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18+ Burying Hope

Discussion in 'Skyrim Fan Fiction' started by MB_52, Nov 23, 2016.

  1. MB_52

    MB_52 New Member

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    (The Great war during the 4th era was a calamitous event that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands men and mer. This war would be remembered for years to come as the start of the downfall of the Empire. This story hopes to tell not of emperors and gods, but of the men, women, and mer who fought and died in this war, those who were forgotten. This story will focus on 3 of these individuals in particular, 3 individuals who will have there loyalty tested, and faith shaken as they are forced to choose between obeying orders and keeping promises.)
    (On a side note this is my first attempt at writing more than 2 paragraphs in a creative form so constructive criticism is welcomed, and I hope you enjoy.)

    Burying Hope

    Part 1
    Quentin’s stomach turned, the sight before him was the stuff of nightmares. He shut his eyes tight hoping that Stendarr would be merciful and make this bad dream end. The gasps of the others in the throne room only cemented that fact that he was not in fact dreaming. Upon opening his eyes the throne room of Titus Mede II was a picture of absolute horror, there lay the heads of every member of the Blades in the Summerset Isle and Valenwood stacked upon a cart. It’s carrier a High elf in his Thalmor robes of black and purple, gesturing at the served heads with one hand and with the other, a declaration of war. The shouts and yells of the members of the Elder council was only an echo, the Blade, tears welling up in his eyes knelt down and picked up what use to be the head of his daughter. Her jet black hair the same color as his stained with her own blood, her eyes partially opened although all life had left her, the green eyes of her mother stared into his own. Quentin kneeling with his daughters head in is hand yelled at the top of his lungs, the sound of the council members bickering nothing but an echo as the first lives of the Great war were taken.

    Quentin’s breath was labored as he surveyed the area, his grizzled and weathered face betraying his knack for bloodshed. The bodies of the Aldmeri soldiers scattered across the grove, even freshly dead were already attracting crows. Quentin sat down and began cleaning his long curved blade with a rag thinking about the days to come.

    “Sir! Casualty reports are in.” a younger man dressed in a similar fashion hurried over to Quentin, looking proud at the work they had done .Quentin still sitting gave a nod signifying for the young member of the Blades to continue speaking. “Two dead, four wounded, and one missing sir!”

    Quentin’s eyes shot up, “Missing? Who?” The young man hurriedly looked over a few notes before replying, “Sir! Caius Valius was seen running north towards Chorral during the initial ambush. ” Quentin nodded signaling that it was okay fro the young man to leave.

    That makes thirteen…thirteen members of his company of Blades. He had started his doom driven campaign a few months ago with more than thirty well trained and well trusted warriors, now he was left with but a handful. The Dominion had already captured Leyawiin and were pushing deep into Cyrodiil, and it was all he could do to lead ambushes against small parties of Dominion troops and watch as they burned town after town and pillaged the land dry.

    Standing up Quentin called his remaining men forward, “Men..our order is all but destroyed, our homes are in threat of being lost and hope will not help us..” Quentin looked at his men, all grizzled from the hard traveling and fighting they had been doing, each one of them bandaged and bruised, their once fine akavirii armor rusted. “We must bury hope, for hope will not save us. Only we can, we travel west to meet any would be conqueror and put them to the sword, make ready, we travel at dawn.” Quentin sheathed his fine blade and prayed to anyone listening for a glorious death as the light rain began to fall from the sky in the opening months of the war.
     

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