shadowkitty
Mistress of Shadows
Hi to whom ever reads this. So this is my fanfic.. I hope you enjoy it. Please give each chapter a like or whatever rating you feel it deserves so I can see how many people are reading it, just so it encourages me to keep writing. Thank you, and enjoy.
EDIT: Well It's fifty chapters in and still going strong. I can say now that the rest of the story is only loosely based on the game, so if you continue reading beyond chapter one, you will start to see I break away from the game play, pretty quickly. Be prepared for lots of surprises, epic fights and steamy love scenes..Either way as I read this first chapter I see how my writing has grown better and hope you enjoy it as much as I am.
Wyldfyre: A Skyrim Story
Chapter one. Helgen.
Wyldfyre should have stuck to her instincts and not tried to sneak some food out of that encampment of soldiers. It was just too risky and a silly idea. But she was so hungry, having spent many moons climbing down from the mountains that were once her home, battling fierce creatures and even fiercer bitterly cold nights. She spent many nights huddled under her meager moth-bitten piece of scrap she called a blanket, perched on a branch of a tree, clutching her hunting bow, safe from the terrors that roamed the forests. That pitifully small blanket and her bow was all she had left of her home. All she had left to remind her of the family she had lost.
Now she found herself, hands bound and bleeding, in the back of a carriage with a bunch of other misfits, soldiers of some description and one very mouthy horse rustler. Wyldfyre shut her eyes tight and tried not to show these men any emotion. She did not want to cry even though inside, her heart was breaking. After she was caught she was beaten to almost within an inch of her life, her clothes torn and her precious bow and blanket taken from her. She was sure some of the soldiers would of had their way with her if it had not been for the captain stepping in and ending her torture. She was then bound and thrown into the back of the carriage, hitting her head hard in the process and surrendering to the sweet embrace of darkness.
When she awoke she was being spoken to by one of the captured soldiers. He was wearing fur armour with a blue cloak. Wyldfyre had no idea what that meant, and she didn’t have any care about it, but he had a kind voice and a nice face, framed by blond hair. He looked at her with pity in his eyes. Something in which she resented, but she listened to him anyway. He was asking her where she came from. No doubt curious why a young woman would turn up in the middle of no-where, half dressed with nothing but a primitive hunting bow to her name. Wyldfyre wasn't interested in answering him. She looked around at the other prisoners when her eyes fell on one man in particular. His head drooped and it was clear he had been beaten as well. Blood had dried and crusted in his hair. He was bound like the rest of them but he also had a gag tied tightly over his mouth. This one is different she thought. There was a presence about him. He was dressed different as well. Like one of those fancy noble men she had seen in the books she had read as a child. She studied him with a keen interest. The way his hair fell over his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw line. Then his head tilted ever so slightly and she was pierced through by pale blue eyes. Wyldfyre returned his gaze and something, if very fleeting, passed between them before the cart jolted suddenly, and the moment was gone. The man returned to his silent defiance and Wyldfyre returned to her slumped, despondent despair. This was not at all like she had planned.
Her plan was to make her way down out of the mountains. Find some small village somewhere. Maybe get some work on a farm, or hunting game. Then proceed to the next town and the next after that. She wanted to keep moving, as she felt nervous about spending too much time in one place. She had not planned the journey to be so rough, or for it to have taken so long, and she found herself caught in a mountain pass with the snow pelting down and the going hard and exhausting. Her food supplies ran low then ran out altogether. She found it hard to hunt, as she had never experienced snow before. Her village had been set in a hidden vale where the extremes of nature could not make their way in to. Her hunting grounds were deep woods north of the vale that she got to through a network of tunnels under the mountain. Those tunnels. That’s where it began. The horror. She did not want to think about it right then. It was too painful to do so.
The carriage train made its slow, pondering way through the wilderness until they came to a stop outside what appeared to be a small town. It was surrounded by a high wall made from thick tree trunks and Wyldfyre could see soldiers in towers armed with bows. Flight was not an option at this place. The Driver of her carriage gave a shout and the gates opened slowly to reveal a rather ram shackled town beyond. They continued into the town and passed by houses, and inns. Townsfolk gawked at the new prisoners. Some with hatred, but some with pity. Wyldfyre frowned at all of them, not used to so many eyes on her at once. In her small village in the mountains, it was considered extremely rude to stare as these people did now. She scowled at a young boy who was pointing at her and he cowered into his mothers skirts. No doubt Wyldfyre looked extremely frightening right then. Bloody from her beating, her flaming red hair with all manner of nature stuck to it, and her fierce blue slash tattoo she had down the right side of her face. Out of all of that, nothing was fiercer than her eyes. An unusually brilliant shade of green, her family liked to joke about them being able to produce little bolts of lightning whenever her temper got the better of her. Which was quite often.
Little did her family know that when Wyldfyre went off into the woods by herself to hunt, she was actually producing real bolts of lightning. But from her fingertips, not from her eyes. She had discovered she could do this quite by accident. One autumn day, as she stealthily stalked a deer through the woods, she did not notice she herself was being stalked. A Sabre cat, so rare in the part of the woods she hunted, had caught her scent and had been following her for some time, waiting for its opportunity to pounce. If Wyldfyre had not been so engrossed in her own hunt, she may have heard a snap of a twig, or the rustle of leaves. If it had not been for the deer suddenly bounding off and breaking Wyldfyre's concentration, she would not have come out of those woods alive that day, for as the deer bounded away, it was then that the big cat decided to strike. Wyldfyre was in the process of standing up and knocked the cat off its flight path and to the side. She was knocked to the ground herself, receiving a gash to her leg and her hunting bow flying out of her hands to land yards away. Stunned, she scrambled backwards until she was forced up against a tree trunk, desperately searching for something she could use as a weapon, anything, before the cat made a second charge. Wyldfyre came up empty and as the cat leapt for her she held up her hands in front of her and poured every bit of energy she could into them to fend off the beast. It all happened so quickly, there was a sudden rush of energy up her arms to her fingers and as she closed her eyes, expecting her life to end, she felt something release and heard a loud crackling sound. The Sabre cat made one howl and then all was quite.
Wyldfyre sat there, too scared to open her eyes for a few moments. When she finally did she was amazed to see the Sabre cat, lying at her feet, dead. Wyldfyre stared at the cat, and then at her hands, which looked perfectly normal. What had she done? Could she do it again? Did she want to do it again? Wyldfyre turned her attention back to the Sabre cat. She could not bring it home as it was. Her village feared and shunned magic of any kind. To bring the animal home with no visible wounds would be a sure way to get her banished from the clan. So she collected her hunting bow and fired five shots into the cats lifeless body. She also tore her clothes and made a few fresh wounds on her own body to make it seem like she had fought the beast. She hated lying to her family, but it was the only way to keep her secret. That night there was much merriment around the fire and Wyldfyre had to regale them with tales of her great battle with the Sabre cat. It was skinned and the various meat portions shared out amongst the families. Wyldfyre was given the honour of the furs to put on her bed. After that, whenever she could get away, she would go deep into the forest and practice her new arts.
The cart stopping, jolted Wyldfyre out of her revere and as the soldiers ordered the prisoners down, she suddenly realised that they were in the centre of the town, and in the middle of some more official looking soldiers, was a stone chopping block with a very nasty looking axe leaning against it. Wyldfyre began to panic. What was happening? Why was she here, amongst these criminals and enemies? She hadn’t even committed any crime before she was caught. Was she to be put to death because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? The prisoners were being asked their names one by one, and when the soldier came to her, he at first looked a little unsure. He looked to the Captain for reassurance and she gave a nod of her head. What a waste the soldier thought. A nod was Wyldfyre's death sentence. This was madness. She had to get away. But how?
Suddenly the mouthy horse rustler broke away from the group and ran off down the dirt road. He may have got away if not for a quick thinking soldier who loosed an arrow which thrummed into the man’s back and he went slamming into the ground. Wyldfyre's hopes at a quick escape were dashed. One of the blue cloaked prisoners was man-handled towards the chopping block and roughly shoved down onto the ground, his head placed over the red stained stone. Wyldfyre could not make out what he said before his life ended with a swing of the axe man's arm. Wyldfyre had not seen a man beheaded before and she was equally shocked and fascinated. In her panic she had completely forgotten her powers. She had started to master fire and that could have easily burned through her bindings. But how far would she had of got after that?
Suddenly a great roar unlike Wyldfyre had ever heard rumbled in the distance, breaking the silence and causing everyone to look up to the sky. She thought she saw something way off in the distance, but could not be sure.
“What was that?” one of the soldiers asked nervously.
“Nothing” assured the Captain “Keep going. Next!”
A new amount of tension began to build up amongst everyone in that courtyard. Wyldfyre was escorted between two guards towards the block. She kicked at her captors and tried to summon her powers but in her panic could not even muster a small flame. As she was shoved onto the block there was another almighty roar and as Wyldfyre turned her head towards the tower an enormous winged beast landed on top of it. The ground shook with its landing, and great amounts of rock and debris landed on the people below it. The beast was scaly and black spikes protruded from almost every part of its body. Its great leathery wings wrapped themselves around the ruined tower, and as it open its jaws it spoke words that Wyldfyre could not understand, yet somehow they seemed familiar. The beast has magic in it, Wyldfyre could tell. She could feel the malice and evilness of it shimmer out from its body like hot waves of fire. She could also tell that it wanted her dead. It wanted everyone there dead.
EDIT: Well It's fifty chapters in and still going strong. I can say now that the rest of the story is only loosely based on the game, so if you continue reading beyond chapter one, you will start to see I break away from the game play, pretty quickly. Be prepared for lots of surprises, epic fights and steamy love scenes..Either way as I read this first chapter I see how my writing has grown better and hope you enjoy it as much as I am.
Wyldfyre: A Skyrim Story
Chapter one. Helgen.
Wyldfyre should have stuck to her instincts and not tried to sneak some food out of that encampment of soldiers. It was just too risky and a silly idea. But she was so hungry, having spent many moons climbing down from the mountains that were once her home, battling fierce creatures and even fiercer bitterly cold nights. She spent many nights huddled under her meager moth-bitten piece of scrap she called a blanket, perched on a branch of a tree, clutching her hunting bow, safe from the terrors that roamed the forests. That pitifully small blanket and her bow was all she had left of her home. All she had left to remind her of the family she had lost.
Now she found herself, hands bound and bleeding, in the back of a carriage with a bunch of other misfits, soldiers of some description and one very mouthy horse rustler. Wyldfyre shut her eyes tight and tried not to show these men any emotion. She did not want to cry even though inside, her heart was breaking. After she was caught she was beaten to almost within an inch of her life, her clothes torn and her precious bow and blanket taken from her. She was sure some of the soldiers would of had their way with her if it had not been for the captain stepping in and ending her torture. She was then bound and thrown into the back of the carriage, hitting her head hard in the process and surrendering to the sweet embrace of darkness.
When she awoke she was being spoken to by one of the captured soldiers. He was wearing fur armour with a blue cloak. Wyldfyre had no idea what that meant, and she didn’t have any care about it, but he had a kind voice and a nice face, framed by blond hair. He looked at her with pity in his eyes. Something in which she resented, but she listened to him anyway. He was asking her where she came from. No doubt curious why a young woman would turn up in the middle of no-where, half dressed with nothing but a primitive hunting bow to her name. Wyldfyre wasn't interested in answering him. She looked around at the other prisoners when her eyes fell on one man in particular. His head drooped and it was clear he had been beaten as well. Blood had dried and crusted in his hair. He was bound like the rest of them but he also had a gag tied tightly over his mouth. This one is different she thought. There was a presence about him. He was dressed different as well. Like one of those fancy noble men she had seen in the books she had read as a child. She studied him with a keen interest. The way his hair fell over his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw line. Then his head tilted ever so slightly and she was pierced through by pale blue eyes. Wyldfyre returned his gaze and something, if very fleeting, passed between them before the cart jolted suddenly, and the moment was gone. The man returned to his silent defiance and Wyldfyre returned to her slumped, despondent despair. This was not at all like she had planned.
Her plan was to make her way down out of the mountains. Find some small village somewhere. Maybe get some work on a farm, or hunting game. Then proceed to the next town and the next after that. She wanted to keep moving, as she felt nervous about spending too much time in one place. She had not planned the journey to be so rough, or for it to have taken so long, and she found herself caught in a mountain pass with the snow pelting down and the going hard and exhausting. Her food supplies ran low then ran out altogether. She found it hard to hunt, as she had never experienced snow before. Her village had been set in a hidden vale where the extremes of nature could not make their way in to. Her hunting grounds were deep woods north of the vale that she got to through a network of tunnels under the mountain. Those tunnels. That’s where it began. The horror. She did not want to think about it right then. It was too painful to do so.
The carriage train made its slow, pondering way through the wilderness until they came to a stop outside what appeared to be a small town. It was surrounded by a high wall made from thick tree trunks and Wyldfyre could see soldiers in towers armed with bows. Flight was not an option at this place. The Driver of her carriage gave a shout and the gates opened slowly to reveal a rather ram shackled town beyond. They continued into the town and passed by houses, and inns. Townsfolk gawked at the new prisoners. Some with hatred, but some with pity. Wyldfyre frowned at all of them, not used to so many eyes on her at once. In her small village in the mountains, it was considered extremely rude to stare as these people did now. She scowled at a young boy who was pointing at her and he cowered into his mothers skirts. No doubt Wyldfyre looked extremely frightening right then. Bloody from her beating, her flaming red hair with all manner of nature stuck to it, and her fierce blue slash tattoo she had down the right side of her face. Out of all of that, nothing was fiercer than her eyes. An unusually brilliant shade of green, her family liked to joke about them being able to produce little bolts of lightning whenever her temper got the better of her. Which was quite often.
Little did her family know that when Wyldfyre went off into the woods by herself to hunt, she was actually producing real bolts of lightning. But from her fingertips, not from her eyes. She had discovered she could do this quite by accident. One autumn day, as she stealthily stalked a deer through the woods, she did not notice she herself was being stalked. A Sabre cat, so rare in the part of the woods she hunted, had caught her scent and had been following her for some time, waiting for its opportunity to pounce. If Wyldfyre had not been so engrossed in her own hunt, she may have heard a snap of a twig, or the rustle of leaves. If it had not been for the deer suddenly bounding off and breaking Wyldfyre's concentration, she would not have come out of those woods alive that day, for as the deer bounded away, it was then that the big cat decided to strike. Wyldfyre was in the process of standing up and knocked the cat off its flight path and to the side. She was knocked to the ground herself, receiving a gash to her leg and her hunting bow flying out of her hands to land yards away. Stunned, she scrambled backwards until she was forced up against a tree trunk, desperately searching for something she could use as a weapon, anything, before the cat made a second charge. Wyldfyre came up empty and as the cat leapt for her she held up her hands in front of her and poured every bit of energy she could into them to fend off the beast. It all happened so quickly, there was a sudden rush of energy up her arms to her fingers and as she closed her eyes, expecting her life to end, she felt something release and heard a loud crackling sound. The Sabre cat made one howl and then all was quite.
Wyldfyre sat there, too scared to open her eyes for a few moments. When she finally did she was amazed to see the Sabre cat, lying at her feet, dead. Wyldfyre stared at the cat, and then at her hands, which looked perfectly normal. What had she done? Could she do it again? Did she want to do it again? Wyldfyre turned her attention back to the Sabre cat. She could not bring it home as it was. Her village feared and shunned magic of any kind. To bring the animal home with no visible wounds would be a sure way to get her banished from the clan. So she collected her hunting bow and fired five shots into the cats lifeless body. She also tore her clothes and made a few fresh wounds on her own body to make it seem like she had fought the beast. She hated lying to her family, but it was the only way to keep her secret. That night there was much merriment around the fire and Wyldfyre had to regale them with tales of her great battle with the Sabre cat. It was skinned and the various meat portions shared out amongst the families. Wyldfyre was given the honour of the furs to put on her bed. After that, whenever she could get away, she would go deep into the forest and practice her new arts.
The cart stopping, jolted Wyldfyre out of her revere and as the soldiers ordered the prisoners down, she suddenly realised that they were in the centre of the town, and in the middle of some more official looking soldiers, was a stone chopping block with a very nasty looking axe leaning against it. Wyldfyre began to panic. What was happening? Why was she here, amongst these criminals and enemies? She hadn’t even committed any crime before she was caught. Was she to be put to death because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? The prisoners were being asked their names one by one, and when the soldier came to her, he at first looked a little unsure. He looked to the Captain for reassurance and she gave a nod of her head. What a waste the soldier thought. A nod was Wyldfyre's death sentence. This was madness. She had to get away. But how?
Suddenly the mouthy horse rustler broke away from the group and ran off down the dirt road. He may have got away if not for a quick thinking soldier who loosed an arrow which thrummed into the man’s back and he went slamming into the ground. Wyldfyre's hopes at a quick escape were dashed. One of the blue cloaked prisoners was man-handled towards the chopping block and roughly shoved down onto the ground, his head placed over the red stained stone. Wyldfyre could not make out what he said before his life ended with a swing of the axe man's arm. Wyldfyre had not seen a man beheaded before and she was equally shocked and fascinated. In her panic she had completely forgotten her powers. She had started to master fire and that could have easily burned through her bindings. But how far would she had of got after that?
Suddenly a great roar unlike Wyldfyre had ever heard rumbled in the distance, breaking the silence and causing everyone to look up to the sky. She thought she saw something way off in the distance, but could not be sure.
“What was that?” one of the soldiers asked nervously.
“Nothing” assured the Captain “Keep going. Next!”
A new amount of tension began to build up amongst everyone in that courtyard. Wyldfyre was escorted between two guards towards the block. She kicked at her captors and tried to summon her powers but in her panic could not even muster a small flame. As she was shoved onto the block there was another almighty roar and as Wyldfyre turned her head towards the tower an enormous winged beast landed on top of it. The ground shook with its landing, and great amounts of rock and debris landed on the people below it. The beast was scaly and black spikes protruded from almost every part of its body. Its great leathery wings wrapped themselves around the ruined tower, and as it open its jaws it spoke words that Wyldfyre could not understand, yet somehow they seemed familiar. The beast has magic in it, Wyldfyre could tell. She could feel the malice and evilness of it shimmer out from its body like hot waves of fire. She could also tell that it wanted her dead. It wanted everyone there dead.