Chapter 4 – Darkwater Rising
Part 1: Pint and a Plot
“And then the bastard takes my job!” Uthur belts out, his speech slurred heavily.
Like many of the Nords in Windhelm, Uther is a bigot, and always had been. He and his good friend, Rolff, will often walk through the Gray Quarters after a night of drinking, and insult any Dunmer they come across. And ever since his accident at the docks, two years ago, Candlehearth Hall had become not just a nightly watering hole, but practically Uthur Darkwater’s new residence. On any given day (and night) he sat there drinking; drinking and brooding, and always about the same thing: how that damned gray-skin took his job.
More often than not, several Nords, including Rolff, sat alongside him, buying him drinks and commiserating; tonight was no different.
They all began to shake their heads, reiterating the same old mantra. “Hard to believe Sven hired him on in the first place!” One would say. “And then kept him!” Exclaimed another.
“Oh, I don’t blame Sven, he had no choice.” Stated Uthur.
“S’right,” said one of his companions, “Ingnar forced his hand!”
“Well, yes. But no. That’s not what I meant.” Retorted Uthur. “I mean, I don’t blame Sven, or even Ingnar. I mean, they was a man short, weren’t they? And with trading avenues drying up…well, they had’a do somin. But a gods damned gray-skin?! It’s insultin’! And the gray-skinned bastard’s been rubbin’ my nose innit ever since!
“I see ‘im lookin’ at me when I go a visitin’ the docks. I see the smug look on this face. Thinks he’s so high and mighty! Some sort of fisherman extraordinaire! Mark my words, gents, he’ll be sorry!” A chorus of acknowledgment erupted from the table, and another round was bought.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve had enough, so I’ve been thinkin’. I mean, the docks *are* a pretty dangerous place, ain’t they?” Uthur continued with a thin smile.