"Uncle Ralof, do you know any good scary stories?" Frodnar asked one evening.
Ralof stroked his beard in contemplation. "Scary stories, eh? Why do you ask?"
"Dorthe says she can tell a better story than me. I wanna show her what I can do!"
"Well... I think I do know one or two good tales to tell you... hmm... tell me, Frodnar: what do you know about a Nord known as the Raven Witch of Windhelm?"
"A witch? From Windhelm?"
"Aye. That she was... legend has it that she was caught practicin' illegal magic, and Ulfric Stormcloak banished her from the city. Some say she even spread a plague to curse the townspeople before she was found out."
"Why would she curse the people?"
"Nobody knows. The facts of the life of the Witch are very vague and mysterious... even her name has been lost to history. Some say that she perished in the cold after being banished, but others say she still wanders Skyrim."
"Is it true?"
"Can't say for sure; I've never met her myself. Although... I've heard of some who have."
"Like who? Tell me, tell me!" Frodnar begged excitedly.
"Hah, pipe down Frodnar. Alright, let me tell you one really scary account. Five Stormcloak soldiers were returning to their camp after a long day of bloody battle, when they realized that they had lost their way. Try as they might, they were unable to find any clues to get them back to their general. That is, until one of them spotted a humble carriage traveling a distant path. The Stormcloaks made haste to reach the carriage, and introduced themselves to the driver. Her long hair was black and silky, same as her lips. Her beautiful skin was ivory, and her eyes gleamed like fine emeralds. 'Forgive us, ma'am,' one of the soldiers said, 'But we've lost our way. We're headed toward the Pale. Can you help us?' The woman replied, 'Why I'm heading to the Pale myself. I'd be glad to help you; my carriage may yet fit all five of you.' Four of the soldiers sat in the back, but one chose to stay behind. 'I'll meet you at the camp', he said, 'My wife lives close by here... I see her hometown. I have to see her before fighting again.' The other soldiers bid him farewell, and the mysterious woman rode off into the distance."
"And? And?"
"When the lone soldier returned to his camp, he asked to find his companions. He described to his general how they had met the humble carriage driver, and even detailed the appearance of the driver to make sure the general knew who specifically had delivered his brothers in arms. The general's face went pale, as he told the soldier that his friends had not been seen for many days -- it was assumed that they had died on the battlefield. The humble carriage driver turned out to be the Raven Witch, who had taken the soldiers to her lair. She is said to have killed them and used their bodies for... necromancy..."
Frodnar's expression slowly turned from eager to mortified.
"To this day the bodies have never been found. ...... Well, that's just the story I heard." Ralof resumed his casual tone. "Not likely to be true, of course, hah... who believes in the Raven Witch anyway?"
"... Um... I- I gotta go find Dorthe. I think she's got me beat this time." Frodnar made a break for the door.
"Alright, Frodnar. Just keep an eye open," Ralof teased, "Never know where the Witch will appear next!"
As Frodnar played through the streets of Riverwood, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of the Witch. But hours passed, and he was beginning to feel that Ralof's story was pure fiction and nothing more. After all, a Nord witch? What an idea! Finally the sun set beneath the horizon, and Frodnar ran with Stump to his home... when he was approached by a mysterious young woman. Her deathly black hair flowed elegantly down from her head, and her pale skin contrasted brilliantly with her hair and dark dress in the moonlight. Frodnar was frozen in place as she asked, "Hello... can you, by chance, direct me to Windhelm?"
"Who- who- who are you?" Frodnar stammered.
The woman grinned. "My name is Arabella Blackwell."
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