The Elder Scrolls - Zaneta's Chronicles: Part One: Vvardenfell

By A. L. Zuniga

Zaneta, an extraordinarily unique Khajiit living on the island of Vvardenfell, has her peaceful world turned upside down when her family—the most important part of her life—is violently attacked. With her husband murdered and her children missing, Zaneta makes the courageous decision to go after them herself. Traversing across a country full of political turmoil and on the brink of an unknown epidemic, Zaneta presses on to discover where her loved ones have been taken. Her magic, skills, and morals are pushed to their breaking point as she struggles to hang on to the very foundation of who she is. But when it comes to her children, she'll do whatever it takes to find them—no matter the consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Jul 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9798892179881

Book preview

Chapter One

In late spring of the year 427, in the Third Era, Žaneta Dreyga was working in her forge, hammering the steel as it glowed from the fire’s heat. She dunked it in the bucket of water at her side and began sharpening the blade on a grinding wheel. Her brilliant eyes shone in the firelight, as sparks flew where the wheel met metal, before she slid the blade back into the hot coals. She went to two large tubs of water, one on each end of a large carry rod, then, as she placed the rod over her head and onto her shoulders, she lifted the tubs with her extremely powerful legs. Returning to the forge with them, she carefully lowered one side then the other. Continuing her work, hammering and filing, she wiped her brow.

Scale back to the streets and buildings of Balmora, and the location is set. Although she worked in the city as a smith, her homestead lay to the south. At her home, her family was a few miles from town, going about their own days. Her spouse, Sandrew, was chopping wood, while the children sat on the porch and watched their father as the two of them talked and smiled.

Across the vastly different lands of Vvardenfell, unique races carried out their daily traditions and tasks, just as they would any other day. Off the coast, to the west of Balmora, an Argonian—an intelligent race of human-like reptiles—threw his fishing net in a large cast over the water while his young son watched. Happy to have him nearby looking on and proud he showed interest, he placed his hand on the boy’s left cheek, giving him a warm smile. Spanning over the center of the island, far over the mountains by the eastern shores, a Dunmer sorcerer was beginning an incantation over the surface of a table to introduce his daughter to the arts. The Dunmer, or Dark Elves, share nearly the same characteristics as humans, only differing in their skin tone—a dark gray ash color—the taller points on the tips of their ears, and their red eyes. Just as he built the energy and signaled his daughter to attempt to cast her spell, a large, thick plume of smoke exploded from the tower window, the sight of which was a common occurrence in the area, where magic was practiced often. The sorcerer stood and waved back and forth, trying to clear the smoke, to find his daughter sitting below the windowsill, coughing and gasping for air as the fog dissipated.

He looked down at her and smiled, extending his hand to help her up as she grabbed for his.

Back in Balmora, hammering the hot blade on her anvil, Žaneta’s strong, muscular form was silhouetted against the flames of her forge. Khajiit are magnificent creatures naturally, but even among their race, there are some who possess a beauty that captures the attention of all who meet them—Žaneta was this mold that’s spoken of. The human-sized creatures share more in common with cats than they do people. But they, like humans, learn to adapt to their environments, speak different languages, and practice different trades… all while having claws, better hearing, and exceptional sight in the dark.

But her day of work was at an end, and she prepared to head home. She placed another finished blade into the sword rack, removed her apron, and gathered her things for the short journey.

At their cottage, Sandrew had gathered wood for dinner and to warm their home during the cool night to come. Volunteering the children for help, he yelled to them, Tai! Mazira!

After a few moments, their youngest, Mazira, poked her head around the edge of the house. Yes, Daddy? Her innocence was as captured in the sweet treble of her voice as it was in her appearance.

Would you and your brother like to help me bring in firewood? he asked.

But before she could turn around to fetch him, Tai bounded around the side of the house, stepping off the deck behind his sister. Sure thing, Dad. He swaggered forward, always acting confident and capable of any chore.

These children were quite striking themselves, and Sandrew, a Redguard, was a large, muscular man who stood taller than most people on the island. Redguards (or Yokudan) are dark-skinned humans who hail from the mainland, in the far western province of Hammerfell—an arid country that has a variety of climates, ranging from enormous deserts to beautiful grasslands and mountain ranges. Nearly all Redguards share characteristics common among the race, characteristics that make life in the desert sun and arid region more suitable. His skin tone was dark brown, along with his eyes. His hair was short, thick, and black in color, and he had a thin, dark mustache accenting his upper lip. Despite his large size, he spoke with a commanding calmness, a calmness that masked his unnerving history where, decades ago, he had left Hammerfell in search of a life that showed more promise, away from the fighting and dangers that seemed to be prevalent there, only to trade them for others after finding his way into Elsweyr as a young man. But he’d considered himself blessed above all else. It was those choices that put him in union with Žaneta.

Tai bolstered all the traditional Khajiit traits. He was ashen gray with patterns of black scattered over his body, and he shared his mother’s eyes—a mesmerizing, soft gold with a green hue around the center and edges in the right, and a sapphire blue left, both a backdrop to their elliptical pupils.

He was nearly ten years old. Mazira resembled a light-skinned Redguard, but with long, dark hair like her mother’s. Side by side, no one would guess Žaneta was her mother if it weren’t for those eyes.

The five-year-old had the bewitching gaze of both her mom and brother.

Together, the children carried the firewood in, with Sandrew giving the two of them only minor loads, just to give them the chance to be involved. As evening crept closer, the fire popped under the pot of stew that Sandrew was preparing, while he diced up a few remaining carrots. Another fire was going near the living area, where the kids sat on the rug and played—Tai, with his little toy knight, and Mazira, with a doll dressed in the garb of royalty—when suddenly, and expectedly, noise from one particular board on the deck creaked, as it always did when anyone stepped on it.

The family didn’t even avoid it anymore as they climbed the step. It was sort of like a knock on the door, announcing that one of the family had returned home. When they heard it, Tai and Mazira gave each other excited glances before turning toward the door, waiting for their mother to come inside.

Žaneta entered, removed her brown, hooded cloak, and hung it on a hook behind the door. Her remaining garb was a green, knee-high, denim fabric that was open on both sides of her legs. It was sewn at the waist up with a tan hide and fabric combination, supported by straps over the shoulders. The satchel she normally wore laid against the rear of her right hip with its thick leather straps resting on her left shoulder. Her ancestry was an obvious influence on her height. Her digitigrade legs were one of the physical features all too common among Khajiit, along with her lower shins and ankles being wrapped in leather bindings with an open toe, providing relief for her paw-like feet.

Žaneta herself was covered in dark brown and tan fur. Starting from her upper chest, though, she was mostly a dark tan with beautiful, white markings on her neck and face. They traced around her eyes and down to the corners of her mouth, with spotted areas on her cheeks and forehead, and one thin, white line that came down the center of her brow to the bridge of her nose.

Though her appearance was elegant, the people of Balmora knew her from the way she towered over anyone she met. Her stature was immense, and most men she passed, no matter the race, had to look up to have a conversation with her. She stood several inches taller than Sandrew, while most Khajiit are usually shorter than humans, depending on the breed. Žaneta’s father was a Pahmar-raht, a very powerful breed of Khajiit that are smart and look to be about the same size as a Sabre Cat on two legs. Her mother was a Cathay-raht, also a larger breed, who are often referred to as jaguar men and are known for their extremely capable agility.

Dras’kay, greeted Sandrew, as the children said, Dras’kay, fado, saying hello to their mother in Ta’agra, her native language. Mazira and Tai ran up to Žaneta and hugged onto her leg and waist. She returned their love then walked to the flowing water trough sink they’d made, which let the water source come through their kitchen from the outside stream.

She washed her hands and dried them with a towel hanging by the oven. Walking by Sandrew, who was stirring dinner, she softly brushed his cheek with her hand then sat at the table. The kids joined her at their places. As it grew dark outside, it was time to eat and then make ready for bed. Tomorrow they could share the day together; Sandrew wouldn’t be at his sawmill that day, as the mill needed a new saw blade that Žaneta would forge when she returned to work the day after.

The morning came, noted by songbirds from the nearby creek. Sandrew was already fishing while the others slept in. He was having a moment to himself where his thoughts took him to over ten years ago, back when he and Žaneta were leaving the mainland due to war and the strange events that made rivalries flare, which later became known specifically as The Warp in the West. The chaos had driven Žaneta’s mother and father to insist the two of them try for a life where war was not at their doorstep.

Sandrew was snapped back to consciousness by Tai’s, Good morning, Dad.

Thoughtfully, he replied, Good morning, son. In the distance, Žaneta and Mazira were standing on the house deck talking, and Sandrew smiled, pleased with what his life had become.

The afternoon came. They packed a