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Saturday, September 1, 2012


The signs were troubling.
An aging man pored over the cracked plate of shredded leaves and crushed berries, mixed with bonemeal in a mortar and spread out over the surface of the clay. He had read the signs for years as they showed him coming storms, a successful hunt, a rot that would take many trees from the forests around the village. He listened to the words the wind carried to him, whispers of Imperial sails in the south and soft-handed men striding ashore, mutterings of the strife that wracked the great continent far below. But those things were far from them, and he paid them little mind.

But the smears on the plate stared up at him, clear as day to his practiced eye. A seedless snowberry with a split stem – strife, coming soon. Bonemeal absorbing the juice of the belladonna leaves, sucking them dry – fear. And at the top of it all, a great red circle of berry innards, a clean stroke that marked the moon.
The man took up his cane and stood slowly, leaning on the table for support as he rose unsteadily to his feet. With a grunt, he limped toward the door, taking his fur cloak off a hook and raising the hood over his pale hair. Outside, the sky was inky black, as if the stars had all been shaken off the dark cloth of the sky. Only the great moons lit the night, Secunda chasing his brother into the sky.
The shaman stared up at the moons as he limped through the wooden houses of the village to the snowy cliffside overlooking the sea. He stared up at the moons hanging in darkness, his brow furrowed and his eyes troubled. The stars had not been gone from the sky for many years. He had heard stories from ages past, but had never seen them so blatantly gone from Solstheim’s sky.
“Korst.” The shaman turned and saw another man standing behind him, is snowy hair long and braided and his eyes like chips of ice.
“Chieftain,” he replied, nodding his head as the white-haired man joined him on the cliff.
“You’ve been on edge as of late.”
“The winds bring me ill omens, Chieftain. I fear our time of peace is limited.” The Chieftain stared out over the cliff toward the sea, the icy breeze rifling his braids and his strong jaw set against the cold.
“I feared as such.” He paused. “Is it the settlers?”
“I can’t be sure. The signs aren’t yet clear.” The Chieftain sighed heavily.
“They will be soon, one way or another.” He turned, his boots crunching in the newfallen snow, leaving the shaman called Korst Wind-Eye standing alone on the cliff, staring up at the starless night.


  1. Yay, you're back! I like this prologue, an interesting perspective and some great imagery. I'm looking forward to seeing what you do with Bloodmoon, I don't think I've ever actually read a fanfic of it (let alone combined with Morrowind and Tribunal - so kudos!)

    1. Thanks! I enjoyed writing Bloodmoon, hopefully you'll enjoy reading it!