“No,” Lyra said, planting herself and refusing to move, despite the fact that Bishop seemed determined to wrench her arm from its socket. “I’m not going. I refuse.”
The ranger chuckled. “You promised, princess,” he reminded her, the smug grin on his face saying he was taking great pleasure in doing so. “You wouldn’t break your word, would you?”…[Read more]
Maybe a week had passed when Lyra needed to make a stop into the closest city for supplies. The closest city was Whiterun, and, frustratingly, it was much too late at night for anything to be open.
She sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow, and stared at the empty marketplace. Pretty much all of Whiterun was devoid of life this late at night,…[Read more]
Lyra was used to attracting attention wherever she went. Not only because everyone somehow instinctively knew she was the Dragonborn, the legendary savior of Tamriel, but also because she…
…Well, because she wasn’t human.
Not in the way others weren’t—she wasn’t elven, or a Khajiit, or Argonian or an orc. She was none of those things.
“I’m just going to put it out there,” Bishop said, scrubbing a hand across his face, “that was painful.”
She had to agree. The “Prince of Song’s”, well, song, was indeed painful. Why she’d thought it a good idea, that was a mystery.
“He calls that singing?” he said, his voice betraying just how thoroughly annoyed he was. “Honestly! I could do…[Read more]