Niamh's Adventures in Nirn..., This is a thread featuring a digest of stories about... Options

[PhonAntiPhon]

NIAMH.
But first, who is she?
Well she's a character who I have been acquainted with for a very long time, and with whom I have travelled across many worlds.

She's a Wood-Elf, in Nirn terms - of about 30. She's very much her own boss, and not a terribly pleasant individual. She is, to employ a cliche, "mad, bad, and dangerous to know". She's a hard drinking, promiscuous, authority-hating rebel with baggage enough and troubles enough to fill a volume of psychoanalysts' shelves.

She's maybe 5 feet 8 inches in height, very slender, with pale skin and long black hair and dark, chestnut eyes in deep sockets. She had a predilection for body-piercing and a bad-attitude to personal hygiene. She's a thief and an assassin and pretty much anything else that will garner her gold and a thrill.
In the Nirn universe - (Cyrodiil) - she lives principally in Bravil, but has a shack on the waterfront outside of the walls of the Imperial City, although she spends much of her time in a rather dysfunctional relationship with Jo, one of the local "courtesans", who you will not be reading about on here(!).
In Morrowind she was a loner who pretty much stumbled upon a destiny of sorts more by simply being in a certain place at a certain time than by design; whilst she arrived in Skyrim confused and somehow "altered", more feral and wild, as part of a story arc that started in Cyrodiil and ended back there amidst death and heartache.
Since then she has had a second chance, but is squandering it, reverting once again to type...

Throughout her adventures in Nirn - Morrowind, Cyrodiil, and Skyrim, her character has evolved and changed. She's taken on aspects of each of these variants to become something "other" than what she started as; more rounded, but far more complicated. The ultimate expression of that is in the world that she now inhabits - Varrius, a world created for her specifically, with it's own story arc and characters.
Anyway, that's by-the-by, for the nonce, this thread will have various stories and vignettes that I have written involving her, and the characters that she has interacted with, during the time that she has inhabited the Elder Scrolls universe.
(Only some of the stories are on here, as this is a 13-rated forum, and not everything I write is... suitable. For stories not on here, do feel free to visit Niamh's blog, in the signature.)

I hope you enjoy her stories, it's gives me a lot of pleasure to write them.

This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Jan 19 2013, 04:22 PM

[PhonAntiPhon]

[[This is the first story I ever wrote about her, both of us were finding our feet, this early on in our relationship...]

Niamh's Travels - The Wolf

Her horse was getting tired and the unwelcome attentions of a wolf a few miles back along the trail that snaked between the trees had taken their toll of it. Despite her urgings the beast was barely able to manage an irregular trot. Its hind quarters on its right hand side were gashed and bloody from an attack that had she not leapt from the saddle almost at the instant of its inception, would have had very serious consequences indeed.
With a wince as she settled her sore body more comfortably in the saddle she resigned herself to a further unscheduled stop and went over the events of barely two hours previously.

The wolf had come out of the trees to her right, launching itself from the bank behind and slightly above the rear of the horse. Some sixth sense had alerted her that something was about to happen and almost at the instant of its leap she had vaulted from the saddle.
Slightly too slow, she had felt claws rake down the back of her right arm and, subsequently unbalanced, she landed heavily on her ankle. Once on the ground and grimacing in pain, with the back of her arm stinging and hot blood starting to run down over her elbow, she had striven to focus herself. Drawing her elven blade she attempted to grab her shield off of its hook on the saddle, it proved tricky as she had to fight for it as, stumbling on her sore ankle, she competed with her terrified mount as it bucked and kicked, whinnying in fear and pain, its attacker attempting to consolidate its hold on the horse's rump.
Finally grabbing the shield she hobbled as fast as she could around the back of the horse, ducking almost to the ground as she dodged its flailing legs. Composing herself she summoned her strength and barged at the wolf with her shield, the impact shuddering through her slender body and rattling her teeth. It was a big animal and the combined weight of both it and the horse it was currently attached to made it seem like a very solid thing indeed.
She knew she couldn't hope to overcome the creature's inertia and push it off of her horse but she at least hoped to unsettle it enough so that it would leave her mount alone and focus on her, thus allowing her at least a chance of getting a blow in without hitting the other animal.
As it turned out she was unexpectedly successful and to her surprise the great shaggy beast all but lost its grip on its erstwhile prey and with a snarl of rage only partially muffled by a mouthful of horseflesh it leapt backwards and sideways onto the ground and, facing Niamh, tensed and glared at her, its eyes an evil diseased yellow, its muzzle scarlet. Across the distance between them she could detect the rank fetor of its breath as it panted and growled deep in its throat.
Her horse, sensing its opportunity, whinnied and ran back down the road the way they had come. Niamh forced herself not to notice and stared at the wolf, her muscles tensing as she slipped into a defensive crouch; her armoured feet scuffing in the dust of the trail. The two circled each other warily for a moment as if both were duellists searching for an opening.

An archer by nature, Niamh was not wholly comfortable with a blade and when she did use one - (which was not often) - she preferred surprise and daggers by and large; the elven shortsword was light though and comfortable enough for her purposes, although the light shield she complemented it with still felt cumbersome and awkward. Nevertheless she hefted it in front of her and held the sword out to the side, gripping the hilt tightly.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw the big animal tense and spring towards her, its mouth opening wide to reveal an array of sharp yellow fangs flecked with blood and flesh, spittle flew from its gums.
Bracing herself she thrust the shield in front of her and took the force and weight of the wolf upon it, gasping in pain as her damaged ankle sang a high-pitched song of protest in her brain. Her practiced moves came through for her though and she allowed herself to fall backwards, channelling the momentum of the beast, effectively guiding it over the top of her as she rolled under it. As it passed over her, with a grunt of effort she thrust her sword up and around her shield and stabbed the wolf in the flank, the blade penetrating deeply into its body with a wet smacking sound.

The wolf's snarl of rage became a yelp of pain and it pivoted in the air as it left the blade behind it to land awkwardly on its side, hitting the ground hard. Winded herself, Niamh took a deep breath and rolled over flicking herself up onto the balls of her feet, as the wolf stumbled upright and into an awkward crouch, the muscles in its injured side quivering spasmodically, and its legs trembling.
The two faced each other down once again, both panting and shaking with adrenalin. It was a warm evening in the woodlands and Niamh felt perspiration beading on her brow and between her breasts. A trickle of sweat, making its way from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back, tickled her momentarily and she twitched, the sensation strangely acute in her overly-sensitized state.

After a moment the wolf took a step forward and she readied herself once again but then she saw that evidently it was more injured than she had at first thought. Blood that had initially been only a trickle from its flank now flowed in a bright stream matting its fur; still it would not give in though and despite the increasing spasms of its limbs it took a further stumbling step towards her, it's head low, the glowing embers of its eyes filled with hate even as bloody phlegm bubbled from its mouth as it's breathing became more and more ragged. Finally after another moment and with a wheeze like a punctured bellows its legs gave way and it collapsed to the ground.

The tension in the air between them leached away and the world around her swam back into focus, the sounds of the forest re-asserting themselves in her consciousness, as the creature in front of her lay prone on the track mortally wounded.
She felt no pity, nor any sympathy. She was the victor in a fight where there could only have been one outcome and, she knew, had it been her there now lying on the ground breathing shallowly and irregularly as her lifeblood drained into the packed earth of the path then the creature that now suffered before her would have felt no more sympathy for her than she did for it. It was quite simply the way it was.
The wolf gave a final rattling exhalation and the fire went out of its eyes, its body seemed to slump in on itself and it became still.
Only then she did stand and hobbling over to it she kicked it sharply, once, balancing gingerly on her injured ankle. Flicking the shortsword round in her hand she bent and stabbed the blade quickly and efficiently into its chest, flicking it almost as rapidly back out. The speed of its movement left in its wake in the air a string of red beads that sparkled in the light of the setting sun where it broke through the dappled covering of leaves above her.
She wiped the blade on the creature's fur and sheathed it. Standing up she checked around for both any other aggressors - (there were none) - and the horse - (there was no immediate sign).
"Stupid animal." She swore under her breath.
Now that her body had calmed down the pain in her ankle and the stinging from the gash on the back of her upper arm were increasingly vying for her attention. Dropping her shield on the ground she pulled her right arm around in front of her body with her left, twisting it and simultaneously peering over her shoulder, saying a silent prayer of thanks as she did so for the fact that her armour, such as it was, offered no resistance to such awkward positioning.
The white smoothness of her skin on her triceps was shredded, but it looked in actuality relatively minor, and although the back of her arm was caked down to her hand with rapidly drying blood it didn't look like there was any other, or lasting, damage.
As soon as she had found that stupid nag she would wash the wound and dig out one of the cure disease potions she had purchased a few days ago in Bravil, just as a precaution.

Cursing her luck and wincing at the pain in her ankle, she wiped the sweat from her forehead with a grubby hand, picked up her shield, and set off half hopping and half running back down the trail in search of the horse, her quiver of arrows and her bow - appropriated from a Grummite who had no further need of it - jolting on her back...