"What a perfect ending to a perfect day," Gerda muttered angrily to herself as she tiredly stumbled down the path to what her map said was Nightgate Inn.

Not only was this the tenth day she was travelling the wilds without any 'city breaks', earlier this morning she decided to first explore the nearby tomb, Ironbind Barrow, before she ended up at the inn and inevitably got roped into another meaningless 'fetch' quest. Sometimes, she felt like a trained dog. "Heh, more like a trained dragon," she snorted to herself.

The day she found out she's the legendary Dragonborn was ironically the best day of her life, despite the dragon fighting, burnt corpses of several guards they arrived too late to save and the suspicious looks from Housecarl Irileth. It felt good to have a purpose. A goal. A shame she already dealt with Alduin, she could use a challenge some-

"Ouch! Dammit!" Gerda cursed after stumbling yet again on the rather steep way down and decided to look where she was going rather than remember her past glories. These stumbles didn't exactly help her almost-broken skull and still electrified insides. Normally, it would pose no problem to her as she was rather handy with Restoration, if not for the accident. Or better said, the assassination attempt.

Gerda was so used to the mostly-nice Argonians living at Windhelm docks, that she forgot not all of them were good people. When Beem-Ja decided to pull a vampire on her and not so gently 'ask' for her blood for his creepy rituals, it certainly came as a shock. Much more shocking than his measly Lightning Bolt spell, anyway.

Still, it hit her at exactly the same moment as when she absorbed the final word of Become Ethereal Shout. Then she got hit upside the head by the re-resurrected Warlord Gathrik for good measure.

Not many people knew this, but Shouts were similar to spells in that you needed to really concentrate on their meaning to use them. Concentration while absorbing them was nearly as important. That one unfortunate hit shook her enough to mess her concentration and now she felt… off.

She felt as if her insides were half-floating in Oblivion and it was only sheer will and a good dose of luck that kept them in her body. So, no need to challenge fate by healing herself; especially since she was not as essential to the fate of this world as she used to be, Alduin being dead and all.

She had a feeling that mixing healing spells into that little magic-storm of half-absorbed Shout, power from the lightning bolt and those different, subtler magicks of resurrected, killed and resurrected again Draugr would be a bad idea. Gerda was not willing to risk her life, and more importantly her sanity, to heal injuries that won't kill her. Little bit of down time won't hurt her. Much. Not like she had a world to save. Not anymore…

Gerda was sometimes glad that the Nords of Skyrim had no common sense. 'Seriously, whose idea was it to build an inn in the middle of nowhere, less than an hour of leisurely walk from an ancient tomb full of dangerous walking corpses?' she thought to herself as she stumbled down the path to the inn. She paused in bewilderment, then snorted, 'And then have the door face away from the main road.'

Even after several years of living in Skyrim, she just couldn't get used to the Nords' way of thinking. Ironic, since she was a Nord herself.

Tall, blonde and green-eyed, she would have been quite popular amongst members of the opposite gender, if not for her other characteristics. If people wished to be polite, they called her strong and proud. Her well defined muscles were also mentioned often. What people said behind Gerda's back wasn't worth repeating. Well, maybe expect for the unremarkable and common part.

Gerda never cared for her appearance beyond keeping herself clean, much to the disgust and frustration of both her parents who wanted her to marry well. It didn't matter now anyway, at the age of twenty-nine and well set into the role of an adventurer and savior of the world, she didn't need to fear being sold… bargained for… engaged to a 'proper' gentleman.

As she finally reached the door to Nightgate Inn, she thought that her life turned out… fine, despite everything. Even if having someone to come home to would be nice, she couldn't really complain.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

Entering the inn was like stepping into another world. Gerda knew several inns in the warm climates of Cyrodiil that were colder than this one. Fire blazed in the middle of the common room as if the innkeeper expected to entertain a horde of delicate Breton mages or perhaps needed to cook enough to feed a Giant camp. None of which was the case; as far as she could see, the inn only held one old drunk and the innkeeper.

Well, she couldn't complain. After so long in the freezing wilderness, any warmth would feel good. Deciding to rent a room first, she stepped up to the Innkeeper, who introduced himself as Hadring.

"I want to get a room for a week." Gerda decided it would be best to stay a while to make sure that the hit and magic mix will have no unexpected side-effects. "I'll buy some of your food, too."

Hadring's eyebrows climbed up. It was not often this inn got a guest for more than one night. The occasional soldier on a mission or a passing merchant, yes, but most either continued on to Windhelm or Dawnstar. But he didn't protest and after a bit of haggling over which room to stay in, Gerda quickly found herself in a spacious room with a double bed.

Comfortable, especially after a week spent sleeping on the cold, freezing Skyrim ground.

She barely heard Hadring mention he'll make something for dinner before she threw all her bags on the floor and immediately went for the bed.