Morrowind - Talasir the dark elf

The heavy wooden door groaned shut behind Talasir as she stepped into the Halfway Tavern's dim interior. The tavern was spacious, a luxury offered only due to Pelagiad's relative safety and abundance of space. That, and it was the preferred style of the local Imperial Legion garrison. At this time of the day however, it was mostly deserted. Talasir's red eyes narrowed for a moment as she scanned the room, taking in the empty tables, a lone Kahjiit hunched over her table in the far corner, and the Dunmer barkeep, Drelasa, polishing a mug with deliberate boredom. Her gaze lingered briefly on the only other patron present, an individual Talasir did not recognize nursing a drink at the bar. A traveler no doubt, probably an Outlander, she noted. Brushing the fine layer of road dust from her protective skirt, Talasir moved toward the bar with the quiet, economical stride of someone used to covering ground. The end of her spear’s shaft tapped lightly against her boot with each step. She slid onto the stool beside the traveler, close enough to be conversational but not enough to seem eager. The barkeep, Drelasa, barely glanced up. "Sujamma?" She grunted, already reaching for the clay bottle. "Make it double," Talasir replied, her voice pleasant yet retaining the undertone of that typical dunmer rasp. She dropped a few dull septims on the counter, her leather-gloved left hand lingering near the coins until Drelasa replaced them with a cup. Her right hand, encased in chitin, rested loosely on her thigh. She turned her head slightly toward the traveler, her freckled face catching the weak light filtering through a grimy window. "Quiet in here," she observed, her red eyes flicking to his half-empty mug. "Pelagiad’s usually got more life. Or more drunks." A pause, then a pragmatic shrug. "Name’s Talasir.”