Although Raelynn had spent time in Falkreath and had travelled through it, actually setting up camp out  was new. Sitting around a campfire with such a large group of characters was also new. Her last foray into the wilds of Skyrim had taken her through a small set of ruins near Dawnstar, with a smaller and more intimate party. It was simply herself, a Nord female, and an old Imperial swordsman. Despite absolutely loathing the cold, the snow, and the hardy people that often inhabited such zones, these were the places that Raelynn found herself in most often. So to presently be in the moderate (if not a little damp) climate of Falkreath was a refreshing change. 

Dressed in a plush velveteen robe she felt a little overdressed for the occasion. The collar of said robe was adorned with crushed shells and intricate stitching in blue threads that drew up around her neck like waves. Against the deep plum of her robe was the contrasting white pelt of the snow fox, gracefully draped across her shoulders. It’s small size the perfect fit for her dainty frame. Her hair was so light that it would have almost blended to the fur, if not for the ash shades speckled through, peaking out from her tightly woven braids. This evening she had created a two section twist that went all around her head, with a long single fishtail braid hanging from the bottom and resting on her shoulder, her hair was so long that the tip of her braid rested on her thighs as she sat. No matter where she was travelling, she made the effort to look as a Lady should, it was one of the few true pleasures she had.


She had been staring into the crackling flames of the fire, ignoring most of what was going on around her for some time. Her blue eyes had begun to water and sting from the heat and smoke as she stared so intensely into the dancing flames, the scent of the crisp, charred edges of venison as it turned on the spit filled her nostrils and drifted around the campsite.

She accepted her portion of the meat, only taking just enough to sustain her. Unlike the Nord who was sat beside her, who seemed to have taken enough to feed an orphanage - half of it still poking through his teeth, the juice dripping through his beard, splattering and combining with the splashes of ale that flew from his flagon to create a sticky pool on his armour. [i]That explains the stench… [/i]she thought to herself as she looked him up and down, trying to hide the disgust with a smile and quiet chuckle in his direction.

He might be the drunkest, and possibly the smelliest colleague on this adventure, but he was also the biggest and had the largest and most lethal looking weapon of the bunch. In any case, it seemed that this Nord was her best chance of not being attacked by a Draugr or… by whatever else may be hiding in there. She began to wonder that if any gas trap was triggered, if Skall might be able to inhale the lot through his horse-like nostrils. She found herself chuckling at the imagery she conjured up. It would likely not do him any harm, seeing as he was a walking tower of putrid intoxication already. 

The older gentleman intrigued her, with his Stormcloak attire so visible. She remembered Windhelm like it was yesterday. With just a thought, a tiny thought, she could instantly recall the horrors of the aftermath - the scent of burning human flesh, of blood on steel, of sweat and desperation. The next mouthful of the deer she took almost didn’t want to be swallowed. She had not seen this man when she had been in WIndhelm, not that she would have remembered any faces except for the faces with skin and flesh melted down to bone, their eyeballs burst and bloody. Even without eyes and faces she had still been able to make out the expression of screaming that the scorched skulls made. Every single one the same. Mouth agape completely, almost unnaturally. Being burnt alive with Dragon fire, no less, was the most painful way of death that Raelynn could comprehend. 

She took another look around at everyone, and finally set her gaze onto her own lap. She already knew what they thought of her - they likely underestimated her, they were likely expecting her to scream at the sight of the first frostbite spider. Maybe she would.

Already it seemed like some were itching to get into the tomb. The one called Hector was tampering with the entrance until the Dunmer helped him out. Maybe he wasn’t all that clever, but something told Raelynn that he was intuitive, and that she ought not to attempt to manipulate or extort him. She loathed working with such people - with people who were hard to wrap around her finger like the drunkard to her right would be. Luckily for her, she could sniff them out quickly. 

Something about the Khajit unnerved her. She began to wonder if Daro’Vasora was as manipulative as she was… Something else she loathed, it meant she might find herself being out-maneuvered for more of the spoils. By a [i]Khajit[/i] no less… [i]I have to get close to her… [/i]She thought to herself again. 

As she chewed through the venison she couldn’t help but think that it would be a far better and less wasteful use of the meat to have at the very least braised it in wine with salt and herbs. But that was not how these folks, [i]these wildlings[/i], chose to eat. It had also been a very long time since she had eaten that way too. Her mouth watered as she thought about the joy of a dipping handfuls of a freshly baked loaf into the leftover juice of some braised venison. 

She took a glance back at Skall, who was now plowing through a leg, tearing the meat from the bone with his teeth with ease, guffawing at his own stories. It completely repulsed her, but she gave him another smile and a purposeful soft bat of her eyelids. “What a fantastic story…” she said, finding it difficult to fake enthusiasm and encouragement.

He mentioned WIndhelm, and Raelynn’s smile dropped and she looked away from him awkwardly. She heard and acknowledged the sorrow in his voice, but something told her that he wasn’t there. Maybe it was that he said that he’s forgotten about Windhelm. Nobody who was there would ever forget it. 

Skall was able to grin mere seconds after being sorrowful, the [i]stupid drunken oaf[/i]. Probably didn’t even know what he was saying or feeling, he probably couldn’t feel anything. In fact, she could probably bonk him on the head with the handle of his own axe and he would remain there, shoving venison into his maw completely unaware. Then he called her “Pretty Lady” [i]tell me something I don’t know[/i] was her immediate thought, not that she would say such a thing out loud. His request for a story from her was met with the following short response;

“I travelled and I saw things, and I travelled and saw some more…”