“There is more to a path than what you see on a map.” The voice of the towering Altmer permeated his surroundings fluidly; his tone something that could be overlooked if the listeners weren’t attuned. The edges of his words were cutting but only in the sense of sharp ice. The merchant Vikrolomen was speaking to bristled visibly but tried to smooth his own feathers even at the show of blunt disregard. “Do you take me for a fool? I will not be lead into an area so infested by bandits by your poor direction.”
With the clatter of a few septims left on the merchant’s stand he turned on his heels and lowered his dark hood against the onslaught of cold wind. His purchase—a drawstring bag of tawny feathers—slid into the pouch at his hip.
The next few moments as the sun set on the snowy marketplace were filled with more questions. Each answer grew less informative until they reduced to shrugs, and by then most of the merchants had packed up and began their walks home. With little option left Vikrolomen approached a form he thought looked enough like a person despite the shrouding shadows to warrant an attempt.
“Excuse me, can you point me to the nearest inn?”
