Kathodos: A Return of Exiles

  • Welcome to Skyrim Forums! Register now to participate using the 'Sign Up' button on the right. You may now register with your Facebook or Steam account!
  • Hey there, thanks for visiting our fan fiction section. You should only write stories that aren't related to your character's encounters, if you wish to write a story about your character please post an entry in your blog.

    Before reading or writing a story, please make sure to read this thread. Thanks, Guest, and we hope you enjoy this section.

Epic Keith

By Ysmir you're going to FREEZE to death!
I want to give rep but I can't :sadface:
 

Matt

The Last Pen Fighter
Despite my usual aversion to incomplete forum stories, I must compliment your efforts, Docta Corvina. Aside from the prose, which is polished and efficient, I must commend you on the balance you've found between using the world of Skyrim and all its tropes as well as your own unique content. It is my personal belief that this story has found so much success here not because of universe inclusion but of your fully-fleshed out and vastly entertaining characters. You likely know as well as I how rare that can be on a writing forum where many writers view space as a premium and tend to cut back on characterization for the sake of word count and such. However, there is no trace of anemia in your work, Docta. I am thoroughly impressed as of Chapter 5.

I have remarks regarding the mechanics and such that might help you improve to an even greater level but I will save those for until after I've finished what you've managed to post thus far. Some constructive criticism is the least I can do in thanks of your efforts with this work. Consider me another fan in your growing legion of the same.

~Matt
 

Dradin

Tribunal Temple Acolyte
Khajiit believes your work is stunning. If only Magrus would grant his wisdom to Khajiit, so a masterpiece could be created like this one...

You work is great, and I thoroughly anticipate your next chapters.
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
NOTE TO MY READERS: This story is NOT abandoned. Though it has been months since any activity or postings, it's been on an unofficial hiatus necessitated by various work/personal developments. I will be back on track to pick up posting again. I repeat, this story will be continued and finished. It's just been very slow-going in the meantime because of life demands. I apologize deeply for the lag and the authorial disappearance. Hope to see you back to read more in the coming weeks. :)
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
Chapter 20

Upon at last reentering the camp, her lungs near to bursting from the break-less dash, she stopped to try and catch her breath. Her hands dropped to her knees and she leaned, eyes still wide and facing the ground. She was sure that during her sprint back her not entirely agreeable boots cut into her foot in a few places. And the pain was starting to set in as the adrenaline began to lessen. She did her best to ignore the sensation as she continued to gasp for air. Nearby soldiers noticed her standing just inside the camp’s perimeters, looking shaky and spent from flight. And they hurriedly asked her what was wrong, and what she had seen. She only shook her head and said between breaths that she had to find Carius immediately. And shortly after, she quickly made her way toward the officers’ quarters. The note, small and light though it was, felt weighted in her hand as she ran. She almost ran right past the tent in her panicked haste. But when she finally ran into it, she found it empty.

“Carius?! Damn it, where are you?!”

The swords that had been on the long map table were now gone. The lieutenant, Curtius, was also nowhere to be found. Biting her lip, Penelope ducked back out of the tent and scanned the area.

“Carius!”

"My lady, what's wrong?" Having seen the Breton return to the camp, Liulfr approached from the side. His gentle eyes sparkled with alarm, and the Breton paused. And as much as she did not want her comrades to know what shook her so, there was no hiding it forever. So many secrets retained, by everyone. They would all come to light eventually - that much was near certain. Contrarily still, she bit her tongue as much as she could.

"He...I need to speak with Carius this instant, it's incredibly important. But I can't find him. Do you know where he might have gone?"

"Well, actually..." Brawny arm reached behind him and absently massaged an aching neck. The Nord’s hesitance was clear, and it only made the Breton press with greater urgency.

"Yes? Please tell me, there is something he must have without delay."

"He...eh..." He paused. And Penelope blinked.

"Yes?"

Liulfr sighed and shrugged, gesturing past the camp. "I think he's headed toward Eldergleam Sanctuary to the northeast. I don't know what's happened there, but whatever it is sounds extremely serious. I've not seen him look so bleak and determined as I have this day."

"Eldergleam?" Brows knitted as her own dark eyes narrowed. "How long ago since you last saw him?"

"Oh, no more than ten minutes ago. That's when he and Lieutenant Curtius left the tent and headed to speak with a few others before disappearing. But-"

"Ten minutes? There's still time... Thank you, Legionnaire!" As soon as the young woman turned and began to hasten away, the Nord called out after her - but to no avail.

"But...my Lady!"

The Breton gave a quick over-the-shoulder nod of thanks and darted toward the makeshift stables. The Nord stood watching, unsure and growing more nervous with each second that passed. Both hands flew to the back of his head and rested there.

"Good luck, my Lady...Talos go with you."

But Penelope was not presently concerned with luck or any immediate danger to her person. Rather, the missive she clenched tightly in a now sweaty fist was more than enough to renew her energy and propel her forward. You better not have gotten too far ahead, damnit...

Seeing the group of horses at the corner of the camp suddenly reminded her of the mare she had lost during her attempted trek near Morthal. The last time she had seen her Kallias was when she had been paralyzed and knocked from the saddle. Her heart sank with the recollections, hoping that wherever her steed was now she was at least safe and in good health. There was a certain amount of guilt she felt over the horse's terror and possible fate. Maybe you made it back to a town. Maybe you even made it all the way back to Riften. Maybe. I pray that you did.

But now, without so much as a fleeting consideration, Penelope unhitched and mounted one of the mares. She wasted no time in spurring the animal away and past a very preoccupied Curtius. The young officer's mind was fixed upon the realization that for this brief time, he was the acting commander in the Praefect's absence. And he groaned a bit as he walked back toward to the center of the camp. Taking a seat upon one of the wooden chairs before the fire pit, he did not even notice the Breton Legionnaire rush away on horseback - his thoughts and his worry so consumed him. And it was all the better for the Legionnaire, whom he would have certainly halted amid her dash. Even ever-pleasant Liulfr could not hide his concern as he watched the young woman ride off. He bandied about the idea that he should inform the lieutenant at once, to rein in the headstrong soldier before she wound up in perhaps even greater trouble. But he decided to trust his newest friend's faith and silently hope for the best. There was a hint of gray in the sky now and he hoped that it was not an ill omen.

Penelope did not get far beyond the perimeters before she spotted the Praefect alone on the path. He wore a dusty cloak over him, likely in an effort to move more inconspicuously on his journey. And while his horse's trot was not overly panicked in pace, it was certainly quickening. The Breton gasped and called out to her friend, her own mare at a frantic gallop as she approached.

"Carius! Carius, stop!"

The Imperial’s steed reared up as he abruptly seized the reins to stop it. "Nells?! What are you doing?! Get back to camp!"

"I will, Carius, but not until you read what I've got to deliver!" She thrust her fist forward.

"Deliver? Huh? What is-"

"This...read this!"

The young woman brought her horse to stand alongside that of the Praefect, both animals whinnying and snorting from the sudden halt. Through all of the activity since its receipt the note had become somewhat dirty and crumpled, but it remained legible - this at least was a small blessing. And as she handed it over to the officer, she watched and waited for his reaction.

She did not have to wait long. For almost as soon as he eyed the handwriting, it seemed readily familiar to him and he gasped. And half-shook his head in disbelief.

“This…it can’t be…whe-where did you get this?!”

“I…I…uh…well…”

“Tell me!”

“I…I think I must have met your Quintus. Along the road. I was…I was chasing after a fox and then I found him.”

The Imperial swallowed nervously, somewhat afraid even to ask his next question. “...What did he look like?”

“Erm, well, he…he had sort of reddish hair, very blue eyes, like my mother’s…”

Carius gave an exasperated sigh, followed by cynical chuckles. “Well, I’ll be damned…”

The Breton nodded with an uneasy smile. “Same Quintus then, I take it.”

“Where did you last see him?”

“I…I don’t know.” She raised an unsteady hand to her forehead, as though conveying feverishness. “As I said, I was following after that fox and I went pretty far up the path a ways and…I honestly don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember? How long ago was this?”

“…Not long.”

The Imperial grew more incredulous and his patience slipped with every reply. “So, then? You can’t remember where you were when you saw him? How did you make your way back to the camp then?”

“I…I don’t know! Damnit, Carius! It’s like my mind is hazy now. I can see him most clearly, but I cannot recall precisely where we were. I can’t explain it, but I’m sorry! Suffices to say that it was nearby.”

Her final statement rattled the officer most. She indeed could not have encountered him far from the camp. They had spoken not long ago and in the meantime, she had come upon this note. If it had been Heron who brandished the missive now, he would have been reluctant to believe it. But he knew the difference between a playful Nells and a serious one. This Quintus, the man who haunted his thoughts so often lately, was very likely still close. The trees, tall and proud and ancient, hid many things. Where was he now? Somewhere amid the thick foliage, watching them converse on the road? He didn't want to think about it too long.

“Alright. I believe you. Truth be told, similar things have happened on his account already. As for you, though, you must get back to the camp! Especially in light of this.” He glowered at the note he still tightly clutched.

“But what does it mean, Carius? It looks like riddles to my eyes, but you’ve always been far better at that sort of thing.”

The Praefect quickly shook his head, agitated. “I…I don’t know. I’m not sure. It’s not as if I have expert knowledge of this man, I can only guess as to his meaning here. Which seems anything but benevolent... Nevertheless, it’s none of your concern. Forget you know anything of it, and go about the day’s duties at camp. And say nothing of it to anyone. I won’t have the men troubled by yet another thing.”

The Breton blinked and slowly sighed. Penelope knew better than to protest. Although she did not try to hide her disappointment, she nodded. "Alright. But, please...keep your eyes on the skies, Carius. We're not alone out here."

The Breton woman dearly hoped that the luck she had enjoyed would follow her friend as he struck out alone. Her mind could not dispel the nagging images of the scaly foe that had pursued her and Mercer in the wilderness. The sounds and shadow she had seen from the camp recently kept her on edge. Something told her it was only really a matter of time. That the beast would return to finish what it had begun - something in its strange, guttural words had convinced her of that. How much longer before it came crashing down upon them again? All she could do was pray that it would wait until it found her alone on some snowy plain - and not amongst innocents on the ground. But it was not hers to guarantee.

The young officer hesitated, then offered a weak nod in reply. "...I will."

And Penelope spurred her mare back toward the camp. But before being out of earshot of the Imperial, she called to him over her shoulder.

“Be careful!”

Her horse’s galloping grew fainter until the officer no longer could hear it. He sighed once more as he stared down the path, newly clouded with kicked-up dust. It was then that he noticed the stillness. The absolute quiet. Not even birds stirred in the trees. Not even wind.

He opened the note in his hand and re-read the phrases charmingly scrawled on the page. The voice that belonged to the signed name echoed in his mind. So much puzzlement in it - and yet, a strange budding clarity as well.

“You’re warning me. That’s all this could be – what else could these words possibly mean? ‘Flashes of steel, crashes of thunder’… But where – who - is it coming from?! Gods damn this! Damn it all! Damn you!”

He wanted to shred the note into countless pieces. He wanted to cast them to the ground and never look back. As quickly and inexplicably as all of this eerie nonsense had appeared, he wanted it to vanish. If only destroying the note, by rips or by flames, could send it all back to Oblivion whence it likely came. But Carius was forced to admit to himself that it was not that simple. And it never would be.

Still, he grasped the note, clenching it with renewed resolve. He took a quick glance at the sky, one painted with growing clouds.

“But why?” Images of the dead little girl at Bthalft flashed in his mind again. He had tried to put it all out of his readiest memory. But every time his thoughts turned to the mysterious man, they assailed him. His stomach turned. It still sickened him. But even more than that, it angered him.

Even though he had reservations about leaving Curtius to oversee the camp in the interim, he was driven to fly as fast as his steed could take him to Eldergleam Sanctuary. If he was lucky, maybe, just maybe he would encounter the ever strange Quintus and manage to pry the truth out of him if it was not given freely. The man had mentioned the carnage at the ruins. It stood to reason that this was related - though Carius himself was not altogether certain that he wished to be shown precisely how.

Snapping the reins and spurring to the north, he started his somber journey - unsure of what or whom he would find by the end of it. Whispers and airy laughter on the breeze caused him to shiver as he rode alone up the tree-lined path.


…….


He stopped writing. And slowly shut the book. His hand and arm were heavy with fatigue. Though, as usual, he quite enjoyed the exercise. Yellow eyes reflected both gentleness and sadness, and even a vague pain. A sigh betrayed weighty thoughts. And as he rose from the narrow bed, it creaked and clicked. His book would rest upon the pillow as it had for many nights now, the quill pen retired to the modest makeshift desk in the corner. A breeze rushed through the empty window pane and turned the feather as it sat in the inkwell. On the wind the man could smell rain. Good.

The shaggy dog beside the fireplace looked up and lazily wagged his tail. As the slight-built man passed by, the animal uttered a quick whimper of question. A smile and a nod toward the outside of the rustic dwelling reassured the canine, who slowly got to his feet and followed his new master.

The graying skies reconfirmed a storm's approach, something that did not bother the man at all. Although, even he had to note how frequently lately the clouds seemed to pour upon this land. Behind the small structure was a stretch of ground that lead up to the waters of the Solitude harbor. Marshy and strewn with brush, it was a cozy little location with a spectacular view of the lovely city upon the hill. The lights would glow their warmest on these chillier afternoons and evenings. And their reflective dances on the water would be something he found entrancing - from a distance.

Behind the shack and facing the water was a rectangle of soil that looked quite different from the surrounding areas. The earth had been turned relatively recently, as it had not yet settled and flattened. Upon it rested a meager clump of wildflowers, plucked from the groves and forest paths. The bouquet’s simplicity seemed fitting. In front of the patch was a sturdy piece of bark, which stood straight up from the ground. As the man stepped near to look at the post and the patch of earth, he sighed. The winds whipped his long amber hair as he spoke in barely more than a whisper.

“My most unfortunate host, it should please you to know that Meeko thrives. He’s as lively as the day I found you both here. Perhaps livelier, even.” He paused to shift his glance briefly to the canine now beside him. The shaggy dog looked on panting, but whining softly. “He mourns you. That is a comforting sign. I pray that when the time comes, he will find you again. I have no doubt he’d scour Nirn and all the planes of Oblivion for you.”

The mutt’s whining had suddenly trailed off. And he was back to wagging his tail excitedly and grinning up at the ashen-skinned man speaking. The latter could not hold back his own smile, a toothy smile that revealed a pair of fangs. “That is knowledge, I think, worth taking comfort in.”

The smile collapsed into a frown as he looked up at the city again. He thought about the things found within that used to bring him so much genuine joy. Sure, the ale was still ice cold and replete with delicious bitterness. The food, roasted meats and sweetest candy, was more pleasurable still. But there was one thing his mind turned to more than anything else now. No, who was he fooling? For centuries, driven by hunger, he had stalked. Clinging to the shadows, embracing darkness and obscurity, forsaking all but solitude and need. The blood of humans, hotly running through veins and always tempting him. He had fought for it. He had killed for it. Amid contemplation, he very lightly touched one of his fangs. And then stared ahead.

"The fairest price to pay...to be able to do what I loved until the end of time. To write history for eternity. Until the Divines reclaimed the world, or the Daedra destroyed it...that's what I believed then. Every day that goes by, I become less and less confident in my...choice..."

Muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth. And he shuddered. The twisting in his gut was all too familiar. It was a harbinger of his shame, a most offensive reminder of where he now found himself. He groaned slightly, and this spooked the animal next to him. Meeko cocked his head to the side and whined, unsure. The man reassured him once more with a smile. But he left the dog now, left him at his place by the makeshift grave, left him to guard the shack posthumously bequeathed to him. And he walked down to the water's edge.

While he admired water for its undeniable aesthetics, he also cursed it for its ability to deceive and drive mad. He did not make a habit of looking into it, dreading the reflection. The glimmer of partial sunlight on clear waters was too lovely to ignore, however. And he glanced down at it in spite of himself. It took a few moments for the familiar enchantment to take hold. But as sure as the night overtakes the day, the visions descended upon him. The voices came swiftly as well. Visions of an old land and long-lost faces stirred him as he stood there. But one voice in particular, one rich, usually booming voice now hushed in delightful mischief overtook his ears. He smiled, tears stinging. The countenance belonging to that voice appeared in turn, complete with dark eyes and a beguilingly crooked smile. Of all of the images to revisit him now, the onlooker thanked the merciful ones that it was this one. There were so many others which had cost him pleasant dreams for far too long. Seeing his dear friend in the best of times was a kind of comfort, though he knew it was fleeting. And he breathed a sigh of relief as the spell broke and the visions and voices faded into ripples. No screams or blood. Of course he still had the memories, and that was punishment enough.

"I suppose we all paid a price for who we were. Some of us still are."

A light breeze hummed. Birds squawked overhead and far-off horses neighed. The world, as terrible and heartbreaking as it was, seemed at peace now - if merely for this moment.

But a great shadow gliding past him and to the southwest caught his eyes and broke his contentment straight away. It was a writhing, flapping gloom that halted above a not overly distant mound of earth and stone that he had briefly explored only days earlier. He had been unsure of its purpose upon discovery, but now there was no mistaking it. Realization pushed his heart down further in his chest, not so much in panic as in deep, dire worry. And he loosened the ebony blade hanging at his side.


"We..." He gasped with a failing voice, "...we're running out of time."
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
How in the bloody hell did this get 45,500+ views? :eek:

THANK YOU FOR READING! <3

Good news is that I'm wrapping up the final scene for Chapter 21. Will be posted no ifs, ands, or buts, by Sunday the 6th at the absolute latest! :)
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
Chapter 21

Between her ride out to meet Carius on the road and her trip back to camp now, Penelope noticed that the sky had darkened all the more. It looked like rain. And yet, it didn’t. The sun was doing its best to hold strong behind the clouds. But as the winds began to blow more urgently, rain seemed inevitable.

"The weather never really knows what it wants to do here, does it?" She asked to no one in particular.

She hurried to restore the mare to her place at the camp's edge, and then put up an earnest effort to pretend that nothing at all was amiss. Nothing at all was cause for concern, not even the Praefect’s abrupt departure.

After slowly taking a seat in front of the fire pit, she rested there with her head in her hands. Who was this ‘Quintus’ man who had Carius in such a fret? What was the violence he had spoken of earlier and how was this other man connected to it? She had half a mind to ride out behind her friend and try to gather information herself. Of course she could predict the wrath to come from the normally soft-spoken Imperial. He wasn’t quite the same since coming to Skyrim, that much was certain to her. Stress and worry: gripping anxiety that would drive anyone else to distraction but only seemed to keep him focused. If not a bit more irritable, yes. Of all those she knew, he was the best equipped to handle it. But it had changed him.

"My lady, you're back! Gods be praised!"

She looked up. The young Nord hastened to take a seat near her. Her smile, though weary, was a reassurance for him.

"I told you not to worry about me, Legionnaire Liulfr. Carius does enough of that for the both of us."

"Ah, that he does, but all the same...we need you safe here."

"To be completely honest, I worry that me being here isn't going to keep anyone safe." The trembling in her voice grew. "In fact, I worry about the very opposite."

"I...I don't follow?" He tilted his head to the side, genuinely unsure. She appreciated his concern, certainly, but it also troubled her all the more.

“You...” She raised a single inquisitive brow. “How old are you, Legionnaire?”

“Nineteen, my lady." Liulfr blinked. "But, why?”

“Too young." She shook her head. "You’re much too young to be worrying like an old man!”

“I…but…” He stammered, caught a bit off guard and a little embarrassed by the reddening he could feel sweeping across his face. The Breton just smiled and returned her gaze to the fire.

“Don’t worry, is all I’m saying. Not about me. You’ve got more than enough to think about right now as it is-"

"Legionnaire Penelope?" Curtius suddenly appeared beside them, his face stoic.

"Oh, yes?" The Breton nearly forgot to salute, and fumbled to do so as she stood. The Lieutenant hardly seemed fazed, and he cleared his throat before continuing.

"The Praefect has instructed me to keep an eye on you at all costs.”

“Yes, sir?”

“And, so, well, you’re to remain here indefinitely. You're not to leave camp for any reason. At least until he returns.”

“Why is he going to Eldergleam Sanctuary?” She wasted no time in pursuing the matter. She sensed that skirting around the question, attempting to disguise or dilute it, would be done in vain and only squander more time that she didn't really possess.

“He…is he going there?” The Imperial's voice cracked with an awkward up-pitch. And he crossed his arms, his entire body growing even more rigid than usual.

“He is. I spoke with him on the road. Surely you know the reason. What’s happened that has him so on edge?”

His eyes lowered back down to the ground, as they so often did. “Legionnaire, you…you know I don’t even know all of the details.”

“If it’s not Ulfric that’s got everyone so edgy, then who is it? What is it? Is it the dragons?”

“The…the dragons?!" With that last word, nearly all of the color left his face. "Oh, gods, don’t even speak of the beasts! Gods forbid they hear us and fly here…”

She briefly cast her dark eyes to the sky. “Of course...I could be wrong, but I don’t think their hearing is that sensitive, Lieutenant.” She grinned, but the officer wasn’t ready to laugh with her.

“All the same…we must not speak of them. Not now, not ever. I don’t want to give anything any excuse to go wrong while I’m here...alone…making all the decisions-“ He began wringing his hands, and ever so slightly shaking.

“I apologize, please just…forget I said anything about them. They’re probably on the other side of the province anyway." She shrugged. "And they very likely have much more important things to do than stalk Imperial soldiers on the ground, right?”

“…We can hope.” Curtius glanced upward very quickly, sighed, and made his way to the officers' quarters. The two Legionnaires watched him disappear inside. Penelope's grin dissolved into a frown.

"Something really, really wrong is going on here. And they want to wait until it stares us all in the face and there's nowhere to run? What kind of sense does that make?"

"I...I think that they're not even sure what it is yet. They don't want to frighten us all. Not until they have to." The Nord replied, his voice softening.

The Breton crossed her arms. "I understand not wanting to cause any sort of panic. But keeping it secret is just as dangerous. How can we know how to prepare if they don't tell us what's happened, what's still happening?"

"You make sense, my lady. It's just...I guess it's just not for us to understand. Not yet."

"But it is maddening." She growled.

“That as well.” Liulfr managed a weak smile before he rose from his seat. The Breton watched him make his way to the Quartermaster, and she herself wandered over to her tent. She had intended to clean her blade there in quiet contemplation. But the effects of sleeplessness found her once again as she settled inside it. And they pressed on her with all of their slow weight. She tried to stifle a strong yawn and compel her eyes open. She nevertheless dozed. It made no difference even that her fellow soldiers, going about their day, buzzed and chattered and clanged their weaponry around her. All of the running, the worrying, the fighting, and the lack of real respite were more than enough to drown it all out.


She would sleep there in her tent for more than an hour. No one saw fit to rouse her, rather scarcely remembering even that she was in there, out of sight. A sudden shift of the wind would ruffle the tent itself and call her back to consciousness. But it would be a massive groan from above, one that shook the ground below, to awaken her with a start. She leapt up and out of her shelter, halfway tripping. It was not merely the deafening quality of the noise that thoroughly alarmed her – it was also the familiarity of it. The trepidation twisting in her gut at last had been validated by the giant shadow overhead. The behemoth circled over the camp’s grounds and roared again. The heat from its dread breath brushed the skin of every soldier present. The men had swiftly and methodically run to grab their swords and others muttered prayers. Not one of them had been trained for a dragon attack. And even while holding fast to their blades, they panicked.

The Breton grabbed the sword from her tent, and brandished it high. The sweat began to bead across her face from both the dragon's air and sheer fear. It was now, after all, the very last thing she wanted to occur here and now. She had begged the Divines for prevention of such a situation - why had they not secured their faithful? But there would be, she hoped, a time for dwelling on such questions. And she turned her mind to leading the beast away from the camp. She wanted it out in the open. But at the same time, she felt a strange pulsing in her head and heard the echoes of a voice. It was the same horrific bellowing that she had heard during the fight on an unknown icy expanse. She called out to it, trying to draw its attention to her in singular fashion. But it seemed more eager at this moment to continue whipping up terror below. It snorted at her with a snickering brevity. And she called out to it all the more as she moved around and out of the camp, cursing its cowardice and feeding its ire.

With the dragon's screeching groans presently mixed with shouting and crashing of metal pots and arms of rushing soldiers, even Mercer struggled to raise his voice enough to be heard. The cantankerous Breton had been awake for a while this morning, but had kept quiet as the plots of escape - and revenge - turned in his mind. Now, he stood just as vulnerable as those who detained him. He was still bound at the wrists, and had been disarmed swiftly upon his arrest on the road. But the very idea of being struck down in a dragon attack under these circumstances was more than unacceptable to him. His bitter glance swung to a nearby soldier, one who had just moments earlier been one of his morning guards.

"Hey, hey, you there! Untie me! I...I can help!"

Amid all of the chaos, the young man stopped and gave him a sideways glance of his own. It looked briefly as if he planned to comply with the thief's proposal and stepped closer. But as he eyed the Breton, he quickly decided against it. He instead offered him silence before running off to prepare for the impending attack.

"Idiot! I hope you all burn!" Mercer roared and gnashed his teeth. But he did not have long to ruminate over the nature of his future retribution. The dragon had begun circling lower and lower, swooping closer to the ground. Men ducked out of the way to the best of their ability. And as a bunch of wooden crates were sent forth through the air, only very narrowly missing him, the thief knew this was his chance.

"Time to go!"

He would not get far before tripping over some of the same just-flung crates and scattered pots. With an angry howl he crashed to the ground, landing on one side of his face. Every curse word known to him spat forth through those bitter lips (as did blood and a newly freed tooth), obscenities only partially muffled. After struggling to get back to his feet - and doing so, mind you, with his wrists still bound - he stood to gather his thoughts and allow his vision to settle. He caught sight of new fires beginning to blaze here and there, and the terrified cries arced with the terrible wind. The Breton thief then hastened off into the forest, without so much as a quick look back.

Meanwhile the other Breton's tactics of diversion and destruction were not quite unfolding as she desired. The stubborn airborne beast almost seemed to realize what she planned and made a point to fly low to the ground, throwing more hot breath upon the yelling and running soldiers. It even belted out raw flame, and grinned at the chaos it was creating. Several tents and wooden crates were now alight, and efforts to seek water to kill the flames were stymied by repeated and deliberate descents from the scaly menace. No, now was the time to act - or it might never be possible again, she urged herself. She had fast been running out of options, but one had still not been utilized. After drawing as deep of a breath as she could, she planted her feet and angled her head toward the heavens.

"FUS!" With all of her might she roared out the word. Despite being in an unfamiliar tongue, it somehow was not entirely foreign to her. Fragments of distant memories and emotions boosted the word’s power well beyond her own reckoning. What was immediately clear, however, was the effect it had on the beast soaring above. The Breton’s cry had nearly halted the behemoth in the sky, its eyes wide and alight with growing rage. Its scaly lips drew back over gleaming teeth in a wild sneer. No longer did it thrash and huff wantonly along the ground, caring naught for the hapless fools who stumbled in its way. No, now it pulled back and up, belting forth a chilling cackle. The young Breton stood staring up at it. Her heart was already pounding, every sound now like a thousand horses galloping in her ear.

But a harsh whisper, a steady voice with an unseen source, resounded now as well. "You've got it. Now draw it away, lead it out. Destroy it."

She unconsciously gave a single nod in acknowledgment and though she was already feeling her body slow a bit, she pushed forward. Her exclamation, which had saved her previously while underground, had also drained her energy. It was more than a great cry, more than a word she didn't fully comprehend. There was an undeniable connection to what felt as deep as her very soul. There was no time to think about it or try to understand it now. She fixed her sight on the beast, glaring through eyes squinting from the sun.

"C'mon, you! Finish this!" She struck the ground with her blade and waved at the creature. The dragon roared in return, and pursued her as she sprinted away from the camp.

The terrain was far from ideal, with trees and inclines and rocks and brush that made both combat and encouraging the creature's landing much more daunting tasks. Although shouting had done well to draw the dragon's attention and lure him away, it had also sapped her energy and she panted as she ran. But after about fifteen steps, she was blown forward by hot breath and hurricane-like winds sent by black wings behind her. The Breton lost her balance, catching her foot on a large rock that she hadn't even seen. The pain in her leg was sharp and throbbing. Is it broken? Please, gods, no...

It hurt amid her struggle to stand again but despite shakiness, it was clear she bore no broken bones from the fall. It had been luck, of course. And she would not forget it. But she could feel the blood trickle down from the new wound, having been scraped harshly. As she stood trying to catch her breath and think of an actionable plan, she began wobbling and a sudden surge of pain brought her back down to her knees. Teeth gritting, she grimaced at the creature that now hovered in the sky, mocking her. Waiting. What do I do now? What...how can I...but it won't...

"You'd better pick yourself up, Pippa," A familiar voice called out amid the chaos, "It's not hardly through with us yet!"

"He-Heron?!" She gasped. Blinking her eyes rapidly did not dispel the most welcome vision of her brother running nearby. Sword drawn, he glanced over at her quickly before distancing himself again. Rude gestures and mocking calls aimed at the airborne menace were his idea of a diversion. But his sister knew the beast would not tolerate his clownishness for long. In an instant, it could swoop down and set upon him with its terrible jaws, or the brightest flames could shoot from its cruel mouth. This was no place for the impetuous Heron – it was hardly any place for her, either. But then, she had been in this place before.

She blinked again to focus herself, only this time slowly and deliberately. Can I do it again? One more time? Her fists clenched. And she forced herself to stand tall. Yes, again...

She inhaled as deeply as she could manage, and sent a thundering “FUS!” through the unsettled air. As predicted, it wrenched the dragon's attention from her brother and renewed its disgust for her arrogance. Heron, however, found himself bewildered - and happily so - by his sister's exclamation.

“You…you! So it was you! I heard it back there! And you did it again!”

“Heron, you-”

“Not once, but twice now! You did it! How on Mara’s great ass did you do it?!”

She tried to push him aside as he ran to her in amazement; but she soon fell to one knee. “Heron, get out of here, get to the camp! Help them! I’ll be fine!”

The sturdy male Breton helped her up, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Dear, sweet, headstrong sister, when was the last time I did anything you told me to do?”

“Exactly, you’ve got lots to make up for – so start now!” She yelled, tears of pain and terror welling in her eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Pippa!” Heron was immovable, as he always had been. Stubborn to the core, a lover of irony, he was. It mattered not what she told him or how dire it all became. He would refuse to leave even if the very earth below their feet opened and shook. No, this would be a fight they would finish together. So the Divines had clearly willed it.

"...Argh, fine!" She drew closer to him, close enough to speak to him in a voice barely above a harsh whisper. "But listen to me - we've got to get it to land so it tastes our steel. That's our only chance. It stays in the air, we can't hurt it. You understand?"

"And to think, all of this time, you've not gotten any better at your spell-casting since you left home! Mother would be appalled!" He chuckled.

"Why, have you?!"

"Oh, but we're not talking about me-"

"Damnit, Heron! Quit joking around, we have to find a way to make it land or we're done!"

"Alright, alright. I'm all business now, I promise."

The beast circled and swooped as it did before, lowering more and more with every revolution above their heads. Flames shot from its jaws, and nearby treetops crackled and flickered orange and yellow. The siblings split up, taking off with distance between them but still in the same direction away from the camp. There was no way to know how long the creature would require them to run before coming to rest on the ground - or if it even would retire from the air at all. Penelope cautiously looked down toward the camp, stealing glances as she could. Smoke rose from the location, evidence of the ongoing turmoil that she surmised would be seen by residents of nearby Ivarstead before long if it hadn't been noticed already.

But her gaze was stolen by the dragon's sudden twitching and groaning, struck by something neither she nor her brother could see. The monster roared and thrashed; when it turned, they saw what had caught it unaware and so injured it. An arrow stuck in one of its eyes, partially blinding it. Dark blood poured from it and it vainly shook its head in both pain and rage. But where had the arrow come from? Penelope called out when she saw a tall figure just between the dragon and the camp. Blonde hair whipped in the wind, and she knew precisely who their savior had been. She smiled the broadest smile she could muster now, one forged from relief, as fleeting as it would be. The archer also cried out to the two as he approached.

"My lady! Keep going! We're almost through!"

She nodded and held her sword high in determined response. Heron grinned. And Liulfr returned his sight to the flapping target.

The three stood, all eyes now fixed upon the fire-breather. The two Bretons clutched their blades all the more tightly, and the tawny-headed Nord steadied his bow and arrow, ready to let fly.


…….


Castle Dour was one place that Brynjolf never expected to spend any time. He had always been wary of the Legion and Imperial operatives, even if the latter proved over and over again to be worth the risk. Maven and Mercer simply knew too many people. There were too many opportunities for a slip-up, for offense. Too many opportunities for unforeseen events to interrupt the system. But it also seemed now more than ever that the Legion and any and all Imperial outlets were going to be more than necessary. Before too long, he kept telling himself, he would have to return to Riften, to the Guild, and regroup. It was anyone's guess when "before too long" would actually be. Though, a little bit more of his patience sank with the sun every night.

The great wooden door groaned as the Nord pushed it open, and for a moment he felt indescribably strange. He felt remarkably out of place and even awkward, not unlike when he visited Commander Maro in Dragon Bridge. But he fought the anxiety and urged himself on ahead.

He found the graying general thankfully alone in the room ahead. Hunching over the long table, he muttered to himself as he rearranged the little flags on the map. Brynjolf did not have to get far into the room before the Imperial abruptly stopped his solitary conversation. The latter offered a wary side glance.

"Can I help you?"

Brynjolf shrugged through a nod. "Well, I...I hope so."

"Alright?"

"I...I'm looking for information about someone. And I was told to seek you out." The Nord couldn't help but grow disheartened by the sneaking smirk on the older man's face - a knowing, guarded smirk that heralded he'd heard this all before and not very long ago at that.

"Oh? Who told you as much, and who are you looking for? Because if my suspicions are even close to correct, I'm fairly certain I will not be of any use - for any number of reasons."

"Well, to start...I spoke with the commander at Dragon Bridge recently-" A sudden slam of the Imperial's hand on the table startled him.

"Gods above! ...Maro sent you here?!"

Without thinking, the Nord raised his hands in a defensive, mitigating motion. "Well, no, not exactly...I spoke with him, is all..."

"So then who sent you?"

"Someone...someone I met in the Winking Skeever. He seemed to think you'd know something that might help me."

"Interesting. What's his name?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't ask and he didn't offer it."

"What did he look like?"

"His features didn't really linger in my mind."

"Really?" The general searched the Nord's face, as if intent to uncover certain duplicity. "That's quite unfortunate."

"With all due respect, General, I have great need of any information you can provide me. I can't really recall what he looked like, but it suffices to say that this man pointed me in your direction. I'm grateful for anything you can give me!"

The Imperial looked on dubiously, scratching his chin in thought. Like Maro had, he perceived a sincerity in the Nord's eyes, even though he surely did not want to appear easily swayed. So he casually gestured to the Nord to take a seat at the table. "Hmm, alright, have it your way." He himself remained standing in that ever-guarded, cross-armed pose. "What is it that I'm supposed to know?"

"It all concerns a friend of mine, a Breton girl." Brynjolf paused as he noticed the Imperial's brows raise. "I was told, by Maro, that she'd been spoken about quite a bit around these parts lately, and I need to know why. Because I'm told she's in danger to the point that she needs to leave Skyrim."

"Maro told you all this?"

"Aye, that much. But the man in the Winking Skeever...he told me to go to you when I asked him about a name I was given. A name that might factor into whatever's happening with my friend. I've not the foggiest idea how, but there it is."

"Interesting."

"...Interesting?"

"Yes, quite so."

"And, well...?"

Tullius' glance quickly shifted to the chest in the corner of the room, the chest from which he had retrieved the large history tome. "I find it interesting, nothing more to be said about it."

"But your face tells me otherwise." Gone now was the thief's hesitance, and the greater share of his patience. And his eyes glowed with flaring temper. "I need to know what's going on so I can help!"

"No, in fact, you don't."

"Damn it, what good is it to keep me in the dark?"

"That depends entirely upon who you actually are."

"Yeah? Alright, fair enough. I'm her friend. I'm no spy! For the Stormcloaks or anyone else-"

"So you say." Tullius' face darkened. "And Stormcloaks actually have very little to do with what's occurring now, son. And it does you no good here, either, to yell and carry on."

"Apologies, sir. But-"

"What's the name?"

"Name?"

"The name you were given, the name you were apparently sent to interrogate me about!"

"Ah, yes, the name...it's here..." Brynjolf fumbled to retrieve the torn paper from his pocket. The charcoal scribblings had begun to smudge a bit. But the name was still legible, in all of its boldness. Tullius snatched it away, his countenance scrunching further into a scowl.

"Where did you get this?"

"I'm not able to say. Because I don't know the fellow's name."

"Don't be clever with me, we both know that's not true. So come now, let's have a source."

"It was a drunken sailor I ran into down near the docks. No one of consequence, just a sodden wretch who thought he could sell me something he'd overheard. I know nothing of this name, only that it was given to me in relation to my search for my friend."

"But this is not the same 'sodden wretch' whom you met in the Winking Skeever? Do I have this correct?"

"Yes.” After taking the note back, the agitated Nord crossed his arms. “Yes, you do."

"So a different wretch down near the docks gave you that name, and you in your infinite and quite frankly coincidental wisdom took it to another wretch in the Skeever, who then told you to find me about it?"

"Yes. Yes, that's all of it. So can you tell me something about it or not? If not, I'll shove off and look for someone who can - and will." He rose from the table, only to be stopped by another question from the general.

"Hmpf. I hate to keep calling you 'son', so what is actually your name so I can stop doing that?"

"You can call me...a concerned friend."

"Fine, then. 'Concerned Friend', I'll only tell you this once. So listen closely. I do not know where she is at this moment or what's happening around her. This man, this name that you've brought me...it rings like a thousand other Cyrodilic names in my mind. If it has Maro so worried, as you tell it, then take his advice and leave well enough alone."

"But-"

"It's best. Besides, I'm not even sure you know what it is you're asking."

"What?"

"Precisely."

"Gah, why did I even bother?" Brynjolf threw up his hands in irritated defeat, and stuffed the note back into his pocket. He began to march back toward the great wooden door. "This is exactly what he told me would happen. Foolish."

The Imperial's ears perked up as he passed by and he took a step forward after him. "He? The one in the Skeever?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I've lost track already."

"Hmpf, well, since we're at long last understanding each other about this, I should return to my tasks. This war's not going to finish itself, now is it?"

Brnyjolf paused before answering coolly, "No, I suppose not."

"Get on home, son. There's nothing for you here. Not unless you wish to join the Legion, that is."

"Ha! Not on your life..."

As the Nord bitterly departed the fortress, the graying Imperial sighed and leaned on the table. Tired eyes darted between the blue and red flags on the sprawling map. They squeezed shut, and then reopened. And he blinked some more.

Rikke entered the room warily, being fairly familiar with the current disposition of her superior. "Sir? That man who just left...what did he want?"

"It would seem that our friend's name is yet on the lips of the people here, Legate."

"Our 'friend'?"

"That Nord brought in a torn note with the name Roscius Avienus horribly misspelled on it. It's very curious, indeed."

"Truly? That seems entirely like too much of a coincidence, sir. What else did he say?"

"He was looking for information about our young charge, who, Divines willing, should be safe and sound in Rift Camp under Praefect Serenus' watch by now. Which reminds me, I need to be briefed on the situation there..."

"Why was he asking about her? What's his relation to her?"

"That, I do not know. Nor does it particularly matter in the long run. If she's been in the province awhile now, she's likely to have made herself some allies. What intrigues me is the fact that Avienus is making a name for himself here. Not that I didn't think it would happen eventually. But, it still just seems a bit...too soon. He's making moves that aren't quite synchronized with those of Ulfric. He's drawing extra attention to himself when I doubt he's truly ready for it."

“It’s true, even I hadn’t heard a word of him or his history until quite recently. And now there have been multiple attacks and locals inquiring about him. I wonder if he’s-“ She paused. Where her apprehensive speech broke, Tullius continued.

“…here?

Not a second passed after his utterance that the general grabbed a cloak and hurried out of Castle Dour. Rikke wanted to follow him but decided against it, knowing that he would only order her to remain at her present post. As her commanding officer pushed open the great and heavy door, he mumbled something to himself that she was remarkably able to hear:

“The Skeever…”

…….

"It's getting more difficult out here now. They've stepped up patrols. That tells me the rumors are true." Clodius declared quietly as he stared at the dirty wooden table, absently turning his mead bottle. The black and silver haired man seated across from him was well past the point of discretion, and rather loudly blurted his retort.

"Bah, what rumors? That Ulfric's due to march off and get the Whiterun Jarl's head on a pike?"

"He wouldn't be that stupid, would he?" Tyrus barked, "I mean, really?"

Roscius blinked, the rare glow of amusement illuminating his face. "Do go on."

"March on the capital ruled by one of the most personally popular Jarls in the province? We all know there's got to be Imperial reinforcements already there or on the way. Ulfric would not only fail, he'd be laughed all the way out of the city gates. The man's no shining scholar, but I just don't think he's that stupid-"

The ever fussy Tyrus would have continued his rant all the more, had Roscius not let his own boisterous laughter burst forth. The former looked on as the slightly older man brought a fist down on the table and cackled.

"Bwhahaha, yes, well, we may yet live to see your confidence defied, humblest Tyrus!"

"Hmpf. That'll be the day." He sighed and took another swig of wine while his host chuckled on.

"Ulfric's not stupid, no, but he's always had a knack for timing. And presentation. We couldn't have asked for better in all of this. This is, after all, a glorious holiday! A homecoming, lads! We should celebrate!"

"Can't you see? I'm delirious with merriment."

"As well you should be." Roscius then turned to the brown-haired man across the table, the one who fidgeted as he sat silent. "And what about you, Clodius? You've been rather quiet."

"Me? Oh, just thinking, is all. You know me. Worrying."

"Bah, it's all the same with you, man. Even though you've no cause to as of yet."

"I cannot for the life of me imagine why you believe that to be the case."

"Really, you can't? Please, do expound." The gray-eyed man leaned forward, exaggerating his attention. Clodius returned his stare with various casts of incredulity.

"Do I really need to? Some Nord walks into this very inn and starts asking questions about you, by name. You can bet your life Maro's already on our scent like the incessant hound he is. And where he goes, Tullius isn't far behind. Hell, he's only up the road and around the corner, and you can't be arsed to care!"

"So what? So the hell what? Some Nord was told a bedtime story by a drunken sailor, probably one fresh off the boat from Bravil. Maro's a harmless fool, and Tullius? It'll take him far too long to catch on. He can't even win a war against militiamen."

"You sent that Nord to him to inquire about you. You don't think he'll bother following up on that?"

Roscius leaned back in his chair and feigned a stretch. "Alas, I still can't find it in me to be overly concerned. Not yet."

"How can you say all of that with a straight face?"

The considerable silence that passed between the two would have been compelling to anyone who knew them. Rendering Roscius speechless was a feat to be admired. But as much wonder as this merited, it thoroughly entertained Tyrus.

"Oh, bwhahahaha! Now this is making me glad I went through all the trouble of getting here!"

"No, no, no, say what?" Roscius' former grin had quickly flipped into a glower, his striking eyes alight. "What, in Mara's name, is sticking in your craw, boy?"

"Have you already forgotten that Aquila is dead?" Clodius asked almost breathlessly.

Gray eyes flickered with sudden and stinging mist. "...Of course not."

"And who do you think did it then?"

"Gods have mercy, there's a war going on here! Or have you already forgotten that? Bet he just let his guard down a little too much. Got complacent. Even farmers with pitchforks can be deadly if you turn your back on them."

"Exactly." The brown-haired man firmly nodded and gestured toward his leader in an appeal for understanding. "Complacency kills. And it is precisely the thing you're very much in danger of succumbing to like a blind and blustering fool if you're not more careful."

"Oooooh, he's got you there, old man!" An overabundance of wine had rendered Tyrus incapable of abstinence from commentary; even harsh glances from both of his companions were not enough to intimidate him.

"No," Roscius growled, "what he's 'got' is a profoundly overactive imagination with a predilection for catastrophe."

"Do you know how close we are to the Embassy? Even right at this moment, as we sit here?"

"What does it matter?"

"This..this isn't like you. You're not seeing the forest through the trees, and it's unfortunate."

"I am seeing everything very clearly, thank you. And I might tell you, if you no longer have faith in this effort, then you're free to dissolve your ties. Even though, of course, at this rather late stage that would likely mean...death."

"...Er?" Clodius gulped and shifted uneasily in his seat. Even as Roscius loosened his grimace and chuckled in jest, the other Imperial could not fully relax.

"Oh, come now, when did you forget how to take a bit of lightheartedness? Brothers-in-arms, I trust you implicitly. Always."

"Hmpf. Well, that's neither your first nor your last mistake." Clodius grinned. Tyrus narrowed his eyes a bit, unimpressed. Roscius just snickered in dismissal.

"Bah!"

"So...the action taken at Eldergleam Sanctuary...I've received more details. It was quite successful. I don't know if Quintus is still there, but it was within his jurisdiction-"

"Ah, I was just about to ask! About both, actually. Our Chimera needs to hurry up and get here!"

"Quintus has been there and may still be there." He gave a shallow sigh. "But...there's...a wrinkle."

"Oh? You said the attack was successful? What could this 'wrinkle' possibly be?"

Clodius hesitated, biting his lip. "He...didn't order it."

"...He...didn't?" Roscius waited for a nod of confirmation from Clodius before continuing. "So, then, that begs the question...who did?"

"Well, that seems to be the mystery."

Their table sat mutely, with not even Tyrus daring to toss in a caustic response. Only the sounds of the tavern, the plates and glasses clinking and people murmuring, were heard for these moments. That is, until the oldest of the three men broke the silence with a rattling roar.

"Graaaaah, gods damn it all, I thought I made it very clear that our men were only to move on our direction! This is an army, not a free for all!"

Clodius blinked thoughtfully. "Yes, well, if that's the case, I think we're going to need to get back on the field again soon. We can't afford to wine and dine in Solitude while all of the action's happening without us. It could cost us everything - again. You know this."

"Yes, yes, alright, alright. I'll correspond with the petty commanders tomorrow. There's much to be done, but we can't rush it, either. That could also cost us. I am in no mood for disappointment, not now-"

"And what of the dragons? Have you even given them so much as a ghost of a thought in the back of your mind?"

"Dragons?" Roscius scoffed. "I've not seen one since being here. I'm inclined to think it's some sort of mass delusion."

"Mass delusion ruined Helgen?" Clodius quipped.

"Mass delusion ruins many things, my friend."

"Bah, I can't listen to this dribbling melancholy any longer without more to drink!" Tyrus brusquely stood up from his seat with a shuffling scrape, and took off for the counter. The darker haired man looked on amusedly.

"Hmpf. Even after all of these years, he hasn't changed a bit."

"Have you?"

"No. No, I suppose not. I'm still the bitter, frosty-hearted bastard I always was."

"Heh, at least you admit it." They clinked their drinks together in a toast.

"Honesty is one of my only remaining virtues. Take what you can get." Roscius smirked that familiar, knavish smirk that Clodius always enjoyed when he saw it, which was not often enough at all. The latter briefly wrestled with whether or not he should give it cause to disappear once more. He drew a deep breath, and exhaled.

"One more thing, though..."

"Yes?"

"The initial attack...near those ruins..."

"Yes, yes, what about it?"

"It...it wasn't sanctioned, either. As it turns out."

"Wha...how do you know?"

"It wasn't a military target. It was a caravan...of civilians..." The younger man was struck by the other's obvious alarm. He understood it, but it unsettled him to an increased extent to witness it. So proud, so strong, he had been upon arriving - and once upon a time, so many years ago.

"...Why...why am I just now hearing this? How long have you known? It's been days-"

"I only got details hours ago. Right after I heard more about the second attack, at Eldergleam."

Roscius rose from his chair, steadying himself with his palms grasping the table's edges. "We made it incredibly clear, did we not? I made it clear-"

"You did." Clodius lowered his eyes, nodding sadly. "You did..."

Tyrus nearly knocked Roscius over when he returned to the group in a panic. Before the latter could unleash a reprimand, the former delivered his news in between panting.

"He's...he's here."

"Who?"

"Tullius. A-a-and...he's asking about you."

"What?! You're joking. I know you've been bored today, but my gods, man-"

"It's not a joke. Look." Tyrus pointed with a shaky finger.

And so the black and silver haired man did. One corner of his lip curled upward in a nervous half-smirk. And he slowly moved to view over the taller Imperial's shoulder. Gray eyes flashed and widened. And for these moments, he stood speechless, barely even drawing breath.

At the counter was the stalwart general, whose own gaze suddenly shifted as though compelled by the subconscious knowledge that deliberate eyes were upon him. He, too, glanced across the room, mouth agape as he recognized those very particular and striking features. The two soldiers maintained this unbroken stare, both unsure, captivated by shock and by their own minds struggling to determine a response.


And there they would stand, as the rest of the tavern seemed frozen by this previously inconceivable bridging of realities.
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
Sorry for being a week late on this one, guys. Work has been a nightmare because of renovations and I've had to take some work home as a result - thus putting me behind with this.

I do hope this chapter was worth the wait, though! :D
 

A.Auditore

maybe...
:eek: Yeah... your writing makes me just want to delete mine

Loved what you have! (if you couldn't tell ;) )
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
:eek: Yeah... your writing makes me just want to delete mine

Loved what you have! (if you couldn't tell ;) )

Never, NEVAH delete yours, Ashleh! :eek:

Thank you very much, though! I really appreciate it. :) I'm glad that so many people have enjoyed my work - when I write, I put everything into it, heart and soul. I don't do much of anything half-assed, and I'm glad that that shows.

I hope you continue to enjoy the story! <3
 

A.Auditore

maybe...
:eek: Yeah... your writing makes me just want to delete mine

Loved what you have! (if you couldn't tell ;) )

Think I'll delete mine to Ash :sadface:
Beautiful Story Docta. I'd forgotten I started reading this ages ago and I'm now all caught up.
kitty if you do OMG I'll fly to Aust and kick your butt personally ;)
 

Docta Corvina

Well-Known Member
:eek: Yeah... your writing makes me just want to delete mine

Loved what you have! (if you couldn't tell ;) )

Think I'll delete mine to Ash :sadface:
Beautiful Story Docta. I'd forgotten I started reading this ages ago and I'm now all caught up.


Thanks so much, Kitty! I have no idea who all of my readers are these days, so it's great to know that you've enjoyed it so far. :) I wanted to offer something different with my story, something very much believable for the world and setting of Skyrim, but also showing another side. I'm excited to have found a working balance that way! :D
 

Recent chat visitors

Latest posts

Top