#alefortheafflicted

It had been some time ago, of course. South of Dawnstar in the mountains, on the shrine of Mehrunes Dagon, she’d killed two travelers. She can’t even remember the act - only after, blood under her nails and flecked on her cheeks, tore them apart like an animal. Bait, for the Vigilants.

She killed the Vigilants, of course. Let Doht take one, killed one herself. One put up quite a struggle, enough for her to have to stumble back to Relmyna for repair, hauling the unconscious body of the single survivor for experiments. There was a flicker of regret, a sour taste in her mouth, but nothing like the thought of those travellers.

Pointless deaths, on blameless innocents.

Her knuckles tense as she continues rolling out the dough on her countertop for a quiche, smile becoming fixed. No - no. That life is far away, now. Don’t think about it.

You haven’t been robbed, have you? It’s about as likely your purse was cut in this infernal town.

I rather think they're just upset about being out in the cold all the time.

[oh god now I’m freaking out.]

"Am I meant to pity him?" Stendarr's Bane gives a little laugh, but doesn't turn from her work - poring over a slab covered in dissassembled parts, still-yellowed bones, heavy muscles lined with fat. Her hands move to a pair of opaque eyes and she takes one into her palm, smiling softly.

"All Vigilants are blind, grey one. But 'used to be', you say? How fortunate for him to have lived to retirement. We must have never met. I suppose you think he's earned a restful time now.