#skyrim gothic

[red-rosa]

Been awhile. 7/9

Lost amongst the trees is a city that speaks of celebrating the dead. You wonder how many of them actually stay that way.

Not all specters are transparent; one look at the horse with hair as dark as midnight tells you that.

This is the biggest graveyard in all the lands, they claim. It won’t be long before you add to it.

There is a stranger in the prison and you could swear that his pleas for help sound more like growls than words.

At the corner of your awareness, you think you see a creature of white fur and ancient eyes. When you try and look at it directly, it is gone, and you know better than to search. 

Nightshade grows around the old stones graves. Somehow it is prettier than the lies around you.

One man whispers harsh rumors about spies. If only that was the greatest danger out here in the woods.

You toss a greeting to the stray dog outside the gates. You try and pretend you didn’t hear him say it back.

Do not wander off the hunting trails. The ones who find you will not forgive such trespasses.

No one talks about the black door that beats a steady tempo and smells of copper. Sometimes it is best to not give in to your curiosity.

A young stag watches over this town. You wonder whether a wolf or bear will be the one to fell it.

Everyone is guilty of something. Those that run here can escape punishment, but never the ghosts.

[red-rosa]

6/9

Little is forbidden here. Sometimes you wish more was.

The people’s hearts have long since turned bitter towards the clever craft. What no one realizes is that it alone keeps them alive.

Everyone has secrets here. Their worth is measured only in how much blood was spilled to keep them.

A man lost among the glaciers speaks of riddles born of madness. You question why it makes perfect sense to you.

Far below is the hungry beast that is the sea. It has already swallowed up half the city, and it’s only a matter of time before it feasts on what’s left.

The skeletons of the first civilization lie buried in the snow. At night they walk once more.

Immense power is here, tempered only by a sister artifact. You desire them, but your every instinct screams for you to leave both lost to the ages.

No one knows the crimes of the entity locked below stone and ice, but they all know the cautionary legend that is its punishment.

At times you can hear the shrieks of some otherworldly creature or the too loud beating of your own heart. You find it best to ignore both.

Thieves might be tempted by the innumerable riches here but even their shadows will betray them before they leave with any.

The ghosts outnumber the living in this hold, but something about them is more alive than those who remain.

Personal sacrifice is required for arcane knowledge. Few knew that would include life itself.

[red-rosa]

Told you, @bitterotter!

5/9

This city is built on the bones of another. If you listen, sometimes you can still hear the first rumbling like a machine deep in the ground.

The man selling cuts of meat in the marketplace has a cloying smell of decay on his breath. You say nothing, for fear that your suspicions are not nearly as dark as the truth.

Legends of an ancient material claimed powerful enough to destroy civilization itself are passed from ear to ear. No one looks for it. There is no need for a third war here.

The note with scrawled handwriting, shoved into your hand by a stranger, does not belong to you. When you look up to deny it, he is gone.

A ruin of sickness lies nearby. Sometimes you see it’s tortured victims at the gates. You pretend not to see them, and it is a mercy to all. 

The local mine will lead your soul to oblivion and produces corpses alongside mineral. Both are acceptable.

There is an abandoned house, with a priest outside demanding to enter. His voice echoes in the streets until he does, and then you never hear it again.

The land is owned by an ancient race who wear the faces of animals. Strangely, the blood sacrifice they call for is no different from that of the nobles.

A goddess of beauty and love towers over the city. She will find few worshippers here. Life in this place is too ugly for that.

Do not trust the guards. The stones have been stained with their betrayal too many times to be worthy of it.

The waterfalls contain secrets, if one is willing to drown for them.

“Silver and blood run this city,” they say, voices tinged with fear. No one can remember ever saying otherwise, and no one questions it. They know better.

[red-rosa]

Just wanted a little writing practice. I drew inspiration from Skyrim, the owner of my heart and soul. 

It was autumn when you arrive. It is still autumn months later. It will be autumn when you leave.

The city above the old earth is dead. It is the one below that is alive, they whisper, and it is not for you.

Lovers enter the temple to be married in the name of a goddess who rarely answers. No one’s ever come back out. That doesn’t stop them from arriving.

Children wander the streets. Their faces are all the same, and they all know your name, even if they’ve just arrived.

The canal weaving through the city is quiet, yet you could swear you’ve seen ripples from something moving under the surface. Whenever you make anyone look, it is still as glass.

The docks haven’t seen business in decades. But you’ve glimpsed ship silhouettes in the fog on the lake. You don’t mention them. 

You chance a look at the shadows, and they’re already staring back.

You look up from your table at the inn and see a hooded figure. You blink and they’re gone, but in front of you is a bottle of mead you didn’t order.

The quiet folk with untrustworthy eyes are protectors. We wouldn’t be here without them, the townspeople say, grins just a little too wide.

A strange woman rants hysterically about the danger in the stone depths. You believe her, but you know the leaves of red and gold around you hold much worse.

You hear a strange scream in the forest at night. Everyone says it’s a nightingale but you’ve never seen one. Neither have they. You aren’t too sure what a nightingale is, but you’ve learned it’s better not to question.

The war doesn’t tread here. You wonder, not for the first time, just what those who deal in death are so scared of.

[red-rosa]

Third one! This one was difficult. Cheery place. 

This hold sees all. It tells none. The risk is not worth the reward.

A lonely ghost makes his way down the road outside the city each night. You wonder if he’ll ever find his head.

There is a new forbidden love in the blood feud that is as old as the surrounding mountains. But  they all say love isn’t as powerful as war, and soon everyone will know.

It is their tradition, the townsfolk say, their voices as hollow as the howls beneath the earth. You pretend not to hear.

An ancient manor towers over the rest of the town. Sometimes you think there are dragon wings atop it, but when you look closer you just see shadows. 

The man in the marketplace grins back at you, as always. His teeth belong to a wolf.

A stranger sits at the bar, the toxin in his hands a little too strong to resist. You joke that he is some kind of devil. He does not disagree.

The tree of life stands in the town square, gnarled branches clawing at the sky. The man at its base raves about the dead. No one questions it when the tree falls to his doctrine.

Perched in the middle of a field, the townsfolk tell themselves they are safe. They do not speak of the fear they feel when a distant roar echoes across the plains. It is not their way.

The young are sometimes the most bitter at heart. The whispers at the door told you that.

You know not to bring silver into the city. It would anger the Old Ones.

This is the beating heart of the land. No side, no matter how mighty, dares to stifle it. It will prove fatal.

[red-rosa]

4/9! 

You might lose interest in this city, but it will not lose interest in you. 

In the eyes of the Old Laws, it was conquest. But to those on the Wolf Throne, it was murder.

The palace of blue stands precariously on the edge of a cliff. If it falls, everyone will.  

A crazed man wanders the streets, ranting and raving about his master. You only worry when he starts to make sense.

The spiced wine is the envy of all markets, they say. Yet all you taste is salt.

Sometimes you hear singing. Everyone claims the voices are from the school but you swear one was whispering in your ear. When you look, there’s nothing beside you but empty space.

The wedding dress was white and red. You glance up for a second at a shadow and when you look back, it’s all red and there’s only screaming.

Sailing into harbor, the ship waits. There it will stay, unwilling host of death and funerals.

Townsfolk howl for blood and death. It is all they remember how to do. Peace is far beyond them.

Burning the king is traditional. Protest, and you might find yourself at the stake instead.

The lighthouse has been used to guide those lost at sea back to port for as long as the city has stood, yet you’ve never seen it lit until you the stranger told you to douse it. You wonder what’s really drawing them here all these years.

You know not to venture into the catacombs. You won’t die down there, but you won’t live either.