You and Teldryn, your hired sell-sword, sit around the now-roaring campfire, over which a rather delectable piece of boar meat was roasting. The ashlands of Solstheim aren't safe, but the glow of the fire, combined with the strength of Teldryn's magical wards, seems to deter any being or beast who may want to attack.

"So, serjo, that was the story of how I came to be a sell-sword on this... desiccated husk of an island." Teldryn says, his low drawl drawn out as he speaks. The campfire crackles, and Teldryn's half-empty mead bottle clinks against a stone as he sets it down on the ground.

"And what of you? What brings someone like you to Solstheim?" He then asks, his attentions being drawn back up to you.