[center][color=moccasin][h1]The Scholar[/h1][/color][/center]


“[color=moccasin]Imf no-no-[i]not[/i] a crimfinal![/color]” Kiralla Lima shouted into the rag gagging her mouth. All she could taste was grime with hints of shit. Dressed down into itchy rags then thrown in with other prisoners under the streets of Meir Thorvale. The guards saw fit to gag her after recognizing her College of Winterhold robes. 

Small green eyes squeezed shut on her dark brown skin, her long raven hair hung loosely about her round face the ponytail barely able to hold together after being roughly exposed and dressed. Lightly stained teeth slightly exposed by the gag.

Scrambling the best she could in the chains to find a wall to lean against she felt panic strangle her lungs and with every wheeze past the disgusting rag was painful. 

[i][color=moccasin]Fuck![/color][/i]

[hr]

[u][b]-Earlier that Day-[/b][/u]

The day had a clearly laid plan, as did each day Kiralla traveled High Rock’s roads. Never having a reason to travel so far west previously but tucked safely away in her leather book bag was years worth of research compiled into a couple of books with concise summaries to make it easy to pitch her ideas. The last couple of visits with her peers and contacts were links she needed to get this research off the ground, get some support to take back to the College for appropriate funding and recognition.

On her trip to Shornhelm had brought her into the small town of Meir Thorvale to stock up on food and most importantly [i]rest[/i]. It had been a few nights now she had slept out in the open and relished the idea of sleeping indoors for a night. Warm meals and a warm bed waited for her. The cold nights of spring were nothing compared to the harsh winter nights spent in Winterhold or out in Northern Skyrim. The light wind and crisp morning air was refreshing. She dressed appropriately, had layered some light woolen shirts underneath her College of Winterhold robes. The robes themselves were made of a thicker material lined with fur to keep members warm year round.

When she reached town her spirits lifted while she made a beeline for the local general store. Knocking the snow off her leather boots and shaking the odd flakes of snow from her hair. Scanning through the small wooden rack of fruit she plucked out whatever was the freshest. After trading some petty and lesser soul gems she had collected on the road for gold. Getting a quick update on all the politics running along a thin line of resentment for the locals. 

High Rock politics were rarely something that even registered on Kiralla’s day-to-day concerns. Certainly it was something locals worried over for good reason. After spending over a decade outside of High Rock coming back to it on an annual basis was something of a shock when she finally caught up on all the news. Post-Civil war Skyrim was so quiet in comparison and life at the College was isolated from outside influences that it felt akin to living under a rock.

It made for a perfect environment for mages such as herself to conduct their research in peace. Though a little more awareness would have been advised for traveling alone through High Rock. Especially when it was in such political turmoil.

When exiting the shop she was counting her septims calculating how much she could need for dinner and lodgings in the evening heading toward the local inn before the rooms were all snatched up. 

Her thoughts were centered largely on the inn when she was blind sided by a man rushing past her and the distinctive thud of a book landing on the ground just a foot shy from her. Kiralla’s eyes snapped up to see the disappearing back of the man who had bumped into her. Her eyes tracked next to the book that laid in the mud, quickly scooping it up brushing away the dirt from it’s cover and pages. Curiously she read some of the first lines suddenly recognizing it as a business ledger. Not a moment after her realization did a shout from a man, presumably the owner, telling her to drop it and to give it up.

She stared at the book in her hand and then the trail of guards the ledger’s owner brought with him to catch the thief. Her eyes grew wide as saucers while she stammered, “[color=moccasin]I-I-I-I![/color]” Dropping the ledger back to the mud where it rightly belonged as far as she was concerned now.

“Thief! You stole that ledger right from under my nose! You’ll pay for this!” Shouted the local smith still wearing his apron waving his hammer at her.

Guards surrounded Kiralla shouting warnings of her obvious appearance of a mage, “Mage! Gag her!”

[hr]

A few days spent in the cells starving away on the meager portions of rotten food. Miserable with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. She rehearsed her defense case in between wallowing and hoped when she was able to present it the misunderstanding would be cleared up. She wouldn’t be forced to take the fall for a rotten thief. Her case was crutched on the general store owner being honest about seeing and remembering Kiralla’s trade.

“[color=moccasin]They’re g-g-g-g-…[i]gone!?[/i][/color]” She squeaked in horror standing before the Head guard.

He shrugged, “Left this morning to head for Shornhelm to trade or some such. Whatever it is that merchants do when they go to the city.”

“[color=moccasin]I…[/color]” Kiralla’s throat went dry and so did her defense case. “[color=moccasin]You must be-believe me. Send word to-to the College of Winterhold, they will vouch fo-for my innocence. I am no thief![/color]”

Raising a skeptical brow the guard rolled his eyes, “We are not wasting time with a letter, who knows, and you might have nicked those robes and magical artifacts from an actual College mage. With no witnesses to support your alibi you were caught red handed with the ledger. Take the [i]thief[/i] back to her jail cell to rot.”

Kiralla thought for a few mad moments to summon one of her Atronach to prove her abilities but such a display would only result a quick sword through her gut. Offering her wrists up with compliance the shackles were replaced. Rock bottom is how poets would describe her situation. Kiralla surrendered to resignation that this situation couldn’t possibly get much worse.

[hr]

One morning still picking through a silent meal with other prisoners whom she refused to speak to for fear to be associated in a weird case of denial. Guards plucked her away from the cell marching her with a small batch of other prisoners chained closely together. Count Fleuran stood before them in the town square proposing death for punishment of their crimes. The mere suggestion sent Kiralla reeling inside her mind. Misery burned in the pit of her stomach listening to the Count willing and ready to reduce her life to enslavement. The moment, no the very second they had the opportunity to escape she’d rather run with a bounty on her head than be enslaved. Prove her innocence and carry on with her original plans. 

When the calls of bandits and riders drifted through the chilled morning air locals disappeared while guards filled the streets seemingly ready for anything. The chaos unfolded in a bloody onslaught that little could do to stop it. The Count himself was not spared or given a second glance, as he was slain deep crimson blood stained the ground.

Kiralla’s heart thumped away in her chest there were only a few choice moments in her life where she felt this helpless before. Not once did she imagine to be in the midst of such men and women or involved with politics of all things. The sight of the count’s head being dropped before them struck a stark reality she had been denying the past few nights. She stared at the Count’s face a chill running down her spine.

The deal struck and being black mailed sent her blood boiling. The level of manipulation and absolute shit luck had surmounted while the shackles released her wrists.

The man on the horse boasted his brilliant plans of black mail then threw a satchel of gold at their feet. The others had gotten back up while the tattooed man made reasonable complaint and the imperial woman’s sarcasm was evident in her biting comment. The first to reach for the satchel Kiralla went straight for the parchment reading it over. Eyeing the gold then spat at the ground beside it her pride not allowing her to accept it.

“[color=moccasin]I’ll k-keep this safe.[/color]” She commented while wanting to get her things before they were nicked. Among the prisoners was a mage who immediately went to work using her restoration magic to heal the wounded. The thought hardly crossed her mind until a man stumbled into Kiralla’s arms bleeding profusely through his shoulder.

Kiralla reluctantly tried to set the man down gently on the ground. Stressed had pulled her features taunt.

“He-help…me…” He whimpered his brown eyes cloudy with pain.

Kiralla took a large gulp of air then focused her magicka calling on a basic healing hands spell to help take away the pain from the man. The man grunted painfully as Kiralla roughly tried to seal his wound. The bleeding stopped and when she finally pulled her hand away did the man sigh with relief. 

“[color=moccasin]I-I’m sorry.[/color]” Kiralla muttered standing back upright her hands twisting in knots. Narrowing her eyes she jogged past more wounded ignoring the guilty feelings forming. Reminding herself that this wasn’t her fight nor her fault.

When she arrived to the storeroom at the prison her hands brushed against her Staff of Flames feeling a little comfort brought on by her good luck charm. Pulling her robes and soul gems, having small heart attack at not immediately finding her book bag at first. After a few minutes more spent haphazardly searching did she pull it out from a pile of clothing. Her books and research was accounted for along with her journal.

Refitting herself with her gear her staff in hand and a long face to match how miserable she felt. Freedom from the cells was bittersweet, now she was strung together with a group of strangers of varying degrees of criminal charges on their heads. It wouldn’t take very long to get to Camlorn from Meir Thorval. Preemptively she summoned Cindy, her Flame Atronach. The Atronach guarded her obediently. Giving the group that gathered a hard stare and shoulders squared. The Altmer in his armour and judgmental glare solidified his obvious connections to the Vigilants of Stendarr. She glared back at him daring for him to say a single word. In her current state she would all but jump at the chance to vent her frustrations in a lengthy debate with a Vigilant.

[i][color=moccasin]Damnit.[/color][/i]