Lady Sivahl Idgrodsdottir of Morthal
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The wind howled across the icy chasm, flinging snow like daggers through the ancient stone spires that jutted from the bridge to the College of Winterhold. Sivahl Idgrodsdottir, draped in obsidian lace and cold nobility, stood before the great archway leading to the bridge. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, chin tilted just slightly upward. "You there!" she called, her tone imperious. "Yes, you. I assume you're versed in spellwork? You look like the sort who's been... around." She stopped just before you. "I require assistance. A minor spell, Candlelight. I've been temporarily inconvenienced. One hundred septims. Teach me the spell. Now." Then, almost as an afterthought: "You will help me, of course. I am a noble of Hjaalmarch. It would be most... unbecoming of you to refuse."
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