Ara sat, concealed by darkness, in the cold, damp space known as her Windhelm prison cell. She knelt in front of the grid of iron bars, her dirty, worn hands silently at work on the lock. Looking briefly to her right, she saw that a lone guard sat down the dimly lit hall, his duty of prison-warden interrupted as he intently wrote some kind of letter, his eyes glued to the parchment. He was a young man, and with his guards' helmet removed, he revealed young but hardened eyes. The man seemed too youthful to be wearing the ranked officer's uniform that he did, and an exceedingly ornate iron axe hung from his side, its razor edge catching the dim light of the underground prison. Ara continued to work carefully on the lock, her mind focused on avoiding her execution scheduled for later this morning. She listened carefully to the mechanisms inside the lock; recognising the smallest ticks or movements, having done so since she was a child 17 years ago.
Then, with a sigh of relief, the door made the unmistakable 'clink' of it being unlocked. Silently, she pushed open the door, and made in the opposite direction of the guard, who was posted at the base of some stairs that ultimately led to the main hall of the Palace of the Kings. Silently, she crept past rows of cells, filled with either captured criminals or their rotting corpses. She was at the last cell of the hall way, when suddenly, a voice stopped her, "Psst! Hey, you!" an aged female voice said. Ara turned to see a woman, also crouched over, in the cell. In the dim light, Ara could see that her face had feint creases on it, and her hair was rough, brown-grey and short. "Can I help you?" Ara hissed, impatient and anxious to make her escape. The woman replied, "You've got to get me out of here. Please! I've been falsely convicted, and my execution will be any minute now!" she pleaded, grasping the iron bars with blackened, shaking hands. Ara stared into the woman's frightened grey eyes, trying to depict if she was telling the truth. Finally, she gave in, "Fine. But if you're coming with me, don't screw things up, ok?" The woman nodded eagerly and thanked Talos. Before long, Ara had picked the lock of the door, and quietly swung it open. "Come. The door at the end of the hall should lead underneath the city." Ara predicted, as she walked toward the old, worn door. Suddenly, she turned to see that the guard had gotten up from his chair, and began walking down to corridor, banging the iron cells with the handle of his axe, yelling, "Rise and shine, ladies and gents! Looks like it's going to be a short day for a lot of you!" he said, a smug grin across his face. "Quick, let's go!" Ara prompted as she opened the door, only to hear a loud yell from behind, "Oi! Stop right where you are, criminal scum!" His young eyes instantly met with hers, before he drew the ornate axe from his hip. "Here" the old woman passed Ara a razor sharp shiv, "You look like you could make more use of it than me." And with that, Ara turned once more to face the guard charging at her, his face filled with anger from their 'almost-escape'. Ara too charged towards him. He swung his axe, only for Ara to swiftly dodge, and strike out with the shiv at his face. The small blade produced a deep, paper-thin cut across his right cheek, making him wince in pain. Blood began the weave down his face, but he tried his best to ignore it, "You're gonna pay for that one, b****!" He yelled, and once again swung at Ara, who attempted to dodge, but got clipped by the axe on the arm, hacking a shallow chunk of her skin away, now also bleeding. She gave a groan as the familiar feeling of warm blood ran down her arm. In a last attempt, she swung in behind the guard and inflicted a deep slice to the back of his left knee, in between the joints in his armour. He screamed, his leg instantly collapsing beneath him. He fell in a heap, bleeding and immobilised by the precise cut from the shiv. She stood over him for a moment, pinning his fighting arm down with a ragged boot. He stared up at her, the pain of the cut in his leg showing on his face. Something struck Ara about the guard, but she took no notice, leaving the young man writhing in agony on the stone floor as she now ran, back towards the door where the old woman awaited her. "Bravo, young lady" she praised, and the two ran through the door, Ara running slightly slower so the woman could keep pace. They were now running through a dimly-lit, damp series of tunnels, with branches leading off to tightly sealed doors. Very few guards patrolled the halls, and the two came across could easily be avoided. The tunnels seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually they came upon a trapdoor, probably used to dispose the corpses of tortured prisoners. Thick, dried blood was smeared on top of the trapdoor, and many rotting remains of people were strewn around the area. It was a grim sight to behold, but Ara managed to heave open the door, releasing a gut-twisting smell from its depths. She collected herself and jumped into the hole, turning to help the woman. Once inside, she scanned the area; A dark, rough tunnel that abruptly opened out into a bigger cavern, wooden bridges and platforms criss-crossing over a thin stream weaving through the middle. Many torture devices were placed in the area, and a lone torturer was in the process of lashing a man's back; his agonised screams sending eerie echoes throughout the cave. Mosses grew on the walls, adding an unusual contrast to the dim, lifeless cave. Ara slowed to a fast walk, knowing it would be difficult for them to be heard over the man's screams. The two followed this large cavern for quite some time, until finally the cave began to slope upwards; natural light lancing in from somewhere beyond. They continued toward the light un-interrupted, up the rough, sloping path. The cavern eventually narrowed into another tunnel, similar to that of the entrance, and they soon broke out into the frosty daylight. Ara felt a feeling of freedom wash over her after such an easy escape. Now, she could return to a new life in Skyrim. The old woman stopped, turning to face Ara, a look of respect and gratitude spread across her weathered face, "Many thanks for freeing me, Talos g-"she suddenly jolted forward, collapsing on the ground before Ara. The rounded end of a cross-bow bolt jutted from the back of her neck, blood slowly seeping around it. Ara looked up from the corpse to see six guards, one of which, the torturer from the cave, was reloading a large bolt into his cross-bow. There must've been more outposts near the roof of the cave. Ara thought, her heart sinking. Shit. A tense silence hung in the air for but a split second, before Ara dashed to the left, sprinting into the snow-covered forest in a matter of seconds. The troupe of guards followed, and occasionally a crossbow bolt would whiz past her, shooting into the trees. Wishing not to suffer the fate of the old woman, she jumped and dashed around trees she ran, making the crossbow useless in this chase. The soldiers gave angered yells as their heavy steel armour meant they fell further and further away from their swift target. Soon, hopefully, she could lose them in the forest. The looming trees of the forest grew smaller and sparser as the area levelled out onto the shore of a massive river, arched by the main bridge leading into the Windhelm. A commercial dock housed numerous shapes of boats, most transporting goods from distant areas. Argonians, banned from entering the city, worked mindlessly, heads down, running the mediocre tasks about the dock.
Ara leapt up onto the dock, and turned to see nothing but the river and the forest, free of any pursuers. Sightly calmer now, she walked hurriedly along the dock, weaving around the slightly curious Argonians, who were probably not used to seeing a Nord wandering their workplace. Hoping to smuggle herself out of Skyrim, she casually walked aboard the hull of a large docked cargo ship. Inside, there were crates of goods still waiting to be unloaded, and two more argonian labourers, taking what appeared to be skooma during their break. They stood as Ara walked into the ship, drawing daggers from their tunics, "Stop! You are not supposed to be in here!" One yelled and charged unprovoked at Ara, his dagger raised above his head. Ara quickly ran, up a set of stairs opening up into the living quarters of the ship. The argonians laid chase, their sudden high on the popular substance causing them to be viscous and irrational. Ara continued to scramble up many sets of stairs inside the tall ship, before finally she burst out of a hatch onto the deck of the ship. The mast had been pulled down, and no one was on the deck at all. Ara then realised what a mistake running onto the boat may have been; being chased by two desperate, drug-addicted labourers, with no other escape than to fight back or jump into the freezing water below. Fighting back was not in Ara's nature, but it seemed that now she may have to go against her principles. The argonians broke out onto the deck, their daggers in hand. Ara stood her ground, planning her moves with what little time she had. One Argonian held back at the hatch, while the other charged ahead, outraged at the intruder. Ara pulled the shiv from her scratchy tunic, eyes locked with the argonian the entire time. It seemed an unfair fight: a male argonian wielding a dagger against a teenage nord with a shiv. But suddenly, before the argonian could even get close to Ara, he collapsed; the square, metal end of a shiv barely visible as it shot into his throat. He spluttered and choked on his own blood for only a few seconds as he lay on the ground, before his body went totally limp. Unable to retrieve her shiv from the Argonian's neck, she dashed forward, and reached to snatch the dead Argonian's dagger when suddenly, a searing pain struck her left shoulder-blade. The second argonian, seeing his companion die such a violent death, lunged at Ara and stabbed his dagger deep into her shoulder. He ripped his dagger out of Ara's back, only to have another dagger rammed through his temple. His head snapped to the side with the force of Ara's stab, and in an instant he was dead. With the two argonians dead at her feet, it gave her the opportunity to assess her situation. Clutching her bleeding shoulder and in shock from the vicious pain, she paced to the edge of the deck, peering over the railing in contemplation. Having lost the guards in the forest, and killed the two Argonians, it seemed she wouldn't need to jump overboard after all. She could easily sneak back down the ship and off into the wilderness, leaving Windhelm forever. Suddenly, Ara's blood became as cold as the water below as a rough voice from behind her said formally, "Stop right there, thief. There is no escape for you here. Hand yourself in or suffer at my blade". Ara turned at his voice. It was one she had heard not long ago. In fact, it wasn't an entire mass of guards behind her, no. It was one guard, his helmet removed and a bloody cut streaked across his right cheek. She held a stern expression and remained silent, standing. "What'll it be, scum?" He continued, his hand tightening around the hilt of his ornate axe. Ara stared into him, and took one assertive step forward, confusing the guard. His expression only barely changed to a puzzled one as he readied his axe. Then, in the blink of an eye, Ara jumped forward and kicked hard into the centre of his chest, knocking him backwards. Then she turned, and ran; up over the railing, jumping and diving over the edge. The dark blue waves of the sea raced towards her, and suddenly she was plunged into an icy blue haze. She struggled to swim, not only because of her shoulder, but her body became instantly choked by the sudden cold surrounding her. Her eyes struggled to stay open, and she could just make out the light of the surface of the water above her. She kicked weakly with her legs, but to her relief, just as her lungs began to ache, the bright blue surface of the water drew nearer. Then, suddenly, she broke out of the water, shivering violently and desperately sucking in the chilled air of the afternoon. Her limbs felt increasingly numb, but still she determinedly began to swim for the shore, turning back only briefly to behold the ship she had jumped from seemingly eons ago. The guard still stood at the railing, calmly watching Ara splash clumsily away. Despite the fact that she was wearing only thin, ragged clothes and was shivering uncontrollably, Ara scrambled onto the shore on the other side of the river. Smooth, wet pebbles touching her frozen body felt like nothing to Ara as she lay on her back, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. Her hair was plastered to her face and her eyes felt tired and heavy. It took all her strength to lift her head. The ship still floated at the dock, however the guard had suddenly vanished. She sat upright, her stomach aching with a stitch. Her skin was still painfully numb and as a result had turned a pale pastel colour. Droplets of nearly frozen water began to form on the hairs of her shaking arms. She glanced over to the bridge, expecting to see an entire stormcloak army pursuing her. But, to Ara's surprise, there was nothing. Not a soul crossed the bridge. Ara gave a heavy sigh of relief and relaxed her shivering body as much as she could.
An hour or so after her shaky escape, Ara now sat, the relentless cold of the afternoon held at bay by the amber flames of the fire before her. Ara had retreated further into the forest situated behind where she'd arrived on the beach, and finally, with shivering hands and many failures, had managed to light somewhat of a fire. By now, she was shivering much less as the fire's warmth touched her skin; however her stomach grumbled and ached in hunger following the events earlier. The towering trees surrounding her camp loomed and swayed eerily as the light of the day began to fade, and the approaching darkness began to swallow the forest around her. A long, tiresome yawn gave her queue to sleep. She lay down on her side and stared into the dancing embers of the fire as they licked at the cold air, considering calmly what to do the next day. Re-entering Windhelm would only mean certain death, she thought to herself. I could run, but where? She lay in silence, thinking of where to go. She had no family; they were all either out of Skyrim or rotting in prison. If any of her relatives were in Skyrim, they're very good at staying in hiding. She felt trapped for options, knowing that sooner or later the entire Province would be hunting her. A new identity… The idea began to form in her mind: I don't need to run, just be someone else. I could stay in hiding until I find someone to get me out of Skyrim… Her mind began to race in anticipation as her plan began to take shape. But where can I hide… After a few moments,her eyes began to grow heavier and heavier as the last piece to her plan came into view: Riften… she muttered, seconds before drifting into a peaceful sleep.