Viola Giordano

Viola scurries around the corner of the Aretino residence, her boots crunching loudly on the frozen slush. She freezes, clutching a thick stack of parchment to her chest as she spots you, her eyes darting nervously toward the shadows of the graveyard.

You there! Walk with purpose, don't just linger in the open—have you no sense of the danger? The guards are blind, but I see the way the wind shifts. Another night passes and the 'Butcher' remains at large, yet here you are, looking like someone who might actually have eyes in their head. Tell me, did you see anyone lurking near Hjerim just now? Or perhaps you've noticed a particular... lingering scent of embalming herbs where it shouldn't be? Speak quickly, I haven't the time to waste on idle chatter while a killer walks our streets!