I started a multi-chapter fic tonight... I'm thinking it'll be various scenes in mostly chronological order from primarily Urayna's POV. (For those who don't know, Urayna is my player character from TES IV.) Here's what I wrote tonight... TW for canonical sexual harassment.
Light. Color. Sound. Feeling. The world materialized around them in that order. They took a deep breath of cold, musty air, and shivered. "Where am I?" They exhaled, and looked to their left. There were rusty iron chains and cuffs hanging from the ceiling. They took a step back from them, and felt their bare feet sink into the thick dust coating the stone floor. There was a nook in the brick wall behind and to the right of the chains, strewn with a thin layer of dirty straw and an equally thin and dirty linen blanket.
Concerned, they looked in front of them and saw another wall with a small window 12 feet above them, from which a paltry amount of sunlight came through. Quickly, they approached the window and tried to climb the wall to reach it, but it was too smooth and slimy to get any purchase. After a few failed attempts, they stopped to catch their breath, and noticed a skeleton on the floor a mere foot away from them. They yelped and stumbled back from it, and bumped into a rotten wooden table. A clay cup on it rattled threateningly, and they turned to steady it.
"I must surely be dead," A voice echoed nearby, causing them to jump, "and in the halls of Azura to look upon such a vision."
"Who's there?" They asked, and cautiously walked in the direction of the voice. There was a barred door, leading into a dim, torchlit hallway, and on the opposite side of that was another barred door. Through it, they saw red eyes flicker in the torchlight, and stopped. They belonged to a man, with blue-gray skin and white hair, wearing worn, dirty clothing and iron shackles on his wrists.
Physically, he didn't look well; his body was bruised, dirty, and wasted, but mentally, he looked sharp; there was a mocking smile on his lips and a mean look in his eyes, and he carried himself with the confidence of a king. "My name is Valen Dreth. And yours?"
They tried to recall their name. They couldn't. But before they could answer, a familiar voice echoed inside their mind. "Your name is Urene."
"Urene?" They asked the voice, but it didn't answer them. They were startled when Valen Dreth spoke again, low, soft, and hungry, "You are so beautiful, my dear Dunmer maiden…" Urene looked back at him, and saw him staring at her as though he was trying to undress her with his eyes. She flushed. "One of the guards owes me a favor, you know. I could get us put in the same cell. Would you like that?"
Flustered, Urene took a step back, and Valen Dreth's voice turned mocking and mean again, "You should have some fun before the end."
"The end?" She asked, frightened.
"Yeah, you heard me." His smile grew wider, "No matter what the law says. No matter what they told you. You're going to die in here! You're going to die!"
Urene covered her ears, closed her eyes, and crouched down with a whimper. She didn't know where she was; she barely knew who she was, but she knew she didn't want to be here.
"Hey, you hear that?" He asked. She listened and heard approaching footsteps; voices. "The guards are coming… for you!" She stood up, heart pounding, as he laughed sadistically.
Above and to the right of them, a door opened, and the clank of armor and rustle of fabric could be heard as several people passed through. "Baurus, lock that door behind us." Someone said, and the door closed.
"May the holder of the fourth key know the heart thereby: the Mundex Terrene was once ruled over solely by the tyrant dreugh-kings, each to their own dominion, and borderwars fought between their slave oceans. They were akin to the time-totems of old, yet evil, and full of mockery and profane powers. No one that lived did so outside of the sufferance of the dreughs.
I give my soul to the Magna Ge, sayeth the joyous in Paradise, for they created Mehrunes the Razor in secret, in the very bowels of Lyg, the domain of the Upstart who vanishes. Though they came from diverse waters, each Get shared sole purpose: to artifice a prince of good, spinning his likeness in random swath, and imbuing him with Oblivion's most precious and scarce asset: hope.
Deathlessly I intone from Paradise: Mehrunes the Thieftaker, Mehrunes Godsbody, Mehrunes the Red Arms That Went Up! Nu-Mantia! Liberty!
Deny not that these days shall come again, my novitiates! For as Mehrunes threw down Lyg and cracked his face, declaring each of the nineteen and nine and nine oceans Free, so shall he crack the serpent crown of the Cyrodiils and make federation!"
I was tagged by my dear friend @lavampira to share a WIP. Thank you, Dani! <3
I'll tag @creaking-skull , @ervona , @fllagellant , @isayashai , and @dadpilled to share a WIP too if they'd like. :)
'The world is so beautiful.' Urayna thought as she looked around her. She'd hiked from Chorrol to Cloud Top seeking the book Fingers of the Mountain for Teekeus. After she'd retrieved it, she realized how high up she was, and felt inspired to climb even higher. She was near the Cyrodil-Hammerfell border now, and from her height, the view was amazing. The Dragontail Mountains were to the west, speckled green with trees she could just barely make out and sparkling white at their peaks. And to the east she could see all of the forested Colovian Highlands sloping downward. Chorrol, which had seemed so large and impressive while she'd been walking its streets, looked like a model she might see for sale at its market from here.
The sunset was the most impressive sight of all though. The sky glowed orange and pink, its brilliance only contrasted by a few distant gray clouds. Entranced by its glory, Urayna sat on a relatively flat rock to watch it and catch her breath. The air was thin here, and she needed to take deep breaths to feel satisfied. It was fragrant too, she noticed. She closed her eyes for a moment to appreciate the scent of it. It smelled damp and earthy, sweet, floral, and herbal, and a little animal. While her eyes were closed, she noticed the sounds around her as well; the chirping of insects and birds from every direction, and the occasional rustle of grass or leaves.
She opened her eyes again and saw that the sun had nearly set completely. The pink had disappeared from the sky, and the orange had receded and faded, replaced by a dusky blue and the evening's first glittering stars. As she watched them sparkle, she considered camping there for the night. Now that the adrenaline from her climb up had worn off, she was feeling sore and sleepy, and sleeping outside didn't bother her; she was more accustomed to sleeping outside than inside. The couple bear pelts she carried with her everywhere could make any place feel soft and warm. But she was hungry, and craving something warmer and more filling than the light fare she'd brought with her. As she stood and stretched, she wondered what Emfrid had cooked for dinner tonight. Last night it'd been roasted potatoes, carrots, and onions with gravy; her mouth watered at the memory, and she started making her way east down the slope toward Chorrol.
"My true name? Milady, I am no one. No, no, my parents named me Know Wan -- or was it No Buddy? What matters it? It matters not. How may parents give name to that which they know not? Ah! I believe that was the name, Know Not. I have been the Nightingale for so long I do not remember, since, oh, last month at the very least -- or was it last week? All my memory goes into song and tale, you see, Milady. I've none left for myself. I'm really quite dull. Where was I born? Why, Knoweyr. I plan to settle in Dunroamin when I get there ... but I'm in no hurry."
"I see. And will you then marry Atallshur?"
"Very perceptive of you, Milady. Perhaps, perhaps. Although I find Innhayst quite charming too, at whiles."
"Ah. You are fickle, then?"
"Like the wind, Milady. I blow hither and yon, hot and cold, as chance suits. Chance is my suit. Naught else wears well on me."
Barenziah smiled. "Stay with us awhile, then ... if you will, Milord Erhatick."
"As you wish, Milady Bryte."
— The Real Barenziah, Volume 4
pose reference: Joan Armatrading by Clive Arrowsmith; lute reference: Medieval Lute by Drees Nick.
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