Alright guys. I've been thinking of a story idea for a while now, but I'm pretty nervous because I've never done this before. I like to write, and I like to mock fanfic, so why don't I create a highly mockable fanfic, yeah? In all seriousness, I'm no writer, but if somebody would give this a skim and maybe tell me what my style gives or what it lacks, that would be cool. It should also be noted that this is gonna be an unrealistic storyline, but I'll also do my best to follow established lore.
Chapter 1
(the beginning, and possibly the end, depending on how this goes)
The youth of Blacklight are no united group. Some are docile members of high society families, mild mannered, while others roam the streets, living without the trivial rules of the wealthier classes. Despite their different natures, even the most thoughtful fully contemplate the larger world, with the Red Mountain and House Redoran being the largest and most imposing powers imaginable.
Pethara Allorn was among this marjority, a middle class child living tucked away in the library of the Morrowind Mages Guild. The daughter of Tylvos Allorn, the librarian for the Guild, she found herself bored with the political intrigue of the Guild, not understanding the necessity for such a convoluted social system, and with the books of the library, from which she had gleaned all the information she could. She felt stifled in the halls of the library, and this only grew more acute as she aged. When her father was organizing books, she took to wandering off. She was 53, young for Dunmer, but getting older every day. She felt a duty to her father, something old and primal, but at least she felt something. Still, she wanted out.
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Long and dark and cool, my shadow walks with me, she is my only companion, it seems. Fwish, fwoosh. Somebody may catch me here, yes, I wish I could move as silently as her. But what are they to do if they catch me? Fwish, fwoosh. I am like an ash storm, silent until a roll over a hill and engulf my victims. They all have better things to focus on, like their oh so sensitive research. Fwish, fwoosh. I am like Red Mountain, the odd one out, and easy to disregard until I strike. Fwish, fwoosh.
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Who she was to strike, or why, she did not yet know. She had spent most of her time in the library or the larger halls of the Mages Guild, but the information in the books and the implacations of the experiments all seemed so far away. She was just a child, and her father always said she had more of her absent mother in her then him. All of the things her father said seemed far away too. He was quiet, reserved, and mousy, in the way of all librarians. He loved his daugher, but did not understand her. As for Pethara, she could not understand him either.
When Pethara was very young, there was a clear rift between her and her father. She was free, practical, and cared little for what couldn't be felt and experienced. She certainly shared these traits with many children, but for Pethara, everything was bigger, and the way she was seemed amplified, especially in the somber halls of the Mages Guild.
"I can't see why this is important," she had often said to her father as he catalogued the books. "Father, what do these experiments the men do have to do with real life?"
Sometimes Tylvos smiled at her and laughed, saying that he didn't know himself. Other times, he gave the same answer, but did not laugh. Instead, he looked sad and confused. Mostly, though, he simply said that the work of the guild would be very important one day, and went on working with his books.
As Pethara grew older, she fell into the rythym of her little world, and saved her questions for herself and the shadow that strode behind her as she wandered the halls of the Morrowind Mages Guild, searching for something to feel.
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The halls of the guild are so cold. Blacklight is cold too. All of Morrowind is covered in a layer of ash. Maybe that's why none of us can feel our feelings. How far will I have to go before a experience what it's like to be fully alive? To the top of Red Mountain? To the Imperial City? All the way to Oblivion? The Reclamations may be too busy with their strange realms in Oblivion, and their more consequential subjects to consider me, but I hope that if any of them are watching, they'll forgive me.
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Taking one final look around and then inhaling deeply, she pitched herself out a window at the end of the hall.
Landing on her feet a couple meters down, she looked arond her, and then squatted down as not be seen while she considered her next move. She needed to get out of Blacklight if she was ever going to make anything of herself. She couldn't just head out the front of the Guild unopposed, though. Although most members of the Guild payed little attention to her, she knew that she would be found almost immediately if they knew of her leaving right away. Instead, she would go out a back gate. She had made it to the stone roof of someone's study, but from there it was a long way to the ground. Pondering her situation for a moment, she pulled up the ornate glass cover of a skylight and dropped down.
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I can smell the Moon Sugar. This must be Clyas's study. That crazy fetcher is always talking about the Daedra, and here we are. Skulls, fetishes, and strange writings? If I didn't know better I would think him a necromancer. He's about as charming as one, always prattling on about how he could outsmart Azura. He says that the old Dwemer, Nchylbar did it, so why couldn't he? He couldn't because he's a s'wit who might as well be dead for the amount of sujamma he drinks. Besides, Father's told him a hundred times or more that that story is likely apocryphal. And look, he's even got his own box. The man is mad, and he needs to be taken down a notch for all our sakes.
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Pethara walked carefully around the large altar in the center of the room, heading toward Clyas Sarethi's large wooden desk. His hand was neat and careful, but the notes were spattered with ink stains. She carefully took up his journals and blueprints and made her way toward the smoldering hearth. She didn't have time to get the fire going again, and prayed to Azura the the embers would be enough. As she tossed the notes in, the room grew warmer as the parchment went up. Warmer still as they burned, but it seemed like the lights were dimming. Disoriented, she turned around, and faced the Lady of Twilight herself, standing on the altar, silvery and soft and garlanded with roses.
"Mortal," she said, and at that moment Pethara was feeling like she had never felt before. She trained her eyes on the Daedric Prince and listened to what she had to say.
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Okay. So that was okay, I think. The bright side is that it wasn't all that long, I guess. If you all could tell me wether or not you would read more of this, that would be really cool, and obviously I would not be offended if you don't think it's very good, because like I said, this is very new for me, and very experimental. Thanks.
-Sophie
Comments
I wonder if Pethara has bitten more than she could chew. Time will tell.
A nice balance of story and background Sophie... Looking forwards to chapter two.