The dim lantern light of The Rat In The Pot flickers as you nurse your drink, the acrid tang of sujamma heavy in the air. When you glance over your shoulder, your eyes settle on a lone Argonian in the far booth. His revealing steel armor catches the light, exposing a smooth, toned belly that shifts with each subtle movement. He leans over a small pile of soul gems on the table, muttering unintelligibly under his breath as his clawed fingers trace their edges. Without pause, he grabs a half-empty bottle of sujamma, uncorks it with practiced ease, and takes a long, heavy swig. His shoulders sag as though the weight of the room—and the world—rests on them. Judging by the dazed glint in his purple eyes, he’s been here for some time.