Elder Scrolls Breton Novels & Stories

They keep coming. Elen stands beside me, hands raised, chanting in a language I don’t fully understand. It may be Windborne tongue which is probably as old as the earth I'm standing on. The air answers him, forming spears of pressure that tear through Boundless shadows. Ezra leads the front, his blade drawn and his shirt torn at the sleeve. He moves like the battlefield is his stage in a graceful and bloody manner. A Boundless brute charges. I drop the shield for a split second and slam my fist into the earth. Lightning crashes from the sky, splitting the beast in two.

Brent made a pleasant sound as he peeled back the candy paper, noting Elisa's changing expression with his afterglow, "Try licking it?" "No!" Brent's last three words seemed like a bomb, causing Elisa to scream in horror.

I sat down on the pillow and she sat across from me. The first man on the scroll went by the name Lyrien. Lyrien was a brooding, loyal knight who according to what's stated here had some deep connections with Eldrador. I don't think that I have seen him before but he was selected to represent one of the four elements: Earth. The second man was Caspien, a calm and enigmatic healer with the power to control tides and he represented the water. He was from the Asttland kingdom far away from here.

From the corner of my eye, Ronan leaned lazily against a pillar, as if this were nothing but entertainment. But his eyes; sharp, watchful—never left Eros. It felt like he wanted Eros to, well, lose. Elara still stood Darren, her hand grazing his arm in a way that made my chest tighten with disgust. She smiled at me sweetly and stylishly removed her hands for his, when she caught me looking, but I could see the malice hiding in the curve of her lips. Kellen unrolled a scroll, his voice sharp as he continued, “No killing shall be permitted. Allies may be chosen, but betrayal is no sin. The forest is fair judge, fair enemy, fair witness.”

But he looked for signs of what he would need to ready himself. “Set Ignis!” One of the Elders casted. “Extinguo!” Bradford cast back. “Hedera crescente” another Elder cast. “Hedera Mors” Bradford cast back. “Aer magicae rosa” another Elder cast. “Aer magicae extinguitur.” Bradford returned. “Implere pulmonem auqa” another Elder cast. “Exalant extra aquam.” Bradford cast back.

I reached for his hand, finding it, letting our fingers intertwine. Eldric’s eyes flicked to our joined hands. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “Wise,” he murmured. “The bond you share will either protect or endanger you. But it is… rare.” He let his gaze drift to the rest of the pack. “Prepare yourselves. Those who come next will not negotiate. The Netherborne were merely scouts. The real storm is approaching. I came because even the Crownless cannot face what’s coming without allies.”

“By the side door. I think you need it more than he does.” Kaelan moved instantly, stepping between Althea and the stranger, his hand going to his sword hilt. “Who are you?” The girl didn’t flinch. She lowered her hood, revealing a face that was sharp, intelligent, and etched with a deep, enduring bitterness. She was young, perhaps twenty, but her eyes were older. “Elara,” she said. “My father was Captain Arlen of the Silver Morn.” The name hit Kaelan like a physical blow. He took a step back. Althea saw his shoulders tense, the color drain from his face. “Arlen,” he repeated, the word heavy with guilt.

They began to graze near the edges of the settlement, their obsidian antlers catching the light of the geothermal fires. "The 'Wild Breath' isn't an enemy," Elara said, standing on the porch of the longhouse as a stag moved peacefully through the mist. "It’s the rhythm we’ve been looking for. We aren't the Architects of this world. We’re just the guest players."

Aldergon Graniel clutched his satchel closer to his chest as he and Eliad stepped from the small boat onto Limdrion's main boardwalk. The planks beneath his feet seemed to shift slightly with each step, damp from the constant mist that rose from the canals below. His pristine white robes, so practical and dignified in the clean, dry halls of the Sylvanae Archive, now felt like beacons announcing his foreignness in this twilight realm of dark wood and blue-glowing lanterns.

He gave Elder Brent to a guard and walked forward. “Maybe they're asleep.” Elora replied. “No,” Damon sniffed the air. He scrunched up his face in disgust. “Do you smell that?” He asked Elora and she sniffed the air too. “It smells like…” She trailed off and her eyes widened. “Blood.” They said at the same time. Before they could react, Elder Brent screamed. They turned, and their eyes widened at what they saw. Elder Brent was on his knees with a sword buried into his chest. They looked at the guard that was holding him, and he too was shocked.