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 firstname.lastname@example.org. Queries may also be left in the comments. Continue reading
Xeri was incredulous that they were going through all this trouble for a single Nord. It’s not that she had anything against Nords, but the Thalmor had lots of prisoners and Xeri couldn’t help but wonder what was so special about this one who was neither a Blade nor a university mage. She was a priest of Talos, one of the many gathered from Imperial City and one of the few who refused to renounce their devotion to the now banned Divine. Most had chosen to save their own skins, knowing that their work would simply go on in secret. But not this one. And the fact that she’d so readily refused to save her own life made Xeri suspicious. Continue reading
Come to me, Kynareth, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in error, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures.
~ Pocket Guide to the Empire, 3rd Edition
“I’m the innkeeper. It’s my business to keep track of strangers.”
Xeri was about to tell the irritable and anxious Breton exactly what she could do about her business when Nerussa sidled up and shoved a tankard of ale into her hand. “Please excuse my friend,” she said, scowling at Xeri, “we’ve had a very long day. And I can assure you, we’re leaving in a couple of hours.”
Before Xeri could protest, Nerussa gripped her arm and dragged her to a table on the other side of the tavern and away from the curious eyes of the innkeeper. “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?” she asked as they settled into their chairs.
The Dunmer ignored this question and gestured to the papers that Nerussa was pulling out of her bag. “Have you translated that scroll yet?” Continue reading
In your tales you have many names for her: Al-Esh, given to her in awe, that when translated sounds like a redundancy, “the high high,” from which come the more familiar corruptions: Aleshut, Esha, Alessia. You knew her as Paravant, given to her when crowned, “first of its kind,” by which the gods meant a mortal worthy of the majesty that is killing-questing-healing.”
~Morihaus from The Adabal-a
“You know how much I love Skyrim, really and truly,” said Xeri, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “but shouldn’t this ritual take place in Imperial City where—at least, where the statue of St. Alessia once stood?” She frowned and pulled her cloak tightly as she looked around the snow-covered clearing. Continue reading