Chapter one of the Professionally Unethical arc | Chapter twenty-six
Turdas, 21 Last Seed, 4E 201. Afternoon
I enter the city of Whiterun to find it overrun with rumors – about me, naturally, and the dragon and what happened after the battle.
After being accosted by no less than five guards within thirty feet of the gate – ignoring all the guards and civilians outside the city walls – my nerves are frayed and I slip into the Hall of the Dead to escape them, at least for the moment. The reputation of the Hall, as well as the overwhelming odor of death and embalming fluid, should keep away all the people wishing to speak to me.
There's a priest sitting on one of the two benches just inside the door, and he rises to greet me. We exchange names – his is Andurs – and fall back into silence because, other than a place to hide, I have no reason for being here.
The priest eyes me, noting my armor and weapon. "How can I help you?" he asks to break the silence. I flounder for something to say, and finally an idea pops into my head.
"You wouldn't happen to have a cowl I could borrow, would you?" I ask only a little desperately. Andurs smiles at me, amused, and says he does. He disappears into an adjacent room, and returns a few minutes later with a handful of dark cloth.
"Hiding from someone?" he muses as I put on the cowl and tuck my hair into its shadows.
"Only all of Whiterun," I mumble, and sigh when Andurs looks alarmed. "I'm not a criminal," I reassure him, "I'm just... popular right now."
If realization had a physical sound, I would have heard it the second Andurs' eyes widen. "I see. So you're the one everyone's speaking about."
I grimace, and Andurs chuckles at me. Deciding that I don't want to know what he thinks of the rumors, I give him my thanks for the cowl, and duck back out of the Hall. No one stops me as I head up to Dragonsreach, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Now I just need to survive the meeting with the Jarl.
Hello, yes, I'm still alive and this is still ongoing. Sorry about the wait.