Irina sat rigid in her seat. Her hands were stark white as they tightly gripped the long black staff in front of her.

"This is how I'll talk to you?"

"Why so depressed? I swear I'm not a bore." Sheogorath replied.

"Your company is… interesting. However, this is really inefficient, Don't you think so?"

Sheogorath shrugged. "I can't say, cause I didn't invent it. It was Mora, and no one, and by Nirn's however many moons, do I mean no one can convince Mora he's done something wrong, that is unless you want to argue with Mora and not a single being in all of Nirn wants to argue with Mora, because talks Mora at the same speed Sanguine's brain functions, very slowly. That and he likes throwing people in tar when he's pissed."

Irina ignored the Prince's tangit, letting out a small huff of air in acknowledgement. She pointed at a hollow chamber, just above the grip of the staff. "So I just plop a soul gem in here and it works?"

"Mhm" Sheogorath hummed.

"Twice?"

"Yep."

"Per black soul gem?"

"I told you, I didn't make the damn thing."

"I know," Irina replied. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around how this is supposed to work."

"By putting a black soul gem in it."

"Does Hermaues Mora know how hard it is to get a black soul gem? And it's supposed to be filled with what?"

"Grand soul. Of course you could try to use common. If you like using a giant's stomach worth of soul gems that is."

Irina was on the verge of tears.

She sat on her chair with her head in her hands. Dejectedly, she asked "There's no getting out of this now, is there?"

"Nope." Sheogorath said. She took a look at the Bosmer, then a look at the staff and sighed. "We were going to leave tomorrow morning at dawn, but because I can see that you are utterly unprepared for this, I'll graciously give you another two days. On the fifth of Hearthfire is when we'll depart." She walked towards the door and closed her hand on the handle. "Until then, please, don't die."

Irina waved her off. "Will try."

And so, just as quickly as Lord sheogorath came, she had departed. The frost, however, stuck to the walls and floor.

If Irina were to put feelings into actions, then the whole manor would look like the aftermath of Helgen.

But in Irina's world and in the world of all good adventurers, you couldn't start strangling stuff until you had no other good option. Otherwise you'd end up cosied up next to Sheogorath. And plus, Proudspire was expensive to upkeep.

It was best to see the positive in things and there was much positive to be had in this situation. There was the deal and there was the extension. Two good and one huge bad do equal out quite evenly. It was manageable that was all that mattered. So while half of Irina wanted to punch a crater into the Druadach Mountains, the other side was in preparation mode.

And if there was something Irina was absolutely sure she was good at, it would be preparation.

So now, as she sat at her table staring at the long black staff on top of it, she gently sucked on her tongue trying to come up with an idea of where she should start.

The real difficulty here wasn't who she had to retrieve but knowing where she was going. Hot or cold? Humid or dry? Desolate or brimming with life? Those questions that were essential for her survival and yet she didn't know the answer to any of them.

Irina hoisted up her skirts to her knees as she stood tip-toe on a stool. She rummaged through her cabinets, her brain set on finding long lasting foods such as bread or cheese.

This was the first thing she had on her to-do looked, looked some more in the chest of the kitchen, looked even more in the living area and yet all she had to show for it was two measly scraps of bread. She flipped one over, the one she had found on a shelf in the living room, and saw that square in the middle a sickly green mass was beginning to form.

Nevermind, she had only one measly piece of bread.

Irina grabbed a scrap of paper and quickly scribbled down what she needed. The knapsack could only hold so much, and she needed much more than food. Potions, arrows, a blanket, and writing material (as to take notes) all had to be accounted for. So, she opted to only get 4 pieces of bread and cheese each, and, if she could, one slab of deer.

Grabbing a wicker basket, out the door and down the steps of the large, vine covered manor Irina called home, is where she began her walk. It was sunny out, with only a small nip in the air carried over from the frosted mountain tops of Skyrim. Her booted feet fell into a nice rhythm against the stone pavement that led from the shrouded garden district to the marketplace near the front.

Her mind was encapsulated in the worries of her upcoming journey. Fear and anticipation fought fiercely in her head. Barley, she noticed the way her hand shook around the basket. She took a breath to push herself into calmness which worked. But it took only another thought about the upcoming journey to make her legs feel light.

She shook her head and bade herself to mind other things. Her ears perked up and her eyes looked around as nonchalant as she could muster.

It was active out in Solitude. A group of kids raced past her in a high stakes game of tag, arms flailing out. Laughing and high pitched squeals as one of the boys fell face first into the grass. He quickly brushed himself off and continued the hunt for the other children.

As for the older, there was much small chatter, mainly concerning the civil war. The world-eater may have been defeated— or not as she was told— but life was still chaos with no named High King and the Thalmor still about.

It seemed as though Tulius and Ulfric were slowly progressing out of the temporary peace treaty that was upheld at High Hrothgar. Fighting had broken out just at the northernmost border between Falkreath and Riften.

"Life moves at an arrow's pace." She remembered Pholeri had once said that to her while they were hunting in the woods. She took a glance at the gossiping nobles, stopping for a single moment.

They stood still against rustling leaves. Fancy clothes and bright jewels free of woe and worry. The civil war was just to be a small cloud in the sky that was their lives. They'd get married, make contracts and deals, host fancy dinner parties. They'd get a painting or two of their whole family. Or perhaps for those who prefer a bachelor's life they'd get a portrait. Risque, maybe? Or they could be the reserved type who follow Stendarr's every lesson.

And what of her life? What of her portrait? What of the dragonborn who has had destiny written for her? Will she get to stand still amongst rustling leaves?

Yff're, Sheogorath, Auri-el, Kyne, Stendarr, Hermaus Mora, and all the other Aedra and Daedra that spindle red string around her arms and legs. What about her? What of their chosen ones? Did Martin Septim look on with envy at the simple lives of the citizens of Cyrodiil? Did the amulet ever tremble in the Champion's hand? Did the Nerevar ever yell at Vivec or Almalexia or Sotha-Sil to solve their own damn problems?

A chill enveloped her. Not of magic or the weather, but rather a cold that comes with the weighty burden of one's soul. She closed her eyes to see the red ones that had bore into her very being on that day that seemed years ago. Sweat dripped from her temple, down her cheek, to plop on the executioner's block. In that moment, surely the stars became just a tiny bit brighter as the sun began to burn her already rashed skin

In that moment her mortality became clear, but it so did awaken something else. Like a parasite it grew to take her throat and her hands and her feet, as she shambled from one desolate ruin to another always in search of something, something that the eight decreed for her to find. Or was it Nocturnal? Or Clavicus Vile, but Azura can't be forgotten. Neither shall Meridia and Hircine.

Or Hermaus Mora, Malacath, Sanguine, or Sheogorath. All of them had their own little holds on her soul. Every single one.

Nothing she wanted, but they certainly did.

There was laughter now. She looked up to see the group quietly giggling over a joke, she assumed, the old Dunmer had said.

A picture came to her mind. One where she stood tall in the circle, adorned with her own fancy clothes, laughing and chatting and living it up with the high socialites of Skyrim's society. There'd be a hell of a lot of spiced wine, even though she had no fancy for it. Dancing, and lovers, and trade that she had no clue about. All of that would be, no, it was there.

She stood still on the path. Faintly, she could hear a guard's laughter amongst the soft whistle of the wind.

"Was a place in history truly worth one's identity?"

Her hand gripped her basket just a smidgen tighter.

"For some, I guess." She mumbled aloud. A noble woman, a Breton lady, looked over at her. She gave her a crumpled thing of a smile and continued on her way.

The market place was as it always was— crowded, but was even worse from the civil war. She squeezed past much taller races of Tamriel (although to the Bosmer everyone was a much taller race) in an attempt to weasle her way into the general good store to search and (hopefully) find an extra black soul gem. Her food was stored carefully in her basket under a small sheet of cloth.

As she walked in, the creak of the creak of the door signaled her arrival. The shopkeeper, a young Redgaurd woman by the name of Samaya, gave her typical well-mannered smile all shopkeepers do when a customer enters their store. All excluding the Altmer sisters at the Radiant Raiment of course.

"Irina, good to see you," said Samaya. She didn't pay much mind to the Bosmer as her hand was intently rubbing at a small spot on the counter. She did spare a second to peer at the attire of the elf. "Starting off on another dashing trip I see."

"Did the basket give me away?" Irina replied. She took her time walking through the store, happy to be separate from the raging crowd outside. A small sparkle caught her eye and she dashed over to the box in the corner to pick it up. Walked up to the counter and held it up so Samaya could see. The Redgaurd shook her head.

"Empty."

Irina let out a sigh of exasperation and put it back. "Does no one sell these damn things full?"

"I don't know what to tell you. All that comes through here is scraps," said Samaya. "You could try the court wizard."

"Don't tell her I said this, but everyone in the damn hold knows how she jacks up her prices. I'd sooner barter with Clavicus Vile than buy from her."

"Then you're outta luck." She put down the towel and leaned against the counter. Her eyes studied the Mer who was now fiddling with a small dwemer dagger. Curiosity glinted in those old eyes. "Tell me though, what's got you so cramped up on time?"

Irina put her finger on it's tip, pressing not too hard to leave a wound, but just hard enough to leave a small pinprick of red on the pad of her fingertip."Loved to say, but I'm sworn to secrecy. You know mercenary business isn't exactly one of those chatting jobs."

"If Lord Firebeard can come to this place and bitch about Jarl Elisif, then there has to be something you can say."

"Unlike the jarl, my gal isn't exactly all blasé about the stuff that goes on under her. She's bad reputation for taking tongues. Literally." She gave the woman across the counter a meaningful look.

"All right, fine." Sayma said. A small sigh escaped her lungs. "Keep your lips tight. Just come back alive, okay? Hate to admit it, but you've got deep pockets."

"Well, I can't come back dead can I?" Irina said as she walked towards the door.

Sayma gave a laugh. "Good to know no matter what, you're still a smartass." she said. Her eyebrows shot up. A memory had popped into her head. She shouted after the elf. "Oh! And that Altmer girl is looking for you. "

Her feet stopped. She turned around, confusion had laced her expression. "Edelweiss?"

"Can't mistake her for anybody else."

"I thought she was still dealing with the college up in the east?"

"Considering she was just haggling with me for that blade on the wall just a couple hours ago, I'd say she's on vacation."

Irina clicked her tongue. Elle being in town so soon put a knife in her plans."You got any idea where she could be now?"

"Well, Endarie came in on her break about ten minutes prior on a heated rant about how just because two elves are Altmer doesn't mean they are automatically required to give eachother free beds and food."

"That means she's at the tavern," Irina mumbled, more to herself than to Sayma. Knowing Elle, she would take the day catching up with the rats in the street and then sneak over to hers tomorrow. I've got time, Irina thought.

"Just last month you were shaking in your boots worrying about the girl." she quirked a brow. "Had a fight over them letters I take it?"

Irina shook her head. "Nah, nothing like that." She grabbed the door handle and shouted. "If she comes back around here, tell her I'm taking care of business at the palace okay?"

"Now, Irina, this was on the house cause you helped me those rats. If you want me to relay some information however-"

She hadn't even finished her sentence before twenty bright gold septims were laid bare on the counter in front of her. A smile came to her lips, as she locked eyes with Irina who held the dwarven dagger in her hand. "I'll be buying this to compensate you."

She slid the coins over into her lockbox."Pleasure doing business."

"Same to you."

It was noon by the time she got back to Proudspire. She dropped her basket off on the table and stretched out her limbs, all the excitement of the day was finally catching up to her. There was still something to be done, however, before Irina could sleep for the night, and that had to do with how she would carry all her belongings.

She whisked down stairs into the cellar where she stored all the knicknacks that she picked up in the dungeon as well as all the adventuring gear she collected, both new and old. Her load would be light as she didn't want to be bogged down. The last time she was, she had nearly become a croquet ball for a pisse giant. It was a hard lesson. She still has the bruise.

Her adventuring gear sat on a shelf. Irina took it down and observed each item closely. The mitts were still good, if not a little worn, and the sash was still holding up quite well, even still had that new leather scent to it. Finally she took down the knapsack. It looked alright in the front. She flipped it over to look at the stitching on the bottom and—

"Yffre's roots," she muttered. "Just what I fucking needed."

The bottom had certainly seen better days. The stitching was coming apart and the leather was peeling in huge chunks. Irina huffed. That's what she got for dropping it in that damn lake.

She sighed and put the thing back. It was night. Not a single shop was open unless that shop happened to be by the docks. And wasn't exactly of legal nature— neither would said shop have what she needed.

She sat on the floor solemnly, clicking her tongue all the while. She could just go ahead and head off to bed and swing around the Blacksmith in the early hours of morning. However, she knew Edelweiss. The early hours of morning would be prime time for her to come by, and by the eight a lone Elle inside of her manor with very private things of hers in a nightmare only Vaermina could conjure up in the cold waters of Oblivion. And it was hard to keep things from Edelweiss when Edelweiss had the inspection skills of a goddamn hound.

Irina perked up a bit. Edelweiss, she thought. She clicked her tongue and pushed herself off the floor and began to trek upstairs. She opened the door to her bedroom, a very specific object in mind. She threw open the wardrobe doors and began rummaging inside. Scarves, clothes, amulets, and blankets flew through the air onto a heaping pile on the floor. Irina didn't pay any attention as she kept on digging.

A small hiss of air escaped from between her teeth when she finally reached the end of the wardrobe. Her rough hands patted the bottom, making sure she had gotten everything. Nothing to be found. She got up and made her way to the dresser.

More clothes, trinkets, and jewels came out and joined the pile on the floor. Another small hiss followed by a curse seeped from her mouth as she lifted herself from the dresser, empty handed.

She swept through her room like a whirlwind leaving a new mess behind wherever she went. Clothes were flung onto the door knob, some gold necklaces caught onto the small knobs that stuck out from the headboard on her bed, others caught onto the chandelier. Linen shirts and scarves fluttered elegantly onto the bed. And standing right in the center of all this was Irina, still having not found what she was looking for and still very fixated on it.

"Where in Zenithar's name is it? " She muttered. She searched in piles of clothes. Nothing. She searched under her bed. Nothing. She searched on her bed. Nothing.

And then, out of the side of her eye, she saw it. Sitting in the far off right corner of the room, just next to the window, was a chest. Dust caked the sides and the top. Little spiders scurried along the worn out metal ridges that were nailed onto its spine. Its sides were scratched and torn.

Irina walked over and kneeled down. Her thumbs ran over the lid leaving a small clean trail in the sea of dust.

The chest held a lot of memories for her, literally and metaphorically. She had bought it in Whiterun so she could move her keepsakes over to her manor in Solitude more easily. Back then it was good as new but, of course, the carriage driver hit the wrong bump and the chest, and she herself ended up being thrown into the river.

Irina gave a smile. It wasn't fun plodding a mile, and having to lug up twenty pounds onto the main road. And it damn sure wasn't funny, even though she saw the carriage driver silently dying of laughter in the front.

She opened the chest slowly, and as soon as she did she was hit with the overwhelming, and comforting scent of old leather and stale bark. Scents of home.

She put her hand in as carefully as she could, though she shook with nostalgia. Her childhood was here. An old bone slingshot she was gifted by Mrs. Elmpool for her tenth birthday. A tattered journal with browning paper and rotting leather she had bought when she was thirteen so she could practice writing in the old Aldmeri. Old dresses with holes and carefully stitched patterns on the sleeves and collars Elle's mother had painstakingly made for her during her sewing classes. Each item was carefully taken out and laid on the ground.

And finally, a backpack.

Her face reddened with a fine heat, as she took it out and laid it on her lap. There was not a scratch on it's reddish brown surface. The only signs of age it showed were the slightly fringed stitches on the sides.

Fingertips ghosted over the leather straps. She softly brushed the metal fastenings that held them to the sack, afraid that handling them too harshly would taint the silver. She sucked in through her nose and quickly wiped her eyes. With brows crinkled in concentration, she opened it.

Her face was really getting hot now. She tightly pressed her lips together. A deep bite on the inside of her mouth was all that was keeping her tears at bay.

This was the last gift she had received before she left Valenwood. From the clean canvas cloth layered on the side, there was a mixture of every smell locked away in that chest. Bark, leather, musty rose perfume, and most of all-

"Fuck," Irina muttered. Finally, the tears came out. Curling into a ball, she clutched the bag desperately.

The faintest, and yet most memorable smell of them all was the scent of sweet rolls and grass. It brought Irina back to the past full of warm sunlight, and walking trees.

Back to when she could barely climb a tree limb without tipping over. Hands would grab her before she could connect with the ground. They were weak, they couldn't do much. Laughter and a tightness enveloped her. Whispers of love flitted out of a small mouth like ashes and embers spinning in the wind.

Embers burned hot. They landed and sparked in the grass. The sky turned to wine. The moons watched with hateful eyes. White irises full of red loathing and heated mockery watched them run and fiddled. They gazed at small heads, running round and round in wild circles. They laughed at-

Irina slapped herself hard. Her eyes were wide, filled with an unfocused confusion. Her chest heaved and her lungs felt squeezed

One deep breath and another deep breath, just as Elle said.

Suddenly she was back at home, the bag had been thrown across the room. It layed dejectedly on the floor.

Hesitantly, she reached into it and pulled out a piece of parchment. It was small, and the words on it were not flattery but to Irina, they were the best she had ever read. It was home. This was home.

She placed the sheet of paper, as well as old the other keepsakes back into the chest, leaving out only the knapsack. She stared at it as though it would drift away. She'd gotten it when she was fourteen— a coming of age gift.

"Good fortune, mil ge," she heard her voice, Pholeri's voice, whisper in her ear. Her way of hugging was tight. As though she was afraid Irina would fade. "To another year."

"To another year," Irina said. The manor was silent.