Chapter Text
Skyrim, Riss thought, was too. Bloody. Cold.
Even wrapped up in several thick furs as she was, the Imperial found that she couldn’t escape the chill that kept creeping in through the opening of her tent. It flapped at her, mockingly, and Riss pulled a face that she imagined was most unbecoming of a woman of her station. Her eyes narrowed in disapproval, and in the back of her mind she wondered if there was a magic school dedicated to making inanimate objects much more obedient to her wishes. If not, she thought, then there should be.
She rose to sit up straight, her joints cracking and popping almost rhythmically as she did so. Gods, but it had been too long since she had slept in a decent bed. She would have to make sure to purchase a better bedroll in… Markith? Makath? Makarth. That was it. The Nordic names of the province didn’t exactly roll off the tongue the same way that Cyrodilic names did. And whilst she was on the topic of changes, Riss mused that more feathered mattresses in inns wouldn’t go amiss, along with some silken bedsheets. Oh, but she would murder for the bed of her home. Plump pillows, expensive sheets, a warm hearth at the foot of the bed… If only some other fool had walked into that damned ambush.
When she opened her tent and stepped out into the morning chill (still hopping into one boot, mind you), the sun was barely visible behind the mountains. Golden rays illuminated the valley, casting everything in a warm glow. Perhaps Riss was too harsh on this land. True, it was cold, but she would be wrong to call it anything but beautiful. It was a vast departure from the rolling green hills and wondrous forests of her home, but it was new, and afterall, isn’t that what she had wanted? Admittedly, a change of scenery was more than welcome.
As was breakfast, if the rumble of Riss’ stomach was anything to go by.
She had been able to gather a few meats during the past few days - venison and fish, mainly - and a small handful of chicken eggs rested delicately at the top of her pack. The meat sizzled in the iron pan she had propped up over the fire, and the eggs popped and fizzed until they were just slightly brown underneath. With her cloak around her shoulders and food upon her plate, Riss took the time to truly think about the day ahead of her. In the hidden compartment of her pack where she kept all of her letters, Riss knew the contract sat patiently. Astrid had barely sent her off with more than a brief glance and a dismissive wave, but honestly? Riss couldn’t find it in herself to care; it was obvious that Astrid was intimidated by her, for whatever damned reason. She should be, Riss supposed, smirking around the prongs of her fork. Years of training had made her good - some would say annoyingly good - with a bow, and she was even better with a sword. Combining that with her natural talent for magic, and Riss was something of a bother to certain people. And to think, the gods had blessed her with bountiful tits as well.
A part of her did wonder if the contract was going to be worth the walk and the rain. The Brotherhood as it was… well, it was a mess, to put it plainly. A cacophony of jaded killers crammed together in a dark, dampy, dirty hole. It wasn’t exactly the Brotherhood she had been told of - her grandmother had said that in it’s day, the Sanctuary of Cheydinhal was beautiful. Bustling with life, with gold, and with talent. Of course, that had several centuries ago, and times did change. Still, what the Brotherhood was now - it was almost laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic.
Riss supposed, that in a way, she felt a certain type of responsibility towards the Brotherhood. Her grandmother had never been overly specific about what her duties as a Listener had involved, but Riss had a talent for asking the right questions, and from her grandmother’s answers she’d been able to put quite a clear picture together. She knew that the inn was a safe haven; as if the name The Brotherhood’s Rest didn’t give it away. Honestly, she didn’t know how her grandmother and grandfather had gotten away with it for so long.
That was a lie. Her grandmother and grandfather were rich. Of course nobody ever said anything.
Still, she thought, there was a sense of duty in her heart. To restore what her grandmother had spent so long nurturing, and bring honour to her clan? Perhaps. Or was it to make the Brotherhood her own, and usher in a new age, greater than there had ever been? Also perhaps. Honestly, the answer varied depending on the day - and Riss’ mood. Which, at the moment, had perked up considerably now that she had a relatively full stomach, and had brushed the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. With a sigh, she kicked some loose soil over the fire, watching as the embers spluttered for a brief moment, fighting to stay lit, before going dark.
There was a metaphor in there somewhere, she was sure.