Dar'Elaraya stood before Warmaiden's as she conversed with the co-owner. All the while planning on how and when best to sneak in to find the ledger, then change it.

"Got some good pieces out here, if you're looking to buy," Adrianne Avenicci said, "more inside." It sounded as though the woman had said this a million times, and wasn't even close to tired of it.

Then the Khajiit had an idea. "Does this one need any help around her forge?"

"Yes actually. How about you smith me an iron dagger? Here's everything you need to craft one."

"This one thanks you." Craft a dagger? I've made some arrowheads, but I'm not a smith... Might as well give it a shot, eh?

On the side of Warmaiden's, there was the forge set up. Dar'Elaraya walked over and started warming up the forge, as she'd seen others do. Carefully, wary of burning her fur and skin, she eventually molded the dagger blade, and crafted the hilt. The hilt was well done, she had weaved leather before she had even heard of Skyrim and the other provinces. It was braided, and the tighter parts of the braid were molded for a generic sized hand to grip. The blade, on the other hand...

Dar'Elaraya showed the weapon to the smith. "The hilt is good, but the blade... Well, I'm sure you could salvage it if you sharpened it, eh?"

Trying despite making a deformed blade, the Khajiit sat herself down at the grindstone. It did indeed sharpen, but the deformed shape from the original, dull blade was still present.

"Not too bad. You put time into your blades, Khajiit. Why don't you go ahead and keep it? Also, while you're at it... you seem to be a good user of leather. Would you mind trying to make a hide helm for me?"

"Khajiit is not good with the metalsmithing," Dar'Elaraya protested.

"That's fine. Just make the leather part, and I'll take care of the rest." As if on cue, the Nord moved over to her forge and started the metal workings of the helmet.

It took her around a quarter hour, but Dar'Elaraya finished the leather part. It was thick, and she slit small lines into it to let it move a little easier than she had seen them be. It was a test, she knew, but why not? It wouldn't cost her anything.

"What are these slits, Khajiit?"

"Easier movement," she replied.

"But hide helms are used also to keep rain off someone's head."

"My apologies."

"Fix it up, and then temper it at the workbench." Her voice had nothing of the disappointment or anger, but remained neutral.

Once Dar'Elaraya had done as she was asked, Adrianne looked over the helmet. "You have talent, Khajiit. I'd almost ask you to be my assistant, but you have the adventurer's eye on you. Just keep working at your craft, and you'll be a fine smith one day." She smiled, and the Khajiit returned it.

Dar'Elaraya bowed slightly. "This one thanks you."

Now, turning toward the door with Adrianna headed toward her forge, it was time for the Khajiit to get to work. She greeted the man behind the counter, and as he bent to grab a sword or shield to shine, Dar'Elaraya snuck up the stairs. Surely, in living quarters would be where they put the ledger. Why have it out, in arms reach of customers?

Sure enough, the ledger was in the upstairs, in a small bedroom. She changed it without a second thought, and watched the Nord for when he wasn't looking. He bent down to place the sword back, and the Khajiit was out the door before he had gotten back up.

Now that's Delvin's job done. She headed deeper into the city, and heard a lady talking to herself about the Khajiit caravans. That caught Dar'Elaraya's attention. "Excuse me, but did you mention the Khajiit caravans?"

The woman turned, and surprise was written on her face. "How did you get into the city? Khajiit are normally found only in Riften."

Dar'Elaraya's ears folded back. "This one has her ways."

"I'm sorry, truly I am. You asked about the caravans? The Khajiit, like the ones outside these walls some days, make their living traveling the roads, and selling their wares. It's got to be tough, you know. Skyrim's a hard enough land with a roof over your head, and when you aren't hated and seen only as skooma dealers and thieves. I've seen the guards ridicule and irritate them almost into attack, but they packed up and left before they let themselves do that.
"Worst thing is, well, what I had questioned you about. Nobody want them in the cities. No one trusts them."

"This one sounds as though she does?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. They've been fair in their trades with me, as far as I can tell. I'm very glad you got into the city." With a little humor, she continued, "And a Nord knows a liar when she sees one."

"I greet you, Nord woman. I am glad you do not see the worst when all others do."

"My name is Ysolda, by the way. May I ask yours?"

"I am known as Elaraya. Fortune be to you, Ysolda. May your road lead you to warm sands."

Ysolda nodded. "And you, too."

Dar'Elaraya was about to leave Whiterun—she did have a job to do in Solidtude, after all—when she remembered the warriors. The Companions, she remembered. This one might as well pay them a visit, hm?

Curiosity and boredom led her to them. Jorrvaskar was impressive, but it was obvious that it had been a boat. How it got so far inland was beyond the Khajiit, but she didn't ponder it too long. Something else caught her attention.

There was a Shadowmark. The one that signaled danger.

The Khajiit hesitated a second, then she realized that was when thieves were on the job. While working off of curiosity, however...

The door suddenly burst open. The female Nord with the green marks on her face was the one who walked out out. "Oh, it's you," the woman said, stopping a few feet from Dar'Elaraya.

"Aela, watch this fight!" someone from inside called.

"I'll be a minute!" she replied, turning to the Khajiit. "I thought someone was out here. Well?"

"May this one join you in your hunts?"

"If you want to hunt with me, your feet need to be quick, and your eye's quicker." Aela gave Dar'Elaraya an appraising glance. "However, a Khajiit is a natural hunter anyway. You might have a better advantage than most new welps. Either way, it's not for me to say. Go find Kodlak. You can figure out the rest."

Aela led the way back inside, and pointed to some stairs. "Go down there, head right and keep going. I have a fight to watch."

A fight was indeed going on, but the Khajiit was curious in what this place was. Was it like the Fighters Guild, perhaps the Skyrim vein? She had no idea.

She might as well find out.

The hallway under the drinking hall was about as long as the room above. At the end of the hallway, two men could be seen conversing, but their voices were lowered. Regardless, Dar'Elaraya approached and waited on one side of the doorway, listening in.

One man was young, though it was obvious the battles he had been through. His eyes were fierce and his voice was strong, like he was used to shouting war cries. The other man looked just as, if not more, battle worn as his companion, but he was older with graying-white hair, pale eyes, and spiraling war paint on his cheeck.

"But I still hear the call of the blood," the younger man said, conflicted.

"We all do," the older man replied, not unsympathetically. "It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

Poking around the wall, Dar'Elaraya was finally noticed. "Leave that to me," the old man said, looking straight at her. She had the chilling feeling that he was appraising her worth, as she had been told. "A stranger comes to our hall."

"This one would like to join you," Dar'Elaraya said.

The old man feigned surprise. "Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you. Hmm, yes. Perhaps. A certain strength in spirit..." He got quieter as he trailed off.

"Master," the younger man interrupted, but not rudely, "you're not truly considering accepting her? A Khajiit?"

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas," the old man chastised, but like a kind father. "And, last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts. Race does not matter, just their soul."

Vilkas bowed his head for a short second. "Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time." He now, too, faced the Khajiit. "I've never even heard of this Khajiit."

"Sometimes, the famous comes to us," the old man said calmly. "Sometimes, men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference.
"What matters is their heart."

"And their arm," Vilkas added. Dar'Elaraya wasn't sure whether that was meant to be a bit of humor or if the man was serious.

"Of course." Facing the Khajiit, he continued "How are you in battle, girl?"

Guess Vilkas was serious. "I- This one has much to learn."

"That's the spirit. Vilkas, here, will get started on that." Turning to the younger man, he continued. "Vilkas, take her out to the yard and see what she can do."

The fur along Dar'Elaraya's spine tried to lift, but the leather armor she had kept it flat. "Now?"

Vilkas nodded to the old man. "Aye, now."

     She followed the Nord out to the back of the mead hall. There was an archery target and sparring dummies.

     Dar'Elaraya didn't think she would be wailing on the dummies.

     "The old man said to have a look at you," Vilkas said. He was already spacing himself out for a fight. "So let's do this." He pulled out a steel sword—it looked far more ornate than normal steel swords—and Dar'Elaraya had to quickly get out her Imperial one, the one she took from Helgen.

He advanced, holding up a heavy shield. Not knowing what else to do, Dar'Elaraya swung her sword at the shield. "Take a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry about me, I can take it." His voice was quiet, and she almost didn't hear it before her sword met the shield. Sure, attacking would dull the blade, but she didn't have any feelings for the Imperials or the sword itself. She would get a new and better one if need be.

"There you go!" Vilkas took the blow like it was nothing, meanwhile Dar'Elaraya's arm was going through pain from the shock of the sword on shield. Vilkas swung at her then, and she had to back up.

"She just might make it," a man said. Later, she would recall him telling her he'd be watching her and that he had one white eye, but in the thick of the training battle, she almost didn't hear him.

Once again, she swung at the shield. She hissed with the shock-pain coming right after, racing up and down her arm. And another.

"Not bad. Next time won't be so easy. You might just make it. But until then, you're still just a welp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you to do." Sounds like Mercer and the Guild, she thought dryly. "Here's my sword," Vilkas pulled out his sword and handed it to her. Beautiful... "Go and take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful. It's probably worth more than you are."

The sword he had been battling with was in her claws. The design was very nice. Intricate. But it wasn't light. It felt like steel. Not the dainty sword it looked to be. Not silver.

Dar'Elaraya, not wanting to steal the blade of such a seasoned warrior, took it to the smith, Eorlund, planning on heading to the inn to sleep, and leave in the morning for Solitude.

"What brings you here?" the smith asked, briskly.

"Vilkas sends his sword to you."

"I'm guessing you're the newcomer then?"

"Word travels fast. This one is the 'new blood' around here, yes." She handed the sword over, and Eorlund started to hone the edge. "All I can do for now is do as I'm told." She shrugged.

"That attitude will get you far, if you were some stuffy merchant or the Jarl's footstool. Around here, you want to live your own life."

"This one already has that started," Dar'Elaraya commented, ironically. In the world of thieves and honor...

"Remember, nobody rules anybody in the Companions, Khajiit." The hiss of steam from the molten metal was the only noise to penetrate the conversation.

"Isn't someone in charge, though? There is a leader, yes?"

"Well," Eorlund started, hammering at the cooled metal. "I don't know how they've managed it, but they have. No leaders since Ysgramor. Kodlack is the Harbinger, and he's a sort of advisor for the whole group, but every man is his own. Every woman, her own." Silence elapsed as the hammering became the only sound.

"This one must go," Dar'Elaraya said, turning away.

"Wait, before you go, I have a favor to ask."

She turned back to face the smith. "This one is listening."

"I've been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I need to get back to her soon. I'd be much obliged if you could take it to Aela for me."

"Did you not just tell this one not to be a servant?" Eorlund got a look of irritation, and drew breath to put the Khajiit in her place. In a softer tone, Dar'Elaraya said, "It would be joy to this one to lend a hand."

"Well done." He smiled, handed over the shield, and went back to his work, the orange glow casting shadows as the sun set.

This one will give Aela her shield, then turn in. Riften, or Solidtude, was the next destination.

Once Dar'Elaraya found the huntress' room, she knocked. Aela answered. A man—Skijor, the one to comment on her fighting—was in the room as well.. "This one has your shield."

"Ah, good. I've been waiting for this. Good to see you made it up here." Dar'Elaraya handed over the shield.

"You know this Khajiit?" Skjor asked Aela. "I saw her training in the yard with Vilkas."

Aela laughed. "Ah, yes. I heard you gave him quite a thrashing."

"Don't let Vilkas catch you saying that, Aela," Skjor warned.

Aela turned back to Dar'Elaraya. "Do you think you could beat Vilkas in a real fight, Khajiit?"

"This one does not like to boast," Dar'Elaraya said.

"And let your actions speak for you. A woman of action." Silence followed. "Here, let's have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head. Ysgramor himself wouldn't have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here."

"Farkas!" Skjor called. Dar'Elaraya heard footsteps and moved away from the doorway.

Farkas appeared in the doorway. "You called?"

"Of course we did, icebrain," Aela said. It was more teasing than insult. "Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep."

"New blood?" Farkas glanced at Dar'Elaraya. "Oh, I remember you. Come on, follow me." He led the way, checking to make sure she was following. "Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they're good people. They challenge us to be our best. It's also nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes. I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life." I'm no house pet! But she couldn't be mad at Farkas. He seemed too nice.

"I hope you keep me, too," she said, surprising herself.

He nodded. "The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed — and empty one — and fall in it when you're tired. Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has. Now, it looks like the others are eager to met you. Come see me, or Aela, if you want work. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do." He patted her shoulder as he passed, leaving. "Good luck. And welcome to the Companions, Khajiit."

She was just about to enter the sleeping quarters when he called her back. "By the way, if you need something to do, we've gotten a letter about someone needing some muscle right here, in Whiterun Hold. Don't know what the fight is about, and that's not our business anyway. I just need you to go out there, look tough, and scare this milk drinker into submission." He turned serious. "No more than that. I don't want to hear about a killing out there, understood?"

"This one does not end life unnecessarily."

"Just... try not to get carried away." He turned and left her.

Well, at least this one isn't paying to sleep somewhere... Maybe she could hit the job on her way to Solitude, and take a carriage all the way back to Riften to collect her gold from Delvin and Vex. She chose a bed and slept.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪
     About time, am I right? This was meant to come out  in May, but... Well, better late than never.
So you think Dar'Elaraya will rethink her thieving ways and become honorable? Or do you think she'll brush this off and head out immediately?