xSuoiveDx
Dave, The Quiet One.
I quit writing.
Seriously.
I Love the writing that both you Ladies produce, so Please Jersey, don't give up.
Kathodos: A Return of Exiles
- Thread starter Docta Corvina
- Start date
I Love the writing that both you Ladies produce, so Please Jersey, don't give up.
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Thank you, everyone! I truly appreciate the kind words as always! 
I'm excited to keep going with this little tale, I've been having a great deal of fun with it!
I'm excited to keep going with this little tale, I've been having a great deal of fun with it!
The_Deadliest_Troll
Melon Lord
Awesome chapter! I loved it!
I'd quit writing too, but I'm scared of dancing lizards...
I'd quit writing too, but I'm scared of dancing lizards...
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
You guys are both crazy - and if either of you ever stop writing, a dancing Talen-Jei will indeed be the least of your worries...I may also recruit a Hagraven.
The_Deadliest_Troll
Melon Lord
Hagravens are sexy. Give it toooooo meeeee
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Now that I have the mod installed, I should take some video of a Hagraven break-dancing and doing the booty bounce, just for you Troll!
Afatguiarist
Member
This story is too much awesome for my Ipod to handle. Seriously it crashes the app.
Sent from my iPod touch using Tapatalk
Sent from my iPod touch using Tapatalk
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Hey, thanks for checking it out! Though I am sorry it crashed your app!
Though I am sorry it crashed your app! 
Grogmar Ghrobash
'Tis better to be alone, then of bad company.
I just finished chapter one and I loved it! Can't wait to read the next 2 chapters. Good job!
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Hey, thank you so much, Grogmar! I really appreciate all the feedback and kind words! I hope you enjoy the next two chapters!
I plan to have the next chapter posted within a couple of days from now.
I plan to have the next chapter posted within a couple of days from now.
Just started reading. They say a picture is worth a thousand words so here is how I feel so far.
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Haha, excellent! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!
The Hungry Orc
Master of the Pyre
Any publishing company out there, if you are reading this, hire this lady now.
DO IT.
(Great job, Docta.)
DO IT.
(Great job, Docta.
)Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Thank you, Stormcloak! You are very kind! Getting published one day is an aspiration of mine, so fingers crossed!
I'll be checking out your work tonight, I promise - I've just been sidetracked here, this forum is nuts some days!
Getting published one day is an aspiration of mine, so fingers crossed! I'll be checking out your work tonight, I promise - I've just been sidetracked here, this forum is nuts some days!
xSuoiveDx
Dave, The Quiet One.
As is mine Good Docta
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Chapter 4
It must have been well past ten in the morning by the time she finally awoke - well past her intended time of rising. Dragon Bridge still waited far to the west, and her day’s journey would be one of the longest since leaving Cyrodiil. She knew she had to hasten back into the saddle. After quickly gathering her supplies she left the Nightgate, not even looking back at the innkeeper Hadring, who had given her a somewhat indifferent greeting. Not that he minded or took special offense. This young Breton had after all, in her exhaustion, overpaid the previous evening and the Nord would be content with the spoils for days to come.
Kallias gave a sharp neigh when she saw her rider speedily approach. After simultaneously offering a sugar cube to the restless mare and unhitching her, Penelope mounted and turned the steed to the path, crunching and clopping the snow underfoot. They would follow the road west, taking them across chilly expanses and through brisk winds bearing petite flakes. The broken stone path would take her alongside ancient ruins and trees that stretched suppliant branches to the skies. Morning slipped into midday, yielding refreshing mists that kissed her skin. She marveled at the simple beauty of rock and ground dusted with white, and admired Nature’s wintry cathedral as it spanned either side of the road. Somewhere a fire burned and she drew the sweet wood-smoke scent in deep, giving her pleasant chills.
After passing by a hulking Nordic ruin and stopping briefly to appreciate the structure for all of its timeworn allure, she decided to keep alert for any other archaic treasures that emerged from the frosty landscape. There were many such wonders throughout this rustic land: she had seen great divinities rise up from the ground, their majestic and sometimes frightening forms trapped in cold stonework. The sight of those colossal limbs against the horizon would catch her breathless. Spellbound, she would ride up to the imposing effigy and allow many minutes for her eyes to pour over the slopes and folds and radiating lines of the vestments. But it was always the faces of the deity that struck her most profoundly. And it was indeed the countenance that stirred in her a need to sketch the portrait.
It was a habit long ago first nourished in Cyrodiil, whose terrain dotted with statuary - both mortal and divine - she had as readily engaged. Many a day had she spent in the Imperial City’s famed Arboretum, looking upon the weathered likenesses of the Divines. Loose but deliberate strokes of charcoal upon paper would give them new life. The expressions of the cast, frozen though they may be, always seemed to her to reflect but a single moment in time. Whatever smiles or grimaces or sly grins or even emotionless stares that emanated from the stone, at the Arboretum and elsewhere, were insights to a greater story. The epic of Tiber Septim reflected in that stoically confident gaze, the serenity of Kynareth in her fair poise, the impishness of Clavicus Vile in that knowing smirk. All captivated her imagination and she could hear the voices of each echo in her ears.
But at present, it was not a sculpture that captured her immediate interest but rather a form on the road up ahead. Edging closer, she could make out what appeared to be a slow-moving wagon just before the fork in the path, a wagon loaded with a long and large wooden box. The closer she came, the more she became aware of the soft utterances of the driver. The mutterings were low at first, then suddenly came forth in shrill bursts. Curiosity prevailed and she rode up alongside the cart, noticing the slight limp that plagued it. She could not stifle a small gasp when the man came into view. Scarcely acknowledging the inquisitive Breton the man, clad in dusty jester’s attire, continued his ramblings of varied pitch. Although she could not be certain, her first instincts and his frame and features told her that he might well be an Imperial. Such a thought spurred her to ask this lone traveler about his observations and familiarity with her home village of Cheydinhal. But she missed her chance as the stranger never stopped his lyrical prattling about cats, rats, bards and a “mother” who by all accounts must have been close at hand but remained unseen. As strangely as the coachman had appeared in the mists, he faded into them after taking the road’s left fork. Penelope took a few moments to watch him vanish from view, though part of her sorely wished she could follow the odd traveler. Eccentricity unfailingly enticed and intrigued her.
Horse and rider resumed their own trek west, taking the right fork. As she had before the mysterious wagon and its driver appeared, she took to admiring the powder-brushed land. Before long, however, her keen eye again frustrated her haste and compelled her to slow Kallias to a stop. Large dark rocks caught her leftward gaze and beckoned; she could not ignore the temptation to explore. Just for a few minutes. She approached the lonely landmark, little realizing that she had dismounted and hitched her mare to a tree in all but one fluid motion. The circle of stones drew her inside it, whispering to her through light and icy gusts. A massive stone head adorned one end of the site and she could not help ascending the short staircase to the altar before it. The face of the chiseled boulder was not familiar to her but she quickly sketched it all the same, interested in eventually following up on its identity. Upon returning to the center of the landmark and replacing her tiny sketching paper in her pocket, she shifted her attention to the statue of Talos standing opposite the stone head. She looked down at the statue’s base, eying the miscellaneous items left by passing pilgrims.
While she did not dare disturb the offerings, she laid down some lavender beside them. Though she would habitually appeal to the benevolent divinities and work to avoid the notice and ire of those less charitable, she never truly could call herself especially pious. It was more a superstitious reverence for the part of the world ever veiled, glimpsed fleetingly in fearful incantations and humble vows. She had seen far too many curious things while living in Cheydinhal and traversing Cyrodiil to dispute the existence of an obscured realm, one ever-present and parallel to our own. There’s always more than that which we see. Never trust the eyes alone. Or you’ll miss the shadows in the light.
The hero-god stood proud though lonely in the dreary frost. Penelope admired the precision of the etching, the latent life in the stone. At any moment it seemed the sculpture would shift its weight and its eyes to meet hers – eyes that almost seemed imbued with a pale light. She merely blamed it on her weariness and proceeded to address the figure before her. “Greetings once more, Lord Septim. You’re the one they say this new war is all about. Hmm…I suppose we’ve all seen better days then, haven’t we?”
Brown eyes abruptly narrowed and her calm smile melted into an anxious frown. The rocks resounded with the telltale echo, faint though it was, of steel drawn from a scabbard. One hand instantly flew to her own blade and adeptly drew it with a single smooth action. Upon spinning around to face the center of the circle, she saw no one. No shadows, no figures. She very cautiously descended the old steps, her glance darting between the stones. Still nothing.
And then, she spied flashes of blue above the snowy ground and weaving through the structures. Before she could even focus on the evasive new presence, the hisses and chatters told her everything she needed to know about her foe. Her other hand readied a fire spell, bane of the malevolent creatures of winter’s heart. Two Wraiths rode the winds, pouring forth hollow screams as they lunged at the Breton. The first met her sword head-on and managed to nip her flesh as it retreated to the side. The second Wraith had risen high above and then disappeared, sure to return. Penelope vainly cursed the beings for such maneuvers. The first Wraith emerged from the side of a stone and screeched as she struck it with a solid ball of flame. The monster erupted with a quick flash and its luminous remnants sank to the ground.
She gritted her teeth as she continued a frustrated hunt for its companion. A rapid thrust from the back knocked her very nearly to the ground, causing her to cut her hand on her blade as she struggled to catch herself. Droplets of blood sprinkled the stone underneath her feet. After standing, she cried out as the Wraith blindsided her once more, this time succeeding in throwing her down. It took her a few seconds to regain a steady sight and in those moments, the Wraith initiated its next charge. Betrayed by its chatters and harsh whispers, the spirit took a blow from her steel as she raised her blade in deflection. But it came back again to weaken the Breton while she remained vulnerable. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see the blue form fly toward her, but she could not shift quickly enough. She braced for impact - impact that never came. After squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation, she rapidly re-opened them at the sound of metal striking a howling Wraith. She looked up and gasped.
A stranger, wrapped in black hooded robes, had turned his own blade against the spirit, a blade that flashed with a deep crimson. The Wraith languished from the hit and used its waning strength to make a final rush upon the woman, who stood ready to counter with a flame spell and a sword-thrust. The icy eidolon followed its companion and erupted with harsh light upon contact with the spherical inferno and eager weapon. The remains floated to the ground, surrounding her with glowing cerulean piles. After a moment to regain her breath she looked to the helpful stranger, who stood by silently grinning.
Still wary, she took a couple of steps toward the man, now able to discern the details of his countenance. Strange golden eyes stared out from a pale face, eyes that gleamed even in the sunlight. As his slight frame slowly shuffled into the shade of a nearby tree, their effulgence only intensified. Thin lips smirked below a narrow nose. Cheeks appeared gaunt, but not overly so. Long wisps of amber-colored hair peaked out from his hood and called attention to the dark markings on either side of his face. Penelope had seen war paint similar to it before, but not since coming to Skyrim. The design’s vague familiarity both fascinated and vexed her. But she would not have much longer to muse over the swirls and circles creeping along his temples and under his eyes. The robed man took a few steps backward, only hesitating momentarily as Penelope called out to him, thanking him and asking his name. Speechless, the man only broadened his eerie grin. Still clutching his blade he gave a courtly bow, never letting his gaze break from hers. The Breton woman could only manage to follow the stranger until he slipped behind the Talos statue. And vanished.
She deemed him a common trickster until she noticed the lack of footprints in the snow which would have lead away from his hiding place. No footprints, no sounds. No trace. As she returned to Kallias, shaken by her encounter, she tried to maintain her focus on the day’s goal. And she spurred her nervous steed to west, not daring to look back - but muttering to herself all the same about the very particular strangeness of the people found in Skyrim.
She made sure to pass by Fort Dunstad well out of sight, unsure as to who commanded it - be it the Imperial Legion, Stormcloaks or mere bandits. She had no way of knowing and saw no need for unnecessary entanglements, especially as the day rolled on. And her sword remained stained. The makeshift bandage for her hand had begun to loosen as the blood dried. But she paid it little mind. The once distant howls of wolves had grown nearer and while the animals themselves did not frighten her, she found herself uneasy with the reminders of the very lively barrens. After giving her mare a much-deserved nose stroke and sugary treat, she hurried her on more quickly than before. Light flakes returned to the winds as she moved a bit more to the north and then south again, winding her way into the hold of Hjaalmarch – mostly unfamiliar territory. She could tell by the sun that the day was edging ever closer to its inevitable repose and that knowledge made her all the more apprehensive about her bearings. She brought Kallias to a pause on the roadside and took some moments to open up a small notebook with a crumpled map. The landmarks had appeared to line up with what she had seen, but her antsy state kept her from being certain. She soon became lost in the markings upon the parchment, drowning out all peripheral vision and sounds. Not even a fretful neigh from Kallias broke her concentration. However, boisterous shouts from behind her were able to break the spell.
“Halt! You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people! What say you in your defense?”
Once more her face was swept by sickly pallor and her heart quickened its pace. Her throat grew even drier. She slowly, cautiously, turned Kallias to face the speaker. Her vision wavered slightly in the flake-filled winds, but was determined to focus her eyes as she drew closer. She could make out a small group of men donning armor with the colors of the Imperial Legion, that comforting red and brown. She raised both hands in a show of passivity, still straining to better behold the one who had yelled to her. And as soon as Kallias drew near enough, Penelope’s shock very hastily transformed into frustration - all amid hearty laughter from the man who had begun to arrest her.
“Heron!” She promptly dismounted and stomped up to the young soldier, giving him a hard shove to the shoulder. He, however, only chuckled at the assault. Strands of his dark hair whipped in the wind as he offered a warm yet mischievous smile.
“Well, well, of all people to stop on the road in the middle of nowhere! By the Eight, sister, what are you doing here? Come to check on me? Did mother send you?”
“I don’t take well to being surprised out in the wilderness like this. You of all people should know that best, Heron!”
“Well, of course I know that! Why do you think I enjoy it so?” He gave Kallias a pat on the nose, which only further perturbed both the horse and her rider. Heron, as was his wont, merely shrugged it off. “You’re far too high strung, Pippa. Always have been.”
Penelope looked on and crossed her arms, still irritated by the trick. “Good to see that a soldier’s life hasn’t changed you much. Though I have to wonder how you can be so damned cheerful these days.”
“And why ever not? The Army’s not so bad. Have had a few skirmishes here and there, but it’s been nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“This…” One arm gestured to the small group of Stormcloak prisoners-of-war in shackles nearby, while the other hand pinched her sibling’s armor. “This isn’t a game, Heron!”
“Where have you been, of course it is! It’s one big chess game, after all. We’re just the happy pawns. Suits me fine, though. There’s plenty of glory to be gained for pawns.”
Penelope shut her eyes, exhausted and exasperated. But she thought better of spilling her fatigue-fueled bitterness onto her brother. For despite her annoyance she was profoundly relieved to see him, and to see him apparently thriving. She drew a deep breath, in an effort to relax. And to prepare herself for what she knew was imminent.
“That’s not what I’m talking about anyway. Have they not told you?” She blinked as Heron placed both hands on her shoulders.
“Told me what, my dear, sweet, serious sister?”
“About our father.” Her voice, the way it trembled, rang cold in his head. And he absently drew his hands back.
“Told me what about father? What’s happened?” Penelope’s eyes widened at her brother’s words, and she could not muffle very bitter laughter.
“My gods, you’ve been fighting for them all this time, the least they could do was tell you about your own family!”
“What’s happened?”
Heron had always found mirth in most everything, even managing to turn tearful funerals into light-hearted festivities of remembrance. He was skilled at turning darkness into light. But now, it seemed as if all of the innate joyousness had simply evaporated from him. And merriment fell into gloom. His sister lead him to a nearby rock, one large enough for both to share and speak in private. And after anguish delayed her reply for a few moments, she turned to look her brother in his now glistening copper eyes.
“He…he’s dead, Heron.” Her own darker eyes became misted as she awaited his response. After silence and a rise to pace for several seconds, Heron angrily turned to her, index finger pointed firmly at her. Accusing her.
“That’s cruel, Pippa. I know my jesting annoys you, but it’s innocent. This is the lowest type of joke!”
Penelope rose to face her brother, outwardly resilient but still shattered inside. Heart-broken.
“It’s not a joke, I’m not joking! I wish I was…”
As she looked to the ground, Heron tried to catch his breath. He paced back and forth a bit longer and after deeply inhaling and exhaling, he turned a face puzzled and grief-stricken back to his sister.
“Wha…what happened? When?! How?!” The young woman returned to the rock, and her brother slowly joined her.
“Courier brought word just under two months ago. He was on assignment here…as far as I can tell, it was some sort of scouting mission. But you know how dodgy the Legion can be about handing over details. It could have been anything…” Her voice quivered and faded with heartsickness. But she compelled herself to resume. “Anyway, he captained a small group of soldiers, some of the very best, they say. The letter we received really told us no more than the barest facts. Something happened, it all went disastrous. No survivors. They don’t even know where they fell. Nor by whose hand.”
With those last words, Heron suddenly shifted his downward gaze upward, once again harshly rattled by what he had just heard.
“They don’t even know where they died…then how did they recover hi—”
“They didn’t. And that’s why I’m here. After making sure our mother and sisters would be alright, I came here for answers…and to bring him home. We can’t just leave him here, Heron. Lying unknown in some ditch or…or worse. It may well be a fool’s errand, but I have to try.”
Heron gave a long and grievous sigh, looking toward the skies. “Gods, Pippa…you know, in the back of my mind, I always knew it was a possibility. Hell, even a likelihood. He was a soldier all his life, I suppose in the end he was destined to die one. But not like this…not with so much…uncertainty. After all he’s done for the Legion, for the Emperor…why has there not been more information?”
Penelope again left the rock, arms crossed. She took her turn in pacing as she spoke, dismally shaking her head. “That’s the part that haunts me most, brother. It’s so hazy, all of it. No one knows where he was going or when he was there, no one has seen anything, no one knows anything. It’s like he vanished. Or worse still, that he never existed at all. Someone knows something, someone always does. But they’re choosing not to disclose it. I want to know why that is as much as I want to know what it is they’re hiding.”
Heron blinked a few times, trying truly to take in all that he had just been told. He searched for anything that would make it all make sense to him. But it was predictably to no avail. There was nothing in his mind that could explain away such misery. Such injustice.
“This…this is insane. It’s a bad dream…twisted work of Vaermina, this is!”
“I’ve told myself that every day since that old messenger rode up to the farm. And no matter what…no matter how hard I pray to benevolent spirits to make things right, to wake us all up from this…he’s still gone. And I’ve got to know what happened.”
Long minutes of silence passed between the two as they reflected. Their loss was altogether unfathomable and yet, here they were forced to put it into words, to give it a new kind of reality. It was Heron who finally ended the somber hush with a most practical question.
“Well…sister…what will you do now? Got any leads?”
“Actually, I was on my way to Dragon Bridge. They say there’s an Oculatus post out there.”
“Indeed?” Heron’s eyes flashed with intrigue. “You think they’ll tell you anything?” She shrugged softly. Her gaze now followed the drifting snows. Half-aware.
“They’re not likely to tell me much. We both know how secretive they are…even with their officers’ children.”
“Ah, but you’ve always been good at reading between the lines. I’m sure they’ll give you something you can use, whether they intend to or not.”
“We may hope as much.” More thoughtful silence – though this time, it was briefer.
“How long have you been here anyway?” Such was another practical question from a protective brother to a downcast and preoccupied sister.
“About five weeks, give or take a few days.”
“Well…where have you been since you got here? You just roaming about? You need any gold?”
“Erm, you could say I’ve been roaming. It’s not been glamorous, but I’ve done alright. And no need, brother, I’m fine. I’ve got plenty to keep me sheltered and fed.”
“How?”
“You needn’t sound so shocked, really, I’ve just been doing odd jobs here and there. The locals are always in need of a helping hand. An errand girl. It’s the same everywhere, it seems.”
“Spent much time in Riften then?” The city’s name jolted her from her bemusement.
“Wha…well, a little, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
“Ha, no reason." He made no effort to conceal in his renewed smile his curiosity at her brisk reply.
“I know that look, Heron. What?”
“I’ve been to Riften. Well, passed through it, really. Had to help resupply one of the eastern camps and we all stopped in there. Dingy place. But I hear it’s pretty lively below ground. A place where decent ‘errand’ children are in high demand.”
“…You know quite well that I wouldn’t know about that sort of thing. I’ve only spent time there to try to get some clues. There are actually a number of places in that city where Imperial information networks cross, and I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open. I think Riften and Solitude will be my best bets. Well, in addition to Dragon Bridge of course…if it pans out as I hope.”
“Indeed, sister. Well, you know I’ll be doing my part to try to find anything out that I can. Not that they’ll tell me anything really, me being just a grunt. But I can just…I don’t know…annoy people until I too get some answers.”
“Gods know you’re very good at that.” She flashed him a small grin, one which he gladly returned.
“I’ve missed you, Pippa. For all of the abuse I’ve endured at your behest, I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, Heron. And please…don’t be the cause of another letter sent home to Cheydinhal. Mother couldn’t bear it, Photina and Korinna…none of us could bear it-”
“I know, Pippa. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“Hmpf. I know you, and I know how tempted you’ll be to go rampaging into some idiotic act of bravado so the local girls will fawn over you. It’s not worth it.”
“Ha, you do know me, sis. But I promise you…I’ll come home. Just gotta do my time here in lovely Hjaalmarch, heh.” He paused, narrowing his eyes in a puckish glance. “And you promise me that you won’t stir things up here and get yourself into any tough binds, especially ones that I can’t save you from.” He gave a warm wink as his sister stood up from the rock.
“Of course not. You know I stay above the fray. I’ll come find you again, when I have any news. Be careful, brother. And good luck.” The two siblings embraced, allowing their hug to linger several bittersweet moments. And then they parted, she to continue her journey west and he to continue escorting his rebel prisoners to the distant Imperial camp.
As she lead Kallias on down the main path, a burning kindled in her eyes - a sharp, familiar pain that she fought at every turn. But this time, she could not stave off the brackish waves welling up, threatening to spill out. Her steps gradually slowed, until they stopped completely. She stood there on the side of the empty road, listening to the soft breeze rustle leaves and whistle through stone. She stood, until faltering legs collapsed under her.
Falling to her knees, she wept heavily in the snowy dust.
It must have been well past ten in the morning by the time she finally awoke - well past her intended time of rising. Dragon Bridge still waited far to the west, and her day’s journey would be one of the longest since leaving Cyrodiil. She knew she had to hasten back into the saddle. After quickly gathering her supplies she left the Nightgate, not even looking back at the innkeeper Hadring, who had given her a somewhat indifferent greeting. Not that he minded or took special offense. This young Breton had after all, in her exhaustion, overpaid the previous evening and the Nord would be content with the spoils for days to come.
Kallias gave a sharp neigh when she saw her rider speedily approach. After simultaneously offering a sugar cube to the restless mare and unhitching her, Penelope mounted and turned the steed to the path, crunching and clopping the snow underfoot. They would follow the road west, taking them across chilly expanses and through brisk winds bearing petite flakes. The broken stone path would take her alongside ancient ruins and trees that stretched suppliant branches to the skies. Morning slipped into midday, yielding refreshing mists that kissed her skin. She marveled at the simple beauty of rock and ground dusted with white, and admired Nature’s wintry cathedral as it spanned either side of the road. Somewhere a fire burned and she drew the sweet wood-smoke scent in deep, giving her pleasant chills.
After passing by a hulking Nordic ruin and stopping briefly to appreciate the structure for all of its timeworn allure, she decided to keep alert for any other archaic treasures that emerged from the frosty landscape. There were many such wonders throughout this rustic land: she had seen great divinities rise up from the ground, their majestic and sometimes frightening forms trapped in cold stonework. The sight of those colossal limbs against the horizon would catch her breathless. Spellbound, she would ride up to the imposing effigy and allow many minutes for her eyes to pour over the slopes and folds and radiating lines of the vestments. But it was always the faces of the deity that struck her most profoundly. And it was indeed the countenance that stirred in her a need to sketch the portrait.
It was a habit long ago first nourished in Cyrodiil, whose terrain dotted with statuary - both mortal and divine - she had as readily engaged. Many a day had she spent in the Imperial City’s famed Arboretum, looking upon the weathered likenesses of the Divines. Loose but deliberate strokes of charcoal upon paper would give them new life. The expressions of the cast, frozen though they may be, always seemed to her to reflect but a single moment in time. Whatever smiles or grimaces or sly grins or even emotionless stares that emanated from the stone, at the Arboretum and elsewhere, were insights to a greater story. The epic of Tiber Septim reflected in that stoically confident gaze, the serenity of Kynareth in her fair poise, the impishness of Clavicus Vile in that knowing smirk. All captivated her imagination and she could hear the voices of each echo in her ears.
But at present, it was not a sculpture that captured her immediate interest but rather a form on the road up ahead. Edging closer, she could make out what appeared to be a slow-moving wagon just before the fork in the path, a wagon loaded with a long and large wooden box. The closer she came, the more she became aware of the soft utterances of the driver. The mutterings were low at first, then suddenly came forth in shrill bursts. Curiosity prevailed and she rode up alongside the cart, noticing the slight limp that plagued it. She could not stifle a small gasp when the man came into view. Scarcely acknowledging the inquisitive Breton the man, clad in dusty jester’s attire, continued his ramblings of varied pitch. Although she could not be certain, her first instincts and his frame and features told her that he might well be an Imperial. Such a thought spurred her to ask this lone traveler about his observations and familiarity with her home village of Cheydinhal. But she missed her chance as the stranger never stopped his lyrical prattling about cats, rats, bards and a “mother” who by all accounts must have been close at hand but remained unseen. As strangely as the coachman had appeared in the mists, he faded into them after taking the road’s left fork. Penelope took a few moments to watch him vanish from view, though part of her sorely wished she could follow the odd traveler. Eccentricity unfailingly enticed and intrigued her.
Horse and rider resumed their own trek west, taking the right fork. As she had before the mysterious wagon and its driver appeared, she took to admiring the powder-brushed land. Before long, however, her keen eye again frustrated her haste and compelled her to slow Kallias to a stop. Large dark rocks caught her leftward gaze and beckoned; she could not ignore the temptation to explore. Just for a few minutes. She approached the lonely landmark, little realizing that she had dismounted and hitched her mare to a tree in all but one fluid motion. The circle of stones drew her inside it, whispering to her through light and icy gusts. A massive stone head adorned one end of the site and she could not help ascending the short staircase to the altar before it. The face of the chiseled boulder was not familiar to her but she quickly sketched it all the same, interested in eventually following up on its identity. Upon returning to the center of the landmark and replacing her tiny sketching paper in her pocket, she shifted her attention to the statue of Talos standing opposite the stone head. She looked down at the statue’s base, eying the miscellaneous items left by passing pilgrims.
While she did not dare disturb the offerings, she laid down some lavender beside them. Though she would habitually appeal to the benevolent divinities and work to avoid the notice and ire of those less charitable, she never truly could call herself especially pious. It was more a superstitious reverence for the part of the world ever veiled, glimpsed fleetingly in fearful incantations and humble vows. She had seen far too many curious things while living in Cheydinhal and traversing Cyrodiil to dispute the existence of an obscured realm, one ever-present and parallel to our own. There’s always more than that which we see. Never trust the eyes alone. Or you’ll miss the shadows in the light.
The hero-god stood proud though lonely in the dreary frost. Penelope admired the precision of the etching, the latent life in the stone. At any moment it seemed the sculpture would shift its weight and its eyes to meet hers – eyes that almost seemed imbued with a pale light. She merely blamed it on her weariness and proceeded to address the figure before her. “Greetings once more, Lord Septim. You’re the one they say this new war is all about. Hmm…I suppose we’ve all seen better days then, haven’t we?”
Brown eyes abruptly narrowed and her calm smile melted into an anxious frown. The rocks resounded with the telltale echo, faint though it was, of steel drawn from a scabbard. One hand instantly flew to her own blade and adeptly drew it with a single smooth action. Upon spinning around to face the center of the circle, she saw no one. No shadows, no figures. She very cautiously descended the old steps, her glance darting between the stones. Still nothing.
And then, she spied flashes of blue above the snowy ground and weaving through the structures. Before she could even focus on the evasive new presence, the hisses and chatters told her everything she needed to know about her foe. Her other hand readied a fire spell, bane of the malevolent creatures of winter’s heart. Two Wraiths rode the winds, pouring forth hollow screams as they lunged at the Breton. The first met her sword head-on and managed to nip her flesh as it retreated to the side. The second Wraith had risen high above and then disappeared, sure to return. Penelope vainly cursed the beings for such maneuvers. The first Wraith emerged from the side of a stone and screeched as she struck it with a solid ball of flame. The monster erupted with a quick flash and its luminous remnants sank to the ground.
She gritted her teeth as she continued a frustrated hunt for its companion. A rapid thrust from the back knocked her very nearly to the ground, causing her to cut her hand on her blade as she struggled to catch herself. Droplets of blood sprinkled the stone underneath her feet. After standing, she cried out as the Wraith blindsided her once more, this time succeeding in throwing her down. It took her a few seconds to regain a steady sight and in those moments, the Wraith initiated its next charge. Betrayed by its chatters and harsh whispers, the spirit took a blow from her steel as she raised her blade in deflection. But it came back again to weaken the Breton while she remained vulnerable. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see the blue form fly toward her, but she could not shift quickly enough. She braced for impact - impact that never came. After squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation, she rapidly re-opened them at the sound of metal striking a howling Wraith. She looked up and gasped.
A stranger, wrapped in black hooded robes, had turned his own blade against the spirit, a blade that flashed with a deep crimson. The Wraith languished from the hit and used its waning strength to make a final rush upon the woman, who stood ready to counter with a flame spell and a sword-thrust. The icy eidolon followed its companion and erupted with harsh light upon contact with the spherical inferno and eager weapon. The remains floated to the ground, surrounding her with glowing cerulean piles. After a moment to regain her breath she looked to the helpful stranger, who stood by silently grinning.
Still wary, she took a couple of steps toward the man, now able to discern the details of his countenance. Strange golden eyes stared out from a pale face, eyes that gleamed even in the sunlight. As his slight frame slowly shuffled into the shade of a nearby tree, their effulgence only intensified. Thin lips smirked below a narrow nose. Cheeks appeared gaunt, but not overly so. Long wisps of amber-colored hair peaked out from his hood and called attention to the dark markings on either side of his face. Penelope had seen war paint similar to it before, but not since coming to Skyrim. The design’s vague familiarity both fascinated and vexed her. But she would not have much longer to muse over the swirls and circles creeping along his temples and under his eyes. The robed man took a few steps backward, only hesitating momentarily as Penelope called out to him, thanking him and asking his name. Speechless, the man only broadened his eerie grin. Still clutching his blade he gave a courtly bow, never letting his gaze break from hers. The Breton woman could only manage to follow the stranger until he slipped behind the Talos statue. And vanished.
She deemed him a common trickster until she noticed the lack of footprints in the snow which would have lead away from his hiding place. No footprints, no sounds. No trace. As she returned to Kallias, shaken by her encounter, she tried to maintain her focus on the day’s goal. And she spurred her nervous steed to west, not daring to look back - but muttering to herself all the same about the very particular strangeness of the people found in Skyrim.
…………..
She made sure to pass by Fort Dunstad well out of sight, unsure as to who commanded it - be it the Imperial Legion, Stormcloaks or mere bandits. She had no way of knowing and saw no need for unnecessary entanglements, especially as the day rolled on. And her sword remained stained. The makeshift bandage for her hand had begun to loosen as the blood dried. But she paid it little mind. The once distant howls of wolves had grown nearer and while the animals themselves did not frighten her, she found herself uneasy with the reminders of the very lively barrens. After giving her mare a much-deserved nose stroke and sugary treat, she hurried her on more quickly than before. Light flakes returned to the winds as she moved a bit more to the north and then south again, winding her way into the hold of Hjaalmarch – mostly unfamiliar territory. She could tell by the sun that the day was edging ever closer to its inevitable repose and that knowledge made her all the more apprehensive about her bearings. She brought Kallias to a pause on the roadside and took some moments to open up a small notebook with a crumpled map. The landmarks had appeared to line up with what she had seen, but her antsy state kept her from being certain. She soon became lost in the markings upon the parchment, drowning out all peripheral vision and sounds. Not even a fretful neigh from Kallias broke her concentration. However, boisterous shouts from behind her were able to break the spell.
“Halt! You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people! What say you in your defense?”
Once more her face was swept by sickly pallor and her heart quickened its pace. Her throat grew even drier. She slowly, cautiously, turned Kallias to face the speaker. Her vision wavered slightly in the flake-filled winds, but was determined to focus her eyes as she drew closer. She could make out a small group of men donning armor with the colors of the Imperial Legion, that comforting red and brown. She raised both hands in a show of passivity, still straining to better behold the one who had yelled to her. And as soon as Kallias drew near enough, Penelope’s shock very hastily transformed into frustration - all amid hearty laughter from the man who had begun to arrest her.
“Heron!” She promptly dismounted and stomped up to the young soldier, giving him a hard shove to the shoulder. He, however, only chuckled at the assault. Strands of his dark hair whipped in the wind as he offered a warm yet mischievous smile.
“Well, well, of all people to stop on the road in the middle of nowhere! By the Eight, sister, what are you doing here? Come to check on me? Did mother send you?”
“I don’t take well to being surprised out in the wilderness like this. You of all people should know that best, Heron!”
“Well, of course I know that! Why do you think I enjoy it so?” He gave Kallias a pat on the nose, which only further perturbed both the horse and her rider. Heron, as was his wont, merely shrugged it off. “You’re far too high strung, Pippa. Always have been.”
Penelope looked on and crossed her arms, still irritated by the trick. “Good to see that a soldier’s life hasn’t changed you much. Though I have to wonder how you can be so damned cheerful these days.”
“And why ever not? The Army’s not so bad. Have had a few skirmishes here and there, but it’s been nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“This…” One arm gestured to the small group of Stormcloak prisoners-of-war in shackles nearby, while the other hand pinched her sibling’s armor. “This isn’t a game, Heron!”
“Where have you been, of course it is! It’s one big chess game, after all. We’re just the happy pawns. Suits me fine, though. There’s plenty of glory to be gained for pawns.”
Penelope shut her eyes, exhausted and exasperated. But she thought better of spilling her fatigue-fueled bitterness onto her brother. For despite her annoyance she was profoundly relieved to see him, and to see him apparently thriving. She drew a deep breath, in an effort to relax. And to prepare herself for what she knew was imminent.
“That’s not what I’m talking about anyway. Have they not told you?” She blinked as Heron placed both hands on her shoulders.
“Told me what, my dear, sweet, serious sister?”
“About our father.” Her voice, the way it trembled, rang cold in his head. And he absently drew his hands back.
“Told me what about father? What’s happened?” Penelope’s eyes widened at her brother’s words, and she could not muffle very bitter laughter.
“My gods, you’ve been fighting for them all this time, the least they could do was tell you about your own family!”
“What’s happened?”
Heron had always found mirth in most everything, even managing to turn tearful funerals into light-hearted festivities of remembrance. He was skilled at turning darkness into light. But now, it seemed as if all of the innate joyousness had simply evaporated from him. And merriment fell into gloom. His sister lead him to a nearby rock, one large enough for both to share and speak in private. And after anguish delayed her reply for a few moments, she turned to look her brother in his now glistening copper eyes.
“He…he’s dead, Heron.” Her own darker eyes became misted as she awaited his response. After silence and a rise to pace for several seconds, Heron angrily turned to her, index finger pointed firmly at her. Accusing her.
“That’s cruel, Pippa. I know my jesting annoys you, but it’s innocent. This is the lowest type of joke!”
Penelope rose to face her brother, outwardly resilient but still shattered inside. Heart-broken.
“It’s not a joke, I’m not joking! I wish I was…”
As she looked to the ground, Heron tried to catch his breath. He paced back and forth a bit longer and after deeply inhaling and exhaling, he turned a face puzzled and grief-stricken back to his sister.
“Wha…what happened? When?! How?!” The young woman returned to the rock, and her brother slowly joined her.
“Courier brought word just under two months ago. He was on assignment here…as far as I can tell, it was some sort of scouting mission. But you know how dodgy the Legion can be about handing over details. It could have been anything…” Her voice quivered and faded with heartsickness. But she compelled herself to resume. “Anyway, he captained a small group of soldiers, some of the very best, they say. The letter we received really told us no more than the barest facts. Something happened, it all went disastrous. No survivors. They don’t even know where they fell. Nor by whose hand.”
With those last words, Heron suddenly shifted his downward gaze upward, once again harshly rattled by what he had just heard.
“They don’t even know where they died…then how did they recover hi—”
“They didn’t. And that’s why I’m here. After making sure our mother and sisters would be alright, I came here for answers…and to bring him home. We can’t just leave him here, Heron. Lying unknown in some ditch or…or worse. It may well be a fool’s errand, but I have to try.”
Heron gave a long and grievous sigh, looking toward the skies. “Gods, Pippa…you know, in the back of my mind, I always knew it was a possibility. Hell, even a likelihood. He was a soldier all his life, I suppose in the end he was destined to die one. But not like this…not with so much…uncertainty. After all he’s done for the Legion, for the Emperor…why has there not been more information?”
Penelope again left the rock, arms crossed. She took her turn in pacing as she spoke, dismally shaking her head. “That’s the part that haunts me most, brother. It’s so hazy, all of it. No one knows where he was going or when he was there, no one has seen anything, no one knows anything. It’s like he vanished. Or worse still, that he never existed at all. Someone knows something, someone always does. But they’re choosing not to disclose it. I want to know why that is as much as I want to know what it is they’re hiding.”
Heron blinked a few times, trying truly to take in all that he had just been told. He searched for anything that would make it all make sense to him. But it was predictably to no avail. There was nothing in his mind that could explain away such misery. Such injustice.
“This…this is insane. It’s a bad dream…twisted work of Vaermina, this is!”
“I’ve told myself that every day since that old messenger rode up to the farm. And no matter what…no matter how hard I pray to benevolent spirits to make things right, to wake us all up from this…he’s still gone. And I’ve got to know what happened.”
Long minutes of silence passed between the two as they reflected. Their loss was altogether unfathomable and yet, here they were forced to put it into words, to give it a new kind of reality. It was Heron who finally ended the somber hush with a most practical question.
“Well…sister…what will you do now? Got any leads?”
“Actually, I was on my way to Dragon Bridge. They say there’s an Oculatus post out there.”
“Indeed?” Heron’s eyes flashed with intrigue. “You think they’ll tell you anything?” She shrugged softly. Her gaze now followed the drifting snows. Half-aware.
“They’re not likely to tell me much. We both know how secretive they are…even with their officers’ children.”
“Ah, but you’ve always been good at reading between the lines. I’m sure they’ll give you something you can use, whether they intend to or not.”
“We may hope as much.” More thoughtful silence – though this time, it was briefer.
“How long have you been here anyway?” Such was another practical question from a protective brother to a downcast and preoccupied sister.
“About five weeks, give or take a few days.”
“Well…where have you been since you got here? You just roaming about? You need any gold?”
“Erm, you could say I’ve been roaming. It’s not been glamorous, but I’ve done alright. And no need, brother, I’m fine. I’ve got plenty to keep me sheltered and fed.”
“How?”
“You needn’t sound so shocked, really, I’ve just been doing odd jobs here and there. The locals are always in need of a helping hand. An errand girl. It’s the same everywhere, it seems.”
“Spent much time in Riften then?” The city’s name jolted her from her bemusement.
“Wha…well, a little, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
“Ha, no reason." He made no effort to conceal in his renewed smile his curiosity at her brisk reply.
“I know that look, Heron. What?”
“I’ve been to Riften. Well, passed through it, really. Had to help resupply one of the eastern camps and we all stopped in there. Dingy place. But I hear it’s pretty lively below ground. A place where decent ‘errand’ children are in high demand.”
“…You know quite well that I wouldn’t know about that sort of thing. I’ve only spent time there to try to get some clues. There are actually a number of places in that city where Imperial information networks cross, and I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open. I think Riften and Solitude will be my best bets. Well, in addition to Dragon Bridge of course…if it pans out as I hope.”
“Indeed, sister. Well, you know I’ll be doing my part to try to find anything out that I can. Not that they’ll tell me anything really, me being just a grunt. But I can just…I don’t know…annoy people until I too get some answers.”
“Gods know you’re very good at that.” She flashed him a small grin, one which he gladly returned.
“I’ve missed you, Pippa. For all of the abuse I’ve endured at your behest, I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, Heron. And please…don’t be the cause of another letter sent home to Cheydinhal. Mother couldn’t bear it, Photina and Korinna…none of us could bear it-”
“I know, Pippa. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“Hmpf. I know you, and I know how tempted you’ll be to go rampaging into some idiotic act of bravado so the local girls will fawn over you. It’s not worth it.”
“Ha, you do know me, sis. But I promise you…I’ll come home. Just gotta do my time here in lovely Hjaalmarch, heh.” He paused, narrowing his eyes in a puckish glance. “And you promise me that you won’t stir things up here and get yourself into any tough binds, especially ones that I can’t save you from.” He gave a warm wink as his sister stood up from the rock.
“Of course not. You know I stay above the fray. I’ll come find you again, when I have any news. Be careful, brother. And good luck.” The two siblings embraced, allowing their hug to linger several bittersweet moments. And then they parted, she to continue her journey west and he to continue escorting his rebel prisoners to the distant Imperial camp.
As she lead Kallias on down the main path, a burning kindled in her eyes - a sharp, familiar pain that she fought at every turn. But this time, she could not stave off the brackish waves welling up, threatening to spill out. Her steps gradually slowed, until they stopped completely. She stood there on the side of the empty road, listening to the soft breeze rustle leaves and whistle through stone. She stood, until faltering legs collapsed under her.
Falling to her knees, she wept heavily in the snowy dust.
"Moar!"
Docta Corvina
Well-Known Member
Haha, I'm glad you're enjoying it, Pun! I'm greatly enjoying writing it!
I personally cannot wait for the next chapters. They're gonna be interesting.
I personally cannot wait for the next chapters. They're gonna be interesting.
Jersey Dagmar
Just in time for the fiyahworks show! BOOM!
SKYRIM FORUMS Y U NO LET ME GIVE CAITLIN REPUTATION?!
