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The pale sun of Skyrim rises high above as another morning out on the trail stirs you from a pleasant slumber. It had been some weeks since you set out from Riften on the heels of your headstrong daughter, whose trek into the wider world was not without its share of pitfalls. Having spent most all of her life behind the high walls of the Hold, Ellia was perhaps not the best trailblazer, but what she lacked for in experience she seemed to make up for with dedication. And if dedication failed, well... there was a reason you had accompanied her despite her protests. You might not have been the mighty warrior your husband was, but there was no way anything horrible was befalling your only girl while you had something to say about it. The apple of your eye is not present in the tent the two of you share as you rub the sleep from your eyes, however, and as you push the furs aside to try and search for her, the sound of steel biting into wood with a satisfying 'crack' puts any potential panic to rest. There were many things Ellia had inherited from your late husband, but the one most prominently featured in your trek into the wider world so far was his tendency to be an early riser—the girl must have woken up long before you and set off to chop wood for the morning's cook fire before you had the opportunity to put it together.
Shimmying into your clothes for the day, you're greeted to the sight of Ellia bringing her axe down on the last of the unfortunate logs she had fished from your supplies, tossing them into the kindling she must have gathered before the sun was high in the sky. She catches sight of you as she hefts the heavy steel head up onto her shoulder, turning to properly acknowledge you.
"Ah, mother," She almost seems a little bashful as she speaks, perhaps underestimating how noisy she was being in her zeal to get the day started, "I didn't realize you were up. I had hoped to get breakfast finished before you rose; Ivarstead shouldn't be far, if we're quick today."
Ivarstead, the place where your errant daughter wished to make a name for herself. It all started shortly after you left Riften, when the inns were still relatively plentiful, and you could expect a soft feather bed beneath you on more nights than not. While drinking with some of the men at one of the humble little taprooms, Ellia had caught wind of unrest in that humblest of towns on the Throat of the World. Apparently, there were rumors of foul magicks being practiced in the old barrows just north of town, the fruits of which stalked the countryside preying upon good folk. Ivarstead fell under the purview of the Jarl of Riften, and perhaps there would be a response in the way of a Thane being sent to investigate the matter, but Ellia was convinced she could get there and solve it first, adding a first notch to her sword belt. Truth be told, rumors were often just that, but the threat of necromancy was not one to be taken lightly. Ellia might have swung an axe as well as any household guardsmen, but draugr were unlikely to find fear in the face of her battle-cries, and even veteran warriors could be overwhelmed by their unending pursuit.
All the better that she had an experienced hand at Restoration magic on her side. Undead hordes might have been a challenge for those who fought with steel and grit, but few creatures of darkness could withstand the wards of a veteran priestess. Ellia is quick to wipe the sweat from her brow, running her fingers through that wild mane of hers as she looks about the supplies you still have left: mostly flour and dried meat, at this point, but enough to make a reasonable morning meal with a little creativity. Something she seems to look to you for.
"Seeing as though you are up, though... perhaps you might wish to cook?"
Ellia Windblade
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