Foroch was scrubbing down the tables on a typical Turdas. The inn was empty except for the strange elf that had been renting for several weeks. Foroch glanced over at the far corner of the inn: there he sat, as he had everyday for the past few weeks. A tattered green cloak covered the majority of his body, with a small patch of dark skin peeking out from under his hood. As Foroch was scrubbing the dirty underside of a table, the cloaked elf let out a small sigh. He pushed himself up from the small chair at which he sat and began a methodical walk towards the inkeeper.
Foroch noticed this, placing the dirty cleaning rag on the table. As he watched this elf approach, small flickers up recognition were lighting up in his head. He had seen this mer before, but he couldn't quite place where. His trail of thought was interupted as the Dunmer cleared his throat and spoke in a thick, gravely voice.
"You have provided me with excellent service in the past few weeks. Here, take this," he reached into a small pouch at his waist, and drew forth a bottle of wine. "Tis a bottle of Tamika Vintage 399, there's no better wine in all of Cyrodil. It's the least I could do."
Foroch turned the bottle over in his hands, marveling at the generosity of the Dunmer man. "It was a pleasure serving ye! Please, tell your friends all about your stay."
The Dunmer curled his lips in a smile. "I'll be sure to inform them of this magnificent inn when I get back." With that, the Dunmer turned on his heels, exiting the inn.
Several hours later, Foroch's limp body crashed to the ground. The bottle of wine followed, shattering upon impact. The tainted wine was spreading across the floor of the inn, puddling up in cracks between the wooden panels. The Dunmer was miles away when he sensed the death had occured. His lips curled up in a familiar smile: Lucien would not be disappointed...