Originally, the OC around which this story is centered was supposed to be the Anti Sue for my parody, but by the time I had finished fleshing out a background for her, I discovered the possibilities of this character and had half a story planned out for her. The story doesn't exclusively follow any particular plotline of the game guild quests, at least not in the first chapters.

Ownership of anything besides my OC is hereby disclaimed.

o.O.o

Blizzard

o.O.o

There were several rules true wherever you went in Tamriel: nothing is more annoying than a Bosmer shopkeeper, nothing is scarier than an axe-wielding Orc (unless the person with the axe happens to be a disciple of Sheogorath) and nothing is louder than a drunken Nord.

In the unlikely event that she ever happened to be investigating the credibility of these universal truths, Lisette Lemieux could easily tick the last rule off on her list. It had just effectively been proved wrong. Oh so very wrong. There was something louder than a drunken Nord; a whole wagon of drunken Nords. Like the one she happened to have the misfortune of riding in at the moment.

It was night on the borders of Cyrodiil, but the tranquil peace of the snowy landscape was marred by the noises coming from the large wagon traveling to the central province. As the only source of light and noise, the transport was effectively scaring off every creature that had come to poke its nose into its business, which was transporting its entourage to the various cities of the province of the Imperials. They were miles away from Bruma now and Lisette was beginning to doubt they were going to make it even that far.

Everyone else seemed almost too drunk to be able to continue without sending their wagon off the cliff, though the horses likely wouldn't go through with that. Of course, the poor creatures were likely frightened by the laughs and general merriment of the Nords on board. It was only prudent to hope that their coachman, a Nord himself, hadn't gotten quite dead drunk yet. He certainly had been the slightest bit tipsy when she saw him last.

Lisette gave a small sigh. As the only non-Nord around, she had been forced to half-indulgently reject the massive quantities of mead offered to her by her various fellow travelers. She fully intended to stay sober, thank you very much, with her low tolerance for alcohol.

Helps warm ya up, they said. Well, good for them. She was quite content to fiddle around with a little heat charm herself, damnable cold or no.

For the umpteenth time, she wondered whether leaving High Rock really had been such a grand idea and succeeded in convincing herself yet again that yes, it had been. Anything was better than getting married off to one of her third cousins four times removed, regrettable idiots as they were. Anything, even a band of loudly singing tipsy Nords. At least they were company she had chosen and would be able to get away from without any kind of repercussions.

She hadn't even thought of where to go, really; just packed up and left as quickly as possible. As quietly and stealthily as she could, which, with her frail and small frame, was saying a lot. The fact that her family wouldn't miss her before it was far too late was only another plus.

Breton families were always large and wide-spread, completely ignorant of anything other than the cross-family politics. That involved forging relations with other important figures in High Rock, spreading the influence of the family and boasting the achievements of close relatives as if they were their own. It was slavery, in a way; the family was absolute and being a member of it was the same as being royalty in the eyes of some of her relatives. Moreover, it was a constant battle of petty wills; everyone wanted to be the best, to be given the torch once the current patriarch or matriarch would deem it fit to pass it on. It was a struggle that never ended, not even when one proved themselves.

Lisette had, perhaps mercifully, been excluded from these proceedings for most of her life. Ever since her childhood, she was told time and time again that she had none of the "flare" her family was rumored to possess, no spitfire personality to back up her non-existent devilish charms. She was simply a bookish girl with a keen interest in alchemy. Bretons, considered half-elven, half-human, had a natural aptitude for magic, and so her social-climbing mother was quick to arrange things for her. After all, if she wasn't a great beauty or charismatic leader, she could at least be a powerful sorceress and make the family proud, no?

Unfortunately, things didn't work out that well. Lisette didn't get along with any of her tutors, simply because she questioned their methods and suggested other solutions to problems.

Unacceptable, they said. Their methods have been tested and perfected over the centuries; who was she to judge them? A no-talent whelp who would one day blow herself up with her fizzled spell or mix up poison for herself. And even if she did something correctly, better, even, than they expected of her, they were quick to dismiss it as the result of their enlightened tutelage, not any talent on her part.

Her cousins jeered at her for this; her parents lamented her incompetence. The only thing she seemed to do well was restorative spells, but they had no need for a healer, her mother snapped when her father suggested they be rid of her by sending her to a temple of the Nine. If she were a boy, perhaps, but being a girl, there was yet another solution for this: marriage to some rich distant relative. In case that didn't work out, she would be sent to a temple, her mother decreed, which was likely an equivalent of erasing her name from family history.

While the career of a cleric was an appealing change from her current existence, the option that had priority status, marriage, was not. It scared Lisette, plain and simple. She knew that she would have no say in this matter; a single individual couldn't overrule the entire family. Besides, she heard whispers that her spouse had already been selected. None of the possible candidates appealed to her; her only good fortune was the fact that despite her good family background, none of the men seemed to want a wife that wasn't a brain-dead social butterfly, let alone someone that would outclass them in terms of intelligence.

A burden, they said.

Perhaps there was a bit of a firecracker personality left within her and she wasn't entirely the bland little innocent her relatives made her out to be. Lisette resented this treatment. And she ultimately decided that anything – anything – was better than this. She gathered her potion ingredients, whatever spell books she could carry with her, her more casual and useful clothing and all the gold she found during her frantic search of the house. It was a childish revenge against the harshness of her parents, but she was chalk white as she did this, knowing that she would be worse off than dead if they caught her.

She didn't know where she wanted to go, even; Hammerfell was too close and too hot for someone who preferred the cooler breezes and Skyrim had little use for what she could do to make a living. The nearest province she could go to was Cyrodiil and she decided that it would be her goal, at least for the moment.

It was likely the bravest and most reckless decision she had ever made.

Her family was wealthy, so she could afford to travel in style, but she refused to do so. She didn't know where she was going or what she would do once she got there; thus, she employed the first form of transportation available to her. It was a wagon of Nords traveling back to Skyrim for a brief stop and then to Cyrodiil, some to visit relatives, some to get home and others to just see more of the world. Lisette chose this option because she knew her parents would never look for her in such company and also because all Nords were known for their prowess in battle and liking for blunt and heavy weapons.

Now, days into the journey, Lisette was having second thoughts. They were far away from home already, on the borders of her destination, even, and she had ample money and food to make it wherever she wished. She even had an idea as to what to do when she got to a city or village she might want to live in. But it was the loneliness that was getting to her. She had always been a lonely person, but for the first time, the absence of anything familiar struck her like a hammer into the face. Her servants were miles gone; her annoying family was behind her. Friends? None, thank you. But at least they all were familiar, known to her…

Unlike, say, the wolf that was growling quietly at her bag of potion ingredients.

Lisette gave a startled jerk; she had been reading a book in her corner of the wagon, waiting for the Nords that were having supper outside to stop singing off-key bawdy songs and return, so that they could enter the Imperial province before sunup. But the presence of a full-grown wolf would likely be enough to unnerve any warrior, let alone a frail mage like herself. Moreover, she was reminded once again that her skills in Destruction were basic and passable, at best, non-existent at worst.

"Redmaw, down." a somewhat gruff-sounding male voice commanded from the other side of the wagon. The wolf glanced behind its tail and retreated, though it kept shooting the bag the evil eye.

The wagon wasn't completely empty, it seemed – Lisette was highly surprised to see a Nord sitting on the other end of the spacious room, without any obvious inclination to join his brethren and their merry drinking outside. Upon a closer look, she could see that the Nord in question was dressed in full fur armor and had two rather deadly looking axes with him, the larger of which was visibly enchanted. He had a stern appearance of a battle-hardened man, like a berserker or a mercenary. Certainly not the kind of person you would want to be stuck in a wagon with, especially if you were an unarmed Breton of about a third his mass.

The Nord noticed her obvious unease just as the wolf that was apparently his pet settled down at his side. He rubbed the animal behind its ears for a second or two before glancing back at Lisette, surprisingly, his tone was almost kind when he spoke, at odds with his generally intimidating presence.

"No worries, lass, he won't hurt you. It's the tobacco you have there that's making him edgy." he said, nodding his head towards one of the bags that were at her feet. Apparently, his nose was very good. "Always makes him sneeze, right, eh?" The wolf didn't exactly purr upon receiving another hearty ear-rub, but it seemed more at ease.

"T-tobacco?"

Lisette mentally slapped herself. Of course she had tobacco with her. It was one of the basic potion ingredients that were harder to find in the wild. Not that she would use it on herself, of course, but most people got the impression that anyone who had tobacco had to be using it as a drug. She tried to relax or at least answer in some appropriate way, but couldn't think of anything other than an apology.

"Oh! Sorry, I… I didn't know."

The Nord gave a rather bark-like laugh. One should always know when to apologize to an axe-wielding Nord, but this wasn't the case.

"Ease up, lass." he said, deciding spontaneously that he rather liked the girl. Most Bretons he knew were snot-nosed punks who raved on and on about their magical potential. The change was nice. "No one's going to hurt you."

"Yes, I know that, I know…" She didn't seem to be entirely convinced of this.

"Guilty conscience, lass?" the Nord asked with a slight grin that went unnoticed by Lisette. She tensed, catching herself thinking of how worried the few servants who liked her would be.

"Eh?" she asked intelligently, her book on the provinces of Tamriel dropping unceremoniously out of her hands. She retrieved it off the ground, a flush coloring her pale face, highlighting the hints of freckles on her nose that were normally not visible.

"Only those with guilt on their minds jump as if an imp bit their backside." the Nord noted plainly, watching her dust the book off and then dust her own grey traveling robe when it received that very same dirt the book was now free of. She looked very young when she was afraid, but then again, most people did.

Frustration surfaced in her expression upon being reprimanded.

"Well pardon me for being worried about growling wolves…" Lisette muttered, brushing off the dust with a hint of irritation. Honestly, wasn't this kind of reaction natural when a wolf suddenly crept upon you? Not everyone in the world had a weapon larger than their head and an animalistic strength to wield id, just so the Nord population of Tamriel knew.

"Ah, fire." At last, the Nord cracked a grin, as if she had passed some little test. "Good. I was wondering if you had any, lass. Would be a shame if you didn't."

Lisette looked up from her book, which seemed to be intact. She was often told she had little to no true fire – obviously, this man had never met her cousins. "Why?"

"You look like someone who wants to get far away from somewhere… or something." There was the obvious air of a fugitive around her, someone still looking over their shoulder to see something that wouldn't catch up with them if they hurried. High Rock was miles and miles behind them.

But it brought Lisette no comfort that she was this easy to read.

"What makes you think that?" she asked carefully, putting the bundle meant for alchemy behind the rest of her things.

"No one travels through Skyrim with no weapon mid-winter unless they're crazy, a Nord, or both. You're pale enough to be a Nord, lass, but a child in Skyrim could snap you in half." Lisette gave a small, shaky laugh, but it was genuine enough. The Nord crooked his head a bit, observing her carefully for a second or two. "Breton, aren't you?" he asked, though it was obvious he was certain of it.

"Yes." Lisette said shortly, nodding. Then, she rummaged through her potion bag momentarily. "You should, uh, I mean, I have some Stinkhorn Cap with me, I think. It might cancel out the effects of the tobacco… here." With an air of triumph, she fished out the appropriate ingredient. Standing up, she went and handed it to the Nord, though she kept out of reach of the wolf. Briefly, she told him how to apply it. "Just a bit, though. It should help…"

And it did seem to help; no further secrete seemed to be coming out of the wolf's snout after a moment, which was certainly an improvement. The Nord seemed to be vaguely surprised for a moment before giving her a grateful nod. He was most certainly no magician and his pet's problem was clearly something he wanted resolved. Lisette said a few things about the Cap itself and how often to use it, which was the most advice she could give.

"Thank ye kindly, lass." the Nord said then, genuinely meaning it. "What name do you go by?"

Taking into account that A, she was a terrible liar, B, this man was far more perceptive than the usual Nord and C, she knew she wouldn't answer to a different name, she told him the truth. "Lisette Lemieux."

"Breton, most definitely." With the way she pronounced it strangely, it was clearly a High Rock name. The Nord seemed content that he had guessed correctly.

"As obviously as you are a Nord, I guess." Lisette noted, glancing at the axes. Somehow, she felt more at ease now around him, or at least as at ease as one might feel around an armed Nord. Still, he was sober and seemed a nice enough sort, which was both okay in her books. "Might I know your name?"

"You might. Havilstein Hoar-Blood they call me. You've already met Redmaw." The wolf gave a low growl upon hearing its name mentioned. Lisette decided that she would be much better off not knowing him too well. Sharp teeth weren't something she fancied. She preferred animals with less efficient combat abilities. "Lisette. I suppose I prefer "lass". High Rock has a strange language." Hoar-Blood said, shaking his head. No wonder he disliked the language; his accent was atrocious, but her name was simple enough to be intelligible even when mispronounced. "So, an alchemist, are ya?"

"Self-learned. I guess I'm competent enough to count as one… but I would have to undergo more training." Lisette explained, returning her book to her bag. She wasn't certain whether confiding in a stranger was a good idea, but there was nothing wrong with small talk, she supposed. There had to be many people heading to different provinces for similar reasons, migrating. "It's why I want to go to Cyrodiil."

Hoar-Blood waved a dismissive hand at the notion. "Alchemists are a dime a dozen, lass. If you're not a genius, you won't make a living like that."

"You're from Cyrodiil?" Somehow, Lisette got over the bizarre nature of the situation and managed to ease into small-talk mode. She would have thought someone with that kind of attire would be a Skyrim native, but it seemed that Hoar-Blood was quite familiar with the Imperial province.

"I'm there often enough on business. You should use your best talents if you want to live." Hoar-Blood said seriously. He was apparently speaking from experience, so Lisette didn't dismiss this common knowledge just yet. She was certain she wasn't bad at alchemy, though, and supposed that most renowned scientists needed apprentices to cover the expenses of their research. Or at least to have someone fetch their ingredients from time to time. "You Bretons are supposed to have a lot of magicka. Can you do real spells? Not the scrawny little things needed to mix potions at times. Real magic."

Lisette considered it. She knew enough to defend herself with some basic spells and some family tricks were passed on throughout the generations. For example, every member of her family was apt at shock spells, but it was much more effective as an element of surprise.

"Yes, I suppose." She almost shrugged, which wasn't exactly reassuring. "I have basic training in all schools, but my forte is Restoration." She didn't even realize that she was sharing the crux of her whole story with someone she was likely not to see again. It just felt… good to be able to talk openly with someone who had interest in her ideas. "I was thinking of going to a temple of the Nine and train as a healer…"

But Hoar-Blood made a grimace upon hearing that and interrupted her before she could finish her thought. "Waste of time, lass, waste of time. You seem like a smart girl." Lisette had no idea how he had concluded that much, but she supposed she ought to be flattered. Most people called her a stuck-up bookworm upon seeing her, certainly not something complimentary. "Surely you know that priests parade that charity nonsense and earn less than a pittance. Family connections amount to nil in Cyrodiil."

The thing was, Lisette preferred it that way. She would have even rid herself of the family name if writing it down wasn't a complete reflex by now. She wanted to start with a clear slate, on her own. And if family connections were nothing in Cyrodiil, well… then it might just be the perfect province for her to settle down in. She had never been there, but it seemed diverse and nice enough, if she found herself a place in a city; she wasn't a village girl by nature.

"Restoration is an important school of magic." She didn't see what was wrong with healers, though. It was probably the Nord mindset surfacing, she thought. They always liked to destroy rather than heal. "Without it, we'd still have self-proclaimed healers trying to fix people up with dangerous herbs they know nothing about." Usually, she didn't defend her chosen school so fervently, but then again, no one had yet called it a waste of time.

"I'm not dismissing its importance, lass. I'm just telling you that a young girl on her own has nothing to gain from the priesthood." Hoar-Blood clarified, though he seemed pleased with bringing her on the defensive. If she could stand up for something she believed in, she might survive. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was a good enough start. "Unless you're a fanatic about religion; then I could understand it. Are you?"

"Not really."

Lisette supposed that one of the reasons her mother was so reluctant to send her to a temple of the Nine was that she might be a Daedra worshipper – she certainly wasn't opposed to the idea and never really enforced religion on anyone close to her. She didn't hate the gods, but she always seemed to have a deep resentment for anyone who dismissed the Princes and their worship without cause. As for Lisette, she worshipped Akatosh, but she certainly wasn't overenthusiastic in her faith. Nor did she devote her existence to serving a single deity explicitly.

"Well, then, broaden your horizons a bit. No one gets paid for being nice, lass."

The Breton sighed, knowing this was the truth. "You're right, I suppose."

"Don't just suppose, lass – it's true. You're brave to try and make it on your own, but you have to be smart as well." Hoar-Blood's voice was practically thundering, though he didn't seem to have to put any effort into making it seem so. Lisette was somewhat envious of that. She had enough trouble charming people, let alone intimidating them without trying.

"What would you consider… smart?" she asked with a slightly grimace-like smile. Perhaps Hoar-Blood had forgotten that he had called her smart before; perhaps he simply had different standards for smarts than she did. Hers being the bookish kind; his, apparently, what one would call-street smarts.

"Turning to a stranger and a Nord for advice bout magic? Whatever you're trying to get away from must be pretty scary, lass." Hoar-Blood commented, seeing right through her courteous question. Breton, indeed; the snotty nature was in-bred, even if it was just a residue. It was admirable that she could pass it off as simple wariness, though; she even cringed quite naturally when being appraised. She wasn't rotten yet. "No worries, little Liz, I don't care about High Rock petty politics."

Lisette disliked having her name shortened to Liz. It was easier to pronounce, yes, but she preferred her full name, which was just a syllable longer. Also, she was sometimes forced to point out to foreigners that her name wasn't Elizabeth, even though Lisette likely stemmed from that name. If there was anything she liked about High Rock, it was the caressing language it had. However, she decided to let it slide this time.

"Not sure what they tell you about Cyrodiil back in High Rock, but I hear the Mages Guild accepts just about anyone who has the faintest magicka. Word is their ranks got pretty thin after Necromancy got banned."

"I wouldn't know much about that. In High Rock, they care very little for other provinces." But she considered it for a moment. She wasn't a genius, but that didn't mean she had no aptitude for magic – quite the contrary. And she had heard of the Guild; good things, in fact. The associates were allowed free lodging and access to everything they needed… that would be, in a word, lovely. "They really take anyone in?"

Hoar-Blood nodded, taking note of her distant, dream-like expression. "Free of charge, or so I hear. You've probably heard about the Arcane University in the Imperial City." Lisette nodded immediately. Everyone knew about the Arcane University. And she meant everyone. "Well, I hear the better mages head there after their primary training in the local guildhalls is done. I see that's caught your attention." the Nord said, his grin surfacing again.

And Lisette did indeed resemble a star-struck adolescent for a moment. The Arcane University was something she didn't dare dream of seeing, let alone entering. But she realized that now, with her family and their problems far behind her… it wasn't completely unrealistic. It would take years to get there and hard work, but this was the Arcane University she was thinking about – there was no other way. Mediocre mages weren't accepted there. Which meant that she wouldn't be accepted there, but if she joined a guild, she could one day get sent there on an errand and sneak around a bit…

"I don't think I should get ahead of myself. Not that much." Lisette said, willing her feet to return to the ground. She was good enough for training, yes, but certainly not more than that at the moment. "I'd be glad to just get a place to stay and learn magic."

Hoar-Blood was surprisingly knowledgeable about the Guild; he was quick to point out that magic wasn't his cup of tea, which was obvious to Lisette, but he seemed to know quite a lot of people involved with the Guild on some level or another. Apparently, there were guildhalls in every major city in Cyrodiil, each of them specializing in a particular area of magic. Apparently, Restoration was vogue in Anvil, a coastal town on the far southwest of the province, but it was a long way from where they were. From what was likely experience, Hoar-Blood advised her to seek out a branch of magic that would be useful on the offensive as well, not just on the defensive if she insisted on roaming the wild for ingredients unarmed.

They continued speaking even once the wagon finally started moving again, once all the half-drunk Nords were back in their usual spots. It could hardly be said that Lisette felt actually safe around Hoar-Blood and his ferocious pet; there was that distinct air of a barbarian about the Nord, for all the good advice he offered. She also couldn't explain why he was bothering with her, though she knew better than to complain. This was the first time she was anywhere outside of High Rock and she had little idea what to expect – back home, the idea that High Rock was the pinnacle of civilization was often enforced.

She would take a backwater province over that pinnacle any day, though, thank you very much.

In the two hours or so spent talking to Hoar-Blood, Lisette learned far more about Cyrodiil than during her whole lifetime, which wasn't saying much, perhaps, as she was more of a magician than an explorer in her spare time. Nevertheless, it was the experience that counted and Lisette had a very good memory for details. You never knew when they became useful. From an outsider's point of view, she seemed rather like a child who had learned what chocolate tasted like and was now nagging their parent ferociously to get some more. Only more subtle, really.

Unlike the moment when the wagon began to lose speed, which was thoroughly noticeable – they were hitting the bumps of the road much harder.

"We're stopping already?" Lisette glanced out of the wagon, startled from her reverie.

It seemed to be so, because they were slowing down decidedly. Then, after a brief conversation their driver had with someone who didn't sound like a Nord, what seemed to be giant gates opened and the wagon moved into the city. Lisette saw the gates close behind them by several men in yellow uniforms with the city's insignia. They had arrived in Cyrodiil at long last.

She couldn't see much of the city through the night and snow, but the few houses and cottages she could see looked welcoming enough. The wind wheezed through the various alleys, clashing against the monumental cathedral in the middle of the city, in front of which they had stopped to seek shelter from the storm. The houses were arranged on what almost resembled terraces, like a birthday cake would be, perhaps. If only they looked equally friendly.

The door of their wagon opened, revealing the now slightly tipsy but still sober enough driver, who was now wrapped in a cloak that only barely protected him from the cool winds. "Heads up, everyone, this is Bruma. We won't be going further anytime soon. The weather in the Jeral Mountains is too bad, so we have to wait out the storm here."

Lisette stared. "Oh, this is just great." she muttered to herself when her fellow travelers began to disembark. Weather or not, nothing could stop a stubborn Nord, she knew. Except for the promise of mead and brandy and too much of it. Their entourage was obviously too drunk to continue the journey safely, notwithstanding the weather.

In fact, only Hoar-Blood looked as if he was completely there and Lisette realized that he was up on his feet only when she received a near-crushing pat on the back. She did her best not to stumble forward and crash into the wagon, but it took a lot of effort. When she glared somewhat at the Nord, rubbing her shoulder, she noticed that he wasn't looking at her at all and his expression was rather distant.

"I don't think it's exactly bad, lass. Bruma's a decent town compared to some others you might have ended up in. The Countess keeps things in line. Fine woman, that, especially for an Imperial." Even his tone was somewhat distant now. Lisette supposed something had happened in this city he was remembering, because only that could be enough explanation for such a distant look. He seemed to sigh a bit, especially as they were ushered out of the wagon and into the snow.

Lisette was well-dressed for a journey through Skyrim; she had warm clothing under her traveling robe and light boots were warming her feet. Nevertheless, she shivered when hit with the full force of the gale and snow, her pale face reddening. Unlike most of the Nords, she was unused to this; High Rock had a mild climate most of the year. When the wind effectively managed to destroy any remnants of a bun her hair was held in, Hoar-Blood finally noticed that she was shivering and dragged her into the Great Chapel of Talos.

Inside, she seemed very thankful for this and quickly dried her ash blonde hair with a small heat charm. Then, she rearranged it into a ponytail; she looked better when she allowed the evenly-cut strands to frame her face, but it was hardly a practical hairstyle. Hoar-Blood, who had carried her bags, laid them down on one of the benches. There wasn't a service going on and most of the priests were tending to those who had been caught in the storm; uncommon weather for the city itself.

"I just… it's a bit cold here for me…" Lisette noted, rubbing her hands together to get some warmth. She noticed something warm rub against her legs and noticed that now that the potions bag was out of the way and she had apparently been deemed an alright sort, Redmaw was much more friendly – at least, as friendly as a giant wolf kept as a pet could be. It didn't unnerve her completely this time, but it wasn't something to be compared to being warmed by an overgrown puppy.

"There's a guildhall somewhere round town – you shouldn't miss it." Hoar-Blood noted, but it still seemed as if his mind was wandering. Lisette rather thought he looked somewhat troubled. Perhaps this weather was getting in the way of his business in the city as well. Understandable, really. "If you don't get in, ask for the Jerall View Inn or more likely Olav's Tap and Tack since you need a place to stay for the night."

"Couldn't you show me? You seem to be familiar with the city." Lisette asked, gathering that his final destination wasn't Bruma. Which was unfair to her, really, not that she could change a damned thing about it. Hoar-Blood didn't seem like the type of Nord to like being holed up in a city too much, but it certainly would have been comforting to have someone that was being nice to her around. Gaining some security and then having it stripped from her was hardly nice.

Hoar-Blood considered this momentarily. But naturally, staying was out of the question. He liked the Breton girl for some inexplicable reason; perhaps because she was honest, unlike most of the people he had the displeasure of having to work with. But work always came first, no matter what the case. Taking up his post and waiting for news was necessary, as always. A shame, though. He would have liked to observe the girl for a few days, out of curiosity.

"I'd like to, lass, but I'm short of time." he said, shaking his head, the edges of the fur helmet bouncing rather amusingly. "Business doesn't wait for anyone and I've got a long journey on foot ahead of me. Besides, Redmaw doesn't fit into cities much. He doesn't like them either." The wolf in question growled in what could be considered an affirmative manner. However, he seemed to like Lisette well enough.

"Oh. I see."

Lisette looked rather displeased with this. It was always easier to brave a new environment with someone like Hoar-Blood at your side, naturally, but… well, she understood. The world didn't revolve around her and it had been her choice to go this far.

"Well, thank you very much for the help, Havilstein; the company as well. I guess… I guess I'm not a completely helpless foreigner now." she said, laughing a bit, though it was partly forced. She still felt that way. Then, blinking away that expression, she was once more herself. "Will you come by the city sometime soon?"

Unless he was very much mistaken, the little mage seemed to hope they would meet again. Well, that was surprising. She had seemed very scared at first and now, she was singing a different tune. Hoar-Blood certainly wouldn't be against the idea under different circumstances, but it was likely better for her that they didn't meet ever again. She might never realize it, but it was much better for her if she forgot their very meeting and prayed to whatever deity she believed in that neither he nor his associates would ever have a serious cause to visit her.

"It's not very probable, lass, but I wouldn't mind to bump into you again." With his large paw of a hand, Hoar-Blood ruffled her hair in what Nords probably considered a brotherly or friendly fashion, but Lisette was disgruntled by it and not just a little annoyed. "Yer a smart kid, which makes you okay in my book. Walk always."

"Walk?" Lisette asked, blinking. After being faced with the challenge that was a wagon filled with Nords and a hefty supply of mead, she just might, but still, it struck her as strange. Was this some kind of Cyrodiilic farewell? She thought that she would know such things; she was familiar with the basic history of the provinces, at the very least.

"Huh?" the Nord was momentarily surprised by her reply, as if it was odd, but then shook himself, realizing his mistake. He wasn't accustomed to talking much to people outside of his own profession, much less giving them a polite farewell. The phrase just came naturally – he was fortunate in having used the shortened version only. "Oh, sorry, forgot myself for a moment. Business motto, you know." he said, a lie that wasn't much farther from the actual truth. "Take care, little Liz."

Lisette watched him emerge from the temple, unfazed by the strong winds. Redmaw flicked his tail at her one last time before following his master out into the cold. Neither glanced back, as if this meeting hadn't even occurred. In a few moments, both figures vanished in the snow. The Breton mage pondered that so-called business motto even while being tended to by the priests and priestesses. With a hint of disappointment, she realized that she hadn't had the chance to ask Hoar-Blood anything about himself or what kind of business he was in that made him trek through the wilderness during a wild blizzard.

Much time would pass before she would hear it again or figure out what it meant. Even more before she would understand just how grim and odd her first entry to Cyrodiil had been.