Envoy
Angelus sat in a wooden chair around the stone fire place of the Dead man's Drink inn. He was an Imperial from the capital city in Cyrodiil. He had been on the road for a couple of weeks or more, stopping to take shelter at every little town along the road that he could. He was even once desperate enough to request to stay with a poor family's farm when no other suitable lodging could be found. He loathed camping out in the cold unforgiving wilderness of Skyrim.
Angelus and his family had served in the imperial court for serval generations. His family had secured a high and noble place with noble elite in Cyrodiil because of their connections with emperor. Well above the common rabble and citizens of the empire.
Angelus himself was a diplomatic envoy. He had been tasked to deliver a set of mandates issued by the emperor to High King Torygg. The Emperor, as far as he could gather, was not pleased with the way things were being handled in Skyrim.
It was the northern most providence in the empire Tamriel. A frozen, rocky tundra that had more snow and trees than it did residents. Home to the people known as the Nords. North folk, Angelus thought to himself, fools, the lot of them. How could anyone enjoy living here?
He brought the flagon up to his lips for another sip. He winced at the liquid as he swallowed. He hated the way mead tasted, too many flavors at once, all the while being way too sweet and minty. He lowered the mug and rested it on his thigh. True, sitting at one of the tables around the main hall of the inn may have more convenient but he wanted to be as close to the fire as possible.
"Hail, traveler," a feminine voce said to him in a thick northern accent.
Angelus, who had been gazing into the fire only half turned his head to address the girl, "hail," he supplied dismissively.
She walked over to one of the two other chairs placed around the fireplace. She was a Nord woman who looked to be in her later twenties or early thirties. "Is our mead not to your liking?" she asked as she took a seat next to him.
"No mead is to my liking," he scoffed.
"Not one for the local delicacy?" She was met with only an irritated gaze. "My name is Narri," she continued on.
He paused for a moment before reluctantly answering. "Angelus, of Cyrodiil."
"Oh from the capital. Are you a noble?"
He downed another gulp of mead with yet another cringe. "Yes. My family has served the emperor for decades."
She looked him over as subtly as she could. Clearly he was cold. Outsiders new the old fatherland often disliked the almost year round cold weather. But this imperial seemed particularly uncomfortable. He was dressed in heavy layers. Many fine fabrics and jewelry adorned him. Including one very expensive looking jeweled necklace. He may have dressed for warmth, but he made sure he was finely dressed.
"So, what brings you all the way out here to the old kingdom?" Narri asked as he sat huddled staring into the fire.
"You're damned High King. He isn't doing as the Emperor would like. Sent me here with a couple dozen lists of mandates and decrees. I have already spoken with Jarl Siddgier. If he is any indication of how the holds of Skyrim are run then it's no wonder why the emperor isn't happy." He spat the words out at her with an added bit of distaste. "Yet another reason to hate this place and all its people." He made no attempt to hide his revulsion of her homeland.
A small scowl crept across Narri's face. "How is someone like you allowed to be a diplomat?"
He didn't care to answer her final question as he turned up the flagon and choked down the last of the mead. This time he brought the mug down an accompanying nauseating groan.
The woman paused for a moment before speaking to him again. "If you hate our mead so much then why did you ask Valga for it? We have other things to drink."
He sighed as he realized she probably wasn't going to move on anytime soon. "It's warm. The only thing this swill is good for," he answered as he looked up at her. "Disgusting brew."
"Hmm, well imperial, maybe you should have brought some of your noble Cyrodiilic wine with you. You know something more suited to your highborn tongue," she shot back.
He only glared in silence at her remark.
"You paid Valga for a room already?" She asked, trying to calm herself. He simply nodded in reply. "Very well, follow me to your room. Maybe our beds will be more to your liking."
He got up from his seat as he carelessly tossed the flagon to the ground. He followed her to one of the rooms that circled the main hall. She stopped and as she slid her hand into the pouch she had around her waist. She fumbled with its contents a bit before producing a key.
"Here we are," she said as she unlocked the door to the small room.
Angelus walked into the small room. It was simply furnished, a bed, a chest and a small dresser. The only source of light came from two small candles, one mounted on the wall and the other sitting on a small table.
"This is it?" he scoffed.
"It suits a man of your nobility," Narri retorted. "May Vaernima be with you tonight Imperial," she hissed. "Oh, and welcome to Skyrim," she said mockingly as she turned to leave the room.
The next morning Angelus gathered his things and made his way out of inn. He had hoped he could leave without running into that vile woman again. As he began to put his belongings onto his horse he glanced around the town surrounding him.
Falkreath was one of the nine holds in the providence of Skyrim. He had crossed the border through the Pale Pass, a mountain trail that connected northern Cyrodiil with Skyrim. Falkreath was the closest hold to the crossing. He had pasted a few other smaller towns before he came to the gates of Falkreath. He figured if he stayed in one of the towns where a Jarl lived he would have a better chance of finding lodging more suited to his station. He was mistaken.
The town seemed to be covered in a thin layer of fog. And the smell of fresh pine trees was a constant, as was the ever present cold and damp weather. And an air of gloom seemed to permeate the city. It was a town built on death. Skyrim's largest cemetery was to be found here. All the wars and battles that took place had deposited their dead here.
As he mounted his horse had begun to slowly make his way through the town he noticed yet another grim fact. Even the names of the shops bore the markings of death. The Dead man's Drink inn, Grave Concoctions, the Corpslight Farm and of course, the Hall of the Dead. But to be fair every city in Skyrim had a hall of the dead.
He left Falkreath behind as he exited the town to the west, fallowing the old stone road that would eventually lead him to the hold of Solitude and the High King of Skyrim.
He had been traveling for maybe an hour before he met his first traveler along the road. He wore a long hooded robe that was dark brown in color. He was moving slowly, with his arms crossed over his chest. It looked like a very unnatural manor of walking to Angelus. He would have quickly dismissed it as just another oddity of the land if the traveler were just to go by him on the road. But as his horse drew closer the traveler slowed his already leisurely pace finally coming to a complete stop just as Angelus passed.
"Excuse me traveler, this one's name is Dar'Rik" the man called out politely with a gruff Elsweyr accent "Are you coming from Falkreath?"
He was a Khajiit. Cat folk, Angelus thought to himself. He and his family had many Khajiit servants and labors over the years. They are all dumb, worthless creatures. Every one of them is either a lazy Skooma addict or a petty liar. "I don't care what your name is," he didn't afford the khajiit any other acknowledgment before continuing down the path.
"Imperial, this one was wondering how many Septims you had on you?" The traveler spoke to him with his polite tone gone, as his feline eyes fixed on him. "You certainly look as if the divines have blessed you with the ability to earn coin," he hissed sarcastically. "They certainly have not blessed you with any manners."
The envoy pulled back gently on the rains bring his horse to a stop. He took in a deep breath and exhaled it out as he turned to and looked down on him. "Yes I have many Septims on me. And yes my family has worked very hard to earn them. Our coin has bought many of your kind, cat." He spat the words down at him, all the while never actually tilting his head to look at him, maintaining a posture of dominance, making sure the Khajiit traveler knew his place beneath him. "I will not donate any money to your Skooma habit or whatever you filthy animals spend it on."
The Khajiit let out a small chuckle "Dar'Rik is no beggar," he said as he uncrossed his arms and stretched out his limbs. At the tips of his fur covered fingers razor sharp claws emerged. He leapt forward at incredible speed pouncing on the man atop of the steed knocking off and slamming him onto the stony path. The Khajiit landed on him as he dug his talons into his chest. The dagger-like digits easily cleaved their way through his many layers of clothing to find flesh.
"Dar'Rik did not like the way you were addressing him, and did not enjoy your story of your treatment of my brethren. This one wanted to do this as civilized as he could, but you have changed Dar'Rik's mind." With every word he twisted his claws a little more. Angelus cried out in pain as the Khajiit growled out his words. "Now, this one is going to relieve all your gold and belongings, steal you supplies, and take your horse. Be happy this one tries to avoid killing his marks when he can. Dar'Rik is a thief not a murderer." The Khajiit thief leapt off of him jerking his talons out and stealing his jeweled necklace all in one swift motion.
Angelus' head was ringing and he was disoriented. He was losing consciousness partly from hitting his head on the ground and partly from blood loss. As darkness came over him he heard the departing hooves of his horse and the cat making one final remark. "Welcome to Skyrim traveler."
A/N: This is my first attempt at a TES story. Trying to see if I can write within the lore. Any feedback would be helpful.