[X] My Assistant

[Renee]

Each event is preceded by prophecy, but without the event, there is no hero.

In the waning years before the end of the third era of Tamriel, a prisoner was born on an uncertain day, from uncertain parents. To most, she was ignorant of the role she was to play in that country's coming history.

"They have taken you from the Cyrodiil prison, first by carriage, then by boat. To east and to Morrowind. Fear not, for you shall be watched. You shall be chosen... "

16th of Last Seed, 3rd Era, Year 427



..."Wake up!"....

The lady from Cyrodiil squinted her eyes. Someone was peering at her through the gloom.

"Wake up!" said the voice. The voice of a Dunmer, for sure. "Why are you here?" asked the voice. "Are you with us?"

The smell of rotted wood permeated the air. The lady felt a gentle rocking as she got up off the floor. She wrinkled her face. Was she on a boat?

"That's right, stand up," said the voice. And now that she was standing, the lady could see she had been spoken to by a Dunmer. "You were dreaming," he said in a gravelly voice. "What's your name?"

"Joan. Of Cyrodiil," said she.

"Well, not even last night's storms could wake you," he replied. "I heard them say landfall was made last night." He was standing before her without a shirt on, Joan could see. "We've reached Morrowind, I'm sure and certain they will let us go."

"Who ... shall let us go?" Joan was bleary.

"Quiet. Here comes the guard."

An Imperial soldier was approaching from somewhere up deck. Joan could hear his footsteps clonking along. He made his way down a set of stairs on the far side of the boat, and toward the Dunmer and Joan.

"This is where you get off," said the Imperial with a regal sort of voice. "Now. Come with me."

Joan hesitated, trying to remember what happened. Why she was .... here ... on this boat. And not on the boat with the others. The others from Cyrodiil.

"You'd better do what they say," warned the Dunmer with no shirt.

"Hoy there," Joan called to the guard. "Have I been placed into some manner of custody?"

"You'd better do what they say," warned the Dunmer with no shirt, for the second time.

So Joan did. She followed the Imperial through the ship's dim lower hull. Noticed hammocks, crates, and barrels. She then walked cautiously up the ship's ladder, giving one last look back to the far alcove, where she'd awoken a few moments ago. Finally, she moved through the ship's mid-deck hold, which was brighter and a tad more pleasant than its lower section. Candles, and places to eat.

"Get yourself up on deck and lets keep this as civil as possible," the Imperial growled.

"Yessir," Joan answered. "Ehm. Perhaps this is a case of mistaken identity," she spoke to the Imperial, but didn't dare look at him. She said a quick prayer to superior powers before climbing upon the ship's upper deck.

mid-afternoon
Unsure what had happened, Joan was expecting she was about to walk from the ship's inside straight into some sort witch hunt. She'd walk on deck, and be surrounded by accusers, or some such. Because that's the way she felt, at the moment. Things were not right. She was in some sort of trouble, perhaps. Had to be mistaken identity, though. Had to be.

But this was not the case. Her fears would be allayed.

"This is where they want you," said a man, a Redguard, who was standing ondeck. "Head down to the dock and into the census office."

At this point, Joan noticed three things at once.

1). She was not under any sort of arrest. This was obvious, since she was not bound.

2). She was not about to be accused of anything.

3). She had made it to Vvardenfell.

Joan had boarded the wrong boat, for sure. But she had also successfully made it to her destination, somehow. The weather was balmy. She could see gigantic mushroom trees standing way off in the distance. Finally, the silt strider standing off to the side of whatever town she was in made this area no mistake. Only one place on Tamriel could support those types of flora.

"But what has happened to the others? Where are the rest of my priory?" she asked.

"Let's go," said the Redguard impatiently, ignoring her concerns. "Move it along."

She began to move off the boat. Onto a small bridge, which led to a dock, which led to a Tudor-styled building. So this was Vvardenfell, but the town she was in had Imperial influence. A second guard greeted her as she neared him. Unlike the others so far, he seemed pleasant, maybe even pleased to see Joan.

"You finally arrived but our records don't show from where," he said.

"Cyrodiil. Cheydinhal, as a fact of matter. I am Joan from Cheydinhal."

"Great," the guard said in his pleasant voice. "I'm sure you'll fit right in. Now follow me up to the office."

Joan did so, slowly. If the others did not make it, did this mean her quest within Vvardenfell would not be granted?

"Head on in," said the guard, and so Joan of Cheydinhal did so. It was not as though she really had any choice in the matter.

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Joan of Arkay Chargen Sheet

Joan in Seyda Neen

This post has been edited by Renee: Oct 6 2021, 12:46 AM