A Stranger in Skyrim 8

Chapter Eight: Death

In which the powers that be cheat.

The day had dawned gray – it started raining almost as soon as she got out from under the awning. She was glad she didn't have to wear glasses anymore; the rain couldn't blind her as easily. She crossed a very solid-looking stone bridge, and sure enough, there was a signpost. The sheer number of towns listed was a little overwhelming, but she was surprised to realize she recognized most of them. Helgen – where she'd almost gotten executed. Riverwood, where she'd been staying. Windhelm, that was where Jarl Ulfric was from, Whiterun, her destination, and Solitude, where she was headed next.

So, she followed the cobbled road in the direction the sign pointed her. A sheer cliff ran on her left, the river on her right. Trees and other, smaller plants lined the path. Every so often, she passed a lamppost. Despite the rain, she felt as though this would be a good day. At the very least, it couldn't be as bad as yesterday.

Two wolves lunged out of the brush. One of them growled at her, the other lunged for her throat. Everything went dark ….

She was standing outside of Alvor's house again. The men were talking again, but she couldn't hear them over the rain that had just begun falling.

She felt like she'd missed something, something important.

But then, she got that feeling a lot. She ignored it, and began walking.

The scenery was beautiful, but something was amiss. She felt … on edge. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she edged closer to the cliff face, moving slowly and quietly.

When the wolves howled, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

That was it. That was what the sense of danger was about. Well … she was fairly certain she could handle a pair – it sounded like a pair – of overgrown dogs. Drawing one of the broadswords, she held her left hand ready. Magic tingled in her fingertips, pouring down her arm. She looked down, and was rewarded with the sight of thin, faint sparks jumping between them.

Perfect.

The cliff face gave way to lower ground, and the beginnings of a forest. One of the wolves jumped out at her. It grabbed her left wrist in its powerful jaws, and the magic died before she could use it. Instead, she drove her sword into its throat. It let go, whining loudly. She ripped the blade free, blood spurting all over her, and it fell to the ground, bleeding out. She shook her head. Senseless beast. From everything she'd read, wolves generally avoided humans. People standing on their hind legs was supposed to be an intimidating sight for the animals.

Well, she'd tell the author of that particular bit of falsehood to go fuck himself. Looking around, she failed to spot the other wolf she'd heard. Maybe it had run off. She wasn't going to question her luck, that was for damned sure. She continued on, hurrying past that patch of forest and down the winding road until, in the distance, the city came into view. It was impressive, rising up above the landscape around it, dominating the landscape around it. That could only be Whiterun; she'd just passed a roaring waterfall, and she was supposed to be able to see it from that point.

Well then.

She set off purposefully down the road, lengthening her strides. She couldn't run for shit, but she could certainly manage a swift walk. The sooner she made it to Whiterun, the better for everyone.

She passed by a large, businesslike building. The sign read “Honningbrew Meadery,” and the place smelled, even from a distance, a bit like alcohol. Not someplace she figured she'd ever need to be; although she'd always been a little curious as to what mead tasted like, she could smell alcohol on pretty much anything, and it wasn't a smell she much cared for.

She continued walking, though she did eventually have to slow her pace. She was a bit out of breath already. Pausing beside a lamp-post, not that it provided any shelter whatsoever from the rain, she looked around, frowning as she spotted a faint glow in the river.

Curious, she went to check it out. She discovered it to be a small, leafy plant, and she could hear an odd, high, ringing in her ears that only grew louder as she neared it.

Huh. Must be magic. She carefully pulled it out of the ground, finding the task surprisingly easy, but then, it was the soft mud of a riverbank, not the hard dirt she was used to. She took the plant, roots and all, and carefully deposited it in her backpack. The chiming continued at a low rate from inside her backpack. That … could get annoying.

Quickly.

She hurried on her way, past a horse-drawn carriage and a stable. She saw a tent – or at least, she thought it was a tent – made entirely of chopped up animal hides. Curious, she went to investigate; it was only a little out of her way, after all.

“Between the war and the return of the dragons,” a soft, rolling voice murmured, “I wonder if we should not leave Skyrim, and ply our trade elsewhere.”

Another voice answered. “I admit, the dragons are a concern, but we can avoid them if we do not stay in one place for too long.”

“That may be, but what of the war?” The first voice countered. “That is not so easy to escape from.”

Surprise tinted the second voice. “The war? That is not a reason to leave, it is a reason to stay.”

“And what makes you think that?”

The second voice responded in the kind of tone one reserved for a slow child. “Because war is good for business, of course.”

She'd been keeping her head low, the hood of her robe hanging in her face, to try and avoid getting rain in her eyes as much as possible, so when she approached the tent, she didn't immediately look up. When she did, she stood staring for a moment, the words snatched from her throat. A figure had emerged from the tent, only it wasn't human. A cat. It looked kind of like a cat, covered entirely in fur, but standing on two legs. Okay, she could handle that. She'd never seen a fursuit in real life before, but she knew the dimensions for the head piece were much larger than the feline's head, so whatever the creature was, it appeared to be the real deal.

“Well?” It asked. “Are you going to make a purchase, or does Khajiit return inside where it is warm, and not so wet?”

She continued to stare for a moment, before shaking her head to clear it.

“Sorry – I – sorry. Is Khajiit your name?” Not the brightest question she could have asked, but he sounded like a third-person person. Obviously, he was referring to himself, but ….

The cat looked at her. He just looked at her, as though she were an idiot, and she felt small.

“Ri'saad is a Khajiit. We are all Khajiit, just as you are human. Have you never seen a Khajiit before?” She glanced over at the other people in the camp. One was chopping firewood, his long, soaking-wet tail swishing. Two were talking by a large, sputtering bonfire. One of them appeared to be a female, though Mariah noted dully that she only appeared to have two breasts.

She shook her head. “Never. Where I come from, your people don't exist,” she explained. “It's good to meet you. You said something about a purchase … ?” She asked, hesitantly.

The cat's smile shone mostly in his eyes, though his whiskers twitched and his lips curled ever so slightly. “Of course, of course. Khajiit has goods from all over Skyrim, all over Tamriel. Take a look!” He ushered her into the tent, which was lined with tables filled with all kinds of goods, though none that were particularly exotic to her tastes. Her hand was drawn to one in particular, though, a sword that seemed to call out to her to handle it. She drew it from its sheath, inspecting the metal. It wasn't particularly ornate, but it was … well-made, she decided. And there was a shimmer to it, something that was hard to define.

“Ah, the human is a mage. Ri'saad thought as much, from the robes. That is a sword of souls. If you have free a soul gem, the sword will capture the soul of any creature you slay.” She looked at it in wonder, then sheathed it.

She shook her head, sadly. “I doubt I can afford it. Alvor only gave me a little money for the road,” she explained.

“Ah, a traveler. Perhaps this one would be interested in more practical things?”

She set the sword aside, looking over at him as he shuffled around some items on another table.

“Ri'saad has many things for the traveler, yes?”

Ultimately, she didn't end up purchasing anything, once again pleading her hardship, but she promised to come back when she had more gold to spend.

The cat seemed to be content with that, and she continued on her way.

Men in uniform manned tall, wooden guard posts, looking down at her as she passed.

From a distance, the city had looked fine. Up close, she noted that the stone walls appeared to be crumbling, and the wooden parts looked rather rickety. She was pretty sure she wouldn't be willing to trust her life to either one, especially since she was relatively overweight. Of course she didn't look it; she had a rather large frame. Nevertheless, she suspected she was more than a match for the

thin wooden planks that had clearly seen the worst Mother Nature had to throw at them.

One of the uniformed guards approached her as she approached the front gate. “Halt,” he said, very officiously. She didn't much care for his tone, the way he looked down at her. “City's closed with dragon's about. Official business only.”

“Alvor sent me,” she explained. “Riverwood's in danger.”

His eyes widened beneath the mask. “Riverwood, too? You'd best go on inside. You'll find the Jarl up in Dragonsreach.” He opened the gate for her, ushering her inside.