"When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion entereth into thee." -Nai Tyrol-Llar, The Doors of Oblivion
I was born in the fires of late summer. The sky burned orange and red for the clouds. Rain was promised but would not come.
I was raised to worship the Daedra. My mother loved Azura. She longed for me to serve her, the mother of our race. But I was drawn to destruction, not creation. She should have seen the skies; I know someone did, else how would I know I was born under such omens?
When she taught me to get blood off all fabrics, I don't think she thought I'd use it for more than a woman's purposes.
"Dezda, whatever are you doing up? Is that blood?"
"It's nothing, Mother. Go back to sleep."
"It's not your time. How did blood get on your sleeves?"
"Go to sleep, Mother."
She doesn't know what it's like, to chase after satisfaction even as it eludes you, over and over again just when you think it's within your grasp and you hunger for that release that a blade in the dark can only manage for so long-. She has my father and my siblings. They provide the perfect picture she so longs for when she looks at me.
I roared, as a child, when she first tried to get me to talk.
They know what I do, deep down. They don't disagree. They can't go against the Daedra after all. They cannot fight the Whispering Lady, Mephala. Perhaps they also fear one of the Tong will come for them if they make a fuss.
Folly. They may not understand me, but they're still my family. I would slay a dragon for them, if they still existed.
Maybe I didn't cry enough, when the Red Mountain exploded and destroyed everything, separating me from my family.
I certainly shed enough tears when the Morag Tong dissolved.
Now I am lost, wandering in some strange forest, uncertain of where to go, where to listen. One day, they say, one day the Tong will reform in Tamriel. We will continue the balancing act Mephala required. We will destroy the followers of Sithis, too, if our Lady is generous.
It doesn't matter to me, though I will never confess it. I search still for the destruction, the chaos. The contracts for the Tong sated my thirst, but never quenched it. Perhaps now is my chance. I will succeed. That I feel. That I know.
"Halt in the name of the Empire!"
May Mephala make your deaths slow. But with Imperial steel threatening my very important windpipe, I raised my hands in surrender anyway.
Jyggalag reached out his hand, and the Hero of Kvatch knew no more.
"When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you." Frederich Neitzsche
