The inn wasn't as bustling as Ren had thought it would be. Even if most of the town was here, it definitely wasn't busy.

The inn barely had enough beds for the five of them. Considering there were no other occupants, it was easy to split them. The Khajiit siblings would share a double bed, Drenvoth and Gatorn each had their own and Ren decided to sleep on a bedroll, much to Tsera's surprise. Gatorn did, of course, try to swap with Ren, but she would not have it.

It was the evening. Drenvoth was closer to the fire, slightly drunk and flirting with the ladies. S'varash and Tsera were in their room. Fiorenza and her Orismer friend sat at a table closer to the door.

"Was that really Ajorka?" Gatorn asked between taking big bites of his pie.

"I don't know," Ren mumbled honestly. "She went by the name Margrathal here, so that doesn't help."

"But if Ajorka died..."

"I don't know if she died," Fiorenza whispered. "That corpse I found on the battlefield... I couldn't see her face. Either way, if she didn't die all those years ago, then it seems she died today."

Ren pulled out the amulet which she had taken from S'varash.

"Did she have this during the Great War?"

Gatorn shook his head, taking another bite of food.

"I wonder what it is," she muttered, trailing off as she saw someone lurking in the shadows. A hooded elf with a string around his neck holding a very small electric blue gem, very similar to the one Fiorenza had, except hers was red. Ren slowly got up from her seat and approached him.

The man seemed rather delighted to see the woman and pulled out a vial of something from his pocket.

"Here it is, my dear," he whispered to her. "The poison you asked for."

Ren was taken aback. That was not the reason she came, after all, and not something she was expecting.

"Poison?" she whispered back. "I didn't come for poison. I was the one who was supposed to deliver the Ghostblade to you."

"Oh, of course, my apologies. I thought you were someone else. Where is it, then?"

Ren took a step back.

"I'm not giving it to you."

The man furrowed his brows in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not giving it to you," Ren repeated. "How could I have not realized what you truly are? You sell poisons to just anyone who asks. If I give this sword to you, how should I know you won't use it to kill someone?"

"Don't be daft," the elf said with rising anger. "You, a mercenary, asking such questions? Surely you've killed in your own time."

"I am not a mercenary. And killing someone in battle is something entirely different than poisoning them. Good day."

Ren turned her back, knowing the elf would be powerless against her and her four companions.

"Who was that?" Gatorn asked.

"Just a merchant," she replied airily.

Soon enough, the man left, and Ren finally felt she could breathe.

"She stayed over here, yes," Wilhelm mumbled, somewhat nervous in Ren's presence. "But we rarely talked."

"Do you know what this is?" Ren showed him Margrathal's amulet, to which the bartender shook his head.

"No. Doesn't look like much to me. But I think I saw her wear a similar string around her neck. Whatever was attached to it was hidden deep under her clothes."

"Did she have any family?"

"Not that I know of. As I said, we rarely talked."

Just as Ren was about to thank him and walk away, Wilhelm spoke up again.

"I don't know if this will be of any help, but a few weeks ago, she got heavily drunk. She sat in the corner, muttering the same sentence over and over again. 'Remember me, for soon I will be dead.'"

Ren stayed silent for a while, processing those words.

"May I look through her stuff?"

"You rented the room. It's yours."

Ren entered Drenvoth's room. It was easy to differentiate her friend's luggage from Margrathal's, as the Bosmer merely tossed his bag onto the bed and left upon arriving.

Looking through them, Margrathal had very unimportant items. Simple clothes, some cheap jewelry, a handful of coins and a diary, except that didn't explain anything. The book only had a few pages and most described her life in the village. Though they way she wrote gave the impression that she was escaping from something.

However, at the very end of the last entry was that phrase again. 'Remember me. For soon I will be dead.'