CHAPTER FOUR- PREMONITION
Early morning across the desert plains- the shimmering of the sun glowed red, marking the landscape a cool black. Sand budged at Debreu's feet, her bones welcoming the wave of warmth surging across the land. She smiled, her face creasing but pleasant lines framing the sides of her mouth.
Allura slid down, through the sand dune- her long nails raking through, etching a trail behind her. Pale sand flecked up into the long, white strands of her hair. She came to a gradual stop, and hoisted herself- her knees twanging slightly. She brushed sand off of the dirty, green robes wrapped around her fragile figure. They say grace comes with age... bah!
But pulling her head, she came face-to-face with a desert crawler.
Her teeth gritted together, pulling her old lips into an ugly sneer- the desert worm's orange eyes that were neatly laid out in a row on top of its crinkly head, blinked nastily at her. It opened its mouth, revealing many layers of serrated teeth gnashing and juggling around inside. It shimmied, on its fat body- snaking its way through the sand towards her, like the worm it was. Allura carefully began to grab her walking stick [fashioned from desert driftwood], which was laid across the body of her back. The sand worm leaped, and spiralled through the air. The walking stick twirled in her aged fingers, and she struck upwards- to the stomach. Pose strong. Feet squarely on the ground- but a gurgling, worm stuck on the sharp end. Blood poured onto her hands, making them slick.
She dumped it aside, with a heave of her shoulders... and carried on regardless.
Allura had walked at least twenty miles, due east- against the track of the sun, running up above. Her pale skin had taken on a warm, orange colour after twelve hours. Night was fast approaching across the horizon, the shadowy sands beginning to run towards her. The sand disappeared underneath- it changed from soft and flowing, to scattered pebbles and dirt. She looked up to be met with the sight of small, mud huts- the roofs made of broken sticks stuck together with mud.
She sighed, happily, having found civilization at last.
A shadow rippled as it climbed a dark tower- malicious grin. Mechanical eyes zoomed in, as it let it go. Death flying a long, thin shadow. Splat of blood, as a figure fell. A roar of cries trapped itself over her ears- people moving, like blurs, around her with panic in their eyes.
Flash- time accelerates. Figures cloaked in robes talking frantically- symbols etched in walls glowing. A demon, opening its mouth and lunging at her. She felt herself being pulled away, out, and feeling as if she was in water. Bubbles floated around her, images flicking quickly inside each. Look, listen. Soon, the bane of kings shall unfurl... along with the world. You are needed in Skyrim, Debreu- you must help the Dovahkiin and her kin. She tried to talk, but found the words dying on her tongue.
Allura woke up with a gasp, and real life began to filter through her eyelids- it was still dark. She panted, and clenched her aching head. Those words? They kept running around her skull, pushing out against her eyes. She looked around herself- her make-shift walking stick, was lying next to her prodding stick. They were glistening in the moonlight. The green robes were loosened slightly around her middle- she sat up, her back protesting. Allura, through her old eyes, could see only a little in the dark-with a lazy twirl of her hand, her vision cleared. The shadows were rendered a light purple...nothing out of the ordinary poked out at her.
Skyrim? Why? Why must I go? She appealed to the Nine Divines, but experience taught her their answers were naught or cryptic at best. She had at least a hundred years of experience with religion and its follies, she thought bitterly. But she was meant to do something, and it was wise to comply. And curiosity struck through her bones, making her question her visions. She always had visions, even when she was little girl in Alinor- but recently, the visions were beginning to take over. And they had something to do with Skyrim. Vague- who is this 'bane of kings'?
Allura Debreu came out of the hut, at the break of dawn. She asked one of the Redguard nomads, where she could hitch a ride to the Skyrim border. The dark-skinned woman paused in thought, screwing her face up slightly. She told Allura, in a thick accent, to go to 'Skaven'. There, she could catch a carriage to Falkreath, in the far south. Allura thanked her, and set on her way.
Never once thinking about her past- but only of her role to come.