Bladeleaf's Woe.

1

The dense midwinterly fog was only scarcely pierced by the dancing flames of a tar covered sconce that had been clumsily nailed to the battered walls of the 'Drowned Rat', a somewhat infamous tavern on the outskirts of Riften, in south eastern Skyrim. Across the cobblestone road, almost completely enveloped in the shadow of a bitterly cold night, stood a lone figure. Hood up and dagger drawn. The shadow gasped to regain its breath, seemingly fixated on the glowing aura emanating from an open window on the tavern's top floor. With another rigid breath, the figure sheathed the dagger, and made its way over to the tavern's entrance.

Once illuminated by the soothing light of the tavern's crackling hearth, the figure was identified to be a young Dunmer, or "Dark Elf". A fairly slender woman, her black leather armour was all but shrouded by an ebon cloak which had been beautifully speckled with snow forming a likeness of the night sky across her shoulders and back. Lowering her hood, it was clear that the cloak had offered little protection from the elements, the raven hair that quaintly framed her pale face was all but soaked through, and the white chalk lines she had painted under her sanguine eyes had run down her face, taking the likeness of ivory tears streaming down her cheeks.

The elf was abruptly pulled from her thoughts by a voice booming out from across the dusky, dimly lit room: "Eliza Bladeleaf!". The elf spun around, but her alarm and suspicion was quickly substituted for the warm embrace of old friends: "Magnus! I was wondering when you'd show your ugly mug!" Eliza quickly retorted. Magnus was a fairly large, even for an Orc, his viridian skin riddled with jutting scars, but a warm smile was still plainly visible on his battered face. "Innkeeper eh? You've done well for yourself!" She continued. "Aye, it aint exactly exciting, but it sure as hell beats picking pockets for our next meal!" Magnus barked. "'Ere Mag, can we talk somewhere private? It's er, -It's important." Eliza's face sunk as she remembered the task at hand. "Of course, come through here" The lumbering Orc waved his meaty paw at an old, crooked door leading to a cellar. Eliza swiftly followed the gesture, gliding through the tavern's many unsavoury patrons until she was in the door.