The rocky path felt hard and inhospitable under Scipius's feet as he walked. He felt the wind's sharp sting whirl around him in a fit of anger. He heard the pines roar around him, indignant in their protest. Scipius gathered his deerskin cloak around him and shivered. The walls of Solitude rose up against the wind ahead, a defiance of the natural order that permeated Skyrim. The dismally dark grey bricks of the city were a welcome change from the many dangers that lurked these lands. Scipius squinted toward the bright candlelight of the town guard as they completed their nightly rounds.

As he approached the large wooden gate, a helmeted in a red tabard with a wolf insignia on it, the outfit for a Solitude Guard, greeted Scipius. "Hail, Imperial!"

"Hail, friend." Scipius returned a curt nod, and walked past the man. Two more of the guard waited beyond the first wall, and quickly pushed open the main gate into the city. Scipius politely thanked them and stepped into the city.

The streets were dark and ominous, as if the shadows were reaching out with dark fingers to take from the unwary. The only source of light in the murky darkness were a few lanterns lit to each side of the path, snaking between stores and houses unerringly. Scipius judged the time, and went to the closest tavern. The candle outside of the large wooden structure illuminated a brightly painted sign of a large rat batting its eye. The inscription, in large red and gold letters, read The Winking Skeever. The wind picked up, its howling cry bringing to mind the cry of a wounded beast. Shuddering, only partly from the cold, Scipius walked up the creaking wooden stairs, and pushed his way into the bar.

A fire was blazing in the fireplace as the imperial walked in, warming him to the core. The sound of drinking, clinking, and singing filled his ears as he registered the other patrons. Men and women filled their mugs and sang drinking songs. Scipius immediately smiled. He felt much more at home with his fellow man than with nature as his companion. As if hearing his thoughts, the wind picked up outside again, sending an eerie creak through the building. The sound did nothing to dampen the spirits of the spirit-drinkers, as most of them were either too loud or too drunk to notice.

Scipius strolled to the bar and sat at a stool. "I need a drink," he said to the barkeep, a middle-aged imperial with a blonde mustache.

" Welcome to the Winking Skeever, friend," the barkeep said heartily. "Do you have a preference as to what that drink is?"

"Something strong." Scipius grinned.

The bartender looked behind him at a smaller imperial, with many of the same average features. "Sorex! Get this man some mead, will you?" Sorex, obviously a little miffed, went to get a stein from behind the counter.

The man studied Scipius, looking for something in his face. Scipius wasn't much to look at, either. A rather unimpressionable face with unimpressionable dark eyes and dark hair, on an unimpressionable body. His clothes were ragged and dirty from the trek north from Rorikstead, and weren't that impressive, even in their prime. He carried only a small iron dagger at his side. "Let me guess," the barkeep said, eventually. "You're a poor farmer, with little combat experience, here to join the Imperial Legion."

Scipius smiled slightly. "How did you know? Was it that obvious?"

The man pulled a dirty rag from under the bar and started polishing a mug. "A lot of your kind come around here, trying to either escape the war, or join in. Those troubles don't cross my doorway. The Winking Skeever is an escape from these dark times." The barkeep looked around. "Sorex?! Where's this man's mead?"

"So impatient, Father." Sorex planted a mug of frothy liquid on the bar, and slid it to Scipius. He caught it effortlessly, and took a sip. The drink was bitter, but had a sweet, tangy aftertaste.

"Honningbrew, right?" Scipius took another sip.

"Yeah, you're quite the alcohol connoisseur," Sorex said, leaning up against another table, serving beer to awaiting customers. "Perhaps even better than my old man Corpulus here."

The bartender, Corpulus, started wiping down the table. "Yeah, right. Don't you have better things to do than embarrass your father in front of new customers?"

Sorex laughed, accidentally bumping into a drunken patron in the process. "Sadly, no. Evette is out restocking our ale, and it's no good for business to make fun of the customers."

Scipius watched the exchange with amusement for a while, then drifted over to an empty table. A candle flickered weakly, emitting a ghastly shade upon his face. He nursed his mead- he wasn't an alcoholic by any means- and waited for the bar to settle down before asking for a room.

He approached Corpulus by the bar again as he was serving the bard. "Can I rent a room? I don't have a place to stay tonight."

Corpulus finished up serving the bard, and turned to him with a smile. "Of course, new friend! The Winking Skeever is nothing if not hospitable!" Scipius handed the man ten septims and walked upstairs to an extravagant bedchamber. A small chest rested at the foot of the queen-sized bed. A shelf rested on the wall, stocked with books to keep guests busy. A few potions rested on the shelf too, but Scipius decided against taking them. He figured they would be an extra cost, and he didn't have much to spare. The trek here was long and hard.

The imperial fell into the bed and felt himself start to drift away. Long day ahead of me tomorrow, he thought lazily, as he relinquished his consciousness into a deep sleep.