The cold breeze of the Pale beats Shiala’s cheeks without mercy when she finally arrives to Dawnstar. It was foolish to think she’d have the means to just go straight to Yngvild, the size of that tomb was ridiculous — she could still see it from the edge of Dawnstar. What on Nirn did nords compensate for back in the day?
Stepping inside the Windpeak Inn brings back strange memories. She remembers vividly being covered in gore after killing a dragon and listening the local whisper in terror until she finally managed to get changed. Other half of the crowd desperately surrounding Erandur, begging for his help with their nightmares. That’s how they met, not knowing some time later their acquaintance nearly lead to his death. The messy, passionate months after feel more like a hazy dream now. Sometimes she thinks perhaps so much of was exactly that — a dream. The miasma messing up with her head. His head, when she caused him to relapse. What a mess it all was.
The innkeeper recognizes her. He smiles, though behind his facade there's still the same apathy as she remembered— a mark that Vaermina left in his poor face, not physically, but the mental drain that all left in him still shows.
“Good to see you,” Thoring says to her, but she doubts he means it, ‘what can I get for you?”
Shiala’s purse jingles out of her little pocket as she lays it on the counter. “If I could get a room for tonight, and perhaps something to eat.”
“Seeing your old friend?” He asks with a yawn.
“No,” she pauses, hoping she won't end up bumping up to Erandur this time. “Can you tell me anything about Yngvild?”
His right eye twitches. It makes Shiala chuckle a little, thinking the man already regrets saying that it was nice to see her — because was it really, knowing Shiala always gets herself involved with the town's problems, even with the once not needing for attention of the Dragonborn. “Many strange things happening lately. First the nightmares, then the Black Door, women going missing.. ”
Missing women? Shiala senses his nervousness and the volume of his voice lowering. “Sounds more for a reason to pry further. What's so strange about it then? There's some kind of master wizard, no?”
“Aye. There’s some unsettling rumors going on about that place.” Thoring serves himself a drink, too, drinking ale straight from the bottle. “Necromancy.”
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