Note: Hope you like it! I do have a few warnings to place, though. If you're not into death or semi-descriptive gore (nothing too extreme), then you may want to turn away now. But don't let it scare you away completely. There will be romance with a tad bit of humor thrown around. Reviews are love!

Child of Sithis

Annabella Marie would have thought life in Skyrim would have been much more peaceful than Cyrodiil. She could not have been more wrong. As soon as she stepped over the border, all hell broke loose. That could almost be taken literally. The only thing she remembered was stepping over the border and seeing people clothed in blue armor carrying huge war hammers. All Nords, of course. Then the next thing the Breton knew, she was getting hit over the head with something very hard. The blow caused her to black out.

When she had awoken, she was in a moving wagon with three other people. One of the men, a Nord with hair the same color as hers, introduced himself as Ralof. He seemed nice enough, but she still couldn't find it in her to trust him. The second man, a Nord named Lokir, had been captured wrongly just as she had. He was, by no means, a saint, but he was certainly no blasted.. rebel? At least that's what she imagined them to be. Rebels. They were no bandits, nor were they murderers. They didn't look the type.

The third Nord had a gag thrust inside his maw, so he did not speak. The way he looked, though, it appeared he was of noble rank - certainly no commoner. When Ralof claimed he was Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king, she knew she was in trouble.

It was all one big political battle. The only semi-normal person who wasn't part of the political "debate" was Lokir. And even then, the man was an idiot getting himself killed because he ran away. Little did he know if he had just went along with the Imperials, he might have had a chance at survival. She did feel pity for him. Not because he had died, but because he was no doubt an utter failure as a thief. Annabella was no expert thief, but at least she knew when and how to steal things. The poor sod had stolen the horse in broad daylight from the Imperials themselves. His death, however, gave her a satisfaction. She couldn't help but chuckle when the arrow sunk through his back. An idiot dying an idiots death.

When they reached their destination at Helgen and they forced her, after much prodding, off the wagon she was 99.9% sure she was dead meat. Even if her hands weren't bound together, she had doubts she had enough strength to defeat all of the men and women surrounding her. She would have accepted her fate then and there if not for what happened next.

Dragons.

Bloody dragons.

That was the moment she asked herself why she crossed the border. Why did she leave her beautiful home in Anvil behind to come to the harsh; cold, snow coated mountainous hellish region called Skyrim? Oh, right. Because she got caught trying to steal the Arch-Mage's staff to sell so she could pay off a debt. She was quite sure she'd have been dead back then if not for her knowledge of conjuration. Of course that got her into more trouble seeing as how her Flame Atronach had pretty much burnt up the Arch-Mage's entire room and killed three guards in the process. Whoops? She never ran so fast in her life after that moment. She stole a horse - sneakily, she might add unlike poor Lokir laying dead, face first into the ground - and took off for Bruma where news hadn't gotten wind yet, "borrowed" a few supplies from some friendly folk, and headed to the closest place where they wouldn't dare follow. Skyrim.

And here she was. Horse probably dead somewhere - eaten by a dragon, no less - a throbbing headache from the harsh hit to the head earlier, three painful gashes on her lower cheek from where she was attacked by a hungry saber tooth moments before getting captured, and a bloody dragon flying overhead killing everyone and burning anything in sight.

After much running, fighting, and arguing, she finally made it out alive. She wasn't quite sure why she chose to leave with Hadvar instead of Ralof. Perhaps because Hadvar seemed genuinely concerned when he questioned why a Breton was in Skyrim and being thrown in with a bunch of Stormcloaks who were, primarily, all Nord.

Annabella was relieved when they finally escaped the place entirely, hoping to never see that dragon again. It was all smooth sailing from here once Hadvar said her slate was cleaned entirely once he reached Solitude. Hopefully she could live out a nice peaceful life here for a few years until her slate was once again cleaned in Cyrodiil.

It would be okay now. Everything would be okay.

"Eh. I don't really pay much attention to politics." Said the Breton as she nervously scratched the back of her head, her dirt smeared blonde locks getting tangled even more.

"Well if you ever change your mind, the Imperials could always use people like you." Hadvar waved her off as she nodded and slid out the door of his kind, but persistent uncle's home. She was faced with a refreshing surprise when she turned around.

"Is it true you seen a dragon? How big was it?" A girl no older than ten stood before her with a look of absolute wonder in her eyes. Annabella smiled at the child and stretched her arms as wide as she could.

"As big as a house! But a lot uglier." The girl laughed and asked a few more innocent questions before a boy and his dog took her away to play a game of tag.

She figured it was her time to leave anyway. She had already been asked by Alvor, Hadvar's uncle, to send word to Whiterun of the dragon's attack. Frankly, she didn't want to, but some part of her knew she couldn't betray these people. Sure they annoyed her for seeming to think she was some kind of hero, but honestly, they've done more for her than she deserved. They even gave her food and a bit of coin to get her started here.

Also, she had a soft spot for children and she couldn't bear to see any harm come to them. She had no choice but to warn the jarl of the dragon and question about how Whiterun was defenseless.

The Breton had no time for more talk and just as she was on her way out, she was stopped by a Nord. He gave no greeting to her, just a sour expression and an obvious need for help. "Faendal thinks he can woo Camilla Valerius away from me. She's already mine, I keep telling him."

"Excuse me?" She was thrown back for a moment.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do. You see my lovely Camilla-"

"Do I even know you?"

"W-well no, but I thought that maybe you could-"

"Uhm. I think you got the wrong girl for your job."

"I haven't even asked you anything, yet!" His yelling was unexpected. Obviously someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.

"And that's why I'm saying no before you do. I don't have time to help some fool with his love life."

The foolish love struck Nord had left, mumbling and cursing under his breath, probably off to find some other poor sap to torment.

She couldn't help but to inwardly smirk as he appeared to be the one thrown back, now. Yet, her cool, relaxed posture tensed up when she heard Ralof's voice. While Ralof himself didn't mean any harm to her, she did murder several of his Stormcloak buddies on the way out of Helgen. That probably didn't boost any points in his book for her.

At the moment, Ralof didn't seem to really notice her presence as he was further away beside the water's edge talking to a much younger Nordic man around Annabella's own age. He must of escaped from Helgen, too. He looked to be quite as beaten up as she did. A woman was standing over Ralof with a man who appeared to be her husband judging by the way he kept placing his hand on her shoulder. Curiosity got the better of her and she sneaked a bit closer and hid behind an old, decaying stump.

"Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials. Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine." Said the woman, crossing her arms as she looked the young Nordic man up and down. Her accent was very strong.

"Thanks, sister. I knew we could count on you." Annabella had to admit that Ralof had one of those smiles that made everything seem much warmer. In fact, he reminded her of her late twin brother. He had the warmest smile ever. Unlike Annabella, he was a very social person and everyone - literally everyone - liked him. He had so many women that desired to court him, Elven women, Argonians, and Imperials the like. It made no difference - they all loved him. He was the happiest person ever until the carriage he had boarded to the Imperial City was raided by bandits. That day was the worst day of her life, but oh how she relished when the blood of the bandits had been splattered unto the trees and turned that perfect green grass a coppery red hue. There were three in all. Two Imperial men and one Redguard woman. It was her first kill, yet she felt like it unleashed something within her. The desire to...

"I ought to get back to work before I'm missed, but... did anyone else escape? Did Ulfric..." Their chatter brought her from her thoughts as she looked up in alarm.

"Don't worry. I'm sure he made it out. It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I'll let them into the house and, you know, show them where everything is..." The plump lumberjack spoke up.

"Hmph. Help them drink up our mead, you mean. Good luck, brother. I'll see you later."

"Don't worry about me. I know how to lay low."

With that, Ralof and the other Nordic man made to move in her exact direction. She began to panic and realized that her position wasn't all that subtle - hunched over and appearing to indeed be eavesdropping. She stood up and simply faced the other direction, hand moving to tug on the end of a strand of hair as she nervously tried to blend in. After the footsteps became no more, she turned around expecting them to be gone but instead came face-to-face with that mysterious Nordic man from Helgen.

His icy blue eyes locked onto her emerald green hues. For a moment, she thought about running and not looking back, but it appeared that he didn't see her as an enemy. At least not yet. He was much taller than her, at least by a head and a half, as to be expected, as Nords are known for being tall and Bretons were infamous for being short.

They didn't move from their spot in what seemed like hours. Their spell broke when the sound of growling was heard from behind her. She spun around and quickly conjured up her sword, ready to slice away at the pesky beast, but it was too late. The Nordic man used his blade to cut down the creature in one hit. Annabella glanced behind her and gave the man a cold glare.

"I-I could have handled that!" The Breton puffed her chest out in retaliation huffed almost like an owl trying to scare away a predator.

The man raised a brow at the Breton woman, appearing to be fascinated at how she reacted to him saving her from being mauled. He said not a word, only chuckled as he reached down for his discarded helm and placed it firmly onto his head, the iron horns making him look even more intimidating. He walked off, not once looking behind him at the stumped Breton.

Hmph. Rude. She thought as she gathered up her satchel she dropped once she heard the wolf. Speaking of the wolf.. she went ahead and tossed the corpse over her shoulder before heading out. She was sure she could skin the poor thing and sell his pelt to a merchant in Whiterun.

That guy was never going to accomplish as much as her. No way he would. It wasn't a competition, she knew, but it seemed like they were two sides of the same coin. For starters, he was a Nord and she was a Breton. The height differences was incredible. He obviously liked his heavy armor and swords that weighed as much as her while she preferred light armor and magic.. a battle-mage, if you will. Not heavy magic - just conjuration and a few spells to shed light in dark places. She tried destruction magic once and ended up burning up over half of the books in the Anvil mages guild. The mage instructing her, an Argonian named Kani-Ra, had advised her against destruction spells after that incident and pointed her in the direction of a Conjurer, an elder Breton man named Bannent. From him she learned how to cast her own bound bow and swords.

She had a clear advantage of already knowing magic, and doubted the simple Nordic man knew anything about it.

Nords and their lack of magic. Tsk.

Again, this wasn't a competition, but she had a feeling that this was not the last she would see of him. He looked to be on a mission just as much as herself, so crossing paths was imminent.

Shaking her head of her thoughts, she found herself halfway down the road and it dawned on her that she was going to stand in front of the jarl. Glancing down at her armor, she seen that she was still dressed in that horribly ragged ol' Imperial garments. That wouldn't do. Perhaps she could patch them up before getting to Whiterun. And perhaps she could find a secluded place to take a quick soak. Her hair was in one giant knot and she was pretty sure it was being held together by mud, dirt, and blood. Yeah, she was surely a sight for sore eyes.

With a few more steps down the road she found a place in the stream that was fairly secluded by the grassy areas. Stripping herself of her disgusting, partially burnt armor, she sunk into the cool stream. It was pretty chilly, but it was a relief after everything she'd been through that day. After she cleaned her hair of the grime and grease and her body of the dirt, she found time to close her eyes and relax for a moment.

"Oh, yes. This would sell for a lovely bag of coins."

Her eyes shot open when she heard the obvious male voice coming from behind her exposed frame. Peeking through the bushes, she seen a man rummaging through her things. A bandit probably thinking someone had abandoned their supplies to chase after a deer or something. She had no idea what was going through his mind. Had he even noticed her?

"Hey! What do you think your doing?" She hadn't even thought her current position through - armorless and vulnerable in her current state. The bandit whipped around and brought out his mace and would have smashed her skull in instantly if not for his shock at what he seen.

Men. Sex appeal has always been their weak point. Perhaps if she hadn't been in the nude, he would have killed her right then and there. It took a mere two seconds for her to conjure up her bow and shoot him through the side of the neck, wounding him horribly. She bent down and picked up her Imperial rags, holding them over the front of her frame as to not let anything show.

Smirking, she leaned over the man and conjured her sword, her bow disappearing instantly. There was a look of panic in his eyes as blood began to pour from his wordless maw.

"Tis a foolish thing to die from lust. You men are all the same. Weak and pathetic, always giving into your own desires." Her ever-sharpened sword slowly sliced all the way through his neck, his head rolling off to the side.

As usual with the Breton, she couldn't help but change her mood dramatically, smiling happily when she spotted the brown coin purse hanging from his belt. "Ohhhh. This'll buy me some new boots!"

She gleefully stood up, tossing the garments to the side and began to take off the Bandits fur armor he wore. Once the armor was fully removed, she took it to the stream to rinse it of the blood, but to her disappointment, wouldn't come out in mere water. Huffing, she tore the top completely up, discarding the fur collar that was drenched in coppery blood. It took her longer than she wanted to, but eventually got the armor to fit her small frame perfectly. She had only hoped the shops in Whiterun would sell armor to fit her better. For now, it would have to do.

Gathering up her things, she threw the bloodied garments into the river, along with her discarded Imperial Armor. With the man being a simple bandit, the guards who occasionally patrol wouldn't take mind to the dead body near the road. Besides, the area looked so deserted that she figured the bears would get to the corpse first anyway.

Annabella looked into the stream one last time to braid the front of her hair, letting the messy braid fall forward while most of her wavy locks stayed back - a bit more tame than usual. The only thing that threw her appearance off was those three huge gashes along the lower area of her cheek. Right before the Imperials found her, she was attacked by a Saber Tooth and took quite a bit of damage. She'd have been thankful when an Imperial arrow flew through the pesky cat's head, but the whole execution thing wasn't the most hospitable thing they could have done.

Shrugging her shoulders, she decided to carry on. Perhaps today just wasn't her day. First she gets attacked by a giant cat, then she was next in line to be executed after that mysterious Nordic man, then she had to run for her life to escape a dragon that seemed to come right out of a children's horror book, and now she was on her way to see the jarl of Whiterun - a city she knows absolutely nothing about - to warn them of the dragon attack, but of course don't forget how she was almost robbed on the way there by a bandit who was too stupid to realize she could conjure a weapon, naked or not.

She felt a small twinge of a headache make itself known and she reached up to rub her temples. Oh, boy. What a day. With any luck, she'll be treated like a hero in Whiterun like she had been in Riverwood. Maybe even get a title or something. Oh, that would be great. She needed as much recognition and coin as possible if she wanted to live here happily.

She'd find out soon enough.

"You were at Helgen?"

"Does this surprise you, my jarl?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm. Probably not the best thing to say, but she'd already said it, so what was the harm?

"Well you're the second person here today who has come from Riverwood with news about this dragon."

"The second?"

"Yes. A man came in just a moment ago and explained how he survived Helgen. He asked if we'd send troops to Riverwood." He paused and scratched his chin. "Do you know anything about this man? Who he is? Where did he come from?"

"N-no, sir. But may I ask why you're so curious as to know? And why didn't you just ask him, yourself?" She was taken aback with his interest in the Nordic man and how little interest he had in her. So much for being revered as a hero.

"The man stumps me, to be honest. He would reveal nothing about himself. I don't even know his name - 'told me it wasn't important. By the gods, it's important to know who a man is that has as much strength and will as him."

"Sir, I have a lot of strength. You should see my magic-"

"Ah, so a magic user, are you? My court wizard, Farengar may have some use for you."

"Really? Like taking care of some baddies outside the walls? Or maybe beating up some bandits? - I'm good at beating up bandits." She practically beamed at the jarl. He wanted to give her an assignment? From the court wizard, himself? Oh, she was overjoyed - perhaps a bit too much by the way Jarl Balgruuf shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Uh. Yes. In that room off to the side; to your left when you leave. Talk to him and tell him what you can do. I'm sure he'll find something you can do."

"Thank you so much, Jarl Balgruuf. I'll do my best to help in any way I can." She was about to walk towards her destination when a guard swung a sword in front of her face. She'd have hit in straight on if he'd gotten it an inch closer. She glared at the guard before turning towards the jarl. "What's this?"

"Consider it a gift for also warning us about the dragon attack in Helgen. You were very brave to have made it out alive. I thank you, as well as Whiterun." The jarl gave the Breton a smile and she returned it happily. She wouldn't use the sword, but it was a kind gesture. A gesture that she could sell for gold.

She turned on her heel and walked into the room he had mentioned. Standing over the Enchanting table was the court wizard himself. The Breton stood next to his desk and picked up a soul gem from atop it. She was admiring the color of it and how it shone next to the firelight when he turned around and gave her an annoyed glare.

"What in Mara's name are you doing?"

"Oh. Nothing. I was just looking and admiring it. They really are quite beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they are." He brought his hand up to rub along his chin, staring. Not at the gem, but at the Breton in front of him. "Who are you?"

The question came as a surprise to her, but a pleasant one. "I'm just an traveler looking for a spot to make my home."

"No, no. Don't give me any of that generic nonsense. Tell me your name, where you're from, your fighting style." He seemed genuinely interested, though now she wasn't so sure it was a good thing. She couldn't see lying to him, though. He was the first person who actually wanted to know her name.

"My name is Annabella Marie. My family is well-known in High Rock. Or, at least, they were until my ancestors had to move to Cyrodiil and became increasingly poor due to the struggling economy at the time. One of my more prominent ancestors was Antoinetta Marie. She was on the streets one day, but just vanished the next. Never heard from again according to the rumors of my ancestors. It's one of the mysteries about my family. But I have so many more interesting stories about my family like when my grandfather took part in the Arena in the Imperial Ci-" The Breton paused and looked at the wizard. So many people have told her in the past to shut up. To stop talking so much. But this man looked genuinely interested.

"I-I'm not talking too much, am I?"

"No, of course not. I'm quite interested in history and learning about the oddities among families and people." He shook his head and crossed his arms. "But there will be time enough for that later. I want to know more about you. Not your family."

"Alright. Well like I said, my name is Annabella Marie. My homeland is High Rock, but I've lived in Cyrodiil for most of my life, as have all my family members before me. My home was Anvil for many years and I made quite the name for myself until.. a recent incident with the mages guild caused me to flee to Skyrim."

"Now you have me curious. What did you do to make you move to Skyrim?"

"Ehh. I'd rather not say, to be honest." The Breton shrugged slightly.

"Fine, fine. It's understandable. Best to leave the past behind us. If you don't mind me asking one more question, what type of magic do you specialize in?"

"Oh, um. Conjuration. I learned from one of the best mages in Anvil to conjure my own weapons."

"Ah. Excellent, excellent. You know, you've got the aptitude, you should join the Mage's College in Winterhold. They would make use of your skills, no doubt."

"I have heard many stories about it. Most Nords shun magic, I've noted. I doubt I'll find many there, so I'm curious as to who I'd come across." The idea was pretty fascinating. In the Imperial City, there were many different races living among each other with racism hardly a thing. Here, all she'd seen are Nords, Nords, Nords.. oh, and more Nords. Though to be fair, she had seen Imperials, Redguards, and that Dunmer Lady that was standing next to the jarl. But overall, the racism in this part of Tamriel was quite prominent.

"Anyway. I assume the jarl sent you here for a reason?"

"He did. He figured you might have some work for me? I'm up for anything. I can do pretty much any type of work you can think of." The Breton smiled. This man knew who she was, what she was capable of, and how much she was dedicated. She just told him all about herself after all.

"Well I have some frost salts I need delivered to Arcadia."

"Ohhh. Does she live in a cave somewhere? Or in a high part of the mountains? Maybe in a city far away? I'd be happy to deliver them."

"Uh. No. She owns Arcadia's Cauldron down in the Plains District of Whiterun. I just haven't found the time to go down and deliver them myself. Dragon duties and all."

The smile slowly faded into a grim expression. A frown, if you will. After all that hype, all she was going to do was be a delivery girl? She would have been a courier if that was the case, but she didn't want to be a courier, so why was she doing the duties that a courier does? Her left eye began to twitch as he handed her the bag containing the frost salts. She put on the most pleasant smile she could muster and nodded.

"Was there anything else you needed done? You said you were researching dragons. Do you need any help?"

"Actually, I do. But I've already gotten someone to fetch something from Bleak Falls Barrow for me - the man who was here earlier with the news from Helgen. Can you believe he seen a dragon with his own eyes? Anyway, it's a dangerous Barrow. I wouldn't want anyone inexperienced to get hurt."

That.. that bastard! He beat her here and he's getting all the fame, gold, and quests that she'd been aching to get her hands on. She was being beaten by him.. and it shamed her to no end. How funny that even though they haven't crossed paths again, he still dominated her in everything. Sighing to herself, she found no need to argue, nor pursue any other conversation with this man. She waved him good bye and made her way out of the building.

"Are you sure you want to sell this? You said you got this from the Jarl.. it would be a shame to just sell something that was given to you." The Breton merchant was really pushy about the subject and it bothered her to no end.

"Look. If I didn't want to sell it, I wouldn't be standing here right now. I have no use for it and it would just slow me down. I know it's worth something, so could you hand the gold over and take this hunk of steel off my hands?" Her brows were furrowed as she tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter.

"Alright, alright. Calm down." He picked the sword up and examined the blade and hilt before looking at the woman. "How does 150 sound?"

"How does my fist in your face sound? It's worth at least 200."

"Maybe we can come to a different agreement. How about 175?"

"How about 250 then?"

"I don't know. I don't think it's worth that mu-"

"Then I'll be taking this to the lady blacksmith down the road. I'm sure she'll give me 250 for it, if not more." She picked the sword up off the counter and made to the door.

"W-wait!" Belethor was running his hands through his hair, obviously pondering it. "I'll go ahead and give you the 250 gold."

"For the trouble you gave me, I'd say you owe me 275."

"W-what? No... no. I won't do it. It's 250 or nothing."

Annabella smiled and swung the sword slightly back and forth. "Well if you're sure.. I'm sure that blacksmith wou-"

"Alright! Fine. Take your damn gold." He scowled as he threw a coin purse on the counter containing the 275 gold. She placed the sword on the counter in front of him and tilted her head in thanks.

"You were so kind to me, that you can expect my business at least once a week. I'll be sure to bring some items of value for you to bargain with. Thank you so much, kind fellow Breton."

The poor man was fuming when she opened the door to the chilly air of Whiterun. That felt good. Really good. She grinned as she looked down at her brand new leather boots she had conveniently switched for her old Imperial ones while he was busy studying the sword. She still had her "people" skills. The bag of gold attached to her belt was enough to solidify her belief.

But back to the assignment at hand.

As much as she hated the idea of Farengar giving the dangerous quest to someone that she currently loathed, she couldn't bring herself to skip out on giving Arcadia her frost salts. Besides, she might give her some sort of reward - surely.

Entering her shop, she was quite amazed. There was ingredients strewn about everywhere as well as an alchemy station in the corner. It made her wish she had gotten into alchemy when she was younger. She had no idea how to make potions and always had to settle with buying them or "borrowing" them.

"You'll find tonics, salves, poultices and potions on my shelves. Browse to your heart's content." Annabella was startled out of her daydream when the Imperial woman spoke up. She smiled and walked up to the counter.

"I have a deliver from Farengar for you. Some Frost Salts?"

Ah, splendid, splendid. It's for a special brew I'm working on. A love elixir like none other. Maybe I'll test it on Farengar first... Oh, but I suppose you expect some compensation. Um... here, these potions should suffice."

She quickly gave her three random potions, one to heal minor cuts and bruises, another to regenerate her much need magicka, and one to cure any sort of rash she may obtain. Annabella made to speak - thank her even, but the Imperial woman was already darting over to the Alchemy station looking over her ingredients and mumbling to herself. Taking her obvious distraction as an opportunity, she placed a couple more potions into her satchel before leaving the small shop.

It would have been a good idea to go back to the Cloud District and speak to Farengar again, but she had the feeling she wasn't really needed, nor wanted. Maybe she could swing by the inn and see if there was any new gossip or errands that needed done.

The Bannered Mare smelt of strong mead and looked about as lively as it could possibly be. A bard singing a tune by the fire with a couple of men dancing quite comically while swinging full mugs of mead, a few people sitting on the stools talking to one another, and the innkeeper laughing and talking to a Redguard woman as she swept the floor behind the counter.

"Come on in, my dear. Just let me know if you need anything. The name's Hulda." The Breton smiled at the Nordic woman and went to sit on the stool in front of the bar.

"I do. What's on the menu?"

"Hungry, tired, or just plain thirsty?"

"Thirsty. Do you have anything that will quench my thirst?"

"Ah. You must be new around here if you're not familiar with the menu." She turned to the young Redguard woman. "Saadia. Get this lass a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. I believe that'll be our last bottle. In a couple days I'll have you make a run, fetch some more."

"Certainly, mum."

As Saadia went into the kitchens, Annabella leaned her weight onto the counter and let out a sigh.

"Long day, dear?"

"Ah. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. I've been looking for work all day, but I just can't seem to find anyone willing to give it to me."

"If it's work you need, how about chopping up some wood for the fires? There are always people looking to buy firewood, including myself."

"While I appreciate the idea, I'm afraid that's not the type of work I'm working for. You see, I fancy myself to be a decent magic-user and I'd love to put my skills to good use." Saadia set an open bottle of Honningbrew Mead in front of the Breton and she immediately took to taking a small sip. It was sweet and very delicious - something she hasn't tasted since living in Anvil.

"Oh, dear. Magic is for the weak. Elves, I mean. They keep to that College in Winterhold. They know their place. Of course there is Farengar. He might be the Jarl's wizard, but at least he's a Nord. I guess you could go there and see if they have use for you."

That was the thing about Bretons. They're, simply put, a mutt. Long ago the elves intermingled with the human races and thus her race was born. It was almost a slap in the face. Picking up her bottle of mead, she shook it around a bit, took another sip, then cleared her throat while trying to avoid the awkward turn of the conversation. These Nords were too proud and stubborn.

"I have history with the Mages Guild in Cyrodiil, so I'd rather not even get involved." Not yet, anyway. She wanted to practice her magic a bit more before burning down their library and arch-mages quarters as well. "Is there any gossip?"

"I haven't heard much lately. The only thing that's really stirring everyone up at the moment is that little Arentino boy in Windhelm."

"Arentino boy? What's he done?"

"Rumor has it that's he's been trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood."

"The Dark Brotherhood? Whatever for?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, my dear. You'd have to ask around for more details. Or you could go see him, yourself if you're really looking for an.. an adventure. If you could call it that."

A young boy attempting to contact the Dark Brotherhood, hm? The Breton bit her lip as she pondered going to Windhelm or not. She hadn't anything else better to do, and he was a child in need. What if the Dark Brotherhood had a contract for him since word had clearly gotten around about him wanting someone to get an unfortunate end? Would they kill him as well as the person he wants murdered? The thought made the Breton quite anxious to help him.

"Hulda?"

"What do you need, lass?"

"Do you have some supplies I could buy? I'm heading to Windhelm."