By the Grace of Almsivi
Holy Lords of the Tribunal
Nikkhola Abreius walked into the dark room and immediately felt all eyes turn and stare at her. She was used to it though. Being an outlander was bad enough, but being a Cyrodiil was even worse, especially at a time like this. The revolt in the mainland had resulted in hundreds of Dunmer deaths at the hands of the Imperial Legion. Needless to say, Imperials were not welcome in Vvardenfell at the moment. It didn't matter that she had been living in Vvardenfell for three years now, and almost everyone in this tavern had seen her before. There was still a lot of hate in the room.
Her long brown robe consealed her weapon, a steel longsword, and her chitin curiass. The tavern was silent now, as she walked to the edge of the bar and sat down. The bartender, a fat, and, needless to say, short, Wood Elf walked towards her. His name was Baron, and he knew Nikkhola well.
"Welcome, stranger. What can I get for you?"
"The usual, Baron," replied Nikkhola.
"Right away," said the Bosmer as he walked towards the back.
Slowly, the conversations started up again and some of the eyes went back to looking at their food or drink, rather than at the Imperial that had walked in. One pair of eyes, however, did not look away. This pair stayed focused on her.
Sitting in the darkest corner of the tavern sat the owner of the eyes. A mean looking Dunmer female with orange hair. She was sipping on sujamma and munching away at some bread and scrib jelly. Her appetite, however, had left her when she had seen Nikkhola. Ever since the revolt and massacre, the membership of the Cammona Tong had increased dramatically. One of the new recruits was this very Dunmer woman. She had never cared for the Imperials, but since her brother had been one of the ones killed in the revolt, she now hated all Imperials. She gripped her bottle of sujamma tightly.
Relax, she said to herself. The fetcher will get hers along with all the other outlander Imperial scum. I just have to be patient. By this time tomorrow, they'll all be dead.
Baron returned from the back with a bottle and two cups. He gave one to Nikkhola and filled the other one up for himself before handing her the bottle.
"So what's the latest news?" she asked him.
"It's not good. Things are getting more and more out of hand here. You know Gubara gra-Bol that lives over on the northside of town? A few Cammona Tongers went to her house and broke all her windows. They would have killed her for sure, but she came out with a huge war hammer and drove them back. She broke one of their arms, from what I hear. He was lucky that big old orc didn't crush his skull. But they're definitely getting bolder and bolder. And of course the Hlaalu Guard won't do anything. Quite a few of them belong to the Cammona Tong now too. Balmora is getting to be less safe for outlanders everday. Especially for Cyrodiils like you."
"I know. I'm probably going to head to Pelagiad tomorrow night, once I get the gold from my last job from the Fighters' Guild. I hate having to do it but... I'm even carrying my sword around. I never carry my sword unless I'm on duty. Things are getting ugly here. Imagine how bad they are in Telvanni country."
"We Bosmer and the Altmer have been safe so far. The Cammona Tong has basically gone after orcs and you Imperials. But I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before even we get chased out of town."
In the corner table, the Dunmer woman eyed the Bosmer and the Cyrodiil.
So the little Wood Elf is friends with that n'wah? Well, I'll be sure to let the men know to kill him too. We won't tolerate outlanders or their sympathizers. I want to be there when they die...