There is a time in my life that I believe it will remain as blank, unwritten or maybe erased pages, until my death... I cannot remember the first days or perhaps weeks after the death of my mother Kiersten. Only vague and blurred images haunt my memory, no matter how hard I try...
Out of the deep fog that shrouds this part of my memory, there sometimes appears a middle-aged woman, small of stature and with a pained look on her face pouring milk into a bowl placed on the table in our cottage. I know it is our table because it is wrapped with the fabric my mother Kiersten brought with her among the things she had taken from Bruma. There were two deer embroidered on it, the mother and the cub, and I used to think the cub was particularly cute... I always took pleasure in watching the mother doe gently beckoning her young one to eat. Ah, my mother Kiersten had even made up a little tale about this scene to persuade me to take a bite when I was picky and didn't want to eat!
Then I see the same woman weeping, looking with pity at me, and carefully hanging a little bag of gray, dirty cloth around my neck. Then I feel her holding my hand, I see her opening the gate of our little garden, and then before my eyes is the narrow, damp lane where our little house in the Waterfront District used to be. It's raining and it's chilly, a light mist hovers over the face of the world and I am cold... Cold and frightened, maybe because I was terribly afraid of the naughty children lurking in the streets of our neighborhood.
I see with a sharp sense of sorrow a gravestone and feel the chill emanating from its shiny, wet surface. Then a tall, burly man with a thick black beard that covers most of his face, appears. His voice sounds loud and harsh in the gray twilight that falls on the cemetery wrapped in the cold, dull rain... And after that, I see a fire cheerfully burning in a small fireplace on top of which there is a pot in which the man with a harsh voice is stirring with a large wooden spoon. The room is very small and there is only a primitive bed and a wooden table with crooked legs...
Then I recall cold mornings, some of them rainy of the kind where the dampness soaks the body to the bone, others clear and crisp, with high, pure blue skies. And I feel pain and fear, I feel overwhelming physical pain and I see blood and then faces of children laughing... The children are dressed in rags and their eyes have a hard, mature look! A pleasant torpor and strange dreams, a dull and steady but not unbearable pain and strange dreams again... I hear harsh voices and feel harsh hands picking me up and then being carried in strong arms, my face pressed against a hardened leather armor...
The first clear memories I have are of the life I lived in an orphanage outside the Imperial City, on the shores of Lake Rumare, right next to the fortress that those who have traveled through these places know as Fort Nikel. Both the orphanage and the stronghold belonged to the Order of Stendarr and to me these places have a frightening significance, probably due to the fact that years later I was going to be imprisoned in the fort prison, in conditions worthy of the most horrible nightmare. However, the orphanage itself should not have inspired such fear. It was well-organized, clean, and relatively welcoming, at least as welcoming as a place like that could be. The staff of the institution consisted mainly of sisters of the Order who worked hard to give the orphans a decent life and teach us various crafts. The cult of Stendarr, well, the cult of Stendarr as his Order on Nirn understands it, was also of great significance in this establishment. But for a child like me and, on top of that, still under the influence of a terrible shock, the orphanage was by no means a welcoming refuge.
When I was brought here by a City Guard patrol, I was badly injured and seriously ill. I must have been close to death because I spent a long time in the infirmary. The Sisters took good care of me, and I remember an old, imposing man with a beard who came to my bedside from time to time. He always gave me a spoonful of something that tasted horrible... But eventually I got better and took my place among the children who lived in the orphanage.
Our schedule was very strict and every day there was invariably a succession of activities in which we had to take part. We had to wake up very early in the morning and staying in bed after the nun on duty would open our bedroom door was strictly forbidden and punishable. We had to wash ourselves afterwards and always with cold water and I remember the icy chills that I felt because it was winter then, in the first days which I spent as a guest of the orphanage. Then we had to make our beds and thoroughly clean the room in which we slept before attending the morning liturgy in the chapel. The service was always led by the same priest, a stern-looking fighting monk from the Order. His sermons were usually short and presented Stendarr as a God who mercilessly punishes any mistakes or misbehavior of his worshipers. These orations, combined with the big mace he carried and his figure which was more the face of a fighter than a priest, made me perceive Stendarr as a harsh and merciless deity; one that rather punishes than forgives, constrains rather than teaches, hurts instead of healing its broken, weaker subjects... I couldn't love such a deity and I was only frightened by it! But I don't believe his words had the desired effect on all the children who took part in the ceremony because in the back of the hall, always in the same place, there was a group that was having a good time in a discreet enough way for the priest, absorbed in his fiery tirades, not to notice. After the liturgy we would go in close formation to the refectory where the first meal of the day was served. The food was abundant and, even though it was generally tasteless, you could clearly see that the sisters tried to make it as varied as possible. Once we had eaten, the daily activities began and they lasted, almost without exception, all day long, with a short break for lunch. They varied according to the age of the children and, after a certain age, their sex. Because in this orphanage lived children with ages between five and fifteen years. After this age, all the children, without exception, left the orphanage and on this occasion the Sisters of the Order organized a small celebration. I have taken part in several such festivities and I can say that everything was organized with a lot of common sense and good faith. The children who left received a set of new clothes and small gifts from the orphanage administration and, while the other children sang a hymn praising Stendarr, they departed the institution with the priest's blessing. That gladiator-looking priest with a huge mace on his hip...
There were rumors circulating among the orphans, whispers that the brightest children who left the institution were given the chance to join the Order of Stendarr. And all the children were eager for this distinction so, in general and especially in appearance, discipline and order within the institution was easily maintained by the ever-present hope of the weak and poor people that they would be able to climb a little up the social ladder. Of course, each of the numerous aspirants would adopt his own method to achieve the final goal, and not always the most honest one! As far as I am concerned, however, I can say that this method did not work. In the short time I spent in the orphanage I never wanted to become one of the Sisters of the Order of Stendarr. And even if I had wanted this distinction, I would not have been able to receive it because I was not at all suited for the life and the different kinds of activities that were going on there. The religious services, so frequent and frightening for me at the beginning, terribly boring afterwards, did not please me at all and I would have liked to be in the group that, in the back of the hall, was having so much fun. But there were only boys there and I could never have been among them because the girls and boys in the orphanage lived completely separately and only at religious services did they get together for a short time. The work I was required to do daily was too hard or boring for me and our life schedule became unbearable for me after my wounds had completely healed.
The Sisters were not slow to notice my laziness and disinterestedness and consequently soon integrated me into the group of girls who worked in the institution's laundry. Generally, this is where the most unpromising, lazy and wicked orphans were sent...There was a lot of work in the laundry because the orphanage cleaned the clothes of the fairly well-to-do inhabitants of the Imperial City. There were also responsible activities here, because pressing men's shirts and women's underwear with a hot iron is a laborious and dangerous work at the same time. I didn't manage to perform as expected even in this place; on the contrary, I even caused damages and the nun who was in charge of this activity started to despise me and, a little later, to hate me. Her behavior could be easily understood by anyone; hard work overwhelmed me and I couldn't cope with it, and for the so-called light, fine work, I was completely inexperienced. And, to tell the truth, I was lazy and utterly disinterested. It is absolutely normal that the punishments against me began to increase and become progressively harder and more humiliating.
The other girls were quick to see me as the outcast of the group and started to make jokes at my expense and sometimes even to hinder my work which was already unbearable for me. On top of all these, an unfortunate coincidence made two of these girls who worked in the laundry to be my dormitory mates, and they extended their fun at my expense even during my sleeping and resting hours, following me everywhere and insulting me, soiling my food when the nun who watched us was not present or attentive, and going so far that they sometimes ruined even the little work I managed to do well. They disturbed my night's sleep with all kinds of sinister jokes and one day they sneaked back into the dormitory after we had gathered to attend the religious service and messed up my bed that I had so carefully arranged. I was harshly punished by the nun on duty for this so-called negligence from my part and when I tried to explain through tears that I've had done my duty, she increased my punishment. I was in despair and in pain; I was weak and suffering from a morbid fatigue because some of the harsher punishments were partially or totally suppressing my daily food. My poor body, so small and weak and still bearing the scars left by the attack that had almost killed me, was now full of bruises due to the numerous corporal punishments I had endured.
One day the two friends, for those girls were very good friends now, came upon me on the road they knew I had to walk on, carrying a basket full of washed, ironed and pressed laundry, ready to be delivered to the customers. They stopped me and while one of them immobilized me by holding my hands tightly, the other snatched the basket and dumped its entire content in the mud at the edge of the alley. Then, laughing and having great fun, they trampled all the laundry underfoot, mixing it with the dirty water and mud. I was filled with despair and fear because I knew that I would be punished with the utmost severity for what had happened. But at the same time, a new feeling , unknown to me before, grew in my soul. The thought of the terrible injustice that I was enduring made anger and hatred grow in me and I felt the desire to harm those who tormented and wronged me! I charged so suddenly and ferociously that the first girl immediately rolled on the muddy ground, hitting her head on a rock beside the road. Left alone, the other one hesitated, even though she was bigger than me. So I hit her as hard as I could with my little fists, and when she ran away screaming, I chased her, caught her and beat her badly. I tore her hair and scratched her, and I think I would have put out her eyes if two nuns who were passing had not stopped me.
I was immediately brought in front of the Prioress who ran the institution. Sister Sescia was a mature woman and a former fighter of the Order. In those times, few of the Sisters were accepted among the fighting members and only the Great War that decimated the men made their number increase dramatically in recent times. But beyond her martial allure and her rugged figure was a wise and generous soul. Now I suppose that, if I've meet her earlier, I would have been able to live just as the other children did in the orphanage under Sescia's benevolent care! But for me it was already too late, that moment passed... The violent and untamed blood of my ancestors had just been awakened and was boiling with rage and anger. And, on top of that, I felt absolutely no guilt for what I had just done. On the contrary, something inside me was screaming loudly that I still had much to avenge and that I had paid only a small part of the debts I felt I owed. In any case, at that moment I was very impressed by the Prioress's stature and especially by her piercing look. And when she questioned me about what had happened I answered politely, as my beloved mother Kiersten had taught me, but short and cold, just to the point. I didn't get lost in details, I didn't cry or whine. And all the time I looked Sescia straight in the eyes. I think the Prioress was also impressed by my words and behavior because her eyes became kind and she said briefly, "A quarrel between children, make sure it doesn't happen again". So, I was free to go and I went back to my chores and things went on normally that day except that my other colleagues now looked at me with a kind of respect and the nun who was supervising us became more lenient with me. My two oppressors were both in the infirmary of the institution so I had a few quiet days, and when one of them, the one who had run away, was discharged and resumed her work, she avoided me and gave me fearful looks when she was around me.
But things were soon to change as the girl who hit her head never fully recovered from the trauma of the brain injury she had suffered during her fall. She soon regained consciousness but was unable to walk and her reasoning was severely disturbed as she was no longer able to understand the words of those around her. The administration of the orphanage soon made the decision that she would undergo a strange surgical procedure, new in the medical art and following this surgery, although at first it seemed that she had fully recovered, after three days the girl died. The superior leadership of the Order of Stendarr was then informed of the whole affair and its consequences and decided to set up a special tribunal to try the matter.
In the meantime, while awaiting the trial, the behavior of my colleagues towards me changed and one night a couple of girls in my bedroom, no doubt instigated by my surviving enemy, attacked me while I was asleep. Although I was sleep-drowsy, I managed to successfully fend them off and was so wild in the fight that after a short while they retreated. But one of the girls and I myself had been quite badly injured and my sheets were soaked in blood that the traces of our confrontation were discovered the next morning by the nun on duty. As a result, we were both brought before the Prioress and, of course, our stories were very different, me telling the truth and the other girl lying through her teeth and claiming that I was the one who attacked her; she also stated that many girls in our dormitory had witnessed the fight and could confirm her words. Sister Sescia did not investigate the matter further and decided that, pending the trial, I was to be locked up in a room intended for this purpose.
The room was small and extremely austerely furnished but, like all the spaces in the orphanage, it was very clean and had a large enough window. Extremely surprising for me, during my detention I was very well cared for. The doctor of the institution carefully treated my wounds and my body which was so frail and sore from all the punishments I had suffered; the fire was always burning during the day in the little stove in the corner of the room and I was fed from the Sisters' ration. Moreover, a nice young nun came every morning and made my bed, cleaned the room and always brought me a glass of sweetened milk which she made me drink right then and there in front of her. My confinement, so pleasant and restful after the life I had led for the last few months, lasted quite a long time, long enough for me to fully recover from the state of physical weakness I had reached. But, at the same time, my soul began to soften again and I often cried bitter tears for my beloved mother Kiersten. I dreamt about her so often during the night that most mornings I woke up in tears and terribly disappointed that my meeting with my mother had only happened in a dream.
Ah, dreams... Dreams are a great mystery and Nocturnal herself doesn't know or doesn't want to say anything about them! Dreams can sometimes hurt our souls more than reality can...
The young nun who brought me milk often found me weeping forlornly, and, as she began to love me, she was always taking me in her arms and trying to soothe my sufferings. But all these, the good treatment and the caressing, only weakened the dark strength that had begun to grow in my soul! So, on the day of the trial I behaved foolishly and, when asked to relate my own version of the incident that was being investigated, I was incoherent and cried almost constantly, frightened to death by the portrayal of the presiding judge who was himself the Grand Master of the Order of Stendarr, Ser Gregorius Clegius. Almost all testimonies were negative against me, portraying me as a lazy, lying, violent and disobedient girl... The doctor of the institution was among the last heard witnesses and he repeated and emphasized that the death of my colleague could not be blamed on me because the girl had died following a new and dangerous surgery procedure and not because of the blow received in the confrontation between us. It was the Prioress who spoke the last words before the court, in fact the Grand Master, pronounced the sentence. She looked at me first with sadness and disappointment and then said that, in spite of the fact that I am such a clumsy and wicked girl, she believes that she can bring me back to the right and good path, the path blessed by Stendarr, if I am entrusted to her for re-education.
And then Ser Gregorius Clegius loudly ordered everyone present to rise to their feet. Then, sitting in the large chair in which he sat, he looked at me with contempt and said that he condemned me to death by hanging. The whole hall sighed with relief, there were even a few small shouts of approval but Ser Gregorius banged the wooden hammer on the table and added:
-The execution of the sentence is postponed for half a year. In the meantime, I entrust the named Elsie to the honorable Prioress Sescia who will bear full responsibility for the deeds that the murderess will do during this time. Do you take this responsibility, Prioress?
-Yes, I do!
Replied Sescia with a firm voice and looking Ser Gregorius in the eyes.
-I declare the session closed!
Said the Grand Master; then, looking bored, got up from his chair and left the hall amid the disappointed murmurs of the audience.
I was taken back to the room where I had been confined until then and for a few days life went on as before, except that the young nun who had become attached to me no longer came and in her place was an old Sister who did not speak to me; she practically acted as if I did not exist. The sentence pronounced by Ser Gregorius had made almost no impression on me; instead, the hostility I felt from the orphaned children present in the courtroom pained and stunned me deeply. And once again, the anger provoked by the injustice I was convinced was being done to me made my blood boil and my mind go dark!
And one morning Prioress Sescia came in place of the old nun. She carefully closed the door behind her and after sitting on my bed she called me to stay by her side. The Prioress looked me straight in the eyes and I could see pity and sadness in her eyes and, while gently caressing me, she said:
-You will leave this morning with a group of children that I am sending to clean the city streets of the snow that fell during the night. Don't come back here again! During the day, find an opportunity and get lost among the people on the city alleys. Now put on the clothes I brought you and over them, the orphanage uniform. In the city, the first chance you get after you run away, change them in between so that you will never be seen in our uniform. And look for the entrance to the city sewer in the south side of the Talos Plaza District, the sewer is always warmer in the winter! Stendarr be with you!
She sighed, got up and spread the contents of the satchel she had brought with her on the bed, then gave me a small purse containing twenty septims, stroked my hair and left... The Prioress stopped in the doorway and looked back at me and when I saw the glance she gave me, I smiled and opened my mouth to thank her. But Sescia, may her god be always with her, smiled in return and put a finger to her lips. This was the first time when I saw our Prioress smiling and her smile, so warm and friendly, gave me strength and courage.
I did everything as she told me and I went out in the orphanage yard. It was a sunny morning, a cold and sunny morning, and all the fresh snow around was shimmering in the bright sunlight like thousands of diamond splinters scattered all over the place. Oh, it was just like so many other mornings I've seen in Bruma when I was so happy to see snow, fresh snow, inviting me to play and erect intricate buildings and cities under the glaring sunshine. My soul was filled with joy and I waited patiently for the other children nominated for the activity to gather in the courtyard.