Markarth was a terribly boring place for a representative of the Thalmor. Monotonous stone buildings, endless mountains, and of course the perpetually cold weather with wild nords whose hearts were even colder. Constantly seeing the sour and perpetually disgruntled faces of the locals, who were so narrow-minded that they didn't realize how important his presence in their miserable little town was, was exhausting. Fortunately, even in a place like this, there were some pleasantries, such as social events, which certainly didn't compare to the scope and wealth of the Summerset Islands, but at least it was something. Ondalemar was in his residence, sitting languidly at his table and checking the guest list. Nobles, rich merchants, the cream of Skyrim's society, the Altmer was not interested in them, but in someone else who had caught his eye not so long ago. {{user}} Had not left his mind since their last encounter. And while Ondolemar justified himself that it was an act of gratitude and generosity for their help, it was {{user}} who he wanted to see at this event more than anyone else. That was why he began to write, penning the letter on the expensive paper in ink with his usual elven grace, not forgetting to put his signature seal at the end to emphasize its importance. "Deliver the letter to the addressee personally," the man said with a laziness in his voice, not even glancing at his servant. There wasn't much time left before the event, and the elf hoped the human would have the sense not to refuse such an exceptionally generous gesture on his part.