A Short Story of Skyrim

So…yeah. I’m sorry. All you random people that have actually checked up on us within the past 5 months…Surprise! We’re not dead! Some of us are just suffering from IATELDA. I, however, am SUPER busy. As in, the let’s-laze-around-the-television-and-stare-blankly kind of busy. (No, I actually am doing stuff. I’ve decided that summer reading should be banned. (FOUR books. Plus, I’m trying to teach myself physics.) What’s the point of a summer if you have to work doing it? Oh dear, I sound like a lazy bum…which I am, so no problems there at least.) I’m actually here because I really do NOT want to write a paper on political strategies and their uses within modern situations. And no, I do not have the next chapter for Hope today. I know I said I had it planned out (Rule 1: I am a notorious liar.), BUT…I totally forgot what I had planned. No lie. (Probably. Refer to Rule 1.)

So what am I doing rambling here? Well, I WAS going to post a sketch of a krogan that I had drawn after obsessing over the Mass Effect trilogy…however, I hate how it looks in WordPress format. (WordPress authorities, please don’t hate on me! I’m picky, I know. Also, I’ve realized I overabuse parentheses. And don’t create new paragraphs often enough…Oh well.) So no picture. Nor an update on a previous story. Just rambling! [INSERT ANNOYINGLY HAPPY SMILEY HERE.] No, I’m going to try to write up a story now. It’s a bad plan (actually, this idea has been sitting in my mind), I know, but it’ll end taking a lot of time…time I COULD spend doing SUMMER READING but I won’t. Sorry in advance for the inaccuracies! (It’s fiction anyways.)

A SHORT STORY OF SKYRIM

I am Faendal, a proud member of the Bosmer. I am among the elders of our race, having been borne even before the Thrassian Plague took over in 1E 2417. For those unaware of the clock’s time, as I realize the people of today no longer have the elegant systeming of days past, but rather a crude, simplistic style, that is the First Era, the seventeenth year of the twenty fifth century. It is a day well known to us “wood elves.” “Wood elf.” I find this term degrading, as we neither like the crude ash-shaded Dunmer (in your tongue, the “dark elves”), nor like the arrogant hazel-skinned Altmer, whom you all the “high elves.” Simply because these races have descended from the ancient Aldmer, we have been collectively referred to as “elves.” All people, including the devious Argonians, the mischievous Khajit, and the rash Nords, were borne from the Auri-El. Even the Orcs, the most hated of Auri-El, were borne from Him; his hatred gave life to their being. We Bosmer, after our birth, were then raised by the gentle hand of Y’ffre, the Lord of Song and Forest. He blessed us with the gift of knowledge of the natural land. In turn, our bards give him homage in all our songs. He is the light that has guided me to safety in the Nordic lands.

During the time of the Plague, all of Valenwood was in despair. Many a young Bosmer fell from the sickness, and even our natural resistance to disease and poison did nothing to help. Our greatest magicians could only sit and watch as our homeland died, for no amount of magic was able to cure this curse. Prayer for the gods ceased except for those for Arkay, the Prince of Death. Then, just after the Plague passed, we heard news of the arrival of the Cyrodilic Empire, in the modern tomes known as the “Second Empire.” Valenwood would not be able to survive the invasion. However, the Elder of my tree, the beautiful city of Asclepias, heard the voice of Y’ffre call to him in the night. Y’ffre, as we had continued prayer towards all our gods during the Plague unlike the majority of Valenwood, would guide us to safety. He would move Asclepias the same way he moved Falinesti. Quickly, as soon as the news had disseminated, we clung to the knotted branches of our tree. I remember myself, as a young child, clinging with both arms to the trunk as Asclepias took her first step. We traveled for years, even decades, until we reached the outskirts of the land known as Skyrim.

At the border, Asclepias stopped. We took this as a sign from Y’ffre that our journey had ended. As the last descended, Asclepias was sent into the stars, and in her place were a large number of saplings. I suspect that it was Auri-El himself who sent her, as He is known for gifting those who deserve it. She will forever be imprinted into the stars for others to learn of her learning; to learn the tale of the great Asclepias. Each member took a sapling for their own; when they are of age, the children of Asclepias will serve as our bows, our companions in battle for the rest of our lives.

We split then, each Bosmer for their own. I found myself wandering to the small town of Riverwood, on the banks of the White River. There, the Stormcloaks Gerdur and Hod, the local lumberjacks, took it upon themselves to provide for me. They would give me food and a few coins if I would work for them; I immediately accepted. I knew it would be hard to procure work in Nordic lands and was quite glad for the quick offer.

After a few months of working, I took notice of an Imperial female by the name of Camilla. Camilla Valerius, that is. She was beautiful, with sun-kissed cheeks, proud cheekbones, and beautiful hair the exact shade of a brown calla lily. She was by far the most glorious being I had ever laid my eyes on…and I was about to lose her to Sven, the useless bard of Sleeping Giant Inn, a stupid idiot with nothing but honeyed words. I was conflicted with myself. The easiest solution, of course, was simply send an arrow through the Nord’s empty head, but I figured murder was not the best way to go about it; Y’ffre would most likely disapprove. (Actually, now, reflecting on the past, I do not think He would have minded much. Y’ffre treasures all things natural; that is, plants are not to be harmed by a Bosmer’s hand, but an animal (even a large, ugly one by the name of Sven) can be killed.)) Then, a solution, all on its own, waltzed into our little town. A hotheaded (and admittedly weak-looking) Nord, accompanied by the Stormcloak Ralof, who happened to be the brother of the kind Gerdur, took lodgings in the home of my employers.

I approached him, telling of my woes. He nodded every now and then, but didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Finally, I ended my short story. He turned, as if to leave, so I dropped my bait. I offered him my help in clearing Bleak Falls Barrow if he would aid me in my quest. In all honesty, I would have most likely helped him clear the tomb even if he hadn’t accepted my offer; it was to my advantage to be one of the people to reclaim Camilla’s precious Golden Claw. The young Nord immediately accepted, as anyone with common sense would have; anyone would be much better off with a skilled Bosmer archer than a weak Nord bard. He delivered a fake letter to Camilla for me under Sven’s name; it revealed to her just how much of a bigot that bard is.

As promised, I accompanied the Nord throughout Bleak Falls Barrows, and recovered the Golden Claw from the thief, Arvel the Swift. Upon returning to Riverwood, I presented the Claw to Camilla…and she kissed me. We were finally together, at last. I gave my farewells to the Nord, thanked him immensely, and sent him on his way with an archery lesson and a little more gold.

Camilla and I spent our lives together after that. We lived a happy life in the Riverwood Trader with her brother Lucan, whom I found to be quite bearable in comparison to the many other inhabitants of our town, running the little store with little difficulty. Lucan left a few years after I proved myself capable of running “his store” to expand his business; I never heard from him again. The young Nord who had helped me in winning Camilla’s hand turned out to be none other than the Dragonborn. (I don’t care what his title is. His archery still sucks.) I had finally reached true happiness.

To follow “true happiness,” true sadness came, albeit much later. Camilla grew ill; she was already weak in her old age, as we had been together for nearly half a century, a time period longer than most in those days got to live. As a Bosmer, my lifeline would outlast hers. This only meant I would be there to watch her death, and be left to wallow in her memory. And sure enough, we were parted from each other by Arkay.

I didn’t do anything for the next year. I would stare blankly ahead at the desk of the Riverwood Trader, waiting for customers to come in, spent their money, and then leave. After I had closed shop, I’d walk over to her grave and talk to her a bit. Then, I’d pray to Arkay for her well being in Sovngarde, then pray to Y’ffre and Auri-El, followed by other gods.

Our anniversary of the next year, I saw her again. When visiting her grave, she appeared before me as a spirit, and enveloped me in her ghostly arms. In her embrace, I did something that I had never done before; I wept. She kept quiet and held me until I quieted, then told me of her days in the afterlife. She told me of how she listened to me everyday, how she was happy in Sovngarde. She had asked Y’ffre for an audience with me after listening to me for a month, and He told her He would grant her wish if she would wait; and so she did. We talked for the rest of the night, until she disappeared again. One second, she was holding my hand as we talked, the next- Nothing. However, I learned from our short talk that I should spend the rest of my life in more fruitful ways. I quickly ran to complete my daily prayers, giving an extra long one (plus a sacrifice) to Y’ffre for His kindness. And the next day, I re-awoke as Faendal, a proud member of the Bosmer. I embraced life in its fullest and forgot of wallowing in Camilla’s death.

I still visit her grave everyday and offer daily prayer. But I feel that my end is near. Y’ffre calls to me, and I await Arkay to take me an reunite me with my love. I have lived a long, meaningful life in Tamriel; I am ready to live a new one in Sovngarde.

THE END.

…That was so much LONGER than I thought I’d be. GACK. Kinda depressing too…I hadn’t been thinking of people dying when I first started out. Oh well. Semi-happy ending, right? Plus, Faendal’s one of my favorite characters in Skyrim. I tried to make him all plant-y, but it didn’t really fit in so well. But yeah. Faendal’s a jerk, but an awesome one. 🙂 See y’all around (like, in another half year)! Oh, and if you have any cool ideas or requests, leave them in the comments. I’m always up for avoiding doing REAL work. Bye!

Ebony

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