» Fri Sep 02, 2011 4:36 am I recently decided that I wanted to write up a background for my character that I'll create for Skyrim. It was initially going to be a short summary, but it was fun and I got a bit enthusiastic, so it turned into something of a short story. I thought I'd share the first chapter here for you guys to read, and I welcome any critique and advice you may have.
Three things you need to know before reading:
- I am not a writer by any means, and this is the first time I've written a story in my free time.
- I am not a native english speaker, so forgive me for any spelling errors.
- Even though I'm a big fan of Morrowind and Oblivion, I'm new to the lore of The Elder Scrolls as a whole, so if I've made any errors, please give me a heads up! Still, a few liberties might be neccessary.
Thank you for reading!
The Black Man
Chapter one: The wrong side of the Gate
Talon darted through the alleyway with the urgency of a man on fire. His eyes, always alert, scanning his environment with hawk-like precision. It was, after all, the reason behind his namesake. He was rather proud of it in fact, and it would not do to sully his name on a nightrun, even though this one was of the utmost importance.
That's what he and his kin, the Anseidi, called the routine sweeps through the part of Eastern Dragonstar that they called home.
The Anseidi were either considered thugs or vigilantes, depending on who you asked. If you were to ask them directly, they considered themselves the gatekeepers. With the War of Bend'r-Mahk, the Nords of Skyrim had invaded the city and after the conflict, Dragonstar was divided into two sections; the eastern section, home of the native Redguards, and the western section, now inhabited by the Nords. Now, more than two hundred years later, the situation had changed, but it was still tense to say the least. The sections weren't restricted to the same degree, but trust and kinship between the two races were rarely found, and even more rarely sought.
Talon didn't stop. Ever vigilant, he jumped from roof to roof, only slowing down to quickly snatch a fresh loaf of bread from an open window. He considered it his payment from his ungrateful neighbours. Someone had to make sure that their streets were kept safe from the ones across the gate, whether the citizens themselves thought they needed protection or not. He stuffed the loaf in his pack and continued.
Talon was one of the youngest members of the Anseidi, a boy of twelve modest winters. He was also the best nightrunner they had, mostly because he was quick and agile, a trait not unusual for a boy his age.
Those in the Anseidi had one thing in common - they all grew up near the gate that separated the two districts. Most of them were orphans, who had turned to each other in times of need in order to survive. Strength in numbers, as it were. They fashioned their name after the Ansei, the Redguard Sword-singers of old. Granted, few of them even knew how to handle a blade properly, much less make it sing.
Well, except for the Black Man, Talon thought.
The Black Man, as they called him, was a bit of an oddity to say the least. Avik, the oldest current member of the Anseidi, nearing his late thirties, had found a young Nord child on their side of the gate during one of his nightruns around twenty years ago. This was unheard of at the time. The separation was still more or less intact, and though not enforced, it baffled Avik. Who would leave a child across a border that grown warriors hesitated to pass? What had surprised Avik was not that the Nordling wasn't crying, nor that it didn't show any hint of fear. He would've brushed it off as the naivety of a child, had it not been for the fact that the boy was sleeping soundly.
He had taken the boy in. Not out of pity, but out of sheer curiousity. Indeed, had he felt any hint of pity for the boy, he would have killed him on the spot, for Avik knew too well the life he would have on the wrong side of the gate.
It didn't take long for the other street urchins give him the title he carries to this day. He despised it, but both his friends and foes alike thought the irony of it was hilarious. Every day he came home with bruises and cuts, and every time Avik inquired about them, the answer would be the same - I am not black. He had a foolish sense of pride even as a young boy that made him refuse back down, even if it meant defending something that he himself despised with his entire being. Avik knew, that every time the boy went to sleep, he wished that he would wake up the next morning and his skin would be just a hint darker. Avik did not worry for his safety though - more so for the children that taunted him. The Nordling had an eerie talent for violence, and even though he always eventually got brutally beaten, most of the time it took more than four to do so, and even then only if they caught him off guard. When he had asked Avik for his real name, he had merely brushed the question aside and told him to find one himself if he thought it to be of any value. And so he did, searching through many of his foster fathers books until he found a name he liked - Tobias. It was of Nord origin, and although he wasn't fond of his ancestry it just felt like it belonged to him. Of course, this just encouraged the others to keep calling him the Black Man, and most did just that. Even Avik couldn't help himself, although he did so with a bit more affection than spite. At least, that's what the Black Man told himself. The only one who used his preferred name was Siona. A comely Redguard girl of nearly the same age, she had accepted him where others had shunned him. He, in turn, had chosen to fight her battles as well as his own. Though he knew she didn't actually need him to protect her, as she had lived a rough life as well, but the fact that she had to endure nearly the same torments as him just because of her kindness tore at his heart. Or maybe it was just another moment of foolish pride.
Talon hesitated. The Black Man had said to wait there, on the roof of the building at the edge of the warehouse district, just out of sight. And sure enough, he soon spotted them - a company of warriors, cloaked and wearing hoods. Talon knew they were Nords judging by the build of their bodies and the way they composed themselves. They were standing guard in front of one of the bigger warehouses, just like he had been informed. But something was wrong. He had been told that there would be four of them, yet he spotted five. This was not good, Talon thought. Even the slightest miscalculation could cost them their lives, something he had learned first hand when one of his closest friends, Cinna, got killed. He shaked his head violently. Don't get distracted. Think of a way to handle this. Improvise. The Black Man was skilled, he knew. But could he really handle five well trained Nord warriors? Talon knew that he had to even the odds somehow. He wasn't much of a fighter, true. But what he could do, better than anyone else, was to run. He took a deep breath and nodded to himself, as if saying 'You can do this'. He climbed down slowly, quietly. Upon reaching the ground, he silently counted down from five, if only to muster his courage.
Then he ran.
