The memories of men are, in the kindest of words, flawed. They remember things different then mer do, and far different then the beast-folk do. They remember the battles, but rarely those who fought them. They remember their struggles, but not why they struggled. They remember their enemies, but they don't remember who they were before they became enemies. Men have always remembered what is convenient to them, what pains the mind least, or what drives them forward fastest. Very rarely do you see men stop and wonder, what is life like for my enemy? Do they too have a home like I? Under siege, under threat? Men think of, and remember, what benefits them, what justifies their actions, and nothing more. That is why I know that war will never end amongst men. Because the enemy is the enemy, and war is just war.
-The Five Hundredth Companion
The snow fell silently over a long stretch of ice and rock, the same as it did every day. Amber watched the seas as the snow fell, letting it settle on her, just as it settled on the earth around her. Occasionally, she would brush some off her hair and shoulders, but remained unphased by it all. She sat on her perch by the sea, staring out across it, beyond where all seemed to fade away into the mist. The ice that had taken Atmora was slowly taking the sea as well, each year the icebergs seemed to grow larger and closer. And between the mist and the ice, she knew countless other dangers lurked between them. The Sea-Ghosts that claimed Yngol, all manner of sea beast, but perhaps what troubled her most, was the chance of finding another person. Or atleast, what might have been another person. The journey was simply too dangerous, even for her. And even if she managed the trip, boat intact, what would she find? Frozen cities, empty homes, and ice. No, she knew in her heart, that Atmora was gone.
As the tides slowly began to shift and come in, she finally shifted, once again dusting the snow off of herself, and stood to face the sea one last time. She felt her her heart sink, and she turned, lumbering through the snow, back towards her home above, off in the cliffs of ice. She knew the path well, she made this journey so often, there was practically a trail beaten into the ground. Habit dictated most of her days of late, with trips to the coast being paramount among them. Here and there, other paths trailed off, one away to the nearest village, another up to the peaks, and a third off to a nearby spring where she drew fresh water from. There was very little to want for, with most of her needs being little more than food, water, and wood for a her fire. She was living in the way of the ancients, in some form of harmony with Kyne. As she trudged through the snow, her heavy armor faintly clanking against itself, briefly breaking the silence and stillness of the snow. She shut her eyes, and slowed herself, letting the stillness return, as she casually reached for her crescent axe, resting on her back. She turned, facing a seemingly empty forest, and gently called out into the woods.
"I don't know who paid you to find me.. But I can assure you, your lives will be worth more to you then any sum of gold. Turn back now, and you can still leave with it."
Silence answered back to her, and for once, she briefly assumed her age was finally catching up with her. But, as she scanned the snowy forest, a brief imprint in the snow shifted faintly, and an arrow struck her armor flat in the chest, shattering on impact. She lept into action rushing the spot she had seen shift, swiping with her axe. Where the axe should have simply cleaved air, instead the snow splashed red, and a figure, clad in darkened chitin armor, appeared. They let out a cry briefly, dropping their bow, and clutching the axe now buried deep in their gut, gasping for air, before they turned their helmeted head to face her. She towered above them, at least double her would be assassins height. She sighed, and kneeled down, tugging off their helmet, revealing a terrified Dunmer women, struggling to breath. She shut her eyes, and spoke to her again, softly, like a mother comforting a child. Her voice was filled with regret, and felt pained as she spoke.
"... I'm sorry it ended this way. You left me little choice, but I don't blame you for what you did, child. You didn't know better. You only knew what your masters told you."
The woman shook, still grasping at the axe wound, tears running down her face, blood occasionally bubbling up as she panted. She spoke between gasps and chokes, fading away quickly.
"More will come for you, Outlander. This ain't your island anymore. The price on your head is enough to buy this whole rotten place out from under Redoran thrice over. Somebody has hired the Morag Tong. Your days… Are numbered." She spat out, her words laced with venom, but backed only by fear. Amber shut her eyes, and gripped the axe tightly, before uttering to her again softly.
"I am sorry that you cling to this in your last moments. I will see that your remains are honored properly, so that you may join your ancestors." And with that, she hammered her the axe further into her, with a sickening crack, and the Morag Tong assassin let out a final scream, before the stillness of the forest finally returned. She pulled the axe away, returning it to its place on her back, and carefully hoisted the limp assassin over her shoulder, making her way back to the path. She trudged back up the path, her armor slowly getting stained red, a trail of blood left behind her in the snow, as she slowly made her way towards the peaks of the island, towards the only town nearby that would take her corpse. Ravenrock.