Dravynea the Stoneweaver lived for decades in Kynesgrove before Torina stumbled up the hill to hide under the front porch of the inn. Those years were long and cold and almost forced her back to try her luck in Morrowind. Her patience was acknowledged, and she thanked Mephala for rewarding her so well.
The state of the girl's hair and skin almost disguised her Dunmer heritage, so dirty and abused was she. But she was Dunmer.
She was perfect.
On sight Dravynea could guess the young woman had emigrated from Morrowind. Decades had passed since she lived within the walls of Windhelm but the look on her face and the way she carried herself spoke volumes.
"What is your name, child?" she had asked, schooling her voice to something much kinder than what she used to address the guards and other townsfolk in Kynesgrove.
Voice small but steady, the girl replied, "Torina."
The bandits that lifted the girl, Torina, from whoever was watching over her in the city had beaten her. Badly. No life threatening wounds were visible and the spark of residual restoration spells told her why. Torina knew enough magic to heal herself, then. The blood that Dravynea helped to clean out from under Torina's nails proved she fought against her attackers. Good. The girl had spirit and that was what Dravynea needed. What she'd prayed for.
"No parents or surname? What house do you hail from?" She tried as gently as possible to prod for information.
The hands she held stiffened in her grip like Torina wanted to pull away from her. With a stern glare from Dravynea not to interrupt the delicate healing of her finger bones, she stopped her fidgeting. A few moments passed before she answered. Dravynea was patient. She could wait for the girl to find her tongue again. She'd waited years for Mephala to answer her prayers and she'd done so beyond her imagining.
"I don't have any close family left, and my house was erased from the records when I was placed in the Gray Quarter."
"Bastard Nords," Dravynea whispered. She scrubbed a bit too hard on Torina's forearm and made the girl flinch. A restoration spell healed the redness away immediately. "A mer needs a place to call home no matter where they wander."
The softness, the slow care, the patience. Dravynea had waited so long for a little mer like Torina to appear in Kynesgrove that she had plenty to spare for her new project. A vision was all she'd lived on for decades now, the hint of a promise in this hellishly cold landscape. Torina had fallen for the platitudes easily. Bright red eyes watched her every movement carefully, and soon it was with reverence and utmost trust.
If Dravynea were not so focused on her ultimate task then she may have had pity for the girl.
Even as the young mer softened towards her new protector, Dravynea worked to temper Torina into the sharpest blade. Torina arrived with limited knowledge on the princes and customs if worship of her homeland but Dravynea made sure she knew her place at Mephala's mercy. After learning of the Nord's worship of Talos and how judiciously it was guarded across the province, especially in Windhelm, the girl Torina knew the value of not speaking of her faith out of turn. That instinct kept the Dunmer out of the concern of the suspicious smattering of fellow townsfolk.
Living in Kynesgrove limited Dravynea's access to thoroughly train Torina. But there was a stir in the air that thickened the taste of magicka at the back of Dravynea's tongue when she slept, and made her blood rush through her veins whenever she focused on the hill outside the town. Though she didn't understand the true meaning behind these changes she knew they had to do with Torina. The Nords around her especially made her suspicious of that mound's significance. As each year passed she wondered if their claims of a dragon burial mound were accurate, and started to believe them a little more.
Years passed and the girl grew to be an adept mage in the study of alteration. Before escaping the bandit horde that captured her, Torina admitted she'd never used magic much past a healing spell for minor cuts or flame spells to light the hearth. Dravynea changed that swiftly. She would need to be adept in many fields to work in the way that her master required. Following alteration were other schools of magic, though the way she moved always spoke of more power locked inside of her. This power was all the more obvious when they trained on that hill. A low thrum of power moved through them like a tattoo of a drum.
The first time she was handed a true bow and arrow, not just a simple hunting bow and quiver full of iron arrows, Torina's prowess started to sing forth. She could rival the natural talent of a Bosmer with a bow.
Dravynea could not leave Kynesgrove under the guise of the mine requiring her full attention at all times. But, when she took the girl up to the strange hillock no one would truly acknowledge in the town below, and created several marksmanship courses, Torina impressed her beyond what she expected.
"I have a task for you, Torina," Dravynea said one night after such a demonstration.
"Yes, mistress?" the girl replied automatically.
Such a small act of submission, but the phrase and compliance built fire in Dravynea's soul. The older Dunmer asked, "You recall my asking you to collect frost salts for me before, correct? And this task took you-"
"-to Whiterun," Torina interrupted.
Dravynea's hand lashed in a slap across the girl's face before she could react, a fine line of blood blooming slowly to the surface across her cheek below her eye. Though she lifted a hand automatically to heal herself, Dravynea grabbed that as well. As much spirit as the girl had and for how well she submitted to Dravynea's authority, Torina still had a fire within her that was difficult to quell. It would be necessary to snuff that out at the exact most opportune moment.
"Do not speak out of turn with me," the older Dunmer said calmly.
Torina's eyes burned as red as the blood on her cheek shining in the light from the moons. But she held her tongue. She obeyed.
"I need you to return to Whiterun, my pet," Dravynea purred, smoothing her hand over the cut cheek with a wash of healing. "There is something in the plains nearby that I desire very much."
"Will I be traveling alone?" Torina asked after a sufficient amount of time passed where she would not be speaking over her mistress.
"For part of the way, pet. Delvin Mallory advised he would be sending someone to meet you at the Drunken Huntsman in ten day's time."
"What shall I be collecting for my mistress?"
"A blade. A very important blade, pet."
Teeth bright against her dark skin, Dravynea allowed herself a grin. The ache of triumph for Dravynea was so close that even the heavy magicka in the air around this strange burial mound couldn't outdo it.
Flashbacks time! These next few chapters will give the story of what happened to Torina before she woke up on that cart headed into Helgen that we're all familiar with. Also, I don't necessarily see Dravynea like this in every playthrough, but that's the joy of multiple save files, right?