Meesei walked out of the building which housed the local magesí organization with her head hung low in shame, having just been rejected from joining. The recruiter seemed certain her abilities would not be up to their standards, which was funny, since he had not given her the opportunity to display any of her skills. By joining the guild, she had hoped to gain a place to stay and a group of peers to support her while she searched for her clan, but that was just the latest in a series of hopes that had been crushed over the past few months. Her options were running dangerously low, and she needed to find some sort of employment soon if she ever hoped to find her people again.
Meesei began to walk away from the building, but didnít get far before she decided to stop. She was in the Godsreach district of Mournhold, a place that was now merely a shadow of its former self. Mournhold was a city that had been sacked and rebuilt several times over, but it had not yet fully recovered from the last time it was destroyed, despite the fact that it had been over two hundred years since the attack. There were magnificent buildings of traditional Dunmer design, with their signature arched doorways, vibrant colors, and varied plants dotting their exteriors, juxtaposed against abandoned manors, with some overgrown and crumbling due to lack of maintenance, and others that were little more than rubble. Neither House Redoran or any of the other Great Houses had the resources to restore the former capital to what it once was. Currently, House Redoran was in charge of Mournhold, though it was far from a strictly Dunmer city at the moment. After the Argonian invasion two centuries prior, the An-Xileel had little interest in holding the cities, so they eventually fell back into the hands of the Dunmer, but the area was still left with a significant Argonian population. As a result, the tension in the area tended to be severe at times. On many occasions, violence erupted between Dunmer groups who sought to make trouble for the Argonians, and Argonian groups who sought to make trouble for the Dunmer. The majority of individuals were tired of the fighting and just wanted to live their lives in peace, but there were many who were caught up in the middle of it all over the years.
Picking a spot against the wall of one of the nearby abandoned manors, Meesei sat down and leaned up against the overgrown stone. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, trying to think on what else she could do. She was beyond grateful to be out of the hands of those slavers, but she was starting to wonder if she had traded one death for another. With only ten septims, she could only get a few small meals before she would have to find another way to get food. Of course, she was much more well equipped for that task than most city-dwellers, being raised in a nomadic tribe, but fighting for survival alone in the wilderness was not something one could expect do forever, especially in such a dangerous area. Even if she could, it would afford her little time to search for her clan. Right now, she needed to find a way to earn gold to support herself more easily, but her options were dwindling. Beyond anything else, she was frightened of her situation, so she decided to meditate to calm herself. Keeping her eyes closed, she let the magicka around her flow through her body. With but a thought, she transformed its raw potential into the benevolent form of healing magic. Tendrils of golden-yellow energy flowed around her body, filling her with a calming sensation that, at least for the moment, erased the stress that was dominating her mind.