Falura
~ ~ ~
Sundas, 15th of Last Seed 4E 201
It was the day of my departure. I find it difficult to describe the mix of emotions I felt. My husband Ethyl and I walked together to a gathering at the mouth of the Dunmeth Pass, following a dirt road through the arid knolls and plains of the Velothi’s rain shadow. Behind us, Blacklight appeared small and remote – the city capital of Morrowind, the last bastion of a once proud people. Its newfound scale and Dunmeri architecture had come to rival even Mournhold in its heyday, with grand buildings and towers set in igneous rock among hills of rhyolite. Nonetheless, it was a stark reminder of our ill fortunes. We had not yet escaped the aftermath of the Red Year. It would take years to rebuild the rest of the province, even more to reclaim it from Argonian occupation.
But that day would come in time. For the moment I had more paltry concerns.
I plodded along like a three legged creature, my staff reduced to the role of a walking stick. It was a treasured piece of work – trimereous sprigs of metal stemmed from atop its wooden shaft with a bright red crystal as its crowning piece. My staff of destruction, aligned to the element of fire. It was the only thing that justified my existence as a mage, a term I use loosely in self-reference. Clouds drifted lazily in the azure sky above the tops of distant mountains. My red-orange robes felt hot and dusty. A tote bag filled with belongings hung over my shoulder. I wished I had worn something better for travel, like Ethyl’s hiking boots and light cloth garments.
“Why do I have to do this?” I groaned absent mindedly. My mood had only soured since we left.
“You’ve asked that question all week,” Ethyl chided teasingly.
“And I’ll keep asking it,” I growled, staring into the man’s eyes, as deep and red as mine. “Azura knows I’m at my wits end.”
“Azura? By the three, I know it better than anyone by now! You haven’t been this talkative in decades,” Ethyl said, chuckling at his jest. “For all your fuming, I’m surprised you didn’t do more to avoid this trip.”
“Would there have been a point? The Telvanni could ask me to leap off of a cliff and I’d still have to do it.”
“Might do well to keep that thought to yourself. You’ll give them ideas.”
I laughed an unhappy laugh.
“That would pleasant for a change. At least they’d be listening to me,” I said.
Ethyl rested a hand on my shoulder, giving a slight shake. He had a look of empathy, the ends of his bearded face raised in a big wrinkly grin.
“Now don’t you start getting depressed,” he said. “I don’t need a mental picture of you moping your whole way to Skyrim.”
“I wouldn’t mope the whole way.”
“Certainly not. Just most of it.”
I smiled at that. He was probably right.
I had recently been asked by certain high members of the Telvanni, one of Morrowind’s ruling houses, to entertain a task. The Maryon family was preparing to send their daughter to the College of Winterhold in Skyrim for further education in the arcane. Being of considerable wealth and influence among the Telvanni, the family sought a proper escort for the girl, to see that she might arrive at the college safely. Hired help notwithstanding, it was deemed fit that a representative of the house accompany young Miss Brelyna on her journey.
As a Retainer to house Telvanni, the second lowest title that can be held in their hierarchy, I was chosen for this task – to be, candidly speaking, a glorified chaperone.
“I only wish I knew why they left this chore to me,” I said. “There must have been others more readily at hand.”
“And do you suppose any other wretch would’ve been full of jolly cheer in your place?” Ethyl spoke with sudden solemnity. “There’s good reason few Dunmer travel west, these days. You know word of war in Skyrim is rife.”
“Do not remind me,” I scoffed. “It will be just my luck to die somewhere remote, face down in the snow, trampled by a drove of skirmishing Nords.”
Ethyl let out an odd, grouchy guttural sound.
“Are you bent on making me lose sleep? I’m quite content without these images of your ill-fated misery.” He spoke in a playful snobbish voice, thought it concealed troubled undertones. We both remembered what happened the last time I left Blacklight.
“If there’s a silver lining you see in this mess, by all means,” I sighed, “I would love to hear it.”
Ethyl pondered for a moment. A slight breeze whistled by, barely enough to ripple the fabric of our clothes. Strands of short dark hair blew in my eyes.
“Well, for starters,” he began, “you are traveling to the College of Winterhold, one of the few remaining mainstays of arcane study in Tamriel.”
“True,” I conceded.
“Plus, just think – they’re bound to have some sort of library. That should provide you with all the sustenance you need for the time that you’re there.”
I could only laugh and shake my head. The man made a good point. It would be worthwhile to see what troves of knowledge were kept at the college. When it came to matters of magic, I felt I could never learn enough. Over years and decades of studious research, delving into every theory, conjecture and secret of Aetherius I could find, I had accumulated a vast wealth of arcane gen, close enough to match some of Telvanni’s greatest spellwrights and wizards. No small feat for someone as young as I, having not even lived my first century.
And yet, by some curse of fate, I was relegated to the dregs of the great house’s ranks.
You see, unlike my fellow mages, I possess no inherent magical ability. None. Not even the slightest hint. I can no more cast a spell than grow wings and take flight. Indeed my state is not so unlike a bird clipped of its extremities. You cannot imagine the longing frustration.
Or perhaps you can. It is of no difference to me.
Eventually we came within sight of my destination – a small village in the hills, where a carriage and my soon-to-be traveling cohorts awaited my arrival. From the tired look on Ethyl’s face I could tell he’d had his fill of walking. It was time for us to part.
“Phew… Well, there you are my dear,” he said, extending his hand out toward the village, “Your entourage awaits.”
“Oh, such excitement,” I jeered. “A band of pungent bodyguards and a meekly teenager. The companionship I’ll have…”
I stopped and looked at my husband with mixed emotions.
“You didn’t have to walk all this way with me.”
Ethyl smiled. “But I wanted to.”
I could think of nothing to say that would suit the moment, or my feelings. Ethyl, instead, came forward and kissed me.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured. “It’s only for a week, is it not?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling back.
With final goodbyes, we set off on our separate ways. I waved ahead to the carriage rider who had caught sight of me, hobbling with my staff. The trip was to be only a week. At least, if nothing else, I had that assurance to hold on to.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
The descriptions I’ve used for this location are not lore-established. In truth, there are no definitive accounts of the region near Blacklight. Here, I’ve simply made guestimations based off of what I know about geography and what seemed fitting given my sparse knowledge of Morrowind. I am willing and able to retcon this chapter if anyone knows for a fact the geographical conditions and climate of Blacklight.
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'Been'?
“You’ll be fine,” he assured, “It’s only for a week, is it not?”
I think that comma should be a full stop.