A Colorful Character (Anna)

Prompt: Purple

 Fair skin, while a good form of accidental camouflage in a snowstorm, is not the greatest thing to have in almost any other situation. Looking down I count the blue and purple marks that have appeared for one reason or another. Some are slowly fading while others are fresh and likely take at least a week to be completely gone. Looking in the mirror I find myself wishing I had a dress with a higher collar. “You’re a more colorful character than usual this morning.” Farkas says to me while sitting at the small side table drinking a cup of coffee, smirking to himself as he knows the reason. Looking back at him from the mirror I give him a look that silently says “And it’s all your fault.” though that isn’t entirely true. Some of these are older bruises from accidentally walking into things, or that time last week where I stepped the wrong way and fell down the stairs. While distracted looking at the array of purple marks I hear a noise and suddenly feel something hit my head, or in more accurate terms, land on it. My vision is ever so briefly eclipsed by some sort of fabric and taking it off my head I find it’s a shirt. Looking back in the mirror I find Farkas had moved over to the wardrobe while I wasn’t looking, he can be very sneaky when he wants to, and I still don’t know how. He is an enigma in many ways, most of them relating to whatever thoughts go on in that head of his that are never verbalized. It’s a shame he rarely agrees to help with picking locks, he’s quite good at it. If he weren’t a warrior, and had less of a moral compass, he’d make a fairly good thief. Inspecting the shirt I find it’s not one of mine, but one of his, a silent way of saying I can borrow it. It’s the least one could do, or almost the least, but I appreciate it. He made some of the purple marks, including the rather obvious one on my neck, might as well help to cover them up. Having changed into the shirt and a simple black skirt with a pair of shorts underneath, and one can never be too prepared for the unsavory in Riften, the day can go on without issue. Before we leave for the day another thing plops on my head unexpectedly. I’m a bit confused at first, thinking to myself that I don’t have any unusual marking on my head, until I realize it’s a hat. At least it’s a nice hat. “Are you implying I burn?” I ask as the door is held open, then closed and locked behind us. “Only as easily as you bruise.” is the answer I get. Based on my current state covered in purple splotches slowly turning yellow I think that could be taken as an insult…though it’s not an inaccurate one.

Always Get Back Up (Kit)

 Always get back up (prompt: “get back up you’re embarrassing yourself”) 

Going flying across the room and landing flat on my back against the hard mats and harder floor wasn't how I’d originally planned to start my morning. Parts of my body hurt that I didn’t know were physically capable of hurting. “Get back up, you’re embarrassing yourself.” is the only acknowledgement I get from the old master who sits watching. I double check that I’m not bleeding or anything while catching my breath before hauling myself to my feet. Grabbing the sparring staff from where it had landed I remark that “I’m fine, nothing's broken, thank you for asking.” all I get in response is a noise that signals I’m on thin ice as it is, and not to push it. Yuuri stands on the other side of the sparring mat, patiently waiting for me to gather my wits before we spar again. Why the insistence on staff sparring practice and other techniques for everyone I’ll never understand. I suppose it does build character, and teaches one to always get back up- either for the purposes of self preservation to avoid embarrassment, or more practically to avoid getting killed while prone. Still, I don’t enjoy it, my skills are much more suited for appearing and disappearing unnoticed and quick close encounters. Aside from learning resilience, and the many places that can ache immensely the day after, this doesn’t accomplish much, for me at least. Yuuri, I suppose, finds it beneficial, unfortunately for me- I just get my ass kicked. Such is the way of a typical Tuesday.

Character Reference: Carter "Kit" Oneil

 Full name: Carter “Kit” O’Neil 

Languages spoken: Breton, Dunmeri, Common

Birthday: May 21st 3E 402

Age: 25

Height: 5’3”

Weight: 120

Eye color: blue-green

Hair color: Blonde

Race: Breton

Significant other: Yuuri Seki

Children: none

Class: rogue

Profession: member of the thieves guild 

Gender: male

Gender expression: masculine

Pronouns: he/him

Sexual Orientation: Gay

Romantic Orientation: Homoromantic

Known disabilities: ADHD mixed type

Siblings: none

Parents: unknown

Current Residence: Seki household, Morrowind

Aliases/ Also Known As: Kit, Kitten, Kitty-cat

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Twenty Six: The Space Between (Abigail)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Between (a character discovers a secret door in an otherwise ordinary place) 

This is fascinating! Who knew you could engineer stone to move in such a way that pressing a button causes it to pull back and reveal a secret passage? I certainly didn’t, and especially not in such a seemingly ordinary place like a cemetery. Though, I guess, having secret doors in a place like this would make sense, but only for fancy old crypts to hide treasures. A button that when pushed moves a whole sarcophagus out of the way to reveal a staircase down to a secret hideout though, that is very unexpected. I find it interesting that this odd engineering marvel leads to the Ragged Flagon and the Thieves Guild's living quarters in the Ratway rather than some spooky Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. The Thieves Guild does occasionally have to kill people, but only in dire situations, or sometimes it happens by accident. Contract killings go to the Dark Brotherhood. Some of our clients however employ both organizations. We walk the line between life and death in a way. Walking down the cold stone steps kept hidden by day under the mausoleum into the darkness of the tunnel system I find myself very cognizant of that fact. While killing is not part of the job description, a thief still encounters excesses of death, life, and everywhere in between, it’s those realms of being that have the most worth stealing. The dead don’t need their gold, those marked among the living spend their time living in excess. Those between the two sometimes simply have things that are wanted by certain people. To find out why requires reading between the lines, and having friends in high places. 

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Nineteen: Warning Signal (Lukas)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Warning (a solution introduces a new problem immediately) 

How exactly we found ourselves in Necrom is a series of events I cannot remember with reasons to justify the trip being even less though if I had to guess I would bet that Fyr may just want to talk to some old friends of his. Of course, if that is in fact why we’re stuck here in the city of the dead, he would drag us along for the ride. Really I should just ask Naomi but she seems to be otherwise engaged in poking around the strange city and recording observations. Maybe the trip was her idea, which makes it marginally less terrible…though not by much. The architecture is unusual compared to other cities I’ve been in. That should be expected I suppose since all other cities I’ve ever been to have been made by and for the living and not the dead. Fyr and Naomi look around interested in everything the unnerving city has to offer. Simon and Elisheva stick close to me both just as anxious as I am. Liat, on the other hand, trails curiously after her sister. Not close enough to directly engage with any of the buildings or other objects of Naomi's investigation, but close enough to observe from a distance. A few spirits wander through the city here and there ignoring the living. That is until we get to one who stops dead in its tracks, no pun intended, and stares at me for a very long time. With night beginning to fall more and more spirits begin to appear as the formerly quiet city comes back to life, in a very much undead way. Suddenly a heavy wool cloak is thrown over me before I can react otherwise. While I’m busy trying to find my way out from under the cloak I hear a sigh of relief and Fyr calls out “It’s gone!” from somewhere nearby. I assume it was him who threw the cloak over me. The relief is short-lived as the call is followed by a significantly less pleased noise shortly after. Once I finally manage to get the heavy garment off I can see what the commotion was about. On the place where the strange spirit had been standing is a circle that looks as if it had been burned into the ground with what looks to be writing. We congregate around the odd marking in the attempt to figure out what in the world just happened. Fyr kneels to further inspect the ash-like residue and makes another noise signaling something between curiosity and displeasure before giving me a long hard stare. I don’t like when he does that. I know he’s just thinking, but the intense eye contact is unnerving, and I dislike even regular eye contact at the best of times. Liat I notice pulls out a book from her pack and begins to look through it. “Well it appears that it’s a good thing we came to visit. Something's afoot, and I intend to find out what, starting with this.” Fyr tells the group as he gets up, pointing to the odd burned mark. “Why the ancestor spirit left a marking like this is quite unusual. And why it reacted that way in the first place, disappearing only when Lukas was made to be out of its sight, however rudimentary that solution was, even more so.” he explains, taking a moment to thank Elisheva for lending her cloak in a time of need. 
“Isn’t that supposed to be some kind of omen?” Liat pipes up from the back of the group referencing a page in the book she had been flipping through that has some rather scary looking illustrations. Just our luck. Of course the solution to the current mystery problem turns out to be some sort of warning insight into a much larger, much more dangerous, very likely supernatural problem. That’s just wonderful. Why do I agree to get dragged into these adventures again?

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Nineteen: Faultless (Isabelle)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Fault (a small town reacts strangely to a minor crime) 

Hackdirt. What kind of a name is Hackdirt? Who in their right mind thinks to name a down Hackdirt?! There’s something off about this strange little village, though I’ve yet to put my finger on exactly what it is that makes it so odd. Even Shadowmere seems uneasy, something I didn’t know was possible. Why did I agree to come out here in the first place when I could be taking a nice nap under the big tree in the center of Chorrol, or continuing to work on my newly acquired castle not far from here? The area around the castle may have mountain lions by the dozen but quite honestly I’d take dealing with those over these unnerving townsfolk right now. They’re quite rude and refer to anyone passing through from Chorrol to Skingrad as an “outsider” and keep saying vaguely threatening things to me. I know I promised Dar-Ma’s mother I’d find her daughter but the longer I linger here the worse I feel about the outcome. Apparently the town was once much larger, though I don’t know what happened to it or what made it the tiny settlement it is today. Time to look around and see if I can find anything that will point me in the direction of the town's strange behavior, and hopefully Dar-Ma. I quickly look around to ensure nobody’s coming, as the townsfolk have been following me since I arrived, and pick the lock on one of the houses. Nobody’s home, excellent, though I should still be quick with my search. Almost every building I’ve been in has had trap doors in the floor and I don’t think they lead to additional dry storage to put things for winter. While in the basement of one of the homes I hear the low groaning sound I’ve heard repeatedly during my time here coming from deep in the earth. It makes my hair strand on end…I don’t want to know what's making that noise. My search for the day brings nothing useful and so I head back to the inn. Asking the innkeeper again about Dar-Ma is essentially useless besides being told she had stayed there before at some point. That little bit of information gives me an idea however as I remember the room next to mine is locked for seemingly no reason. Treading lightly up the stairs I break into the room to find it ransacked with a diary belonging to Dar-Ma hidden in a dresser. I consider confronting the innkeeper about it but decide its best to keep it to myself and continue asking around the town to see if I can piece together any more clues. The next day I run into a man named Jiv who tells me more about the town and what happened to it, and tells me he can help to find the missing girl. At nightfall, while the rest of the citizens are busy with “The Gathering” find a trapdoor in one of the buildings that will lead down to some caverns. There I should find Dar-Ma though I may not be alone in the caverns and should proceed with caution. Getting her back to Chorrol will be the more difficult part. Once the sun sets I find the trapdoor that was mentioned and descend into the caverns, that deep noise is louder down here. Quickly I find Dar-Ma in a cell and free her telling her we need to leave quickly and quietly. Returning to the surface and emerging from the building finds us essentially surrounded by a group of very agitated townspeople. They consider me at fault for the relatively minor crimes of picking a new locks and appear more agitated about that than rescuing their captive. I instruct Dar-Ma to get her horse Blossom while I fend off the now overtly hostile townspeople until I can get to Shadowmere. Once we are both on horseback we get out of there as fast as possible riding full speed until safely back in Chorrol. I reunite Dar-Ma with her mother who kindly offers to give me some training in handling business matters as thanks and return to the stables to take care of Shadowmere. Giving her something to eat and a few pats she settles in for the night, though the amount of noises make it seem like she’s telling me off for deciding to visit that town. “There was a girl in peril and we were surrounded. What else was I supposed to do?” I get a snort in return. “Fine. Fair enough. But don’t you think it’s odd they were more angry about the locks than the rescue?” Another snort in return before she goes off to sleep. “Alright, have it your way then.” I tell her and begin to gather my things for the night. Looking out into the dark forest beyond the city I see twinkling lights here and there, too large to be fireflies, and once again hear that deep droning noise from far into the forest. My blood runs cold as I scurry inside to the safety of the city behind its stone walls. Whatever’s causing it, there’s a shadow over Hackdirt, and I don’t want to know what it is.

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Seventeen: Shelter From The Storm (Liat)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Shelter (write a story where the setting is as active and influential as any character)

The desert is far more dangerous and unpredictable than anyone tends to think. Shifting sands swallow cities whole. Once mighty civilizations become forever lost to the unforgiving sands of time. Places offering shelter from the sweltering heat in the day, and the freezing cold in the night, are few and far between. In the blink of an eye an otherwise seemingly endless view of nothing but sand and sky can turn into a nightmare where seeing more than a few feet ahead is impossible. Sandstorms can appear suddenly and disappear just as suddenly leaving only havoc in their wake. Crossing such dangerous terrain requires skill, staying alert watching for seemingly minor changes, and a high degree of preparedness before venturing on. Having set out equipped with plenty of food, water, and lightweight protective layers of clothing the most significant challenge on my journey will be making it to the next place of shelter. With still many more miles to go I feel a familiar change in the wind as a breeze coming from the sea, already so far away, makes its way inland. Looking at the map I calculate how much time it will take as I continue at a steady, if slightly faster pace. Alright desert, if that’s how you’re going to play then let’s play…though, preferably, only once I’ve got a nice sturdy stone roof over my head and walls to shelter from the oncoming mass of wind and sand.