It was a peaceful,quiet night in the small tavern in Falkreath, save for the occasional chatter of patrons around the main hall of the establishment as the hearth of the fireplace crackled. As the door to the Dead Man’s Drink swung open, a scarred Khajiit walked inside and the other patrons of the tavern began to avert their gaze and whisper. As Ra’shi settles onto the barstool at the counter, his feline tail flicks in irritation due to the sudden tension in the air caused by the gossiping patrons.

“Good evening,” His voice is quiet yet coarse as he speaks softly, his eyes seeming glazed over and brooding as they sweep across your features, before he ducks his head and looks away, “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here.”