Please note:
This is probably really bad. Im an artist mostly, not a writer. So I apologize in advance.
There will also be graphic descriptions of torture and interrogation. If this squicks or triggers you turn back now.
There isnt really a storyline to this. The character is a skyrim oc of mine. Her name is Moss and she is 18. She isnt the dragonborn, just a random homeless kid with anxiety who somehow is in the Dark Brotherhood? Just. Dont question It.
This completely doesnt follow the skyrim storyline and is kind of mary sue so please dont bring that up in the comments ^^"
Finally, I have at least three learning disabilities, so my writing is bad because of that. I have trouble putting my thoughts into words. So my sentances are probably very odd.
Chapter One
Moss wasn't a regular kid. She was scrawny, and small, and fit into places that most kids outgrew when they were six or seven. Her hair was brown with the slightest reddish tinge to the edges, and she had eyes so dark brown people swore they were black. Her ribs always showed through her light tan skin, no matter how much she ate. Her legs always shook when she ran. Her hands always fidgeted at her sides when she was standing still. People tended to stay away from her when she was in public.
She was abandoned as a baby, born a month premature. Nobody knows who her parents were, just that she appeared outside the orphanage one night. When she was five, she ran off and never looked back, hopping from city to city across Skyrim, stealing apples and bread and pickpocketing small coins off of passing strangers to keep herself going. She knew the best hiding places when the guards came looking for her, and often slept indoors inside of cabinets and wardrobes during the winter, unbeknownst to her hosts.
Soon enough she was an adult. She didn't really know her birthday, just that she was abandoned when the leaves began turning orange, and that 18 autumns had happened since then. Which meant, she was now an adult. No matter what she did, and what she got in trouble for, she didn't have to worry about being sent back to the orphanage. However, it did mean that she could serve prison time. Moss wasn't quite sure if that was such a good trade off, but there was nothing she could do about it anyways.
Moss pulled her thick browny-grey cowl closer around her neck, her thin fingers white and frozen in the cold wind. She needed to find somewhere warm to camp for a while. The people in Falkreath were kind enough, and the blacksmith would let her sit by his fire through the night, but she couldn't stay in one place for too long. She preferred a low profile, and if she stayed there then people might get to know her. The last thing she needed was to form relationships. She knew that the people would eventually get tired of her begging, or become savvy to her thievery. Either way she would be thrown out of the town, and it was better to leave on one's own terms.
Moss sat down on a rock for a moment, to catch her breath. She spotted a berry bush a few feet away: dinner. She walked over and began plucking the berries from the bush. It was far past their season, and they had been picked by birds and withered in the summer sunshine, but they weren't molded or rotted, so they would be perfectly safe to eat. Besides, even if they were molded, that wouldn't stop her. She had eaten worse.
As she munched on the mostly dried berries, she spotted a small nightshade growing in a tuft of grass by her feet. How odd, she thought to herself, nightshade don't grow around here. They belong near the graveyard, if anything.
Moss knelt down by the flower, her long fingers gently caressing the petals. She never had any use for flowers, poisonous or not, but she still enjoyed their beauty.
As she stood back up, she noticed another one just a few feet ahead. And another. She followed what seemed like a trail of flowers, until she came to a large number of them just underneath the edge of a cliff. And….. a door? Moss narrowed her eyes. She had never known of anyone living outside of Falkreath like this. Suddenly, she heard the distinct sound of hooves in the distance and dove behind a large bush, out of sight. A tall figure on a smokey black horse rode up. The figure, a woman, dismounted the horse as soon as she was near to the cliff and its mysterious door. The horse walked over to a small black pond and dissolved into goo, disappearing entirely into the murky water. Moss brought her hand up to her mouth and clamped it over tightly to prevent her gasp from being heard.
The woman approached the ominous stone door, pressing her hand to the handprint engraved on the forehead of the skull.
"What…. Is the music… of life?" Came a deep, raspy voice. Moss watched, not daring to move an inch, hoping that the slight shake to her spindly legs didn't draw any attention to herself. Squatting wasn't her strongsuit.
The woman leaned her head in to the door, until it was nearly touching.
"Silence, my brother," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the fall wind.
"Welcome….. home…" The door said, and opened, scraping against the rocky ground. The woman walked inside, the door shutting heavily behind her. Moss narrowed her eyes once more. She had to get into that room and see what was inside. She just had to.