I spent some time with the Julian monks that rescued me but left as soon as I felt able since they clearly felt uncomfortable having a woman in their midst. It had been a few weeks since the death of my former master, and I still harbored mixed feelings about the entire affair. It was like when I took a trip to Paraguay before my junior year of college - after three months, coming home to "normal" was almost as big of a culture shock as when I had arrived in Asunción. Likewise, having freedom to do whatever I wanted took some getting used to. The monastery turned out to be the perfect halfway house for my addiction to slavery - they didn't make a lot of noise, so the time I spent cringing on the ground was minimized.

They gave me robes and, even though it was warm, I kept the hood up and the neck of the robe closed tight to hide the collar. I knew enough by now to know that a collar meant anyone and everyone could do whatever they wanted with me or to me. I had to get the damn thing off. The closest city was Whiterun, so, having no better plan, I headed there. I knew it would be a bad idea to just approach someone and ask them to take the collar off  - at best they would ask for more money than I had (given that I had none), and at worst they would react like the pod people in Invasion of the Body Snatchers and I would find myself under a new master. Probably literally. I thought briefly about going to Jarl Balgruuf to ask for his help, but then I remembered the naked slave he had chained up in Dragonsreach and decided that he might be mad that I had not followed his directions to see the Greybeards yet (and managed to get my housecarl killed, to boot). Discretion is the better part of survival. I stepped as casually as I could through the gates with my hood up. I had taken maybe ten steps when I heard voices.

“We’ll pay whatever it takes. But we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers,” a gruff voice said.

I peered around – the hood blocked much of my line of sight – until I found the speaker, a grizzled warrior talking with a woman.

"I just can't fill an order that size on my own,” the woman said. “Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?"

"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak. Besides, Gray-Mane would never make steel for the Legion."

"Have it your way. I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."

So…a blacksmith. A blacksmith who looked to be needing help. A vague plan formed in my head, and I loitered until the warrior moved away, then approached the woman.

“Got some good pieces out here if you're looking to buy,” she said as I approached. “More inside."

I smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not in the market. But I couldn’t help overhear your conversation just now. Sounds like you need help.”

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Eavesdropper, are you? I suppose that’s the price of discussing business in the street. Are you a blacksmith?”

“Not so much. But I can handle a broom like nobody’s business, and I can cook. Perhaps that will free some of your time for other work?”

She laughed. “And how much would you expect to be making for this service?”

“Just food and a place to sleep. Doesn't have to be anything fancy.”

“Ah, you work cheap. That is a bonus. Tell you what, go around back and find Demming. Tell him I said to show you how to empty the pit. If you can stomach doing that, you've got the job.”

“Thank you!” I reached a hand to shake. She looked at it with a quizzical frown, and I self-consciously pretended I had been lifting it to my nose to scratch it.

“I am Adrianne, by the way,” she said.

“I’m Si…Shannon,” I replied.

“Welcome to Warmaiden’s.”

She turned and entered the shop, and I walked around the back of it. The first part of my not-really-a-plan-yet had worked. Now I just had to figure out what the second part was.

Don't feed the bastards - they'll just want more

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