The Warp of Time
"Speak, and I will listen."
Back Again
Somewhere in the Cyrodilic forest
The trees stood in tall, quiet vigil around me, the low creaking of their branches in the wind drowned out by the hum of crickets and birdsong. I stayed there, frozen on my feet before my knees hit the soft, mossy soil below. By all the Gods, by Lorkhan itself, I had made it out of that Starry prison.
The portal behind me shut with a low pop, the aetherium blue light that it had been throwing suddenly given way to the warm, natural gold of Magnus at dusk.
A year. A year I had been stuck, somewhere in the space between the Astral and the Void; caught in the very in-betweens of pure existence and utter decimation, surrounded by undulating blue and black, caught within the spokes of a turning Wheel. You must understand, it was purely my own hubris which lead to my entrapment: the Device had reached a point where I could travel back from my starting position in the Third Era; I had been trying to send myself forward for years. I could return, always, to when I started - but the future remained elusive, out of my grasp.
And yet, here I was. My flesh once again touched Mundus, and my mind - at least, for now - was relatively intact. I could've been spit out by the Numidium, or the top of the White-Gold Tower, or the Red Moment itself, and here I was instead - in the safety of Kyne's embrace, nestled into Azura's sacred hour.
I closed my eyes, half-remembering an old prayer from my youth, when I heard footsteps coming up behind me. My eyes snapped open. The device was still in my hands, cradled close to my chest - I moved quickly to conceal it in the tattered satchel by my side, my hands beginning to shake involuntary of my will.
"Just passing through!" came a woman's voice; her accent was northern, reminiscent of Skyrim's Rift. I turned to face her, trying on my best 'I know exactly what Era and year I'm in' smile.
A young woman, with raven black hair, carrying a bow across her back and a quiver of arrows at her side. She was holding her arm close to her chest. She was still some ways off, but I could see a smathering of green dots under her eyes. Behind her, a man in grey priest robes trailed, his tired eyes trained on me as if expecting me to attack. Both of them were ... singed. Sooty, covered in ash and blood.
The woman froze about half-way the remaining distance between us. I saw confusion, then realization. A slow smile spread on her face, and I blinked.
I knew this girl. Yes, I was certain of it; but when did I know her from? She raised the arm she had been holding to her chest, and I watched as the mechanical hand fell unceremoniously to the floor.
"Merry Crow-Caller," I called, my smile becoming real.
"Tells-us-Fish Indoril," Merry grinned, before launching herself the rest of the way to me. The priest behind her eased a bit, his shoulders not quite by his ears anymore.
I caught her as she barrelled into my chest, but barely. Since when had she gotten to be so large? The last time I had seen her, she was fourteen, drunk as Sanguine in some tavern in Solstheim, cursing all of ALMSIVI and Nerevar and all the gods to walk the planes. And here she was - older.
She was... older.
"You look like you've been through it," Merry said as she pulled away from me. "You reek."
"And you smell of home. What were you doing in the Deadlands?" I squeeze Merry again, and look to the priest. "Both of you. What business have you with the Prince of Destruction?"
"I was sorta hoping you would tell us that. Tels, this is Martin," the Nord stepped away from me, nodding to the priest. "Martin, this is Tels. They're an old friend."
The priest came forward then, giving me what amounted to an attempt at a smile. "You're from the Far Graves, then?"
I blinked. This was an Imperial priest, around his neck hung a coiled dragon. "I'm surprised you know about it. Not many do. Have you been?"
"No, but I've read about it. You... are aware of the attack at Kvatch?"
I looked to Merry, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She stared at me for a moment, either amused or confused, before she spoke. "Tels has been studying in the Clockwork City for the past four years. They don't know much about any current events."
"The Deadlands, the City - you don't stay too long on Mundus, do you?" the priest chuckled cautiously.
"Not out of lack of trying." I took a deep breath. The air was just beginning to chill. I moved to stand beside Merry and the priest.
"So. Where are we heading?"