Short story: To Skyrim.
Summary: Lord Serath and his lover, Ameiri, visit a Dunmer woman who gave birth to a very special boy.
The room was quiet. The soft rays of the full moon shone on two forms moving about briskly, efficiently and silently about the run-down room. The women, a ragged looking Dunmer and a mangy Khajiit girl, were cleaning and disposing of foul smelling sheets and towels.
On a bed, not too far from where they worked, lay a third woman, cloaked in shadow and threadbare sheets except for her face and bosom, where, bathed softly in the dying light from an old candle, a baby slept. A quiet, fine featured baby Dunmer boy, nothing extraordinary about him except for the few strands of wispy hair white as mid-winter snow.
Yet while the babe slept peacefully in the world that, to him, was so new, the mother looked blankly ahead of her, her gaze unreadable. One would think the baby's birth were a burden upon her, but one would be mistaken, for she held the tiny elf-child as if the most precious creature in existence.
The door to the room creaked open suddenly, but neither of the three women looked up, as if it was not unexpected. The babe remained sleeping.
Soon as the door swung open, the most unlikely creature to be in this slum-like part of the filthy city entered. An Altmer, golden and tall enough to have the bend over on his way in, stood and watched the midwife, her servant and most notably the woman. His expression was one of disgust, but one he could not focus on her for too long, for a second figure entered the premises.
This one was much more likely to the place, but he too stood out. The man, a Dumner as well, stood much shorter than his Altmer companion, yet with his back straight and head held high he was, no doubt, the dominant figure in the room from the moment he was in. The door shut behind him.
The new man, ignoring the presence of anyone but the woman on the bed, approached her, removing his void-black cloak in the process to reveal more of his ebony skin and a long mane of pure white hair, combed perfectly straight. Adorning his flesh, an armour, of Mithril and cloth, white and silver, hid only some of the most vital parts of his body, leaving the rest of his flesh to admiration and accenting his strong muscles perfectly.
The Altmer took the Dunmer's discarded cloak and stepped forward as well. His eyes fell, as his companion's, on the baby, a sound of disgust leaving his mouth before he was able to stop himself. Yet, it was not all that left his mouth. “A most foul spawn, Dumner. How can you claim it to have been sired by Lord Serath?”
The woman, tiredly, a death-threatening glare on her features, attempted to respond in kind to the arrogant Altmer, but her tiredness made her slow and the commanding Dumner male interrupted her.
“Ameiri, do not be so quick to judge. The boy has my hair, a rare sight among Dunmer. And though that is, indeed, not to prove his lineage, I know he is mine as sure as the sun rising.” Lord Serath's voice, although deep and quiet, resonated through the room and was heard by all.
The Altmer, faced with his companion's mysteriousness, attempted a protest, but a hand clad in white metal rubbed against the back of his own, a sign that he knew meant he should not argue, a sign to be taken to heart. He did not resist a last sound of displeasure before irritably making himself acquainted with a shelf of common, cheap books sitting to one side of the otherwise very barren room.
The Altmer dealt with, Lord Serath moved forward, approaching the woman who had birthed his son, the one with the white hair. He had never believed the legends permeating his family, his legacy... but he did now. This babe, such as he, born to a nondescript mother and a near clone of his father, would be destined for great things.
“Does our agreement still stand? Is he to your liking?”
The voice of the Dunmer woman broke Serath's thoughts and he moved his blood-red gaze from his son to her. His head moved slowly, in a nod. “Our agreement stands...” he paused long enough to extend his hand, where a swirl of black magic deposited, suddenly, a forbidden object; a black soulgem.
“You will care for my child. Name him as me, Serath, give your life for his if needed be. You will be sure he trains and studies in the disciplines he studies. You will not otherwise interfere with his destiny. At 50 you shall tell him who his father is. You shall tell him what he is destined for.” The look of tired amusement in the woman's face irritated him slightly. No matter. She would not be able to break this promise to him. “In exchange, I will offer you my riches and save passage into Skyrim.”
The woman nodded at him, satisfaction in her face. She most likely thought how simple it had been to turn this accident into fortune. Her eyes widened only when the gem, accepting her nod as confirmation, glowed and turned into dust, which, moved by invisible winds, wrapped around her arm, into her throat. The smoke entered her mouth, her nose, travelled deep, itching all the way through. Her heart clenched painfully for a moment and then it was over.
Lord Serath looked at her, pleased, and nodded. “Ameiri. Give her the money.” He stood up with that order and turned to leave. He was followed closely by his Altmer companion. As quietly as they had come, they were now gone, no trace of their visit remaining other than the heavy sack of gold on the shelf.
'To Skyrim,' the Dunmer woman whispered to no one in particular, “To Skyrim.”
----------------------------//---------------------------------
So. Skyrim coming out tomorrow and omg I'm so excited! XD Can't wait to play it. Anyway, I've only played Morrowind and Oblivion in the series, but always with a male Dunmer stealth character, whom I always name Serath. Over time this has developed into a kind of family prophecy. So, whenever the Empire needs a hero, a Serath will be born in time to be up to the task when it comes. The beauty of TES being single-player is that this doesn't make the characters OP for the setting. Ha! ^.^
So, a new, little Serath is born to go fight dragons... in 200 years for him. ._.
The room was quiet. The soft rays of the full moon shone on two forms moving about briskly, efficiently and silently about the run-down room. The women, a ragged looking Dunmer and a mangy Khajiit girl, were cleaning and disposing of foul smelling sheets and towels.
On a bed, not too far from where they worked, lay a third woman, cloaked in shadow and threadbare sheets except for her face and bosom, where, bathed softly in the dying light from an old candle, a baby slept. A quiet, fine featured baby Dunmer boy, nothing extraordinary about him except for the few strands of wispy hair white as mid-winter snow.
Yet while the babe slept peacefully in the world that, to him, was so new, the mother looked blankly ahead of her, her gaze unreadable. One would think the baby's birth were a burden upon her, but one would be mistaken, for she held the tiny elf-child as if the most precious creature in existence.
The door to the room creaked open suddenly, but neither of the three women looked up, as if it was not unexpected. The babe remained sleeping.
Soon as the door swung open, the most unlikely creature to be in this slum-like part of the filthy city entered. An Altmer, golden and tall enough to have the bend over on his way in, stood and watched the midwife, her servant and most notably the woman. His expression was one of disgust, but one he could not focus on her for too long, for a second figure entered the premises.
This one was much more likely to the place, but he too stood out. The man, a Dumner as well, stood much shorter than his Altmer companion, yet with his back straight and head held high he was, no doubt, the dominant figure in the room from the moment he was in. The door shut behind him.
The new man, ignoring the presence of anyone but the woman on the bed, approached her, removing his void-black cloak in the process to reveal more of his ebony skin and a long mane of pure white hair, combed perfectly straight. Adorning his flesh, an armour, of Mithril and cloth, white and silver, hid only some of the most vital parts of his body, leaving the rest of his flesh to admiration and accenting his strong muscles perfectly.
The Altmer took the Dunmer's discarded cloak and stepped forward as well. His eyes fell, as his companion's, on the baby, a sound of disgust leaving his mouth before he was able to stop himself. Yet, it was not all that left his mouth. “A most foul spawn, Dumner. How can you claim it to have been sired by Lord Serath?”
The woman, tiredly, a death-threatening glare on her features, attempted to respond in kind to the arrogant Altmer, but her tiredness made her slow and the commanding Dumner male interrupted her.
“Ameiri, do not be so quick to judge. The boy has my hair, a rare sight among Dunmer. And though that is, indeed, not to prove his lineage, I know he is mine as sure as the sun rising.” Lord Serath's voice, although deep and quiet, resonated through the room and was heard by all.
The Altmer, faced with his companion's mysteriousness, attempted a protest, but a hand clad in white metal rubbed against the back of his own, a sign that he knew meant he should not argue, a sign to be taken to heart. He did not resist a last sound of displeasure before irritably making himself acquainted with a shelf of common, cheap books sitting to one side of the otherwise very barren room.
The Altmer dealt with, Lord Serath moved forward, approaching the woman who had birthed his son, the one with the white hair. He had never believed the legends permeating his family, his legacy... but he did now. This babe, such as he, born to a nondescript mother and a near clone of his father, would be destined for great things.
“Does our agreement still stand? Is he to your liking?”
The voice of the Dunmer woman broke Serath's thoughts and he moved his blood-red gaze from his son to her. His head moved slowly, in a nod. “Our agreement stands...” he paused long enough to extend his hand, where a swirl of black magic deposited, suddenly, a forbidden object; a black soulgem.
“You will care for my child. Name him as me, Serath, give your life for his if needed be. You will be sure he trains and studies in the disciplines he studies. You will not otherwise interfere with his destiny. At 50 you shall tell him who his father is. You shall tell him what he is destined for.” The look of tired amusement in the woman's face irritated him slightly. No matter. She would not be able to break this promise to him. “In exchange, I will offer you my riches and save passage into Skyrim.”
The woman nodded at him, satisfaction in her face. She most likely thought how simple it had been to turn this accident into fortune. Her eyes widened only when the gem, accepting her nod as confirmation, glowed and turned into dust, which, moved by invisible winds, wrapped around her arm, into her throat. The smoke entered her mouth, her nose, travelled deep, itching all the way through. Her heart clenched painfully for a moment and then it was over.
Lord Serath looked at her, pleased, and nodded. “Ameiri. Give her the money.” He stood up with that order and turned to leave. He was followed closely by his Altmer companion. As quietly as they had come, they were now gone, no trace of their visit remaining other than the heavy sack of gold on the shelf.
'To Skyrim,' the Dunmer woman whispered to no one in particular, “To Skyrim.”
----------------------------//---------------------------------
So. Skyrim coming out tomorrow and omg I'm so excited! XD Can't wait to play it. Anyway, I've only played Morrowind and Oblivion in the series, but always with a male Dunmer stealth character, whom I always name Serath. Over time this has developed into a kind of family prophecy. So, whenever the Empire needs a hero, a Serath will be born in time to be up to the task when it comes. The beauty of TES being single-player is that this doesn't make the characters OP for the setting. Ha! ^.^
So, a new, little Serath is born to go fight dragons... in 200 years for him. ._.