Dovahsil

Prologue: Believe, the dragonborn come

The divines set their sights on Nirn. Aedra and Daedra alike, for those whom time had no meaning nor rules. Their only distraction was war by proxy, and the great chessboard.

Admiring mortals. Who, in their blessed ignorance, enjoyed true freedom.

All opened their eyes. All stared at a precise point on Nirn.

-

The rebel

She'd never get used to this cold. Skyrim, even in spring, always seemed frozen compared to the summerset islands. She remembered when she was just twenty, frolicking happily in the tall grasses that lined the coast, the gentle sound of the waves lulling her long ears. Until her mother came to take her home. Skywatch's walls bathed in twilight always gave her the impression that the city itself was her home.

Skywatch had always been a city that maintained a kind of independence from the Thalmor ideology. At least until a few years ago.

She couldn't explain why she'd begun to feel so much hatred inside her from the moment her mother first donned the black and gold robes, a big smile on her face.

The altmer looked at the icy, but crystal-clear river water, and put his hands into it to catch some of the water as she drank, then washed her face with it.

The cold stung her flawless golden skin and she took the time to look at her reflection in the flowing water.

Her snow-white hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. So much simplicity in such thing was one insult to all other altmers. Her face was another.

Fine features, but not angular like all thalmor. Her face being much closer to that of the High Elves of the second era. An anomaly in her bloodline to the unaware, a shock to the altmer, or as her mother would have said...

You're a disgrace!

Her mother had forced her to come to Skyrim. She figured that giving her responsibilities would force her to grow up... Or some other bullshit.

She wasn't fooled.

She didn't believe in Thalmor propaganda back in the Summerset Isles.

But she never imagined that things were this bad...

Torture, massacre, unbounded hatred, no action was justified except the disgust of the man who had reached the apotheosis.

She had never really understood why her people hated him. After all, everyone should admire the mortal who had attained divinity through sheer will and power.

That was the reason for the argument with her mother, and her refusal to change her face.

That was the reason for her escape.

The nords and Imperials would have called this gesture a runaway...

But she was far from being an irresponsible teenager, even if that's what they all said.

The altmer took a moment to look at her black dress, the symbol of her occupation. Before turning her gaze back to the small farm a little further on. Laundry lying out there to dry.

Tomorrow she'll be in Cyrodiil.

Tomorrow, a new life will await her.

-

The thrall

She wiped the ashes from her shoulder, the last reminders of Morrowind before her new life. Her eyes, however, were focused on her future, on Skyrim. The sound of the waves hitting the ship soothed her.