The Call of the Wind, Children of Kyne, Volume I Options

[Kane]

I just finished up the long volume II of this series, so I thought I'd start posting them both here. This entry is one of my first real stabs at writing out a tale and one of only a couple I ever finished. The dialogue is a little stilted and the chapters are short (needed more practice) so it isn't a long read. If you are interested in reading it, I hope you enjoy! (PS, I'm too lazy to proofread this one and I wrote in 2018, so if there are any spelling or grammar errors, I apologize in advance!)



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Prologue

The morning dew lay gleaming on the lush, green undergrowth of Cyrodiil’s Great Forest as the morning sun shined through the branches of its lofty trees. Deep in the heart of the woodlands, sat a small clearing and at its center lie a large rock, covered in silky green moss. Here upon this stone, sat an impressively large brown hawk - it looked far out of place among the other birds of the province, but it was not without purpose. Sitting as still as the unmoving stone beneath it, a wanderer could have mistaken it for a small statue to some long forgotten god.
Nestling its head into her wing feathers, she waited impassively for her prey. Soon thereafter, a crashing could be heard in the forests nearby. Quite suddenly, a pale, sickly looking Colovian emerged from the dense brush and scampered right through the clearing without so much as a glance at the large hawk.

Craning her neck, she listened for the pursuer she was expecting.

And sure enough, the gentle footsteps of a practiced stalker could be heard approaching the clearing, following the rampant destruction of the woodland left in the wake of the panicked, clumsy runner. The hawk lifted her head and waited for this new, but nonetheless expected visitor.

Ah, I see this predator is much too clever to wander into a forest clearing. The professional that he is knows to avoid such a thing, as it is ripe for ambush. Perhaps a little encouragement is needed…

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The mercenary did not like what he saw ahead. Peering through the bramble, he intensely surveyed the clearing, looking for any sign of an ambush. The vampire he pursued had thus far been crashing through the forest like an ogre, but that may have been a ruse. Vampires, he had always thought, were usually much cleverer than this oaf was.

Hesitating outside the clearing was wasting time, but his instincts were kicked into overdrive as he approached it. Long ago he learned to trust those instincts, and many times they had been the difference between life and death. So there he sat, eyes darting around the forest opening, searching intently for signs of danger.

Quite suddenly, the once calm morning changed as a brisk northern wind began to flow through the woods, rustling the treetops and bringing a slight chill to the air. Our mercenary barely noticed the change in clime, until he heard the whispers on the wind. Startled, he relaxed his eyes, and instead strained his ears to the wind, where he swore a voice had whispered to him. The breeze fluttered once more, and this time he was positive…his name was carried gently on the wind.

Kirin...approach my child. Follow your instincts…and my voice…

Standing up nervously, he shouldered his composite bow, and walked boldly into the clearing. To his utter surprise, the hawk he’d mistaken for a statue hewn above the boulder stretched its impressive wings, and spoke to him with an undoubtedly feminine voice.

“It is time for you to return home, my child. Skyrim awaits you, and your destiny has come. Left behind will be your days of mercenary work and feeble pleasures. They matter not now, and only what you accomplish next will be of any consequence.”

This was unexpected, and temporarily froze Kirin, as a million thoughts raced through his mind. He settled on only one, though.

“And if I refuse?”

“It will matter not. The aspect of destiny is inescapable, and utterly final. Try as you might, it will simply catch up to you later, at a time when you may have less choice in its subtleties. Heed my words, and I promise you will not regret the choice to follow them.”

Kirin pondered on her words once more, and quickly realized what he was dealing with. One should not refuse the finality of the divines… He removed his helmet, and knelt on the grass before the large northern hawk.

“Lady Kyne, I see the wisdom in your words, and I pledge myself and my service to you.”

“Very well, young Kirin. Your time in Cyrodiil is at an end. Return to your fellow brothers and sisters of Skyrim, and your true journey shall begin in earnest.”

She then spread her wings once more, and took to the skies above Tamriel, flying ever northwards.skies above Tamriel, flying ever northwards.

This post has been edited by Kane: Dec 10 2024, 03:08 PM

[Kane]

A Brush in the Nettle

Two days later, Kirin sat at a table in the Vilemyr Inn contemplating over his mug of Black-Briar. Lydia was at the bar nearby, ordering a hot meal for the two of them. It had been a long trek back down the mountain, and they were both ready for a night of sleep in a warm bed. She soon returned with a platter of food to split between them, but didn’t yet address Kirin.

He’d been quiet and distant since they left High Hrothgar, bound for Ustengrav. Lydia suspected that Kirin wasn’t ready for a return to Morthal just yet, even though it would be unavoidable…but it seemed deeper than that.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence.

“I know you want to help, Lydia – but there is nothing to be done about it. It’s just something I’ll have to work through on my own.”

“That’s understandable. Sometimes just talking about it can help immensely, though. My prior charge used to bounce thoughts off of me all the time.”

Kirin said nothing, as he swirled the last few drops of mead around the bottom of his mug. For the last ten years, his life had been a solitary one. Moving on from town to town and from one job to the next left little time for friendships, and all of his contacts were little more than acquaintances. And yet, here he was, sitting with his housecarl – someone he considered a friend…unable to open up.

Lydia remained silent, but he could tell that she wished for more from him. Her plate of food sat untouched, even though she tried to give off an air of inattention.

With a sigh, Kirin spoke once again.

“So far, being a Dragonborn isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Lydia looked sharply at him, listening raptly.

“The Greybeards may say otherwise, but all they do is sit up there on the mountain and meditate on the Thu’um. Everything they learn is self-taught with endless practice and pragmatism, and they have no idea what it feels like to absorb the life force of another being.”

He paused to finish off the last of his mead.

“It’s not just knowledge and power I gain – far from it. The memories and emotions of that dragon are also a part of me and it is overwhelming when they flow in. I know its sorrow and its joy. Its confidence and its doubt. Its love and its hate. No amount of meditating will assuage that experience, whatever Arngeir might say on the matter. I have to find a way to live with that, every time I take a dragon’s life – and so far… I’m struggling with just the one.”

A long silence lingered between the two of them when he finished speaking. Kirin sat wishing he had another bottle of mead to down, and was rising up to get another one, when Lydia grabbed his hand.

“Sit back down, my Thane.” She looked up at him sternly. “Drowning yourself in mead will not do anything but dull the pain.”

Kirin glared at her for a moment before lowering himself back into his seat with a laugh.

“How is it that we’ve only been together for a short time, yet you know to push all my buttons, housecarl.”

Lydia grinned, “It goes with the job. Now…off to bed with you! We’ve got another long journey ahead of us, and we’ll have plenty of time to talk more then.”

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The walk through the western edge of The Rift was pleasant as the sun shone down through the gold-red leaves of the endless birch trees that filled the forests of the peaceful hold. For Kirin and Lydia, the walk was too short, as they soon found themselves climbing up through the snow once more, as they wrapped around the mountain towards Falkreath Hold and Orphan Rock. The Hagravens and Nettlebane awaited them there, and Divines know what else they’d encounter. Just dealing with the hags would be taxing enough.

Soon that question was answered, as bolts of lightning streaked through the trees around them, and witches appeared on two fronts. Splitting up, Kirin and Lydia each took one of the witches before circling back around towards the tall rock, and fallen timber that led to the sacrificial altar where the Hagraven awaited them. Charging across with shields raised, they hoped to catch it off balance. But she was ready for them, until Kirin Shouted his two words of Unrelenting Force at her. The hag staggered backwards, buying time for the two warriors to rush in and subdue her quickly.

Kirin pulled Nettlebane from its deadly claws, before kicking the lifeless body over the rock ledge.

“I despise these creatures with all that I am. I do not know what God or gods they claim to serve, but sacrificing a living being should never be acceptable. Especially one that is under the protection of Kyne.”

He strapped the intricate dagger to his belt, and together they turned back towards the road. Whiterun was a long ways off yet, and the sun was already beginning to set.

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After walking for a few hours more, they stopped to make camp somewhere between Helgen and Riverwood. Once the fire was roaring away, Kirin set about skewing some of the salted meat from his pack, and mixing a pot of stewed vegetables. Lydia had wandered off to check out the surroundings, but soon retuned satisfied and with a faggot of wood.

“Doesn’t seem to be any bandits holed up nearby, so we should be safe to sleep without a watch. The fire will keep the critters away.”

Kirin nodded, “Works for me. I could use a few solid hours of sleep. I think we will stop into Whiterun tomorrow. Ustengrav isn’t going anywhere and we’ll need to stock up on supplies.”

“And give that dagger to Danica, I presume?”

“Of course – there is no need for us to carry it around forever. The last thing we needs is for it to get lost somewhere out on the tundra.”

“Whiterun it is then,” said Lydia. “Maybe Adrienne will have some new stock to check out. My sword is nicked up and on its last leg I’m afraid.”