About this image

The icy wind rasped her skin. It was stupid to come out here, stupid to travel so far from civilization. All that waited for the wandering heart at this most brutal of places were hungry horkers and lonely whales—the lot of them stank.

She came here because she’d grown weary of the world, tired of the people and bored of the adventures. She’d seen it all and done it all and her splendour was barely noticed by the jarls and the generals.

She’d saved the world itself from the eater of worlds, slayed him in the place no other mortal can tread, slayed him with the aid of long-passed heroes and legends from an age of darkness long forgotten.

She’d saved the Empire, crushed the rebels in a mere week of massacre and rage. Their leader’s head had rolled at her boots of ancient Dwemmer steel. His men fled her rage, they’d feared her name and they vowed to return but they never did so. They hid in the mountains and faded to obscurity; another page in the history of Skyrim to be ignored by the world.

She’d fought for the madmen of the Reach, spilling more blood and risking her body once again. And what did they say? “Keep far from our lands, our people will suffer not the outsider.” Not so much a septim, not so much as wine or mead.

She’d banished the dragons from the face of Tamriel, eating their very souls so they’d ne’er return. She'd grasped their language and wielded its powers to command nature itself, to bend it to her will and cast asunder her enemies.

She’d even cast herself back to the moment the fools shattered the winds of time itself, holding an elder scroll in her very hands and not suffering the blindness that afflicts other mortals who so dare to eye the whispers that the scrolls withhold.

And after all this, they still called her stranger. They’d looked upon her as though she were but one of the common rabble, a beggar in the streets, a soldier of fortune.

So she’d marched to solitude to buy herself a boat. Even the harbour-man asked if she could afford it. “Aye,” she’d said, “I could afford all the boats of this harbour just to shunt your little hut for my fun, yet you question my worth?” The harbour man pleaded she’d do no such thing and he’d given her the boat for nowt just so long as she’d leave his hut be.

She’d jumped in the boat and spat at young Elesif in her palace of blue tiles and walls of steely stones. She sailed under her rock, saluting with displeasure and disgust at the arrogant opulence.

She’d passed the lighthouse and asked Akatosh to descend and crush it so that no other souls must suffer the insolence of this land when they clamber from their ships. “Better for them to drink of the brine and to despoil their own lungs.”

And so she arrived here, looking for a place to end it all. No other could end it—they couldn’t come close. Her power was a gift but yet a curse as no other could satisfy her need to depart for the halls of valour and heroes and kings.

She climbed up the rock and looked down at the blue, her hair freezing solid in the winds and the snow that bite at one’s skin. But then she remembered...

“I’ve yet to kill Belethor and defecate on his corpse!”