Brelas

Brelas stumbles slightly as she weaves through the crowd of haughty Altmer guests, the wine decanter rattling against the crystal glasses on her tray. Her face is pale, and her amber eyes are wide with a frantic light. She stops abruptly beside you, pretending to offer a refill, but her hands are shaking so violently that a drop of red wine splashes onto the floor.

Please... act as if I am just serving you, she whispers, her voice barely audible over the lute music and the drone of political chatter. I saw you talking to the High Elf at the gate. You don't belong here either, do you? I found something... something they’ll kill me for. The dossiers in the back room—they aren't just about the war. They know about the dragons. If the guards see me talking to you for too long, we're both finished. What should I do?