Character Backstory: Elara's Journeys in Skyrim, the land of her father, Chapter 5--Blood and Tears

• Posted by Kynareth January 28, 2012 - 781 views

                  Elara ran.  She ran as soon as she turned north of Markarth.  She did not know where she was running to, but she had to get away as fast as she could from Markarth.  From Cidnha Mine.  From the dead body of Eltrys.  From the bodies of the Forsworn and the guards littering the streets of Markarth.  Damn those Forsworn.  She thought she left the crazy mountain men back in High Rock that had hatred running through their veins, but they had them here in Skyrim.  Maybe they were     everywhere.

                  She ran as hard as she could so that it would hurt.  She desired physical pain just so she could escape the horrors of her memories of the city where the streets were paved with blood.

                  She followed the road and gradually slowed down, but kept moving at a fast clip.  Elara spotted a lone figure in the middle of the road, and as much as she did not want to talk to anyone, out of habit, she stopped to see if he needed any assistance.

                  “Good evening fellow traveler.” A silky voice greeted her.  Khajiit.  “Would you like to peruse my wares?”

                  The slender feline pulled out a small vial of skooma from a worn leather satchel.  Elara stared at it, feeling the pull of forgetfulness and euphoria that it promised.  She had spent months scouring Skyrim for any trace of her father, but to no avail.  She performed so many favors, fought so many creatures and bandits, and fought off the despair that threatened to engulf her at each dead end.  She tried to do the right thing for everyone and ended up in prison in Cidnha Mine.  Her thaneship meant nothing to the Jarl after all.  The testimony of the reputable residents meant nothing.  Her good deeds meant nothing.  Everything she did turned out wrong in this accursed land, ever since Helgen.  Maybe a small amount would take away the pain of her failures, of her loneliness.  She reached out to take the vial.

                  Then a slight breeze ruffled the wisps of hair fallen from her ponytail.  It will only turn pain into bitterness and bitterness cannot know love.  It was a whisper, but it was enough.  The trance was broken, and Elara closed the Khajiit’s hand with a small smile.  She heard her mother’s voice in the wind, and barely found the will to refuse.  But for that small gift, she was grateful.

                  “Be careful,” she called out to the traveler as she continued east.  “There are bandits and blood out west.”