"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend."

How on Mundus am I going to get myself out out of this? I wondered more than a little frantically, nervously whirling around to face the person who'd spoken.

The individual I came face-to-face with was a muscular-looking male I assumed was of Nordic blood by his features, his arms crossed and his right hand nearly touching the hilt of his wicked-looking sword as he grinned nastily at me, a strange look in his eyes that made me feel even more terrified than I had before. He didn't look particularly well-off, either, as he was dressed in shoddy-looking iron armor that didn't look as if it fit him well, at all. It did nothing to make him look anything other than bulky and awkward, though, to be fair, it probably wouldn't have a flattering effect on anyone. Despite how cheap his clothing appeared, some armor was better than none - I certainly wasn't wearing any, which put me at an even bigger disadvantage.

"Caia, Ottmar, whatever shall we do with this little trespasser?" he called out, his voice dripping with sarcastic indecisiveness, and at his prompting two other brigands stepped out from the surrounding woodland, one on my left and one on my right. One was a woman, also a Nord, who was sporting a rather gruesome-looking warpaint design on her face reminiscent of a skull. The other revealed themselves to be a male Redguard who was twice the size of the man I assumed was their leader, and he looked like he could crush boulders with his bare hands if he wished to.

"L-look, I'm terribly sorry for intruding; I didn't realize that this was your property. I'm new to Skyrim-"

"Yeah, well, that's more than obvious, Breton," Caia smirked, crossing her arms as she added, "Otherwise you'd know better than to go traipsing around on our ground. The locals know crossing paths with us would be a death sentence."

"Hm… well, since she's clearly a foreigner, this grievance could be overlooked… If you've got the coin… say, two hundred septims?" the leader of the trio reasoned, coming a few steps closer as he added in a manner which was a bit too suggestive for my liking, "Or, if you don't, you could atone for your ignorance by… other means of payment."

I couldn't keep the look of disgust off of my face as I remarked heatedly, "I don't happen to have enough gold to pay any 'toll', and I don't think I'll be doing any of those 'other things', either."

The suggestive grin on the Nord's face quickly morphed into a displeased scowl, his hand now firmly grasping the hilt his sword as he replied in a dangerously soft tone, "Well, if you're going to be that way, it looks like you won't get a choice in the matter."

At those words, the Redguard finally spoke up, an almost reluctant look on his face as he remarked, "Boss, this is a waste of time. She doesn't look the type to have anything remotely valuable on her-"

"Do I pay you for your opinions, Ottmar?" The Nord snapped, turning to give his underling an annoyed glare, "If anyone comes onto our land and offers us no payment, their life is as good as forfeit. No exceptions."

With that statement, the bandit chief drew his rather plain but sharp-edged steel sword, and advanced towards me. He taunted me with a hint of warning in his voice, "Last chance to change your mind, Breton."

My response was to draw my own weapon, though I cringed inwardly as I noticed how dull and ineffective Grandfather's sword looked in comparison with the bandit's. Sparks appeared in my free hand as I waited warily for the brigand to make his move, already certain I'd be on the defensive for most of this fight.

As I was expecting, the bandit chief made the first move, darting towards me with the intent to strike me in the side. I moved out of the way quickly and retaliated, storm magic flying from my outstretched palm as I brought my sword up into a defensive position. I hoped that my magic would at least be enough to throw him off a bit and give me a fighting chance. To my relief, they certainly seemed to be bothering him a bit, judging by his slightly pained expression as he composed himself for another strike.

I'd somehow managed to forget that the chief's companions weren't just going to stand by while we fought, and I was reminded of it the hard way when a searing hot pain exploded across the center of my back, and I could vaguely hear the sound of bones cracking as I fell forward, my sword slipping from my grasp as my vision flickered from the pain. I couldn't keep myself from crying out upon my impact with the ground, the sound filled with agony and a hint of terror. I didn't know what was going to happen to me now, but I knew it wasn't going to end in my favor.

Stupid… That was so stupid… I admonished myself distantly, my vision beginning to grow black around the edges, Varnand was right; I'm not cut out for adventuring at all.

"Nowhere to run now, rabbit," the chief remarked in a jeering tone, a disgusting look on his face as he turned to the other two brigands, "Shall we finish her off, then? … Or do either of you perchance have any more entertaining ideas?"

The Nordic woman spoke up immediately, and though I couldn't see her face, her tone nauseated me as much as her words did as she said, "I can certainly think of a few things. For one, that pit wolf of ours seems to be getting a little thin… We shouldn't waste such a perfect opportunity to give it a nice treat. Two birds, one stone, and all that. 'Least, that's my thought on the matter."

"And you, Ottmar? What say you on the matter, you overgrown milk-drinker?"

If the Redguard had taken offense at the chief's rude remark, I couldn't tell as he replied evenly, "If this must be done, at least end it swiftly-"

"Of course. I should have expected such a lukewarm response from you," the chief sighed, sounding disappointed, "You're really no fun at all."

"Well, we'd better decide what to do with her before-" Caia began in an imperious tone, but cut off suddenly, letting out a strangled groan as the two men let out exclamations of surprise. I heard something hit the ground not too far away from me, and, in the same instance this occurred, the chief seemed to be moving towards something, while Ottmar seemed to be moving the exact opposite direction of it.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" I heard the chief call out menacingly, though I could hear a sliver of unease in his voice as he added, "When I find you, I'm gonna make you pay for that!"

"Alarik the Debaucher, is it? Hmph. I was expecting someone a bit more… intimidating, but with a title like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," an unfamiliar voice came from nearby where I was laying, the sound of it deep and somewhat reassuring, and he seemed more amused than anything by the man who had so easily brought me down.

The chief whirled around, his eyes widening as they fell on the newcomer. He now looked like I must have when I'd run into him and his troupe, taking a few steps back as he responded hurriedly, "Look, this is none of your business. I'd be more than happy to overlook that, ah, misunderstanding resulting in the death of one of my comrades; things happen-"

"That's where you're wrong, scum. Dealing with your kind is my business. And I intend to finish what I've started."

"I… Very well, then. If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get!" Alarik snarled, looking like a cornered dog as he lunged towards the mysterious vigilante, and I could only hope that this man was as well-prepared to fight the chief as he sounded.

I heard the sounds of metal against metal as two slightly blurred figures came into my immediate view a decent distance away from me, and it was then I noticed that the newcomer was dressed in well-fit, expensive-looking armor, theirs obviously of a much higher quality than the bandit chief's. Blade shrieked against blade as the two locked swords, the sound made by it unpleasant and almost deafening as they clashed. However, Alarik's steel blade swept downwards as he disengaged from the stranger, the force behind his move seeming to unbalance them somewhat. A bloodthirsty grin appeared on his face at this and he took another swing at them, crowing arrogantly, "You won't leave here alive!"

However, his opponent managed to block his wild swing easily, catching it on the edge of their own and, with an expert flick of their wrist, twisted it from the bandit's grasp and sent it clattering to the ground. Alarik let out a gasp of alarm, and, through a haze, I watched him dive to retrieve it, but the stranger kicked it a good distance away, and knocked the chief to the ground with a well aimed blow to his side. Though his sword didn't seem to have gone through the bandit's armor, he stayed where he fell, a hand uselessly clutching his side as he stared up at his vanquisher, and seemed to be pleading, though I couldn't make out his words. Without a word on their part, the stranger's blade plunged down mercilessly, puncturing the man's iron armor like a knife slicing through butter, and effectively silencing him as it buried itself in his chest to the hilt.

The stranger then proceeded to remove the sword from the bandit's corpse, the blade coming away stained a vivid red by Alarik's blood. They bent down suddenly, probably with the intent of cleaning off their blade on the grass or something, but stopped, their attention now turned to me. It was then I realized that, while they didn't seem like the kind of person who would kill an injured innocent, I didn't know that they wouldn't, and I might perhaps be in even more trouble than before. As they began to walk towards me, I attempted to push myself up, but all I managed to do was hurt myself more, letting out a surprised cry as my arms gave out and I hit the ground, an excruciating amount of pain registering in my nerves as a half-conscious moan escaped my lips.

"You all right?" It then registered in my mind that the stranger was speaking to me, and I attempted to look up, my vision blurring and fading as I did so.

I couldn't make out much about the individual at all, only dimly registering that they were completely armored and their face was not visible, and they were wearing a rich-looking, dark purple cloak of some sort. I tried to shoot back a biting reply - did I look like I was fine? -, but it was hard, so hard, to think about anything than the all-encompassing anguish I was feeling.

The stranger seemed to sense that they'd asked a ridiculous question, and I could hear them curse softly as they continued, "Hold on; I'll be right back."

I stayed where I was, unable to move, as my vision grew even darker, and, despite the nagging thought that I ought to stay alert, I started to feel exhausted, and the idea of shutting my eyes for a few minutes seemed rather appealing. After all, it's not like I can do anything else right now, is it? What harm could there be in just… resting a bit...

After a few seconds of silent consideration, I closed my eyes, sighing as I surrendered to the welcome embrace of painless oblivion.

The first thing I became aware of was that I was lying on something considerably softer than grass, which I found odd, considering that I'd just -

Wait. Where am I? I wondered to myself wearily, forcing myself to open my eyes with some reluctance. I was greeted with an unobstructed view of the sky, which was cloudless and just beginning to be stained with hues of pink and orange, indicating that it was now evening and I'd probably been out for a while. I then attempted to sit up carefully, wincing in anticipation as I moved, but, to my surprise, I felt no pain, despite the fact that I'd been pretty badly wounded before I'd passed out. I was greeted by the sight of a makeshift camp of sorts, consisting of a couple of relatively high-quality bedrolls - and I realized I was lying on one of the two, a small campfire that, despite its size, looked quite bright and had clearly been tended to recently, and a few bags left near the bedrolls, one of which I noticed was my own. Looking directly to my left, I saw a few empty, discarded pink-glazed clay containers, and managed to put two and two together on what had happened after I'd evidently passed out.

I was really lucky, it seems, I thought to myself, more than a bit relieved to still be alive, though, as I looked around to try and find the literal 'knight in shining armor' who'd saved me from a less than pleasant fate, I didn't see anyone in the immediate vicinity of the camp. However, I did happen to see an ornate winged helmet made of bright, flawless steel resting by the other bedroll in the small campsite, the immaculate metal glinting blindingly in spots where it caught the sunlight. Clearly, wherever they'd gone, they hadn't gone very far away if they'd left their supplies and helmet behind - not to mention their horse, a beautiful palomino draft with rather high-quality tack, who was currently grazing peacefully nearby the campsite.

"Oh, you're up. That's good."

I turned around immediately, startled, and I found myself staring at the individual who'd most likely just saved my life. He was tall - more than a head taller than I was, anyway - and built like a warrior, judging by the way he held himself and his very muscular physique. He was clad from his neck to his feet in a suit of steel plate armor, with curved, abstract designs etched into the breastplate, boots, and the vambraces, and belted at his side was a one-handed sword of Nordic design, one that was almost more ornate than his armor, as it had a sort of diamond lattice pattern on its bright steel blade and its pommel was curved and sharp-looking at the tip, shaped into the likeness of some sort of bird of prey. His face held all of the severity and discipline of an experienced fighter, which was only amplified by the thick stripe of tyrian war paint that stretched from one side of his face to the other, the line of paint thicker on the right side of his temple and then thinning out as it curved over his eyes and to the left side. Despite his otherwise fearsome appearance, his ice blue eyes had a kind and friendly light to them, and his stance held no signs of aggression. He had a rather thick mane of golden-blond hair, straight in texture and ending just above his shoulders. Strands of it had been braided in the traditional Nordic style, though it otherwise appeared somewhat disheveled.

The stranger seemed to notice that I was staring, and he chuckled, the sound deep and friendly, "I mean you no harm. Especially not after all the trouble I went to with killing those bandits and making sure you didn't keel over."

My face flushed with embarrassment at this, and I responded somewhat awkwardly, "I - oh. Thank you for that. I would've more likely than not been killed horribly by those brutes if you hadn't shown up."

"It would hardly be an honorable thing to leave you at their 'mercy', and it certainly wouldn't have been kind," the man replied, seeming almost surprised that I'd thank him for such a thing. There was a brief pause, but then he spoke up again, seeming interested as he half-asked, half-stated, "I take it you're new to the whole adventuring business? No offense, but you don't have the look of a seasoned traveler to you, and your weapon of choice seems a bit… inadequate," he gestured at the dull old iron blade which lay not too far away from where I'd woken up to further illustrate his point.

"None taken; I've never been outside of High Rock until recently. I'm quite new to this whole traveling thing."

The corner of the man's mouth twitched upwards at my response, and he replied, "It takes guts to travel to a foreign province alone, much less one as wild and dangerous as Skyrim. Though it's somewhat foolish too, if you're inexperienced and don't know what you're getting into."

"I'll admit that leaving home on my own was not one of my better ideas, but I didn't really have much of a choice. I am not going to condemn myself to living out the rest of my life on some sleepy, small farmstead," I shot back defensively, "Besides, I know where I'm headed. I'm not one of those sorts of people who just goes around looking for trouble."

"Could've fooled me," the stranger remarked, though it was clear he was jesting as he continued, "Still, it's dangerous to travel alone, especially with as little fighting experience as you seem to have."

"Are you inviting yourself along?" I asked the man somewhat incredulously, crossing my arms as I spoke.

"If you'd rather not have me along, I respect that; I just thought you might appreciate having someone around who knows Skyrim well, considering I've been traversing her vast territory for far longer than you have, as well as an extra blade on your side should you run into any more trouble on the roads."

I was mollified somewhat by this, though I was still surprised by his offer to help a complete stranger, "But you don't even know my name, much less where I'm headed-"

"Well, that can be remedied," the stranger grinned holding out his arm as if expecting a handshake as he announced, "Helgír the Wanderer, at your service."

"I'm Helvia of the house of Abgrall, at yours as well," I replied somewhat awkwardly, extending my right hand and shaking his, eliciting a confused look from him for a few moments before he suddenly chuckled - clearly, I'd not done what he'd expected me to, but at least he was nice enough not to take my clear lack of knowledge about Nordic customs as an insult.

Shaking his head slightly, Helgír assumed a more serious expression once again, "A pleasure to meet you, miss. Now, if you don't mind me asking, just where is it you're headed?"

Deciding that telling him couldn't hurt, I replied, "Well, I was on my way to Markarth to restock my supplies - and still plan on going there - , but I eventually plan on going to Winterhold with the intention of applying to the College."

"Oh, so you're a mage? That explains your clothing choice," my new acquaintance remarked dryly, continuing with, "I'm headed to Markarth myself, actually. Conveniently enough, those bandits you ran into trouble with were ones I was given the task to exterminate by Jarl Igmund's steward, and I believe I'm due a payment from the man. I'm not sure if I can go the entire way with you to Winterhold, but I can certainly escort you to the capital of The Reach, perhaps even to Whiterun."

"Are you a mercenary, then? Killing things for a living, or something?"

Helgír flinched slightly at the word 'mercenary', and was quick to respond, "Hardly. My loyalty and my sword cannot be bought by just anyone who waves around a bag of coin. I only take jobs from others when I'm low on coin, and only when they concern eliminating criminals or slaying dangerous beasts-"

"So, you're more of a bounty hunter."

"I prefer the term 'adventurer', but I suppose that's close enough," Helgír shrugged, letting the subject drop, "But regarding my previous statement, it's clear we both have the same destination at present. It would only make sense for us to stick together until we get there, at least."

"I suppose I can live with that," I replied jokingly, "If only because you have a horse."

"Well, that settles it," my new traveling companion announced, smiling slightly as he added,"Even if our partnership is based solely on the fact I own a horse."