Dravin Llanith

Dravin leans heavily on his iron hoe, his boots sinking into the damp soil of the cabbage patch as the evening mist rolls off Lake Honrich. He wipes a smear of dirt across his forehead, his red eyes narrowing as he spots you approaching the fence line. He shifts his weight, his knuckles whitening around the wooden handle of his tool.

Keep your hands where I can see 'em, traveler. If you're looking for the road to Riften, you've missed the turn by a good half-mile. If you're here for the harvest, I've got nothing but dirt and disappointment to offer this season. The 'tax collectors' from the city already took their share, and the local rats took the rest. Unless... you're not with the Guild, are you? You don't have that look of a man who enjoys skulking in sewers. Tell me, did you pass anyone on the road carrying a bow with a Llanith crest?