It was a combination of shouting and pain that woke Frey from her sleep. She woke up on a bed of straw and judged she was in a cell, based on the barred door and windows. The pulsing ache in her head made it hard to really be terrified. Plus, she'd been in jail before so it wasn't really anything new.

"I demand that the prisoner be returned to my custody at once," an agitated woman was saying.

Frey picked herself up and stumbled to the grate in the door. In the dimly lighted room on the other side a guard sat behind his desk with a High Elf woman in Thalmor robes leaning over it, trying to intimidate him.

"And just why should I give a damn what you demand?" The guard asked. Irritation flashed across the woman's face.

"We have reason to believe that she found an artifact of interest for the Thalmor-"

"Not on Balfiera surely," the guard replied. "Even the Thalmor know the Isle is sacred."

Frey smirked as the Thalmor back-tracked.

"Let me question her," She said. The guard sighed, slowly got out of his chair, and unlocked the door to Frey's cell. She backed up, letting the High Elf enter. She looked around the cell and scoffed in disgust.

"What's your name, Breton?" She asked.

"Ysona Milven," Frey lied without hesitation. The Thalmor agent raised an eyebrow.

"What were you doing on Balfiera?"

Frey told them the story of how she was spear fishing from her boat in Iliac Bay when she heard the roar of an approaching dragon. With no-where to run, she pulled a blanket over her and lay still in the boat as the dragon flew past, stirring the waters. The waves it created jostled the boat and Frey lost her oars. After trying to get them back and failing, she waited for the boat to float to shore on the Isle. She found her oars, but had never been on the Isle of Balfiera before and decided to look around. She found a cave on the Isle and after hours of exploring she came upon a scroll. She couldn't read it, she admitted, but it was in pristine condition so she bagged it with the idea of making a few gold.

Once she got back to Wayrest, she'd sold it at the marketplace and the next thing she knew she was in prison.

The High Elf listened patiently but grew more and more annoyed as the story progressed.

"A Dragon," she laughed, but it was forced and controlled. "How absurd. There are no dragons."

"That's not what I heard," the guard said. "Refugees from Skyrim said they'd returned..."

"Be that as it may, I find it hard to believe this woman's story. Ysona Milven, was it?"

"Yes m'am," Frey replied.

"How do you spells that?" The Thalmor agent had produced a notebook. Frey tried to make herself look dumb and shrugged.

"Don't know. I can't read. That's why I sold the scroll," she said. The Thalmor's pencil snapped in half, though her face remained calm. Whatever that scroll had been, Frey could feel it was important.

"Why d'you want that scroll, miss Thalmor Agent?" She asked.

"It doesn't concern you," she replied.

"It concerns me," the guard replied. "Her majesty has forbidden entrance to the Isle. Did you have permission to go there?" He tried to block her path but the Thalmor reached the door before him and left without an explanation.

"So, am I free to go now?" Frey asked.

"Not a chance, 'Ysona Milven'. What a terrible name, by the way," he shooed her back into her cell and closed the door. "You did steal from a sacred island. You can sit there for a week."

"I didn't mean to steal it," Frey said through the bars. The guard didn't look like he believed her. Why should he? What thief accidentally steals? She did take the scroll, but something had urged her to do it. It was almost as if it had simply manifested in her hands. She didn't actually remember picking it up at all. But there was no way she'd tell him that. There was quite a bit she left out of her story in fact: seeing strange symbols... the false wall made of stone that she walked right through... She sat in the bed of straw and cursed her luck.

The end of the week saw Frey's release. The guard returned her spear and bag filled with gear but insisted on keeping 'anything she stole' which just so happened to be all her gold. Gold she'd earned from fishing, for that matter. But she had a feeling that arguing would just get more of her stuff taken away. She bid the guard a good day.

"Stay out of trouble, Frey," he said as he hefted her bag of coins to feel the weight. Frey slammed the door to the prison behind her as she emerged into the sunlight and the hustle and bustle of Wayrest opened to her.

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Long periods of travel could take its toll, and Wayrest seemed a wonderful place to have a rest. Rosshan rode along a cobblestone path atop her horse, Sandstorm, through the rural areas of the Stormhaven province. Wayrest itself was still a decent distance away from her previous night's camp, but early morning travels and a strong, healthy horse helped close the distance with little trouble. Rosshan herself was still a bit tired from waking up so early, but it was impossible to tell from her proud riding stance and the layers of armour she wore. Knightly steel covered her from head to toe, the long hanging flaps of a red surcoat surrounding her upper legs and breastplate. Hanging off her saddle rested a longsword and small round shield, both of Cyrodiilic design, forged from silver.

Her horse was decorated in similar protection, steel protecting her head, neck, and body, while a long flowing blanket of identical colour to Rosshan's coat covered her tan fur and upper legs. Together, the pair looked like a very impressive duo, which helped keep some unwanted attention away from smarter bandits - and attracted it from those who weren't quite as clever. Rosshan's most recent work involved taking care of some who had been causing particularly large amounts of trouble in the region, and her methods of minimizing bloodshed had gone swimmingly for the encounter. Only three bandits were actually slain, the chief and their most trusted accomplices, and the rest were either spoken down or magically scattered, magical illusions quelling their behavior and allowing them to be convinced more easily. But for those that couldn't be handled peacefully, there was her sword. It proved itself effective in combat, and a burlap sack stained a deep brownish-red at the bottom hanging on the horse's saddle contained the remains of those who had lead the whole organization.

As she neared the wall of Wayrest, the guards standing outside stopped her immediate entrance. A small annoyance, but one she understood, especially due to how heavily armed and armoured she was. Just doing their jobs, she silently mused, slowing her horse to a trot and eventual stop before dismounting.

"What's your business here, knight?" One guard asked, unfamiliar with the figure in front of him, but the quality of her equipment made his mind wander to that conclusion.

"I picked up a bounty for a bandit gang hanging around Bearclaw Mine from a nearby village. I'm here to turn it in," She explained, motioning towards the sack. She didn't touch it, and rested her hand on her hip after the gesture. "And while I'm around, get some decent food. Maybe stop by the temple for a little bit."

The guard nodded. "Nice work. That mine's productivity hit an all-time low after those bandits moved in. Maybe now it'll start its operations again. What's your name?"

"Rosshan Kazem. Adventurer, small-time would-be hero, member of the Cyrodiil Fighter's Guild. High Rock seemed like a good place to make a name for myself." Rosshan flexed her free arm and shifted her weight onto one leg, striking a quick pose that amused both of the guards. She couldn't help but chuckle a little alongside them.

"Doesn't sound like you're from around here, then. I suggest looking into the Cloudy Dregs Inn if you get the chance, but the local guildhall might be willing to take you in as well. And if you don't mind me asking, are you from Hammerfell?"

Rosshan removed her helmet, revealing her face to the guard. Light brown skin speckled with darker freckles, somewhat broad facial features, and very wavy hair, though the shade was a robustly deep red rather than the usual Redguard black. "You could say that. I was born in Anvil, but I stayed in Hammerfell for most of my early life. Why do you ask?" Holding her helmet on her hip, she undid the tie that held her hair back, and it immediately fell loose and sort of poofed out to frame her face.

The guard shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but answered in hushed tones. "You didn't hear it from me, but there are Thalmor in the city. Anyone from an independent province probably isn't on their good side. Just keep your head down and avoid any Altmer in fancy robes, and you should be fine. But be careful."

Rosshan frowned a little at the mention of Thalmor, but nodded appreciatively as the guards opened the door to the city for her. She climbed back onto Sandstorm's saddle, and as she crossed through the door, the guard halted her one last time.

"There's a stable on the north side of the city, if you need it. Have a good day."

"Thanks, you too." Rosshan flashed the guard a smile, then entered the city proper, her helmet nestled between her legs in front of her on the saddle while she rode in.

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Frey sulked through the busy streets of Wayrest, kicking at rocks and cursing the ones hawking their wares. Her fish she hadn't sold had since gone bad during her little stay in the prison and since that bastard guard, Pausic Maltenne, had also taken all of her gold, she would go hungry until she snagged more fish to sell. Or eat herself. Although she wasn't particularly a fan of fish anymore.

As she walked, Frey glanced around and glyphs occasionally flashed before her eyes. They were the hidden markers of the Thieves' Guild, used to communicate houses prime for picking and those which had already been looted. Once upon-a-time, Frey was a thief in Daggerfall. In her early teen years she was in and out of people's homes, taking advantage of the glyphs she saw that others missed. Picking pockets was a snap. But eventually it became just as much about the thrill as it did the money and Frey grew too bold and got caught. Several times. Eventually, the guards knew to look for her and could pick her out of the crowd. Eventually, she picked up and moved to Wayrest.

Wayrest appealed to Frey's wealthy sensibilities and the Breton just knew she would make it big there.

Within a week she was swiping food. Within two, she was following the glyphs again.

And she was lucky. On one fateful night she chose a prime house and slipped into the second floor window... right into the bedroom. And the man inside it wasn't asleep. He calmly rose from his desk where he was writing documents, and pulled a sword off the wall.

"I'm afraid it's a bit late for me to entertain visitors," he said. Panicked, Frey grabbed a spear the man had resting in the corner.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't have you calling for the guards."

Amusement flashed in the man's eyes. "You're going to kill me?"

"If I must," Frey replied. "If I just leave, you'll call for the guards and give them my face."

"Are you with the guild, little girl?" The man asked.

"I work alone," Frey replied and readied the spear.

They stood, facing each other, and time stood still. The man was twice Frey's size: broad and covered with thick muscle. His hair, so fair it was nearly white made his blue eyes all the more piercing in the semi-darkness. A Nord... Scars decorated the exposed flesh of his arms, hands, neck, and even his face in a crude hatch-work pattern and a thick mustache covered his lips and made reading his expression nearly impossible. Frey shook. And then the fear made her mind snap and moved her body into fight mode.

She attacked him, swinging wildly as tears flowed from her cheeks. The man stepped out of the first two swings. On the third swing, the man caught the shaft of the spear just below the tip. Frey pulled with all her might but couldn't budge it. The man lifted his arm and swung wide, sending Frey flying off the other end. She collided with a nightstand and broke a vase. Frey slid to the floor, feeling shards of glass in her arms and blood on her fingers.

"I thought you were going to kill me?" The man asked. "I haven't even had to use my sword."

Frey sobbed and lay on his floor with blood pooling under her arms. Visions of prison flashed in her eyes again. Perhaps something worse would happen. She heard the man sigh and walk away. When she looked up he placed the spear on the wall by the stairs and went down to the first floor. Frey could hear her heart pounding and imagined that it must be amplified by the floorboards. A few minutes later she heard steps on the stairs and imagined a guard must be coming to take her away. But it was only the nord again, and he was carrying a bowl and a cup.

"Here," He said, and set the stew and milk in front of her. Frey's eyes widened at the delicious smell and she slowly sat up. She picked up the bowl and tilted it to her mouth. The gravy was thick and meaty with plenty of rabbit and packed with vegetables. It warmed her from the inside and the milk, tangy and refreshing, cooled her down. As she ate, the man watched her then raised a hand and produced a ball of magic light. The light surrounded Frey and healed the cuts from the vase.

He waited for her to finish, then the two of them sat on the floor of the bedroom and stared at one another.

"Why?" Frey said at last. "Why are you helping me instead of sending for the guards?"

"Because you are a child," the nord replied. "You are not innocent, I do not think. But you do not deserve what the guards would give you." Frey cast her eyes to the floor as shame flushed her cheeks.

"Thank you..." She muttered.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Frey," the girl said. "No last name. The guards in Daggerfall called me Frey Fox... As a joke..."

"I see," he replied calmly. "Well, Frey, was that your first real fight? With weapons?"

Frey nodded.

"Were you scared?"

Frey nodded again.

"You were terrible," he said. "But..."

She looked up.

"You show promise. So I want to cut you a deal... I won't go to the guards and tell them you tried to rob me, and you... you will become a gladiator."

"Why?" Frey asked.

"Because it provides you a place to live and you'll earn your own money," he said. "If you win, you'll make even more. How does that sound?"

"Did you used to be a gladiator?" she asked, looking at all of his scars.

"A long time ago," he said. "And I can train you. Deal?"

"Deal," Frey replied. The man smiled.

"I am Valdar Alfensen," he said. "Welcome to me home, Frey Fox."

For ten years after that lucky night, Frey's life became a string of days training and fighting and being put on display for gamblers. She trained in the sword and the spear but favored the spear and Valdar taught her magic that was helpful in a fight. Frey could be described as nothing better than average. She was good enough to win, but there was always someone better. After a ten year career, she retired and took up fishing for a merchant family.

As she approached Alerdal Ancove's general store dread settled in her stomach. She opened the door and Alerdal's wife Behr looked up from behind the counter and scowled.

"Where have you been?" Behr asked angrily. "Alerdal's been asking for you all week and just two days ago I have Thalmor agents in here asking questions about you!"

"I'm sorry, Behr," Frey said. "I was in the prison."

"What for?"

"Apparently I stole and sold an important scroll?"

The look of rage and indignation on Behr's face kicked all of Frey's fighter senses into high alert.

"Thievery!? Not from our employees!" She said. "We absolutely cannot have that kind of stain on our reputation!"

"Please, Behr, it was an accident. I didn't know," Frey stammered. "Please don't fire me, I don't have any money."

Behr's temper waned and the woman sighed. She pulled out her coin purse and set five gold on the counter.

"I will give this to you. It will not hurt us to give up five gold, but you are fired. Take this and do not come back to our store for work," she said. Solemnly, Frey walked forward and took the coins.

"Thank you for your kindness," she said. Behr nodded curtly and then shooed her out of her shop.

Five gold coins... At least she could eat for the night and return to fishing tomorrow. Perhaps she could find another merchant to sell fish to. She pocketed the money and decided to make her way to the Cloudy Dregs Inn for a meat pie and an ale.

A woman in magnificent armor rode past her on her way and Frey admired the woman's horse and wondered, briefly, how much coin she had in her pockets...

But the horse and its rider soon passed and Frey walked to Inn with her hands by her sides.

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Rosshan rode her horse slowly through town, taking in the sights around her. It was a rather bustling place, a far cry from the small village she'd picked up the bounty job in. To say the least, she already found it magnitudes more interesting. Breton architecture was nice; tall towers of stone, highly arched roofs, bridges and statues. All of it just drew her in. As she rode through the marketplace, she smiled to herself, watching people peddling items to each other and generally making a show of what they had in stock. It was the kind of atmosphere she preferred - people living easy, and lots of people to talk with.

As she considered that, she stopped outside the city's own branch of the Fighter's Guild. It was a decent place, she was sure, but the entry process would have taken a while. So much paperwork to fill out, technicalities to work through, and while there were sure to be a good few like-minded folks around, she couldn't imagine there were all that many. With pursed lips, she decided not to head there. The city's inn was a more attractive venture. But before she could turn in for a while, there was still the matter of a bounty to be claimed.

She moved on to the Palace District, and dismounted Sandstorm to take the bag to the king and turn in her bounty. It wasn't too hard a process, once she showed the guards the identifiers that rested inside the bag. A trio of heads, now very much lifeless and starting to smell rather rancid, belonging to bandits that had been plaguing the area. She was allowed to turn them in, and they were taken away. In turn, she got a nice bit of payment.

Finally, it was time to rest. She led Sandstorm by foot away from the palace, and hitched him to a water trough that was set up outside the town's inn. She'd take him to the stables outside the gate soon, but for now, she wanted to make sure she got a room to stay at before they were all taken for the night. Once he was secured, Rosshan checked his saddle bags and made sure they were all secured, and after some consideration, removed her sword from it to make sure nobody tried to steal it. She had a good number of valuables on the saddle, yes, but with her sword, she could at least stop anyone who tried to go for whatever else was in there.

After strapping the large blade to her back, she tightened its belt to hold it on. It was nice and secure, if in a place that would make drawing the weapon at full length difficult. But still, few would cause trouble with a fully armoured knight armed with a blade that was almost as long as she was tall. She entered the inn, and immediately knew that she made the right choice to come there. It looked like a hell of a good time to be had. With a smile, she strolled in and up to the counter.

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