The Magician's Shout
Sweat dripped down his brow and into his eyes as a young man struck log after log with his axe. With every swing he felt his muscles struggle and ache, but no more than what he was used to. Plus, he smiled at the thought of finishing up the last of his chores and relaxing to a hearty stew after a long days work.
More of a boy than a young man, Tiren was 17 years old, and had spent his day chopping wood, checking the snares, milking the cow, and working in the garden. But in return for all of his hard work, Tiren got to appreciate the fresh air and beautiful view of the Falkreath wilderness. After he finished his chores, he'd go down to the lake to clean up and cool off, and then get to work on cooking the rabbit he'd caught this morning.
Tiren had lived at this homestead for all of his life. He lived off the land and worked hard to keep everything fit and functioning. He spent the majority of his days alone, while his father was off on deliveries into Falkreath or Whiterun. And when he was home, any time not spent eating, sleeping, or educating Tiren was spent in the homestead's tower hard at work.
Tiren's father was an accomplished mage. After spending nearly a decade at the College of Winterhold and another decade bouncing around from Hold to Hold working as a court mage he'd finally saved enough to but himself his own plot of land in the Falkreath wilderness. Here he raised Tiren safely, and worked as a contract enchanter for the jarls, captains, and nobles of the nearby Holds. This ensured enough money came in to support the homestead, and to provide for supplies and a generous emergency fund should a pack of wolves kill some of the livestock.
Tiren appreciated how hard his father worked to provide for him, but it sometimes could get lonely out on the Homestead. He often wished he could spend more time with the man.
And that is why Tiren took full advantage of every opportunity he got to be around his father. And that included the lesson that his promised him after dinner.
The thought of it gave Tiren the energy needed to finish his work, and afterwards he ran down the hillside, threw off his clothes and leapt into the lake. He didn't stay in the water for long, as it was very cold, but he enjoyed the brisk swim. Afterwards he proceeded back up the hill and got to work on dinner.
As he began skinning the dead hare, he started mentally going over all the questions he had for his dad about what he'd been studying this past week. This week he'd finished an interesting book about the history of the Falmer, and for fun had read another one of his favorites, "Mixed Unit Tactics". He couldn't wait to ask him about Dwemer ruins, and why the Falmer were so drawn to them? Had he ever studied a Dwemer ruin? Had he ever encountered the Falmer?
But of course all these lessons about history and world aside, what he was truly excited for was his magic lesson. Tiren had spent the past several weeks mastering the transmutation spell his Father had taught him, and now was finally ready to move onto something new.
Tiren loved magic. He'd shown a natural affinity for it ever since he was a boy, and his father had given him lessons and tomes to study over the years. He had spent hours reading, studying, and practicing the ins and outs of any spell he could convince his father to teach him.
As Tiren stirred the stew pot his mind began to stir as well, wondering what new spell would be presented to him today. He'd gotten a solid handle on basic wards and heals, and while it had been a bit of a struggle, transmutation wasn't a problem for him now either.
Tiren said a silent prayer to Julianos it'd finally be a destruction spell, but he knew better than that. His father had been very clear about how he felt on that subject. So with that in mind, Tiren was simply clamoring for a new challenge. Maybe it would be something in the school of Illusion? He'd read about many battles being decided by fear, or rallying spell. Or even invisibility! His mind raced at the thought of that.
But it was then that Tiren snapped back into reality, and quickly stopped what he was doing and took the stew pot off the fire before he overcooked it. He then turned as he heard a door shut behind him and he faced his father.
His father was a good three inches taller than Tiren, due to his pureblooded Nord ancestry. He had a thin grey beard, and a strong Nord jaw. Anyone who looked at just his face would've thought him a warrior. He was dressed in his blue mage's robes and a hood. His hood was pulled down though, and immediately took off his robes to reveal a simple wool tunic and pants underneath. Without his robes you saw a thinner Nord than most, but still a physique that would make the strongest elf look meek by comparison. He sniffed the air, smiled and hugged his son.
"Smells like a fine stew my boy! How was your day?" He asked.
Tiren turned from his father and began pouring two bowls while he responded, "It was a hard day's work but no problem's arose. And luckily Kynareth blessed our snares with a fine hare this morning, or this stew would have lost its heartiness. How about you father? Were you able to bind that broadsword for the Jarl?"
"Yes! But boy was that tiresome. He gave specific instructions in concerns to its level of power, and I just didn't have a soul gem strong enough to do it on its own. So I had to invest a lot of my own energy into stretching that lesser soul far enough to satisfy the contract."
Tiren nodded and handed his father his bowl. He worried about his Father sometimes. He'd sworn off the majority of Necromancy, short of the simplest conjurations, and refused to bind the souls of people to his gems. This made it difficult to fill his gems with the necessary power though. It had gotten to the point where he almost looked forward to trolls attacking the Homestead just so he'd be able to harvest something strong enough. And Tiren also worried about the physical toll investing his own energy into the enchantment could have in the long run.
But as they ate, Tiren described what he'd studied and read that week, and took the opportunity to ask his questions about the Falmer and Dwemer to his father. He was always astounded at the depth of knowledge his father displayed. Tiren wondered how it was that he had the time to study and obtain all of this knowledge.
But while the two ate and spoke, Tiren's excitement over tonight's new spell overwhelmed him. The suspense was killing him! Finally he just couldn't take it.
"So please Father tell me! What new spell am I learning tonight!?" Tiren exclaimed.
The Nord grinned. He took that moment to examine his son's excited face. He had grown so much in what felt like but an instant. Could he really be seventeen? He still remembered holding him as a child, as he and his mother cradled him to sleep in the Hall of Elements at the college.
He saw so much of his mother in Tiren. Tiren had a soft round jaw, an obvious cross between his mother's Bosmer pointed one and his own hard Nordish one. He has his mother's deep brown eyes, and while his ears were not totally dominated by his Bosmer heritage, had the slightest point to them.
Tiren was in between the two races in height, standing as tall as the shortest Nord, or tallest Bosmer. His skin was not a Nordish pale but instead a slight olive color, and his face was clean-shaven. His hair was medium length and a dark brown, but kept tidy as it flowed back behind his ears.
"Nienna would be so proud to see you today." Styrnbjorn thought.
Styrnbjorn envied his son in a way. While he had to struggle and train for hours on end as a young mage to strengthen his magicka and grasp new spells, Tiren seemed to simply have magic in his blood. Despite his inexperience, Styrnbjorn guessed that his son's total level of magicka had already begun to surpass his own. His talent and affinity for it was impressive even by eleven standards. But he smiled and realized he shouldn't be surprised.
"You are your mother's son."
So as Styrnbjorn sipped his last spoonful of stew he finally responded to his overzealous pupil.
"Well son, your just in luck! While I was gone on my last delivery, I picked up these from a Kajiit trader." Styrnbjorn said as walked over to the table near the door and began sorting through his knapsack.
After a moment, he pulled out two books, walked over, and placed them on the table in front of Tiren. Tiren looked at the books and noticed the covers. The first was a symbol he knew well; it was the symbol for the school of Alteration. The other book was a purple book with a mark of a flaming hand on it. Tiren looked up at his father with shock in his eyes. His father had always lectured him on the dangers of destruction magic, and how its misuse was an easy way to get you killed!
"Father.. Is that..?" Tiren said slowly.
"Yes. That tome teaches and describes the methods behind the simplest of flame spells."
Styrnbjorn knew that look in his son's eye. His excitement and enthusiasm could hardly be contained. He knew he needed to temper this now.
"Now listen to me Tiren. I am showing you this tome for a reason. Destruction magic is a dangerous thing. People can die. And not just those you intend to be on the receiving end of your spells, destruction can hurt your allies, innocent people, and anyone that gets in its path. You have to become adept at controlling and aiming a spell in all situations. That is why you will not get this tome to study until you have mastered the other." Styrnbjorn said pointing at the other tome.
Tiren had lost a bit of his excitement, but he it had been replaced with a serious determination. He looked at the other tome, and then back up at his father.
"So then which spell tome is this one father?" Tiren asked.
"Telekinesis. One of the most pure and raw forms of magic. It is the ability to push, pull, and throw objects through the air. It can be rather draining on one's magicka, and most mages cannot sustain it for very long, but it will allow you to get used to aiming a projectile with magic. While it wont translate perfectly, it will get you prepared for when you start learning and harnessing destruction spells." Styrnbjorn explained.
Tiren looked at his father with fascination. To spur this fascination further, Styrnbjorn summoned the spell to his hand. His right hand began to glow with an orange aura. He harnessed it, and then pointed at the spoon sitting in his soup bowl and made a pulling gesture. The spoon immediately floated to him in a swift motion. Styrnbjorn then motioned again, this time extending his arm out and launching the spoon towards the far wall. The spoon flew swiftly and stuck into the wall with a soft crack.
"In three days I will be taking a day off from my work and we're spending the day doing some field training." Styrnbjorn said calmly, "Until then, study that tome. It should be pretty simple for you to master the basic concept of the spell, but as far as using spells it combat situations, we'll see about that soon."
Then Styrnbjorn took the destruction tome from his son and kissed his forehead goodnight. As Tiren watched his father shut the door to his room, he immediately opened cracked open his new book and excitedly studied his new spell.
Author's Note:
I'd like thank you for reading my first chapter! Hopefully this will be an interesting take on the world of Skyrim.
This story will coincide with the main quest line of the game, and actually takes place just days after the Dragon Rising quest in the traditional story ark. (For those that don't remember, that's the dragon attack on the Western Watchtower in Whiterun).
Creating my own character in the world separate from the original Dragonborn should provide an interesting freedom in the writing style, and I'm excited!
I love any reviews or constructive criticism as I am new at this. And I'll try to update whenever I can!