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.

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~ 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 our last episode, Buffy and Superian were surprised by a wood elven huntsmer. After some revealing discussion about Bosmeri tribes and Buffy’s possible heritage, she agreed to accompany the mer to his tribe’s village to learn more.

hazmick- The plains tribe that Vandrelis belongs to will be quite different from the tribes of the tall trees that spawned Buffy. We’ll eventually get to see both. Thank you!

mALX- Thanks! The ground-dwelling Strid River Valley Tribe is inspired more by buffalo hunting tribes that once inhabited the American great plains than TES but I hope my world-building will feel like it belongs. Later, Buffy will meet the elusive tree-dwellers who live aloft in the deepest portion of central Valenwood. That will feel much more TES-like but their culture will still reflect heavy influences from ‘Buffy lore’.

ghastley- Yes! Thank you for catching our first real reference to the book's sub title. And you are right also at the extent of revelations she’ll learn during her time with Vandrelis’ tribe. The core of the book is indeed Buffy’s search for the Cloud Dancers.

SubRosa- Hee! Buffy is of course clueless about what a ‘Valley Girl’ is but I knew you would join me for a giggle at the reference. I appreciate the kind support for our humble efforts at world-building when it comes to Buffy’s heritage. I’ll be including more Bosmer quirks that seem very reasonable to me but not included in TES lore. Heh, as I’ve said though no Green Pact – I know that you and I are not fans of that concept.

Lopov- Thank you. I hope you enjoy the plains area Buffy is heading into next. She’ll spend some time there, but it really is primarily to prepare her for heading back south into the land of the Tall Trees. I think Vandrelis was right about the map also. Heavy canopied rain forest can certainly make navigating by sun, moons and stars challenging.

DE- Thank you! The name Vandrelis popped into my mind and seemed ‘right’. When that happens I always google the propsective name to avoid any embarrassing surprises. In my search I did rediscover the beautiful music that SubRosa linked to. Buffy’s tendency at this point of course is to compare any man who might interest her to the lofty standard set by her late Savlian Matius.

BretonBlood- Thank you so much for joining us! I’m so glad you are enjoying Buffy’s story – particularly given your own talent with telling the tale of Jak and Arissa’s roguish adventures in Skyrim. This book is indeed letting Buffy try to discover ‘where she is from’ - quite literally, her family tree.

Grits- Thanks for the Buffy Summers of Sunnydale vampire slaying reference! Oh, I hope you like the upcoming glimpse of the great plains the pair will traverse on their way to the river.

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Episode 8

I conjured and shouldered Slayer before mounting Superian. At my urging, Vandrelis swung himself up behind me. Right away I realized the arrangement wasn’t going to work and allowed the weapon and quiver to dispel to make more room for the other mer.

As Slayer faded away, he asked, “Can you shoot that bow from the saddle?”

“Yes, but probably not very effectively with a passenger behind me – so if attacked, we’ll quickly decide whether to use my mare’s speed to flee, or dismount and draw weapons to fight from the ground.”

“My knowledge of horses wouldn’t fill the bladder of an Abecean sparrow,” he replied with a chuckle, “so I’ll defer to your judgment.”

We then set off to the north. The warmth of his chest against my back and one arm around my waist was necessary of course and, I had to admit, not unpleasant.

Before long, open forest yielded to golden grasses. Gently rolling hills hosted the occasional acacia tree and clusters of bergamot orange trees. We saw several small herds of prairie mammoth, plucking tall grass with their trunks. “These majestic animals are the lifeblood of my tribe,” Vandrelis explained. “When we take one, we honor it by fully using every part of the animal. Food, shelter, sleeping furs, clothing, cooking and eating vessels. Candles, soap, weapons, waterskins. . . the list is long.”

I nodded approvingly. “My archery master in Bravil trained me the same way – to appreciatively use the bounty of nature, but never waste it. Only when hunting to feed many mouths or preserve a good supply of meat have I taken large prey such as deer or elk. Since I travel with just my mare most of the time, it's generally rabbit, fish, crab or the occasional a game bird that roasts over my campfire.”

The prairie gradually began to host more trees and its grasses grew green as we descended. Soon enough, the Strid River came into view.

The settlement we found there featured a central cooking fire. There were numerous conical tents of varying sizes made from mammoth hide draped around supporting frames of wooden poles that were lashed together at the top. The evidence that several hosted small fires inside wafted upward through smoke flaps. Next to the largest of these tents was the massive sun-whitened skull of a mammoth.

Quite a few of the elves took note of our arrival as they looked up from activities that included cooking, curing hides and fletching arrows. I noted a small, crude smelter and roughly-hewn forge surrounded by lumps of ore, silver-gray ingots and baskets of arrowheads. Several chickens and goats roamed freely. At least two mer, armed with bow and blade, appeared to be guarding the village.

Closer to the river was a sturdy wagon, heavily stained with old blood – probably from transporting many large kills. Grazing nearby was a gelded river buffalo that looked quite capable of pulling a heavy load.

Once Vandrelis had directed us near the water’s edge, he dismounted first. The elf then reached up and, with both hands around my waist, gallantly lifted me from Superian’s back and placed me on the ground. If he noticed the warm flush that I felt rise to the tips of my long ears, he was courteous enough not to stare or mention it.

We stripped off the mare’s crude wolf pelt saddle and bridle of vines before turning her loose to graze and drink.

Vandrelis then showed me around the village, introducing me to numerous members of the Strid River Valley Tribe. Finally, he lifted the entrance flap of the largest tent and we stepped from bright sunshine into its dim interior.

Right away I smelled wood smoke, drying herbs and a hint of incense. At first, all I could really see were the embers of a low-burning central fire with a large pot suspended just above. Soon enough, five dim figures seated just beyond the fire grew into focus.

I was introduced to the elders, including the tribe’s chief, his wife, brother, medicine woman and shaman.

When invited to sit, we did so on two of numerous pelts arrayed on the dirt floor outside the fire's protective ring of stone. I explained how it came to be that I didn’t know my tribe. The elders agreed with Vandrelis that, based on my appearance, I was likely conceived in the Tall Trees and belonged to one of the Cloud Dancer tribes.

“And you would like to know your tribe.” The chief’s words were more statement than question. He was broad-shouldered, bare-chested and his hard face reflected the weathering and lines of many decades. Although perhaps past his prime, he very much cut the imposing figure of a warrior.

“Very much so,” I replied respectfully.

The tribe’s shaman was cloaked in the pelt of a bear. Even shrouded in fur, I could tell he was a mer of slight build. The vicious line of a scar traced a path from his forehead, through a gaping hole where one eye used to be and continued down into the grizzled gray beard that covered his cheeks. He nodded in response to a look of query from the chief before speaking to me. “I believe I can help divine the knowledge you seek, child.” He then set about adding what appeared to be a variety of alchemical ingredients to the simmering cauldron before him while others among the tribe’s elders continued to question me about my history and travels.