"Little scrawny guy over there says you're working him too hard." I harden my smile.

"You mean Omluag?"

"You're working him to death. Lay off." I say it fiercer, and he swallows and studies the ground. I smile to myself, but not in person.

"All right, all right. You sound like a damn Legion officer," he waved his hand around, "but I get it. I'll give him a break. This better not hurt our quota." Putting his hand up in surrender now, he walked away. I laughed out loud, not meaning to, and he looked back at me before wearing his sour grin over by the wooden structure near us which lead over a river. All this water...well it wasn't a real river, but a stream caused by all the water...but who called me a water-scholar? So I walked over it and remembered what I was to be doing today besides talking to people about maltreatment. The guy witnessing the murder had dropped a paper and gave it to me discreetly. He had wanted me to meet him I bet. Somewhere, to talk about whatever the paper said, because following me after such an incident when I was also a witness would've came off as a sort of conspiracy against either the townspeople as the Forsworn ourselves or as something the guards didn't want against their secret. It's funny how I was putting this stuff together in my head already.

That peach-skinned Breton, I figured he was from his head shape but almost mistook as a Nord from all his blondeness, sat against a pillar in the shrine and breathed some sort of relief when he saw me. It was so dim in here I doubted his intentions of bringing me here, but business soon began at his words, "Gods. A woman attacked right on the streets. Are you all right?"

"Heh, sure," I scoffed. No one could get me down. And if they did, I was taking some of their men down with me. But I felt as I thought that an air of insecurity. If I were found out...I couldn't dwell on it too much. "So what's the deal here?"

Crimson crusted in lines on his face, not blood - paint. "That attack wasn't coincidental. None of this is since my dad died of a Forsworn attack years ago. I've been looking for any evidence ever since. I've not figured out why they wanted to kill him or who it was. It's the like...the guards don't want to help. I tell you, no one's going to bring up anything about Margret after this week is over. We're too scared to. If not of the Forsworn, of the guards incompetence." His frustration came out in large breaths and through the stress lines on his face. All this talking about the Forsworn killing ran ironic with me as I stared at the Talos statue behind the man with its sword in its hand. But at least its sword was pointing into some rock and not someone's body. I shuddered. I did not feel comfortable with all this talk and sight of bloodshed without my full armor, full everything, on me. It was a load off but I had enchanted boots and potions to nullify the weighing-down affect on me and it felt better than this nakedness.

The dim lights were probably purposeful, I noted: because they hid our faces well. I looked redder in the orange light and his hair looked more fawn. If someone saw us now, God would forbid they see through this facade when they see us in the light of day. We'll each look like another person.

But I would have never forgotten his face, so..."Okay, Eltrys," I knew his name from the note he prepped me with, "so you want me to retrieve this information?"

"Yes, and I will give you a very large sum of money for the little bits of information you supply me with."

"Little. So you're desperate, eh?"

He sighed, "Yes, very," he leaned harder against the pillar, if that weren't already impossible. His long green blouse accentuated the doubt in his hazel, green eyes. I saw his legs shift in those plain white trousers that flooded slightly over his mundane, brown boots. And I had to turn away before I got too sad about this bro. His parent had been killed unlawfully, so had mine...technically. But why was I pouting, at least I was alive. And the Dragonborn. And I'd only slain a few dragons, what was taking this manifest destiny so long?

I looked at him clearly now away from my reverie of staring through him and thought, how am I supposed to save people I don't even know? Maybe my destined tale was one that described my generosity to people in anything they needed help with, besides killing random-flitting dragons.

"Okay. So I'll do it for you. For a sum. Who do you want me to investigate?"

"Well," his face brightened up under the orange glow of the sconce lights, and was added to the smoothing of the frustration lining his forehead, "Sadly Margret's dead but she can help in her death. Research her room once you've got her key and also Weylin's, the man who killed her's. They should both give you sufficient evidence -"

"Wait a second. Why can't you do this? I'm not really the...stealthy type. Especially since I kinda -"

"Well you're a woman in a dress, no one expects you -"

"- gave up my Dwarven armor, and that's I used to crawl around in...not good practice. Wait, what you just say -?"

"Armor? Dwarven? Give it to Calcemo if you don't want it anymore. I hear he's giving big bucks out to anything Dwarven. I...didn't think of you the armor-wearing type..."

"Well in that case maybe I am stealthy, since I fool you so well - but yes, I shall do this for you to the best of my ability. I guess...you suck kinda like me -"

"I wanna be alive to see this information. Me messing up and dying is something I cannot afford."

"Hehe," I laugh, his last point not really not being offensive to me. "I understand it's a dream come true. But don't guarantee anything with me. I just got stitches," I took a moment to grab the hem of my dress and pull it up. He soaked in the damage and grimaced.

"I really don't want to put you through this, I didn't think it would hurt you any since you seem so innocent but you seem to already be hurt -"

"It's fine," I returned my dress to the ground, "I don't really need your pity. I accept it, but, y'know, I'm a tough woman. No offense to whatever you are."

He scrunched his face up tightly and bit his lip. "Um, alright. I have really bad judgement."

"Hope it doesn't cost me my life," I say, turning away from his contorted-by-confusion face. Yes, I'm loving wearing this dress - note the sarcasm. Because now I have a 99% chance of being robbed or raped. Whichever one suits the fancy of men who aren't having any of that from me today.

Oh, yeah, or I could just keep being mistaken for a lovely innocent woman...and for that, I guess I could start trying out my stealth.

* * *

It's so very bad to leave your aspirations with me, because I'm so darn busy. And you know what's better than searching around for a murderer's cover ups (or cover-up ers)? Well what was he covering? He was already known to support the Forsworn and pretty much is known to have killed someone - anyway, maybe the reason for him killing Margret needs to be unleashed - well, what's better than all that is...duh duh dah duh dah duh daah! Actually. Figuring. Out. How. I. Got. Here. And. Why.

Why in the world am I here?

I figured out Margret stayed at the Silver-Blood Inn. Thanks to Omluag, the guy I rescued from completely full-out harshness by his 'owner' - no, this wasn't slavery, 'master' - and then I later discovered what in the world the Warrens were before noticing, hey, this such slum is home to Weylin. I was too scared to go into any of their rooms, especially since Margret's key was behind the Innkeeper's desk an he wouldn't give it up without a ridiculous price on it, and Weylin's home was in the middle of many angry, sad, poor people that wouldn't be satisfied, I don't think, with me rummaging and breaking into a similar poor man's stuff. How did a poor man become one of the Forsworn?

Questions aside, I wasn't digging into this mystery anymore. Because I had a headache dug into my skull and my stomach echoed its disapproval of no food. I didn't want to spend my money on such 'necessities' and didn't, however. I needed to keep whatever I had to get home. I'd looked at my map and I was nowhere near familiar territory. Gosh, little girl who I played tag with's parents, take me home with you so I may be their dependent, too!

I dug into my satchel to glare at the silly slip of paper I found off the floor of the Dibella temple, noting the breadth of the change inside of my satchel in retrospect and sighing still at the fact that the man neither stole from me...maybe he was a stalker and knew who I was, that Sam Guevenne. Maybe he should use his stalker skills to find me, again.

But to the list he gave me:

×Giant's Toe? I had that.

×Holy water? The temple attendant was too stingy for me to acquire that.

×Two bottles of Alto Wine

xHagraven Feather - had that, too. Hm. I'll keep on the look out for the missing objects.

One helpful thing Senna the priest lady that got mad at me at the Dibella temple told me was where I said I had been while I was drunk muttering things I can't remember. She said Rorkistead. I chuckled to myself as I walked aimlessly towards a river outside of Markath with my new-bought sword on my side and minor armor on as well as my flowing burgendy fur-trimmed dress, because I knew what Rorkistead meant according to a song. It meant the far side of Tamriel. Yeah, if that didn't confirmed I was in a weird place, I don't know what did. And that made me more fearful out of my mind, because no one knew who I was here, and vice versa...and I'd better not have a Forsworn zealot on my tracks or else. I was gonna be making a bad reputation for myself.