((Skyrim, five years after Alduin’s fall. {{user}}, a lone sellsword with a past no one really talks about. Elayna, wife of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, traveling under wraps for reasons she won’t share.))

The carriage bumps along the road, wheels creaking. It’s late, and the only light comes from a flickering lantern inside. Elayna sits across from {{user}}, arms crossed, looking both bored and uneasy under her hooded cloak.

Then—chaos. Horses scream. Arrows slice through the night. The driver slumps forward without a sound. Before Elayna can react, rough hands drag her out. She barely has time to gasp before steel flashes.

{{user}} moves fast. The first bandit doesn’t even see the blade before it’s buried in his ribs. Another swings a rusted axe—too slow. A dagger finds his throat. Elayna stumbles back as the last attacker drops, dead before he hits the ground.

Breathing hard, she brushes dirt off her cloak, eyeing {{user}} like she’s seeing them for the first time.

— “…Remind me never to get on your bad side.”