Status: To be updated sporadically, as I feel like it
Dovahkiinne
Never been one to follow the crowd anyways; so what if this isn't a band fic? It's still fanfiction, sweet Skyrim-y fanfiction. And if in doing so I end up getting trampled, I beseech you: remember me as a man, mortal and fallible. Also, it is Bethesda who owns the Elder Scrolls series. I'm just tainting their lore a little. Anyways, epic disclaimer aside, onto the explanation! Read somewhere that the dragonborn were predisposed to insanity. This is me taking my little bastard (literary definition!) head-canon and running all the freaking way across Tamriel.
Man is weak. Mortal life fades. Mortal bodies wither and flesh melts away in the stream of time. Dovah are strong. Unending. We have been and we will be. Man is and will not be. How should one fragile, ill-designed body house the great spirit of a dovah?
Or in which there are three dovahkiin, and Skyrim still needs saving.
Rating subject to change. There'll be cursing, killing, dragons, charred corpses, daedric princes (oh yes I am so going there) and all sorts of happy civil war madness. There will also be homosexuality and beast-people having relations, if those squick you. Nothing explicit because hell naw am I writing a porno.
Another warning: this is my first Mibba story, ergo any flaws can and should be pointed out. Please, for the love of my waning sanity, critique this puppy. I want it to be beautiful, and therefore I'm going to expect you guys to be merciless. How else does one improve, if not through reflection and systematic elimination of flaws?
Title comes from what I approximate would be the plural of dovahkiin (dragonborn). A semi-working knowledge of the game is necessary to understand this fic.
Man is weak. Mortal life fades. Mortal bodies wither and flesh melts away in the stream of time. Dovah are strong. Unending. We have been and we will be. Man is and will not be. How should one fragile, ill-designed body house the great spirit of a dovah?
Or in which there are three dovahkiin, and Skyrim still needs saving.
Rating subject to change. There'll be cursing, killing, dragons, charred corpses, daedric princes (oh yes I am so going there) and all sorts of happy civil war madness. There will also be homosexuality and beast-people having relations, if those squick you. Nothing explicit because hell naw am I writing a porno.
Another warning: this is my first Mibba story, ergo any flaws can and should be pointed out. Please, for the love of my waning sanity, critique this puppy. I want it to be beautiful, and therefore I'm going to expect you guys to be merciless. How else does one improve, if not through reflection and systematic elimination of flaws?
Title comes from what I approximate would be the plural of dovahkiin (dragonborn). A semi-working knowledge of the game is necessary to understand this fic.