He was sad.

Despite a plate of lapin grillé and a bottle of mulled wine waiting solely for his pleasure on the table that stood before him, Andel’s mood seemed to be in dire straits. Eating alone had never been his specialty, especially not in public settings. Raised as he was, meals were not solely for physical nourishment; they were rituals, with many participants, meant to reinforce one’s place in the social order, and in doing so, provide sustenance for the very soul. Sitting alone at this crooked table, he felt like a mockery, the butt of a joke prepared for him by his nemesis, his current lot in life. Where was Theriault, that foxy, silver-tongued bastard? Where was gallant Galar, ever stalwart, ever loyal? Sure, it was he who had dismissed them, but had they not accepted? How dare they?

He composed himself. Fair men at arms they may have been, but in the end, they were burghers, not privy to the privileges and obligations of nobility. He grasped his fork, a crude, two-pronged affair, and stabbed with it a piece of rabbit, tearing it from the plate and he threw it into his mouth and began chewing, hoping to busy himself from more thought in motion and sensation. He filled a goblet and drank and as he did so in his seat of solitude, around him the inn grew busier and busier, the clanking of plates and cutlery louder now; men coming, men going, men laughing together and patting each other’s backs and spilling their drinks, others growing frisky with scantily clad serving ladies of common birth, bad breath and hygiene forgotten in the wake of unabated lust for flesh and coin, even the lonelies greeted with recognizing smiles by the tenders. Bastards, the whole lot of them, he thought. Enjoying yourselves, hm? Damn you all to hell, then.

Then bolted up an old Dunmer and called his staff to his hand in mere moments, a sight straight from the tales that he’d listened as a wee boy, and rushed outwards with an anxious look on his face, suddenly pouring into the inn a miasma of foreboding. Andel in the moment was far too spiteful to appreciate the gravity of the situation as he normally would have, and figured whatever perdition that the fates had in store for them could very well come now. Then blew in an actual gust, snuffing out candle and laughter alike. Far too caught by surprise to appreciate the irony, Andel suddenly shifted in his seat to look at the windows, perhaps hoping to find some soul that he could persuade to shut them, yet there was naught but mist pouring in through the windows within his line of sight. Almost all sound had ceased, the customers were rightfully anxious, and soon a lumbering figure could be seen outside the window. With a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to finish his meal in ease, he skewered the largest piece of meat he could with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth, and after some chewing, grasped onto his overcoat and got up from his spot.

At that very moment, the figure outside broke in, a green mass of muscle and massive mammaries, her eyes a sizzling red. Well, damn, he thought to himself, then a young lad sprung forward with sword in hand to confront the creature. Such a chivalrous display! What was stopping him, then? Rush forward, Andel! But wait, she’s saying something! And, oh… Sweet Zenithar. Why’d he have to set the damn place on fire?

“Now, or never!” Spoke the gallant young lad, and Andel for a moment could do naught but provide the man with an awkward expression. Had he some sense, he would’ve asked just what the hell was going on, but such concern about earthly matters was beneath his station; he was meant to set an example, especially with that… Oh, she’s not half bad looking, next to him. “Yes indeed,” he asked, “but where to?”