#star-crossed niners (fanfic)

[alteredphoenix]

Holy hells, I thought I’d never get this done. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT, YA DAMN MUSE.

But uh, yeah, here’s that “Dragonborn accidentally murders Kharjo during a Forsworn attack and angsts so badly he goes back in time and hard resets it out of existence via Thu’um” fic that was inspired by an actual gameplay session I had as detailed in this post. Bonus points if you like your Dragonborn to be allied with the Imperial Legion and the Greybeards/Paarthurnax, too; they don’t really add anything to the story other than a brief appearance by Super Mario Paarthurnax at the end.

As of that particular post, I’ve managed to avoid offing Kharjo - or any of my companions - via manslaughter. For now.

[alteredphoenix]

So I think - I’m hoping - I’ll be able to get star-crossed niners out tomorrow at the earliest. I was banking on getting it out today but The Muse is reaching the point where they’re going to need to call it for the day (I surprisingly cranked out 1.3k words within a few hours, which is...pretty impressive but also kind of slow for me to churn out at a good rhythm).

Unless The Muse decides to get sidetracked or work decides to call me in after Xmas Day, I don’t anticipate this fic taking any longer than Tuesday to finish.

[alteredphoenix]

star-crossed niner (WIP)(Skyrim)

A/N: I have to bounce for work in a couple minutes so here’s a quick snippet I started last night, aka “That Fic Where I Accidentally Murdered Kharjo At Karthspire Camp Because He Ate A Fat Crit From My Stealth Archer Build ft. An Argonian Dovahkiin”.

-

It happens so fast he can scarcely breathe, and not just from the aim he was taking.

This is how life flashes before the Dovahkiin’s eyes when reality breaks open like a roc’s egg:

The Forsworn spot them trying to keep close to the outcroppings out on the bend of the road long before they have to dismount the horses at a safe location, and from where he stands Gam-Jei sees their shapes moving back and forth across the camp (Karthspire, he recalls, marked on the map) in preparation. A few ice shields go up, sunlight glancing off the solid pinpricks forming around them like a barrier of thorns.

Kharjo sees them, too, ears pinned flat against the back of the bear-shaped helmet. He’s already drawing his sword—ebony made, a lucky find on one of the bandits they’ve encountered in the Reach—out from its scabbard at his hip, wraps the claws of his other hand on the straps securing the shield to his forearm. “They know we come for Red Eagle’s Fury. The only way forward is through.”

Gam-Jei scowls. “Aw hells,” he hisses, but he’s unhooking the elven bow from its sling. “So much for going right past it. Stay close to the wall. I’ll pick the mages off one by one and we’ll push slowly north into the camp. Keep their frontliners off me. If we’re careful, they won’t reach the horses. Let’s go.”

“Khajiit will follow.”