[IMG]http://i63.tinypic.com/2jb0c1v.jpg[/IMG] Riona Galsette: The Roxey Village, the Roxey Stakehouse -- Mid year, 4E 201 Heartbeats like the hard trotting of a hell steed banged against the girl's ribcage, neck hairs needled up and a searing ache ripped on the soles of her feet. The whooing of owls and nocturnal creatures that rose from their nests quieted her steps as her legs desperately endured the fear enriched adrenalin that pushed the young Breton to make as much distance from the rotted moored ship as she could. Darkness loomed closer before her along the road but she dared not stop, her eyes mixed with tears and sweat still reflected the horror she had seen. It was not till exaustion made its clear demand for her to halt that she clasped her side and fell to one knee and finally submitted to the burn of her lungs and the pain in her legs. It had been many miles since the phantom rendered the chase futile yet the breton hadn't ceased till now when her body was well beyond its limits. This was always the case for she cowered at all manner of ghosts and specters. So much for a poor aspiring witchhunter. Up ahead an old building still cradled by the last few rays of the setting sun glowed in the distance. The girl gulped breaths and clutched her side as elongated shadows from trees and and branches reached for her along the road. She stood after a brief respite and pushed on slowly away from whatever her mind exaggerated beyond the wall of trees. A few paces ahead was an old wooden sign labeled Roxey Steakhouse and Inn. The petite female wiped away the grime and sweat from her arms, neck and forehead with an old rag and with a small rejuvenating huff, made a stern face and walked in. Anyone could have guessed what the establishment was from the sign in the front and its location on a main road but the brunette ignored small details like that. Many times in the past she had walked into private homes and ordered their owners for a meal and drink only to be kicked out with a curse and a broom swat. To her, the images on signs were all she needed to read. Dancing lights of lanterns and big hearth in the back wall of the bar of the salon made the place have a very homely touch. Her eyes scanned around taking in the local patrons engaging in all sorts of activities from dining, talking and even singing along with a jittery bard who seemed to have bugs in his trousers. A very lively scene with an aura of its own special touch of peace about it. Chest puffed and both hands on the strap of her pack, the girl made her way up to the bar and placed an order for pint of ale. The proprietor was an old imperial man who gave her the type of look that slightly rubbed her the wrong way. It was like his face made a silent remark at her not being able to hold alcohol due to her height imparment. He was almost a bit reluctant at taking her money for the drink but obliged since her eyes returned a look of demand. Her drink was poured and she turned to lean her back and elbow on the bar table, she chugged her beverage in as few gulps as she could.  Ale was the only medicine that could cure the type of fear only a wraith could inflict. A satisfactory exhale and another round was ordered as she slid the bartender another couple of septims. The drink went down her throat smoothly and a silly smile began to peer from the corners of her lips. The alcohol sure was pick-me-up from the fraight she was still recuperating from. Liquid courage is what she called it but in her case it was more like liquid arrogance. "I'm a professional witch hunter and I make my living solving the problems of cowards too scared to deal with the evils and nightmares of this world." She suddenly blurted. A hiccup belowed as soon as the last syllable was uttered. True to a lightweight tolerance the "courage" she consumed already began to take hold. It was all because of a wraith back at the Mouth of the Panther that had made her make quick dust on the trail here. She'd been running and walking for several hours now and it was all due to her being a spineless mudcrab when it came to almost any kind of dealings with the dead or undead Her last statement sounded more heroic and honorable, and even a bit philosophical in her head. This was not the case as she foolishly gathered the attention of most patrons with her slurred loud mouthing. Now with the spotlight on her face, she walked over to the billboard of job listings. There were a few fetch quests, errands and even some wanted posters. Only one particular job captured her attention, it was of a zombified corpse that had been stalking and scaring the local folk in the village's nearby cemetery. It wasn't that it was too much of a nuisance for the imperial guardsmen to be dispatched to deal with, no the simple case was that these people were left to take care of it on their own due to them dwelling so remotely. The problem was that most were either too superstitious or too scared to attempt the job. Zombies are not to be trifled with and could easily match a warrior and leave him just and limbless and disemboweled as they were. It was a certain danger that struck a personal nerve on Riona. Undead meant necromancy was at hand and that was something she could not forgive.  Personal honor and vendetta drove her impulse to snatch the parchment off of the billboard and stuff it in one of her breast pockets. "Consider your pest g-gone folks, Riona Ga-l-s-sette is on the job!" She studdered loud and her heavy and uncoordinated steps lead her outside the main door just as night began to draw in. Half stumbling already, she set path towards the local graveyard marked on the listings map. It was clear she was on the thin line of tipsy and drunk already as she bumped into a few fence posts here and there. Poor witchunter-to-be, oh what trouble awaits you.