Your Hands Only is a new weekly(ish) feature in which our author, by way of correspondence, will share authorial insights into her creative process as she attempts to finish this epic disaster. She will attempt to keep spoilers to a minimum but there will be some so proceed with caution. Readers are welcome to submit questions and letters to email@example.com. Queries may also be left in the comments. Continue reading
This chapter picks up from here.
Trygve was only too happy to be back in the Rift. One night in Ivarstead with Gwilin, a chipper and garrulous Bosmer with whom Trygve maintained occasional intimate contact, changed his calmly stoic (some would say smug) demeanor into outright, albeit subdued, delight. Also, the tables were turning on the events that happened in the Pale and Elspeth could no longer hold the disintegration of her relationship against him. Continue reading
“So…um…do you think he looks like me?” Though he had no reason to believe that Lydia would be unkind, he was still apprehensive.
It looks like a baby.
Oh, but that was unfair. She loved babies, and while this whole situation was unexpected and a bit overwhelming, there was no reason for her to be cold. She let out a deep breath and took a closer look at the swaddled infant. “Maybe, a little?”
“Just a little?” He grimaced a little before offering an agreeable shrug. “You’re probably right.”
Lydia sat next to him on the bed. “When Balgruuf’s children were born, all three of them looked exactly like him. It was almost creepy, his face on a baby.” She paused for a moment, not quite certain if she should continue in this vein. “Does he look like his mother?”
“Would be a terrible person if I wasn’t sure?” When Lydia gasped, he shook his head. “No, it’s just, he looks so squished and red and wrinkled. And she didn’t look like that.”
At this, Lydia couldn’t help but chuckle. “I understand.”
“I hope he does you know, look like her,” he continued. “Not for my sake, but for his.”
Anyone who has been following this story knows that Pyrelle is my most devoted and enthusiastic reader. His comments inspire and motivate me, and on numerous occasions he has offered creative support and helped me develop ideas.
Well, it turns out that in addition to being a good friend and hilarious writer, he is an AMAZING artist. Tonight I opened my email and found these waiting for me. To say I am touched and inspired and excited about these is such an understatement. I may have cried a little. And it took me a few moments to remember to turn the caps lock off.
Thank you! Thank you so much for these!!! Continue reading
(This chapter contains adult themes.)
“Pah WERID, all praise… SONaaN LUNERIO, blah blah” Elspeth was studying the wall, muttering the words when Lydia sidled up next to her.
“Can you read all of that now?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Elspeth shook her head and looked at her friend slightly askance. Since leaving the college, she had fallen silent again, much like when they left Whiterun for High Hrothgar. Except this time Lydia was no longer wallowing in the depths of despair. Though it was apparent to Elspeth that she was purposely turning inward, she dared not ask why. Things were already awkward enough. Continue reading