Elisabeth's Short Stories Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Writing short fics like this keeps me sharp. There's no continuation for any of these. These will be one or two chaptered stories. I won't be concerned with word count, only the content and editing.

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A hiss of pain was all that escaped her lips before her skull cracked against the rock.

Soft shoes padded against the cobbled stones of the darkened streets as the brown-haired man fell to his knees, hand shaking. Tears sprung to his eyes as the only woman who had ever loved him lay dead in front of him, a pool of what was left of her blood creating a blackened halo around her head.

He stepped in it. Gods forgive him, but he stepped in her blood as he ran away. There were no guards chasing him, no angered shouts of mobs, voices roaring with rage as they burned down his cabin. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Roland Jenseric hid out for several days, he thought, though it had been weeks. The nightmare of finding Relfina clutched in the grasp of a vampire was toying with his brain. Nightmares of what he might have done to her haunted him. He wondered more, what did Seridur do with her body?

He had combed the beaches of Lake Rumare, finding nothing. No guards were after him, and she was simply…missing. He would not be missed because of his isolated ways. No…Seridur would attempt to find him, he knew it. Roland was only a simple man, but he would fight to the death.

The days stretched on, with him writing furiously in his journal, re-reading the silly love notes Relfina would write to him and stick in strange places in the cabin. Under a pot was a bit of parchment with a simple heart drawn on, in a cup there were several love notes, each one stuffed in hurriedly. His favorite one was a note tied to a branch of dried lavender that simply said “You’re always in my dreams.” She stuck that beneath his pillow and left it there.

Once, in a frenzy, he decided to find all of them. He tore the cabin apart, determined to find every scrap of paper her lovely fingers had touched. In the short few months they had been seeing each other, Reflina had managed to write nearly fifty separate love notes to Roland, sticking them in odd places. The last time they had visited the cabin, she had sneakily rigged a note to fall when Roland opened a cupboard door. He wept.

He was re-reading another particularly saucy love note from her, the paper creased and smeared from him folding and unfolding it, when the knob jiggled. He was lost in the words, the echoes of her intent leaving him breathless. When you pressed your lips against my neck…

A sword unsheathing caused him to jump up, crumpling the letter in his fist.

“Wait! I know what you’re here for!”

And thus begun Roland’s revenge.

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He thought about burning them. He knew that with each piece of paper that turned to ash and smoke, a little more of his soul would be released. A little more of himself would be ready to heal. But he wasn’t ready to heal quite yet. Instead, he cleaned out Seridur’s drawers and gave them to Cylben and tucked the letter away in the side table next to the bed.

It was hard to act noble in front of The Hero; the same man who killed Seridur would also bring him the ashes of the other vampires he had killed. Roland paid him straight from Seridur’s coffers; an act he felt was justified. Stepping into Seridur’s house didn’t fill the void Relfina had left, but left him with a righteous, victorious indignation. She would be avenged wholly.

Despite what he thought, he was chagrined to see he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone due to Seridur’s vampirism. Roland had found Cylben Dolvalos, Seridur’s bodyguard, hunched with his own scrap of paper on Seridur’s bed several weeks after The Hero brought Seridur’s ashes to the Order. Roland left him in peace, though Grey-Throat commented on what Roland already speculated on, nodding towards a solemn Cylben.

“They were close,” he hissed in Roland’s ear. “Seridur was his Relfina.”

Roland didn’t feel victorious after that.

Still, no amount of scrap paper would convince him he wasn’t where the gods destined him to be. He may be just a man, but he would fight with the tools the gods gave him. And the gods gave him The Hero.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Well, that day is today! And with that, I'm going to bed XD

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Astia Inventius knew her husband wasn’t faithful.

She had known for quite some time. Years, in fact. But she had never said a word to him, despite the evidence she had begun gathering. The extra days hunting and selling the meat he had killed without her ever seeing a single septim tipped her off. At first, she thought perhaps he was saving up for her birthday, but that came and went with no celebration. She thought the same of their anniversary, but instead she was met with insincere lovemaking to a distracted husband.

When she found the notes, she began painting.

Lightly scented with rose oil, Astia knew who they were from. Or rather, she had an idea. She had done some investigative work on a day where she couldn’t stand it anymore, how dare he cheat on her! Unfortunately, a lot of young women used rose oil to scent their bodies. But perhaps it was fortunate after all. She could resign herself to a life of painting.

She began to sell her paintings, slowly at first. Then she began shipping them to the Imperial City, selling them there through an agent. It didn’t pay too much, but enough for her to warrant a hiding spot for her small bit of wealth. Pinarus never noticed her painting. He spent his days hunting or training, occasionally speaking to her when he was home.

Then she noticed a ring missing from her jewelry box. A small silver ring, inconsequential in a monetary sense, but it meant a great deal to her. Her mother had given it to her when she was a teenager. Her fingers were too plump to slide it on now, but she kept it nonetheless. She asked Pinarus if he had taken it, but he refused. What would he need a ring for?

Then he began asking for her jewelry.

Hunting wasn’t going too well, he explained, his hands holding hers in the gentlest of grips. This was the most intimate he had been with her in months, and he was asking her to let him sell her jewelry! She conceded, but only if he let her get it appraised first, just in case. He reluctantly relented, and she was off with her jewelry box.

She got them appraised, as she said, but they were mostly fakes; Astia had never had enough money to buy real jewelry. The silver was steel and the gold painted on. The only real thing was her necklace. Made with real gold and jade, she had gotten it from an old boyfriend. Though she ended up choosing Pinarus, she was slowed to keep the necklace anyway, her former beau insisting.

She stepped into the Mages Guild, her pocket jingling and bulging from the bit of money she had secretly taken from her hiding spot.

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When Pinarus came back without a stitch of clothing on, Astia’s suspicions were confirmed, but not in the way she had hoped. She’d heard the rumors about the women robbing married men blind, but she feigned ignorance about it when he came in, shivering from what she expected was anger. Still, she made him a warm cup of tea, hoping her gentle touches would remind him why he chased after her. She took his look of gratefulness as a sign of hope for them.

The next few weeks were…odd. Pinarus didn’t hunt as long as he used to, and his evening walks all but stopped. He would meet her at the docks when she painted, surprising her with a small bag of candies (not her favorites, but she appreciated the sentiment either way) and occasionally a flower. Sometimes he watched her paint. When he caught her reading The Black Horse Courier, she saw in his eyes that he knew that she knew.

Despite this, life carried on differently. Pinarus still hunted, and he still took on students, but instead of long hours out in the field, she was encouraged to come with, to bring food while they practiced. When he wasn’t hunting, he came straight home with a fresh kill. Things were better.

When the necklace turned up, like she knew it would, it had a note attached.

“You’re a clever woman,” it read. “so I return this to you.” There was no signature. She knew the woman who returned it wasn’t Pinarus’ lover, but Astia knew she was strong enough to be. Rumor had it that she had sliced the women from neck to sternum in a matter of seconds. With those dark eyes that bore into anyone she spoke to, Astia knew the Redguard was more than what anyone saw on the surface.

The note was burned, and the curse on the necklace removed. Astia tucked the necklace away in a silk handkerchief she bought, tucking it away with her stash of money. She knew that cursing the amulet would ruin the woman Pinarus gave it to, but she didn’t expect it to bring her husband back to her. She got very lucky, and she knew that. Pinarus had claimed he fell and hit his head on the way to the jewelers, but she speculated on the truth. On his way to his mistress, he was seduced by the sirens, then stripped of his clothing and the necklace. The sirens were cursed instead of Pinarus’ lover, but the result was the same to her.

She would enjoy her husband, for now. And if he slipped again, the curse wouldn’t be on the other woman.