So I figured I should add an occasional story just so I’m not constantly writing dialogue. These tales will focus on characters who for whatever reason will not be included in Interesting NPCs, nor can they be included as books as they are involved in current events.

I realize it is Monday and I don’t have an update this week, although I did finish another quest. As it’s part of a questline, there’s no point releasing it until all the parts are finished. Hopefully 2.43 will be fully voiced before then, depending on the availability of the voice actors, but they are a capricious lot. In any case, here is the first volume of a series on Anum-La’s companion, Indrel, I hope to make this a thing.

This story contains minor spoilers for the quest Honor’s Calling:

The Chronicles of Indrel, Vol. 1

ndrel should have been a thief the way the shadows fit her like a glove. Moon-Tail once called her a compass, because when she napped in the trees that gnarled out of the swamp, her feet always managed to point north.

North is where the others were, at the end of the world, and it couldn’t have been far enough. Indrel was never good with numbers, but she understood the arithmetic. The Honorable Eight had been whittled down to five. Speaking with Dalum-Ei did little to assuage her suspicions that it would eventually stop at one.

Yet for all her suspicions, the Bosmer was incapable of worry. Or rather, she was unable to put forth the effort. So long as they knew to suspect the bard, Elia, Dalum-Ei, and the Swamp Knight could take care of themselves. Satisfied, she crumpled into the shade and stopped short of breathing a deep sigh, before reminding herself she wasn’t in Black Marsh anymore. Three days beyond the border, and the air no longer felt like syrup in her lungs. It felt good to breathe.

Two birds circled overhead, wings spread, gliding weightlessly over the trees. Licking her fingers, the Bosmer silently drew an arrow from her quiver. She never liked to wear gloves. Even in the winter, she preferred to keep her hands naked. If the bow was an extension of her body, then she wanted it touching her flesh like a bone.

The arrow dropped the bird like a lump of iron. Indrel sighed again. Her eyes could count the spears of a nightshade fifty paces away, but her mind was always failing to look ahead. Here was another example. She had slain her breakfast, only to realize she was too lazy to climb down and retrieve it.

The Bosmer yawned as a pack of wolves sniffed out her kill. If Dalum-Ei were here, he would laugh and shake his head. With the Honorable Eight, everything was planned, mapped out, and accounted for.  By herself, Indrel traveled the road with her eyes half closed. This journey was no different. All she knew was that someone had sent her a purse of gold, and a promise of more.

Somewhere in Silvenar, there was a man waiting with a job.