Freyja
Supreme Ruler of Cats
Morthal. A cold a dreary place, inhabited by strange creatures and superstitious folk. The dimly lit Moorside Inn was the most dreary place there. The Orc by the name of Lurbuk scared away the few people that would actually go there, and the remainder of the people was simply the innkeeper and the Orc himself. Fliers were posted on every door, every column, anything that people would notice. Yet no one seemed to pay attention to the bold print describing the Dragon Riders, and any extra volunteers could go to any inn at any hold. It was normally Windhelm and Solitude that got the most recruits-Morthal got next to none.
A gray Khajiit clad in black scowled at the emptiness of the inn. It was bitterly quiet, aside from the out of tune music that was obnoxiously loud. She had been assigned to Morthal for the whole week, and not a single volunteer had come to her yet. Today was her last day here, and she definitely did not want to go back empty-handed. Her sense of pride was to great for that. Occasionally people would work up the courage to ask her why she was there, but when the Khajiit informed them of the need for more soldiers to fight the Dragon Riders, they would rush out of the inn, probably back to their cozy little hearths. Everyone here is a coward!
The Khajiit, Freyja, sighed loudly and stood up, ordering a mead from the innkeeper, paying a few septims more than needed. The innkeeper stared at her like she was Kynareth herself in a mortal form. Freyja took the pint of mead from the woman, sitting back in the corner of the room, attempting to ignore the horrible music coming from the bard. She took a swig of her golden mead-this was going to be a long day. Freyja slumped against the wall, closing her eyes as if to seem asleep. She felt truly comfortable when she could observe people without them realizing she was awake. It freed her to stare all she wanted. Her ears would tell all.
Occasionally a door opened, and Freyja's eyes would halfway open, checking for people, but it was mostly the wind or Lurbuk coming back from some errand. Freyja, of course, would sigh softly in irritation and close her eyes once more, her ears flicking around, attempting to hear something-anything- that would suggest that a possible volunteer walked towards her.
A gray Khajiit clad in black scowled at the emptiness of the inn. It was bitterly quiet, aside from the out of tune music that was obnoxiously loud. She had been assigned to Morthal for the whole week, and not a single volunteer had come to her yet. Today was her last day here, and she definitely did not want to go back empty-handed. Her sense of pride was to great for that. Occasionally people would work up the courage to ask her why she was there, but when the Khajiit informed them of the need for more soldiers to fight the Dragon Riders, they would rush out of the inn, probably back to their cozy little hearths. Everyone here is a coward!
The Khajiit, Freyja, sighed loudly and stood up, ordering a mead from the innkeeper, paying a few septims more than needed. The innkeeper stared at her like she was Kynareth herself in a mortal form. Freyja took the pint of mead from the woman, sitting back in the corner of the room, attempting to ignore the horrible music coming from the bard. She took a swig of her golden mead-this was going to be a long day. Freyja slumped against the wall, closing her eyes as if to seem asleep. She felt truly comfortable when she could observe people without them realizing she was awake. It freed her to stare all she wanted. Her ears would tell all.
Occasionally a door opened, and Freyja's eyes would halfway open, checking for people, but it was mostly the wind or Lurbuk coming back from some errand. Freyja, of course, would sigh softly in irritation and close her eyes once more, her ears flicking around, attempting to hear something-anything- that would suggest that a possible volunteer walked towards her.