Hello, players! Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet. This is the main thread and you should start here.
~~~
Aravi stopped and listened. A regular patter could be heard on the leaves of the trees around her. She stopped and looked up. A fat drop of water landed on her nose. She blinked and felt more drops land on her forehead and cheeks. The rain was cool; an involuntary shiver went down her back and into her tail. I hope there’s an inn soon. She saw a flash through the canopy of the Great Forest over her head. A rumble echoed off the mountains to the west. The rush of leaves overhead indicated a wind was coming up. Or a lot of rain. She could smell it on the air. She moved to the side of the road, hoping for some protection under the trees from the approaching storm.
***
The rain started coming down in earnest, lightning cracked in the sky. Wind howled through the trees, the eerie sound brought a mild, but persistent and irrational fear to Aravi’s mind. She was nearly running, looking for any place to weather the storm. The slick mud would have been too difficult for anyone but a Khajiit to run in.
A faint glow faded into sight as she ran. She made for it, well aware that this isn’t the normal territory for a will-o-the-wisp. Several buildings materialized in the gloom ahead of her. The soft glow was from a lamp near the road, lit by a welkynd stone. The windows of the largest building, a two story structure, were warmly lit from within. Aravi ran for it. A sign swung on hinges in the wind. She could barely read The Wobbly Goblet painted in a yellow, flowing script. She reached for the door and pushed. It was unlocked.
She shoved the door shut behind her by simply leaning back into it. She rested like that a moment while she caught her breath.
“Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet, young Khajiit.”
Aravi looked up and had to keep looking up. A friendly looking Altmer wielding a mop looked down at her. He had his golden hair made up in the traditional Altmer style, making him appear even taller than he was. “Hello,” she responded breathlessly as she tried to control her breathing. She was in a warmly lit room with polished hardwood floors and whitewashed walls. Regularly spaced support timbers broke up the uniform white walls in a pleasing pattern. A few people sat upon stools at a bar in the back. The rest of the room was taken up by long tables and a massive fireplace. She looked at his mop, and then looked to the polished hardwood floor she stood upon. Little puddles formed from the water dripping off of her armor and tail. Bits of mud clung to her feet.
Reading her expression, he said, “Do not worry, I expect as much when the weather turns foul. I am quite prepared to deal with it. Are you going to spend the night with us? I fear this storm will persist for some time yet.”
Aravi thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew there wasn’t much light, if any, left in the day. And by the time this storm blew itself out… “Yes I think I will. Are you the proprietor?” Aravi moved to the side as he started attacking the little puddles that formed around her.
“Excellent, I’ll have Lleris take your pack up to one of our rooms. And no, I am not the proprietor, I’m Hethilion. I keep everything neat and clean, and maintain the excellent library on the second floor.”
Aravi heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of the library. She knew a Breton that would get along well with him. “Who do I speak to about settling my room then?”
Hethilion pointed to an orc woman standing near the bar talking with the bar tender. “That’s Bograk gra-Mugshak. She’s the owner.”
“Thank you.” She turned towards the bar.
“Ah, miss? I didn’t quite catch your name.”
She smiled. “I’m Aravi.”
***
When she was done speaking with Bograk, http://i.imgur.com/ohhXPWM.jpg Her armor and fur were still soaking wet, she would have to change soon if she wanted to dry off. She looked around at the nearly empty room. Another Altmer was sitting at a barstool, fiddling with a lute, and talking to an armor clad Legionnaire. Her helmet sat on the bar counter and had the distinctive plume of a rider. An Argonian took his meal at the other end of the counter.
She almost missed the Khajiit leaning against the wall. His black fur helped him disappear into the shadows. He was big, almost as big as Kharjo and just as strong. He had his large ears decorated with several sets of earrings.
Aravi turned her attention back to the fire and watched the flames dance. She enjoyed the quiet, only the snapping of the fire and an occasional murmur from the bar could be heard. She had a feeling that it wouldn’t last, as storm like this was sure to drive other people inside as well.
The wind rose to a howling thunder, and the scattered drops quickly became a downpour. The skies above the Great Forest wept a storm, forcing a young Imperial woman from her sleep. She wasn’t particularly afraid of the rain, and in fact, it rarely bothered her. But once she was awake, it would take ages for her to return to slumber.
Vera picked herself up from beside the log which she used as a pillow, and brushed the dirt away from her laced leather pants and stained, tattered and torn sackcloth shirt with her hands and packed up her belongings and left that dark corner of the Great Forest. She knew it was going to rain today, but she did not expect it would come so soon. The weather in Cyrodiil can be unpredictable at times.
Vera quickly grabbed her satchel and double-checked her personal belongings. Everything she needed was there; A curved hunting dagger with a wicked blade and small green vials containing her secret to bringing back live bounties. Toxins extracted from deadly plants and other ingredients to make a potent result: a type of sedative. One that allows the victim to remain conscious while numbing all feeling and sensation. It disrupts the primary muscle nerves, and yet it won’t shut down the vital organs such as the heart or lungs. Inside the bag was also a heavy sack full of coin, leftover from her last payment, and her official coin to be spent on simple needs such as food, drink, bed and baths.
Knowing that this is all she needed, she hauled the bag over her shoulders and walked through the dark gloom of the Great Forest in the middle of a storm. The forest floor gave way to slippery terrain as the water flooded her feet, drenching her rough-leathered shoes. Her blond hair, drenched to the fullest, clung to her neck and face as she marched through the wilderness towards the source of comfort.
She could smell horse droppings from afar, and it was mixed with the scent of cooking. Vera suspected she was close to a tavern or at least a camp. That was, until she reached a family of shrubs and bushes that gave her a clear sight of a two-story inn up ahead.
Vera was miles away from her lair, and she wasn’t willing to go hunting for her food now. Not in the rain. It would take twice as many hours. With the gold she so desperately wanted to spend, she had decided she would spend some of it at the inn.
The Great Forest was unlike Bravil, and the taverns hosted no vagabonds, thieves or criminals. While she may encounter one or two, she expected to find the basic adventurer or two or the local common folk. The very people Vera liked to be around in times like these for the sole purpose that there was no trouble to be found. She had an empty stomach, constant sleepless nights and a temper. To surround herself with perverted slobs and overfed criminals would be frustrate her. Especially in that time of the month.
Vera arrived at the placed called the Wobbling Goblet, and made haste to the front door. She twisted the knob and entered slowly, unlike the pace she took to get there. The warm air and the scent of food and other things immediately assaulted her nostrils. She breathed deeply and stepped in further.
“Come in! Come in!” a voice said.
She looked down to her feet and saw by the wet prints that there were others who sought to leave the rain for shelter.
Vera focused in on the Altmer man after she took in the scene of the inn and everyone and everything in it. The High Elf was tall, and his bright hair only made him stand out and appear even larger. From the mop in his hands she could already see that he was the one who was responsible for keeping the place clean.
The Imperial woman stomped her feet at the front of the door, kicking the mud and wet leaves off of her shoes right before she walked forward into the tavern. Beside her was a smaller room for the leisure of those seeking peace and quiet.
“How can I be of service?”
Vera blinked water away from her eyes and wiped droplets from her forehead. “I’m looking for food and a room to stay for the night.”
The Altmer smiled. “Well, you’ve found the right place.”
Vera did not answer him right away, and kept her gaze everywhere. She took the measure of the female Khajiit standing with her arms folded at her chest, soaking wet from the rain. And a second black Khajiit that had an aura of authority about him, but there was nothing there that would suggest a connection between her and him.
She turned and looked at the other patrons; an Argonian, an Altmer with a lute, a flour-covered Nord woman scurrying back and forth with plates and dishes in her hands and a big Orc woman with a club at her side.
Vera went straight for the bar after deciding it was too late to answer the High Elf. She carried herself with an air of sheer confidence, an unspoken challenge in the squaring her shoulders and the tilt of her head that dissuaded other individuals from desiring to strike a conversation with her, let alone approach her. Before a warm bath and a warm bed to sleep in, Vera wanted nothing more than to tame the gnawing hunger she had in the pit of her stomach.
She sat on the stool in front of the bar, and was greeted and asked about what she would desire to eat or drink. Vera took a look at the meals available and made her decision right away.
“I want two bottles of apple cider, with a side of roasted mutton with cheese and tomato salad.”
Aravi heard the door open and looked over. Sure enough, another person was driven in by the storm. The arrival was a thoroughly soaked Imperial woman. She was rough looking, Aravi thought, like she lived off the land mostly. The Imperial stalked off to the bar, her body language clearly indicating she wanted little to do with conversation. Aravi returned her focus back to the fire in front of her.
Yetta sliced a generous slab of mutton and laid it across the steaming mashed potatoes. Garlic, onion, and juniper berries filled the cavity left by the bone. Spring onions pulled up while they were small and roasted until golden filled the rest of plate right up to the edge. When Auguste brought back the order he had raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested their latest guest was very hungry. Or he may have been practicing another of his charming expressions. It was hard to tell with that Breton. In any case he had headed back to the bar with two bottles of cider. Yetta would wager that the guest was hungry. She filled a small pitcher with gravy and perched two rolls on top of the mutton.
A quick sprinkle of Gold Coast salt finished the salad. Yetta smiled at the tiny tomatoes. It was too soon for the slicing varieties to bear fruit, but her early vines were laden with these bite-sized treats. She had cubed the cheese and arranged them together in a pleasing pattern on the lettuce. ‘It all goes in the same place,’ her Ma used to say. ‘And then back out again. Ha!’ But Yetta liked things to look nice on the journey.
She balanced the salad on her arm, picked up the pitcher and mutton, and strode through to the tavern.
The Khajiit Aravi stood by the fire, still armored with tea in hand. Yetta reminded herself to check if she wanted a meal. Perhaps she had dried off and warmed up by now.
A blonde Imperial sat at the bar ignoring Auguste, Borgak, and Tooth-in-the-Grass, the two cider bottles at her elbow. Yetta slid the plates in front of her. The woman’s eyes caught the candlelight like liquid gold. She looked as if she had been sleeping rough. She’s much prettier than me, Yetta decided.
The woman’s demeanor did not invite conversation.
Yetta couldn’t help herself. “I’ve a nice blackberry crumble, if you care for dessert. And there are fresh apples in the pie, not dried. I kept them in the cellar all winter.”
Vera’s presence attracted a few curious stares. She guessed they didn’t get a lot of bedraggled Imperials in these parts, especially at this hour. Her heart skipped a beat momentarily as she spotted the Legionnaire sitting down.
Were the guards still looking for her concerning that last job with that Breton bookie? Whatever happened a year ago was old news but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still in hot water with the local authorities. And she also had one of them killed back in Bravil, a captain, no less. How could the guards be after her? But they were looking for The Huntress. The ebony-armored bounty hunter known around Cyrodiil and not a regular Imperial woman.
To add to Vera’s relief, the guard gave her only a cursory glance, before returning to his meal. Everyone else seemed more interested in their food and drink and talk more than the latest arrival.
Thank Hircine for small favors, she thought.
After her long walk in the rain, it felt good to be out of the cold. A happy-looking Nord woman prepared her order and Vera waited impatiently for her food. Her stomach growled like a famished werewolf. She licked her lips in anticipation, and refused to give into the feeling of tapping into the table as she waited.
Daedra, I feel as if I could eat a horse. She was starving, but she wasn’t that hungry. Yet.
Vera got warmer by the time the woman returned with her food order. She slid a large plate of roasted mutton and a salad in front of her, along with a pitcher. Vera couldn’t complain about the size of the portions; the diced cheese, juicy miniature tomatoes and meat was practically overflowing the plate. The smell of sea-salt overpowered her nostrils. The food was rich, heavy fare with a side of light, exactly what she was in the mood for. She smelled the food for anything unnatural . . . nothing.
Vera reached for a fork and speared a chunk of mutton with it and took a bite. She chewed the food slowly and liked what she tasted. The savory dish went down fine. Better than fine, in fact; it tasted amazingly delicious. Without patience to eat slowly, she started shoveling forkfuls into her mouth, wolfing it down ravenously. She couldn’t eat the stuff fast enough. She reached for the bottle of cider and washed her throat down with the sweet drink. Within moments, she had finished half the plate and was thinking about ordering a second.
“"I’'ve a nice blackberry crumble, if you care for dessert. And there are fresh apples in the pie, not dried. I kept them in the cellar all winter.”" The Nord said, striking up a conversation with Vera. It almost as if she’d read her mind on more food. With the way she ate, Vera didn’t doubt the woman expected a patron to still be hungry.
The young huntress raised her head and locked eyes with the Nord. She chewed on her food and stared. For the longest of time, she gnashed her food down and blinked. After awhile Vera swallowed down her food, she looked down on her plate and nodded.
"“Yes, I'’d like that. And milk. I want milk, too.”" Vera said after pause. Then she continued to eat her food.
“I have a hungry Imperial over there, would you like me to prepare something for you as well? I have mutton out and could have a plate ready for you in a few minutes.”
It took Aravi a moment to pull herself back into reality. She looked over and saw a Nord woman, lightly dusted with flour, waiting for her answer.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll take some. And more tea as well.”
“Do you want me to get a table for you or would you like to eat at the bar?”
“The bar will be fine.”
“Great! I’ll have your food ready in a moment.”
Aravi sipped the last of her tea and lingered by the fire as long as she could. Her armor was still damp, but she was warm now at least. Aravi kept an eye on the bar. True to the Nord’s words, a few minutes later a plate of mutton and a cup of tea were placed on the counter for her, just a couple of seats to the left of the rough Imperial.
She went over to her meal and sat on a stool. She took off her helmet and like the legion rider; she set it on the counter. Her tail curled around her stool, she learned to keep it out of the way of possible traffic painfully once. She adjusted her sword belt. At least she could sit comfortably on the stool without having to take it off.
When Aravi was set, she looked over at the Imperial. Half her plate was already gone and she was quickly making her way through the remaining portions. The Nord returned to the Imperial, adding another mug to the first two, and leaving a small plate with a delicious looking dessert.
“What’s that?” She asked either one, referring to the dessert.
Kayla's shoulder connected hard with the ground as she slid on the mud, caking her short auburn tresses with mud. She spat out a mouthful of the wet earth that had gotten into her mouth as she cried in pain, looking around wildly. The vampire was nowhere in sight. She stood up, panting, her enchanted silver sword held tightly. She turned in circles, looking for her prey. Thunder rumbled, briefly overpowering the loud patter of rain. Lightening flashed, and before her eyes an invisibility spell was heard being dispelled to her left.
Kayla grunted as the vampire knocked her to the ground, the claws of the Dunmer slashing at her frantically. She dropped her sword, letting out a shriek. She kneed the dark elf in the groin as soon as she hit the ground. he groaned in pain, and she punched him in the mouth, knocking him backwards.
She stood up, quickly grabbing her sword and plunging it into the chest of the vampire. The look of pure rage quickly dissipated as he died. She sighed with relief and pulled the sword out of his chest. She drank a cure disease potion for the nasty gash on her right cheek, one that would surely add to the medley of scars on her body, and sheathed her blade. She looked around as the water droplets ran into her eyes.
'No shelter ANYWHERE,' she thought grumpily to herself. She shivered and walked until she found a pathway. she let out an ecstatic sigh when her eyes brushed over the sight of a two story inn. She trudged onwards, her boots sloshing in the mud.
"Blech!" She said as her toes began to swim in her boots. She opened the door and glanced around, her eyes wide. She began to take her wet armor off, leaving her light green soaked shirt and black cloth pants on. She kicked off her boots and poured the water off, leaving them at the door.
"I am so, so sorry!" She said to the barman, her thick Nordic accent contrasting the sight of her pointed Altmer ears. "If you give me a mop, I'll clean it up. it's just, everything I have is soaked, but my septims are still good." She gave a nervous laugh.
Aravi’s question about dessert was interrupted by a new arrival. An Altmer entered the inn seeking shelter from the storm. Not surprisingly, she was muddy and absolutely soaked. Her voice was a surprise however; she had the familiar accent of a native of Skyrim. Aravi’s ears perked in curiosity. She didn’t expect to run into another traveler from Skyrim.
She listened as the housekeeper, Hethilion , assured the new arrival that the water and mud was not a problem.
Shivering, Fedura Hlaalu made another effort at pulling her cloak tighter around her body, and failing that she turned her eyes back to her bag to make sure that water had not begun to leak through the leather. The heavy steps of the mare were barely heard due to the heavy smattering of rain against the road, yet the woman could feel every movement and so knew that they still rode upon uneven cobblestones.
The heavy drops of rain distorted her sight somewhat, but she could make out the shape of a large manor in a glade further down the road. Spirits heightened somewhat by the prospect of a warm fire and a filling meal, she leaned forward a bit and smooched at the mare, whose ears flickered slightly before she lengthened her gait.
Coming in through the gate, she steered her horse towards the building that looked to be the stables. There was a large concentration of life force from certain points in the building, all of them shaped as a large four-legged animal. The mare stopped just outside, and she dismounted, taking a hold of the reins as she turned towards the stables. The big doors were slightly askew, and she looked around curiously when she pushed them open enough for herself and the mare to enter.
“Hello, is someone here?” she called out softly, not wishing to disturb the horses. Then her eyes shifted to a spot further in as a shuffling sound was heard and one of the stalls were opened by a short man who stepped out into the stable aisle.
“Good evening, ma'am, are you staying at the Wobbly Goblet?” the man asked, he was an elf, she could see when he got closer. By his short stature she guessed that he was one of the Bosmer.
“Yes, I'm Fedura Hlaalu,” she introduced herself as the other elf smiled and looked over at the mare standing behind the woman.
“My name is Lowren, and I take care of the stables here at the manor. Now, why don't I take care of your beautiful mare, and you can go in and warm yourself by the fire,” the bosmer said.
“That would be nice. Her name is Ceylye,” Fedura said as she handed the reigns to the wood elf after taking her bag from the saddle, and he smiled before walking down the aisle with the black mare. The dunmer woman turned after a moment and headed out through the door, trying – and failing – to avoid the many puddles of water on her way to the main building. When she finally slipped in through the door water had just begun to seep in through her boots, and though the cloak had protected her from the worst of the rain, it had not done a very good job in keeping out the cold.
She surveyed the room quickly before taking of her cloak, habit forcing her to note all the exits and the customers in the room. The closest was an Altmer who was standing near to the entrance - dripping water all over the floor - but none of them seemed like a threat to Fedura, and so she was finally able to relax as she walked up to stand next to the fire, intending to regain some warmth in her body before speaking to the proprietor.
"What's that?" The female Khajiit asked. She, too, is surely hungry. It didn't surprise Vera that a plate of dessert would peak her curiosity. The felines are notorious for their love and obsession with all things sugar and sweet.
"Food." Vera replied, mostly to herself though. Her mouth was full, and she had little time to talk now.
Vera heard lightning strike again, but this time it was much louder than before. Her ears perked up, and the she turned to the source of the sound. The entrance door was open, and yet another woman entered. From her looks alone Vera could tell she was a High Elf. Their golden skin, yellow eyes, and tall stature is a dead give away to their haughty race. But her voice, however, betrayed her origins. Or at least her home.
There was a thick Nordic accent in her voice. It was unmistakable. This woman had no doubt spent her time in the frigid province of Skyrim, or at least had been raised by Skyrim-born Nords. The red gash on her cheek was not missed by Vera, who could smell blood from across the room.
Just behind her another Mer materialized from beyond the door. This time, it was a Dark Elf lady.
Its raining women tonight . . .
The Dark Elf woman was cloaked. But it wasn't her attire that struck out to Vera, though she found the wolf skin cloth quite humorous. It was the white in her eyes that meant she sustained some damage in some sort of violent attack or accident. She surveyed the room, much like Vera had when she entered. Vera stared for a quick moment, and turned away. But her mind remained on what she just saw.
There was no way of telling if someone was a killer or a hunter unless the individual was one too. And Vera was quite good at reading people not only from their speech and dress but their mannerisms and gestures. And this woman had the subtle gait of a murderer. As long as she didn't try to kill her, and her targets were not Vera's, then they would have no problems.
The chit-chat in the tavern rose and Vera could pickup a few sentances from the conversations of other people. Most of it, however, did not interest her right away.
She pushed her empty plate aside, and pulled her dessert closer. The blackberry crumble looked absolutely savory and Vera waste no time in admiring the food that sat beneath her face. She had room in her belly for more, and her fast metabolism would allow her hunger to rival that of an Orc.
She dug a silver spoon into the food, and picked off a large chunk and shoved it into her mouth and without barely even chewing it, she washed it down with milk.
By then another person(a Breton woman) entered. Vera didn't need to turn around, for she heard the woman approaching the bar to make an order. A narrow-faced Breton in brown trappings with the softest brown eyes one could look upon. She introduced herself as Abiene a healer of the great Chapel of Stendarr.
Vera betrayed no emotion. She never had a good history with healers. The last healer who tried to help set a pack of villagers to kidnap her on her estate. And the last servant of Stendarr placed her for vivisection due to his deep-rooted hatred for what she is and his religion. To ease her mind, Vera glanced over the bill to buy one last drink when she noticed she was being watched.
"The bill won't be too expensive, but it isn't exactly cheap either with that portion there," the large Orsimer told Vera as she dug into her food. "If you're willing to pay for it, I'd be happy to collect the gold right now. At your convenience, of course."
Vera sensed she had her eyes on her the moment she walked in with tattered clothing and worn leather pants. The lack of bruises or cuts in her face would suggest to most that she didn't sustain any injuries but didn't any coin and was a wandering beggar. The Orc woman, who Vera could only guess was proprietor, must have suspected Vera had no coin in her pockets to pay the bill.
She wasn't exactly her prettiest at the moment. Dark circles under her eyes, mud caked on her wild and unkempt hair, shirt and face and water soaking her pants. She was still dripping wet, and yet made no effort to dry herself immedietly. Her small satchel didn't tell others she was an adventuring hero with a lot of gold. But still. Like a book, No one could judge a pack for its cover. Adding to that is the luxurious inn she found herself in, contrasting tremendously with the appearance she gave off.
But Vera was no beggar, and she certainly wasn't poor. For those who knew her when she was "alive" she was indeed wealthy, and inherited territory in the Great Forest. Everything about her life in Cyrodiil—the estate, the clothes, the social calendar was part of her nobility. Her family surrounded themselves with wealth and material comforts; a far cry from the austere lifestyle Vera chose to have.
Life on the run had been hard, but it had kept her strong. And she couldn't help but come to the conclusion that her former life as a daughter of nobility had made her soft. Life was a constant struggle; the strong would need to survive in any way nescessary. But for a mundane noble, a luxurious living would be the what lulled one into a false sense of peace.
As her lover once said, chains were not always made of iron and steel; they could sometimes be woven of expensive silk and gowns. The easy life was a snare as dangerous as any hunter could be. The sense of urgency and the threat of danger had to be constant, and an easy living would only yield the ennui of security and contentment.
Vera flexed her fingers. Her tone suggested a bit of hostility, but it was due to the lack of sleep. "Will it be too expensive?"
"Are you a beggar?" the Orc woman replied.
Vera licked bits of food from her inside her mouth. "Do you see me begging?"
The proprietor rested her hand on her vicious looking club and offered Vera a terryfing smile.
What's the club for? To butcher the horses outside for meat?
The Imperial gulped down the last portion of her drink and reached for her satchel below her feet. She searched for a sack of coin, and retrieved it to set it upon the counter. "I'll pay for it in full. And I want to rent a room for the night. With a bath."
The Orsimer turned the bag upside down and counted all the coins. More than she expected, surely. Vera could not help but wonder what the woman's reaction would be if she discovered this coin was blood-money. She probably would not care. Coin was coin after all. Vera awaited her response before she would decide to go to the library.
“Food,” the Imperial grumbled. She was in no mood to talk. Aravi was fine with that; there were times when she just wanted to be left alone. She looked to the cook who was still there.
“That’s my blackberry crumble. Would you like some?”
“Yes please,” Aravi replied.
Behind her, she heard the door open a few more times to admit more travelers seeking shelter. Aravi didn’t bother to turn and look this time, instead focusing on her meal.
She cut a small portion of meat and ate it, finding it tender and pleasing to her tongue. She sampled the sliced and buttered potatoes and bread next, dipping each into the puddle of gravy on her plate.
A Breton woman came to the bar and started speaking with the barkeep. Every other patron came out of the storm soaking wet, however this woman showed no signs of braving the storm except her windblown clothes and hair. Interesting. I wonder how she managed that? Spells? Aravi listened as she ate her food to the two speak.
“Thank you. I’m Abiene Metonne, of the Great Chapel of Stendar,” the Breton woman said.
Aravi recognized the name. Is this is the woman I’m looking for?
“Are you a priestess?” The bartender asked.
“Oh no, I’m a healer. I pass by here fairly often. I suppose it was high time I stopped in,” Abiene replied.
It’s definitely her. She finished the food in her mouth and wiped her mouth on the cloth napkin before speaking.
“I overheard you speaking to the bartender. You are Abiene Metonne?” Aravi asked.
Kayla quickly ordered a room and sheepishly trudged to it, looking back apologetically at the fellow Altmer with a mop. She set her clothes out to dry and quickly bathed, thankful for the warm air. She dried out another set of clothes, another pair of black pants, and a soft light blue shirt, and threw them on. She came out in a soft pair of moccasins and sat at the bar and watched the bard, a playful grin on her face.
Abiene
As the auburn-haired Altmer joined them at the bar, the armored Khajiit spoke. “I overheard you speaking to the bartender. You are Abiene Metonne?” she asked.
Abiene didn’t have to search her memory to know they hadn’t met. The Khajiit’s white fur and leopard markings were distinctive, and her green eyes reminded Abiene of Lildereth’s.
She smiled. “Yes, I am.”
Bograk
Bograk separated the gold into two piles, pushing one back to the Imperial. Everything had a price, and this filthy woman had more than enough to pay. Even if her voracious appetite continued at breakfast. After all linens could be boiled and furniture scrubbed. Though she hoped the woman would make thorough use of the bath.
The orc made her pile of coins disappear and gestured for Hethilion to bring a bath to the south chamber. His spells would make quick work of the task.
She slid a key to the Imperial. Offering to help with her satchel was likely to just annoy her. “Upstairs on the left. Hethilion will leave the door open for you.”
Bograk hated to leave a customer with that much gold in their purse. “Would you like a nightcap sent up? Tea, a late snack? A bottle of brandy?” She glanced around but didn’t see Stefania.
Laegon began to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Dahvl9UBGs, exchanging smiles with the now-clean Altmer guest. That should bring her barmaid sashaying and simpering through the tavern looking for attention. Blast! Where was that girl?
“Yes, I am,” Abiene said.
“I’m Aravi,” she introduced herself and offered her hand to Abiene. “I came from Skyrim looking for you. Two friends, Darnand and Jerric, said you are one of the best healers in Tamriel.”
Abiene
Abiene took Aravi’s hand in both of her own and squeezed affectionately. “Aravi! Of course they have told me about you. I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance!”
The significance of Aravi’s words sank in. A scar on the right side of Aravi’s face was the only evidence of injury that Abiene could immediately see. Skyrim had no lack of healers, so something must have driven her to make the journey.
Abiene spoke softly. A Khajiit would be able to hear her over the tavern racket. “Is something—” she began, but the cook interrupted.
“Mushroom caps and a selection of cheeses with strawberries,” the young woman announced, placing the plates in front of Abiene. She unnecessarily swiped the spotless bar with her towel and rocked back on her heels. Auguste gave her an annoyed glance. “Will you have some apple pie with the cheese? Or blackberry crumble?” The Nord nodded eagerly toward the plates in front of Aravi and the blonde Imperial.
The stuffed mushroom caps were larger than Abiene’s head, and there were two of them. This is a small plate?
“Thank you, but let’s see how much of this I can manage first,” Abiene said. The mushrooms were stuffed with breadcrumbs, grated cheese, chopped onion and more mushroom, and what smelled like very spicy sausage. Abiene gestured to the plate and looked at Aravi. “Would you like some of this? My goodness, it’s nearly enough for Jerric!”
Aravi smiled. They were definitely talking of the same Jerric. “I’m sure she makes her dishes with someone like Jerric in mind! Thanks for the offer, but I have my own plates to worry about. I’ll have enough trouble with this as it is.” She gestured at the meal in front of her, hardly a dent could be perceived. And then there was her dessert. She had to make sure she ate that… maybe she’ll eat it first before continuing with her meal. She took a small sip of her tea.
“What brings Chorrol’s healer out here on a day like this?” Aravi asked. She was hoping to learn a little more about this healer. None of the others could help her, but Darnand assured her that Abiene knew things other healers did not. He refused to elaborate beyond that, but Aravi hoped he was right.
“What brings Chorrol’s healer out here on a day like this?” Aravi asked.
Abiene sipped her wine while she considered how to answer. A frank reply might bring the wrong kind of attention. She settled on part of the truth.
“I’ve been at the Wayshrine of Dibella, south of here in the Great Forest. It’s under the protection of an order that’s familiar to me. I used to live in Anvil, and I know the high priestess and one of the knights from the chapel there.”
Aravi’s face didn’t hold judgment, so Abiene continued.
“The knight is under my care. Their armor is enchanted but quite revealing, and they disapprove of visible scars. You can imagine the difficulty. Anyway, I’ve been doing some… work that has helped me treat her.” She put down her goblet and picked up the cutlery. It would be bad form for a surgeon to fumble slicing up a mushroom. “I decided to walk back to Chorrol, but then this storm! The Great Forest is no place to be when the trees start coming down.” She glanced over at Aravi. There was surely something serious on her mind. She kept her voice soft. “Did you really come all the way from Skyrim to see me?”
Kayla listened to the conversation of the two next to her with little interest, until she heard the names Jerric and Darnand. She waited until there was a lull in the conversation before turning her attention from the handsome lute player to the two women conversing.
"You two know Jerric and Darnand?" She asked the pair. The scent of the food suddenly hit her, and she swiveled all the way around to see the plate. She felt the hollow pang in her stomach and realized she hadn't eaten in a few hours. She stared at the stuffed mushrooms and ordered a plate, along with some water. She turned her attention back to the women.
Abiene blinked up at the Altmer woman with the northern accent. “You know Jerric and Darnand, too?” Her first reaction was astonishment, followed immediately by an irrational surge of jealousy. He’s unlikely to have slept with every woman in the province, she scolded herself. “Did you meet them when they were in Skyrim?” Her face heated with sudden embarrassment. “Forgive me, where are my manners? I’m Abiene Metonne.” She extended a hand. “I met our mutual friends through the Mages Guild when we all lived in Anvil.”
Fedura had closed her eyes in the warmth of the fire, not opening them when the door was once again pushed open and lightning struck outside. She stood in the warmth for a while, ignoring the gazes she could feel upon her body, listening to the conversations that had begun to spring up around the room. For a moment, she almost let her guard down.
Opening her eyes again at the sound of a lute being played, the Dunmer woman folded her cloak together and tied it to the top of her pack, finally turning away from the fire to move up to the bar where several people where already sitting. Two women, a Breton and a Khajiit, were talking to each other. Something she only noted because the female Breton was newly arrived, and her clothing was still dry.
She put the pack against the legs of the chair that she sat down on, making sure it wouldn't be in the way for anyone else. The Orsimer woman came over and introduced herself before handing Fedura a Bill of Fare, which the Dunmer regarded with a puzzled expression.
“I'm sorry, but I cannot see what's written here,” Fedura said with an apologetic smile, and the orc blinked in surprise before telling her what food and drink they sold. “Thank you. I'll have a glass of firebrand wine, a plate with roast mutton and cheese with grapes. I would also like to rent a room for the night if that's possible,” she said after thinking for a moment.
“Of course. Firebrand wine is quite expensive though, are you certain that you can afford it?” Though she could definitely understand the proprietor's concerns, Fedura was still annoyed by her question. The simple armor she wore was very rarely the chosen outfit of someone wealthy, and she had never been all that concerned about her appearance. However, her former occupation had paid well, and a hunter had very few expenses. So she'd taken to allow herself a few luxuries on the rare occasion that she stayed the night at a tavern.
“I'm certain,” she said and smiled, but couldn't quite hide the annoyed tone in her voice. To emphasize her statement, Fedura took the coin-pouch of her belt and held it up before the other woman's eyes, before once again tying it to her waist and looking back at Bograk. “Now, how about that meal?” she queried, and the Orsimer nodded before walking away. Fedura, weary from spending such a long time in the saddle, slumped forward in her seat and used her arms to support herself against the counter of the bar.
Kayla took Abiene's hand and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze. "I'm Kayla. Just Kayla." She gave her a friendly half-smile. "I met Jerric and Darnand at a birthday party for Buffy. I'm not much for girl stuff, but it was a fun party." She let go of Abiene's hand. "I only know them by sight and name, though. We didn't converse much. They left us girls alone while we tried on clothes." She sipped the wine brought to her and smiled at Aravi. "And you're Aravi?"
Aravi was a little surprised by Abiene’s answer. I suppose it was a house call, in a way. She was careful with her expression, she didn’t want Abiene to get the wrong idea. Aravi saw no harm in what Abiene was doing, nor was it really her business to judge.
“Did you really come all the way from Skyrim to see me?” Abiene asked.
Aravi was about to answer when one of the other patrons, the Altmer that drug in all the mud, recognized Jerric and Darnand’s names and spoke up. Aravi listened as Kayla and Abiene introduced themselves.
"And you're Aravi?"
“Yes, nice meeting you Kayla.” She made sure she said the name so that it sticks in her memory. “It seems Jerric and Darnand have made a lot of friends. And did I hear Buffy’s name?"
For the next ten minutes the armored man battled the pelting storm. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm was gone, the dark cloud passed on in the breeze.
The Imperial a fearsome sight to behold, but no more so than any mercenary, bounty hunter, or warrior. Clad in a http://i576.photobucket.com/albums/ss207/Zenlren/TheHoundH.jpg, he was remarkable more for his height and weight than anything else, but hardly unique in these parts of Cyrodiil.
Ebony plates guarded his shoulders and knees. A menacing helmet, made in the likeness of a snarling black wolf, concealed his entire skull. His eyes hidden behind the wolf’s. A shafron and crinet served as shields for his horse’s head and neck. Steam jetted from the mount’s flaring nostrils. The man pulled back the reins and the horse came to a halt.
Trees lined the sides of the road like columnsof some ancient temple. The air was scented with damn wood and moist dirt. Ever sense alert to both danger and prey, he looked in every direction. He listened closely to the nightly murmurs of the Great Forest in which he hunted ever since he was a young man. Unseen creatures ran through the bush and foliage. Bats flapped around in the skies above and an owl hooted nearby. The wind shuffled away rogue leaves around the legs of the muscular steed. He held his breath, every muscle in his body primed and ready for action.
No obvious threat presented itself, and yet . . .
In the distance he could hear a howl tear through the night. More of a shrieking sound that went forever still. The wind carried over the smell of cold, dead blood and ash. The horse whined.
“Easy,” the man whispered with a smile. “The night spawns the undead. But they aren’t the only terror here.”
Ahead of him was a dimly lit torch and voices. Though he could see far, he strained his vision a bit more to see two Imperial Legionnaires riding horses toward his direction. There was no way they could see him, for it was dark. Unless a lightning strike illuminated the path. The man wanted no contact with the law. Not after he had a bounty on his head. He set his path to the woods so he could go around.
With his sword in its scabbard, the man goaded the horse to spring forward into a gallop through the road. Trees grew out to the side and greedy branches reached out for him, making him grateful for the helm protecting his face. He ducked his head few seconds before an overhanging branch took his head off. A log blocked the path, but the horse vaulted over it with ease.
The horse thundered through the wilderness as he spotted a building in the distance. He could finder shelter there . . .
The armored man dismounted off his horse, grabbed his gear( his sword and his shield) and his sack, and marched over to a young Bosmer petting a mare. He was short, as many of the representatives of his kind, but he was nonetheless bold enough to look up to the towering helmeted giant that approached him. He dropped a coin in the hand of the little Bosmer.
“Take care of the steed, boy,” he said. He offered his back and headed to the entrance of the place called The Wobbling Goblet.
He opened the door, and set a foot inside. His heavy metal boot making a loud sound as he entered joined with the music of his armor. He turned toward a High Elf, who was mopping the floor with a soaking mop.
The High Elf was surprised at this man of stature, and glanced at the tall man from head to toe. “What can I do for you?”
“You can start by giving me a warm bed. Surille Brother’s wine, red as blood. All a man needs.” His eyes(concealed from behind the helm) turned from the High Elf to further in the tavern where he saw many faces. An Argonian, two Khajiit, Bretons, an Orc, a Redguard and others. They were mostly female. “And a woman.” He added with a low voice.
Kayla nodded and smiled. "I believe you were absent at your own party." She flicked a still-damp lock of auburn hair from her nose and grinned, hoping the small Khajiit would see she was only teasing. She turned her attention back to the bard and shot him a flirtatious smile before looking back at the women. "It was nice to meet the three of them. What kept you away?"
“…What kept you away?”
Aravi nodded. “I did miss my celebration. I’ll have to find Buffy while I’m down here.” She paused. “I was in Skyrim at the time. There were some vampire problems up there that I was involved in. You sound like you are from Skyrim unless I’m mistaken?” She asked.
Her attention was briefly taken away from Kayla when she heard a crash of armor at the door. She jumped at what she saw; her hand went to her blade. Then she recognized what it was. A man in elaborate armor, not a Wolf. Her face heated up in embarrassment and her ears remained somewhat flat in irritation. She hoped she didn’t make a big stir.
Kayla opened her mouth to answer Aravi when the crash startled both her and Aravi.
'This is precisely why I face the door.' She thought to herself. she had seen the door swing open at the corner of her eye, but the ruckus was completely unexpected. She imagined her entrance was similar to that of the man in wolf armor, but less boisterous. She swung her head back around to make a snarky comment to Aravi about the man's armor, but noticed she was tensed up. She saw the warning signs of stress in Khajiit by way of the flattened ears and the irritated flick of the tail. Kayla shot Aravi another grin.
"Look at that guy, huh? What an entrance! Looks like he startled you too!" She let her eyes brush briefly over Aravi's hand on her blade hilt. She leaned her head on her hands while resting her elbows on the bar, looking at Aravi.
"You know, my mentor, Ma'Dat, his tail and ears did the same thing when I scared him as a child." She laughed, her brown eyes twinkling.
Aravi shook her head and forced herself to relax. She was only partially successful, she still felt energy coursing through her limbs. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed. “Some Khajiit learn to control it better. Your mentor and I have not,” she said in reply to Kayla.
She turned back to Abiene. "Would you be willing to meet me sometime before you leave tomorrow? I would like to discuss something with you."
Abiene tore her eyes away from the enormous suit of armor in the doorway.
“Of course,” she murmured to Aravi. “I rise early, so check my room when you wake. I won’t leave the inn until we have a chance to speak.” She glanced over at the dark Khajiit in the shadows. He remained leaning against the wall, expression inscrutable. Abiene did not have the sense of danger shared by these warrior women, but Jerric had impressed upon her that she should always have a plan. If that Khajiit made a move toward any guest, she would simply disappear.
“It seems to have stopped raining,” she said, sounding inane to herself. She took a sip of wine.
Abiene couldn’t help glancing back at the Dunmer with the cloudy eyes. She seemed to have no vision, yet somehow she could see. Her healer’s curiosity needled her, but there was no polite way to bring up the subject.
Divines, she suddenly thought. Did Kayla just ask me something? She cast a glare into her goblet. Has Auguste been refilling my wine?
Hethilion
Hethilion stowed his mop and moved toward the bar. “Very good, m’lord,” he said over his shoulder to the wolf-armored man. “A room and a bottle of Surilie Brothers red.” Bograk and Auguste heard and quickly filled the order. Hethilion turned back to their latest guest. “Will you take your wine in your chamber? Shall I send up a meal? Would you care for a bath?” And good luck with the women, he thought to himself.
Kayla raised her brows as Abiene ignored her question. In fact, she ignored her completely, looking into her glass. Kayla shrugged and sighed.
'Women.'
She turned her attention back to the bard who hadn't seemed to take notice of her. She was used to it. Her scars often set men away from her. Especially the long claw marks left by a werewolf on her breasts. She inwardly shrugged. The ones on her face seemed to intimidate men and women alike. She touched the scar extending from the top of her lip down to her chin absently.
Vera sat there as the Orc counted and piled the coins and gestured for the High Elf to make a bath for her. He was still mopping the front when an armored fellow walked in with a heavy thud of his boots.
He was physically imposing, and his spiked shield and sheathed sword were intimidating when held casually. She couldn't imagine what they would do to someone in combat . . .or perhaps she could. She'd seen that shield bash a criminal in the side of the head once, and that sword cleave an outlaw almost in two.
He spoke in a deep, gruff voice and made a specific order for wine, a plate of food, a bed and a woman. Vera turned away from him, picked up the satchel and the key given to her. "I'll have two bottles of Cyrodiilic Brandy." She said without looking directly at the Orsimer.
Vera was heading toward the Altmer housekeeper so that he could lead the way to her room when she caught a whiff of something. A scent that was familiar to her, but faint and distant all the same. She recognized it. In the room there was a wolfen taint of the blood that called other Lycanthropes to others. It did not come from the man who entered, his was too strong. And she knew the scent well. No, this was another.
She disguised her sniffing as if she was catching a cold from the rain, and averted her eyes to the female Khajiit who introduced herself as Aravi. The smell, though faint, came directly from her.
There was confusion in Vera's expression, and she quickly controlled her face when realizing she stood there for too long. She headed toward the stairs to wait for the High Elf. Her hair still dripping wet from the rain, falling over the once-dry floor she stood over. This should surely bring the High Elf to her service soon enough.
As she stood there, she shot a glance at the tall man who entered and watched as he removed his wolfish helmet. The man's true face was worn, but strappingly so. It was full of soot and mud, but not enough to conceal his tanned skin. http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/tesfanon/images/3/34/Etfj34.jpg. Disorderly black hair fell to his broad shoulders, shielded by dark plates. His eyes were bright with a feverish fire, http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/tesfanon/images/7/79/28qu35g.jpg
He held his helmet below his arm, and his shield in his other hand. His bad remained by his foot.
“Will you take your wine in your chamber? Shall I send up a meal? Would you care for a bath?”
The only room this man needs to be is in my room, Vera thought. And I've already paid for the damn bath . . .
"I'll take the wine now," the man said in a commanding voice. "I'll eat the meal here."
Vera climbed the steps, and left the man downstairs. It has been awhile since he's been in the company of so many women.
Lucky for the women . . . Vera murmured to herself in her mind. Considering how many he's put in the dirt in his life and beyond, though some uninentionally. It didn't matter though. Knowing him, there won't be bloodshed this night. Not after what happened days ago. If anything, they wisest choice would be shying away from violence. Especially with a Legion guard in the tavern. She wasn't exactly an unwanted woman, and the armored man was also being sought after in other regions of Cyrodiil.
Vera climbed the stairs further, and up into the halls.
“Thank you,” Aravi murmured to Abiene. Aravi appreciated her discretion and she felt relieved that she might finally have a cure.
She looked beside her and saw the Imperial woman had left. She turned her head and saw the woman’s back heading up the stairs.
Aravi looked back at Kayla, and saw her absently touching one of the many scars on her face. She didn’t get those scars living a peaceful life. Aravi couldn’t help but touch the one on her cheek briefly. The contrast of the fur and scar tissue always felt interesting to her. She put her hand down quickly.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is it that you and Ma’Dat do?”
Kayla almost didn't hear Arabi's question.
"Oh, what do we do? Vampire hunters. We''re sworn to the service of Meridia. He picked me up with the rest of the cult when my town was-" she stopped and cleared her throat.
"That is, he's a father figure to me after my own passed away. Left by my Altmer parents to be raised by Nords to be raised the rest of the way by Ma'Dat. It's actually S'Dat now, but to me, he's Ma'Dat." She gave Aravi a half grin. "I even got a fresh wound defeating a vampire right before I stepped into this inn. Little one." She pointed to the gash on her cheek that had finally clotted. "What about you, Aravi?"
Lycus Desselius mentally thanked the tavern’s patrons for staying up this night. He needed a place to rest, and the rain wasn’t exactly good for his armor and quiver of arrows. As he entered further he was greeted by a rush of hot air. He basked in the sudden warmth as he looked about his surroundings with an inspective and intense focus. The interior of the tavern was luxurious. The patrons sat on wooden chairs and stools in front of the bar. Candles and lanterns glowed atop the tables, while a lamp glowed from the ceiling. Sawdust covered the floor. Old barrels were stacked in the corners. A High Elf bard played a soothing tune with his lute, the group of women talked amongst themselves at the bar, and others were on their way to prepare his order.
Lycus headed toward the bar, shield and helmet in hand, stepping with a measured pace that failed to hide the loud clanking of his metal boots. There were open seats left, and he took one to the far side of the room near an armored figure. Quite truthfully he wasn’t in the mood to speak too much, but he was given no choice. He was hungry, and he didn’t want to cast suspicion to him by hiding as a craven criminal.
He set down his shield and set his helmet on the bar just below his face. He removed a sack of coin and set it on the table as well. A man came and gave him a bill, and Lycus murmured his order to the bartender.
“Grilled ham and mushrooms, and extra potatoes.”
He leaned back and looked around him, slightly frowning. His frown grew only deeper when he saw that he was seated next to a white-eyed Dunmer woman. Lycus remembered living in the Dunmer lands for three and a half years as a slave to the cruel dark elves. He recalled the vivid memories of wandering the lifeless wastes of Vvardenfel. Most of the areas he's been to were nothing but dirt and rock. It was an ugly, ravaged terrain: by all rights it should have been without life. And yet the lands teemed with desperate creatures and people scratching and clawing to carve out a meaningful existence for themselves. And though Lycus despised his life as a slave, he learned to accept it. His brutal childhood in Cyrodiil and savage upbringing in the ebony mines and saltrice plantations in Morrowind made him fight to survive had helped forge his desire for victory. Molded him from a slave who had nothing into a warrior.
But while the land and his brutal masters helped give him an advantage in life, the crimes and atrocities of the Dunmer could not go unpunished. Blood demanded blood. Those were the days were the oppressed took it upon themselves to become the oppressors. Where greed, vengeance and bloodlust triumphed over sympathy.
Those days, however, are long past, but the scars yet linger within the wounded. And Lycus was seated next to one of the Dunmer, a race who were one of his greatest problems time and time again. There were ashlanders, and native Dunmer and provincials. He could not tell who the woman beside him was, but couldn’t help but be darkly curious about it. He'd heard of the atrocities the Argonians commited against the Telvanni before the land itself was destroyed in due payment. While there were few Dunmers in the world, he knew some might belong to the Great Houses. And such, retribution would have to be swift.
“A long way from Ruhn(home), is it not?” Lycus said in an almost fluent Dunmeri. “Julan bal isra gah foyada. Va at mer kogo. Oegnithr, ven asta mora. Bete goris, nagrai ae anyai."(The land where ones rows life in the great fire river. The land where people are unbreakable. Bad change, coming to this forest. Strange creatures, dead and alive.”
Aravi looked at the fresh cut. “A vampire near the inn?” she kept her voice down, she didn’t want other patrons overhearing, and deciding that they should leave. If there were vampires about, they would be safer here until morning arrived. “I’m a member of a relatively new organization in Skyrim. They call themselves the Dawnguard. Before that I worked with a small group based in the Imperial City. I’m a vampire hunter as well.” She looked at the gash again on Kayla’s face again. “Do you need a cure disease potion?”
Kayla followed Aravi's lead and kept her voice low. She adjusted herself on the bar to where she was still leaning on the bar, but also leaning towards Aravi. Her eyes glittered with interest.
"Dawnguard, huh?" She bit her lower lip in thought. "I've heard that name before. Never joined, as I've got...well, just Ma'Dat now, but we used to have about thirty of us in the cult before old age and, well, job hazards claimed them." She straightened up and casually looked around the room, pretending to comb some tangles from her hair as she leaned towards Aravi.
"I've got plenty of potions. I make my own. I've even learned to make a poison strong enough to paralyze a vampire. Comes in handy when you're lopping off their head." She let out a bark of laughter. "They're less grabby when they're on the ground. Thanks, though." She gave Aravi a genuine smile.
When her meal arrived a while later, Fedura smiled and thanked the woman who'd set it down before her. A sip of the wine immediately sent warmth through her body, and she was just about to take her first bite of mutton when the door opened again and the heavy noise of metal armor reached her ears. Turning slightly in her seat, she quickly evaluated the newcomer, a man wearing steel armor and a helmet shaped like a dogs' head. He was a warrior, that much she could see at first glance, but whether he was a possible threat or not was another matter entirely.
She turned back to the bar, having only looked long enough to know the appearance of the one who entered, and continued to eat her meal. Savoring the well-cooked meal, she was surprised when a shield, the dog-shaped helmet and a sack of coin was set down on the counter next to her. When the man, after sitting next to her for a short while, addressed her in Dunmeri, Fedura was hard pressed not to gape at the man. Having barely heard the language for the last two centuries, she was silent for a moment as she tried to remember exactly what it meant, and how to answer him.
“That depends on where home is, and I have none at present,” she said in Dunmeri as she turned her head towards the man, seeing that he was an Imperial with black hair and beard, and many scars on his face. Her language was far from fluent, but she could salvage enough from her memory so as to get on pretty well in a conversation. “I have been so long away from Morrowind that I barely remember it. Meeting someone who speaks Dunmeri is rare, and you speak it much better than I. If I may ask, how did you come to learn the language?” she asked finally, and continued eating as she waited for him to answer.
Abiene stared at Kayla, astonished again. A poison that can paralyze vampires? She must be an alchemist of tremendous skill!
She waited for a pause in the conversation. “Do you suppose the one you killed was alone? I mean, this inn is possibly the safest place in Tamriel tonight with all of you warriors, but I fear for the farmers of Weynon Priory.”
Abiene twisted her fingers in her lap. The cut on Kayla’s face was bothering her. Some wear their scars as badges of honor, she reminded herself. And some have good reason to avoid a healer’s touch.
Kayla looked at Abiene and nodded. "He was the last of five. Persistent bastard. You okay there?" she saw Abiene wringing her hands. "They were on a cave a little ways down the road, off the beaten path. I took care of them."
Auguste
Vampires outside the inn, thought Auguste. Great. He dunked two tankards through the wash water and swiftly rubbed them dry.
The barmaid sauntered in from the tea room. She dipped a shoulder at Laegon and leaned on the end of his bar.
“Nothing to do, Stefania?” Auguste stashed the tankards and sloshed two goblets into his basin.
“All of my customers left when the rain let up,” Stefania pouted. “No more tips for me.”
“Go get some plates from Yetta.” Auguste nodded at the Imperial in dark armor. “That man is waiting for his meal.”
He gritted his teeth as she loitered for another moment. He hated correcting staff in front of the customers, and Stefania was on his last nerve.
Finally she headed into the kitchen.
Lycus pulled off the heavy gauntlet that dressed each of his hands, and set them aside. The Breton barman slid a bottle of wine to Lycus, and shortly after the large Imperial was given his food by a younger Imperial girl. A rather fetching Imperial girl . . . delicate and innocent looking, but with an attitude that was normal for girls of her age.
He'd met plenty of girls her age, plenty of times. And it was only a bad habit that he stared with a fiery and intense look that suggested nothing friendly. Noticing the girl was unnerved, he kept staring even more until she slid the plate and hurried off.
The food was simple, but beautifully prepared and Lycus ate his fill. And with a stern voice, he looked to the bartender. “Who here can polish my armor and my shield?” he inquired with a mouthful of food.
He pushed away the cup given to him, and took the bottle in his hand and gulped down the drink. The white-eyed Dunmer woman spoke to him as he chugged the drink.
"An wanderer," Lycus said in a sigh as he set down the half-full bottle of wine. “Morrowind is not a safe place for any traveler. Not since the explosion. Not since the Argonians sacked the place. You'd be surprised to find others who still speak your people's language.” He gazed around the bar, and at the patrons and returned his eyes to the Dunmer. “I spent some time with your people there. Learned Dunmeri. Not many of them speak the tongue.” He swallowed his food before adding. "You're native to Morrowind or were you spawned elsewhere?”
Hethilion
Hethilion hustled up the steps and past the still-dripping Imperial, a bottle of brandy in each hand. “This way if you please, mistress.”
Inside the chamber he placed the brandy on a small table. He uncorked one bottle and then paused, uncertain. Does she plan to drink both bottles? Is one for her journey? Should I bring a bucket in case she needs to vomit later? Eventually he placed the corkscrew on the table. She looked like a woman who could manage a cork on her own, if necessary.
The large copper bathing tub stood on its end in a corner. Hethilion cast a Feather spell and moved it easily into position near the fireplace. He swiftly put the arming racks and clothing stand into their places and dropped a bathing mat beside the tub.
“You will find towels and bathing cloths in the cupboard,” he said, bringing more spells to mind.
One hand held palm-downward over the tub cast a spell that turned the air within it to water, while the other heated it until steam began to curl up from the surface.
Hethilion clicked his heels together in self-satisfaction and turned, tucking his arms behind his back in a formal gesture that belied his coarse attire.
“Shall I light the fire?” he asked.
Auguste
The big Imperial gave Stefania a look that should have stripped the meat from her bones. Auguste smiled to himself as she scuttled away. A few more scares like that might put some sense into her head, he thought. I’d hate to find her tied up behind the barn some morning.
“Who here can polish my armor and my shield?” the man demanded. Auguste resisted the urge to check behind him for the army he must be addressing.
“Lleris,” Auguste said as the Imperial downed half the bottle of wine. The man turned and spoke to the blind Dunmer without replying.
Auguste stepped to the kitchen door. Stefania was there taking refuge with Yetta. “Go find that kid,” he told her. “The big fetcher wants his armor polished. I’d stay away from him if I was you, or he might have you polishing something else.”
Stefania lifted her chin and flounced out the back door.
Yetta glared at him from her spot by the water kettle.
“What?” Auguste asked. He trotted back to his bar, shaking his head. The skirts hung together in this establishment.
Vera The Huntress.
Vera followed behind the Altmer who sped past her to lead the way. Each of his hand holding the brandy she requested a few minutes earlier. She stepped aside as they entered the room, and stood watch when he set the two bottles on the table. Uncorking one while uncertain whether to try and open the second. Vera was glad he didn't open the second one. She was saving that for a special occasion.
The Imperial folded her arms at her chest and waited as the High Elf used a spell to levitate the tub from its place, and maneuvered it toward the fireplace. He added a clothing rack near the large tub, that was placed near the fireplace. A mat was dropped just beside the bathrub to avoid getting the floor wet.
Anymore than it already is?
Vera was aware those who worked in this tavern prized efficient work and luxurious quality above else, and the friendly atmosphere was not missed. The huntess noticed from the moment she walked in that the entire place had a calm, soothing air to it. Unlike most of the taverns and inns she'd been to. Then again, Vera was never in the company of good, calm people. Though she was still sure some of the women in the floor below had their own stories and problems, and of course skills in a school of combat despite their warm demeanour.
The Hethilion told her she would find towels and bathing attire in the cupboard. Then he used another spell, and used it inside the tub. Miracuously turning the air into water! Years ago Vera would have dropped her jaw for seeing such a thing. Living in her home most of the time, and in the Fighter's Guild, she rarely saw mages or skilled spellcasters work their wonders. But as a seasoned woman who's been to the other side and seen countless things, she wasn't entirely impressed. But she was, of course, pleased.
The cold water began to boil, and steam rose up from the surface of the filled tub. He then held his arms behind his back, moved in a fancy gesture, and inquired if she would like to have the fire lit.
Vera turned to the fireplace, and stared. Then she turned back to the Altmer and nodded. She reached into her pocket, and grabbed the single coin given to her from the Orc proprietor. She flicked the gold piece into the air, and expected the Altmer to catch it.
"For your services, elf." She said. "Hell of a job you do here."
Fedura Hlaalu took another sip from her glass as the man spoke, then continued to eat her mutton. It was filling and warm, seasoned with spices that she rarely had the opportunity to taste, and she did not hurry in consuming her meal, even though hunger had been nagging at her for a long time. Impatience or hurrying could result in suspicion towards her, something that Fedura did not wish to happen.
Her eyes shifted between the man next to her and her meal as she ate, observing him and trying to learn more about the man. He was a warrior, that much was obvious with the confident way he moved in the heavy armor, and he was also experienced. One of the inhabitants of the room who could prove to be a threat, for she still could not judge his character. And he spoke of Morrowind, a place which she held no memory of, and had never had any great wish to visit. All she knew of her homeland was what she'd heard and read.
"You're native to Morrowind or were you spawned elsewhere?” The question almost caused a frown to come upon her face. Spawned, who used that kind of language in polite company? As if a child was a daedra or some other abomination. Perhaps he did not much care for people, or perhaps he did not like her race in particular. It was hard for her to tell, and she did not give voice to the question that lingered in her mind.
“I was born in Morrowind, though I have no memory of it, as I did not live there long. And I have had no inclination to return to the place since, as I'm much too fond of the woods,” she said, uttering a half-truth that was vague, yet not impolite. Her white eyes looked right at him as she spoke, and she only turned them away from him to drink of the wine. “And what of you? From where do you hail?” she asked as soon as the drink had slipped down her throat and she turned her eyes to the human again briefly, before resuming the consumption of her meal.
Abiene
“You okay there?” Kayla asked. “They were in a cave a little ways down the road, off the beaten path. I took care of them.”
Abiene smoothed her palms over her skirt. “That’s good to know. All of my defenses are against mortal threats, and I don’t often need to use them. I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do if I met a vampire. I mean, they can smell a mortal’s blood, can’t they? And an invisibility spell wouldn’t keep one from hearing a frightened heart beating.” She glanced at her plate and then back up at the Altmer. “Kayla, I know we’ve just met, but may I offer you some of these mushrooms? Look, I haven’t even touched this one.” She leaned in a little. “And don’t look now, but that lute player has been glancing over here at you. Should I ask him to play a song?”
I wish I could make poisons that strong. Aravi imagined what something that potent would do against a common bandit. Best not waste something that valuable against those pests.
Abiene’s reaction to the news of the vampire was exactly what she feared and hoped to avoid. Hopefully nobody else heard. Aravi was glad to hear the nest was taken care of, otherwise she would feel obligated to keep watch rather than rest for the night. She heard there were hot baths available and she intended on taking full advantage of the luxury. She imagined the hot water erasing all the aches and pains from her body. I wonder if they have bath oils? She would certainly ask, she loved the way her fur looked and felt after a bath with oils.
Abiene pointed out the lute player and Aravi watched for Kayla’s reaction.
~Lycus Desselius~
Lycus finished his fill with the hunger of a ravenous hound, and he gave no room for proper breathing. He picked off the remaining pieces of ham and mushroom with his dirty finger, and pushed the plate aside when there was nothing left but sauce.
There was no telling of the Dunmer woman who sat beside him other than she was a rogue, and was no stranger to combat. Not many Dunmers who were born in Morrowind and left shared in their native people's ideals. Outsiders, as the Dunmers always say, are people who do not belong in their lands. Even their own race born or raised in other provinces were outlanders.
She told him how she was fond of the woods, and not the barren ashland that use to be her people's home. Lycus drank his wine and slammed the bottle down. "You must be part Bosmer." Lycus muttered.
In the backround he heard conversations about the local nosferatu just a close distance outside of the tavern. It didn't surprise him. At this time of night, and with the storm, mortals made easy prey. In a stormy night no one could hear one scream, and in the Great Forest, it never really mattered.
The ones he'd encountered were feral creatures, howling and screeching in dark caverns. But there were those certain ones who could walk in a tavern dressed as a man and wearking the skin of a mortal. Those were the worse, and they had no issues with ordering the deaths of their own kind in hopes of securing territory or to conceal themselves. Lycus' woman once took a job from one of these noble vampires, to kill a man and also clear out a cavern filled with his own that was giving him too many issues. And personally, they were of no grievence to him. Lest they sniffed him out and revealed to others that he himself was not a mere mortal man.
"I hail from these lands," he told the Dunmer woman without looking at her directly. "But I've been just about everywhere and seen just about everything."
Weary from travel, and with a stomach full of food and wine, Lycus got to his feet and craned his neck from side to side, giving an audible crack. Of course, as any man would be who rode on a horse for days, he wanted nothing more right now but to sleep. An a full stomach paved the way for exhaustion. The brutish-looking Imperial grunted as he stepped grabbed his helmet, reached for the bottle of Surille brother's wine to drink and was slightly dissapointed that it was empty. Without pausing to even think, he threw out his hand and picked up the dunmer woman's Firebrand wine from beneath her and gulped down all of its contents. The new taste and the warm burn exploded in his mouth, and down his throat. His stomach felt hotter, too. With a gesture, he tossed away the empty glass bottle into the fire.
"I've been riding from Leyawiin. Took me days. Such a trip drains a man." He said, though it was more of a lie. He'd come from Anvil. He didn't want the Legion woman in the room to take notice of him, or have clues that he was a wanted man, though it would take four days or so for the word of his crime to reach the ears of those in that area. As far as he was concerned, they were still searching for him along the Gold Coast, and were inclined to believe he'd taken a ship to Hammerfell by now. Still, it didn't hurt to be careful. "Keep your eyes open. They say vampires are about, and I doubt these wenches too care of the last of them, if they did anything at all." He whispered in a coarse, mocking tone that only the dark elf woman or those with extremely good hearing could hear.
Whatever conversation he had could wait until tomorrow after he was rested. If he'd make it to tomorrow, that is. The owls and the creatures outside would keep him from sleep, and the noise and beating hearts of the talkative women would keep him awake all night. And of course, there was that one thing that would never let him sleep even after he's been riding half through Cyrodiil.
She'd better allow me to sleep it off, he thought. I'm not in the mood for it tonight.
Satisfied, the Imperial grabbed his shield and looked about for . . . what was his name? Lorkis? Larhist? Lheris?
"Lleris!" Lycus called out gruffly.
Kayla nodded her head at Abiene's queries. "Yeah, they can smell blood. And hear your heart. It leaves sneaking out for the most part. If you're good with a bow you can take them out from afar, before they can see or hear you." She looked at Abiene's plate hungrily. "Actually, yes, please. I would like your mushroom." She slid the plate to herself and gave Abiene a smile. "Go ahead and ask him." Her cheeks turned slightly red and she gave an embarrassed smile. "He's attractive for an elf. I usually go for Nords or Bretons." She took a small bite of the mushroom and washed it down with a mouthful of wine.
"Lleris!" a gruff, but oddly familiar voice called out loudly.
She looked at its source, the armored Imperial. His helmet was off and she could see his dirty and scarred face. She knew who he was now. She had seen him in another life, in Morrowind, when she was considered nothing but expendable property. A chill swept down her spine, and she felt twinge of fear. She’d seen him kill before she knew how to swing a blade properly. Seeing him brought all those memories back to her, and all the helplessness she had felt at the time. I’m not that person anymore, She told herself. She knew how to fight now. She would never be someone’s property again.
She realized she was staring. She turned her eyes back to Kayla and Abiene. She didn’t want him to notice her, or if he did, she didn’t want him to say anything to her. It appeared Abiene managed to give away some of her food. She tried to ignore the crawling sensation on her back.
Abiene
“Go ahead and ask him,” Kayla said, blushing. “He's attractive for an elf. I usually go for Nords or Bretons.”
“Not Imperials?” Abiene teased, lifting a brow at the armored man. Nords and Bretons, she thought. Now there’s a thought to warm the loins.
The Imperial rose to his feet and flung a bottle into the fire. “Lleris!” he bellowed.
Aravi seemed to be struggling for composure. Abiene slipped off the bar stool and glanced around.
A dark-haired Dunmer dashed in from the kitchen and slid to a halt in front of the Imperial. He was as tall as a man, but still boy-slim. “Yes, my lord!” he shouted back. The barman pressed a palm to his face.
Abiene couldn’t begin to guess the source of Aravi’s discomfort. She put a little hip sway in her walk to draw attention away from her flustered friend, though all eyes were surely on the big Imperial.
The bard gave her a disinterested smile as she approached.
“Hello, I’m Abiene.”
“Laegon.”
Abiene leaned on the bar and tilted her head back at Kayla. “Do you see my friend over there?”
He gave Kayla the kind of heated look that Casta Scribonia was always writing about. “I see her.”
“Will you play her a song? She’s from Skyrim, so it should be something with love and blood and beauty.”
The bard thought for a moment, strumming his lute. Then he http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-3CxYV3BqY.
“Thank you, Laegon.” Abiene dropped a thick coin into his open lute case and turned back to her friends.
If there was one thing to thank Talos and Hircine for on this night, Theudebald gro-Chenniere reflected, it would have to be for the makers of good cloaks. Rain drummed off the thick fabric, covered with a layer of flexible Dreugh wax, and kept it off the rest of him.
Even with his hood up and cloak covering his crossbow and the heavy breastplate and mail he wore, Theudebald made for an imposing sight. He was a large man, especially for a Breton, brawny and thickset, with hair that was tousled and messy with rain and despite the fact he looked to be thirty at most, it was pure white. Sparks jumped and crackled from the head of a large Orsimer-forged warhammer that was slung over his back, tiny starbursts of light dancing like embers on a forge.
Squinting through the rain, the Breton could make out a light burning in the distance, illumination from a lantern or glow stones. With luck, that would mean civilisation and shelter, and perhaps a warm meal instead of the trail rations he had stowed away in his backpack. He picked up his pace, following the road towards Chorrol and taking a side pathway from the main thoroughfare towards the building, passing a sign saying ‘The Wobbly Goblet’.
The inn itself was not much further, and Theudebald found himself before a large, two-storey building. Glowing lanterns flanked a doorway, and there were benches outside, but the Breton ignored them in favour of the door. He pushed it open, out of the rain, and pulled his hood back. Judging by the mud and small puddle just by the doorway, he wasn’t the only one who had just come in out of the rain.
“I lay down on the ground, and the arms and legs of other men, were scattered all around,” a high elf with a lute was singing. “Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed, then prayed and bled some more.”
For the moment, Theudebald decided to pay the bard no heed, instead slinging his hammer off his back and resting its head on the damp floor so he could take his cloak off. Electrical sparks began to race and crackle from the head of weapon into the puddle he had accidentally placed it in before he tugged it out again.
He took a moment to survey the inn, and nodded after a moment; it seemed like a decent place, almost homely, and staying here out of the weather seemed like a good plan. He nodded to a High Elf who was hurrying towards him, and raised his rain-slicked cloak and packpack as he approached.
“There somewhere I can put these?” he asked. “And is there anything to eat?”
Hethilion
The front door opened again, this time admitting a cloaked human who looked too big to be a Breton and too young for his white hair. Hethilion hurried forward as the man arranged his equipment.
“There somewhere I can put these?” asked the human. “And is there anything to eat?”
Hethilion gestured toward the peg rack with one hand and the bar with the other. “Yes and yes, and will you have a room, sir? Will you be wanting a bath?”
The pool of mud and rainwater widened under the newcomer’s feet. Hethilion reached for his mop. He spared one eye for Lleris, hoping that the big Imperial did not take off the lad’s head. His library beckoned, and there was enough mess to mop off the floor already.
"You must be part Bosmer." A smile tugged at the corners of Fedura's lips at the man's comment, and she watched him as he told her he came from Cyrodiil. That he was a traveler was of course something she'd already deduced, as he must have spent quite some time in Morrowind to learn the language so well.
When he stood up and grabbed his bottle, only to put it back down again and take hers instead, Fedura's eyes narrowed slightly as the smile on her lips disappeared. She was however very surprised by his ability to drink the whole thing in one go, and as such her eyes did not stay narrowed for long. The whisper for her to keep her eyes open for vampires caused a grim smile to come upon her face.
“Don't worry, I always keep my eyes open,” she said as he stood there, thinking of something. Then he called out the name of a person who she assumed worked in the public house, and a moment later another man – this one much younger – came running out from the kitchen with a shout of; “Yes, my lord!” She couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped her mouth as she turned back to her food to continue eating. The young man sounded like a Dunmer, and his ears were pointed.
A while after, the bard began to play on his lute, and then took up a pleasant song. She allowed her thoughts to wander as she finished the mutton dish, and began on the smaller plate of cheese and grapes. She thankfully still had a rather large glass of firebrand wine, or she might have been angrier at the man who'd thrown the bottle into the fire. As she thought of the day, and where she should head on the morrow, the door opened yet again to admit another patron. But she did not turn around this time, and instead drank of her wine as thoughts came and went in her head.
Theudebald nodded his thanks to the Altmer, and as he hung up his coat and pack, said; "I'll be taking a room for the night, definitely, and I'll have a bath later on in the evening, thank you. I'll be eating and putting my feet up a while first."
He his boots clean to avoid trekking mud across the floor and subsequently raising the ire of the Orc woman behind the bar and made his way over there. Pulling up a stool, he glanced at the menu for a moment before the bartender asked; "What can I get you?"
"I'll have..." Theudebald glanced at the menu again. "The slaughterfish, if there's any going. And a glass of Stros M'Kai rum to warm me up a little."
He glanced over at the Khajiit and Altmer women he shared the bar with and nodded a greeting to them.
"Evening," he said.
The heavy Imperial noticed some of the patrons turned to him for a time, and then back to their meals and conversation with disinterest but one of them kept her eyes on him for a moment before turning around quickly. Like a dog or a wolf, Lycus could sense fear. He could smell it just as plainly as he could smell the rain or the food. It was almost palpable. But though he sensed something else in this girl, he felt as if he knew her from somewhere but he couldn’t remember. Like a man trying to recall a distant dream . . . he turned to her and was about to speak when -
“Yes, my lord!”
Lycus looked straight at the boy who responded to his beckon. This must be the one who polishes armor . . .
"I'm no lord." Lycus said.
He was the height of a man but had quite a boyish face and a youthful look to him. Lycus analyzed the fellow from his head to his toe and snorted a chuckle. "You’re the boy who polishes armor?"
Before the Lleris could respond, Lycus handed the Dunmer his gauntlets and told him to follow. "There is mud, blood and grime all over it. I want it polished and cleaned as if it were new." He said as he stopped at the foot of a flight of stairs leading to the floors above.
The front door opened and the entrance admitted another person inside. Lycus turned just in time to see a brute of a man, much like himself, enter the room. He was cloaked, and had his white hair as most men of his kind had. Wild and unkempt. No time for self-pampering. He had the look of a warrior about him, that much was clear. The warhammer slung on his back was evidence that this man could be dangerous, and the reflected sparks dancing about the edge told Lycus it was enchanted. Though most of Lycus' allies were men of that kind, he also had many enemies of that kind too.
The Imperial turned to the boy and climbed the stairs as the new song from the bard sounded off in the distance. "Do your job well, greyskin. This armor means a lot to me, and so does this helmet." Lycus said as he handed the boy(who's held the gauntlets in one hand) the snarling wolf helm with the closed visor. "If I find a scratch that was never there before . . . I'll break both of your hands."
The tone of voice Lycus had was not playful, and had a thick venom to it that suggested he wasn't joking, though Lycus enjoyed scaring Dunmers, especially the young ones who don't deserve a sword in their stomachs. Lleris looked simple enough, and with the way the High Elf cleaned the floor and the Nord woman prepared the meals, Lycus did not doubt he would do his job. If not, then perhaps a good scolding would be in order.
The Imperial headed up the stairs, and turned and stopped. Away from the view of the others, but still in sight of the Dunmer he began to remove parts of his armor. He unstrapped the buckles and took apart his bracers, his shoulder pauldrons and breastplate and grieves. He was left with a simple sweaty and stained shirt and his undergarment, though he wasn't embarrassed. The only things in his hands now were his two swords, and his dagger which he around his waist with one of his belts.
"After you've finished, stop by one of the rooms and leave the armor there. You'll know which one it is. I'll leave a marking at the door." Lycus explained, and climbed the steps into the halls above. Surely he was aware he did not pay for any of the rooms, nor did he need to. He would just share one.
****
Vera closed the door after the Altmer lit the fire for her. She inhaled deeply, and let out a satisfied sigh. She was alone for the moment, but not for too long. Vera took her time and measured up her surroundings. The bed was large, the tub was massive and the chamber was cozy enough to suit her needs. There was even a small mirror on the side.
She began to undress. Her old, tattered cloth lay across the foot of the bath. Though she thought it brown, it had been stained a thousand times into a muddy yellow. Her boots, black and muddy, were thrown to the side. Her skin was just as dirty, but bearing evidence of scars of past battles. Over her back, and above her shoulder, and just above her collarbone too. Both sustained in Tamriel and in Oblivion.
She walked up to her satchel and pulled out a stone statuette of the Daedric Huntsman, and brought it at the front of the mirror near the corner of the room. She collected a few candles from the room and set them near the miniature shrine. She bowed her head, and from her pockets recovered a thick piece of human skin that she took from one of her contracts a day earlier.
“Accept this offering, Father of us all, Sport of those who are not our ancestors. For the thrill was real, and my arrow was true. The prey has been slain in the hunt for the glory of the Huntsman. Let his blood and skin please your eyes, and in return, you grant me my blessings for the days to come.”
Vera opened her eyes, and in a sudden flash the skin began to burn and sizzle, though none of the candles touched it. And then, it crumbled and the remaining ashes scattered about the air. A smile slowly cracked from the corner of her lips, for she knew He was pleased.
After she murmured her prayers, she slid into the water. The bath was hot and relaxing, and every ache in her body seemed to slowly dissipate with each passing minute. Though it would return as quick as it left. As a Lycanthropy, she was prone to feeling every pain and ache in her body that she initially never knew she had. Such is the frustration, she thought as she settled in the tub.
The Imperial began washing her hair, scrubbing her scalp with her fingers and then smoothing out the tangles with a comb she picked up from the table. Then she began washing herself thoroughly; from her face to her breasts to her belly to soft curve of her buttocks. The water took on a slightly darker color as all the mud and uncleanness of her body seeped into the bath. She had half a mind to summon the High Elf again, but decided against it.
The door suddenly flung open, and Vera whirled her head to see the Imperial man. He was barefoot and wearing his undergarment and a simple lower-class shirt. He still had his customary long black hair and neatly trimmed black beard. His sable locks fell to the sides of his face an over his shoulders, and slightly down the back. He entered the room, and closed the door behind him and set his weapons aside.
“Where is your armor?”
“I gave it to the man downstairs to polish it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’d trust a man with your armor?”
He shrugged. “I’d polish it myself if I were not so tired.”
"You're blessed to have a lioness at your side doing the work, otherwise you'd be a lost man," Vera addressed him.
"That's why I married you." He said.
“The water is fine,” Vera replied as she closed her eyes, and set her head back. “I just got in. Join me.”
“I hope you didn’t blacken it.” Lycus answered her. He pulled the bottom of his shirt away and lifted it over his head, and tossed it to the side so that it joined with Vera’ dirty clothing.
She opened her eyes and regarded him with mild interest. “I’ll blacken your eye if you don’t hurry it up.”
The man smiled. “You missed me.”
Vera returned a grin. “Of course I did.”
Yetta
Lleris staggered into the kitchen, weighed down by pieces of black armor. Bograk followed.
“Into the scullery,” Yetta told him, though he already knew.
“Guh, this stuff smells like animal,” said Lleris.
“It smells like work,” said Bograk. “We don’t all get to play with flowers for a living.”
Yetta knew that was a dig at her rose cakes and herbal teas. She pointed a finger at her boss. “Those flowers—” she started, but then the back door opened.
Tooth-in-the-Grass strolled through it wearing only a slaughterfish over one shoulder. “Got one,” he said, handing the mallet back to Yetta. He flopped the fish down onto her cleaning board.
Yetta got busy with her knives.
“He’ll break my hands if I scratch this,” Lleris said, his tone still cheerful. “He’s kind of a prick.”
Bograk watched Lleris place the pieces on the cleaning rack. “You couldn’t scratch that if you tried. Check every strap and buckle for wear, you don’t want one to break right after you’ve cleaned it. He might come back and show you your guts.”
Yetta could smell wax and cleaning fluid over the fish. “Hey! Crack open the window!” she called.
Tooth swiped a kitchen towel over his scales and shook his feathers dry. Yetta did her best not to peek.
“Fetcher called me a greyskin.” Lleris was still going on about the Imperial.
“Well, are you one?” Tooth asked him. He winked at Bograk.
“What’s that, scaletail?” the orc shot back.
“Not a thing, tusker.” Tooth turned to Yetta. “Did you hear something, snowback?”
Auguste strode into the kitchen.
“Need something, softbelly?” Yetta asked him.
The Breton stared at her. “What is your problem?”
Tooth and Bograk laughing together sounded like a hog choking on a turtle.
“Steak or fillet?” Yetta asked Auguste.
“I told you, he wants slaughterfish! Did you… yeah, you got one.” He turned on his heel.
“Is he a big fellow or little?” Yetta called after him. “The customer who’s waiting? Auguste!”
“Another big one,” Auguste said over his shoulder.
Yetta looked down at the fish. “Fillets, then,” she said. “I’ll grill the whole fish.”
Tooth stepped back into his clothes.
“You can learn a lot from cleaning armor,” Bograk was saying to Lleris. “Look at the places where the plates turned a blow. Here, and here. Think where a quick lad might slip a blade through. Good. Which room did he go in?”
“South chamber.”
Bograk nodded. “The other Imperial. I thought as much. They have the same manner.”
Yetta glanced at Tooth for an explanation. He hooked an arm and mimed shoveling food in.
“She didn’t take offense when I offered it.” The orc continued. “I doubt we’ll have trouble from them, at least tonight.”
“I’m going to serve this on a platter,” Yetta announced. “Has anyone seen Stefania?”
Bograk looked around as if the girl might be hiding behind the butter churn. “I thought she was in here with you.”
“Probably crawled up Laegon’s trouser leg,” said Tooth. He tossed his towel onto the table. “Need anything carried out?” he asked Yetta.
She smiled at him and shook her head. “Thanks for getting the fish.”
Aravi breathed a sigh of relief when the Imperial went up the stairs, presumably to his room. She would be perfectly happy to not see him again. She picked at her food while Abiene requested a song from the bard. She pushed aside her plate and pulled her dessert in front of her. She had no appetite anymore, but maybe she could enjoy this.
Another man sat down at the counter and ordered his food. Aravi wasn’t sure what race he was. He looked like a Breton, but he was unusually large if he was. Then again, I’m unusually small for a Suthay-raht. And then his hair was white. Like my fur.
He looked over at her. “Evening.”
“Good evening,” she replied. “I’m Aravi.”
Kayla turned her face slightly to the...man? The person who was speaking to...someone and nodded, keeping her eyes on the bard.
"Hmm." She mumbled non-commitedly, her eyes never leaving the lips of the handsome elf, except on occasion when they locked eyes.
"Oh..." She breathed quietly to Abiene and Aravi. She felt her chest heave slightly and she bit her lip, blushing. "He has a wonderful voice. I wonder..." She let out a short, breathy laugh and shook her head. "No, I'll leave him alone. He''ll set his sights on another woman soon enough."
'One with smooth, unblemished skin.'
She turned back to her plate and stared at her mushroom, picking at it with her fork.
'He has such a lovely voice...'
"Good evening. I'm Aravi," the Khajiit replied. Her fur was pale, and she looked skinny, but tough. Wiry.
"Theudebald," the mercenary said.
In the background, he heard and saw the Imperial warn the dunmer boy he was handing his armour to; "If I find a scratch that was never there before . . . I'll break both of your hands." He resisted the urge to snort in laughter at that. Instead, he turned his attention back to Aravi; the High Elf with her seemed to be distracted by the bard, not that he blamed her for that.
"So what brings you and your friend here on this fine night?" he asked.
“His name is Laegon,” Abiene murmured to Kayla.
A large man with a shock of white hair was introducing himself to Aravi. Abiene gave him a smile of greeting as she returned to her seat, but she didn’t interrupt.
Irvana.
The fog was icy and wet, and a cold wind blew through the shadowed forest, but Irvana barely noticed the chill. The trees, naked and skeletal, grabbed at her as she ran frantically through the woods. A waning Masser shone through the barren tree branches overhead. Black clouds drifted above like a veil. Her jet black hair, lustrous and dark, streamed wildly behind her. Panic was in her eyes. Tears were smeared over her cheeks. Spilled blood streaked her gown, glistening in the moonlight. The sticky crimson nectar had soaked through the linen, causing the thin fabric to cling to her skin. Her pale feet ran over a wet carpet of leaves.
Thunder roared high above her. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky. Rain poured down in sheets again, drenching Irvana. The ground turned to mud beneath her feet. Muck oozed between her cold toes and one misstep would result in her slipping and falling.
The blood upon her black clothes was not only her own, but it belonged to whatever creature had attacked her that night. And rumor around the neighboring village was that the nosferatu were about, and had taken up residence nearby. There was no doubt that the culprit was a vampire, who had been stalking these parts in hopes for a nocturnal snack. With one of the swords clinging to her side, she was able to save herself before the monster tried to drain her blood.
A building and a stable loomed before her, visible through the lights coming from within. As she drew nearer the large wooden structure, she saw that the stable was full of horses. She ran to it, screaming at the top of her lungs as blood fell from a punctured wound in her neck. She could hear the frightened horses whinnying in alarm. The animals were absolutely terrified.
With one final cry for help, she dashed into the stables. A roof provided welcome relief from the downpour. Crazed horses kicked and bucked violently in their stalls, frightened and terrified by the storm and Divines only knew what else. Their hooves pounded against the ground. Irvana could not spare a minute to look at the horses, and she cried for aid.
Breathing hard, she shouted. “Help! Someone help me! Please, help me!”
Water streamed from her black hair and clothes. The air reeked of hay, horse dung, animal sweat, and blood. Her knees shook and she fell to the ground the moment a Bosmer came out to see what the dramatic fuss was about. Irvana saw him, and tumbled over.
“I’ve been bitten. Please,” her voice trailed off. “Help . . .please . . . I think its still out there. Take me inside . . . let me in."
Lowren
Lowren was in Sapphire’s stall when the cats disappeared. An instant later someone came screaming into the stable. He cast his Calm spell to settle the horses. Hopefully it would work on her, too. Lowren disliked a fuss, and this woman was certainly making one.
She toppled over as he walked out into the alley between the stalls.
“I’ve been bitten. Please,” her voice trailed off. “Help . . .please . . . I think it’s still out there. Take me inside . . . let me in."
“All right, lady. You made it here, so get a grip on yourself. I guess you don’t have a horse. Go on inside the tavern. There’s a healer and a Legion Rider in there.”
The woman appeared to be bleeding from her neck. Lowren grimaced. By Y’ffre, she’s a mess.
“Do you think you can make it a few more steps? I have some ointment you can put on that wound, if you want. Otherwise just head up toward the lights. I don’t want to leave the horses if there’s a creature about.”
He looked out the open door.
“Looks like it’s raining again. These spring storms can be unpredictable. Well, you can’t get any wetter.” And you could stand a wash. He glanced back at the woman.
"Laegon." The name rolled off of Kayla's tongue easily. She shot him another smile and turned quickly to hide the blush. She finished her mushroom and looked at Aravi's dessert.
'That looks delicious.'
She drank the rest of her wine in two gulps and looked around to place an order for the cobbler
Irvana shook her head, lips trembling ever so slightly. "No. I don't have a horse." She said in between smaller gasps, looking back and forth as he spoke. "The creature. Its out there . . . its out there!"
But she turned her head to the dark forest. No monster was there. No blood-sucking parasite wanting to drain her. At this point she knew she was safe from whatever attacked her earlier that night, and she turned to the Bosmer who tended to the horses. He was more concerned for them than her, and she understood it. There was safety in the inn that she now saw was the Wobbling Goblet, and she would feel better knowing there was a Legion rider and a healer in there. Irvana nodded at him, wordless.
Her legs were buckled, and she would have fallen, until her hand grabbed his shoulder. She rested her weight against his, and waited before speaking. "I can . . . manage. I think."
She took a few measured steps, and then hurried off into the inn. She stepped toward the door and glanced back at the Bosmeri man. "Be safe!"
Irvana turned the knob, still feeling the low flow of red fluid from her neck. It didn't puncture her deeply as it would've. She supposed she had enough courage to ward off her attacker before any true damage was done, nonetheless the fangs had tore through part of her skin.
Her cold hand gripped the wound and she pressed against it as her other hand opened the door. She entered the tavern and stepped inside very quickly. Her bare feet graced over the mud and water, and she lost her footing and slipped at the entrance. Her two sabers failed to cushion her fall and she fell on top of one of them, the sheathed weapon colliding with her side.
She fell, and remained on the floor until she began rising slowly. Swearing a few words as she sat up. She looked about, wide-eyed and with fear registered on her face. But there was no reason for fear here. There were armored individuals and armed women and a large hulking man. She sighed, and squeezed her neck.
"Is anyone here the healer?" she asked with a timid voice. "I need assistance."
"So what brings you and your friend here on this fine night?" "Theudebald asked.
“Nice to meet you Theudebald.” My friend? She looked at Kayla. I suppose so. I know very little about her, but she’s been kind.
“The storm blew me in, and Kayla came for the bard if I’m not mistaken.” She suspected the weather brought him in as well but she asked anyways, “what brought you here?”
Her question was interrupted by a loud thump by the door. A woman fell, and was asking for a healer. She had blood on her neck. Aravi looked at Abiene. "I have some skill, but it's nothing elegant."
Abiene was already standing. “Don’t worry, I will help her.”
Aravi stood up as well. “I’ll go with you.”Abiene nodded. Maybe I’ll learn something. Maybe my limited magicka will be of some help.
They walked to the woman, another Imperial from what Aravi saw. The scent of blood was strong enough that Aravi was sure anyone with a nose could smell it. Blood mixed with mud, making the woman’s clothes a dirty red color. Aravi was sure it wasn’t all hers if she was capable of standing and calling for a healer. She noticed the woman carried a pair of sabers.
“What happened?” Aravi asked. She saw the bite on the woman's neck and ice filled her veins.
Irvana was getting back on her feet when two people came to her aid. A female Khajiit with white fur akin to that of a snow leopard and a gown-wearing Breton woman. Irvana still had her black cloak hung over her shoulders when she entered; it was meant to keep her hidden from potential enemies, though it didn't help her one bit.
The Khajiit asked her what happened, and Irvana groaned. She massaged the wound and then removed her blood-stained hands. "It said it wanted my blood. I needed to drink." She whispered, looking at the door and backing away from it. She clearly had the look of a distraught young woman.
She brought her hands to her belly where scratch marks cut her flesh. "It was a man. But a creature, too." Her eyes widened slightly. "A vampire! One of the wild ones!"
Then she looked at one of her sabers and let out an embarrased giggle. "I never struck against it. It fell on my sword by accident and then . . . it turned to dust. It was just gone!"
Irvana swallowed hard and gritted her teeth as the pain grew. "But I know there is another one and its after me." She looked to the Khajiit now, and offered a frightened smile. "I will assume you're the healer."
Abiene
The woman gave Aravi a shaky smile. “I will assume you're the healer,” she said.
The legionnaire moved Abiene aside before she could reply.
“You say there is another vampire?” the legionnaire asked the woman. “Did you see it? Where were you attacked? Here, show me on this map.”
Some of the others were gathering around the group.
Abiene caught Hethilion’s eye. “Let’s get her a room and a bath,” she told him. “Don’t worry if she’s lost her purse, I’ll cover the cost. And please ask the cook for some bread and hot broth.” She nodded toward the stairs to get him moving.
Abiene looked the woman over as the legionnaire questioned her. She wore two swords but no shoes. One hand kept returning to the wound on her neck while the other pressed at her belly. She looks like an Imperial, thought Abiene. Good. She won’t resist my spells.
She readied a spell to ease the woman’s fatigue and another to steady her nerves, waiting for the legionnaire to finish.
Kayla listened intently, keeping her place on the stool. Before she could check on the woman, others had jumped to her intended place by her side and inquired about her health. Kayla stood over to the side and observed the scene.
Bite marks on her neck. Bitten. She pulled out a cure disease potion and handed it to Abiene.
"For the disease," she said for clarification. "I can imagine this young woman doesn't want to become some bloodsucking fiend."
A woman with short brown hair rushed up to Irvana, and from her armor and serious question, the wounded Imperial could see that this must of been the legionnaire the bosmer outside was speaking of. She held out a map to Irvana, and asked with urgency where the location of the incident was, and the physical description of the assailant. Irvana took a moment to compose herself, and then she nodded as the memory came to her.
She took a finger and set it on the map. "Here, just a half a mile from that local cavern."
Irvana's mind began to reflect on the attacker's appearance, and she trembled. "It was too dark for me to see, but I knew it was a man. I mean it sounded like a man. All I could see was red glowing eyes . . . and that was it. The first one died, and the second one only stared at me from behind the tree."
She gulped. "I don't know why he spared me, but I think he's stalking me. He wants to save me for later." Irvana looked at the legionnaire. "Promise me you'll kill it?"
The breton woman spoke now, and exchanged glances with an altmer Irvana can only assume would be the housekeeper. She was generous enough to offer to pay for the room and bath, and food as well. This brought a genuine smile to Irvana's face. She'd found the right place. People here were kind, unlike the dark wilderness out there. "Thank you, Divines bless you."
A high elf woman spoke this time, and Irvana set her eyes on her. She had a potion in her hand and by her words, Irvana could discern it was made to ward off any infection one might contract if bitten. She grinned with a friendly smirk at the Altmer. "I can imagine it is a fate worse than death. I'd appreciate it. And for your troubles, I can reward you in the best way possible whenever I get my purse back." She chuckled.
Irvana looked to the breton woman and saw her hands prepared to cast a spell. She winced and rubbed her belly. "I suppose you don't have another vial I can drink? Something to heal my wounds? That is all I ask."
Abiene
The legionnaire gave a sharp nod. “I will inform my superiors of the situation. Perhaps they will increase the Foresters’ patrols and catch that fiend.” She glanced around at the group. “There's evil afoot, citizens. If you've got to travel, by the Nine Divines, stay on the roads!” She headed back toward the bar, Abiene assumed to collect her gear and settle her tab.
The injured woman seemed to have gathered her wits. She accepted Kayla's potion. “I suppose you don't have another vial I can drink?” she asked. “Something to heal my wounds? That is all I ask.”
Abiene spoke up. “I feel certain that one of these warriors will have a healing potion, but might I suggest another course? I am a healer of the Great Chapel of Stendarr. Would you like me to tend your wounds instead? In private, of course. I’m afraid that a potion might leave you with scars, and I have the skill to prevent them.”
She hoped she hadn’t offended Kayla. No doubt her potions were as strong as her poisons, but the scars she bore hinted at their shortcomings.
Another matter weighed on her mind. The Legion does not make a habit of purging caves, she thought. I wonder if any of these fighters will take up the task. And if they all will return.
Irvana nodded and thanked the Imperial legionnaire for her brave words and honest interest in bringing the attacker to justice. More patrols would be just perfect, and Irvana had no doubt they would make a formidable force against the vampire. But deep down inside she feared otherwise but was wise enough to hold her tongue. She had no desire to start a squabble or show her lack of faith in the legion.
Those animalistic fiends must be destroyed, Irvana thought. But mere legion guards might not be sufficient. They might be overwhelmed!
The Imperial noblewoman looked at the Breton for a second, and considered her words deeply. She wasn't comfortable with being touched by others when spells were involved. Irvana bit her lip in uncertainty, and pondered on the issue. She rubbed the neck wound where two fang marks were, and then looked at the scratches on her belly. She decided that there would be no harm in allowing a healer to work her magic.
"Yes," Irvana said after hesitating. "I would rather be healed from these infernal injuries than be forever scarred by them."
She looked at the Altmer woman who offered the potion, and bowed her head slightly. "Thank you again."
Kayla frowned. That's the second time someone has mentioned scarring, she thought. She huffed and cracked her knuckles audibly. She wondered what an extra patrol of Legionairres would do besides drive the vampires slightly deeper. Make them more cunning, she thought.
"I hunt vampires." She told the Legion rider. "You can save manpower by sending me. I've been doing this for fifteen years. And of O die, then you've lost one, not ten."
Irvana looked directly at the Altmer woman now, who huffed and cracked her knuckles in a sign of annoyance or anger. Her attitude, appearance and of course, outfit told Irvana that she was a capable woman who has seen battles before. The brave females that a child could read about in tall-tale stories and men would dream about when sleeping in their beds with their ordinary wives. But what captivated Irvana's attention, and held it, was the woman's revelation of being a vampire hunter. The Imperial woman smiled, but it was more of a hidden one.
She might be capable of securing the dark forest, and saving the farmers nearby from certain doom, Irvana thought, and then some more. But if she's a vampire hunter of skill who's been doing this for fifteen years wouldn't she have sniffed out the pests and killed them by now?
She would not fault the woman for that. Vampires are crafty and deceiving creatures, masters of lies and shadows. They could easily hide in the darkness and avoid detection, and it could take many decades for a vampire hunter to truly master their career.
This brought Irvana to a book she once read called Immortal Blood. Though it was a tale of fiction among the common people, with some truth to it, it nevertheless confirmed the craftiness of these creatures and showed that even a talented vampire hunter could fail.
Interrupting, Irvana touched the Altmer woman on the shoulders. "Brave of you! I would reward you with my coin saved in my coffers if you could bring me the dust of these neferious leeches."
Then concern was written over her expression. Her eyes searched the Altmer's. "But there might be too many of them. You might need the aid of other vampire hunters if there is a nest of them in the wilderness."
"I hunt vampires. You can save manpower by sending me. I've been doing this for fifteen years. And of I die, then you've lost one, not ten." Kayla piped up immediately.
I hope she doesn't want to start hunting tonight, Aravi thought to herself. She was tired and was looking forward to a hot bath and plenty of rest after spending days on the road. But then, she certainly wasn’t going to be left out of a vampire hunt. She cared little for the promised reward; she had plenty of coin from the artifacts and oddities she found in her travels. She cared more for Kayla’s and the local’s safety.
Aravi touched Kayla’s arm to get her attention. “I’ll go with you."
Kayla turned to Aravi and nodded. "We can rest tonight. But tomorrow I'm heading out. It's too difficult to see anything in this rain." She turned to the young Imperial. "Keep your money. I appreciate it, but no thank you. This is something I do. I can't guarantee the dust, but I'll do what I can."
Irvana saw that the high elf woman was honorable, and chose that her duty to wiping out the nosferatu was greater than her need for reward. And Irvana had no problem with that. We need more people like her in the world, she thought. But going out at this hour was no good, and the last thing she wanted was for the hunter to fail in her quest or the legion for that matter. They are at a tremendous disadvantage.
She looked at the Khajiit, who gently touched the woman for attention. She could see they were friends, or at least well acquainted. The Khajiit, despite looking tired, was also eager to join. Was she a vampire hunter as well, or did she simply wished to go on an adventure and do the villagers some good?
Irvana nodded at the words of the high elf woman, and bit her lip as if nervous. "It is very dangerous out there and I was foolish enough travel at this hour. Vampires sleep during the day, yes? It would be wise to venture into their lair when they least expect it."
She rubbed the back of neck. "I suppose I've caused too much trouble already. I never meant to be the bringer of so much drama. My name is Irvana." She smiled this time, without showing her teeth.
"We can rest tonight…”
Aravi sighed inwardly. That at least meant that she would have her bath and a good night’s sleep. And I won’t risk missing Abiene in the morning either.She still had her own purpose for being here.
“ …My name is Irvana," the Imperial introduced herself.
“I’m Aravi.” Aravi had to look up at the Imperial. She doesn’t seem like she knows much about defending herself. What was she doing out on her own at this time anyways?
“You should go up so Abiene can close your wounds. Do you need help?” Aravi looked to Abiene and Irvana.
“I’m Abiene. Are you ready to go up? Let’s find the chamber that Hethilion has prepared for you.”
Abiene’s eyes returned to Irvana’s two swords. She couldn’t imagine a vampire fatally falling onto one, but then she was no fighter. Irvana was a tall woman. Perhaps she was also stronger than she looked.
She gave Aravi a grateful glance when she offered to help. It seemed as if Irvana was recovering from her shock, but the woman might take another turn. Only moments ago she had been hysterical.
“What do you think, Irvana? Can you manage the stairs on your own?”
Irvana reached out to Aravi to shake her hand. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Aravi."
She whirled to the healer and concluded that this must be Abiene. She exchanged looks from the khajiit and the breton. "I think that is the best course for now. And I appreciate your offer. But you look tired. I don't want to burden you. If you are to go to brave those things than it would be best if you were at your strongest."
When the healer(who revealed herself as Abiene) asked if she was able to go up the stairs, Irvana could only muster a small laugh. "I can walk. I'm just shaken, that's all. I've been assaulted before on various occasions back when I was younger. Being attacked by a creature who wants your blood is something entirely different and mortyfing. I've heard stories about vampires. Folk tales. I just don't want to end up being their next victim."
She breathed deeply and sighed, eager to climb the stairs and put this dilemma behind. Though her legs were still trembling. "Lead the way, dear Abiene."
From her time there with these new people, Irvana could see that they might have been shocked at the situation, and of course, its not every night a person survives an attack from a nosferatu.
Kayla could see that Abiene and Aravi could handle the woman. In the morning, she would question her about the whereab of the vampire, though if the rain let up, it would still be difficult to tell. She sat back on the barstool and ordered another wine. She took a mouthful of the sweet, dark purple liquid and cast another glance to Laegon.
'I wonder if he'll sing me a private tune in my room...'
"Lead the way, dear Abiene."
Aravi saw Irvana was a bit unsteady. Despite that, the decision to return to the bar was an easy one. If she fell, she would have a healer to see to her immediately. And she claimed she was fine. Aravi had directed her question to Abiene as well to be sure that she didn’t need the help. With both of them turning her loose, she was more than happy to get off of her feet again. It’s time to finish my dessert. She sat next to Kayla, whose attention was fully on the bard again. Aravi picked up her fork and ate a quick bite. The crumble was still delicious.
Abiene
Irvana let out a sigh. “Lead the way, dear Abiene.”
Abiene picked up her pack and cloak and headed up the stairs. Hethilion stood in the corridor, a key in each hand. He gestured to one of the doors. “For you, miss,” he said to Abiene. Then his eyes went over her head, she guessed to Irvana.
“I’ll join you in a moment,” Abiene called softly over her shoulder. She stepped into her chamber to put down her things.
The first thing she noticed was the filled tub, though she hadn’t asked for it. Bless you, Hethilion, Abiene thought. She hung her cloak and pack, removed her enchanted jewelry, then washed her hands at the basin.
A moment later she was back in the corridor looking for Irvana’s room.
Irvana followed Abiene up the stairs with her black cloak hung over her shoulders. She was looking forward to a bath, and to be free from those wounds. She had no doubt Abiene might have some skill as a healer. The breton told her she would be with her shortly, and left to her own chamber to get prepared. Hethilion was in the hallway already, keys in each hand as he guided Irvana to one of the rooms.
She stood at the doorway, and then entered the chamber. With a timid attitude she started to search the room, looking at the fine sheets in the bed, the bench on the side of the entrance and everything that bespoke the neatness and luxury of the inn.
How fortunate I found this place, Irvana thought. She smiled as she saw the folded set of clothes in the corner, and then her smile turned to a slight frown when she looked at the walls. "There are no windows."
She turned to the Altmer, and then squeezed her lips tight. She stood there with her hands clasped together before her above her knee. Before he had a chance to reply, she spoke. "I think it would be safer. No chance of anything crawling through the window to get to me. If anything, I'll light a few candles here."
Abiene
Abiene heard Irvana’s voice from one of the rooms. She walked over.
She spoke before Hethilion could leave. “You know, it was presumptuous of me to order broth and bread for you, Irvana. Would you like something else brought up? I’m sure Hethilion will change the order.”
She brushed her hand lightly down the Altmer’s forearm as she addressed him. “I left my strawberries at the bar. Would you mind bringing my plate up if you get a chance? And I would love a pot of Yetta’s orange tea.” Now the tall mer’s eyes were on hers. She gave his arm a quick squeeze of gratitude. “Thank you, Hethilion.”
They both looked over at Irvana.
Fedura only listened with half an ear to the other people at the bar when a man, Theudebald, introduced himself to the other women. Instead she busied herself with finishing her meal, so that she could leave to go to bed as soon as possible. As luck would have it, the dunmer woman had only just finished her drink when another person wandered in through the door. This time however, she did turn her head when the sound of someone falling to the floor reached her ears, and the bloodied woman dripping water all over the floor caused her brows to furrow as she wondered if Ceylye was alright. The woman's pitiful voice as she asked for assistance immediately caused many in the public house to stir, and the female Breton by the bar stood up first, closely followed by the white-furred khajiit as they headed to the woman.
She stayed by the bar, not really paying much attention until the mention of vampires, at which her white eyes glanced towards the door before paying attention to what the others were saying. The legionnaire wanted to know the location of the attack, but Fedura doubted anything would be done about it by officials. Then a couple of the women declared that they'd take care of it the next day after they'd rested, and she wondered for a moment if they really were as experienced with vampire hunting as they said. However, she decided that it didn't really matter, as she'd be leaving the next day and it was doubtful that she'd ever see them again even if they survived the vampires.
When two of the women headed up the stairs, Fedura got of her chair and picked up her bag, turning to the Orsimer woman who'd returned to the bar only a little while ago. Upon asking which room she could take, she was given a key by the Orsimer, and directions as to how to get to her room. Then Fedura thanked her, paid her tab and headed towards the stairs. When she reached the top, she saw the two women and the Altmer housekeeper, but ignored what they were talking about and walked past them to her own room.
Having stepped inside the door and shut it behind her, the woman was relieved to finally have some time to herself. Quickly finding the bed with her eyes, she placed her pack and weapons at the foot of it before laying down on the soft fabric of the quilt, only intending to rest a moment before removing her armour.
Irvana saw Abiene as she left her chamber to regroup with her and Hethilion. She decided that she should have asked the Imperial for whatever she wanted. Irvana considered the offer, but went with what Abiene originally ordered for her minutes prior. "Broth and bread is quite fine."
She paused, and shrugged her shoulders so that her cloak could fall off into her hands. "If you can have this washed. I would be ever so grateful."
Irvana looked down on the muddied robe that helped her walk at night without drawing too much attention to her youthful features and obvious nobility. It was black, and was ornamented with faint crimson symbols on them which indicated something of Daedric origin, but not entirely so. The attire itself wasn't enchanted, but it certainly was a rare piece of fabric.
"It means a lot to me." She smiled and then refused to say anything else. She didn't want to seem like she's taking advantage of them by asking for too much. Just then a white-eyed dark elf woman climbed the steps, looked at them, and retreated into her own chamber without saying so much as a single word.
Peculiar . . .
She looked at Abiene, and Hethilion and then scratched her own arm. "I suppose we should get started."
"Here's the plan," Kayla said to Aravi, her eyes still on the bard. "Go ahead and enjoy your dessert. We rest up tonight, get our baths, get some proper sleep. In the morning, we pack what we need. Potions, weapons, foodstuffs, etc. The usual. We talk to the girl and see it we can't find the bloodsucker based on what she says. She'll be calmer in the morning."
She turned her attention to Aravi, leaning one elbow on the bar. She set the other on her own knee. "We need to discuss our strengths and weaknesses so we can better team up. O work better with my hands and a sword. I'm awful at sneaking, but am pretty quick. I can manage with a bow, bit don't have one with me. I know destruction spells fairly well, and of course, my poisons are pretty good, if I say so myself." She grinned.
Abiene
Irvana looked at Abiene and Hethilion. “I suppose we should get started,” Irvana said.
Abiene moved into the room and closed the door behind her. “Irvana, I think it will be fine if you sit on this bench and lean back. I can kneel here on the floor beside you. I will first use a spell to clean your wounds, and then I will heal them. The cleansing spell will dissolve anything that isn’t living tissue, so please open your gown over the abdominal wound and hold still while I am casting. I assure you it is painless and quite safe.”
She rolled her sleeves up over her elbows. Tonight’s stop was unexpected, and she had not brought an extra gown. It would be best to keep this one clean.
Irvana had expressed concerns that the vampire was stalking her. “Would you like me to cast a ward on your door tonight? They taught me one at the chapel to keep the ghosts out of my bedchamber. I hate waking up half frozen and covered in ectoplasm. Anyway it will only last until around dawn, but it should keep the undead from passing through it until then.”
Kayla abruptly started speaking to Aravi while she still had a mouthful of crumble. She quietly chewed as she listened to the Altmer speak. When Kayla was done speaking, Aravi took a quick drink of her now cold tea.
“I’m best with my swords as well. I can’t rival a Bosmer or a forester with my bow, but I can shoot pretty well. I can sneak, open nearly any lock, and heal most wounds enough to get out of immediate danger.” She looked at the tall Altmer. “I can probably keep up with you as well, despite my size. I rely more on my speed than the protection of my armor. I can’t take a heavy blow and keep fighting without some help.”
Abiene entered the room, closed the door behind her, and advised that she took a seat on the bench and relax. Irvana did so. This will be painless . . .
The Imperial woman lifted her gown, exposing the rather nasty-looking scratch on her belly. She tried not to stare, but as she looked into the bretons eyes all Irvana could muster was a simple thank you.
The healer rolled up her sleeves, perhaps to try and not get it messy with the blood and damaged flesh Irvana had. She probably noted Irvana's concern, and asked if she would desire in having a ward placed at the door to keep out the intrusion of undead. Irvana thought about it, and decided against it.
As ravenous as those vampires are, would they truly be foolish enough to enter the Wobbly Goblet? With the armed warrior and Legion guard? As well as the vampire hunter herself! Irvana felt she would be safer with them around. There was no need for a ward spell.
"No," she simply said. "I don't think that's nescessary. I trust Aravi and the high elf vampire hunter are truly fierce warriors and even if they are asleep . . . would vampires really be foolish enough to attack twice? Surely they know we are all aware of them? They like to attack by surprise." Her voice trailed off and tears formed in her eye. "Like how they did to me."
Kayla's eyebrows raised only slightly when Aravi rattled off her skills.
"Any lock? Or, nearly any lock? That's extremely useful. Even the feral vamps keep loot. And if they have prisoners, well, that will come in handy as well." She stayed silent for a moment before turning completely to the bar. She gulped her wine down, giving up on Laegon. The bard did his job well, since he had only stopped playing during the ruckus. Once Irvana went upstairs, he had resumed his lute playing.
Kayla leaned rested her chin on one hand, drumming her fingers on her chin absently while she thought. Her other hand traced the etchings on her sword hilt.
"Since you can't take heavy blows, it might be wise for me to lead. If you, like most Khajiit, have sharp eyes, you can spot danger. If its in a cave, you can hide and let me deal with the vamps, coming in when I need you. I don't want to put you in danger."
She turned her head, keeping her head rested on her hand.
"I know a muffle spell to keep myself quiter, bit it's not foolproof. Let's get a bath and some rest. First one to wake up wakes the other. Sound good?"
“There are some locks even I can’t get into, but for the most part, with enough time I can get into it.” Aravi had a few more questions before they broke for the night and Kayla just gulped down her wine. Aravi’s time became limited.
“I’m used to working with another, heavily armored warrior. We can do as you suggest, but this is how I normally work: When I find where they live, I look for a back entrance. If they haven one, great, I use it and sneak in. If not, I enter the front as quietly as I can. Sometimes they don’t even have sentries posted, depending on how unorganized they are. If I can get in quietly, I can usually kill a good number of them before the rest know I’m there. If it turns into a large fight, I can hold my own as long as I have room to move. I try to get around and attack distracted ones from the side or back.” She paused. “What kind of armor do you wear? Does your sword have any enchantments?”
Kayla yawned, covering her mouth. "Light leather armor. It has a resist disease enchantment, but only a little one. And my sword has a fire enchantment. Of course." She laughed a little.
"What about your sword?" She shot one last look at Laegon before turning back to Aravi.
"One is enchanted with fire, the other has silver worked into the steel. We'll have to make sure we pack plenty of disease potions. I can't cure them with magic." Aravi fought back a contagious yawn. Kharjo's amulet was nice in that regard, she thought, remembering the amulet she gave him. It had very powerful disease resistance so she didn't have to worry about him. She of course was covered by the curse of lycanthropy. The wolf within didn't tolerate other infections. Not that she was going to share that with Kayla or anyone else at the inn.
"If you wake up before me in the morning, come and get me. I want to make sure I speak with Abiene before we go though."
Kayla nodded and yawned again. "I have plenty to share. All of my own brew. They work quickly. I've got a good bit of resistance built up to the disease, but it never hurts to be prepared. We can split the potions and each take one after the hunt is over." She stood up and steadied herself on the bar. "If you don't mind, I'll be taking that bath now. I have a feeling you'll wake up before me, though. See you in the morning." She gave Aravi a half-grin before sauntering off to her room, shooting an uncharacteristically flirtatious look at Laegon before climbing the stairs to her room.
Once she reached the top steps, she fumbled the key into the lock and opened it, closing it quietly behind her. Kayla blinked at the bed.
'That's really inviting.' She thought. She stripped herself of her clothing and took out her warm sleeping shirt and slipped it on before climbing into bed. She sighed.
'Godsdamnit. I was supposed to bathe.'
Abiene
“Would vampires really be foolish enough to attack twice?” Irvana said. “Surely they know we are all aware of them? They like to attack by surprise.” Her lovely eyes filled with tears. “Like how they did to me.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” Abiene quickly agreed. “I’m sorry I brought it up again.”
I’ll ward my door just the same, she thought. A shudder passed through her. To be enthralled and helpless, or even changed… It was the fuel of nightmares.
Abiene knelt beside Irvana. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing as I work, so you’ll know what you’re feeling. First I’m going to cleanse the wound here on your belly. I’ll help hold your gown aside, and now I’m casting the spell.” She was careful to keep the fabric out of the way so as not to further damage Irvana’s dress. “Now I’m going to place my fingers across the scratch, so you’ll feel my hand.” She sent healing energy through her fingertips, knitting up the layers of muscle and skin until no trace of damage remained.
“There. Now I’ll sit up and heal your neck.” Abiene put action to her words, rising onto her knees to reach the taller woman. She took care to gently lift Irvana’s hair out of the way. The Imperial possessed striking beauty, and Abiene was certain that she would not appreciate a haircut from the cleansing spell.
The caked blood and grime disappeared under Abiene’s hand, and the jagged bites faded away to nothing. She took a moment to send healing light throughout Irvana’s body, easing any bruised muscles and strained joints that would only begin to hurt after the shock of the attack had fully passed.
“All finished.” Abiene sat back down on her heels for a moment, drawing her senses back into herself. She smiled up at Irvana. “Do you hear that? I think Hethilion is out in the hall. Perhaps he has our refreshments.”
Irvana relaxed, wiping away the moisture in her eyes and set away her swords. The silver pommel bore the same symbols that was on her cloak; old runes were clearly inscribed on the sheathe and blade.
Abiene worked her healing abilities on her. As she did she casually explained what she was doing, and what she'll be feeling during the restorative process. First she moved part of the gown aside, placed her finger on Irvana's belly and cast a spell. Pale tissue began to restore and heal.
The healer moved onto her neck, gently moving aside the strands of black hair that was in the way. The wound was cleaned and healed and the blood and all trace of an attack had vanished entirely. The third work of magic was sent throughout her entire body and Irvana felt that it was meant to ease the pains could've acquired during the attack.
After that, she sat back at her heels and smiled at Irvana. Irvana returned the smile and her eyes sparkled with what one could assume was hope and gratitude. "I feel amazing. Thank you so much, Abiene."
Abiene heard something, and Irvana did too. She turned her attention at the door and then back at the healer kneeling before her. She nodded. "I am hungry," she said. "And thirsty. Very thirsty. I would be delighted in trying out the broth."
She added. "And perhaps we can get to know each other better, no? I know we just met but I already consider you friend. Especially after what you've done for me."
Aravi watched Kayla go. She finished her dessert and pushed the plate away. She stood up and stretched, her back cracked. She placed enough coins on the counter for her meal and a little extra. She made her way up the stairs where she ran into Hethilion outside one of the rooms.
“Could you come to my room and fill my bath for me? When you are done here of course.”
“I’ll be right with you,” he replied tiredly.
“Thanks.”
Aravi went into her room and lay down on the bed.
She woke with a start to the sound of Hethilion’s voice. “Would you prefer a bath in the morning?”
She almost said yes, but she remembered she had things to do in the morning. “No fill it for me please. I promise not to fall asleep in it. Do you have any oils?”
“I’ll bring you some.”
He began the process of filling the tub with his magic. Steam filled the room. When he was done he said, “I will be right back.”
“Thank you.”
While he was out she removed her armor and wrapped a blanket about herself. He knocked before coming in, poured in the oil, and then left again. Aravi dropped the blanket and locked the door after he left. Then she settled into the luxurious bath. The oil was scented like flowers. She scrubbed the dirt out of her fur and then soaked the pains out of her muscles and joints. When she was done her fur was soft and smelled of the oils. She dried herself off and crawled under the covers of her bed without dressing.
Kayla got up and checked her pack. She counted six cure disease vials, each correctly labeled. Five of her strongest healing potions; two to brush onto surface wounds, and three to drink in case on internal damage. Two potions to increase her stamina and one in case she ran out of magick. She sighed and checked her ingredients. Just foodstuffs. She groaned in frustration. This wouldn't do.
She climbed back into bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Abiene
“I’m glad I was able to help,” said Abiene. She briefly pressed Irvana’s hand between her own. “Often a trauma like the one you have experienced brings up memories that you thought were long buried. You mentioned that you had been attacked before. If you find yourself becoming upset again, seek me out in my chamber. I know spells that ease the mind and settle the nerves, even bring on a peaceful sleep. But for now I think you have the right idea. Drink the broth and have some heartier food if you can manage it. That will help to strengthen your blood.”
She smiled at Irvana as she moved to the door. “I will say goodnight, Irvana. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Auguste
Auguste looked around the tavern. Most of their guests had gone to their rooms for the night. Only Theudebald remained at the bar with Tooth and Laegon.
He caught Stefania’s eye. “Go on up to bed,” he told her. “I can hear Yetta banking the kitchen fires for the night. See you in the morning.”
Stefania sent one last look at the bard as she moved toward the stairs.
Auguste shook his head. Be careful what you wish for.
Irvana nodded in acknowledgement when Abiene explained she could also heal the mind. That an attack such as this could bring up painful memories long dormant within her mind. Irvana knew this, but she didn't tell Abiene so. No matter what spells would be used, nothing would give Irvana a true peaceful sleep. She hadn't had a goodnight in ages, and this recent attack would surely provoke more nightmares.
With the information within my mind, one would be overwhelmed by the flood of endless memories.
She still sat there even after Abiene left for the door, and offered a smile to her. Broth and a stronger meal would help strengthen her blood. Like many of the others, she would call it a night and retreat into bed after a long day.
Irvana smiled back at Abiene. "You have served me well. Goodnight, Abiene."
And after Abiene departed for her own chamber did Irvana rise to her feet and with nimble steps made her way to the bath. After a few minutes of washing her cold body thoroughly from head to toe, did she dry herself and prepared for the night after Hethilion left her with the broth. She headed to the entrance door. There she listened as the tavern became somewhat more silent. Everyone left for their chambers to prepare for the day and Irvana anticipated the morning to come in which the vampire hunter and her allies would leave to strike a blow to the nocturnal parasites once and for all. She anticipated it, but she was patient. Ever so patient.
Their time will come soon enough, Irvana told herself.
In the hallway, Irvana listened and looked but she didn't make a step from the safety of her own room. Leaving her swords inside, she appeared nothing but a common young woman of nobility. Defenseless and unable to hold her own. Thus she remained there with her head peeked out of the room she was given for free.
Footsteps grew louder and Irvana craned her head to the side to see a young Imperial girl rising from the steps and making her way toward her. Irvana swore she saw this girl serving food earlier before her attention was captured by her rather frightening entrance.
The girl's hair was down for bed and set behind her red velvet clothes; and her face was written with sleepiness and eagerness to leave the first floor behind with a pout to make it stronger. This gave her a warm radiance and made her lively brown eyes seem large. Even in the clothes she had covering her body, her face and breasts were round and soft; and she struck Irvana as an innocent and intriguing soul clothed in fine attire and flesh.
The servant girl seemed eager to go to bed, and hurried as she swiftly rushed to the ladder leading to the attic until she spotted Irvana looked through the door. She gasped.
"Oh! Hey, are you okay?" the girl inquired. "I saw what happened. I'm glad you're safe with us."
Irvana looked around, and gently pushed the door a bit further. She didn't answer the girl right away.
Stefania squinted her eyes. "Why aren't you asleep?"
Irvana opened the door a bit more, and stepped out. The girl seemed pleasently surprised to see her wound had been cleaned and she was refreshed and enchanting as ever. Irvana rubbed the back of her head and fixed her black hair. "I can't sleep. I'm not very tired."
Stefania sighed. "You can try to sleep. Drink some of the special wine, it will knock you right out. I'm sure someone could help you out downstairs. As for myself I am very sleepy."
"You had a long day." Irvana didn't make this a question.
"Yes," Stefania said. "Now I get to rest it off in some dark and dirty attic."
Irvana's eyes brightened. A smile slowly crept on the side of her face with a hint of what could be a disgusted expression. "You sleep in an attic?"
Stefania nodded.
Irvana walked up to Stefania and looked at the ladder leading to the room above. "With a place as fancy and welcoming as this I couldn't imagine the staff would be given such unpleasant sleeping quarters. I'd imagine finer arrangements. You know-"
Stefania waited.
"I could share my room with you. It doesn't have a window, I'm afraid but there is wonderfully large bath you can use and a grand bed! You wouldn't have to rest in that repugnant attic."
Stefania thought about it. When she took too long, Irvana took a step closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met and remained locked in a prolonged stare. "I'm afraid of spending the night by myself. I just want someone in the room with me for the night. Just to keep me company. There are no insects there. I checked, trust me."
The offer and request made its way to Stefania's mind. She furrowed her brow. Irvana gently squeezed her shoulder and Stefania looked to the atttic door and then to the lightly lit room that Irvana had been in.
"I'll spend the night." Stefania said. "Hethilion almost never took care of the attic anyway."
Irvana's face lit up with a friendly smile.
Abiene
Laegon’s voice drifted up from the tavern as Abiene crossed the hall to her chamber. She wondered if Kayla had summoned the nerve to talk to him. A dance on the sheets could start with a smile across the bar, but there were at least a few steps to be taken in between.
Jerric would tease about playing his flute, she thought. A wistful smile drifted across her face.
In her chamber Hethilion had placed everything at hand. Abiene rinsed out some underclothes and hung them to dry before the fire. Then she slipped into the bath with a sigh. Tea and strawberries could wait.
She woke to silence, her skin chilled by the now cool water. Her Weatherward ring warmed her as she toweled off and arranged her hair to dry over the pillows. If she slept peacefully her curls would not be fuzzy in the morning.
Sleep returned easily. One thought passed through her mind as she drifted off. Drat. I forgot to ward the door.
Yetta
Sunlight streamed through the windows as Yetta bustled about her kitchen.
Lowren and Lleris sat at the end of her long worktable, guzzling kahve and devouring their porridge.
Hethilion bent over a sheet of parchment making the morning’s Bill of Fare.
“Tea, kahve, and soft cider will be on the bar as usual,” she told him. “The Nibenese Breakfast will be sweetrolls, fresh berries, and toast. The Full Colovian is three eggs, griddle cakes, bacon, tomatoes, and home-fried potatoes. That means with onions and mushrooms.” She peeked into the oven at the sweetrolls. Perfect.
“No corn porridge?” asked the Altmer.
“Not unless we’re having sausage. So I can make the gravy. Today is bacon.” Yetta rolled her eyes. All of those brains and he can’t keep track of breakfast.
“I want the Full Colovian,” said Lleris.
Hethilion didn’t look up as he answered. “Quit your job, walk out the back door, and then come in the front. Then you can order it like the rest of the guests. But the orc will want to see your gold first, boy.”
The Nord raised her spoon at Lleris, laughing. “I’ll give you the Full Haafingar in a minute, elf. Now finish up and get those plates and mugs out to the bar!”
Fedura rose from the bed a few minutes after she'd laid down upon it, her paranoid mind not allowing her to rest before precautions had been made to make sure that no one entered her room unseen. First she stood a few moments at the door, listening for anything that was out of sorts before locking it and taking up a pitcher that stood on the small table in the room. It was empty, but made of metal, and would make a lot of noise. Since the door opened inward, she placed the pitcher by its base, close enough that opening the door only enough to get a hand through would cause it to fall.
Next she walked to the windowsill where a flowerpot had been placed. The window was locked by a simple hasp, and merely looking at it Fedura could tell that it would not be hard to pry it open. She frowned for a minute, then fetched a piece of string from her pack, tying it to the handle on the window and putting it around the pot before attaching the other end as well to the handle. As easy as she slept, the Dunmer doubted someone could unlock the door or window and enter without her waking, even without the precautions. But she liked to be certain, and paranoia had served her well so far.
Satisfied that the room was somewhat secure at last, the woman began to undress, folding her armour and clothes as she put them at the foot-end of the bed. She carefully arranged her weapons so that the knife lay out of sight beneath the pillow, the sword next to the bed in a spot where she could reach it easily, and the bow and arrows she trapped beneath the bag. She did not want her weapons to be used against her, should it come to that.
Last precautions out of the way, Fedura finally slipped underneath the covers of the bed and allowed sleep to take her.
* * *
She woke again just as the first rays of the sun filtered in through her window, and in a moment she was fully awake, cautiously exiting her bed to make sure that everything was as she'd left it last night. A quick examination revealed that it was, and she quickly undid all of her security precautions after she'd dressed in clothes and armour. The weapons were securely attached, all but her bow, and then she headed out the door and locked it behind her before she headed down to the main floor of the Public house. It was empty, though she could hear some noise from the kitchen, which she assumed was the staff preparing for the day.
She steered her feet out through the door, into the sunlight, and down to the stables where she found Ceylye happily munching on her morning meal. The Dunmer could not detect the stable-keeper, and was happy for it, as she made her way into the box to say hello to the mare.
Kayla groaned as her internal clock told her to wake up. She sleepily pulled on her clothes and armor, including her still-soggy boots. her lips twitched in slight disgust as the wet crept onto her skin.
She ran her fingers through her hair to brush out the tangles, then washed her face. she sorely regretted not bathing the night before, but bathing now would be a waste. She blinked sleepily as she messily made the bed and strapped her sword to her hip. Once Aravi awoke, she's grab the rest of her things and go, but for now, she'd wait downstairs for her. She slid down the staircase, careful to avoid making the staircase creak and wake anyone up. She looked around and saw she was the first one up.
'That's a first,' she thought to herself. She settled down into a chair, ignoring the gnawing feeling in her stomach. Partially from hunger, the rest from anticipation of the hunt. She'd never gone vampire hunting with a partner before, and she had doubts about the tiny Khajiit's abilities. She flexed her scarred hand, looking at it. 'I probably shouldn't underestimate her.' She thought to herself. She herself was reaching into the lofty ranks of Master in Hand-to-Hand combat, though hardly anyone would guess. Until they looked at her hands. Scarring along the knuckles where the skin had been torn was a dead-giveaway.
She rarely fought with her fists, preferring to use the sword. Ma'Dat never understood that, considering she was better with her fists than a sword. She inwardly shrugged, then sighed, her thoughts turning to the previous night. She chastised herself for not summoning up the courage to talk to Laegon. She sighed again.
'Just as well,' she thought. 'Handsome men are just a distraction.'
Aravi opened her eyes. She never closed the thick curtains over the window, and the sheer decorative ones didn’t block the sunlight from streaming into her room. Her room must have been on the east side of the building. She yawned and stretched under the covers, spreading and flexing her fingers and toes. She slept unusually well and felt refreshed despite how late it was when she finally turned in. She stood up and went to her window.
The stable was directly below her room, and she saw someone was already there with their horse. It was the Dunmer that entered last night. Aravi didn’t even know her name, they never spoke. Aravi was not afraid of being seen in her unclothed state, the thin curtains would obscure her body from observation despite letting so much light into her room. She watched the Dunmer with mild curiosity for a few moments before turning her attention to the area around the inn. This was the first time she got to see the grounds and unlike most inns she’s been to, these were quite extensive with a number of gardens, outbuildings, and a pond. This place must be able to host quite a number of people. I wonder if there are festivals held here?
With one last look at the stable, she turned back into her room and dressed. Her fur was exceptionally soft and smelled wonderful from the long bath the night before. This was one of her favorite feelings and one of the few luxuries she indulged in. Hethilion had used a generous amount of oil.
She left her armor off and just dressed in a simple shirt and a pair of soft leather pants. She unlocked her door and went into the hall, looking for Abiene’s room. When she found it, she knocked softly. If she was awake, she would hear it, but if she was still asleep, Aravi didn’t want to disturb her.
Abiene
A soft knock sounded at the door. Aravi.
Abiene picked up her small pack and placed it beside the door before she opened it. There was no telling yet what the day might bring, but she doubted that her plans would include lounging at the inn. She was dressed and ready to leave. But hopefully she would get some kahve first.
Aravi stood in the corridor. She smelled faintly of flowers.
Abiene opened the door all the way and stood aside. “Good morning,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to come in?”
“Would you like to come in?”
“Yes please.” Aravi was a little nervous, but Abiene’s demeanor helped ease the tension she suddenly felt. She must have a lot of experience getting people to open up to her.
She stepped inside and waited for Abiene to close the door.
Kayla's stomach growled as it demanded more attention.
'Godsdamnit.'
She walked up to the bar and looked at the menu. Her mouth watered.
"I'd like the Full Colovian, please." She set her setpims down.
Abiene closed the door. There was a small table in the room with two chairs. She gestured for Aravi to take a seat as she did the same.
Her new friend looked nervous. Abiene guessed that whatever had brought her here from Skyrim must be no small matter.
“We didn’t get to talk much last night, and I wanted you to know what our friends had said about you. Jerric spoke of your speed and skill with your blades. He described your swords so well I should have known you just by seeing them. Darnand told of your knowledge and of your courage when you faced the vampire patriarch, the first time you met. And of course he mentioned how Jerric covered you with the insides of a spider daedra. But Lildereth simply said, ‘I trust her,’ in that quiet way. And as you know from her that is high praise.”
Abiene smoothed her palms over her skirt. “Those three are as dear as family to me. Anyone who helps them and has their friendship also has mine.”
Lleris
Lleris trotted into the bar, a pitcher of kahve in one hand and a jug of cream in the other.
The Altmer guest was standing there. “I'd like the Full Colovian, please,” she said, laying her money down.
“Yes, miss,” said Lleris. He shouted the order over his shoulder at the kitchen. Then he flourished the pitcher. “Kahve? Or there’s soft cider and tea in the pot. You can help yourself. It comes with the breakfast.”
"Oh, thank you!" Kayla said. She poured herself some tea and blew on it, ten sipped it as she waited for her breakfast.
She drummed her fingers on the bar and began daydreaming.
Lleris
Lleris walked back to the kitchen. Yetta had griddle cakes ready to flip, eggs in the pan, and bacon already on the warmed plate. Perhaps she won’t notice one piece…
He jerked his fingers back as she whirled around, filling the plate from so many angles he thought she must have four arms.
“Come back for the sweetrolls,” she told him.
Lleris gave a quick nod. By Azura, I wish—
“Here, kid.” Yetta folded a griddle cake and stuffed it into his mouth. Lleris’ knees nearly buckled at the buttery tenderness.
Yetta grinned. “Gotta keep your strength up.” She pointed a floury hand at him. “But keep your fingers off the bacon!”
Lleris managed to clear his mouth before he got back to the bar. “Here you go, miss,” he said, sliding the plate a little the way Auguste always did. He gazed up at the tall mer. “Is it true that you’re going to hunt for vampires?”
Aravi blushed, though her fur prevented it from being visible to others. She thought anyways.
“Thank you, I wasn’t aware they thought so highly of me. They felt like a family when I was with them, and I was happy for their help. I’d love to see them all again sometime. They all spoke very highly of you as well. Both Jerric and Darnand say you are one of the most skilled in the healing arts.” She also suspected there was more than that, but it wasn’t her place to go into that.
“I trust them and their judgment, so I decided to find you.” She didn’t like discussing this, even to someone as open as Abiene has been. “I… I don’t know if you can help me with this. The damage was done years ago. I’m… infertile, but I was not born this way. It was inflicted upon me in my mid-teens. I would like to be a mother someday.”
She waited for the healer to respond. She hoped Abiene would be able to do something for her.
Kayla glanced down at the food, her mouth watering. she regained her composure and smiled down at the young Dunmer.
"Yeah," she said, before popping a bite into her mouth and chewing quickly. "Gods, this is delicious!" She took another bite and chewed before smiling at him again. She washed it down with some tea.
"I've been doing it for fifteen years. Had a few close calls. But I think I'm alright at what I do. I haven't died or been turned yet." She smiled at him again.
Lleris
Lleris’ eyes flew wide at the thought. Turned? He hadn’t thought of that.
He edged away a little down the bar. “Do you think you’ll be staying here again tonight?” he asked.
Kayla saw the reaction the boy had. She was used to people edging away from her, but that didn't mean it didn't sting still.
"If I survive, I'll most likely collect my things and be on my way. Like usual." She said, looking down at her meal. She continued to eat.
Patting Ceylye's neck one last time after having spent some time in the box, Fedura left her and the stables and once again headed up to the main building. She scraped her boots of by the door before opening it and walking through, silently noting the Altmer woman sitting by the bar and the young Dunmer who stood behind it.
“Do you think you'll be staying here again tonight?” the young Dunmer was saying just then with a wide-eyed expression on his face, and Fedura sat down a few seats away from the Altmer, making sure she wasn't interrupting anyone when she next spoke.
“Could I have a Nibenese Breakfast, thank you,” she said, assuming since the boy was the only person present of the staff, that he was the one who'd take the orders for the moment.
Lleris
The Dunmer woman sat down at the bar. “Could I have a Nibenese Breakfast, thank you,” she said.
The Altmer did not look pleased with him. Kayla, Lleris remembered her name. He felt bad for offending her, but no less nervous. “I hope you don’t get hurt, miss Kayla. I hope you get back safe and stay for dinner.”
The Dunmer guest’s words finally registered.
“Sweetrolls!” Lleris exclaimed. “I’ll be right back with berries and sweetrolls. Help yourself to the drinks, if you please.” He backed away toward the kitchen, stumbling when his heel caught on the door frame. “I’ll be right back!”
Abiene
Abiene had learned to keep shock and horror off her face, but her stomach lurched at Aravi’s words. How could someone inflict such a thing upon a young girl? Reasons why that might have been done came to mind. None of them were good.
“Aravi, I hope with all of my heart that I will be able to help you. First I need to cast a spell that will allow me to assess your condition. The spell is completely painless but it is intrusive, so I need your consent. Then we will discuss what I find.” I wonder how they did that to her? Surgery? If she agrees I will know soon enough.
Abiene stretched her hands across the table where Aravi could reach them if she chose. “My findings will be completely confidential, between only the two of us. I do work for the chapel, but as for now they are not involved in your case. Your privacy is safe with me.”
Intrusive. That word made her hesitate. How much would she find about me? There are things I want to share with no one. She looked at the Breton’s face. Especially those I like and respect. How much would she learn? She looked at the woman’s hands. Decide. She really wanted to know if she could be cured. If she backed away now, and never found out, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
She lifted her hands out of her lap and placed them in the Breton’s open palms. Her stomach lurched a little and she waited.
Lycus Castius Desselius, the former gladiator and current champion of Hircine, kicked the covers from his bed and swung his feet over the edge, flexing them on the wooden floor. He tilted his head from side to side; straining to ease the knots in his heavily muscled neck and broad shoulders.
He rose with an audible grunt. Taking a long deep breath, he exhaled slowly, taking his arms up high above his head as he stretched his full two-meter height. Lycus felt the sharp pop-pop-pop of every vertebrae along his spine loosen as he extended himself with a stretch. Then he held his arms in the air, and after the pleasant feeling he lowered them.
He scooped up his sword that lay beside the bed, the dwemer weapon felt familiar in his grip. Solid.
Barefoot and naked, Lycus began to practice the aggressive forms of sword combat. He moved in a variety of sequences and movements. Slash. Feint. Thrust. Block. He battled imaginary opponents as if they were out trying to kill him. Though he was centuries old he still was an imposing figure. The powerful muscles built during a youth spent working as a slave in the mines and fighting as a gladiator in Morrowind rippled underneath his skin, flexing with each slash and impale with his sword.
He moved again, blade arcing above his head before coming down in a firm chop that would be enough to chop an unarmored foe in two. Though his methods were brutal, Lycus still moved with ferocious grace and certain intensity but it was a fraction less of what it was over a hundred years ago. The aging process of his Lycanthropy was subtle, but inescapable. He accepted this; what he would lose in strength and speed he could easily makeup for with wisdom, experience and knowledge throughout what he would consider a more peaceful time. A time where he could devote his life to something else.
The man moved again with his sword but failed to block a fast incoming pillow that hit him softly in the back of his head. His sword swung too soon. The soft fabric bounced off his head and collapsed to the floor.
Lycus turned his head to the source of the attack and saw Vera sitting up in the same bed, body exposed from thigh to head. She smiled and yawned. “Damn too early to be swinging that thing about. Why don’t you put that sword of yours away if you’re not giving it your best."
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t show each other our weapons when I nearly expire from travel," Lycus noted with a raised brow. "I thought you still asleep."
"You know I never get a good night's sleep, no matter what. We’re good partners, love. Both in armor and out of it.” Vera replied as she pulled away the sheet covering the lower half of her body. Her lithe form, bearing the minor scars of battle, seemed to shine in the light of the sun that shun through the window. Her golden hair seemed to glow. "Perhaps this night will be better."
She was an attractive woman and Lycus was glad he married all those years ago. But it wasn’t her looks alone that lured him to her. It was her passion, her ferocity in combat and in life and her strong spirit and will that was much like his own, yet she had her fragile moments as every woman had. Would it upon a day that he could offer her something more than a life stained with blood and battle; a child. An heir to continue the Castius line and a home. For eighty of those centuries Oblivion would not be a place to make and raise a child, and in present day where the Thalmor are about and the Vigilantes of Stendarr and the Silver Hand walk the land, raising a child would be difficult. But Lycus knew that hardships forged the hardest soul and there would be no greater time to raise a warrior. But would that be the path he would desire for his son or daughter? It was not yet written in the stars.
“We have time to try some other day. I will go get breakfast,” Lycus said as he pulled brown sackcloth shorts over his waist. “Do you want anything?”
“Get something for yourself. I’ll join you in a few minutes.” She yawned, and stretched while still in the soft bed.
Lycus left the room, closed the door and headed down the stairs.
Abiene
Aravi hesitated for a time without speaking. Then she simply placed her hands in Abiene’s.
Abiene gave her an encouraging smile, then closed her eyes and began the spell.
First she emptied her mind of distraction, most importantly her own ambition. She slipped away from herself and concentrated on Aravi.
The discovery was instant and as shocking as a claw seizing her by the throat. She’s a lycanthrope! Her hands convulsed on Aravi’s.
Even as her heart began to pound, Abiene’s training took over. She drew a slow breath and relaxed her grip, holding Aravi’s hands gently again. But her mind still raced.
Do the others know? Of course not! Wouldn’t she have told me if they did? Wouldn’t they have mentioned it? No, none of them would betray a confidence. What should I do?
Another breath. Her heart answered.
She trusts you. She trusts you. She trusts you.
Abiene focused her attention again, first bringing her thoughts together to a point inside her chest. Then she sent that awareness out, down through her hands and back into Aravi.
First, understand.
She couldn’t tell if it had been an hour or a minute, but finally she knew. Abiene felt tears cooling her cheeks as she returned to herself. She let go of Aravi’s hands and wiped her eyes.
“Aravi, I am honored and grateful for your trust. And now I must trust you in return. The healing I have learned from the Mages Guild and chapel could not restore fertility to you. You have been damaged and scarred, but that is not the main issue. We women, human and Khajiit, are born with every egg that will eventually ripen when we come of age. Yours have been taken from you.”
Abiene’s heart began to pound again. She hoped Aravi would not turn away in disgust, or even report her to the chapel.
“The Restoration magicks taught by the Mages Guild and practiced in the temples simply heal wounds upon the body the way the body heals itself, only far more rapidly. Well, it’s far from simple, but that’s how it works. The body cannot replace a missing eye or grow back a limb, and neither can the accepted practice of Restoration.”
Abiene paused, wishing for a cup of kahve or perhaps a shot of whiskey to settle her nerves.
“I’m saying that what I will propose is outside what most might find to be acceptable. We would be on our own. Are you certain you want to know more?”
Aravi felt the Breton’s hands close around her own, and there was nothing but silence for a few minutes. Her body felt warm and she felt like she was being watched. Aravi wasn’t sure what to expect next, but when Abiene’s hands suddenly closed painfully over hers, she was afraid. She could feel the other woman’s pulse in her hands. She found the wolf. I should leave. She wanted to get out of her seat and run from the room, the inn. Would she tell anyone? The legionnaire would attempt to arrest or kill her. She briefly considered threatening her to keep her quiet. No, she mentally shook her head. What should I do? She couldn’t think of anything. Abiene didn’t get up and shout for help, instead her composure returned, and her grip loosened.
Nothing, Aravi knew the risk when she asked for help. I’ll just have to wait and see.
The warm feeling returned. She sat in silence for maybe ten minutes. At some point, tears formed in the Breton’s eyes. Does that mean I can’t be cured? Aravi wasn’t sure about anything at this point. The warmth receded from her body and traveled out of her hands. For a brief moment she felt thoughts and emotions that were not her own. Then the healer spoke. Aravi’s heart sank with Abiene’s words. I am broken beyond repair. But then the Breton continued speaking. There may be hope, but then it sounds like there was risk too.
“You are willing to take that risk for me?” Aravi asked quietly.
Irvana ignored the guard’s advice to stay on the road. She ventured into the forest at night, trusting this would be an ordinary stroll in the wilderness. In the past she walked the wilds of Cyrodiil and the night proved to be a leisurely stroll. The nearest village or tavern seemed miles away from her location but she knew each step she would be closer. But each of those steps only made her walk deeper into the darkness of the forest where creatures of legends and nightmarish stories dwell. She paid no heed. She had somewhere to go. A place to be. Nothing would attack her.
Until that moment where the night’s insects ceased their joyous songs and the only sound was of the wind rustling the black fabric of her hood and the rain that began pouring not too long ago. She was being hunted. She knew it. Possessed of a sudden fearful premonition, Irvana spun from her spot and ran off with the torch in her hands. Her shoes trampled over the muddy tracks she previously left in the dirt, as she sprinted through the wilderness as far as he legs allowed her to go. Over the years Irvana learned to trust her instincts, and her instincts told her to run.
As she ran she heard a laugh, and a hiss and more laughter coming from the throat of what she understood was hungry men out for her blood. And soon she learned that it was the case. They were behind her, chasing her with ravenous appetite. But it was beyond the lust of common men.
“Come here, my darling!” one said.
“Blood! I need your blood!” cried the other. “You can’t run forever and neither can you hide!”
That can’t possibly be a good sign, she thought.
Her hand reached one of the sabers dangling from her hip. She unsheathed the blade, and her feet trampled upon an overturned log. The torch flung from her fingers, and her shoes from her feet. Her face fell to the dirt, and she groaned out a pained cry.
She felt them. Right there. Behind her. Her hands scrambled for her sword, and by instinct and what one would see as fear, she turned her body around. Her back sliding to the tree and near a moss-encrusted stone. All she did was hold out the sword in front of her as a shield to guard her precious life. Her eyes closed but she felt the blade move. She felt it pierce something. Her eyes opened shortly after as pain flared in her neck, and in her stomach. The creature sank his fangs into her flesh and drew out blood, but not before the effects of the silver end of her sword began to burn away his flesh. Skin and meat receded to dust, and in an instant that creature was undone. Reduced to nothing.
Irvana blinked. The creature, so thirsty for her blood, had been too feral and too absent minded in his attacks that he simply fell upon her to drain her dry. He failed, and thus lost his short immortal life. Irvana managed a chuckle that was sprinkled with what the other vampire saw was fear.
That was . . . easy!
She got to her feet, and stood there. Underneath her bare feet was a pile of black dust and the remains of the slain vampire. “I killed it!” She said. “I killed it!”
Crows screeched in the branches above, and Irvana looked up to see another figure standing there. A dark silhouette with red glowing eyes staring right back at her. Irvana unsheathed her second blade despite the urge to put pressure on her neck wound.
“Do it!” Irvana shouted in rage. “I challenge you to try and make an attempt on my life. Do it!”
The figure did not move. If he was amused, fearful or curious about her threat he gave no clear indication of it. He only dropped down from the tree, and backed away into the darkness without so much as a word. Rain pelted her body, and Irvana flung her heavy cloak over her shoulders and cried for help.
Abiene
“You are willing to take that risk for me?” Aravi asked quietly.
Abiene nodded. “Yes.”
Aravi’s tail twitched. The tension was also in her voice. “Then please, tell me.”
Butterflies filled Abiene’s stomach. Will she think I’m touched by Sheogorath? I’ve only explained this once before. She might not believe me.
She took a deep breath. “Your body knows what it means to be whole. Each part remembers all of you. While magicks applied to your life force can heal, the same energy given to your tissue allows a spell to truly restore. Aravi, please hear me out. It is not the same spell, but it is the same manner by which… necromancers repair their creations.”
Aravi sat perfectly still. Abiene could not read her expression.
She swallowed hard and continued. “This kind of restoration requires more magicka than I possess, even when fortified by one of Jerric’s potions. I would need the energy contained in a soul gem, or perhaps several. That is the second difficulty. The third is that I am not highly skilled in the school of Mysticism. Darnand is the only mage I trust who can draw magicka from a gem and use it to cast a spell.”
Abiene’s fingers twisted in her lap. “So you see the need for secrecy. You have heard tales of sorcerers stealing lives to retain their own youth. These stories are true. But when used for good… why should someone suffer when we have the knowledge to help them?”
Abiene pressed her palms together, watching Aravi’s response. “Do you still want to hear about this?”
Kayla ate the rest of her breakfast in silence. The Dunmer boy's reaction to what she said affected her more than she thought it would.
'Wonder why.'
She drank the rest of her tea and set the cup down lightly, leaving her plate as she walked back up the stairs. She realiEd she didn't know which room was Aravi's. She heard voices in one of the rooms, but didn't listen in. Instead, she went to her own room and sat on the bed and waited for Aravi to wake up. She left her door open in case Aravi was further sown the hall and had the same dilemma she had. She looked in her bag again, shaking her head.
Necromancy. A chill went through her body. Now she knew why this was so sensitive. Then she realized the trust that was being placed with her. She’s not going to tell anyone of my condition. I’m safe. A small measure of relief accompanied that thought. She thought more about the magic. She had not heard of anyone using necromancy to heal before. Her mind readily supplied her with countless visions of the horrors she’s witnessed due to necromancy. Her instinct was to pull away in revulsion. But then… this could restore me. This could bring me children. Was that such a bad thing? She trusted Darnand, Jerric, and Lildereth. Through them, she trusted Abiene. She churned it through her mind, looking at it from different directions. She reached the same conclusion every time.
“You are sure you can restore my fertility with this magic?”
Lycus relieved himself outside for what seemed to be an eternity. The rays of sunlight hit his bare torso and it felt great to be out of the Goblet and breathing the fresh outside air. The light hit directly upon his http://oi41.tinypic.com/33a8ld3.jpg on his chest directly above his heart, a marking that was accompanied by http://oi43.tinypic.com/xvpec.jpg that was etched upon the flesh of his right arm.
A puddle of yellow liquid formed a few feet from his toes. He stood the torment of needing to empty his bladder most of the night. When it became unbearable, he had to let it go. The stream of urine flew as Lycus let out a low sigh.
After he finished, he tucked away his male part and raised his sackcloth pants. To his fortune, there was not that many people awake yet and the natural morning bulge refused to shrink. The first floor of the tavern was almost empty at this time of day; the folks wouldn't start to arrive until a certain time. Which was exactly why Lycus felt the need to eat now.
Lycus didn’t wait. Bulge or not, nothing would stop him from getting his food. What others felt about him were meaningless now.
The Imperial walked back inside the inn feeling relieved. Few of the faces he saw last night were still there; a dunmer woman and the dark elf boy. The altmer girl just retreated to her room up the stairs, and Lycus was left alone in the first floor.
Lycus exhaled deeply with his nostrils and walked up to the counter where the boy was serving. He took a seat on the far side of the room, hunched over as he decided what meal would best do the task of filling his stomach.
Tons of smells ranging from eggs to toast to berries and cider filled his nose, and brought water to his mouth. Though he ate ravenously the night before he still felt his appetite rising by each passing minute and he admitted to himself that he was eager to see if these people would outstand themselves with making breakfast.
He squared his shoulders and folded his arms as he leaned forward on the counter and grabbed an entire pitcher of cidar for himself and pulled it toward him. He poured himself a cup and drank.
He turned to the dunmer. “Dark elf,” Lycus called out, this time softly. “I desire the Full Colovian. Two orders."
And I also want to see my armor . . .
Abiene
“You are sure you can restore my fertility with this magic?” Aravi asked.
Abiene let out the breath she had been holding. “No, I’m not sure. Remember I told you that a girl child is born with all of the eggs she will have, and when she matures they ripen? Even if I succeed in restoring your body to the way you began, I cannot know how long it will take for your eggs to become fertile, or even if they ever will. My understanding is limited. The temple frowns on practices that might interfere with Mother Mara’s… Well, anyway, helping women conceive is not taught at the chapel. There are fertility rituals of course, but no real action to take if they fail.”
Abiene reached for her kahve before she remembered that she hadn’t gotten any yet.
“Aravi, if I am wrong my inexperience might harm your future cubs. If you agree, I would want to do some research, perhaps try some experiments before I attempt to restore you. And the scarring I mentioned would be best corrected by surgery. I have developed the necessary skills, but even the simplest operation is not without risk.”
Aravi sat still, her expression remote.
She must want to be a mother more than anything, thought Abiene. Her heart went out to Aravi.
“You must love him very much,” Abiene murmured, blinking the mist from her eyes. And you have the courage I lacked. “I know how that feels.”
Lleris
Kayla went back upstairs without a word, and Lleris was left with the silent Dunmer. Until the big Imperial strode through and then back inside, looking mostly naked and very impressive.
He took a seat at the bar.
Lleris braced himself.
“Dark elf,” the man called out in a low voice. “I desire the Full Colovian. Two orders.”
“Very good, my lor— uh, mister.”
The man began working his way through the pitcher of cider.
Should I tell him that too much of that might make him flatulent? Lleris wondered. Muscles bunched and rippled along the man’s side as he lifted his mug. Uh… no.
Lleris gave the order to Yetta and returned bearing another pitcher of cider and the man’s helm. He set them both on the bar.
“Your armor is ready, mister. Take a look.” He had buffed the dark metal until it seemed to glow in the dim light. Even Riad had given a grunt of approval.
Yetta called that the order was ready. Lleris sprinted back to the kitchen.
“You’ll want to get a look at this fetcher,” Lleris told her. He picked up the plates. “I think he might be part Nord.”
Yetta took one of the plates from him and led the way back out to the bar. They slid the two breakfasts in front of the big man and stepped back as if the motions were rehearsed. Lleris glanced over at Yetta.
Her eyes were huge. “Good morning,” she said to the Imperial. Then she looked over at the Dunmer woman. “Good morning, ma’am. How is your breakfast?”
Fedura smiled slightly in amusement as the young Dunmer's foot caught on the doorframe, but quickly schooled her expression as she took a cup and poured some kahve into it. The boy came back a little while later and placed a plate with sweetrolls, berries and a couple slices of toast on it, and she gave him a quick smile before tucking in.
A while later the Altmer rose from her chair and left, but her footsteps had barely gotten up the steps before the door opened again and the heavy steps of the man she'd spoken to yesterday entered. She raised an eyebrow to herself when he ordered two servings of the Full Colovian, but then focused on her meal as she considered where to go once she'd left the inn. The female cook asking her how the meal was brought Fedura out of her reverie, and she looked up at the other woman.
“Good morning. It's very good, thank you,” she said with a faint smile and took another drink of the kahve.
Aravi felt numb. Here was the chance. But… if I am wrong my inexperience might harm your future cubs. Those words scared her. She would never know until she bore a child if Abiene was truly successful. She wasn’t sure if she was willing to take that risk.
“You must love him very much, I know how that feels.”
Aravi looked up and saw the healer was struggling. “I do. He’s the best thing that’s happened to me,” she said quietly, but with absolute confidence. She wasn’t sure about the healer. Is she unable to have children as well? Or is this something else? The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like ‘something else.’ Clearly whatever happened, it wasn’t happy. She wanted to ask, but kept quiet. Her thoughts returned to her own problem.
There’s no way I can decide right now. This was just too much, she needed time to think. The risks to herself she could accept. She could trust this Breton. The legality did worry her a little, the magic used was frightening, but ultimately it came down to the warning about the risk to the children. Would it be worth the risk? Or am I being selfish?
“Abiene, I need some time to think about this. Where will I be able to find you later today?”
Abiene
Aravi sat for a time, and then she spoke. “Abiene, I need some time to think about this. Where will I be able to find you later today?”
Abiene cleared her throat to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I’m going up to Chorrol today to check in at the healing hall, but I feel certain I will be able to return tonight. I usually keep ridiculous hours there, but that’s my own fault. I don’t have much of a social life so I might as well work. Anyway no one will try to keep me from coming back here, especially in support of vampire hunters. I’ll play up the ‘fellow servants of the Nine’ angle. I mean, that’s how I get away to the wayshrine.” She felt her cheeks heat. “I know I should feel guilty, but I don’t.”
Abiene reached over and gave Aravi’s hands a quick squeeze. “And take all of the time that you need to think. You can reach me later at the chapel or through the Mages Guild, or if,” she gave a nervous little laugh, “something should go awry, then you can find me through Darnand. And if you find Jerric, then you’ve found Darnand.”
Abiene stood and pushed her chair back into place. “Would you like to go down for breakfast?”
Kayla jerked awake, her neck now hurting. She rolled her head around on her shoulders, working the kink from her neck. She had fallen back asleep while looking through her pack, and her neck was paying the price.
"Godsdamnit," she cursed as she massaged her neck with two fingers, then added a thumb. She groaned and rolled her head around again, the stiffness mostly gone, leaving her with a slight tenderness. She set her pack down on her bed and rubbed her face with her long, slender fingers, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair once more.
"Ow!" She caught a tangle and gently worked it out while exiting her room. She was about to close the door when she saw someone lean against the frame of her door. she looked up, frowning, then smoothed her features over with a smile.
"Oh, hello, Laegon." she said. She turned her head to the doorknob and busied herself, locking the door. "Good morning."
"Good morning to you." He said smoothly. Kayla felt a blush creep up her neck. She took a deep breath and let it out in a nervous laugh. She kept her hands busy with the lock.
He set his hand on hers, causing her to look up. He looked into her eyes and, with an easy smile, slid the key into the keyhole and gave it a smooth, easy turn.
'Oh.'
"There. All better." he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, letting it linger for a moment before pulling it away. She let out another nervous, breathy laugh and pocketed the key quickly.
"Tricky lock," she said, biting her lower lip. "Uhm, I need to see if my friend is awake. Thanks for the...keyhole....assistance..." She brushed past him gently, her face reddening as she descended the stairs.
'Godsdamnit, it's been WAY too long!' She thought. She sat back down at the bar and took a calming breath. She looked over at the large Imperial man, who had not only the Dunmer boy looking at him, but the cook as well. She snorted and did a double take at his lower half.
'Looks like I'm not the only one who didn't get laid last night.' she joked to herself. She poured herself another cup of cider and sipped it.
Aravi stood when Abiene did. “Would you like to go down for breakfast?” the Breton asked, distracted.
She didn’t see Aravi move towards her. Instead of answering, Aravi hugged the other woman tightly. She had to stand on her toes. “Thank you so much, no matter what happens,” she said.
It was a moment before she felt the other woman return the hug, and a few more before Aravi released her. Aravi felt like she should be embarrassed but she wasn’t. She was happy and moved that this woman was willing to help her. She turned to the door and quickly wiped the dampness from her eyes.
“Yes let’s get some breakfast. I will need something.” She stopped in the doorway and looked at the other woman.
Abiene was smiling. She simply said, “lead the way.”
They walked down together. Already seated at the bar were the Dunmer, Kayla, and Lycus. His presence didn’t disturb her like it did the other night, and it certainly didn’t squash the good mood she was in. Aravi sat next to Kayla at the bar.
“Good morning,” she said to the other woman.
The cook was at the counter and Aravi took the opportunity to order a sweet roll.
Kayla cleared her throat, willing the remnants of the blush to go away. She smiled at Aravi and Abiene. "Good morning, girls. Ready for our field trip, Aravi?" She asked, a grin on her face. She saw Laegon walk down the stairs and the blush returned.
'This is never going to end, is it?' she thought sourly to herself, her smile disappearing.
Aravi took a big bite out of the sticky roll she received. She chewed and swallowed the fluffy pastry quickly. That's delicious.
"I can be ready as quick as it takes me to put on my armor upstairs." And finish this roll. That wouldn't take long at the rate she was going.
She looked at the elf's face and saw her blush. She followed Kayla's gaze. Oh. "I'm in no hurry though."
"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere without you." Kayla took another drink of her drink, leaning her elbows on the bar.
Lycus inspected his polished helmet with his eyes and he nodded in approval. The boy retreated into the kitchens and came out acccompanied by the nord cook, who had her large eyes set on the Imperial. She greeted him, and he returned a simple nod.
"Morning."
The altmer woman came down shortly with a red face as if she was embarrased by something. She took a seat on the bar close to Lycus, and narrowed her eyes to where his lap was. She mumbled something to herself but Lycus heard it loud and clear. He gave himself a slight smile, and snorted out loud at her words. "If you call what happened last night . . . laid."
Just he saw the white-furred khajiti woman come down the stairs. Her walk reflected what she felt and Lycus was surprised to see that it wasn't fear. Good, he thought. She has no reason to fear me.
But he still coudn't help but wonder if he knew her. He sniffed once, and then he paused. What?
He sniffed the air once more, but it was sneaky and rather inconspicous. He turned to the woman and realized that she had the same scent as him. Almost the same scent, but the smell and blood of a lycanthrope nonetheless. How in oblivion . . .
Last he checked, there were no werewolves in the Great Forest territory. Not in a long time. The last one was an old man named Carterious, a landowner and nobleman of those parts who happened to be his wife's grandfather. Vera claimed the area for a short period of time until she returned.
Lycus scratched his beard. This khajiit woman didn't strike him as one would run with a pack. Lycus admitted that he didn't like the idea of running with one either. His two-man pack alone sufficed. There also was the fact that her smell wasn't as strong. As if she boxed her nature inside and by infrequent shiftings, diminished her scent. His on the other hand was stronger. He shifted twice a month, not including his voluntary turnings.
The altmer greeted her, and they spoke about some trip. Lycus curiosity peaked. He heard from the silence of his room about an incident that happened. He heard screams and cries but he was too busy in the moment to even pay any attention. But he knew vampires were involved, for he could smell the scent of one. As if a person brought in the stench through the door. Just being around those creatures sure enough brought out the stink.
The odor of dead flesh.
"Trip," Lycus said, nose cringing. "You girls sound as if you're hunting for something."
Aravi was given a mug with her sweet roll and she poured herself some tea from the pot on the counter.
"Take your time; I'm not going anywhere without you,” Kayla replied.
“Don’t you have someone to talk to?” Aravi asked, referring to the bard that walked down the stairs. “I might get another sweet roll.” This’ll be a long day.
The Imperial spoke up, "you girls sound as if you're hunting for something."
It was bound to happen. She looked over at him, his expression showed mild curiosity and… something. “Surely you know there are vampires around, Kraven.”
Abiene
The sweetrolls smelled delicious, but Abiene reached for the kahve first. Then she took a roll and some berries over to the far end of the bar.
When the Dunmer lad popped his head in from the kitchen, Abiene waved him over.
“I’d like to settle my bill, if you please. Add a full breakfast for Irvana. I plan to return tonight, but you needn’t hold my room. I’ll make arrangements when I get back here.”
The Dunmer fetched the orc woman, and they completed their transaction.
“I’m Abiene Metonne,” said Abiene. She put out her hand.
The orc took it with an air of mild surprise. “Bograk gra-Mugshak.” She hooked a thumb at the lad. “This is Lleris.”
Abiene exchanged Pleased-to-meet-yous with Lleris.
She began to gather her bag and cloak, but Aravi’s words made her pause. She had just called the underdressed Imperial by name, and there was a note in her voice that Abiene couldn’t define.
This was not the time to interrupt, and she refused to leave without a farewell. She sat back down with her kahve.
She knows me?
Lycus stared at the khajiit for a long time. Indeed he did meet her before if she called him by that name. That old name which he discarded like an old, worn cloak. That name that symbolized everything negative about his former self. A name he had in the days of his slavery in Morrowind.
Morrowind . . .
What memories were of Morrowind? Bloodshed, battle, hard labor, greedy slave masters and mystic Telvanni sorceress'. The only good thing that came from that place was the lessons learned and the friendships formed. He searched Aravi's face and after awhile recognition was expressed.
The slave girl!
He remembers now. The small rampages he left with a group of marauding slaves composed of murders, rapists and degenerates all in the name of justice and revenge. She's still alive after all this time . . . and it seemed she also bears the gift as I have. We're no so different . . .
Indeed there would be plenty of time to speak to her about this, and about everything else. But now was not the time.
Lycus shrugged. "So this is what its about," he said as he turned to the altmer and the breton named Abiene. "Vampires. Haven't hunted one of them in ages. Last ones I fought were part of the Quarra."
And the last one he spoke to was offering coin in exchange for a bounty. But he kept this secret. He turned to Aravi. "And what would prompt such an expedition?"
The name slipped out of her mouth. No it didn't. You wonder if he remembers.
He stared at her, and she returned his stare. I wonder if he will remember. I was nobody. Just another Khajiit slave, and there were many Khajiit taken. Then she saw the spark, he remembered her. Things have changed since then.
He spoke again, as if there was no pause and they had never seen each other before entering this inn. That suited Aravi just fine.
"And what would prompt such an expedition?" he said.
"My friend," Aravi gestured to Kayla, "killed several last night on the road before stopping here. Then a young Imperial girl came in with injuries of an attack."
Aravi took a sip of her tea and a small bite of her sweet roll. "That's far too many for a small area like this." She was thinking aloud now, speaking to herself more than anyone specific. "They must be new to this part of the forest. Or else they've ranged from somewhere else."
"Yeah, I killed some last night." Kayla said to the man, looking at her cup. "And I'm a little pissed that I missed enough for someone to get hurt." She drank the rest of her tea and looked at Aravi. "I'm ready when you are. I'm starting to get antsy. I wanna kill these bastards and get it over with."
Lycus, with his plate full of food beneath him, allowed himself a derisive snort. "You may kill a few but there are always more dwelling beneath the ground." He looked to Aravi and nodded at her words. She was right. Either they migrated somewhere else or something has drawn their attention. "Either way it won't be long before one of their own discovers there are rivals in this area."
He smiled. He wasn't interested in the political field of vampires. But hunting them down would be some good sport, and Lycus hadn't had much fun in years. To kill an enemy just as strong, just as fast and just as intelligent would be thrilling. He deserves some entertainment. He looked at Kayla. "You could use a man in your group. I might be able to track down their location. My wife can come along too."
Kayla also allowed herself a snort. "We don't 'need' a man in our group, but of you want to come along, it couldn't hurt much." She looked at his muscular form and turned back to her tea. "I think you'll be fine. The more the merrier."
'Good gods, I'm cranky this morning.'
She knew why. She'd been anticipating this fight all night, and before it was just her and Aravi, and now with two more people to wait on, the hunt was being prolonged. She sorely wished she'd found Aravi's room earlier and just pulled her from bed. They could have eaten on the road and been tracking the vamps right now.
She took another sip of her tea.
Aravi smiled at Kayla’s words, but inwardly she wondered how this would go. She knew Kraven was a very capable warrior, but she also knew he was a werewolf. If he shifted, she didn’t know how hers would react. She didn’t want to shift with anyone, especially Kayla, around.
Kayla will probably use her sword, and Kraven will be close in as well. Perhaps I will stick with my bow for this. She had no idea what his wife preferred to fight with. Wife? The thought struck her. I bet I know who it is too. She hadn’t seen the woman since last night.
Aravi chewed on the last bite of her sweet roll. She saw that Kraven had hardly touched the enormous breakfast he ordered.
Aravi looked at Kayla. She didn’t seem to be making any moves towards the bard. “If your wife is coming along, you should get her. We’ll be leaving soon. I would prefer to find and kill them before nightfall.”
I wonder if I have time for another sweet roll.
The Imperial began eating his food at a rapid pace, just when Kayla began speaking. For some reason this woman seemed peeved, and any discerning eye would've noticed it had to do with her earlier blushing when coming down the stairs. He scoffed inwardly, and stabbed his food with his fork and shoving plenty of it into his mouth.
"An all female group," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Gods know how much would be accomplished."
Two women in a dark cave full of undead? Sure, he's seen many of these supposed warrior women but how much faith could he put on one lass who blushes when seeing a man and another who . . . quaked? The khajiit was the one he knew well, but not well enough. Last time he laid eyes upon her she was a frail creature. Afraid. Helpless. But now? With whatever she has running through her veins, it could help. The wolf is strong, and it gives strength for those who embrace it or choose not to.
Either way he could see the woman's impatience, and it humored him. So eager to walk into the mouth of the beast.
Lycus let out a chuckle at Aravi's last sentance. "Where's the sport in hunting them as they sleep?"
****
Vera came down the stairs, bathed and clean, to find Lycus and the others downstairs. She saw he was half-finished with his plate but there was still another one beside his. She realized this was her own.
She had with her a simple http://oi41.tinypic.com/2explih.jpg and leather pants, and was otherwise appearing nothing more than a low-class Imperial woman. She took a seat next to Lycus, and began to eat her food without greeting the high elf, the breton or the khajiit.
"Make haste, we're going hunting." Lycus said.
"Say's who?" Vera said, with a knife plunged deep into her potato. A glare from her straight to the khajiit and the high elf woman seemed to confirm her suspicion. She brought the piece of stabbed potato into her mouth with the knife, and with a mouthful she spoke. "We're hunting who?"
"Vampires."
Vera half-smiled, and with a mouth still full she managed to say the same words as Lycus did. "Vampires."
Lycus craned his arm and stretched his muscles. "A nest of them must have sprung up a few miles from her," he motioned his neck over to the high elf. "Kayla here hunted down a few of them."
Vera nodded slowly as she heard out the story, and as she swallowed she looked at Kayla and muttered a bit loud. "Well, looks like she didn't get all of them."
Instead of rebuking her quip, Lycus added. "An Imperial girl was attacked last night."
She locked eyes with Lycus now, and they both stared. Vera was the one who snorted out a laugh. "Is that so?"
She's heard this before. She's seen that girl before, and she found this entire thing humorous. But she would oblige, only because there was nothing else to do.
"Hunting down vampires. Sounds to me like we're going to play a game." Vera said to Kayla and the khajiit. "I'll offer you my bow and my sword. I do things for a price but you're fortunate I'm looking to have a little sport. Haven't hunted vampires in years. Most of them tend to walk around in castles and palaces nowadays."
Or among people . . . but she didn't say this. It wasn't her place. Even if there was a vampire among a group of people, there was an unspoken agreement between her and them. They go their way, she goes hers. No trouble. Its been that way for years now and she hoped it would stay that way.
Lycus finished his food quickly. "I 'll get ready."
Vera waved a hand as she drank down her drink. She hummed a 'alright' to him before setting down the cup and looking at Kayla and the khajiit. "Vera. I'm sure you've met Lycus."
Aravi’s ears flicked with annoyance. She didn’t find anything about vampire attacks to be amusing, nor was she interested in ‘sport,’ as they put it. If they found all the vampires asleep, she would be perfectly happy to quietly slip a blade into their ribs.
If it was just Kraven, she was confident he would be an asset to the expedition, but this woman… Aravi didn’t trust her. And who knows how Kraven will act with her around. Her appetite soured.
“Vera. I'm sure you've met Lycus.”
Now we warrant attention. Lycus… ? Kraven?
“I’m Aravi. Lycus is?”
Kayla ignored the quip from the blonde imperial woman and examined her cuticles on her left hand.
"If you're looking for money, take it up with Irvana." She looked at the woman. "We, ourselves, aren't looking for fun or money. And we certainly don't find the situation funny." She raised her left eyebrow at the woman.
"And We met him. Very charming man." She let out a snicker. 'You're both OOZING with charm.' She thought. 'I don't think I can trust these people to watch ny back.'
She'd certainly do her best to keep everyone alive, but these two seemed made for each others company. They didn't act like they woke to others much. Kayla was especially peeved at the woman, Vera's, comment. 'No, I didn't get them all, but I'm only mortal. Yeesh.'
She took in a calming breath.
Vera expressed confusion as she gestured toward her husband. "Lycus. My husband."
She grinned at Aravi shortly after. "Pleasure to meet you."
Kayla spoke out now, and was visibly upset and annoyed by Vera's words. She interpreted Vera's humor the wrong way. "I don't find it funny either, not the suffering of others."
Vera felt no need to explain. She didn't find pleasure in the suffering of others. The villagers nearby may have been targeted and if they are aware, most surely they feel fear of being prey. Vera could relate to them. She was once targeted by a group of blood-thirsty villagers once, and Lycus himself too felt unable to do something when his home and his flock of sheep were being stalked by timber wolves. It is a horrible experience, to feel helpless. But this Imperial girl Irvana . . . Vera had to smile. Not out of enjoyment of her suffering but rather, that things were completely different in this picture.
"Irvana," muttered Vera. "I certainly wouldn't ask her for any coin. This isn't a contract."
On the other hand, her brother owes me for the last job I took. Anything else he asks will cost him triple!
She met Irvana awhile back while roaming the Imperial City, and even took on a few contracts for her that were too dangerous and covert for anyone else to take. The woman was wealthy as they come, and had more coin that Vera's family did. And that was saying something. They never locked horns before, but they never truly were friends. Everything came down to buisiness.
And now she's having them kill vampires. For free. Sounds much like her indeed. She wouldn't pick up a sword to do things herself.
And Vera found herself wondering why she decided to take this task.
She set her eyes on Kayla. "Coin. Sport. Any moral obligation you may have, it doesn't matter. What matters in the end is getting the task done. For either reason the outcome will be the same, and the locals will be protected and that's the goal here. Can't go wrong with having more people in your team."
She didn't understand why one who would hunt vampires wouldn't find enjoyment in their demise for sport. They, at least, were more "deserving" than others. But she wouldn't make this an issue. She came across people from all walks in life.
Vera finished her food rapidly, and thanked the cook and the dark elf fellow.
"They're hiding in a cave." Lycus said. "We can try to box few of them in incase one of them tries to escape. If they've fed, they might survive in the sun. I want to know which cave."
Vera turned to him, and then addressed the rest of the group, and then to Kayla. "You want to kill the hunters, you begin with the prey. Target on a map the recent attacks, and the last location you've killed the vampires. We can pinpoint where they're hiding."
That, or the scent alone could lead her to them.
Abiene
The breakfast talk turned to vampires. Abiene pushed away the rest of her sweetroll and excused herself with a murmur. She could see squares of sunlight slanting across the floorboards in the tearoom. Sipping kahve in the gardens sounded better than the sword-measuring competition that was brewing at the bar. She filled her mug and went outside.
She left her cloak and pack inside. Hopefully Aravi and Kayla would see them and know she wanted a chance to wish them well before they parted ways. Tell them ‘Good hunting,’ she reminded herself. Not ‘Be careful.’ Those are healer’s words.
The ground was soft after the night’s heavy rain, but the grass was too thick for it to be muddy. Abiene walked through the dappled shade until she reached a bench in the sun. She leaned against its back enjoying the view.
The Argonian groundskeeper was dragging fallen tree branches to a pile. A Bosmer with a rake moved about tidying the pasture. Abiene looked up at the inn, counting windows until she found her room.
How fortunate to have met Aravi here, she thought. The memory of her new friend’s impulsive hug made her smile. Is there anything so lovely and warm as being hugged by a Khajiit?
“This one enjoys the morning?”
Abiene jumped in surprise at the voice. The dark Khajiit from the tavern was right behind her. How did he..?
“Um, yes, it’s…” Abiene was uncertain what exactly he was asking. She flicked spilled kahve from her fingers. “I’m Abiene,” she blurted. “How does the day greet you?”
The Khajiit’s lips curled up at the corners, and his eyes narrowed in amusement. “This one is called Dar’muktah.” He looked her over the way one might visually inspect one’s luggage before embarking on a journey.
Is everything in place? she wanted to snap. But his manner didn’t seem insolent, or even terribly interested. He was just… checking. “Are you staying at the Goblet?” she asked instead.
“This one works here.” Dar’muktah looked down toward the road, then away over the trees. His claws eased out and then retracted, almost absently.
He’s huge, Abiene realized.
“This one is the healer?” His words were underscored by a throaty rasp.
Abiene’s eyes flew back to Dar’muktah’s. Now his teeth showed in a lazy grin.
“Yes, I am. Do you need..?”
But the Khajiit was already walking away.
Abiene shook herself. Funny how ‘this one’ means both ‘you’ and ‘me,’ depending on context and inflection, she thought. What an odd conversation.
Aravi slid off of her stool and left enough gold to cover her expenses.
“I’m going to my room for my armor; I will be right back down.”
She lightly went up the stairs and entered her room, closing the door behind her. She changed out of her clothes and put on a loincloth and a bra to wear under her armor. She was used to Skyrim’s cooler weather and she didn’t want to overheat. Over that went the golden armor of Elven make. She left the helmet off for now. She had 25 arrows for her short bow. Should be plenty. The quiver went on her back, and then her swords were belted at her hips.
Finally, she shouldered her pack. Before leaving, she placed a generous tip for Hethilion on the night stand next to her messy bed. What a wonderful bath it was.
She went back downstairs, her helmet in hand.
When Vera addressed Kayla, Aravi excused herself to get her armor. Kayla nodded down at Aravi and turned her attention back to Vera.
"Now we're getting down to business. I had planned to talk to Irvana about where she was attacked last night, if she could pinpoint it." She pulled out her worn map and slid closer to Valera. The creases in her map tore in more than one spot, she noticed as she pointed to the Wobbly Goblet on her map, the ink darker and fresher where she had marked it last night.
"We're here, right? I came this way," She slid her slender finger down the map until she stopped right about where she had been attacked. "And was attacked here." She tapped the parchment lightly. "I didn't see if there were any caves or ruins of the sort, and even if I had, I would have kept moving." her eyes darkened a bit. "I'd rather not see the-" she shot a look around the room. "Well, you two may know what I'm talking about."
'Mutilated corpses of men, women, and children...rotten body parts... the stench.'
She absentmindedly scratched her shoulder. "I don't know if you two want to talk to Irvana or not, but I can."
Vera scooted herself closer to Kayla and set her eyes on the map. Vera was told where the Altmer was attacked, and the location where they were. She said she either didn't see any cave or must have passed one by mistake.
The huntress rubbed her chin, and analyzed the markings. The only location nearby would be the Black Rock Caverns and Nonwyl cave. Black Rock caverns made sense, as it was closer to the place of the attacks. Vampires are territorial creatures, and if these ones are wise enough they'd stay clear from the cities lest they rouse suspicion of their own elite or vampire hunters, which Vera had to confess was exactly what happened.
Kayla looked about the room, telling her she didn't want to come across . . . she wasn't specific. But Vera had a clue to what she was thinking.
Rotting corpses? Decapitated heads? Entrails?
Out loud, Vera said, "Vampire leftovers?"
Vera's eyes brightened, and she frowned as she set a firm finger down upon the locations of the two caverns. "Here and here. These are the ideal place but my instinct tells me they're hiding in Black Rock caverns. Nonewyll cavern is small, and judging by how they tend to be in groups . . . the size of Black Rock is just perfect for them to lay low."
Kayla asked if either of them wanted to speak to Irvana. Vera shook her head. "You're welcome to speak to her. I have to get suited up to the task first." She explained, and got up from her chair. Her gear was with the horse outside that Lycus brought along with him. "I'll be outside."
Vera left as Aravi returned. She climbed onto the stool next to Kayla. She looked at the map on the counter.
"Where are we going to start looking? And do you need anything before we go?"
Lycus ate.
Kayla pointed to the map where Vera had picked out the nearest cave. "Here. That's where I was attacked. I was thinking of asking Irvana of this was around where she was attacked. And no, I have all of my gear with me."
Clad in http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130404012559/tesfanon/images/6/6a/Vera_armor.jpeg that was somewhat outdated, burned from countless fireball hits, but still undeniably effective and durable, Vera checked her array of weaponary brought by Lycus. The armor had been modified and given tribal runes of a language old and forgotten, the symbols and words written along the gauntlets and chest piece. Herhttp://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20121017150109/elderscrolls/images/0/0e/EbonyHelmet_SK.png, too, was black, except for a light ridge crossing and running along the sides of her helm. Her quest seemed pserious a bit, considering she would take on a nest of vampires with two other women, but to one as agile and skilled as Vera, and with a penchant for getting herself into and out of tricky and daring situations, this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Vera scanned her pack holding silver-tipped bolts, poisonous darts and three large throwing stars all made from either silver or steel. A wise hunter would always equip himself with nescessary equipment, and the best was always nescessary. Though she didn't have the means of acquiring yet the Daedric tools, these deadly metals would suffice.
Poison dats would serve to paralyze or intoxicate her prey or bounties. Neither effect would do much good against vampires and their dead flesh. Silver, on the other hand, was the best tool to use when coming face to face with them. Amusingly enough, it was also her bane.
Vera was going to travel light here. Heavy armor was not required. She'd rather choose to sneak on the creatures. It would be equal sport either way. Speed and guile, rather than strength, would serve her well today. Aside from her mundane weaponary, she may be able to use the spells she had been blessed with years ago in Solstheim, though she knew it would do her no good. Vampires could see through walls, and even beings that are invisible to the naked eye.
All she needed was her crossbow . . .
Lycus Desselius had his plate taken away from him after he finished eating. As expected, the food was delicious and it went down fine. Though the drink had done something to disturb his stomach.
Sitting down, Lycus thought about letting Vera go without him to the cavern. For years they've been together now, hunting together, fighting together, as one. And they had the rest of their whole lives to do it, and without a doubt eternity as well in the next life. She was always a solitary woman herself, and though the situation didn't change much. She needed to be around her own kind . . . females, he meant. Perhaps let her have some sport and friendly competition.
He looked at Kayla and Aravi on the far side of the bar, and thought about it again. Perhaps not. They took hunting seriously, and they did it to help the lives of those who were in danger. They did it out of duty and obligation. Vera was willing to go not for coin, but for a measure of peace. Not many people shared her mindset, and with good reason. Their lives were shaped differently. Much different.
Lycus took a glance at his wolfish helmet and stared at it, and then his memories went back into the shadows of the past and his eyes stared into nothing in particular. He blinked.
Lleris was still around by then, and his movements brought Lycus back into the present. He looked into his polished helmet and nodded ever so slightly as his lips spread into a grin. When the Dunmer was within earshot, Lycus spoke to him. "Not many could do a job as well as you did," Lycus began. "It takes the dedication and care for polishing something as steel in such a fashion. And even a weapon, as well."
His eyes fell on the Dunmer, and the hostility he had days before had vanished. Lycus never liked the Dunmer much. Their culture was somewhat understandable, but the people in general tended to be the bane of his existance. That is not to say he didn't learn a few precious lessons. The dark few couldn't stand to represent the entire race. Perhaps out of many, a handful were good. One of these handful were his old mentor while he was a slave under a master. "I was a blacksmith once many years ago in Morrowind tasked with supplying the guards of a Telvanni stronghold with equipment. I was a young man still. Never forged a weapon in my life in those days. Never so much as polished armor."
He paused, recounting the memory. "My mentor was a cruel Dunmer. Not like the master of the stronghold, but still blunt and cruel. He once threw a man off a sixty-foot tower for passing gas one night in the barracks. My first day upon learning what I needed to know about forging steel he told me 'boy, this will be your first weapon forged. I want it to be perfect. If I spot so much as a dent, or a crack or anything that doesn't belong there . . . I will break both of your hands so you never can hold a weapon again or even pleasure yourself at night.'"
Lycus scoffed. "Knowing his reputation, I did the task to the best of my ability. I made the weapon, a common shortsword made from steel, fearing for my precious hands with a fear I never thought I would have."
Lycus looked at Lleris. "After he died, I discovered the old bastard has a sense of humor in inspiring others to do a good job and that he never truly meant to harm me in that way."
The large Imperial leaned back and nodded at the Dunmer. "You have it easy boy. No matter what you say or think, its true. The outside world is harsh, and ugly. People say I'm awful, but I am an honest man. You're here surrounded by those who care, who hold sentiment toward you. Cherish that, for many others out there were bred by the cold world and never had the privilege to hold such warmth to their breast."
“Here. That's where I was attacked. I was thinking of asking Irvana of this was around where she was attacked. And no, I have all of my gear with me," Kayla said.
Aravi considered. The Imperial woman could have valuable information that would lessen the amount of searching they would have to do. Then again, as Aravi suspected, she might not know anything of use. And then who knows when the girl would wake up. I suppose we could knock loudly. She looked at Lycus. Very Loudly.
She looked back at Kayla. “It couldn’t hurt talking to her, though I suspect she doesn’t know much. I’d like to get moving soon so if we are going to talk to her, let’s not wait for her to come down.”
Lleris
Lleris moved around behind the bar clearing plates. Aravi and Kayla had their heads together over a map. The Imperial Lycus sat at the bar, examining his newly cleaned helm. Lleris wondered if the man was still inclined to break his bones.
The Imperial’s features stretched into a wolfish grin. “Not many could do a job as well as you did,” he said to Lleris. “It takes the dedication and care for polishing something as steel in such a fashion. And even a weapon, as well.”
I know the worth of my hands, thought Lleris. It can be measured in the gold I earn, for myself and the house that shelters me.
The man’s eyes fell on Lleris. The Dunmer made himself still.
Lycus told the tale of his youth under a cruel dark elf master.
As he spoke, Bograk’s words returned to Lleris’ mind. ‘Even the fiercest hound remembers who kicked him as a pup. You’ve been kicked plenty, lad. I won’t tell you to forget, but you’re no beast. Don’t let your past rule you.’
“You have it easy boy,” Lycus continued. “No matter what you say or think, it’s true. The outside world is harsh, and ugly. People say I'm awful, but I am an honest man. You're here surrounded by those who care, who hold sentiment toward you. Cherish that, for many others out there were bred by the cold world and never had the privilege to hold such warmth to their breast.”
Lleris stood still under the big man’s gaze, listening. I know the cold, he thought. And I’m learning when to hold my tongue.
“Yes, Mister Lycus,” he said.
The door opened, admitting the short, armored figure of Nora the Legion Rider. She strode briskly up to the bar and tossed her leather flask to Lleris. He reached for the pitcher and filled it with kahve.
“Haven’t left yet?” she asked, eyeing the group. “I know where the lady Irvana was attacked.” One hand flipped her map open on the bar. She thumped a thick finger down onto it. “Right here. Use silver, take your potions. But you know that. I’ll see you here tonight. Good luck with the hunt, citizens.”
Nora took her flask back from Lleris. Then she turned on her heel and marched back out the door.
Kayla blinked before putting her map away.
"Well, I think we know for sure where we're headed." She conceded. "Lets go." She picked up her bag and shouldered it and waited, willing to walk with the group.
Maxical:
Maxical peeked her head around the corner of the door, scanning the assembled group spread across the lobby of the Inn. With a feeling of relief a familiar tall figure with almost chestnut hair caught her eye. There couldn't be too many Altmer with hair that color.
"Kayla? Didn't I meet you at Buffy and Aravi's birthday party?"
Maxical pushed the door shut and was already started across the room when she noticed who Kayla was talking to.
"Aravi! What is everyone doing here?"
"Well, I think we know for sure where we're headed." She conceded. "Let’s go."
Aravi nodded and stood. “The sooner we’re back, the better.” I didn’t come down here to exterminate vampires.
She didn’t notice another Khajiit had entered the room until she heard her name. Who is that? she thought when she looked. The other Khajiit was white, even brighter than Aravi’s fur was, with beautiful red hair.
How does she know me? Where did we meet?
“Hello… who are you? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember, when did we meet?” She began to feel a little embarrassed. I hate it when this happens.
kayla grinned widely at the sight of the teensy Khajiit.
"Maxical! How did you get here?!" She pulled the girl into a hug, bending down so she wouldn't crush Maxical's face with her chest. "What are you doing here? How have you been?!"
She then remembered Maxical's question. "Well, both Aravi and I- oh, I'm sorry, Aravi, this is Maxical. She was at Buffy's birthday party and I think Buffy had a painting of you. Not sure. It's a little fuzzy. There was a lot of wine."
Aravi watched as Kayla leaned down to embrace the Khajiit.
A painting of me? And it’s fuzzy? Is she teasing?
That red hair seems familiar. And she knew Buffy, enough to go to her birthday. Might that be how she remembers me? One of the previous parties? Or is there more?
Maxical gave Kayla a tight squeeze back and kissed her cheeks in greeting. "I've met Aravi before, a year ago at one of Buffy's birthday parties. I'm so glad you are here, I hate coming into an inn full of strangers. Geez, there sure are a lot of people here, do you think they'll have a bed left for me? I'd rather spend the night here than the Gray Mare, I heard they have bugs and you sleep on a bedroll on the floor."
Maxical turned back to answer Aravi. "Buffy's party a year or more back. I remember particularly because it was the day she offered to share her birth date with you."
So it was one of Buffy's parties.
"I'm please to meet you again Maxical." That's what Kayla called her, right? "Sorry I don't remember you very well."
Kayla was still stuck on what Maxical said.
"Bugs and what?!" She shook her head. "I'm sure there's room for you, I might be moving on soon, if the weather stays clear."
Maxical's face fell at Kayla's words. "I hope you're not leaving too soon, I'd sure like to spend some time together since I have to be in Chorrol for a few days."
She turned to include Aravi in her question. "Have you two eaten already? I'm starving, do they have good food here?"
"Aw!" Kayla gave Maxical a gentle hug. "The thing is, we'll be gone for a few hours. Some vampires popped up, and we," she gestured to herself and Aravi, "Are heading to take care of them, along with two others." She gave Maxical an apologetic look. "We've also already eaten. The food here is wonderful, though..."
Stefania and Irvana.
Stefania opened her eyes, and right after she yawned. What a night that was . . .
Indeed, what a night it was for she didn’t remember anything that happened. All she recalled was sharing pleasant stories with a fearful but smart Irvana, and falling asleep right after and an odd dream. It was a peaceful dream but nevertheless strange and distant, ethereal even. Dreams she wouldn't dare share to anyone but her closest of friends.
She felt strange, too. It was the wine . . . it had to be. All that wine drained the energy from her. She felt lightheaded and nauseous. She hated mornings like these. Stefania sighed, and massaged the side of her neck for a prolonged period of time before casting a glance beside her. The Imperial woman was there, sleeping as a little child with hands wrapped around her chest as if she was guarding her delicate life. She slept with a mass of black hair and a graceful, almost feline quality to her slumber. Her skin flawless and even more radiant and smooth than it was then night before.
And then Stefania realized that she was in the wrong room, in the wrong bed, and certainly at the wrong time. Her eyes widened and she kicked the covers from her feet and pounced to the side. She tried to find her shoes but it was too dark for her to see as they were dark. She felt with her feet and finally slipped them into her shoes that she left beside the bed, and put her hands out in front of her.
“I hope Hethilion isn’t cleaning my room yet!” she whispered. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Why would he do that?” came a calm, gentle whisper.
Stefania turned to see Irvana laying in the bed, but in the same position as before with her eyes open this time.
“I’m not supposed to be here at this hour. If he catches me, I’m in trouble.” Stefania replied. “I have to be in the tea room before lunch.”
Irvana giggled. “It is breakfast time . . . but I understand you want to establish the belief that you spent your time in the attic. And I support you. Its not worth getting in trouble over something so insignificant as this. Thank you, Stefania, for your company. It was much appreciated. If he does happen to spot you and confront you, I'll be sure to speak with him."
“Thank you, Irvana,” Stefania replied as she stumbled in the shadow for the key at the door. She paused, and remembered one of the jokes Irvana told hours ago. “I love your sense of humor.”
Before she opened the door to check if Hethilion was in the hallway, she turned to Irvana. “You’re not getting out of bed?”
Irvana yawned loudly. “I’m still very tired and that wine somehow left me with a foul headache. I’ll sleep in for a few hours.”
“Yeah, me too. See you around.”
“Likewise.” Irvana replied.
Stefania placed her ear on the side of the door, and listened. No footsteps in the hallway, no sound of mop or broom. Good, she thought. I can still make a dash for it.
And so she did. She opened the door, stepped out and closed it behind her. She feared the Altmer housekeep was already in her room, wondering why in oblivion she wasn’t in there. But the accumulated dirt in the corner suggested he didn’t sweep that way yet, and she was in the clear. Stefania rubbed the nape of her neck, and rushed to the attic. If I can get a bit more of shuteye, I’ll be just fine . . .
In the distance, Irvana could hear the clatter of plates and silverware and the sound of feminine laughter.
They’re still here . . .
But she wasn’t annoyed, or even angry. Those vampires will die one way or another.
She lay there in her bed, patient, thinking a thousand thoughts. She sat up in the bed, looked to the door and squinted her eyes. Light came forth from the keyhole, but it was faint and no match for the darkness that was inside her room. A key blocked most of it from coming in.
Not wanting to be disturbed at this hour, or for the hours to come, Irvana stretched forth her hand and concentrated. Her hand twisting gently.
Slowly, the key began to turn as invisible fingers guided it and she heard the locks come into place. When the last click was made, she smiled to herself. Mysticism wasn’t a school she ever found herself interested in, but she couldn’t help but acquire a few spells here and there. Destruction and illusion, on the other hand, were among her greatest of abilities.
She would cast a fireball to one of the candles nearby but struck against it. She closed her eyes, settled more into the soft pillows, and slept.
Maxical leaned in to Kayla's hug and squeezed her tightly back. "Be careful, then. Make sure you come back, I won't rest till I know you are safe. Good friends are hard to find these days."
Maxical glanced around, sizing up the room. "A place like this should have a good bath, do you know where it is? I'd like to get rid of this road dust and eat after I've cleaned up."
Bograk
Bograk stood by the bar fireplace with her kahve, one eye on the guests and the other on her staff. Lleris comported himself well. The lad was a quick learner. Riad moved down the stairs just as Dar’muktah slipped through the front door. The two exchanged a look. Riad walked back to the kitchen, and Dar’muktah took a position in the corner by the stairs.
Bograk nodded to herself.
A white Khajiit entered the tavern and introduced herself as Maxical. She seemed to know some of the guests.
Hethilion came down the stairs and walked over. He passed her a handful of keys.
“Our mysterious guest?” Bograk asked him.
Hethilion gave a thin smile. “She has made herself… welcome. I do hope she decides to stay.” He headed off to his basement chambers.
The orc suppressed a shiver. Mage locks and magical cleaning were tremendous benefits in the running of an inn, and the Altmer’s other services had proven even more valuable. What he got for his trouble was his own business, as long as he didn’t make it hers. The inn remained a safe and clean refuge for travelers. Their long-standing agreement worked well.
Maxical glanced around as if sizing up the room. “A place like this should have a good bath, do you know where it is?” she asked her companions. “I'd like to get rid of this road dust and eat after I've cleaned up.”
Bograk stepped forward. “We have rooms with private baths, ma’am, and our kitchen is open all day. How may we serve you?”
Maxical turned, surprised to see fierce looking Orc by her side...no, that must be a trick of those tusks. Her eyes showed a gentle kindness that gave lie to that expression. Maxical hadn't even heard her approach, the woman must be athletic despite her size.
"Yes please, if you don't mind and I can afford it. I'd love a bath. If you don't have heated baths I can heat my own, but...it is better if someone else does it. I have a tendency toward clumsiness with fire spells. If I have enough left over...I'm really hungry. I have some ingredients and a pelt to sell if you'll barter for my bill, I don't have much gold on me. If I have enough to do it, I'd rather spend the night here than the Gray Mare, if you know what I mean."
She caught Aravi's arm before she could leave. "Wait just a second, I think you'll remember me if I show you something."
The large Orc woman nodded, stepping back to wait.
"Oh. I didn't want everyone to see this...er...Aravi, remember me and Buffy dancing? It was over a year ago..." Maxical started dancing, to the accompanying sound of Kayla spewing her drink at the sight.
A familiar loud braying sound interrupted Maxical mid-dance. She looked up surprised to see Eyja's boyish grin. Eyja finished laughing and glanced around at the assembled crowd in the breakfast area of the tavern.
"What the hell is going on here? Looks like an army preparing for battle. Trouble's afoot, you'd best come with me. I'm staying at a friend's house in Chorrol, there is plenty of room for you too. Come on."
Maxical smiled her apologies to the large Orc woman, and gave Kayla a warm hug before following Eyja out. "Let me know you've made it back safe, I'll be in Chorrol a few days."
Aravi smiled. Yes she certainly did remember that… unusual dance. Maxical. She would be sure to remember that name now.
Then one of the other patrons stood up and interrupted Maxical’s silly dance, saying they should leave. See you later, Aravi thought in silent farewell.
She looked at Kayla. “I suppose we should go too. Vera’s outside already.”
Aravi opened the door and stepped outside.
Kayla was still wiping off the remnants of her cider when Aravi stood up.
"Yeah, let's go." She stood up as well and shouldered her pack, giving Maxical a tight hug. "I'll see if I can visit you in Chorrol, then. I've never been inside the city gates, and it looks lovely." She mimicked Maxical's earlier greeting and gave her a kiss on the cheek in farewell.
"See you later!"
She followed Aravi.
Abiene
A breeze rustled the tree branches above Abiene’s bench, sending white petals drifting down. Summer should be pleasant here, she thought. I won’t miss the Gold Coast heat.
The chapel bells rang over in Weynon Priory. She picked out Brother Piner’s robed form striding up the road toward Chorrol.
I should start soon, she thought.
The sound of the tavern’s door made her turn. A line of folk stepped out into the morning.
Abiene rose and walked toward them.
Vera headed off into the path that would lead to the cave. She didn't have a map, but she read and registered the location in her mind. What was left was simply heading off in the direction. The map, in this case, was her mind and the landscape.
The breeze came in, rustling her blond hair aside. She strode toward her intended location with her crossbow set just above her shoulder. A pack of silver quarrels carefully tucked in their compartments bounced from her hip.
She was ready to claim her blood tribute this day, and have some peace in mind after hunting. The hunt always calls to me . . .
It clouds the mind, and everything else is focused on the act of the chase, the drag, the kill. Even in her sleep her dreams are plagued of such things and she always found herself asking the same question over and over.
Am I wolf or woman?
Both the wolf and the woman were in acceptance of each other; each would stand incomplete without the other. Yet the open spaces of the Colovian Highlands called out to the beast's heart. Deep inside she wanted to turn her face into the gentle breeze, to dissapear into the tall grass and into the forest and remain a beast among beasts for all eternity.
But the woman that was Vera knew better. The woman understood and knew that morning would come after those hours and she would find herself nude and defenseless. For better or worse, her destiny was forever linked with her ancestors and her life reflected the sphere of her Lord. Hunt by night, be hunted by day.
Neither wolf nor woman, she thought, but something greater, perhaps so, damned. Either her fate would be to die by being set aflame from the church, or at the end of a sword by a knight. Or perhaps stoned by mortals fearful of her tremendous power? Her enemies have always been so since before the days of the Bloodmoon and henceforth. That she had survived this long was an open challenge to the accepted order of this world— a challenge to fate. And she doubted she would live from old age, and disease would be impossible. She would breathe until the life would be torn from her. In the end, all that mattered was living.
She would never surrender the woman to save the wolf, or the wolf to save the woman. She would live to be herself. Both. To be free or perish. After a lifetime of living as a beast . . . she had all eternity to hunt in paradise.
Vera looked to the sky, and to the sun, and could tell what hour it was. It wasn't late, but the lacking presence of her hunting companions made her wonder if they decided to remain back in the tavern and let her do all the hunting. If they come along, fine. If they don't, that's fine too.
She would have plenty of ways of dispatching these vampires. Kill them as they sleep, pick them off one by one. Send one of her spectral bone-hounds in to flush them out into the sunlight, and collect their dust as trophies to put into some old jar. Sure, that would be suiting. As the case with her companions, it didn't matter either. Trophies or no, hunting techniques or not, the hunt is the hunt. And in the end, that's all that truly mattered to Vera.
*
Maxical nearly bumped into Eyja's back, she'd stopped short to conduct an outrageous flirtation with a little Bosmer that had hurried over at the sight of everyone leaving. He was trying to determine if any horses were needed, Eyja's sallies back to him about needing a mount lit his eyes with mirth. He responded readily to her suggestive tone with mischievous innocence in his voice, but every phrase could easily be misconstrued to have a different meaning and his expressive eyebrows were just as mobile as Eyja's.
Without being able to see her face, Maxical could readily imagine Eyja was using her sultry eyes on him by the interest quickening in his. There was no way to determine whether Eyja was seriously interested or not. She always said no men could match a Bosmer when it came to flirting, but with Eyja this could end in her going for a roll in that stable with him.
Maxical moved around them, meandering to the nearby bench set under a tree. It was occupied, a woman was sitting there just as Maxical had before going into the Inn. Maybe she was enjoying the peace of this place, that was what struck Maxical when she was sitting there earlier. It had a different feel than a city inn, that was sure. It was a lot bigger and busier than the Faregyl, but out here it had the same feeling the Faregyl did; peaceful.
As she was moving down toward the bench the chapel bells rang from what looked like a Priory across the way from the Inn yard, and for a split second Maxical wondered if that was the Weynon Priory she was supposed to be going to on Morndas. It couldn't be. There were monks out in the yard tending sheep, it looked as peaceful as this Inn. If the Blades were holed up in there surely there would be the feel of a military presence, some practice targets set up in the fields or something.
Maxical was about to sit down beside the pretty Breton woman on the bench, but as she did the woman stood up as if to leave. Maxical pounded her chest lightly in a combination salutation and apology, then flushed embarrassed at the road dust that rose from the action.
"I hope I didn't disturb your peace. I liked sitting on this bench earlier, and it looks like my friend is tied up for a while. I'll go pet the sheep if you'd prefer to be alone."
*
Abiene
Abiene turned to find a white Khajiit with a gorgeous red ponytail standing there.
The Khajiit made a gesture and spoke. “I hope I didn't disturb your peace. I liked sitting on this bench earlier, and it looks like my friend is tied up for a while. I'll go pet the sheep if you'd prefer to be alone.”
“Not at all,” Abiene said quickly, reaching out to clasp the woman’s hands. Then she realized she still held the empty mug. “My, you startled me! It is peaceful. I’ve just been watching the road and thinking I should head back to town, but my feet never got the message. Here I still am.”
She smiled, embarrassed by her runaway tongue. “I’m Abiene. I’m going to go say farewell to my friends, but then I think I’ll come right back here if you don’t mind me joining you. Would you care for some kahve or some tea from the inn? I could bring some out for us.”
*
"Abiene?" Maxical glanced at the stone walls of nearby Chorrol, then back to the unusual beauty of the Breton woman's face. "Jerric's Abiene? I mean...I mean, a friend of mine Jerric knows an Abiene that lives in Chorrol now. It must be you from Lildereth's description...I mean, she said you were very pretty. I must be chattering like a magpie, I'm sorry."
Maxical shifted from one foot to the other, unsure if by startling her the woman meant she really had disturbed her thoughts. Her expression flittered between warm and welcoming and tension, maybe her thoughts were better disturbed if they were stressful. Maxical pointed at a butterfly lighting on a flower petal in the small bed of Primrose beneath the tree.
"There's a butterfly! Isn't that supposed to mean luck? It is peaceful sitting here, isn't it? I like seeing the people passing on the road. I saw the Countess of Leyawiin pass with her Guard and Handmaiden when I was out here a little while ago, they were heading toward Chorrol. The Guard stopped his horse and greeted me just like I wasn't a Khajiit!"
*
Aravi stepped outside into the sunlight. It was a glorious morning that promised a beautiful day. Too bad we are leaving to hunt some vampires in some cave. I would have liked to spend the day here. She inhaled deeply, the smell of fresh grass clippings sweet in her nose.
Vera was ahead of them, making her way down the path towards the road. Over by the stables was the woman that grabbed Maxical, quite obviously distracted by the ostler.
Sitting on a bench nearby was Maxical and Abiene. Aravi stepped off the path in their direction but did not approach. She didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. But perhaps she could wave or give them a quick farewell if they noticed her.
Kayla followed Aravi out the door. She spotted the cute Khajiot and the pretty Imperial woman and waved to them.
"See you later!" She called, in a much more cheerful mood, now that they were on their way to kill some vampires.
Kayla, behind Aravi, shouted to Maxical and Abiene. Aravi waved to both of them and then continued walking down the path. Vera, was still well ahead of them, but in easy following distance. She seems to know where she's going.
Abiene
Jerric’s Abiene. Her stomach still fluttered every time she heard his name.
“Lildereth is too kind, but I’m the very same Abiene.” She had a realization. “You must be Maxical, the Arena fighter! I seem to miss all of the fun, but I do get to hear some of the stories. Though I suspect that Jerric sometimes exaggerates.”
Kayla called out, “See you later!” She and Aravi both waved farewell as they walked down the path.
“Good hunting!” Abiene called, waving back at them. Take care, my friends, she thought. May you return safe by nightfall.
Maxical pointed out a butterfly. “Isn’t that supposed to mean luck?” she said.
Abiene laughed. “I’ve heard it’s good luck if a bird ‘goes’ on your head. I like your version of luck much better!”
"Maybe we should catch up to Vera," Kayla said to Aravi. "She seems to know where she's going, and my map is a bit worn out. I think if I touch it again, it'll fall apart." She looked around at the gorgeous scenery, and smiled when the sun hit her golden skin.
"The sun isn't quite this warm in Skyrim," She said absently.
"The sun isn't quite this warm in Skyrim," Kayla said.
Aravi kept her eyes on the path. She reluctantly increased her pace and the distance between them and Vera shortened. “No it isn’t. It gets close near Riften, but not quite. Where do you live? I have a home on the southern shore of Lake Ilinalta. The nearest town is Falkreath, but I prefer going to Riverwood or even Whiterun for supplies.”
Kayla easily kept pace with Aravi, her long legs making one stride while Aravi's made two or three.
"Whiterun," she answered, looking at the Khajiit. "I'm not there very much, though. I'm usually out and about, doing...well, this." she laughed. She sighed. "I miss it."
Aravi thought of her own home. She was only ever there for a few days at a time before she and Kharjo were on the road again.
“My friend takes care of my home. It’s probably more her home than mine, even if the deed is in my name. I’m almost never there. She even jokingly pretends to not know me when I come home. ‘I hope you aren’t here to cause any trouble,’” Aravi mimicked.
*
Maxical blew a kiss to Kayla and made a sign of catching it and holding it up to Kayla. "That's for luck, you come back safe, you hear?" She waved at Aravi and then plunked down on the bench, waiting till Abiene had said her goodbyes and seated herself before answering her. Something Maxical said had caused Abiene pain, but since she'd chattered so much it was hard to tell what.
"If bird poop on your head was lucky, I'd be the luckiest person in the world, and I'm not. Whoever told you that was probably saying it to save embarrassment in one way or the other."
While Maxical talked she plucked one of the primroses and tucked it into Abiene's hair where it curved over her delicate ear. Her neck was magnificent, Lildereth was right in describing her as a rare beauty.
"I don't think Jerric exagerates, I think he just sees things others don't sometimes. Lildereth never exagerates, half the time she doesn't say half what's on her mind. She said you had an unusual beauty, she was right. You must know Darnand too. He barely talks, but when he does he's worth listening to. I only see them a couple times a year, but with good friends it's the time you get to see them that matters, not how long goes between. Do you know what I mean? I'm chattering like a magpie again, I'm sorry."
*
Vera kept her regular pace, and maintained focused on the path but her ears still oveheard the conversation Kayla and Aravi had some feet behind her. She recognized the names of the places.
Aravi lived near the shore of Lake Ilinalta, a water source near the town of Falkreath. Small world, Vera mused. Lycus built himself a cottage a few miles off of there when he left Cyrodiil in a self-exile. She's practically neighbors with him . . .
Odd that she wouldn't noticed a large copper-skinned Imperial man chopping wood and hunting, then again he rarely ventures out unless he needs coin.
Whiterun was yet another place she was familar with. It is the home of the Companions. A group of mercenaries who work in Skyrim. Ever since the Fighters Guild, she 'never longed to work for another guild. But her husband already worked for them. The honor and glory of the companions called to a warrior, and the freedom and coin it gave, as well as the brotherly fellowship was too good an opportunity to pass . . . especially with the elite members of the Companions. The Circle. Lycus fit right in, and Vera knew the jobs paid well. The food was free, and she was the right person for the task,
Vera came to a stop as the smell of ash came to her nostrils, and she inhaled the smell and it was smelled of smoke and burnt flesh. The same scent she smelled when she killed vampires. She turned around, and began searching for the source of the smell and at last after thirty seconds or so, she came upon it. A pile of dust and burn cloth and few pieces of coin that must have belonged to the slain vampire before he was killed. But by who?
She knelt over the pile, and picked up the coin and put it in her pocket. "Well, what do you know. Didn't need to declare open season on the suck-heads and one's already dead." She said, mostly to herself. She stood up and gazed around, at the footprints, at the branches. She she stared at each of the signs for a long time before folding her arms at her chest.
Kayla barked a laugh. "Ha! Suckheads! That's a new one!" She grinned momentarily at Vera before remembering they were tracking something. She knelt and sifted through the dust with a thin stick, then sighed. "Damn. I wish I had a vial for the dust. The fresher they are, the better they work." She stood up and glanced around.
"I see..." She cursed in Nordic. "I'm a terrible tracker. I only see two sets of footprints, and that's because one set is larger than the other. Judging from the slides in the mud, there was either a scuffle or a badly-planned dance routine."
She frowned. "This can't be the vampire I killed, or the one Irvana killed. The dust is dry. The rain would have washed it away a long time ago." She sniffed. "And it smells kind of fresh. What do you think, Aravi?"
“It’s definitely fresh. The breeze hasn’t even disturbed it yet.” The fact that there was activity so close to the inn last night worried her. “I wonder if this one died because of the sunlight. It almost looks like someone pulled them out of the shade of the forest to where the sun would kill them. Either they couldn’t get out of the sun, or they didn’t notice until it was too late.” Some of the feral ones are dumb enough to not take note of something like burning to death if there is something they want to eat nearby. I don’t think that’s what happened here though.
“Do we want to follow their tracks back where they came from, or follow the other set of tracks and see where the survivor went?"
Vera heard out the possibly cause of death, and began to process a handful of different causes and scenarios. One was this one was killed by another of his kind, but that would yield more questions than answers and Vera wasn't feeling very investigative. She had no desire in spending time solving a mystery if there was no money to be made. Perhaps, if she was younger and more adventurous, but in these present times everything has a price.
Suicide was another potential reason. Many of the afflicted couldn't bear to live with themselves, so they sought to end their lives prematurely. She couldn't imagine they would have a peaceful death, for they could not age and often the only end for those creatures were violenent ones.
She looked at the sun, and then looked back at the dust. Last sunrise, maybe?
"Maybe this one took its own life," Vera said after a moment. "Some can't take the stress of surviving off the flesh and blood of overs. It gets to them, and they rather die than live an eternity of misery."
But she didn't dwell too much on it. A greater part of her said it was killed.
Vera looked at Kayla, and glanced casually at Aravi. "I'm heading to the cave. If this one got hit with the rays of the sun, then the others are safe in their cavern. If we corner them in their own lairs, we can deal a heavy blow. Flush them out into the open if we can or just drive a blade into their flesh.'
Kayla cracked her knuckles absently. After a few breaths, she said to the other two women, "I think we should corner them. If we flush them out, they could find some shade and head to the inn, or find a nearby settlement."
She stared at the remains for a few seconds, then looked back at the other two. "What do you say?"
"Let's get them," Aravi agreed. "Which way is the cave? North?"
Abiene was lost in thoughts of her own, and never responded. Maxical sat in uncomfortably still silence, not sure if movement would be a further disturbance to the inner turmoil the pretty Breton was obviously mulling over. It was a relief when Eyja sidled up and poked her in the back.
"Come on, my friend will be waiting."
With a quick apology to Abiene for disturbing her peace, Maxical slid quietly from the bench and followed Eyja down the side hill, then turning to follow the westerly winding road toward Chorrol.
Maxical murmured an apology and slipped away with her Nord friend.
Divines, thought Abiene, I’ve been so rude! I hope Maxical can forgive me.
The two women headed toward Chorrol.
Perhaps I can catch them on the road.
Abiene collected her things from the inn, cast a spell to quicken her steps, and hurried after them.
Irvana yawned beneath the covers, nestled above a soft pillow. Her eyes opened, and she hastily discarder the silk cover and swung over the side of the bed. Sitting down, she rubbed her eyes and blinked. She had her rest, and it was good. She was restored to health by a day’s long slumber.
She looked at herself on the vanity and marveled at the sight; her skin seemed moist, radiant, a veil of black hair falling down the sides. Unlike the sight of a woman who was attacked by bloodthirsty vampires.
The room remained unchanged since she last saw many hours ago. The tablecloth was still stained with wine, and a small bottle stood half empty among used spoons and bowls. Despite his love for a clean enviornment, Hethilion no doubted must respect the privacy of the tavern's patrons. This did not bother her at all.
With a fresh mind, she flexed her fingers and headed over to the door. She unlocked it, and opened it and peeked outside. She couldn’t hear too many commotion going on, and the distant sounds of crickets told her it was already night time.
Irvana stepped out of her room, and headed downstairs dressed in a fresh draping made of burgundy linen that was provided for her before her bath. Gold-trimmed shoes comfortably clothes her feet as she made each step.
She walked down the stairs, her hand sliding on the armrest as she looked about for who might be working at this time.
“Hello?” She called.
The strangest sounding footsteps she had ever heard caused Maxical to spin around, then gape at the sight of the Breton woman Abiene as she sped toward them. Maxical had never seen anyone move so fast, and stopped short to watch.
"How did you do that? Is it a spell? Can you teach me?"
Eyja groaned. "Use it on me even once and it'll be the last time you are able to cast for a while."
Maxical flushed beet red. She actually had pictured Eyja barreling down the road instead of her slow stroll that always caught the men's eyes. Still, it would be funny to use in town and see people galloping around.
Abiene, on the Black Road
Abiene brushed a stray curl out of her eyes. “I’d be happy to teach you, Maxical. It’s an apprentice level spell to fortify a person’s speed, though I often use it under a veil of invisibility at times when dashing through the streets might raise an eyebrow. I’ve used it since my university days. Otherwise I’d always be running late.” She smiled up at Maxical’s friend. “Also it helps me keep up with long-legged Nords. Are you two walking to Chorrol? May I join you?”
Abiene reached out to give Maxical’s arm a quick squeeze. “I apologize for my poor manners earlier. I let my thoughts overtake me.”
Auguste
Lleris cleared the last of the plates away. Auguste wiped the bar, checking his remaining customers to be sure they all had something in their cups.
“Dancing Day is a Breton vanity,” Bograk declared, continuing their argument.
Auguste glanced over at his employer. She stood with her arms crossed and a tankard in one hand. Her expression was unreadable but her tone conveyed mounting annoyance.
“We could bring it to County Chorrol as a new traditional,” said Auguste. “We already have the tents, and Laegon could provide the music. You could sell all of the ale in the cellar, I’d wager.”
Bograk snorted. “The tents just dried out from Mid-Year Celebration, and we won’t be getting more ale until the end of next week. What would you pour until then if I let you empty the barrels in one night? There’s more to running an inn than picking up the coins that are right in front of you.”
Auguste ground his teeth. She isn’t completely wrong, he admitted. It was hard to take lessons from an orc.
“Bring this up to me again Rain’s Hand next,” she said. “Then Riad will have time to place an order.” Bograk dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “And remember we’ll host a fair for Merchant’s Festival. That should bring in travelers and locals alike.”
Auguste tried not to stagger under her reassuring gesture. “Yeah.”
“Hello?” came a voice from the stairs.
It was Irvana.
Irvana stepped down the stairs at the noise of voices. As she climbed down with a carefully measured pace, she saw the tavern's workers there together. The Breton, the Orc and the Dunmer. No immediete sign of Stefania, however.
She brushed aside a rogue strand of black hair, and walked up the bar with a charming smile as she greeted everyone around her. "Evening."
She said as she took a seat at the front of the bar, and set her hands delicately upon it. For the fraction of a moment when coming down the stairs she seized up the workers there once more, as she did the night before. An insconspicious analysis, as she called it.
The Orc woman might have had the largest hands Irvana remembers seeing. It was large enough to fit around the throat of a man. The club at her side was a menacing weapon for one's eye to look upon it. It was made of wood, and dressed with metal rims brandishing sharp spiked that could easily puncture the skin of one, and kill them in one fierce blow. But would an Orc woman use such violence? Only if nescessary. Irvana was aware that a club could also be used in a non-fatal way such as using the very head of it to knock an unruly patron unconscious. Nevertheless, it was quite the weapon.
Not something I would personally use, she reflected. Plenty of ways to kill or maim someone . . .
The Breton man was there also, and he had a habit of constantly wiping the bar. He didn't seem all that tired, and Irvana suspected he either drank potions to keep himself working, or he must have taken a bit of rest in the morning or in the early afternoon. From what Stefania told her, perhaps not every worker here worked all day. Only few taverns allow such a thing.
The Dunmer was an odd one. Irvana remembered seeing him last night when she came in. He still had that wide-eyed look about him, as if he'd drank a dose of skooma. Unlike the Orc, who had that imposing look that could frighten off grown men, the Dunmer seemed cheerful and happy.
Irvana smiled to them, showing a set of white teeth that made her face shine with sympathy. "How does the night find you?" she asked no one in particular.
Maxical flushed in embarrassment. "I'm the one that should apologize. I disturbed your thoughts. It's just...you kind of looked sad, I thought you might want them disturbed. I'd love to learn the spell if you don't mind, being able to move faster would be a big help to me."
She poked Eyja in the side. "Eyja, this is Abiene. She is a friend of Jerric's."
Eyja seemed to make a point of visibly sizing up Abiene, then tried to mitigate the offense by giving one of her cheeky grins and hiking one eyebrow at the pretty Breton. "Are you the healer I'm supposed to be finding? I seem to have contracted a few unwanted passengers from my stay at the Gray Mare, you wouldn't happen to have a cure for that, would you?"
Maxical gasped and turned beet red, taking a leap back from Eyja that put her a good distance away. "Dear gods! Wait, I thought you said you were staying with a friend? What were you doing at the Gray Mare?"
Abiene
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Abiene. “Sometimes I just have one of those sad kinds of faces.”
Maxical introduced her friend, and Eyja looked Abiene over as if taking measurements. Competition, or is she interested?
Before Abiene could really start to wonder, the Nord gave her a disarming grin. “Are you the healer I'm supposed to be finding? I seem to have contracted a few unwanted passengers from my stay at the Gray Mare, you wouldn't happen to have a cure for that, would you?”
Abiene opened her mouth and then closed it again, afraid she would laugh. It was too soon to guess at this woman’s sense of humor. And Nords were admittedly more prone to body parasites than other races. She may not be jesting.
Maxical leaped away as if she had been scalded. “Dear gods! Wait, I thought you said you were staying with a friend? What were you doing at the Gray Mare?”
“Oh my,” said Abiene. “Are the passengers external? A mild shock spell should do the trick, and then I’d be happy to heal any remaining irritation. A potion with a slight shock effect would also be effective. I’m afraid I don’t have one on me, though. Shall I shock you? It’s not a healing spell, but… well if you know Jerric then I don’t need to explain.” Abiene felt her face heat. That sounds like I’m confessing something. “I mean, not that I’ve ever— That is to say, I’ve had some practice—” Abiene had a sudden thought. “Wait, is Jerric at the Gray Mare?”
*
Maxical:
Maxical gaped at Abiene's jumbled medley of half sentences, it sounded like Maxical herself did when she had a guilty conscience. What was that all about? When the girl faltered to a stop Maxical broke in before Eyja could respond, holding her hand up and straight out as if trying to ward evil spirits from herself. "WAIT! If you shock them off her, aren't they going to jump on us?"
Eyja's lack of embarrassment about her condition was evident by her peal of laughter, but she was obviously just as intrigued as Maxical by Abiene's confused speech. The difference was that Eyja seemed to have come to some conclusion over it. Her eyes had flickered an instant understanding and then amusement after Abiene's last blurted question about Jerric.
Eyja's eyelids dropped halfway over her eyes in a sleepy way that put her at her most sultry look, the one that made Maxical's stomach feel like butter melting. It was the look Eyja always used when she was trying to get information from someone, why was she using it on Abiene? The girl had already told her how to get rid of those critters.
Eyja raised one of her mobile eyebrows twice rapidly at Abiene, then gave her an even longer and slower appraisal than she had on first meeting her. She covered a fake cough, and in a voice that sounded too innocent to be believed she asked Abiene, "Is Jerric a tallish Nord?"
Maxical gaped at Eyja, wishing she could throw a bucket of water on her. Why was she acting that way?
Eyja glanced at Maxical's aghast expression and brayed out a laugh, then gave Abiene one of her boyish grins that just missed being contrite and made a lie of her apology. "Sorry. Just playing around. A man that rode into the stables just now challenged me that I couldn't make you blush. Scaring Maxical was just a bonus."
*
Abiene
Abiene laughed, bringing her palms up to feel her cheeks. “It’s not easy to make a healer blush, but you did it!”
Eyja had one of those smiles that promised more mischief. Abiene felt her troubles lifting. Maxical and her friend were lively company.
“Anyway, all of you Nords are tall to me. You’d know if you’d met Jerric. The first thing he’d say is ‘I’m Jerric.’ And he’d be looking right here. He’d introduce himself to your bosom.”
Abiene kept her focus on Eyja’s twinkling eyes to keep herself from making the same blunder.
“Will you be in Chorrol long? Are you really staying at the Mare? I’ve heard folk say there’s something shady going on at the Oak and Crosier, but I have no idea what they mean. It seems like a nice place to me.”
*
Eyja grinned, indicating Abiene’s flushed cheeks. “I just earned a Septim the easy way.”
“Dear gods, Eyja!” The heat rose in Maxical’s cheeks too, but instead of the maidenly blush Abiene had achieved her entire face reddened to a shade a tomato might hope to achieve.
Since Eyja’s blouse was deliberately low cut to display as much of her huge breasts as possible without baring them completely, Maxical could readily believe Jerric (or any other man that crossed their path) wouldn’t be the able to stop staring at them. Eyja readily confirmed Maxical’s thought aloud to Abiene.
“That wouldn’t make him different from any other man I’ve met, I’ll need a better description than that.” Eyja gave her cheekiest grin.
Maxical moved back in closer and dug her elbow into Eyja‘s side. “No wonder they look. That blouse is so low cut it looks like someone is bent over mooning on your chest. They’re probably all just watching in anticipation that one wrong movement would reveal everything.” She turned to Abiene.
“I’ve heard that about the Oak and Crosier too! Eyja and I overheard two men talking about it not an hour ago outside the Inn. They said some thief had broken in there and when he was arrested he fell on his knees and thanked the guards for rescuing him. He said something evil was in the basement.”
Eyja nodded agreement at Abiene. ”They said originally it was a man that bought the Oak and Crosier decades ago, and the Publican who runs it now was just hired to wait tables. Next thing you know she's working behind the bar, and not long after that they married. Then shortly..."
Maxical interrupted. "Then the owner just up and disappeared soon after they wed!"
Eyja dug her meaty elbow into Maxical’s side. “Quit interrupting!” She turned back to Abiene. "He supposedly went away on a business trip over a decade ago and never returned. The Legion...”
“They think she killed him and buried him in the basement!” Maxical interjected.
Eyja covered Maxical's mouth tightly with one hand. “The Legion sent in one of their top investigators pretending to be a traveling merchant. After the Publican went to sleep he searched the place. When the investigator went into the basement he said...”
Maxical yanked the hand off her mouth and broke in. “He said the hair stood up on the back of his neck and he got a real creepy feeling, like it was haunted down there...OW! Let go of my ponytail!”
"But the investigator couldn't find any evidence." Eyja finished, then released Maxical's ponytail.
"HMPH!" Maxical flipped her freed ponytail to the other side so Eyja couldn't reach it, then turned back to Abiene. "I won't be caught dead at the Gray Mare. I heard they really do have fleas in their beds, and no bathing facilities. Eyja said her friend who lives in Chorrol will let me stay with them. I'm kind of low on Septims right now."
*
"Just fine," the Orc woman replied to Irvana. The others returned the same, but in different words. It seemed the night was the same old night they had for days. People come and go, they serve, and chat and tease and make plans amongst themselves. It ws tranquil. There was none of that loud tavern noises that Irvana came to know few times in the course of her life. This was much more soothing and friendly, and it suited her just fine. The less violence, the better.
"How are you feeling?"
Irvana turned her gaze to the Breton man. She smiled and sucked her lips in. "Better. Much better."
And then she remembered that the two women were absent. Their presence was non-existant. They were still on the hunt . . . or worse. Irvana couldn't imagine two vampire hunters slain by a pack of shrieking beasts that dwelled in those caverns but then again numbers can be overwhelming. The thought of losing them would be most . . . unbearable.
Before any of them could respond to words of improved condition, she added. "The two women. Have you heard from them?"
"Three women. The blond Imperial woman with the temper went with them."
Ah . . .
"No," the Breton said again. "They haven't returned. I'm guessing they're still out there."
That or they are sitting in plates . . . Irvana thought with a bit of regret, but out loud she said. "I hope they're safe."
"I do too," the Dunmer chimed in. "I believe they'll come back in one piece."
If they do, I hope they were succesful in executing the task.
Irvana nodded in silent agreement.
The topic brought too many negativity, and Irvana didn't feel like sticking on the topic of death for too long. Only time would tell if they came back alive, not speculation. The inn had much more to worry about.
Like, say, plans for the festival?
"I overheard you were thinking of bringing in a festival to the county," she looked at the Breton. "Red Prince Atryck's holiday would be a wonderful merriment brought to this side of Cyrodiil! I had family who spent time in High Rock and they told me so much about it. The influx of foreign people from the neighboring provinces was overwhelming. I can help sponser such an event if you truly seek to do it."
There was a bit of the girlish happiness in her voice, but she still composed herself as a mature woman. Though she didn't want to admit that she was indeed too excited to see such an event come to pass. That would be simply delightful.
Ah, Chorrol.
http://s.fixquotes.com/files/author/orlando-bloom_y2HCF.jpg took a deep breath of the clean air and stood a moment in the moonlight to appreciate the sensations he was experiencing.
The breeze caressing my skin like that of a gentle, warm maiden's trembling hands. The rustling of the soft grasses as the wind-maiden ran her loving fingers through the hairs of the earth. Her sweet breath before she laid a gentle kiss on my lips. The-
The sound of a throat clearing from behind him pulled him from his reverie. He opened his eyes and sighed, giving the woman behind him a mournful look, his dark brows knitting together.
"Must you interrupt me? It's Stefan time at the moment."
The woman behind the red cowl did not speak, only looked at him. Her light blue eyes regarded him not quite coldly, but there was little warmth behind them. Stefan often appreciated the way the leather armor hugged her body, but without knowing how her face looked, he often stopped himself from pulling the armor off in his mind.
"Shiva, one day your incessant chatter will drive me mad!" he said. She stayed silent, only staring at him. He sighed and began walking down the road, talking the whole way.
"I've got an idea for my latest book." His thick green cape rustled against a stray patch of grass as they walked down the road toward The Wobbly Goblet. Shiva stayed silent.
"Of course I'll tell you what it is. I'm so glad you asked!" He shot her a white-toothed grin, the one that disarmed many a woman in many a town. Shiva's eyes looked about instead, an odd glow in them.
She has her detect spell on. He thought. He continued anyways.
"It's about a group of friends that spend their childhood together, but an awful creature takes their memories from them when they leave the town. The twist? The creature has been feasting on the children of the town for hundreds of years. I'm going to set it nearby. I wonder if the people of Hackdirt will want to collect royalties if I use their town as inspiration."
Shiva said nothing, only cast a spell to illuminate the road ahead. Stefan again, for the umpteenth time since traveling with her, wondered what race she was. She wasn't tall enough to be a high elf, but not small enough to be a wood elf. He figured she was human, but one could never tell.
They came upon the inn, and Stefan passed the stables, as he had no horse, and threw the doors of the inn open, a wide grin on his face.
"Greetings! I desire a meal from this establishment." He sat on the barstool as Shiva took her usual place in the corner, keeping an eye out for trouble. Stefan nodded and gave a charming grin at the young raven-haired Imperial woman. She looked to be in her early twenties with a smooth face and delightfully plump lips.
"Hello." He purred. "Might I ask what your name is, my raven-haired goddess?"
Irvana was about to get a response when the front door had opened wide, and a tousled-hair man entered along with a red-robed woman that Irvana had trouble discerning her race for a moment. She had clear azure eyes that stared from an inspective face.
The man on the other hand was handsome, and wore distinct green attire that covered his body. He was human, and Irvana could guess he was an Imperial. He had the gait of a fellow with dreams, and a charmer at best. Irvana turned her attention from the two newcomers and set her eyes on the menu.
The night does bring in an array of characters . . . she wondered if people feared traveling the night now as they did many, many years ago. With all the dangerous out and about, the safest time to go would be during the day. The most malicious of creatures seem to favor the night, and only the darkest of people like witches and necromancers took to liking the dark.
But she could see that the man and the woman were simply two travelers. And by his words she could see he was very hungry, but as he approached her with that smile on his face and took a seat beside her, Irvana knew from then on that maybe this man wanted more than just food.
He fixed his eyes on her and nodded, giving her a charming smile that confirmed her initial suspicion. She’d come across many of his kind during her years, and her appearance only made them flock in like flies to the flame. Additionally, she had her own relative that was a bit of a hot-headed womanizer, though more subtle.
This one, however, went full on his seductive attempts as he gazed at her lips and smiled. Irvana did not flinch for a second, as she also studied the man. Everything about him, and after her eyes registered everything did she allow herself a slight smile, though it was more of a smirk.
He greeted her, and asked her what her name was. Irvana felt her shields go up, as natural instinct. His white-toothed smile was of course stellar, and Irvana was sure many women would be swayed. She flicked a rogue strand of black hair aside, and returned a smile that was equally as charming.
“You do me too much honor. I am no goddess,” Irvana said, and addewith a forced emphasis on her last word. “But I am flattered.”
She extended a cold hand to the man. “Irvana. And by what name do you go by?"
Ten years. The Dunmer thought to himself walking down the dusty road north to Chorrol,as he nursed a sealed urn that contained the reason he was here.
His feet began to feel the distance that had brought him here, as his eyes took in an inn near the Weynon Priory.
Don't remember that place.
For some reason his direction started to pull him there, he could smell the reason why as he neared. Burning logs, and the delectable smell of mutton that he hadn't had in over a decade. Guar, nix-hound, and other Vvardenfell creatures were fine, but they didn't compare to the tastes of home.
Perhaps less chance of being recognized here, anyways. Didn't come up this far, or this west a whole lot. He recalled his days of banditry ashamedly.
Probably think I'm an Ashlander anyways. He further thought, only to realize that he alone would probably know what that was anyways. Or just some Morrowind native... He realized the irony of the statement.
His loose, flowing garb was indeed traditional Morag Tong armor and clothing. He realized that perhaps made him a target for the local Brotherhood. He didn't care. The contents of the urn had once been a member as well. Though he wasn't the one who took it's life, he had taken the lives of plenty of other members.
But he was tired now. He wasn't here too fight, only to grieve and honor the fallen. Let come what may.
As he approached the outskirts of the Inn, a younger looking Bosmer approached him with a beaming smile.
"Good Afternoon, Sir! Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet! I'm Lowren! I'm the stablehand here, if you need anything with horses, come see me!" he started. "Uhh..do you have a horse?" He asked.
"I am..Velas...err, Sethyas. Seth is fine, if you prefer. No, I'm afraid I do not own a horse." he replied, not losing the stoic expression, realizing just how far he had actually walked.
"Well, Inn's up there, plenty of folk, food and drink right now,...if you got the coin." he smiled.
Money was the last of his concerns, as he returned the smile ever so slightly. "Sounds good."
He walked past an Argonian tending to one of the gardens, and the man stood up; stretching his back, as Sethyas passed. He gave him that neutral, calm gaze that all the Black Marsh natives seemed to possess, and nodded ever so slightly. The Dunmer returned the nod, and hoped his attire didn't offend or give the wrong message. He had freed many slaves and worked adamantly against it's institution since he was sent there. Then again, perhaps he was finally free from these misconceptions and barbaric practices while he was here.
Entering the Inn proper, he took in the residents and patrons as they did him before going about setting towards his aim. Ordering food and a room.
An Orsimer maiden approached him, introducing herself as Bograk gra-Mugshak. "I'm the proprietor of the Inn, play nice as Arbiter don't" She said bringing a hand to the very menacing club's handle, and giving an eye to his bowset and various blades.
He was so used to carrying them it didn't dawn on him that they perhaps sent a message where none was intended, he simply nodded and asked for the bill of fare and raised an eyebrow in appreciation to its selection.
"Most certainly the roast mutton, and some Tamika’s West Weald White, please." he requested. "Plus, a room for the night, if one is available." He said, as he produced a small coin bag, and produced the amount required with a small but appropriate tip.
Finally, he settled into a small table and waited for his order.
Maxical:
Eyja's head swiveled to follow the progress of a Dunmer man with an intriguing face tatoo as he made his way up to the door of the inn. "I just remembered something I meant to get at the inn."
Maxical glanced from Eyja's obvious target of interest to Abiene. The girl seemed lost in a fog of thought. Whatever was troubling her, she was too distracted to be walking alone; even if it was just the short distance to the Chorrol gates.
"Go on ahead, I'm going to escort Abiene. I think she is going to the Mages Guild in Chorrol. I'll probably be there whenever you are ready for me."
"The two of us together are a bit much for anyone this time of the morning." Eyja grinned. She gave Abiene a brief nod that went unnoticed, then set back off in the direction of the inn.
Maxical took Abiene's arm a bit protectively. "Come, Abiene. Let me help you get where you are going. Looks like you aren't well right now, I'll see you get there safely."
Eyja:
Eyja gave a quick glance around the room before spotting the Dunmer seated at one of the smaller individual tables a little farther back in the dining room. His armor was exquisite, like nothing Eyja had ever seen before. Everything about him was unusual, from the tattoo on his face to the fact that he was traveling so well armed he could have started his own war and finished it in the same afternoon.
Eyja remembered her first glimpse of Sir Damien Reynard, decades ago now. He had struck her the same way, everything about him unique when stood against other men. Who was this man? Without a doubt he came from another Province, or Eyja would have heard of him by now.
She sidled over to his table and turned at the last minute so her back was to him, but close enough that he would hear her.
"The meat here isn't that tough, no need to come so heavily armed to the table." She remained facing away from him, but turned her head back to see if her sally would bring a response from the intense Dunmer.
If he ignored her, she could walk away without the snub being witnessed by any of the other patrons, whose interest in the man's appearance was as obvious as her own; though as yet they hadn't approached him.
The Dunmer's head raised as he listened. Silent for a moment, his shoulders moved up and down as his chuckling raised.
"Aye?" He said looking over his side. "Good to know." he said as he turned around to the side.
"It's not the meat I have contest with. It's the scores of bandits on the way here. By my count, if they had united they could have taken Chorrol threefold. Pay the weapons no mind, they are of no threat to anyone. It's just a habit to carry them, and I have to provide my own security on the road." his gravelly Dunmer voice was friendly enough; if not strangely accented, it was Cyrodiilic certainly, but also heavily influenced with Dunmeri.
"I certainly wouldn't attend a formal dinner with them. Nothing beyond a traditional belt knife for bread and such." He offered, removing the ebony shortsword 'Shimsil' and placing it on the table along with his bow and quiver, the daggers; which were many, seemed too much of a pain to remove and some deeply ingrained habit seemed to refuse them being removed from his disposal.
"Sethyas Velas, formerly of Cheydinhal." he introduced himself.
"Stefan LeRoi, at your service."
He took her hand gently and lightly kissed it, then turned his attention to the door when another traveler came in. he released Irvana's hand and made mental notes of the man's appearance, jotting them down in the parchment of his memory.
The ebony sword. The robes. The extra weapons. Surely this man was a warrior of some sort.
Even if he wasn't, Stefan was already scripting the events that had led him here.
Long lost lover? No, too generic. Vengeance? Overplayed. Fallen honor?
Perfect.
Stefan's brow knit together as he watched the man's mannerisms, the young beauty beside him forgotten. A smirk raised one side of his mouth as he watched the way the man's hair brushed against his armor as he talked to the beautiful Nord woman.
Ah, a fiery affair, one night stand. I'll show that Scribonia wench how to write a novel!
He absently took a sip of the wine beside him.
Oh this is most precious . . .
Stefan LeRoi. The name evoked a series of written works in Cyrodiil that gave Irvana a good reason why she still was a fan of the works and poetry. This man's work, however, was so controversial that his books had been taken off the shelves for being downright disturbing, offensive and overwhelmingly lewd. But vulgar and offensive material is not what lured Irvana to his works. The macabre inspirations, dark tales and horrors is what attracted her to his stories.
From what she has read she understood that LeRoi took inspirations from various sources, often based on reality and true events, and molds them into his own legends with a spark of his imagination, thus crafting a yarn that has been considered either horrifically terrific to slovenly distasteful.
As the door behind her opened and another person entered, Irvana's focused was shifted from her freshly kissed hand to the man himself. She watched as he looked at the door with curiosity. His brows furrowed, and he studied the man who entered, which she already registered by the reflection on the silverware on the table.
The man who entered sat, made his order, and introduced himself to a Nord woman who initiated conversation with him. He was a Dunmer, and either a warrior or some rogue. Heavily armored to the teeth to prevent certain doom from the infestation of bandits around these areas.
Irvana had the desire to cast a smile, but she continued to look at LeRoi with her alluring eyes. Two swords is enough for her to defend herself against a pack of brigands or her own bare hands. Lightning and fire often worked best, or having them tear their own eyes out in the illusion of fear was useful, too. But as a modest young woman, killing directly was never the best way to go about things. Sometimes, doing things by oneself was too dangerous, and sometimes there were those days where people were simply dying to lend a bow or an enchanted sword to help. And that was fine, nay, it was perfect. A good reason hiring bodyguards was useful, or a mercenary-for-hire.
She blinked once and flicked aside her hair, exposing her swan-like throat. "A pleasure, Stefan. You have me sitting here curious as to what brings you to this tavern."
She bit her lip. "If you'll allow me to guess, wheels to help set your latest story into motion?"
Then came the smile, and the white set of perfect teeth of Irvana that said: Oh yes, Stefan, I know just who you are.
Eyja:
"Hail then, SethyasVelas. I am Eyja." She pounded her fist to her chest lightly in salute. Eyja's eyes fell to the blade he'd removed. Ebony, and honed sharp enough to cut a hair from the look of it. This man didn't just carry blades, he knew them.
Eyja's eyes slid expertly over the man for other weapons. The unusual cuirass blocked checking any he may have hidden higher than his waist. Her eyes scanned his waist sash and down to his boots counting hilts. Daggers, lots of them; and each as unusual as the next. Jeweled hilts, beautiful inlay and etched patterns.
One dagger is defense, this many is an expert. Eyja guessed he was a higher echelon assassin, and good at what he did.
Sitting on the seat next to him was an urn. Eyja scanned her mind for any Dunmer she'd killed that had relatives in another Province. There were none. She breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't here for her at least.
When Sethyas followed the shortsword with his bow and quiver, Eyja held out her hand to stay him from removing anymore.
"Please do not feel you must remove them. It was just a tease to start a conversation. You wear them very well, and if you remove more people will think I am holding you up."
While she talked she sized up the bow and arrows he'd laid out. The arrows were longer than any she had seen before.
The bow showed mellowing of age. This man had been using this bow for some time. Eyja made a quick calculation in her mind. The way that bow was made, and the length of those arrows; these could kill from a great enough distance that the archer would never even be seen or considered.
How strong Sethyas must be to pull that bow back. His armor and gauntlets covered the arms, but there was no doubt he was built well under that armor.
"I've no doubt the next travelers through will not be held up, I'd wager you've done Cyrodiil a service in making the roads safe for others. I'm actually tempted to take a walk south just to count bodies."
She gave a cheeky grin to distract him while she studied his face. His eyes were as intense as he was, that quiet demeanor was no act. His eyes looked tired, but not the kind of tired sleep would cure...and not too tired to act if needed.
The tattoo caught her eye again. She tried not to stare, but the tattoo...it almost looked like a black hand covering his mouth.
Eyja felt a slight shiver as that thought hit. The Black Hand. Maybe the Dark Brotherhood had sent an assassin after her. This guy looked like he could get the job done.
He had stopped after shimsil, but acquiesced at the statement.
"I needed to take them off anyways. They grow heavy." He studied her face carefully as her eyes flitted over the weapons, he took a quick glance over at the pair seated.
A Cyrodiilic-looking man seeming to flirt or otherwise engage in conversation with a woman. She pretended too keep interest in the man, he perceived. But she was a dangerous sort he suspected. There was such a thing as being *to good* of an actor. She seemed as though she could convince a Nord to buy snow.
"I doubt they will either. They seem to be rather aggressive out here. I'm more used the option being given of surrendering my gold before they attack. I even met one once, years ago that became a friend of sorts even." He replied, thinking of Nels Llendo in Pelagiad.
"But, I don't litter the countryside with them, the bodies have been taken care of." he said matter-of-factly. "Um, buried that is. As I have respect for the dead, and it would make my journey here a bit ironic if I did not." he gestured to the Urn.
He suspected that there was something on his face in what seemed like a flash of something behind her smile. He realized that there was always something on his face.
"The tattoo? Aye. It's not war paint which would have been kinder by whoever put it there. I've had it since before I walked. I didn't even know what it meant until I arrived in Morrowind, and that was only a handful of years ago. Something to do with local custom and religion apparently." he offered.
"I may not look it, but I was raised as a Cyrod. By the Stendarr orphanage as a matter of fact. Given the tattoo and the fact I was in Cheydinhal very near the border, I suspect my forebears were a very traditional type." Though he had in fact no clue to who his parents really were.
"And." he lowered his voice a bit. "They are of no threat to anyone, so long as they are of no threat to me." he said as he placed a hand gently on one of his blades, but maintained a tone in his voice making it clear that he was not issuing a threat, a friendly warning at worst, sensing some sort of discomfort. He could just have been reading too much into things.
*
Eyja raised her brows when she heard he'd buried the bandit's bodies. Not many would, unless they were covering a trail that may be followed. Even she could tell when a bandit had been killed by an expert instead of in a brawl they were overcome in. Then he mentioned Stendarr.
Her brows knit. He could be religiously inclined. He did have a quiet way about him that bespoke of someone who followed those paths. Eyja came to a quick decision. She was going to come clean with him, and hope for the best. If he was here to assassinate her, she would prefer to know it before he had one of those daggers at her throat.
"I know nothing of the Stendarr beliefs or worship. My only gods have been survival and revenge. I am no threat to you unless someone has paid for it to be so, and none have. If they did, I would give them their gold back before attempting it. I am no match for you, and know my limitations."
Eyja watched his eyes carefully before finishing her thought. "The tattoo does your face justice, it wasn't meant to be offensive if I stared. You see, I have made some enemies, and they use a black hand as a symbol of their organization. Your tattoo has the look of that black hand. My concern is that you are here for me."
He may not tell her if in truth he was here to assassinate her, but there was an unwritten honor among assassins that she hoped her honesty with him would provoke. If he was, she was going to bolt like a rabbit and hope to outrun him.
*
He raised his eyebrows in surprise as her sudden confession. Fear certainly wasn't something he was expecting he inspired, which seemed to be the motivation. Then again he knew how assassin's were. They were paranoid by nature. They expected the worst, because they caused the worst.
"Well then. I don't follow the Nine, though I'm well aware of their lore." he started.
"I'll tell you plainly. I follow Mephala." he said, seeing if she knew the implications. Whether she did or not, he continued. "This garb is commonly seen on agents of the Morag Tong in the east."
"That means I'm not here for you. Only the Dunmer under the Temple, and outland members of the Great Houses are subject to a writ of assassination. Unlike the Brotherhood, we deliver justice not indiscriminate murder." His eyes looked off to the side for a second. "Usually."
"Black Hands are an ancient symbol for all Assassins, dried blood, innocence lost, dirt from shame, hidden in shadow. The interpretations are as innumerable as the methods for their trade."
"The tattoo is actually a relief of the Tribunal Temple's symbol, indicating Mephala, notice the different shape." he said pointing to the outlines briefly. "Which wasn't my choice for it to be placed there, nor is it required upon joining the Tong. It was simply coincidence, fitting, perhaps poetic, but still coincidence."
"As far as the Brotherhood goes, well, I suppose you may say the enemy of my enemy is my friend..." he mused. "But as far as killing you; or anyone else for that matter, it is not the reason I am here. I am tired of the slaughter, and only wish to complete my duty for this funerary rite."
"You might want to use this information for leverage. Myself, I would certainly at least consider it. But, if the Dark Brotherhood learn I am here, blood will most certainly be spilled. If it happens that I am fortunate enough that it is not mine, then I might consider an attempt on your life." he finished.
"Besides. If I've learned anything, it's that anyone can die." He glanced at the urn. "I wouldn't underestimate you in that scenario, why should you underestimate yourself?"
"Armor, weapons, magic. Meaningless when death is on the line, unless you know how to use them to stop it. Read the person, and not the cards they're holding. I suspect you already do as well, anyways. No, by being open to a certain extent and folding my hand, I hope to make it clear that I'm not here for the grand game. Though, I could be either very stupid or very brave all the same." he smiled slightly.
"As far as making enemies of that magnitude; I don't know your story in that regard, but you very well could be as well. The fact that you're alive and telling me all this also speaks well of your skills. Another reason I would not be so quick to dismiss you." He said with a slight squint.
Stefan's attention was drawn back to the beauty as she spoke to him. the raven hair that framed her face set off her pale skin in the most delicious way. He found himself studying different parts of her face, memorizing each moment and storing it away.
She mentioned his book, and he gave her a grin. Ah. A fan.
"You caught my, my dear." He gave an innocent shrug and sipped the wine again. "I am, once again, finding myself roaming the Cyrodiilic countryside in search of that perfect heroine. That one woman that every man desires to bed in that fit of passion, that one woman whose beauty and charm and and wit is matched by her unforgettable beauty." He ran his eyes up and down her form briefly.
"Tell me, what do you know of daedra, dear heart?" He sipped his wine yet again and set the glass upon the bar and leaned in close so only she could hear him.
"Have you ever felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as they seared their desires, their longings, into your soul? Choking upon their will as it's forced down your throat, the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by someone much...more...powerful?" He whispered the last three words into her ear before pulling away, a languid smile on his face. he reached over and lightly brushed a stray lock of hair from her neck.
"You have lovely skin, dear heart. Unblemished, pure. Tell me, would you like your beauty immortalized in one of my works?"
*
Eyja:
Eyja felt the relief wash over her. He made it clear that unless she turned on him, he could be trusted.
She shook her head. "I know nothing of Mephala other than she is considered one of the good Daedra and connected in some way with the Morag Tong. What little I know of the Morag Tong is that their assassinations are only done by writ, like government contracts." She paused, glancing back at the other patrons to make sure they hadn't come closer.
"Any information I gather on others stays with me unless they become enemies; and then only use it as leverage against them to their face, blackmail. I've never turned over any innocent or friend to another for my own gain. I spoke of my gods being survival and revenge. The revenge is why the Dark Brotherhood has become my enemy. One of their members killed my sister, and I sought revenge. I was but a child when it started, made some mistakes I wish I could take back. I too am tired of the slaughter, but...you live what you have become. This is my life now, and I have to embrace it with no regrets because regrets won't change anything. As long as your blade is not intended for me, you can count me as friend should you need one. If trouble finds you, find me and we'll end it together." Eyja pounded her chest as a vow.
She indicated the urn at his side. "I take it this was a friend you cared deeply for. You have my deepest sympathies for your loss. I carried the ashes of my sister with me for the first decade, but by then the war had become my own. I finally had to let her rest and carry out the battle I started alone."
*
Irvana seemed charmed, interested and captivated by the man's charming words and seductive demenaour. She knew that he found her attractive, that much was certain. The way he set his eyes on her entire body from head to toe, and the gentle touch of pushing aside a strand of hair spoke volumes of this man just as his books did.
"Tell me, what do you know of daedra, dear heart?" Stefan asked before sipped his wine, and then he set it down to speak within inches from her face. "Have you ever felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as they seared their desires, their longings, into your soul? Choking upon their will as it's forced down your throat, the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by someone much...more...powerful?"
What do I know about the daedra? She asked herself. Entirely too much. Books upon books, notes over notes and novels on top of novels and experience after experience granted her a vast knowledge of the daedra. But why brag? Why tell the world one's knowledge of something when the truth can be spoken in just a few words. Words which Irvana heard come from her mouth. "I know some things about the Daedra." She confessed with a sheepish smile.
When the question came if she would be long remembered in his book, she clasped her hands together and released a light gasp. "Stefan! We've barely met and already you desire to give such a privilage to a woman you hardly know."
She wasn't complaining. Rather, making a loud observation. "I am not sure what I have done to deserve this . . . Oh, fie! I would be honored to be the instrument that will aid in your next novel."
She excused herself, raised her finger, ordered a bit of non-alcoholic drink and turned her attention and her body to Stefan LeRoi. She set her hand on the counter and rested on her elbow as she spoke. "I am a fan of your works, Stefan. They rival the bestselling novels in the empire, and though they have attracted much negative attention from the public, there are those who respect these fictional tales."
"You know," she added with eyes glowing bright with enthusiasm of a young child. "There is an old story, long forgotten in the mists of time to the majority but preserved by a handful. A legend here in Cyrodiil of a young Breton woman. It is a story meant to frighten children told by superstitious villagers but it is quite a dark tale, full of omens that speaking of it is said to rouse curses. It always intruiged me when I heard about it as a little girl despite it giving me nightmares for hours on end in the middle of the night."
"Perhaps you may want to borrow ideas from it and weave it into your story?" She drank half her cup. "Would you like to hear it?"
*
Maxical:
Maxical wrapped an arm around Abiene and guided her carefully, talking quietly to her as she did. "Come along, dearest Abiene. We will get to the Mages Guild. I think you may need healing. I can't heal at all, not even myself; or I would help you. Come along dear, not much further."
Maxical glared at the gate guards for staring interestedly rather than offering assistance. "Where is the Mages Guild here in Chorrol?"
The guard pointed straight ahead, but a large statue was in the way.
"Thanks for all your help there, yeah." Maxical fumed.
***********
Earana elbowed Honditar. "Looky looky what we have coming. Today is looking up for me already."
Honditar eyed the Khajiit steering their healer around the statue. "A white one, never seen that before."
"Looks like she's already drunk, the healer is having to all but carry her."
"You've got it wrong, Earana. She is helping the healer." Honditar hurried forward to help, followed by Earana.
"Has something happened to Abiene? Here, let us assist you."
The similarities of their stories made him raise an eyebrow. For it was his own sister's remains in the Urn. She was the former member of the Dark Brotherhood.
"Well. If I come across a situation I cannot handle alone, I doubt I'd be able to return for your assistance. But, fair enough."
"You don't know of Mephala, which is good and bad." He commented. "And I know of the regret that leads to the ashen expressions and the masks we wear. I quote from the guildbook: 'The Black Glove': 'Do you have your friends and your finery, but no place to go? Do you laugh and cry, but no longer feel? Do you wear these masks? Then, perhaps, your oath and service may please the Black Glove.'
"The doctrines of my guild can be strange, even terrifying to those who don't know the true meanings behind them. Murder is a sacred art, despite being legal we maintain our traditions of secrecy and skillset...deception..." He started thinking aloud.
"It wasn't until I joined the guild that the world started to make sense to me. When I made my first kill; in self-defense mind you, what truly frightened me wasn't the the blood or the death. What frightened me was my hands. They were still, calm." he recalled with a measure of regret to his own tone.
"When I met my former tutor and master in the Tong; a traditional and native Dunmer, and priest of Mephala, he was the first person who ever told me that there was nothing wrong with me. Indeed, he called me talented. My self-loathing would not hear him of course. Not until much later. One of the first things he taught me was causality."
"Cause and effect is the only truth that lies behind our perceptions. When the rain falls, we call it good because it is beneficial for our survival. But if that same rain were to not stop in balance with our need, and caused flooding and ruined our crops, we call it bad. But the rain is still just the rain."
"In order to deceive, there must be a need. If a venomous snake were to crawl under a table with many patrons, and we knew that the sudden motion would inevitably cause at least one to be struck and likely die, the need for a deception would be present. We would immediately make a game, offering large amounts of gold for the last person who would not move, while the other secretly take care of the creature."
"These blades have two sides. One could be called good, the other bad. But it is still just what it is. It is what you do with it, that defines it's state. Otherwise, it is only what it is."
"Ruthlessness, cunning, deceit. I am capable of these things, when and where they have a need." Sethyas offered.
"But I also never do anything that goes against my own sense of honor. Maybe not sense of right and wrong. But, honor. Then again, there are some things that truly wrong, things that would not be palatable to the worst of us. If you witnessed a child slain by a soldier, would you feel nothing? Or would that Soldier be able to count his final breaths on one hand?"
"Act in accordance with your own honor, and though the world may call you what they wish, you alone know that you hold your honor. For you alone must always be with yourself. You can walk away from other people, banish them from your life, but you can never do this to yourself." he said with a sense of regret to his voice.
*
Eyja looked him fully in the face, showing him what the mask she always wore hid. Without the cheekiness and flirtation she looked like she may have decades back before all this started, a frightened child whose only tie in this world lay in the sack of ashes she cradled.
"It was like you said, no where to go. I know that mask well and have worn it long. I'd stopped feeling before I turned fifteen. A man much like your tutor pulled me from the mess I'd gotten myself into that year, but couldn't stop the war I'd started. So he taught me well how to fight it."
She shivered and when she looked back at him her face was once again the poised beauty that had approached him originally.
"None but my mentor have ever seen below that mask, till you just now. It takes me back to places I don't want to ever go again, but they are always there beneath the surface. This mask I wear; yes it is a deception needed for my job; but it is also a protection for me. It keeps me from feeling what you just saw."
Eyja took a deep breath and exhaled it before finishing what she was saying.
"Yes, I am sick of the slaughter. But have you ever wondered what you would do if not this? We who have lived this are not made for the life others enjoy. Marriage, having a home and children. That is something I have long since realized. The alternative, to hole up in an isolated cabin and spend the rest of our days in hiding and alone...I would hate that worse. So I keep working. And actually, the last years have been without killing. I am acting as bodyguard to a young girl who is in the service of Cyrodiil."
Eyja gave her boyish grin. "And must do it without her realizing I am there by commission."
*
Stefan's interest was piqued.
"Do tell, dear heart. Any story that is so horrid, that it brings ill will to those who speak of it, is worth hearing. Though, one might wonder, if the story is cursed, how was it passed down so willingly?" He gave her a genuine smile, devoid of any charm or flirtation, changing his dark eyes from piercing to playful and a split second. He showed her his own white teeth as he let out a throaty chuckle, enjoying his own observation.
He saw a flicker of something in her eyes. She's on to me. He thought. He leaned his own elbow on the bar, mirroring her movements from earlier. It's always more fun when they know. he turned his charming smile back on, still showing his own straight, white teeth.
She was a smart one. Oftentimes the younger ones didn't catch up to his game until after they woke up the next morning, his side of the bed long cooled, clutching the parchment with words describing their beauty, penned by his own hand, clutched to their breast.
"Tell me this story, dear heart, and do not leave a word out."
"What I would do?" He stop and considered, it was odd as he was...unique.
Theoretically he would live much longer than even Dunmer were supposed too. He could die by violence, but never from disease or age. In fact, if what he perceived and lived through in that Dragon Break was real, he was already 372, and not the thirty-one years of age he measured for continuity's sake. Then again, there was no way to say if all of it was real or a hallucination within the jills of Akatosh.
"If you survive long enough. All this becomes history. Ink on parchment gathering dust on a bookshelf." he thought, fingering a journal in his satchel.
"If you choose to carry it past that, you are the only one who suffers." he mused.
"There is a concept that is strange and alien to our kind. Forgiveness." he thought aloud, stroking his chin, then looked at her.
"Forgiveness is not the same thing as forgetting or accepting. I've heard it said the naive forgive and forget, the foolish neither forgive or forget, and the wise forgive, but not forget."
"When you forgive, be it yourself; which is most important, or others, you are not saying what happened was right. You are saying we are all mortal and capable of mistakes. If as a child you were too weak to prevent what happened, be grateful for the motivation it gave you to become strong."
"But, forgive yourself for being a child. It was unfair certainly, but such things should not be brought upon children in the first place. And the weak of mind and poor of spirit would only sink so low as too terrorize innocents such as these." he said with a dark tone.
"Rise above it. Aye, easier said than done, I know. But you are what you do. As actions follow thoughts, so our thoughts stem from us. The pain can make you better, or it can make you bitter. It's a choice. But we are not our thoughts, we can identify with them, act upon them, but...we can always change our mind. The gift and the burden of our Free Will."
"As to what I would do...everything. I'd be a penniless Alchemist living in a shack. I'll join a shipyard and become a dock worker. I'll sail to distant lands and take on local customs and adventure. Until I do any of these things, how can I say I wouldn't like them?"
"We....we're good at what we do. It doesn't have to define us. Though our hands may be black, they can also hold other things. A shovel, a spoon, a quill. It doesn't matter what shade we see, a scar is word written on our skin and our minds. But you are the page."
"When the time comes for this life too pass on and I must wear another set of roles like so much robes, I will. I'm free to be anything I wish. As are you."
"But, fulfill this...interesting contract. It seems you are part of something greater. Where there is need for our kind, we answer the call. We don't have to be evil. We can be a part of causality. And sometimes, death is the only answer to the question at hand. Indeed, we can be agents for a noble cause. If my hypothetical soldier were to live on, who knows what other evils he might visit upon the world? We exist for a reason. We take on the burden that other's cannot bear. I see a mixed blessing in this. Even predator's must have a predator to keep them in check, this is how I see it anyway."
*
Eyja took in everything he'd said. In many ways it could have been Foxy speaking, they were much alike in their thoughts; in their advice.
"May I live long enough that all this becomes naught but dust on a parchment then. We Nords don't have the long life expectation that you have, being Dunmer. As you said, what we do for a living shortens any expectancy we may have had. It is too late for forgiveness over the death of my sister, that time has long since passed. They don't even care why I battled them now, they only know I did and that has made me a target of theirs just as they were mine once. Now it is only survival that I continue to fight the Dark Brotherhood. One of us must survive, I want it to be me."
Eyja glanced out the window, and was surprised to see the sun had traveled well behind the inn. The rays of light were slanted almost horizontally.
"The years have given you wisdom few possess, you have given me much to think about. I hope we meet again some time, Sethyas Velas. I could learn much from you. I do not make vows lightly, should you need me send a signal and I will come. You have my pledge on that." Eyja pounded her fist firmly against her chest, reconfirming the vow she'd made earlier.
Eyja paused for a minute as a thought struck her. She untied a pocket of her pack and felt around till she found what she was looking for. She held out a tiny child's ring to him.
"This is the signal. This was mine as a child. It has no value, but I've never seen another like it. Send that with anyone and a coded message of your location. I can break any code, and I'll know it comes from you no matter what name you sign. If you send this, I will find you."
Eyja's cheeks flushed as she continued. "I am known widely, notorious as a prostitute. It is a role that gets me in anywhere I want to go. Many men from all over send me jewelry with boldly flirtatious notes attached. It is the best way messages can be sent without alerting anyone that you are sending one. If you want me to bring a platoon with me, tell me to bring a certain pair of boots you like to see me in; choose any kind of boot. Boots on the ground is what I'll bring, my own men. They were trained by the same man I was, my mentor. I can access them within hours. If you request more than one pair of boots I will bring an army, but it will take days to amass them. If you don't mention boots, I come alone."
Eyja put the ring into the palm of his hand, then tied her travel pack closed.
"You are right, my charge awaits, and has a penchant for falling into trouble where none existed till she arrived. I had best take my leave and go find her. It has been a pleasure talking with you, Sethyas Velas."
*
He took it with a nod and a smirk.
"Then, it would be a pleasure to make use of your services." he chuckled.
"There is a rare form of magic not often seen outside Morrowind." he said taking out a simple amulet on a leather cord. It was a simple silver coin with a hand that matched his tattoo's shape.
"I don't know if your familiar with 'translocation', the Mages Guild and the Telvanni Mage-Clans out there teach it under the College of Mysticism. They have scrolls called 'Divine Intervention' and 'Almsivi Intervention' that will magically transport the user to the closest Imperial Cult Shrine or Tribunal Temple. These are usually used by travellers out there for a last ditch effort to save their skins."
"A more advanced aspect is the 'Mark' and 'Recall' spell. You can anchor yourself to any point in the world with the Mark spell. You can then return at anytime to that same spot; instantly, by casting 'Recall'. This amulet works along those lines. Except I myself am the 'Mark', and activating the amulet will 'recall' you to wherever I am, while simultaneously casting a 'Mark' from where you left."
"Meaning, if you ever have need of me and my services, you have but to activate the amulet, wherever I am, you will be translocated there and then we can return to where you were."
"But." He warned. "The material is not highly enchantable, so using it destroys the item. Meaning you can only use it once, so be certain of your need before using it. But, if you're too scared too think it through, that probably does mean you need it. Plus enchanting them is expensive, almost prohibitively so, as I know of only one enchanter that is capable of making them." The Altmer in Indoranyon, no less. He thought, thinking of the reclusive wizard that he almost killed in the ancient Dunmer Stronghold.
"I do not have access to an army, but...I have taken the lives of many, many beings. Be they mortal or otherwise, if death is possible to grant, I usually find a way to impart the gift. Now, if your facing down an entire army...well...that's a bit out of my league I am afraid. There is strength in admitting that one is outclassed."
He handed the amulet to her, and granted her leave.
"It was a pleasure to speak with you as well, Eyja."
*
Eyja gave a genuine laugh at his joke. Her brows raised in surprise at the amulet and her cheeks flushed deeply, feeling the honor of him bestowing something he may need himself.
"I will pray to Mephala that you never have need of this yourself since you have bestowed it on me then, and that I never need it so I can return it to you intact one day. If you are facing an army, send for my boots and they will fight on your side. You have my promise on it."
Eyja slipped the amulet over her neck and held the coin in her hand as she gave him a small hesitant smile. "Maybe fate brought our meeting, that when the time comes neither of us will part this realm. I hope that is so, I would not want to know I still lived and you were not on Nirn because I wore your amulet. Hail, Sethyas. Hail, and long life to you."
Eyja made her way across the dining room toward the door, feeling the heaviness of that wish. If he got in a bad situation now, she held his means of escape. She may need to become a devout worshipper of Mephala just so her prayers for his safety be heeded.
*
*
Maxical:
Maxical was startled from her daydream of Casta Scribonia by the door opening and a Bosmer man popping his head in.
"Please, Sir." Maxical waved him in.
"You must be the new Associate. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Athragar. How can I serve you?"
"Miss Abiene took ill after drinking some tea at that inn outside the Chorrol gates. I think someone may have slipped something in her drink. Can you heal her? I have no healing magic at all."
"Teekeeus said you are from the Arcane University. Maybe someday I'll be able to move there. Training and spells, training and spells. It gets so boring here after a while."
"Yeah, yeah. Sounds real boring. Now will you look at Abiene please? She may have been poisoned. There were lots of men there, a pretty Breton woman alone. Maybe one slipped something in her drink."
Athragar's eyes lit with intrigue. "Ah, I see what you mean. Let me see what I can do." He stood over the bed and appeared to be more ogling Abiene than diagnosing her.
"Sir..."
"Yes, I see. I see." He started casting a white mist over her.
Maxical breathed a sigh of relief. An older Redguard woman tiptoed silently up to the door and peeked in.
"Are you the new Associate? Teekeeus said you were a student of the Arcane Arts. Perhaps you know my husband? Alberic Litte. I'm Carmen Litte. My husband is the sorcerer here, in fact; my husband is the Advanced Trainer in Conjuration for the Mages Guild."
Maxical scowled at her. Why did she keep opening every sentence with 'my husband'? Was she marking her territory?
"Let me stop you before you feel the need to start urinating on the bedposts. I am married, and have no interest in your husband or any other man."
"I don't know what you could mean..."
"Listen, if you can heal, will you come in here and help poor Abiene? I think someone slipped her poison at that inn across from the south gate. There were many men in there, a pretty woman like her..."
That was the wrong thing to say, Mrs. Litte's lips drew into a tight line. Maxical's temper was starting to build.
"Perhaps I'd best call your husband in here to check her."
"No need for that, Restoration is not his field."
"Well if it isn't yours, then please make yourself scarce. Find someone to help Athragar, will you?"
Maxical poked Athragar in the ribs. "Keep going, you're doing great. I'll get someone up here to help you."
She didn't have to wait long. Teekeeus came thumping up next. "What is going on here? Carmen tells me you were rude to her!"
"I...she...you don't understand! She was marking her territory around here like a dog, I was afraid she'd lift her leg next. And Abiene has been poisoned, some man at that inn across the road put something in her tea, trying to knock her out and have his way probably."
"These are serious charges, can you prove it?"
"I will go investigate it myself if you can heal her. I can't, I have no healing magic."
"I thought you said you were university trained?"
"Well...I am, but I couldn't pass everything."
"OUT! You connived your way in here on a ruse, a lie! And I want your key back, and that charter I gave you!"
Maxical dropped the key and book in his hand and fled down the two flights of stairs to the lobby. She ground to a halt there, glancing around for Casta Scribonia. She was gone. The idea hit Maxical that she may catch her outside walking. She hurried through the doors and scanned the streets, empty with the exception of the Altmer woman Earana, who hailed her.
"Hey, Earana; did you happen to see the famous author Casta Scribonia leave the Mages Guild since I went in? I was hoping to talk to her."
"Well you're a bold little thing, aren't you? As a matter of fact, Casta Scribonia will be visiting me in my room at the Gray Mare shortly. Come wait for her with me, and I'll introduce you."
"You will? Oh thank you!" Maxical fell into step beside Earana.
*
Abiene in Chorrol
Abiene woke confused. White light blinded her, and something was holding her down. She struggled for a moment before realizing that she was simply tucked into bed.
A bald Bosmer came into view as the bright light faded. “Athragar? Did you just cast a spell on me? What’s happening?”
Athragar jumped in his seat. “You’re awake! I, uh…”
Abiene sat up and glared. “Did you just try to heal me?” she demanded. “Where’s Maxical? How did I get here?”
Teekeeus spoke from the doorway. “That cat tried to weasel her way into the Guild with some story about you being poisoned. Ha! Everyone thinks they’re a Scribonia.” He brandished a key and a copy of the Guild charter.
Athragar’s eyes were traveling. “She thought someone knocked you out so they could have their way.” The Bosmer’s expression said he found Abiene to be an unlikely target.
Abiene pushed herself upright, kicking off the covers. “What in the name of Mara—”
Teekeeus gave a disdainful sniff more worthy of an orc’s nostrils. “She probably did it to you herself. You never know with those furred folk. I saw through her ruse. She won’t get a key that easily!”
“Maxical is a University graduate!” Abiene objected. But Teekeeus had already turned away.
Athragar raised his hands. “Now if you’ll just hold still—”
“Stop!” Abiene shot out of the bed and staggered, her head spinning. “What are you casting? You’re an Alteration trainer! Surely you’re not trying to heal me!”
“It’s a Shield spell,” he lied. Athragar reached out and gave her a pinch to demonstrate, making her jump. “Oops, I meant to grab your arm.”
“Then it didn’t work!” Abiene rubbed her bosom with one hand and smacked Athragar with the other.
“Stand down, Journeyman!” he cried, waving his own hands about. “You probably just resisted the spell! Too bad you didn’t resist whatever poisoned you.”
Abiene sat back down on the bed. “All right Athragar, let there be peace between us.” She ran her hands over her hair, checking for disarray. The signs of assault could easily be removed from the body, but few knew how to repair love-tangled curls.
Carmen Litte appeared in the doorway, silently glaring.
No wonder her husband sleeps so often at the Guild hall, thought Abiene. She looks like she swallowed a lemon. Wait, is this his bed?
“We have the situation under control,” Athragar informed Carmen. He raised his hands again, but a look from Abiene stopped him from casting.
“How long have I been here?” Abiene asked Carmen. The woman was so proud and jealous surely she monitored every female who came into the hall.
“Forty-seven minutes,” Carmen snapped. She crossed her arms under her breasts and boosted them up a little.
Abiene noticed that they were wearing similar tops. She let honey drip from her tone. “Have you seen your husband this morning? I have something for him.” Abiene leaned back a little on the bed.
Carmen left in a huff.
Athragar gave Abiene a reassessing glance. The familiar Bosmer twinkle glinted in his eyes.
“She is needlessly unpleasant,” Abiene explained, sitting back up.
“You don’t need to tell me,” said Athragar.
Abiene lifted her hands to her face, trying to piece the last hours together. She remembered leaving the Goblet in a mental fog, walking with Maxical along the road, and then pressing her nose against the most wonderful smelling male chest. Honditar, she remembered. Goodness, I’ve never thought of him that way before! Then Athragar and his dubious ministrations.
“Where is Maxical?” she asked again.
Athragar seemed to have given up trying to practice on her. “She’s probably chasing down Casta Scribonia. Your friend seemed quite impressed by meeting her.” He clasped his hands together in his lap. “You really should tend to yourself, Abiene. You look pale. Even for you.”
Abiene cast a simple spell, not expecting to find anything.
She gasped out loud. An infection in my blood? How..? One hand went reflexively to her throat.
“What is it?” asked Athragar, leaning forward. “You know, I could have a gift for Restoration. I’ve never been adequately trained or tested! Then I could practice at the Anvil Guild instead of here in cold crappy Chorrol. Oh, the Gold Coast beaches!”
Did I catch it from someone at the Dibella Wayshrine? she wondered. I’ve only healed injuries since then.
Athragar’s face was bright and eager. “Well, could you put in a good word for me?”
“Do you really think someone might have poisoned my tea?” Abiene asked him. “It’s true, there is a taint of something in my blood. I must have been baked out of my mind on the way here.” She blushed when she realized she had used one of Jerric’s expressions.
Athragar’s eyebrows went up. “Do you… indulge? Perhaps as part of your worship? You know, during… rituals?” The mer was practically drooling.
“No! What? What rituals?” How in sixteen realms does he know about that?
The mer leaned back, disappointed.
Abiene breathed a sigh of relief. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to try to make sense of this situation. I’ll need to return to the Goblet tonight in any case. I’ll need to send a message, will you see that it gets to the chapel?” Abiene reached out and took Athragar’s arm. “I appreciate your help today, Athragar. I do not wish to give you false hope about changing fields, but I am more than pleased at your interest in Restoration. I will gladly train you privately, or we can make it a matter of record at the Guild if you wish. I do not need your coin, but I would be grateful for your friendship. And your discretion.”
Athragar patted her hand, beaming up at her in agreement.
Abiene completed her business in the Guild hall. Then she stepped out into Great Oak Plaza looking for a glimpse of her friend, or perhaps evidence of the mayhem that seemed to follow dear Maxical.
Eyja:
Eyja spotted Abiene heading toward the great oak, and hurried forward calling her. "Abiene, have you seen Maxical? I can't find her anywhere, I've asked everyone." She indicated Earana standing idly near the circle of seats.
"That woman Earana said she and Honditar helped Maxical bring you to the Mages Guild hall and haven't seen her since. Is she in the Mages Guild hall? Some big Argonian was quite rude when I tried to question him, wouldn't let me inside the Mages Guild to look for her."
Abiene in Chorrol
“I’m looking for her too, Eyja. Teekeeus chased her out of the Guild hall, apparently. That’s the big Argonian. Athragar said she may be with Casta Scribonia. Do you know her?”
Abiene leaned against a bench for a moment, catching her breath. Whatever happened to me isn’t over yet, she thought. Then she brushed her concerns away. A quick Restore Fatigue spell… She cast it absently while scanning the streets for a redheaded Khajiit.
“I remember Honditar, but I can’t say if Earana was with us. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I wasn’t myself this afternoon. Shall I help you find her? Does she know anyone else in Chorrol?”
*
Eyja:
Eyja felt panic rising in her when she heard Maxical wasn't inside the Mages Guild, but she relaxed when she heard the name Casta Scribonia.
Eyja shook her head. "She has never been to Chorrol before, but I'll bet you are right about Casta Scribonia. Maxical is a rabid fan of her romance novels. If Maxical bugs her too much chattering in her ear, Scribonia is liable to make her next story a murder mystery."
She grinned, but the grin dropped immediately into concern when Abiene leaned on the bench and seemed to be struggling to breathe.
"Say, you really aren't well, are you." Eyja took hold of Abiene's wrist. "Your pulses are racing, you'd better sit down."
Eyja didn't bother with gentleness or permission; but in one swift motion cut her knee under Abiene and slid her forward, plopping Abiene down into the bench she'd been leaning on.
"Sorry about that, just keeping you from falling and hitting your head." She said abstractedly, tipping Abiene's head back and looking probingly closely into her eyes.
"I noticed this earlier when we were talking in the road. Your pupils were dilated. Now the whites of them are a charcoal blue. You have either been poisoned or have a blood disease, one that is not common to this area. Where have you been? What have you been exposed to?"
Eyja dug in her pack, producing a vial. She pulled the corked stopper and handed it to Abiene. "This is an extremely pure potion that will cure poisonings. It was made by Arch Mage Hannibal Traven himself, I have plenty extra. Drink this, if it is any known poison this will cure it. If not...you might want to start remembering everyone you have been in contact with recently."
*
Abiene in Chorrol
Abiene found herself seated on the bench and examined by expert hands. Eyja dropped the Arch-Mage’s name without a trace of self-importance. Abiene had no doubt that she was speaking the truth.
Eyja pressed a potion bottle into her hand. “Drink this, if it is any known poison this will cure it. If not...you might want to start remembering everyone you have been in contact with recently.”
Abiene downed the potion immediately. For a moment she felt as if her skin was on fire and her blood was boiling, but before she could cry out the feeling passed.
“Stendarr’s… mercy!” she choked. “That was intense.” She gazed up at Eyja. “I did have an infection in my blood, but there must have also been poison. I’m a healer! Who would target me?”
She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. Sweat had broken out on her skin.
“Do you suppose it was meant for someone else at the Goblet? I wasn’t harmed, or I would have felt the damage when I healed my…” she glanced around and lowered her voice “…infection. It just rendered me helpless. I’m sure I was in utter thrall to Maxical. Thank goodness it was she who found me in that condition!”
Abiene offered the empty bottle back to Eyja. “I am in your debt, Eyja, more than I could have imagined. I specialize in injury and disease, not curses or poisons. Oh, I doubt that I was contagious, but I’d like to examine Maxical when we find her just the same. I’m… not sure where I could have picked up an infection. I routinely check myself every night while I’m working, but I’ve been away and only healed wounds lately.” She felt her cheeks heat. “Though I have had contact with a number of people in the last few days.”
*
Eyja sat down beside Abiene, watching her face carefully for reaction as she spoke.
"I don't want to frighten you, but the poison given you escapes detection even in healing. You would have been near death if you were catatonic when Maxical brought you to the Guild."
She gripped Abiene's shoulder tightly with one hand and pressed her thumb hard on her wrist with the other. "Don't faint on me. I am going to tell you something you need to hear, because you may be in danger."
Eyja waited till the stunned look eased before continuing.
"That blue in the whites of your eyes means you were poisoned with some kind of metal element in extremely high doses. I've seen that used before to kill someone in a way that looks like natural causes. The victim dies without ever knowing they were ill. They walk away and are fine for just long enough that the one who poisoned them can be long gone before the victim dies. Whoever poured that dose meant whoever it was intended for to die. Unless you picked up someone else's tea inadvertently, you have an enemy. Scan your mind for anyone who knows alchemy well enough to concoct a poison of this magnitude. It is rarely known or used by any but professional assassins."
Eyja knew Sethyas could not have been involved, he didn't even arrive at the inn till well after Abiene was showing signs of the poison, and he arrived well dusted from the road. He was a pro, would not have sat down to eat after poisoning someone, but been long gone before the first symptom appeared. His stop had been unplanned, so it was doubtful he was the target either.
It would have been quite sloppy for an assassin to pour a poison tea that far in advance in hopes their target happened to stop. This was intended for someone in the inn at the same time Abiene's tea was poured, or for Abiene herself.
Eyja nodded abstractedly at Abiene's last words. "It is good Maxical got you to the guild for healing to be started right away. It may have saved you, restored your organs as the poison was destroying them."
She hesitated before continuing. Healers were usually discreet by nature, but there were no laws forbidding their discussing their cases. Arch Mage Traven was constantly entertaining her with stories of his various cases. She turned back to Abiene.
"Abiene, have you recently learned a secret about someone you have treated? A secret that they may have been afraid you might report to the Legion or even just discuss with another person?"
*
"Verona of Bretony was a young woman surrounded in splendor and riches. She was beautiful beyond measure among her people, and very privileged. Her parents were not parochial people and instilled within her the tenets of patience and the idea that there were superior people and lesser people and that those with provincial minds required guidance, and punishment if so needed and that she shouldn’t hesitate to use whatever means necessary to protect and pursue her interests; that she owed as much to herself, her family, to life itself.”
Irvana furrowed her brow, and leaned in casually. "She was a special woman with a sharp mind that amazed her parents. She also was blessed with extraordinary gifts, so amazing and deadly that she had to keep it a secret from the entire world, lest she be condemned for daedric worship or those jealous of her power. She was the jewel of her father, and loved dearly by her mother and in turn she loved them. But what Verona loved more than her parents, more than her sibling and more than anything else in Tamriel was eternal life. Her parents, cherishing their offspring so much, decided that she deserved both . . . that she could do so much good to the benefit of them if she lived forever."
Irvana's voice took on a spooky tone, and she turned to face LeRoi. "What she did not anticipate was that in order for her to be beautiful for all eternity and with wisdom of ages . . . a price would have to be paid. She did not foresee the currency until it was far too late. The currency, you see, was her very soul. What defined her as Verona.
"Surely you know, Stefan, that virgin girls in nobility are to live in a state of chastity until given into marriage with a gentleman worthy enough. Fate was not kind that day when Verona was given to the Daedric Prince of schemes who took the form of a man and well . . . you can imagine."
Using Stefan's own words, she allowed her tale to continue and roll of her tongue as if savoring the taste of the story. "It was that day that she felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as he seared his desire, his longing, into her soul. She experienced the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by a being much more powerful than her. She was ravaged until she lost all consciousness. She survived though, as bitter and cunning and dominating as the Daedric Lord who made her."
"The rest of her family were not agreeable and determined her existence and condition to be a rare abnormality that would put them in danger. Panicked by the thought of her, they launched a quest end Verona's life, but she had grown so strong that she could not be destroyed by normal means. They would have to use treachery."
Irvana sighed. "Verona was a bright woman, but to the eyes of her other family members she wasn't. She was young, naive and above all, stupid. So they decided to use her to their advantage and all the power she possessed in hopes she would end up instigating her own doom, and as the years passed they had a growing numbers of problems that only Verona knew of the solutions, so they came to trust her most of all and even respect her. Little did they realize that Verona knew of their plot, she knew their primary passion was to ostracize her from the family and have her life taken. That the problems they faced were caused by her, and only she knew how to fix them and that she was slowly poisoning them until the day came where she killed them in their sleep."
The Imperial woman clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "They saw the flower, but failed to see the serpent beneath it. She outlived them all and inherited everything. But with power, comes a great price, no? That is the moral here. Her beauty became her curse, her immortality had a consequence. To maintain her youthful look she had to feast upon the blood of infants and children or take their lifeforce to sustain her own. The gods saw fit to curse her, and she spent the rest of her twilight years stalking the lands of High Rock in the night hours seeking which child who's eyes she could devour, or which woman who's throat she can tear or which man she could rape as violently as she was raped. Legend had it that children who did not behave, who did not obey they parents or who used their beauty to put others down would be visited by Verona the Pale Lady and be turned into eyeless statues and lose their souls. Her existence so evil that speaking of it can bring curses."
Irvana laughed. "This was pure superistition, a dark tale. One that my mother always told me when I was a child to keep me in line. Not sure if it worked though."
She paused. "Interesting, isn't it?" Irvana mused. "She wanted to live forever and help others but in the end she was condemned, and cursed for all eternity with a daedra-corrupted soul to spread chaos and seeds of discord throughout the eras. To be beautiful forever meant she had to take it from others. Quite a tragic tale."
She turned LeRoi and smiled. "If you'd like to weave this into your story and fabricate a brand new idea, believe that I will be the first person in Cyrodiil to purchase your book."
Abiene in Chorrol
“A secret… Well just last week I discovered a man who was living as his sister in order to inherit her property, I confirmed an awkward paternity result, restored a young woman’s maidenhead, cured the pox of a woman whose lover was away on pilgrimage, cured a case of Porphyric Hemophilia, refused to end a healthy pregnancy, removed a man’s lost jewelry from his housekeeper’s digestive tract and then repaired the site of his piercing… But surely nothing that someone would murder me over.”
Abiene’s eyes widened as she remembered Aravi’s secret. She gave her head a slight shake in immediate dismissal. It was not Aravi.
“I’ve caught people using Illusion spells to try to fool me as I heal them. I suppose I only catch the ones who fail. Perhaps someone thinks I know something about them.” She looked up at Eyja, trying to conceal her fright. “I expect it will become clear if they try again.”
Eyja’s earlier question returned to her mind. “I know a few who could brew such a poison,” Abiene continued. “One would likely punch me in the face before she’d poison me. The other would have shot me long ago if she wanted me dead.” Though it would not surprise me to learn she had been an assassin.
Abiene thought of Irvana with her strange, compelling eyes. A shiver ran down her neck. “The others at the Goblet should be warned. Whoever poisoned me will learn that they failed no matter what I do, so I can’t escape the danger by hiding in Chorrol. But if someone else is the target they might be helped. Oh, and the Goblet itself may have been the target! If I had died after visiting there… Poor Yetta! She would have been the first to fall under suspicion.”
She pressed the Nord’s hand on her wrist. “Eyja, I owe you and Maxical my life. You can see that I am quite out of my depth here. A healer who doesn’t notice she is dying! I feel I’m a disgrace. It’s like the swordmaker’s children going about unarmed.”
*
Eyja shook her head and patted Abiene's shoulder. "Don't feel ashamed, Abiene. That is why that poison is so effective for assassins, because the person can die with a healer at their side or even be one and it go undetected. That metallic blue in the whites of the eyes is the only clue, and only shows after the poison has done its damage. Most people assume the victim is napping and they die without anyone realizing the victim needs healing."
Eyja checked Abiene's eyes again. "The whites still show blue. How capable a healer are you, Abiene? You need an immediate thorough healing by someone who is experienced in regenerating damaged internal tissue, and a way to chelate the metal from your bloodstream or the damage will keep recurring. An expert Alchemist can give you a potion to cleanse the metal from your blood..."
Eyja hesitated with a choke. "Make sure it isn't possibly the one that poisoned you."
Eyja shook Abiene's shoulder gently. "Start healing now. If your magicka runs low I can cast on you till yours returns, but my healing power is only basic. Listen to me carefully, Abiene. You seem to me the type that tries to tough through things and keep going no matter how you feel. You can't play with this poison. If you are incapable of doing this kind of healing, you need to tell me immediately so I can send for help before it is too late. All the best healers are in the Imperial City. Arch Mage Traven would be my first choice. If you know Owyn at the Arena, he is also extremely capable. Jeelius at the Temple specializes in unusual healings, he would be my third choice."
Abiene's fright was evident. She probably led a sheltered life and was not used to having assassination attempts made on her. If she was the target of this one, that is.
"Interesting you mentioned the Inn itself. Being outside the gates it takes a lot of business from the Oak and Crosier. It would be a way to scare business away from the Wobbly Goblet, and if it is true she killed her husband she is certainly capable of such an act. First let's find out if you were the target though, or if you accidently drank something meant for another, eliminate targets systematically so we can pinpoint which suspect to focus on."
Her list of secrets would have been intriguing to delve into at any other time. But were any of those people at the inn this morning? Eyja began casting healing and rally over Abiene while talking, the same way Foxy used to do to Eyja when telling her how close the latest assassin had come before his men stopped them. The Black Hand was sending more adept assassins each time.
"This poison is not quickly made. This was planned in advance in order for them to have that poison with them and ready to dispense. Either that or they are professional and carry it with them always."
Abiene in Chorrol
Abiene listened carefully to Eyja’s advice. A cold pit of dread formed in her belly.
“I can restore my tissue,” she said. “But I don’t know a way to remove mundane toxins from my blood. If I had a shard of metal in my body I would remove it with a knife and then close the wound. I don’t know of a magical way to… did you say chelate?” She thought for a moment. “I have a patient who comes in for treatments every third day. I heal the damage, but I cannot seem to stop it from recurring. Do you suppose..?” She passed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m asking you to consult with me on an unrelated matter. I apologize.”
She cast a spell that would begin to heal her as they spoke.
“No one could have known I would be at the Goblet unless they followed me from the Wayshrine. I only stopped there because of the storm. An assassin would have had ample opportunity to attack during my journey there. I travel under a veil of invisibility for the sake of privacy, not to evade professional killers. I do not imagine myself capable of fooling the Dark Brotherhood.”
Eyja’s spell had a steadying effect on Abiene’s nerves. She gave a quick smile of thanks.
“I know a Master alchemist,” she continued, “but he is… not one of Cyrodiil’s great thinkers. He’d have to be told what ingredients to include. Anyway, how quickly should I find a potion? Would I even have time for him to travel here?”
Abiene blinked. “Wait, who killed their husband? Talasma?”
*
Eyja:
Eyja caught Abiene's eye, a serious expression in her own. "Metal gets into the bloodstream and remains after wounds are healed, and any additional exposure builds on what is there. It will continue damaging your organs if it isn't completely cleansed from your system. It never goes away without a bonding ingredient to chelate it."
Abiene's magicka was waning, Eyja took over casting healing till it could rebuild as she continued.
"For the amount of metal you've been exposed to, you may need to keep taking it several times daily for at least a week, and do a restorative healing on yourself several times per day as well. The raw ingredients work better and quicker if you can stand the bitter taste. The potions are flavored, but are much weaker."
Eyja dug in her pack when Abiene took over healing herself. The first thing she looked for brought a sigh of relief, the poison used had not come from her pack.
Next she brought out a small leatherbound case with the name 'Eyja' written in flourished letters of gold on the front. She pointed it out to Abiene as she opened it to reveal a mini inkpot and quill set, along with a small pad of parchment.
"This was a present from Maxical. She pilfered the set from a notorious necromancer and had my name engraved on it in gold lettering." Eyja grinned up at Abiene. "She gives great gifts."
Eyja gingerly removed a leather pocket wedged behind the pad and carefully removed a folded parchment that was yellowed and fragile with age.
"Combine these ingredients, I'll write them for you so you can keep healing yourself."
In a remarkably short time Eyja handed Abiene a fairly long list.
Garlic
Sunflower seeds
Pumpkin seeds
Flax seed oil
Corkbulb root
Netch Leather
Scrib Jelly
Scamp skin
Kwama cuttle
Ash yam
The juice of a lemon
Dried seaweed
Charcoal
Lycus hadn’t slept that day. After Vera’s departure, he had returned to his room to meditate. Even that had proved difficult; his mind was filled with too many thoughts. Vera was a gifted killer, and her hardened attitude and skills made only increased his faith in her survival. Yet he couldn’t explain why he felt a growing sense of worry. Numbers can be overwhelming and he had to admit that she had one flaw when it came for sport. She didn’t take her game as seriously as before. Perhaps because she was too good and too arrogant, that she involuntarily gave the prey an advantage in somehow harming her.
He couldn’t blame her. Surviving for centuries did often give one a particular pride and feeling of invincibility but he knows that time and time again even the hardiest of warriors and the fiercest of hunters often fall short of glory and she isn’t the same woman she was years ago. Hunting was second nature, but the call and drastic need of parenthood was too high and the bloodline of the Castius legacy was in danger if she were to be killed.
No, she will be fine, Lycus tried to convince himself. She can handle herself. She always has . . . most of the time.
In the privacy of his room(which was heavily scented with burnt herbs), Lycus wandered naked from the waist up. His long-hair falling down to his broad shoulders, and his dark skin glowing with the flickering lights the candles granted. Below his feet was a small bowl of dried sage and placed in front of it was the statuette of Hircine standing beside a very mundane-looking drum.
Lycus sat cross-legged before the statue, the drum and the herbs. He closed his eyes and began to breath in rhythm; inhale deeply, exhale just the same.
As by tradition, Lycus purified his aura by burning the herb. The scent and smoke of the scorching plant floated up to his face, and vanished into his nostrils. His mind shifted and he began drumming upon the ancient instrument before his feet with a gentle pounding. This totem was powerful, for it increases his intuition and heightened his perceptions of the supernatural. It also served to release and balance his spiritual energy, and he soon found himself entranced by his own hypnotic rythym.
He whispered with eyes closed. “I call upon the Wolf. Wise Path Finder, my teacher, my ancestor. Give me wisdom, grant me insight, for I need your guidance.”
And so Lycus called upon the Spirit of the Wolf, for it was a symbol of his kind and his ancestors, and also a measure of himself. The lupine beast was revered for his intelligence, his courage, and his strength. Known as a loyal pack member who helps his fellow mates, the Great Wolf is both feared and respected for his honorable characteristics; a keen hunter, proud defender of his territory, an intelligent teacher, and above all a true survivor.
His vision became a blur and his mind felt light as his entire body. The landscape of the room changed before him. The wooden floorboards gave way to dirt, the walls transformed to a great forest and the ceiling surrendered to a crimson sky where a blood-moon reigned and before Lycus stood a great grey wolf.
Stefan was enraptured with the young Imperial woman's story. He cocked his sultry half-smile at her and leaned in slightly closer.
"Thank you, dear heart, for that wonderful tale. I would, indeed, love to craft another tale from it." He gave her his full smile and held up his glass.
"A toast! To new muses, ideas, and lovely nights such as this."
Irvana raised her cup and gave Stefan a smile and leaned back as he went closer. "To lovely nights."
I am worried about Kayla and Aravi, she told herself. What if they failed in killing the creatures?
She stepped off of the stool right before saying goodbye when the hem of her clothes was caught on cracked wood and ripped slightly as she moved. The side of her attire was ripped and strings of linen hung from the area on her hip.
"Drat," she said. "Here I was thinking I wouldn't ruin this fine cloth."
She sucked her lips in and looked utterly embarrased. Now was a good time to put on her familiar and comfortable all-black robe. That, at least, was something more appropiate in the coming minutes. Going out at night dressed with fine clothing was music to highwaymen and bandits or rapists looking to take advantage of a young woman. Wearing a dark robe would help conceal her appearance at least, and disuade others from trying to rob her. Still, that didn't make it impossible. There were a number of times where she'd been assaulted in her dark clothes
"Stefan, it was a pleasure." Irvana said with a low bow, bending her knees slightly. "If fresh ideas strike your mind or if you'd like help, you are more than welcome to see me though I think you don't need the mind of someone like me to write a compelling story."
And with those words Irvana departed, thanking the bartender for the drink. "Gratitude. For the room and the bath. I am so terribly sorry that I cannot pay for it. I lost most of my things last night."
"Don't worry about it," the orc woman said. "Thank Abiene."
"Yes, yes," Irvana replied. "I suppose I haven't thanked her enough for her help. She's a loving soul. I apologize if I seem a triffle bit intrusive but where did she go?"
"She left to Chorrol hours ago."
"Ah. I wish her safe travels, then."
Irvana left the main room and went upstairs into her room where she found her neatly folded black robe that seemed to be washed. She closed the door, undressed and quickly got into her change of clothes. She felt in her own skin now. These robes always suited her well. It matched the hair.
She checked herself one last time before wandering the halls. She remembered being told by Stefania of a library here, and made haste to look around. She was sure no one would mind her borrowing a book. After all she was going to bring it back. She looked around and came upon it.
The library was large for a tavern. Shelves were lined with old and new books of different stories and topics and genres. For a few minutes she pulled out a few, opened them and scanned through the pages before placing them back into the shelf once more. She repeated this until she came across one book that caught her attention.
A favorite of hers. http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:A_Hypothetical_Treachery
She plucked the book out after reading the name and placed it under her arm. With haste she returned down the stairs, headed out the tavern and wandered about the grounds of the Wobbly Goblet.
This was a tranquil place, indeed. Large, too. She ventured where the fish pond was behind the inn, hidden away by the grand garden. Nothing but the light of the moons and stars bathed the land below, and the songs of owls, bats and insects reigned the night.
Irvana sat down on a stone beside the fish pond, and saw a small sack full of pieces of bread sitting alone nearby. She brought it closer to her and realized this was used to feed the fish.
How nice!
She grabbed a handful of the crumbs and started tossing them into the pond where she saw the fishes, big and small, swim up to gobble them up. She smiled in delight. She's seen large rats, huge crabs and even fish. But in a contained pond like this? She's never seen fish this large. Then again, the pond was big enough to house many.
She opened her book on her lap and began to read while at the same time gently caressing the surface of the water with her hand.
Bograk
Bograk stood near the kitchen door. Yetta leaned against its frame. The two of them watched Auguste wiping down the bar. An Imperial woman well into her cups sat on a stool opposite the barman. First she slumped to one side, then the other, all the while regaling Auguste with some tale of past glory.
She slid to the left. Yetta reached for Bograk, her fingers digging into the orc’s meaty arm. “Almooooost there…” Yetta whispered.
The front door banged open, admitting a leggy Nord. His armor bore the Dragon Mail insignia.
The tipsy Imperial shot bolt upright at the noise. Yetta cursed.
“Ha!” crowed Bograk. “Better luck next time.” She put out her hand for Yetta’s coin.
“Mail,” announced the courier as Yetta paid up.
Bograk put out her other hand for the letters. “You’re out late, Gudleif.”
“Special delivery.” The Nord crossed his arm over his chest in a salute, grinning. Then confusion covered his face.
“Forget your motto again?” Auguste asked him.
Yetta giggled.
Gudleif made a valiant effort. “Neither gloom, nor… rain…”
Auguste shoved a pint across to him. Gudleif drained it and belched his way back to the door, grinning again.
“With all that he doesn’t need much brains,” said Yetta. Bograk had to agree.
There were two letters in the packet. One was addressed to Aravi, care of the Wobbly Goblet Tavern and Inn. The other was addressed to Bograk.
Dear Mistress gra-Mugshak,
Please be advised that I, a former guest of your inn, have contracted a systemic infection. It is likely that I was carrying the disease when I dined, bathed, and slept at your establishment last night. It is possible that I was not yet contagious.
The illness presents with general weakness and a debilitating fever. It is transmitted through close physical contact, though other methods of transmission have not been ruled out. Thankfully it is readily cured by a spell, potion, or of course the intervention of the Divines by way of the priory across the road.
Please inform me if any of your staff or patrons have fallen ill. However they would be well advised to seek immediate treatment.
Abiene Metonne
Healer, Chapel of Stendarr
*
Eyja:
Eyja had confidence in Abiene's healing, the girl knew what she was doing; she had shown that in her careful healing of Honditar, took no shortcuts at all. She was conscientious, and knowing the risk Maxical faced with her disorder Eyja was sure she would see her safely to the Mages Guild where that hateful Argonian would guard the door and the healers would be locked in with Maxical.
Eyja exhaled in relief, the fear that had been overwhelming her dissipated. Maxical would be safe, at least for now.
The thought had immediately struck Eyja that the assassin was targeting herself and bumbled his job by not keeping custody of the poison, letting poor Abiene drink the toxin meant for her.
That was a sloppy mistake, meaning most likely it was the work of the Dark Brotherhood; who were known to take in anyone that committed a murder and call them an assassin. No well trained assassin would make an error like that. They'd be back, would have to realize by now that they missed their target.
***
Eyja paused while the guard opened the gate for her with a suggestive grin. His eyes never left her breasts as he hailed her. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be walking alone at night. if you wait up I get off in an hour. Buy you a drink?" He indicated the Gray Mare.
"That place? I've heard they have fleas in their beds." Eyja raised one eyebrow twice suggestively at him and pointed in the direction of the Wobbly Goblet.
"I've heard that place has bath tubs right in the rooms. I love taking baths." She drawled out the word love, lowering her eyelids slowly and looking up through the lashes at him. "I'll bet a guard that works the gates could entertain me all night with stories of the things he's seen." Eyja emphasized the word 'all' by cocking one eyebrow at him.
His face flushed with pleasure and he swaggered closer and leaned in to answer. "That I could, little lady. I've seen things you wouldn't believe."
His breath blew hot and smelled of onions. Eyja steeled herself not to back away, instead she cocked her head to one side and smiled slowly.
"I'd sure love to hear some of those stories. I've always wondered how you can guard a whole city and still know when a stranger walks through your gates. Will you tell me how you do it? Like today, did you get to see any outsiders today?" Eyja tickled her fingers lightly on his arm and watched him swallow a large gulp.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. A pure white Khajiit..."
Eyja cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, I saw her, she wasn't scary or mysterious. I want to hear stories about dark mysterious strangers, ones that your instincts told you to watch out for. Does that ever happen here in a quiet place like Chorrol?"
"There's been an odd Dunmer man in town for three days staying over at the Oak and Crosier. Cold eyes that look right through you. Aye, I get the sense from him there is more than one shady secret in his past."
"Ooh, now you're talking. Imagine someone like that coming to such a nice town like this. You must have great instincts, have you seen any others? I get chills just thinking about it." Eyja hugged herself and shivered, making her breasts bulge and jiggle before his goggling eyes.
"Not lately, not on my watch at least. There was one last year..."
Eyja cut him off. "Tell me about it when we meet up for that drink. I want to get to that inn before it gets any later."
She pinched his arm and smiled, then hurried through the gate. He watched her walking away, so Eyja had to wait till she'd passed the stables to cast chameleon on herself.
***
Eyja bumped her Detect Life ring as she neared the inn and was surprised to see a pink outline lurking near the back of the inn. She readied her spells and moved soundlessly closer. It didn't take long to realize it was naught but a drunk peeing on the back wall of the inn.
Eyja cut around the bushes and into the front entrance, still in chameleon. Her eyes traveled to the back of the dining room searching for a glimpse of Seth, but at this time of night the crowd had become too thick. A bard was encouraging drunken dancing and what looked like a few call girls were working the crowd. One couple looked like they may be mating in the corner. Eyja imagined Seth might be in his room by now. He was on a sad mission, and somehow Eyja didn't imagine him being the type to enjoy the wildness that had taken over the tavern section of the inn. He wouldn't, she was sure of it. He'd either be in his room or up in the quiet sitting area upstairs.
Eyja moved along the bar and slid the large piece of charcoal into her pocket as she passed, then realized why it was there. A poster hung of a sexy woman and the sign offered self imagined artists to improve on it.
Eyja slid closer to the poster and drew balls of thick black hair in her armpits, then pocketed the charcoal and wove her way to the steps. A man carrying a tray of food was working his way up the steps, Eyja waited and watched for him to make the top so as not to bump him on the stairs.
She had the impression Seth would order food in his room, that could very well be for him. At least that would mean he wasn't sleeping, and she could disturb him long enough to ask him to sell her any ingredients he may be willing to part with.
***
Eyja found herself watching the man carrying the tray's feet, the way they slipped gently across each step as if testing for the creaks to come back later when the tavern was silent. She herself did that when she had a job...
Previously...
The food being prepared would take a a few more minutes apparently, but his room was ready whenever he liked. At that moment, as dusk spread over Chorrol and the lighting changed almost perceptibly to the torches and firepit of the tavern. Darkness had come. With it brought the crowds of townsfolk, whose murmured chats could be heard from outside, in the happy tones of revelrers.
He hated crowds. Partly out of personal preference, partly from natural paranoia. Crowds were easy to blend into and disappear. They could provide cover lik the darkness. The mind couldn't focus on one thing in ease, the distractions it provided were too many. Cloak and dagger.
As such, he asked the food to be delivered to his room instead and gathered his belongings from the table. His stride theough the tavern made no sound from his footfall. Though his armor did make him seem a bit larger than he really was, his deeply ingrained habit of carefully shifting his weight with the terrain; be it floorboards or forest, guided each step.
He made mental calculations of the building out of these habits as well. Entering the room, he looked over the windows, calculating if they could open, or if he needed to break through. The distance to the ground, the thickness of the walls, under the bed. When he was satisfied that he was relatively safe, he finished nesting and started to unload his gear.
The heavy travel pack, weapons, and armor. He carefully placed the urn reverently in the middle of the nightstand, so even if it toppled there was less chance of it falling to the floor and breaking.
I should order a bath. He thought as he pulled out a cleaner shirt than the one he was wearing.
Footsteps began too approach out of the din that had arisen.
Food's ready. He thought as he pulled off the well-travelled shirt.
Suddenly, there was a thud, followed by what sounded like something squishy.
Damn, they dropped my food. Better not be trying to pick it up and dust it off. This isn't the Grey Mare...
Next he heard a sharp tap on the door, putting a pause in his shirt inspection. Every instinct flared to life as he threw it on the bed, and rushed to the door, pulling out a backup silver dagger.
Opening the door revealed the curious site of Eyja straddling a waiter on his back facedown, followed by her explanation of what had led too it.
His eyes narrowed at the explanation. The shadow that made his profession easy fell over his face. And his hands reached down to grab the failed assassin.
"I have my own game for dinner actually." he replied in a sinister whisper towards the paralyzed man.
"The meal gets to be your last one. I'll let you eat it when my questions are answered and you beg me to end it." he said dragging him into the room.
"And, I haven't had mutton in a while, so you get to be the one I take my dissapointment out on." he said lifting the man by his collar, and his red Dunmer eyes promising pain.
He looked at Eyja, and then spoke. "Stay or go as you like, but please lock the door."
*
Eyja grabbed up the tray of poisoned food and scooted into Seth's room. She lay the tray down ontop of the urn and hurried back to lock the door.
"Didn't want anyone passing to eat that."
Eyja nodded appreciation at Seth's words to the assassin, pointing out the burns on the man's face from the hot mutton she'd shoved his face in.
"Assassins worth their salt don't kill a man before his supper, basic manners."
Eyja signaled Seth. "An innocent local healer nearly died from a slow acting poison this morning that I believe had been left laying around unsupervised downstairs about an hour before you arrived. If you don't mind, before you grant him death see if he confesses who his target was on that poisoning."
Eyja took a seat in the overstuffed chair by the bed to watch Seth in action, marveling at the strength he must have to hold that fully grown man off the ground that way and the intense and calculating look in his eyes.
She quietly pulled her travel pack off, quickly dug in the front pocket and pulled out a small sack of roasted peanuts. Eyja leaned forward intensely to watch, absently shelling the peanuts and popping them in her mouth as Seth began his interrogation.
*
He set the unidentified man down onto a plain wooden chair that was at the room's desk. Taking time to carefully tie his limbs to the chair's armrests and legs, equal parts caution and to keep him in place.
He grabbed his travel pack, and set three vials onto the desk, and took out a small leather folder. The man was apparently trying maintain some sense of toughness not saying anything, but following him intently with his eyes. The burns on the face must have been agonizing, and he was visibly sweating along with the grease from the culinary gag that Eyja forced on him.
The man gave a momentary glance over to Eyja, who looked like a kid watching a marionette show. Each crack of the peanuts broke the unbearable silence and seemed to mock him in some way. Eyja just raised an eyebrow and gave him a quick, mischievous grin.
Finally opening the leather folder, a variety of tools were visible. Hammer, tongs, screws, icepick, among others. They were well maintained, despite being a dark iron.
"I'll start off civilized. I hate the idea of torture, inflicting pain, undue suffering. That's for your kind." Sethyas started in a low tone, his form hunched over the desk, his back to the other two. If scars were words, as he said, then his back was a novel.
"So, I'll offer you this opportunity to come clean. Tell me why you're here, who your target was; besides me, and who poisoned this Healer she mentioned? And if you would be so kind as to tell us who hired you, I would also appreciate that." He said with an intent tone, taking one of the vials, and pouring some sort of granules onto his hand.
"I'm not gonna talk! Just finish the j--AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
In mid sentence Sethyas had turned around and struck the man with his open hand, the granules being forced in the man's burns.
"That was the salt I would have used on the mutton that you ruined." Seth said, not losing his low tone brushing his hands together removing the excess off.
"I suppose in these situations a demonstration is needed to show that the other party is in fact: deadly serious. I will tell you a truth, and I expect the same in return." He continued.
"The truth is that you will not leave this room alive. But, death is your reward for telling me the truth, and as I said, I find this method most unpalatable. You are forcing qualities of myself that I do not relish to the surface." he said walking back to the table and grabbing a tool.
He brought the hammer down full force on the man's right toe. The scream was again agonizing.
Seth nodded slowly.
"Excellent work, Eyja! You left the right side merely weakened. You could have been a surgeon with that skill." He complimented her, not looking away from the man, then bringing the hammer down on his left toe, that merely made a sickening, squishy sound and a cry of surprise from the man, but no pain after.
"So, you see. I don't like doing this. Please...just talk." Seth said, shaking his head and returning the hammer to the desk, dropping it with a small thud.
"That din from downstairs will be going on til the late hours, and dusk just barely fell." Seth said, approaching the man, and bringing his head down next to his ear.
"And I've only just begun. I can craft potions that actually increase your sensitivity to pain. Please don't make your suffering longer than it has to be." he whispered.
The mans face had begun to swell slightly from where the Dunmer struck him, just below and next to the left eye, leaving it twitching in pain. He spat in the Dunmer's face.
"Do your worst!" He whispered in a smiled return.
Sethyas just shook his head as though he had heard the saddest news. He was more furious at himself for this than the man. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the saliva off his face. He reached over to the mans right hand, and grabbed a finger forcing it quite opposite the normal position.
The man screamed once more, and than gave a sick grin.
"This little sh-sheep...went to market square." He said looking at his torturer, keeping the grin.
Sethyas grabbed the next one, his expression unchanging. The second snap followed with a scream.
"This little sheep said 'No Fair!" The man said looking at the ceiling.
Sethyas grabbed a third. He held back for a moment.
"C'mon! The rhyme ain't do-AHHH!" he said; the third snap in between words. The man's breathing was almost agonal, the sweat and mutton grease falling down to his rapidly rising chest.
"That little sheep, didn't care." Sethyas said.
"Okay, okay...you made yer point....just had to see if you were bluffin' ya know? Mighta got out of this alive after all...guess not." The man said with relieved laughter.
"Paralyzed? Hardly call that living..." Sethyas replied grabbing another chair and sitting across from him. He reached across to the desk and grabbed a second vial.
"Opium. For your pain. A little token of my goodwill." Sethyas offered him, putting it up to his mouth. The man drank it greedily, closing his eyes as the effects of the narcotic quickly spread. In seconds his demeanor changed immensely.
"First question. Who are you?" Sethyas asked flatly.
"No one you ever heard of, or would give a half-septim about. Street gang when I was a kid. Petty larceny when I was an adult. Finally getting into the bigger scores...wanted to catch the attention of the Guild...y'know the thieves?" He said looking to his captor for recognition.
Sethyas nodded slightly, he knew quite well who they were.
"So,...a score went down, only, we left bodies. Big no-no for them...but the Dark Brotherhood, they took an interest. Took me in, taught me everything I know." he continued.
Ejya snorted at the statement. "Sorry! Sorry...go on!" She cracked another peanut.
"Thing is, everyone heard of you! Yeah, the big, bad Dunmer Grandmaster!" the man laughed.
Sethyas shifted ever so slightly at this statement.
"Your twin sister gets recruited...goes after you, doesn't come back. Then the entire chapter out in Mournhold gets taken out in a purification. Somebody outside the chapter set that up, and takes on all our Brothers that get sent after him from that particular contract." he laughed derisively.
"So the rumors spread, and we learn that the Morag Tong get a new Grandmaster. A Dunmer with a Black Hand tattoo on his face. Imagine my surprise when I see a Dunmer fitting that description walking down the the Orange Road, wearing Morag Tong armor." he smiled slightly.
"Thought it was my lucky day." he finished.
"So you did not poison the healer?" Sethyas asked.
"Don't know nothin' bout no healer, Tong scum. I was here for you." the man gave an incredulous look, with a scrib-eating grin.
"And you are here of your own volition then: you came to take me out and offer my head for a promotion..." Sethyas thought aloud, now rubbing his chin looking downwards.
"You got it. Now...kill me or let me go." the Assassin demanded.
Sethyas stood up to finally don his shirt, and put on his pair of black leather gloves.
He grabbed the tray, and returned to his seat, and began cutting a portion of the mutton, bringing the fork up to the mans mouth he gave a simple command.
"Eat."
The man was reluctant at first, but then began to eat. A small portion of everything, until he began to visibly slow down. Finally his head hung low. Motionless.
Sethyas got up and began to take the bedding and preparing them to wrap the body.
"If you're wondering why I believed him, it's because there was more than just opium in there. Herbs and and other minor poisons that are known to loosen a man's tongue were in it. That particular blend is the strongest I've encountered, and the most rare. I don't know the precise recipe, but rather was given it after I helped a small band of travelling Khajiiti." he explained to Eyja as he worked, pulling out a knife and preparing one of the cloths into strips.
"...and yes. The torture was necessary. It works with the bodies elevated chemicals and the like when pain and trauma are introduced, otherwise the effects are much less reliable."
"So, this man's story adds up, and I have some rubbish to dispose of. As to your healer...a slow acting poison. Much more subtle and skilled than our former friend here. There's a greater threat at hand here...and it's still out there..."
*
Eyja winced and felt a sick feeling in her stomach when Seth hit the man's toes with the hammer and bent his fingers back, but covered quickly by doing a thorough study of the bag of peanuts as if searching for a particular one; not wanting Seth to see her weakness.
She felt the tension emanating off Seth when the prisoner began talking about Seth's twin sister. His head had turned just slightly toward the nightstand, almost involuntarily as if in respect. Eyja glanced over and saw the urn, set up reverently centered and near where he would sleep. Like he was still protecting the person after their death.
With almost a physical pain Eyja realized that urn contained Seth's sister...his twin sister. No wonder he was sick of the slaughter. If the prisoner told the truth, his sister had been Dark Brotherhood and ended caught in the middle between the Tong and Brotherhood...and Seth. They would have ordered her to kill her own brother. If she couldn't or didn't, she would have been targeted by her own faction. In even going toward Seth she would probably have been targeted by the Tong.
Eyja felt a warm compassion for him, and the common pain he must be suffering. She still carried that pain, even decades after losing her own sister. And somewhere she'd heard twins were closer than other siblings.
The peanut she was holding dropped from her hand when the man called Seth "Grandmaster," she had to force herself not to gape. Seth was the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong? She had sat and had conversation with the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong?
Worse...sat eating peanuts while he interrogated and tortured a prisoner! What must he think of her? For the first time since her teens, Eyja felt gauche and uncertain.
She quietly tied the sack of peanuts up and slid it back into her travel pack, glad now she hadn't asked him for some of that salt to flavor them.
She had been proud of her skills, but compared to the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong she might seem as amateurish as a child playing at a man's game; or as inept as most of the Dark Brotherhood's roster.
Eyja's breath caught on a sigh of disappointment when Seth donned his shirt. Men always looked better with their bare chests exposed, like gods of rippling feral strength; Seth moreso than most. He moved with the confidence and stealth of a panther in his own domain.
Eyja talked as little as possible afterward. Men didn't like to hear a women's chatter after a torture, they needed time to feel restored to balance. He'd mentioned his trick of mixing the truth serum into the opium though, and she did want to applaud the genius of that.
"I've never seen it done that way, slipped into the opiate. Very nice trick, letting him believe you're doing him a kindness so he doesn't resist the serum. I love psychological warfare, it's my specialty, Se...er, Sir." Eyja flushed, conscious of feeling awkward about what to call him since learning he was the Grandmaster.
"I'm not good at torture, so my mentor trained me to use spikes, like the ones prisons use to control unruly prisoners. I keep several of them loaded with the serum at all times, and have gotten so adept with hitting the vein that it is rarely felt unless they see me doing it."
He shook his head. "I can honestly say that I am not the Grandmaster." leaving out the part that he was retired.
"Makes no difference if I were. We are still equals, you aren't an underling." he said grabbing his armor and re-suiting up.
He went over to the window and unlatched the lock. Looking out into the early evening, it was still too dark to see everything. As such, he put on the Morag Tong hood, enchanted with a superior night-eye enchantment that adapted to ambient and local lighting based on the wearer's perception. Despite the thick red lenses, they were not part of the enchantment, simply to protect the wearer from ash storms.
The deep, dark red hue of the scarf that now covered his face was the same shade of the traditional Morag Tong robes. That was no coincidence in this case, it was the remnants of his own robes.
Looking out again, he examined the surroundings, and was satisfied the coast appeared to be clear.
When Eyja asked to entomb the body over in the ruins, he approved. Burying it where it would do the most harm seemed kind of counter-productive to the reason he eliminated the man in the first place.
"Of course. A bit of a walk doesn't bother me, and the idea of killing someone's pets strikes me as something that this man would have enjoyed." he had replied.
"The potion was indeed well-made. By whomever made it. I have no idea how to replicate it. Unfortunately, I had only the one. But I had seen it being used once before..." he trailed off, remembering the Khajiiti nomads, and the Orc bandit they had used it on. The Elder Khajiit granted him a sample with a small lecture on it's properties and uses.
He grabbed a rope from his pack, tying it around the base of one of the pillars. He pulled on it, making sure it would support his weight.
He and Eyja grabbed the package and took it to the window throwing it out and it landed with a dull thud and slight rustling in the grass.
"If you want to stay and investigate in the tavern, I can do this and I'll inspect the belongings later." he suggested, putting his weapons back on.
"Or, if you wish to come along, that is fine. It...how do I say this? It is starting to get cold outside." he said his head cocking ever so slightly downwards.
"I have some warmer clothes in the pack if you wish." he said grabbing the rope and pointing with his head to it. He rappelled down the side of the building to finish this task.
Aravi entered the inn. She was sore, tired, and hungry. She looked around and saw the inn was a lot less crowded than it was a couple of nights ago. A single man was at the bar along with the staff. This made her a little happier in the state she was in.
She wasn’t wearing her shining elven armor this time; instead she was in her simple bra and loincloth. These were dirty and smelled like sweat, but at least were not covered in blood from her torn ear. She wiped some of the blood off of her face back at the cave, but she needed soap to get it all out of her fur.
The ear was painful, and she hoped to see Abiene tonight. She hoped the healer would be able to repair the tear. Additionally, she had come to a decision on the other matter.
She walked to the counter, intent on getting a room. And a bath.
Stefan nodded to Irvana.
"Adieu, my dear."
He leaned his elbow against the bar and swirled his wine around in his glass, mulling over his thoughts of his next book.
She gave me a good idea, but how can I switch things around so it's not outright plagiarizing?
Perhaps expand on the legend itself, give the young woman more life...
A young Khajiit woman blew into the door, drawing Stefan's attention from his wine to her form. She was wearing naught but a loincloth and a small bra. Blood soaked one side her her face, and he saw that it seemed to come from a poorly healed injury on her ear.
He turned to make conversation when the barman approached the bar, shooting him an odd look as he spoke to the Khajiit. He shrugged and began to turn back to the bar when the door flew open again, revealing a young high elf woman with blood splattered on her face, a few smears on her cheeks and chin, like she had tried to wipe the splatters off her face, but only made things worse.
Interesting...
- - -
Kayla groaned and panted. She wished she had taken a page from Aravi's book and taken her armor off and walked back in her underclothes.
She stumbled p to the bar with Aravi, letting out a breath of relief as she sat on a bar stool. The barman raised his brows at the two of them.
"We want rooms again, please. Separate. Please."
Bograk
Bograk watched Aravi approach the bar. She looked worn out but steady on her feet.
Dar’muktah caught her eye and she gave him a nod. The vampire hunters would want food, drink, and baths. With Lleris missing the Khajiit would have to lend Hethilion a hand.
Bograk pulled Aravi’s letter out of her pocket and slid it across the bar. “Welcome back,” she said. “This came while you were gone.” She glanced over Aravi to see how many of the others had returned.
The Altmer Kayla collapsed onto a barstool. “We want rooms again, please. Separate. Please.”
Hethilion stepped up to take their instructions.
Aravi smiled a little at Kayla’s words. The man at the counter was trying not to stare at the two of them. Is it the blood, or is it because I’m not wearing much? Aravi wondered.
Aravi glanced at the letter, and was surprised to see it was from Abiene. Probably means she had to go back into town. She sighed and opened the letter.
Dearest Aravi,
As I’m sure you have discovered, I am not at the Wobbly Goblet. I’m afraid I will miss our meeting tonight. Please accept my deepest apologies, Aravi. I hope you can believe that only the direst of circumstances would cause me to treat you this way.
But before I explain I must ask you to please let me know how you fared against the vampires. Are you injured? Are you well? I know that you and the others are capable warriors, but you are also a friend. I won’t rest until I know that all of you returned.
I am presently in Chorrol. There has been an attempt on my life.
The poison has taken a toll and will require considerable treatment. More concerning is that the assassin may strike again if indeed I was their intended target. Tonight I plan to sleep at the Grey Mare, a place no one who knows the slightest thing about me would ever think to look.
Additionally it seems I may be responsible for passing along an infectious disease. Hopefully you did not return to an inn full of feverish staff and patrons. If you did, that is also my fault. The remedy is a simple curative potion. And of course the devout might seek treatment at the priory across the road.
It is too much to hope that you might still wish to meet with me, but I do. Aravi, I am not usually this fog-headed and irresponsible. Everything we spoke of before still stands.
Please forgive me, and I hope to hear from you soon.
Your friend,
Abiene
*
Eyja flushed and quickly conjured her armor on herself. Her short skirt and low cut top worked very well for the role of prostitute, and donning it aided in bringing out the light-hearted flirtatious personality she needed to portray to make the disguise believable. For decades now she’d lived as a chameleon, donning disguises and immersing herself in whatever role was needed to get the job done.
Armor, especially hers in particular; stripped one of their roles and disguises. It bared all pretences in both the wearer and those facing the one in it. Hers was made specifically for the business she had spent most of her life at; every aspect of it designed to enhance or ease the job at hand first, then shield and protect her.
The armor was Daedric, a dull dark mesh to blend her into the shadows or night; so fine and light it fit as a second skin, and was just as supple and soundless; yet strong enough to resist the penetration of a blade or arrow in many instances. The utility belt was specifically rigged with gear to overcome obstacles getting to a target and aid in a speedy escape afterward.
She slid her travel pack onto her back and clipped a metal bracing on her belt around the rope before climbing out the window and sliding smoothly to the ground behind Seth.
Silently indicating the steep incline before them, Eyja squatted down beside the body and slid her hand underneath it, casting a Feather spell from below it so no magic would show in the air and give away their presence behind the inn. The man would be much easier to lug up the steep incline now. She soundlessly signaled her readiness to Seth.
** Eyja’s armor (with a few exceptions); Eyja’s has no cape, and the utility belt in the screenshot that is angled across the girl‘s shoulders is worn around the waist on Eyja‘s armor. Eyja does not wear the bulky gauntlets or boots either:
http://i434.photobucket.com/albums/qq67/Maxical1/armor2_zps5eeb2de5.jpg
*
As a dark shape slid down the rope, his eyes adjusted to the form as she landed. For a moment he thought she had just gone nude to spite his offer. Until he realized that it was some sort of skintight substance over her. Daedric perhaps? He had seen similar variations from various conjurers over his travels. Daedra in their most basic form, actually had no form. They could assume whatever shape they wished. Or at least the more powerful ones.
They were immaterial, spirits. Until they weren't. When within a sphere of a particular Prince; or worse, Nirn, then they sort of took shape like gravity drew objects down. So Daedra summoned as a weapon or armor could have it's shape altered to the will of the caster, if they were skilled enough. Or if the power granted held that shape within it's incantations.
He'd not cast a spell for decades. A century perhaps. He had various 'powers' that he had accumulated over the years. But they were mostly passive. He became nearly invisible in shadow, due to 'Mephala's Skill'; his reward from the Tong for gathering the Tokens of Sanguine. Almalexia had given him an ability to resist paralysis of magickal origin, and his own inherit Dunmer resistance to flames and extreme heat.
No, his passion for the magickal art had become Alchemy. It amazed him how compounded things held such powerful, inherent qualities. Every time he moved to another province, it was like he was learning the art anew. Different way to mix brews, different methods of extracting it's properties, and new ones to identify. Nearly anything that a mage could shoot from their fingertips, he could replicate chemically and either drink or apply to a weapon. Indeed, he kept a vial belt across his chest for the most commonly needed ones at quick disposal.
As she casted feather on the body and signalled, he picked up the package with almost too much force, his muscle memory expecting it to be as heavy as the live man she had paralyzed. He flung it over his shoulder, and the body folded at the waist. They began their crouched ascent the incline, preparing to enter the ruins in short measure.
When he was sure they were out of earshot of the Inn, he finally voiced a concern that had occurred to him mid-trip.
"Are these ruins empty?" He whispered.
*
OOC: (fixed the armor screenshot in MS Paint so it is less revealing, lol).
Eyja hadn’t missed Seth’s initial startled reaction to her armor. She had felt the same shock the first time she put it on. It had taken one good stealth mission to appreciate it fully, though she’d always felt the honor of having received it. Only Foxy’s highest ranked assassins were given the armor.
She crept silently beside Seth, her body low to the ground as she kept pace with him. At his question she nodded briefly and whispered her answer back.
"Unless someone else is making a disposal here as we are. This ruin used to be a prime spot to dispose of things one didn’t want found again. It drips lime inside, so there is almost no odor when packages are delivered here.”
She indicated the cracked stone steps down into the collapsed enclosure.
“The door to the vault is down there. There is barely room for one of us to go in, and you won’t get far once inside; the entire dungeon is collapsed within yards of the entry. There are probably bones scattered on the floor, and it is pitch black in there; night vision helps.”
*
Aravi barely had time to drink her water before she was informed her room was prepared.
“I’ll be back down in a bit,” she said to Kayla. Her muscles already began to grow stiff from the short period of inactivity. She climbed the stairs and went into her room, shutting the door behind her.
She didn’t even strip out of her underclothes before getting into the hot bathwater. She groaned luxuriously as the hot water immediately went to work on her muscles. They even perfumed the water like I asked before.
She got out of her soaking clothes and laid them over the edge of the tub. She washed her hair, and particularly, the torn ear. The soap stung, and she hissed quietly. She rinsed the soap off of her head and went to work scrubbing the rest of her body.
She would have liked to soak in the warm waters, but the dirt from her body turned the water murky. She stood and wrapped a towel around herself. She quickly dried off and put on a blue robe. It was the only scrap of clothing that she had with her that was clean now. She went down the steps again, wondering who she would see.
"Yeah, alright." Kayla said to Aravi as she went upstairs. She cleared her throat and waited. She too had asked for a bath, and supposed that it might take just as long for hers to be prepared and heat up. Her eyelids drooped slightly as she rested her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands. She awoke with a start when she felt herself leaning to the right slightly. She shook her head, specs of dried blood falling onto the bar.She flushed red as the barman opened his mouth. She interrupted him.
"If it helps, that's not mine?" She left an inflection at the end of the sentence and punctuated it with an embarrassed smile. The man hurried off.
Probably to get some scalding hot water.
She was suddenly vaguely aware of the man next to her. She looked over and was startled to find that he was studying her very intently. She stared back for a few moments and absently scratched at the flakes of blood itching her neck.
- - -
Stefan watched the Altmer intently, still sipping his wine. He let out a small smile when she nearly fell over from exhaustion, then shook herself hard enough for specks of the blood droplets to dirty the bar.
He found her magnificent, her and the Khajiit that walked through the door. He had a weak spot for warrior women, for any woman who allowed herself to become strong. She was the the type of woman that he longed to write about. Long hair flowing in the wind as she gripped her steel sword tightly, charging enemies and beheading them with a single stroke. Magickal powers beyond what any man could fathom. And surely these women bedded their partners with utter abandon. Loved like they fought. Taught muscles rippling beneath smooth skin as they reached their peak of pleasure, the-
Stefan sniffed, then sniffed again. He covered his nose. He would leave the odor out of his books. His eyes still danced over her facial features as she caught him staring, a slightly bewildered look on her face. Her eyes were a light brown, and soft with an edge of steel about them. Her lips were full and pink, whitened only once when she pressed them together in thought or confusion. The curvature of her neck reminded Stefan of a swan as she cocked her head to listen to to her fellow Altmer. She followed him up the stairs, casting a look back at him.
Did he see longing? Interest? Curiousity? He turned back to his wine and drank the rest of it and ordered dessert.
- - -
Kayla followed Hethelion up the stairs.
"Thank you so much. Did you see that man staring at me? It was kind of creepy."
Hethelion coughed to cover up his laughter. Kayla shrugged and stepped inside the room. She thanked the man again and shut the door. She shed her armor and underclothes and all but dove into the tub.
Irvana went around the grounds of the Inn, exploring and allowing her curiosity to take hold. There were many places of interest to be found, and many lovely spots to relax such as the pond. This was only on the outside, the inside was impressive. Impressiveenough to attract an influx of foreign people to the area for festivities.
That would be pleasant, she thought. The Wobbly Goblet would succeed even more with coin and the people would be attracted to the parties and events. She had to admit it was a good idea that the Breton had to introduce a holiday. She would be more than happy to contribute with coin if nescessary. All she had to do was establish herself and acquire the septims.
She walked around the edge of the inn and out into the roads casually without the book she borrowed, and in the distance she could see three figures that lifted her heart.
They survived! Irvana rejoiced. Though she didn't recognize the blond woman at first, she saw it was no other than Vera.
Hmm. With the three combined, it is most likely the task was at last finished and the vampire menace destroyed.
The khajiit looked almost naked and she walked as if she'd wandered throughout Tamriel without so much as stopping. She looked exhausted and with good reason! They were gone for so long.
Kayla looked peeved and tired, dried blood smeared over her face like painting of a child. She must have been injured badly, but not badly enough that her life was forfeit.
Irvana remained in shadow beside the tree, casually watching as the trio entered the inn with haste as if was their home sweet home. Part of her wanted to go there and give Kayla and Aravi a hug and embrace them to give them thanks. Gold would suffice but those women chose to sacrifice leisure for battle. They wanted to do this. Otherwise they would've rejected the idea and went on with their lives. But she doubted they would want a young woman fawning over them after they had a rough day.
Perhaps later after they bathe and settle in.
The night seemed much more . . . secure now. Much safer. But there was something yet there. Her instincts told her enough that something was amiss and danger still lurked. She couldn't place her finger on it but it was as if a piece of a functional tool went missing. Her keen mind raced and all of her surroundings and images captured by her mind in the last recent hours came into play.
She hasn't seen Stefania or Lleris . . .
Irvana pondered on what might have been. There was so much to learn by returning to the inn. She already heard everything she needed about the Dunmer and the Nord woman. They certainly were an interesting couple, if she could say so herself.
There are things Irvana needed, and that was inside the Wobbly Goblet. Going out into the night could wait. There was so much to invest. She took pace and returned to the inn shortly after the trio entered and left their seperate ways to go in their rooms.
She sat by the fireplace and paid much attention to the group of farmhands making a mess of things through the door, and the conversation between the argonian and the breton.
Aravi wearing a robe, and was talking to Stefan. Irvana wondered if Kayla had retired to bed. She certainly was an interesting one . . . especially with Dawnbreaker.
Oh yes, Irvana knew what the sword was. That glow, that power contained in that single destructive vessel. Part of her wondered how many undead lives it took, part of her wondered how many fell by Kayla's hand. All of her wondered just how she acquired the blade and if Meridia speaks to her . . . about everything and anything. That right there is the ultimate question.
Sethyas nodded, and followed her instructions. His night vision of course made sense that he'd move forward with the task.
Approaching the vault entryway, he pushed the heavy ancient door in with his foot. The creak opened into a description that matched hers.
How many of these are her handiwork? He thought to himself, with a small measure of professional admiration, stepping over the the various macabre remnants.
An unnamed graveyard, for an unnamed man.He thought darkly, as he dropped the package near a drip.
Unwrapping the corpse, he placed it near a pool of water that turned lime into quicklime that would help break the body down quickly.
He looked at the mans face one last time. Your story may as well have been mine. He thought.
"Had I given in to the temptation; succumbed to the worst of myself in the hardest of times, which is easy to do...this might be me here in your place. In this, I hold my judgement. But you are not blameless either. Nor am I, or anyone who is the cause. As far as I'm concerned, if death was to be your penalty, you've paid your debt. The rest is out of either of our hands now." Sethyas whispered, pulling out a few coins, an old rusty iron dagger, some foodstuffs, and a small draught of brandy.
He placed these objects in the mans waistband, and rolled the corpse into the water.
"I picked that dagger up at the beginning of a journey...may it serve you well in yours." he offered, finishing with saying some silent prayers.
Exiting the chamber, he nodded to Eyja.
"It's done."
Vera Castius thanked Kayla and Aravi for the journey, though she didn’t bother apologizing for any grievances she might have committed during their hunt.
She climbed the stairs, walked through the hall and opened the door to her room where the smell of burning scented herbs, Jacinth and Rising Sun and animal and dirt impacted her nose with such force that she froze in place. It didn’t take her long to see that her lover was on a Spirit journey, a vision quest.
He’s contacting the spirits. The ancestors. But for what?
Most mages who desired to enter Oblivion dedicated time and effort to find means into the dangerous world beyond and behind Nirn. Great power is but a requirement to venture forth in another realm; power that if sought, could corrupt.
She was told long ago by Lycus that his first brush with the otherworldly forces came from his slave master’s daughter, who was fascinated with Oblivion and the Daedra and even made efforts to open a portal into another realm when he was yet a slave to the Telvanni in Morrowind.
Those days, combined with his extensive knowledge on the totems that helped alter and direct new powers of Lycanthropy in new directions years later, helped him achieve the ability to peek through the veil and enter Oblivion by connecting his own spirit.
Vera closed the door behind her gently and locked it. Lycus was unaware of her presence. His body was there, his eyes open and staring into nothing in particular. His consciousness, however, was somewhere else entirely.
She sighed. Of all places and times, he chose this moment and in an inn, no less. Lycus you handsome fool . . .
She undressed, tossed her clothes aside and went to take a bath when she found the tub empty. Her jaw tensed and she let out another long sigh as she scratched her head.
Good to know my husband thinks of me while I am gone.
The smell of blood, sweat and body odor was too strong for her and she wanted nothing more to wash away the blood and smell from her body. She couldn’t call the Altmer housekeep into the room, not when Lycus is summoning spirits and walking the bridge between realms in the very room. It wasn’t dangerous in the sense that whatever would be conjured would go wild. He’s not summoning Daedra, but even still she couldn’t anticipate the reaction from the others would be anything like admiration.
Naked, sweaty and with dried blood smeared all over Vera looked out the window and saw the great wilderness before her. I should’ve taken a bath in that waterfall but the khajiit was unwilling to swim in water where a corpse floated.
And just like that, the answer came to Vera. She rushed to the window and remembered. There’s a pond just outside.
Aravi saw only the Imperial remained at the bar. Kayla must have gone for a bath as well. Vera is, no doubt, with her husband.
Aravi sat near the Imperial, only an empty seat in between them. She sat carefully on the bar stool, the robe she ware restricted her movement some. She ordered a meal and some water.
She spoke to the Imperial, “Hello, I’m Aravi. Did you see where my friend went?”
*
Eyja raised her hand in an almost universal signal for silence and pointed in the direction of the fishing pond. It was quite a ways from the ruin, but sounds carried well in the night here; as if the foggy mist rising from the forest were a wall they echoed back from.
Her ring of Detect Life had shown a sole diminutive figure, from this distance it was no more than a sliver of pink. She couldn't even make out if it was human or a deer from the forest getting water at the pond; but didn't like taking unnecessary chances.
Eyja stepped to the side to let him lead the way, keeping crouched low to the ground.
*
Seth reacted swiftly and silently. His trait activated, and the shadows seemed to writhe around him as Mephala's Skill enveloped him, becoming one with the darkness. It didn't do him much good for those pesky 'detect life' spells, but usually they were used in response to a noise.
Something he did not make when he sneaked around.
He took a slightly longer arc than the beeline they made to the ruins, putting more distance between them and the pond.
Approaching the Inn's room window from which they had exited. He looked around once more, to ensure there was none around. To be doubly cautious he grabbed a vial from his chest bandolier and lifted his scarf to imbibe the potion.
A simple invisibility potion and his form was unseen.
He approached the rope that was nearly invisible in the darkness as well, and climbed up swiftly and silent.
*
Eyja didn't have a potion, and casting a spell would have stirred the air with sound and magicka, drawing attention to her presence more than aiding her in hiding it. The crescent moon and shadow of nearby trees and bushes would have to make do for cover as she shimmied up the rope behind Seth.
He coiled the rope soundlessly as he pulled it in, lifting it up and away from the ledge so the rope hung straight down as it was raised and never slapped the wall. Eyja watched the motion of his hands and tried to memorize the movement, intrigued by how silently he was able to manipulate the sturdy rope.
His skills were intriguing, even more so because he seemed to rely on something within himself; like a sixth sense. Foxy had that same skill, he sensed danger as if it was a tangible scent in the air.
Eyja lacked those instincts, though she had tried hard to hone them over the years. Where she had to rely on enchantments and gadgetry, men like Seth and Foxy only needed their senses. It was an extremely rare ability, even amongst assassins.
There was a wide gulf between herself and both Seth and Foxy when it came to skill and experience. As the one that trained her, Foxy had seen her rise from nothing and was proud of her growth and progress; but Seth had just met her, he only had the benefit of what was before his eyes.
Against other assassins in Cyrodiil she may be one of the better ones, but beside Seth; Eyja knew she must appear gauche and inept, amateurish. She only hoped he didn't find her that way.
Eyja quietly closed the window and latched it when Seth stepped back from it with the rope in a neat coil.
“The other assassin will be back, I’m sure they know by now that they’ve missed their mark. Either myself or my charge may have been the target, but with so many at the inn there is no way of knowing who was intended till they strike again.“
Now that it was over, he may want to know what brought her to his room. Eyja turned to him before he could ask.
“That poisoning this morning is actually the reason I was originally coming to see you. I was on my way to your room and just happened to notice the waiter checking the steps for sound, not a usual practice for a waiter in a tavern. When I saw the apples retained their redness after cooking, I didn’t want to wait till he’d breached your door, just acted on impulse to contain him.“
Eyja continued talking as she dug the list of ingredients needed for Abiene out of her pack.
"I don‘t know how it is in the other Provinces, but here in Cyrodiil only the higher skilled Alchemists know of this poison or are capable of making it. The Healer will need an Alchemist to cleanse it from her bloodstream, and I’m not skilled enough to make the potion for her. She may end turning to the same Alchemist who made the poison, and could be in danger if they are involved with the assassin or their organization. She may end up marked in case she can identify whoever was at the inn this morning.”
She carefully removed the fragile parchment and opened it , laying it on the dresser for Seth to read the list of ingredients.
“These are the ingredients she’ll need, but those at the bottom can only be found in the other Provinces. I wondered if you might happen to have any of these from your travels that you’d be willing to sell me.”
While he scanned the list Eyja remembered something she thought he should be warned of.
“I should mention too, there is some highly contagious viral disease being passed around in Chorrol that originated at this inn. It seems to be passed through close contact, not airborne. I've been chewing on Mandrake root to ward myself from catching it, and have plenty extra if you need some.”
*
Stefan turned his head and smiled a close-mouthed smile at the Khajiit.
"The Altmer with the Nordic accent? Curious one, she is. Yes, she went upstairs to wash off the grime, I'm assuming."
He turned to her fully and, as he did, leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his head on his closed fist.
"What brings two beautiful and dirtied women to this little inn?"
He couldn't quite put his finger on what seemed to be bothering Eyja after they returned. She seemed to be studying his movements. Something that became an automatic trait after a while, in this line. The difference between assassins and thugs were night and day.
Anyone could pick up a blade and murder an innocent. They were usually called Dark Brothers and Sisters and gave the Order a seemingly inexhaustible supply of inept henchmen. Thugs. Little training and less sense.
Perhaps she was put off by the exotic nature of his armor and speech. Again, he couldn't quite put a finger on it. He figured they would be a little less formal given the extreme; yet normal to them, nature of the experience they just shared, but whatever reasons she held back was her concern. Being reserved was a quality he fully respected.
If nothing else, she had proven indispensable and resourceful given that he may as well have never been here before.
He removed his hood as she remarked that the other Assassin would be back.
"Aye. If they're a professional; as it certainly seems to be by your take. Your instincts are razor-sharp. My wit has been dulled by long travel and...recent events." His eyes involuntarily flitted to the nightstand for a split second, before turning to consider her list and her words.
He went to his travel pack and pulled out what looked like a large leather book, but was actually a satchel of sorts. He also pulled out a logbook, and put an inkwell and reed dip pen on the desk.
He set the satchel on the bed carefully, and unbuckled the strap, and it unfolded once into two large sections. He unfolded the second section, and the satchel now lay flat with dozens and dozens of small pouches with names stitched into their face.
His eyes flitted back and forth over her list.
Corkbulb Root.
"Aye! Excellent for 'Cure Paralyzation' potions, and restoratives. Also used for arrows and bolts out in Morrowind...No negative properties at all...yes, I have some."
Netch Leather
"Not on me, no." He said, followed by a sudden realization. "Oh, wait." He looked at his right cuirass under-wrap sleeve, with a loose piece of leather that he hadn't had the opportunity to mend yet. He cut a decently large piece off. "Here you go...uh...no charge."
Scrib Jelly.
"Yes...no...I'm afraid I ate the last of it soon before I arrived. Shame, excellent for mages and cures...perfect for healers...but I'm kind of the opposite."
Scamp Skin
"Bloody Scamps. I could skin them all!" he muttered under his breath, and went to the pouch with that name.
"Ehhh...no, none in stock." he shook his head.
"But--" he said, opening his logbook. "I do have 'daedra skin' it's not the same thing, but you see the effects are quite similar." He said, bringing the page into view, and pointed out his notes.
"Scamp Skin has the 'cure paralyzation' effect, and the 'restore strength' effect. Whereas, Daedra Skin has the 'cure common disease' effect, and 'fortify strength' effect." He thought aloud.
"So the nerve damage most commonly associated with metal poisoning wouldn't be treated with that effect, nor the muscular tissue damage....but it would prove a decent, temporary substitute with the 'fortify strength' effect, letting the body continue its normal healing process, rather than with a diminished one..." he was mostly thinking aloud and continued to the next item on the list.
Kwama Cuttle
"Indeed. Excellent for 'Resist Poison' and aquatic potions: 'Water Breathing and walking'. Here you are." He said going through the appropriate pouch.
Ash Yam.
"Yes, actually. I keep a few with me at all times for emergency rations. They don't spoil and are actually quite beneficial to overall health as well." He said going through his travel pack. He grabbed a small burlap bag and handed her two.
And now the coup de grace. He thought sarcastically, and opened the window just a crack and sat down on the ledge. He pulled out a rolled hackle-lo leaf, lit it, and took a puff, his face becoming encircled with the exhaled smoke. A restorative plant from morrowind, it was usually chewed by the locals with great enthusiasm.
When the Imperials came in with their tobacco for trade, it was immensely unpopular to the Dunmeri due to it's scent and the fact that they had to deal with ash from the largest volcano in Tamriel as was. They did pick up on using dried hackle-lo in a similar manner however. The smell was considered pleasant by the locals, similar to mountain sage, and was quite relaxing and rejuvenating without the inebriating effects of alcohol, or the addiction associated with tobacco.
"If your statement was leading to whether or not I knew of an Alchemist of that skill level, then yes. I scored a 96 on the Mages Guild assessment. That was over fi--a few years ago. I've learned a few things since then." he said flicking an ash out the window, catching himself from revealing his disproportional age to his appearance.
"I suppose I am now honor-bound to assist you in this endeavor, as it's also bound to get out that I'm here with our latest visitor, I must now consider that my life is also in danger. You've proven yourself to me as an ally, and I pledge myself as one as well. My blades and my skills are at your disposal." He looked out the window into the night sky, tracing constellations paths with his eyes.
Then she mentioned the disease that was being transmitted via close contact.
His eyes flitted involuntarily again.
I worry about a lot of things. Disease is not one of them. He thought wryly.
"I'll be okay. Save it for those who need it. If need be I can easily craft Cure Disease potions....in fact, I have a few you can take with you if you wish. I have no ne--I can replace them easily."
He cursed himself. The travelling and the adrenaline of this last hour was starting to subside making his concentration break.
"I also should get some rest. I'm of little use in this state to you, or myself." He remarked, getting up and putting the 'lo out.
"What brings two beautiful and dirtied women to this little inn?"
Aravi’s ears flicked. She didn’t expect that sort of greeting. She took a sip of water before she replied. “Vampires. Someone was attacked nearby, so a few of us found their cave and killed them. Who are you? And what brings you here?”
*
Eyja gave an involuntary giggle at Seth's joke about Scamps. Her eyebrows raised when he mentioned his Alchemy score though.
“A Master in Alchemy!” She breathed it aloud without meaning to, but flushed in pleasure when he offered to help.
“Your help making the potion for her would be greatly appreciated. I doubt she can handle eating the ingredients raw as I did, she is...delicate.” Eyja didn't know how else to phrase it, not knowing if Dunmer would understand the comparison between a Nord's stomach workings and a Breton's.
Eyja put the list away and gathered the ingredients into a clean sack in her travel pack. She slid the Cure Disease potions in with her own vials of potions in the pack and then tied it shut.
Seth hadn’t stated a price, but his demeanor and voice showed he was exhausted. Eyja didn’t press him for a price now, let him determine the value when he was well rested and she would pay it out of her own funds. She felt responsible for Abiene having received the poison, as it was most likely meant for herself or Maxical.
“Thank you very much, Seth. I will return with the rest of the ingredients on the list.”
Seth turned his back to her as he smoked, so Eyja quickly dispelled her armor and pulled her short skirt and low cut top back on. With a grimace she realized the Gate Guard would be below stairs by now, expecting his date with her. She hefted her pack and cast chameleon so the guard wouldn’t see her leaving the inn.
Eyja turned the latch before closing the door so it locked; an exhausted man might not remember to lock it, and no telling who else saw him coming up the road.
***
In the corridor across from Seth’s room was a bloodstain left by the assassin, one large enough to draw notice.
Eyja moved silently down the steps and skimmed along the bar till she found a full bottle of wine. It was all the way in the back, with narrow aisles on either side that could trap someone trying to escape. The bar was lined with patrons, their stools shoved back so they could rest their elbows. One of them was the Gate Guard she was supposed to be meeting, he kept leaning back and scanning the crowds nearest the door.
Eyja decided to try the kitchen. At this time of night the food orders would have stopped, though there may be dishwashing going on. She gripped the swinging door and carefully wedged it open so it wouldn’t bang or draw attention to her entrance by continuing to swing after she’d passed through, barely sliding through before raised voices stopped her.
“I didn’t bother you with it when Stefania disappeared, but now Lleris is missing too!” No doubt that was the Orc woman who had welcomed her this morning.
“Good Daedric Lords, you’re not going to cry are you?” Eyja guessed the voice to be the Redguard man she’d seen earlier. “Stefania was lazy...”
“I’m not crying! Yetta must have left onion peels out, these are not tears...sniff. I don’t care about Stefania if she left of her own will, but Lleris wouldn’t leave me...us on his own! What if he's caught this terrible illness going around? He’s just a boy, alone...sniff...and don‘t tell me he’s fifteen! Just look at his face, that’s not the face of a fifteen year old!“
“I can’t look at him if he’s missing, now can I?”
“Rrrrraaaaaah...sniff sniff sniff.”
“Aw, damn it. Now don’t cry! I can’t tolerate a crying woman...stop it! Aw for the gods sake. Send for Dar’muktah. See what he can find out.”
Eyja grabbed a clean glass off the kitchen counter and cupped it in her hand, then slid back into the tavern quickly. She lined herself up with the full bottle of wine on the bar and then flung the glass in her hand onto the far wall. It hit with a loud crack and shattered into tinkling glass, drawing the attention of the room to that wall. Even the bard stopped playing and swung around to look.
Eyja slid the bottle of wine under her shirt and scooted back up the steps. She yanked the cork with a hard twist and poured it over the bloodstain, then lay the bottle on its side next to it. Unless there were vampires at the inn, no one would know the stain was anything but spilled wine.
As she tiptoed quietly down the steps to the door she heard the Breton man behind the bar bellow.
“Who took that wine that was sitting here? You, Guard! Someone here just stole a bottle of wine off the bar!”
Eyja slid out the door and headed for Chorrol.
*
Stefan gave Aravi a charming smile. Though she was not shapely like a human, Stefan found her pleasing to the eye. He wasn't attracted to beast-folk in that manner, but it never hurt to appreciate something beautiful. Her fur had in interesting pattern that he had never seen before. Perhaps, when we've become better acquainted, I can question her about it.
"I am Stefan LeRoi. Author, adventurer, and self-proclaimed scholar. Slayer of fictional beasts and tamer of actual wild women."
He leaned back slightly, straightening up as he spoke. "I come for respite and inspiration. Tell me, Aravi, how does one as small as you slay a vampire?"
He meant no disrespect. He'd met women and men her size, mostly Bosmer, who slew larger enemies than themselves. Most just weren't as friendly as Stefan had liked. Were he to finally find a friendly being not only cordial enough to tell him of their skills, but also able to use speech properly, he wold snatch the opportunity up like a hawk snatching a field mouse.
A quiet smile broke through Aravi’s fatigue and the dull pain emanating from her ear. That’s quite an introduction, she thought. I wonder who these ‘wild women’ are. She enjoyed the man’s boasts even though she didn’t quite believe them. She didn’t recognize his name, but then she didn’t get to read as much as she would have liked.
“Tell me, Aravi, how does one as small as you slay a vampire?”
“Just like anyone else. With a sword or a bow.” She yawned and covered her mouth. “Sorry, excuse me. It’s true most of them are physically larger and stronger than I am, but technique is more important than raw strength.” She paused to sip her water again and added, “I prefer to not fight them fairly either.”
“You said you were an author, is there anything I would recognize?”
Auguste
A noisy group of farm hands made their way to the door, bunching up as they all tried to stagger through it. Shouts and shoving ensued, but it was either good-natured or the prelude to a brawl outdoors. Auguste was not concerned with what happened out in the road. That was Nora’s problem.
“Auguste!” one of them called back as he left. The barman raised his hand to return the man’s farewell.
Tooth-in-the-Grass slouched in from the tea room, utterly wilted. “They’ve all gone.” He made a pile of gold coins on the bar. “I hope you were keeping track,” he rasped.
Auguste counted the coins at a glance and pushed some back to Tooth. They may not always see eye to eye, but neither of them would cheat the other. “It’s too late for table service,” he told Tooth. “You look done in. Sweep up and call it a night.”
“Hethilion kept up with the spills,” said Tooth. “Where’s that little wench Stefania?”
Auguste lifted a shoulder. He was not inclined to discuss one employee with another. “Get some rest, lizard.”
Yetta brought Aravi’s meal as Tooth headed back through the kitchen. The Khajiit was talking to the writer about vampires. Auguste suppressed a shudder.
“Chicken pie with carrots and peas, and here’s a bowl of strawberries,” Yetta announced. She stepped back and wiped her already clean hands on the cloth ever tucked through her apron strings. “I’m warming a berry cobbler now. On the house. Thank you for making County Chorrol a safer place.”
Auguste glanced from the big Nord woman to the slim little Khajiit. A warrior’s heart can beat in any breast, he mused. Thank Zenithar a barman’s beats in mine.
Kayla let out several loud, audible groans of pleasure and relief as the hot water relaxed her sore and stiff muscles. She quickly scrubbed her scalp as she ducked underwater, then saw the various soaps on the lip of the tub.
"Jasmine and vanilla, Rose and White Lotus? Bird of Paradise?" She sighed in disappointment as she saw there was no plain scent of vanilla. She tentatively sniffed each one, then decided that the jasmine and vanilla mix smelled wonderful. She carefully washed herself, applying the oil to the bathwater. She dried herself off and brushed her shoulder-length auburn hair.
She caught sight of the three long scars across her breasts in the mirror and collarbone and sighed in dismay. She gently touched the raised flesh, startlingly pink against her golden elven skin. She inspected the rest of her large scars. A claw mark from a vampire down the right side of her neck, several stab wound scars, then the long pink scar running from her elbow to her wrist where she blocked a blow from an overly-eager bandit.
She shook herself and brushed her hair, waves already forming. She thought about wearing her green dress, one she had picked up back in Anvil and kept in her pack. She instead put on a pair of loose-fitting black pants with several pockets. She drank a cure disease potion and put a few septims in one pocket to pay for her mean. She donned a white, also loose-fitting shirt. She was dressing for comfort tonight. The dress would restrict her movement and after being in her armor for so long, she wanted as much freedom as she could get.
She dabbed a bit of the oil on her wrists and neck and again thought of the bard.
Forget about him. she thought. If he approached me tonight, I'd most likely fall asleep during the foreplay.
All she wanted was some company tonight. Not sex, not passion, just someone to talk to. She went downstairs to see Aravi talking with a handsome Imperial man. She smiled and ordered her meal, "Anything with ham and wine, please. And potatoes. Just food." and turned to see the girl from the other night by the fire. She ran her fingers through her hair and stood next to her, smiling.
"Hi there, Irvana. Feeling better?"
- - -
"Swords and bows, eh?" Stefan mused. "And you fight dirty. Interesting. I suppose when one has an advantage over another, the playing field must be leveled in unexpected ways. You don't use magick?"
"Hi there, Irvana. Feeling better?"
The raven-haired woman turned to the source of the voice heavy with a northern accent. The speaker was Kayla herself sans the blood stains, the sweat, the dirt and grime but still wearing those dreadful scars.
After seeing her in armor, Kayla was more or less a different person in her white shirt and black pants. Despite her scars, Irvana didn't see too much of a killer in Kayla. Though looks can be very deceiving and those scars and that blade she had earlier sent a message to Irvana that she was every bit of tough.
Irvana smiled and on what seemed to be impulse, she reached out to grab Kayla in a tight embrace that was somewhat weak. She leaned in closer to her neck where her soft auburn hair brushed against her nose. It had a strong smell of jasmine and vanilla. She turned and gave Kayla a quick kiss on the cheek.
"I am ecstastic to see you here alive and well."
A good part of her knew Kayla would survive the encounter. The undead in the cavern weren't as powerful as they could've have been. She would have a much more difficult time killing an ancient . . . or perhaps not. Not with Dawnbreaker at her side. Truly, the weapon is fascinating and mysterious. But to say that the Daedra and magic works in mysterious ways is to admit one’s nescience, for any mystery can be solved through the use of knowledge and unrelenting effort.
"I owe you my gratitude, Kayla. You have my deepest and sincere thanks for dispatching those vampires. The thought of them stalking these areas would be most unbearable."
Irvana let out a sigh of relief as she studied Kayla from head to toe. She looked much better than before, and even healthier in appearance. Surely a woman in her line of work would've have drank a potion to ward off the diseases such as vampirism. Seeing Kayla turn into one would be very problamatic, and Irvana shuddered at the thought. She would have to be put down . . .
Instead of entertaining dark thoughts, she adopted a smile and took her seat. "Please, sit down. You must be famished."
A chicken pie and a bowl of strawberries were placed before Aravi. The hearty meal and the promise of cobbler decided one dilemma for her. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get to Chorrol after all this food.
She thanked Yetta for the delicious meal and picked up her fork. Steam rose from the pie. Eager in her hunger, the first bite burned her mouth. She sipped her water to help quell the pain.
Stefan made use of the distraction to ask another question instead of answering hers.
"Swords and bows, eh? And you fight dirty. Interesting. I suppose when one has an advantage over another, the playing field must be leveled in unexpected ways. You don't use magick?"
Aravi used her fork to stab holes into the pie while she listened. She wanted this food to cool off quickly so she could safely eat it.
“Fighting dirty, as you say, is a lot safer than fighting fair. And I do know a little magick.” She took another forkful and blew on it. “I have some skill in restoration and alteration.” She ate the bite quickly. “Neither of those are very useful in a fight though. Why are you so interested?”
Kayla's eyebrow involuntarily raised when Irvana kissed her cheek. She kept a close-mouthed smile on her face as she returned the embrace.
What is it with these Cyrodiliic women and kissing?!
She remembered Maxical greeting her in the same way the other day. I wonder where she went. I bet she went into town.
Once she got some breakfast, she'd head into town and see if she couldn't find her.
And Abiene. Gods, where did everyone go? How long were we gone for?
To Kayla, it felt like days, even weeks since she'd seen something other than Aravi's (understandably) irritated tail twitches and heard Vera's snide comments. In any case, she was glad to be out of that stinking armor and inot something loose. She nodded at Irvana as she thanked her for killing the vampires.
She sat with her and let out an embarrassed laugh.
"Honestly, I was too injured to kill the last one. You should've seen Aravi and Vera, though! Vera's fantastic with that crossbow, and Aravi is really talented with disarming traps." She ran her fingers through her hair absently. "Aravi'a so little that the vamps underestimated her, but she's really quick. And Vera shows no hesitation, which is good...in some cases."
She briefly remembered the thrall, a flicker of regret crossing her face. She composed herself and shot Aravi a smile, then turned back when she noticed her friend was eating. she put a hand to her stomach and laughed as growled audibly.
"Yeah, I'm a bit hungry. That's part of being on the road, though. Eat just enough to get you by."
- - -
"Just simple curiosity, Aravi." Stefan said, shooting her another smile. "So, the three of you went on a vampire hunt, eh?"
I can picture it now... Three beautiful women moving gracefully through the shadows as a snarling vampire patriarch sniffs them out, craving their blood.
Auguste
Kayla settled by the fire with Irvana. Auguste glanced at the stairs. Vera was up with her partner, but no doubt she would want a meal afterward. Yetta wouldn’t go to bed until she’d fed all of the returning warriors.
Yetta came through with her arms full, trailing a mouth-watering aroma. Auguste picked up the wine and followed her to the fireside table.
“Baked ham, home-fried potatoes and onions, summer squash, buttered corn off the cob, rolls with honey, and here,” Yetta placed a small plate beside the platters, “I heard you were from Skyrim so I made snowberry muffins.” The Nord stepped back with her customary flourish. “Plus I’ll bring a berry cobbler when you’re ready, compliments of the house. We’re all grateful for what you did out there.”
Auguste spoke up. “Yetta doesn’t make those muffins for just anyone,” he confided. “It’s not easy to get snowberries, and there’s never enough to put on the menu.”
Yetta flicked him with her towel, possibly blushing. It was hard to tell with her ruddy cheeks and smudges of flour.
“This is from Laegon.” Auguste presented the bottle of Tamika’s. “He’s also eager to express his… appreciation.”
The bard struck a dramatic chord. Auguste watched for Kayla’s reaction so he could turn it to his advantage back at the bar. This situation called for a wager.
Aravi nodded at Stefan’s question and took the small pause in the conversation to make some progress on her food. She heard Kayla laugh somewhere and glanced back. Ah. There’s Irvana too. She wondered if the woman was feeling better now that she’s had some time to recover from the attack.
She looked back to Stefan. She somehow doubted he was done with his questions. “What more do you want to know?” Then a thought struck her. “Are you from around here?” If he is, he may have known one of the victims… or even the thrall.
Bograk
Yetta walked away from the fireside group and approached the bar. She headed for Aravi, carrying a plate piled high with her special snowberry muffins.
“Might want to save those for her breakfast,” Bograk told her. “That cobbler you made is as big as her head. Can’t have you killing the guests through their bellies.”
Yetta’s brow furrowed as she considered. Then she gave a nod and moved back into the kitchen.
The front door opened, and Bograk’s missing waitress sauntered in.
“Stefania!” Bograk grabbed the girl’s arm and steered her into the hallway. “Where have you been all day?”
“Easy!” Stefania wiggled around in the orc’s grip. “I brought that item you told me to get from that… person! Didn’t Lleris tell you? He was supposed to say the message had come!”
Bograk let go of the arm and took the package. “Where’s Lleris? When did you talk to him?”
“This morning!” Stefania straightened her cloak and sleeve with exaggerated affront. Bograk rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where he went. I saw him up in the corridor. After breakfast.”
“It took you all day to pick this up?” Bograk demanded, covering her worry over Lleris. “Spent some time hanging around at the Priory, I’d wager. He’s a monk, Stefania. He lives in a monastery. You’ll not get much attention from him.”
Stefania sniffed and put her chin in the air. “What, someone who lives with just a bunch of men, devoting every hour to serving his Brothers? Ha! He must be desperate for company. We’ll see what I can get from him!”
The Imperial flounced away. Bograk shook her head. That kid has a lot to learn.
The package in her hands felt heavy for its size. Best to get this taken care of. She made her way up through the inn to her private quarters.
Bograk’s suite occupied the center part of the building’s attic, adjacent to Riad’s equally comfortable quarters. She walked to her desk and started to secure the package.
A noise from her bedchamber made her pause. Someone was curled in a quilt at the foot of her bed. Lleris. Bograk covered the distance in a blink.
The lad’s hair was stiff with sweat, his cheeks flushed purple with fever.
Lleris opened his eyes a crack. “Bograk,” he croaked. “I don’t feel very good.”
"Honestly, I was too injured to kill the last one. You should've seen Aravi and Vera, though! Vera's fantastic with that crossbow, and Aravi is really talented with disarming traps." Kayla explained to Irvana with an embarrased laugh. She wasn't proud to admit it, and with good reason.
So, Irvana mused silently. They were a challenge to Kayla even when she is in possession of the wayward solar daughter's sword. A blade meant to destroy false life.
"Oh surely you were capable of dispatching those savages," Irvana said, and with a whisper she added. "With the Lady of Infinite Energies' sword."
She was content to have learned more about Aravi as well. The khajiit is good with traps, it would seem, and her small stature made opponents underestimate her. It was a remarkble thing, to know of one's true strength when others would mistake it for weakness. Being part of dramas and various plays, Irvana understood this as well as anyone.
Kayla then added that she was hungry and in appropiate timing the cook came toward them with a platter full of food with the Breton bartender giving the woman praise for her efforts. Irvana sat by with a faint smile as Kayla was presented with a bottle of wine from Laegon, the bard. He also explained the man was eager to show his appreciation.
Irvana's eyes focused in on the bottle as it was given to Kayla, her mind already processing the information. She has an admirer . . . the bard. Or perhaps he's just another man seeking to gain access into her skirts.
She looked at the platter of food as it was set on the table. "This looks fabulous." Irvana said.
How is it that everyone on godsdamned Nirn can figure out that I've got Dawnbreaker?! Kayla fumed. She expected people who had seen it to connect the dots, unless they were slow or just didn't pay attention to the legends of daedric artifacts.
But seriously, she thought, her eyebrows knitted together in displeasure. I had it hidden away. Didn't I? She knew she obsessively checked the flap to make sure the shining jewel in the hilt was hidden. Maybe Irvana glimpsed it.
She'd heard that certain mages can detect powerful magicks just by being near them. She'd never gotten too interested in magick, so her skill was low beside setting things on fire and providing light in dark spaces. She also knew a useful muffle spell, but it only lasted a few moments.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the most tantalizing smell. She turned her head to see the Nord woman, the cook, bring out a large plate of food. Had Kayla been standing up, her knees would have buckled at the sight. she composed herself and looked up at Yette as the Nord spoke.
“I heard you were from Skyrim so I made snowberry muffins.”
Kayla's jaw dropped. "I haven't had snowberry muffins since I left Skyrim! Thank you!"
“Plus I’ll bring a berry cobbler when you’re ready, compliments of the house. We’re all grateful for what you did out there.”
"Oh, it's no problem." She said softly, gingerly picking up a muffin and smelling it, closing her eyes.
“Yetta doesn’t make those muffins for just anyone,” The barman said. Kayla glanced over at him, then at the cook. She gave her a wide, genuine smile.
"Then thank you doubly for this. I'm truly touched by this gesture."
“This is from Laegon.” Auguste presented the bottle of Tamika’s. “He’s also eager to express his… appreciation.”
Kayla blushed and looked over at the bard, who strummed his loot, looking at her. She bit her lower lip and fluttered her lashes slightly, unconsciously.
"Uh, thank you, Laegon. Tamika's is my favorite wine."
She looked at the food and the wine and realized that was the most appreciation she had ever gotten. Usually she had gold shoved in the palms of her hands with a gruff, "Now go." The stigma attached to vampire hunters was not unlike the stigma attacked to daedra worshipers in some places, though vampire hunters weren't chased out of cities and towns, thankfully. Some assumed them weird, paranoid, even dangerous.
In truth, she was only the last one.
She began eating her food, her stomach protesting loudly at the smell. She popped the cork on the wine, smiling at Laegon and Yetta appreciatively as she poured it into the empty wine glass Auguste had handed her.
"it IS delicious!" She said to Irvana, but moreso to Yette. "And I'll eat every single bit of it."
Glenius opened the door to the inn,leaving Gareth and Lanius in the stable.
He had his green cloak's hood up,he's cloak protected the back of his brown jacket and white shirt and a bit of his brown linen trousers,he also wore fur boots.
He had a satchel,you could see a book poking out of it,too big a fit for the satchel.
He also had a dagger that was sheated in his holster that went around his waist.
He looked around saw the many patrons,some looked at him,he want over to the barmaid and asked for a bottle of mead.
After he took his mead he took a seat by the fire and began drinking,he didn't put his hood down yet.
Glenius was always warry of people and he kept his dagger close.
Glenius had a scar under his eye,it was quite large and went across his nose stopping just above his upper lip.
"I hope Gareth and Lanius are ok" he whispered to himself.
Irvana made her lips a thin line. Kayla indeed deserved the muffins for her exploits back in that cavern, as did Aravi. In fact, Irvana can think of a thousand things these two women deserve for their stand against vampirism.
Kayla seemed visibly irritated. The furrowing of the brows was more than enough to tell Irvana that this might be a touchy subject, or at least one she was confident would never be raised. What she was interested in knowing was why Kayla had went to such lenghts to conceal her weapon? Fear? Fear that someone might steal it? Fear that someone might look upon her with disdain for consorting with Daedric Princes?
I found a nerve . . .
Then as a book, Irvana read Kayla some more. The lashes fluttering like a butterfly in mating season, who bit her lip subconsciously as she blushed in flattery. A small gesture from a man is enough to make this vampire hunter float in her shoes? No. It would appear that she fancies the man. This too, made Irvana all the more curious. Intensely so, but she did not show it. Nor did she decide to comment on it. Most things she just keeps to herself.
Irvana waited for a moment until Kayla swallowed before touching her gently on the leg. "What brings you from the north here to the Imperial Province?"
She locked her beautiful sulfuric radiant eyes with Kayla, and with a smile, she leaned back.
Kayla drained the last bit of her wine from the cup before answering Irvana's question. "I came here to Cyrodiil for an expedition for great treasure. I've been saving up my earnings from adventuring and vampire hunting for years, but all of my money seems to disappear once I get hungry." She looked at the nearly empty plate of food and laughed. She handed Irvana a muffin.
"Snowberries are delicious. My ma used to put them in my oatmeal in the mornings. She'd have my sisters and I go pick some so that by the time da got home, he'd have some bread with the berries baked in. She guarded the recipe from the other women in town like a bear guards her cubs!" She laughed loudly, covering her mouth with one hand. She shot a discreet glance at Laegon, who was strumming his lute to a simple, but pretty tune. She bit her lip again and sighed softly before turning back to Irvana.
"I hope you don't think I'm a giggling schoolgirl, fawning over a bard." She murmured, leaning closer. "It's rare that I get male attention." She smiled. "I don't expect you to understand. You're a very pretty girl, and that man at the bar has been sneaking glances at you."
True to her word, Stefan glanced over at Irvana occasionally as he chatted with Aravi. He answered her question with a nod.
"Yes, I'm from around here. Born, raised, and bred several times." He grinned at her and chuckled at his own joke.
Irvana listened to Kayla as she was handed a muffin, and she stared at the freshly baked loaf in her hands and took a small bite out of it.
Kayla explained a bit of her childhood with snowberries, and why she must been having so much fun eating it. Being away from home for so long is bound to bring memories. Kayla sounded like she had a pleasant childhood with her sisters. This brought Irvana's memories to what she had written of her own childhood, but nothing there was remotely close in comparison to Kayla's.
After striking a note in her words, she covered her mouth in embarrasment and shot a discreet look at the bard. Realizing she demonstrated her concern on his possible opinion on her, she turned to her and spoke once more.
Irvana understood she must not have many male suitors with those scars, but in this day and age men seemed to be desperate for anything that didn't have the same organ as them in between their legs.
She turned to the man at the bar. She wasn't flattered, attracted, or impressed. In fact, it has been sometime since she's last had a lover. One could say she's invested in so much that she had little time for mutual attraction and companionship, as odd as that sounds.
"Attraction must be grounded upon a thing beyond looks alone," Irvana said after awhile. "When one grows old, or if they sustain skin-altering or physical damage . . . what becomes of them, then?" She sighed as she turned her head away from the man and toward Kayla and giggled. "I must confess that I am not always like this. There are certain days where I look absolutely terryfing! Having a water basin next to your bed always helps. But I've been dissapointed far too many times to concern myself with the petty squabbles of the day to day minutiae."
She approximated herself toward Kayla, while at the same time gnoring the bard. "Just be careful with men, Kayla. Be wise. Many are worthy, but many seek to manipulate you. Trust me, it is a terrible thing when you cannot trust the people closest to you."
She glanced over at the bard and squinted her eye, and then leaned back. "Please, do not condemn me for a prude. I love the passion and to feel something for another, I just never truly found the time in recent days. I have been rather occupied with a great many things."
Irvana took another bite of the muffin and set it down on the table. She didn't savor the taste of it as Kayla did. It simply wasn't her choice of food. "Forgive me if I may seem a bit intrusive in your buisiness, but I have not met many vampire hunters in these areas. I was always fascinated by the nightmarish stories of vampires and I loved hearing tales about the men and women who hunted them. Are you alone or are you part of a faction that specializes in tracking and hunting them down?'
Something Irvana said struck a chord in Kayla's chest. She deflated almost visibly.
She's right. What type of man would be interested in a woman that looks like me?
She poured herself another glass of wine and gulped it down while Irvana spoke. The last time she had had a man's affections, though they were strictly physical, was three years ago. They were both drunk, and the deed wasn't memorable, though he claimed she was loud and raucous the entire time. Truthfully, she remembered feeling ill from the alcohol in the middle of it, then waking up the next afternoon in bed with a strange man's hand cupping her breast.
Before that was six years, before she had her facial scarring. She was young and fresh-looking, tall and proud, and willing to bed any man that could beat her in a barfight. Strength is what attracted her. Strength and brains. How low had she sunk that she was getting hot and bothered by a common bard?
Low, indeed.
Kayla was suddenly very glad that she left the dress in her pack upstairs. The neckline was too low for someone with as much scarring as herself. The sleeves were short as well, whereas in her current state of dress, she would only reveal her scar if she leaned too far forward. Even so, someone would have to look directly into her chest, and if they did, she'd most likely knock their head against a table.
She scratched her scalp absently as she answered Irvana's question, leaning forward and keeping her voice low.
"Cult of Meridia. Founded one hundred years ago, before my time. Not very well known, not very active in the spotlight. We mostly moonlight as watchdogs for Meridia, but some of us actively fight vampires." She sighed and glanced at the muffin left partially eaten by Irvana.
Such a waste.
"Ask whatever you like. I'll tell you what I can."
Cult of Meridia, mused Irvana. A small group of fanatics that she hasn't heard in years. She's certainly heard of them when they were founded, but more prominant cults rose like the Mythic Dawn. Even though she never seen much of them in the light, which oddly enough is they might operate, she did not understimate their abilities and potential. The Mythic Dawn remained hidden for so long that they were able to cripple an empire with efficiency and cunning. Through contagion rather than subjugation.
Well versed in history and academics, Irvana has memorized tons of information over the years that one might wonder how a fresh-faced girl can be so intelligent. With coffers stuffed and social graces robust, anything is possible.
Looking at Kayla, Irvana could discern that she's been through a lot and many scars—emotional ones—linger deep inside and with proper words, could be revealed soon enough. She didn't desire to appear too curious or overly invasive of other people's buisiness.
"I am only curious," Irvana said with a bow of the head. "I don't have many friends. The ones I had were partners in dramatic plays in the Imperial City, though they moved on to other things. "A little about myself. I am a bit of a scholar. I spend tremendous amount of time leeching off books and pouring my soul into paper. I like to study everything; social arts, history, culture, schools of magick, and Daedra and everything in between. So believe me that you had my attention when I saw that sword of yours upon your return, for I knew what it was. You strike me as a capable woman and I don't imagine you stole that blade from Meridia . . . what did you to obtain it?'
Her eyes sparkled in the fire, and had a light glow to them. She smiled with a grin of a little girl intent on hearing more about a story.
Godsdamnit.
The question everyone eventually asked her. How did you obtain this sword?
Not through trickery, deceit, no. Skill and potential. She'd shown promise at alchemy, sword fighting, hand to hand, and most importantly, she was very hard to infect. She'd found that out the hard way when she was a child, right after the group took her in.
The potions were part precaution, part paranoia. She kept her skill in alchemy honed by preparing curing potions and brewing deadly poisons, for both the natural and supernatural beings. She'd found a way to completely silence and paralyze a vampire, keeping it from dispelling the effects of the poison and giving her an advantage.
She gave Irvana a half smile and heaved her chest in a small sigh. "In our group, there were about 35 of us, known to each other. There are others, hidden even from other members. Recruitment is tricky, as you have to have something to bring to the table. Some brought information, some brought money, some brought skill. Someone else brought me."
She cleared her throat and took a drink of her third glass of wine. She began to feel the effects of the alcohol slightly, loosening her tongue quite a bit.
"My town was massacred by Movarth Piquine. He had some sort of fascination with children, small girls especially. He turned my sister, and tried to turn me. I resisted the disease, outlasting the other children as they turned quickly. Children can't fight a sickness like vampirism. As soon as they figured out what was going on, the watchdogs in our town tried to cure the children. Once the disease hits a certain point, though, it's too late. But they tried their damndest, even went as far as to try to kill Movarth in his lair nearby.
"They knew our town was doomed, and instead of killing the vampiric children in it, they died at their hands. I awoke in a bed in the alchemist's shop. I remember the man was always kind to me, even when others in town disliked me for being an Altmer in a Nord town. He was a Breton, and not quite as distrusted, as he was human.
"Turns out, he was in the cult, and had sent a courier to some members in the next town. They found me in the bunker, filthy and nearly feral from hunger and terror. A Khajiit man carried me out, Ma'dat. When we arrived at the shrine, he offered me. 'This one brings you bloodied innocence as a gift, my lady.' he said. And she accepted. I was raised from the age of twelve by cultists. They each taught me the skill they had. Some I excelled at, others I failed at. I excel at Destruction magick, hand to hand, swordfighting, and alchemy. I've had Dawnbreaker at my side ever since I stopped whacking myself in the face with practice swords."
She laughed, then let out a little sigh. She shifted in her seat and took another gulp of her wine.
"So, there you have it. Meridia demanded a champion, and she chose me. I'm not a...perfect champion, not by far. But I'm hard to kill. Each one of these scars is their own story, their own battle. This one," She pointed to the one on her cheek. "Vampire, of course. But she was vicious and feral. She'd drained seven children in a small farming villiage outside or Markarth, all under the age of five. This one," she pointed to the one in the shape of a smile on her throat. "A smarter vampire. Not quite feral, but still vicious all the same. He tried to slit my throat, but got a mouthful of fire instead." She barked a quiet laugh.
She frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to babble. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
Powered by Invision Power Board (http://www.invisionboard.com)
© Invision Power Services (http://www.invisionpower.com)