A/N: Welcome to the first segment of "Of Whispers and Warriors". This is my first go at writing a Skyrim story, and I'm super excited to get this going!
On a bit of a side note, this will loosely follow the travels of my Dragonborn, Ailith Dawn-Sabre. (I know it's not super original, but it helps to prevent losing inspiration. I hope that makes sense.) Thanks bunches for reading!
Prologue
There are known to be Nine Divines that keep watch over Tamriel with eyes that hold resolute wisdom beyond any mortal's years, guiding them, even if they do not realize that they are being driven down a specific path.
There are the burly warriors that will be forever remembered throughout time in old songs and heroic tales. There are the cunning thieves that will fall, being branded as a measly good for nothing fool for all eternity. And there are the villagers, farmers, and merchants who will pass into the Void without recognition. Only, before there is a reputation to follow someone like a looming shadow, the person must first be brought into this beautiful, yet unforgiving world.
And that is where our tale begins, with the noble God Arkay deeming it possible for yet another inhabitant of Nirn to be pulled into the wonders of life. This person, he decided, would be Bosmeri, with eyes the shade of reddened flames and a head of unruly hair the color of a setting sun during Midyear. She would have bones as agile as a Pine Thrush, and be blessed with the gift of a quick wit from the day that she was able to utter her first words.
This girl would eventually become known as Ailith.
And now, we dive into the wide and wavering pools of her life, starting within the temperate rain forests of Valenwood during the hundred and sixth year of the fourth era. Just on the outskirts of Silvenar, the ground scarcely scattered with glittering sap from the magical glade that had previously stood there. Through thick patches of mists and fog, you could barely make out the towering, massive tree known as the Falinesti, where sunlight drips through the verdant leaves like liquid gold, and creatures, along with the Wood Elves, heave themselves onto its huge branches from vines and knots in the rugged wood.
A figure, nimble and feminine, steps into the picture, shattering the awe striking image of the giant migratory sapling. Her name was Marawyn, the woman who had given birth to Ailith, raised her, nurtured her. Beside her sat Meldiron, his light hair tousled from the humid breeze that was almost always stirring within the jungle region.
This young man was only five years older than his sister, making him merely fifteen, hardly growing accustomed to his toddler phase in Elvish aging. And behind Meldiron was a tall and lean form whose face was a blurred mural of shadows dancing across olive tinted skin, a clouded memory, an anonymous identity in which Ailith could not remember.
His large hand stretched out to cup her small, child-like shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before letting go. A caring smile curled his thin lips, but his eyes were cold and bitter as ice, unforgiving and bemused. They were a color that she could never seem to forget, a vibrant gold, rimmed with an auburn that could easily be compared to fire.
She noticed that the fingers of his opposite hand were bundled into a loose fist, and a flash of silver winked from within the cracks of his grip. The man's palm suddenly opened, revealing a glimmering amulet with a vivid ruby drilled into the center. Except, if you looked closely, you could see that it was not just a measly diamond, there seemed to be swirling mists twisting inside of its crimson depths. It was single-handedly the most awe striking item she had ever laid eyes on at the time.
"This is for you, so that you will never forget me," he spoke evenly. His voice was smooth as glass, yet as dark and spine chilling as ebony. He dropped the gift into her anxiously awaiting grasp, the chain pooling like a shining river in her palm.
The pleasant recollection was suddenly whisked away from her, slipping helplessly through her hold as if it was as formless as water. Black was all that she could see now, black darker than night, corroding every corner of her mind until she felt an all consuming heat prodding at her ankles.
The dull scenery abruptly lit up, basking everything in a blinding orange. It took her a moment to see that the bright bowels within it were quivering, and it was then that she realized that it was not merely a color, they were flames, licking their vengeful fingers wherever her unlucky eyes chose to wander, turning everything to charred ash.
The undeniable sound of swordplay wafted into her ears, the metallic clang of blades making contact, the determined battle cries. Along with those rash noises were the terrifying ones, the ones that caused fear to stir in her stomach, curdle her entrails until there was nothing left but raw, sheer panic.
Screams.
Wails of pure horror, filling the endless void of her thoughts. But then there were the cries of anguish, of pain, of sorrow. Of death.
Ailith felt shaking arms rip her from the ground, attempting to make a hasty escape from the gruesome scene playing out before them. She twisted her body so that she could see her savior. It was Marawyn, her mother, dark hair whipping out behind her, a few tufts pasted to her cheekbones by sweat. They couldn't seem to run fast enough, wherever the two of them would turn, the horrific setting would appear directly in front of the tips of their toes, so close that they nearly toppled headfirst into the turmoil.
Except, before she could even begin to process what was happening, everything snapped to darkness once again, and the only thing that filled her thoughts was a sound. A single, meek sound, the safety of silence hiding just behind the racket. Laughter. Heartless, malicious cackles, raspy, corroded by the damage of the thick smoke that had previously hung in the air.
She wanted to scream, to find refuge somewhere safe, but there was nowhere secure and sheltered. There was merely a single expanse that stretched out before her, and that was one of shade, of black that swallowed everything except for the cold blooded chuckles that filled her ears.
She couldn't break away from it, she couldn't run, she couldn't hide.
All that Ailith could do was remain rooted to her claimed area of obsidian and withstand this torture in which she didn't understand, churning her insides and chipping away at her courage for a time that seemed longer than forever.