Sun's Dawn 24th, 4E202
[...] I'm sick with anxiety - there is an itching feeling at the back of my skull that echoes Hermaeus Mora's declaration that I will follow him or break, [the one he gave] after I defeated Miraak. I was convinced I wasn't so weak, back then, but with all these Black Books weighing down my pack, I don't know... [...]
[Excerpt from chapter 12 Thadan Oakwind's Journal]
My first serious LDB and also first delve into writing TES fic, Thadan Oakwind. I can't believe I've never drawn him before??? He's so important to me lol, I think I'm gonna strip him of LDB status and write something new with him soon. He deserves better than the mess that is his journal lmao.
I'm still fighting with this outline but I like this (fragment of a) scene I wrote early on in the process. A meet cute, by Skyrim standards, and introductions. It's just over 700 words.
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Ghorbash didn't often find himself away from Dushnikh Yal, but when he did, he was usually in Morthal. His uncle, self-exiled after the last chief overtook from their father, was the notoriously terrible bard of the Moorside Inn, and often when Ghorbash had disagreements with his own brother and the current chief, Burguk, he would take on the journey to clear his mind and remind himself (perhaps, cruelly to Lurbuk) that life outside the stronghold wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
This time, however, as he chatted and drank with his uncle, a stranger tumbled through the doors. A Bosmer, hair red as blood and clutching his hand to his chest, the fingers blackening.
"Frostbite spiders," Ghorbash said by way of greeting, tone half-questioning, and the Bosmer nodded rapidly. He dropped onto the bench closest to the door, hissing through his teeth.
Ghorbash was at his side in moments, digging through his own pack and producing a potion in a dark vial. He ripped the cork off with his teeth and presented it to the Bosmer, already preparing to rattle off the ingredients to prove his goodwill, but the elf just threw it back. He gagged at the taste but then he sighed in relief, color slowly returning to his fingers.
"What in Oblivion was that?" he asked, looking up at Ghorbash with a thankful smile, a playful tone.
"Mudcrab and skeever hide," Ghorbash said. "It works wonders against those damn spiders."
"You don't strike me as an alchemist," the Bosmer said in return.
"I'm not," Ghorbash said. "My mother is."
"Well, regardless. Thank you." He extended his now fully-healed hand. "I'm Thadan Oakwind."
Ghorbash took the hand. He tried not to stare at Thadan's glass eye, milky white, and instead focused on his good one - dark sclera and red iris, something like a dremora. To be fair, Ghorbash didn't know any Bosmer.
He cleared his throat. "Ghorbash gro-Dushnikh," he said at last.
"Ghorbash the Iron Hand!" Lurbuk cut in, strumming idly on his lyre, and Ghorbash rolled his eyes.
Thadan's face lit up. "The Iron Hand?" He snickered. "I don't suppose you're a warrior?" He conspicuously looked Ghorbash up and down, taking him in - old, old Imperial leathers, back from his legion days, reinforced by Burguk's forge-wife and repaired by his own hand. The chainmail was torn in places and the Imperial dragon was hidden now by years of scratches and scuffs. It was his favorite for traveling, comfortable enough to move but enough protection he didn't feel exposed.
"Not anymore," Ghorbash said, dropping Thadan's hand but staying where he was - maybe too close, but the elf didn't seem to mind. His hair was long past his shoulders and free-flowing but for a couple half-unraveled braids, as if he'd idly twisted them into place while doing something else and forgotten about them. He was dressed curiously, somewhere between a nobleman and an adventurer, leathers as old and worn as Ghorbash's but his underclothes were clean and well-made, his sleeves that puffed out to cinch at the wrist very nearly white. Who wears clean- no, new clothes to travel?
"I don't suppose you could come out of retirement for one afternoon?" Thadan asked, smirking up at him with something twinkling in his eye. "I'm on, ah, business for the Bard's College. There's a ruin not far from here - where I've just come from, in fact - that I need help clearing. I tried it on my own, but... well." He held up his hand, gesturing as well toward his eye. "A one-eyed archer can't very well hit a moving target. Or, at least, I can't."
"Oh! You're with the college!" Lurbuk interjected again. "You must have heard of me."
"I've heard all about you, Lurbuk." Thadan still had his eyes on Ghorbash and he realized what that look was - keen interest, almost ravenous. "I'm not technically affiliated. I'm a writer, not a poet or a singer, but a storyteller nonetheless. I provide... financial support for the arts that the Empire has so graciously abandoned."
Ghorbash felt warm in the face, still holding Thadan's heady gaze. He swallowed. "I... I suppose I can help. But I'm going back to the stronghold tomorrow."
"We shouldn't need more than tonight," Thadan said, standing. His head reached, at most, Ghorbash's shoulders, but he was by no means small - his chest, shoulders, and arms were as densely muscled as any archer.
