It is the first time I wrote a fanfiction, and English is not my native language, so any constructive criticism is appreciated. It's small, but I hope you'll enjoy, as I'll be writing more chapters later. Please tell me what you think.
The first chapter revolves around the Dunmer slave trader and his "no ordinary" slave in a cornerclub of Tear.
Songs of Cinder, Book I: Trading Daedra
The moons were full on 2nd of Sun's Dusk, Boethia's Summoning Day. A silt strider caravan, escorted by several sellsword parties and accompanied by a small bunch of Khajiiti captives, was seen from one of Tear's watchtowers, surfing through the marshy landscape that housed the villages and plantations of House Dres. A few moments later, one could hear the opening of the town's massive southern gate as the caravan approached. An elderly Dunmer unmounted the silt strider just as the caravan docked, a gray wrap concealing his whole face, a lantern in his right hand barely lighting a few metres around him. After stepping on an old wooden scaffolding, he gave a sign to the others to prepare all the slaves and wares, and reached out to a small cage, scribbled with Daedric letters, resting on his mount.
The Old Kollop Cornerclub, a haven for local wealthy slave traders and fortune-seeking adventurers alike, had its rusty front doors open wide for the recently arrived merchants. The Dunmer entered the cornerclub after dismissing the caravan, and sat on a chair by the fire, placing the cage and the purse full of gold in front of him. Before he could take the last sip of sujamma, a fellow Dunmer, clad in Netch leather, walked up to his chair and started examining the cage.
"Well, certainly it is no ordinary slave right here," the latter said. "Never seen anything like that in the Old Kollop before."
"This is something that must fit best to be a slave, serjo. But, if I were you, I'd cast that spawn back adrift the waters of Oblivion from whence it came. I never liked trifling with such kinds of dealings, but it seems I don't have a choice now."
"A hundred drakes is hardly a price for such rarity." the Dunmer by the name of Tedryn Brenur replied, eager to strike a deal. He pulled up a chair and flashed a bag of coins in front of the dealer.
"I don't really care about gold as long as I can get rid of this... Foul creature, to say the least."
"Date of birth?" Tedryn raised his brow.
"4th of Second Seed. True, it is no more than two years and six months old, but, you know, raised a slave - always a slave, if you make sure he's kept the proper way, of course."
Tedryn did not say a word, but took his dagger and cut the bag instead. Coins spilled all over the table with a pleasing sound that surely conjures a wide smile on every dealer's face. This particular dealer, however, did not show any signs of satisfaction with neither disposing of the cage nor having more coin in his pockets than he had originally planned. He silently stood up, thanked Tedryn for a purchase and rented a room before heading upstairs in a hurry.
"It seems another soul had its touch of luck tonight, hadn't it, sera?" The bartender said, serving a couple of bottles of flin to Tedryn, who was staring at the scribbles on the cage. Even the continuous sound of coins flipping on tables and jingling in purses, the loud singing of "The Battle of Molag Beran" and the handy high-kick could not disctract him. His eyes were full of interest and desire to open the lock and see what's inside. The dealer, Mithorpa Nasyal, threw his bag on the bed and opened the window only to be showered by sparks of the nearby forge and the pleasant wind blowing in his face. He took off the wraps, revealing his handsome, if a bit tainted by age, face. He never thought he'd end up travelling around Tamriel, selling things an average merchant would not be expected to sell. He made an inhuman sound in his throat, realising that he has just sold a Daedric soul, and thus subject to some Daedra's fury. All of these thoughts that haunted him throughout the night, and the sorry state of Tear seen from his window in its full "beauty", contributed to Mithorpa's depression. Both did not possess a single clue of what they've done this night.
2nd of Sun's Dusk, 3E 414.