Ciirta's long light blonde hair whipped around her dark face as she slipped through the doors of Windhelm just as they were closing from another person leaving. By Sithis, it was cold. Why did she have to come to the snowiest place in Skyrim just to kill some daughter of an already grieving mother? As if her job wasn't cruel enough already. She nuzzled her face deeper into her thick woollen scarf, regretting taking the extra time for the bonus. When she heard shouts, she stopped and noticed a Dunmer woman being harassed by two Nord men. She groaned internally when she remembered overhearing talk in the taverns about the cruelty against Dunmers in this city.

"Hey! You filthy Nords leave her alone!" She shouted at the men. "What did she do to you?"

"Those disgusting Dark Elves refuse to help the Stormcloaks while they laze around all day! Why shouldn't we confront them? They're probably working for the Empire!" One retorted. From his breath, it was clear that he was drunk.

"Where's the proof that you aren't helping the Empire?" Ciirta retorted. "Stop it with the accusations."

"What grounds do you have, ya stinkin' Imperial! Get out of our city, before ya get any information to tell that milk-drinker Tullius!"

"I believe that Windhelm is open to all travelers, and you, I assume having little standing in this city, have no power to throw me out."

"Ya damned spy! I'll beat the shit out of ya, send ya running for Mama!"

The foolish drunk charged at her, but didn't get close before he tripped and knocked himself out. The other Nord groaned and dragged his unconscious body away. Ciirta sighed and headed to the inn.

"W-Wait!"

Ciirta turned, and saw the Dunmer running towards her.

"I just wanted to thank you for getting those Nords off my back. They get drunk most nights and stumble around the Gray Quarter, yelling insults at us. As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

"The Gray Quarter?" Ciirta questioned. The term was unfamiliar to her.

"Have you not heard of the Gray Quarter? It's where the Jarl threw us Dunmer after we fled to Skyrim to escape the Red Mountain's eruption. It's the slum of the city, full of Dark Elves and Nords who are looking to insult those who can't fight back. The racism is so fucking thick here, I don't know why I haven't already packed up and left."

Ciirta swore under her breath. "I'll see if I can talk to the Jarl to change the conditions, or maybe act as a guard sometimes if that doesn't work. Fuck, it's not like the real guards are doing anything."

"Really? You would talk to the Jarl for us? Thanks, but I doubt you'll knock any sense into our lovely leader."

And on that jolly note, Ciirta resigned herself to her fatigue and bid adieu to her newfound friend to fall limply upon a shitty bed in Candlehearth Hall.

Upon the daily jolt of consciousness that comes inevitably every morning (side effect of being a murderer for a living), Ciirta dragged herself out of bed to hunt the lone Shatter-Shield child. But she fell prey to the winding streets of the windy city, somehow finding herself at the fires in front of the palace after passing the Aretino house. Figuring she should tackle the Dunmer problem while she was there, Ciirta stepped into the Palace of the Kings.

So, I hope you like this start! I wrote a bunch of this story before finally working up the guts to publish it, so I'll just edit the next few chapters a bit, and they'll be here soon.