Everyone in Cheydinhal knew about the abandoned house, sitting up against the eastern wall of the city. It hadn't been lived in, not for years. It was generally avoided, that house. Both physically, and as a conversation piece. However, a stranger approached the house tonight. The dark streets were empty, save for a guard on patrol who didn't even look at the man as he passed. The stranger was robed in black, and carried a satchel belted to his waist, which the stranger touched lightly, as if protecting its contents. He was a courier, and he had a delivery to make at the abandoned house. He approached the old, boarded up door, and silently went inside.

It had been sprinkling during his ride to Cheydinhal, and his robes were now quite damp. But the house was as cold on the inside as it was outside, only the air inside was dense and spoke of foreboding. It did little to comfort the stranger's cold bones. He shivered, then made his way down to the basement. Cracked stone walls and splintering supports, lined with dusty cobwebs surrounded him on all sides, but he paid little attention to them. His goal was the dark hole in the far wall of the basement, just big enough for a person to slip past, small enough to be disregarded by the common eye as natural damage from age.

Slip past it he did. The corridor beyond was shoveled out of the dirt, and at its end was a Black Door. Looming over him, adorned with all manner of vile imagery, Black Doors were the ultimate safeguard against anyone wishing to sneak in. For Black Doors were doors that did not open. They had no locks, no keys, no handles. They had no windows or bars, and were hewn from stone, carved, and a strong magic was placed upon them. Black Doors only opened for certain people, and under certain circumstances. It was through this door he entered, into the sanctuary beyond. Immediately, the stranger felt himself at home, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed visibly. He was approached by an argonian woman, who had evidently been waiting for his arrival.

"So, what do you have for us, Courier?" She asked.

From his satchel, he produced a parchment. "A letter from the Listener, mistress. One of our informants has just been killed. The Night Mother demands his blood be repaid."
The argonian sighed as she opened and scanned the parchment.

"Has our Speaker been made aware of this?"
"Yes. He is making preparations to resolve this issue as we speak."
"Very well, then. Thank you, Courier. Will you stay and rest for a bit, or must you run off again?"
"I thank you for the offer, mistress, but I'm afraid I still have several other errands to run tonight."
"Very well, then. Walk in the shadow of Sithis, Brother."

And so, it was out into the cold for the courier once again, the tension returning as he left the abandoned house.

A mile or so away from the city, a rider in black, sitting astride a dark horse, was racing through a forest, just off the main road to avoid being seen. He was riding south.

"Quickly, Shadowmere. We must reach Leyawiin before midnight."