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keldjinfae · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday

Okay, so I got tagged again by @dear-massacre and, like, things have been a whirlwind of hectic at the moment, but I did manage to retool what I already had before for my "Wolfrim" (giggity) fic. I figured this can still count, as well as show how my brain works during the writing process--with the Sterek Reverse Bang right around the corner and some of its artists being mutuals of mine, I might as well let them know what they could be in for. Right?

A reworked opening scene from Life in a Northern Town:

The sharp crack of creaking hinges pierced through the slumbering stillness of the early morning, leaving an echo in its wake. Rather than attempt to minimize the noise as the door swung shut behind him, Stiles hurried beneath the dimming lights of the lamps lining the road. He still winced when the aged wood of the door finally closed with a muted bang, but by then he was already far enough along that he wouldn’t be visible from the lone window facing the street, so his father at least wouldn’t immediately pick up on where he was headed.

The village of Falkreath was known for its graveyard. Rather than an actual Hall of the Dead where the deceased citizens of Falkreath Hold were entombed, as was the custom in most parts of Skyrim, they instead joined the ranks of a large, sprawling cemetery. The resident priest of Arkay oversaw their burials and otherwise kept to his nearby home, where he held rites for the god of life and death, and led mourners in services for their departed loved ones.

Outside of the small hold capitol, the cemetery was nearly <i>all</i> that Falkreath was known for. The Pine Forest had legends of its own, and the old magic of the woods was often enough to spur wary travelers past the unassuming road leading to the village in their haste to break through the trees before nightfall. Those who were brave (or avaricious) enough to shrug off superstition and remain found that the villagers had long embraced its reputation, and that death had inevitably settled into their way of life.

From the innkeeper at Dead Man’s Drink to the alchemists selling poultices and poisons at Grave Concoctions, Falkreath’s citizens were well-practiced in attracting the business of the morbidly curious. Just like they were similarly adept at drawing their attention <i>away</i> from the mages who placed the wards on the graves that made sure the dead remained restful, or the men who dug the graves in the first place. Death may have been the village’s tourist trap, but the actual trappings of death were bad for business.

Which meant having to slip out of the house just before dawn and stumble down to the cemetery, still half-asleep, if Stiles wanted to catch up to Isaac before he was finished. The sounds of his trek were exaggerated by the isolated quiet of night, his feet crunching over grass and dirt made crisp by frost. In a little over an hour’s time, the sun would warm the earth just enough to clear away it all away, but a thick fog would quickly rise up in its place to loom over most of the hold like a burial shroud.

Stiles moved quickly from the row of street lamps along the main road, veering off into the dark without the need for carrying a torch. Just like most in the village, he was able to find his way along the well-traveled paths with the familiarity of someone who’d lived there his entire life. Despite knowing the way with his eyes closed, he’d only closed about half the distance to his destination before he was curling his hands together and blowing into them for warmth, already regretting not throwing on more clothes, regardless of his haste to leave without waking his father. He tucked his stinging fingers into his armpits, folding his arms tightly over his chest as he passed by the beginning of the long, stone wall dividing the cemetery from the rest of the village.

It wasn’t much longer after that he was able to make out the faint glow of a lantern in the distance. Isaac Lahey was tall even for a Nord, his head and arms popping up above the ground every few seconds while he drove a shovel down into the frozen earth. The weak light off to his side flickered within smudged glass, throwing him into almost grotesque relief.

Tagging @nerdherderette and @ephemeronidwrites, if they're currently working on something and they feel like sharing it.

#wip wednesday #fic #wolfrim

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