[hr][center][h1]S j a r a[/h1][/center]
[hr]
[i]Collectors pay a fortune for old artifacts, and I know quite a few people who pay top coin for good finds.[/i]

The words of the Khajiit dungeoneering expert cycled in Bosmer’s mind as she pressed her back and one foot against the trunk of a fallen tree, her eyes narrowed in on the group that found their comforts around the campfire. It was a tactical advantage to keep her ears and eyes open for any beasts or bandits that could have been lurking in the forests. Though if she was being honest with herself she would recognize that the Khajiit’s words had unearthed something in her spirit. The thought that someone could trample over bones just to rub two septims together wasn't just unfathomable to Sjara, but also morally questionable. It brought back thoughts and feelings she had not felt in many years such as the knowledge that her birth parent’s likely had similar beliefs and motives. She didn’t like the nerves that came from such reminders. She would have to be additionally cautious and diligent. The barrow had great potential for adventure yet she now had to worry that the Khajiit and possibly other members of the group were nothing better than grave-robbers who sought no glory or honor in this venture. 

She let out a light breath as she looked back towards the barrow, where Daro’Vasora was likely prowling through the ruins of the ancestors of Skyrim, disabling traps and divines know what else. Whatever the days ahead would have for her she knew she would need to have her wits as sharp as her arrows. She didn’t like it. But she had been drawn back to Falkreath for a reason and finding this barrow on a routine hunt had to have been divine intervention. Ysmir had willed it. She could feel that in her bones. 

It did not take long for Sjara to move from her moments of such contemplation back to the group at large; the thoughts causing her to return her glance back towards the campfire as her thoughts came to what she knew about the group beyond the Khajiit who had earned her distrust almost immediately. It was a group of many, and she had to think on them as not only adventures but also [i]people[/i].

The Imperial leader, a former soldier who served against Skyrim during the rebellion, a fact he wanted to keep hidden for the time being. An aged Dunmer, who she assumed was good with books and little else. A hardy Nord who towered over the group and boasted about his exploits. An Imperial who looked as if the Daedra were sucking out his soul. A female Breton who looked clean and untested -- it was hardly an adventuring group of the likes of Skor, her mentor, had led that much was for sure and the sense of honor and motivation was hard to gauge; especially from afar. Sjara pushed her canines against each other as she considered the information she did have and how she could use it to her advantage. How could she trust any of them? Could she trust the Nord to be honorable and righteous as she expected? or was he a bigoted drunk who could barely swing his axe?

She moved her hand to the canteen attached to her belt, drawing the cool watered down mead she had stored inside to her lips. There was one question as she continued to think. One. [i]‘Who are these people, really?’[/i]