Avella the Healer - [Skyrim]

1: Foundations

I am the last one. The last line of defense from the various methods of death that plagues this realm of Tamriel. They think that I am one of them; a brute amongst the sheep that might have a good heart. I do have a good heart – at least as good of one that could be reasonably expected – but I am not a brute like them.

I am from earth, like you, and I was brought here for a reason. I do not know what that reason is, yet, but the boy pounding on my door asking for help gives me a hint.

The wooden door creaks as it opens, revealing a snow-covered eight year old with his mother beside him. Cool troughs of air bellow into my warm home, and I usher them inside. The boy's voice is soft when he reassures his mother that everything is going to be okay. Then, his bright blue eyes meet mine.

"Avella, Avella, please help me in my time of need," it was an expression that was made up for whatever reason. Everyone who walked through the door said it to me.

"I will," I kneeled next to the woman. She was pale, cold, and her breath was quite rancid. A typical case of the rattles – though quite extreme. Skyrim had a way of making every minor inconvenience just a little worse than it needed to be. The rattles was a horrible disease. While most times it could be fought off, the dark elves often found themselves racked with severe pains from the nerve-attacking virus. A truly horrible way to die.

"Can you?" the boy asked. I nodded, keeping my eyes on the pulse of the woman below me. It was a simple spell, really. Unheard of here, though, to cure a disease with magic, but it was no different than the restoration magic they already had. They just didn't know what a virus even was, and that was the problem.

I held my hand over her heart and brought forth a curling golden magic that seeped through her skin and propagated through her veins. It was an intense procedure to execute, but it worked. Within only a few seconds, her breathing began to stabilize, and she began to warm. The fire helped.

"She will be okay," I tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Oh thank you!" the boy exclaimed, reaching into his pocket. I raised my hand, as I always did.

"No, do not pay me. I am fine,"

"But–"

"No buts, I don't accept money from those who need it more than me," I sighed and leaned back on the soft wooden floor. I was tired after that. The woman was nearly dead, and I healed all of her cells even after removing the virus. But I felt good. It always felt good to help someone like that boy and his mother, because nobody cared about them, not really. Just like the rest of the commoners.

The boy leaned back on his own bum, and he watched his mom. I knew they wouldn't be leaving soon; his mother was out cold and she would be for a few hours.

"Where is your dad?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Dead probably,"

"What's your name?"

"Timothy. My mom is Tamira," I smiled.

"Two T's, that's pretty neat," he gave me a sideways glare. "Or not,"

"Thank you for saving her,"

"It's my pleasure," I smiled again. Not only had I been given a gift, but I also made a pact with Stendarr to have mercy on people such as these. In return, my abilities are even more potent. Diseases tire me out because they're complicated, but healing even the most severe of injuries is a simple task for me. Speaking of which...

"I must go," I said, checking the clock on my wall. "I have to see the soldier's barracks. I can carry your mother back,"

"Okay," Timothy stood, and I followed him through the cold streets of Windhelm to a small shack on the outskirts of town. There were many others like it, but there was something different about Timothy's. I couldn't quite place what it was. "She sleeps there," he pointed to a mattress on the ground. There was only one of them.