Well, I have decided to continue off the main skeleton of my story by writing shorter entries about other characters, attempting to keep within the bounds of TES Lore, but also fleshing out some of the NPC’s that Bethesda has so amazingly created. I also am trying to explore some other ideas in it, too, so please let me know if it works (too heavy or too subtle, etc). I am branching this current storyline off of Chapter 15 from Elara’s journey, which is linked here if anyone would like to go back to the episode that prompts this current short story. It is certainly not necessary, but gives a few hints for how this story will develop. Hope you enjoy, and besides, I just thought the blog looked a little empty of stories…
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Bothela stared at the heavy doors that Onmund just dashed through. Her eyesight became hazy as her thoughts turned inward.
“Did I give him good advice, or was I just protecting myself?” she murmured, absently tracing the tattoo pattern on her right cheek.
A light touch on her shoulder and a concerned “Are you all right?” from Muiri, her young assistant brought her back to the present.
“Oh, fine. Just old age,” she chuckled shallowly, keenly eying Muiri’s expression to see if her false laughter eased the worried lines off the visage of her Breton apprentice. Muiri smiled, and looked relieved. She is too innocent to know how to dissemble, Bothela thought.
“Do you think you can manage the shop for a couple of hours? I think some fresh air would do me good.” Bothela patted the young woman’s arm, as Muiri nodded eagerly, happy to help her mentor whenever she could.
Bothela stood outside in front of her shop, breathing deeply. Her gaze drifted over the busy lives below of Markarth’s inhabitants. Busy, but not with much enthusiasm, she observed. Why did she like this place so much when it was filled with such misery? How many of them thought of other things to distract them from their labors? Did they dream of love, of release, of revenge? Or did they bury those thoughts so deep to survive the brutality and hopelessness? Her thoughts drifted again. Nothing was what it seemed. That is why she liked Muiri and Elara so much. To be truthful, she loved them. Their honesty was clearly written on their faces. Unlike me, she added ruefully.
She turned left, with no set destination in mind. The stony walls rose all around her, almost like the mountains had a fit of creative expression and decided to make themselves into a work of art . Everything fit and felt like an organic expression of Nirn herself. This city of stone was Nirn’s acceptance of life itself, providing it a natural stronghold for all who sought refuge. Perhaps that is why she liked Markarth. It was safe to her, in spite of all the political machinations and that infernal hole called Cidnha Mine. She played the part of a dotty old woman and people trusted her, and best of all, left her alone.
Wrapped in her musings, Bothela was startled to find herself at the doors of the temple of Dibella.
“I just cannot escape You, can I?” she harrumphed lightly, and pushed open the doors.
The darkness inside embraced her, while the firelight and candlelight caressed the intricate carvings and golden threaded tapestries clothing the temple. Senna, the temple priestess simply nodded as Bothela secreted herself in a dark corner, relishing the velvet cushion underneath to preserve her bones from the cold stone bench.
“Beauty and comfort go hand in hand, always, eh?” the silver haired Breton said mockingly, continuing her conversation with the goddess from outside. “I may be comfortable but no longer beautiful. You saw to that yourself.”
Bothela shifted slightly and gazed at the altar, feeling her mind soften and lose focus, opening and turning to the meditative state she remembered from her youth. Her last distraction was a silvery silken strand seen in the corner of her eye, a plump black and white spider hanging from a web that escaped the notice of the other priestesses. It seemed to contemplate Bothela as the Breton descended into the abyss of memory.
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