Some years later
Winterhold
4E 201
The snow painted the glass windows a luminous white. It was impossible to see out. Even though Aysel knew that all that was out there was a stark white landscape and a hideously grey ocean – she still longed for the sight of it. The woman that sat across from her was a wrinkled Breton in her 40s, petite with a weasling voice unfit for such a small body. Collete Marence wasn't a bad woman, but Aysel wasn't the only one who found her voice grating on the nerves.
When she asked how she was feeling, Aysel responded she was fine. Even so, she continued to tut and tsk and assess every inch of her. Collette hissed in annoyance.
"Please, Aysella, take off that hideous mask so I can take a proper look at you."
Aysel sighed heavily and did as she was told. She winced when she did so, the light, unobstructed, shining brightly into her eyes.
"So you are still experiencing extreme light sensitivity." Colette muttered, insisting on probing apart her eyelids to get a good look at her eyes, though Aysella felt it was totally unnecessary.
"Please, Ms Marence." Aysella said, gently pushing the older woman away. "I'm fine, my eyes have been this way ever since I was young."
"No, it has not. It's been getting worse."
"It's fine."
"It really isn't, at this rate-"
"I'll go blind, I know." Aysella grabbed her mask and put it on. The pain in her eyes lessened. "It's fine, it's a miracle I was able to see in the first place." She stood, ignoring the woman's protests.
"Really Aysella – if we catch this early we might be able to preserve your vision-"
"I'm a Falmer, I was never meant to have my vision anyway."
She left the room, shutting the door behind her. Colette slouched back in her seat and heaved a sigh.
A person was approaching the bridge.
The wind snatched hungrily at their robes, whipping it back and forth and making it impossible to discern their figure accurately. Faralda squinted as bits of snow assailed her face, but stood firm as the man, as she could now properly be certain it was, came to a stop in front of her.
"State your business now or be on your way." Her voice commanded over the wind. The man, face hidden under the cloak, smiled wryly.
"Is this the College of Winterhold?" He asked, casting a casual glance behind Faralda, then just as dismissively, returning his gaze to the indignant elf.
"Of course." How could it not be, it was the grandest structure around. It was obvious, yet the stranger felt the need to ask?
"Well then," He grinned widely. "I seek entrance to your College."
Her eyes narrowed in dislike. "That won't be as simple as you seem to think, sir."
The man rested his hands on his hips and let out a leisurely sigh that was almost drowned out by the wind. He threw his head back and looked up, studying the tall towers of the College.
"I'm wanting to look into the Elder Scrolls." He told her, as if her previous statement had gone unheard.
"Do you now?" The elf deadpanned. "It is true… there are some here who have spent years studying the accumulated knowledge of the scrolls. But what you seek does not come easily – you will need to prove to me your will is strong and your intentions are true."
"Prove myself, you say – I assume with magick?"
"Indeed so."
He laughed. "I'm afraid that's not really my thing." He said, mentioning to the blades at his hip. "However, I think I can still prove myself maybe… another way."
Faralda went red in the face. "Why you-"
He held a hand up. "Kano Aimilios, at your service." He swept a hand through his hair, sweeping back his hood at the same time. He was surprisingly youthful. His features were distinctively Bosmeri, but darker, rougher. He smiled invitingly, and Faralda couldn't help but notice in that moment how even though she was an Altmer he almost stood as tall as she did.
She huffed, straightening her posture further, if that was possible. "Is that name meant to mean anything to me, Bosmer?"
"Not particularly." He said. "I'm just, you know, the Dragonborn."
"Volume 8, 9 and 10." Urag-gro-sharab told her, handing her a parchment. Aysel squinted down at the squiggly letters. For someone who invested his life in literature, the recording and keeping of written language itself…. His handwriting was torture to the eyes.
"Onmund, student, Racial Phylogeny, Hall of Attainment. Breylyna Maron, Reality and Other Falsehoods, The Barenziah v5, Hall of Attainment. Mirabelle Ervine, The Complexities and Intricacies of Magick v…." She rattled off the list, ending with a large sigh.
"Problem." He grunted.
"Just… no excursions out today, I see."
"Not one, my books have been staying put within the College recently, just the way I prefer." He seemed almost happy, if that was possible for the hefty orc. Aysel tucked the list into her robe, casting a long eye around the room.
"Nothing else you needed, Urag?" She asked, almost hopefully.
He glanced up from the books he was stacking and gave her a long stare. "Perhaps." He said, straightening with a large groan. "Tolfdir seemed to be in some need for an assistant for his class tomorrow, he wanted me to ask you."
She stood frozen on the spot. "I see." She had been avoiding the old man for that very reason, but it didn't seem to have done her any good. "Then I'll pop by on my way back." Urag grunted and returned to his work. Aysel sighed and left.
The College was blissfully serene at this time in the evening.
The soles of her shoes padded softly along the hall as she walked. She hummed under her breath – some old song she had heard at some inn, on one of the few occasions she got to venture out. She found music was something she really liked. Though Enthir, who was with her at the time, seemed to have more of a distaste for that sort of thing. She stopped by Ms Ervine's first. The Breton was awake writing some sort of entry in an old journal. Mirabelle promptly handed over the books and ushered Aysel out the door, not wishing to be disturbed. The Hall of Attainment wasn't much further away, just down a flight of stairs.
Although Aysella was a fellow student, she could never get along with any of the other students. The differences in their lives were just too jarring and, while none of them knew her secret, they all looked at her with wary eyes. Aysel was aware of almost every rumour regarding her that had flapped from one student's lips to another's, and while they were all very amusing, it just seemed to prove just how judgemental they were. She could never, ever be "one" of them, and never would she want to be.
The first person she found was Onmund, the big nord was fiddling around with some alchemical ingredients, and when he looked up and saw Aysel's cloaked and masked figure in the doorway, he almost jumped out of his skin.
"A-ah, right the books." He muttered. "Just a moment, I had them-" He then tottered around, moving things about, trying to locate the volumes. As she understood it, Onmund wasn't typically a nervous fellow, but she supposed that perhaps he didn't like how she always popped up out of the blue, especially in this attire of hers. She decided to give him some space while he looked for them.
Breylyna smiled when Aysela came through the doorway. The dark elf was one of the more curious students, always inquisitive and studious – not that the others weren't, but she always tended to take a keen interest in things that simply weren't her business.
"Ms Aysella." She picked up the volumes that had been neatly stacked on her desk and gave them to her. "Thank you very much, here they are."
"Thank you."
"Are you off to the Arcanium, then?" Breylyna asked.
"Not yet, Onmund needs a bit to find his volume on Racial Phylogeny."
"Of course, would you like a seat then?"
"I'm good." Aysel nodded, keeping her answers as curt as possible. She didn't want to stay any longer than she needed.
Breylyna looked at her curiously. "I'm sorry if this is a bit rude, but I've always wondered – why do you wear that mask of yours?"
Aysella smiled wryly, but of course, Breylyna couldn't see.
"I'm disfigured." Aysel answered simply.
"That badly, magick couldn't heal it?"
"Not at all."
"That's unusual, and unfortunate." The dark elf's face wrinkled in sympathy. "What type of wound is it, if you don't mind me asking? It must be of an extreme nature to scar you so."
"The permanent type."
"Ah." Breylyna's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."
"Don't worry about it, Ms Maron." Aysel replied breezily, as Onmund came tottering over from his room, book in hand. "Ah, thank you. I'll be on my way now. Good night."
She left the room without waiting for a reply – really, she hated such things. The fact that she would have to play assistant tomorrow in Tolfdir's class – and having to see all of them and be amicable. She hated it. Another thing I have to do, she though, hefting the books in her arms. She had to go find Tolfdir, afterall, he had asked for her. She sighed, very heavily, the warm air bouncing off the inside of her mask and brushing against her nose. She decided it was better to drop of the books first.
What type of wound?
Her fingers brushed along the mask - made of light, yet solid wood.
The permanent type.
Surely, the type that would guarantee judgment and hatred, directly solely at her. A wound etched into her very bloodline, her own race. Not a wound or a scar, but a link of thread always connecting her back to the people that everyone saw as monsters. They are monsters, though. Aysella mused.
We all are.
"I've got your books." Aysel announced as she came through the door. "Urag…"
At the desk stood a man that Aysel had never seen before. She paused for a second, staring in confusion. New faces in the College wasn't something unheard of, but something about this particular stranger through her off. Urag looked up and saw her, and mentioned her forward with a hand. She placed the books on the desk. He was definitely a bosmer, that much could be told by the slant of his almond eyes and his defined features, the pointed ears. Yet there was something indelicate about the set of his jaw and the jut of his chin. His skin was dark, yet his eyes were a bright green.
The man was beautiful. His gaze pinned her and she found herself unconsciously checking that she was wearing her mask. Such beauty only reminded her only reminded her of her own lack of it.
She bit her lip and let her hand fall.
"Greetings." Aysel said. "I believe you must be new."
He smiled disarmingly at her. "Yes you could say that."
Urag grunted. "He was asking about books regarding the Elder Scrolls. Do you mind if you can help him?"
The man smiled. "My name is Kano Aimilios."
"Of …course." She said, eyeing the swords at his hip and the rough leather armor under his robes. "May I ask why you need to read up on such a subject, sir?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"Just curious." She muttered. He doesn't look like a mage, she thought irritably. "I'm wondering why they let you in."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You don't use magic, do you?"
The man smirked. "You have a keen eye."
"I have two, actually." She pulled out a volume at one shelf, read the title, and slid it back in. After a couple of instances of this, she stacked four books in front of him. He looked at the books with a rather unhappy look. "Happy reading, Kano Aimilios."
Gah, it took a while for me to get motivated to write this.
So here it is. Hope it isn't too choppy, I always worry about describing things too much, too little, etc. I end up cutting myself off and adding things in and then...just juggling things everywhere. As for spelling and grammar errors, there are probably a few - please forgive me, I tried. In all likelihood I'll come back one day and try rewriting these. I'm trying my best to make interactions seem natural without making anyone too OOC, but I haven't ever properly tried a long story like this before...
Argh, anyway, I hope you enjoyed either way. I'll stop fussing.
Thank you very much for reading Chapter 1!