Faervel's black fur cloak flapped in the strong winds of north Cyrodiil. Her hood was raised and her head lowered against the wind, her arms gripping the cloak and wrapping it round herself. All that could be seen of her was the black cloak reaching down to the frosty ground, and a shadowed face; only her mouth and chin were visible. Her sword and bow caused a hump on her back, giving the effect that she was simply an old crone, trying to reach Skyrim. This, naturally, meant she was either left alone or, if she was attacked, she was underestimated.
Faervel was a half-breed; a cross between a Bosmer and an Imperial. She had parts of the elven delayed aging; she was seven and forty, but she was equivalent to a one and twenty year old pure human. This, combined with her weapon skills, meant she could easily overpower anyone expecting to fight a decrepit old woman.
It had been almost a month since she had been thrown out of Silvenar, and told of the dragons attacking Skyrim. A month sleeping rough, camping out, defending herself with no-one to talk to. Not that she minded; after what had happened in Silvenar, she had no urge to be around people.
Faervel carried on walking, her cloak dragging along the ground. She stepped forward slowly, resisted by the wind, breathing heavily. The pressure didn't do wonders for her lungs; she needed clear, open air to breathe properly. She was forced to breathe through her mouth, causing white clouds to emerge from under her hood. This caused a lot of people to circle around her; she looked so ominous that people tried to avoid her.
But the peace didn't last long. She heard someone breathing, standing still in front of her. She stopped, still looking down at the ground, noticing the person's feet. They were faced right towards Faervel, and clearly waiting for a response. She looked up slightly, looking at the man from under her hood.
He was short; maybe five feet and six inches. He was quite chunky, and his face was contorted in a smug smirk. He wasn't alone, either; there was a group of tall, much stronger men behind him, wielding swords, maces, axes and other weapons.
"Can I help you?" Faervel asked, almost hoping they were looking for a fight.
"Yes, I believe you can." His smirk turned into a grin. "I am told you have something of value."
Faervel didn't know what on Nirn he might be talking about; the only thing she had of worth was only of worth to the Parikh back in Silvenar.
"I think you must be mistaken, I have nothing, not even coin." This was a lie; she had a small purse full of gold, but they didn't need to know that. She tried to push past the short man, but one of the stronger ones pushed her back roughly. Surprised, she staggered, falling to the ground and slowly looking up.
"Oh, I'm fairly sure you are the one." He looked back, gesturing to his cronies. "Kill the girl. Take it, and then back. No complications." The men behind him advanced past the short one, surrounding Faervel and raising their weapons.
Faervel stood up slowly, then dropped her cloak and drew her sword from its sheath on her back. She glanced round at the men, waiting for one of them to make a move. Suddenly, one of them lunged forward clumsily, swinging his mace haphazardly.
Faervel ducked quickly, hamstringing the man in one swift move, blocking an axe swing from another as she kicked the ankles of the first man, knocking him heavily to the ground. She flourished the short sword, stabbing through the man's throat and withdrawing, spinning round like a viper about to lunge, and slashing twice in quick succession; once to swat aside a man's sword, and again to slash across his chest, jumping aside as a man behind her tried to stab through her belly. Instead of stabbing her, he ended up finishing off his friend, his eyes widening as he realised what had happened.
There were four men left, and one of them was standing still, staring down at the friend he'd just killed. Ignoring him, she focused on the three that were still after her. Flipping backwards to avoid a heavy smash from a mace, she drew her bow and shot an arrow through his throat, so quick they hadn't a clue what had happened. She slid the bow back onto her back, slicing through the leg of another crony and stabbing through his chest, then turning, hesitating, and throwing her sword, letting it fly into the throat of the last man. She walked toward him slowly as he fell, grabbing the hilt and yanking it out.
She looked to the short man, who looked absolutely terrified. She walked to him, grabbing his throat and pressing her forehead to his as he whimpered.
"You send anyone else after me, I'll come back for you." She moved back and swiftly jabbed her fist into his throat, knocking him unconscious and giving him an easily understood message. Faervel gritted her teeth, wrapping her cloak back around herself and resuming her journey north to the mountain she could see in the distance, where she would hopefully find the life she was searching for.