Sundas, Evening Star 3rd era of the 433rd year,
I have no idea why I feel the need to write in this journal, but my mind cannot be put to rest until I write my thoughts down on paper. Silly isn't it? No one will ever see these entries, nor will they ever hear of my story. In some odd way, dear reader, there is a faint glimmer of hope that this book will end up in your hands. Only Mara knows how such a feat could be accomplished. By now, you must be wondering who I am, and why I would start out any piece of writing like this? Laughable really, that you would even care! Well, I can assure you, my profession was never that of a scribe or a bard. I do not have the gift of exaggeration, and my pen is not the paintbrush a true writer would use to take you to a world of dragons and adventure. I am a tailor, plain and simple. Strange is the fate the Nine have in store for us mere mortals isn't it? How does a mere tailor with a modest clothing store in Anvil wind up in this "Paradise", an immortal slave to Mankar Cameron?
How I long for those days, to see the cityscape of my native Anvil. Most people marvel at the majesty of the Imperial city, or find the mountains surrounding Bruma a natural wonder. I however, have always preferred Anvil's understatement and quiet charm. The smell of sea air, the bustle of the town square, a quiet sunset bursting over the Gold Coast; these are the treasures of my experiences that sustain me even now. I was a member of the marketplace, and as I mentioned above I was a tailor by trade. We Imperials are always expected to have a knack for business and a glib tongue to match, but I never seemed to fit the mold. My father raised me to run the family business since birth. My mother would often say, before she passed, that I could take a pile of rags and a needle and make a suit fit for a king. I don't know if I truly lived up to her high praises, but I certainly had a natural talent for the craft. Whenever I think back, her face has always been fresh in my mind; her smooth face, her midnight hair, her proud eyes that showed no malice to anyone. Father took her death far harder than he showed, and after the funeral he was a changed man. I grew up mostly alone, my father distant to me, but I always made sure I had something to occupy my hands. Winters and Summers passed as they do, and my life in Anvil had gotten into a comfortable rut. Then, one day, I met someone who set me onto a road I never suspected I could walk.
She was an Altmer, Layala, a lovely one with skin like fresh milk and almond eyes. Her best point were her graceful hands, thin yet beautiful. She captivated me in a way that this pen could not truly do justice. I clearly remember the first day she came to the shop to buy a new dress for a party. I could hardly concentrate, as I had never beheld a creature so pleasing to the eyes. My father was not very good with customers, as after mother's death he felt that the world had cheated him, and I was the one that handled everything in the shop. When I talked to her, I stumbled over my words like a drunken fool, never quite finding the right thing to say. I trapped myself in my own inability to communicate, but with each successive blunder I was met with laughter not unlike an angel. Do you think I let myself fly off into the clouds? Perhaps, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, my dear reader. She bought her dress and promptly left, and I hadn't the heart to seek her out again. Yes I was a coward, but people like me seldom are reticent of their own feelings and have difficulties acting on them.
Luckily the Nine had not forsaken me, and she appeared again. I was running errands along the Gold Road, and I had to find a brook to let my horse have a drink. It was then I heard a lilting voice from the depths of the forest. I was like a sailor drawn to the voice of a siren. There she was, delicately playing a silver harp atop a boulder overlooking a babbling brook. Her strands of auburn hair spiraled downwards, the rays of light streaking through the canopy of the forest giving her countenance a haunting glow. I felt like I had stepped into a fairy tale and I was the unsuspecting protagonist! I stood next to a tree, entranced and unable to move. She ended her song and playfully splashed her toes in the brook. She then turned around and looked at me, her eyes locking with mine. Had she known all along I was there, or was it by chance? My heart wavered and my knees gave way until they felt like butter. "Won't you sing with me?" she asked sweetly, motioning to the spot next to her. Miraculously I found the courage to move my legs, despite the fact they felt like lead anchors. I sat next to her, gazing into her bewitching eyes. My body stiffened, and I couldn't help but look downwards at the ground. Despite my lack of confidence, Layala did not seem to care. She let her fingers dance across the strings of her harp, a quiet tune springing forth from the instrument. We sat there for a moment, enjoying nature's symphony, and then she began to sing a quiet song. I did not know the words but I soon found the rhythm and joined in. The song seemed to awake the forest out of its ancient slumber,
Life began anew for me at that time. I felt as if I had been born into a strange new land, one that had only passing similarities with the previous. Somehow Layala had made my existence have a purpose. I saw her many times during the successive weeks. We would oftentimes meet in the same glen and trade stories. Sometimes we'd hide away into the shadows of the forest, losing ourselves into its depths. Our meetings were brief but that didn't matter to me, I wanted to be with her with every fiber of my being. She was quiet and shy oftentimes, and I found myself flooding out with every thought, feelings, desire, or ambition I had ever had. Always attentive but never forthcoming, she would sometimes seem so close and then at other times as far away as Morrowind. Layala was truly a mystery to me, one that I would've gladly spent my life trying to solve.
I recall one day when she and I were sitting on the beach overlooking the Abecean sea. She sat there looking upwards, the red and orange hues blazing across the firmament. I was feeling a little poetic at the time (the Cyrillic Brandy we had been sharing probably helped), and I decided to bring out the bard in me.
"Would you like to hear a song I used to sing as a little kid, Layala?"
Instead of talking Layala would communicate to me in subtle ways. She simply looked at me and smiled, bolstering my self confidence. I began to sing, the rhythm a little rusty but the words still quite clear in my mind.
Away, away, on the green isle of Taralfen
Away, away, at the heart of the sleeping glen
There they stood, nine statues of the day
Their glimmering swords near their feet lay
The darkness they held back with their might
For no evil, no villain, would escape their sight
They see us through the glass of silver
Watching the rivers run hither and thither…
"Please…no more…" choked Layala, burying her head in her hands and weeping. I reached out my hand to comfort her but she immediately jerked away.
"That is a terrible song about terrible things! Hypocrites!" she yelled, standing up and running back into the forest. I stood up, not knowing what I had done to make her so upset.
"Layala, wait!" I said running into the thicket after her, but she was swift of foot and had already escaped from my sight. I stood there, in the midst of the brush, my heart sinking into the abyss of my stomach. I thought about the song some more and what connection it could have at all.
"It's just a song we used to sing in church…" I thought to myself, dejectedly returning home. I did not see her again for awhile, sadly.