The rain trickled idly outside the Tavern's shutters. A swift breeze stirred the trodden leaves with effort – the whipping winds unable to reclaim the fallen fond from the chilly forest floor. Inwardly, the elf sighed; another day spent cooped up within this quiet town. She idly twirled her autumn hair between her thin fingers, lost in thought.
The days were slow as the rainy season took Falkreath. She had trekked far to reach here, at the Jarl's request. And for what? To bring him a bottle of mead? She furrowed her brow, rubbing her temples. She had spent a week and a half on the road from Whiterun. That was a week and a half she could have used climbing the 7,000 Steps.
If she could muster the courage, that is. In all honesty, her bravery was a face she wore when she had nothing left. Looking into the glass, she could see her own reflection. Her amber eyes gleamed against her fair face, pointed ears and slightly angular chin encouraging a hint of beauty. She was a Wood Elf, which she hated – if only for the implications it brought.
Her mind turned to home, to Valenwood. She had not long ago abandoned the traditions that long plagued her mind, and the insults the Nords carried with them. Well, the few who cared enough to note them, if only to see a stir of fire from the spritely lass. She clenched her head in her hands, hiding her ears. Covering the signs of her being different, an outsider.
Her brain filled with the memories of her journey north, to visit the grave of her lost Mother – and the family tomb within the borders of Skyrim. It was a long journey that her family made a tradition of visiting once a decade, and this would have been her third. And she did it alone.
Her father passed in a skirmish with the Aldmeri Dominion months before. Her mother – a Nord – had passed of fever during the last visit. Being so close to her true home, it was only fitting that she was buried in the Nordic tomb of her father and mother. Her family. Her people. Where she belonged.
Without her Father to keep her company, and with the small land they owned seized by the Dominion, the little Bosmer had little left to her life in Valenwood. And when she came to Skyrim to be free of the Dominion, she found herself caught in a civil war.
"Then I will fight the Dominion, and reclaim my homeland." She thought, all those months ago. "I have paid my respects. There's nothing left for me here."
Making her way South towards the border, she was caught in an Imperial ambush. The memories stung deep in her mind, the turmoil and suffering from the Imperials a rather fresh wound. They had stripped her of her belongings, shattered her Father's Bow into pieces. Beat her. Molested her. They claimed her as part of the Stormcloaks, and for that, she would be executed at dawn.
And with dawn, came death from above. Her head on the chopping block, in her ragamuffin clothes – an ancient dragon swooped down from the heavens above, and brought death like the breeze beneath its wings.
Its voice was like a mighty hurricane, the explosive tone ringing across the land and giving her just enough space to slip free of the Executioner's Ax.
With little options left, she followed a Nord – Ralof – as they escaped the burning ruins of Helgen. And that's when it happened.
An Imperial arrow struck her in the shoulder, piercing her clean through. If she didn't have the Stormcloaks pulling her to her feet, her head would have been cut free from her shoulders.
A hand gently touched her on her bad shoulder, a bar maid giving her a forced smile. As they do with all customers, it seems.
"Would you like anything to drink dear?" She feigned, holding a large pitcher in her right hand. Her senses tingled at the smell – it was definitely mead.
"Yes." She supplied bluntly. She withdrew a few septims from her small purse on her side, dropping them in the Server's hand as she filled the flagon up.
She hated mead. Mead mead mead. It was all they drank here in Skyrim. Mead. Ale. Wine. She wanted milk, but that wasn't as common as she liked. And being half Nord herself, she found plenty of cravings for bread, cheese, butter, vegetable pottage – but never for Mead.
At least she didn't follow the dated Green Pact. She had faith in the Nine Divines, as her Mother raised her to be. Against her Father's wishes, who wanted her to believe in the history of her homeland.
Yet the word "Cannibal" was thrown at her more often than not.
Sipping from the liquor slowly, a bolt of lighting flashed across the sky. Her ears perked, counting the moments before the sound clashed against her sensitive ears.
Thunder boomed. The door swung open to the tired in, an older man stumbling inside. His coat soaking with the fresh rain.
"Is Bastrii Duskhollow still here?" He called to the Tavern Keep. He glanced at the Wood Elf, who had turned in her seat. The man immediately approached her, grabbing her arm.
"You're the Dragon Born, yes? Come with me. It's important."
Bastrii looked up into the green eyes of the man before her. She pulled her arm free, a bit defiant.
"How did you know my name?"
"Word moves faster than feet in Skyrim. I have a life on the line and you're my last chance to save it."
Bastrii looked into the Nord's brown eyes. His gray-tinged tawny beard hung a bit loosely, his voice hoarse. The absolute desperation that clung to his face drew a moment of sympathy from the young girl.
"I'll collect my things. How far?"
"Northern road, about half an hour trek on horse. Please hurry."
He let her go, and Bastrii set to work gathering her belongings.
Returning to her room, she strapped on the loose plates of leather, her green traveling cloak. Her bracers, one with a broken strap. Her bow she restrung the night before. She slipped the quiver comfortably beneath the cape, throwing her traveling hood on as she added the padded leather to her pants. She didn't have a sword – none of the ones in Skyrim seemed to fit her smaller hands – so she carried an iron dagger on her hip.
Hefting her pack onto her back, she settled the weight of it on her legs. It was sparsely filled with provisions, as she wasn't strong enough to travel heavy. Luckily, with the help of the local blacksmith in Whiterun, she had crafted a lightweight, thin leather tent to help stave off the elements.
He stood by the fire, waiting for her return. When her door slid shut after her, he quickly made his way to the stable. Bastrii had to jog to keep up – her short height getting the best of her.
The door of the Tavern slammed against against the frame from the wind behind them, as the man quickly hopped on his horse. Bastrii followed, scrambling to sit as his heels kicked into the equine below. The horse nickered and made its way at a trot.
"I never caught your name." Bastrii said, as the wet sound of hooves against the ground mixed with the pouring rain.
"Rolf. I am Rolf. I'm an Alchemist of sorts, but… this is beyond me."
"And what exactly is that?" She asked, her curiosity killing her. She hadn't questioned his request, but now that there was a moment to spare…
"I have an injured… creature, of sorts. In my home. It looks like a Daedra, like some form of Scamp. But it speaks Common and… well, you'll see."
Bastrii frowned. Daedra? She didn't know much of anything about Daedra. Only that they were typically evil.
"Why me?" She asked. Indeed, why her? What could she do?
"I have tried literally everything else within my power, and contacted many hands for help. But nothing works. If you can't solve the riddle of this… creature's ailment, then I ask that you at least put her out of her misery."
"Her?"
Rolf nodded, the horse cantering up the path slowly. "She sounds like one, at least. I can't tell without invading her privacy."
How noble. Bastrii thought. A Nord with respect.
The minutes seemed to trickle by as the horse stumbled on the slick of the roads. Falkreath was dangerous when the slopes were slick, and mudslides seemed to be an often concern for the folk who resided here. A clearing soon broke the dense foliage of the forest, as the duo broke free of the leaves and entered an avenue of simple homes. Several carts lined these roads, laden with fresh produce ready to be shipped to town. The seventh home – the last home – seemed strikingly small in comparison. While families could live in the large shelters close by, the last house seemed to only hold one room.
The horse entered the nearby stable, as they both dismounted. The ping of the rain on the farm tools around mixed with the rolling wind sent shivers down her spine. The late winter rain always stung the most.
"Let's be quick. I doubt we have much time left." He said, stepping to the door. Bastrii followed close behind, clutching at her dagger. Just in case…
The heat of the warm room quickly washed away her worries, as the young Bosmer scanned the room with her eyes. There stood many shelves lined with odds and ends, books and pictures – a table that housed a plethora of herbs and potions that seemed to emit an earthy aroma. There, by the hearth, sat a large pillow – stuffed with hay, and on it rested the form of a small Imp.
She entered quietly, taking off her hood with a flick of her wrist. The cloak followed, as she approached the being.
Looking over the creature, it had no obvious wounds. Its flesh was a deathly gray, her body enshrouded in a blanket. She had a few black markings that put emphasis on her form against her white hair. She wore it in a pony tail, of course; a strange, gray helmet to the side. She inspected the item carefully for a moment, frowning. It looked like some kind of ancient artifact. Something about it put her off.
Setting it down, she turned back towards the imp. She placed a hand over her head, feeling for a temperature. Stone cold. Obviously not good. Her other hand withdrew the blankets, inspecting her body for anything that seemed out of place.
Maybe her Magic could help her. She didn't study much, except for one school – Restoration. She breathed in slowly, taking the air of the earth into her body as she channeled the magicka inside of her. She shaped it, held it. Breathed out as it took form in the shape of golden beads of light.
The magic flitted into the small creature slowly, the Bosmer's heart hammering in her own ears as she began to feel the powerful drain. Her senses dulled. Her mind went hazy. The magic flickered before coming to a stop.
She gasped in a breath she didn't know she was holding, as she slumped forward, her head throbbing as the old man spoke behind her.
"Restoration Magic? Very rare, even in times of War. Stay right there – let me give you a poultice." He looked over to the unconscious Imp, giving off a warm smile. "And something to eat. For the both of you."
Bastrii's eyes fluttered open, as she looked upon the Imp. Her colors had nearly inverted, her form filling with color. Her skin turned a delicate shade of blue, her dark skin turning black against the linen pillow. Her eyes turned to slits, looking up at Bastrii through the exhausted haze. Small, blue runes marked her arms – her black leg, and her ears. Her hair had turned a fine shade of orange, yellow, and red.
"W-What?..." The Imp said, before her eyes slid shut. Bastrii worried for a moment, until she saw the slow rising of the creature's chest.
Her head sent shocks of pain through her body, her limbs shaking a bit from the intense cost. Soon, she felt a vial pressed to her lips, the muffled voice of Rolf telling her to drink.
Slowly tipping the bottle back, she consumed the blue potion. She closed her eyes, letting the stars behind her lids settle as the pain dulled partially.
"Restoration magic is the most dangerous form of magic. Not because it harms others, but because it harms oneself to use it. How did you come across a spell like that?" Rolf asked. Bastrii slowly got to her feet, her world spinning.
"My father was injured and dying – I learned healing magic out of desperation. I'm afraid I wasn't quick enough. He passed on my first attempt at healing him. The infection was too much for him to handle, and the local alchemist was too overwhelmed to aid him. If I had just another hour, I wouldn't be stuck in this Talos-Forsaken hell hole."
Rolf cringed at her sharp words, but didn't interject. He had no idea the struggles she's faced. He set out a bowl of a heavy beef stew, a carrot resting on the surface. Bastrii picked up the bowl in her hands, holding it in her grasp as her hands idly played with the spoon.
Her head hurt. Her body felt weak. She slumped back into a nearby chair, clutching the soup before her.
"I'm sure you'll recover in three days time. Magic that strong is sure to drain you." Rolf said, returning to the downed Imp. He looked her over, placing a hand on her head to check her temperature. Tilting her head up, he took a hold of a bottle to her side. Gently, he eased it to her lips; forcing the small character to drink.
"I don't know why you would put so much effort into an Imp." Bastrii said, watching the spectacle from her hazy eyes. "She's probably a weird Daedra. She doesn't belong here."
In her mind, the food and effort could have been put forward towards hunting. Farming. Maybe reinforcing the home, daily chores. Gathering herbs and other things to help treat people who matter. At best, an Imp would probably see his house burn.
"I don't believe it. I used the word 'Daedra' to describe her – but there's something more to it than that. Daedra don't speak common, and she doesn't match many of the descriptions."
Bastrii nodded, mulling it over.
"And what will she do to pay you? I don't intend to be rude. It just seems a bit too selfless for me."
"Nothing. Sometimes, the reward is knowing that I've saved a life, and that's all that mattered."
The Bosmer sighed to herself. It's one thing to spare a bit of effort here and there, when she could. But from the looks of it, he's been wearing himself thin over this tiny life. But the words… they did touch her in a way. She didn't often consider the lives of others, only her own.
"And what of you, Bastrii? You came to help me when I'm sure you've much more important things to do." He gently stirred a nearby pot containing the stew, as Bastrii finally convinced herself to take a spoonful. It was robust and hearty.
She began to think it all over. Why did she come all of this way, when she could have started towards High Hrothgar the other night? Why invest the time and effort to help people, for nothing in return? Why even go see the Greybeards, why not just… move on, and head home to fight the Dominion, like she wanted to?
The visions of the mountain danced in her head, taunting her. Subconsciously, she huddled up a bit closer, afraid of the cold. Maybe she should just leave.
"No comment." She replied, eyes down.
Rolf went back to the stew, eventually retrieving a bowl for himself. He settled in on a nearby chair, kicking off his boots to let them dry by the fire. Minutes passed as the steady beat of rain and the crackling of the flame filled the room, the small Imp stirring under the sheets.
"She's coming to." Bastrii said, eyeing the potential threat carefully. Slowly, she withdrew her bow and placed it to her side, watching. Rolf simply sat still, seeing the pile of blankets twitch – eyes unmoving as his hand slowly slipped another wooden spoonful of soup into his mouth.
The Imp sat up, eyes blinking timidly as she drew in closer to the fire. Her moves were slow and tense, as she looked around the room. Her vision snapped to Bastrii.
"You?..." The Imp said quietly, almost in shock. "Link?"
"Uh..." Bastrii looked at the Imp in confusion, as the little being rubbed her eyes.
"Oh. You're not Link. Where am I? Who are you?" She said, in a quiet voice. Rolf's gentle cough caught her attention, drawing a wide eyed stare from the small being.
"That would be Bastrii Duskhollow, the Dragonborn, and the one responsible for your awakening. And I would be Rolf the Green, of Falkreath. I am the one who fed you and kept you alive the past week, until Bastrii's healing magic could revive you."
"Falkreath? Where is that? That doesn't sound like anywhere in Hyrule." The Imp said, hesitating for a moment.
"Falkreath is one of the seven major holds in Skyrim, Skyrim being one of the several countries across all of Tamriel. I wouldn't suspect an Imp to know this, but I would ask why they would question it." Rolf said bluntly, sizing the small being before him. "Furthermore, from my knowledge, I have no idea where this 'Hyrule' is, but I doubt it's on Nirn. Maybe within the Realms of Oblivion."
The Imp blinked slowly. Bastrii took this moment to interject.
"May I ask what your name is?" She said, slowly slipping her hand back to the bowl of stew. The little creature took a moment to answer, giving her enough time to take a bite.
"Midna. I am Midna."
For a moment, Bastrii simply focused on the food, rolling the name around in her head.
"That doesn't sound Daedric to me."
Silence filled the room, as this 'Midna' righted herself on the sheets of the makeshift bed, finding the bowl before her. Giving it a curious sniff, she ladled a spoonful into her mouth.
"This tastes like Ordon food..." Midna whispered to herself.
"Midna, if it's not a bother, maybe you should give us a little more information. Anything you're comfortable with that would fill us in? Like… where you're from." Rolf said, with a reassuring smile. His gristly beard finally dried out, making him seem a bit more approachable.
Midna bit her tongue. She seemed to be holding back, her eyes flicking between the two before speaking.
"Hyrule. I am from a land called Hyrule. I wasn't born or raised there, but I live there. I lived in a town called… Ordon. With my friend, Link."
"Link? An odd name for an Imp, I wager." Rolf thought aloud. "Does he look like you?"
"Well, no – he looks more like… you, Bastrii? That's your name, right? Bastrii Dusk whatever. He looks like you, except more… manly. Strong. Well built."
Bastrii furrowed her brow. So a Wood Elf, huh?
"So he's a Bosmer. I see. You must have been something he Conjured, and perhaps when he tried to do some form of banishment to return you home, the spell backfired and instead sent you halfway across Nirn. That is, if a place called Hyrule even exists." Rolf summed up his thoughts on the matter rather fluently.
"Conjure? No! No no no, I'm not a familiar, or a conjured… creature. I am… me! I'm just cursed to look like this. I'm not some kind of spell."
"Well, you definitely don't look like one. Short, orange eyes, runes on your arms and legs – pointed ears. You don't look too Daedric in nature. You look more like a construct of a being, nothing of this world, nor any beyond." Bastrii said, stirring her stew. She had already picked out most of the meat. It was more so instinct to eat the meat first for her.
"What's a Daedra? What are you two talking about?" She spat, her eyes glaring up at the duo. Rolf chuckled.
"Calm down, Midna. Daedric means something summoned from Oblivion. Oblivion is a realm of fire and death, and there's nothing fiery or deadly about you. Well, except possibly your attitude – but that remains to be seen." The older Nord smiled, tipping back his bowl. Bastrii simply watched the Imp for a moment more, remaining mostly quiet.
"Quest complete." She thought to herself, mimicking Rolf as she drained her bowl. She thought about asking for a reward for her effort, but it wasn't too bad all together. She earned a free bowl of stew, a potion to help offset the Magicka sickness from strenuous use, and perhaps a contact with an Alchemist who might be useful later on.
Midna growled, but didn't spit back. Instead, she took to her bowl of stew ravenously. Seeing the progress the two before her has made with the meal inspired her to catch up, and she quickly wolfed it down as Bastrii focused her attention to Rolf.
"Well, it seems as if my work here is done. Thank you for the meal, Rolf, but I have to start moving. I'm terrified of what comes next, but with the return of the Dragons, there isn't much left for me to do but… I guess, face my destiny."
Midna dropped her bowl, looking between the two before her. She spotted her helmet, and quickly dragged it over, standing up a bit too fast for her body's liking.
"Destiny? Hold on, you're leaving? Where are you going? What's going on with the Dragons and… what? Just, everyone – hold on! I need to go home!"
"Home? Hyrule sounds like it's on a different plane than ours." Rolf said, cutting the conversation into more manageable bits. "If anything, you should worry about recovering. As far as I know, you're probably stuck here.
"Next, the dragons of ancient times have returned, and are wreaking havoc on Skyrim. Bastrii is Dragonborn. In her veins flows the blood of dragons. Because of this, she can use the Thu'um – or the voice of Dragons, to call upon their power. Only a Dragonborn can match the sheer destructive force of one of Alduin's clan.
"It would seem that it's Bastrii's destiny to ascend the 7,000 steps and approach the wise Greybeards, who speak in the tongue of Dragons, and put these creatures to rest."
Bastrii fumbled for a moment, rubbing the back of her head. "You know quite a bit about the Dragonborn, Rolf. I'm more so shocked you knew it was me back in the Tavern."
"It's no secret that the Jarl wanted someone powerful to claim them as Thane. Who else but the Dragonborn? I only caught your name because of a few castoff Imperials, who seemed to be hunting for you in particular."
Bastrii cringed. So her bounty wasn't cleared. The Imperials probably want her dead, thinking she's part of the Resistance. The Stormcloaks, on the other hand, rescued her from Helgen, offered her companionship and food, and saved her life. Amid this Civil War between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, she seemed to be stuck at an impasse.
Rolf coughed, interrupting her train of thought.
"The Dragonborn is a well known legend in Skyrim. If you don't let on that you're the chosen one, then you'll probably be able to blend right into the crowd. Just keep your head low, and you should be able to make your way past the Imperials with ease.
"But my recommendation, Bastrii? Join the Stormcloaks. If we don't push the Imperials back, we'll be under the thumb of the Dominion before you could pop the cork to a mead. That is, if you have the time to help."
Bastrii's eye twitched at the mention of the Dominion.
She stood up, slipping her gear on with a nod. "I'll consider it. Right now, I have a lot on my mind, and a lot on my plate. I need time to think. I'm going to make my way to Ivarstead, and see just how terrible that mountain really is."
She fastened her cloak and equipped her bag, opening the door.
"Wait."
Bastrii turned, the drizzling rain against her back. She looked to the little Imp, who stood on her legs freely.
"I'm coming with you."
The wind gently rattled the shutters as Bastrii shouldered her bow.
"Can you keep up?"
"I can. I've kept up with probably the most intensely paced companion in all of Hyrule, it shouldn't be a problem. And I have a few tricks up my sleeve, as well."
Midna slowly began to hover off of the ground, blinking in concentration. She suddenly dropped onto her legs, falling flat on her hind end.
"My magic… it seems so distant." Midna grumbled in frustration, slowly making her way to her feet yet again.
"That's because it is distant. The source of your magic must be incredibly far. If you relied heavily on it before, you might have to change your pace to match what you have." Rolf nodded thoughtfully.
"Rolf, why are you so smart?" Bastrii turned to the old Nord. He gave a short bark of a laugh, the first genuine one he made since the Bosmer met him.
"I used to attend the College of Winterhold. I'm Rolf the Green for a reason – I've developed Alchemy techniques that modern scholars fawn over. I retired here to be closer to nature, where I gather my herbs, and to be the healer for this humble Hold. Haven't you noticed the signs? Look around my home. See the books? They're more than just decoration, my friend."
Bastrii turned a thoughtful eye over her surroundings. She noticed the books – dozens of them, precious in their value as they lined the shelves. On many book cases rested vials of potions and poisons, ingredients and tools. If she had the time, she would have sat down with him and learned a thing or two.
Midna hovered over to Bastrii's side, looking her over.
"What are you?..." The Wood Elf asked, as the Imp tossed the flap of her large travel bag open. She quickly slid inside, pushing with her arms to make room.
"Until my magic recovers, I can't fly all the time, nor use my power to blend into your shadow. For now, you're going to have to carry me."
"How about no? Walk. And… blend into my shadow?" Bastrii said, shaking her pack.
"I can't. My legs in this form are too small. Just… do it. I need to get back home, and you being Dragonbird or whatever is my best bet." Midna closed the lid of the pack down, curling up in the warmth of the leather satchel.
"Rolf, you've got to be kidding me. You can't let her do this."
"Well, no, she let herself do this. I'm afraid I'm no longer involved in this matter. It's just you and Midna now." He smiled, giving a hearty laugh. "Oh, and please, be sure to visit me when you can. I'd love some company."
"I'll try-hey!" Bastrii yelped, as Midna withdrew her hand from her pointy ear.
"Enough chitchat! Let's get a move on already; those legs aren't going to walk themselves!" She giggled, before vanishing back into the pack.
Bastrii sighed. What has she gotten herself into?
Hello everyone! A few notes before you continue reading; I will try to follow the lore of the Elder Scrolls series as closely as I can. There will be a few exceptions here and there, and many more errors, but I'm not all knowing in the Elder Scrolls Universe. I have about 15 tabs open right now just to keep track of it all!
I'm still in the progress of writing this story, but I already have two more chapters available - one fresh off the presses (which I need to go over), and another I gave a quick read through (could use more work). I don't want to publish anything that isn't ready to be read, but I do want to publish on a consistent schedule.
My writing style is probably a bit weird for some. I typically write as if you, the reader, can understand on some level what the character is thinking. I also expect that if you're reading the story, you know enough about at least Twilight Princess to know about her struggle, so I don't have to have a long introductory sequence where she explains it.
This is a slow progress, character development and world building story. Bastrii - the Dragonborn - was chosen because out of all of my characters, I felt like it made a lot more sense that she would try to leave Skyrim than stay within it. I don't want to paint her as brave without reason. Expect few exceptions to be made here and there to add more flavor, or to skip long travels without time skips.