A silver Khajiit had just arrived in the cold lands of Skyrim in the middle of the night. She had been banished from her homeland in Elsweyr and been left on the boarder of Skyrim. She had no wish to return there. Nor did she intend to stay here for very long. Arya, was about twenty three and had learnt early on in life, that it wasn't easy to survive in Tamriel. She had been banished for theft and trying to steal from the king. How she had gotten off without losing her life was still puzzling her.
Still. She was alive and intended to live, even in these cold lands for a time. The Khajiit had brilliant blue eyes and a set of scars across her nose, showing hardship. She wore a large travel cloak, but underneath she wore armour of dragon scales. She had forged this herself many moons ago and wore it with pride.
As she walked along the road, she shivered. She was not accustomed to the harsh cold of Skyrim and was seeking an inn to stay in. Though, the roads were looking bare and no light could be seen ahead. Arya sighed. This was going to be a tough night.