A Stranger in Skyrim 14

Chapter Fourteen: Cobwebs

In which she discovers loot.

She threw her headphones off, yanked the earbuds out.

The scent of burning flesh permeated her senses, and she tasted metal in her mouth.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time. Her breakfast – and all subsequent meals – came up at the same time. When she was finally done, she fell back against the bathroom wall, staring up at the ceiling. Oh gods.

Oh gods, oh gods.

She'd killed people, yes, and that was also not as new as it should have been. All she could see in her mind was the sight of the woman's face melting under her hand, the scent/taste of charred meat.

She'd had to do it, of course.

What, was she supposed to let them kill her first?

Oh gods, she'd fallen asleep. She had to have fallen asleep, or she wouldn't be in her house.

What was going to happen to her over there? She tried pinching her arm to see if that would wake her up. All it did was raise a red spot on her arm and hurt a little. She tried willing herself back, tried everything she could think of to just wake up.

None of it worked.

Oh gods.

Eventually, she heard the loud brrrriiiiing of the tea timer she set to remind her to head to work.

How the hell was she supposed to make it through the day?

She had a long, tense drive to work. Any second, she expected to wake up over there.

She wasn't able to focus on her job; several times she found herself asking the customers to repeat themselves because her mind had been on the other world.

She could barely eat anything all day, and the scent of meat just reminded her of what she'd done.

It was a relief when she finally blinked awake, curled up by a fire that had burned down to nothing. Sitting up, she groaned. She felt stiff and sore. Buh. She pictured the soothing, green light, and the aches and pains subsided. That was a useful trick. Very useful. She wondered if it would work in the real world, as she let her eyes adjust to the utter absence of light.

Sleepily, she raised her hand, calling harmless flames to her palm. It shone like a torch, flickering light bathing the area.

The woman's corpse lay across a chest, a crossbow bolt piercing her skull through one eye. Her blood had oozed out of the wound, causing her face to kind of stick to the chest.

Mariah shuddered slightly. No different from mousetraps. She could handle dead mice with their skulls caved in and their blood everywhere; she could handle a formaldehyde-smelling cadaver in the lab that one time, she could handle the horrific mix of the two concepts: a dead woman with part of her skull caved in and her blood going everywhere.

Easy.

She shoved the woman's corpse off of the box, reminding herself that she desperately needed to eat and someplace safe to stay at night; whatever was in the box would undoubtedly be valuable.

And then the box was locked. She scowled at it, producing the set of thin, metal picks that Hadvar had given her, and set to work.

She had to steady herself before she began. Couldn't be shaking if she wanted to do this. The fire in her hand died, leaving her blind, but then, this was more about how it felt, and how it sounded, than how it looked, wasn't it? She began with the picks, listening carefully to the lock. It was slow, careful going, and she didn't really expect to succeed. When she heard something click inside the lock, she used the thin knife that had come with the set of picks, using it to gently turn the lock.

To her great surprise, she succeeded.

Hooray.

Opening the chest with one hand, she lit flame in the other to inspect her bounty.

A double-handful of gold coins, and a green-colored potion greeted her, the rewards for her triumph.

She'd certainly take that!

The entryway to the Barrow was eerie and quiet, save for the soft 'whoosh' of air that blew over the holes in the ceiling. Looking around, her right hand held high, she spotted a staircase leading down. As there was only really the one option if she wanted to claim her reward, she headed down the staircase, deeper into the Barrow.

Cobwebs were strung throughout; she burned them, and they melted away. Odd how they weren't really flammable, but then, she'd read something about that once.

She had to use the flames to light her way; there had been no one here before her, as near as she could tell. Certainly, no one had bothered to light the coals in the brazier she passed until she did it. The flickering light revealed a series of gold-ish urns. She left these undisturbed, continuing past. She nearly tripped on the ground ahead. Feeling the stone with her feet, she ran into the roots of some kind of plant. She had to carefully pick her way across the root system, or risk falling flat on her face.

Fortunately, it only lasted for a little way, before the roots apparently gave up on finding sustenance in the Barrow. She found another brazier, lighting this, too, with her conjured flames.

Her feet accidentally kicked something small and furry – looking down, she saw it was some kind of massive rat. It looked as though it had been killed by someone with a sword; several slashes had taken bloody chunks out of its fur. She grimaced, then continued onward.

She came across another patch of roots, picking her way carefully across them. She almost missed it, when several bursts of air were followed by the ping of metal on stone.

She did not, however, miss the sight of the man lying face-down on the ground, his form contorted around some kind of lever he'd fallen on. A torch lay nearby, lighting some of the surroundings with its flames. Well. This would be the first trap, then, and someone had already fallen victim to it. She walked up to the man, kicking him off of the lever. Obviously, the lever was what triggered the darts, but there had to be some kind of logical way to pass this. She saw a stone tablet that looked cracked and worn. Picking up the torch, she inspected it. It bore a carving of a snake.

Hm.

She looked up and around, to see if any more such carvings existed. Those would be the clues, she was sure. A staircase led up, so she went up. The torch lit a carving of a fish, a place where a carving had once hung, and another carving of a snake. From left to right, it read: “Snake, Snake, Fish.

Something in the room had to correspond to those carvings; that was the only thing that made sense.

She walked back down the stairs, and across the way she had her answer. Three stone pillars stood on circular stone slabs. The pillars read “Bird, Fish, Bird.” She suspected that was why the man got killed; he hadn't bothered to try figuring out the riddle. Walking up to one of the pillars, she shoved at it, experimentally. It seemed mobile, so she set the torch down, shifting it with both hands until it read “Snake.” She smiled to herself, then proceeded to line the rest of the stones up. Snake, Snake, Fish.

Easy.

That done, she crept towards the lever, careful not to step on any of the darts. She pulled it, then ran toward the gate. Nothing happened at first, and she felt silly. Then, there came the sound of metal scraping on stone, and the gate lifted up behind her.

She collected the torch and continued on.

Straight ahead, she saw a pair of stone tables. On one, she saw a book. She picked the book up, stuffed it inside her backpack. She wanted to know as much as she could about the world, and the only way to learn would be to read about it. She'd read the book some other time, however; right now she had a job to do.

She spotted a couple more golden urns, a small soul gem, and a chest.

The chest had another double-handful of gold, as well as another greenish potion. This, as well as the soul gem, she stored in her backpack. To the left, she spotted a wooden staircase that she wasn't quite sure she was prepared to trust her life to. But, if she wanted to progress, she had to try it, at least. She kept close to the wall, putting her weight on the sides of the boards where there was more support.

The staircase, miraculously, held.

When she managed to make it to the bottom of the staircase, she found herself face-to-face with more giant rats. She waved the torch at them, and they backed off, running scared. Like most animals, they were afraid of fire. Smart little bastards; she didn't want to have to cook them alive.

She came to a room that was completely covered in cobwebs. At the center of the room, she spied a table, and several things adorned it. There was a rolled-up piece of parchment, as well as a vial of some unnamed black liquid and two unlit candles.

She collected the rolled up parchment, holding one corner awkwardly with her left hand, unrolling the scroll with her right. She could read the words on the paper, surprisingly enough,

She rolled it back up, holding it in her left hand, along with the torch. It looked useful. If she was reading it right, it would allow her to cast a fiery explosion. It didn't have all the details of the spell, but she could probably get some use out of it.

She came to a doorway that had been completely covered in cobwebs. In fact, although she'd been refusing to think about it, the whole area had been covered in cobwebs. She'd just been burning the ones that got in her way, as she did the thick webbing on the entryway.

It melted into so much blackened, charred goop.

She entered the room, shuddering slightly. It, too, was completely covered in webbing. Massive eggsacs clung to the walls. This part of the ruin clearly belonged to spiders. She began burning the eggsacs; she did not want hungry spiderlings coming after her later on. The idea was horrifying.

Something chittered overhead. She slowly, cautiously looked up.

A massive – truly, massive – spider hung clung to the ceiling. It put the ones she'd faced in Helgen to shame. Venom dripped from its mandibles, and the ground sizzled where it landed.

She froze, eyes wide, as it crawled down the wall towards her.

A Stranger in Skyrim 13

Chapter Thirteen: Lucky

In which people die horribly.

She gave the potion a moment or two to work. Slowly, she noticed an odd tingling penetrate the numbness in her left shoulder. She turned, slowly. The woman was struggling to sit up, glaring at her as the twitching slowly subsided.

She pointed at the woman with her sword, and another burst of sparks coalesced at the tip. “I don't want to kill you,” she announced tiredly. “Just … go.”

Lightning crawled towards the woman, who flinched away.

“I mean it. Get. The fuck. Away from me.”

The woman scrambled backwards, then ran like a bitch.

Okay. So.

She was still injured. That was still a thing.

She poked the man's corpse in the side with her toe glaring down at him. He was wearing heavy fur clothing, with a heavy fur cloak. He'd also bled all over the front of it. Bastard.

So yeah, injured.

She reached up with her right hand. Now that the black spots had cleared from her vision, she could think clearly, if slowly. She focused on the idea of warmth and life, of green energy suffusing the wound with light. Slowly, feeling returned to the fingertips on her left hand.

Good. Great. That was fantastic. She shook her hand out to get rid of the worst of the tingles.

Meanwhile, she was pretty sure she was freezing to death. She dragged the man's corpse, one-handed, into the tower. That done, she began the process of carefully peeling his clothing from his body, because the warm fur would do her more good in the cold than the thin robe. Actually …

She looked down, thoughtfully.

Yeah, that would work.

Dropping most of her gear, she pulled the robe up over her head, dancing from foot to foot because gods all damn but it was cold. That done, she pulled the fur clothing on, one pant leg at a time, then the nice warm shirt, then the nice warm vest, then the nice warm gauntlets that still managed to leave her fingers free. That done, she tugged the robe on over the top of the whole ensemble. Much better. The hood went back up, and she was actually pretty warm now. Finally, she fastened the heavy, fur cloak around her shoulders. It was stylish, and she knew firsthand that something like that would most likely help keep the cold out.

She reclaimed the rest of the gear, of course. There was, however, one last thing left to do. She'd ditched the longbow and arrows at Alvor's place, not figuring she was a good enough shot to make it worthwhile. A crossbow, however? Point and click? She was pretty sure she could handle that. She slung the quiver of crossbow bolts over her shoulder, then collected the weapon from the man's cold, dead hands.

She looked at the staircase leading up the tower, then decided to see what all the damn fuss was about. She swiped a coinpurse from a table just inside the doorway, then trudged up the long flight of stairs.

She found a chest at the very frigid top of the tower. Lying on top of it, she found a short-handled axe. Inside, she found a handful of gold.

She could have skipped this whole misguided endeavor and been happy.

Good to know.

She trudged back down the long flight of stairs, then corrected her route. If this wasn't an old Nord tomb, then she'd taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Or somewhere in that general vicinity, anyway. She found a side path that led left, right up the hill to her ultimate destination, which had always been the series of stone archways that marked Bleak Falls Barrow.

She didn't like the looks of it. Nor did she like the idea of killing more men, but, well, she could justify it. They would happily murder her, or worse, if she let them, just for the little coin in her backpack. They had stolen, and would steal again.

Murderers and thieves. She could make herself kill murderers and thieves.

It took her a moment or two to work the crossbow, but once she figured out how it loaded, it seemed easy enough. She held it at the ready, heading up the long staircase that led up the hill.

A man greeted her with a mace and not much else. He was within a couple of feet when she shot him in the stomach. He staggered, she punched him in the face with the crossbow, he fell to the ground, clutching his face and moaning. Easy.

A bolt whizzed past her head, she whirled around to find the archer. Another bolt caught her directly in the windpipe. She fell to her knees, clutching the wound. She heard an odd, gurgling noise emerge from her throat, and she tasted blood. The world went gray around the edges. An arrow pierced her chest from behind knocking her off her feet. She cracked her head forehead on the ground, and the world went completely dark.

She held her crossbow at the ready, heading up the stairway towards Bleak Falls Barrow. Something tickled the edges of her awareness, but she ignored it. The bandits would be tough to kill. What in the name of all the Gods had possessed her to think she could handle this alone?

A man charged down the stairs at her, mace in hand. She shot him in the stomach, and he tumbled down past her – she'd worry about him later. She walked the rest of the way up the stairs. A woman with a bow stood on her right, a man with a crossbow stood on her left. The woman fired, and she barely scampered out of the way. She dropped her own crossbow and ran as fast as she could towards the woman. The woman was drawing her bow. She ducked to the side, getting up close, too close for the bow to do any good. She put her hand to the woman's face and prayed to no one in particular.

Flesh melted as she burned the screaming woman alive.

Yep. She was going to have all kinds of nightmares if she managed to survive.

Crossbow had graduated from the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy, and the bolt sunk home into Longbow's belly. If the woman hadn't already been dead – wait, no, Longbow doubled over, sobbing. Right, she'd worry about Longbow in a moment. Right now – she whirled on Crossbow. Lightning arced between them. She didn't let the spell go until she was certain he wasn't getting back up – then she walked back towards him. Just to be totally sure, she set him on fire with her mind.

Good times. Still going to have nightmares.

She collected her crossbow from where it had fallen, shaking her head softly. These bandits must have been amateurs, if even she could handle them that easily.

That done, she looked around to ensure she was really alone, before heading up the stairs into the tomb itself, closing the door behind her as quietly as humanly possible. She'd made the practice of stealth a habit, even inside her own home; she could manage quiet.

Two people were talking ahead, a man and a woman.

She raised the crossbow to her eye, lining it up with the woman, then aiming ever so slightly up. She fired – the bolt sailed true, catching the woman off-guard. The recoil of the weapon kicked it back into her nose. Ow. That hurt. The man came to investigate. Hanging the crossbow awkwardly from her belt, she shot lightning at him from both hands until he, too, lay unmoving. He didn't seem to be breathing, but she had to make sure. There was no sense in letting her enemies live.

She set him on fire, too.

Hooray.

They had a fire (with wood for fuel, not people) ready for her. How thoughtful. She collapsed on the heavy fur-lined bedroll someone had kindly set up next to it –

– and fell backwards out of her chair, cursing loudly as she crashed to the ground.

A Stranger in Skyrim 12

Chapter Twelve: Bandits

In which she finally ditches the Nirnroot.

Walking outside, she realized the reason she hadn't seen anyone on her way out of the inn was that it was still the early hours of the morning.

Also? It was raining again.

She grumbled a little bit, then pulled the hood up over her head again.

She made her way down the massive hill that Whiterun had been built upon, noting absently that her legs ached from all the walking she'd done the day before. She sent a wave of soothing, mint-green energy down through her body, and was rewarded with a cessation of pain.

Good times.

She passed the housecarl and three guards talking in quiet tones. The men seemed to be arguing a bit – they didn't want to face off against a dragon alone, but then, no one sane would – while the housecarl assured them that they wouldn't have to. After all, their job was mostly to keep the townsfolk safe. No one expected them to take out a dragon on their own.

Why there hadn't been guards posted in Riverwood before was a mystery for the ages, she was sure.

She headed out the massive gates as the rain abated. Heat lightning still hung overhead, thunder following, and thick clouds obscured the sun as it began to peek up over the misty mountains.

The trip back to Riverwood was largely uneventful. She passed a black man who was burdened by supplies. He told her that he was on his way to Windhelm to join up with the Stormcloaks. She shook her head as she passed him. She didn't know which side to support in the war – she simply did not have enough information to make a decision – but from what she could tell, the Stormcloaks were the instigators, here. She wasn't sure she wanted to pick the side that started the fight.

The stupid plant was still making noise in her backpack, though the noise had grown faint enough she was sure she was the only one who could hear it. She decided she'd have to get rid of it – maybe it was valuable to someone?

So, passing a couple of children who were playing tag, she headed towards the building that proclaimed itself to be the “Riverwood Trader.” Its sign was a set of scales.

“Well, one of us has to do something!” A woman's voice announced as she pushed open the door.

The man behind the counter placed both hands on it, leaning forward. “I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!”

“Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!” The woman sounded upset.

“We are done talking about this.” His gaze slid towards Mariah. “Oh – ahem – a customer. Sorry you had to hear that ...”

She smiled. “It's all right. What were you two arguing about, if I may?” She walked up to the counter.

“Oh, we had a bit of a – ah – a break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing.” He sighed. “It was an ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw.”

She considered. “If I help you get that claw back, would there be money in it for me?” Sure, she had a mission to complete, but she had also discovered a powerful need to eat, drink, and sleep. Strange how those things became a priority when they were no longer a sure bet.

“I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment,” he said. “It's yours if you bring my claw back.”

She nodded. “All right, I'm in.”

“Now if you're going to get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town.” Oh, wasn't that convenient.  

The woman folded her arms, sounding unimpressed. “So this is your plan, Lucan?”

“Yes,” he said smugly. “So now you don't have to go, do you?”

She looked Mariah over, appraisingly. “Well, I think your new helper here needs a guide.”

“Wh – no I – oh, by the Eight, fine, but only to the edge of town!”

The woman sighed, heading for the door.

“Only to the edge of town, you hear me?”

The woman turned back, one hand on her hip, the other on the doorknob. “I heard you.”

“Good.”

Mariah decided she should probably speak up about the plant now, or forever hold her peace. “Before I go – I did want to do a little business. You see, I found this plant ….”

“A plant, hm? Do you know what kind?”

She shook her head. “I was actually kind of hoping you could tell me.” She shifted her backpack around, setting it on the counter. She produced the slightly-crushed plant from the bag. It still glowed, ever so faintly, and the chiming was somewhat louder outside of her backpack.

“That's a Nirnroot,” he said. “Yes – I could part with a few gold for that.” He counted out a small handful of gold pieces, pushed them towards her. She took them, handing over the plant. “Tell you what, you find any other interesting herbs, bring them to me. I'll give you a fair price.”

She smiled brightly. “Thanks. I'm new to Skyrim, and I don't really have a lot of money.”

“Ah, well. You seem like a good kid, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Now shoo, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you.”

Nodding at him, she headed out of the shop. She decided not to mention that she was already headed that way for her own reasons. Why ruin a good thing? As far as he was concerned, she was delving into a dangerous ruin to fight off bandits – why had Farengar not mentioned the bandits? – just for his claw.

She wouldn't spoil that for him.

“We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow. You can see it from here, though – it's the mountain just over the buildings.” She began walking towards the bridge. “Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls, and who knows what else!” Trolls? Well, all trolls are different. Maybe they'd be friendly, with Jamaican accents and blue-green skin? She could only hope for such luck.

The woman sounded thoughtful as she continued speaking, heedless of Mariah's odd train of thought. “I wonder why they only stole my brother's golden claw. I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop worth just as much coin.”

“Where did he get the claw from, anyway?”

She looked back at Mariah. “Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it. He's a tricky one.”

Good times.

“This is the bridge out of town,” she said, gesturing across it. “The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child ….”

Mariah smiled at her. “Your brother loves you, it sounds like.”

“Oh, sure, but it gets to be so tiresome.” She shook her head. “Do you have any siblings?”

Mariah looked off into the distance, towards her goal. “You know, I've always wanted a brother or a sister. Never got my wish though. Mom hasn't exactly had any luck in the romance department, not that she's been looking overly hard.”

“Oh – what happened to your father?”

She scowled slightly, shaking her head. “The bastard left her before I was born. Said she was sleeping around, when she wasn't, wouldn't ever. See, he claimed he was sterile, only he wasn't.”

“That's so sad!”

Mariah looked over at the woman. “Eh, it is what it is. Anyway, Mom's always been good enough for me. I don't need a man in my life, and so far I haven't met a single man who was good enough for her.”

“Oh … I see. Well, I should be getting back.” Apparently, she didn't really have a response for that.

Well, whatever. She waved slightly, then headed across the bridge.

The path to the left wasn't exactly well-maintained, not like the cobbled street was. She found herself climbing an almost vertical slope. She was quite tempted to climb up on hands and knees, but that wouldn't exactly be the best way to introduce herself to a bandit. “Hi, can you wait for me to get back up on my feet before you shoot me? Thanks.” She laughed quietly at herself – but she decided to draw her sword anyway, just in case.

So far, she hadn't reached the part that could actually be called a mountain, just a tall hill. As she ascended it, she noticed snow on the ground, and realized her hands, at least, were getting cold. She flexed her fingers, summoning flame in them.

That warmed them up nicely. She spotted a tower on the left. That didn't look bleak, falls, or barrow, but she figured it couldn't hurt to check it out. Why not?

So she did, only the tower was occupied.

A sentry stood by a tall, snowy tree. The woman drew a weapon and a large shield as she approached.

She held her hands up. “What is this place?” She asked, conversationally.

“You picked a bad time to get lost, friend.” The woman replied. “Turn around, and maybe we'll let you live.”

She looked around. “We?”

An arrow punched through her shoulder, answering that question. She looked down at it, shock numbing the pain.

The woman smiled, only it wasn't a good smile. She lunged forward, bringing her club down where Mariah was, only Mariah had decided that was a good moment to stumble backwards.

She'd been shot.

That was … that was new.

Someone was trying to kill her.

That wasn't as new as it should have been.

She shifted, turning so the woman was between her and the tower. The archer wouldn't be able to get a clear shot at her, she hoped. She tried to move her left arm, but it was useless. The arm hung like so much dead weight. Magic surged through her veins, and lightning shot up the sword, engulfing the woman. The bandit woman shuddered, finding herself unable to move for the electricity coursing through her. She fell to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

Mariah stepped over her, looking for the person who'd shot her. The wound throbbed with her heartbeat, her vision was going gray around the edges.

She spotted the man, stalking towards him. He was wielding a crossbow, not a normal bow. It took him a moment to load the next bolt, and during that time, she managed to make it up to him. She brought her sword up, right as he shot again. This one went a little wide, grazing her left arm. Too bad for him.

She pointed at him, her sword at his throat. Lightning poured from the tip of the weapon, and he, too, fell down in a twitching mass of flesh. She carved his throat open, the movements mechanical.

She was cold. The bandits had dressed warmly enough; she had not.

She was cold, and her blood was oozing from her wounds – she reached up, yanking at the bolt. She gasped as a fresh wave of pain rolled through her. It didn't come out easily. She groaned, closing her eyes as she tugged at it again. A third yank that drove her to her knees finally ripped the bolt free. Blood spurted all over the snow.

She couldn't focus clearly enough to picture the green light of healing, but then, she realized she didn't have to. She slid the backpack off her shoulders again, wincing as it slid down her left arm.

She fumbled, one-handed, at the strap that held the pack closed, black spots forming over her eyes. She found a vial filled with reddish liquid. Red was good, right?

Well, if it wasn't, she'd just keep trying until she found one that worked, or she died horribly.

One or the other.

She pulled the cork out with her teeth, spat it out onto the ground, and downed the contents in one swallow.

And nothing happened.

A Stranger in Skyrim 11

Chapter Eleven: Workhorse

In which she doesn't get to quit her day job.

“Come on in,” a woman called, as Lucia led her into the Bannered Mare.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust, as Lucia walked ahead. The girl disappeared into a side room, humming quietly to herself.

The place was cozy, lit and warmed by a large, open firepit in the middle. Patrons sat around the fire, or at barstools by the bar, or at the various tables. She walked up to the bar. “How much does it cost to rent a room?”

“A room? Well, I have one available. One hundred Septims for a night.”

She balked a little. Okay, she had guessed a hundred gold wouldn't equal much, but still … “And how much for a meal?”

“Well, I've put some stew on. It'll be about forty Septims for a bowl.”

That … that was her entire budget. She winced slightly, sighed. Reluctantly, she shrugged her backpack off, producing the coinpurse. She handed over the entire thing, minus a whopping nine gold pieces.

Ouch.

“I'll show you to your room. Right this way.” The woman walked away from the counter, headed toward the back of the building, and she found herself facing her first moral dilemma. The counter was completely unguarded, no one was looking, she could easily take whatever she wanted, provided she could pocket it fast enough.

But no. She wasn't any kind of criminal, really. She turned to follow Hulda.

They passed through the kitchen and up a narrow stairway, to a small room that was decorated with various wall hangings. It was lit with a small plateful of candles; they provided just enough light to see by. The woman gestured for her to enter the room. “I'll bring the soup up when it's ready, then … ?”

“That'll be great.” She smiled at the innkeeper, feeling exhausted.

Despite how tired she was, she still stayed up an hour or two, devouring the book about fire magic as quickly as she'd studied the book on lightning. Somewhere in there, Hulda brought up the soup, and sometime after that, she ate the soup, but she honestly couldn't have commented on its flavor; she was completely enthralled with her reading.

When she was sure she'd be able to work the spell, even going so far as to conjure tiny flamelets in the palm of her hand, she set the book aside and blew out the candles.

Her head hit the pillow …

… and she felt her mind grind to a halt. She was staring at her computer screen, her mouth open. She had been in the middle of a sentence, she knew she had, but she didn't know what she was saying. Frantically, she clicked through the customer's account, trying to figure out what exactly they'd been doing. She usually took her notes after the call, and that habit did not help her now.

She stumbled awkwardly through the rest of the call, then went to break half an hour early. She hid in the bathroom, holding her head in her hands.

This, she decided, was all kinds of not fair.

Bad enough she'd been dropped into another world, with another language, foreign customs, strange people, and magic, but no, she still got to keep her day job, too.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Her short breakdown done, she returned to her desk sitting heavily. She stared at the ceiling for a little bit, then glanced down at the phone's clock.

Back to work.

She answered a handful of calls, doing her best to help her customers. She was good at what she did, and what she did was talk to angry people about their money. It was easy for her; talking to people always had been. It was actually almost a relief to be able to do something so utterly normal. She got to talk about the weather, how their kids were doing, how their lives were going, and she could just completely ignore her own slipping sanity.

Most importantly, she decided, nobody really expected her to go die for them.

That was certainly a plus.

She made it through the day, making small talk with her coworkers between calls. When lunchtime came around, she got up again, headed over to her mom's desk, and gave her a hug. She didn't do that enough, she decided. It was comforting to be able to do so.

Then, she ate her lunch, then, she returned to her desk.

For medical reasons, she had been limited to six hour days for a while now, and although she had been so sure she was getting better, she wasn't sure she was ready to return to a forty-hour work week yet, especially not now that she was finally losing her sanity completely. In practical terms, her reduced hours meant that she got out of work a couple of hours after lunch, with no final break.

This was fine with her.

She kept waiting for the return trip, and that put her on edge for the rest of the night. She sat down to play more Vampire, and nothing happened. She finished up the creepy-ass haunted hotel quest, and nothing happened. She laid down to sleep, and nothing happened.

Her hand drove the sword up and into the man's back, and oh, gods, his blood was all over her arms. She dropped her weapon, and he flopped to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. She smelled blood and worse. As she froze, another man cut her in half.

But she felt no pain.

A pair of wolves backed her into the cliff face, and she froze.

One wolf pinned her to the ground, ripping her throat out, while the other tore her robe open, its teeth ripping into her stomach. She didn't feel a thing. Staring glassy eyed off into the distance, all she could hear was the cheerful burbling of the nearby river.

The headsman's axe went up; the headsman's axe came down. Her head fell free of her body, and the world spun around as she landed on the ground beside the box. All around, she saw flames and carnage, but she could do nothing about it, because her body was over there.

She fell from the tower, and her legs snapped like little twigs when she landed on the hard ground below. She could see bone poking from her thigh, her shin. She tried to move, but she couldn't. She tried to scream for help, but all that escaped her was a low moan of pain. Eventually, she succumbed, dying in a pool of her own blood as the whole world went dark.

The dragon was terrifying. It's face alone took up her entire field of view; she could see nothing but black scales, black horns, and the malevolent red eyes that stared her down.

Found you.

She shot awake, tumbling awkwardly out of the bed. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. Everything was dark, though, and the floor was a woven rug over hardwood flooring. That suggested not her room.

Dammit.

She heard voices downstairs, but she couldn't make out what any of them were saying, nor did she care to. She curled up on the floor.

What the hell kind of dream was that, even?

Generally, she dreamed of grand adventures and saving the world. Her worst nightmares generally involved being naked in awkward places, and that was only uncomfortable, not … not whatever the hell that had been.

A warning.

That was what it was. What would happen if she did nothing, what would happen if she failed.

Cheery.

The last face though … the dragon.

That? That was her enemy.

She shook her head, almost laughing at herself. Like she was going to save the world from a dragon. Like there was any way in hell she could even begin to fight a dragon!

Ha.

She'd leave that to the guards and soldiers. All she had to do was go fetch a tablet from a tomb. She'd keep her eyes open, avoid any traps, and get rewarded handsomely for her troubles.

Hopefully, “handsomely” would cover more than a single night's stay at the inn!

She got up, smoothing out the oddly wrinkle-proof robe. She pulled her shoes back on, wriggling her toes in them. Then, she headed downstairs.

Her stomach growled at her, but she couldn't do much about that. She headed downstairs to the inn proper, streeeetching and yawning sleepily. She noted that she back room was largely unguarded. She suspected no one would even notice if she stole pretty much anything for … quite a while. Looking around guiltily, she swiped some kind of sweet roll with icing on top.

It wasn't like anyone would miss it, she was sure. And after she'd gotten gouged by the innkeeper for basically her entire budget, she didn't feel guilty in the slightest.

Well, maybe she felt a little guilty.

The roll probably wouldn't do her diet any good.

A Stranger in Skyrim 10

Chapter Ten: Jarl Balgruuf

In which an adventuring career is started by accident.

The man was blond. He wore a circlet that, taken together with his rich, yet practical clothing, served as a reminder of his power. He sat in a rather plain chair, carved with simple decorations; if she hadn't known he was the Jarl, and if it had occupied any other space than the raised dais it rested upon, she might not have guessed it to be a small throne.

The dark-skinned elf spoke a handful of words to the Jarl. He sat up straighter, his eyes fixing on Mariah. Once again, she felt small.

His voice, she imagined, would carry throughout his throne room. She knew he was addressing her directly, although she herself had lost the ability to look up at him. “So,” he began, “you were at Helgen? You saw this ... dragon … with your own eyes?”

“The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak for his treason,” she said cautiously, peeking up at him. A part of her wished suddenly that she had bangs to hide her face. She left out the part where she had actually been next for the block; he didn't need to know that, and it wouldn't help her standing. “Then, the dragon attacked. It destroyed the whole town in minutes, at most.”

He shook his head. “Hnh. I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this.” He turned his attention to the man on his right, then. “What do you say now, Proventus? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?” Having seen the walls herself, Mariah knew that she wouldn't trust in their protection.

“My lord,” the 'housecarl' (whatever that was) began, “we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains ….”

The fancy-robed man on the Balgruuf's right protested this course of action in a rather whiny tone. “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not – ”

“Enough!” the Jarl snapped. “I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” He turned his attention to the elf. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

She put her hand to her chest in an odd sort of salute. “Yes, my Jarl.” The elf walked off, then, presumably to attend to that detail.

“If you'll excuse me,” Proventus said with some resignation, “I'll return to my duties.”

The Jarl returned his attention to the man. “That would be best.” Proventus, too, went on his way.

“Well done,” the Jarl said, and she felt his eyes on her again. She glanced up, to see him smiling at her. The smile made him look surprisingly handsome. “You sought me out, on your own initiative.”

She opened her mouth to speak, to protest that she was only following directions. He waved his hand. “You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it.” He beckoned a servant over, murmuring a couple of words to the man, who trotted off promptly. “There must be something suitable for a wizard in my armory; I've instructed him to find something for you. A gift, for your service.”

The Jarl seemed to be considering something, then. She waited; whatever it was, he'd get to it, or not, in his own time. “There is another thing you could do for me,” he said, finally. “I believe it will be … suitable … for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.” He stood, then. “Come.” He began walking, so she followed. “Let us find my court wizard, Farengar. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons, and rumors of dragons.”

He led her to a room just off the side of the throne room. It smelled a bit of lavender, and something else she couldn't identify. Inside, a hooded, robed man was laboring over a circular table with various glass beakers and vials that bubbled with greenish goop.

“Farengar,” the Jarl began. “I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details.”

“Of course, Jarl Balgruuf,” the man replied. “She looks … capable, at least.”

The Jarl turned his attention to her once more. “Succeed at this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt.” Well hell. So now she was some kind of adventurer, apparently. At least, as far as the Jarl of Whiterun was concerned; who was she to argue? Especially since, while she stood there in confusion, he began to walk off, no doubt headed back to his own duties.

“So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” Farengar asked, dragging her attention back to him. “Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me.” He tapped his chin, thoughtfully, as he looked her over. “Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may, or may not, actually be there.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Okay, I'll bite. What does this tablet have to do with dragons?”

“Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?” He smiled warmly at her, then continued. “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities.” He shook his head, disgusted. “One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside of his experience as impossible. I began to search for information about dragons. Where had they gone, all those years ago? And, where were they coming from now?”

“And this tablet has something to do with the dragons?”

He nodded. “Right. I learned of this stone tablet, a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. It's supposed to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. So, what I need for you to do, is to go to Bleak Falls Barrow. Once there, I want you to find the Dragonstone, no doubt interred in the main chamber, and bring it back to me. Simplicity itself.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about Bleak Falls Barrow?” Since it was supposed to be a dangerous ruin, she thought it would be best to be forewarned.

Another nod. “It's an old tomb, built by the ancient nords. They were master craftsmen. Apparently, many of the traps that protect their burial sites remain functional to this day. Did you need directions?”

“I'm sure someone in Riverwood can point me in the right direction.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I'm curious, though. How do you know this stone tablet is in Bleak Falls Barrow?”

He looked slightly guilty, muttering. “Well, must preserve some professional secrets, mustn't we? I have my sources. Reliable sources.”

She looked him over. He was supposed to be the court wizard, right? He'd know the answer to her biggest question, she was sure. “Where can I learn more about magic?”

“A prospective student, are you?” He took in the robe she wore, apparently seeing it for the first time. “Well, I'm afraid I'm not much good at teaching. You should try your luck at the college of Winterhold.”

“Okay … Where is Winterhold, from here?”

He pointed to the map that took up a large chunk of his study. “It's far to the northeast. If you're headed up that way, pack some warm clothing. The cold has been known to kill people.”

“Do you have any old spellbooks, maybe? I just want to learn.”

He looked at her, thoughtfully. “Well, I have a bit of a library. I'd be willing to part with some choice spellbooks, if you have the coin to cover their cost.”

She bit her lip. “I don't think … I've only got a hundred or so gold pieces.”

“Ah. Well … I do have one book you could have. I'm not going to get any more use out of it, you might as well take it. It's pretty basic; just a cantrip to call fire, really.” She looked up at him, hopefully. “Yes, I could part with that for no charge.”

She smiled brightly up at him, and he ducked his head, looking rather embarrassed. He shuffled off into a side room, returning with a dog-eared book with a picture of a flaming hand on the front.

“Here you go.”

She took it in both hands, looking down at it in wonder. Hugging it to her chest, she looked up at him again. “Thank you.”

“Now, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you. The Jarl is not a patient man.”

She headed out of Dragonsreach then, noting absently that the downhill was significantly easier than the uphill. Humming to herself, she opened one of the big doors, and walked out into the cool night air.

She all but skipped down the hill, finding herself at the big tree again. The girl was there, waiting. “You came!” She smiled brightly. “I didn't think you would, but you came back!”

“Well, I promised, didn't I?” She smiled, in return. “So, what's your name, anyway?”

“Lucia, ma'am.”

She grinned softly. “Lucia Ma'am, hm? That's an odd last name you've got there.”

The girl giggled, in return.

“No, but seriously, don't call me 'ma'am.' It makes me feel old.” She continued to smile.

Lucia tilted her head to the side. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-two. I'll be twenty-three in August.” Assuming, of course, that she lived until August, anyway. She sighed softly.

The girl blinked, looking at her oddly. “August?”

“... Right. Just … sometime in the summer.” She shook her head. Even the months were different? Really? And whatever power let her talk Skyrim-ish, didn't conveniently translate her meaning? Bah.

Lucia nodded. “Okay. So … what's your name?”

“Mariah.”

She smiled again. “That's a pretty name.”

“People seem to think so, yes. They call the wind Mariah, did you know that?” Technically, that was a 'fact' made up by a songwriter, as near as she could tell, but really, who was going to tell a little girl from Skyrim that an American songwriter lied to make his song pretty?

The girl sat back down on the bench, kicking her feet a little. “Really? Who calls it that?”

“People do. Back where I'm from, I mean.”

She tilted her head to the other side. “Where are you from?”

“It's called America,” she explained. “You won't have heard of it.

The girl looked thoughtful. “Okay.”

She found herself yawning – it had been an eventful day! – and looked down at the girl. “Do you know where I can sleep for the night?”

“That's easy. There's a big inn called the Bannered Mare down a ways from here. Miss Hulda lets me sleep by the fire, sometimes. She's really nice.”

Another yawn, she covered her mouth with her free hand. “Show me?”

The girl stood, taking her hand, and together, they walked to the inn.

A Stranger in Skyrim 9

Chapter Nine: Whiterun

In which water runs downhill.

She walked into the city, looking around. She smelled the tang of hot metal in the air; to the right, she saw a smithy.

“I just can't fill an order of that size on my own!” A woman's voice protested. The voice, unsurprisingly, belonged to a female. She wore a heavy leather apron over a dress – why was it every woman wore a dress? She promised herself then that she would avoid the damn things at all costs. “Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?”

Mariah didn't catch the rest of the conversation, though; she was already on her way uphill, past the smithy.

The rain finally abated as she passed a sign that read it belonged to the “Drunken Huntsman.” She was still soaking wet, but at least now there was a chance she'd dry off. Damn, but she was already getting chilly. She'd have to warm herself, and dry off, by a fire.

The high pitched ringing was not going away. Picking that plant felt more and more like a bad idea.

Her legs did not appreciate being forced uphill after her earlier pace. She thought happy thoughts at them, as she had on excessively long walks in the past. Picturing a well of green energy at her core, she let that power trickle down into her legs, soothing the pain. Meditating that way had always eventually worked, but this time, it worked almost instantly. She blinked, blinked again. Hu-uh. She knelt in the middle of the market square, feeling the hard calf muscles. No pain. That was a relief, but ….

It was strange.

She felt the burns on her arms with her fingertips. Willing that same power towards her arms, she felt the throbbing pain dissipate.

She marveled at her hands. Mind over matter?

No.

Magic. Magic over matter.

A soft grin lit her face. She continued up a long, open stairway towards Dragonsreach.

A large, dead tree dominated the next tier of the city. She walked up to it, resting her hand on its smooth bark, sadly. She liked nature.

“I know your family's honor is important to you, but we can't afford it!” A woman's voice spoke up behind her, and she turned to look at the speaker. She had crossed a small bridge to get to the tree. Another such bridge seemed to lead towards a residential area, across which two … well, they wouldn't be African-American, or even African, because neither Africa, nor America, existed in … what had the Khajiit called it? Tamriel?

Regardless, two brown-skinned people (Gods all forbid she call them 'black'), were talking. The woman had her arms folded.

The man responded, clearly frustrated. “It took me weeks to find that thieves' den! I can't stop now, and I can't get the sword on my own!”

“So you're willing to starve your wife and daughter to reclaim some rusty old sword?” She didn't sound impressed.

He shook his head, hands outstretched. “I just need to hire one, maybe two good men. You won't starve!”

“I'll put it plainly. You can claim your sword, or you can keep your wife,” she said, harshly. “If you set foot outside the gate, I won't be here when you return.”

The man walked a few steps towards the woman. “Saffir! Wait! I ….”

She leaned on the railing. It wasn't her business, but … no. She wasn't some kind of hero, she didn't know the man, it didn't make sense to –

He walked towards her, sighing, dejectedly. Without seeing her, he nearly tripped over her. “Oh – ah, I'm sorry. Did you hear that?”

She nodded quietly. “You were arguing.”

He shook his head slightly. “My Saffir doesn't like that I've been spending so much time looking for my father's sword. He fed his whole family with the money he made using that weapon! I'm not going to let it gather dust in some thief's trophy room!”

She frowned slightly. “Do you need help finding the sword?”

“I tracked it to a group of bandits nearby. But I'm no fool. I'd need the Whiterun guard, or maybe the Companions to get it.” He looked her over. “I don't know why I'm saying this, but … if you find it out in your travels, I'd be grateful.”

She tilted her head. “Where did you say it was?”

“A little cave, not far from here. It's called 'Redoran's Retreat,' and it's filled to the brim with bandits. If you go there, be careful. I don't want your blood on my hands.”

She smiled, a little uncertainly. “I'm not sure I'm the one you want,” she admitted. “I'm no kind of warrior … If I do find it, I'll bring it back, though.”

He nodded. “That's all the more I can really ask for.” He continued on his way, and she on hers.

She passed the tree, and a small hand tugged at her still-damp sleeve. “Lady – could you spare a coin?”

She frowned slightly, looking down.

It was a girl, a small child, really, with short-cropped brown hair. She was wearing a dirty, green skirt, with a poorly-mended rip in it. Shaking her head, Mariah shifted her backpack around, sliding it off her shoulders. That done, she fished around in it until she found the coinpurse. “Why are you begging?” She asked it conversationally.

“It's … it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one who's been nice to me since mama … since she died. My aunt and uncle took over the farm, and they threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything.” She felt the frown deepen. That wasn't right … that wasn't the kind of thing anyone should say to a child. “I wound up here,” the girl continued. “But I … I don't know what to do. I miss her so much ….”

She really didn't have much money, herself, but she counted out five coins, and handed them to the girl. “Here. It isn't much, but I hope it'll do.”

The girl's eyes widened, and she threw her arms around Mariah in a hug. “You're the best!” Pulling away, the girl looked up at her, seriously. “Could you be my mama?”

Looking down into those wide, innocent eyes, she swallowed heavily. She had to force herself to shake her head, quietly. “I'm sorry … I don't have anyplace for you to live.” Would Alvor be willing …? He was a blacksmith; surely he could afford to feed one extra mouth? She'd have to ask, after she returned to Riverwood. She just couldn't let the poor girl starve. “If I get more money, I'll make sure you get some of it, okay?”

“I … okay.” The girl sounded slightly disappointed.

She smiled, encouragingly, reaching out to pat the girl's shoulder. “Now … I've got to go talk to the Jarl, but afterward, I'll come see you again, all right? I'll be at the big old dead tree, and we can talk some more.”

“Okay!” The girl brightened considerably at that. “Thanks again.”

She nodded, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “No problem.”

The staircase up to Dragonsreach was a long one. It passed a large waterfall – in fact, the entire city seemed to be decorated with channels for waterways. It was pretty.

Eventually, she managed to ascend to the top of the staircase, huffing and puffing. She felt like she was going to fall flat on her face.

Ugh.

She trudged across the latest in a series of bridges, to a massive set of double doors. Opening them, she stepped inside.

Dragonsreach was impressive. From the outside, it had been a massive castle.

From the inside, it was a massive castle with a tall, arched roof, supported by pillars carved with intricate designs that resembled Celtic knotwork. A long, patterned rug led from the entryway to another set of stairs. She looked up – and up. Light poured in through a massive, circular window. Two chandeliers hung from central arches. She suspected these would light the keep at night, but how anyone lit them was a mystery for the ages. Maybe magic. She actually kind of hoped it was magic.

A man's voice echoed from the far end of the keep while she stood, hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. “– there's no telling … my lord, please ….”

Her lungs slowly stopped burning. She looked over, to see a woman with a broom looking at her oddly. “Your hair,” she explained. “It's blue.”

“I'm aware.”

She set off towards the far end of the throne room. At least she'd dried some on the long, mostly-vertical walk; she wasn't dripping all over the fine carpets.

“What would you have me do then?” A man's heavily-accented voice demanded, echoing from the walls. “Nothing?”

Another responded, sounding worried. “My lord, please. This is no time for rash action ….”

As she walked up the stairs, she saw a woman coming towards her. The woman's skin was ashy-gray, she noticed that much first, along with the severe, angular features. She was a redhead, with brilliant crimson eyes, and under all that hair, Mariah noticed pointed ears. That would be an elf, then. She tried not to stare.

The woman also had a sword drawn, and it was pointed at her. “What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

Oh good, she was in the right place after all.

“Alvor sent me,” she explained once more. “Riverwood is in danger.”

The woman frowned, eyes narrowed. “As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention. Now, explain yourself.”

“A dragon has destroyed Helgen, and last I saw? It was heading this way.”

The woman's eyes widened, then, she took a sharp breath. “You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach.”

So she did, walking down a large banqueting hall that was lined with tables. A massive firepit sat at the center of the hall, warming it with an open bonfire.

She couldn't imagine that passing a the fire safety inspection. The floors were wooden. Still, the heat was nice, and the firepit was lined with stone. It would probably be all right, although she would still not be surprised to hear the whole keep burned down in the night.

All of this helped to distract her as she walked up to meet with Whiterun's most important man.

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.