Buffy - Book 2, The Cloud Dancers of Valenwood Options

[Acadian]

Welcome to Book 2 and the continuing adventures of Buffy the Bosmeri mystic archer!

Buffy is a child of Tamriel, raised in Bravil and trained at the Arcane University. Her bigger story arc will eventually and magically cross temporal boundaries, enabling her to travel between the Third and Fourth Eras. Although Book 2 takes place in late Third Era Valenwood, Buffy's magicks and abilities reflect a blend of several games, with Skyrim being the most influential.

Near the end of Book 1, Buffy helped the man she loved, Savlian Matius, free his city of Kvatch. They were successful, but the terrible cost included Savlian's very life. It was a physically and emotionally broken bowgirl who retreated in grief and despair to her ancestral homeland. Book 2 picks up shortly thereafter and chronicles Buffy's journey of recovery and self-discovery through Valenwood.

Book 1 (in both its staggering 176 episode entirety and an executive summary conveniently distilled to 1650 words) is available in my sub forum. That said, enjoying Book 2 does not really require more information than is contained right here in these few introductory paragraphs. For those not familiar with Buffy's long history, reading the executive summary is a nice overview - but not critical for those who wish to just jump right in here. I have taken care within Book 2 to have Buffy review significant aspects of her past as they become relevant.

The Valenwood we depict will certainly be recognizable to those familiar with its lore, but I have taken some geographic and cultural liberties. While forests and jungles are plentiful, we have extended the rolling prairies of Anvil's Gold Coast across the Strid River into the northern portion of Valenwood. Among our several cultural departures from Bosmeri lore, the most significant is that there is no Green Pact in Buffy Fiction. While Bosmer certainly revere nature, they gratefully use both its flora and fauna as needed - restricted primarily by a deep revulsion to wasting nature's precious gifts. This is the same philosophy that Buffy learned as a child from her archery master, Daenlin, as described in Book 1.

Buffy's is a character-driven tale and our focus is on the journey more than the destination. I estimate that, at one episode per week, the book will take roughly six months to post. My fervent hope is that you find our humbly-offered efforts worthy of your time.

* * *

~ Prelude ~

Episode 1

Spooked by small tremors beneath his hoofs, a young buck bolted from the moonlit meadow into the surrounding forest.

The ground’s slight quivering soon grew into a quiet rumble from deep beneath its surface. Despite the significant disturbance, it was but a tiny seedling that gently pushed aside the soil until it could unfurl into the night air. Once free, it quickly grew into a young sapling of about the same height as a person. A pair of opposing branches reached out to become arms. The trunk transformed into a feminine torso with two legs. Roots broke free from soil taking the shape of feet. Leaves grew into robes.

The resultant woman slipped her hood back upon slender shoulders, revealing olive skin and a softly featured face. Hair, the color of the loam from which she had risen, was gathered into a rather matronly low ponytail that trailed down her back. Eyes, dark as those of a doe, radiated love and compassion. She lifted her gaze and slowly rose toward the stars.

High enough in the same night sky to nearly touch Masser and Secunda there floated another robed figure. Her coloring was pale. The strong Nordic face was framed by a mane of freely flowing golden hair. Eyes the color of a bright afternoon sky carried wildness and a trace of sadness. She spread her robes into white wings and gently glided downward.

The Nirn Mother and Sky Goddess met atop a cloud and briefly embraced.

With a downward glance from Mara, a table along with three chairs grew from the cloud’s surface. “Will you do the honors, sister?”

Kynareth passed a hand over the table, causing an elegant tea service for three to appear. She looked to the east. “Do I see the slightest hint of light from the horizon?”

“I believe so,” replied Mara.

The two Divines waited quietly as they stood side-by-side, focusing their gaze eastward toward the promise of a new day.

When the grip of night could no longer restrain the sun and the earliest golden beams began to spill across the sky, a butterfly danced up over the edge of the cloud that served as tea platform. On pale green wings the tiny creature fluttered to a hover in front of the Divines.

If there was any warning or display of spellcasting, the blink of an eye would have missed it as the butterfly simply and instantly transformed into a third robed woman.

“Welcome, cousin,” said Mara.

The new arrival slipped back her hood, glanced down at the cloud vapors swirling around her feet then surveyed the scene. Unlike the white robes worn by Mara and Kynareth, the Goddess of Twilight’s robe was black, as was her severely restrained long silken hair. Emerald eyes conveyed the enigmatic blend of light and darkness that was her realm. Voluptuous ruby lips contrasted with her sharply angled cheekbones, gaunt face and creamily pale skin. Her exotic look was complemented by human-sized ears that each rose to a delicate point. “Mara, so nice to see you again. You also, Kyne. . . or is it Kynareth I understand you’re calling yourself these days?” Azura’s smile did not reach her eyes.

The two Divines, however, smiled graciously. “I am called Kynareth now. Thank you for coming. Tea?”

The three immortals sat. As Mara filled their cups, Kynareth asked, “I trust all is well in Moonshadow?”

“I believe you both know I can only leave it briefly twice a day during twilight. I presume you did not ask me here for tea and small talk?”

If the Divines took slight it did not show as Mara replied, “You are right of course, so I’ll get directly to the point. We need your help to foil Mehrunes Dagon’s pending plans of conquest.”

Azura lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Mara took a deep breath. “I’m sure you realize that Dagon is only pausing after Kvatch. Now that he knows he can open portals from the Deadlands, he is doubtless engaged in the slow task of procuring and inscribing many more morpholiths into sigil stones. Meanwhile, his cultists relentlessly hunt for Martin Septim, hoping to snuff out any chance of relighting the protective Dragonfires. When Dagon has completed enough of the stones, we are sure he will unleash scores of his Daedra-spewing portals. . . no offence, mind you.”

“None taken, cousin,” Azura replied icily, “but why should I care about any of this?”

“Two reasons,” said Mara. “As Dagon opens more portals, his plague will spread across all of Tamriel, replacing your cycles of dawn and dusk with a permanent Oblivion sky.”

“Well, I concede you have a point.” Azura straightened slightly in her chair. “You mentioned a second reason that I should be concerned?”

“Yes,” stated Mara, “that brings us to an elf named Buffy who carries something we need.”

Azura’s eyes flashed concern, then anger. “What does my Slayer have to do with this?” Her tone was threateningly protective. “You Divines claim to care about mortals, yet you ignore their daily plight.” Emerald eyes glared at Kynareth with contempt. “As soon as Buffy’s mother, Marian, realized a new life grew within her, she asked you to be godmother to her child. And you ignored her.” Azura’s ire shifted to Mara as she continued. “Turning to the so called Goddess of Love, she received the same silent response. In desperation, Marian made her plea to the rising sun on the following morn. I did not ignore her.”

Azura seemed to compose herself somewhat as she lowered her cup to the table and continued, “Indeed, I was intrigued by the prospect. That I am poorly equipped for such a task did not deter me. It is my hand of faith that touched the tiny elf at the moment of her sunrise birth. I heard her first fitful, crying breaths. As I watched her grow from a distance, I confess the little urchin. . . touched something within me. I found myself often taking the innocuous form of a twilight butterfly in order to observe the mer-child more closely. The concept of love is a foreign one to my kind but, over time, I believe that is exactly what I began to feel for this young elf as I watched her stumble and scrape her knees, get teased by human children about her small size and large ears, drop her clothes at every waterhole and dance with butterflies. Sometimes she quite unknowingly even danced with me. I question whether you lofty Divines actually know what it means to love a child?”

The Goddess of Twilight clearly expected no answer as she continued, “Buffy’s bow kept her alive as she blossomed into young maturity. When she needed a means of replenishing its magic, who provided the answer in the form of an artifact that would help? I did. When love drew her toward mortal danger at Kvatch, who arranged for Lord Peryite to provide her the training needed to survive the Deadlands and fight Daedra? I did. When she prayed to each of you for comfort after her body and heart were broken mere months ago, what response did she get?” Azura’s words dripped with disdain for the pair of Divines as she answered her own question, “The same silence you gave her mother.”

“Your points are well taken, cousin,” replied Mara gently. “We Divines are skilled with creation, but our efforts to intervene directly with the affairs of mortals have led to disaster more often than not. At best, our ability to communicate directly with them is vague and tenuous. Even those who devote themselves to us in priestly service struggle to understand our intent. As a Daedra Lord, you must also realize that when you effectively claimed this child at birth, you quite fettered our already limited ability to communicate with or even influence her.”

Azura's eyes and tone softened noticeably. “I lack your skill with creation, cousins. And my passions sometimes lead to . . . regrettable results when dealing with mortals as well. But unlike you, I don’t shy from the need when it arises.”

It was Kynareth who spoke next. “It seems clear, ladies, that cooperation might be appropriate here.”

[Acadian]

In Episode 3, Buffy and Superian were startled by a large pack of wolves and fled into the night. Attempting to leap a river gorge that was far too wide, they found themselves out of airspeed and ideas. Acadian urgently asked his ancient and long dead dragon mount for help. Phantom did not disappoint as she forced her spirit from within Acadian into Superian. She then used the mare's body to transform herself into an ice dragon and flew Buffy to safety. Once on the ground and the shock began to wear off, Buffy demanded to know what happened to her precious mare.

ghastley- The last episode was a ‘jump off the cliffer’! I enjoyed introducing Phantom with a roar – er, shout. Thank you.

DE- Thank you for noting how important Superian has always been to Buffy. Their bond of mutual dependence will grow even stronger moving forward, introducing new benefits and challenges.

mALX- By Azura, thank you, my friend! Kind words indeed. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

hazmick- Thanks! Not to worry – Superian is in there. . . somewhere.

Lopov- Aww, thank you. That scene where time stopped and horse transformed to dragon in the air was an emotionally important one for me to depict as you say, picturesquely. I so appreciate your supportive words.

SubRosa- Bark biters, tree huggers and now, leaf wearers! I’m glad you recognized the dragon speech. Though Phantom may shout again someday, it won’t be in this book. That said, I could think of no better way to introduce her physical presence.

Renee- Thanks for joining us! Aedra, Daedra, wolves, dragons – yes, all the poor little elf wanted was a bath.

* * *

Episode 4

“Phantom and I have sacrificed our bond,” explained Acadian soberly while I stared at the imposing ice dragon before me. “This allowed her spirit to join - rather forcefully - with Superian. Dragon and mare are now bound as one. Just as she and I once were. Just as you and I have always been.”

“I’m sorry that you and Phantom were forced to take such drastic measures. I-I wasn’t paying enough attention to our surroundings. Perhaps if I had tried to hold our ground back at that meadow with my spells instead of fleeing in panic. . . .”

“Don’t second guess yourself,” admonished Acadian gently. “You made the right choice to use Superian’s speed and escape. You were surrounded by nearly a score of wolves. What brought such an unusually large pack to our location I have no idea, but before you could have cast your fear spell in the several directions required to affect them all, I’m sure some would have been upon you.”

The paladin was right but that did little to ease my apprehension about exactly what ‘dragon and mare are now bound as one’ meant. Slowly, I approached the beautiful winged creature. “Superian?” The massive head lowered, turning sideways so I was looking directly into one of the dragon’s glowing eyes. I placed my hands on the cool scales of her muzzle and looked deeply into that eye. After a moment, I smiled. “Yes, my precious mare, you are in there with Phantom.”

“She has little time left in this form,” said Acadian.

“What do you mean?” I replied. “Will she turn back into Superian? Can Phantom do this again? Do I have a flying mare now? Are we -”

“As you know,” the paladin interrupted, “Phantom and I died long ago. Her spirit is but a shadow of her former self - and this transformation has drained her mightily. I don’t know if she will ever be able to accomplish this feat again. I do know that her ability to sustain the physical presence of a dragon will soon fade and she will doubtless try to turn back into Superian.”

“What do you mean, ‘try’?” I said with growing concern.

“Phantom did what she needed in order to save us but. . . I confess I am unsure of the consequences.”

I suddenly noticed the moons and stars had faded. A growing glow on the horizon heralded the beginning of a new day. The day after I almost died. The first day of a new life shared by Phantom and Superian.

As the sun peeked over the eastern treetops, the ancient dragon that had saved Superian and I from certain death touched me gently with her nose, then lifted her head and moved back a step or two. Her ponderous movement over the ground reinforced that the sky was her natural domain.

She opened a maw filled with imposingly dagger-like teeth and spoke. “Lokkendovsonaak?” I instantly recognized her deeply powerful and husky voice that now filled the air around us. It was the same one that had commanded time itself to nearly a standstill.

“She understands us perfectly, but speaks only in dragon tongue,” explained Acadian. “The word she spoke means sky-warrior-priest and refers to me.” Acadian raised his voice slightly to address Phantom, ”Yes, old friend?”

“Nid krosis. Dahmaan Vensahliz.”

“No sorrows,” translated my paladin. “Remember Phantom.” He then added, “Dragon names generally have three parts. Vensahliz is her name and it means wind-phantom-ice.” He then replied to her, “Agreed. We have seen each other through many battles and will share many more. Elf, paladin, horse and dragon will remain together.”

Phantom’s eyes slowly blinked and she tilted her head. A deep but gentle rumble escaped through her teeth in a small cloud of cold mist. A sigh, I decided . . . of relief? It was then I fully realized that the actions she took to save us were motivated by selfless devotion to Acadian without regard to consequences. She was likely now as concerned - even frightened - about the unknown ramifications as Acadian and I were. I was glad my paladin’s words had helped sooth her – just as he always seemed to know how to reassure me when I needed it. The ice dragon then looked down at me. “Malkroronin. Nid krosis.”

“Little-sorcerer-archer. No sorrows,” Acadian said. “That must be her name for you, followed by the same admonishment she gave me.”

I nodded, hoping she would continue.

She did. “Dovah gro key nahlaas mahfaeraak.”

“Dragon bound horse alive forever,” translated Acadian.

“Does that mean what I think it does?” I asked.

“Phantom seems to think so,” replied Acadian. “The potential lifespan of a dragon is long enough that some would indeed say it defies time.”

Phantom slowly nodded. Her whole body then began to glow until her brightness rivaled the rising sun. As the light gradually began to dissipate, I could see her shape changing, decreasing in size, wings evaporating. My relief was boundless when the indistinct shape began to resemble a horse.

When her glow had faded away, I stared in disbelief. “Superian. . . y-you’ve changed.”

The horse that stood before me now looked dramatically different than the Superian I knew and loved. From a rather tall sixteen hands at the withers and trim weight of eleven times my own, she now stood at what I estimated to be a towering eighteen hands and a heavily built twenty times my weight. Her hoofs – the size of dinner plates - were heavily feathered in white fur. The mare’s mane and tail were the color of my own ash blond hair. The upper portion of her formerly black coat was now a palomino-chestnut hue. Her face, throat, chest, underbelly and legs were cream colored.

I slowly approached. The mighty mare lowered her head. Eyes that overflowed with the blue glow of draconic magic looked into mine. She nuzzled me and I hugged her as joyful relief flowed between us. “Yes, you are Superian, and you now carry Phantom within you. Thank you, mighty dragon, for saving and returning my precious mare to me.”

“I might have anticipated her physical changes,” said Acadian somewhat sheepishly, “were they not forced upon us with such unexpected urgency.”

“I will not protest, my paladin. What you and Phantom did – what you sacrificed – you both did out of love for me. If you doubt your decision for one second, just imagine how Superian would look now had you not intervened.” I shivered slightly. “Our broken bodies would have been tossed among the river’s sharp rocks until they settled on the bank somewhere to become food for the mud crabs. Besides, how could you have forecast these changes?”

“Well,” Acadian began, “I expect her size is influenced by the fact that Phantom was created in Skyrim. Her frame of reference is from a land where horses are larger than those found in the southern provinces. Dragons are unfamiliar with hair or fur so I’m guessing she took inspiration for Superian’s coat from you – a blonde often covered in buckskins.” After a moment he added, “Overall, I’d say she did well. There are no horns, scales, wings or talons on your mare. The only visible evidence that Superian carries the spirit of Phantom is her eyes - and I’d wager we’ll not encounter anyone who has ever gazed into the glowing blue eyes of an ice dragon.”

“I’m quite sure I will grow to love her new look,” I said. “In fact it is with great relief that I realize her lifespan now is much closer to my own. The thought of losing her to age in the blink of a couple decades has always terrified me.”

I conjured the mare’s grooming equipment and heaved a sigh. “Your coat is a mess, and just look at the tangles in your mane and tail!”

To my delight, a pale green butterfly joined us – the kind I had often seen around sunrise or sunset as far back as I could remember. The small creature slowly fluttered all around Superian and I with what appeared to be great interest as I went to work on the mare. I giggled. “Are you here to help or simply supervise this morning?”

“While the care you take of our dragon-mare is admirable,” commented Acadian, “have you forgotten that your magic satchel with its shoulder strap is the only thing you are wearing?”

I frowned. “Are you afraid our butterfly friend here will fly off to tell its friends about the naked elf grooming a horse?” I did, however, pause long enough to pull out a tattered set of buckskins from my mage satchel. As I donned the tunic, I couldn’t help but notice it did indeed match Superian’s primary color. My hands then returned to the mare. “You know, Acadian, I think I may have peed myself about the time she transformed into a dragon.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mind, Buffy. Besides, I expect our skim through the rapids washed everyone quite thoroughly.”

“So,” I mused, “are you going to tell me how Phantom brought time itself almost to a standstill with her voice?”

“Perhaps. But not today.”

*

From Buffy’s Scrapbook