Chapter Text
“This is not a burden you should have to bear at all…”
Amongst the thick trees and neverending green live the Bosmer. Valenwood brims with life from the roots to the spiraling foliage, the Wood Elves call these ancient forests home. This race of mer holds a deep connection with nature. Cities and villages are easily mistaken for the lush landscape at first glance.
It was the 12th day of Heat’s Song in the year 417 of the 4th Era. The night was quiet and the moon was full. Mira Ashryver sat at home waiting for her parents.
“Again, it is still your turn,” Celdrin huffed, annoyed. Her brother was four years her elder. They shared the same slightly upturned nose, heart shaped face, and high set cheekbones. The Bosmer genes ran strong.
As if unaware, “Oopsies, I thought it would be nice to prolong the game seeing that I always win anyways”, she gently responded.
“And I’m supposed to pretend that I did not see you shift your hands underneath the table?” His patience was thinning.
Starry pupils glimmered among the deep green meadows of her irises, “Exactly! You should turn a blind eye.”
Celdrin ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. He leaned back in his chair and propped one foot on his other knee, “Never change, sister.”
The front door flew open, bottles of rotmeth clattered throughout the shelves. Their parents had finally returned from the moot. A voice pierced the air, “They wish to take over all of Mystriel! This is just the beginning.”
“We will do something about this, with due time.” A deep, even-tempered voice reassured.
Her brother sat up straight, “Mother, Father, I take it the moot did not go well?”
“My children, the rumors have proven to be true. It seems the Altmer have been behind the recent pillagings,” their father stated.
Their mother’s voice now came bittersweet, “and murders! Who is to say we are not next?”
With the back of his head now rested against his palms, Celdrin asked, “Why would the High Elves care to come to Valenwood? They should be perfectly content in the Summerset Isles.”
Aedionir and Aurelina Ashryver were both highly regarded in their tree village. Their father spent much of his life advocating for the Bosmer. He often hosted cultural exchanges for those traveling from other provinces. From a young age, their mother was gifted with powerful magic and intuition. As a spinner of Y’ffre, she possessed the ability to move entire cities, rearrange trees, and sprout saplings. Spinners are known as the storytellers of the Bosmer, upholding their values and way of life.
Bosmer are the most common race of mer due to their strong fertility, reproducing similarly to rabbits. It was typical for a family to have a dozen kids. Mira’s entrance into the world came with complications. Her mother labored for days in terrible pain, the midwives had never seen anything like it. Mira finally arrived on the 13th day of Sun’s Dawn in the year 400 of the 4th Era. Aurelina was unable to conceive again after birthing Mira. In the other known continent, Krathmalaur, it is a commonly believed superstition that the number four brings misfortune and bad luck.
Aurelina began to braid Mira’s hair. As she did, her fingers made way to a playful pinch on the tip of her pointed ear, just to be sure that she was listening.
Mira took the hint, “Yes, shouldn’t they be satisfied? They are already isolated from the rest of The Empire. Don’t they have buildings made entirely of glass? It seems so very different from Valenwood. Perhaps I will travel there one day, see for myself.”
Aurelina’s voice softened, “My dearest, the only Bosmer in the Summerset Isles are treated like dogs.”
“Hmph, arf.” Mira mocked, arms now crossed over her body. Her dark brown eyebrows knitted together, “They have no right to act so high and mighty. History should not repeat itself.”
Aedionir gently announced, “Let us all get some rest. We are to reconvene tomorrow.”
***
The sunrise was always the prettiest after a full moon. Dusk arrived and Mira prepared to venture out to her favorite pond. Bow and quiver on her back, dagger hung against her hip bone, preserved meats tucked in her knapsack, she was all set for a wondrous day. The Bosmer girl made her way through the dew-kissed fields outside of her village.
The moon and the sun both filled the sky, like two souls who promised to always be together. On her walk she took note of a family of rabbits following her. Each time she turned her head back, they stopped in their tracks. Next to a pond were bushels of lilies, lavenders, and berries. As Mira prepared to enjoy her snack, one of the rabbits sweetly said, “Hmm. We were right to follow you.” From the tenderness and authority in her voice, this was likely the mother rabbit. Her bunnies took interest in the fallen tree trunks nearby. After her final bite of dried beef, Mira helped the family set up their new home.
Time passed quickly that day. Bent down so that she was face to face with the bunnies, Mira whispered, “I suppose you can handle the rest.” Her delicate pink lips formed into a smile. She made haste, remembering that her parents did not want her out after sunset due to the recent marauds.
First she smelled the smoke. Then came the ash. Her footsteps picked up. Danger invaded her bones, “What has happened here…” On her village signpost was a sigil, a gold phoenix with its wings spread, the sun rising behind it. Mira recognized this as the sigil paraded by the faction of Altmer who were terrorizing the Bosmer, the Thalmor. Two bodies were placed at the village entrance for display, serving as a warning and proof of prize.
Her stomach became an endless pit, her heart now in a freefall. “Mother? Father?” The bodies of Aedionir and Aurelina were lifeless, their throats slit open. At this realization, Mira took in her surroundings. Their village had been set on fire. The Thalmor had come and decimated her home. A body against a tree. She blinked through the tears, refocusing her vision.
“A survivor?” Mira rushed over to the person that appeared to be standing. Horrified at the sight, she recognized this to be Celdrin. He had been struck in the belly with a sword, staked into a tree. It took all her might to pull the blade out. Tears streamed down her face as reality settled in.
For a Bosmer to be sent to the afterlife required burial by family, or enemy. Mira stood 5 feet and 4 inches; she was tall for a wood elf but lacked brute strength. Where the grass was not burnt she placed her parents and brother together. She made sure that soil covered their wounds, several flowers and roots still intact. It was not a proper burial, but it was the best she could provide.
“Goodbye, mother, father, brother. Until we meet again,” the young Bosmer hummed over and over in a tune through the weeping as she sent her family to the immortal plane, Aetherius.
Mira took a final look at her ashened home. She was no longer the same girl who had left that morning in search of extra whimsy. For just one moment her green eyes darkened into an endless void, the stars in her pupils shined brighter than ever; determined to find the people who did this. Wisps of black smoke emanated from her body, and with it came rage and despair.
The young Bosmer set off for her revenge.