Stellius sat at his desk, shuffling papers. It was dark outside, but that didn’t bother him. Night was when he thrived; all the idiots had gone home, leaving only Stellius and his quill pen. His tiny corner office was lit only by a few candles and one large, shining, silver candlestick, a family heirloom. In case of any intruder, Stellius kept a shortsword in his desk and some potions in his cloak. Stellius was writing a declaration for the arrest and public execution of an infamous criminal, Rolten Detar, better known as “Rotten Rolten the Dunmer”. He had been a petty criminal, dabbling in various robberies, smuggling and hate crimes against Imperials, but had recently been rumored to have been involved in a number of brutal murders, all around Vvardenfell.
As Stellius scratched out the last line, he heard a noise. Stellius had worked at night for many years, but for some reason, this noise sent a chill straight up his spine, giving him Goosebumps. If the intruder was in the room, Stellius did not want to alarm him, thus sending him into frenzy. Instead, he sat very calmly and reached into his desk, pulling out the sword. Before Stellius could draw his sword, four crossbow bolts pierced his chest, arm and leg. He fell forward onto his desk, smudging the declaration.