Still-Born Shout [#wattys2017]

Chapter One

Hello, all. Welcome to the first chapter of Still-Born Shout. I hope this is the beginning of a memorable journey for you.

Like I mentioned in the disclaimer, I also publish this story on a different fan-fiction website, so if you've seen it elsewhere, as long as it's under the same credentials, it is mine. 

I am new to Wattpad, and I'm really excited to have your support on this creative journey. If you enjoy the story, let me know! I appreciate feedback; it makes the writing process flow a little bit better. So, please, drop me a review!

Either way, thank you for taking the time to read this. Let's begin.

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Prologue

"Papa, tell me again."

The Dunmer sighed with exasperation at his son's incessant pleas. Those Nord legends were getting more and more far-fetched. Their silly superstitions had even captured the interest of his young son.

Well, if the boy will let me work, it may be worth it to just tell him the damn story, he thought to himself. He looked to his young son and allowed himself a smile; the boy's face lit up with excitement as he settled at his father's feet. The Dunmer did his best to recall the story's plot.

Those damn Nords and their superstitious nonsense, he thought.

"Not long ago," he began, remembering the words as he went. It was his son's favorite story. He should've known it by heart. "A child was born of two northern farmers. The woman was called Isa Green-Field and her husband was Hodarr Green-Field."

His son's eyes lit up, and warmth washed over his heart.

"When the child was born, they saw that it was a daughter, so they called her Sif, like the golden maiden of legends. But the child was not golden, and she was not breathing; her hair was black as midnight and her skin was as pale as moonstone. The farmers mourned their stillborn child and buried her deep underground. Isa Green-Field became Isa Cold-Womb."

Nord names were awfully straightforward, he thought. He sighed to himself and continued.

"The next morning, Isa Cold-Womb was awoken by a terrible wail. She came outside to find her stillborn child, alive, in a bed of straw. The child's grave-mound was undisturbed, yet she was risen from it."

His son's eyes were wide with anxiousness.

"The farmers' neighbors feared that Isa Cold-Womb and her husband had been calling upon the Daedra to resurrect their stillborn daughter. They chased the farmers and their pale child from their farm."

"Where did they go, Papa?" this son interrupted, suddenly. The Dunmer cleared his throat and continued.

"They went over mountains and crossed rivers, and it is said that their child's sudden silence sent a chill through the mountains that kept even the most wicked creatures at bay." That line almost made him shiver. "They fled Skyrim into Cyrodiil, Isa Cold-Womb's homeland. The farmers and their child were never seen again, but the chill of Sif Still-Born remains-"

"-beneath the Throat of the World." The Dunmer's son had finished the story himself. Thank the Divines, thought the Dunmer, as his son thanked him and began to scramble away.

I have work to do, the Dunmer thought. I cannot be worried about these silly tales. His wife, Methala, would keep their son entertained now that he had been told his stupid story.