» Wed Feb 20, 2013 9:58 am There had been for many weeks now a steady stream of mercenaries and assorted ne'er-do-wells heading north to the border and Skyrim, to partake of the civil war there. The inn had become a focal point for groups of them to muster or just hang around at, drinking and eating; posturing and regaling each other with overblown stories of their prowess.
A group of them were outside now, telling lewd jokes and laughing with harsh, rough voices as they swilled back beer and tore off hunks of meat from the roasted venison haunch that lay on the dusty ground between them, glinting wetly in the fading light.
At her approach, one of them looked up and appraised her. What he saw was an Bosmer, a good foot shorter than him and slenderly built, with dark eyes and black hair tied back; heavily pierced ears and rings through her nose and lip. Dark tight-fitting armour, a shortbow, arrows and a long-bladed dagger completed her.
What she saw was a fat hairy man with tatty brown hair and dirty armour, a long sword in a faded leather scabbard at his belt, a foaming mug of ale in one pudgy hand.
He leered unpleasantly at her.
There was a moment of silence.
"'Ere." He said at length, his voice made heavy with ale. "'Ere, you're an elf. We don't like your sort here." He took a step towards Niamh, his two companions, anticipating a bit of fun to go with their meal stopped their gorging and looked on.
From the trees came the sound of birdsong.
The inn was full of noise.
She remained silent, casually watchful; one leg a little forward of the other, slightly bent at the knee.
"I told you girl." Said the mercenary again. "We don't like your sort and this," he gestured expansively at the inn, sloshing ale over the rim of his tankard, "is not the place for you."
Niamh regarded him a moment longer.
"That's a shame." She said quietly. "Because that's where I'm going."
The mercenary laughed, and turned to his mates to say something. "Hey lads, we've got a..."
He briefly saw the man at his left turn to him, reciprocating his scorn, a smile on his scarred and be-stubbled face. Then all of a sudden the man's expression was replaced by a look of intense surprise. From out of nowhere it seemed, a small knife had appeared in the side of his neck
For a second the two of them existed in a frozen tableau of bewilderment then, "Gah." Commented his friend, and fell to the ground at the merc's feet, blood seeping around the hilt of the knife.
The leader growled angrily and spun round heavily, drawing his sword as he did so.
But Niamh was no longer to be seen. In the gathering gloom he looked about him, breathing hard, sword quivering in his fist.
"Where are ye? Little [censored]. Come 'ere and fight me!"
He turned to his remaining comrade.
"Can you see 'er?" He whispered hoarsely.
The other man turned to him, a nocked bow in his hands. He shook his head briefly and fell over, an arrow with rather jolly bright red feathers protruding from his right temple.
He hit the ground like a boned fish, the arrow he himself had readied firing off into the dirt as he went down.
Now alone, the leading mercenary reverted to type and, spinning on his heel, made to head back into the tavern; safety in numbers to bolster his flagging bravery.
Niamh ran off of the roof above him and bending, grasped its edge, pirouetting round as she did so. She hit him squarely in the torso as he turned, spinning him around and propelling him backwards into the closed door of the inn.
The inn, up until that moment resounding to the cacophany that only twenty or thirty inebriated soldiers of fortune can make, went suddenly silent, as if at that second someone had svcked all of the air out of room and took the sound with it.
The door exploded inwards as the heavy mercenary was slammed into it. He landed on the floor on his back, his head snapping backwards and his skull connecting with the heavy floorboards with a loud crack.
For a moment his body spasmed, then he stiffened, relaxed; was still. One of his eyes had rolled up to the white, whilst the other pointed off to the left, staring as if observing something in the far distance.
Every head in the room had followed the action, each turning and swivelling as if connected to the movement taking place in front of them by invisible cords. Now, still in silence, these heads turned to the door as a slender female elf walked through it, dusting off her hands on her tight fitting armour.
She stepped over the body, and walked through the staring occupants to the bar, her booted feet silent on the floorboards.
"I'll have an ale." She said when she reached the still goggling innkeeper, her voice lilting but sounding overly loud in the silence of the common room.
"And give me a couple of apples as well."
