The peaks of red tinted tents crept over the horizon, emerging from behind a barren hill. Alaise's mouth pulled into a grimace. She knew it was dangerous doing this, but she had to for her conscience to be clean. Her grip tightened on Lucius' helm. The imperial spotter of the camp swiftly caught his eyes on her approach and called down some indiscernible words to an officer below, who nodded and strode out of the camp boundary towards her. While still at a mild distance, Alaise tipped her head in a slight bow to indicate she was not approaching hostilely. The imperial nodded in acknowledgement, unsheathing his sword and sticking it into the earth in front of him. Alaise did the same with her bastard blade. The officer's eyes looked her up and down assessively. They were a sharp blue, cold but observant, just as she would expect from an officer. Alaise never understood the imperial rank system, but the symbols on his armor looked impressive.

"I am legate Doran. What is it you seek from my camp, Dunmer?" The Imperial spoke clearly and abruptly, his gaze steady.

"I have news: one of your soldiers, a recruit by the name of Lucius who was assigned to guard the Bolter children of the southern Reach…" Alaise trailed off.

The officer gestured to the helm in her grasp. "I take it he has died then."

"Aye." Alaise said, briefly pausing. "He died… He died protecting his charges. He fought well."

Legate Doran nodded an approval and motioned to two of his soldiers who had been standing on the edge of the camp. Turning back to Alaise he said, "I was the boy's commanding officer. He was never the bravest soul, but remained ever obedient and quick in his duties. I was proud to have him in my legion. I continue to be proud now that his soul will be seen to by Arkay."

Alaise remained silent as the two soldiers came to stand at attention beside their leader.

Legate Doran motioned for them to remain at ease and turned back to Alaise. "The lord and lady Bolter did they…?"

"No. They were struck down soon after your soldier." Alaise spoke with a certain shame. It had been her duty to defend them as well. Their deaths reflected a massive failure on her part.

"I see. Are their bodies retrievable?"

"Aye sir, they're laid on the forest road by the nearest mountain pass." She pointed back between the twin peaks she had come from; though she knew the Legate Doran would likely be well aware of the path she spoke. "There was a troop of Rift Guardsmen, led by a Stormcloak officer, all armed with crossbows. It seemed to me they had made camp off the side of the pass." Alaise reached into her pouch and withdrew the two tokens she had taken from the children. The legate's men took them along with the helmet.

Legate Doran rubbed at the bristles of his stubble. "You had best head away from any Bolter lands. They'll be looking for someone to execute I expect."

Alaise nodded. She was already taking a risk by coming to the imperials. A lone mercenary fails in her duties and her companions die out of sight of all other witnesses, and during war-time at that. It would not look good to an outside observer.

Legate Doran said a courteous thank you for her information then drew his sword back up from the dirt and wiped the blade clean on a piece of crimson cloth. Alaise slung her sword into its sheath and made her first few steps Northward.

The next few days were a blur for her. She walked til it got dark, made camp until it got light, and repeated the process again. Her thoughts were frayed and uncertain of themselves. In her many years as a sellsword she had never failed so utterly and abruptly. On top of that the enemy that had so deftly defeated her regarded her with an infuriatingly casual mercy. If Alaise's mother could see her now… In between her scrambled thoughts, Alaise searched for a destination. Certainly she'd be seeing no further work from the Bolters. But besides all of her most recent troubles, she had been on a downslope since the last winter. Skyrim was not an easy place to live for Dunmer. Every other day she spent among Skyrim's locals was an adventure into intense distrust and bigotry. On top of that her skin was not made to weather the harsh cold. The warm shores of Morrowind were a far cry from the frozen wastes. All of Skyrim's unpleasantness had begun to wear harder on her as gold grew scarce. Without warm beds and fine wines interspersed with the harsh realities of the north, Alaise had grown depressed and bitter.

On her third night alone, her gaze scanned the nearby stones of the plain. Nights in the open tundra made her uneasy. Though she had no reason to think there was anyone in particular hunting her, a fire attracted all kinds of attention, some of which she'd rather avoid. So she kept her embers low and short lived. Her eyes were on constant alert whenever they weren't closed. As she shifted her stare across the darkened horizon, the shapes of distant mountain reached into the sky and covered swathes of stars. Across them there were other lands, warmer lands with fatter purses. Skyrim hadn't been her end goal anyway, and Alaise surely didn't need any more snow in her life. Daedra Take the Nords She thought, pulling out her tattered map. The damn thing was barely legible in the ember light. Not that it was particularly easy to read when the sun was out either what with the water damage and burn scars, but the darkness didn't make it easier. She removed a glove and scanned her finger along the faded lines of Tamriel. Elsweyr and Valenwood were obviously out of the question simply by distance. Morrowind, well… It wasn't exactly the best place to find work these days. Cyrodiil made Alaise's nose scrunch. The place was crawling with high-horse Thalmor agents and imperial peacekeepers. No decent knife-work could be found in a place like that. High Rock… Well, maybe. From what Alaise knew it was brimming with lordly families looking to get even with one another. Plenty of opportunities could be crafted by that sort of situation. The only problem would be the Druadach Pass. The roads around there weren't renowned for being safe, and with her current luck they'd probably be sporting a horde of frost trolls. But the longer she looked, the more it became clear the pass was her best escape route. Her path was turned definitively westward. Ahead, the Druadach Mountains loomed. Dark though they seemed in the night, Alaise knew that between their peaks, paths wound and gates stood that could carry her away from her troubles… and probably into new ones.

The morning came quickly, the fears she had of the dark plains shifted away with the light, and Alaise set back on her journey. This time, her eyes were turned westward and north to Dragon Bridge. The old stone crossing was the only way north of Karthwasten to pass the river. Besides that, the town was very friendly to wandering types. Since it was built up around the old bridge, the town got most of its gold from the kinds of people who often travel the roads. Soldiers, sellswords, and minstrels were their very favorite customers. Maybe Alaise could waste a few coins there before her escape. The day was warmer than usual (though still decidedly chilly). The winds came in from the east, pushing at her back. It seemed Kyne was being merciful for the day - a decision that prompted a silent prayer in thanks from Alaise's travel-weary body.

By the time she reached the bridge, the sun was turning downward, and the sky faded into pink. The folks she passed nodded greetings to her. The shop keeps were more vocal and enthusiastic about their welcomes. Doubtless they could see she was a sellsword. Unfortunately for them, they couldn't see the paltry few septims that jingled in her bag, and the only thing she planned to spend those on was a bottle of ale and a bed.

As she approached the Four Shields tavern porch, she took note of a few suspicious looking Bretons playing dice. As she passed by, Alaise pretended not to notice their glare. There were certainly cons to being a travel-heavy town. The wanderers of Skyrim weren't known to be the friendliest bunch, nor the most normal. Despite how commonplace it might be to find aggressive characters around the Four Shields tavern, their stares put Alaise off. Instead of ale and a bed, it seemed she would have to settle for just the ale. A camp hidden among the rocks was a lot safer from thieves and other unsavory people than a bedroom with no door. Alaise shimmied sideways through the raucous singers and drinkers of the inn until she came to the bar. A few gold was handed to Faida, the innkeeper, and an ale dropped into Alaise's hand. She took her first gulp and sighed happily, scanning over the merrymakers that were stumbling around the fire pit. It's a lovely way to waste money. She thought, tipping the bottle up for a second gulp. Despite her griping about Nords, she had to admit they sure knew how to drink.

Her wandering eyes landed once more on the Bretons, this time sitting in one of the corner tables, occasionally gazing across the room to Alaise. She grimaced. They couldn't have been more obvious if they tried. A newborn would have seen them coming from a kilometer away. She wondered what it was they were after. If it was gold they'd be disappointed. Maybe it was her gear. If there was anything in Alaise's ownership worth a bit of gold it was certainly her sword. She supposed she could let them meet the old girl up close if they really wanted it, but if things went as planned, hopefully Alaise would be long gone before they knew what happened. Her ale finished, Alaise made as if she was negotiating a bed from Faida. From the Bretons' angle Alaise's back would cover up the absence of gold being passed. Faida gave her an odd look which Alaise ignored. From there she wandered back out onto the porch and sat in one of the chairs. Hopefully with her "purchase" of a bed the Bretons would be satisfied. Certainly one of them would be out in a moment to be sure she didn't wander off, but now that they thought she was staying the night, all she had to do was wait for an opening and…

A piece of paper tacked into the porch fence caught her eye. A drawing of Alaise's face emblazoned across its center. The words read "Alaise Tiilden: Wanted dead for her part in the murder of Ildra and Algruf Bolter. Payment of 800 gold upon proof of death."

"Shit." Alaise whispered through gritted teeth. Swiftly she hopped over the fence and began to jog towards the western hills. "Shit, shit, shit." The Breton would surely be out at any moment.

As if on cue, the door swung open and the Breton choked on his current swig of mead before shouting back to his comrades. "Oy! Move it lads, she's rabbiting!"