It has been 55 years since the fall of Dagon and the ending of the Oblivion crisis. Cynthrine, the proclaimed Champion of Cyrodiil, has taken to wandering the countryside out of sheer boredom and the desire for adventure. Though the government has fallen into disarray, she's so far away from it all that she really doesn't care. Her cabin is somewhere west of Pillaged Mine and North of Broken Promises Cave. Oh, and I, the author, may fall into some Mary-Sueish pitfalls along the way, and this is me pre-apologizing for it. That being said, the story…
Cynthrine lay motionless in her cabin, her eyes watching the fire dance in the hearth. It was the first snow of the season in the Colovian Highlands, and all manner of creatures sat in wondrous silence. Her hand, rough from blade and time, moved to the pendant that hung about her neck. The center Varla stone glowed brightly in the flickering light. It has been fifty years since it had come into her possession, and since, she has not aged a day, though the wisdom of the passing years and the burden of all that she has seen is apparent on her face. Her hands are still rough and callused, her body is stilled riddled with scars, and her eyes give the look of one who has seen far too much, though Time's harsh hand has not touched her.
She stirred and climbed out of the bed sheets. Her cloak lay on a chest that was placed at the foot of the bed. She wrapped it about her shoulders, then slipped her feet into thick, fur boots. Moving to the door, she cracked it but an inch, and was bit with a fierce cold.
The door on frozen hinges creaked open. The landscape was not yet alabaster, but a dream-like state had fallen upon it. Not a bird nor bush nor bandit stirred. Such moments in Colovia were hard to come by and were short lived when they did. Cynthrine grabbed her walking stick and on her belt fastened only a small, Elvish dagger. "Come, Talos," she called to the white wolf resting beneath the hearth. "Let's take a walk." The dog, old in years yet still strong in jaw, rose and stretched, knowing full well that a walk was never just that.
Eight years prior, Cynthrine traveled to Cloud Ruler Temple to greet new Blades and to exchange tales with old friends. As a token of their continued appreciation for all her services, they granted Cynthrine with Talos, a pup they had found wandering near the fortress. Smart and eager though he was, he made for a burden in the first year. After then, he grew to hold his own against beasts and assisted Cynthrine in the hunt. He was her dear friend and had without a doubt saved her life on several occasions.
Talos eyed his master with baleful eyes, wanting to sleep before a warm fire rather than venture into the frigid wilds. Her eyes, however, were upon the landscape, on the horizon that lay beyond the veil of clouds. There was a gleam in her eye, a desire for adventure. Motionless she stood, as the cold enveloped her and the snow drifted inside. Finally, she moved, but only to remove the knife from her belt and replace it instead with a longsword of similar Elven style. Talos savored the feeling of the soft bear pelt beneath his paws, for he now knew he would not be feeling it again for some time.