After the the imperial left Dayolin was alone. The Bosmer rejected his offer, instead choosing to be a loner. What was there to do? Dayolin had not been tired as the training from the Blades broke the habit of long sleeps out of him. He looked through his side bags to see how many soul gems he had left. Two common and one greater. Might as well finish that scroll that he had been working on, then head outside the walls to find an animal soul to replenish his amount of gems.
Walking through the woods he saw torch light. Odd, who could be traveling at this time of night. Still in the bushes he saw them. Thalmor Justiciars. They apparently had no idea he was there, but he would never pass up a chance to kill a Justiciar. Once they passed within three quarters distance of himself he tossed a fireball at the leading Justiciar. They scattered with what looked like the leader lying face first in the snow. The others scattered to the trees still not knowing where their attack was. Dayolin took out a scroll that contained a more powerful summoning. In a moment he summoned a Draugr Scourge Lord in his line of sight behind the trees. Dayolin commanded it to attack the Justiciar to his opposite side. While it fought the Thalmor, losing by the looks of it though buying time none the least, Dayolin threw a chain lightning bolt at the Justiciar at his right flank. It hit both of them but the enemy threw an ice spike that nearly drilled through his head. He returned the Thalmor's spell with an ice spear that killed on impact. Quickly he drank a a low grade magica potion before focusing on the last one. Then it hit. The last Thalmor killed his Drauger and threw a lightning bolt at Dayolin's side. He shot an ice spike at his deeply injured foe, killing him when it hit.
The lightning caused some bleeding and drained much of the little magica that he had left. Dayolin searched through the bodies only to find one weak healing potion. He drank it greedily, but it did little for the wound. Plopping on the ground he felt pissed that he only had enough magica to close the wound. This would not have happened if he took more potions with him. He would survive for now, the wound posed no threat as long as he didn't push himself too far. The battle most likely cause commotion to any on the out side of the wall. He was close to the walls so maybe somebody would hear him if he cried for help. "Help! Somebody! Help!" It hurt intensely to speak in such a loud voice. He hoped somebody would come soon.
Skyrim is a vast region set in the northern part of Tamriel. It is the home of the Nords, large and hardy men and women who have a strong resistance to frost, both natural and magical. (Please pick a Hold when posting).
Feylon felt all the tension in his body surge downwards as he relaxed on the chair. It had been a long time since he had the pleasure of a comfortable chair rather than the floor of his tent. He let his pack drop the the floor giving off a load thump. He was now as relaxed as he could be in a city filled with racist and hateful Nords. He had to always be alert for his kind was not taken too kindly in these parts. He knew in himself that if the Imperials had not done his family wrong he would be fighting for the Empire against these fools. Now however he had an oath to fill. He promised revenge for his plight and he was going to get it one way or another. For now, that meant keeping his head low and bearing the hate.
He heard then, the call of another elf a few tables away from him. He looked towards the band of people that clustered themselves around the table. At first he was weary. He had no idea who these people were. He decided against sitting with them with a small reply. "I have to decline your invitation dear elf. I have nigh enough time to dally around for the evening. I must take my leave now and setup camp outside the walls before it grows too dark for me to see." With that Feylon nodded and left the inn.
He headed straight out the gates and towards a clearing across the bridge. He set down his gear and hastily constructed his tiny 1 man tent and unfolded his bedroll. Not having enough money for anything was making his journey a lot tougher. At least he would get used to the freezing cold temperatures. If they didn't kill him first.