Reclining on the suspicious bench, despite Orintur’s warning, Aveca was lost in her thoughts. She was thinking of the warm bed she’d had at the inn in Kvatch, and how much she wished she was there now. Despite that, she considered what she was doing important and wouldn’t truly have gone if the opportunity magically presented itself. Still, tiredness was seeping into the healer’s bones as the adrenaline rush faded, and her eyes slid shut slowly. 

That was why the Daedra bursting through the door brought her such a fright. It caught her completely off guard, and she jumped to her feet in a rush, knocking her pack over and spilling a few of it’s contents on the grimy floor. Paying it little heed, Aveca turned her attention to her companions and their fight, drawing her bow off her back and preparing to pull an arrow from her quiver. 

Unfortunately for her, a Dremora Churl had already advanced close enough to her to knock the bow out of her hand. Aveca, thoughts jumped, was the next to be knocked around, crashing to the ground with a thud after being punched by the fiend. Reflexively, she rolled to the side, and it probably saved her life, as the churl’s mace crashed against the floor where her chest had been not moments ago. 

Bow lost, the nord turned to her last resort. The knife was usually used more for utility and cutting than fighting, in truth, she didn’t think she’d ever fought with this dagger in particular, but either way, she drew it with surety. A healer she was, perhaps, but she knew when she shouldn’t hesitate, especially against the inhuman demons of Oblivion. Aveca leaped to her feet with purpose while the Dremora picked up his mace and prepared to swing again. Quickly and without hesitation, she stepped into the demon’s personal space, shoving her iron dagger quickly into its neck. Black blood surged once again onto her hand, this time down her arm, staining her clothing. Taking a step back and pulling her dagger out of its body, the Churl fell to the ground with a thud.