All: It's been an extremely long time since I poked my nose in here, but I do so having (hopefully) triumphantly cured my writers block. I've decided that to do so, I would need to start from scratch and apply a few things I have learned, including:
1. Keep your story coherent, don't twist and turn for the sake of it.
2. Know what makes a good description and what is purple prose, one is good and the other is pretentious.
3. Backstory. Use it.
4. Make it your own, use your own imagination.
As for keeping up with everyone else, I pretty much need to start over. I will do my best, and hopefully get into commenting on everyone else's stories as time goes on. In the meantime, here is a brief taste of I am working on now.
Prologue: Cloaked in Ash
“Mommy, where are we going?” asked the young Dunmer girl.
“Wherever the road might take us, little Raven.” The mother replied.
Ash choked the midday air as the two journeyed westward. What little light could break through offered little solace to travelers; a gray, cheerless light that served more to remind them of the dangers ahead than to cloak them in warmth and comfort. Only barely visible ahead were the snowcapped peaks of the Velothi Mountains. Beyond them, the mother hoped, they could finally escape the hellish world they had come to live in.
The days of peaceful living in Morrowind were done. Gone were the times when the sun shone bright and the marshmerrow grew tall. Now there was only ash, and death, and more ash to bury the dead.
“Do we have to go, mommy?” The child continued, “Why can’t we stay at home?”
“There’s nothing left for us there, little Raven,” the mother replied, her soothing tone failing to hide her deep inner sadness. “It’s all we can do now to just find somewhere else we can make a life for ourselves.”
Little Raven, she thought. Such a shame she had to be born into a world like this. She was barely even five years old now and already she carried inside her a fire to rival the Red Mountain. How ironic it was that the great tempest that now turned her away from everything she ever had might instill itself in her only child. A stark reminder of how even a small bit of light can shine through the darkest curse.
She looked back at her home, the Ravenloth plantation. It was nowhere near as large and opulent as, say, the former Dren plantation (or so she was told), but it was enough to live comfortably. At least, until the recent flurry of constant ash storms sucked all the life away from her beloved mashmerrow and saltrice. Now, her fields cloaked beneath a solid foot of ash, which was seeping its way through every gap in her house’s walls it could find, there was no good to come of staying anymore. She couldn’t bear to watch the life choked out of her fields.
The child was overcome by a fit of coughing, she fell to her hands and knees, unable to move. Terror gripped the mother’s heart as she ran to her little Raven, tearing her cloak asunder.
“Here,” she said, wrapping a piece around her child’s head, covering her nose and mouth. “You can’t breathe this air, little one. This will keep the ash out.”
Covering her face with what remained of her cloak and grimacing as she felt the rough, gray snow pelt at her light inner tunic, she held her child as close to her as she could, praying to the ancestors that she it was not too late for her.
Ever since the ash storms came, her little Raven’s health had deteriorated quickly. She was much too young to survive like this. Every night before she slept, she’d hear her coughing, each rough crack piercing her skin like an ice-cold dagger. No matter how many windows she boarded, how many gaps she stuffed with old clothing, still the ash found a way to her little Raven, trying to choke the life out of her the way it did her livelihood. Last night was the worst she’d ever had. No matter what she tried, pans of water with flames lit beneath to fill her room with steam and help her breathe, fashioning masks to wear while she was awake, still the ash found its way to her. Last night, the coughing started and wouldn’t stop. She’d spent the entire night curled up beside her, holding her close, listening to her labored breathing as fresh tears rolled down her nose. It was then she said to herself, they had to leave.
The child’s breathing steadied. Slowly she got to her feet again, and her mother, smiling meekly, grabbed her hand, and they continued west.
“So where are we going, mommy?” The child asked again.
“Across the mountains, my little Raven,” the mother replied. “Away from here. Anywhere the air is clear.”
Full Version: Red-Eyed Raven
TK, a warm welcome back to you! So nice to see you writing again. 
And you’re off to a great start!
A poignant escape from the poisoned ashlands underway, I see. You did a great job of portraying the persistent and deadly nature of the blowing ash. Given the title of the thread, I’d like to think little Raven will make it. We will have to see if her mother survives, as well as the destination.
Nits:
‘...cheerless light that served more to remind them of the dangers ahead than to clock them in warmth...’ - - cloak vs clock
’Beyond the, the mother hoped, they could finally escape the hellish world...’ - - Double use of ‘the’
And you’re off to a great start!
A poignant escape from the poisoned ashlands underway, I see. You did a great job of portraying the persistent and deadly nature of the blowing ash. Given the title of the thread, I’d like to think little Raven will make it. We will have to see if her mother survives, as well as the destination.
Nits:
‘...cheerless light that served more to remind them of the dangers ahead than to clock them in warmth...’ - - cloak vs clock
’Beyond the, the mother hoped, they could finally escape the hellish world...’ - - Double use of ‘the’
So from her name, I take it this is Mystique from her days as a child? 
the Ravenloth plantation.
Castle Ravenloft? It is far worse than Mystique!
All joking aside, this was a wonderfully grim prologue, telling us the tale of two refugees from the death of Morrowind. You make it very clear why they have to leave, to the point where the deadly, all-pervasive ash is a third character in the tale.
nits:
At least, until the recent flurry of constant ash storms sucked all the life away from her beloved mashmerrow and salstrice.
You have an extra 's' in the middle of saltrice.
the Ravenloth plantation.
Castle Ravenloft? It is far worse than Mystique!
All joking aside, this was a wonderfully grim prologue, telling us the tale of two refugees from the death of Morrowind. You make it very clear why they have to leave, to the point where the deadly, all-pervasive ash is a third character in the tale.
nits:
At least, until the recent flurry of constant ash storms sucked all the life away from her beloved mashmerrow and salstrice.
You have an extra 's' in the middle of saltrice.
Fair dues...Brilliantly written prologue...
Absolutely makes me want to read the rest...
Btw, as a parent I could completely sympathise with the mother's anguish at the constant coughing...Nicely done that bit...
Looking forward to more...
Nice one!...
*Applauds heartily*...
Absolutely makes me want to read the rest...
Btw, as a parent I could completely sympathise with the mother's anguish at the constant coughing...Nicely done that bit...
Looking forward to more...
Nice one!...
*Applauds heartily*...
At first I was delighted to see your name as the OP on this thread. Yay, TK's back!
Then I winced at the reminder of the persistent coughing and lung affliction I suffered through a couple of years ago that pretty much knocked me out of writing for a long time.
But that only shows how well you've written this prologue - I felt every cough of that poor child! Hope she doesn't get granulomatous pneumoniitis from all the ash!
Nice work, and I look forward to more!
Then I winced at the reminder of the persistent coughing and lung affliction I suffered through a couple of years ago that pretty much knocked me out of writing for a long time.
But that only shows how well you've written this prologue - I felt every cough of that poor child! Hope she doesn't get granulomatous pneumoniitis from all the ash!
Nice work, and I look forward to more!
The oppressive atmosphere was brilliant. Slipping in through the cracks, slowly choking the life out of everything. The feel of desperation in the mother. I loved it.
Acadian: Thank you for the warm welcome! Indeed, ash is a deadly thing, especially from a mystic volcano created from the heart of a god. Little Raven is, of course, the protagonist, so she does make it, but time will tell what happened to her mother. There is a hint in the next portion, though.
SubRosa: You never know, she might be...
Good to see the ash is having the effect I wanted on the readers.
McBadgere: Thank you for the kind words! What was mainly going through my head writing that bit was "what would my mom do if I was deathly ill and there was so little she could do to help?" The reaction here is ultimately what I came up with.
hautee: Ouch, I did not know that. Lung diseases suck. I had problems myself when in middle school that made it almost impossible for me to run, so I can definitely sympathize. I am quite glad that I, like you, managed to get through it, and now there is no trace, but it was still a tough couple of years.
jack cloudy: Desperate indeed. What else would drive someone to abandon their home?
All: It's good to be back at it again. I don't want to give a definite update schedule, basically the segments will be done when I feel they are done, but I will try to shoot for at least once a week.
In the meantime, we now fast-forward to the present.
1-1: Lost
Diressi’s eyes flung open.
Her head felt as if it had been cleaved in two. Not the first time, but she couldn’t remember when it smarted as bad as it did. A wet trickle meandered past her ear; she didn’t need to think twice to know what it was. She quickly brought her hand to her scalp and found it wet with blood.
How did I get here, she thought, what am I doing in the dirt?
Rolling over, her eyes narrowed as the bright blue sky and honey-gold sun came into view. She could also make out a few small treetops, though her vision was much too blurred for her to distinguish what exactly they were. It was also warm, far warmer than home.
She tried to rise, but was met only with a searing pain across the back of her head. Gasping, she collapsed back to the ground.
Damn, this isn’t good, she mused. Fear began to well up inside her. She had no idea where she was, what she was doing, and how she had ended up face-down in the dirt with half her head feeling like it had been bashed in.
All she remembered was she had taken on a job to protect a small caravan of “sensitive goods” being shipped to the city of Riften. They had been moving south, out of Windhelm and out across the volcanic plains beyond. After that, her mind was blank.
Slowly, grimacing as her head protested, she brought herself to sit upright. The bleeding had slowed some, but it didn’t help that if she tried to do any more than sit her skull would split in two.
Must’ve been bandits, she thought, who else would leave you for dead like this?
Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly felt at her back for her bow. It was gone. As were her daggers, her backpack, and her coinpurse. Her fear was quickly overshadowed by a fierce rage.
“FETCHERS!” she shouted, pounding her fist back to the ground and rousing a racket from one of the trees as a flock of birds took to the air. Her shouting cost her dearly, though. Her vision swam and it took all she had to not collapse back into a heap, but what did it matter? That was her livelihood they stole; everything she ever had.
Her heart skipped again. Again her hands flew to her waist, but this time not searching for her dagger….
They came to rest on a small black doll. Exhaling her relief, Diressi unbuckled if from her belt and brought it up to her eyes. It was for all intents worthless, doubtless that’s why those ruffians didn’t pilfer it along with her coinpurse, but not to her. It was made in the image of a raven, its wings spread wide as if to fly away, its beak open to echo an eternal caw. The body, while made of simple linen, was crafted to look like the feathers of the bird it was fashioned of. Every inch of it was pitch-black in color, save the eye. It was a pure, fiery red. Just like hers.
Holding the doll close, she turned it over. The other side was mostly identical to the first, save a tiny inscription sewn into the body.
“I am always with you, my Red-Eyed Raven.”
Her eyes stung. Clasping them shut, she hugged the doll tightly. This close to her, she could almost feel the warmth and love of the hands who spun it.
Almost.
---
She opened her eyes. Her vision, and her anger, had cleared. The dull throbbing pain in her head had subsided, as well. Gingerly, and with one hand still firmly clasping the raven doll, she got to her feet.
It was now the full force of her predicament hit. Diressi was alone in the wilderness, unarmed, unarmored, unequipped, and her hair was no doubt a mess. Lank, matted with dirt and blood, it would be a miracle if she could fix it up, let alone clean it.
And then there were her weapons, the ancestral weapons of her family.
Mother would kill me if she found out I lost them, she thought. Although she never told her where they came from, Diressi made out (eventually) that they were of great significance to her. After all, they were the only possessions she had that she felt worth carrying over the mountains so long ago to escape the ash.
Ash… the tempest of death, as she had come to know it. Though safer here in Skyrim than across the mountains, it still found its way to her feet every so often. Here it was often mistaken for snow, until you took it in and doubled over unable to breathe for coughing. A fair few died in Windhelm every year. Ash Sickness, they called it. It got inside of you, did things…. Within days a fit and healthy man would be flat on his bed, unable to move, or breathe, coughing up blood by the mouthful. It was such a terrible way to die.
Mother always knew when it was coming, she reminisced, shivering in the warm breeze, she would see the cloud approach, send me inside, and wouldn’t let me out again until it was over.
Not the time, she thought, shaking her head (her vision swam again and she nearly doubled over). Right, so, how am I going to get out of this?
Once her vision cleared, she could make out the surrounding landscape. It was anything but a quiet picture of peace, though at the same time it really didn’t feel all that dangerous. She appeared to have been left on a small island surrounded by a shallow pool. The water, slightly greenish-yellow in color, lay nearly still, save for several small columns of water bubbling and frothing playfully in the midday sun. She bent down to touch it; it was quite warm, and she immediately felt the tension in her hand vanish as her fingers brushed the surface.
Soon after, without thinking, she had removed her shirt and leggings and jumped in. The effect was immediate; it felt as if all her troubles were washing away in the heat and steam of the hot spring. She shut her eyes, savoring the feeling of relief. Not even her pounding head seemed that bad anymore. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her reflection. She could almost feel reality crashing back down on her shoulders at the sight.
A small stream of dried blood ran down the right side of her delicately angular face, just behind her long, pointed ear. It continued all the way down to her chin, which ended in the typical Dunmer point. Dirt was spattered across her cheeks and nose, obscuring the otherwise uncanny ash-color of her skin, and hiding the chain of pale freckles just beneath her brilliant, almost glowing lava-red eyes. Even more blood stained her forehead, spilling down to her angular brow, which when paired with her eyes, gave her an elegant yet highly aggressive stare. But none of that mattered, not compared to her hair. It was lank, it was matted, it was bloody, it was everything she feared, and she would not be seen dead with that mess of a mop atop her scalp.
Breathing deeply, she dove in as deep as she could (the water only came up to her waist). The expected twinge of protest from the back of her skull was quickly vanquished by the soothing warmth of the spring. She vigorously scrubbed the dirt and blood out of her hair as best she could.
I really wish those fetching bandits had left me my soap, she thought as she pulled her hair out of the spring. She looked back once the ripples were gone, and she could see her hair, while still not great, was at least better off than before. It would have to do; no soap and no styling potion meant that was about the best it was going to be.
She plunged in again and washed the blood off her face, then let her legs slide out from under her, sighing deeply as she sank into the rich warmth all the way to her neck.
At least I’m here, she thought, managing a meek smile, and not up on a glacier or a mountaintop.
She drank in the rest of the scene as she bathed. The ground was spattered with cracks hither and thither, steam gushing out of every one of them. Trees were sparse, though thankfully she was far enough to the north that the sun was peaceful and the shade was not needed. But even the steam vents and bright sunlight didn’t quite mask the nip of a chill in the air. All around her were great mountains, their tops rising to pierce the heavens, and covered in a blanket of white. The crater offered some shelter from the frigid winds blowing off the peaks, but not completely. Few trees meant few obstacles for the wind. One peak, however, was smaller and closer than the rest, rising out of what Diressi could make out as the center of the crater. Many jagged rocks jutted from it, like teeth in a dragon’s maw, and a great jet of steam issued ceaselessly from the top: the lava dome.
Diressi frowned. The best place to get her bearings would be there. But it didn’t look very inviting at all. She didn’t like the steam either; it meant the volcano hiding beneath her feet was stirring. But the Eastmarch crater had been like this for decades, and it’s never blown its top. And like it or not, she was stuck here. Ascending the dome was her best chance of finding her way back to Windhelm with no road in sight and the blanket of steam in the air obscuring the distant view.
Grudgingly, she rose out of the water, took a few minutes to let the sun dry her off, and redressed. She was only left her undershirt and burlap trousers, but it was enough to make do for now. She ran her hand across the back of her head one last time. The bleeding had stopped and though it still throbbed uncomfortably, it was more annoying now than it was painful. With one last glance at the steaming dome, she tightened her grip around the small raven doll, leapt the channel in which she had lounged, and set off into the depths of wild Skyrim.
post-script: Diressi's face is my new avatar.
SubRosa: You never know, she might be...
Good to see the ash is having the effect I wanted on the readers.
McBadgere: Thank you for the kind words! What was mainly going through my head writing that bit was "what would my mom do if I was deathly ill and there was so little she could do to help?" The reaction here is ultimately what I came up with.
hautee: Ouch, I did not know that. Lung diseases suck. I had problems myself when in middle school that made it almost impossible for me to run, so I can definitely sympathize. I am quite glad that I, like you, managed to get through it, and now there is no trace, but it was still a tough couple of years.
jack cloudy: Desperate indeed. What else would drive someone to abandon their home?
All: It's good to be back at it again. I don't want to give a definite update schedule, basically the segments will be done when I feel they are done, but I will try to shoot for at least once a week.
In the meantime, we now fast-forward to the present.
1-1: Lost
Diressi’s eyes flung open.
Her head felt as if it had been cleaved in two. Not the first time, but she couldn’t remember when it smarted as bad as it did. A wet trickle meandered past her ear; she didn’t need to think twice to know what it was. She quickly brought her hand to her scalp and found it wet with blood.
How did I get here, she thought, what am I doing in the dirt?
Rolling over, her eyes narrowed as the bright blue sky and honey-gold sun came into view. She could also make out a few small treetops, though her vision was much too blurred for her to distinguish what exactly they were. It was also warm, far warmer than home.
She tried to rise, but was met only with a searing pain across the back of her head. Gasping, she collapsed back to the ground.
Damn, this isn’t good, she mused. Fear began to well up inside her. She had no idea where she was, what she was doing, and how she had ended up face-down in the dirt with half her head feeling like it had been bashed in.
All she remembered was she had taken on a job to protect a small caravan of “sensitive goods” being shipped to the city of Riften. They had been moving south, out of Windhelm and out across the volcanic plains beyond. After that, her mind was blank.
Slowly, grimacing as her head protested, she brought herself to sit upright. The bleeding had slowed some, but it didn’t help that if she tried to do any more than sit her skull would split in two.
Must’ve been bandits, she thought, who else would leave you for dead like this?
Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly felt at her back for her bow. It was gone. As were her daggers, her backpack, and her coinpurse. Her fear was quickly overshadowed by a fierce rage.
“FETCHERS!” she shouted, pounding her fist back to the ground and rousing a racket from one of the trees as a flock of birds took to the air. Her shouting cost her dearly, though. Her vision swam and it took all she had to not collapse back into a heap, but what did it matter? That was her livelihood they stole; everything she ever had.
Her heart skipped again. Again her hands flew to her waist, but this time not searching for her dagger….
They came to rest on a small black doll. Exhaling her relief, Diressi unbuckled if from her belt and brought it up to her eyes. It was for all intents worthless, doubtless that’s why those ruffians didn’t pilfer it along with her coinpurse, but not to her. It was made in the image of a raven, its wings spread wide as if to fly away, its beak open to echo an eternal caw. The body, while made of simple linen, was crafted to look like the feathers of the bird it was fashioned of. Every inch of it was pitch-black in color, save the eye. It was a pure, fiery red. Just like hers.
Holding the doll close, she turned it over. The other side was mostly identical to the first, save a tiny inscription sewn into the body.
“I am always with you, my Red-Eyed Raven.”
Her eyes stung. Clasping them shut, she hugged the doll tightly. This close to her, she could almost feel the warmth and love of the hands who spun it.
Almost.
---
She opened her eyes. Her vision, and her anger, had cleared. The dull throbbing pain in her head had subsided, as well. Gingerly, and with one hand still firmly clasping the raven doll, she got to her feet.
It was now the full force of her predicament hit. Diressi was alone in the wilderness, unarmed, unarmored, unequipped, and her hair was no doubt a mess. Lank, matted with dirt and blood, it would be a miracle if she could fix it up, let alone clean it.
And then there were her weapons, the ancestral weapons of her family.
Mother would kill me if she found out I lost them, she thought. Although she never told her where they came from, Diressi made out (eventually) that they were of great significance to her. After all, they were the only possessions she had that she felt worth carrying over the mountains so long ago to escape the ash.
Ash… the tempest of death, as she had come to know it. Though safer here in Skyrim than across the mountains, it still found its way to her feet every so often. Here it was often mistaken for snow, until you took it in and doubled over unable to breathe for coughing. A fair few died in Windhelm every year. Ash Sickness, they called it. It got inside of you, did things…. Within days a fit and healthy man would be flat on his bed, unable to move, or breathe, coughing up blood by the mouthful. It was such a terrible way to die.
Mother always knew when it was coming, she reminisced, shivering in the warm breeze, she would see the cloud approach, send me inside, and wouldn’t let me out again until it was over.
Not the time, she thought, shaking her head (her vision swam again and she nearly doubled over). Right, so, how am I going to get out of this?
Once her vision cleared, she could make out the surrounding landscape. It was anything but a quiet picture of peace, though at the same time it really didn’t feel all that dangerous. She appeared to have been left on a small island surrounded by a shallow pool. The water, slightly greenish-yellow in color, lay nearly still, save for several small columns of water bubbling and frothing playfully in the midday sun. She bent down to touch it; it was quite warm, and she immediately felt the tension in her hand vanish as her fingers brushed the surface.
Soon after, without thinking, she had removed her shirt and leggings and jumped in. The effect was immediate; it felt as if all her troubles were washing away in the heat and steam of the hot spring. She shut her eyes, savoring the feeling of relief. Not even her pounding head seemed that bad anymore. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her reflection. She could almost feel reality crashing back down on her shoulders at the sight.
A small stream of dried blood ran down the right side of her delicately angular face, just behind her long, pointed ear. It continued all the way down to her chin, which ended in the typical Dunmer point. Dirt was spattered across her cheeks and nose, obscuring the otherwise uncanny ash-color of her skin, and hiding the chain of pale freckles just beneath her brilliant, almost glowing lava-red eyes. Even more blood stained her forehead, spilling down to her angular brow, which when paired with her eyes, gave her an elegant yet highly aggressive stare. But none of that mattered, not compared to her hair. It was lank, it was matted, it was bloody, it was everything she feared, and she would not be seen dead with that mess of a mop atop her scalp.
Breathing deeply, she dove in as deep as she could (the water only came up to her waist). The expected twinge of protest from the back of her skull was quickly vanquished by the soothing warmth of the spring. She vigorously scrubbed the dirt and blood out of her hair as best she could.
I really wish those fetching bandits had left me my soap, she thought as she pulled her hair out of the spring. She looked back once the ripples were gone, and she could see her hair, while still not great, was at least better off than before. It would have to do; no soap and no styling potion meant that was about the best it was going to be.
She plunged in again and washed the blood off her face, then let her legs slide out from under her, sighing deeply as she sank into the rich warmth all the way to her neck.
At least I’m here, she thought, managing a meek smile, and not up on a glacier or a mountaintop.
She drank in the rest of the scene as she bathed. The ground was spattered with cracks hither and thither, steam gushing out of every one of them. Trees were sparse, though thankfully she was far enough to the north that the sun was peaceful and the shade was not needed. But even the steam vents and bright sunlight didn’t quite mask the nip of a chill in the air. All around her were great mountains, their tops rising to pierce the heavens, and covered in a blanket of white. The crater offered some shelter from the frigid winds blowing off the peaks, but not completely. Few trees meant few obstacles for the wind. One peak, however, was smaller and closer than the rest, rising out of what Diressi could make out as the center of the crater. Many jagged rocks jutted from it, like teeth in a dragon’s maw, and a great jet of steam issued ceaselessly from the top: the lava dome.
Diressi frowned. The best place to get her bearings would be there. But it didn’t look very inviting at all. She didn’t like the steam either; it meant the volcano hiding beneath her feet was stirring. But the Eastmarch crater had been like this for decades, and it’s never blown its top. And like it or not, she was stuck here. Ascending the dome was her best chance of finding her way back to Windhelm with no road in sight and the blanket of steam in the air obscuring the distant view.
Grudgingly, she rose out of the water, took a few minutes to let the sun dry her off, and redressed. She was only left her undershirt and burlap trousers, but it was enough to make do for now. She ran her hand across the back of her head one last time. The bleeding had stopped and though it still throbbed uncomfortably, it was more annoying now than it was painful. With one last glance at the steaming dome, she tightened her grip around the small raven doll, leapt the channel in which she had lounged, and set off into the depths of wild Skyrim.
post-script: Diressi's face is my new avatar.
So we rejoin little Raven, all grown into someone who sounds like a capable adventurer and/or mercenary. And the tundra of Skyrim is her home now!
This ties in wonderfully with your prelude, and provides a great deal of information about who Diressi has become – all in a wonderfully natural manner.
This ties in wonderfully with your prelude, and provides a great deal of information about who Diressi has become – all in a wonderfully natural manner.
I love it when a story plunges us right into the midst of a crisis from the get-go! My best friend once pointed out that that is the way I tend to write, and she liked that I do that. So since then, I've made a conscious effort to start my stories in the middle of something. No introductions, nothing.
And here you do this so well! It took a moment for me to realize that we had skipped ahead quite a few years, but it was well done, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the tiny child that broke my heart in your first installment has grown into quite the accomplished young woman. Though I'm sure she isn't feeling very accomplished right now!
And a moment of vulnerability - that doll. It shows us that Direnni is - human? - mortal? - I am searching for the appropriate word for our Dunmeri lass, but I imagine you know what I mean. It makes her somewhat less scary in her anger at the fetchers who hit her from behind and stole all her stuff. But not the doll! I can't begin to imagine what she will plot for those thieves if they had stolen the doll as well . . .
And here you do this so well! It took a moment for me to realize that we had skipped ahead quite a few years, but it was well done, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the tiny child that broke my heart in your first installment has grown into quite the accomplished young woman. Though I'm sure she isn't feeling very accomplished right now!
And a moment of vulnerability - that doll. It shows us that Direnni is - human? - mortal? - I am searching for the appropriate word for our Dunmeri lass, but I imagine you know what I mean. It makes her somewhat less scary in her anger at the fetchers who hit her from behind and stole all her stuff. But not the doll! I can't begin to imagine what she will plot for those thieves if they had stolen the doll as well . . .
Diressi was alone in the wilderness, unarmed, unarmored, unequipped, and her hair was no doubt a mess.
Oh noes! Everything sounded all right until the last thing on the list!
So little Raven has grown up, only to be left for dead in the middle of the volcanic tundra!
You have certainly done a good job of starting out with a story that is exciting and interesting. Which is important because your first few pages - first few paragraphs even - need to draw the reader in and make them want to read more.
Oh noes! Everything sounded all right until the last thing on the list!
So little Raven has grown up, only to be left for dead in the middle of the volcanic tundra!
You have certainly done a good job of starting out with a story that is exciting and interesting. Which is important because your first few pages - first few paragraphs even - need to draw the reader in and make them want to read more.
It’s great to have you back, TK!
I think any parent could relate to Raven’s mother’s plight. Well done.
I enjoyed the way you opened with a mystery, grown-up Raven left for dead with her hair in a state. Reflecting on what she’d lost gave clues about her life in an engaging way. I’m intrigued!
I think any parent could relate to Raven’s mother’s plight. Well done.
I enjoyed the way you opened with a mystery, grown-up Raven left for dead with her hair in a state. Reflecting on what she’d lost gave clues about her life in an engaging way. I’m intrigued!
This is a story that takes hold from the start and does not let go.
Excellent to have you back and even more so that you are giving us this wonderful treat.
Excellent to have you back and even more so that you are giving us this wonderful treat.
Acadian: It's good to see the intentions of each segment are clear to my readers and makes them understand exactly what's going on in the story.
hautee: Hmm, what a puzzle indeed. Diressi is definitely not a man, so what would the correct word be? Soulful maybe?
I like to start my stories in the middle of a tense situation too, it really helps to grab the reader's attention.
SubRosa: Hair is always of utmost importance. Besides, what better way to lighten a chapter's mood a bit than to have our heroine contemplate her various wardrobe malfunctions?
Grits: You want more. Goood.
treydog: I'd liken it to my half Pit-bull's jaws, she shuts them on something, you aren't opening them back up until she lets you.
1-2: Seeing Red
The sun was setting by the time Diressi had reached the dome. This close, it looked smaller than before, though no less foreboding. She glanced at the surface. Lots of loose gravel and earth, no doubt churned up by whatever bestial force was beneath her feet right now. Not a great surface to walk on, especially with the light fading. But what else could she do? This was the only landmark for miles, as far as she knew. And besides, it wasn’t too steep.
She stepped onto the hill; the gravel quavered menacingly under her feet, but didn’t shift. Feeling slightly more confident, Diressi began to ascend. The journey here had taken most of what was left of her strength; the little she had left after getting smashed around like she did. Several times the ground shifted beneath her feet threatening to spill her back to the bottom, but never enough to actually overbalance her so long as she took her time. Twilight had fallen by the time she reached the top, and the great red-orange sphere of Masser, the larger of Tamriel’s two moons, was visible in the sky.
“That way must be east,” Diressi told herself, pointing towards the great body in the heavens. “Moons over Morrowind circle to Cyrodiil.”
She turned her finger.
“South,” she continued, pointing towards a great cliff face only just visible in the waning light. “I was heading that way when I was ambushed.”
She turned again. This time, her finger came to rest on a massive mountain, nearly three times as tall as the others. Clouds and mist cloaked the bottom, but it rose far past them, trading the cotton-like puffs for the frigid white of snow, all the way to the peak. Sharp as a talon, it speared towards the heavens, reaching to touch the many stars now appearing as the indigo sky faded to black.
“The Throat of the World” she said, continuing her recital, “west with the setting sun.”
“Which leaves north,” she finished, moving her finger one last time. That was where she wanted to go. Back to Windhelm; back home.
But the light was gone, and she had no torches or spells. She couldn’t see anything around her anymore, let alone the distant city, for all the steam in her way. Nevertheless, it was pleasantly warm here, with plenty of overhanging rocks to provide shelter from the wind, good a place as any to rest for the night. Trying not to think about how well she would actually sleep on the bed of rough, sharp gravel, Diressi sat down, put her head against the rock wall behind her, and shut her eyes.
---
The light of dawn shone down on Diressi’s eyes as she woke the next day. Shielding her face and squinting from the brightness, she eyed at the sun now peeking its way over the eastern peaks of the Velothi Mountains.
She winced as she got to her feet, sleeping on gravel all night was not what she would call comfortable. Her arms and chest ached and her head was still complaining from the blow it had taken. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, but once they did, she was able to survey her surroundings much better than last evening.
The sight of the dome’s summit chilled her blood. Between the jagged rocks that sprouted hither and thither without pattern or sense were scattered enormous amounts of bones. Several human-looking skeletons were prevalent, along with the skulls of what were obviously mammoths. They were about as large as a man was tall, and their incredible tusks swept forth with a grace near unheard of from a beast as colossal as they. Most curved upward in sweeping arcs as they grew further and further from the face of their master; many actually looped entirely. What was more fascinating to Diressi, though, was that several skulls had four, even six tusks.
It must have something to do with how they are raised, she wondered to herself. A sheer sense of awe had overpowered the brief stab of foreboding she had felt not a minute ago. How she longed to see one of the beasts, alive and fit, wandering the tundra with their Giant handlers. Such a sight was rare now, as the most of the mammoth herds had been taken quite far from the cities of Man and Mer, who prized the mammoths for their meat and hides rather than for their majesty. She’d heard many a drunken Nord boasting to his friends of slaying one and claiming its skull as a trophy. The very thought sickened her.
Suddenly her awe turned back to fear. An ominous rattling was emitting from the bone piles, and several looked as if they were moving.
There was a crackle at her feet, there were now several bones there that had not been before. Diressi’s gaze turned to the pile right beside her. There was a human-looking skull intermixed in the chaos of remains. It seemed like it was looking back at her…
A bright blue glow then erupted into the center of where the skull’s eyes would have been. One yell of shock and backward stumble later, Diressi had tumbled over a loose bone and careened onto the mountainside. She could see nothing through the flying dust cloud behind her, and she didn’t want to. All she wanted now was to run, run as far away from this place as she could. With no weapons, and little knowledge of magic, it was all she could do.
She landed hard at the bottom of the dome, and the wind was knocked out of her. Unable to breathe, it was all she could do to work herself onto all fours, wait for her breath to return, and hope to her Ancestors that the skeletons that just raised wouldn’t reach her first.
A few seconds later, her lungs began working again. Coughing and sputtering from the dust in the air and the huge breaths she was taking, she worked her way back onto her feet. She looked up and her stomach seemed to vanish.
Three skeletons stood right in front of her, their bleached bones gleaming in the morning sunlight, and eyes glowing with what seemed more like ice than fire. They all had weapons drawn, one an ancient axe, one a sword, and the third was hanging farther back with a bow.
The skeleton with the sword stepped forward; hand raised, and brought his blade down in a violent slash. Diressi dove aside. The blade barely missed her shoulder, but a mind-numbing sting and involuntary yell of pain told her the blade had still struck true. Her blood ran hot down her left arm and the fresh wound smarted. She could barely think for the pain.
The mountains turned red, time seemed to slow. She looked back; the archer skeleton had knocked an arrow and was readying his shot.
Run, she was urged, don’t think. Just run.
She pushed herself back to her feet with all the strength she had left. Before she had taken two steps, she heard the skeleton’s arrow pierce the ground, where she had been lying not even a second ago. Breaking into a full sprint, she ran the only direction she knew: away from her assailants.
Her wound smarted fresh, but it felt distant, detached.
She glanced over her shoulder. The axe-wielder was staring down her neck, and was raising its vicious looking weapon.
Stop. She pushed all her weight into her feet and skidded to a dead halt. The skeleton shot past her, his axe hitting nothing but air. Diressi quickly veered to her right, away from the group, and sprinted off once again.
It didn’t take long for the skeletons to figure out what happened to their prey. Within seconds they were back to the chase, and gaining. Another sharp pain came from Diressi’s waist as she saw another arrow shoot past. Thankfully it only grazed her.
She then heard a sound like a footfall, only much too large to be of a Man, Mer, or skeleton. Glancing to her left, she saw the source: a giant. He was a hulking beast of a man, with a huge beard and an even huger club.
Go to him. She veered off again, sprinting straight for the massive wanderer. Before he even knew what happened, she had shot past. She didn’t stop, until she heard a huge crash and felt the ground shake.
Turning around, she saw what she had hoped for. The skeletons had started fighting the giant, and the giant was now crushing them beneath his feet… literally. The sword-wielder who had taken her blood was hacking away at his legs. He responded by whacking him away with the back of his palm and giving a mighty swing of his club. It impacted the ground with such force she could see a small crater through the cloud of dust it left behind. The skeleton shattered, bones flying everywhere. The other two were nowhere to be seen. He’d probably already destroyed them too.
Panting heavily, clutching a stitch in her side, Diressi settled herself onto a nearby rock. The color of her vision was slowly returning to normal. She didn’t know what exactly had urged her to do what she did, maybe survival instinct? But that wouldn’t cause her sight to shift colors like that. Maybe that was just a reaction to the pain and blood?
The wound seared. She looked at it. It wasn’t terrible, but the cut was clearly deep and the blood was running thick down her arm, dripping off into the dirt. She quickly tore off her sleeve and tied it tightly around the wound, bandaging it and, she hoped, slowing the bleeding.
Fear stabbed at her heart once again, she needed to treat a wound like this immediately. But she had no supplies, no potions, and no idea how to cast a healing spell. It all seemed hopeless now. She was lost, wounded, hungry, thirsty, and there wasn’t a soul for miles who could help her. Never in her life did Diressi feel so alone. The giant, having finished smashing his aggressors into bonemeal, was walking off.
Diressi grasped for her doll again. Holding it up, she looked straight into its fiery eye, crying harder than she had ever before.
“I wish you were here right now,” she sobbed, clutching the doll to her tear-stained cheek. “I wish you could help me.”
hautee: Hmm, what a puzzle indeed. Diressi is definitely not a man, so what would the correct word be? Soulful maybe?
I like to start my stories in the middle of a tense situation too, it really helps to grab the reader's attention.
SubRosa: Hair is always of utmost importance. Besides, what better way to lighten a chapter's mood a bit than to have our heroine contemplate her various wardrobe malfunctions?
Grits: You want more. Goood.
treydog: I'd liken it to my half Pit-bull's jaws, she shuts them on something, you aren't opening them back up until she lets you.
1-2: Seeing Red
The sun was setting by the time Diressi had reached the dome. This close, it looked smaller than before, though no less foreboding. She glanced at the surface. Lots of loose gravel and earth, no doubt churned up by whatever bestial force was beneath her feet right now. Not a great surface to walk on, especially with the light fading. But what else could she do? This was the only landmark for miles, as far as she knew. And besides, it wasn’t too steep.
She stepped onto the hill; the gravel quavered menacingly under her feet, but didn’t shift. Feeling slightly more confident, Diressi began to ascend. The journey here had taken most of what was left of her strength; the little she had left after getting smashed around like she did. Several times the ground shifted beneath her feet threatening to spill her back to the bottom, but never enough to actually overbalance her so long as she took her time. Twilight had fallen by the time she reached the top, and the great red-orange sphere of Masser, the larger of Tamriel’s two moons, was visible in the sky.
“That way must be east,” Diressi told herself, pointing towards the great body in the heavens. “Moons over Morrowind circle to Cyrodiil.”
She turned her finger.
“South,” she continued, pointing towards a great cliff face only just visible in the waning light. “I was heading that way when I was ambushed.”
She turned again. This time, her finger came to rest on a massive mountain, nearly three times as tall as the others. Clouds and mist cloaked the bottom, but it rose far past them, trading the cotton-like puffs for the frigid white of snow, all the way to the peak. Sharp as a talon, it speared towards the heavens, reaching to touch the many stars now appearing as the indigo sky faded to black.
“The Throat of the World” she said, continuing her recital, “west with the setting sun.”
“Which leaves north,” she finished, moving her finger one last time. That was where she wanted to go. Back to Windhelm; back home.
But the light was gone, and she had no torches or spells. She couldn’t see anything around her anymore, let alone the distant city, for all the steam in her way. Nevertheless, it was pleasantly warm here, with plenty of overhanging rocks to provide shelter from the wind, good a place as any to rest for the night. Trying not to think about how well she would actually sleep on the bed of rough, sharp gravel, Diressi sat down, put her head against the rock wall behind her, and shut her eyes.
---
The light of dawn shone down on Diressi’s eyes as she woke the next day. Shielding her face and squinting from the brightness, she eyed at the sun now peeking its way over the eastern peaks of the Velothi Mountains.
She winced as she got to her feet, sleeping on gravel all night was not what she would call comfortable. Her arms and chest ached and her head was still complaining from the blow it had taken. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, but once they did, she was able to survey her surroundings much better than last evening.
The sight of the dome’s summit chilled her blood. Between the jagged rocks that sprouted hither and thither without pattern or sense were scattered enormous amounts of bones. Several human-looking skeletons were prevalent, along with the skulls of what were obviously mammoths. They were about as large as a man was tall, and their incredible tusks swept forth with a grace near unheard of from a beast as colossal as they. Most curved upward in sweeping arcs as they grew further and further from the face of their master; many actually looped entirely. What was more fascinating to Diressi, though, was that several skulls had four, even six tusks.
It must have something to do with how they are raised, she wondered to herself. A sheer sense of awe had overpowered the brief stab of foreboding she had felt not a minute ago. How she longed to see one of the beasts, alive and fit, wandering the tundra with their Giant handlers. Such a sight was rare now, as the most of the mammoth herds had been taken quite far from the cities of Man and Mer, who prized the mammoths for their meat and hides rather than for their majesty. She’d heard many a drunken Nord boasting to his friends of slaying one and claiming its skull as a trophy. The very thought sickened her.
Suddenly her awe turned back to fear. An ominous rattling was emitting from the bone piles, and several looked as if they were moving.
There was a crackle at her feet, there were now several bones there that had not been before. Diressi’s gaze turned to the pile right beside her. There was a human-looking skull intermixed in the chaos of remains. It seemed like it was looking back at her…
A bright blue glow then erupted into the center of where the skull’s eyes would have been. One yell of shock and backward stumble later, Diressi had tumbled over a loose bone and careened onto the mountainside. She could see nothing through the flying dust cloud behind her, and she didn’t want to. All she wanted now was to run, run as far away from this place as she could. With no weapons, and little knowledge of magic, it was all she could do.
She landed hard at the bottom of the dome, and the wind was knocked out of her. Unable to breathe, it was all she could do to work herself onto all fours, wait for her breath to return, and hope to her Ancestors that the skeletons that just raised wouldn’t reach her first.
A few seconds later, her lungs began working again. Coughing and sputtering from the dust in the air and the huge breaths she was taking, she worked her way back onto her feet. She looked up and her stomach seemed to vanish.
Three skeletons stood right in front of her, their bleached bones gleaming in the morning sunlight, and eyes glowing with what seemed more like ice than fire. They all had weapons drawn, one an ancient axe, one a sword, and the third was hanging farther back with a bow.
The skeleton with the sword stepped forward; hand raised, and brought his blade down in a violent slash. Diressi dove aside. The blade barely missed her shoulder, but a mind-numbing sting and involuntary yell of pain told her the blade had still struck true. Her blood ran hot down her left arm and the fresh wound smarted. She could barely think for the pain.
The mountains turned red, time seemed to slow. She looked back; the archer skeleton had knocked an arrow and was readying his shot.
Run, she was urged, don’t think. Just run.
She pushed herself back to her feet with all the strength she had left. Before she had taken two steps, she heard the skeleton’s arrow pierce the ground, where she had been lying not even a second ago. Breaking into a full sprint, she ran the only direction she knew: away from her assailants.
Her wound smarted fresh, but it felt distant, detached.
She glanced over her shoulder. The axe-wielder was staring down her neck, and was raising its vicious looking weapon.
Stop. She pushed all her weight into her feet and skidded to a dead halt. The skeleton shot past her, his axe hitting nothing but air. Diressi quickly veered to her right, away from the group, and sprinted off once again.
It didn’t take long for the skeletons to figure out what happened to their prey. Within seconds they were back to the chase, and gaining. Another sharp pain came from Diressi’s waist as she saw another arrow shoot past. Thankfully it only grazed her.
She then heard a sound like a footfall, only much too large to be of a Man, Mer, or skeleton. Glancing to her left, she saw the source: a giant. He was a hulking beast of a man, with a huge beard and an even huger club.
Go to him. She veered off again, sprinting straight for the massive wanderer. Before he even knew what happened, she had shot past. She didn’t stop, until she heard a huge crash and felt the ground shake.
Turning around, she saw what she had hoped for. The skeletons had started fighting the giant, and the giant was now crushing them beneath his feet… literally. The sword-wielder who had taken her blood was hacking away at his legs. He responded by whacking him away with the back of his palm and giving a mighty swing of his club. It impacted the ground with such force she could see a small crater through the cloud of dust it left behind. The skeleton shattered, bones flying everywhere. The other two were nowhere to be seen. He’d probably already destroyed them too.
Panting heavily, clutching a stitch in her side, Diressi settled herself onto a nearby rock. The color of her vision was slowly returning to normal. She didn’t know what exactly had urged her to do what she did, maybe survival instinct? But that wouldn’t cause her sight to shift colors like that. Maybe that was just a reaction to the pain and blood?
The wound seared. She looked at it. It wasn’t terrible, but the cut was clearly deep and the blood was running thick down her arm, dripping off into the dirt. She quickly tore off her sleeve and tied it tightly around the wound, bandaging it and, she hoped, slowing the bleeding.
Fear stabbed at her heart once again, she needed to treat a wound like this immediately. But she had no supplies, no potions, and no idea how to cast a healing spell. It all seemed hopeless now. She was lost, wounded, hungry, thirsty, and there wasn’t a soul for miles who could help her. Never in her life did Diressi feel so alone. The giant, having finished smashing his aggressors into bonemeal, was walking off.
Diressi grasped for her doll again. Holding it up, she looked straight into its fiery eye, crying harder than she had ever before.
“I wish you were here right now,” she sobbed, clutching the doll to her tear-stained cheek. “I wish you could help me.”
Oooh! Close call!
Diressi's orientation was fun, and pretty much real, too. That's how I orient myself too! I learned the points of the compass riding the school bus into the next county as a three-year-old and looking for weather vanes. From those weather vanes I figured that east was the morning sun, and west was the afternoon. I also learned which roads ran N-S and E-W, and so forth. I trust my navigational sense more than I do some dumb GPS. They get the directions wrong half the time.
I loved Diressi's initial fascination with the mammoth skulls and the subsequent terror when the three skellies emerged! Yikes! Run! was my initial reaction too!
The emotion at the end is typical of the adrenaline crash, and something I'm familiar with, after having had so many close calls of my own with animals (mostly mean dogs, but a few cats and others as well). It really shows up this tough character's vulnerability, and makes her more real.
Diressi's orientation was fun, and pretty much real, too. That's how I orient myself too! I learned the points of the compass riding the school bus into the next county as a three-year-old and looking for weather vanes. From those weather vanes I figured that east was the morning sun, and west was the afternoon. I also learned which roads ran N-S and E-W, and so forth. I trust my navigational sense more than I do some dumb GPS. They get the directions wrong half the time.
I loved Diressi's initial fascination with the mammoth skulls and the subsequent terror when the three skellies emerged! Yikes! Run! was my initial reaction too!
The emotion at the end is typical of the adrenaline crash, and something I'm familiar with, after having had so many close calls of my own with animals (mostly mean dogs, but a few cats and others as well). It really shows up this tough character's vulnerability, and makes her more real.
Excellent stuff!!...
I've never spent much time around that section of the world...A hang-up from then time of that update that caused the backwards dragon thing...When going there would pretty much kill the game...
...
Aaaamywho...Loved all the "getting her bearings" thing...
Also thought the whole thing with the doll was heartwrenching...
Then the skeletons and the giant was nicely done too...
Awesome story so far...Looking forward to more...
Nice one!!...
*Applauds heartily*...
I've never spent much time around that section of the world...A hang-up from then time of that update that caused the backwards dragon thing...When going there would pretty much kill the game...
...Aaaamywho...Loved all the "getting her bearings" thing...
Also thought the whole thing with the doll was heartwrenching...
Then the skeletons and the giant was nicely done too...
Awesome story so far...Looking forward to more...
Nice one!!...
*Applauds heartily*...
Diressi showed us that she is skilled at navigating by the sun, moons and stars. Nice touch.
Mammoths! Oh, I join the Dunmeri lass is longing to see them alive in all their majesty.
Whew! A giant to the rescue. But she is now alone, battered and not having a good several days! I hope she finds comfort in that precious doll.
Mammoths! Oh, I join the Dunmeri lass is longing to see them alive in all their majesty.
Whew! A giant to the rescue. But she is now alone, battered and not having a good several days! I hope she finds comfort in that precious doll.
I think I know which hill/mount that Raven is climbing, and I suspect she will not like what she finds there. Though of course getting to high ground is the obvious thing to do, so she can see where she is, and what lies around her.
I wonder if she is an Azura worshiper? I noted that it was twilight, and that is the Moon and Star lady's time.
Uh oh, blue glows in skulls is never a good sign. And Raven without even a stick to defend herself with. Methinks that discretion is the better part of valor here. Unless she can sling some major magicka... With that little knowledge of magic in the next sentence I read, I see that is not the case!
Thank goodness for that giant! Raven displayed some cleverness in bringing him into the fray.
nits:
one a sword, and the third was hanging further back with a bow.
On the use of farther vs. further, farther is for physical distance, where further is for metaphorical or figurative distance. So if you dropped a stone into a pond, it would sink farther and farther every second. But if you had fallen into a pit of despair, you would sink further and further every second.
I wonder if she is an Azura worshiper? I noted that it was twilight, and that is the Moon and Star lady's time.
Uh oh, blue glows in skulls is never a good sign. And Raven without even a stick to defend herself with. Methinks that discretion is the better part of valor here. Unless she can sling some major magicka... With that little knowledge of magic in the next sentence I read, I see that is not the case!
Thank goodness for that giant! Raven displayed some cleverness in bringing him into the fray.
nits:
one a sword, and the third was hanging further back with a bow.
On the use of farther vs. further, farther is for physical distance, where further is for metaphorical or figurative distance. So if you dropped a stone into a pond, it would sink farther and farther every second. But if you had fallen into a pit of despair, you would sink further and further every second.
Hmm, a mystery with Diressi’s colored vision. Skeletons vs giant was exciting! I could easily picture it.
hautee: Interesting stuff. At that point I'm sure Diressi was just glad she knew enough about Skyrim that she could figure out which way was north.
McBadgere: Them rocket-propelled Dragons sure were a sight, weren't they?
Acadian: I'm sure Diressi will get her chance to see the stomping, trumpeting beasts some day.
SubRosa: Diressi is a highly traditional Dunmer, and you will learn more about her beliefs later. All I will say at this point is that she, like most others in Skyrim, has rejected the faith of the Tribunal and returned to worship of her ancestors. This will be very important later on as she learns more about herself.
Nit picked.
Grits: A mystery indeed. Let's just hope Diressi sees the day she'll be able to learn more about what inner power she might have.
1-3: Returning Home
Pull it together, Diressi tried to will herself. Don’t fall apart, you need to stay focused.
She did not know how much time had passed since her narrow escape from her undead attackers. All she did know was she was tired, hungry, in terrible pain, and feeling more helpless than she had ever in her life. Was there any point in going on? No one would help her, no one even knew where she was. A fresh stab of utter loneliness threatened to spill tears down her cheeks once again. She barely had the willpower to hold them back.
Mama wouldn’t let you die, she told herself. She never abandoned you, not for an instant.
But Mama was not here for her, what good did it do for her now?
She is here, right in your hands.
Diressi stared down at her raven doll. For all these years, she had held it close. To her, this little piece of roughly shaped linen was her dearest possession. More than the heirlooms passed down from her ancestors, more than the lives of what few friends she had, more even than her own life is how dearly she treasured it. When she pressed it to her heart, she would swear she could feel her mother’s beating atop her own.
She pressed the raven to her chest as she had done so many times before and closed her eyes, trying to remember those days long past. She remembered the Ravenloth plantation, a two day Guar ride from the city of Blacklight, seat of her Great House of Redoran and capital of Morrowind. She remembered the bright, sunny days she would spend frolicking in the fields, feasting on the yummy marshmerrow stalks, laughing as the grass tickled her feet. She remembered how she used to stare east towards the remains of Vvardenfell, entranced by the fury of Red Mountain as ash billowed and spewed from its peak every single day.
She remembered when the ash was carried west, blanketing her home. She remembered the marshmerrow dying, the ground being buried beneath the sharp, gray snow. She remembered the ash sickness, being curled up in bed, barely able to breathe, feeling the ash in her lungs, feeling her body desperately trying to cough it up but never succeeding. She would never forget what it felt like, trying to breathe in but feeling no air inside. She would never forget desperately gasping for life, all the while feeling it being sapped away by the lifeless cloud around her.
And she would never forget how Mama was always there, never once leaving her side, doing everything she could to keep life flowing into her little Raven.
She opened her eyes. The tears had stopped, and her vision had cleared. She took a deep breath, letting go of as much of her tension as she could. She couldn’t afford to lose herself to despair, not yet. However remote it might be, while she still drew breath she still had a chance to escape this madness; that much she knew. Any chance was better than none.
Something to her left caught her eye. Upon closer examination, her heart almost burst from excitement and relief.
The wreckage of a caravan was just a few steps away. Forgetting all pain and fatigue, she dashed to it. Ignoring the furry half-man half-cat Khajiit bodies on the ground, she found a storage chest and flung it open. What she found inside almost beyond what she had hoped.
She found several flasks of healing potion. It looked a bit old and cheap, but she couldn’t afford to be picky. She quickly unstopped one vial, tore her now soaked-through makeshift bandage from her arm, and poured the potion over the wound. The relief was immediate. The pain evaporated and the wound went from a gaping, bleeding gash to what looked to be a week-old scar. A second vial, and the skin and muscle mended and all she could see of the wound was the small line of a now month-old scar. After deciding that was as good as it needed to be, she pocketed the last vial and continued rummaging.
She found a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. She pocketed these too; as much as she needed food she didn’t want to eat them next to a bunch of decaying corpses (the smell was horrendous). She also found a small leather-bound book, probably belonging to the driver or one of the passengers, and a single steel dagger within a small leather sheath. She examined the blade: not terribly sharp, but the point was still vicious and blade itself felt balanced. She tied it to her makeshift belt, it wouldn’t be much help against bears or giants, but it would be of good use against the odd wolf or passing thug.
With almost perfect timing, a loud, angry bark tore her attention away from her trove. Her eyes quickly found the source: a pack of wolves, which looked hungry and quite ready to tear her throat out.
They probably just want the carcasses, she told herself, trying to calm her nerves, just back away and they’ll leave you be.
Slowly, she backed away. The wolves raised their hackles and growled their displeasure, but made no attempt to charge her down, instead moving as slow as she to where the bodies of the Khajiit caravan laid. At that point they moved no further, and Diressi broke into a backward jog. The growling slowly ceased and she watched the wolves with both mild interest and not-so-mild disgust as they began to tear into the bodies of the former travelers. Turning away from the macabre sight, she put a small boulder between them and her and continued taking stock of her dilemma.
The good news was that she now had a bit of food, some medicine, and a weapon. The bad news, she still had no idea where exactly she was or how to get back home. Still, the wolves had a point. She hadn’t eaten for a full day now and her stomach was growling in protest. Old cheese and stale bread, they did not make for a very good dinner. Gone were the days of rich Kwama eggs and savory Scuttle, though she barely remembered them now. She quickly tore the bread to pieces, trying and failing to savor each bite. Now all she needed was to find a way home.
She didn’t have to look far; just a short ways away was a weathered cobblestone road. She recognized it as the main road between Riften and Windhelm; the very road she had been traveling before she was ambushed. At the sight, Diressi burst into laughter. She had found the way back. Every last ounce of her tension flooded out of her body as she let out a cry to the heavens, celebrating her triumph.
“Who’s there?” came a voice just out of sight.
The voice startled Diressi. She had already forgotten there would be other people around. She stepped out from behind the rock. The sight she met quickly destroyed her joyfulness.
Three men stood before her, all clad in leather armor padded with bear fur, painted blue across the chest, and emblazoned with a symbol of a roaring bear. Each wore a helmet that concealed their faces, and each had drawn their weapons. Diressi didn’t need to think twice; these men were Stormcloaks, soldiers in the service of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm.
“Where did you come from, Dark-Elf?” one Stormcloak inquired sharply in a gruff voice as he sheathed his blade.
“Probably a border-jumper,” another replied, his voice higher and more nasally. He kept his axe ready, though.
“No!” Diressi cried out in response, “I’m not a border-jumper; I’ve been lost for almost two days now.”
“Likely tale,” the gruff one replied, cocking his head and crossing his arms. “Dark Elves ‘lost in the wilderness.’ Phah, like you could survive out here in our land.” He placed great emphasis on “our land” as he spoke. Diressi sighed, so typical of the Nords, especially the Stormcloaks.
“Looks like a vagrant to me,” the third Stormcloak said.
“We’ll let the city guard decide,” the first one replied, unsheathing his blade once again and stepping forward. “Give us your hands, Dark Elf.”
“Wha…” Diressi, started, but was cut off by a sharp blow to the stomach.
“I didn’t say to speak, ash-skin,” the Stormcloak said, “I said give me your hands.”
Fuming at both the S’wit who had winded her and the rest now guffawing their approval, she extended her hands. The Stormcloak produced a length of rope and bound them together.
“Search her,” he then ordered the other two.
“Don’t you touch me!” Diressi cried out in protest. This earned her a knee in the stomach.
“You will speak when spoken to, Elf.”
Barely able to breathe, Diressi had no choice but to bear the indignity of having an unknown man’s hands feeling her body up and down. She wanted to scream so badly, but knew to do so would just egg them on, and she did not want things to get any worse.
One of the soldiers took the dagger she just found and passed it up to their leader. The other took her potions and what was left of her bread.
“So, back to Windhelm then?” The nasally soldier asked. “Didn’t sound like you want to cart this one all the way down to the Helgen camp.”
“And it’s only a day’s walk from here.” The gruff soldier replied. “Less time you spend with these ash-skins the better.”
“Get moving,” the third soldier ordered Diressi, nudging her sharply with the tip of his axe. Diressi broke into a reluctant march behind the other two soldiers.
McBadgere: Them rocket-propelled Dragons sure were a sight, weren't they?
Acadian: I'm sure Diressi will get her chance to see the stomping, trumpeting beasts some day.
SubRosa: Diressi is a highly traditional Dunmer, and you will learn more about her beliefs later. All I will say at this point is that she, like most others in Skyrim, has rejected the faith of the Tribunal and returned to worship of her ancestors. This will be very important later on as she learns more about herself.
Nit picked.
Grits: A mystery indeed. Let's just hope Diressi sees the day she'll be able to learn more about what inner power she might have.
1-3: Returning Home
Pull it together, Diressi tried to will herself. Don’t fall apart, you need to stay focused.
She did not know how much time had passed since her narrow escape from her undead attackers. All she did know was she was tired, hungry, in terrible pain, and feeling more helpless than she had ever in her life. Was there any point in going on? No one would help her, no one even knew where she was. A fresh stab of utter loneliness threatened to spill tears down her cheeks once again. She barely had the willpower to hold them back.
Mama wouldn’t let you die, she told herself. She never abandoned you, not for an instant.
But Mama was not here for her, what good did it do for her now?
She is here, right in your hands.
Diressi stared down at her raven doll. For all these years, she had held it close. To her, this little piece of roughly shaped linen was her dearest possession. More than the heirlooms passed down from her ancestors, more than the lives of what few friends she had, more even than her own life is how dearly she treasured it. When she pressed it to her heart, she would swear she could feel her mother’s beating atop her own.
She pressed the raven to her chest as she had done so many times before and closed her eyes, trying to remember those days long past. She remembered the Ravenloth plantation, a two day Guar ride from the city of Blacklight, seat of her Great House of Redoran and capital of Morrowind. She remembered the bright, sunny days she would spend frolicking in the fields, feasting on the yummy marshmerrow stalks, laughing as the grass tickled her feet. She remembered how she used to stare east towards the remains of Vvardenfell, entranced by the fury of Red Mountain as ash billowed and spewed from its peak every single day.
She remembered when the ash was carried west, blanketing her home. She remembered the marshmerrow dying, the ground being buried beneath the sharp, gray snow. She remembered the ash sickness, being curled up in bed, barely able to breathe, feeling the ash in her lungs, feeling her body desperately trying to cough it up but never succeeding. She would never forget what it felt like, trying to breathe in but feeling no air inside. She would never forget desperately gasping for life, all the while feeling it being sapped away by the lifeless cloud around her.
And she would never forget how Mama was always there, never once leaving her side, doing everything she could to keep life flowing into her little Raven.
She opened her eyes. The tears had stopped, and her vision had cleared. She took a deep breath, letting go of as much of her tension as she could. She couldn’t afford to lose herself to despair, not yet. However remote it might be, while she still drew breath she still had a chance to escape this madness; that much she knew. Any chance was better than none.
Something to her left caught her eye. Upon closer examination, her heart almost burst from excitement and relief.
The wreckage of a caravan was just a few steps away. Forgetting all pain and fatigue, she dashed to it. Ignoring the furry half-man half-cat Khajiit bodies on the ground, she found a storage chest and flung it open. What she found inside almost beyond what she had hoped.
She found several flasks of healing potion. It looked a bit old and cheap, but she couldn’t afford to be picky. She quickly unstopped one vial, tore her now soaked-through makeshift bandage from her arm, and poured the potion over the wound. The relief was immediate. The pain evaporated and the wound went from a gaping, bleeding gash to what looked to be a week-old scar. A second vial, and the skin and muscle mended and all she could see of the wound was the small line of a now month-old scar. After deciding that was as good as it needed to be, she pocketed the last vial and continued rummaging.
She found a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. She pocketed these too; as much as she needed food she didn’t want to eat them next to a bunch of decaying corpses (the smell was horrendous). She also found a small leather-bound book, probably belonging to the driver or one of the passengers, and a single steel dagger within a small leather sheath. She examined the blade: not terribly sharp, but the point was still vicious and blade itself felt balanced. She tied it to her makeshift belt, it wouldn’t be much help against bears or giants, but it would be of good use against the odd wolf or passing thug.
With almost perfect timing, a loud, angry bark tore her attention away from her trove. Her eyes quickly found the source: a pack of wolves, which looked hungry and quite ready to tear her throat out.
They probably just want the carcasses, she told herself, trying to calm her nerves, just back away and they’ll leave you be.
Slowly, she backed away. The wolves raised their hackles and growled their displeasure, but made no attempt to charge her down, instead moving as slow as she to where the bodies of the Khajiit caravan laid. At that point they moved no further, and Diressi broke into a backward jog. The growling slowly ceased and she watched the wolves with both mild interest and not-so-mild disgust as they began to tear into the bodies of the former travelers. Turning away from the macabre sight, she put a small boulder between them and her and continued taking stock of her dilemma.
The good news was that she now had a bit of food, some medicine, and a weapon. The bad news, she still had no idea where exactly she was or how to get back home. Still, the wolves had a point. She hadn’t eaten for a full day now and her stomach was growling in protest. Old cheese and stale bread, they did not make for a very good dinner. Gone were the days of rich Kwama eggs and savory Scuttle, though she barely remembered them now. She quickly tore the bread to pieces, trying and failing to savor each bite. Now all she needed was to find a way home.
She didn’t have to look far; just a short ways away was a weathered cobblestone road. She recognized it as the main road between Riften and Windhelm; the very road she had been traveling before she was ambushed. At the sight, Diressi burst into laughter. She had found the way back. Every last ounce of her tension flooded out of her body as she let out a cry to the heavens, celebrating her triumph.
“Who’s there?” came a voice just out of sight.
The voice startled Diressi. She had already forgotten there would be other people around. She stepped out from behind the rock. The sight she met quickly destroyed her joyfulness.
Three men stood before her, all clad in leather armor padded with bear fur, painted blue across the chest, and emblazoned with a symbol of a roaring bear. Each wore a helmet that concealed their faces, and each had drawn their weapons. Diressi didn’t need to think twice; these men were Stormcloaks, soldiers in the service of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm.
“Where did you come from, Dark-Elf?” one Stormcloak inquired sharply in a gruff voice as he sheathed his blade.
“Probably a border-jumper,” another replied, his voice higher and more nasally. He kept his axe ready, though.
“No!” Diressi cried out in response, “I’m not a border-jumper; I’ve been lost for almost two days now.”
“Likely tale,” the gruff one replied, cocking his head and crossing his arms. “Dark Elves ‘lost in the wilderness.’ Phah, like you could survive out here in our land.” He placed great emphasis on “our land” as he spoke. Diressi sighed, so typical of the Nords, especially the Stormcloaks.
“Looks like a vagrant to me,” the third Stormcloak said.
“We’ll let the city guard decide,” the first one replied, unsheathing his blade once again and stepping forward. “Give us your hands, Dark Elf.”
“Wha…” Diressi, started, but was cut off by a sharp blow to the stomach.
“I didn’t say to speak, ash-skin,” the Stormcloak said, “I said give me your hands.”
Fuming at both the S’wit who had winded her and the rest now guffawing their approval, she extended her hands. The Stormcloak produced a length of rope and bound them together.
“Search her,” he then ordered the other two.
“Don’t you touch me!” Diressi cried out in protest. This earned her a knee in the stomach.
“You will speak when spoken to, Elf.”
Barely able to breathe, Diressi had no choice but to bear the indignity of having an unknown man’s hands feeling her body up and down. She wanted to scream so badly, but knew to do so would just egg them on, and she did not want things to get any worse.
One of the soldiers took the dagger she just found and passed it up to their leader. The other took her potions and what was left of her bread.
“So, back to Windhelm then?” The nasally soldier asked. “Didn’t sound like you want to cart this one all the way down to the Helgen camp.”
“And it’s only a day’s walk from here.” The gruff soldier replied. “Less time you spend with these ash-skins the better.”
“Get moving,” the third soldier ordered Diressi, nudging her sharply with the tip of his axe. Diressi broke into a reluctant march behind the other two soldiers.
Raven Diressi continues on. I liked the time you spent on her raven doll, and how it linked her to her mother, and the happier days back home eating marshmellows merrows. Of course her memories of the ash sickness was not so cheery. But like the prologue did, it underscores the reason she is in Skyrim, and not Morrowind.
And that friendly giant has once again provided for Raven, though perhaps not intentionally. That caravan he flattened has just what she needs to survive. Especially those potions. Uh oh, wolves though. I am immediately reminded of the beginning of the first Conan movie, when the wolves chase him into the ancient barrow. Does this mean an Atlantean blade is in Diressi's near future?
It was nice to see some wolves in fiction (and games as well), who do not attack every person on sight with pure homicidal zeal and a total disregard for their own safety. Especially when a free meal has already been provided for them.
Hmm, Stormcloaks. Is that a good thing or a bad thing I wonder? Looks like a bad thing. Sounds like they like illegal immigrants crossing the border as much as Americans do. Though granted, if they were Imperials they would behead her...
And that friendly giant has once again provided for Raven, though perhaps not intentionally. That caravan he flattened has just what she needs to survive. Especially those potions. Uh oh, wolves though. I am immediately reminded of the beginning of the first Conan movie, when the wolves chase him into the ancient barrow. Does this mean an Atlantean blade is in Diressi's near future?
It was nice to see some wolves in fiction (and games as well), who do not attack every person on sight with pure homicidal zeal and a total disregard for their own safety. Especially when a free meal has already been provided for them.
Hmm, Stormcloaks. Is that a good thing or a bad thing I wonder? Looks like a bad thing. Sounds like they like illegal immigrants crossing the border as much as Americans do. Though granted, if they were Imperials they would behead her...
Out of the frying pan into the fire!
I liked how you take us through the emotional swings Diressi experienced in a relatively short time. From despair to elation at the discovery of the caravan, to fear of the wolves, to relief at finding a familiar landmark, back to fear and despair at being captured by Stormcloaks. And still hungry on top of it all!
I liked how you take us through the emotional swings Diressi experienced in a relatively short time. From despair to elation at the discovery of the caravan, to fear of the wolves, to relief at finding a familiar landmark, back to fear and despair at being captured by Stormcloaks. And still hungry on top of it all!
Once again, we see the importance of that little raven doll.
‘...a two day Guar ride from the city of...’ - - I like it when the opportunity presents to use setting-friendly ‘units of measurement’ like this. A great way of reminding us that we’re not in Kansas, Toto.
From their perspective, I figure the wolves were just politely asking Diressi to 'surrender her kill'. Wise choice of her to yield to their numbers. She probably wasn't going to eat those Khajiit anyway.
Back to the road – and all the good, bad and ugly that it can bring. In this case, a rather unwelcome escort. Before this encounter, she was unsafe but her fate was in her hands. Now she is 'safe' (for the moment) but control of her own fate has been stripped from her.
‘...a two day Guar ride from the city of...’ - - I like it when the opportunity presents to use setting-friendly ‘units of measurement’ like this. A great way of reminding us that we’re not in Kansas, Toto.
From their perspective, I figure the wolves were just politely asking Diressi to 'surrender her kill'. Wise choice of her to yield to their numbers. She probably wasn't going to eat those Khajiit anyway.
Back to the road – and all the good, bad and ugly that it can bring. In this case, a rather unwelcome escort. Before this encounter, she was unsafe but her fate was in her hands. Now she is 'safe' (for the moment) but control of her own fate has been stripped from her.
So, not going to Helgen. I like this story already!
I'd been ignoring this as another Morrowind story, until I noticed that it wasn't. (I haven't played MW, so I don't know the background except where it's revealed in the later games). I'll have to keep up with this one, as it's absorbing so far.
I'd been ignoring this as another Morrowind story, until I noticed that it wasn't. (I haven't played MW, so I don't know the background except where it's revealed in the later games). I'll have to keep up with this one, as it's absorbing so far.
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