Red-Eyed Raven Options

[Thomas Kaira]

All: It's been an extremely long time since I poked my nose in here, but I do so having (hopefully) triumphantly cured my writers block. I've decided that to do so, I would need to start from scratch and apply a few things I have learned, including:

1. Keep your story coherent, don't twist and turn for the sake of it.
2. Know what makes a good description and what is purple prose, one is good and the other is pretentious.
3. Backstory. Use it.
4. Make it your own, use your own imagination.

As for keeping up with everyone else, I pretty much need to start over. I will do my best, and hopefully get into commenting on everyone else's stories as time goes on. In the meantime, here is a brief taste of I am working on now.




Prologue: Cloaked in Ash

“Mommy, where are we going?” asked the young Dunmer girl.

“Wherever the road might take us, little Raven.” The mother replied.

Ash choked the midday air as the two journeyed westward. What little light could break through offered little solace to travelers; a gray, cheerless light that served more to remind them of the dangers ahead than to cloak them in warmth and comfort. Only barely visible ahead were the snowcapped peaks of the Velothi Mountains. Beyond them, the mother hoped, they could finally escape the hellish world they had come to live in.

The days of peaceful living in Morrowind were done. Gone were the times when the sun shone bright and the marshmerrow grew tall. Now there was only ash, and death, and more ash to bury the dead.

“Do we have to go, mommy?” The child continued, “Why can’t we stay at home?”

“There’s nothing left for us there, little Raven,” the mother replied, her soothing tone failing to hide her deep inner sadness. “It’s all we can do now to just find somewhere else we can make a life for ourselves.”

Little Raven, she thought. Such a shame she had to be born into a world like this. She was barely even five years old now and already she carried inside her a fire to rival the Red Mountain. How ironic it was that the great tempest that now turned her away from everything she ever had might instill itself in her only child. A stark reminder of how even a small bit of light can shine through the darkest curse.

She looked back at her home, the Ravenloth plantation. It was nowhere near as large and opulent as, say, the former Dren plantation (or so she was told), but it was enough to live comfortably. At least, until the recent flurry of constant ash storms sucked all the life away from her beloved mashmerrow and saltrice. Now, her fields cloaked beneath a solid foot of ash, which was seeping its way through every gap in her house’s walls it could find, there was no good to come of staying anymore. She couldn’t bear to watch the life choked out of her fields.

The child was overcome by a fit of coughing, she fell to her hands and knees, unable to move. Terror gripped the mother’s heart as she ran to her little Raven, tearing her cloak asunder.

“Here,” she said, wrapping a piece around her child’s head, covering her nose and mouth. “You can’t breathe this air, little one. This will keep the ash out.”

Covering her face with what remained of her cloak and grimacing as she felt the rough, gray snow pelt at her light inner tunic, she held her child as close to her as she could, praying to the ancestors that she it was not too late for her.

Ever since the ash storms came, her little Raven’s health had deteriorated quickly. She was much too young to survive like this. Every night before she slept, she’d hear her coughing, each rough crack piercing her skin like an ice-cold dagger. No matter how many windows she boarded, how many gaps she stuffed with old clothing, still the ash found a way to her little Raven, trying to choke the life out of her the way it did her livelihood. Last night was the worst she’d ever had. No matter what she tried, pans of water with flames lit beneath to fill her room with steam and help her breathe, fashioning masks to wear while she was awake, still the ash found its way to her. Last night, the coughing started and wouldn’t stop. She’d spent the entire night curled up beside her, holding her close, listening to her labored breathing as fresh tears rolled down her nose. It was then she said to herself, they had to leave.

The child’s breathing steadied. Slowly she got to her feet again, and her mother, smiling meekly, grabbed her hand, and they continued west.

“So where are we going, mommy?” The child asked again.

“Across the mountains, my little Raven,” the mother replied. “Away from here. Anywhere the air is clear.”

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 26 2014, 10:01 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Out of the frying pan into the fire!

I liked how you take us through the emotional swings Diressi experienced in a relatively short time. From despair to elation at the discovery of the caravan, to fear of the wolves, to relief at finding a familiar landmark, back to fear and despair at being captured by Stormcloaks. And still hungry on top of it all!