Wicked_Fiction

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #41

The sun had climbed past its peak by the time Torin reached the rugged foothills north of Falkreath. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the only sounds were the chittering of squirrels and the steady crunch of his own boots on the forest floor.

He found a decent sp...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #40

As he strolled back through the quiet streets of Falkreath with Echo padding along behind him, Torin found his thoughts circling back to the Altmer priest.

For a High Elf, Runil had been surprisingly easy to stomach. He was polite without being obsequious, and his kindness hadn't felt like ...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #39

Falkreath's Hall of the Dead was a humble, somber place, nestled amidst a sea of weathered gravestones. It was a simple structure—a stone foundation with wooden walls and a thick, thatched roof, more functional than grand.

Early morning mist still clung to the ground as Torin, with Echo a...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #38

By the time Torin pushed open the door to the Sleeping Giant Inn, any thought of the lunatic and the blood-red book had been forcibly scrubbed from his mind.

During the short walk back to Riverwood, he had performed a masterclass in mental gymnastics, thoroughly convincing himself the entir...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #37

The next morning dawned crisp and clear. Torin lay on the dewy grass by the bank of the White River, the gentle rush of water a soothing soundtrack. His hand moved back and forth in a lazy, absentminded rhythm.

A few feet away, a simple leather ball bobbed and weaved through the air, dancin...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #36

Several days later, the sun was already high overhead, casting long shadows from the walls of Whiterun. The bustling noise of the city was a familiar backdrop as Torin stood just beyond the main gate, his travel pack secured and Echo sniffing curiously at a nearby clump of grass.

Kodlak Whi...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #35

Eorlund stood a respectable distance away, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he watched Torin inspect the finished product. Compared to some of the truly bizarre tools the boy had sketched for him over the years, this one was relatively tame. But it was still plenty strange.

Gleami...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #34

The great hall of Jorrvaskr was a welcome symphony of familiar noise—the crackle of the fire, the clatter of tankards, and the boisterous voices of the Companions. Torin sat at the long table, shoveling stew into his mouth with the single-minded focus of a starving man, a contented grin on his ...

How the Story (FOS) Should Proceed

I don't know why I only thought of asking now, but I'll do it anyway.

With the ending of the last chapter, the story is ready for a timeskip, to a point where Torin is maybe 15 or 16, which would keep things from getting a little tedious, but risk being a bit shallow.

Alternatively...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #33

The Voice is worship;

Follow the Inner path;

Speak only in True Need.

The words on the tenth and final wayshrine were not an epic. There were no visions of conquest, no echoes of shattering defeats or thunderous victories. They were a quiet conclusion,...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #32

The climb grew steeper, the air thinner, but Torin’s pace was relentless. Each wayshrine was now a milestone, a piece of a story he was determined to piece together.

With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer;

Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice;

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #31

Auhtor's note: feeling much better today, but yeah, respiratory infections suck....

...

The two elves didn't respond with words, but the subtle, immediate tightening of their postures was a confession in itself. Larethil’s knuckles went white on his daggers, and Anariel’s jaw cle...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #30

Author's note: please keep in mind that I have a terrible fever, and a lung burning cough today, so this chapter might not be up to bar.

...

It didn't take long to find Echo. She was a little way off the path, crouched contentedly over the mangled remains of a snowshoe hare, crunchin...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #29

Larethil stopped a respectful few paces in front of Torin, his practiced smile faltering only slightly as he took in the young man's thunderous expression. Clearly, the direct approach wasn't welcome.

He smoothly shifted his attention to the more neutral—or at least, less openly hostileâ€...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #28

Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus;

Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs;

For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land.

Torin muttered the inscription under his breath, a faint frown of concentratio...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #27

Torin opened his eyes and immediately winced, squinting against the low, golden glare of the morning sun. As his vision adjusted, he became aware of a warm, heavy weight pinning his thigh. He looked down, and a slow, soft smile spread across his face.

Echo was curled up beside him, fast asl...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #26

The night air was cold enough to see your breath, but the campfire Torin had built at the edge of Ivarstead fought back the chill with a determined crackle.

He sat on a fallen log, absently poking the embers with a stick while Echo snuffled contentedly at a bowl of table scraps he’d manag...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #25

Seven hours later, the crisp evening air of the White River valley was filled with the scent of damp earth and pine. They had made camp a respectful distance from the shadow of a ruined watchtower that stood sentinel over a bend in the river, its crumbling silhouette a stark black against the dee...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #24

One week later, Torin stood in the center of Jorrvaskr's training yard, the air crisp with the promise of a new skill. Before him stood a weathered archery target, its straw-filled belly a testament to countless practice shots.

Beside him, a small table held a dozen bone-tipped arrows, thei...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #23

As Torin stepped into the mead hall, he managed only a few paces before he froze, a reaction mirrored perfectly by Aela and the twins. The sight before them was not what they had expected.

Standing before the hearth was Kodlak, his presence a familiar comfort. But flanking him was another m...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #22

Four months later, the air in Whiterun felt different. It was still the same city, with the same smells of baking bread and forge-smoke, but a new, poisonous tension had taken root. Torin sat on the stone steps of Jorrvaskr, his gaze fixed on the plaza below. His eyes, usually alight with curiosi...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #21

The great wooden gates of Whiterun loomed before them, a familiar barrier between the wilds and the city's ordered life. Torin’s back was laden with their spoils—bundled weapons and the small chest of coin—and nestled carefully against his chest, swaddled in a spare cloak, was the still-sle...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #20

Inside the cramped, damp cave near the White River, a man named Rorik watched in abject horror as the last of his men was crushed. The wet, final thud of the warhammer was followed by a silence more terrifying than any scream.

Only ten minutes ago, he had been asleep, lul...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #19

Torin woke with a groan, his body protesting the hard ground. He blinked up at the sky, where Masser and Secunda hung like twin specters, bathing the world in a pale, silvery light.

Countless stars speckled the void between them.

"Goddamn Aela and that deer," he muttered under his bre...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #18

Crouched behind a large, moss-covered boulder, Aela and Torin observed their quarry. The massive brown bear lay in a sun-drenched clearing, its sides rising and falling in a deep, contented slumber. Its failure to find proper shelter only solidified Aela's theory; this was a displaced creature, d...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #17

The morning sun dappled through the ancient branches of the Gildergreen as Aela made her way toward Jorrvaskr, her stride purposeful.

Her thoughts were already on the contract—a simple beast hunt near the White River, a welcome bit of straightforward work. But as her boots hit the first s...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #16

The air in Jorrvaskr’s training yard was still, charged with anticipation. Torin stood with his feet planted, his warhammer and heavy shield held in a ready guard.

His expression was a mask of intense concentration, his gaze locked on Vilkas.

The older Companion stood opposite him, ...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #15

Okay, yeah, I felt a little guilty about that.

Walking back into my room, I couldn't shake the image of Vignar’s face. The guy just got back from fighting a war, probably dreaming of a hero’s welcome and a future where he kicked the Thalmor all the way back to their fancy islands.

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #14

Four parts amused and six parts deeply apprehensive, Torin closed the book. 

'So even Alteration, which I thought would be the safer, more academic option, can get you killed if you don't know what you're doing,' he mused.

The story's purpose, however, was to instil...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #13

One year later, Torin sat in a quiet corner of Jorrvaskr's mead hall, the usual clamor of training and camaraderie a distant backdrop to his focus.

His brow was furrowed in a mixture of concentration and frustration as he stared at the book in his hands: Breathing Water.