Pilgrimage to Red Mountain
It was a busy night in The Rat in the Pot when Gengith walked through the door. The short Bosmer walked up to the publican and ordered some mazte, sat down in a corner and drank glumly for a little over an hour. The weasel faced wood elf was wearing nothing more than a battered and torn red robe and an old pair of brown pants, and barely functional shoes whose color had worn out long ago.
His mazte was below half empty when a tall, strong looking Redgaurd walked in. He had on a fine looking set of bonemold armor. In fact, the armor looked to be brand new, and the Imperial broadsword at his side was in excellent condition. Gengith stood up and walked over the man.
"Hello, sir. I was wondering if you are a mercenary or just a guard?"
The Red guard looked down at him and grimaced. He hated Bosmer, that much was evident. Even more he hated Bosmers who had the look of needy pilgrims. "Whaddaya want, wood elf?"
"Well, I'm on the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces you see, I'm trying to join the Tribunal Temple to be a priest. I've made all the pilgrimages except to the Red Mountain Shrine. I was wonder, could you escort me? It's a dangerous trip to Red Mountain you see, and I'm no good with my dagger."
The Redgaurd thought for a minute. "Well, how much will you pay me?" He asked after a minute.
A gleefull smile spread across Gengith's face. "One hundred septims."
The following day Gengith and the Redgaurd mercenary left Ald'Ruhn and started off for Red Mountain. When night fell they set up a small camp, though the mercenary suggested they not light a fire so as not to attract unwanted attention. The Redguard waited until Gengith fell uneasily asleep, drew his sword and stabbed it through the Bosmer's face. It didn't take long for him to locate the mer's purse.
Nobody in Ald'Ruhn ever saw that Redguard mercenary again, and no one ever heard of how Gengith the Pilgrim never finished his pilgrimage.