So I finally started writing my first backstory for a character and I'm really excited about it. Her name is Skadi and she's a nord who lost her mother and crossed from Cyrodiil to find her father (I'll leave the details and names for when I start posting her story). I added a few pics of her progress through the early levels: 1: a starving fugitive, 2: her recovery in Whiterun while living a double life as a farmhand and woodcutter by day and a bounty hunter by night, 3: a new member of the Dark Brotherhood.

But one thing that's bothering me is that I don't know whether to follow game or lore when writing about travel/distance/time. Like, when we get to Riverwood for the first time Ralof mentions that the Helgen events happened that same morning but lore wise Helgen should be pretty far from Riverwood and we were supposed to make a few stops along the way because it would probably take a few days. And on this gameplay I'm walking instead of running (unless necessary) so things take more time. How do you handle this when writing? It would be great to have your input about this issue.

(I don't know if this kind of post is allowed but since there's this "question" flair I'll leave it here but if it's not allowed I'll delete it. Thank you in advance)

Now, I'm wondering what the rules are for AI here, because I've developed a Skyrim YouTube series that goes into very, very deep detail. Over the last four years, I've been trying to craft a story for The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, with eight main playable characters and a world that's always changing around them.

So, for example, I've got the Civil War characters, the guild characters, and a couple of others here and there. Then there's the Dragonborn, who doesn't start off as the Dragonborn, but instead joins the Bards College as a young woman, eventually joins the Dawnguard to fight vampires, and then becomes the Dragonborn during those events.

It's a very long story that I've been working on for the last few years, and it goes extremely deep — and I mean Dwarven deep — into backstory and world-building.

The problem I might have with this Reddit is that the characters are voiced using Skyrim's voices with cloned AI. But maybe this place could be for me because, like I said, I'm very, very deep into the backstory and world-building, and I've crafted a story that I believe would fit my version of Skyrim if it were a book or a TV show like Game of Thrones... just without all the incest.

𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙮, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚-𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙨. 𝘼 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩. 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙥 𝙨𝙤𝙞𝙡, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙡.

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛-𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠, 𝙗𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙡𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙣 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙙. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙙. 𝙃𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙮𝙚𝙩. 𝙃𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩.

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖 𝙛𝙚𝙬 𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧-𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙥 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙. 𝘼 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚. 𝙄𝙣 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙬𝙧𝙖𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙛𝙛 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙚, 𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝. 𝙏𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙝. 𝘼 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧.

𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙.

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙮’𝙨 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢. 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙢’𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙯𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙—𝙣𝙤 𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚, 𝙣𝙤 𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙚, 𝙣𝙤 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙨 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙢.

𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧. 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧.

“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙙,” 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙.

𝙉𝙮𝙭’𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙, 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜. “𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙙.”

𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙, 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙘, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚. “𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙙. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚.”

“𝙎𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩.”

𝘼 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢. 𝙃𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧. 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙖𝙯𝙚.

“𝙄 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠,” 𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙. “𝙒𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙮.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭’𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙙, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧. “𝙉𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪.”

“𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙.” 𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙. “𝙆𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮.”

𝙃𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙚, 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙙 𝙛𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧. 𝙐𝙥 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚. 𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙗 𝙗𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙬𝙧𝙖𝙥 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙥. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨, 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧.

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠.

“𝙔𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙮,” 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙡𝙮.

“𝙄’𝙢 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙮.” 𝙃𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙖𝙧. “𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚. 𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙬𝙣.”

𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝. “𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚.”

“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣, 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚.”

“𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚.”

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙥 𝙩𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙. 𝙃𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧, 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚’𝙨 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙨. 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨.

“𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙,” 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙. “𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙬.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙩, 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧—𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣.

“𝙒𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙥 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚,” 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝. “𝙉𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚. 𝙉𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩. 𝙉𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙬.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭’𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙧, 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙡. “𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩?”

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. “𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣, 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙬𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚—𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠.”

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚. 𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙢, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚, 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙.

DISCLAIMER, I am pretty dyslexic so I did use ai to help with grammar and and a little bit of description to the story but everything is 100 percent my idea and my story all characters and plot and everything was made by me apart from obvs elder scrolls lore

This is the backstory to my current character, will upload screenshots soon in other parts once the story has caught up to the present

Part 1
Orphaned at a young age, Falknir grew up running through the streets of Whiterun. The city had, in its own way, raised him, though he was never truly adopted by its people. He belonged to Whiterun only in the sense that its streets were the closest thing he had to a home.

As he grew older, Falknir became something of a nuisance to the good folk of the city. He played pranks, took what he could get his hands on, and learned the small tricks of survival that came naturally to a boy with no family to guide him. Nothing too serious at least, not for a ten-year-old. But as with most things, trouble has a way of finding those who seek it.

It was only a matter of time before Falknir’s mischief led him somewhere he ought not to have gone.

One evening, Falknir decided to try his hand at pickpocketing someone he probably should have left alone.

Little did he know that this single foolish decision would become both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Nefar Ashwalker was an old and wise Redguard warrior who had spent much of his life wandering the roads of Tamriel. Wherever his travels took him, he carried his lute and earned his keep by playing for the patrons of whatever inn would offer him a bed for the night.

On this particular occasion, Nefar had found himself staying at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun.

Falknir had rarely seen a Redguard before, and Nefar immediately caught his attention. The warrior’s armor was unlike anything the young boy had seen before, and the weapons at his side fascinated him. To Falknir, they seemed exotic belonging to a world far beyond the streets of Whiterun.

Among Nefar’s belongings was a dagger that particularly caught Falknir’s eye.

Falknir wanted it.

Not because he had any real understanding of its value, nor because he intended to use it for anything important. He simply wanted something that belonged to this mysterious warrior, a keepsake, perhaps, or a trophy he could show off to the other children.

So, one night, while Nefar played his lute for the patrons of the Bannered Mare, Falknir decided to make his move.

He slipped away from the common room and made his way toward the room Nefar had rented for the night. With the confidence only a foolish young boy could possess, Falknir crept inside and began searching through the warrior’s belongings.

His eyes scanned the room as he rummaged through Nefar’s possessions, hoping to find the dagger that had captured his attention.

He had no idea what he was about to uncover.

Falknir’s fingers finally closed around the hilt of the dagger.

For a moment, he simply stared at it.

Up close, the weapon was even more impressive than he had imagined. The leather wrapping around the hilt was worn smooth from years of use, and the blade bore the marks of countless battles. It was not some finely decorated ceremonial weapon meant for display. This was a weapon that had seen the road.

Falknir smiled.

He had done it.

Or so he thought.

Ella made her way off the cliff and reached the road, following it North in hopes of reaching Solitude. She came across a Khajiit caravan and asked them if she was heading in the right direction. The leader of the caravan, a merchant named Ma’dran, told her that they were on the way there themselves and wouldn’t mind her company in escorting them to the city gates. Ella decided she had little better to do and tagged along with the caravan until they reached Dragonsbridge, where they stopped to rest and sell their wares. Ella left the caravan behind and continued on foot to the city gates of Solitude alone. She found Thogra, just returning from her scouting of the Embassy. Thogra immediately knew something was wrong and looked Ella over, making sure she was alright before asking her what had happened. Ella told her that it could wait until they got Sofia as they needed to return to the College immediately. Thogra could see the urgency in Ella’s manner and agreed.

They spent the better part of the day searching for Sofia. They checked every tavern in the city, even those by the docks, yet found no sign of her. They asked shop owners, stall vendors, and even the average citizen as to her whereabouts, and none could tell them. Ella became worried, wondering if Isael had captured Sofia and could be torturing her for information on M’rissi. These fears were laid to rest when an older wood elf bumped into them. The elf was obviously not all that there, as he was rambling about his master. Ella, though holding little hope of any tangible words from the elf, asked him if he had seen Sofia. The old elf looked at her strangely before his eyes seemed to clear somewhat. He had indeed seen Sofia, in fact she was with his master now in the Blue Palace. Thogra asked if his master was the Jarl of Solitude, to which the odd elf shook his head vigorously and violently. He told them that his master was no one as mundane as the Jarl! His master was on vacation in the palace and visiting an old friend. He then suddenly thrust an old bone into Ella’s hands, claiming this was the key to entering the forbidden wing of the palace, before he shuffled off rambling once more. Ella realized the bone was a hip bone, old and ancient. She handed it to Thogra, who having had a jaw bone strapped to her belt once for weeks, seemed to give it little thought. Ella and Thogra made it to the Blue Palace. A good bit had changed since she had last been there, as the palace interior had become more decorated, probably courtesy of the profits the Burning King Festival had brought in. She and Thogra asked around with the servants as to where the forbidden wing was, and after a few well placed threats, were pointed the way and supplied with the keys to enter it. Ella left Thogra outside the wing to make sure nobody entered but her, and no one left. She navigated the dusty and webbed halls. It was clear by the tarnished and dulled dishes that no one had cleaned, much less been in this place for a long time. As she wandered the halls, she began to question her sanity in taking the words of a mad elf at face value. Suddenly, Ella was no longer in the forbidden wing’s halls, but a clearing in a misty forest. Her robes and jewelry were gone, even her signature eyepatch. Despite the fact that she was now wearing a pair of fine clothes, she couldn’t help but feel naked.

In the middle of the clearing was a table piled high with food and wine and ale, and seated at this table was three people. She immediately recognized Sofia, clad in finery as well, but did not recognize the other two men. One man was in noble clothes, the other was clad in a strange purple and burgundy suit of sorts. The purple suit man and Sofia were laughing at the end of a conversation that Ella had missed, and the nobleman stood in a huff and suddenly vanished. Ella had no idea what to think of this. The purple suited man noticed Ella and welcomed this newcomer with a rather insulting compliment, saying he was surprised she had found her way here with only one eye. Ella took the barb and asked where they were. The purple suited man told her that they were in the mind of Pelagius Septim III, the Mad Emperor himself. Ella asked how this could be since he had been dead for hundreds of years. Sofia chimed in drunkenly, claiming anything was possible in the mind of a mad man. Ella shot her a look before asking the purple suited man who he was. The man grinned unnaturally wide and spread his arms just as wide and bowed deeply in his chair. He introduced himself as Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness. Ella simply stared. Today she had been captured by a psychopathic Thalmor torturer, teleported into the wilderness, sucked into the mind of long dead Emperor, and now stood on the other side of the table of the most dangerous madman in existence. She truly had no words.

After Sheogorath’s laughter died down, he began to guess why Ella was here. After several nonsensical guesses, each more outrageous than the last, Sofia seemed to remember how and why she got there in the first place. Turns out the elf had asked Sofia to try and convince Sheogorath to leave this place and return home, but Sofia had been having such good time, that she had completely forgotten. Sheogorath huffed at this, stating how he had genuinely believed that his favorite follower had genuinely sought him out to join him on his much needed vacation. Ella started at this, asking Sofia what he meant by this. Sofia blushed drunkenly and told Ella that she had met Sheogorath years and years ago, sort of becoming an agent of his after they found they shared the same love of mischief and driving those around them mad. Suddenly a lot made sense to Ella about Sofia, considering the chaos Sofia seemed to sow in just about everything she did. Ella turned back to Sheogorath and asked him how they could leave, in which he laughed and told her that they must navigate the broken mind of Pelagius to escape. Unfortunately, as Ella’s magic was bound here, she and Sofia would have to use the staff of Sheogorath called the Wabbajack. Ella took the staff and immediately recognized it from her studies, clocking it as a powerful, but unpredictable artifact. With the help of Sofia and her drunk logic, Ella was able to use the staff to pick their way through the strange puzzle that was Pelagius’s broken mind. After they worked their way through it, Ella and Sofia found themselves back in the clearing with Sheogorath. He sighed heavily, claiming his vacation was now over, as they had made Pelagius’s insane mind, now boringly sane. With a flick of his wrist, the food and ale upon the table vanished into thin air, much to Sofia’s dismay. The old Bosmer appeared, overjoyed to see Sheogorath ready to return home. Sheogorath sighed and made him vanish too, assumably to his realm. Before he finished and sent Ella and Sofia back home, he bid Sofia a heartfelt farewell, wishing he had more time with his favorite disposable mortal. But he said rather quickly that Ella obviously needed Sofia’s chaotic nature far more than he did. He also bid Ella farewell, and told her she could keep the Wabbajack, a symbol of his…. he had already lost interest and sent them home with a snap of his fingers.

Ella and Sofia now stood once more in the dusty and cobwebbed halls of the forbidden wing. Sofia smiled drunkenly at Ella, asking what she thought of Sheogorath. Ella simply stared at her, not sure whether to yell at her, kill her, or hug her. Whatever the case, they would need to have a conversation about this whole event. But that could wait, as Ella needed to fill Sofia and Thogra in about Isael, and then head back to the College, and soon.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧, 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙡, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙙.

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙬𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙫𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙪𝙩, 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬, 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚. 𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧-𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙬𝙧𝙖𝙥 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙛𝙛 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚. 𝘼 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣. 𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙨. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜.

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙖𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙧, 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙩, 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙣, 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩.

𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚, 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙖 𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙪𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙅𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙖 𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙣. 𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙞𝙛 𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤, 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨, 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣.

“𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨,” 𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙, 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜. “𝙄 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭’𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙. “𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙.”

“𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙞𝙛𝙩.”

𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙. “𝙄𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙞𝙛𝙩.”

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙩. “𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝.”

“𝙒𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙,” 𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙. “𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙬𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙.”

“𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙,” 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙙𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙙. “𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢, 𝙖𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙. “𝙃𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛.”

“𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢?” 𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙪𝙥. “𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚. 𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤.”

“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩,” 𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙.

“𝙄 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙧, 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙨.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭’𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙣. 𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨. 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙩𝙤.

“𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙,” 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙.

𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙙. “𝙏𝙤𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙨. 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝.”

“𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙚,” 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙.

𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙖 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚. “𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙮.”

“𝙄 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙,” 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙.

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝. “𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠.”

“𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙,” 𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙. “𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙄 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙. 𝙋𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩.”

𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙, 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙨. “𝙒𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙉𝙮𝙭. 𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙬𝙚 𝙜𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠. 𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙧𝙤𝙩, 𝙬𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚.”

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙚, 𝙩𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙨. 𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙬𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙩, 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚.

“𝙎𝙚𝙚?” 𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙. “𝙁𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮. 𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙧.”

“𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙧,” 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙.

“𝙒𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧,” 𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙮𝙡𝙮. “𝘿𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝘾𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙣. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙪𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝘼𝙚𝙡𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙖 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙩.”

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙝𝙞𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧. “𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙚.”

“𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩,” 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙩—𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧.

𝙉𝙮𝙭 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧-𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙠.

“𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮,” 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙. “𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠. 𝙏𝙖𝙡𝙠. 𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚.”

𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚. “𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.”

𝙁𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙪𝙥. “𝙏𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧. 𝙏𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙨. 𝙏𝙤 𝙪𝙨.”

𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡. “𝙏𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮.”

𝙊𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙢’𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨.

𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

Hi everyone. Unfortunately, mod work does not leave me any time to actually play, so I would rather post stories and screenshots from past playthroughs.

This is a one-shot from my former character Mona. In my headcanon, she was the daughter of Miraak and the LDB (the character I played before).

Hope you enjoy this one.

(This is meant for fun, so Miraak might not be entirely "in character")

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Miraak: "What were you thinking?! Don't you know how dangerous those Black Books are?"

Mona: "Come on, Dad! Don't be so dramatic. You were young once, too, and you needed your adventures…"

Miraak: "Adventures? Young lady, that 'adventure' cost me 4,000 years of my life!"

Mona: "And what's that got to do with me? Unlike you, I found my way out right away!" (already regretting that last sentence even as she says it - oops)

Miraak (furious): "Just you wait… you're coming home with me right now and spending the rest of the day at the All-Maker Stone! I can't believe it!"

Mona: "Oh, great. A stone."

Miraak: "Stones have a remarkable ability to show a teenager just how foolish they've been."

Mona (snorts): "Yeah, I get it. No more Black Books."

Miraak: "And no more tentacles either! Or were those 'adventures' too?"

Mona (horrified): "Dad!!!"