[title]All's fair in Love and War[/title]
There truly was nothing like imminent death to concentrate the mind, Divariti thought, as he tried to focus his concentration to the utmost on the blade of his sword and the opponent's weapon. The power of his belief distilled the Universe to just two objects: himself, and his opponent, who was not circling to his left as he prepared an attack on his shield-side. Feint, withdraw, feint again, and then an explosive slash at the exposed wrist of his adversary; already prepared for the shock of his parry, he let the jolt spend itself on his relaxed muscles as his sword rebounded off its opposing twin. Turning with the blow, his shield was already coming up to push with its lower edge the middle of his opponent's shield: bending at the waist, he leant forward and pushed hard at the same time his right foot kicked at his opponent's instep.
[indent][/indent]Timed just right, the kick caught his adversary just as he was withdrawing the foot, the combined force of the shield-shove and the kick making him stagger. Lowering his head even further, Divariti put his shoulder fully behind his shield, and shoved harder. Prepared, he followed his adversary into the fall, moving further up so he straddled him as he fell, and as the sawdust rose in an explosive cloud around their two bodies Divarith straddled his opponent as he lay flat on his back. With a single, savage chop he brought the pommel of his sword down on his opponent's wrist. Following into the move, he backhanded the pommel into the side of his opponent's helmet, and drew the sword back up, into the killing stroke that would slash and spear through the gorget armour at his opponent's throat into the soft flesh, blood, cartrilage and bone inside. The blade came down explosively fast, its tip at the gorget.
[indent][/indent]And he stopped.
[indent][/indent]For a space of three heartbeats, the two remained frozen, the fighter on top with his sword aimed at his adversary's throat, the beaten adversary motionless, drawing his breath in rasping gasps. Then Divarith spoke -
[indent][/indent]"By Molag Bal's hairy tail! Say the magic words, you useless orc!"
[indent][/indent]Gra-Khartog groaned, and managed to grunt out "...Surrender..ahh!" in a short, breathless grunt.
[indent][/indent]Grunting in turn as he rolled off Khartog, Divarith sheathed his wooden blade, and began to take off the heavily padded training armour. Khartog managed to slowly get up, rubbing his wrist, just as Divariti was taking off the last piece.
[indent][/indent]"How many times do I have to tell you, Khartog - even in sparring, you have to BELIEVE that it's real! How can you expect to win if you don't feel exactly as you would in a Deathmatch, when the price of your mistake is your life? It's that fear that puts the edge of speed and invention into your attacks....and the strength in your body!"
[indent][/indent]Khartog groaned, and rubbed his wrist and temple with salve.
[indent][/indent]"If you put all that into your sparring, you'll have nothing left when you face Goldmask! And you can forget about another sparring session...I won't have recovered for another four days, and you face him the day after tomorrow!"
[indent][/indent]"Not to worry, short, squat and ugly - I won't need sparring from you, anyway. Goldmask is a totally different physical type from you, and he fights differently, too! Not as strong as you, but twice as fast, and he can twist away or into you like a snake. I needed you to test my reaction speed, but from now on I'll need to rest, and meditate on him...I wish I had a Khajit sparring partner."
[indent][/indent]"Goldmask isn't a Khajit!"
[indent][/indent]"Yes, but he moves like one, and yet he's as cunning as a Bosmer and as tall as an High elf. Thin, and yet quite strong for his size, too! The only advantage I may have over him is that I've seen him fight twice before, but he hasn't seen me. Not really that much advantage, though. He's beaten Imperials before, and in his last match he beat my old master Particus, so he probably has a pretty good grasp of my fighting style. I'll need to really think deep for this one - the old techniques probably won't work on him"
[indent][/indent]Gra-Khartog smiled at the almost naked Divarith, who had now stacked his training armour and swords on the pegs, and was getting ready to go to the gladiator's baths. To his back, he spoke -
[indent][/indent]"And what if I could get you some inside information on Goldmask?"
[indent][/indent]Divariti stopped as if struck by an arrow, and turned. Khartog was smiling.
[indent][/indent]Slowly, Divariti smiled back.
[indent][/indent]"All right, you old fox, what do you know, and how much do you want?"
[indent][/indent]Grinning, Khartog made the bargain. His tale was simple, yet ingenious. Through his connections he had discovered that Goldmask, in the guise of a gladiator trainer, had slipped into the Arena last night, and would come down to the training arena gallery tomorrow to take a look at Divayti and his fighting style. For a few more septims, he could arrange for Goldmask to be moved into the spy-room where, unknown to its occupant, there was a secret passage where a hidden observer could spy on whoever was occupying it.
[indent][/indent]Laughing, Divariti agreed.
[indent][/indent]Later that night, Divariti moved, quiet as a cat, to the spy-chamber set into the wall. After looking around and being satisfied he was not observed, he pressed on the secret catch in the wall, and the false wall moved aside. Sliding into the narrow chamber, he moved into the chamber, and put his eye to the spy hole.
[indent][/indent]The triple-branched candleholder shed enough light for the room to be seen very clearly. Goldmask was writing something on a parchment. Finished, he got up, and stretched himself. Divariti noticed that Goldmask appeard to be extremely supple indeed, and filed that information away in his mind to be used as needed.
[indent][/indent]Goldmask finished his stretching excercises, and began to take off his clothes, while continuing his stretching. Divariti nodded. Goldmask would be doing his final excercises before sleeping; it was what he did himself.
[indent][/indent]Goldmask took off his last garment and his mask at the same time, and Divariti froze in shock.
[indent][/indent]Goldmask was a WOMAN!
(to be continued....)
D.Foxy: Reading your story I was again reminded that it would be very handy to have a BBCode that can create an indented paragraph for easier reading. I created one, and took the liberty of modifying your post.
Quote:There truly was nothing like imminent death to concentrate the mind, Divariti thought, as he tried to focus his concentration to the utmost on the blade of his sword and the opponent's weapon.
What about "as he tried to focus entirely on the blade..."?
Quote:With a single, savage chop he brought the pommel of his sword down on his opponent's wrist. Following into the move, he backhanded the pommel into the side of his opponent's helmet
Unless you're specifically meaning the pommel "hilt" might be a more general idea, and a more common thing for the reader to both know and visualise. And once again try to avoid repeating words, use something like "he then backhanded it into..." instead. Also try to alternated between "opponent", "enemy", "foe", and other such terms. You still need it clear who is hitting who so "his" won't work as well here.
Quote:into the killing stroke that would slash and spear through the gorget armour at his opponent's throat into the soft flesh, blood, cartrilage and bone inside. The blade came down explosively fast, its tip at the gorget.
Mixed images. A sword does not "spear". Try "pierce" instead. Also note the subtle typo.
Quote:Divarith ... began to take off the heavily padded training armour.
I'm not sure if this project is using original or US English, but this would ideally match whatever's been decided upon.
Quote:Khartog groaned, and rubbed his wrist and temple with salve.
Technically, it should be "temples", unless it's a *specific* side that is more wounded than the other.
Quote:"Goldmask isn't a Khajit!" ... and as tall as an High elf.
Khajiit has a typo, it's "a" not "an", and Elf needs to be capitalised.
Quote:"All right, you old fox, what do you know, and how much do you want?"
That's a lot of commas. Try to think of it as if he was saying it out loud. A comma is a pause, so surely he'd be saying it more like, "All right you old fox, what do you know and how much do you want?"
Quote:he moved into the chamber, and put his eye to the spy hole.
I'm fairly certain it should be "spyhole" (as with the formation of "peephole").
Also I wonder about the name Goldmask. It sounds a bit generic. I don't have any suggestions, but maybe there's a better-sounding alternate out there.
But anyway it's a riveting read, and other than these few little nitpicks I see nothing wrong with it. Well done!
Hmm.. Garrett? How about writing something for us to read? I'd love to see some of your work.
And Foxy... MORE PLEASE!
I've never really felt like writing fan fiction (mainly because so many of them are awful!) but, yeah, I might give something a try sometime...
I agree to all your edits! I typed off the story at a single sitting, and was both too lazy and busy to edit it afterwards.
And now...to continue...
With the dropping of the Golden Mask, she was now totally revealed. Divariti stared as she turned, her hands above her head, stretching for the last time before beginning her excercises.
She is perfect, he thought in awe.
Hair a dark gold streaked with brown strands, even the severity of the style, pulled into a bun straight away from her face, could not hide the strange beauty of her face. Dusky skin, slanted eyes, ears just a little pointed at top...for a moment he was confused, and then the truth hit him like an ice lance.
Of course, she's a half-breed! Half redguard and bosmer...no wonder she doesn't fight under her real name!
Standing on one leg, the naked woman lifted up one leg, smoothly, straight up from the side, and Divariti felt an electric shock in his loins as she lifted her straight leg all the way us so that her knee rested near her armpit. A strong, yet beautiful face, slightly frowning in concentration, perched on top of a willowy neck: a deep chest surmounted by two slightly small, yet superbly shaped breasts with large nipples and auroela: slim yet strong arms and shoulders, with an untamed bush of hair nestled in their armpits: a flat belly, with a hint of muscle ridges under the smooth flesh: a narrow waist swelling to hips that looked deceptively narrow from the front, but deepend to two perfect, globular buttocks viewed from the side...she continued turning, and from the rear Divariti could see that there was not a single wobble in her haunches as she excercised: beneath a slim layer of fat those buttocks were all smooth muscle.
Spinning, she jumped three feet into the air with one leg only, the other leg still pointed straight up. In mid-air she rapidly switched legs and came down on the other leg, and immediately jumped off it. After ten repititions she dropped to the floor, and did twenty one-arm push ups, ten on each arm; then she dropped flat on her back, raised her two legs off the ground, and did fifty sit-ups. Divariti, watching with eyes narrowed, saw that at the end she was breathing deeply, but not panting at all.
After she had blown out her candles and gone to sleep, a thoughtful Divariti slipped away to his quarters, to think and plot.
The next day, Divariti and another Orc trainer Gra-Khartog had rounded up on short notice sparred for more than an hour in the arena. Divariti was wearing the heaviest of heavy armour, and armed with a heavy ax: he practiced tremendous, stamina-sapping rushes at his opponent. While resting between these rushes, he noticed a heavily robed and cowled figure watching him from above in the gallery. He smiled, quietly.
The arena was sold out. Word had spread that two undefeated champions, the mysterious Goldmask and the strangely named Imperial Divariti, would meet in a fight to the death: and all the rows in the galleries were filled to the last seat as the bookmakers scurried up and down before the fight, taking last-minute bets before the books were closed. The air was electric with anticipation.
Goldmask entered first, to applause. She was wearing, in additon to ther gold mask, the lightest of glass armour on top, but with even lighter chiton armour below. She had as her main weapon a long, narrow but strong cylindrical steel stabbing sword, with no edge but with a cone tapering to a needle-sharp point on top. Her backup weapon was a shorter version of that sword in the form of a dagger. She carried no shield.
Listening to the thunderous cheers from behind the Arena curtain, Divariti grinned. She's come prepared to run in light armour, exhausting me, and then to finish me off with either the long or the short armour-peircing sword, he thought. Well, time to surprise her...
Stepping out of the curtain, the audience stopped shouting, in stunned, shocked surprise.
And then they gasped.
Divariti was totally naked except for a loincloth, and a strap across his back carrying a quiverfull of short javelins. His body was oiled, and shining. In his left hand he carried a coiled whip: in his right, a long, wooden staff.
After bowing to the crowd, Divariti faced the now wary Goldmask, who was circling out of range of his staff, waiting to see how he would attack. Feinting with his staff, he suddenly flicked out the whip. As Goldmask leaped away as quickly as a serpent, Divariti dropped the whip, and took out a javelin.
The javelin was pointed at both ends.
Swiftly, Divariti lifted the javelin, and threw - but not at Goldmask! Straight into the ground the Javelin went, at an angle, followed by two other at an angel also so that all three crossed liked the three poles of a wigwam, reinforcing each other on the ground. After the tripod was made, Divariti swiftly picked up the whip again.
And then the audience understood. The appreciative roar of the audience seemed to lift the roof of the arena, even as the faces of the bookmakers who had taken bets on Divariti being defeated turned a sickly white.
Divariti was going to make obstacles in the arena....and cut down on Goldmask's maneuverability. The javelin tripods were going to be positioned all over the arena, and with their pointed ends she would have to think extremely carefully before she jumped away from his attacks...while with no armour, he could follow her much faster than she had anticipated. As her armour-piercing sword had no edge, she could only thrust at him, while with his long staff he could keep her away far enough to be safe. And if she came in a little too close, his whip would lash at her ankles and, curling around, trap her feet and pull her to the ground.
Understanding the danger she was in, Goldmask swiftly took out her shortsword and faced him two-handed. Her short sword was pointed high, her longsword held low, and Divariti understood and in his mind he mentally applauded. Very good, my girl, he thought. Longsword held low to parry my whipslash, and if my whip curls around and catches the sword, she'll come in fast as I reel her in and stab me with her shortsword: if I don't reel her in, she'll flick the whip out of my hand with a jerk of her wrist. I wish I could let you win, he thought as he began his attack.
After two feints, he did as she expected and flicked his whip at her ankle, letting her parry it with her longsword: giving a weak pull, he felt the expected counterpull come, and deliberately let his whip go as he switched his whip hand to his longstaff and struck, two-handed, at her off-balance longsword arm.
She was amazingly fast: even off-balance and with the whip entangling her sword she could still parry his staff with it, but the two factors had slowed her enough so that the parry was less than perfect: the sword and the whip were knocked out of her hand. She leaped away out of danger. Divarith feinted as if to chase her, than ran for the sword instead. Grabbing the sword, he hurled it away, up into the gallery....
Even as he rejoiced in the fact that she was now down to one weapon he felt a searing pain in his side and as he moved away, spinnining and swirling his staff in an automatic reflex, he saw that she had run to his javelin tripod, plucked up one, and thrown it at his unarmoured body. She took an instant shot from that javelin at a moving target, and she still managed to graze me, he thought as he now faced Goldmask armed with one shortsword and two javelins. By Boethia, this girl is good!
Yet shortsword and javelin were no match for longstaff and whip, and after half an hour he had cornered her, limping, with the chiton boots whipped to pieces and blood soaking her calves, against one wall of the arena. He was bleeding from a further two javelin and one shortsword wounds, also.
She backed against the wall, waited for a heartbeat, and then exploded at him with both hands straight holding her shortsword out like a spear, completely committed, do or die, kill or be killed.
He had anticipated that. Swivelling on one foot, he let her go past, so close that her shoulder clipped his rib; then as she fell, heavily, he smashed down on the base of her skull with the blunt end of his staff. She went unconcious like a snuffed candle.
Raising his staff, he asked the option of the victor against an unconcious opponent: to enslave his defeated enemy.
.......Later, much later, he walked in, heavily strapped and bandaged, to look at the form of Goldmask, bandaged, spreadeagled tied and naked on a bed. Her eyes were glittering as they looked at him with hatred.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Rape me, and get it over with!"
(to be continued.....)
As I see it the Author here is technically as accomplished as any writer on this Forum at the moment, and I was not worried by any of the 'edits' that were suggested were immediately essential if the quotes were accurate. To my mind all the stories here are works in progress and I recognise that some authors may wish to ignore niceties and concentrate on structure and concept. We all have different ways of working. Spelling and such do not need to be corrected until they go to the Core for final approval, though if you have time to do so it graces the Forum. They are only 'finished' when the Core deems them to be so and they have been made into 'books,' notes, etc and coded into the mod.
Having said that, a few pointers for the commenter:
There is somethin that might be done with the first phrase you look at, but that is about how to phrase the concept of focussing on both blades at the same time. I have no worries about the phrase 'on the blade of his sword.' but if the whole sentance is to change or shift emphasis to better take into account the two weapons that phrase might change also.
The pommel of the sword is the bit at the end of the hilt with which you hit others. So pommel is correct and stays. I cannot visualise hitting anyone with the hilt as opposed to the pommel...'bout time people were given the chance to learn a bit of English! :goodjob: Author
A sword can be described as being used to spear - the commenter might read up on a bit more of the subject. Author correct again. There are numerous specialist terms that might be applied, and the word spear is often used to denote an form of extended, running lunge. Excellent if intended.
So it is the specific side, author correct again.
After all the word Khajiit is spelled: Khajiit. Another for the author.
Elf needs to be capitalised. You got one commenter! Fine.
Some people use a comma with 'and' - it is correct English.
Look, this is nitpicking. Nice one the Author once again. Galrina, hat off to you for your comment.
[edit] I've been thinking about my response here, and I think that I should make it clear that I want writers to feel free to submit work as the inspiration takes them, warts and all, because there is a feel to the fruits of that first inspiration that can seldom be replaced, and can easily be lost.
So long as writers who want to edit their contributions (other than spelling) do so by posting rather than editing I will be happy with all well intentioned and sensible comments. And I feel that the comments made about this story are in this sense reasonable and acceptable - if not necessarily always correct. So I wish to encourage comments while I retain the right to respond to them as I do to the works of the Authors themselves.
So all aspiring writers are welcome to post and comment, and commentators are encouraged to write and post!
Just remember who is the Editor around here - it says so under my name!
Thanks Raggidman!!!
And although I said I would only post one episode a day...due to certain reasons I may be forced to hasten it.
On the 'combat' part of my episodes, I am sure there MUST be some martial artists here on this forum. I would also appreciate their inputs!!!
black[/HR]
For a long time Divariti paused, and just looked at the bound and bandaged woman on the bed. He looked at her calf wounds first, noting with praise the first-class job Gra-Khartog's wife had done on bandaging them. Then his eyes glanced at her face, to see the fierce anger...and fear?...in them, and held her eyes in a gaze as unyielding as her own. The battle of wills was searing, but in a minute she dropped her gaze first.
Still looking, he stared at her face. Even in sullen defiance, she was beautiful. He moved closer, and lifted his hand towards her body. She tensed, growling, and he saw a drop of moisture glisten in one eye, a drop which slowly welled to a tear...she shuddered as she felt his first touch. Then a look of surprise flashed over her face before a mask settled back over her features, for Divariti was using a wet towel to sponge away the sweat and dust of battle: and his touch was gentle. He spoke.
"I'm going to examine the bump on the back of your head. Sorry, it may hurt a little."
He could feel some of the tension relax as he gently smeared ointment on the wicked bruise on her nape and gently put her head back down on the pillow, but she was still tense and wary. She spoke, with only the slightest catch in her voice.
"And you didn't need to tie me up, anyway. Even if I didn't have this -" she glanced, angrily, at the majika-radiating slave bracelet on her right forearm "- I would, on my honour as a gladiator, served all your wants as a slave. I would have killed you and taken your possessions if I had been able to: that was my right, under the code of the sword and the duel we live by. Since I was the one who was defeated - and not only defeated, but defeated alive - you had the right to enslave me."
She paused, gathering her strength. When she went on, her voice was like the crack of his whip.
"But nothing in our code of honour tells me I have to like, or pretend to like it! So I will obey your commands, fetch and carry and work for you, and submit to any sexual demands you make - but I tell you you'll never get a sweet word or a soft smile from me! Scowling eyes and a sullen face is all you'll get. You should have killed me in the arena. At least that way you would have got my goldchest, weapons and armour! Now by enslaving me you had to give those to the Arena lord as slave-price....you got the worst of the bargain, Imperial! And nobody wants a scowling ex-gladiator sex slave, so you'll get no price for me if you want to sell me! Why don't you just rape and kill me, and cut your loss?"
"Are you that eager to die?"
"Do you think I am afraid of death, Imperial? You saw in the arena I ran into your weapon -"
"Yes, that's one thing out of many I wanted to ask you about. But first things first. For a start, what's your real name?"
Then, as she hesitated, he continued, gently : "I am your legal and honour master, you know".
She smiled, bitterly. "Which name do you want, Imperial? I had many, growing up. Bitch. Half-Breed. Useless Trash. My Bosmer father died before I was born, and my Redguard mother went mad and blamed me for it. I was brought up as a servant in my aunt's redguard family, and all my cousins hated me and tortured me from the moment I could walk. I was a servant and slave in all but name from my fifth year, until in my tenth year one redguard gladiator saw me fight two of his bullying apprentices to a draw. He thought I had potential - potential to be a money-spinner for him - so he trained me, and staked out money for me to begin in the third class of the arenas. I killed my first opponent at fifteen: since then I have killed twenty-seven. I bought my freedom from him after my twentieth kill. I have always fought masked, and since my freedom I have used the goldmask and have known no other name. You may as well call me that as any other."
Divariti nodded. "Pretty much as I expected...By the way, we tied you down as we had to apply orc ointment to your calf wounds. It heals very rapidly, but it stings like poison as it is applied, and as you were only half-concious at that time you were in no position to listen to explanations. I'll let you free now."
After he had loosed her bonds, she sat up on the bed, chafing her wrists with her hands. She glanced up, and saw he was still looking at her. The tanned skin turned a darker shade as she flushed. Then she threw her head back and put her hands behind her neck. Lying back on the bed, she spread her legs wide and drew her knees up.
"Well, master, you can...take your slave now!"
Once again Divariti looked impassively at her face, then deliberately looked down to her exposed sex. She flushed deeper at his ruthless gaze, but did not lower her eyes this time when he looked back up at her.
On his otherwise impassive face, the edge of Divariti's lips twitched upwards.
"You'll find some clothes in that chest under the bed. Good night. Breakfast is at six. We'll talk further then."
He walked out, closing the door behind him. She looked at the door, silently, her face showing no emotion, but her shoulders quivered.
(to be continued)
black[/HR]
Well, that was just to whet your appetites.
By the way, my definition of 'pervert' is one who turns healthy sexual practice into a means to harm others mentally or physically, or who in search of personal gratification ignores the harm that a specific practice does to others. So by my standards your use of the word if it is intended to describe your work does not make sense.
You might remember that I mentioned that in Daggerfall in one of the Barenziah books there was the description of a public sexual act between her and a Khajiit. It was very explicit. My take on it was that the author had to be explicit to describe the physical differences between Dark Elf and Khajiit, and the consequences of such a union. Or it might have been lies and propaganda designed to harm Barenziah and/or Khajiit.
Passion can be portrayed without the need for anatomical reference, but sometimes it is necessary to be explicit. Depends on the nature of it all. You never know, there might be a point in one of your stories in which I think you should add in something more explicit... What we are really looking at are ways to make your stories shine for their own qualities, without relying on unnecessary shock tactics.
Now where did i leave that cattle prod?
Only kidding.
Thanks Raggidman!
Well, my signature...if you want to know how that came about, you'll have to go to 'The Drawbridge' and read some of my 15,000 + posts.
Nope. 'Perversion' is NOT intended to describe my work. My signature is more a self-mocking statement.
I have included the anatomical descriptions in this story because it is, underneath it all, a love and romance story - as will become clearer when it is read in its entirety. (In other forums most of the rave reviews of this story came from the female readership)
But since 'The course of true love never ran smooth' and since dramatic tension is essential to keep a story edgy and moving forward, this is the way I have constructed this...Morrowind Love Story...
Foxy
black[/HR]
Er...
CATTLE PROD??? :eek:
WUZZIT SUMMATHINGY EYE SAID???
(jes kidding!)
hee hee...
black[/HR]
And I see I am now a swordsman!!!
*waves his sword about* :banana:
*looks down*
WHOOOPS...
*zips up*
royalblue[/HR]
Edited by Razorwing.
No doubleposting in the same hour please
[FAQ] Editing Your Post (Double Posting Problem)