The Dragonborn's Apprentice

Innocence Sizaan

"So, how'd you do it?" Slurred Sanguine drunkenly. The group of girls around him were hanging from his every word, and his every muscled limb. "You stabbed him in the gut, didn't you? No, you slit his throat! Did you cut his head clean off his shoulders?" The ladies swooned.

"Quick and clean, Dragonborn." I clutched the paper in my hands. It took the rest of the day and all the stamina my horse had in him, but I had finally made it to Windhelm. I found Sanguine exactly where I thought I would. Candleharth Hall, the local pub.

"You ladies know I taught this one everything she knows?" Grammatically, it was a question, though it came out as a statement.

"Oh, Sanguine. You're so strong. Tell us again about that time you fought three dragons at once!" He never really minded when bodacious women called him by his name. Although, he could just be too drunk to hear them. I never could tell.

"Oh, yeah. Hey, Innocence, you were there, why don't you tell all these lovely ladies about it?"

"Actually, I don't think I was. I was just going to slip out for a bit, do you mind?"

"What, jealousy consuming you?" Asked one of the women. The one wearing entirely too much makeup and rubbing Sanguine's shoulders.

"Jealous of what, exactly?"

"Jealous that Sanguine's so much stronger than you. He's a hero, you know. You just carry the bags." I rolled my eyes. Did she honestly think her comment offended me? As if I hadn't heard that same sentence a dozen times before, just from a different set of plump, pink lips. I got up to leave.

"Unt ni wah ofaal kotin naan ahkon, dii Stahr. Nid gein fen sav hi nuz zey," I heard behind me. Try not to get into any trouble, my Innocence. No one will save you but me. Sanguine loved using dragon speak. I had learned it well, but most of the phrases I knew only had to do with me being useless. And in the current situation, I was. I wouldn't be of much assistance while Sanguine swooned a few drunken girls into his room for the night.

"Geh, Dovahkiin." Yes, Dragonborn.

I peeled open the slip of paper. Three words. Aretino Residence, Windhelm. No instructions. No hints. Just a name and a place. I had a strong feeling that jester knew that we were headed in this direction.

The building wasn't anything special, just traditional Windhelm stone. I felt the wooden door. Cold. No one was home.

Picking the lock was easy. I had lots of practice. It had taken me a while to get used to a sword and before I had gotten the hang of it, I would go out and buy daggers or bows. They are much lighter, and I enjoyed carrying them, even though I had never learned to use them. Whenever I would return home, Sanguine would scream that bows were the coward's weapon and daggers were for thieves. He would lock them in chests and I would be forced to pick the locks. But, he would always find them and lock them away again. Eventually, when my ability to pick locks grew beyond his ability to lock them, he began destroying my weapons instead. That's when he stopped allowing me to carry my own coin.

The inside of the house wasn't special, either. It was dark and looked like it hadn't been lived in for quite a while. It was almost silent; the only sound was a quiet chant seeping through the floorboards of the upper quarters. With my hand on the hilt of my sword, I snuck my way up the stairs. Sneaking was another one of my hidden talents. Sanguine would tell me not to be seen or heard, but not for combat reasons. He hated when I interrupted his dinner parties, but I still needed to eat.

The chanting grew louder, and the dim light grew brighter. I leaned around the corner. A small boy was bent over decomposing human remains. Bile raced quickly up my throat. My unarmed hand covered my mouth to keep from throwing it up.