Chapter IV
The sheer bliss of exiting from the prison passages through the sewers is swiftly overshadowed by the deluge I meet. The skies have opened overhead, washing the land in a cold, relentless rain. Somewhere in the west, lightning sizzles across the sky, accompanied by a building roar that shakes the earth from under my feet. I throw myself forward, clutching a bolder as the ragged sack shoes I adorn skid in the mud. I'm breathless and exhausted, wanting to collapse in the mud but knowing I need to seek shelter.
Several steps down the ridge outside the sewer grate, my exhaustive steps suddenly meet a patch of slick mud. I have very little means to maintain my balance, gravity immediately sweeping me off my feet and throwing me down. I'm unable to fight the force, letting gravity take me until I'm laying face up, squinting into the pouring rain above me.
Groaning, I sway my way back to my feet. My head throbs as I stare up at the sky with contempt. I locate a crown of a naive oak tree, scooting underneath its protection as the storm rages on. My bring my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. I scan the shore before me, watching the lake ripple from the onslaught of raindrops.
My nose burns from the odors of the sewer, the pungent smell permeating every thread of my ragged clothing. I could consider the rainstorm an offering of a bath, but by now the smell is inhabiting the pores of my skin and settled into the fibers of my hair. I have little time, though, to be thankless of my escape route. Out here beats in there.
I remain stationary for a passage of time, willing that the rain will let up and I can embark on some segment of this damned journey, but nature doesn't play nicely to my wishes. Eventually I unfold my legs, muscles still unpleasant but more mobile than before. My first intention is to find a warm bath, and maybe a bed to catch some sleep in. Anything better than the Imperial Prison will do right now.
I travel west around the island, keeping close to the shoreline. My feet skid across wet sand, toes dragging lazily. There's no rush at this point - I'm already soaked and there's very little to be making haste for. Above me, lightning dazzles the sky, but I'm unafraid of the torrential rain. I'd been living out in the wilderness too long to fear nature and her onslaught. By now, I coolly accepted her swift, wavering weather and adapted accordingly.
Once I reach the bridge on the western sector of the Imperial Island, I climb up and skulk across. The weather has kept company indoors, leaving me alone. Thankfully, no one can observe the mess that I am - muddy, bloody and fatigued.
Weye, despite its location at the mouth of the Imperial City, is homely and quiet. The inn here is beyond cheaper than anything within the city walls, and if you didn't mind a slight walk across the bridge, it was the pristine choice for anybody visiting the city. It's been a while since I'd tread around here. With the multitude of Legion members patrolling the close-proximity to the capital, it wasn't especially bandit-friendly.
I walk towards the Inn with eager steps, my mind already toying with the idea of being in a warm, friendly establishment. I stash my weapons under a bush on the side, already twisting my story together to prying minds. There's a moment I take pausing at a mud puddle to wash the blood on my hands and then cup a mass of mud, smearing it across the blood stains on my shirt. I look like hell as it is, but I don't need to raise questions with the blood. There's not much I can do about the cut on my cheek from the goblin, and I do my best to conceal the makeshift medical procedure done on my arm.
A warm wind gusts against me as I stride into the inn, greeted by the strong smell of bread and the calming crackle of a burning fire. Ecstasy pricks at my arms, causing goosebumps of pleasure of being bathed in warmth. I sigh softly, my exhaustion nearly causing me to wilt now that I'm somewhere considerably safe.
At the nearby counter, a charming Altmer stands with her back to me, kneading out dough. She's tall, nothing particular for a High Elf, with brown-blonde hair and simple brown clothing.
"Oh, hello, welcome to the Wawnet Inn," she greets over her shoulder. Her hands wipe flour down the length of her dress. "I'm sorry, I don't normally expect anybody this late."
"I wasn't sure if you'd be open at such an hour," I comment lightly, trying earnestly to express friendliness.
"Ah, I'm a night owl," she replies chirpily. "Besides, we get travelers at all hours. Imperial City and everything."
I smile grimly as she turns around, her brown eyes widening with either amusement or masked disgust at the sight of me.
"My...you've seen better days, haven't you, dear?" The innkeeper muses.
I run my fingers through my damp hair, sighing. I cautiously take a seat at one of the stools, half-expecting the High Elf to shoo me away because of my disheveled and damp appearance. "My bastard husband sold everything and kicked me out," I lie calmly, chewing on my lip. "I've been living on the streets for nearly a month...I'm on my way west to live with family."
The innkeeper's eyebrows furrow, a frown forming across her lips. "You poor thing," she sympathizes. "Let me scrounge up a better outfit for you, dear. Sack clothing is neither comfortable nor functional. And let's get you a warm bath."
"H-how much for that?" I ask nervously.
She smiles softly, eyes dancing in the glow of the fire. "Consider it the special for tonight, free of charge," she insists.
The bath is heavenly, and I almost feel sinful for enjoying it. I scrub the grim, blood and mud from my skin, allowing me to better inspect the array of wounds littering my body. I've taken a beating, as shown by the contusions staining my skin purple and blue. None of the wounds are problematic, save my sewn-together forearm.
Refreshment is diminutive when I rise out of the tub, my body quickly reminding me the toll I'd taken from the previous few days. It's still injured, I have to remind myself, and should be nursed accordingly. But my mind is plentiful with other ideas. All of those that don't include resting and healing.
The innkeeper offers me a pair of leather pants and a white cotton shirt. She finds some fur boots in her left-behind items storage, promising me that they'd been in her possession for far too long for the original owner to consider returning for them. Though, considering my background, that fact alone doesn't concern me. Overall, I'm simply gracious to shed the sack clothing and dispose of it, ceremoniously leaving behind my stint in the Imperial prison.
Sitting at the small desk in this bedroom, I braid my hair in the mirror under candelight. Damp, blonde tendrils hug my stark cheekbones as I attempt to comb the hair out of the way. My face is only slightly better after a warm cleanse. The goblin's scratch is puffy and red. My eyes sunken with lack of proper sleep. I look frail. I could use some sleep.
But I don't sleep that night.
Sickness clings to the walls of my stomach, churning like a boat in a storm. It's of my best judgment to sleep, but my mind does not relent towards that notion. Instead, I toss and turn until my body aches with annoyance. I sling myself up, damning everything as I pack the knapsack I'd charmed the innkeeper into giving me, gently checking on the amulet resting in the bottom.
This jewel is the only thing giving me purpose right now. I would make haste to Weynon Priory under the Emperor's dying command and deliver it to the man, Jauffre.
Downstairs, the innkeeper has slipped off to bed when I make my exit. I wish I could thank her for the hundredth time before embarking, but can't tolerate another minute of stagnancy.
When I emerge outside, the storm has passed.
A gentle breeze flickers across the land, smelling of wet earth and rainfall. Crickets and other night insects chirp from their perches, filling the air with a pleasant, twilight chorus. The sky above is still cloaked in a mass of ashen clouds, and so the path remains dark without the illumination from the stars and moons.
Outside the inn, I gaze across the road at the small farmhouse and its fields. Contained within the field is the silhouette of a dozing chestnut horse. His head dangles low to the ground, ears twitching in his light sleep. I chew my lip thoughtfully as I stare at the creature, glancing up the road with an impatient look. The long walk ahead towards Chorrol could take a full day on foot, time that could be dramatically hashed on horseback.
This horse wasn't mine for the taking.
But you are still a thieving bandit, I chuckle darkly to myself.
I quietly muse whether or not this went against some law implied in my newly-aligned stars of fate. Time is direly precious, I attempt to reason. The gods would understand if I'm simply trying to fulfill their role in a timely manner.
The stallion is sleepy, but curious, as I propel myself over the fence and approach. Warm nostrils flare as I am within touching distance, extending to search through my golden hair before inspecting the pockets of my pants for a treat. I giggle softly, fingers trailing down his smooth, copper-colored coat. He leans pleasantly into my touch, eyelids fluttering as I scratch my fingernails along his neck.
Fingers tighten around the leather of his halter, clucking my tongue and gently tugging him towards the gate across the pasture. There's a brief moment of hesitancy before he steps after me, hooves thudding against the sodden earth as we walk together. In a few steps, he's gingerly following me, tail swishing.
I remain on foot as we travel down the road. My heart thuds against my chest, constantly peering over my shoulder for somebody to catch me in the act of stealing a horse. I wait until we've managed ourselves a ways to where it forks. We halt at a pair of rocks, which I utilize to boost myself onto the stallion's bare back. My fingers intertwine into the horse's mane, using my legs to beckon the horse in my willed directions.
The stallion prances for a second, snorting excitedly under my weight. He probably hasn't carried a soul in a while, judging from his placement in the overrun pasture. But he relaxes after a moment, allowing me to maul over the options at my feet.
Southwest will take me back to the Gold Coast, my last home of operation. I'm sure some traveling bandit has discovered and ransacked my former camp, but a wistful part of me yearns to go seek my belongings. I could sell the amulet for a plentiful price. A vulgar part of me wonders if I could find those bastards that murdered the Emperor and try to sell it to them. Though I reckon they aren't the type to bargain, and would sooner slit my throat than offer me gold.
Northwest heads to Chorrol. To Weynon Priory. To the man, Jauffre, who knows where the Emperor's last son is.
You must help.
I laugh bitterly at the thought.
What about me intrigued the Emperor so?
How does a thieving, murderous bandit like I end up intertwined in the stars of the Septims?
I laugh again, this time more heartily. The stallion jerks his head a bit, nostrils flared. This was all a hallucination. I'd awaken feverish and dying in the prison cell, all this nothing but a vivid dream accompanying death.
But, in the depths of my mind, I know I can't convince myself otherwise. This is reality, and I'm part of a fate greater than myself. And while I can argue with the Gods about the validity of my role, there isn't much time to debate the matter.
Sighing, I rake my fingers through my hair. I can't entertain the thought much longer, tapping my heels into the stallion's sides and heading for Chorrol.