[center][b]A different girl[/b] [i]4th of Sun's Height Candlehearth Inn ~ Wandering[/i][/center] "Mmmff... five more minutes Bryn..." The sleepy, muttered words came from the heap of blankets on the bed, a tousled mess of black curls barely visible beneath the covers. The shouting fell to deaf ears, but as Sagax brayed on the door once more, Rozalia cracked open one eye, momentarily confused. [i]"Hm? Where am I? This isn't the Bee and Barb..."[/i] Sitting up with a light wince, further loud crashes wrested Roze from the vestiges of her dream - which had been a pleasant one, making her awakening all the more disappointing. More yelling, and the ringing of steel as swords clashed forced Roze from her bed - causing her to almost bend double in pain as she fully recalled the events that had brought her her. "Ohhhh.... fuck... injuries, yup, gotta remember that." She hissed, pulling her boots on as fast as she could to see what ruckus was going on outside. For one brief moment, she had been terrified to consider that the Kamal had attacked again while she had slept, and had stormed the city. It was, in fact, just... Argonians? They were swarming around a guard, who was getting bloodier with each stomp, kick, and punch the rioters threw at him. Watching on for a brief moment - still somewhat stuck in the clutches of sleep, and wondering if she was still dreaming (Because who in their right fucking mind would be rioting at a time like this?) - one of the Argonian's spotted her watching, and began making his way toward her, frenzy evident in his reptilian eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sakes! Like we don't have enough to deal with, without you scaly bastards attacking people and destroying shit?!" She exclaimed before heaving herself out of the shattered window behind her - unstrung bow still in hand, and injuries not appreciating the effort of her actions. Still, it was better than being beaten to death by a load of angry lizard-men. With Sagax gone - hopefully he hadn't run off to try and play the hero again - Roze considered her options. She had no desire in trying to calm the crowd; diplomacy was hardly her forte, and she had no strength in her to do anything physical about it. The Gray Quarter was swarmed, which meant there was no getting back to Leif's house... therefore, her shadows remained her only ally for the moment. And there Rozalia stayed - avoiding the commotion, and attempting to find something to aid her. Finding the blacksmiths, she spent a few moments picking the lock; breaking more than a couple on the complicated thing, but managing it all the same. Inside, she retrieved several strips of leather, and a new bowstring - she would be unable to do anything with them for the moment, but the strips would repair her armour somewhat when she had the time, and her bow... well, perhaps Sevine could string it for her. [i]"Won't do any good if I can't use it again, is it?"[/i] That bitter thought struck her as she knelt in the shadows of the quiet smithy; gazing at her father's bow as the outside light danced across its scratched, reflective surface. If he were here, he could teach her how to string it with just her mouth and her feet... but he was nowhere to be found. Where were her parents? Had her mother perished in Solstheim? Or in the fight again the Kamal? Or worst still, had her father been among the dead? She and her mother had no idea as to where he had disappeared off too; for all she knew, she was in the exact same mercenary group as he had been. He had been a mercenary, after all... "Of all the times to get homesick, Roze..." She whispered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "Steal now - get broody later." And with that, the young rogue snatched a few septims from the nearby shop counter, and returned to the shadows outside once again until the riot had subsided. [hr] [center] [i]5th & 6th of Sun's Height[/i][/center] Rozalia had remained in her inn room for most of the time after the riot - she felt fatigued to a great amount, so much so she could barely bring herself to go and search for her comrades. She doubted any of them had perished in the riot, but there still remained the threat of being crushed to death by the debris being sent over by the Kamal. Chances were that she probably made it more likely for herself to be hit, what with staying in the same room for hours on end - but there was a weariness over Rozalia that made her uncaring towards that potential fate. It would be a quick one, at least. She only withdrew from her room on the sixth, when word had it that the Kamal had challenged the Jarl to single combat. That was a strange thing to occur, for her. How could such monsters be able to communicate with them, to even suggest something so... so, human? Either way, it didn't matter. The man wouldn't be able to kill a Kamal on his own, not without using foul play. And the Jarl was a righteous and proud warrior - he wouldn't cheat. He would fail, he would die, and then the city would belong to the Snow Demons. And then all of them would perish. As it happened, Roze's predictions had been correct. Fleeing with a number of her fellows to one of their safehouses, only to learn of tunnels from some scrawny Nord man. She was disconcerted to learn of this only now - so much for the Guild's resources, right? - but took his word for it anyway. It was hardly like they had any other choice. [hr] The journey had not been an easy one. If Roze had been on her own, she would have slipped past the Kamal with utmost ease, probably even able to steal something from them before fleeing back to the safety of shadows. But crowds of people rarely have such stealth about them, much to Roze's ire. Although it had been easy enough for her to stay hidden, the screams of the dying and the guttural, alien noises of the Kamal punctuated the night air. Her breath left her in sharp bursts, the cold stinging her lungs and clouds of breath betraying her to the night. But she had outran the Kamal, or they had simply grown weary of their prey. As they re-grouped, she was relieved to see her friends alive still... but so few had made it out of the forest. As each hour passed, it seemed they were losing more and more people - she was not used to this. This amount of death, and sorrow, and grief. The atmosphere was akin to that of a few years ago, when the dragons had returned; but there was no Dovahkiin to protect them now. No, that tyrant lay hidden in the depths of Solitude, in the very castle she had once broken into many moons ago. [i]Why is this happening? Why did I join this group? Why am I still alive? [sub]why, why, why?[/sub][/i] These troubled thoughts did not leave Rozalia's mind for a good while - an uncharacteristically sobering expression set upon her face as they made their way to Dawnstar. She had no jokes left, nor mirth, nor joy. The group would not have taken kindly to it, anyway. Now was not a time for jesting... and for one who relied so heavily on making light of dark situations, t'was a disturbing thought indeed. [hr][hr] [center] [i]10th of Sun's Height Dawnstar Docks[/i][/center] It was colder even in Dawnstar than Windhelm, and her cloak did nothing to fight the cold. The inn was packed, the rooms full to bursting, and there was no way she'd be able to get in one - not with far sourer and stronger folk filling them up. Instead she remained outside, by the docks and inhaling the cold scent of saltwater... the air here seemed cleaner than Windhelm's sea air - but perhaps that it was just the lack of Kamal that made the scene all the better. However, the rusty light of the moons shimmered across the dark waters of the bay, casting a sickly, bloody look across the water... as if slaughter had already happened here, and they did not know it yet. That thought sent a shiver down her spine, one not just brought on by the biting cold. As for Rozalia herself, she hadn't improved much from Windhelm. The bandages around her midriff had unravelled during their journey here, forcing her to give up her sling in order to further staunch the wound. The wound upon her shoulder had eased in it's pain somewhat, giving way to a dull stiffness that did not seem to shift, no matter how much she was able to move it around without succumbing to pain. Therein remained her worry, of it never returning to it's full capability again. And what that would mean for her days of archery, she did not know. Either way she looked at it, things were remaining dire. Windhelm had been stormed, she had no notion of where her Mother was, and Roze herself was not getting any better as the days went on. The caravan's had been sorely lacking in any form of potion or medical aid, but one of the Khajiit had been kind enough to save a health potion for her when next they brewed one. Which, judging by their stock, wasn't going to be anytime soon. "Those Gods of Sagax's would come in real handy right about now." Roze muttered, fingers gently caressing the ridges of her amulet of Mara, as she stared at the bleeding twin moons.