I'm making a mod about some Ayleids who live in a concealed village high in a tree above the Sercen ruin. Before I build the interiors, I need to establish who lives there, how and why. To effect that, I'm writing a little story off the top of my head about how the village came to be. It's pure stream of consciousness - writing itself, in effect, but it should tell me what I need to know in terms of numbers and characters so that I can map out the houses and fill them with inhabitants. If I've messed up the lore (except that of my own devising) then do let me know - ditto typos, or lapses into British English.

Chapter one: climbing trees

"I think we should consider building a home in a tree," Erissa said seriously.
"You want us to live in a tree?"
"I think we should consider it."
Sinyail stared at his wife. "You're 227 years old - aren't you a little old to be climbing trees?"
"I didn't say climbing," Erissa snapped. "I said we should consider building a home - of stone - in a tree. Singular."
"Oh. Why ever would you want to do a thing like that?"
"Because I'm sick of Talos Plaza!" she snapped.
Sinyail picked up a pipe from the top of his writing desk, lit it and slumped in a chair. He waited patiently for her drama to subside while he regretted never learning to blow smoke rings.

Once Erissa realized that he was never going to ask, she elaborated. "There's nothing to do here, everything's so expensive, and the locals all hate us."
"They hate you, dear. I think they're quite partial to me."
"They think you're pretentious."
"They do not! Who said that? Do they? It's not as though anybody takes me seriously, anyway."
"Oh, I think you're quite ridiculous. You like dreadful things because they are difficult and you never smile in public."
"That's because I hate my teeth!"
"Well, they don't know that! Your teeth are fine, dear. They're just ... lived in."
"Why, that's the nicest thing that-"
"Oh don't you start," she smirked, sashaying over and planting a kiss on smoky lips. "I do wish you'd quit. It turns your teeth all yellow."
Sinyail sighed and put out his pipe.

"Thinking about it practically," Sinyail mused, "We don't have planning permission for any of this, and you know how I hate to draw attention to ourselves."
"Well, unless you slept through every lecture - and you did major in Illusion - you should be able to conceal it pretty well. I seem to recall you got very good grades."
"That was only because I was sleeping with my teacher."
"You never told me that!"
"It must have ... slipped my mind."

Erissa tutted disapprovingly, and went back to rearranging cushions in the living room. She hated the Imperial City - too many social climbers and not enough good company. Unlike the Altmer society to which they pretended to belong, neither of them had much interest in flattery. Ever since Thadon of Silorn and his kin had arrived in 1E 2812, there had been a sizeable Ayleid minority. There were so many foreigners around anyway for Reman II's coronation, they looked the least out of place. By Sinyail's birth in 3E 187, the sight of an Elf with a darker gold shade of skin was commonplace. Inter-marriage between the Elven races was such that almost everyone could claim Ayleid ancestry if they chose to - though people got so testy about Cyrodiil's feared former slavemasters, most Elves called themselves Altmer or Bosmer, or Dunmer if they really had to. (It was probably best not to mention at all that Erissa's first-era relative on her mother's side was an Aureal called Issmi.)

Sinyail with his love of obscure texts had wondered about the other Ayleids - the mythical rulers of ancient Cyrodiil who had been vanquished by the Slave Queen. He was fairly sure that they were just regular Wood Elves by now, but couldn't quite reconcile that with the fact that Bosmer were short and annoying. He'd rather they were High Elves, but the Altmer were fearful snobs and hideously ignorant - at least in any matter in which they disagreed with him. Sinyail was an amateur historian, and spent most of his free time poring over old maps and scrolls and dusty books and torn bits of parchment that might have made sense to somebody once. Sometimes he fantasized about being one of those blind monks in the Imperial Library who prophecied apocalyptic doom from ancient scrolls of unimaginable power - but then he was rather attached to his sight. He enjoyed watching the pretty ladies, for a start - especially the students at the Arcane University, at which he still spent too much time studying for qualifications that didn't really do him any good, but it was his idle pleasure, in which his patient wife indulged him. Oh, he was faithful: Erissa would have torn him limb from limb if he was otherwise, and besides, he still rather fancied his wife - not that he would encourage her vanity by telling her so.

"But you hate the country!" he muttered as one last protest. "You bang on about 'getting back to nature' but within the first hour of camping you've remembered why we've spent the past few thousand years trying to get as far away from nature as possible!"
"You can see the White Tower from there. It's hardly far - less than a day's walk. Probably less than an hour."
"You can see the White Tower from everywhere," he sulked, before giving up.
"It's less than an hour's walk. You can still get to the library. You can have your own library!"
He perked up at that.

Packing took at least three times as long as he had expected, and he was already expecting it to take three times as long as he expected. His scrolls alone took nine boxes. Then there was the stock for the jeweller's shop in which he took so little interest - lucky his wife had such a head for figures, but she was altogether too fond of diamonds. He suspected that she just loved anything that shimmered and glowed, which might explain her real obsession: the ancient varla stones on which the old Ayleid technologies were built. He thought that's why she'd chosen nearby Sercen - an old ruin with just the right amount of starlight. From the strategic position in the trees, she could build her observatory and indulge her true loves: stargazing and varla magic. These old buildings were everywhere, each filled with still-working treasure from a long-forgotten era. Somehow, soon, she'd make it all work.

To be continued in the morning.

great little story. I love how in order to chape ur NPC's you actually write a story around them. if only i had oblivion for PC i'd luv ur mod.

Thanks. I'm feeling a little unwell at the moment so I aim to continue this tomorrow.

Chapter two: Unboxed

"Has it really been two weeks already?"
It had.
Dusk settled over the horizon like a gauzy blanket, letting in the odd ray of pink and purple. The early stars glittered languidly and the air was hot and still.
"I wonder if it will be a clear night tonight?" Erissa continued, replacing the crockery in the newly-assembled cupboards. It was an idle question - she was still too busy to stargaze.
"I have no idea," Sinyail muttered, turning the page of the broadsheet he was pretending to read.
It was too hot to read.

Most of their belongings were still in boxes, though the treehouse looked a little more like home. It was more stone than planned, of sturdy construction, and surrounded by precarious-looking wooden platforms. Tree-branches stuck up willy nilly, growing where they pleased. It seemed authentically Ayleid, though neither of them could really lay claim to knowing what a true Ayleid dwelling would look like.

Sercen Manor, as they'd pretentiously called it, was a spacious stone-and-wood construction hidden in a sturdy tree above the old ruin of Sercen - some burial ground or other from centuries past. It had that old ruin smell - dust and cobwebs and not much life. Even the rats had given up and gone elsewhere, though roots and shoots eased their way up and down, poking green-fingered intrusions through the ancient brickwork.

"We really ought to have thought a little more about this," Erissa persisted, causing Sinyail at last to drop his paper with an exasperated sigh.
"You ... what, you want to go back?"
"No, no," she said irritably. "I just mean that we can't live here on our own, out in the wilds, with nothing but squirrels for company."
"What squirrels? I haven't seen any squirrels."
She gave him one of her looks.
"What I mean is that we should invite some of our friends out here - to live - and we can form our own little village here. Oh, my darling, think of it! It will be wonderful."
Sinyail raised the knuckle of his forefinger to his lips in contemplation as he composed his most withering expression.
"First of all, we didn't even have planning permission to build this home, let alone any others. Secondly, the entire point of this little exercise was to get away from the city - not to bring the whole bloody thing over here! And ... where are we now? Thirdly? Yes! Thirdly ... we don't have any friends!"
"Oh nonsense, darling. Well, maybe you don't have any friends."
Erissa slumped into a chair with a petulant pout.
Sinyail breathed slowly. Not going to rise to it. Not going to rise to it.
"Besides," he said in spite of himself, "You only ever call me 'darling' when you're in the wrong."
His wife rolled her eyes. She knew perfectly well that it worked every time.

Chapter three: Elwen

She drew away from him slowly, eyes widening. The kiss had been inevitable, and a long time building, but it was surprising nonetheless.
Lips still moist from the unexpected moment, she said, "That's as far as it goes."
Aranys stared at her in confusion. "I thought you liked me."
"I DO like you," Elwen replied. "I just like me too, and I deserve better than the way that you would treat me."
Aranys was silent for a moment. "I love you," he said quietly.
"I love you too, but that doesn't change things. Maybe I have you wrong, but you'd have to be very different than the way that I think you are for me to be with you."

The Dark Elf groaned and sat back against the wall. "Well, what do you think I am, then?"
"Well," Elwen began, biting her lip in concentration as she summoned the words. "Are we friends? Because I don't think that we are. I think that you want me, but that is different. You treat your friends poorly and you treat women worse."
"How can you think that? You don't even know me."
"No, I don't," she agreed. "But it's not for lack of trying. You don't know me, either. When's my birthday? What's my favorite book?"
He was silent.
"In all this time, you've never married. I think that tells me all I need to know. Well, I'm sorry if I let you think otherwise, but I won't be another of your playthings."

Ignoring his stricken face, Elwen sprang to her feet, gathered her books and fled the room before those inevitable tears would start. Of course she'd curse his name and tell her friends what a bastard he was, but her whole body ached for him with the passion only youth knows. He was almost twice her age. She knew he was self-obsessed, vain and shallow - and also brilliant and charming. He wasn't on the university staff, so not forbidden to students, but such dalliances were frowned upon. He conducted his many affairs in secret.
Like every young woman, she had fallen for him instantly. She hadn't believed that she'd be the one to tame him, like so many other weeping fools she'd comforted. As a mature student, she was beyond schoolgirl crushes. She'd initially continued her father's metallurgical research, but had developed a botanical fascination and was halfway through a thesis on the effects of elevation on graqe cultivation.

It was here, in the library, that she'd met Aranys. He shared many of her interests, so they whiled away each rainy afternoon for a month, debating dusty tomes and giggling over disproved theories. She found herself in thrall to his intelligence, and he could make a woman feel terribly important. A strange feeling, like an insect buzzing in her ear, as her good sense reminded her that there'd been so many before her that he'd used and cast aside. She'd determined not to be one of them, so once he'd finally leaned in for the kiss, she'd allowed herself just a little taste - she needed that much - before forcing herself to pull away. Now her heart was pounding painfully in her chest and she roughly wiped a sleeve across her eyes. Damn him!

A nice story you're getting there, stomper. Although, next time, could you please add a chapter title? That way, I'll know where I'm up to in reading (: And, if you can edit out, "just a little story" in the title to "read this or I will unleash my wrath", that would be nice! Anywho, I've no criticism now, the english is perfect from what I'm seeing, and its nice to read fan-fic after you've read every book in the house.

EDIT - Added an extra sentence.

Great stuff!!

Thanks - I am continuing this (and I promise it won't all be soppy melodrama - it's basically going to be brief episodes of how each resident ended up in the village, some going voluntarily; others fleeing) but I've been busy with other things lately. Yes, I can add a chapter title. The "little story" is to distinguish it from an RP or anything that isn't fanfic.

Good to see a Mod posting stories! Interesting read. I was never much of an Ayleid person, but this looks interesting. I'll give the last chapter a read, didn't see it yet.

Chapter Four - Departure and Arrivals

Aranys couldn't concentrate for the rest of the day. He distractedly tried to recall how much powdered foxglove should be added to the antidote, before throwing his test tubes into the sink in disgust and marching outside for some air.

It was here that he caught a flurry in the corner of his eye: a flash of silver, a splash of red, robes and hair flailing in the failing light - and then the figure slumped into the alleyway while the hooded stranger dashed into the darkness. A spreading crimson pool. The prone victim gargled and gasped. Aranys remained still, eyes wide and paralyzed, before his mind caught up and he dashed forward. Too late; the man was dead.

Check his pockets! Five gold coins … six … a silk handkerchief with the initials L.C. … a small vial of something that smelled like arrowroot … and a note of threat to a local aristocrat. A plot, and some hint of insurrection. Intrigue. Not the sort of thing you’d want to get caught up in. There was little mystery here: a murder, and not even the Brotherhood by the looks of things.

What if he’d been seen! Aranys hurried home in the settling dark. He didn’t want to be next. He didn’t think he could identify the assassin (average height and slight of build, a Breton with a tattoo on his left shin and a birthmark in the shape of a crescent under his right ear). He’d better leave town immediately. Just grab a few things and go.

Even from the street he could see there was something wrong. A trick of the light, or some imposition casting strange shadows on the stonework. A darker shade of nothing than the boot scraqer on the front step. Basket-shaped. As soon as he could identify its shape, the intruder gave a sound.

Aranys groaned.

---

“Look, can’t you just shut the thing up?”
“It’s not a thing, Aranys, it’s a girl.”

Elwen glared at him, looking haughty and beautiful in her night robe. Aranys had pushed his way into her apartment ten minutes after his arrival home - just enough time to grab some clothes and his notes - and she was looking rather cross. Not least, of course, because of the baby.

“We need to fetch some herbs. Check she’s in good health, and then let the guards mount a search for her mother.”
Aranys paled. “You can’t attract all this attention to me! I’ll be killed.”
“Yes, probably by me. You know who the mother is, don’t you? Another of your playthings?”
“Estella is a perfectly-composed young woman-”
Elwen rolled her eyes. Estella was a Breton of thirty-five.
“She might be in need of assistance.”
“She’ll be fine. I’m sure her husband will help her.”
Elwen closed her eyes and counted to five.
“Why in Gods’ name did you bring her to me?”
“Well, you’re a … woman … you know what to do with … babies.”
Elwen folded her arms. “We’re not born with a birthmark in the shape of a manual on motherhood!” she snapped. “She’s not even my child! Is she even your child? Surely you should just pop her home for her parents to care for her.”
“Estella HATES children, and her husband is so absent-minded he’d just leave it in the park or something.”
“Her.”
“Fine. Yes. Her. Either way, I can’t go back anywhere after this. We must leave town immediately. Once we’re away, I’ll send word of how to contact us - though not of our location - so that Estella can send fresh toys on her birthday.”
Elwen held the weeping child close to her, staring in mounting horror at her situation.
“I need for you to explain to me very carefully why you can’t go home, and why I need to leave my freshly-decorated, prime-location apartment and go with you and a child that isn’t mine.”
He explained.

“Good Gods, man! You’ll lead them right to me!”
“Yes, I was afraid of that,” Aranys said, peeking out the window and seeing nothing of use.
“Well, fine, I’ll leave with you, but I’m VERY angry!”
“Yes, I was afraid of that,” he admitted.

Chapter five - the best laid plans


The cloaked figure drew back from the window and melted into the dark.

He couldn't hear the conversation, but didn't really need to: it was clear that the witness was about to make his escape. He had some woman and a child - his? - with him. Better act fast, he thought. It wasn't that the stranger had witnessed the assassination: even the activities of the Dark Brotherhood passed without comment in this day and age. It was that certain documents might have been found on the body. Incriminating documents. Better to eliminate the risk that this posed to his employer - even if it meant the inconvenience of an extra body to hide.

The assassin concealed himself in the shadows of the doorway and waited. Ten minutes passed, and then twenty. The muffled voices had quieted and the flashes of lamplight stilled. There was no sound or light through the thick walls or dull windows of the apartment. The external shadows had grown into full darkness. The assassin loosened his grip on his blade, and eventually sheathed it.

They must have escaped through the cellars.

Damn.

----

Sinyail was looking forward to another pleasant evening. He slid a piece of the puzzle into place, chose another, and changed his mind. He was in the business of selecting another when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He placed the piece on the table and stood up. He carefully leant over the side of the wooden walkway and peered through the branches at the spectacle below. Two small dots increased in size until he could make out human shapes. He raised his pipe to his mouth quizzically as he strained his eyes to view. A man and a woman and an assortment of bags. They must be mad to wander into Sercen at this time of night! Bandits were, even now, a hazard of the area, but they strode purposefully through the undergrowth and disappeared from view beneath the white stone.

"I swear I spend my life doing dishes!" muttered Erissa, causing Sinyail to forget which piece fit next.
He whispered an expletive and looked up. She brandished the plate with a flourish.
"You could help, you know," she complained good-naturedly.
He shrugged. "Would you like me to help now?"
"No, no, it's too late, I've done it."
Sometimes he thought she argued out of boredom. He'd have to concede defeat: they needed more than each other for company. There was a knock.

A bedraggled thing with bright eyes, bent in a funny shape, had appeared at the doorway. It took his eyes a moment or two to establish that the hump on her shoulder was an infant tied in a sling. It opened its eyes and stared with contemptuous curiosity.
"I do beg your pardon," another voice said, "But Erissa said that we were welcome any time."
"Oh she did, did she?" said Sinyail before he could stop himself. He thought the whole idea of this tree-house was to be secret.
The bedraggled thing looked at the floor. The infant began to whine.
"Oh, you poor thing!" wailed Erissa in an ecstasy of fluttering, her limbs flying off into all directions. Her legs rushed forward to help and her arms reached out and grabbed shawl, sling and baby. The bedraggled thing looked too exhausted to protest.
The infant, at least, looked pleased to be held to an ample bosom, but finding cloth instead of flesh where it had hoped to feed, resigned itself to a low-pitched sulk.
Sinyail, for once being useful, offered a glass of milk - but then found himself ushered into an upholstered chair with baby, sling and glass to drip-feed the infant from the tip of his finger. He didn't look terribly pleased with the arrangement.

"Soooo wonderful to see you, my dear!" exclaimed Erissa, kissing Aranys on both cheeks for slightly longer than was necessary.
Sinyail pretended not to notice, reserving his disapproval for the oblivious infant who stared haughtily up at him. He occasionally stole a glance at the bedraggled thing - finally introduced as Elwen. She was rather pretty, and clearly in love with Aranys, which he found quite mystifying: he was not a good-looking man, but women seemed to throw themselves at him wherever he went. Sinyail was lazily envious, until he remembered the - presumably illegitimate - offspring. He guessed from the leech at his fingertip that the child did not belong to Elwen.

The story Aranys told was far better than anything he'd read in his three-week-old newspaper. Sinyail idly wondered at the intrigue behind the murder that had caused their departure, before deciding that none of it mattered: they would probably never know more, since they would almost certainly never go back. Like it or not, and quite without planning, Erissa had got her wish:

They had new neighbors.

This is pretty good. Well done!

Thanks!

---

Chapter six - more arrivals

Asciene was nearly two when Elwen and Aranys were married in the little chapel Sinyail had built. As the older man had told Aranys over a glass of whiskey, it was natural for a man to wed once he'd eliminated the possibility of sleeping with anyone better, whereas women married when they met someone they could tolerate. Deprived of the steady flow of impressionable students and idealistic teachers, it was Elwen or nothing for Aranys - and he certainly couldn't have Erissa! Even so, Aranys had fallen deeply in love with Elwen. Perhaps he at last understood that he was lucky to have her. Elwen enjoyed reminding him of this, along with frequent reprimands for his prior bad behavior, but it was good-natured teasing. Asciene's half-brother followed within three years.

The marriage service had been officiated by Anghardel - a kindly priest of advancing years who had sought to live out his remaining years among the stars. As it was, Erissa's experiments were advancing well, and one or two of the decrepit inventions showed signs of life, once or twice. Eventually, the bright, clear starlight could be harnessed and she viewed the luminescence of untold ages with a satisfied smile.

----

Intrigued by Elwen's letters of her new life up in the trees, her cousins Mossanon and Brallion of Lillandril arrived with their families. Mossanon and Nilioniel had two fine children - Elenor and Irwaen - but Aredhel died bearing Brallion a son, Faldan. Brallion and the child left a year or so later. Sinyail had constructed a passage to the waterfront where a small rowing boat was tethered, and three times a week one of the villagers would travel to the Imperial City for supplies and to check their little hole at the courier's office for news. Brallion wrote dutifully every week with tales of Faldan's mischief.

The Sercen villagers took turns to teach the children according to their trades. Sinyail taught them reading and spellcraft, Erissa taught them about stones and metals and their properties, Elwen gave lessons on how to grow and use plants, while Aranys made potions and remedies. Unable to keep livestock in such conditions, Mossanon kept them in fish and crab meat - though more usually he'd just bring something back from the market. Nilioniel could sew well enough for minor repairs, and even brought with her some of the fashions she'd acquired from a relative she'd stayed with in an Ayleid village to the south called Silorn.

It seemed strange to them all to live as their ancestors did, free from trying to fit in with the Imperial way of life. They found relief and comfort in the arms of the trees.

Chapter seven - growing up

It was sometimes hard to tell the seasons at this altitude, but Elwen got the seeds planted on time. The varla stones gave extra light to give those graqes a juicy, sweet ripeness - but she grew other things, too. Melons, potatoes, plump pumpkins and sweet carrots. Asciene and Carandil would help as much they could - tiny hands gripped forks and spades to pull out the weeds, though Asciene tried vainly to work some spell to vanish them. She was eleven, and just as headstrong as ever, while her brother was quiet and bookish.

After they were let off to play, they'd race each other to Sinyail's house to see what books he had today. Carandil could barely read but pored over bright books with big pictures. He'd stare for hours at the shape of the letters, trying to make sense of the words, until Erissa or Sinyail would tell him what they said. Most evenings, Elenor and Irwaen would come knocking after supper, and the children would play hide-and-seek until sunbeams could no longer fight their way through the branches above the platforms that joined each dwelling.

As each year passed, the village became more complete. The charms Erissa and Sinyail had placed over the place to protect it from prying eyes only worked some of the time, but nobody thought to look below the crumbling old ruins -- even the bandits showed little interest -- and they were left alone in peace. In time, two more settlers arrived: Millimo of Cloudrest, childhood friend of Nilionel, who brought with him his wife Estinan. He was a bard and she was a cook, so they built themselves a house in the corner which they opened up in the evenings for food and wine and song.

If there was ever any sorrow, it was only that Asciene - half-Breton - was aging faster than her sibling and fled to the city before she lost too much of her life. She visited often, having married a fine Imperial trader, and even dined with her mother a few times, though they were never close.

Carandil was like his father, and dutifully provided all the scandal and gossip the village could bear when he too went to the city. After Aranys had been summoned three times to the university to admonish his son for dalliances with a priest's daughter, a councillor's wife and a visiting princess of Wayrest, Carandil finally settled down with a merchant's daughter from Anvil, and moved to the city by the sea.

Though still too young to wed, Elenor had formed a strong attachment to Millimo's son Monthadan. The young lovers would sneak out to the Imperial City to drink in the taverns -- but never for too long, and often they'd be found and chided by Asciene, who lived close by. Sometimes she'd accompany them home, and tell a few lies to cover them, but no-one was particularly angry. They came to no harm. Monthadan spoke of grand plans of opening a bar of his own some day, but there was no space for one at Sercen, and no customers, either. His father put him to work serving ale and wine in the evenings, while Millimo sang songs from the stories his son had heard on his travels.

Another spring passed into summer, and Brallion's son returned to Sercen. He'd stay for the summer while he worked towards his guild recommendations. He planned to be a mage, but could help around the village in return for lodgings while he studied. The elder wives whispered that perhaps his distant cousin Irwaen could be a match for him, one day.

Thus the village of Sercen came to be established, and the families that lived there and the stories that they told, until one day Faldan uncovered a scroll that described a hiding place, deep below the ruin beneath their feet, and in it these sleepy Wild Elves would find adventure.

I like this very much Keep it up, stomper!