaimed while ducking beneath the Daedric blade swipes, and quickly rolling towards his steel crossbow. “Together, the three were surely a force to be reckoned with!” He managed to grab his crossbow, and, while still rolling, placed another bolt in the weapon.
“But the Speaker and his cohorts, trained as they were, were capable assassins!” Jerald roared, retrieving a glass throwing knife as his Daedra closed in on Slade. “Against their combined power, no knight could stand!”
Slade quickly stopped himself mid-roll, propped himself on one knee, and fired his crossbow into the gap between the Valkynaz’s greaves and cuirass. “Except, of course, Nathaniel!” he countered quickly, the Dremora crying out in agony as the Saint charge forward with her longsword.
“Nu uh!” Jerald simply called back, bringing back his throwing knife as he neared Slade. The ex-Speaker retrieved his steel dagger, and prepared to combat the Breton and his Daedric accomplices.
_________________________________________
By now, the conflicting stage directions of Slade and Jerald had resulted in a sloppy, hodgepodge melee between the six fighters, each of them fighting at this point for their lives. The audience didn’t seem to notice the discrepancy, however, as they cheered and hollered happily, enthralled by the fighting onstage.
Alderin managed to deflect the strike of his respective opponent with his staff, and, while the man recovered from the effort, Alderin thrust his hand forward. “Hocus pocus, jack ass!” the Altmer roared, setting the man’s robes ablaze. The man let out a feral howl as he dropped to the ground and rolled frantically, trying to kill the flames, only to be subjected to a series of shock attacks by the still standing Elf.
Meanwhile, Bruno’s attacker showed far more agility. The man dodged back and forth, evading Bruno’s massive, circular sweeps with his hammer, and managed to lash out with his weapon, causing a shallow cut on the Nord’s torso. Bruno paused a moment, looking down at the cut on his chest, and his eyes flared with rage. The Nord let out a blood curdling roar, before successfully striking his opponent in the legs with his weapon, causing the man’s balance to be swept out from under him.
As Bruno tightly gripped his hammer, the robed killer looked up at the Nord, his face still hidden behind his hood. “Alas, Brutus, for this is the unkindest smash of all,” he cried out, his dramatic last words for the audience that watched.
Bruno arched a single eyebrow in confusion, before shaking it off. “Yeah, whatever,” the Nord grumbled, before slamming his hammer straight into the side of the man’s head. With a wet crack the robed figure skid across the stage, and into the flaming body of Alderin’s would-be attacker.
At the same time, Nathan successfully parried with the Brotherhood Speaker, pushing the assassin back further and further, until finally the Dunmer was forced to the ground, landing on his back. He looked up at Nathan as the Imperial levelled his sword. “Any last words, villain, before I send you to your fate?” he asked, his blade before him.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the Speaker replied, reaching into the pocket of his robe. He pulled out a small handful of powder and, with a quick flick of the wrist, threw it into Nathan’s eyes.
“Shit! Pocket sand!” Nathan cried out, clenching shut his eyes. The Speaker sped past the otherwise disposed Imperial, and, a single shortsword in hand, ran up to Netta, positioning her so she was standing before him, with a blade to her neck.
“Dammit, Nathan!” Netta cried out angrily, abandoning the pretext of the play. At this point, though, the crowd was so drawn in, so captivated by the action, that Akatosh himself could’ve probably shown up onstage, and they wouldn’t have objected.
“This is why you don’t go on with dramatic monologues!” Alderin roared, as he, Bruno and Nathan slowly circled around Netta and the Speaker.
“Well it would’ve been a pretty crappy end if I’d just killed him without a word, wouldn’t it!?” Nathan exclaimed, glaring at the Altmer. “It’s a little thing called dramatic flair!”
“So is that what all the bad guys are always doing?” Bruno asked the others, cocking his head slightly to the side.
“Everybody shut the hell up!” the Speaker roared, his glance twitching between the remaining trio. “Anybody tries anything funny, and everybody’s favourite little wench is scrib feed!”
“Wench?” Netta asked, her eyes narrowing. “Alright, that tears it.” The young Dunmer raised a single arm, pointing randomly into the crowd ahead. “Hey look!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Isn’t that the Night Mother over there!?”
“What? Where!?” the Speaker cried out, a smile breaking out over his face. “Is my robe on straight? How’s my face?” While he searched fruitlessly, however, Netta angrily bit down on the man’s arm, causing him to drop his shortsword to the ground as he cried out in pain. Wriggling free of his grasp, Netta reached down and grabbed the shortsword, and before the Speaker had a chance to recover, she plunged it deep into the man’s chest.
“This...this is to be my end?” the Speaker asked, clutching at the blade lodged in his chest, as he fell to his knees. He chuckled softly, before looking up to the sky above. “The comedy of it...that to my life I should come to a demise...so bittersweet...”
“What the hell is bittersweet about this?” Alderin asked the dying man, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bittersweet implies something good happened as well, and it didn’t. You just got your ass kicked, so you can go ahead and die already.” And as if in response to Alderin’s suggestion, the Speaker fell to the ground before him, and drew his last breath.
“And that’s the end of that,” Nathan pointed out casually, sweeping his hands against each other, before giving Netta a curt nod. “Good work, Netta,” he commented with a smile, before the Dunmer returned the gesture in kind.
There was an awkward silence, and Nathan and the others turned to look at the audience, who had become deadly silent for the end of the play. Nathan and the others stood there for a moment, at a loss for words, before Bruno abruptly shot his arms quickly out to the sides.
“That’s all, folks!” the Nord exclaimed onstage. The crowd promptly burst into applause, cheering for the group, before the quartet made their way backstage, past the curtain dividing the two areas.
There, Slade stood victoriously over Jerald’s corpse, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the foursome. “Took you four long enough,” he pointed out, before heading towards the nearby changing rooms so Netta and Nathan could retrieve their clothing and weapons. “What was the hold up?”
“Showmanship,” Nathan replied simply, before glancing over at the others with a grin. “You know how it is.”
“I suppose so,” Slade replied simply, trudging forward alongside the others. “After all, everybody loves a good show.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing quite like putting your life on the line for a buncha pompous ingrates, and with no reward whatsoever,” Alderin grumbled bitterly, shaking his head. “Showmanship my ass.”
“I dunno, buddy,” Bruno added in contently, patting the Altmer reassuringly on the shoulder. “I think we did pretty damn well up there. Maybe we got a future in this business!”
“I don’t think so, Bruno,” Nathan replied, glancing over at the Nord. “I mean, it was fun and all while it lasted, but I think I’m permanently retiring from the acting business.”
Bruno seemed to ignore this rebuttal, however, as he extended his hand out before him. “All of Nirn’s a stage,” he mused.
“No,” Alderin merely growled in reply.
“Something’s rotten in the state of Morrowind,” the Nord continued.
“That may be true, but still, no[/b],” Alderin countered, agitation filling his voice.
“To be, or not to b-“
“Shut up you stupid oaf!” Alderin hollered, the Elf’s eyes bulging with rage at the Nord’s insistence. “Just shut your festering hole!”
“Oh, those two,” Netta remarked, smiling innocently as she rolled her eyes. She glanced over at Nathan. “Think they’ll ever learn?”
“Hard to say,” Nathan replied with a slight shrug. “After all, the course of a true journey never did run smooth.”
“Truer words were never spoke,” Slade added in with a slight nod.
“Everybody just shut the hell up!” Alderin roared.
Shakespeare, it’s universal...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 18, 2009 8:26:47 GMT
Okay, maybe the best fight scene ever. And it reminded me tons of the Mournhold play in Tribunal, only supersized, so I rather enjoyed it.
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