Character Backstory--Elara's Journeys-Monster, Part One

• Posted by Kynareth April 18, 2012 - 990 views

  I know, I know...I said that my final post was my final post in Elara's backstory.  Yet somehow I found myself missing the writing, missing the characters.  So I have formulated a trio of entries to take me to my current gameplay impasse, due to a glitch.  I tried to do something with these three chapters to unite them in their own story, and I have been lately captivated by writing Skyrim-inspired poetry.  So, I hope these entries only enhance the story, instead of detracting from it.  If any one has not read the other entries to Elara's backstory, then the previous posts can be found here, though you are not required to go back so far.    Comments, questions, and criticisms are always welcome, as I will use it only to become a better writer.  Thanks for indulging me, and thanks for reading part one...

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  “What do you think you are doing?”  Malborn shouted, his words echoing in a snowy glade outside of the Thalmor Embassy.  “You blew my cover!  Now I will be hunted down by the Thalmor for the rest of my life, or at least what is left of it.”  He glanced at Elara with disgust.  “If our fate lies in the hands of a monster…” the furious Bosmer turned away, unable to finish his thought.  He snorted and ran, dagger clutched in his left hand, looking frantically around.

  “You did save my life,” Etienne said softly, then pulled the robes Elara had given him tightly around his starved frame, and glided silently into the forest.

  Elara stood there, stunned, blood dripping from her once shining Elven armor onto the pristine snow below.  Her eyes slowly moved from the retreating forms of the two males, to the dark pattern forming at her feet.  The droplets took on the shape of a dragon in flight, until Elara blinked her eyes and saw it for what it was, Thalmor blood that she had spilt most mercilessly.

  With a roar of anguish, Elara ripped the armor off her body and yanked the pointed boots off her feet, throwing them as far from her as she could.  She dropped onto the snow, covered only in her muslin shift, trembling not from the cold, but from the after effects of intense battle within the embassy, and now, within herself.

  Every Thalmor soldier at the embassy wore the face of her father’s torturer and as she blasted fireballs into their abdomens and sliced off extremities with her Elven blade, she felt a thirst that only grew with each gruesome death, instead of sating this newfound hunger for revenge.  She was energized again with this infusion of dragon souls, and she thought dispassionately, my transformation into a beast is almost complete.  Then a few notes of a song drifted into her head, words mocking her.

   

  This creature, this creature, claims a monster’s heart.

  I warn you, I warn you, the Dragonborn comes.

  With a Voice wielding power that will tear you apart.

  Run, Run the Dragonborn comes.

  It’s the fulfillment of evil, in the land of the brave heroes.

  Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.

  For true darkness has come and the devastation yet grows,

  Run in fear and beware, the Dragonborn comes.*

   

  This was her destiny, brutality and inhumanity.  The Divines knew she had a void since the death of her father and it seemed to be filled now with someone, something she did not recognize.  She did not feel the familiar comfort of her mother’s presence, a caressing breeze, or the sense of communion with the life around her.

  A twinge in her thigh caught her attention and she was startled to see flesh instead of scales.  Her wound from the sabre cat was still healing, but she refused to heal it with her magic.  She was grateful for the pain, as it reminded her of the time before she discovered she had the soul of a dragon.

  A month ago, Elara and Onmund had entered Whiterun to find Fralia Grey-Mane and tell her about Thorald’s rescue and his subsequent decision to go with Avulstein and join the Stormcloaks in Windhelm.  Their errand was interrupted by the appearance of a dragon at the Western Watchtower.  Elara felt duty bound to help, though Onmund had been reluctant to let her go.

  “It is a Nord’s dream to battle a dragon.  There are many well-trained warriors there to take care of it,” he had soothed, but relented when she ducked behind the smithy to don her armor. 

  “Then it is your dream too, to prove your worth against so mighty a foe,” she had smiled, pulling on her boots. 

  Then they were in the tumult and the heat, amidst the soldiers aiming with their arrows at the winged beast and the charred corpses, the shouted orders and the screams of terror when suddenly the earth shook and Elara found herself gazing at the lowered head of the fearsome bird-serpent.

  “Doohhhvaaakiiin,” the dragon hissed, head weaving back and forth.

  “Mirmulnir,” Elara responded calmly, “Viikhi.”**

   The guards and defenders of Whiterun stood, transfixed by the sight of the Breton conversing with the Elder Dragon, when suddenly a whirlwind of gold armor landed behind the dragon’s head and the shining Elven sword descended into the foul creature’s head.  The winged serpent writhed in pain but Elara held fast to the blade embedded in the beast’s brain.  Its head crashed to the ground and instantly waves of energy entwined itself around her, making her queasy.  As she slid off the dragon’s neck, the crowd murmured things about prophecies and Dragonborn and parted to reveal Onmund, face pale, but smile warm.

  “Let’s get some mead in you, well, us,” he stammered, placing his arm protectively around Elara as they walked back to Whiterun, acutely aware of all the glances, reverent and malevolent, as Elara simply stared ahead.

  The weeks tumbled together as Elara ascended the Throat of the World to speak and study with the Greybeards and finally meeting the last of the Blades in Riverwood.  Delphine…the blond Breton with words as sharp as a steel arrow tip.  Elara found herself nodding numbly to everything the woman said, and so she entered the embassy without Onmund, on Delphine’s advice.  Could he have prevented the slaughter, Elara wondered, her consciousness returning to her snowy surroundings or would he have left her in disgust as Malborn did? 

  Onmund.  Elara sighed and pulled a robe out of her satchel.  She had better return to The Winking Skeever in Solitude, and tell him who she was, what she was, and save him from a monster.

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  *  This song is to be sung to the same tune as "The Dragonborn Comes," tune and original lyrics are those of Bethesda and credit goes to them.

  **  Viikhi roughly translated in dragon means, "Your defeat."