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]

I’m posting a day earlier than my preferred Friday routine since I’ll be leaving town today for a few days. I look forward to returning next week and catching up with things here.

In our last episode, Buffy and Vandrelis rode across an area of high plains then down to the Strid River where Vandrelis introduced her to the village of his tribe. Buffy met the tribe’s elders who agreed that she was likely from one of the Cloud Dancer tribes. The shaman began preparing a brew to help divine more of her origins.

Lopov- Thank you! Vandrelis will be a significant character and I tried to paint a reasonably detailed picture of him. The elders only have a small role so my goal was just enough detail so they do not seem overly generic.

ghastley- I love the Deserts of Anequina Oblivion mod and used it for a long time. I also used Valenwood Improved but only briefly as I had problems with it. Thanks!

BretonBlood- Thank you! The Strid River Valley tribe and its adjacent prairie hunting grounds was influenced by several sources, including the buffalo-hunting tribes of the American great plains.

Grits- It somehow gives Buffy comfort knowing that she is supposed to be the way she is rather than just a big-eared fragile runt of the litter. I worked hard on the transition across the prairie and into the village trying to paint a vivid picture without excessive wordiness. Thanks so much for your encouragement on that count. Vandrelis is indeed unknowingly tugging at the damaged heartstrings of the vulnerable Buffy.

DE- Coming from one with such mastery of description, your kind words humble me. Buffy is rather excited to meet a whole tribe of fellow mer whose hunting philosophy matches her own.

hazmick- Thank you. Since the elders are not big players in the story, I wanted their descriptions to be very brief, but still have a bit of interest.

Renee- Another who recalls the Valley Girl fad! So glad you’re enjoying the story and thanks much for reading!

SubRosa- Thank you. My inspiration came partly from the bison-hunting tribes of America, but since Buffy loved the mammoths so much in Skyrim I couldn’t resist using them and even keeping their perhaps too heavy fur for the more temperate clime where Buffy is. Our shaman is quite a minor character so I’ll kind of leave him shrouded in mystery – also because I don’t have the knowledge to go very deep into what makes him tick.

mALX- I suppose if Vandrelis had acted up once up in the saddle, Buffy would have had to rely on Superian rearing and dislodging him. I agree that a sentence or two displaying Superian’s intuitive comfort near Vandrelis and Buffy’s choice to trust him would have been helpful. In truth, it was a questionable decision made more with her kind heart than her analytical head. Happily it seems like the right choice. On Bosmer age, when Buffy said many decades, she meant twenty or thirty decades perhaps - not six or seven. ‘Several centuries’ would have been an okay alternate but the target I had in mind was around 300 years old. A good reminder for me to think carefully about how we relay her perceptions though. Thank you for pointing out your concerns, as well as your ever so kind words about our descriptions.

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Episode 9

After a time, the shaman looked up from stirring his simmering concoction. “I require one final ingredient for this divination brew. Each Cloud Dancer tribe lives in their own tree. Tree and tribe are linked in a mutually dependent and intensely loyal relationship. As children come of age, they are bonded to the tree via a ceremony where a small amount of blood and sap are exchanged. Little is known outside those tribes exactly what benefits elf and tree gain from this exchange of their essences. Assuming your mother had some of her tree’s sap in her blood, a trace of it will have been conveyed to you.”

I obediently stuck out my hand.

After obtaining and swirling a bit of my blood into his brew the old mer began quietly chanting incantations.

“Do you need help healing that?” inquired the medicine woman. Her hair and eyes were the same color as the strands of raven feathers that adorned her. The mer’s ageless face was sharply featured, but her tone conveyed the caring nature of a healer.

“Thank you for the offer,” I replied, “but I can manage.” I closed both eyes briefly, feeling my paladin’s restorative magic flow into and close the small wound to my hand.

The shaman had ceased his incantations and was peering into the simmering caldron. Finally, he soberly announced, “The tree you seek was called Alderglean.”

“Was?” I repeated.

Ignoring my question, he exchanged glances with the other elders. It was the chief who finally said, “Vandrelis, go find Violet and bring her to us.”

Quite unsure of what was going on, it was with significant effort that I held my tongue as Vandrelis stood and left the tent. I looked to the shaman but he offered no words. His one eye just stared into the fire as we waited.

Within a few minutes, Vandrelis reentered the tent with another mer in tow. I was struck by her diminutive size and slight build. Her eyes and hair were pale lavender in color. Beyond appearing to be in her long elven prime, I couldn’t discern her age. She stared back, with what appeared to be equal fascination.

It was the shaman who spoke. “Buffy, this is Violet. You both carry sap from the tree of the Spirit Catcher Tribe. The tree and most of its inhabitants were destroyed just over two decades ago. Violet, sit and please tell Buffy what you remember”

“I was thirteen at the time," she began after folding herself crosslegged onto a pelt next to me. “The season had been unusually dry, so when a lightning storm struck Alderglean’s upper branches, the resulting fire quickly spread. Our entire tribe, armed with rainwater pods, battled against it but. . . it just spread too fast. After several tribesmer were burned alive, Father, Mother and I were forced to hurriedly descend.” She paused and took a slow breath, her chin quivering. “Only Mother and I ever found the ground.” Tears filled her eyes as she stared into the flickering embers under the shaman’s caldron. “Many whole families refused to leave, preferring to die in the branches of Alderglean rather than live without our precious tree. The fire raged from ground to clouds for three days.”

Her glistening eyes turned to me. “Buffy, before the fire, the Spirit Catchers numbered over a hundred. When the smoke finally cleared, not even a score of our tribe remained. Eventually, we dispersed in small groups. Some left to petition neighboring tribes to accept them; others struck out for various cities. Mother decided we would leave Valenwood altogether and the two of us headed north. Our destination was Skingrad where she had heard humans and elves lived together in towering trees of stone that were immune to fire. We never made it though. She was skilled with bow and magic, but died killing a pair of trolls that attacked us as we entered the Strid River Valley. I was badly wounded and would have died as well, if not healed and taken in here by what became my new tribe.”

Violet studied my face. “Your age appears less than mine, yet I’m sure that I was the youngest survivor. How. . . how could you carry the sap of Alderglean?”

“I-I’m not sure,” I replied. “All I know is that when my parents came from Valenwood to Bravil, I traveled in my mother’s womb. By the time I was old enough to begin asking such questions, I was an orphan.”

The shaman suggested, “Buffy, tell us what you recall of your parents. Perhaps Violet can remember them from among the survivors.”

Violet nodded encouragingly.

“My father was a dark-haired Breton called Superior. Mother’s name was Marian and she was small with golden hair and light green eyes.” I added with a bittersweet smile, “My horse is named for them both – Superian.”

“Yes!” Violet’s face lit up. “There was one round-ear in our tribe and his name was Superior! He was the mate of my mother’s sister, Aunt Marian. I recall they both survived the fire, but I had no idea she was with child. Mother and I were among the first to leave, so I never learned what happened to them or where they went.”

It was the tribe’s chief who spoke next. “It sounds like you two cousins have much to discuss. Buffy, you are welcome to remain a time and share my tribe’s hospitality. Violet, our guest is now under your charge for the duration of her stay.”

As we stood and faced each other, it was clear that we were indeed of nearly identical size. Violet took my hand. “Come with me, Buffy. We have much to catch up on.”

“I have so many questions for you!” I replied.