T I D A L B E G I N N I N G S
"What are your orders, Master?"
The corners of a thin mouth lifted, just barely visible under a black hood. The pale skin of the thin face was shaded, dark shadows cast across it by the rapidly spreading firelight that was encompassing the city. The solitary figure that stood in the center of it all allowed his smile to grow only slightly. There were oh so many answers that he could give to his understudy. So much torture and destruction to be had. But direct orders would take the learning out of the lesson. These disciples had to learn to be creative on their own.
"Kill anything that moves. And do take your time about it," was the answer, the voice smooth and chilling, enough to send chills up the spine of the disciple that had asked the question and back down again.
"As you wish," the Breton replied. The figure watched with satisfaction as the band of hooded figures spread throughout the city, bringing a hand of pain and death to all of its citizens. Oh yes, by morning, there would be not a soul left alive in the Valenwood city of Southpoint.
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Only several yards away from the cloaked figure, a young Bosmer woman was slipping silently through the city gates, a small blue bundle in her arms. The tiny baby girl slept like a rock, not yet awoken by the noise sweeping throughout the city.
Her footsteps swift and silent as they could be while weighted down by the babe, the woman hurried through the woods surrounding the city. As the trees began to thin, her heart lifted a bit. If she could only get to the beach…
"An escapee! Kill her, Lits!"
Not daring to look back at her pursuers, the woman ran faster, her legs burning with the strain. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes as she broke through the line of trees, a shrub bursting into flame next to her.
The soft sand of the beach slowed her progress as her feet sank into it. The Bosmer stumbled, and the shouts of her attackers grew nearer. She willed herself to press on further, and reaching the ocean wetted sand, she spared one arm to reach to her back and pull the milkweed basket from her back. Tossing it to the water, she kneeled down onto the sand, the salty waves lapping at her skirt. She spared only a second to give the little girl a kiss on the forehead.
"Travel well, my child. I love you."
Gently as she could, while still hurrying, she placed the baby into the basket and gave it a shove. Then, with tears of sorrow dripping down her cheeks, she gave one glance to the necromancers at her back before delving into the depths of the water, not to resurface. The necromancers halted at the water's edge.
"Should we pursue?" Lits questioned.
"Leave her. If she doesn't drown herself, the tides will pull her under. Let's report back to the Master."
As their forms retreated back into the woods, a head broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. The woman looked off to the east, where the tiny basket was being carried off by soft waves.
"Please be safe. Both of you."
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17 years later…
A young Bosmer dashed through the streets of Soulrest in the Black Marsh, dodging its confused Argonian citizens. They looked after her strangely as she sprinted, bow and quiver bouncing at her back with each light step. She just barely missed the large Hist tree in the town square, only avoiding it due to the fact that she'd passed by it every day of her life and could probably find it in her sleep if need be.
The door of the small cabin that served as a weapons shop banged open as she crashed through it and skidded to a halt at the feet of a tall male Argonian, the shop owner. Taking a moment to catch her breath, though she was hardly winded by the run, she looked up sheepishly at the man.
"Lorren…" he said, his voice deep and father-like.
"I know, I know," the young elf replied, looking down at the floor.
"This is the third time this week that you've been late. You know you're like a daughter to me, but even daughter's get fired for not showing up on time," the Argonian scolded.
"I'm sorry, Amurei, really. You know I get caught up," Lorren said.
"And what could it have possibly been this time?" Amurei asked. "You've read every book in the province on Bosmer and Valenwood. Unless you've taken up a new topic to read about?"
"Well actually… I kind of special ordered this one," Lorren told him, offering him an innocent smile. Amurei sighed. "I can't help it! I'm curious. After seventeen years, you should know that."
"I do know that," Amurei replied, placing the sword he'd previously been polishing into a display case and locking the lid. "Which is why I've been thinking: why are you still here, young one?" Lorren's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Wh- what do you mean?" she questioned carefully, looking at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted another head.
Amurei approached her slowly, placing a large clawed hand on her shoulder. He looked at her like he might look at his own daughter, if he had one. For all intents and purposes, Lorren pretty much was his daughter. When the Bosmer had washed up on the shores of his city seventeen years ago, only a few months of age, he'd been surprised, but eager to help her thrive in the world. Though slightly reluctant at first, most of the rest of the town had agreed to help raise her, to teach her a wide variety of skills to help her survive in the world.
Of course, some skills came to her naturally as a Bosmer. Born under the sign of the Thief as far as they could tell, she was gifted with increased agility, speed, and most definitely luck. Her skill with a bow was unquestionable and her skills of sneak were quite admirable. Still, Amurei was not naïve. He knew that there were certain things native to the Bosmer race that she could not become acquainted with being so removed from her people. This girl's life had not begun in Argonia, and it would certainly not end there. Not if he had any say in it.
"Lorren, there is a great deal for you to learn yet. While books can teach you about your people and the abilities you might have, they cannot give you experience. Nor can they teach you what it is you really seek. Your history, your heritage, your story; none of that lies in the Black Marsh," Amurei explained softly. Lorren looked up at him, her expression slightly hurt, somewhat scared.
"Are… are you saying that I should leave?" she whispered, as though afraid to voice it. Amurei smiled down at her.
"What I'm saying," he said, looking at her meaningfully, "is that you should follow your heart. Wherever it may lead you."
Pale blue eyes blinked up at him, full of concern… full of possibility.
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With a frustrated sigh, Lorren threw the blue-covered book down onto the table, sinking back into her chair. She'd read it about five times now, and it still had no more new information for her. In fact, it said about the exact same thing that every other book on Valenwood and Bosmer said.
Glaring down at the offending book, she realized that what Amurei had said to her two weeks earlier was right. She was looking for an explanation, a full account of her history. A Bosmer in southern Argonia was not a likely thing. She'd washed up on shore in a milkweed basket. It was a story she'd forced Amurei to tell her many times in hopes that she could derive some tiny piece of information from it. She hadn't, as yet, been able to.
But to leave the Black Marsh, as he'd suggested? It was ridiculous. It was close to blasphemy! All she'd ever know was this place, this town. She'd hardly ventured ten miles past its boarders (it had no walls). Though she was not Argonian, they were her family, the only one she'd ever known.
She could not ignore the fact, however, that she was growing ever more restless by the day. The same routine day after day: get up, go to work, talk with the people in her town. It was growing tiresome. Her spirit was far too adventurous for such a life. There were questions that she needed answered before her time was done, and she wasn't going to find them here. With another sigh, Lorren looked back down at the book she'd just discarded.
"Maybe he's right," she told it. "Maybe I do need to leave. I'm scared though." Her eyes narrowed suddenly in determination and she reached up, pulling her long black hair into a ponytail. "But not too scared to follow my heart."
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This is a rewrite of my previous story, of the same name. I didn't like the other one, so I'm redoing it a little.
I take no credit for the Elder Scrolls or anything affiliated.
The main part of this story (the 17 years later part) begins in 3E 824, a little less than 400 years after the Oblivion crisis.
Tell me if this version fares better for you so far, eh?
x
TheTex