The Prince's Dagger

Seven: Poisons

I'm surprised not to have my throat slit in my sleep.

And, honestly, a little disappointed.

At the very least, the bastard could have taken my boots. I know I would have, if the roles were reversed. Perspective: a god who went to retrieve one of his mortals, only to lose his powers and have his mortal think about what a bastard he is. Personally, I wouldn't let it go unpunished.

He isn't there when I wake up the next morning. Instead, a crumpled hide sheet rests in his place. I kick at it, feeling a jab of desolation.

I should be happy that he's gone. But it felt really nice getting to see the same face for more than one day at a time.

I decide to head out into the inn. The madgod isn't warming himself by the fire, either.

Guess I got rid of him.

"Wait!"

When I turn around, that Ranmir fellow from last night is stumbling after me, eyes wide. He falls to his knees, which seems humble until I realize he's drunk. "Heeey you!" he slurs. "You're one of the people who did that play?"

"Eh, yeah..."

"Krias Thorne? Youuu... Dagur says you were a merc?" He hiccups. "I've got a little problem..."

I didn't need to look very far for work then. Winterhold was full of problems. "Okay."

"I don't have much but my sister... got herself into some trouble and it's all my fault!" He squeezes his eyes shut and makes an ugly face, biting his lip before tears bead up in his eyes. "Oh Birna! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have gone off and made that deal with-"

"Time is a'wastin, Ranny."

"Oh! Uhhh, I got into a shoddy deal with some bandits that sometimes rove into town, but I didn't know they were bandits until they told Birna they'd kill her for my mistake."

I cross my arms. I need money. It wasn't as if I spawned back in Tamriel with my little tunic pockets lined with gold; I'd need to take jobs. At the same time, I had no sword and asking me to do magic was like asking a cockroach to bark. Just couldn't do it. But maybe, since these guys were in town, they wouldn't draw their weapons. Maybe I could convince them to leave. "If you've got yourself into this mess, I assume you don't got much in the way of coin. What do you offer?"

"Birna... has a shop. And these guys have been pushing around others who live in Winterhold. I'm sure they'd be grateful."

"Being grateful doesn't fill my belly."

He quirks a brow. "It did yesterday."

Fair point.

"I'll take you up on that, Ranny." I turn away from the drunkard. "I'll check in with your sister and ask where these bandits hide out."

Before he can utter thanks, I step outside. Snow flurries sting my face at the memory of numbing down. The frost bite hits like a million raining razors, but I clasp Sheogorath's coat and shiver for the yearning of warmth.

Birna's Oddments isn't too far away. Just across the road, I drift. When I step inside, it's still cold but nearly as much as it was before, with the snow no longer coming down. "So," I say, rubbing my eyes, "I was told you could tell me how to kick the asses of a few bandits-"

When I finally blink the cold wet from my eyes, I realize my mistake. From the work counter, three tall, gruff men dressed in steel and leather give me a glare. The lashing fire light catches on the edge of one of their axe blades, creating a threatening glint. I still as I realize just how badly I fucked up.