a/n: I may write a follow-up chapter or two to this, but I wouldn't expect anything. Just enjoy it! Also sorry for the awful and incredibly unoriginal title. I suck at titles.

On a beautifully shit day in the frozen backend of Tamriel, a little ship met a most unfortunate demise by virtue of inadvertently plowing into a glacier the size of the White Gold Tower.

I happen to be on this ship. It is not an enjoyable experience. I'm going to die. I'm too young to die. Too pretty to die. A current of algid, stinging fear runs down my spine – or maybe that's just the frigid waters – but whatever it is, my consciousness is slipping, trickling away just like the Empire's hold on this godsforsaken land that I was stupid enough to take a boat to.

Before I inevitably drown, perhaps I should tell you a little about myself. My name is Neria. My last name is of no importance. I am a Dunmer—soon-to-be frozen popsicle in the Sea of Ghosts. I was raised in the Cyrodillic town of Cheydinhal, born to wealthy parents, owners of an Ebony mine in the Nibenay Basin. My parents were refugees from Vvardenfell, who split from the island after Red Mountain erupted and everything went to fuck. Smart choice. I have a little sister, but I'm not going to bore you with irrelevant details about that impudent, insufferable, inane brat.

I like magic. This is a fact about me that my parents aren't fond of—they'd rather see me run the family business, or marry a well-off Imperial cunt somewhere over in Skingrad. "Oh, Neria, you silly girl! Put down that spellbook and go talk to Mr Aurelius' son! I think he likes you, you know…" Mother, before I die, let it be known that I loved you, but you are a moron.

Eventually, just like my parents had left Balmora behind, I left Cheydinhal. Not because a giant mountain of death spewed molten fire at me; nothing so exciting. I left because I was bored. Cheydinhal was quiet. There was nothing for me to practise on, not without getting an earful from my father. So I packed up my bags and left. At night. Without telling anyone. Don't worry, I left a note. I'm not heartless. My parents would have never approved of me going off on my own, though – that kind of life didn't behove a lady. I joined the College of Whispers, I wandered, I lived. It was fun. I had the time of my life. But I grew bored again.

The College of Whispers has a very fitting name. Whisper is all they do. They don't actually teach anything (except, perhaps, that most mages are unendurable little pricks). Too busy guarding 'secrets' from the Synod, and slurping the Elder Council's… well, you get the idea. It's too political. Nothing to be learned. No appreciation of the art of casting a fireball; it is an art, you know. People take their magical talent for granted; how splendid it truly is that the elements bend to your will! I did pick up a few things here and there, so it wasn't all a waste of time, but it took far too long.

I left for Blacklight. It's in mainland Morrowind, up in the northwest, near the border to Skyrim; the closest Nord city being that of Windhelm, the seat of the Stormcloak uprising. It's a lovely city, fitting of its status of Capital following the sacking of Mournhold. There, in the Mage's Guild, I actually learnt a lot. The Dunmer there were old—very old. As old as my parents, even, some of them being able to recall the Oblivion Crisis. As a result, they had banks and banks of knowledge for all schools of magic; alteration, illusion, conjuration, alchemy, destruction, enchantment – I spent a good few years there, building my talents with the help of the masters there.

I grew bored once more.

I hate being in the same place for too long. My next destination, I decided, would be west – to Skyrim. I considered making the journey directly to Windhelm, for I've heard the Dunmer there prosper in a lavish district known as the Grey Quarter, but I decided against it. There happened to be a group of Alik'r mercenaries who were sailing to the city of Dawnstar, near to the College of Winterhold. I paid the Captain, a contemptuous cutthroat who was known as Amir the Bold, but I think Amir the Cunt is a more fitting name. He shook me down for every last Septim I had, just to get passage on his piece of shit ship sailing to its piece of shit destination. And here I am. I'm dea—

"Aye, lookie here! She's awake, Lyrin!"
I wasn't dead. I was alive. I had washed up on the shore, and crouched down above me was the foulest smelling Nord I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Clad in primitive fur armour, he'd only one eye, an array of missing teeth, and he wore an overgrown, shaggy black beard, which was coloured with bits of grey here and there.
"She is? By Azura, she's one lucky lady," commented his companion, who soon trodded over and joined his unhygienic Nord companion. He was a Dunmer, and thankfully, he looked as if he had taken a bath sometime this week, donning simple blue robes and having short, neat black hair. What was most interesting about his appearance, though, was the amulet he wore. It was a gorgeous little thing—silver, I think, and with a little moon and star at the end. I was about to compliment him on it, but then I realised that I should have been dead and I'm in the company of two strangers in a foreign land that I know nothing about… though, if they wanted to do me any harm, they would have already.

I coughed up bits of seaweed, sat up, and looked between the two travellers who had stumbled upon me. "I'm alive. That's lovely," I remarked, to myself more than anything.

"Aye, that y'are, lass. Ain't quite sure how, if I'm honest. Saw that crash ye had back there. Ye have a Skeever at the wheel, or somethin'?" the Nord laughed, standing up and taking a few steps away from me, of which I was thankful for.

I remembered old Amir the Cunt. "Something like that," was my reply. I wasn't sure what a Skeever was, but it sounded like something Amir could have been compared to, to me. "Where exactly am I?"

"Just a little south of Dawnstar, muthsera," chimed my robed kinsman. "We were on our way to the shrine of Azura. Up there." He pointed to the statue above; a magnificently huge thing, with Azura standing proud, a moon in one hand and a star in the other.

Azura. Perhaps she saved me. It made sense that he was going there, but a Nord? How odd. I didn't speak of it, however. After a few moments of struggling, I made it up to my feet. Surprisingly, I wasn't in much pain. Everything seemed fine. It didn't make too much sense, but I wasn't complaining. I turned my head to the south, and I could vaguely just about make out the thatched roofs in the distance. That must be Dawnstar. "Ah, well… I suppose I'll be off. Thank you, sera." I nodded to the Dunmer, and then to the Nord. They nodded back, muttered their goodbyes, and went on their merry way, and off I went to Dawnstar.

I was unsurprised to see that it was a shithole.

Well, all adventures have to start somewhere, I guess…