"the dragonborn comes"

[preyed]

It had been less than two weeks since the defeat of Alduin at the hands of the Dragonborn. Rumors of her victory spread far and wide, from the far ends of Skyrim and further into Cyrodiil and Morrowind. There were people coming to her door at all hours, offering her blessings and flowers, gifts of coin. There were warriors who wished to pledge their allegiance to her for the great victory she had brought them. They begged and kowtowed, calling her another savior from Akatosh, the likes that had not been seen since Martin Septim himself.

It was a disgusting display of penitence. She found herself lucky that there were many cities in Skyrim that did not recognize her face or title, people who were willing to think of her merely as an adventurer and nothing else. But as word traveled, so too did her anonymity vanish. It was becoming tiresome.

She abandoned the cottage in Whiterun and her larger home in Riften, allowing the two housecarls there to see to its safety. One house remained hers, a side project that no one knew about, and she would keep it that way. She'd had enough of this 'savior' business, instead taking her leave of the clustered cities to find refuge on the road. The cold air nipped at her skin almost pleasantly in contrast to the fire within her, forcing her to continue on well into the night and early dawn. Only when the sun began to rise on Rorikstead did she think to stop, pleased at her progress.

The roar of a dragon brought all of that to a screeching halt. The sky was lit ablaze with fire and she pulled out the bow slung across her back and fired up into the dragon as it came swooping down. It nearly barreled into her, its tail lashing and striking her back. She hit the ground and rolled into the grass, pitching her bow to the side in favor of her warhammer. She swung angrily, her cloak whipping back as she went. Fire seared past her and burned the fabric, forcing her to rip it off and cast it aside.

Oh, this one was going to be a challenge. She smiled slightly. Good. She liked a good fight.

Comments

[septim]

"On the contrary," says Martin, the flame cupped in his hands growing larger and brighter. "It's those types of people who need kindness the most. Like an ember that turns into a blaze, there's kindness in every one of us. All it takes is that first step, and..."

The flame leaps onto his clothes, wrapping around his body until it turns into a Flame Cloak, the transformation looking as fluid and simple as breathing. "Others will return kindness too." Martin sighs, relieved to be rid of the permanent chill that permeated his bones for so long. "You seem quite familiar with the College for someone who isn't a mage. Tell me, have you been helping them out too?" There's a tinge of amusement there, well-aware that Vera seems to be everyone's problem-solver.

[preyed]

Showoff. But Vera's eyes dance with intrigue at his mastery of his magic. It's an art she knows only a little of, too content with her strength to try for much more. Those who are blessed with magic and are capable of mastering it are rare indeed. Too many end up making a mistake that costs others their freedom to learn magic, as the college discovered.

She snorts. "Will they? I find that hard to believe." People only seem to return her help with coin. It's a mutual cycle of using and reusing to her. That's all it is. At his question, she shrugs. "Here and there. I went to investigate the college. It's very cold there." Not what she had wanted at the time. "But there are useful places around there. Winterhold is a quiet town. The library at the college is extensive."

[septim]

"I've seen much kindness in this land. Like the Nords and Skyrim itself, it's reserved." Sissel patched Martin's cassock without being asked to do so. The inn-keeper charged Martin less for his dishes that their actual worth, thinking that Martin never noticed. Martin leans on his hand, smiling. "Even you have been kind. I thank Akatosh you didn't smash your warhammer across my face that day. Death is...painful, and I don't welcome it." He is not as eager to die as the Nords of Skyrim. And, as un-Emperor like as the thought is, he knows he still fears the unpleasantness of death.

A mortal condition.

"I'm glad to hear the College of Winterhold hasn't suffered the same fate as the Mages Guild." Despite his issues with the Guild, Martin felt saddened the Oblivion Crisis itself cause of its dissolution. His eyes are downcast as he speaks, crossing his arms as he falls deep into thought. "I hope they have books from the Oblivion Crisis and beyond. Coldness won't matter when I'll be holed up inside its library for a couple of days." There's much to be researched. He feels giddy at the thought.

[preyed]

"You have a very strange definition of kindness." Vera remembers cold winters in Cyrodiil, botched jobs and thievery, coming to Skyrim and dragged to an execution block without a fair trial simply because she was at the border. She remembers only two of the Nords taking pity on her plight, Ralof and the city guard in Whiterun who at least had the good standing to tell her what she was. The Greybeards have shown her respect and compassion, but only because of what she is. No others have looked on her unless they wanted something from her, unless she had done something for them. Kindness works only two ways in her world.

The beggars of Skyrim, those who ask for coin, give Vera blessings she doesn't ask for. But she supposes those people are closer to her heart than she cares to admit.

"They should. The library is extensive. If not, I'm certain he'll send me on some fetch quest for you to satisfy your literary curiosities." She is neither embittered or frustrated at the idea. It is simply what it is. "Or I'll find something in an abandoned crypt and it'll be priceless to you." Provided she's willing to give it up.

At length, she taps her fingers on her pack. She fishes out something diamond shaped, wrapped in a thick cloth to hide what it is. "I still have this if you want it."