The Inn of Ill Omen stood not far from the place where Lena grew up. The nearby Faregyl Inn attracted the most customers except those who had issues with Khajiit cooking and those who knew who had the better ale.

“I don’t know who named this inn, I bought it like that!” Manheim Maulhand would shrug to anyone who asked. “I don’t care and I like the sign! Now, do you want ale or what?”

Lena liked Manheim, he was straightforward, as Nords often were, and he didn’t ask undue questions. She was the girl from the Bluebell Cottage, she lived there with her Argonian grandmother who was in fact an old neighbour rather than family, having taken in Lena as a four year old orphan when her mother had died… There’d been talk about the father being someone important, but that eventually died down without any new leads. People got used to things being what they were.

“Hello, welp!” Manheim grinned when Lena entered his inn. He knew of her vampirism and regretted it for her but wasn’t afraid and wasn’t about to shun her for that. “Food and drink for you?”

“Hold it, Mani,” she smiled. “I’ve got something to do first… I heard there’s someone named Rufio staying at this inn, is that right?”

“Aye, that’s right,” Manheim looked at her searching. “Your rite of passage, is it?”

“Err…”

“I knew your mother,” he shrugged. “And your grandmother… I am not surprised. I don’t judge either. Rufio is downstairs. I think he’s been expecting something like this.”

“How do you mean?” Lena looked up. “Is he armed?”

“No, he is scared,” Manheim looked sad. “I don’t know what he’s done to deserve it, and whether indeed he’s done anything wrong at all… but he fears for his life, that much is clear. I think your test is of a different nature than you imagine. It’s your call, welp. You have to make a choice.”

Lena nodded and opened the door to the basement, fingering her new blade. Would she use it? It was time to find out.

…

Rufio was pacing his room. He was an old man, old and frail, and he was scared. May be he wasn’t that old in years but fear of death aged him. He heard voices upstairs, then heard the door open and light footsteps go down the stairs – that wasn’t Manheim. Someone was coming for him, he was certain.

The footsteps went down the corridor, he heard another door open and close, the person moved in the room for a bit, a bed creaked and all went quiet. It was just another guest… nothing to do with him.

It’s been months since Rufio locked himself up in the basement room of the Inn of Ill Omen. Months of anguish, of waiting. Someone told him of a man in the Imperial City arrested for performing the Black Sacrament… Why should this worry him so much? People perform the Black Sacrament up and down the country, it had nothing to do with him, surely… What nonsense! No one would do that for him! And yet he could not shake the anguish, and when he came upon the Inn of Ill Omen, he saw it as a sign, rented a room and prepared to wait for death. But weeks turned into months and death wasn’t coming.

“I should call for more ale,” he realised tossing an empty jug into a corner. “Ale is good against ghosts and unfounded fears.” He smirked at himself. What was he thinking! Of course that Black Sacrament was not meant for him! It was all in his head! Khajiit cooking wreaking havoc on his constitution! He should get some sleep, there was nothing to stay up for. The inn was quiet and Rufio went to bed.

He was sound asleep when Lena opened the door to the basement and descended the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps. She knew where she was going, she’d been coming there for years. She pushed the door to Rufio’s room, finding it unlocked. An empty jug rattled on the floor as she entered, she steadied it and looked around the room.

Rufio was asleep in his bed, he would present no challenge. The test was indeed of a different nature: would she kill an old man in his sleep?

She came close and looked in his face – the man was twitching, his face contorted… but Lena could not decide whether he looked scared or angry. “Perhaps both,” she thought. “I wonder what he had done, if anything at all… I wonder whether that matters…”

Although this would not be the first life she took, this would be the first life she took in cold blood. “This is quite different to killing people in battle,” she reflected. “This has nothing to do with self defense… Here indeed it is my choice. Now I must decide.”

Rufio must have felt someone standing over him because he turned over in his sleep but didn’t wake up. He was now facing Lena, lying on his side, his shoulders slumped, his neck exposed. Lena suddenly realised that she hadn’t fed in days… “Waste not, want not,” she thought, kneeling over him.

…

Lena’s virgin blade remained virgin, yet Rufio lay dead. He didn’t have that much blood, and what he had, was so infused with alcohol that Lena felt quite unwell. She made it upstairs, Manheim took one look at her and pressed a jug of cold water into her hands.

“Go behind the inn… there’s a bedroll there,” he said shaking his head. “I want no mess in the house, and by the looks of you there will be a mess… You don’t seem to hold your drink very well.”

It was the worst night in Lena’s life so far – never before had she been so sick. She swore to never feed on drunkards again, it just wasn’t worth it. But when she woke in the morning, the job had been done and Manheim was hailing a passing legionnaire to send word that one of the guests had finally drunk himself to death and needed disposing of in a proper Imperial fashion. The legionnaire examined the corpse, took his name, made a note of paleness but didn’t look any further as the stench of alcohol was simply too strong. “Totally pickled,” he shook his head, backing off. “Someone will come and collect him,” he said, handing Manheim a receipt. “Put him in the barn or something… we can skip the embalming, I think!” He grinned, mounted his horse and continued his slow patrol towards the Imperial City.

…

“Thank you for everything,” Lena returned the jug to Manheim. “I’ll be at the cottage, if it’s still empty…”

“It is,” Manheim nodded. “Be careful though… Empty cottages often attract bandits… It would be better if someone moved in.”

“I don’t think they will,” Lena shook her head. “The roof isn’t sound, the basement floods… grandma never worried about that. I’ll deal with the bandits, have no fear,” she smiled.

“I have no fear for you, Wolf,” he smiled back. “Don’t be a stranger.”