Dahleena

"I am so late," Dahleena despaired to herself in a whisper as she ran, cursing her complete lack of a single organised fibre in her body, all whilst her mouth kept cracking into a sheepish bemused grin as the fact that this occasion of tardiness was so common it was the new norm tickled her. No doubt Inge Six Fingers would be furious and she would swear that during that very afternoon she'd ensure that Dahleena was banned from the college, as she did every morning Dahleena was late. Never once had the old hag carried out her threats however, so Dahleena's previous terror and panic at being late had dissolved into something that bordered on amused arrogance.

Still, she was humble enough to berate herself mentally and to mutter about how she really ought to know better by now as she hurried up the steps to the college front door, taking them two at a time. A resentful, bitter part of her was also feeling rather snide about the fact that she was supposed to get up at four am just to attend these blasted classes, but she knew better than to ever make that part known to those who were foolish enough to still take her on as their student.

She was the worst bard in the history of bards, or so Inge Six Fingers claimed, and if anyone was old enough to know it was that haggardly ancient cow. As her lute master, Inge had the least patience for her, since Dahleena's talent for the instrument was as non-existent as her time management skills. It wasn't that she didn't try; she really did, with a valiant sort of desperation that quickly turned to frustration, both on her behalf and her teacher's. Whilst as a Khaj'iit she was supposed to have the elegance and physical agility of a graceful hunting cat, when she handled a lute her fingers became clumsy and her ability to focus went out the window.

To her however, being a Bard was her calling. She enjoyed nothing more than singing, just bawling out a tune to the world, a sensation so freeing she would have done it anyway even if she had never set foot in the college. The lifestyle appealed to her too, only having to sing to earn coin, getting to lounge around and drink with customers when they showered you with free rounds as a sign of approval. Smiling a big fat sleepy cat smile to herself, she swanned in like a princess floating on a cloud into the Bards College's foyer and dreamt of a lifestyle of relaxing, drinking and singing.

"I see the worst Bard in the world is late again," commented a dry, female voice from behind her. Cringing slightly at being caught in such a state of foolishness when she was so very late, Dahleena tried to look apologetic as she turned to address whoever had spoken to her. She immediately dropped her guilty expression in favour of a grin however when she spotted who it was.

"Bell!" She greeted the woman with a warm smile, her tail flicking in delight as she bound over to stand before her, her awkwardness vanishing immediately.

Leant in the doorway was Abelle Sette, a Breton cook who worked in the college who was but a few years Dahleena's senior and with whom she shared a room at The Winking Skeever. Whilst she had a very dry cynicism in her tone and outlook on life, Abelle possessed a soft, kind face, her blonde hair course and pale, woven into one thick plait that rested just below her neck on her back, her eyes small, watery and blue. She was not pretty, but she had a certain quality to her appearance that made you automatically feel attached to her somehow, and Dahleena knew from experience that she was indeed someone who was easy to get on with, good-humoured and intelligent, although she was neither aggressive nor conceited about it.

"I woke you over an hour ago Leena," Abelle Sette reminded her tersely, clearly scolding her with her narrowed eyes and the set line of her mouth, "how can you be here so late? I arrived over thirty minutes ago."

"I got distracted," Dahleena confessed sheepishly, avoiding Abelle's gaze as it cut into her, "I went down for food and this man brought me a drink and we started talking about-" She did not get to finish as she was cut off with a sigh and a glare.

"Again Leena?"

Bristling defensively, Dahleena just pulled a face at her best friend and then started backing away from her. "I've got classes so…"

"Yeah, I know, enjoy Inge's morning rant; I swear, one of these days you're going to give her a heart attack."

"If the Gods be good!"

Turning, Dahleena broke into a sprint, really just to hastily get away from Abelle's critical gaze of disapproval, so she hurried along to the downstairs library, pausing outside the door as she took a deep breath and then rapped her knuckles against the wood of the door. Pushing it open, none of the other four students gathered there that day even bothered to turn around to look at her this time, far too used to this to find it a novelty. Inge still seemed to get a good kick out shouting at her for it all though.

"Dahleena, I see you decided to join us finally," Inge -an elderly crone of a woman who dressed plainly in pale farmers clothes, who constantly looked aggressive- cooed with a nasty bite in her tone as her shrewd eyes scrutinised her worst student, "come, sit with us, if you would be so kind as to honour us with your presence. If we have woken you up too early, perhaps you would care to choose a nice desk and have a little nap, hmm?" Dahleena winced at that one- yesterday she'd accidentally fallen asleep at her desk, having spent the previous night dancing and singing on table tops after having a few two many rounds of ale.

Knowing better than to apologise by now, Dahleena simply bowed her head in solemn respect and hurried forward to take a seat, keeping her distance from the other students who all regarded her with at least a degree of contempt, some more than others. For a moment she let herself believe she had escaped unscathed, slumping her head against her hand so that she might daydream, but when she raised her eyes from her lap she saw that Inge had stalked around to stand before her desk, her hands on her hips, her body taut. She had assumed the battle position, and thus the shouting triad began.

Dahleena struggled through the day as she always did, fighting the current but not quite drowning. The college at least recognised that she had a good voice, but she'd no ear for trained music and thus either always sang in a different key, or to a different tune entirely as to that which they wanted her to sing in. The only class she truly enjoyed was her two pm history class with Giraud Gemane, who to her seemed an excellent teacher for he brought a musical lightness –pardon the pun- to the studying of that which had passed and he made it enjoyable, giving his teachings an easy energy that successfully swept Dahleena up. He was also the only teacher in the college who didn't refer to her as "the worst bard in history".

Eventually, after a long day of once again being reminded that she was so very ill suited to her dream occupation, six pm came around and she was released back into the world of possibility, opportunity and unexplored wonders. Bounding out ahead of everyone else, she left the stress of being the worst bard ever behind and half skipped her way back to The Winking Skeever, where Abelle Sette would already have returned, her shift over earlier than Dahleena's classes.

In the hall of the Inn, Dahleena was well known and well liked. Despite being a Khaj'iit, she did not suffer the usual racism of men and mer folk, for she was an Ohmes in her "breed" -as the men of Skyrim had coined the term- for she had been born under a new moon and thus it was so. Her sub-species were often said to be easily mistaken for the Bosmer, but she loved and cherished her differences. Her less beast-like appearance did however mean that men and mer folk treated her with less caution, something that her reputation helped lubricate greatly.

Uraak, a Nord traveller who had seen many places and could tell great tales of the most exotic lands, people and cultures imaginable who had been residing in the Inn for over a month now called out to her when she entered. She knew she really ought to be going up to change into something more presentable for her job, relations with her customers should really be more highly valued, or so she thought. It was by some miracle that the tavern owners at her own home had given her the job of the Bard without her being fully qualified or capable on the Lute. She had proven popular though, thus she had stayed on.

Uraak was a huge man, with arms bound in bulging muscles, brown plaited hair and a bearded jaw that was well kept. He smiled a lot and loved nothing more than talking, except maybe drinking. He was Dahleena's favourite client at the Inn, thus she practically ran over to him and dove onto the seat on the bench beside him, her tail twitching in approval when he cheered and threw a massive arm around her, hugging her close into him. "Dahleena my girl, we were just talking of you and your people," He told her through bleary eyes and a dreamy grin.

Souring slightly, Dahleena drew back and looked at him. "My people? I was not under the impression that you had visited Elsweyr," she pointed out, naturally cautious around the subject of her race, for whilst she might be an Ohmes, she still knew all too much of the cruelty of others who viewed different as inferior, or worse, dangerous. Of course, her reservations had been unnecessary, for whilst he was as huge as a boulder and could easily crush a normal man as if he were nothing more than a twig, Uraak had the heart of a gentle child and he saw nothing but wonder and hope in the world. Racism did not make sense to him, he was both too naïve and too smart for it.

"No sweet Dahleena, I have not, but this fine gentleman here has hailed from the place and as such he has been telling us that which you had yet to reveal," Uraak explained, gesturing to a man Dahleena had not yet noticed who sat diagonally across from the pair of them.

Like her, he was a Khaj'iit, but unlike most Khaj'iit he did not wear a Budi. Most strangely in fact he had adorned over him the robes of a mage, fine ones at that, constructed from a silky silver material with delicate white lacing on the sleeves and around the edges of the hood. As Khaj'iit were notorious for being underachievers in the use of magic, to see a Kahj'iit in mage robes was something of a novelty.

Underneath the slight shadow cast by the hood, the face was that of perhaps an Suthay –a sub-species of Khaj'iit who were the same in height and build to common men, but were distinctly feline in their appearance, with snouts and fur encompassing their entire body, the most common race of Khaj'iit out here in Skyrim- with slender amber eyes, a strong facial structure and beautiful honey-brown fur with lighter, ashen stripes worked into it, the occasional markings of darker, earthy browns running through it too. Like all Khaj'iit men that Dahleena had ever known, he had a look about him that said he knew too much and said too little, a dancing, whimsical smile on his face and his eyes eager, drinking her appearance in.

Once again, Uraak gestured to him with his hand, raising it slightly more now as if he were going to clap the Khaj'iit on the back, and then thought better of it. "This here is Soy. I smelt him out as a kindred spirit the moment I laid eyes on him; he's a traveller, like me, and an excellent story-teller, although I'd like to think I have him beat in that." Uraak chuckled to himself whilst Dahleena and this Soy remained with their eyes locked, regarding one another and sizing each other up, as was the way with cats, even ones as dippy as Dahleena.

"Dahleena here is our resident Bard, although she's better known for being able to out-drink any man or mer here," Uraak declared heartily as way of introducing her, and after that Dahleena could no longer meet Soy's eyes, so she instead frowned at the man with the arm around her.

"You play a rather large role in that," she reminded him curtly, although she could not do so without humour. Before her she heard Soy chuckle darkly under his breath, whilst Uraak just laughed good-naturedly.

"Buying drinks for a lady is one of the pleasures I indulge in now that my travels have afforded me the coin to do so; I am lucky to have found one who drinks so well."

Uraak made a few more slightly embarrassing comments about her habits whilst drunk to the stranger, who smiled politely through all of them and made no jibe at her thankfully, before she excused herself so she could go and greet Abelle and change. It did not escape her notice that Soy's eyes followed her very closely everywhere she went, and not in the way a man's eyes followed her when they were interested in buying her drinks; this one did not watch the way she walked, rather where she walked. It was unnerving.

Abelle was up in their room sowing, mending clothes, a great talent of hers, which meant that she often tacked up Dahleena's too. Once, Dahleena had always tried to do her own, but Abelle had been so appalled by the outcome of her efforts that by now she'd given up trying to please the Breton and instead tried to make up for the trouble she went to for her through being amiable and keeping her spirits up. Since Abelle hadn't become bitter and resentful towards her yet, she believed she was doing a fairly good job, even if Abelle did get in moods with her about her drinking and punctuality.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries about work and school whilst Dahleena stripped off her plain and standard college uniform, dumping it on a chair before picking her up more brightly coloured Budi and working that over her chest. "Promise me you'll be up before midnight tonight will you Leena? I get awfully worried about you being drunk with all those men, who clearly are buying those drinks for reasons other than your singing," Abelle begged of her as she slipped into her clothes, buckling up the straps and smoothing the cloth down over her torso.

"You know if they dared pull anything I'd give them a clawing and what for," Dahleena assured her as she plucked her little circlet of nightshade strung together from her bed and arranged it over her head.

"And they have swords and fists; I've seen the Nord you dance with Leena, he's about thrice the size of you!"

"I'll be fine Bell, I promise you I'll be sensible tonight, no bawdy tunes or tabletop dancing for me. I shall become a reformed woman." They both knew it would never happen.

Checking herself in the mirror, Dahleena scrutinised her appearance, for it was what most often won her the free drinks, since she spent much more time drinking than she did singing. She was of spotted fur, her fur light like the colour of dried grass with creamy ringlets worked into it, her body caught somewhere between that of a woman and a cat. She had a proud sort of face with big, heavily framed yellow eyes, distinctive tattoos printed in rich, dark colours across her face and chest and her tail had dark ringlets on its end. She matched the summery green cloth she had adorned well and with a satisfied smile she nodded at her appearance and then bid Abelle goodnight.

Upon exiting the room, she found herself bumping into someone. Startled, she stumbled back and apologised through a laugh, smiling easily until she looked up and it froze. Soy was stood there, looking back at her, that sly smirk still on his face. "Dahleena," he spoke her name as though it were a word of such meaning, emphasising it with his voice, which in turn was thickly accented and rich, warm in tone but also lilted, dangerous, "may I speak with you?"

Seeing no other choice without being incredibly rude to this man whom she had perhaps simply misjudged, Dahleena forced herself to smile and then agreed, following him as he turned into a room two doors down. When she was in, he suddenly took her hands in his –which were more paw like, so he simply encased hers and pressed them together between his- and stood very close to her, looking her in her eyes with an enthusiastic searching quality. "Dahleena, I have important news for you, but you may wish to be sitting for when I deliver it," he informed her, sounding a little breathless, like an excited schoolboy.

"I shall stand, thank you," she declined when he had gestured for her to take a seat on his bed. She could not help distrusting this man, however young and excited he seemed.

Seemingly unaffected by her rejection, the stranger remained just as wide-eyed and energetic as before, although it seemed unfair to compare him to a child. He remained self-contained and reserved, as all Khaj'iit often do, and always there was that secretive smile on his face. "As you are a Bard, and will have sung many songs on the subject, I will not patronise you with the history of the term, but Dahleena, I travelled here to inform you that you are the Dragonborn."

At first Dahleena waited patiently for him to snicker at his own joke, but when he kept up his look of earnest interest she snorted, approving of his ability to stay with the trick. "Hilarious, now is there actually something you wished to discuss with me, or may I return to earning my keep?" She inquired crisply, noting the smell of this cat on inhalation; it was a rather over-powering scent, the dryness of the desert and the moist sickliness of some kind of flower all mixed into one, whilst something breezy and fresh, almost like mint kept it from making her feel entirely faint. This man was truly bizarre; it was just in a strange, subtle way.

Shaking his head, laughing along with her, Soy kept a hold of her hands and squeezed them tighter. "I did not expect your immediate belief, although it would make things much simpler, but no matter. Times shall change, as they have already begun to; no doubt you will have heard tales of Dragons rising from the dead and of a darkness setting into the land. It is only in the time of enemies and tyrants that heroes and revolutionaries can rise up, and so you shall come to know your power as it is called for," Soy told her factually, as if this were unquestionable and taken for granted.

"Soy, I know that Uraak is a great purchaser of alcohol; he is our greatest patron. Allow me to escort you back to that which you have clearly drunk enough of already," Dahleena offered in a drawl, moved to place a hand on Soy's back so as to escort him out, but he slipped her grasp and moved backwards, smiling wider now.

"You are still sleeping Dragonborn. When you have awoken, and wish to learn the secrets of your being and your destiny, come and find me in the Hall of the Dead, where I shall be honoured to become your guide," he instructed, his voice so sincere and gentle that for the briefest of moments Dahleena wanted to believe his words, to get lulled into his madness along with him, and then she bid her mind free of such nonsense and shook her head.

"I'll bare that in mind," she muttered sullenly, ashamed of herself for even considering the madness as she went to the door and opened it. A hand caught her wrist as she made to leave.

"Keep safe Dahleena; dark times are upon us," Soy wished for her, once again sounding as though he meant it with every fraction of his existence. Just like before, it made Dahleena hesitate, drawn in by whatever mysterious intensity clung to this man before she hurried from the room, berating herself for being so foolish as to listen to the man, all the whilst feeling rather ashamed at just how shaken he had managed to make her.