An old Breton woman sat in front of a small cauldron over a fire. Her hair was long and matted. It came down to shoulder height, but came out sideways about as far as her shoulders were wide. Her clothes were but tattered rags just hanging off of her. Her eyes, a bright blue, kept a watchful eye on the pot. She grabbed a wooden spoon on a nearby table and got up. She stirred the contents carefully. This had to be done just right or the time she spent preparing this concoction would be wasted. Her face was dirty and weathered. She showed her age in her face, with the various creases that identified significant points in her life. She lived in a decently sized shack. There was enough room for a single bed, table and fireplace. The table was small and had a single candle burning in the middle. It also had a wooden bowl and small spoon set on it. It was located to the right of the fireplace. A chair was pushed in to the table as well. Both were wooden, old and looked like they were about to fall apart. The stool she sat on was the same way. She heard a cough behind her.
She turned to look at her bed. It was a simple bed, made of wood. It had straw to sleep on and cloth to cover the straw. A Nord, barely alive, lies on the bed. His breathing is labored and his body is weak. His skin is pale and his lips are blue. He was covered with a deer pelt to keep him warm. She turned her attention back to the cauldron. The liquid inside was a yellow-orange color. It had small chunks of unidentifiable bits in it and smelled like troll urine. The smell of it filled the shack. The mixture began to bubble slowly, and the color gradually changed to a pale yellow. She got up and walked to some shelves to the left of the fireplace. The shelves were full of bottles; each one containing a plant, animal part or insect. She pointed with her right index finger at the first bottle on a shelf and ran her hand down the row of bottles. She stopped at a bottle that contained some blue butterflies. Grabbing the bottle, she hobbled back to the fireplace. She sat down on her stool, opened the bottle and grabbed a single butterfly by its wings with her left hand. She closed the bottle and set it aside on the table. Gripping the insect by the body with her right hand, she tore off its wings and tossed the body to the ground. She got up and put her hands over the cauldron. She rolled the wings in her hand and dropped them in before wiping her hands over the mixture.
The mixture turned a slight green. She took the bowl off the table and grabbed the larger spoon. She stirred the concoction for a bit and spooned some into the bowl. Grabbing the stool and the smaller spoon off the table, she scurried over to the Nord lying in her bed. His eyes were closed and his dirty hair ran along the sides of his face. He was breathing heavily through his mouth. She sat on the stool and spooned up a small bit of liquid into his mouth. He choked slightly, but swallowed it. She sat there for what seemed like an hour slowly feeding him her special brew. After he swallowed the last bit, she put the bowl on the floor and looked at him carefully. The color was already starting to return to his skin and his lips were returning to normal. "You're a strong one, Thorius," She said. "But you'll need more than strength in the coming days." She put her hand on his forehead. "Rest now, young one. You'll need your strength." Thorius' breathing steadied.
For weeks, the old woman had looked after Thorius. She fed him and cared for him like a mother would her child. The powerful potion she had made for him was working, but time was needed for his recovery. Luckily, the old lady had a simple daily ritual that took plenty of time. She would wake and go tend to some chickens she kept outside of her shack. She would get water from a nearby stream and gather vegetables she grew nearby. After making herself breakfast, she would meditate. She sat, for hours, motionless in front of the fireplace. She would center herself for the rest of her work later in the day. During one particular meditation, however, she noticed her bed stirring. She turned around and looked to see Thorius sitting up. "It's about time you woke up," She said. Thorius' head was spinning. He put his arms behind him to brace himself up in the bed.
"Where . . . am I?"
"You're in a safe place for now," The old woman answered. "Your wounds were pretty bad, but they have mostly healed by now. Do you remember anything about what happened?" Thorius sat up fully and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He placed both hands on the edge of the bed and looked down. He was dressed in a simple shirt and pants.
Thorius scowled and shot a look at the old woman. "Where're my belongings, wench?"
She crossed her arms and scowled back at him. "They're in a safe place. But first you need to tell me what you remember. I saved your life; don't forget this."
"I owe you nothing, you . . ."
The old woman stood up quickly and pointed at Thorius with her right hand. Her left hand was at her side, clenched hard into a fist. "Choose your next words carefully, Nord!" The room darkened and the sound of wood creaking could be heard from all around as the woman stared at Thorius. Her facial expression showed anger not unlike the fury of a dremora lord after being kicked in the crotch. Shadows ran up and down the walls as the light seemed to bleed out of the room. High pitched whines could be heard coming from a seemingly long distance. "Do not take me for some haggard old mule! I brought you back, Nord! And I can take you away just as easily!"
Thorius looked around the room as a fear he had not felt in a long time gripped him. His face bore a panicked look. The old woman noticed this and her anger subsided. Her face returned to normal and the light slowly came back into the room. She exhaled a sigh and sat back down. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?" Thorius gathered his wits and calmed himself. He looked at her blankly and started talking.
"The last thing I remember, I was being attacked. He was strong and quick," He said.
"Who attacked you?"
"I . . . don't know." He shifted his eyes downward. "I don't remember how I got attacked either." He put a hand on his head. "I just remember he had me on the ground. I should be dead."
"You were."
Thorius put his hand down and raised his eyes quickly, looking at the old woman. "What?"
The old woman stood up slowly and joined her hands in front of her. "Thorius, you died after that attack." She slowly started walking towards him. "It was no small task to bring you back. Arkay was determined to see you pass. He must have wanted it badly." She sat down on the bed next to him, looked him in the eye and put her hand on the small of his back. "I, however, brought you back. You are important, Thorius; more important than you know."
Thorius' face looked like it was carved in stone. "What do you want with me," he asked.
She looked at him in the eye for several seconds. She slowly smiled at him. "I want you to have your revenge." Thorius had a look of confusion on his face. He couldn't believe this was all she wanted. Somehow, though, he felt more at ease. He could feel warmth coming from her hand. The old woman removed her hand and stood up with a sigh, walking towards her stool.
"What are you hiding, woman?"
The old woman chuckled, stopped and turned around. "In due time, Thorius. For now, I need to make some food. Help an old woman out, won't you?"
Thorius and the old woman prepared a meal. Thorius couldn't help but think about what it was this old woman really wanted. Throughout the day, he helped her with menial labor. His strength came back slowly, but he was nowhere near as strong as he was before. That night, after supper, Thorius decided he had enough. They were both sitting at the table next to the fireplace. Thorius bore a look of annoyance. "Where're my belongings?"
She smiled. "They're in a safe place. I will give them to you in the morning. No doubt you want to leave tomorrow."
Thorius smirked and stared into space. "I'm going to find the one who attacked me, rip his heart out, and show it to him before he dies."
"As you should," She replied. "I have something that might help you in your quest. This was in your satchel when I found you." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a rolled up piece of paper. She handed it to Thorius. Thorius grabbed it quickly.
Thorius looked more pissed off than usual. "You dare go through my belongings," he asked. The old woman rolled her eyes. He unrolled the paper carefully. It was a note, written in his handwriting. A single word was written on the paper. Thorius scowled at the paper. "Solitude," he said. He looked up at the woman. She was looking at him and smiling. Thorius was never a fan of Solitude. He made more enemies there than he could count. However, none of them were as skilled in stealth as his attacker. Going back meant sticking out his neck, but he didn't care if he had to wade through a moat of fire. This was the only lead he had for finding his attacker and he was going to take it.
"We should rest now. You'll leave at dawn," said the old woman.
That night, Thorius dreamt of his attack. The figure had him pinned to the ground and stabbed him mercilessly. Never stopping, never wavering. The pain from each stab ran through his entire body. He screamed out in pain, but no one was around to help him. The figure laughed maniacally as he continued his work. After what seemed to be an eternity of pain, he finally grabbed Thorius by the hair and pulled his head back. The knife was slipped in front of his throat as the figure pushed his head back to the ground. The figure sawed away with the knife at Thorius' throat. Thorius coughed and choked on the blood running from his neck. He tried to scream, but all he could do was gargle on his own blood.
Thorius awoke in a cold sweat. This hasn't happened to him in a long time; since he was a child. "Bad dream?" The old woman asked. She had a smirk on her face as she was stirring the cauldron over the fire. "Your things are next to your bed. I'm finishing up a special potion for you. Dawn will break soon, so you should get dressed."
He got out of the bed and felt completely rejuvenated. He saw his fur armor, bracers, boots and satchel next to the bed and put them on. After dressing, he looked over at his steel two handed axe. He grabbed it and for the first time in what felt like a century, he held his axe. The feeling of its cold steel on his hands pleased him. He looked over at the old woman, who had filled a bottle with the strange concoction she was brewing. "I have no need for your magic, witch." He said in a belittling tone.
She gave him a look that pierced his soul. "Do not test me, Nord. I brought you back. You are mine now, and you will do as I command. Do I need to remind you of this?"
There was something about this woman that Thorius knew he shouldn't mess with. He had killed numerous witches in the past but he has never been fazed by them before. The woman walked over to him and handed him the bottle. "What is this? It smells like a rotting giant," he said.
She smirked at him. "It'll put some hair on your chest." She slapped his butt and walked toward the cauldron. Thorius was less than pleased. "Use it when your strength is not enough. Now, you should be going if you intend on reaching Solitude any time soon. Just walk north and you'll find your way." She had her full attention on the cauldron. He opened his satchel and put the bottle inside. Putting his axe on his back, he turned to leave the shack. "One more thing, Thorius." The old woman turned around and looked at him with a stare that could cut through stone. "This journey will push you to your limits. Your strength alone will not be enough to make you succeed. If you fail . . ." Her face darkened. ". . . Death will be the least of your worries. Now, go." She returned her attention to the cauldron.
Thorius left the shack and went outside. For some reason, what the old woman said stayed with him. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Usually, he didn't worry about such trivial things as life and death. He started north, toward Solitude. The words of the old woman echoed in his mind. You are important, Thorius; more important than you know. He shook off the strange feeling and kept walking. He was going to need all of his wits together when he arrived at Solitude.