The Champion of Cyrodil cast Redwave over the edge of the snow-covered mountain. It caught a flash of sunlight upon its flank as it fell, reflecting back to the Champion its crimson glow, momentarily blinding her, before it toppled down the face of the mountain and out of sight. The Champion gave a sigh of relief, resting her quick, slender hands upon her hips and gazing over the wide expanse of land which lay tantalizingly beyond the Jerall Mountains. This land was called Skyrim, the frosty, bitter, vicious domain of the Nords.
After standing there for a bit, reflecting on what she had just done, she turned around and began expertly to descend the slippery, harsh face of the mountain. Here, in the land surrounding, containing, and lying just north of Bruma, the bitter cold and rampant snow that were commonplace in Skyrim seeped ever so slightly into the heavily forested land of Cyrodil. The champion now surveyed the verdant expanse of that land, a tall white spire in the center of the land assuming dominance over all else, wondering if there was a single person in it did not know her name, or at least the actions which she had performed just three months before.
She was known universally by that title- the Champion of Cyrodil, but before that, in a time almost unrecognizable and unimaginable to her heavily-affected memory, she had been Melissa. She had been a prisoner, hidden away deep beneath the Prison District of the Imperial City, left to rot, left to die, left to exist forever in ignominy. How wonderful it was…, Melissa thought, hopping over a boulder and fixing her gaze upon Cloud Ruler Temple, which was all but invisible behind a dense sheet of white.
But then, of course, fate had intervened. She had been rescued, albeit indirectly, by none other than the Emperor of Tamriel himself- Uriel Septim VII! Of course, she had barely gotten a chance to thank him or even speak with him at any great length before he was cut down by the group of assassins he had been attempting to evade- the Mythic Dawn. But only moments before his death, he had set her upon a monumental quest. He had given her the Amulet of Kings, an artifact that Melissa had only ever read about in books.
Melissa circled around the perimeter of the stone temple until she came to the heavy gate. Upon gaining entrance, she ascended the steps that led to the entrance of the temple, the sounds of swords ringing and clanging and sharpening circling about her, cutting sharply, like a blade through butter (or ice) through the thin, cold mountain air. As she approached the door, she was overcome by an onslaught of memories- of Jauffre, of Martin…
Three months ago, she could have walked in through that wooden door into the main room of the temple and seen Martin, his nose buried in one of several books stacked upon a table on the right side of the room. Melissa felt a pang of sadness. Entering now, only the stack of books remained, seeming to Melissa more of a monument to Martin than the large golden statue of Akatosh that stood valiantly among the ruins of the Temple.
A large fire was roaring at the back of the room. Melissa drew closer to it, hoping to banish the chill from her bones. She felt some relief as she stood next to it, absorbing the warmth and allowing herself, only if for a moment, to be overcome by positive, happy feelings and thoughts. Two Blades who had just concluded their sword practice for the day came in through the door and settled at a table, beginning pleasantly to converse over a bit of bread and ale. She heard the sound of a quill scratching excitedly upon parchment, turning to see Belisarius sitting at a table near her, writing. He noticed her observing him, and gave her a smile and a wave before returning once again to his work.
This temporary respite from the painful onslaught of memories that Cloud Ruler Temple brought her was interrupted most harshly when her eyes wandered to the floor on which she stood, and she saw the burn mark that had been left in it when a portal to Mankar Camoran's Paradise had been opened there.
Melissa redirected her train of thought before she could recall her trip there, where she had retrieved the Amulet of Kings and killed Camoran. She thought of a time before her arrival in Cyrodil, a time when she had resided in Morrowind. She remembered the Grasslands on the eastern side of Vvardenfell, near Vos. She remembered the wizard towers, and the eccentric mages who inhabited them. She began to remember the yurt before quickly stopping herself, and focusing once more upon the fire.
She stood there for a few more minutes before sighing deeply and departing for the door to the West Wing, where the dormitories were. Moments later, she was collapsed on a bedroll in the far corner of the dormitory, thinking pensively about the glistening blade now buried deep in snow and pine needles at the foot of a towering mountain. It had seemed innocent enough in spite of its arcane power, but she had soiled it with something much darker and more terrible than what even the darkest mages could accomplish.
She was interrupted by the entrance of Caroline, a guard who spent most of her day guarding the door to the temple.
"You're back even earlier than I thought you'd be," she said, setting her sword and scabbard in the corner and resting herself upon her bedroll. Melissa wondered for a moment if she'd made a mistake telling Caroline about her morning journey, but the two had formed a fast friendship during the time that Melissa had been staying at the Temple, and she figured that if she could trust anyone, it would be her. Of course, she hadn't told her the reason for her journey. That was best kept to herself, no matter how much she trusted the young Breton.
"I didn't expect to be very long," Melissa replied, sitting up on her bedroll and turning to face Caroline.
"Probably for the best," the guard replied, removing her helmet and leaning on her elbow, "the less time one spends in the cold, the better…"
If only she knew, Melissa thought.
"Of course," Caroline continued, "the same could be said for the Jeralls. The land's becoming less safe than it used to be… You never know what could be lurking about out there…"
"The life of a Blade, I suppose," Melissa said, smirking and turning over a small iron dagger in her fingers and saying no more. Caroline could see that her friend was occupied irrevocably with her thoughts and laid down upon her bedroll, entertaining her own for a few moments before drifting off into a well-deserved sleep.
Melissa waited until she was sure that the Breton was asleep before reaching over and grabbing a tiny burlap sack. She held it closed for a bit, shifting it in her palm along with the dagger and contemplating its contents with equal measures of horror and amazement. One of these contents in particular had only been in her life for a little over three months, but was part of a legend that stretched back before the dawn of time. With a feeling that sat perilously between trepidation and glee, she opened the sack and extracted a jagged metal star. She dropped the sack and the dagger, holding the star close to her chest and tracing her fingers along the sharp edges. It shone a heavenly silver. It was, as many would attest, legend. But somehow, Melissa thought to herself with a knowing smirk, she had woven herself into quite a few legends over the past few months, and she had the feeling that she would become a part of a great many more before she enjoyed the sweet, cool repose of the grave. So she thought as she entered into a sleep as icy as the wind that howled outside.