"Each event is preceded by Prophecy; but without the hero, there is no event."
A thick red fog clouded her mind. She gasped, her chest heaving, but no air would flow though her lungs. As she choked on the dust her eyes searched for a way out to cleaner air, but all she could see was the scarlet mist.
Marked by the stars…
What? What was that voice? Turning she searched, but still she saw nothing but a red and barren wasteland.
Born on the foretold date…
Her body began to shake, the voice ripping through to her very core. Stop it! Clamping her ears with her hands she tried to dull the sound, but she could still hear the voice call to her. Who are you? What do you want?!
To uncertain parents…
The scenery suddenly shifted. She was no longer in the wastes but now surrounded by stone buildings. However, the choking fog remained.
A stranger and an outlander…
Dammit. She was losing strength. Her knees buckled from under her and she fell to the ground, wheezing and trembling as the red fog surrounded her completely. Preparing for the worst she squeezed her burning eyes shut.
"You're trembling…"
Without warning the wind subsided and the red dust melted away into clean and clear water.
"Are you alright…?"
What? The sound of rushing water entered her clouded mind, but it was not enough to drown out the voice.
"Wake up."
The voice was different now. Deeper. And it entered though her ears rather then through her aching head. She cracked open her bloodshot eyes to gaze up at the figure above her. Groaning, she stretched out her limbs and slowly sat up, brushing dry hay from her face.
"There you go. Can you stand?"
She nodded grimly before lifting herself slowly up to her feet. Shaking her frazzled head, she took a quick look around. She was obviously inside some sort of storage area. It was made entirely of wood, and was rather small. Behind her was the bed of straw which she was sleeping on, along with a few barrels containing something that smelled of raw meat. But that wasn't the only smell. She could smell the ocean with its strong unforgettable odor of salt and fish.
Standing directly in front of her was a bare-chested Dunmer man staring at her through dull red eyes. An old scar streaked down his face all the way from his brow to his cheek, just grazing an eye as it went. His hair, much like his eyes, was a maroon color, and tied up atop his head with a piece of colored string. A compliment to his race, the man had dark skin, shinning with sweat and sea water. His pants were tattered and worn through at the knees, made from primitive cotton and died a muddy brown. She wore similar pants, which were unfortunately a size too large for her, but unlike this Dunmer male, she had been blessed with a shirt.
The Dunmer looked her over quickly before he continued speaking in his rough elfish dialect, "You slept for quite some time. Not even the storm last night could wake you."
He was about to say more when there was a loud thud from above them, followed by a series of creaks and moans from the wooden walls.
The pair remained silent, listening intently as the sounds slowly subsided.
"We must have reached the port," the Dark Elf said, "I overheard one of the guards saying we're bound for Morrowind. This might be it. Maybe they'll let us off…"
Suddenly everything came rushing back to her memory: the years of imprisonment in the Imperial City, her sudden release from jail, and then the days of travel by horse and carriage and now by boat, all under royal guard, to this ship yard. Everything before her imprisonment however, was completely blank. She couldn't even remember how she wound up in prison in the first place. It must have been bad enough to have been sent into exile into the far reaches of Morrowind.
"Hmph… They sure like taking their time with things don't they?" Her Dunmer companion shifted about restlessly. Anxious to leave the cramped interior of the ship, "Anyway, I don't believe we were able to introduce ourselves properly earlier. My name is Jharad. Who might you be?"
"Rapture… Jharad, do you think you could-" But the sound of heavy footsteps cut her off.
"Quiet," Jharad hissed, "Here comes the guard…"
And sure enough, a squat, burly man clad in armor came stomping on into the already crowded room. He glanced over at Jharad first, but then turned his gaze onto Rapture, "We've reached the dock, prisoner. You're wanted up on deck. Now follow me, and be quick about it!"
Rapture opened her mouth to speak, but the guard had already turned on his heal and marched back through the entrance way.
"You had better do what he says…"
Rapture cast a concerned look at Jharad, "But what about you?"
"Hurry up, will you? Don't have all day!" The guard was growing impatient.
But the Dark Elf shook his head, "No. I'm to stay here, for now. But don't worry; I'll get out of here one way… or another."
"Come on, louse!" Rapture winced as she was struck across her head by the guard's armored fist and then dragged off by the crook of her arm…