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!)



--------------------------------------


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…

-------------------------

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]

Ever North

Winterhold was a long way off, but carriage travel sounded awfully nice for the trip. And so, Kirin and Lydia found themselves walking east to Riften, instead of climbing back down the northern face of Snow Throat. The sun shone warmly down on them as they walked beneath the gold leaved birch trees spanning the forests of Skyrim’s southeastern hold. Small critters darted in and out of the dense undergrowth, and the occasional bear could be heard growling beyond the brambles lining the stone road that lead them due east along the Treva River.

Come evening time, they found themselves seated around a table at the Bee and Barb, enjoying a warm meal and a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve. A bard played idly on his lute for a few moments, before singing of Stormcloak triumph and Nord pride. Kirin listened to the song, shaking his head through most of it and setting his fork down in disgust afterwards.

“Something wrong, Kir?”

“Yes, but this is not the place to discuss. Once we are on the road again,” said Kirin. “Can you talk to Keerava about a room? I’ll head over to the temple and check in with Dinya and Mara.”

“Aye. See you in a bit.”

-----------------------------------------

It was quiet in the temple when Kirin entered through its wooden double doors. Dinya Balu and Maramal were both in deep prayer upon the altar and remained so for several minutes. Sitting patiently in a pew, Kirin said his own prayers to both Mara and Kyne while he waited for the clerics to address him.

Dinya was the first to stand up, and the Dunmer quickly spotted Kirin sitting in the pew, and went to join him.

“Have you returned from Ivarstead with good news?”

“Yes. Through the guidance of the Lady Mara, Fastred and Klimmek have found their love and are no longer confused about themselves,“ said Kirin.

"How wonderful. Like the sea, their love roils and swells, but brings life and nourishment to all."

“Does Mara require anything else of me? I enjoyed a wonderful sense of fulfillment for spreading her light.”

“Of course,” replied Dinya. "As you venture, Mara fills my mind ever more with visions of love in peril. Embers lie nestled in stone, needing only fuel to bloom to a flame that will warm all around them. Go to Markarth. There you'll find Calcelmo, wise, acid, and reclusive. Help him to emerge and state his intentions. This is the prayer heard by the goddess and relayed to her servants.”

Kirin nodded and thanked Dinya before heading back out into the town square. There, found Lydia haggling with Grilka over fine piece of armor and it sounded like it was getting pretty heated. He caught her just in time, recognizing that stubborn Nord look on her face. Thanking Grilka, he steered her away from the vendor's stall to cool her down. She protested for a moment, but then Lydia’s common sense kicked in before her face turned a minor shade of red.

“It was a nice piece…she just was asking an outrageous price for it,” mumbled Lydia.

“The Witchplate cuirass? You should have just asked – I could have smithed one for you the last time we stopped back home at Elysium. I think I have all the materials needed for it already.
Now come, it’s getting late and we have a long journey north ahead of us. We’ll need a good night sleep tonight.”

-----------------------------------------

As it turns out, it wouldn’t be as long as they thought. Kirin and Lydia were pleasantly surprised to learn that the carriage drive near Riften’s stables was willing to lug them all the way up to Winterhold. A day later (and a couple sore backs) the cart bumbled down the road into the once great city of Winterhold. The town was a shell of its former self, with over half of the city now lying among the stone rubble in the Sea of Ghosts far below. Miraculously, the College of Winterhold stood proudly throughout the catastrophic storm that endlessly battered the northern coast, leaving it perched high above the stormy waters. A worn bridge spanned the precipitous drop, and one could not help but marvel at it. No one could quite explain how the college still stood, let alone the gravity defying bridge that connected it to the mainland.

Just atop the stairs that lead down to the main (and only) street in Winterhold stood a tall female Altmer. She stopped Kirin and Lydia just as they crested the staircase.

“Cross the bridge at your own peril! The way is dangerous and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!”

Kirin didn’t expect a warm welcome, but he at least thought it might be warmer than that. Most Nords feared the college and its mages, leading them to openly disdain it. This in turn seems to have led to those studying here to be wary and extra cautious of those seeking admittance. After conversing with the elf, Farlada, for a few moments they agreed upon terms to which Kirin and Lydia could enter the college. Stepping back a few paces and urging Faralda aside, Kirin uttered a single word of Unrelenting Force as a demonstration for what he could offer the College of Winterhold.

Excited at the power he possessed, Faralda immediately granted them entry, leading them across the long stone bridge to the courtyard. Pushing through the arched doorway, Kirin and Lydia headed upstairs to the Arcaneum – a vast library full of knowledge studied for countless years by mage after mage. A grumpy old Orc kept watch over the collection, and seemed to know a great deal about the contents within. But when Kirin asked him about Elder Scrolls, the old librarian couldn’t help but give off an air of distrust.

"And what do you plan to do with it? Do you even know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand boy?"

Kirin couldn’t help but sigh loudly. Nothing in this place was easy, but he continued talking to Urag about it. After some persuading (and throwing the Dragonborn weight around once more) he gathered up a couple of books on the Elder Scrolls for Kirin to look over. One of them was nigh unreadable and raised more questions than it answered. A quick check with Urag confirmed that he wasn’t daft for not understanding it.

"Aye, that's the work of Septimus Signus. He's the world's master of the nature of Elder Scrolls, but... well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long."

“Any idea where he went?” asked Kirin.

Somewhere up north, in the ice fields. Said he found some old Dwemer artifact, but... well, that was years ago. Haven't heard from him since."