The_Madgod
LordLlamahat
Selia suddenly fell to the ground as a flood of memories came to her. Her body sunk into the cold snow of the current land just as it all began to melt. The world around her was becoming quite chaotic. Every part of her mind, aside from the memory bank, began to merge together. The fires of one world mixing with the snows of another and the absolute chaos of yet another. The one constant was inconsistency, which is an oxymoron, but still proved correct at the moment. In Selia's mind-avatar-thingy's mind, things were not much different.
A young Redguard women, around fifteen, sits patiently behind an old Khajiit bent over a desk. She is transfixed on the cat's hand, which is quickly scribing something on a piece of paper. He mumbles to himself as he works in some ancient dialect of Cyrodillic. They appear to be inside some kind of tent. A bright sun shines through the leather canvas surrounding them. The only pieces of furniture are a desk, devoid of anything but some paper, a quill and some ink, a small satin cushion, upon which the Redguard sat, and a weapon rack covered in swords of all kinds, mostly scimitars, many of which glow in a variety of colors. Suddenly, the Khajiit's hand stops moving and his slow, methodic chants come to a close. "Here, young one, is all you need to know. Once you have mastered this, you will be ready for what you wish.", says the Khajiit as he turns to the amazed Redguard. He extends his hand, upon which lays the piece of paper. She quickly grabs it, her almond skin brushing up against his long brown fur. She unfolds it and irons out the creases, then turns her green eyes towards it ever so slowly, saying, in an almost rehearsed fashion, "Thank you, master J'saga-Jo. I am forever in your debt."
Suddenly, the memory was cut off, soon replaced by yet another.
The same woman, looking a couple of years older, is walking through green pastures on an old dirt path. A cloud of dust floats around her, kicked up by an Imperial caravan and kept aloft by the winds. A smile is prominant on her face, illuminated by the bright sun. Her hand is wrapped around the hilt of a glowing elven sword. Waves of red float off of the blade, each wave warming the woman and intensifying her happy mood. Suddenly, without warning, she pulls the sword out of it's scabbard and sticks it into something behind her. She whirls around, keeping her blade lodged in it's target, and comes face-to-face with a man clothed in red and black. Upon his chest is a black hand. Selia smiles at the man, who has his hand on a sword of his own, as she gently slides him off of her blade. Blood pools at tht ecorners of his mouth as he falls. His last words are something about a 'keeper' and his mother and some place in Skyrim's Falkreath hold. Selia smiles as she realizes that she just won out against a Dark Brotherhood assassin, then gently slides his gloves off and slips them over her own delicate hands. They are very loose, but they fit.
This memory ended just as quickly as the last. Selia gasped, amazed at the great detail in these flashbacks. Another memory begins to make it's way to the forefront of her mind. She sucked in another fresh breath of air as the murder of Adario plays out in front of her. As it ended, she screamed, "Please! Please stop, Danacia! I am in pain!" Her voice suddenly became harmonious as she continued. "We are in pain! Please!" One last memory began to play out as her calls went unheeded, for the moment.
An easily-recognizable Selia Anika treks through Winterhold. The snow batters her slender figure, but she doesn't care. The moon is obscured by the blizzard currently covering the hold capital. Nothing can be ehard but white noise. Still, Selia continues, headed towards the giant building towering over the others. She is walking towards the College of Winterhold. No one else roams the street. As far as anyone can tell, even the guards are in their barracks, living it up at the fire. Either that or they're all busy suffocating under the snow, or maybe just walking around without lit torches. Water, even frozen water, typically tends to put out fire. Anyway, regardless of the lack of curious natives of the land, or perhaps because of it, Selia continues on her way, unhindered and at an average walking speed. She ignores the snow flurries flying up he rnose and into her eyes, deadset on something at the College. She sticks her hand, which is covered in a decent-fitting red-and-black glove, into her pocket and fingers a couple of notes. One nearly disintegrates at her touch, old and yellowed as it is, whereas the other appears laminated. But, that's silly. Lamination techniques don't exist on Nirn. No, it is magically enhanced so as to avoid destruction. The text is raised, possibly through magic, possibly through too much ink. I don't know. Selia runs her hand across it. It reads,
"Dear student,
I see you are progressing in your ultimate goal. Remember that I still wholeheartedly
support you, but I do think you should try and find something to distract you. I fear
you are focusing to much on your single goal. That said, I suggest you head to the
College at Winterhold. A student there by the name of Alsan Isle may be helpful in
your endeavor. And, as a bonus, an expedition is leaving from there soon enough
for a Dwemer ruin. I know you wish to meet one of those 'chaurus' creatures in
person, and you do need a distraction, as previously mentioned. I think you should
enlist. Anyway, Ido hope we can speak in person soon.
Sincerely,
J'Saga-Jo, Teacher and Friend"
Selia pulls her hand away from the paper and rests it on the scabbard of one of her elven blades, then continues towards the College.
The memory ended as well, though this time slower, the blizzard slowly melting away, replaced by the landscape of Selia's mind. She opened her eyes, which had changed into bands of pink, dark red, brownish red and orange, and shouted out, still harmoniously, "JUST STOP IT, DANACIA! THIS PHYSICALLY PAINS ME! MY PERSPECTIVES ARE BLURRED! IT HURTS! STOP!"
A young Redguard women, around fifteen, sits patiently behind an old Khajiit bent over a desk. She is transfixed on the cat's hand, which is quickly scribing something on a piece of paper. He mumbles to himself as he works in some ancient dialect of Cyrodillic. They appear to be inside some kind of tent. A bright sun shines through the leather canvas surrounding them. The only pieces of furniture are a desk, devoid of anything but some paper, a quill and some ink, a small satin cushion, upon which the Redguard sat, and a weapon rack covered in swords of all kinds, mostly scimitars, many of which glow in a variety of colors. Suddenly, the Khajiit's hand stops moving and his slow, methodic chants come to a close. "Here, young one, is all you need to know. Once you have mastered this, you will be ready for what you wish.", says the Khajiit as he turns to the amazed Redguard. He extends his hand, upon which lays the piece of paper. She quickly grabs it, her almond skin brushing up against his long brown fur. She unfolds it and irons out the creases, then turns her green eyes towards it ever so slowly, saying, in an almost rehearsed fashion, "Thank you, master J'saga-Jo. I am forever in your debt."
Suddenly, the memory was cut off, soon replaced by yet another.
The same woman, looking a couple of years older, is walking through green pastures on an old dirt path. A cloud of dust floats around her, kicked up by an Imperial caravan and kept aloft by the winds. A smile is prominant on her face, illuminated by the bright sun. Her hand is wrapped around the hilt of a glowing elven sword. Waves of red float off of the blade, each wave warming the woman and intensifying her happy mood. Suddenly, without warning, she pulls the sword out of it's scabbard and sticks it into something behind her. She whirls around, keeping her blade lodged in it's target, and comes face-to-face with a man clothed in red and black. Upon his chest is a black hand. Selia smiles at the man, who has his hand on a sword of his own, as she gently slides him off of her blade. Blood pools at tht ecorners of his mouth as he falls. His last words are something about a 'keeper' and his mother and some place in Skyrim's Falkreath hold. Selia smiles as she realizes that she just won out against a Dark Brotherhood assassin, then gently slides his gloves off and slips them over her own delicate hands. They are very loose, but they fit.
This memory ended just as quickly as the last. Selia gasped, amazed at the great detail in these flashbacks. Another memory begins to make it's way to the forefront of her mind. She sucked in another fresh breath of air as the murder of Adario plays out in front of her. As it ended, she screamed, "Please! Please stop, Danacia! I am in pain!" Her voice suddenly became harmonious as she continued. "We are in pain! Please!" One last memory began to play out as her calls went unheeded, for the moment.
An easily-recognizable Selia Anika treks through Winterhold. The snow batters her slender figure, but she doesn't care. The moon is obscured by the blizzard currently covering the hold capital. Nothing can be ehard but white noise. Still, Selia continues, headed towards the giant building towering over the others. She is walking towards the College of Winterhold. No one else roams the street. As far as anyone can tell, even the guards are in their barracks, living it up at the fire. Either that or they're all busy suffocating under the snow, or maybe just walking around without lit torches. Water, even frozen water, typically tends to put out fire. Anyway, regardless of the lack of curious natives of the land, or perhaps because of it, Selia continues on her way, unhindered and at an average walking speed. She ignores the snow flurries flying up he rnose and into her eyes, deadset on something at the College. She sticks her hand, which is covered in a decent-fitting red-and-black glove, into her pocket and fingers a couple of notes. One nearly disintegrates at her touch, old and yellowed as it is, whereas the other appears laminated. But, that's silly. Lamination techniques don't exist on Nirn. No, it is magically enhanced so as to avoid destruction. The text is raised, possibly through magic, possibly through too much ink. I don't know. Selia runs her hand across it. It reads,
"Dear student,
I see you are progressing in your ultimate goal. Remember that I still wholeheartedly
support you, but I do think you should try and find something to distract you. I fear
you are focusing to much on your single goal. That said, I suggest you head to the
College at Winterhold. A student there by the name of Alsan Isle may be helpful in
your endeavor. And, as a bonus, an expedition is leaving from there soon enough
for a Dwemer ruin. I know you wish to meet one of those 'chaurus' creatures in
person, and you do need a distraction, as previously mentioned. I think you should
enlist. Anyway, Ido hope we can speak in person soon.
Sincerely,
J'Saga-Jo, Teacher and Friend"
Selia pulls her hand away from the paper and rests it on the scabbard of one of her elven blades, then continues towards the College.
The memory ended as well, though this time slower, the blizzard slowly melting away, replaced by the landscape of Selia's mind. She opened her eyes, which had changed into bands of pink, dark red, brownish red and orange, and shouted out, still harmoniously, "JUST STOP IT, DANACIA! THIS PHYSICALLY PAINS ME! MY PERSPECTIVES ARE BLURRED! IT HURTS! STOP!"