[center][h1]Colyne Valcal[/h1]
1st of Last Seed 3E 433 
Kvatch
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Colyne Valcal had just crossed the border into Cyrodiil two days ago when the dreams came. After departing the city of Rihad in Hammerfell and proceeding over the Brena River she had decided to spend the night in the Brina Cross Inn. As tempted as she was to swing south to visit Anvil for a day or two the Crusader had reminded herself not to delay her priorities and settled for the quaint roadside establishment. The food was filling enough and the ale, while cheap, wasn’t bad and a decent enough topper for the evening. Colyne had went to bed early with plans to rise with the sun and press on to her destination - Chorrol, where the Chapel of Stendarr stood. Weeks before she had written to her friend and former knight companion Areldur at the temple promising to visit soon in her travels. It would be good to catch up with him as well as look into any affairs that he or the priests needed handled while she was present. 

What was to be a restful night instead was plagued by a vivid nightmare that tormented the Crusader into the earliest morning hours. The White-Gold Tower - the grandest of wonders in Cyrodiil - was ravaged and aflame, a great horned monster stomped through the Imperial City destroying all before it as swarms of Daedra poured through the streets butchering all in their path. As the chaos was sewn a mighty dragon of shining gold rose up amidst the clouds of smoke and the roiling fires, it’s roar deafening and it’s aurora supreme and unyielding. This and other images flooded the night’s fitful sleep - robed figures, monsters and brigands, an amulet, the city of Kvatch, the Emperor Uriel Septim himself, all this and more that Colyne would recollect the following morning brooding over the breakfast the innkeeper had brought her. And then that one repeating verse that had echoed through the chorus of entropy, [i]“You have been chosen.”[/i]

Colyne had considered staying another day at the Brina Cross to try and rest but pushed ahead ultimately. As she walked she pondered over her dream - torn between writing it off as a bizarre night terror or taking it as a sign of something horrible to be had. Easy as it was to accept the former the dream was so evocative in nature, every image and sensation pulling at her as she suffered it’s infliction upon her sleep. Colyne had witnessed many horrors in her life as a Crusader; Daedra, abominations, unwilling possessions and profane rituals, and yet she could not remember the last time she had been so perturbed as now. She puzzled and puzzled as she trodded down the road on weary legs unable to make any sense of what she had dreamed. 

As the Gottshaw Inn - another roadside rest stop came into view - Colyne resigned that what she had experienced the night before had been a mere nightmare of her own imagining. She reminded herself of this as she lay down that evening, her room paid for and her stomach full again. And yet for the second night the agonizing dream would come again, leaving Colyne’s heart racing and sweat pouring across her pale form as she jolted up in bed. The howls of the Daedra and the roaring of the dragon fading, that final lingering verse the last echo, [i]“You have been chosen.”[/i]

It was only the shear exhaustion that allowed the Breton woman to get any sleep, the dream having already made it’s presence that night did not come again. By the time she finally roused herself from bed the following morning the sun was well over the eastern horizon. Colyne decided it best to visit the Chapel of Akatosh when she passed through Kvatch. Aside from the city itself appearing in her “dream vision” there was the matter of the dragon - a spitting image of Akatosh. 

Any mystic or fortune teller would be quick to inform Colyne that the Dragon God of Time himself had reached out to her in her sleep, to which she would laugh without restraint. Prideful as she was in her divine duties Colyne was not so arrogant as to believe herself some chosen of Akatosh, or her patron Stendarr even. She was a servant - a willing tool that acted on the will of the god of righteousness to purge heresy and evil where it lurked and festered. And to protect the sick and needy. She was not some messiah destined to lead amid the end times. If anything those whispers in her mind did perhaps mean that Colyne needed to practice inner humility more in her spare moments and her pride in devotion had turned to hubris.

Colyne could not say what she was hoping to find at the chapel or if even going there would help. A part of her still insisted that she was being a bit dramatic, nightmares after all are a part of life and could sometimes persist in one’s mind. She also had never been one to pour heavy thought into dreams, always seeing them as mere concoctions of a restless mind. [i]And yet… [/i] She thought that if nothing else talking with the priests would surely help assuage her uneasiness letting her continue on to Chorrol.

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It was noon when Colyne arrived at Kvatch, eyes heavy from two nights of poor sleep. As she entered the city she heard the cheers in the air and noticed the bustle about as she walked the cobblestone road. Boisterous music carried over the cheers and shouts overhead and the smell of baked goods and succulent dishes made her stomach rumble. Curious as she was to what was the source of such festivity Colyne was more focused on speaking with the priests of the chapel.

 Once she had what help or counsel they could provide perhaps she would partake in whatever celebrations were afoot. The Crusader had no intention of continuing on the road today as dreary as she was. An evening of relaxation and fine cuisine would surely help her rest tonight after some time to talk with the servants of Akatosh. She assumed that the good Count Goldwine was hosting games in the city as he was fond of doing - usually as a method of fanfare. Colyne had been through Kvatch many times over the years and while not having the knowledge of a local or a Cyrodiilic politician she knew a postering rooster when she saw one. The Count may have been a decent enough man but like all aristocrats he was a social climber. 

As Colyne neared the chapel of the Dragon God of Time she took a moment to appreciate it’s majesty, standing tall as a symbol of faith among the daily masses. It’s tower and steeple like a beacon to draw those in seeking the blessing and guidance of Akatosh. The stained glass murals true works of art worthy of the holy house they ornamented. Inhaling and clearing her mind Colyne approached the temple doors, unsure if they were open to visitors on a day of celebration she took hold of the iron knocker and clapped it against the wood three times, chewing her lip in anticipation. If no one received her she would merely wait outside the temple rather than go wading into the merriment searching out a priest.