Another evening, another outlander Dunmer skulking in the streets of Balmora.
Velyn is sitting on the stairs next to the Balmora Council Club, guarding the entrance, drinking his sujamma and watching the outlander from afar. You really can't miss them. The way they walk, looking behind themselves every few steps, casting glances and avoiding looking anyone in the eyes. The unusually pale skin, maybe from having non-Dunmer ancestors in their family tree, maybe from living a posh life in one of the big cities of Cyrodiil. You don't even need to hear their exaggerated, obviously Imperial accent or hear their chirpy voices, untainted by years of ash accumulation.
There's something about these pale Dunmer that makes him uncomfortable for some reason. The fact they're so different, or the fact most of them don't know anything about the country they recently found themselves in. Maybe it's the fact that without an exception, they all stop dead in their tracks when they come across a member of the Camonna Tong, like this one just did. He's a few meters away, too close for comfort to the Council Club, especially if you're not from around these parts. Velyn is pointedly staring at him from atop his bottle of sujamma, sizing him up. It only takes a second for the outlander to snap out of it and attempt to walk past the club, but that's a second too late.
-Bit late to be wanderin' around, isn't it… outlander?
He stops again and looks over, obviously startled by the man's gruff voice.
-I was… actually looking where to get a drink – he stammers, his voice cracking some halfway through the sentence. Velyn stands up to get a closer look at him. The outlander is kind of skinny and slightly shorter than him, with a rusty iron dagger and some clothes that look like he just got out of prison. Wouldn't be surprised if that was true, too. Most likely a skooma addict.
-I'm not a tour guide, f'lah. Why don't you ask your friends? Better yet. Why don't you tell me what you're really looking for? – Velyn doesn't avert his gaze from the lad's pale face.
-C-Caius Cosades – he mutters. Knew it. This just got way easier. Cosades is another Imperial outlander, a skooma addict to boot. This guy is probably one of those that sell for a bit of moon sugar. Balmora's full of them these days. Velyn casually takes out his dagger and starts playing with it. The outlander's discomfort is now tangible, as he's glancing around himself and looking anywhere but at him.
-Yeah, I know him. I'll tell you where he lives… for a price, of course. – Velyn says darkly, getting a bit closer to the outlander. His discomfort is for a good reason; if he were to get attacked, he couldn't fend off the attack with either his cheap iron dagger or his common clothes, since the idiot apparently can't be bothered to put some armor on. Not to mention, he looks all sorts of malnourished and weak, presumably from the skooma abuse.
-I'm sorry... I don't have any money. – It's a bold-faced lie. The outlander knows full well he's got at least 100 gold pieces weighing down his small bag, but he also knows he's in an unknown land. He could feel the gazes of the natives on him from the moment he stepped off the ship, and he's smart enough to put two and two together and figure out he's sticking out like a sore thumb. And if Imperial prison taught him anything, it's to not stick out. He was planning to use this gold to get some armor, a normal weapon, maybe spread it around a bit. The last thing on his mind is to hand it over to some drunk creep in a dark alley.
-Don't fuckin' lie to me and hand over your cash – Velyn raises his voice, and in retaliation, the crappy iron dagger gets pulled. Before the young man has a chance to stick it in his ribs, he grabs his wrist and twists it. The outlander yelps in pain, dropping the dagger to the floor. With a speed unexpected from a drunk man, Velyn holds his own blade to the kid's ashy, scrawny neck.
-Let me go, n'wah – the skinny lad says in his best impersonation of how a real Dunmer should talk.
- What did you just call me? Give me the fuckin' money. – Velyn presses down on the kid's neck, only slightly, not enough to cause any serious damage, but enough to break the skin. A small stream of blood trickles from his neck and drips down on the floor, followed by a mortified gasp from the outlander.
-Okay! Okay. Just... take it! – he fumbles with the pouch for a second and shakily hands over all of his gold to the tall, dark man. The grip on his arm loosens and Velyn's blade withdraws from his neck. The wound is a long, thin line, and it's bleeding slightly on the collar of the outlander's shirt. It didn't nick any important blood vessels, judging by the blood flow, but it still looks painful and will probably leave a scar.
-Pleasure doing business with ya. – The grin in his voice is audible. – And about Cosades... other side of the river. Ask around in the South Wall Cornerclub. Can't miss it. Everyone knows him.
The outlander freezes up and looks at Velyn with an expression of disbelief. For a second he looks like he's about to say something, but then he turns away, stammers a small thanks and makes a beeline for the bridge. Velyn chuckles to himself as he goes inside the Club to get some fancy flin with his newfound cash and finish the rest of his night guard shift. He doesn't really feel bad about taking the money that would be wasted on skooma anyway, but he can't help but wonder why an emaciated addict would have so much money on him. It strikes him as weird.
Half an hour later, as he's drunkenly staring somewhere far away behind the silt strider, he wonders to himself if he'll ever see the strange guy again.