"The Stranger" Is a name and title, not a spelling error.
The troll attacked! An arrow shot out and stuck the trolls' head. The monster screamed in agony and thrashed about wildly, fire flew from a figures outstretched fingers, and the troll died. A tall figure retreated to a tent behind the beast.
Skyrim's chilled air blew gently through the barren trees, snow kicked up and blew in ornate circles through the nights sky. A fire snapped and spat embers in the night, a beacon to travellers, a life line in the dark. Beside it a small fur tent, furs sown together to near perfection and layered in great heaps. At the mouth of the tent sat a Dark Elf or more formally known as Dunmer, skin tinted more blue then ash but it held a warmth that most Dunmer lacked. The Dunmer's hair tumbled freely down her back and into her lap, its lush red waves danced in the wind to match the fire. Her brow was soft and lips small, nose slopping gently inward and came to a point. Her eyes shone with the fires of the volcano Vvardenfell itself.
She tinkered with her steel gauntlet, over the years she had grown distant from the more common armour of Nirn. She smoothed a thumbs' worth of oil on the piece and checked the leather for strength. Skyrims' cold land was almost as harsh on equipment as it was on its people. Sliding the gauntlet on her right hand. It felt strange and light as a feather. She missed her other armour currently kept then all in a specially made magic pocket. She was a traveller now, and a traveller with shiny items was like saying LOOK AT ME to every bandit from this little spat of frozen wastes to Bruma.
She cocked her head to the side and listened, before turning to her tent and pulled a great long bow. Most people would not recognize the bow was Daedric one of the strongest metals on Nirn. This however was no ordinary bow, this one was almost twice the size of a normal one and reenforced to a degree that it would be near impossible for even the strongest Nord or Orc to string much less draw.
Suddenly the Dunmer lept from her seat, her eyes glowing growing with the old spell of Night Eye. The world shifted to a slightly green glow as the spell brought light to it for only her eyes. She soared through the air, twisting as she jumped to face her target pulling the great bow back faster then the eye could follow. Finally landing, with elfish grace her arrow trained on the unsuspecting target.
The Imperial soldier nearly soiled himself at the sight. Never had he seen a person move so fast or with such precision and grace. The way her hair flew to the side in the action, or how serene her face seemed, this imperial had meet many elves they were supposed to be these ethereal creatures. But he had never meet one that lived up to the propaganda that they preached.
The Dark Elf was almost unnaturally tall, towering over him, but was lean even wiry and would have looked gangly without such evident grace. Her armour was incomplete as she only wore boots, greaves, curass and one gauntlet. Her arms were well-toned but not to the extent that they looked like they could pull such a mighty bow. "Magic?" He wondered.
"Identify yourself!" Her voice pinched to slice through the wind with a hard tone that spoke of command.
"Garth of the Imperial Army." He raised his shield in the faint hope it would protect him from that monster of a bow.
"Greetings Garth, would you like to share my fire?" Her voice changed from hard to a much softer tone, and to the Imperial's ears it sounded heavenly. "Tell your companions to come out, I'd hate to have to shoot someone." She smiled. Her face lite up as she giggled at the thought.
Garth swallowed thickly at the idea of someone would giggle at the thought of killing someone, or at how poorly his friends were hidden.
The snow crunched loudly as two more Imperials came over the snow drifts, they gathered around the fire. Sitting back down at the mouth of her tent, she folded long legs under herself. She unstrung her bow and pulling out a long steel sword, and laid it with arms' reach.
"So what brings three frost-bitten Imperials to these frozen mountains in the middle of the night?" She reached back into her tent and pulled another log out and put it in the fire. Letting the flames lick her exposed hand, she almost hummed at the pleasant experience.
The purple-nosed Imperials looked nervously to each other before Garth spoke up. "You first, Dark Elf."
"Alright." The Dunmer pulled off the steel gauntlet, satisfied with its' performance. "I'm just a Stranger, I came up from Bruma and before you think it I went through the check points. I've roamed much of Tamriel and decided Skyrim would be my next stop." She leaned back on her hands in a relaxed gesture.
The party looked surprised at what she gave them for a name, then Garth spoke up again. "Would you come with us to Helgen? There are Stormcloaks in the area and my men and I have been instructed to bring anyone we find with us."
The Stranger sighed. "When must we go?" She nodded to the backpacks of two the other soldiers "You have brought tents, share my fire for the rest of this night. I would rather not walk through the night in unfamiliar lands." She looked beyond there fire and scanned the frozen land, wary for any predators.
Garth slowly nodded, his short brown beard scratching against a scarf. "Alright, that is perfectly reasonable, I've had enough of this cold myself. Ned and John, make camp and lend this kind Dark Elf our fire wood."
The three had the single large fur tent up in minutes, each movement was practised by many nights of putting up and tearing a tent down leading to speed in doing so.
The small party fell into an uneasy silence as they warmed frozen pieces of venison and thawed bottles of mead.
While the Stranger watched the Imperials, she had a feeling that Ned was a Breton. He was the least well-armed and had been playing pack mule for the other two. John was very easily recognizable as a Nord, his Imperial armour was of a heavy make, studded with iron. As he sat he set down a large steel great sword. Garth she assumed was their leader, or the worst in the party at the fine art of stealth. He had a simple steel sword with a standard Imperial kite shield. As they ate, their armour and weapons started to change colour as the warmth of the fire thawed them, the metal went from almost white with frost to the normal grey of steel. As the crusty frost receded, she noted that their arms and armour were of a slightly finer make then normal soldiers. Not a great leap from the usual but just enough to suggest that perhaps they were of a higher standing then the normal grunts. She found this very interesting.
However, the three did not seem inclined to talk, so she raised herself and slide back into the tent, pulled the doors shut and cast both a lock spell and a paralysis rune. She as a general rule did not mind the Imperial faction but this was a bit too suspicions to not layer a few addition protections down.
She listened as the Imperials added a few more logs to the fire and set a watch. A perk to using magic to protect her tent was that watches became less of an issue. A paralysis rune worked best because of all the runes it was the least destructive and its purpose was more to slow any enemies and to wake her up. The night progressed uneventfully. The crack and pop of the fire were the only disruptions.
The Stranger walked through a dark red chapel. A tall figure with a golden mask led her among the dead. Their rotten bloated bodies swayed gently, standing on either side of a mottled red and black carpet. The Stranger thought that perhaps this was a wedding celebration. She heard many voices, but no lips moved. Straining to breath, her chest refused to move. The tall figure spoke with each bloated body as he passed among them, laughing and joking, as if they were alive, but they made no reply. She tried to cry out, but without breath, her tongue fluttered in vain.
Stranger lunched upright with a silent scream on her lips, lungs heaving twice before she flopped back down. Rubbing her eyes with a hand, she drew shaken breaths. "Its been two hundred years, will you ever let me sleep in peace, my ancient friend?" The haunted Dunmer closed her eyes and listened. The Imperials were awake and breaking their fast. With a deep sigh, she heaved herself up and dressed for more snow travel. She pulled on thick pants and a robe from the Skaal, along with a set of gloves, brown scarf and a heavy hood.