An Ordinary Life, All Things Considered.

"Tell me about your past."

The woman hesitated, her hands smoothing the fine but worn quilt that rumpled across the bed. "Why would you want to talk about that?"

"Humor me," he said, taking a sip of the skooma-laced jazbay juice he favoured when he was feeling decadent, which was often. He settled back against the pillow, hands under his head, "I enjoy hearing people's stories."

"It is quite ordinary, considering the times."

"Dark times they are, for an ordinary woman to be," his golden eyes slid around the luxurious room, "here."

The young woman scowled, her hazel eyes flashing with quick ire that was quickly smothered with the discipline of a professional. She cast her gaze down to her finger tips, the short nails lacquered a shade of garish purple.

"We were, are, farmers," her words were quiet, halting. "We worked the land, and our clan had several holdings in High Rock, near the Reach."

"What did you grow?" he asked, watching her intently, pale blonde hair falling around a sinewy golden forearm.

"The land was rocky and hard, we kept a small herd of goats and grew different root vegetables and herbs. We traded cheese, or sold it for coin, so that we did not have to live off carrots and gourds."

"Very good. That was not so hard, was it? Tell me more. How did you end up in Anvil?"

"Bad luck. First an Oblivion Gate opened up nearby and killed all the goats. A pack of Daedra chased us for weeks, through the Druadach Mountains, and by the time they gave up pursuit, it was easier for our family to go to Markarth than anywhere else." The woman ran her hand through her honey-brown hair, the shoulder-length locks falling around a delicate, fox-like face. The Altmer almost had her again, but resisted the urge, because he wanted to hear more. He certainly had an indulgent streak, but he tempered it with powerful self-restraint.

The woman ignored his avid stare and continued, her voice low and melodic, "We had no money, having not prepared for such a journey, we had lived off the land on our wild chase through the Reach. Two of my three brothers died fending off the natives and one of my two sisters died of fever just a few days west of Markarth. We stumbled into the Silver-Blood Inn, and were promptly turned out. We made our way to the Warrens."

The Altmer stood up and scratched his buttocks, then plucked his uniform off of the large armchair against the north wall of the room. He imperiously waved at her to keep talking.

The woman continued, "One night, there was a celebration of sorts in the Warren, some criminal had finished his sentence and was being released from Cidhna Mine, and was being welcomed home. My friends and I bought a bottle of wine from someone at the celebration, and the next thing we knew we were bound in a cart for Cyrodiil. There were five of us kidnapped that night."

"This does not sound ordinary."

"It was for us. People went missing down there all the time. Men, women, boys, girls, no one was immune to the slave trade or the desires of the bloodlusty. I saw you Thalmor everywhere, surely you knew how it was down there. The things that happened." Her lip curled derisively, twisting her otherwise pretty face into a hateful sneer, "Are you all that blind?"

The elf casually backhanded the woman, sending her reeling down against the quilt, its faded red linen feeling gritty in her sweaty palms. She sat up, and muttered, "Apologies, Justiciar. I did not mean to be rude."

"I could kill you for that kind of talk. No one would question me."

"I know," her voice shook a bit, but otherwise she was calm, her hazel eyes flicking up to the Justiciar's golden eyes, and then hastily back down to the quilt. "Please don't kill me."

His golden eyes narrowed, "Who kidnapped you?"

"Homeless thugs, who handed us off to a people smuggling gang outside of Markarth. But they were on the orders of some Dark Elves in Cyrodiil."

"Who?" The Thalmor licked his lips eagerly, as he buttoned up his cloak and pulled his gloves over his hands.

"I do not know their house name, because the people transporting us reneged on that deal and sold us to someone else."

The elf sighed with disappointment, and idly threw a bag of coins onto the table by the large oaken door.

"Tell the madam next time I would prefer a male." He walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

The woman stood up, pulled on a pair of trousers, straightened her hair, and made the bed. She threw the coinpurse into a lockbox near the door, and sunk her teeth into an apple.

Edit: changed Forsworn to natives.