A Question of Fate Options

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

Brief Intro By The Author

A Question of Fate would be the title of my piece.

I have been back and forth about trying to start and post a fan fic piece. The idea has always intrigued me, but I never considered myself to be a writer, let alone a good writer. I have read a sampling of some of the works that are posted on this site, and quite frankly, it is intimidating. The material is amazing. I must say say that despite the intimidation, it is also inspiring. So I am willing to throw caution to the wind and go for it. There are a few provisos. I work for a living. Often times, the hours I work are long. There may be periods of dormancy in this thread. I will apologize in advance for that. Life outside the internet does have it's restrictions. Also, I am sure that there is an unspoken etiquette that states, "You read mine and comment, and I shall do the same". This is also where I could run into trouble, for the same reasons that there may be dormant periods in this thread. There are stories on this site that I could never hope to read all the way through, with triple digit page counts, while I try to keep posting my own story and work through everyday life. So, with all that being said, I will wait to start posting chapters until I get a sense of what the audience demands. Please let me know if I should start posting a fan fic piece, based on what you have just read.

Thanks.

EDIT - This was originally posted in "General Discussion"

This post has been edited by ThatSkyrimGuy: May 4 2013, 04:41 AM

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

Thanks for the replies Malx and McB. I reckon I'll go for it. Obviously I would welcome any and all help, criticism, and comments...

Prologue

I have always kept a journal. Not for posterity. Certainly my life to date would not have any major impact on merkind, or the rest of Nirn for that matter. I have always found writing to be somewhat therapeutic. It seems to keep my head clear and my mind focused. So…I write. My mother claimed I was using a quill before I could walk. She envisioned that I would become some great scholar and pen magnificent works of literature. Such was not to be the case, for I never became that scholar and she didn’t live long enough to see what I ultimately had become. I don’t know if she would approve of what her dear Valrimor did with his life, but I do hope she would not be too disappointed.

I never knew my father. All I do know is that he was a Nord and that he had left us while I was an infant, never to return. Mother always said he was a great man, and that I should never think less of him. She was sure that some ill event must have befallen him, or else he would have returned home long ago. She told me my name was a tribute to both homelands, Valenwood and Skyrim. I consider myself Bosmer, not Nord. This is simply because when one looks at me, Bosmer is what they see. True, I am a little taller and heavier than most Bosmeri. My skin is slightly less bronze, and my hair is much more blond than most of my kind. But I was raised by a Bosmer, as a Bosmer. I am writing this story with the hope that, in some way, this will fulfill my mother’s vision that her son may be an author. May she rest in Y’ffre’s warm embrace.

The story begins well before I was born. It was just over 120 years prior to my birth when the Thalmor took control of my ancestral homeland. My relatives, on my mother’s side, fled Valenwood as refugees during the Thalmor conquest. For most of this 4th Era, my family has been exiled from those wonderful forests of home. It seems that some of my distant ancestors did not leave their homes without a fight. My mother passed the story of my maternal lineage to me. The persecution of her forefathers for their refusal to bow to Thalmor rule has been forever etched into my heart and mind. Those stories still infuriate me to this very day.

For 70 years after Valenwood fell, all outside contact with the Thalmor ceased. The Gods only know what went on in my homeland during that time. The Thalmor reappeared shortly before the moons. Except that now they were the Aldmeri Dominion reborn. For another 70 years, The Dominion increased their power through plots and machinations, and finally attacked the Empire. They have all but subjugated the Empire completely. In my mother’s opinion, The Aldmeri had been a disgrace to merkind, and therefore, in my opinion as well. Why should mer attack men rather than live in harmony with them? Why should The Dominion persecute their fellow mer just because they don’t happen to agree with their philosophy? It pains my heart knowing that the Aldmeri capital lies within a homeland that I may never see. Because of this, we Bosmer are often assumed to be Thalmor agents. While some of my kind may very well be, rest assured that I most certainly am not! So the Empire was reduced to a mere puppet government of the Thalmor, performing whatever acts The Dominion required or requested. This was the state of affairs as I sat in Olav’s Tap and Tack, alone and friendless, downing the last of my mead. In that moment of mead-muzzy loneliness, I made the decision to journey to Skyrim. I could not help but feel a kinship with my father’s people, and a desire to see the lands of my paternal lineage. Perhaps I could even find family members from my father’s line.

Skyrim has remained one of the last bastions to be free from Aldmeri Dominion rule, though that may not last for long, thanks to the Empire. Rumors of the banned worship of Talos in Skyrim causing rebellion have reached my ears. I was not surprised that some Nords won’t stand for that. The climate would be cold, if it was anything like Bruma had been. I’ve heard tell that the forests of Skyrim were magnificent, and that thought does warm my heart. Cyrodiil held nothing for me any longer. The life of being a hired bow and occasionally resorting to petty thievery had become tiresome. I wanted to breathe the air of freedom before I retired to meet the Gods face to face. Perhaps I could hunt as I wish. Perhaps I could sleep under the pine boughs without fear of Thalmor oppression, or just as bad, Cyrodillic citizens that treated me as if I were one of the Aldmeri. Perhaps…

After purchasing a map and some provisions in Bruma, I headed north. I made sure to steer well clear of the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple. The Thalmor maintain a garrison there to make sure any surviving Blades don’t return and try to reestablish their order. This meant traveling overland, through deep snow drifts and secluded mountain passes, but that was infinitely preferable to an Aldmeri blade any day. My provisions lasted long enough to get me through the Jerall Mountains, to the lower elevations of the north slope where I could hunt rabbit and deer. Then it was on to the forests of The Rift. My map was sketchy and, as it turns out, mostly incorrect. So I just continued northward, keeping a watchful eye and an alert nostril open for chimney smoke or a campfire. Both senses were rewarded on my second day in The Rift. It was well after sunset when I came across a military style camp situated near a river crossing. I decided to make a camp of my own nearby and wait until daylight to investigate. Not knowing if the encampment a couple hundred yards away was populated by friend or foe, I had to climb into my bedroll without the benefit of a fire or hot food in my belly.

It seemed like I had barely closed my eyes when I was startled out of my sleep by the sounds of battle. Yelling and the clash of steel on steel were coming from the direction of the encampment. I quickly rose and exited my tent…

CRACK!

…excruciating pain and a spinning field of lights…

…darkness.

EDIT - I fixed a math mistake. Since Valrimor is in his early 50's when he decides to go to Skyrim, the Thalmor conquest would be about 120 years prior to his birth, not 170.

This post has been edited by ThatSkyrimGuy: May 17 2013, 03:11 AM