Lower County Bruma, 20[sup]th[/sup] First Seed, Morning

[indent][indent]Old Man Edwal waddled over to his goat paddock. The elder Breton was an old fixture of the local community. If you listened to the hearsay while downing the local swill at the inn, you would’ve heard around fifty contradicting life stories surrounding Edwal. One week, he was a spymaster for the Emperor himself, the next he was a famed legionnaire, and the week after that he was a cunning sorcerer that was even older than he appeared.  In truth, Edwal was the son of a sailor from Northpoint who on an expedition down to Anvil, slept with a strumpet and left her with child. He grew up in a whorehouse and eventually found his way to the open seas. When the salt from the sea made his old bones ache, he decided it was time to settled down back in Cyrodill where a wife and child were waiting for him.  Now, the closest thing Edwal did to the high tales of adventure ascribed to him was wrestle with his goats every morning.

“I should have never listened to that Khajiit in Stros M'Kai, he promised me that cheesemaking was easy money.” Edwal grumbled as his arthritis ridden hands fiddled for the key at his belt. 

It was early in the morning, the sun barely cresting over the horizon leaving a damp chill to the air. The key was cold to the touch, and he brought it up slowly to the equally cold lock on the gate. He gripped a nearby wooden post with his freehand to keep himself stable as he inserted the key and with great exertion undid the lock leaving it swinging open freely. Leaving the cold key in the lock, he entered the paddock rubbing his hands together to warm them as he did.   

The first thing Edwal did was check on the goats’ water. He used to let them drink individually from a bucket, but increasingly severe pains in his back had put an end to that. So, he put out a commission to the local blacksmith for a water trough. It had hardly been a year with the new equipment, and it was already covered in blunt damage and teeth marks, but it did the job and that was what mattered to Edwal. A cursory glance at the trough revealed it to be full enough. Satisfied, Edwal picked up the two iron buckets stacked together on the trough’s right side, and with his new tools in hand made his way over to the goat’s shelter.

Little more than a large rectangular awning propped up by four posts, the shack existed as a formality to keep Edwal’s goats out of the elements. The Breton had seven goats in total, all of them currently bundled together in a heap among the scattered hay that served as the shack’s “floor”. 

“Oi,” bellowed Edwal as he approached. “Get up you bunch of lazy loafs! It’s time to earn your keep.” 

The goats used to the routine slowly roused themselves awake. The bucks and the kids slowly began to file out towards the trough or to graze on the millet and other grasses. The does remained clustered together patiently waiting to be milked. Kneeling slowly amongst the hay, Edwal began the process of gathering the milk.

It was late in the morning by the time Edwal had nearly finished. His wife Aia having risen in the proceeding hours and having begun to prepare the first proper meal of the day, the smoke rising from the farmstead’s stubby stone chimney. Dumping his latest collection into a large stone pot that he had fetched from the house, Edwal made his way carefully over to the last of his does currently standing defiantly in the corner - Sorcha.

Sorcha was the youngest of the batch and certainly the most problematic. When she was just a doeling she nearly bit Edwal’s finger off. The elder Breaton took a deep breath preparing himself as he made his approach. Sorcha regarded him suspiciously with her large eyes watching every movement. Edwal could see the goat’s muscles flex ready to sprint at a moment’s notice. He reached out a hand pleading towards the doe as he took another small step towards her. 

“Come on Sorcha,” whispered Edwal as he shuffled closer. “it doesn’t always have to be a – Gods!” 

Sorcha had broken into a run slipping between the old Breton’s legs. By the time Edwal had managed to turn around, the young doe was charging towards the still unlocked gate. Edwal sprinted after Sorcha the muscles in his legs screaming in protest as he did, but the old man’s legs just couldn’t keep up with those of the young animal. Sundering ahead, cutting a path through the other goats who protested with bleating murmurs, the young doe dropped her head low and crashed into the gate. She staggered from the impact, but Sorcha caught herself and the momentum was enough to open the gate just enough for her to slip out and run towards the nearby underbrush.

Panting and out of breath, Edwal stumbled up to the Gate closing it again before the other goats had any other ideas. He had all but given up on ever seeing Sorcha again when he heard a goatish yelp of protest coming from not far off. Curiosity peaked, Edwal peered over the paddock watching the underbrush that Sorcha had just disappeared into. 

Emerging from the bushes was a large Orsimer women dressed in furs and holding the kicking and yelling Sorcha in her arms like a squirming sack of potatoes.

“Is this yours?”

[center]| ~ |[/center]


“And then she came - my savior! Walking out of the woods with Sorcha in her hands like the Hero of Kvatch!” Edwal exclaimed excitedly slapping the table for emphasis much to Toruka’s immense displeasure. 

Toruka hadn’t [i]done[/i] anything. She was walking along the trail when a goat sprinted straight into her leg. Hearing Edwal’s cries in the distance, Toruka  put the evidence together and decided that it was best that the runaway goat was returned home. The young doe undoubtedly had a fighting spirit to her, but she wouldn’t of made it more than a week in the wild. So, scoping up the protesting Sorcha in her arms, she brought her back to Edwal. 

“I really didn’t…” protested Toruka. 

“Let him have his fun dearie,” replied Aia as she plopped a hot bowl of porridge in front of Toruka. “we don’t get much excitement around here.”

The older Imperial woman reminded Toruka of the elderly matrons in her tribe. Her long gray hair kept in an elaborate braid that ran down the back of her heavyset and muscular frame, a boulder in comparison to the thin reed like stature of her husband. She was the one that insisted on Toruka sharing a meal with them after her “rescuing” of Sorcha. 

Toruka prodded at the porridge with the wooden spoon that had been provided to her. The porridge was adorned with berries and wild honey, and Toruka could already feel her mouth watering as she brought the food to her lips. The homely flavor of the porridge tasted like a king’s feast after spending nearly a month consuming only travel rations and the occasional game she hunted when her feet weren’t useless from the day’s trek. She paid little heed to table edict and thankfully Edwal and Aia didn’t seem to mind. Aida laughing as she spooned another portion of porridge into Toruka’s bowl.

“Now only if Edwal enjoyed my cooking this much! Though I reckon, your folks being as big as they are must eat a lot.”

“I sailed with an Orsimer once. The dammed giant was as nearly as tall as two Nords stacked atop each other’s shoulders! Now that was a fella that could eat!” mused Edwal.
 
Toruka could feel the blush building on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she began as she pushed the empty second portion away. “travel is hard on the stomach.”

“And where might those travels be taking you?” Aia asked finally sitting down at the table with them.

“I’m Bruma-bound,” explained Toruka “looking for some paying work.”

“Bruma? Ain’t you heading that way tomorrow for the market Ed?” 

“Indeed!” 

“Then the two of you should head out that way together!” suggested Aia. “You could rest your feet for a while Toruka, and I myself would feel much safer if my Ed had a strapping young lass protecting him.” 

“I really don’t want to be a burden, and I prefer traveling alone” replied Toruka reflexively looking around the dwelling for an exit. Edwal, Aia, and the table were unfortunately between her and the door. She supposed that she could squeeze her way up the chimney behind her if she wanted, but Toruka really didn’t enjoy the prospect of getting covered in soot.

“Nonsense!” proclaimed Ed with another slap of the table. “You can stay here for the night and we can leave in the morning!”[/indent]

[center]| ~ |[/center]

City of Bruma, 21[sup]st[/sup] First Seed, Afternoon

[indent]“We’ve arrived” Edwal announced gently prodding Toruka awake with a jagged elbow.

The two were sandwiched together on the small bench of Edwal’s cart, the back loaded with supplies for the market. The noon sun had risen high in the sky by this point and despite it there was already a chill in the air as the wagon entered Bruma, the Jerall Mountains on the horizon framing their entrance as they did. Toruka had passed through the county capital once before on a trip northward to Skyrim. She had stay in the town only for one evening as she resupplied for the trip through the Jeralls. Not much had changed in the intervening time sense then. Toruka thought that to be appropriate as the Nords had much of the same mentality as her own people, a certain ethos of work that broke down to – [i]“if it works then there is no need to go around changing everything.”[/i]

Edwal parked his wagon amongst a cluster of others that seemed to be making a small impromptu market near the Great Chapel. The other waggoneers seemed to know Edwal who came over and began to chat with them. Still groggy from her sleep and in no mood for social interaction, Toruka began to set about the work of offloading Edwal’s supplies. From what Toruka could gather, most of what Edwal brought to market was goat’s milk and cheese being sold in clay pots and old cheesecloth respectively. Soon, Edwal finished with his minor introduction and began to help Toruka. He took out the loose assemblage of wood that he put together to create a makeshift stall for himself in front of the wagon. 

By the time they had hammered the last nail into the stall nearly an hour had passed. Edwal wiped the sweat off his brow with a sleeve as he looked at Toruka with a smile.

“Well,” he began. “I believe this is where we part ways.”

“Indeed,” Toruka replied. “I’m truly grateful for your kindness.”

“And I’m grateful that you saved my goat! She might be a handful, but… she’s still family. And for saving my family I present you with this.” explained Edwal handing Toruka a small sack of cheese.

“Safe travels.” Toruka responded nodding in appreciation.

“You as well! Don’t be a stranger you hear!”

Walking away with her newly collected lunch, Toruka found a seat on the ledge that split the middle tier of the city from the lowest, her feet dangling above the open air. The piece of cheese that she pulled was fresh and had a strong taste in her mouth.  As she began to make slow work of the cheese, Toruka observed the city around her. Eyes trained for stalking immediately found interest in a burst of movement below. Two children, both with red hair, one taller than the other were chasing each other down the low street. As they made a sharp turn to avoid the path of an adult, the smaller child fell to the ground scrapping his knee. Tears began to well in his eyes and the child began to cry.

Suddenly and without warning, the crying took Toruka to another place. 

[i]It was the night after the slaughter of her people, Toruka sifted through the ruins of her tribe. She was covered in blood and looking for survivors. In her arms she clutched a wailing baby girl. The dwelling that the baby was sleeping in had collapsed atop of her during the chaos, a large piece of lumber having neatly shattered her spine. Despite this, somehow the baby was still alive, wailing and crying when Toruka unburied her. Toruka knew that the child wasn’t going to make it. Toruka knew what she had to do. It still didn’t make things any easier when she picked up the stone off the ground next to her…[/i]

Toruka was jolted back into reality. She was looking at the sky now and there was a sharp pain coming from the back of her head. It appeared that she had fallen off the ledge, luckily backwards instead of forwards towards the much lower street. She pulled herself up to her feet. She could taste blood, ash, and smoke on her tongue. Her panic ridden brain on some kind of self-driven autopilot drove her legs forward towards where old memories recalled the Inn was. She forced her hands to stop shaking long enough to produce the last of her septims to purchase a room and made her way inside almost dropping the key twice.

Once she was alone and secure, Toruka ripped the rucksack off her back and began pulling supplies out of it. From the bottom of the bag, she pulled out a bundle of blankets that contained three bottles and a pipe. She took a deep breath careful not to drop one of the selected bottles which she uncorked. She gave herself double the dosage that she usually did. She lit the pipe using a candle already lit in the room and inhaled smoke.

[center]| ~ |[/center]

Toruka awoke on the floor of her rented room with the used pipe on her chest. She picked up the pipe and looked at it. Toruka had heard stories about skooma users that ended up burning themselves to death because of an errant pipe, it appeared this time that she had gotten lucky. Her head was still pulsating from the comedown, but she had enough wherewithal to shove the contents of her bag that she had scattered about in desperation back into their place. As she pulled her rucksack back over her shoulders, she felt cold. The floor had been cold as ice and passing out on it had done no wonders for her body temperature. With no choice, Toruka took a breath and headed outside to the common area where the hearth was still raging.

Toruka deduced that it must have been evening. The common area of the Inn was packed with residents chatting and drinking amongst themselves. Avoiding all of them, she found a small space to herself on a squat stump of a chair next to the fire. As she warmed herself back up, she closed her eyes and pleaded a silent prayer to Mauloch, hoping for once that her people’s deity would have mercy on her. 
“Mauloch, spurned of Boethiah and King of Curses, heed my call. I’m a broken compass not knowing which way to point. I seek only to purge my dishonor. What must I do?”

“….and then he said he was going to go join that new Adventure’s guild.” A man said sitting at a table nearby loud enough for Toruka to overhear.

“To bring them a boar?” asked his drinking companion.

“Looking for work apparently. Bastard.” The man replied taking a swig from his tankard.

The words Adventure’s Guild hung in Toruka’s ears. Something in her knew that this was as close as sign as she was going to get from her deity. So Toruka rose to her feet and made her way to the door.

She was greeted by the cold evening mountain air as she left the Inn. She found a nearby beggar who she persuaded with a chunk of Edwal’s cheese to tell her where this new Adventure’s Guild was. As she approached, she found that she could see lights spilling from the windows and smoke exiting a chimney. It appeared that whoever these adventurers were - they were currently home. Normally Toruka wasn’t that much of a people person, but the Orsimer supposed that if this was Mauloch’s will who was she to object? If joining this guild let her fulfil her oath, then so be it.

Having decided her apparent fate, Toruka walked up to the door and slammed a heavy fist against it once and then twice.

[h3][sub]Knock[/sub][sup]knock[/sup][/h3][/indent][/indent]