Tsajasuna - The Witch

In her sleep, she remembered. Another village. No, one she'd seen before? Bloody faces and trembling hands. Her hands. Oh well. It was a small price to pay for an audience with the Lord of Destruction himself. Dagon was a simpler kind of Prince, not prone to trickery like the others. To talk to him, he wanted blood and death. And that is precisely what Tsajasuna delivered to him.

He told her much, like all the others. About the tower and the wheel. About the naive Aedra. About the spokes where his brothers and sisters lived. About his home. The Princes often spoke about their homes, their realms. Maybe it is a desire in all creatures of this world to belong, no matter how great or small. Home. Tsajasuna has forgotten her home. Was she born in her people's land? In a desert? Or under the canopy of a great jungle? Bah, it didn't matter. Nothing matters, apart from her goal. She would do anything for more. Becoming immortal was but a stepping stone. Blood was easy enough to come by. The unknowable, the obscene, the forgotten and the mundane. One day, she would know it all. Whether the third moon was real or a folktale. What the eye saw her as. What this reality really was. Everything in the world would be known to her.

Knowledge.

A sudden shift in her dream. A smoking mountain. Ash as far as the eye could see. Morrowind? The pitiable Dunmer, skulking in the dust. No, something else. An eye, huge and glistening. Inviting. Knowledge? Yes, yes. A library, as vast as the stinking valleys of the Scuttling Void. Her eyes snapped open. Tsajasuna awoke at once. She had seen enough, He had shown her enough. Picking up her hat, mask and potions, she chuckled quietly. It was late evening, and dark enough to set out. Some poor fool on the road would think her mortal in the dying sun and slake her thirst.

It would be a long journey to Solstheim.