Rain poured off the roofs. It fell in thousands of little waterfalls from shingles towards the streets, where it splashed into the roadside pools below. The night sky was starless, blocked out by heavy clouds that flickered with distant lightning.
Issana huddled deeper into the shadow of a wall. She sat hugging her knees, her soaked dress clinging to her thin frame. Wet brown hair had plastered itself against her face as rain dripped in her eyes and splashed mud over her tattered shoes.
She cast a look down the dark street. Others shivered in the shadows here too, men, women, all without a single Septim to their name. The outcasts. Riften's downtrodden.
She was one of them now, kicked from the orphanage the day she turned sixteen. Issana raised a hand to gingerly touch the bruising Grelod had given her on the cheek. It was nothing new. Issana knew she was lucky to have escaped with such a minor beating. Some of the other kids had tried to stay past their coming-of-ages too, and bruises were considered a blessing.
Being kicked out into the rain wasn't much of a surprise either. It always rained here. People said that Riften rained for half the year, and the other half it was about to.
That didn't make it any more comfortable.
Issana glanced up as footsteps sounded through the mud. There was a man standing a couple of yards away, hood up to keep the rain out of his face. He crouched down and offered her a bottle. "Something to warm you up, girl?"
Issana shivered and glanced at him warily. "What is it?"
It'll make you feel better, trust me."
Issana took it. The bottle was old and scratched and looked like it had been used and reused many times. And something about the man's smile seemed a little bit… unsettling.
"No, thank you," Issana said. She passed the bottle back. "I'll be all right."
"Oh, I insist," said the man. He edged closer. "Just a sip. You'll feel all better."
Issana tossed the bottle back to him. "No."
The man threw it to her once again. "I said, 'drink'." His cloak shifted and she caught sight of a long knife at his belt.
"And I said no." Issana hurled the bottle at his head and sprang away. Her wet dress tangled itself around her legs and she stumbled. The man caught her by the wrist. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to listen to your elders?" He uncorked the bottle and shoved it into her face. "Drink!"
Issana let out a panicked squeak as a huge shadow suddenly loomed over them. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a voice.
The man spun around and a heavy axe shaft caught him under the chin. He fell flat, groaning. A muscular, armoured woman stood over him, axe resting on one shoulder. She planted a foot on the man's chest. "Are you all right?"
Issana nodded.
The man let out a grunt as the woman leaned her weight on him. "No," she said. "You and I have a meeting with the guards."
The woman stooped to pick up the bottle and gave it a sniff. "Skooma. You're lucky you didn't drink it."
Issana could only nod dumbly.
The woman let her axe slide into a loop on her back before reaching down to grab the stunned man by his cloak.
With a snarl he lunged. Steel flashed but clanged off the woman's iron plates. The woman dealt him an iron-clad punch and knocked him flat again. She kicked the knife away and struck him one more time, shaking blood from the man's lip off her gauntlet. She glanced down at Issana as she heaved the man upright. "Take care of yourself."
Issana picked up the knife from where it had fallen. "Thank you."
The woman nodded and began to walk away, dragging her hapless prisoner behind her.
"Wait," Issana called after her. "Who are you?"
The woman turned and smiled. "Mjoll." She gave the struggling man a kick and dragged him off into the rain-soaked night.