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Posted by: Uleni Athram Jan 21 2013, 10:48 AM

The Shadow Under Fort Sutch
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Things were slowly going back to normal.

The momentous events of the Crisis were undeniable and unforgettable, but as time marched on ever forward, so too did the memories of fire and Oblivion slowly fade. The Empire, battered and bruised, laid low the Prince of Destruction and His unholy legions with the help from her sons and the Divines. They paid a heavy price, for the glorious line of the Septims ended with the shattering of the Amulet, and Martin's ascension to the splendors of Aetherius. The Ruby Throne lies unseated, the Crown unwore. The Scepter that commanded red legions to conquest commands them no more. The last divinity of Tiber's line stands petrified in the bloodlines' last moment of glory. A grave price indeed, one that would echo and change the Empire's fate forever, but it was a price they willingly paid. To maintain balance and order in the world of mortals. The populace all over the Empire contributed heavily into itz rebuilding. The toils of restoring the glory that was Cyrodiil slowly helped ease the shock and the horror. The Crisis would never be forgotten, yes, but in time it would be fade.

Things were slowly going back to normal.

From Bruma to Leyawiin, from Cheydinhal to wounded Kvatch, news spread of the collaboration between the three Guilds of Anvil. Even wounded Kvatch has heard, and the Empire bristled with curiousity and excitement. Even the other provinces took ear of the Expedition, headed by the famous Oedipus Nebraska, he who is renowned in the land for his deeds of daring. The eyes of this veteran adventurer has seen something in the darkness below Fort Sutch, and is eager to drag it into the light of discovery. All manner of characters and personalities are drawn to this expedition. The thrill of journeying forth in a strange land? The riches and rewards of fame it allures the world with? The discovery of secrets long buried by the ancients, whether it be damning or enlightening? Or the chance to create history with their own hands?

The Shadow under Fort Sutch detests the light from above, and will test those who invade if they are strong enough to even uncover its barest of secrets.....

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OOC: Okay, the introduction is finished. Since DE is the first poster, please, do your magic and let's get this show on the road! *roars*

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 23 2013, 12:04 AM

Character Intro: Lord Drakothemir.

The sky was overcast and foreshadowed a storm and the sun, rather uncharacteristically for a port town, hid behind the dense black clouds. Strikes of lightning could be seen in the distant horizon above the sea, and white seagulls croaked their shrieking songs as they flew by in despair.

Drakothemir stood at the balcony of Castle Anvil as a noble guest for the royalty there. He’d been in the presence of the rich and the influential more times than he cared to even possibly remember. It wasn’t surprising. He is his own ancestor, archduke of towns, owner of lands(of those not his own). He is what others should be. He is analytical and without pity, but also pragmatic. Intelligent. Reasonable. Once he was the political heart of Empire, Draken Decumus, once known for his integrity, his principled fight against corruption and festering diseases of rebellion. Now, he is a simple nobleman watching the sun set as night was ready to arrive once more.

Centuries ago, Anvil was a short collection of ramshackle huts famous for standing as a violent haven for pirates, refugees, thieves, thugs, and men and women of ill intent who happened to wash up as weeds in Anvil Bay. The once glorious Empire, distracted by the activities of the Camoran Usurper and his Undead horde, seemed unable to stop the relentless pirates of Anvil as they assaulted merchant ships throughout the Abecean Sea. Those were the times where pirate captains stalked the seas. Where a certain Toradan ap Dugal and his organized crime called the Red Sabre relentlessly drilled their nefarious campaigns.

It was the glorious days where Drakothemir was commander of the navy, and fought alongside Commodore Fasil Umbranox in a famous battle along the coasts. The blood flowed as water in those days, and Drakothemir was one of the men responsible for torching the entire town and forcing the population of the un-lawless out into the wilderness . . . as animals. The days where his ship fell into the Malestrom of Bal and his entire crew sent into Oblivion. The old days. The ancient times. Times long past.

Lord Drakothemir allowed himself a cryptic smile. His courtesy—the hallmark of a legit nobleman—was effortless, yet somehow it seemed always to fascinate the low-class mortals. He folded his arms at his chest and stared into the horizon. The world is changing. Tamriel is changing. The Oblivion Crisis had struck a blow to the very heart of the Empire. In one fell swoop the Septims had lost their lives through assassination and sacrifice. And Drakothemir missed most of it, slumbering under the earth for twenty years as the gates opened throughout the provinces.

Things were not going back to normal, despite what people believed. After Uriel and Martin perished, the septim line is forever gone. Drakothemir never imagined he would live to see the day, then again, it wasn’t beyond impossible. But those insects who believe Cyrodiil will be safe and peaceful for long are ignorant. Such children they are. Drakothemir shook his head. It was almost too ridiculous. Even for a man like him.

This is Lord Drakothemir, Nobleman of the Vladmirius family:

Once a great dark crusader in the early centuries of the Third Era, and an even greater vampire,
Drakothemir is a black shadow walking the province. Secret nemesis of the Knights of the Nine, shadowy villain of the Vigilantes of Stendarr, oriflamme of his clan, and to the known world a simple nobleman with riches and wealth beyond counting. He is the very personification of awe.

Today marked the day where the new guild would be recruiting a mass congregation of creatures from all backgrounds and races and colors and stripes. It wouldn’t surprise him. The Heart of the Empire seem to have invited an unwanted group of tourists ever since the Martin gave his life to send Mehrunes back into his hellish realm of Oblivion. Even more appalling other than the fact that some would sooner taint the Imperial name with their very presence, was that they would tarry moe than they should and seek to grasp some measure of fame only to disgrace Cyrodiil's soil with their rotting corpses.

“All I can say, however, is that after this Expedition is done, the Adventurers Guild would never be the same!"

Drakothemir remembered reading about the interview. The people were buzzing about it like flies drawn to a flame. Of course, nothing in this world will be the same, Drakothemir mused. While the scattered cattle look to the stars for hope, Drakothemir sets his age-old gaze to the bottomless pits and dark caverns of the earth. Not for respite, no, not this time. But for the hidden secrets buried deep within Fort Sutch. Secrets that had been laid there since the times of Alessia, long before Drakothemir was even conceived by the blessed(and damning) powers of Molag Bal.

Tulas Feramo knew of these secrets. Drakothemir heard of him years ago, when the man was but a simple apprentice to the arcane arts. But the One-Gazer not only knew of these secrets, he exposed and wrote about them! And the blind academics, riled by his claims, had saw fit to put the man in chains for heresy and contempt. Drakothemir found it truly amusing. It was a sad turn of events when the man who saw fit to share with the world his discoveries, or perhaps, a fabrication, would be soon await his own death for flapping his tongue. Of course, such things happen. He would be the perfect candidate to die. Just as all the other adventurers who would venture into the depths of darkness to uncover their mind’s desires. Drakothemir's sole and only regret was if the man died without serving his purpose. But the truth is: Better him than me.

Like Tulas, many of these thrill-seeking apes would sooner get themselves trapped in a cave of flesh-eating zombies or their souls stolen by Daedra for entertaining their rather simple-minded tastes for adventure and glory. And their bones would simply decorate the forgotten cob-webbed corridors and trap-laced rooms. But for Drakothemir, it would simply be an endless buffet that would serve him well until he resurfaces back with the secrets he himself believes may also be hidden there. If there is anything of worth truly hidden there. It is possible and likely, but not certain. As most knew, there was only way to find out.

The tyrannical sun and its blinding light had been devoured by the darkness of night, and Drakothemir scanned the stars for opportunity. Not like the hopeless children, no. But as a man with a vision. He would set out for Anvil, not to burn it to the ground as he did centuries ago as an Imperial commander and not as a nobleman. He would do so as a common man. A lion dressed as the sheep . . .to walk among the sheep . . .into what possibly could be a great slaughter.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 23 2013, 12:23 AM

Intro Post:

The Empire was going to rot, Drakothemir knew of this. Their shining star had been plucked from life itself and sucked into a destroyed gem. Uriel and his kin are in Aetherius now while his people scurry about to vie for political power. Drakothemir couldn’t care less. He had retired to his family castle after reawakening and assumed his hereditary title as a nobleman. The riches acquired throughout the endless decades, coin harvested from treachery and the spilled blood of the unworthy, made him one of the wealthiest being in Cyrodiil. Amid the growing corruption endemic to the Empire, his vast stuffed coffers and robust social nature could have bought the allegiance of any given number of politicians; he could, perhaps, as his sister had done before, have bought control of the empire only as a secret governor.

But a man of such heritage, such cultured nature, could never stoop to be lord and master of a festering garbage heap, leader of a horde of scavengers bickering over scraps like Chancellor Ocato and the rest of the High Council; the Empire, to him, was nothing more than this. Misfortune begat from the fiery pits of hell itself had fallen, and the Empire had collapsed out of favor.

Instead, Drakothemir would have used all the immense power of his fortune— and the vastly superior power of his unique integrity—to begin purging the world from this so called “Empire.” He would have been the is the icon of a stellar movement, its public face. To become the living symbol of honorable justice. This would have been the public story. This is the story that even Drakothemirr, in his sad and weak moments, almost believes. The truth is more complicated. Drakothemir is... different. He doesn't remember quite when he found this out; it may have been when he was a young fledgling, betrayed by those closest to him. It was once said to him: “You don't understand what friendship and loyalty is.” And he didn't. It wasn’t even a concept. It had been all so preposterous that he hadn't known what to say. In fact, he has never been entirely confident when people mean when they speak of loyalty or platonic bonds.

Love and joy, hate and anger-—even when he can feel the energy and passion of these feelings in other people, they translate in his darkly altered perception to other kinds of emotions. The ones that make sense. Perfect sense. Jealousy he knows, and possessiveness and hunger for power, too: he is fierce when any creature, even of kin, encroaches on what rightfully belongs to him. Intolerance, at the recalcitrance of the Tamriel, and at the undisciplined and pathetic excuse for lives of those who dwell in it: this is his mundane state.

Spite is bliss: he takes considerable pride in the suffering of his foes if they so deserve it. And pride? Pride is a virtue in an aristocratic nobleman, and vexation his undeniable right: when any dare to impugn on his sovereignty, his blood-honor, or his deserved position atop the natural hierarchy of society. And moral controversy makes perfect sense to him: when the inveterate disarranged affairs of ordinary mortals refuse to conform to the obviously simple structure of How Society Is Supposed To Be.

He is entirely incapable of giving a single care in the realms of what any given person might feel for him. He cares only what that person or cattle might do for him. Or to him. Very true, in his point of view, he is what he is because other people aren’t just very... interesting. Or even, in a sense, entirely people. Just Cattle. Sheep.

All around him were these sheep. Flocks of them. Belching and crying, scurrying about to devour their pastures of bread and cheese, and to drink their fill ale and beer. This was the Harborside of Anvil. But not only did the foul-mouthed sailors urinate the air with their drunken protests and rather idiotic songs of Cyrus and the Fall Of Dagon, there were tourists searching to sign and sell their lives for the Adventure's Guild.

Drakothemir, discarded from his nobleman's clothing(which were left at the Castle) and wearing nothing but a dark shirt and a black robe to cover it, along with black boots to cover his pale feet, frowned measurably at the sight. And he could see from his peripheral vision that there were those frowning at him from afar. Perhaps enjoying the scenery and filling their minds with a potential robbery of the dark-robed man. The set of peculiar rings on his fingers would be a shiny coin, they must be thinking. Or that fine saber dangling from his side could cleave skulls in two, they might imagine. But Drakothemir simply strided along the edge of the harbor with hands tucked behind his back, and his hood pulled back to dispel the aura of mystery about him.

To the public eye: He is no nobleman. No crusader. No warrior. No politician. No aristocrat. And above all, no pureblooded vampire. He is a simple man curious about joining the Fighter's Guild. And that what he was selling, to his chagrin, though, as he was now a target for the group of pirates who were likely setting sail to Hammerfell. Of course, one last holdup would not be too much for them. Especially with the set of rings Drakothemir had clothing his cold fingers.

His face bespoke uncertainty and fear, and his every stride was unconfident and clumsy. Twice now he nearly bumped into a group of overfed Nords carrying supply creates to their ships, or a tight-knit pack of Redguards carrying fierce-looking cutlasses. He was prey for the unrelenting.

No one would truly seek out the death of a common Imperial man, not when the Empire was rebuilding itself, not when the Adventuter's Guild were recruiting.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Jan 23 2013, 05:47 AM

Westley:

The wind was howling ferociously, and the land was ensnared in darkness. With no light but that of the moon and stars to guide his path, Westley cautiously walked down the main path to Anvil. He had traveling since the wee hours of morning, when the sun barely crept over the horizon, and with no horse or carriage to take him to his destination, Westley was exhausted from the long journey. Oh, how he longed to smell the salty air of the Anvil docks. He dreamed of socializing with the good-natured people of Anvil, and laughing along with his new friends over a mug of ice-cold beer at the tavern, but alas, this dream would never come true.

Westley was different. He was not like the mortals. They were so fragile and sensitive. Westley was given the blessing of his master Hircine, and despite the tremendous increase in his strength, stamina, and senses, deep inside Westley could only feel hatred for himself. In his eyes, he was a soulless monster, who merely craved the taste of human flesh to sate his unnatural hunger. The ring of Hircine may have prevented his forced transformations on the day that the moons rose in the sky, full and glorious, but it did not silence the inner-wolf, and Westley's sanity was slowly degrading, day by day.

Westly stopped, and took a deep breath. He looked up at the star-filled sky. Memories of sitting in the grassy plains by the Imperial City with his father Corvus, listening as he was told tales of how every great hero became a star, and thet the greatest heroes became constellations. Each constellation told a different story. A different struggle. A different battle.

Those painful memories died in the dreaded fire with Corvus though. Westley could still remember that horrible day. Smoke rose from every part of the forest he was ensnared in, and the flames ate everything in their path. His father had rushed to his aid, and saved Westley from the fire, but was dragged back into the horror. His father had thrown himself up into a dirt hill, but was thrown back down to his death by thier so called family friend. Westley could still hear his father's screams as he plummeted to his death, and the cold, hard, unforgiving ground killed him upon impact.

Corvus had a dream. He wanted to become an adventurer, make his name noticed out there. He wanted to provide money to feed his son. But that was all stolen away from him, and even though he was dead and gone, Westley carried on the memories of his father. He had read in the Black Horse courier about how the adventurer's guild was recruiting, and how they were planning to go on a journey to the lost city of Sutch. He wanted to fulfill his father's hopes and dreams, and he had found himself here, walking along the road to Anvil.

Westley snapped back into reality, and continued down the dusty trail. The soft beams of the moonlight were cold against his light skin, and the wind wasn't helping. Every step he took kicked up dust, causing him to cough and take desperate gasps for air. He fiddled with the ring of Hircine, but didn't take it off of his finger. It was too risky, but he was so far from Anvil still. Surely a willing transformation wouldn't do to much harm.

Westley slipped the ring off of his finger, and slid it into his pocket. He let the inner-beast break free, and became one with the wolf. He had control over the beast, at least when it wasn't full moon, so not a worry went through his head. Thick, black fur began rapidly growing all over his body, and he cold hear a sickening cracking sound as his bones shifted shape. All of his muscles bulged out, and became larger, and four Large fangs rapidly extended in his mouth, and all of the rest of his teeth became sharp. A pointed muzzle grew from his face, and he ears became pointed. His eyes began to glow a brilliant shade if bright-blue, and claws as sharp as daggers sprouted from his fingers. He could feel the strenght coursing through his veins, and he let out a blood-curdling howl as he stood in the moonlight.

Westley took off at the speed of lighting, and continued heading down the dirt path to Anvil. He hoped he wouldn't cross paths with anyone, he had no intentions of frightening innocent bystanders. He kept his breathing rate steady so he wouldn't slow down from loss of stamina, and carefully observed his surroundings to make sure there were no fiends with malicious intentions towards him. Then again, everyone wanted to kill the werewolf. After all, since when are werewolves the 'good guys'?

He was so busy with his head in the clouds again, that Westley didn't notice he had halted to a stop, and a Redguard woman was pointing a pitch fork at him and screaming for help. He took note of his surroundings, and noticed the large city gates, bearing the emblem of the city of Anvil. The woman began screaming even louder, and that was his cue to hide for cover. Westley bolted through the gates of the city, there were a few drunk men making attempts to navigate through the city, and they noticed Westley and screamed for help. Westley ducked behind a house, turned back into a human, and snuck into the chapel as if nothing happened. Hopefully the guards will dismiss this werewolf sighting as hallucinations from the excessive amounts of alcohol that the men had been drinking last night. One sober witness wasn't enough to justify the story....

Posted by: Uleni Athram Jan 23 2013, 03:50 PM

OOC: Y'know DE, you should've brought Kraven along for this. It would've been interesting!


GM POST

It was Captain Habach's annoying insistence of the second-in-command taking the last desk-shift that Milon found himself straining his very bones to calm down one woman, and a band of six drunkards all of them hysterically ranting about ... a godsdamned werewolf entering the city proper. The woman, a portly horse-whisperer by the strange name of Swanky Dorea, shrieked with literally convulsing conviction about an ugly, demented thing that looked like a wild, walking mass of Nordic pubic hair, and with eyes that glowed a menacing turd-yellow under the light of the Twins. At this, Milo almost lost his nerve and would've guffawed, but kept an impartial face. Apparently to her, it stank like one too, and with all fours like a pathetic shadow, it bounded towards the direction of the Docks. The stench, she screams, was still ripe and raw like uncircumsize-

Milon's will caved in, and he laughed out loud at the absurdity in her claims, mercifully cutting off what she would've said in the ensuring howling.

Gods, he thought. What a strange woman!

He asked that she be serious, and shot her many questions about its anatomy, mental state, subtle behaviours and all the important things regarding a wild animal. With her apparent bland look, he guessed he used too many 'big' words that obviously passed right over her head. He was forced to tone it down for her, and the answer he got was certainly the same. An ugly face of nightmares, horrid stench, muscled torso, and claws. He turned to the other guard, Cleitus, who went to the aid of Swanky Dorea, and claimed that he, too, did not see thing. But rather, a fast shadow that disappeared like a daydream.

How rather funny that he should talk of daydreaming , thought Milon spitefully. He was supposed to be guarding the main gate, along with Camilliana, but instead we find both of you sucking your faces off of each other inside the gate-tower. Idiots. If they were there doing their duty, and if Dorea's claim were true, then we would've catched the creature there and then as it bolted through the Main Gate. Through the Main Gate itself! What a disgrace on the name of the Watch! We could've spared ourselves this banshee that shrieks now!
He turned to the six drunkards.

All of them were asleep, holding each other like a child's doll, saliva sticking to each others' faces. And from the snores they made, they probably had too many. Too many to wake them up now.

He cursed a streak that made Dorea clap her hands stupidly and beam at him with a toothless grin.

Ever since the announcement of the Expedition, people undersyandably had their tension high up in the sky. Excitement was electrifying the air during daylight, and the populace discharged it into the night by revelling more than usual. More than was necessary, really. There had been more barfights and minor scale gang skirmishes ever since and the Watch had had their hands full.

But this... this case of werewolves appearing in the town? Absurd as cannibalizing himself. No way it could be true. And if, by some rotten chance, that it was, then this'll be the day, no doubt. He ordered Cleitus to assemble a patrol, escort Dorea out, and hurl the six drunkards for later questioning. He didn't know why, but he felt that at the very least, he should check things and make sure everything was okay. Make sure no thieves are lurking about, no gang activities, no nothing. Plus, Cleitus and Camilliana would need the punishing patrol for their incompetemce. When the squad was assembled, they marched out and split into two groups of three. Milon had the two soon-to-be-punsihed patrolling behind. Good enough kids, he relented. But kids nonetheless.

While they patrolled, Milon made sure to lash them with stern words and rigid assessment of the possibilty of them being discharged. While the three patrolled on, they encountered an Imperial entering the chapel. There was something peculiar about him, something Milon couldn't put his finger on. He marched towards the chapel, and ordered the two to wait outside. No need to bring them along, he decided.

The chapel, even under the gaze of midnight, had an undeniable glow that lightening its innards up in a soft of ambient of glass and sconces. He found the Imperial lounging about, and Milon decided that he seemed familiar. He squinted his eyes, and then he realized.

Its one of the Fighters Guild's former boys. Still remember when he got here, don't know if he remembers me. But there was a differennce from the boy all those years ago and the man currently standing right in front of him.

He announced his presence with a "Good evening, son," and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You're Westley, aren't you? The former Fighters Guild member, yeah? All those years ago? What brings you back to this place, boy?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Jan 24 2013, 12:08 AM

Westley tensed up when a man firmly gripped his shoulder from behind. He turned around to see a vaguely familiar face questioning him.

"You're Westley, aren't you? The former Fighters Guild member, yeah? All those years ago? What brings you back to this place, boy?"

Westley tensed up even more, but the fact that this man wore a familiar face and he couldn't remember his name was even more stressful. To top that, the man was wearing Anvil guard armor, and since the panicked woman at the stables most likely ran for the city guard as soon as Westley bolted for the gates, an investigation may have been going on.

What if they find out I'm a werewolf? What will I do? They'll surely kill me. I never hurt anyone though, maybe if they find out I can prove to them I've never harmed anyone but bandits and thieves. This man, he looks familiar. Why is he here. Should I run? No, that's too suspicious. I've got to get myself out of this...

Westley blankly stared at the man for a moment before answering. At the same time, he stuck his hand in the pocket with the ring of Hircine in it, and discretely slipped it onto his index finger.

"Yes, I'm Westley, former member of the fighter's. I'm not sure who you are sir, but I'm simply here to join the adventurers guild. I read in the black-horse courier that they're recruiting, and goin' on an expedition to a place called Sutch, and so I venture there in hopes of findin' fame and fortune in my father's name. Look friend, I only came into the chapel to cure a disease I contracted from a rat. I must hurry and get a room at the inn before all of them at taken."

Westley ignored the man's response, and walked towards the door of the chapel.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I have to go. If you have anymore questions, meet me at the Count's Arms tomorrow morning. I'd be happy to sit down and have a good conversation with you over a cold beer, but if I don't hurry and pay for a room, I'll be sleeping on the streets. I'm sorry I'm not bein' the most social person right now, but I really must go. I'm exhausted from my trip here, and I really want a room at the Count's Arms. I don't like the flowing bowl."

Once again, Westley ignored the guard's attempt to question him further, and left the chapel. He was about to break off to the inn at a sprint, when he noticed two other guards standing in front if the chapel. So it wouldn't seem suspicious, Westley kept calm and walked the rest of the way to the inn.

Suddenly the thought struck him that he was far to anti-social towards this man to not cast any suspicion, and rushing out of the chapel didn't help either. Westley knew that this man would come to question him later. The man looked so.....familiar.

This man recognized me, but why can't I remember his name. Everything here is so familiar, yet so.....foreign.

When Westley reached the inn, instead of entering he sat upon the cold, stone steps and fell into deep thought. He strained to find the name that went with the familiar face, but his attempts at remembering the man's name were futile. He sighed and entered the inn.

The inn was a bit crowded. Probably foolish men and women looking to join he adventurer's guild so they'd get their cut of the loot. Westley approached the middle-aged redguard man standing at the front counter, and pulled out fifteen septims.

"I'd like a room for the night sir." Westley gently placed the septims down on the wooden counter, and the redguard's eyes lit up greedily as he snatched the gold, pocketed it, and handed him a key.

"Head upstairs. It's the second door on your left."

Westley turned and began clumsily making his way up the stairs. Following the redguard's instructions, he entered the second metal door on his left, and groggily set foot into a small, well furnished room. He threw his pack down and passed out in the bed, knowing that the familiar man would seek him in the morning.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 24 2013, 04:19 AM

OOC: This is just to get Buffy into town and set the stage for her to begin interacting with others of our group.

Buffy:

With Superian settled in to the Anvil stable, Buffy pressed a generous handful of coins into the Redguard’s hand. His dour look brightened as he replied, “We’ll take great care of your mare.”

“Thank you Ernest. I look forward to hearing glowing reports from her.” The Bosmer then turned and stepped off for the city’s main gate.

*

“Good afternoon, Magister. I bring tidings from the University.”

“Greetings, guild sister,” welcomed Carahil warmly as she poured tea for the two elves. “How was your trip?”

Buffy knelt on the chair’s seat instead of sitting - a habit that accommodated her diminutive physical stature. Accepting the tea, she replied, “Three uneventful days. Oh, Guildmagisters Adrienne Berene and Sigrid Firewalker both send regards from Skingrad and Kvatch respectively.”

“Thank you,” replied the Altmer graciously. “And how is Boderi Farano?”

“The Grandmaster of my Order is well and, as I’m sure you’re aware, I am here on her tasking. The Council of Mages is interested in whatever ancient magicks might be buried beneath Sutch.”

Carahil nodded. “That the Council would send a Knight of the Lamp to investigate speaks to the potential of this discovery.”

The smaller elf lowered her eyes. “You humble me, Guildmagister. With your permission, I shall make my quarters temporarily here in the guild hall. In the morning I'll ask around town and attempt to join the expedition hosted by the Adventurers Guild.”

“Of course,” replied Carahil. “My facilities and resources are at your disposal. You will find that this pending expedition has attracted quite a number of mercenaries, treasure hunters and adventure seekers. There have already been several fights and even alarming talk of a werewolf somehow getting into the city before dawn this morning. Watch yourself, for our guild’s charter does not apply to the Adventurers Guild, much less all the free lancers this expedition has attracted.” With that, the elegant Altmer stood. Her black and gold gown rustled softly as she left the wood elf alone in the small library.

“Acadian,” Buffy whispered, “what in Mara’s name have we gotten ourselves into?”

Posted by: Uleni Athram Jan 24 2013, 04:40 PM

GM POST

Milon let the boy slip off his grasp, offended by his snubbing. From the blatant panick, and the brutally obvious lies he spun, it was clear that he hided something. His gut told him so, and common sense dictated that no matter what you do, you do not display suspicious behaviour infront of a guard, let alone the second-in-command. The boy wanted to run away when he got out, Milon saw the coilling tension himself. But Cleitus and Camilliana's presence stopped Westley in his tracks and he opted to just walk instead.

The two saw the erraticness displayed by Westley and looked to Milon with questions in their eyes when he went outside. He shook his head at them.

"I want you two and Corius at the Count's Arms early in the morning. Make sure to keep him in your sights. I want him for a questioning. For now, let the boy sleep."

They resumed their patrols.

**
Early at the morning, when people were having their breakfast, the three guards stationed at the Counts Arms finally saw their quarry. Ignoring the fact that he almost looked like a criminal being herded off to the dungeons, which in a sense, he technically was. They also ignored what protest he, or anybody had, and stonily led him to the Anvil Dungeons. The trip there didn't take long. The gates of the castle were opened for them, and down they descended into the deeps.

The room held for questioning and filling complaints was bare and practical. Torches lined up at the wall gave an orange illumination. There was a front's desk in the middle, variated by a cluster of all sorts of paperwork. To the side, a bench cushioned with soft leather. By the bench was an oaken door, ancient and spartan. They bid Westley to enter, and when he did, the guards dsipersed. The same practicality of the outside enroached on this room, but there were several trophies that honored the deeds of the dweller. The most glorious among them was a taxidermied head of a timberwolf, its face forever barred in an expression of torment. This timberwolf was an infamous menace at the roads; with the help of an esteemed hunter, Milon hunted it down and took its head.

Milon sat at a furbished oaken table, and he was a reading a copy of the Black Horse courier. He looked up and smiled at Westley, and set his copy down.

"I apologize if us Guards prove to be an inconvience for today, son," he said. "But there's been a horde of questions I wanted to ask you yesterday night, but first things first!"

He motioned towards a chair. In front of that chair was all sorts of silver plates containing hot food that seduced anyone with its exotic scents. There was a bottle of Tamika 422, ice cold, and an engraved silver cup.

"Please eat first before we begin. Once again, I apologize for this severe inconvenience, but there's been an alarming reports of werewolves entering the city. Your person was the closest to its last known location, and I've wanted to ask you about it, but please, eat first."




-----------------------------------

OOC: Hey Phoenix, since you're going to introduce your character, we might as well interact!


Ylenno

The wood elf was smoking a roll of Hackle-Lo outside the Flowing Bowl Inn, inhaling and exhaling the blessed numbness that comes with the eastern indulgence. The wisps of his smoke hung around him, and slowly danced their way to nothingness. With each puff, it left a burining trail down his throat and chest, and he remembered his first roll with Caele- his sister. They managed to knock one off of a shop in Bravil, and their young lungs didn't take the invasion of smoke well. He remebered that he was almost paralyzed, and the panick on Caelefensil's face was absolutely unforgettable. They took a beating when the caretakers found out, but it was well worth it. Ylenno laughed at the memory.

Everything was gut-wrenchingly homely in the Anvil Docks. Those who lead lifestyles of high or mediocre regard might think him crazy to even consider this place 'homely' but they didn't see past the surface of poverty. They look here and say 'what a bunch of uncouth savages miring in their own filth,' or 'what a stain on the glories of our city'. He was familiar with the arrogance of the high-borns but for him, they couldn't smell their own waste on their knees when it comes down to it. Pompous fools that think themselves above the 'rubbish' that 'pollutes' this world. Painting themselves above morals and decency just because they have more coin on their pouches. There may be exceptions, and there might be a genuinely uncorrupted 'high-born' out there, but Ylenno hasn't met those exceptions yet.

Until then, all is normal as it can be for a former thug.

He squashed the Hackle-Lo beneath his feet and lit up a new one, welcoming the paralyzing fire. The Twins and the maiden stars from above had taken Magnus' throne hours ago, and by his estimation, it would be midnight soon. Most people are probably asleep right now. The Inn he was staying in, the Flowing Bowl, held no interesting things at the moment. There weren't any decent brawlers inside, and what women that stayed there were either poor folk or beauties well past their prime. The Fo'c's'le on the other hand was quite the opposite. There'd been a handful of cute-looking women he saw inside, and chances are there'd be more further in. Such a shame that only 'seamen' are only allowed there.

He once tried to set himself up as a retired seaman and they saw right through him. Not only are you supoosed to be a CURRENT seaman, but you had to have connections too. What a bother that the only decent brothel here was uptight in their rules and regulations.

But he guessed it was for the better. He'd need the energy for the sign up in the Adventurers Guild tomorrow. He coudln't possibly ignore the brouhaha Tamriel made when they announced the Expedition. Thee rewards promised instantly hooked him in, and the promise of an adventure unlike any other came second. Besides, he'd heard from his sources that the Orum Gang's on the prowl for him. He'd needed some way to at least catch their scent off of him. There'd probably feelers sent in at the Adventurers Guild, but he's determined to cross that bridge when it comes to it.

The last embers of the second Hackle-Lo died with a seething fog that danced itself into nothingness. The Twins and their contigent of stars watched from above as he entered the Flowing Bowl, unaware of a scream that heralded an arrival.
--------------------------------------------------------------

The morning came with a whisper, and Ylenno spent his roaming about Anvil. The Adventurers Guildhall was opened, but he had no intentions to enter just yet. He'd decided to just wander and see what Anvil has in store for a tourist's eye. On his way to nowhere, he spotted an Imperial being escorted by three guards to somewhere.


Poor b@stard , he thought. Whatever you did, you did it amateaurishly for the guards to hound you.


He resumed his wandering, taking note of the seaside beauty that was Anivil, until the afternoon came and a fresh wave of signees entered the Guildhall. He supposed it was time for him to join, and he made his way towards the alabaster portal, when a shock of blonde hair and blue eyes passed him by and he was immediately reminded of Caelefensil. He snapped to the walking form of the woman, a wood elf like himself, and took in the sight of her longbow and a seemingly familiar gait. He was sure he saw that particular elf before, and his gut pointed to Bravil, but he couldn't place his finger on it. He once again looked towards the wood elf as she entered the Mages Guild, and the realization smacked him hard he almost gasped.

That was Buffy! Old Daenlin's apprentice! What was she doing here, he thought. But then he laughed. She's probably here for the same reason as I am. He didn't had any encounters with the other elf, but he knew enough to know that face and that blonde hair. She was the talk of Bravil after all and some of the orphans back there looked up to her as an example. If she did became a Dame in some court, then she he had to hand it to her.

He trailed off in his thoughts, lost within the nostalgia of Bravil, when he bumped into a person. The collision was sudden and strong, and he almost fell down. He catched his balance however, and looked up at the person he collided into.

He had to slightly crane his neck as the person was an Altmeri lass. Immediately he put on his roguish grin and made an attempt to help her out.

"Hey there, you alright? Didn't see you there, for a moment." He appraised her in a way that wouldn't be considered rude and clicked his tongue. "I'll be damned. A High Elf in heavy armor! That's a first! I'm Ylenno, a pleasure to bump bodies with you," he laughed. "What's yours, if I may ask?"

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Jan 24 2013, 06:06 PM

In the distant horizon, Elaninde could see the big gates of anvil. This sight awoke so many memories, this was the place she had lived most of her life in. Ever since her parents were slaughtered. She had never thought she would come back here, but she knew that this was her real chance. Sure most people in Anvil knew who she was, but the same could not be said for most other citizens of Cyrodiil. She remembered the day she chose to wander around the countryside, helping those in need. But this city was the one she chose not to visit.

Ever since she read in the Black-Horse Courier that the adventurers guild were hosting an expedition to the city of Sutch she had been thinking about what it would be like to go through the gates of Anvil again. Just when she was close enough to see the outline of the Anvil guards she saw a shadow sprinting trough the gates like they were but thin air. She didn't think more of this and continued to walk towards the gates. after entering she could hear a woman screaming about a werewolf running into the city, could this werewolf be the same shadow Elaninde saw. She stood there a little while and thought about it but ended up with thinking it was best not to worry about it this late. She made her way through the city and entered the Count's Arms just as a male imperial went up the stairs. Just as he got to the top of the stairs Elaninde saw something shining on his index finger, she knew she had seen it before, and then she remembered, the ring of Hircine. HE was the werewolf.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 24 2013, 06:09 PM

As he moved through the back alley, Tarrick was beginning to worry that he had possibly bitten of more than he could chew with this job. It wasn't that he had picked too tough a mark, not by any means; picking drunkards' pockets in the crowded, chaotic confines of the Count's Arms and then slipping out the back was easy work, especially with all the out-of-towners coming in for this Adventurer's guild expedition. No, the problem that he had was that he had made the mistake of sticking all of his winnings into a single purse which, unless he held a hand down on it, jangled with every other step he took. Knowing the watch would be suspicious of a man out late with jangling pockets, or of a man out late with one hand constantly pressed to his hip, he was trying to get through the streets silent and unnoticed.

He reached the edge of the alley, having skirted a puddle, and peered into the street beyond. There appeared to be nobody about, and he was about to move when he saw a lean grey shape streak along the other road, towards the chapel, running on all fours. He frowned at the sight, wondering if it was a wolf, maybe, but paid it no more attention, deciding to head for his home on the docks. He could head up to the castle and sell the jewellery he had pilfered on to Orrin at the Flowing Bowl, but for the moment he decided it would be easier and safer just to head for home.

Tarrick slipped past the dock gate by taking the old drain tunnel that the watch had been systematically ignoring for years, emerging into a small grassy clearing behind some of the docks' buildings. He took a left, scurrying along the backs of the buildings. Reaching the one he wanted to find, he stepped around the front and unlocked the front door of the one-storey structure.

His mother was asleep in her chair, snoring underneath a blanket, and Tarrrick padded across the room towards his own bedroom. He was halfway across it when he heard his mother say; "And what hour do you call this, then?"

He bit back a curse; he could slip by patrolling guards without any problems, but somehow his mother had an almost supernatural ability to detect when he was in the house.

"Hello mum," he said, swivelling on the spot and adopting a disarming smile. That was a bad idea.

"Don't you 'hello mum' me," his mother said, gaze focussing in on the pouch at his belt. "You've been up to no good, haven't you?"

Tarrick hung his head.

"Yes," he admitted; he could lie to anyone in the world, but not his mother.

"Merciful gods, what's wrong with you, boy!" his mother cried, waving her hands in a gesture of despair. "Why can't you be doing a proper honest job like a good young man of your age?"

"I'm good at this job," Tarrick protested. "Come on, I get us plenty of money, don't I?"

"Coin's no good when it comes from thieving," his mother said. "You're going to be getting yourself honest work from now on, boy, or your poor mother's going to be dying of shame."

She waved a scrap of parchment she had pulled from her shawl.

"You see this?" she said. "Adventurer's guild say there's a big job they want lots of folks doing, you should go join them. You're too damn lazy to do a normal job so I suppose the only way you stand a chance of making an honest living is going to be delving into ruins and getting treasure."

"But...what if something happens to me when I'm doing adventuring?" Tarrick protested. "Who'll look after you then?"

"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, and you know it, boy," his mother said. "And no son of mine's making a living as a thief when he can put those talents of his to honest ends, oh no! You're going to that guildhall tomorrow, and you're going to sign up as part of that expedition, you hear me? Otherwise your mother's not putting up with you any more and you're going out on the street."

Tarrick was quiet for a moment, before he nodded. Anything in an old dungeon, he decided, could not be worse than trying to disagree with his mother when she had something she wanted him to do.

"Yes mum," he nodded. "I'll sign up at the guildhall tomorrow."



OOC: Apologies, but I've no more time to write any more so I'm cutting it short there. I'll try and catch up on anything that happens tomorrow but I really must go.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Jan 25 2013, 01:30 AM

Westley:

Westley spent the night tossing and turning because of the endless nightmares of his father's death. Coming back to Anvil triggered all of the painful memories that he had been running from for so long to return, and when the guards took him to the castle to interrogate him in the morning, it added on to the heaping amounts of stress already on his shoulders.

The familiar man pointed to a table with silver plates, platters, and cups of mouth-watering foods and drink.

"Please eat first before we begin. Once again, I apologize for this severe inconvenience, but there's been an alarming reports of werewolves entering the city. Your person was the closest to its last known location, and I've wanted to ask you about it, but please, eat first."

The Familiar man's expression was more stern than his tone. Upon inspecting the food, Westley noticed that most of it was his father's favorites. Shock ensnared him as he eyeballed the food, and he became somewhat distressed.

Is this man trying to remind me of my father's death? Is this his way if breaking my will so I'll admit of my lycanthropy? This is just sick. I won't stand this...I can't take it! The nightmares were bad enough, now he's toying with me like a car and mouse?! I won't stand for this!

A rage built up in Westley like he's never felt before. For a brief moment he lost control, and flipped over the table while screaming in agony at the painful memories that had haunted him. He turned to the familiar man.

"DO YOU NOT THINK THAT THE NIGHTMARES OF MY FATHER'S DEAth HAUNT ME ENOUGH? DO YOU NOT SEE THAT I'VE ALREADY BLED MYSELF? YOU TAUNT ME WITH MY FATHER'S FAVORITE MEALS, AND STAND THERE DEMANDING I EAT THEM?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!"

Westley sat down the chair and buried his face in his hands when the tears began to exit his eyes and roll down his cheeks. Westley looked back up t the mess he made, and silently got up and cleaned everything before sitting back down in the chair, and wiped the tears from his face. The familiar man stared speechless, a surprised look in his face.

"I'm sorry. Please excuse my outburst. So you want to know about this werewolf? I knew you'd question me. I was the only person wandering the streets when the werewolf was spotted. I'd be suspicious to. But please, hear me out. If you're suspecting me, please reconsider your suspicions. I saw a shadow pass by when I was entering the chapel. The only reason I was out that late is because I had just gotten to Anvil. I was already tired, and I but nervous when I got here because I had been chased down by a few animals on my way

Westley took a deep breath before continuing.

"The shadow that passed by the chapel really unnerved me, and at the same time I had heard some screaming in the distance. I went to the chapel to cure a disease I contracted from a rat. I really wanted a room at the count's arm's because I heard about a few brawls breaking out at the flowing bowl, and rumors if an all-female gang robbing men over there. I was tired and stressed from the trip, and when you came questioning me about why i was here, I snapped. I'm sorry if I offended you last night. It was kind if you to let me sleep this morning before taking me for interrogation."

Westley fiddled with the straps of his shirt before continuing.

"I came here to join the adventurers guild, because I seek fame and fortune. Please, I don't mean anyone harm, and I'm sorry if I alarmed you."

He slyly changed the subject before continuing.

"I have a question for you sir. You look so familiar, but I can't remember your name. Who are you"

Westley eyed the familiar man closely, expecting him to be able to recall all of his lost memories of his life in Anvil.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 25 2013, 04:27 AM

Drakothemir:

Drakothemir entered the Count’s Inn, draped in black robes and boots that rivaled the darkest of pits. In direct contrast, his skin was a regular pinkish hue and his face was that of a young man who perhaps had never seen battle before. His eyes, however, spoke quite differently. They were vivid. Alive. Hungry, even. But he wasn't thirsty, he had just fed hours ago.

He traversed through the inn all the way toward the counter where the Innkeeper stood, though as he walked by he could see a brown-haired woman seated on the far south corner of the establishment. She had green eyes, white skin, and was average in the sense of beauty. But what captured his attention was not her physical appearance, but rather, the attire of the order which she represented: the Vigilantes of Stendarr. He smiled courteously at her while deep inside he wished he would melt the woman’s flesh from her very bones.

The Vigilantes of Stendarr: their fire is going to die. Drakothemir is sure of this. For years now since the Crisis they had turned into the self-appointed paladins of the weak and the pitiful, and hunters of the various 'abomination' that plague the world. But one day that will come to an end. And the foolish idiots, blinded by their own hypocrisy, are unable to see the truth of this. It was necessary and just that this is so, just as it is necessary and just that the instrument of their downfall be the vampire. While the Vigilantes of Stendarr rise to spread their light, eventually darkness will overcome it.

Drakothemir and his people are above sad concepts as black and white, good and evil. The only true virtue of note is this: The Knights of the Nine and the Vigilantes of Stendarr saw their abilities as an end in itself; Drakothemir knew that it was a means to an end. And that end is power. In their humble lies and noble-concealed deceptions, the Knights of the Nine craved power as much as everyone else. Drakothemir understands this. They claim to serve the people, but he remembered in the past centuries how they had removed themselves from contact with the very mortals they swore to serve and how easily corruptible they were. Now they stalked the corners of their profane chapels, mouthing their false ideologies while putting to practice the exact opposite of the mercy they preach.

For four centuries since his birth, Drakothemir knew no other life. He was born in darkness, and in darkness, he would die. Because the dark is precious. The first gift of darkness is concealment: his true face remains shrouded beneath his skin, the blood-thirsty cravings of his heart veiled even deeper. But the greatest concealment dwells not in preserving covert truths, but in concealing the truth of others and the truth from them. The dark preserves Drakothemir from what he dares not know.

Oh, Drakothemir thought, how the dark is precious. The second gift is fine illusion: the caress of gentle visions in night’s embrace, the wonder that imagination yields to what would crumble in the day’s unforgiving light. But the grandest of such illusion is that that dark is temporary: that every dark night surrenders a bright day. Drakothemir knows it is an illusion because it is the day that dies. It is the day that is temporary. Day is the illusion.

Darkness is my ally, said Drakothemir as he smiled at the proprietor of the inn to order his meal.

The third is light itself: as days are explained by the nights that separate them, as magical stars are compared by the vast infinite void through which they thrive in, it is the dark that embraces the light, and brandishes away from itself. With each victory of the day‘s light, it is the darkness that emerges victorious. The darkness that is eternal. The dark is precious, and it is patient. It is the dark that breeds cruelty into righteousness, transforms revenge into justice, that grains hatred into compassion, that poisons faith with the seeds of doubt.

The dark can wait, because the slightest collapse of tears will cause those seeds to mature. The rain is near, and the seeds will grow, for the darkness is the soil which they dwell. The darkness’ patience is unending. The dark is precious and it can wait, and it always is victorious. It’s always victorious because it is everywhere. And even the brightest light can cast the deepest shadow.

So, Drakothemir mused, how can the Vigilantes drag one into the light . . .when light itself surrenders to darkness?

Posted by: Lycanthropic-Legend Jan 25 2013, 05:49 PM

Macalla Vibecke:

The Dark Brotherhood was destroyed. Most of them. Every day she only heard rumors of more death. The Black Hand leadership had been destroyed by a traitor and all those brothers and sisters . . .slaughtered.

There were more sanctuaries in Cyrodiil, scattered all over the province. And while there were many assassins of the guild alive, she was one of the dead. Dead to the Brotherhood. She hoped that none of them would seek to find her, for her blood and soul by right, belonged to Sithis. The Night Mother's children would surely want to pursue her after he deeds.

For years she had skulked in the shadows. That hidden blade. That moving darkness. The dagger which slips quietly into the bones to extinguish the last vestiges of life. Their bodies crumble, and their souls are sent to the void . .. A lifetime of suffering. She watched them cry and shudder, and pray that they might wake up from that awful dream which was nightmare made into reality all the while she was in her own nightmares of regret. Compassion. Love . . .for the lives she had taken.

But no more. Life for a former assassin was going to be difficult, and only a liar would claim that no more blood would be shed. The truth is that if one’s entire talent was killing, then it would forever be their curse. But at times, killing wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Not when it is for the greater good our out of necessity. No more will the innocent perish by my hands. I will always walk in the light of Stendarr, and drag the darkness into it whenever I can, thought the woman. She couldn’t imagine a life without killing. The art has forged her life onto that. But she knows she can make something as dark as taking a life onto something noble.

Macalla Vibecke, in her lithe frame drowning in the shapelessness her white robes of the Vigilantes of Stendarr, glared through narrow, green eyes. Her short brown hair, hung loose from her head in a creative fashion. Nestled at her side was a silver longsword, which she carried with her everywhere she went. It was a fine blade, ideal for slaying witches, vampires and werewolves. And this expedition into Fort Sutch would give her the opportunity to further walk into the light, and away from the darkness. She would be a beacon for her people and those who are too weak to defend themselves.

“Some food, please.” She spoke in a soothing, simplistic manner of speaking that could easily lead anyone to believe she never was allied with the Dark Brotherhood. Let alone one of their notorious killers.

She rested her elbows on the counter as she waited for her food at the Count’s Arms. It had been a year since her salvation and membership into the Knights of the Nine and the Vigilantes of Stendarr. There was peace in her heart ever since she finished her pilgrimage to the Wayshrines. And ever since the Oblivion Crisis ended, the threat of Daedra was being rooted out wherever they hide. But today, the strong warrior of the light that was Lady Vibecke would forgo a hunt for abominations for a nice plate full of food. Her mouth was watering at the smell and sight of her order being prepared, her silverware was already in her hands.

The plate came. It was a nice steaming order of diced apples, melted cheese with a loaf of bread, a pile of fresh vegetable and chicken breast to add to the flavor. Macalla’s eyes gleamed with light as she was given her food. And just as she was about to bite into it, the door to the entrance opened and all of the loud chatter of the tavern died down into an awkward silence.

A hooded figure entered the inn wearing a black robe, not even bothering to glance at those around him. There was an aura of polished cultivation and yet something else that came along with it. An air of leadership came from this man. His expressive orange-colored eyes were set straight ahead to a flight of stairs as he marched to the rooms.

I wonder who this man is . . .is he here for the Adventurer’s Guild?

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Jan 25 2013, 08:01 PM

Elaninde did not get to sleep that night, the thought of the werewolf that could be just one door away kept her up. Who was he? Why was he here? She thought about this for a good three hours before sleep overtook her. The following morning she went to the adventurers guildhall and sold some things she had gathered on the way to anvil. Suddenly while she was counting her money she felt someone bumping into her, she turned around and saw a wood elf struggling to maintain his balance.

"Hey there, you alright? Didn't see you there, for a moment." he said after getting his mind straight again

"I'll be damned. A High Elf in heavy armor! That's a first! I'm Ylenno, a pleasure to bump bodies with you," the wood elf laughed.

"What's yours, if I may ask?".

While she was confused as to how the bosmer had been able to avoid to see her she answered in her most polite voice:

"Hi my name is Elaninde, I'm here to join the adventurers guild. What are you doing here", still a bit dizzy, the wood elf answered:

"Same thing, but if I may ask, how come you're wearing heavy armour and not one of those fancy dresses that most altmer wear". Amused by the question, she answered with a humorous tone:

"I grew up constantly running away and in need of protection. Because of that I learned to value the protective capabilities of heavy armour". The wood elf opened his mouth to ask something else but decided he wasn't going to get any better answers.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Jan 26 2013, 12:36 AM

The air was already bustling when Kayla entered the gates to Anvil. Before she could even shake off Skyrim's snow, she had to board yet another carriage to the Imperial City from Bruma, and from there to Skingrad. While passing Kvatch, her legs ached for exercise.

A letter by courier had arrived for her one crisp morning at her home in Whiterun. Curious, she broke the seal and read the contents. Convincing her husband to allow her to travel all the way to Anvil with no easy feat, but in the end she prevailed. Treasure beyond her wildest dreams! If she got her cut, she could set up herself, her husband, and their future children for life. In theory.

She was advised to stick to the main roads and since she had a deadline, she obliged. Her eyes lingered longingly at the Ayleid ruins and forts that dotted the main roads of Cyrodiil. Once she arrived in Anvil, she was more than ready to get her hands dirty.

Before the guards let her in, one looked her over and warned, "Be careful. We had a sighting of a werewolf. Wouldn't want a pretty Altmer like yourself to be its next victim."

Kayla just rolled her eyes and entered the gates. She kept her leather armor on, and her sword, Dawnbreaker, in the black metal scabbard. A soft leather flap hid the shining jewel from prying eyes. She kept her bow and quiver of arrows in the large pack she had brought, slung over her shoulder. Her smaller pack held changes of clothes, her potions, and an empty canteen.

Anvil was beautiful. The cobbled stone streets, the buildings made of pale stone... Kayla was particularly in awe of the weather. It was warm! Kayla stood in the middle of the street for a few moments before snide remarks began to get her attention. Their odd, crisp accents only confused her more, and she walked until she saw a small wood elf exiting a large building with a blue sign shaped like a large eye.

"Excuse me, but where can I get food and rest?" In comparison, her accent sounded much odder than those around her. Ekscoos meh, boot where kin ay git food an drest?

She cringed at the harshness of her own accent, and asked the wood elf again, "Might you know where the Adventurer's Guild is, as well?" Mite yoo no where th' Adventurer's geeld ees, as well?

She turned crimson as she waited for the small elf to speak.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 26 2013, 02:32 AM

Drakothemir:

Lord Drakothemir saw the Vigilante woman looking at him, and after he rented the room for himself, he walked forth toward where she was seated, and sat himself down beside her. He tapped a finger on the counter, and made two orders of fine Tamika wine, and waited for his order.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 26 2013, 01:28 PM

OOC: Phoenix, do you mind cutting the Oedipus entering and starting to talk bit? Half the group isn't even in the guildhall yet.

Tarrick Kathram

"So where did you get these?" Orrin asked as he looked at Tarrick's haul of jewellery that he had brought to Castle Anvil's forge to fence.

"Count's Arms," Tarrick said, leaning on one of the workbenches. "Just picked them up from the folks who're here for this Adventurer's Guild expedition."

"Should've guessed," Orrin said, the Thieve's Guild fence holding up an emerald-decorated ring to the light to inspect it. "I've had a lot of them in here asking to buy weapons and get gear repaired; been a good few days for business."

He looked at Tarrick, who was currently wearing his leather armour and had all his equipment stowed in a pack with him.

"You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd say that you were going along on that errand too," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I am," Tarrick confessed. "My mother wants to make an honest man out of me, and it's either do what she says or get kicked out onto the street."

"You need to learn to say no to that old harpy," Orrin said with a shake of his head.

"You take that back!" Tarrick snapped. "My mother is a fine woman and I'll not hear a word against her, understand?"

Orrin snorted.

"Mummy's boy," he murmured. "Anyway, I'll give you three hundred septims for the lot of them."

"Sounds reasonable," Tarrick said. The jewels and gems would be sold on at a vast profit for the guild to others, with Tarrick merely serving as the supplier of the goods, but that was still enough to supply his mother with food and board for several weeks while he was away.

Orrin nodded as he handed over a purse of Septims.

"Try not to get yourself killed out there," he said. "You're good at bringing money in."

"I feel so very loved," Tarrick replied, stepping out of the forge. "See you soon, Orrin."

He stepped out of the forge, into the main part of the castle. His route out took him past one of the rooms used by the guards for questioning of prisoners and he paused as he heard someone shouting about being taunted by their father's favourite meal. He hurried on a moment later, before he could arouse the suspicion of the guard standing at the doorway, frowning as he did so and wishing he had the time to stick around to try and hear the rest of the conversation, even if it was simply to work out how that sentence made sense.

He made his way across the bridge that connected Castle Anvil to the rest of the city, and into the main streets, making for the guildhall of the Adventurer's guild; he decided he should sign up first and then drop off his earnings at home afterwards. As he was passing by the gate of the city, he half-noticed a pair of elves in conversation, a high elf and a wood elf was what he guessed from the marked differences in their heights. He overhead the high elf saying something and froze.

"You know, I appreciate that this sounds like an odd question," he said, butting into the conversation slightly. "But I really need to ask. How did an Altmer like you end up speaking with a Nord accent?"

Posted by: Acadian Jan 26 2013, 02:43 PM

Buffy:

Buffy found Astia Inventius on the docks, trying to capture the sun’s last rays before it slipped into the Abecean. Under the comforting eye of the North Gate guard, the elven mage carefully described the painting that Master Wizard Raminus Polus wanted to hang in the University’s lobby. The contract between Mages Guild and artist was then finalized with a bag of gold and handshake.

Looking forward to a hot bath and clean sheets, Buffy approached her guild under long shadows.

He was hard to miss as he stood under the large tree in the city square. Long white hair stood erect on one side of his head while tattoos adorned the shaved other half. He wore a padded leather jerkin and was quite tall for a Bosmer. The broken nose and roguish look seemed familiar. Buffy slowed her pace and tried to recall where she had seen him. Yes, he was a brother of Bravil and fellow orphan! She remembered now that he and his sister were separated at a young age, as sometimes happens to orphan siblings. Years later he returned, but tragically his sister had died. He associated with some of Buffy’s darker friends, like Nordinor and Ungarion and had a funny name. . . Ylenno!

As Buffy turned to go back and talk with her fellow Bravilian, his attentions were captured by an Altmeri lass in plate armor – most likely a member of the Fighters Guild or here for the Adventurers Guild expedition. Ylenno deftly maneuvered himself into the path of the high elf, then exploited the resulting collision and introduced himself to her. Buffy smiled and whispered, “Good luck, brother Bosmer.” She then slipped into her guild.

*

The forest elf reveled in the intoxicating thunder of hooves, speed and power as the mare beneath her flew past the scrub bushes, golden grass and occasional tree along the cobbled road. As the large pink glows stabled at the Horse Whisperer blossomed into view, the speeding horse sensed her rider’s reluctant wish and slowed, gradually to a walk.

Buffy knew her mare was built for speed and they both relished the opportunity for a morning ride followed by a leisurely cool down. Once Superian’s tack had been stowed and Buffy had groomed her, the pair shared an apple and watched the sun appear on the eastern horizon.

*

After sweet rolls and apple berry juice with her guild mates, the buckskin mage stepped from her guild for the second time that morning.

The sound of the city gate closing drew Buffy’s eyes to a new arrival in Anvil. The leather-clad Altmer looked heavily burdened by her large pack. A long sword rode on one of her hips.

Buffy approached to offer help.

The other elf took notice and her long legs quickly closed the distance.

Up close, this elf, like most of her race was every bit of two heads taller than Buffy. A toss of her head cleared the auburn mane from her face to reveal eyes as soft, deep and brown as those of a fawn. As the Altmer began to ask for directions to food, a bed and the Adventurers Guild with a thick Nordic accent, the wood elf looked up and studied the attractive face carefully to verify the golden skin and delicately curved ears of a high elf.

“Forgive me for staring,” Buffy stammered. “I. . . you don’t sound like an Altmer.”

“I get that a lot,” she replied with a pleasant but practiced manner. “I was orphaned and raised by Nords in Skyrim.”

“I’m an orphan also, raised by the city of Bravil.” The smaller elf extended a hand. “My name’s Buffy.”

The Altmer who talked like a Nord slipped her golden hand past Buffy’s and grasped the wood elf’s forearm in a warrior clasp. “Kayla,” she replied, then adjusted her large pack heavily from one shoulder to the other.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy quickly said, “I was just heading for the best inn here in Anvil.” She then added with a chirp, “Let’s go.”

Before Kayla could reply, a Redguard bedecked in the leathers and trappings of a rogue or adventurer that Buffy had not noticed approaching said, "You know, I appreciate that this sounds like an odd question, but I really need to ask. How did an Altmer like you end up speaking with a Nord accent?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Jan 26 2013, 07:26 PM

“I’m sorry,” Buffy quickly said, “I was just heading for the best inn here in Anvil.” She then added with a chirp, “Let’s go.”

Before Kayla could reply, a Redguard bedecked in the leathers and trappings of a rogue or adventurer that Buffy had not noticed approaching said, "You know, I appreciate that this sounds like an odd question, but I really need to ask. How did an Altmer like you end up speaking with a Nord accent?"

Kayla smiled warmly. "I was raised in Skyrim. You don't spend 33 years in a place and not pick up a few things, eh?" She ribbed. She studied the Redguard and the elf.

"You know, you two look even stranger than I. At least to myself. Tell me," She grew an impish grin and asked the Redguard, "What do you call yourself?"

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 27 2013, 01:40 AM

Tarrick

The High Elf shot him a grin as she gave her answer, and Tarrick decided then and there that he quite liked her.

"Raised in Skyrim, eh? Well, that makes sense," Tarrick nodded. "Though I'll admit I probably look a little strange as I'm heading off with the Adventurer's Guild. As for my name..."

He bowed low, grinning to show that he wasn't serious.

"Tarrick Kathram, at your service," he said. "And might I ask the name of your fair Bosmer friend, while I'm here?"

Posted by: Acadian Jan 27 2013, 03:29 AM

Buffy:

It seemed clear this Redguard was plying his charms for Kayla’s benefit. Buffy suppressed a sigh. No matter how many times her Bravilian guild mate Ardaline professed envy as she called Buffy ‘elven petite’, the small elf knew better. Altmer were statuesque and graceful. Not to mention they had delicately curved ears; not ones that rivaled those of a horse like Buffy did.

At least the Redguard – Tarrick, he informed us - was gracious enough to inquire as to Buffy’s name – even if the question was directed to Kayla. Buffy held her tongue and studied the Altmer’s face, looking for any indication that her name had not stuck in the high elf’s memory. After all, Kayla and Buffy had only met and exchanged names a few moments ago. At the slightest hesitation from the Altmer, Buffy would jump in and introduce herself to save her new acquaintance any embarrassment.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Jan 27 2013, 05:16 AM

"Tarrick Kathram, at your service," he said. "And might I ask the name of your fair Bosmer friend, while I'm here?"

"Buffy." It came out asBoofy. Kayla covered her mouth in embarrassment, and tried again.

"Buuuuh-fee." She thought that sounded right. Or better, at least. Kayla glanced at Buffy. She was very pretty. Her blonde hair was bright in the clear Anvil sun. Kayla wanted to tweak her little nose, but refrained. Instead, she grinned at Buffy.

"I don't know about either of you, but I'm starved. The carriage ride was brutal. 3 bandit attacks! Can you believe it? I expected at least 6." She laughed at her own joke.

"I'd very much like a meal before I head to the Guild, though. And somewhere safe to set my things down. Where might that be?"

She looked from Buffy to Tarrick and awaited an answer.

Posted by: Lycanthropic-Legend Jan 27 2013, 02:09 PM

Macalla Vibecke focused her eyes on her clear metal cup, trying to get a good look at this mysterious man who sat beside her. It was the only way she could do so without being too obvious. And for awhile she studied the man that sat next to her while not directly looking at him.

He was all dressed in black and in the shadowy shapes of his clothes with his with raven hair, his face contrasted deeply so that it almost looked as if it was a white apparition. It couldn’t be Dark Brotherhood robes, she knew their armor and cloaks were much different in fabric and style. No, this was something else entirely. A mage, perhaps? Or of some cult like the now scattered Mythic Dawn?

Macalla looked into the reflection deeply, only to realize that the man was looking directly at her! She did not jump, however, as some Squeamish child would. She blinked, and turned her attention to the man himself. She noticed that his fingers all held some arcane rings of sorts, unlike the which she had ever seen. Curious . . .

She looked at the man, but was disappointed to see that he was focused on pouring his wine. Holding one of two bottles. Why two bottles of wine when he is just one man? Was he planning on drinking one, and then gulp down the other like a mad drunk? Macalla felt her curiosity blossom. She was no heavy drinker, and imbibing oneself is a sin against the Nine, for it leads to disorder. She adopted a casual stance, and tried not to appear as a warrior of the light that she was. With the man’ dark clothes, it was obvious he wasn’t the bit happy with white.

“So, what is the occasion?” She asked the lone dark-robed Imperial.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Jan 27 2013, 02:51 PM

GM Post

If anything, Milon was more saddened by Westley's sudden outburst rather than suprised or angry. He knew that his father was lost to him in an early age, and he didn't meant to insult his memory with the dishes laid for him. In fact, it was more of a truce to smooth things over before the investigation. Angry men make poor testimonies. And look what happened now. A damned mess of a traumatized teenager crying his heart out. Milon felt for this boy, but he only allowed that sympathy to linger for a second, then the iron heart of lawman seized him again, and an impartial look crossed his face as he listened to Westley's soft-spoken.... There were several gaping holes to his testament, really. Milon found himself cringing at the poor kid. It was very obvious that he was fumbling around in his mind, searching and searching for reasons, and finding none that could stand up in his eyes. Nonetheless, he scribbled them down, noting and tracing lines to each, and writing his opinions and personal analysis on him.

90 percent, lies. 10 percent genuine. Reasons do not add up. Strange mannerisms. Obviously lying. But lacking evidence. Maybe a suspect to another crime. Needs more investigation and evidence to arrest. Letting go for now.

He laid down his quill and stored the testament inside his drawer, and locked it. He looked at the boy in front of him, a questioning look on his eyes. There was something different there too, he noticed. It was steady, unyielding, and completely genuine. He asked for his name. He doesn't remember. He thought as much. It was years ago since he last laid eyes on Westley, and he was a but a fledgeling back then.

"I'm Milon. I won't be suprised if you come out blank with that name. Its been years," he then took of his helmet and ran a mailled hand through his brown hair. Streaks of grey ran silver-like under the blaze of the torches. "You're free to go now. Thank you for your time; it has been a great help."

But before Westley could exit, Milon stood up and gathered him up in a firm, fatherly handshake. This boy was lying earlier, and he might've been a suspect in another crime, and several things too, but gods be damned. This one lost his father, and from his experienced eye, he doesn't remember any of his memories in Anvil. No child should ever suffer the loss of his parents.

He smiled at the youth.

"Corvus would be proud of how his son has grown. If you were mine, I'd be too. Now go on, get the hell out of here."
--------------------

Ylenno

Ylenno purred. Elandine. Nice name, he thought.

"Same thing, same thing, but certainly though, you'd look quite fine in a dress rather than a steel coffin like that. Brings out the natural beauty your kind has," he winked. "Since you're signing up in the Expedition, and I'm signing up in the Expedition, I don't suppose we elves should stick together? I mean, I'm not soliciting you or anything, but it certainly helps to know someone. Its kinda lonely being the stereotypical 'angsty, mystery-plagued, anti-social baronic hero' y'know!"

He laughed. Magnus came out of a grey cloud, and all of Anvil glistened under the warm rays. Everything became radiant, and Ylenno took in his surroundings with a smile. The terracotta tiles of rooftops shined with an orange glow, and some of their shine rubbed off on the cobblestones, which stained their whiteness with a mandarin hue. Glass windows became vibrant. In short, Anvil was beautiful under a bright day. Even the lowclass housings glittered like ancient villas. He made a note to visit Anvil again and perhaps buy some paintings off of the famous resident artist here when things are smooth and calm.

He turned to the Almer lass, and then Buffy passed them. She whispered something to him, and he immediately had a grin cutting his face. He didn't know why, but Buffy had a certain aura about her that just made people all warm inside. There was another Altmer following her, and she ... well. The Redguard who appeared from nowhere was right. A High Elf with Nordic accent was another first for the wood-elf. He supposed that the Expedition really attracted all sorts of characters. The Elf asked where might she find an inn to rest her haunces and Ylenno simply couldn't resist.

He jumped in front of them and struck a pose!

With over-exaggerated aesthetics, he took the Elf's hand in one of his and with the other, he pointed dramatically at the sign of the Count's Arms, which, coincedentally, was just several walks away.

"Behold, verily," he boomed with his lowest possible voice and an imitation of a Nordic accent. "There sits the golden hall of one Wilbur; and with coins jangling the song of greed, he shall take thee and service thy tiredness away! Soothing songs doth bards sing there, and food unrivaled in West Cyrodiil allures and tempts! Asks a price high for those, but a price well worth it, for the Arms of the Count is the best possible inn you may find in this city of marble and fish!"

He took a bow.

"Thus sayeth the Guide Book for Anvil, of which I, Ylenno of Bravil and Cheydinhal, shamelessly ripped from to impress thee!"

He wore an expression of expectation as he waited for them to clap. Then he laughed.

"Call me a shameless eavesdropper if you wish, but I eavesdropped shamelessly at your conversation. Adventurers Guild, eh? I'm looking to sign up like you guys and fair Elandine over there too!" He turned to Buffy, and he was simply amazed at the other wood-elf. This beautiful face, a fellow orphan, was the talk of Bravil. No. The pride of Bravil. Caelefensil would've looked up to her, if she were here. He looked to the others.

"We might as well get to know each other before we sign up in the Expedition! More friends make the adventure all the more fun, I say!"

He turned once again to Buffy.

"What say you, sister of Bravil? Will the Lady Dame accept this wastrel, absurdly handsome rogue's offer? T'would break my heart into two if you refuse, but such is the way of romance!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Jan 27 2013, 03:30 PM

"Corvus would be proud of how his son has grown. If you were mine, I'd be too. Now go on, get the hell out of here."

Westley gawked for a moment at this man who called himself Milon. His name was so familiar, yet so strange. But Milon obviously had known his father, Corvus, and something told Westley that this man had once been a friend. If only he could remember.

"Thank you...Milon. I'm sorry if I caused you any stress." Westley smiled halfway before turning around and navigating his way out of the castle.

Phew, that was a close one. I need to watch myself with any transformations and lay low for a while. I really hope that I don't end up causing anymore trouble....

Westley entered the city, and slipped through the small crowd of people. He made his way to the counts arms and approached the Redguard at the counter as he pulled a few septims out if his pocket, and placed them down on the counter.

"Here, I'm payin' for another night at the room." Westley placed five more septims on counter "And I want venison steak, cooked rare."

A wide grin spread across the Redguard man's face. "Coming right up good sir, please, take a seat." the man handed him back the key to his room.

Westley chose the table farthest from anyone else, but he'd be in plain sight to anyone entering the inn. The table he sat at was big, but it was the only one available. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and began shuffling them while he waited for his food.

Every now and then someone would look over their shoulder at him and snigger, obviously making fun of the anti-social weirdo sitting in a dark corner in the back of the inn. Westley's temper flared momentarily, but died down when the wench placed his steak down on the table in front if him.

He quickly devoured it, taking gigantic bites and barely bothering to chew, and most likely summoning more insults from the local nobleman at the tavern. Westley hadn't eaten anything for a few days, so he decided to just shake off the laughter behind his back and continue wolfing down his food.

He signaled the wench over "May I please have some water, ma'am?"

"Yes sir." the wench scurried off, and disappeared for a moment before coming back with a jug of water.

"Thank you." Westkey chugged down the water, and leaned back in his chair, savoring the many scents and sounds of the inn. He had been lucky today. Milon had been kind enough to let him go free, but he had a feeling that Milon was still somewhat suspicious.

I have no intentions of harming anyone. I guess that nobody will ever trust werewolves because of all the feral ones and Hircine fanatics. I don't get why they just don't get along with the humans. Must Hircine be so hostile?

Posted by: Acadian Jan 27 2013, 05:29 PM

Buffy:

Buffy could see Kayla was still embarrassed about her accent and tried to put the high elf at ease. “I pronounce it Buffy, but one time I encountered some followers of Sanguine in the forests north of Skingrad who insisted on calling me ‘Buffet’. She wrinkled her face and, with a crooked smile, held both arms out to her sides. “I’m afraid they found me to be rather slim pickings.”

Believing her joke was responsible for the smile that blossomed on Kayla's face, Buffy glanced at the Redguard. He had mentioned the Adventurers Guild and perhaps knew something about the pending Sutch expedition. “Oh, speaking of food. . . Tarrick, I know the Count’s Arms is a nice inn but do you know if they put out good meals as well?”

Before the Redguard could answer, Ylenno swept into view, struck up a bardic pose and poetically recommended the group of would be adventurers join him at the Count’s Arms. Buffy remembered the tall (for a Bosmer) elf from Bravil and seeing him recently bump into the armor-plated Altmeri lass who stood nearby - Ylenno referred to her as Elandine. Ylenno’s attention quickly shifted from Kayla to Buffy as he added, “What say you, sister of Bravil? Will the Lady Dame accept this wastrel, absurdly handsome rogue’s offer? T’would break my heart into two if you refuse, but such is the way of romance.”

Despite the elf’s brashness and funny hair, Buffy felt a slight flush rise above the neckline of her blouse. She was still grieving from the loss of her mate. Even though it had been quite some time, how could any man or mer ever compete with the ghost of Savlian Matius? The mighty hero who loved her had died in Buffy’s arms as they helped clear the last of the Daedra from Castle Kvatch. Stop it, Buffy! This Bosmeri bard likely pours his silken words at the feet of every lass that catches his eye. Buffy was nervous. The little elf’s nurturing nature was sometimes mistaken for flirting, and extricating herself in such cases was one area where her skills were rather poor. She was a deadly sniper but, at close range, found men to be quite confusing creatures.

Numbers, she decided. With Kayla and, hopefully, Elandine along they could support and extract each other from any awkward situations. “If the rest of our little group here will join us as well, I’d be delighted to share a cup of tea and hear what we have all learned so far about this pending expedition.”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Jan 27 2013, 06:04 PM

Kayla was still in tears, laughing, at the odd little wood elf's sudden jump into the conversation. The pose he struck caused her to giggle quietly at first, then when he spoke as if he were a imitating a nobleman, she couldn't help herself. It turned into full-on laughter when he looked expectantly at Buffy.

"Mara's teat," she gasped. "I DO need to sleep!"

She grabbed Tarrick's shoulder for support with one arm, and Buffy's shoulder with the other. She laughed for a few more moments before regaining her composure.

"The people here are insane!" She looked from Tarrick to Buffy to Ylenno. She clapped Ylenno on the shoulder.

"Thanks for the laugh! I haven't laughed so hard in a while! Now, food! If I don't eat soon, you three will start looking like walking drumsticks!"

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Jan 27 2013, 06:15 PM

Tarrick

Tarrick was about to recommend the Count's Arms for a place to eat when, from nowhere, another Bosmer appeared. From his brief, exuberant introduction, Tarrick gathered he knew Buffy from somewhere. The introduction from this Ylenno had Kayla in tears, so much so that she ended up leaning on him and Buffy for support.

"Thanks for the laugh! I haven't laughed so hard in a while! Now, food! If I don't eat soon, you three will start looking like walking drumsticks!" the Altmer declared.

"Seconded," Tarrick said. "I haven't had any breakfast myself yet, and a bite to eat and some tea at the Count's Arms sounds like the best idea I've heard all morning."

He glanced over at the other High Elf with Ylenno, dressed as she was in heavy armour, no doubt in preparation for the expedition.

"I don't think I caught your name, by the way," he said to her, one arm still supporting Kayla.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 27 2013, 09:12 PM

Drakothemir, Count's Arms.
The second cup of wine was a trap. A trap for any curious fool eager to bite the bait of a free drink. And he knew women well. Men in taverns always sought to impress them with a free drink in hopes of getting the women to lift their skirts and spread their legs. And it seldom worked. But for Drakothemir, a free drink in exchange for information was always something that was succesful. For the simple pleasures of a man he could get anytime and anywhere . . .at any cost. But information can be bought, and it can be traded, and it can be earned. He needed to know if this woman was a Vigilante of Stendarr, and if she was, what in Oblivion do they want with this expedition . . .and if they are involved and she was their sole agent . . .perhaps she is corruptable.

The woman beside him somehow took interest in him, and created an opporunity for conversation. Drakothemir poured the wine in both of the cups, and then in an instant, pushed one of them toward the lone woman.

"The occasion is change," he said with a deep inhale along with a sip of wine that was passionate. "And knowledge." He added whilst savoring his wet lips, and the washed throat as the wine went down. "I am quite sure you have heard of Fort Sutch and the rumored mysterious lying beneath it. You see, I am to undergo a search, one that would be the most fruitful among my adventures. I am gathering a crew. Wlling young men and women such as myself who are eager to learn more about the history of our province."

Before he could add anymore, he paused to take a sip of wine, but not for the sake of drinking. He did it because he felt . . . he smelled . . .a disturbance. He could not see him, but he could hear and detect him from afar. It was a man, but not just any man, it was a werewolf. The scent of dog, that canine musk . . .undoubtedly a Lycanthropy had entered the Count's Arms. Drakothemir didn't know werewolves came to Anvil much, for most of them never favored the sea as transforming unwillingly onboard a ship would be chaotic and suicidal. Unless of course, the man had a way of controlling his Lycanthropy, now that would've been interesting.

There were giggles in the backround, and Drakothemir turned toward the root of the comical sounds, but his eyes, however, went directly to the man. Not a man . . .a child? At least he appeared as one. Black hair, blue eyes, a youthful look to him. But even looks can be deceptive, Drakothemir knows, for he stands as a twenty year old man but is the age of over four centuries. Indeed, this Lycanthrope could be well over a hundred years. But there were no scars, no bruises . . .which explained to Drakothemir that this gifted Imperial was young. Perhaps inexperienced.

He waited and saw as the young man approached the counter, and made an order of venison steak and proceeded to choose a depressing corner to skulk in while he waited for his food. Drakothemir looked at the woman beside him and smiled, offering a hand. "Drakothemir is my name. I do not believe we have met before. Are you from around here?"

And while he was going to hear her out, he couldn't take his attention away from the other Imperial sitting alone, obviously distressed at the snide comments and the scoffing some of the nobles were whispering about him, which only gave Drakothemir the more reason to realize that this man was too young. And a young werewolf is a reckless one. They always are. And Drakothemir could not afford to stand near any reckless creatures who could potentially reveal his secret.

Drakothemir weighed the options: He could poison his food, but his enhanced sense of smell could easily detect the harmful ingredients. Or Drakothemir could kill the man as he slept in his room, but he knew that werewolves never truly slept due to their intense hearing, and even the smallest of sounds would wake one up . . .or perhaps he could goad the woman beside him into killing him. Or maybe he didn't have to resort to killing him at all. Drakothemir met werewolves before, and even employed a bounty huntress to take out a political target for him. Many of them are loyal creatures, and very secretive. But those werewolves were experts at their craft. Gifted hunters. And because this one confirms the gossip of a werewolf running afoul, it means that he is careless and rather, possibly, quite stupid. Still, he would not get on his bad side.

Drakothemir took half of two seconds to study the man before he turned to a local maiden. "My dear," he said with a charming smile. "Would you be so kind as to give that young lad a bottle of Surille Brother's wine? Do not worry about the price, for I will cover it. Add a bit of vegetables and fruits to his plate, too, please."

"Right away, sir."

He turned to the woman. "Sorry. I just cannot stand seeing a beggar only order a slice of venison when he deserves so much more on his plate . . ."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Jan 27 2013, 10:16 PM

Westley


The wench came over and placed a bottle of Surille Brother's wine, and put some vegetables and fruit on his plate. Westley gawked at his surprise food for a moment before looking up at the wench and shoving the wine and plate of vegetables back at the her.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I believe you've delivered this to the wrong table."

"That man in the dark clothes over there told me to give this to you. He said he'd pay for it."

Westley eyed the imperial man in dark clothes siting at a table across the room. He caught a scent in the air. Something...odd. As he inspected the man more thoroughly, the idea that he wasn't human began to form in Westley's mind. Then it hit him. This man was a vampire. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and the wolf inside if him was riled up, and ready to defend itself. Westley turned back to the wench.

"Would you please tell that man that I don't drink alcohol, and I've had my fair share if food for now, but I appreciate the offer."

When the wench walked away, a low growl formed in Westley's throat, and every noise became louder than ever. He could smell the blood coursing through the veins of the tavern-goers, and he could hear their heartbeats. He fought the urge to transform and tear the vampire apart before he could even get out of his chair. A small stream of saliva made its way out if the side of Westley's mouth, and down his chin, but he wiped it off with his sleeve. This vampire obviously had no good intentions towards Westley, and he took that as a challenge.

Westley's heart started racing and he had a pounding headache, but he was able to resist a transformation. His temper flared at the thought that this vampire had the gall to challenge him, but Westley decided to just ignore the vampire's presence, and focus more on learning new card tricks. Eventually the bloodlust died down, and Westley comfortably sunk back into his chair, and sipped on his water.

Posted by: Lycanthropic-Legend Jan 28 2013, 02:07 AM

Macalla Vibecke, Count's Arms.

Macalla looked at the wine that was given to her. It was too early for her to drink wine, and for her, there was no occasion. And even though rejecting the offer would be horrible manners, she simply could not drink it. She had come a long way, over fifteen years of murder and assassination. There was redemption for her. And her weakness, one of them, is wine. For if she drank one cup, she might as well drink an entire bottle.

"I must decline. I'm afraid I don't drink wine." She told him as she eyed the cup. But perhaps, to soften her rejectection, she turned her body toward the young man. "I'm sure everyone in these parts of Cyrodiil know by now. I think people are putting their lives in danger, though. Many reckless adolescents looking to get themselves killed."

The words were directed at him. Surely, a man as young as him would have family to think about. A mother or father or perhaps even siblings and cousins. Unless he was some bästard son of a farmer or an orphan. Then he wouldn't have anything to lose. She once considered herself an orphan until the Dark Brotherhood took her in. Then as the years went by she realized they weren't truly family. Her only family now are the brothers and sisters of the Knights of the Nine and her fellow friends from the Vigilantes of Stendarr.

"Drakothemir is my name. I do not believe we have met before. Are you from around here?"

Macalla raised a brow at the name. It was an odd name for an Imperial, surely, but she's seen stranger. "A pleasure, Drakothemir. No, I was born in Skyrim, in a small settlement just a few miles off of Falkreath. I'm Macalla. Macalla Vibecke."

The man summoned a young woman to serve another fellow who ordered venison some wine and vegetables. Out of kindness maybe. She was touched. It was a noble gesture. He then turned to her and said:

"Sorry. I just cannot stand seeing a beggar only order a slice of venison when he deserves so much more on his plate . . ."

"That is kind of you. Not that many people would care for others, you know." She said, and then paused, looking at the man's strange rings on his finger. It came in red, green and silver. She wondered if they were enchanted, and if this man was a mage of sorts. He didn't strike her as a necromancer. Their cloaks typically brandished a red skull. And if this man was such thing, he wouldn't be giving her suspicion by wearing a dark cloak. Perhaps, then, he's a young priest. A young priest who loves his wine . . .

She found her curiosity once again pester her. "Those rings and that sword and that cloak. What is the story behind that. Are you an aspirant wizard? Amateur warlock?"

It was more of a jest, her tone of voice. She always considered it amusing that young men walked around with rings and robes and cloaks only to be terrible at sword combat or end up burning themselves when casting a destruction spell. If only he knew of what she'd been through, and how her black cloak signified something.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 29 2013, 01:07 AM

Drakothemir, Count's Arms.

The young man appeared uncomfortable. Angry. Irate. Drakothemir could see from afar that the hairs on his neck raised just as a normal canine would when provoked. The vampire could practically taste the destructive emotions in the other Imperial. It was as if it was palpable. All that fury, all that might contained within a single vessel. And it was quite beautiful. But a waste.

Drakothemir snatched a glance at the tavern wench who approached him by the side, leaned down, and whispered: "He told me to tell you that he doesn't drink alcohol, and that he's had his fill of food. But he still appreciates the offer."

The vampire settled back in his chair and smiled genuinly to both of the women. Drakothemir did not understand the reason the young lupine boy was upset, and honestly, he did not care. He just had succesfully tested how he would react. He had a basic map of how his mind worked. There was rage in there, held back and boiling almost to the point of explosion. If he had indeed gave into his apparent fury, then it would probably have triggered his inner beast and such results would have been delightfully catastrophic. The tavern goers would have lost their lives, and the werewolf himself might have been overwhelmed with the rush of Imperial guards attempting to kill the rampaging beast. Drakothemir pondered on what he himself would have done.

Would he have fought? Give into his own lust and revealed his truest form? Hardly. To expose himself as a vampire, a pureblooded vampire no less, was suicidal. The world condemned his very existence. To be unveiled would be to invite certain death. Both social and physical. And he held a vast knowledge of how simple-minded the people of Tamriel can be. It was their neverending curse. To judge and allow their pitch-forks and torches to dictate their reason.

But this man, this werewolf, had shown surprising control, even though he nearly lost it for no apparent reason other than seeing a plate of vegetables. Then Drakothemir realized he perceived him as a threat. Perhaps a territorial animal? It wouldn't be the first time. For centuries Drakothemir and his people had fought to keep Cyrodiil under their control. To keep it safe from rival, barbaric clans. It would be amusing to see a new kind of animal seek to claim territory for themselves. But someone so young wouldn't be worried about territory or wealth or influence. And so, he wasn't as much as a threat as he initially classified him to be.

He made a curious sound. "Hmm," and thanked the wench and turned his attention to the woman who introduced herself as Macalla Vibecke. "A pleasure, Macalla."

He nodded and smiled as she noted him on his hospitality, and then fell silent once she asked him about his cloak and his sword and his set of rings. This was to be expected. Vigilantes of Stendarr were a curious lot and anything relating to the Daedra they would lose their minds. He sipped his wine and laughed. "Neither. I am actually a monk from Weynon Priory. A former monk, I should say. I fled from my duties for the Nine to pursue a fool's errand in some ancient place."

He paused, and considered his words carefully. "This quest at Fort Such is paramount. When I first heard I had a choice between uncovering spending my life as a monk and to be 'free' from any bonds or relationships, be it material, romantic or otherwise or set out on an adventure . . .I choose what any young man would. The desire to experience history and not sit by and watch it pass. To be free to choose. I realize I have broken my vows and my duties to the Nine . . .but I wish to help others by uncovering the secrets. The people of Cyrodiil deserve to know what is under that fort."

Drakothemir reached for his saber, and unsheathed it halfway. "About my weapon . . .This blade was given to me by father when I was a child only days before he died of a heart-attack." He adopted a solemn expression, and looked at his rings. "My mother owned these rings. They were given to her by her father, and his mother before him. It is a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. I was fortunate to keep them when I was sent off to the priory to become a monk. It is all that I remember of my family."

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Jan 29 2013, 06:00 PM

Suddenly the wood elf calling himself Ylenno started moving towards a little group of three people, for what she could see and hear there was another altmer that was referred to as Kayla, a wood elf calling herself Buffy and a redguard by the name of Tarrick. Ylenno jumped into their conversation and introduced herself in a manner that made Kayla laugh herself to tears. Just before they were retiring to the Count's Arms for a bit to eat and a cup of tea, the redguard asked Elaninde, who was just a few meters away at this point, what her name was.

"Elaninde", she answered him.

"And before you ask; the reason I'm wearing heavy armour is because I grew up constantly on the run and found heavy armour quite protective".

She then turned to all of them and said: "I'm sure that since we are all here for the Sutch expedition we have a lot to talk about, but I think we really should get Kayla some food before she tries to eat us instead".

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Jan 29 2013, 06:23 PM

Kayla threw her hands up in the air.

"Wonderful! Let's head that way before Buffy becomes my toothpick.!"

She let the others lead the way as they headed to The Count's Arms.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 29 2013, 08:01 PM

Buffy:

http://i668.photobucket.com/albums/vv43/Acadian6/1200%20Series/ScreenShot1270.jpg

Buffy opened her eyes wide in mock fear, then chuckled. She was used to being called ‘Twig’, 'Sapling' and worse, but ‘Toothpick’ was a new one. Although the sweet roll and apple juice she had enjoyed earlier that morning still rested comfortably in her stomach, she did look forward to some hot tea. As the men led the way, small buckskin boots padded quickly over cobblestones to keep up with the long legged group.

Posted by: Lycanthropic-Legend Jan 30 2013, 02:02 AM

Macalla was right. A young man putting his past behind him. She knew all too well that the temptations of life overpowered the calls of duty and devotion. The Nine Divines are worshiped throughout the empire and the people follow them religiously. Some of them, anyway. There were many that chose to simply forget the Divines and engage in less-than-noble acts such as drinking away their lives, robbing and stealing, murdering or worse . . .worshiping Daedra Lords. At least this young man was looking for adventure instead of any of these things. I can only hope . . .

He began to speak about his life as a monk and how he was sent to the Weynon Priory and why. Poor lad must have been following the footsteps of others his entire life and only once made a decision. Though he avoided his duties as a priest or a monk, nevertheless Macalla understood his position. He was unhappy where he was, as she once was.

The Dark Brotherhood only invited death, and inflicts death. It is no coinscedence that they too would face just retribution for what they have done, and by one of their own, no less. She only found it odd that her sins were not repaid in blood, but in grace. She had the Divines to thank for that. And while dark thoughts always creep into her mind, whispering for her to go back or for her to go into Daedric worship she still would never abandon the Nine.

Like him, Macalla was on an expedition of her own. After the fall of Umaril, and the rise of the Vigilantes of Stendarr, she was to undetake the crucial quest of exploring the ruins for any Daedric artifacts or anything relating to Daedra. And when given the chance, she is to purge them or take them for cleansing at the chapel. Even after Dagon's plot failed, and the remnants of the Mythic Dawn are being hunted down by vengeful and protective groups, the threat of Daedra is still present. She she would be the beacon, that instrument of light, to ward off the darkness.

This young lad, whomever he may be, may just be what she needs to help her on the task. She hoped he wouldn't be the only one, but he was lost. His mind perhaps ripe for the Daedra or any evildoers to take hold of. If she could somehow get him to return, not specifically to the monkish ways but at least revering and respecting the Nine, then she could please the Aedra and help another soul. She would hate to see this man follow in her footsteps.

Daedra worship or the Dark Brotherhood is no place for this boy.

She took on a sincere look of pity as she heard him reveal about his father's death. She never remember much of her father, but at least he had the chance to keep his sword as a lasting memory. And the rings, too.

"I am sorry about your parents," she lamented. "But at least you are alive and well, though you are far too young to be even thinking about going in some perilous adventures. Trust me, I know this. I've been in Daedric and Dwemer ruins in Vvardenfell, Ayleid ruins here . . .and let me tell you: they are dangerous, and not everyone that goes there ever has a chance of coming back."

She paused to begin eating her food that was already going cold. "The monks are skilled in hand-to-hand combat and for self-defense. But sometimes you must take the offensive, and you might need much more than your fists to save you. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-three? You should have joined the Knights of the Nine or the Vigilantes. We would be more than glad to take you in and train your ourselves."

Posted by: Illydoor Feb 1 2013, 08:20 PM

A Murky Swamp, Black Marsh, 3E 422

‘Be still, Ananse.’

‘I am still, mother.’ Ananse replied. She chuckled.

‘No, hatchling, you’re not. Your legs are wriggling like a spider!’

There was a pause. ‘Like Ananse’s?’ Despite himself, his legs stopped moving. His mother laughed again.

‘Yes. And you know what Ananse was? He was a mischievous little spider. Will you let me help you now?’

‘But it hurts.’ Ananse scowled, wriggling on the bamboo mat.

‘Well that’s what little mischievous spiders get, for playing where they shouldn’t.’

Ananse knew she was right. The Thorn-Wallows were a dangerous place for a hatchling. And out of all the dangers hidden in the vast nest of mangroves and swampland, he was bested by a bramble. His tail, an amenity he often forgot he possessed, had gotten wrapped up in the vicious twines, and screaming like a Yapperfish he ran all the way home with half the tree attached to his rear end.

He stayed still, moody at his own stupidity. How silly he must have looked to the village.

‘He was never caught.’ His mother began untangling the thorns, plucking them out of his scales.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes dear. Yes he was, many times. But Ananse knew that no matter how thick the web was spun, there is always a way out…’

…………..

Seventeen years later

Ananse blinked his yellow eyes into the darkness. His breath was still close, short and ragged, as if he were choking. His ribs ached like hot brands beneath his skin, but he fought the urge to hiss in pain. For some reason something told him it was better to remain still at this present moment in time. And he was right.

A cloth mask covered his face, smelling of mouldy flax. He definitely didn’t remember putting that on. A rough cloth had been stuffed into his mouth as well, explaining his shortness of breath. He didn’t remember doing that either.

What was more disconcerting however, was that Ananse was adamant his legs were perfectly still. Yet he was definitely moving. Strong hands were around his wrists, and he felt his tail slither on the ground beneath him, his heels bouncing on the floor. Realization snapped like rope holding a tethered weight in his mind, and in that instant he heard voices above him.

‘Pick his damn legs up will ya? His filthy claws are clacking on the deck!’ A gruff man whispered angrily.

‘We’re nearly there. There’s no guards about anyways.’ Came the faceless reply.

Ananse remained completely inanimate as he was dragged across the boardway, quietly assessing the situation. It was not good.

He could feel the wooden planks of the gangway bobbling beneath his feet, and even through the decaying smell of the mask he could still pick out the scents of brine, of salt-crusted rope and drenched timber. The waters whispered softly below. He was still in the docks at least.

A faint twinge of yeast and honey waved over his attuned nostrils. Ale. He was near the Fo’c’s’le – no, passing it, and turning.

The Harborside Warehouse. A well-known den of iniquity and criminal activity amongst these parts, and for the select few, a known sanctuary of the Thieves Guild. He waited as his two captors stopped at the door, knocking thrice in the encoded pattern. Heavy bolts were withdrawn.

‘Evenin’ Wilhelm. We’ve got the bugger.’ One of the cronies said. Wilhelm, or Wilhelm the Worm out of his earshot, stood manager over the Warehouse to ‘keep out the rats’, he attested. Nobody knew that truthfully, he kept the rats in.

‘Good. Bring him in.’ The Nord growled.

Of course, it would all come back to him now. A knock on the door in the night, and then when a slumbering Ananse had not answered, a kick to break it down. Shouting voices, threats and curses. Before Ananse could blink the sleep from his eyes, the two men had hooded him, and kicks had bludgeoned him in the flanks and legs and face, before a blow to the back of the head had put him back to sleep just as quickly as he had come out of it. The guild didn’t mess around.

Rough hands lifted Ananse onto a chair, and then suddenly, the hood was whipped off and his sight came rushing back.

‘Well hello, Coin-Eye.’ A sultry voice came from across him. Ananse struggled to lift his gaze to meet the source. He saw finely woven, quilted shoes, the beginnings of a garish russet felt garb. He didn’t have to look up to recognise the man as Orrin, Shadowfoot of the Thieves Guild in Anvil.

‘Ah, of course, where are my manners. Thank you, Dranas, Krognak. That’ll be all.’ Hands were lifted off Ananse’s shoulders, the ache in his ribs subsiding a little. Orrin leant forward to remove the cloth from his mouth. He reeked of perfume and nobility, yet out of all the descriptions one could attribute to Orrin the Fence, ‘noble’ was certainly the least appropriate.

‘What am I going to do with you, my lizard friend? Hmm?’ Orrin sat back, steepling his fingers. The rings that adorned them shimmered in lamplight, along with his oily white hair.

As his eyesight steadily returned, scaly lids peeled back fully, Ananse began to feel some of his usual self return. Unfortunately, that self was a bit of an idiot.

‘Will the coalskin human give Ananse some wine? His throat is terribly parched.’

That earned him a clip round the quills.

‘Wine? You think we can afford such luxuries after your little stunt earlier?’

‘Ananse does not understand. What have I done to displease the oilskin man?’ Another strike.

‘You won. You f*cking won.’ Orrin cursed, raising his arms as if to say it was obvious. The candlelight sputtered inside the gloomy warehouse. ‘Two years of being the worst gambler in the entirety of Anvil, not winning even a beggar’s share of a Septim and you go in and triple-fold the bounty in one fell swoop!’

Though he didn’t show it, Ananse still did not understand. It was true; he had finally won his first major share in a gambler’s den just east of the Flowing Bowl, much to the chagrin of his opponents (it was well known the naïve Argonian was not the best gamester, and a little ‘green’ when it came to the underhanded world of fixing and swindling, which to say was ripe in the Anvil Docks). Though he failed to see how that tied in to Orrin’s misfortune.

‘You stupid scaled twist of flesh. All you had to do was lose, like you always had! It was planned you see. Did you know your opponent was Audens Avidius, of the Imperial Watch up South? He is one of our largest and most generous benefactors, and unlike that honoured user Lex, he understands the machinations of the guild and its part in this world. He hides us from the predations of the Guard, and we allow him some loot in return.’ Ananse shook his head, he had looked like any other human he’d met. Bald and smooth and with those silly little strips of hair they called eyebrows.

‘We’d tipped him off about our big haul and how you’d be splashing it about like a feckless back-heeler in the alley docks. Since he can’t be caught taking his share directly from us, what better way to pay him for his allegiance than having him win it in a wagering match against the most inadequate gambler in Cyrodiil. And you went and won, taking all of his money along with it.’ Orrin ran his hands through his shiny white hair, or what was left of it. ‘Now he thinks we’ve swindled him, and threatens to reveal our presence to the Guard.’

‘Not Ananse’s fault. You did not tell Ananse. I thinks, it is your faults.’ Orrin looked up from his hands with a baleful glare. Perhaps, Ananse thought, he should not have said that. The hoary Redguard stood up, pacing around the chair where Ananse was slumped.

‘I couldn’t tell you because I knew you’d blab your big lizard mouth off about Audens if I did.’ His hand slipped to the pommel of an arm-sized bludgeon strapped to the green waist of his ridiculous outfit. ‘But you’re right. It’s not your fault.’ He took it out, and laid its heavy, menacing head against Ananse’s shoulder. Ananse suddenly felt his scales crawl, and his blood ran hot with fear.

‘But somebody has to pay.’ The weight was lifted, and Ananse heard the blow before he felt it, a deafening crunch against his cheekbone.

‘You’ve always been a… thorn’ The blow fell again, this time against his left shoulder. ’…in the Guild’s side, Coin-Eye.’

The next one hit him in his scaly chest, just above his tattoo. There was a creaking of wood, and both chair and lizard fell to the floor. Above the commotion, a sibilant hiss of laughter could be heard. Orrin stopped half-swing.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing. Just Ananse wonders if oilskin man took beatings from his grandmothers. And if she taught him anythings, because surely she would be most disappointed.’ Orrin’s already scowling face deepened.

‘Krognak, fetch the axe. I’ve had enough of this swamp-filth.’

The orc nodded dumbly, and went bumbling off to find his weapon. Meanwhile the other hired muscle, Dranas lifted Ananse to his knees to assume the execution position.

Now he’d really done it. Ananse was about to re-join the Hist in a few moments if he didn’t think quickly. He could hear Krognak coming back already. His hands were still bound behind his back, but his legs were free. Maybe he could kick himself… strong dunmer hands clamped down on his shoulders, forcing his head down and baring his neck.

Out of the corner of one yellow eye, Ananse watched as Krognak lumbered slowly closer, axe in hand, a malevolent grin cracking his face. The brutal edge of the blade, still bloody from its last execution, glinted dully in the lamplight like a rusty smile.

‘Not so funny now, Argonian, are we? You are hereby expelled from the guild and all its affiliations. Any last requests?’ The poisonous voice of Orrin slipped into his ear, and his head was shoved towards the floorboards. Below them, he could hear the sound of the lapping waves swelling beneath the docks, and wondered if he would ever hear them again.

No matter how thick the web, Ananse…

The cleaver was raised, high, as if it were floating away, and Ananse’s life boiled down to those fractions of a second before its ascent was checked and the fateful descent would begin.

…There is always a way out.

‘WAIT!’ He cried. The axe stopped, hanging there like death incarnate. ‘My quills.’

‘What about your damn quills, lizard.’ Orrin spat.

‘They are sacred to our race. Pleases, oilskin man, let Ananse keep his quills pristines. Ananse does not want to enter the Hist with his quills halved, it would mean dishonour. You would grant me this one wish, yes?’ Krognak looked up with simple eyes. Orrin looked puzzled, but eventually conceded.

‘Alright, lizard. Consider this your last courtesy in this world.’ He nodded to Dranas. The Dunmer walked to the other side of Ananse, keeping his head down. He could feel the spiny quills being drawn back.

‘No! You must hold them with two hands. Ananse’s quills are his pride!’ Dranas growled, but obliged.

‘There. Now Kragnak. Cut his head off and let us be done with it.’

The axe rose again, and Orrin watched in glee as his revenge rose with it. Ananse would have to time this perfectly.

‘Now!’ Orrin screamed, and Kragnak grunted as he brought the weapon down in an executioner’s blow. At the same time Ananse pulled his head back with a sudden jerk. Dranas’ hands, holding onto the quills, came with it, into the path of the death blow.

The axe bit deep into his blue-skinned wrists, and he shrieked like a banshee. One hand was severed completely, the other hanging limply off a loose piece of gristle as he raised his stumps to his face with horror.

The Orc roared, and swung the axe round for another blow. Ananse could hear Orrin bellowing in rage in the background, but he stayed where he was, waiting for the axe-stroke. He was in the perfect position. The huge blade swung down once more, about to cleave him in two, and at the last moment Ananse side-stepped to the left and the blade glanced past his head. It hit the wooden floorboards precisely where Ananse had aimed for; widening the large crack he had already seen during his time kneeling in wait. The floorboards creaked once, then with a sound like cracking thunder gave away and the lizard was plunged into icy water.

Ananse did not look behind him as he swam away below the shifting docks. Even underwater, his hearing could pick out the wails of the agonised dunmer, and the fury of Orrin as he raged and seethed at his escape.

Underneath his scales, Ananse’s blood prickled him. How had he just done that? Not in his wildest dreams could he have thought of such a thing happening. A thousand thoughts and questions ran through his mind, spurring his legs and arms against the currents like fuel. But one stood out against the rest:

Ananse could not stay within the walls of Anvil anymore. He would have to go far away, very far indeed; somewhere the Guild could not follow him, where the web was not as thick.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 1 2013, 09:33 PM

Tarrick

Tarrick lead the way for the small, impromptu group as they made their way to the inn. He was first through the door, holding for the others with a mock bow as they went through, and they found a table as a serving girl hurried over at their arrival.

"Is there anything I can get you?" she asked as they sat.

"I think we're all hoping for tea," Tarrick said. He glanced back at the rest of the group. "Everyone wants tea, yes?"

He glanced over at the serving girl again.

"A few pots of tea," he said. He raised his voice slightly so the others would be able to hear him, and gestured to Kayla. "And a horse for Kayla here to eat, too."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 1 2013, 10:36 PM

Buffy:

Tarrick held the door as the small group filed into the Count’s Arm and found a table.

Buffy knelt on the chair offered to her, then sat back upon both heels to compensate for her height – especially with two Altmer in the group. As the others were seated, she was pleased to see Ylenno slide into the chair next to her. She hoped for a chance to ask her fellow Bosmer of any news from Bravil, as well as how he was faring after the loss of his sister.

Ever the gentleman it seemed, Tarrick ordered several pots of tea. And a horse for Kayla to eat! Buffy smiled, sure that it was only a joke. Well, pretty sure.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 2 2013, 05:28 AM

Kayla gave Tarrick a serious look.

"A horse? At this rate, give me an entire moose!"

She slapped the table and laughed at her own joke.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 07:06 AM

Westley

Westley observed as two Altmer, two Bosmer, and a Resguard walked into the inn. The challenge the vampire had thrown at him, and his encounter with the guards left him in a sour mood. He scowled as the elves sat down at a table not too far from his own, and aggressively shuffles the guards. He may have calmed down, but that didn't mean that he was in a good mood.

More people in the inn meant more people to make fun of him, and since the Altmer thought they were better than everyone else, he knew it was a matter of time before they were looking over thier shoulders and mocking him. His temper flared up again, and he picked up a fork and chucked it at the Altmer woman sitting at the table. He sniggered with satisfaction, and looked away when she turned around to see her attacker.

Westley wasn't why he just did that to the Altmer woman. Out of anger he supposed.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 2 2013, 08:07 AM

Kayla jumped up when she saw the Imperial man snickering at her. The fork had bounced off her auburn head and clanged to the floor. She turned crimson as she swore at him in Nordic and berated him in Cyrodillic. Her accent got thicker the angrier she got.

"Dumskalle!" she spat. "Who taught you manners? What would your mother think of you throwing forks at strangers?"

She pointed her finger inches away from the Imperial's nose. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when an odor hit her nose. She narrowed her eyes.

"You smell like a wet dog."

She put her finger back near the Imperial's nose. "You need to calm down. I'll let it go this one time, but if you bother me again, I won't hesitate to knock you on your back."

Kayla turned around to sit back down.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 08:30 AM

Westley

"Dumskalle! Who taught you manners? What would your mother think of you throwing forks at strangers?"

Westley began seething with rage. He was getting sick of the insults. He picked up a spoon and threw it at the Altmer as she turned to sit back down. He recogmized an insult of Nordic origin when he heard one. He put his foot down and insulted the elf back.

"Milk-Drinker! Go back to skyrim! My mom couldn't teach me manners because I ran away after my father died. I can throw whatever I want at you!"

Westley sat back down in his seat, and waited for the elf's response while he wickedly chuckled to himself. In truth he despised his scornful attitude towards the elf, but he found her reactions quite amusing.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 2 2013, 04:15 PM

Ylenno smiled at the Altmer in front of him and clasped her shoulder affectionately. He decided that he liked this elf. Unlike most of her kind, she was down to earth and didn't raise her nose at everyone. There was laidback freedom about her, and Ylenno was drawn to it like a kindred spirit.

"I live to make people laugh, my fair lady! But it is as Lady Dame has spoken; thou must eat before thy hunger consumes us all!" He laid a friendly hand over her shoulder and thanked the unknown Redguard as they entered the Count's Arms.

Inside, it was just as the outside. All manner of adventurers could be found hustling and talking about the Expedition. As expected. There were some blue-bloods here and there, and the occasional smudge of commoner and peasatry. The bulk were adventurers.

They took a seat at a table, just right ahead of a lonely Imperial playing cards. He turned to everyone as they took theirs, and raised an imaginary toast to the air.

"Here's to good fortune, milords and ladies," he declared. The he rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. "Now, let's eat!"

The Redguard joked with Kayla, and Ylenno laughed with her. And before he could add his own, a fork came flying and hit Kayla in the head. It came from the Imperial, who, when Ylenno squinted at him closely, was the same Imperial who got escorted by the guards earlier in the morning.

The elf didn't made a move and simply gave a very mocking smile to the Imperial as Kayla scolded him herself. Boy was craving for attention, no doubt about it. Best to just ignore him at this poi-

Another cutlery came flying, a spoon, and it hit Ylenno straight in the face, with enough force to draw a tiny smidgen of blood when a sharp point collided first.


There was an uncharacteristic silence and eerie calmness that took hold Ylenno, and his earlier smile was replaced with a stony neutral expression. His eyes never strayed far from the Imperial, who ranted something about his father dying.

Ylenno stood up, and wiped a droplet of blood from his face. He took the blood to his eyes and looked at it. He was lucky it nicked him below the eye; any further upwards and he would've been blinded.

He strode calmly to the Imperial, every movement economic and quick.

And he sat down at a chair beside him, making sure he could see the wound he inflicted to him.

"Give me one good reason not to smash your cute face in," he said coolly. "One good reason, boy, and it better not be a freudian excuse about your broken childhood or parents."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 04:32 PM

Westley

"Give me one good reason not to smash your cute face in, one good reason, boy, and it better not be a freudian excuse about your broken childhood or parents."

Westley didn't move from his seat. He simply glared at the Bosmer before answering.

"You dont want trouble with the guards do you? They certainly won't hesitate to charge you for assault if you punch me in the face over a spoon, and besides, that spoon wasn't meant for you, nor did I intend to injure you." Westley sniggered, "And besides, you should have more self-control than your currently having. I may be throwing spoons and forks, but I haven't thrown a knife, nor do I intend to, so assaulting me will only result in the imprisonment of both of us, and you'll end up with a broken jaw."

Westley stood up from his seat. He was about the about the same height as this Bosmer, maybe a bit taller. He was getting very upset, and didnt want to start any fights, so he took a moment to take a deep breath before sitting back down, and explaining his reasons for throwing utensils to the Bosmer.

"Pardon my mood. I shouldnt make other people miserable because I'm in a bad mood. I'll stop throwing stuff, and tell your Altmer friend over there I'm sorry. And I apologize for hurting you. I'm not sure how you managed to get cut with a spoon though. Please, just leave me be. I need to be alone I guess."

Westley continued glare at the Bosmer, but tried his best to control his temper. Hopefully this elf would leave him alone before a fight broke out. Or worse...

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 2 2013, 04:53 PM

When Westley stood, Ylenno stood with him. Their faces were just several inches away, and blood still dripped from the wound Ylenno had. He held the boy's glare, unyielding and unblinking. The Imperial's 'reasons' went unheeded and passed through ear to ear, but when he spoke of 'self-control' Ylenno couldn't help but smilling with him. It seems this Imperial didn't see the hypocrisy in that one.

"Broken jaw, eh? Cute-boy thinks he knows how to throw a punch!"

He mimiced a pugilist, making whishing noises with his mouth.

And then he slapped the Imperial twice in the face, lightly, but very mocking in its intent. Ylenno had a strange yet sinister smile on his face, and he looped a hand around the Imperial's shoulder.

"Apology accepted. We're all friends here. Maybe you can teach how to throw a hook outside if you'd like?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 05:01 PM

The elf lightly slapped Westley in the face. That's when he lost it. He grabbed the elf by the arm, and threw him to the ground. Westley didn't throw him hard enough to injure him though.His voice was a deadly growl when he spoke.

"I don't want anymore trouble with the guards, but you're pushing it elf!"

He pinned the elf to the ground, preventing him from getting up.

"We shouldn't be fighting. The last thing either of us need is trouble with the guards. You hit me first. And it was in purpose. I have every right to throw you to the ground and pin you like I currently am, and you have every right to be mad at me. I shouldn't have been throwing stuff, but slapping me? I don't care if you didn't hit me hard, a challenge is a challenge!"

Despite his cold, harsh tone, Westley got up and helped the Bosmer off of the ground before sitting back down and taking another deep breath. He couldn't lose control of himself. Not now.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 2 2013, 05:19 PM

"Both of you just stop it before you get us thrown out!" Kayla fussed.

She stood up and looked from Ylenno to the Imperial.

"YOU." She barked at the Imperial. "I did nothing to you, and you throw things at me? Guess what? My parents both died, along with my adoptive parents AND my siblings, and I still manage to be civilized! Just because I dungeon-crawl doesn't mean that I act like an animal!"

She looked at the Imperial. There was a vein in his neck throbbing. She softened.

"Why are you so angry? Why throw things?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 05:27 PM

Westley

"Why are you so angry? Why throw things?"

Westley turned to the Altmer and wickedly laughed.

"He challenged me. But I think we should put this fight behind us. I shouldn't have been throwing [censored] in the first place. I'm sorry I threw stuff at you. I shouldn't of acted so immature."

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 2 2013, 05:29 PM

GM POST


The throw was primal, with a little bit of technicality in it; it was the unnatural speed that took Ylenno off guard and down he met the floor in a resounding crash, and the breath was knocked off of him. Before he could get up, the Imperial pinned him, and this time, the hatred was cold and calculated. Ylenno couldn't move. The Imperial had him locked up completely.

The Imperial said his piece, and Ylenno said his too; barking laughter. No sooner than he had been thrown, the Imperial took hold of him and stood him up.

"Bad mistake," Ylenno said. He would've kicked the Imperial in the chest and mount him, but Kayla got in there first and the elf crossed his arms. As the Imperial and Kayla got this heart-to-heart moment, he took a look around the establishment and suppressed a barking laughter. All movement stopped. The other patrons were completely still.

He even saw a frozen Orc holding a sandwich before his open mouth. Sauce dripped from the sandwhich. The Innkeeper even had a mace drawn out.

"No need to gape, folks," Ylenno said when the heart-to-heart moment stopped. "Just your usual moment you see in cliche stories! Hells, I'd even buy a whole new round for all of you!"

He sat down in the Imperial's table and carressed his burning side. Boy knew how to throw.

"You won't get away from me that easily! Whats your name, Imperial? I'd like to know the brawler who threw me to the ground!" There was no malice in his voice and he regarded the Imperial with his usual cheeriness restored.

"Mine's Ylenno, and maybe a drink or two can introduce us properly to each other rather than my slap or your throw!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 05:39 PM

What's your name, Imperial?"
"I'm Westley. Pleasure to meet you as well. I hope I didn't hurt you too bad when I threw you, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just got upset. I can't believe we're fighting over a spoon though. Maybe we both need to learn to control ourselves. I'm sorry, I don't drink alcohol, but perhaps we could discuss this matter over a steak?"

Westley sat down, inviting the elves to join him.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 2 2013, 05:58 PM

Ylenno

"Yeah," Ylenno agreed. "Perhaps we should, Westley. Good way to start a friendship though, butting heads like this. And don't worry," here Ylenno gave the Imperial a rogue's grin. "I had worse. You have unnautral speed. kinda like a lightning really."

For what Ylenno's promise of free drinks for everyone was worth, it sure did regain a sense of normalcy back again. People returned to their businesses and didn't spare the two brawlers a second glance.

"You don't drink, huh? That's quite okay, wouldn't want rupturing your liver with acid, do we?" A serving wench came over and took their order. Ylenno gave her a wink as she scurried off to the kitchens to get their steaks.

"So, lemme guess. Expedition? You don't look like a commoner, and you already prove you can handle yourself. Me and the group over there is looking to sign up. Maybe you can join our little merry band of ne'er-do-wells? It isn't easy always being on your own, you know."

He laughed.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 06:05 PM

Westley

Yeah, I'm here for the expedition. I've never thought of returning to Anvil, but me being an adventurer sort of drew me on. The expedition to Such sounds interesting, and I've decided that it would be a good way to gain fame and fortune"

Westley picked his cards up and started shuffling them as he spoke.

"I'm not really a commoner. Like I said I'm an adventurer. My speed isn't that unnatural though. I just have quick reflexes. I was art of the fighters guild here in Anvil. I ran away after my father died trying to save me, and Azzan was nice enough to take me in. I decided that the fighter's guild life was t interesting enough for me though. I wanted to journey out into the world, see new things. You know what I mean?"

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 2 2013, 06:14 PM

Ylenno nodded.

"I know what you mean. Sorry about your father though, but I hope you atleast knew him. I was raised an orphan in Bravil, you see. Not really an ideal place to grow up on, but a community's a community, and we took care of each other."

The steaks came quite fast, sizzling with oil, juices giving it a delicious shine. Smoke rose from them and tingled Ylenno's nose with the scent of cooked meat and herbs.

He stood up and picked his plate.

"Why don't I introduce you to the others? Since we're all looking to sign up, we might as well know each other!"

He strode to their table and set his plate down, beckoning for Westley to follow.

OOC: 'Kay guys, its your turn.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 06:42 PM

Ylenno brought Westley to another table with another Bosmer, anothet Altmer, and a Redguard. He awkwardly stood there for a moment before greeting them.

"Hi, I'm Westley Arctus."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 2 2013, 08:48 PM

Kayla narrowed her eyes at Westley, but smiled all the same.

"I'm Kayla, or as you know me, Target Practice." She kept her warm smile. Before anyone could ask her any questions, she cut up her steak and devoured the pieces quickly, keeping her mouth closed, but at the same time, knowing she looked like a hungry animal. She turned crimson and wiped her mouth.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 09:12 PM

"Nice to meet you Kayla. I've never met an elf with a Nordic accent. It sounds....nice."

Westley fiddled with the straps of his shirt.

"You make a good target."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 2 2013, 09:20 PM

Kayla blushed darker. The dark-haired Westley was obviously sorry. She forgave easily, and she needed no enemies.

"Thank you," she replied. "Born and raised in Skyrim. My husband would like you. He's a Nord who likes a good brawl. Though I don't think he would much like you throwing things at his wife!" She laughed at her own joke.

She patted Buffy's shoulder. "This is my new friend Buffy." Again, she pronounced it Boofy. She let out a disgruntled sound, then masked it as a cough. She felt so out of place in this establishment, even with the flying silverware.

"Everyone here is so calm! By now, three brawls would have broken out, and everyone would be placing bets on the winner." She shrugged. "Oh well." She smiled again.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 2 2013, 09:35 PM

Westley noticed Kayla blush, and raised an eyebrow.

"This is my new friend Buffy"

Westley stared at the Bosmer for a moment. "Hello Buffy. I'm Westley." Westley extended his hand out to the Bosmer, and shook her hand.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 2 2013, 11:06 PM

Buffy:

For reasons that eluded the forest elf, an Imperial began tossing flatware at Kayla. The Altmer quite capably began to take the young man to task when Ylenno intervened. Well, one thing led to another and soon, Bosmer and the Imperial were both on the floor. Once back on their feet however, the rutting season between two young bucks seemed somehow resolved. Men were such curious creatures.

The young Imperial then joined the group and introduced himself as Westley Arctus as several pots of tea and Kayla’s steak arrived. Everyone watched in amusement as the Altmer inhaled her steak. She then introduced herself to Westley while quite smoothly mentioning a husband. Kayla’s hand then fell lightly upon Buffy's shoulder and the wood elf heard herself being introduced to Westley.

The Imperial that had started quite the ruckus was young. He wore his dark hair closely cropped and was dressed in humble attire. His blue eyes harbored a look that was ever so slightly unhinged – and strangely familiar. As a child of the forest, Buffy knew well the eyes of Kynareth’s predators and this human’s gaze was different, but somehow similar. Her thoughts were interrupted as the young man extended a hand.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Westley. I appreciate the introduction by handshake instead of dodging errant utensils or being tossed onto the floor.” Her eyes lost none of their sparkle as the elf’s smile eased into a frown of concern and she turned toward Ylenno. “That cut on your face is minor, but I am a skilled healer. Would you like me to repair your wound?”

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 3 2013, 01:50 AM

http://oi49.tinypic.com/9aco5e.jpg was at the table exchanging words with a Vigilante of Stendarr woman named Macalla, who in the end, had retreated to her bedroom after they had shared stories of each other's past. After while he was sitting alone, contemplating on what this woman could be in his eyes. Or more specifically, what use can he find her to be.

Suddenly the entrance to the Count's Arms began to pour in a group of people he never seen before. Most of them Mer. They sat together in a round table, each of them as loud and uncaring of those around them.

The http://oi45.tinypic.com/2dvnzn5.jpg simply kept his head down, and continued to eat his food. But his ears were alert and so were his eyes. From where he was seated, he could very well see the group. But he didn't stare. He only kept his head gazed at his plate while his peripheral vision did all the work.

And the impossible happened. The young Lycanthropy threw a piece of silverware over his shoulder, and the Altmeri stranger, predictably annoyed by the flung item, retaliated with verbal assault. And the entire Inn seemed heavy with argument relating to that of bickering children. The air soon changed into threats and warnings of bloodshed. This Drakothemir found interesting. Despite their childish and sheep-like behavior and ignorance, they were brave enough to engage in physical contact that skirted on the edge of violence. And what amused him was that he didn't even have to say a word to them.

The werewolf had displayed surprising speed, and to his disadvantage, everyone present had taken notice and even one of the strangers had commented on it after he was tackled to the ground. It was foolish, for a man with a gift to show his prowess to everyone. It was wise, however, for one to conceal that prowess until the moment where taking a life was very nescessary. All respect for the young werewolf had vaporized in an instant. This child could get himself killed as well as others . . .

In the end, they all began introducing themselves to each other knowing well that they had different talents that could be used for the expedition! If only they knew a Lycanthrope stood among them . . .unpredictable. Dangerous. Treacherous.

Ah . . .the expedition. Drakothemir suspected as much, He finished his food, slid his plate away, and stood to his feet. The undead Imperial approached the group, the hem of his black robes sweeping the floor as he walked to them.

"That cut on your face is minor, but I am a skilled healer. Would you like me to repair your wound?”the one called Buffy said to one of her comrades.

"Should he pursue the crusade to Fort Sutch . . .I promise that cuts and wounds be the least of his problems. It would be most wise to save your abilities for moments when you could profit from them. Nine forbid he loses a limb or an eye . . ." Drakothemir said to them, and then paused. "What I am trying to say is: I hope you are all all battle-hardened for combat."

He stopped, and looked at his sword and then offered a generous smile. "I'm afraid I am not."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 3 2013, 03:30 AM

Buffy:

Before Ylenno could reply to Buffy's inquiry about the small cut on his face, a darkly dressed Imperial approached the table and stated, "Should he pursue the crusade to Fort Sutch . . . I promise that cuts and wounds be the least of his problems. It would be most wise to save your abilities for moments when you could profit from them. Nine forbid he loses a limb or an eye . . . . What I am trying to say is: I hope you are all battle-hardened for combat." After a moment, he added, "I'm afraid I am not."

Buffy looked up at the Imperial. “I cannot speak to the abilities or choices of others here, only my own." Her sober words were not loud, but carried clearly across the now quiet table. "I fought under the command of Guildmagister Sigrid Firewalker as we helped Captain Savlian Matius’ army recapture the city of Kvatch at the beginning of the Oblivion Crisis.” She blinked, determined to keep her words measured and dispassionate. “I am, unfortunately, well-practiced at healing the carnage of combat. My gift is not one to be rationed though, nor does the treatment of minor cuts and bruises dilute my ability to heal grievous wounds.”

She managed a thin smile. “My name is Buffy.” Nodding to indicate each of those at the table in turn, she continued, “This is Ylenno, Elaninde, Westley, Tarrick, and Kayla.” Lifting an eyebrow, she returned her gaze to the stranger. “Welcome, Imperial, and thank you for your concern about our welfare. By what name are you called?”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 3 2013, 07:52 AM

Kayla eyed the newest Imperial sharply. He seemed harmless enough, but like the nightshade flower, sometimes the most harmless looking things can be very dangerous. Dressed in a black robe, Kayla was reminded of a mage. Hardly anyone else wore robes.

Imperials here seem to be more outspoken, she thought to herself. Maybe this one won't follow in the other's footsteps and throw a plate at me.

Something seemed...off. He looked normal, sounded normal, but something was nagging her.

Maybe it was the long trip. Her food hadn't digested yet, so she was still a bit silly in the head. Maybe Westley's assault had shaken her up. Buffy introduced each of them, and when she said Kayla's name, she stuck her hand out so shake the Imperial's hand. She eyed his face carefully.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 3 2013, 09:00 AM

Westley

When the vampire approached the table, the hairs on Westley's neck and arms stood up. He didn't like the look of this vampire one bit. He could practically smell the vampire's malicious intent. He stood up and smiled in a mocking way at the vampire.

"What is it you wanted? It's nice to meet new people." The corner of Westley's twitched. He held back a low growl as he intensely observed the vampire. He didn't like the look of this man one bit, and he certainly wasn't going to stand by and let the night-spawn harm innocent people. He tried his hardest to not show any signs of aggression, lest he arose any suspicion.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 3 2013, 10:07 AM

Lord Drakothemir.

Drakothemir took the time to study the people that sat before him. Each of them all different in appearance with elvish similarities. The only exception was the Redguard.

The woman named Buffy seemed one of the oldest, though the Bosmer male who called himself Ylenno with the exotic hairstyle seemed to be in his late twenties, as was the High Elf woman that accompanied them. They, unlike the other Imperial, seemed more mature. But it wasn't maturity that Drakothemir was looking for. Not only that. It was the individual skill each and everyone of them possessed that was of concern.

Buffy. The first thing Drakothemir noticed about her was her size. She was small. And her lovely blond-hair. vivid blue eyes and large ears gave most the impression that she was a simple Bosmeri woman. But in their culture, Wood Elves learned how to use the bow at a young age, and she certainly appeared to be able to wield the bow she carried with deadly precision.

“I cannot speak to the abilities or choices of others here, only my own."

Drakothemir waited for her response. He was eager to find out what her craft was, and what she was capable of. This is precisely what he longed to hear.

"I fought under the command of Guildmagister Sigrid Firewalker as we helped Captain Savlian Matius’ army recapture the city of Kvatch at the beginning of the Oblivion Crisis.” She said, her tone even and fair, not as passionate as say, the Lycanthropic hound or the hungry High Elf. “I am, unfortunately, well-practiced at healing the carnage of combat. My gift is not one to be rationed though, nor does the treatment of minor cuts and bruises dilute my ability to heal grievous wounds.”

She fought under a Guildmagister and aided an Imperial captain in retaking the city of Kvatch from the Daedra? Impressive. Most impressive with the fact that the city was retaken. And no doubt she played part in the recovery. Drakothemir has heard of such things happening, but not in great detail. It had been a short time before he returned to the land of the living, and thus he was given little time to discover the facts of the war against the Daedra invasion. The name Savlian Matius was familiar to him, but he doesn't recall the man. Sigrid Firewalker, on the other hand, completely escaped his knowledge.

So . . .she is a healer and an archer, concluded the vampire. She will certainly make sure no one dies in combat or passes out from bloodloss.

Drakothemir had no intention of feeding off of any of them. In fact, he was well aware they wouldn't be the only adventurers there with him. There will be others, who are destined to die in the forgotten halls of Fort Sutch, but among this group? Possibly, but not by his hand. The traps and snares and possible spirits and monsters that lingered there would be the ones to worry about.

“This is Ylenno, Elaninde, Westley, Tarrick, and Kayla.” Buffy added after introducing herself. Drakothemir smiled and bowed his head slightly, taking the time to analyze them each carefully and quickly in a normal fashion.

Ylenno had a mischievous air about him, and the menacing axe he carried and his appearance told Drakothemir he was some kind of roguish warrior or carried himself as such. There was an aura of magic about him that Drakothemir could sense, and he came to the conclusion that perhaps this man had some knowledge of the arcane arts. He looked dangerous, and his roguish qualities was something that he would have to watch out for. Though he knew how to avoid a confrontation when he could, especially with the hot-headed hound named Wesley.

The second High Elf, Elaninde, was even more of the standard appearance of a High Elf. With golden locks of hair, two golden eyes and moderate lips. He suspected that under her armor, she was a thin girl in body size judging by the width of her throat and her arms. Aside from these, he couldn't gather much information on her. But her race alone was enough to know that she may be talented in the arts of the arcane.

Drakothemir was somewhat aquainted with Westely. The Imperial werewolf who nearly throws a tantrum every passing minute. Not much could be said about him. His personality has shun quite well in the very short time Drakothemir had been around him. He was impulsive, angry and bitter. According to him, he possessed no manners because his father had passed away, which could explain his negative qualities and current emotional state of mind. The fact alone that he was a werewolf, an angry one, no less, was of much concern to Drakothemir. He was a threat. His Lycanthropy alone could get others killed, and above all, he certainly knew Drakothemir was a vampire. There was no doubt about it. Their supernatural sense of smell and awareness was the reason for that.

He could tell Westley did not like him from the start. No matter how futile his attempt was to mask it; the silent growl, the hairs sprouting in the back of his neck, the mocking smirk and the twitching lips and the intense gaze. All signs that he felt challenged or threatened. Like a common wolf, Drakothemir thought. The vampire actually suspected he might be wanting to devour these people, and felt that Drakothemir was no more than a rival in his territory. But he saw no ill-will coming from the werewolf toward his new comrades. Not after he got into a fight with the Bosmer. Out of all of them, he could very well be the most dangerous. Maybe. His reckless nature is testament to that.

Kayla was the High Elf woman perhaps over the age of thirty whom he noticed was lithe in appearance, and had auburn hair on her head. She came off as a typical Altmer. What Drakothemir learned from her the moment she got into a heated argument with Wesley was that she was married. Though regular in appearance, her strange Nordic accent and of course, her own words to Wesley told Drakothemir she was born and raised in Skyrim, possibly raised by Nords considering her husband might as well be one from his description. There was the possibility she was lying to cover her true heritage for whatever reason, but Drakothemir wasn't counting on it. There were scars alongside her arms that could have been there from a fight or maybe even self-inflicted injury. There still could be much to learn from this woman, and the way she looked at him sharply told him she could suspect something . . .but all Drakothemir did was smile back to her as her name was said.


Tarrick was the Redguard who led the group into the tavern and ordered tea for them. The only real human in the group. He had a clean-shaven look, short black hair and dark skin, as the countless other representatives of his race. Place him among the other Redguard of Anvil, and he would blend in quite well. He struck Drakothemir as a likeable man, by mortal standards. The way he opened the door and behaved around women was a sign that he was somewhat of a gentlemen.

All in all, they were a team of adventerers who, judging by what Drakothemir had heard them say, were eager to set foot under Fort Sutch. Each of them could have different skills, and not many of them seemed at all dangerous. But Drakothemir underestimated people before, and it nearly cost him his (un)life.

"What is it you wanted? It's nice to meet new people." Westley said to him in a dark tone. Drakothemir was not moved, nor did he even show any signs of anger or annoyance as he looked at the man. He was going to make a comment regarding his small gesture of kindness toward him, but it was not to be mentioned. That was one thing Drakothemir knew was just between the two men. There was tension there, and both Imperials knew what each other were, and what harm could be done to not only one another, but those around as well.

Drakothemir grabbed Kayla's hand with his own cold one, and shook is firmly, but not as strong as he would have done to a man. He then pulled away from her. "A pleasure to meet you all."

He looked at Buffy. "Well met, Buffy. Why unfortunately, may I ask? To be able to help others and save lives, especially in something as horrific as battle is a gift. Something I always wished to learn."

And he never did learn anything from the schools of restoration. He could heal himself from drinking blood alone and draining the life-force of others, healing all manners of wounds while his foes turn into a lifeless husk. It was selfish, indeed, and destructive. But nescessary. And he was proud of it.

He stopped, looked at Wesley, and nodded in agreement. "It always is a delight to meet strangers. You all seem quite . . .well-mannered. For hostility to end in handshakes and exchange of names tells me you're all friendly." He steeled himself. "A welcome change in this city. Not many sailors like us land-walkers. Ah, and I prattle about. Forgive me. My name is Drakothemir."

He turned to Buffy, the one who took the liberty of introducing him to the others. "May I sit and join you?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 3 2013, 01:14 PM

Kayla jerked her hand back, but the man seemed to not notice.

Cold.

Calm down, she told herself. Vampires aren't as common in Cyrodiil, and certainly not within city walls. He just might be cold-blooded.

She sat down quietly and let the others mostly talk.

Posted by: flowerboom Feb 3 2013, 04:17 PM

this is good

Posted by: Acadian Feb 3 2013, 04:37 PM

OOC: Thank you flower, but we try to keep this thread limited to purely the flow of the RP. There is another thread on this forum for discussion of this Sutch RP.

Buffy:

The Imperial’s skin lacked the olive tone of a Nibenean. Colovian, Buffy guessed, and unaccustomed to the sun. From his well-spoken manner and expensive looking rings that adorned manicured hands, she imagined he was from wealth. Although her own minor title was granted by deeds rather than acquired by birth, she nevertheless had spent enough time in the courts of Cyrodiil to recognize the polished manner and speech of another noble when she met one.

While introducing her table mates to the Imperial, Buffy noted that Kayla withdrew from a handshake with the dark stranger too quickly; almost reflexively as if burned by his touch. . . or chilled.

“My name is Drakothemir. May I sit and join you?"

“Well met,” replied Buffy. After glancing around the table and seeing no objections – except a brooding look from Westley – she gestured toward a chair and added, “Of course.”

She raised a cup of warm tea to her lips. Ylenno’s small scratch had stopped bleeding and Buffy figured he would ask if he wanted to take her up on the offer to lift all evidence of it. She hoped for perhaps a moment alone sometime with Kayla to learn why she had recoiled from Drakothemir’s touch. Westley also seemed disturbed by the dark stranger, but the young man’s apparently inherent volatility obscured any significance to his reaction.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 3 2013, 11:48 PM

Tarrick

The last thing Tarrick had expected when he entered the inn was for somebody to kick off with them for no real reason, but that happened almost as soon as he and his small group entered. An Imperial lobbed a fork at Kayla, Kayla naturally got annoyed and just as Tarrick began to worry that he would be forced to do something resembling a threat to life and limb Ylenno stepped forward to confront the man, allowing Tarrick to hover in the background, at the perfect spot to look present and involved but also in easy reach of the door should things turn violent.

In the end, things ended up being both good and bad for him. Good because things simmered down as rapidly as they flared up (Tarrick made a mental note to tread carefully around this temperamental Imperial) and bad because it turned out Kayla was married.

Once the group had been sat down, the tea had arrived, and introductions had been made, another figure introduced himself, a pale Imperial by the name of Drakothemir. Buffy made the introductions for them and pulled up a chair. As Drakothemir was about to sit, Tarrick asked; "So, Drakothemir, I take it you're here for the Fort Sutch expedition?"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 4 2013, 01:21 AM

Drakothemir.

Drakothemir pulled a chair and sat himself down. Though he was focused on these people, he was still attentive to his surroundings and every person around him. He prepared his mental state and awareness for every detail- minimal or great- so that he could get a better understanding of these people. His vampiric nature and lifelong training allowed him to find weaknesses of character or personality in most people he came across. He relied on his instincts and sharp-mind to guide him to the most efficient means of finishing a quest or completing a task. Thus he carefully inspected all of them.

"So, Drakothemir, I take it you're here for the Fort Sutch expedition?"Terrick asked.

The Imperial nodded gently as he locked eyes with the Redguard. "Yes. It is why most of us are here in the city as visitors. I came from Weynon Priory in pursuit of a scholarly life. I have always been fascinated by the lore of the world and I hope to be one some day. This can very well be the opportunity of a lifetime!"

He blinked once and looked at the table, his expression taking on one of embarrasment. "But I have never been much a warrior, I must confess. The monks at the Priory do not focus much on armed combat." He looked up at Tarrick, then Buffy and the rest. "I heard Fort Sutch was a criminal haven for marauders once. If that isn't dangerous enough, I cannot imagine what dwells beneath the earth. If we are to take the words of Tulas Feramo as fact."

He looked at the tavern wench, nodded to her as a sign that he wanted something to drink, and then turned to Ylenno. " That is why it is wise to form a . . . merry band of ne'er-do-wells. You can protect me from harm, and I shall dig for clues." He said to the Bosmer, using his own words. His tone wasn't malicious nor sarcastic but it was meant to be peppered with humor. His rather crooked smile was also added, though he was well-aware he would come across as a foolish man trying too hard to make friends.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 4 2013, 05:14 AM

"You can protect me from harm, and I shall dig for clues." Drakothemir said. He gave a sheepish look not too far from what Kayla often used when embarrassed. He confessed to being a scholar, and Kayla figured that was might have thrown her off.

A nice robe, along with rings and a thirst for knowledge. He was a bookworm. Kayla could appreciate a thirst for knowledge, though she never had much time to pursue her own interests aside from tossing a mean firebolt. But that was necessity, and she couldn't blame the man for being well off enough to pursue his own studies outside of practicality.

Maybe she could relax. Have a glass of wine. Though she would have to be careful. Good conversation made her unaware of how much she drank, and she got silly when intoxicated. She took a sip anways. Kayla doubted the conversation would go past introductions and eventually meander into an awkward silence, everyone grasping at straws for topics, which is where she would head outside after getting a room and bask in the warm air.

If there were any rooms left. Kayla doubted the chapel would welcome a Daedra worshipper, with a Daedric artifact in her possession. But Dawnbreaker was safely tucked away in her bag.

She glanced at Buffy, and briefly wondered if the smaller elf had ever been in a brawl. If not, Kayla would certainly teach her a few things.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 4 2013, 06:21 PM

Buffy:

Drakothemir mentioned the words of Tulas Feramo. Buffy wondered if his knowledge extended beyond the Black Horse Courier. For the declared heretic now awaited execution and his book had been banned by the Elder Council. That ban did not extend to the Arcane University of course. Once she had been briefed by Grandmaster Boderi Farano on this assignment, Buffy reported to the Mystic Archives and read the guild’s authorized copy of ‘Suchamel, the Ironstar of the West’.

Suchamel - now called Sutch - was founded during the time of Queen Alessia. It’s garrison’s success at defending the western edge of the new human regime ironically led to mistrust and destruction at the hands of the very empire it protected. Silly humans. Of course, Buffy realized that her own ancestors were no wiser in attempting to rule by enslaving humans and thereby sowing the seeds that allowed Alessia to rise to power.

She looked around the table. All were here for various reasons, but linked by this expedition sponsored by the Adventurers Guild. It was a new guild, not yet seven years in existence. Its reputation was sound though. The Fighters Guild was highly respected for helping law-abiding folk with coin to solve situations requiring steel. The upstart Blackwood Company was reported to be much less scrupulous and willing to entertain contracts that skirted outside the Empire's laws. It seemed however, that the Adventurers Guild was more focused on discovery and uncovering antiquities for both fame and profit. They could have their fame and profit. As a Knight of the Lamp, the small elf’s task was to assist as required, observe and survive – so she could report her findings to the Council of Mages. It would be up to the Arch Mage and Master of the Adventurers Guild to sort out the disposition of any arcane discoveries.

Buffy briefly caught the gaze of Kayla. Despite Ylenno’s gallant intervention to save her from flying flatware, the high elf seemed quite capable of taking care of herself. Buffy imagined that life as an Altmer growing up among Nords in the harsh north could do that. For a moment, Buffy pondered her own response had the altercation deteriorated into a dangerous bar fight. No doubt, she would have gotten her feet to the floor to enable the flow of her magic, then invisibly scampered to the safety of a corner, ready to magically immobilize anyone who got too close as she decided her next move. She didn’t think quickly in a crisis, but endless drilling with preplanned panic responses helped compensate somewhat.

Buffy noted the scars crisscrossing Kayla’s forearms. Between the healing knowledge gleaned from Mara’s priestesses, University instructors, Anvil’s own Carahil and the paladin that traveled inside her, Buffy knew she could completely lift those old wounds. But she also knew that some fighters regarded their scars as badges of courage and reminders of battles survived. In the end, Buffy suppressed her instinct to heal others and stayed her normally busy tongue – for now. The elf believed that her long ears would serve better than her big mouth at this juncture as she hoped to learn more about the pending expedition and those who sought to undertake it.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 5 2013, 04:59 AM

Drakothemir, Count's Arms.

There a bit of a silence after Drakothemir spoke. He could sense most of them did not trust him or felt awkward around him. He could tell this by seeing as how they were more energetic and happy when they first walked in prior to Westley throwing silverware across the room for no apparent reason other than his own rage. A rage with Drakothemir partially felt responsible for. Had he not provoked the hound would he still had reacted the way that he did?

Curious, Drakothemir settled back in his seat for a second. No matter. There were worse scenarios that unfolded from insignificant things as words or gestures. A tavern brawl would be a speck compared to what has happened in his history. Nevertheless it would still be quite interesting.

The Nosferatu glanced around the tavern soon after he last spoke his words about the Priory and his scholarly interests. He then looked straight at Kayla as she took a sip of something . . .tea? Wine? He breathed in as a regular man, but caught the scent of something stronger. Blood from Ylenno's face. He saw it shed when the spoon had hit his face minutes ago. But it didn't bother him as much as, say, a vampire fledging would be bothered and thrown into an orgiastic abandon. It took years to master his blood-hunger even when his clan's bloodline was altered by Clavicus Vile. It was a long, bloody process but in the end it paid off. Somewhat.

Vampires always felt thirsty. Drakothemir felt thirsty at the moment just by seeing that tiny bit of nectar. But he wasn't stupid. The enviornment, the people and the current situation allowed him many opportunities such as ordering more wine which he had already been seen drinking. While it would only wet his throat, it would not quench his thirst and it had no nutritional value as blood did. And blood was both his food and drink.

Drakothemir refused to allow himself a smile as he raised his finger to summon a servant boy who looked much like the other young woman who served him wine earlier.

"Bring us a bottle of Tamika's wine!" Drakothemir told him, and turned his gaze to Kyla. He wasn't particularly fond of Altmers. Many people of Tamriel weren't fond of them either due to their pride but Drakothemir respected their excessive confidence only because they deserved it. They had fine tastes and wondefully crafted archictecture and they made fine mages. But most of his enemies were High Elves and it was due to their rooted attitudes that made them such enemies against him. It had always been so, and he was sure he would have problems with Altmeri maidens in the future . . .if they proved to be murderous or dangerous.

Kayla, on the other hand, has evidently assimilated into Nordic culture. Drakothemir did not miss when she revealed her parents, biological and adoptive, had been killed along with her siblings. Despite her somewhat civilized attitude(aside from slamming her fists on the table), Drakothemir wondered what else this woman had picked up in her years. The scars on her arms could be many things, but what mattered was not the physical attributes but the mental quality. And Drakothemir knows that the mind is a malleable thing. Malleable and yet so vast that many could truly understand how their own psyche works and how powerful it could be if set to the task.

Somewhere in his expression there was a smile. "The monks never drank much wine in the Priory. I probably shame the Nine right now in spending my year's savings in this bottle." He waited as the young man vanished into the kitchens. "But I never had the pleasure of sharing drink with new people. It is one of new things I wish to experience with friends."

He looked back at Kayla with a cheery look on his face as he spoke in a friendly tone. "Whatever it is you are drinking is a load of swill compared to Tamika's wine. I do not know how the beverages are in Skyrim but this wine is almost as if drinking water from the Realms of Aetherius!" He turned to Buffy and Ylenno and then Westley. "I believe a single bottle won't hurt us. You all look quite able bodied to shrug off some fine drink. But we probably shouldn't set out to the Fort if we drink it."

As he finished his sentence, the boy rushed in with a single bottle of Tamika's wine. One of the finest wines in Skingrad, or perhaps even Cyrodiil itself. No doubt it was valued for the taste and not the price.

The man placed the bottle on the table, along with new cups for everyone else. The vampire sighed. "Divines bless that woman for her gifts with grapes."

He pulled a small sack of coin from the pocket of his robe and set it on the table. "I'm sorry if it's not vintage, but we've all just met and I am short coin."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 05:48 AM

"Tamika's?"

Kayla had never had Tamika's before. She'd heard of it, but she mostly drank mead, beer, and cheap wine. Drakothemir, the Imperial with one of the most odd names she'd ever heard, seemed sincere enough. She grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass. She took a sip.

A sweetness she hadn't expected crept up on her tastebuds, along with a bite of alcohol. Her eyes widened.

"This is delicious!" Sh exclaimed. "I'll have to buy some for my husband as a surprise when I go home." She took a bigger mouthful of the wine,. Good wine can replace boring conversation. Perhaps she will stay inside. She took another gulp of the wine, emptying the goblet, aware of how much she was embarrassing herself. She turned crimson yet again.

"You were right," she said to Drakothmermir. Drakmorthemer? Oh gods, she couldn't remember his name! Maybe she could get away with calling him Drako? Probably not. She was sure there was a 'D' in there somewhere.

She looked at her glass in wonder. How fast did this stuff work? Maybe it was a placebo. Probably a placebo. What a funny word. Placebo. Godsdamnit. She awkwardly stood up and hoped no one noticed that she was a tad bit clumsier.

"I'm going to go find myself a room before they're all taken," she announced. She felt herself turn crimson again... or did she? Maybe she wasn't turning red at all this whole time? What if it was all in her head?

She turned around and walked towards the bar. She bumped into a table and excused herself. She prayed a room was open.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 5 2013, 09:44 AM

Ylenno wasn't fond of this Imperial the moment he saw him. It was clear to his lowborn eyes that this man was a blue-blood. A trained ferret that said and gesticulated everything that was taught to him. His expressions were human enough, but if you were to survive the gang-torn streets of nightly Cheydinhal, you were to do so by seeing through people. And what he saw through right now was a man who perfected the expressions of emotions, but it lacked the natural flair of a mortal. A monk. Sure.

But a blue-blood's a blue-blood.

Plus, he spoke like the foppish b@stard he is, and that sold it out for Ylenno.

Looking around the table, it was clear he wasn't the only one who felt wary and unlaid around this Imperial who called himself Drakothemir. When the man smiled at him, Ylenno grinned roguishly back at him, nodded his head, but the motion wasn't into it. He resumed eating his steal, listening politely at the three-way conversation between him, Buffy and Kayla. When Tamika's began to be whipped out, and Kayla drunked out on the first sip, that was when he decided that danger was close to home.

"Tamika's explosive enough for the tongue I guess," he said, hands on hips, a mischievious smile on his lips. "But monk-boy, real men drink the Surillie Borthers! No doubt you picked Tamika's for her taste, but!"

Here he placed a foot on his chair, and propped his elbow on it, leaning close to the Imperial. But before he could reveal the cheapness of Tamika's with his over-extravagant drama, Kayla upstaged him with a loud declaration of approval before sauntering shakily towards the bar in hopes of catching a room.

His face was drawn out in comdeic sadness as he stared at her retreating form.

"Never mind," he sighed. "I forgot what I was going to say anyway!"

He plopped down on his chair and resumed eating his steak. He remembered the cut made by the spoon and wiped it with one swipe. The bleeding has slowed, but there was still an outrageous amount that bloodied his fingers.

"Damn," he groaned. "Another wasted drop of my awesome blood!"

He turned to Buffy.

"You know, I always remembered seeing you prancing about Bravil like the world was made by unicorns and rainbows filled the sky in all that, but if memory serves, this would be our first time out together!"

He gave a scandalous giggle but turned serious as he fixed her with a stare.

"How's Bravil, sister? I never had the chance to visit in my travels, and news reaches me slow. Is good 'ol Daenlin still hitting bulls-eyes? Nilawen still making all those imp-chips?"

He might've denied with all of the fibre of his being, but he couldn't fight back the hopefulness in his tone. Caelefensil's memory was too strong in his mind for him to resist.

"Are they still taking care of the... the graves of Bravil's departed?"

Posted by: mALX Feb 5 2013, 11:17 AM

*

My entering the Count’s Arms went unnoticed, thanks to all eyes being trained on the brawl taking place on the floor of the main dining room. All eyes except one, that is. A handsome young Redguard was standing back from the rest, his eyes were scanning the pockets and purses of those viewing the fight. They lingered slowly over the gold pouch of one well dressed Noble that was staring intensely at the bleeding cheek of one of the brawlers.

I quickly untied my own pouch of gold from my waistband and jammed it down the front of my greaves before sidling up to the Publican. I had to dig my elbow into his side to catch his attention.

“I’ll lay ten gold on that Imperial boy, he looks pretty strong.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows raised in recognition and surprise. “Maxical! What ill wind blew you back to Anvil? Him? Yeah, he smells strong too; like he’s been sleeping in a kennel or something. He’s staying in one of my rooms, that’s one set of sheets I’ll need to wash before I can rent the room again.”

“What’s going on, Wilbur? Where’d all these people come from?”

“They’re all volunteers for some excavation going on up in Sutch, from what I overheard. If you‘re wanting a room better speak up quick. I expect they’ll all need a room except Tarrick over there.” Wilbur pointed at the Redguard. “He’s a local.”

Wilbur leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I‘ll warn you now that I’ve doubled the rates while this bunch is here, you’ll have to pay what they would to stay here. Man’s got to make a living you know.”

“Geez, doubled rates? What’s the chances I’d get clean sheets?“

Wilbur shrugged.

“I can’t afford it. Anyway, with all this going on I’d be better off staying at the Fighters Guild. I’m going to talk to Azzan about joining them.“


*


The brawl was already breaking up, the Imperial boy climbed off the Bosmer he’d had pinned and was helping him up. A soft whistle blew out under my breath as the Bosmer came into full view.

“Dear gods he’s tall, and look at that hair! What are those markings on him, some kind of war paint?”

“Ask him, not me. From the look of him, he’s one of those Tribals.”

“I’ve heard of them. He sure has a good tan.”

My eyes slid over the group as they began settling back into their chairs. A pretty redheaded Altmer was berating the Imperial boy. That Redguard Wibur had called Tarrick glided silently closer to the others, his feet never making a sound on the tiled floor. His eyes darted to the many rings decorating the hands of that Imperial Noble with a calculating expression in them. No doubt I was right to hide my gold pouch, although it might be too light to tempt him.

That Noble seemed to be sizing the other‘s up…wait, huh? How odd! When I first saw him I’d thought him handsome, a lot younger than he looks now. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting. With the candle light full on his face the lines were clearly visible. He must be a lot older than I’d thought. His movements were cat-like as he approached the group, as agile as any Khajiit‘s. My interest was perked by the fact that he carried two swords, one was a beautiful saber with an ornate hilt. The other I recognized as a Blade‘s Katana. He sure didn’t seem like any Blade I’d ever met.

I shivered at the expression in those intense eyes of his. Cold and detached. I’d bet those two swords he wears have seen plenty of blood, and he’s never lost a minute’s sleep regretting a drop spilled. Without a word his nod brought Wibur’s serving wench on the run to take his wine order. That man was used to being in charge, either that or the wench knew him to leave large tips.


*


The men began settling into chairs, and without them blocking the view I could see a tiny blonde Wood Elf perched in a chair with her feet tucked under her, probably to not feel so dwarfed by all those strapping men around her. Being short myself I understood that, and usually sat the same way. I shot her a commiserating smile that she didn‘t see, her full attention was caught by the Noble who was joining her table.

The odd looking bow hammocked across her back caught my eye, I’d never seen anything like it. It had to be as long as she was herself, and looked like a fresh-cut sapling with the leaves still attached. Something about that struck a familiar chord. Hadn’t Delphine Jend’s last letter mentioned some kind of living bow one of her guild mates had…a tiny Wood Elf named Buffy! No doubt that was the same girl. Delphine said that poor girl lost her man at the battle for Kvatch, and hasn‘t been the same since. I tried to send her a look of deep sympathy, being widowed too. She didn’t see that either, her eyes once again were on that Noble as he was speaking.

The words, “The monks at the Priory do not focus much on armed combat." Floated across the room to me, and before I could stifle it a loud snort escaped me.

“Monk my a$$!” I hissed under my breath. That man was of no religious order, and those two swords weren’t just for looks. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Wilbur frowning at me, shaking his head. “Sorry, Wilbur.”

“You can protect me from harm, and I shall dig for clues.” The Noble continued. His smile didn't reach his eyes; fake, put on for effect. More likely the others would need protection from him. His gaze was now fixated on the bleeding cut of that tribal Bosmer, the intensity in his eyes…frightening. I felt another shiver shoot down my spine. There was trouble ahead for this group, no doubt.

"The monks never drank much wine in the Priory.” He said, then ordered a bottle of Tamika’s Best while claiming to be penniless. His clothing made a lie of that, it was the finest cloth…the man came from wealth, that was obvious. I snorted loudly again, this time on purpose.

As I watched, the Noble lay his gold pouch on the table beside him. The Redguard Tarrick’s eyes widened, then the lids hooded over them quickly. That Noble wasn’t dumb, he must have done that for a reason. I’d bet there was very little he did without some reason. Maybe he’d seen Tarrick eyeing his jewelry and hoped to give him a taste of that saber before the night was over. Between the two of them, in my heart I’d root for the Redguard…but doubted he’d come out of a match-up with that Noble alive.

The pretty Altmer girl was gulping down the Tamika’s way too fast, she’d be drunk soon if she wasn’t careful. Sure enough she wavered and staggered as she rose, bumping into tables as she made her bleary eyed way toward us.

I dug my elbow into Wilbur’s side again, pointing at her slow progress. “I think one of your double priced rooms is about to be requested. I’m going to head over to the Fighters Guild before any more fights break out here. I’ll see you later.“

I dodged the drunk Altmer and slipped out the front door, heading down toward the Fighters Guild. Something told me this excavation group was going to bring a lot of trouble to Anvil. I hoped little Buffy would be safe, with her husband dead there was no one to protect her.


*

OOC: This post was a surprise cameo walk on, one of the many surprises Uleni and Mustard have planned for this RP and its members.


*

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 5 2013, 01:24 PM

The Altmer drank her fill of wine and announcing how delicious it was. She ended up emptying the goblet of wine and found it so pleasing that she might even buy some for her husband. Good that she enjoys it, Drakothemir mused. But her mind seemed to be quickly affected bu it, and like most of the inebriated she was clumsy and turning into a redish color. He felt somewhat dissapointed. This one might not survive the expedition . . .unless she put her honed Nordic talents to good use. One must have a sharp mind when going beneath the ground to face Cyrodiil's darker sides of nature. And if he was to pair with these people he expected some of them so survive at all costs until he needed what he required. If what he searched for was truly there to begin with . . .

Then, as a myth, he would vanish from their lives and never hope to come across them again. He would be mentioned as the odd Imperial or the dark-robed one. It did not matter. He would be gone, and whatever fabricated reputation would go along with him.

Kayla drank a bit and had her mind tremendously altered. Drakothemir could see that she was easily influenced by a cup of wine. And that came down as a weakness to most. The vampire looked at her with a curious gaze, both anticipating what she would do next out of interest of once more making conclusions from her actions, which seemed legit enough. But Ylenno spoke out to him, capturing his attention for a fraction of a moment.

"But monk-boy, real men drink the Surillie Borthers! No doubt you picked Tamika's for her taste, but!"

Then he was interrupted by Kayla, who had drank enough to know that it was enough. She rose to her feet, excused herself, and walked away from the table toward the front counter. Leaving Drakothemir and the rest of his aquaintences at the table. He looked at Ylenno and cleared his throat. "I am no monk. Not anymore at least." He confessed with an added smirk. "So I am perhaps just as a real man you are."

He didn't waste anymore time speaking. While his perceived former-monkhood was evident by his black robe and use of swords, his rings bespoke otherwise. It was then that Drakothemir realized that he never told him the were family heirlooms. And he never was going to tell them unless one of them asked for it. The Vigilante woman knew about them, but she chose to pester. Drakothemir found it best to hold his tongue. They can think whatever they will of him. In the end, it did not matter. There were truth to some of his words. He is of a religious order. His rings are family heirlooms claimed by him. And his swords . . .well . .that is a different story altogether. In the end, his noble heritage was obvious. Painfully so. It was rooted into his blood and radiated in his speech and mannerisms. Four centuries of walking Tamriel as such could not hide that fact. And him recently reawakening and adopting a life of a former monk simply contradicted his behavior. But Drakothemir had an answer. He always did.

While Ylenno spoke to Buffy, Drakothemir began to ponder on the albino Khajiiti woman he say walk in earlier. She did not tarry for long, and had left the inn after she came to speak to the proprietor. Though she was far from him, he could still capture snippets of her conversation and even heard her snide comment about his monk status with a vulgar comment. Hmm . . .the woman does not even know in the slightest idea who I really am and yet she doubts every word on my tongue.

It was strange to see her walk in and then walk out. She might have wanted to avoid something after she seemed eager to avoid bumping into a rather almost drunk Kayla. What did she want? And who is she? Drakothemir wondered.

He tapped his finger on the table and considered retreating into his own room for the day.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 03:12 PM

Westley

Westley couldn't stop focusing on Drakothemir. He was getting angrier with every moment tat passed, and it wouldn't be too long before he snapped and smashed a wine-bottle over the vampire's head. He was momentarily distracted when a white Khajiit walked in. He stared at her for a moment, and could sense that she was somewhat suspicious of Drakothemir.

When she turned around and left the inn, swiftly avoiding a drunken Kayla on her way out, Westley was forced to turn his attention back to Drakothemir. The rage that had built up in him had died down a bit, and he was able to keep it at low levels by focusing his attention on the other people in the inn. He could still hear a few nobleman making snide remarks about him.

Everyone in the inn was being loud, be the smell of alcohol filled the place. It made Westley very dizzy. Especially the smell of wine. The smell if wine was very strong to humans, but with his enhanced hearing and smell, it was like shoving the wine bottle up your nose and inhaling.

The room started spinning, and Westley covered his mouth with his hand and forced the vomit that was rising to his throat back down. He couldn't take it anymore. He slowly rise up to his feet.

"Please excuse me. I need some fresh air, and a moment alone."

Westley stumbled out if the front door of the inn, and nearly fell down the steps. Everything was spinning at an insane speed, and he had a horrible headache. It was a fairly warm day, and the sun was beating down on him, making him feel worse than before. Even outside he could still smell wine, an it was driving him crazy, but he was to dizzy to move. He passed out where he was standing, the smell of wine still lingering in the air.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 05:07 PM

After Kayla paid for her room, she turned around and saw Westley abruptly get up and leave the inn. She would check on him after she put her things away. She waved at Buffy and motioned that she would be in her room, gave her a thumbs up, and left.

She dropped her bag on her bed with a sigh. Buffy's feather spell had worn off a while ago, and while it was useful when it was in effect, it was short-lived. She changed out of her leather armor and put on a clean set of clothing; brown pants and a plain, well-fitted shirt that reached her collarbones. She kept her boots on and washed her arms and face after she laid her leather armor out on the bed.

The cold water woke up her senses. She wasn't drunk. At least she didn't think so. The wine probably just made her sleepy. She ran a comb through her hair, deciding it was in need of washing and braided it behind her head.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. Right above the neckline of her shirt was the tip of a large, gnarled pink scar slashing downwards, one in a series of four. She blinked. She figured no one would notice it, especially being in the spot it was in. Nobody was looking at her like that. She didn't feel like telling the story of that scar. Any of the scars on her arm, sure, but not that one. That one was painful.

She sauntered back out, and seeing the empty place where Westley was, remembered he was absent. She sat down and asked where he went to no one in general.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 5 2013, 05:35 PM

Buffy:

Buffy kept both hands cradling her tea cup when a bottle of Tamika’s appeared. Kayla, however, quickly downed a cup of the ruby liquid. As the Altmer got to her feet and headed for the bar to hire a room, her gait revealed she held her wine no better than Buffy could. The little wood elf smiled while noting that the Nords had not fully turned the Altmer into a daughter of Skyrim.

Seated next to Buffy, Ylenno asked her about Bravil.

Buffy smiled at the mention of Daenlins’ name. “The old archer is still shooting, and I expect will be doing so until he fletches the perfect arrow.” Her smile faded as she looked into the other elf’s sober eyes, leaned closer and lowered her voice. “After you left Bravil, I was one of the lucky ones. I was apprenticed to Master Daenlin until I was old enough to become one of Kud-Ei’s girls in the guild of mages. Caelefensil was not so fortunate. She was an attractive young elf and survived by doing what she needed to. She certainly didn’t deserve to have her candle snuffed out so young. When, later, my friend City Swimmer was killed, we buried the Argonian behind the chapel next to Caelefensil to keep your sister company. The graveyard is the sacred ground of Mara and her Priestesses ensure it is well maintained.”

Buffy found herself beginning to blink back tears and was determined to at least try to lighten the mood. “Oh look at you!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been picking at that silly scratch on your face and made it bleed again. It seems like I’m going to be the healer for this group.” She slipped from the chair, stood next to Ylenno and admonished, “Now hold still. Don’t make me paralyze you.” Before he could respond, Buffy placed a glowing right hand upon the Bosmer’s rugged face. Within a few seconds, she had withdrawn her hand and was curled up again on her chair. “There won’t be a scar there but don’t worry; I didn’t fix your old scars or the evidence of a long ago broken nose.” She grinned then added, “Your roguish looks are still intact.”

It was then that she noticed Westley’s chair had joined Kayla’s in emptiness. Her eyes traveled first to the bar. Perhaps he had chivalrously gone to assist the wobbly Kayla. Buffy adored chivalry. But the auburn-haired Altmer was by herself, signaling Buffy that she had gotten a room. Buffy grinned and nodded in return. Her gaze then moved to the tavern’ door just in time to see Westley’s back as the volatile young Imperial slipped out of the inn.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 06:14 PM

Westley

Westley had only blacked out for a few moments. He forced his eyes open, though everything was quite blurry. For some reason the streets were empty, and he didn't have the energy to scream for help. He looked up, and noticed the fighters guild hall. He remembered when he first went in there all those years ago. Azzan was kind enough to take him in. Wait, Azzan! Maybe Azzan, or someone else could help him get to the chapel, away from the scent of wine.

He forced himself to crawl across the street, but his condition was getting worse. He started seeing stars everywhere, and he felt feverish. It felt like someone was taking a warhammer and repeatedly bashing him on the head with it. He was only able to pound on the door once before blacking out on the front steps of the guildhall.

He started hearing voices, but he couldn't see anything. He could feel the breeze against his shirt and the back of his head, and he could feel the warmth of the sun. He forced his eyes back open again, but didn't have the strength to get up. A dog was sniffing him and licking his face. He tried to shove it away, but he couldn't lift his arm.

Westley snarled at the dog, and it snarled back and began barking loudly. Westley was still too dizzy to get up, and the dog was ready to attack. He was able to turn onto his back, but the dog lunged, bit into his arm, and began trying to tear it off. A rush of adrenaline shot through Westley's body, and though he was still feeling weak and dizzy, he kicked the dog in the chest as hard as he could and screamed for help.

"SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 06:20 PM

Kayla heard the screech over the talk of the inn. She bolted up and ran outside, where she saw Westley on the ground, a dog attached to his arm. She straddled the dog's back, arm under the throat, and cut off its air. The dog released Westley and began to try to snap at her.

She rolled onto her back and hoped that the owner would come by soon and subdue the dog. Otherwise she'd have to put the dog down, and the last thing she wanted was for people to see her shove a fireball down an animal's throat. The dog flailed in her arms as it struggled to breath.

She cursed in Nordic loudly. She was losing her grip.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 06:33 PM

Westley

Someone pulled the dog off of Westley. When he looked up, Kayla was on the ground struggling to keep the do in her grip. It was barking, snarling and snapping at her. He took a good look at the dog. Its fur was filthy, and very shaggy. On some parts of its body, there wasn't any fur at all. The dog was skinny to the point wher you could see its ribs. White foam covered its mouth. It was a stray rabies. He had to think fast.

Westley forced himself up to his feet, grabbed the dog by the neck, pinned it to the ground, and strangled it. It took all the strength he had, but Westley managed to keep the dog pinned to the ground and kill it. After the deed was done, he rolled onto is back, clutched his arm, and screamed in pain. The dog had managed to bite into his arm again, and blood was getting all over the floor.

Killing the dog and taken up all of his energy, but it was with it. Kayla wasn't injured by the dog. She surely would have gotten sick if she had been bitten, but Westley couldn't get sick thanks to his lycanthropy.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 06:45 PM

Kayla sat up, panting.

"What did you DO to that dog to make it attack you?!" she asked Westley.

She got a good look at the now dead dog. It was obviously a stray, which was weird inside city walls. She stood up, grunting, and brushed herself off. Westley's arms, shreds of skin ripped back to reveal mangled muscle tissue, caught her eye.

"Good gods, man! Here, let me get you a cure disease potion!" She began to lead Westley back into the inn by his good arm.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 06:59 PM

Westley


Westley watched as Kayla sat up and stared at him for a moment to question him about the dog.

"What did you DO to that dog to make it attack you?!"

She observed the dead dog for a moment and them noticed his arm. Herr eyes widened with shock.

"Good gods, man! Here, let me get you a cure disease potion!"

Kayla helped Westley up and began leading him to the inn by his good arm.

Westley answered the question while they walked.

"I did nothing. I blacked out in the steps of the inn. When I woke up, I noticed nobody was around, so I crawled over here and tried to knock on the door of the fighters guild, but blacked out before I could. When I woke back up the dog was licking my face and sniffing me. I tried to get up and it attacked me."

Before he knew it, Westley's legs gave out, and due to the added weight from his massive amount of muscle, when he fell it brought both him and Kayla to the ground. As soon as he hit the ground he blacked out from blood loss.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 07:06 PM

Kayla flailed under Westley's weight. He was almost pure muscle, and as slight of figure as she was, she couldn't move. He had knocked the breath out of her as well, so she could only try to catch her breath before panicking.

He knocked her on her stomach, and though she was no weakling, she was still not strong enough to pull herself out from under him.

"Can someone...Hello? Anyone?"

No answer. She reached behind her and felt rather than saw the pool of blood. Warm and sticky, the iron-smell filled her nose. The dog must have ripped a vein.

Opening her mouth and filling her lungs, she let out the most ear-piercing scream she could.

"BUUUUUUFFFYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

Posted by: Acadian Feb 5 2013, 08:20 PM

Buffy:

Kayla returned to the table and asked about Westley. A cry from outside the inn brought the Altmer back to her feet and she sprinted through the crowded bar and out the door.

Buffy smiled and commented to the table. "I guess the guards just nicked another of those pickpockets drawn to Anvil by word of the expedition." Rolling her eyes, she added, "Or perhaps our hotheaded Westley has provoked another fight."

When Kayla did not return, Buffy grew concerned. “Excuse me. I don’t want to see Kayla get on the wrong side of the guards as they do their job.” With that she slipped from her chair and headed for the door. It took her some time to make her way through the crowded bar full of men. Her size attracted little attention and the attention it did garner more often resulted in the elf being groped by large hands rather than a path being cleared for her.

“Boooooffffeeeeee!” The cry from outside the inn just as Buffy reached the door was unmistakably that of Kayla. Buffy muscled the heavy door open to see Kayla and Westley in a pile on the street. Blood covered the nearby cobblestones.

“What did you do to her!?!” screamed the little elf as she sprinted the short distance. Buffy dropped to her knees and slid to a stop next to the pair. The paralyze spell in her hand intended for Westley evaporated as she saw the blood was his. Kayla was wiggling out from under the man, but her eyes were bright. Westley was unconscious.

Kneeling over the young Imperial, Buffy placed one glowing hand on his mangled arm and the other on his chest. These were animal wounds! She quickly determined his arm was the only injury and, while not grievous, it was bleeding profusely. White magic flowed down her arms as she repaired blood vessels and mended flesh. She gritted her teeth as she absorbed some of the young man’s pain. She was only vaguely aware that a small circle of onlookers was gathering around them.

Soon enough, the wounds were healed and the exhausted elf sat back on her heels. Westley opened his eyes. “Stay put,” she admonished. “The magic I’ve infused into you will greatly speed your ability to replace the large volume of blood you’ve lost, but you’ll need to take things easy for a day or so.” Buffy then looked to Kayla. “What happened?”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 08:33 PM

Once Westley awoke, Kayla was able to yank herself out from under him. Buffy had, with surprising capability, healed Westley's mangled arm. A pained look crossed Buffy's face, but Kayla had held still while she healed Westley.

Buffy knelt on the ground. Kayla swore she saw a sheen of sweat on her forehead. she asked Kayla what happened.

"I came out when I heard the cry, and Westley was being attacked by a rabid dog." She blew out a relieved sigh, and continued.

"I tried putting the dog in a chokehold, but the fur made it too difficult and it started slipping out of my grip. Westley jumped up and strangled the beast to death."

Kayla pointed at Westley's arm. "You need a cure disease potion still. Do you have a room here? We can have someone help me take you to it. If not, I'll see about getting you one."

She pinched Westley on the arm, a half smile on her face. "Don't get yourself eaten just yet, boy!"

She turned to Buffy. "Thank you so much. If you need help with anything, let me know."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 08:46 PM

Westley

Westley heard Kayla's scream right as he blacked out. When he awoke, Buffy was hovering over him.

“Stay put, the magic I’ve infused into you will greatly speed your ability to replace the large volume of blood you’ve lost, but you’ll need to take things easy for a day or so.”

He listened to Kayla explain what happened before sitting up. Kayla pointed at his arm.

"You need a cure disease potion still. Do you have a room here? We can have someone help me take you to it. If not, I'll see about getting you one."

Westley took a deep breath before answering.

"Yes I have a room. I don't want to go back into the inn though. The smell of wine is what caused all of this. I passed out because of it, and the weakness it caused me gave the rabid dog an opportunity to injure me." Westley forced himself up to his feet before continuing. "Thank you for coming to my aid Kayla. That dog might have killed me if you hadn't stepped in and helped." Westley turned to Buffy. "And thank you for healing me"

Westley gave Kayla and Buffy a warm smile before focusing his attention on the crown of people watching him. He became quite uncomfortable, and shooed them away.

"Nothing to see here people, just a little fight between me and a stray dog. Everyone is alright"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 08:54 PM

As Westley shooed the crowd away, Kayla pulled herself up, then pulled Buffy up.

"I'm still getting you that potion. I don't think I could drag you to the chapel."

Please don't insist on going to the chapel, she mentally begged Westley. As she dashed inside, the bewildered looks of the others in the group stopped her.

"Dog attack, Westley bit, getting potion," she said hurridly before disappearing into her room.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 5 2013, 09:21 PM

Buffy:

Westley seemed better. He explained about being attacked by a rabid dog and not wanting to go back into the inn because of the smell of wine. Kayla ducked back into the inn to get a cure disease potion.

Buffy said to Westley. “If you have a problem with wine, you might see if the Fighters Guild, chapel or even the stable could put you up for the night.” She glanced at the body of the dog and guessed Westley was right about it being rabid. “You do not carry rabies. I would have detected and cured it by spell if you did. Your immune system is. . . unusual, but that is your business. Anything I learn about a patient from the intimate bonds of healing stays between them and I.” She looked up at the Imperial and smiled. “Remember what I said about taking it easy for a time and, for Mara’s sake, try to stay out of fights.”

She pondered whether to await Kayla's return or simply slip back into the inn. Regardless, she was beginning to harbor second thoughts about her current assignment. This group was managing to injure itself without even leaving the walls of Anvil!

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 10:04 PM

"If you have a problem with wine, you might see if the Fighters Guild, chapel or even the stable could put you up for the night.”

Westley winced at Buffy's suggestion. It had been years since he had last talked to anyone in the fighters guild, and he doubted Azzan or anyone else would recognize him. But the chapel unnerved him. Dibella surely wouldn't be pleased with the presence of a werewolf in her chapel, and the lady at the stables most likely wouldn't let a stranger stay since her encounter with the werewolf.

He knew he couldn't stay in the inn. The smell of wine and the loud noises would kill him before anything else did. He'd have to speak to Azzan, even though he didn't want to. He entered the inn and headed upstairs to his room to pack up.

He changed his bloody strapped shirt to a blue plaid shirt, and put everything he owned into his backpack. Westkey made his way downstairs and gave his key back to the Redguard man.

"I'm leaving, thanks for letting me stay."

He headed over to the table where his new friends were.

"Please tell Kayla if she needs me I'll be at the fighters guild." The smell of wine was already making Westley dizzy again, so he rushed back out of the inn, and crossed the street to the fighters guild. When he entered, Sten the Ugly and Huurwen we're practicing fighting and blocking. He walked up to Sten and knocked the iron greatsword out of his hand.

"I'd like to see Azzan." Westley smiled.

The Nord seemed to get angry for a moment before he recognized Westley. He broke out laughing.

"Westley! Long time no see! Go ahead upstairs, Azzan is in his office!" Sten bent over and picked his greatsword.

"Thank you Sten. I'll see you later."

"No problem Westley, anything for an old friend." Sten resumed training with Huurwen while Westley made his way up to the dining hall.

The only living thing in the dining hall was Mojo, the fighter's guild dog. Westley walked up to Mojo and patted his head.

"Long time no see little buddy, I see you're doing well for yourself." Westley chuckled when Mojo licked his hand and walked off to the opposite side of the room.

He head up the stairs to Azzan's office, and silently entered. Azzan was sitting down at his desk, scribbling something down on a parchment. Westley swallowed hard before speaking up.

"Azzan?"

Azzan looked up and eyed Westley for a moment before a wide grin spread out across his face. He shot straight up out of his seat, reached over his desk and hugged him.

"I can't believe you came back Westley! What do you need?"

"I need a place to stay Azzan. Will you let me?" Westley adjusted the straps in his bag.

"Of course Westley. You can have the room downstairs near the member's barracks. The porter can sleep on a bedroll."

"Thank you Azzan. I'll be back soon, I have to go meet up with a friend."

Azzan chuckled before replying back "Ok Westley, if you need anything feel free to ask."

Westley went downstairs, unpacked his stuff, and went back outside in front of the inn to wait for Kayla and the cure disease potion.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 5 2013, 10:25 PM

Buffy:

Buffy wasn’t sure how much of what she said registered with Westley. Without a word, he went back into the Count’s Arms! The wood elf followed the confusing human inside. After reclaiming her perch on the chair next to Ylenno, she shrugged to the table in general. “This town is going to the dogs.”

She poured herself another cup of tea as Westley bounded down the stairs, paused for a brief word with the publican and, once again, left the inn.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 5 2013, 10:29 PM

Kayla dug through her backpack through the clothes, various potions, until she found a green tinted bottle. She pulled the cork and sniffed the liquid. She coughed. The odor of burnt feathers told her this was the right one. She plugged the small bottle back up, making sure to check on Dawnbreaker and see that it was still in the room.

Before she left, she counted her potions. Ten cure disease potions (9 if you don't count the one in her hand) 5 stamina potions, and two large bottles of health potions. One to mix in her spare water pouch, and the other weaker one to brush onto surface wounds. She unscrewed the cap on the weaker potion to ensure the brush was still attached. It was. She carefully packed her potions away again. Every bottle was concentrated to fit into a small vial in her hand, or pocket, and not take up a lot of room. An alchemist at the College had done it for her, and was teaching her how to do that when she left to marry her husband.

She walked past the group without a nod but with a wave, a determined look on her face. She could visit an alchemy shop and replace the potion. She needed to have ten potions, at all times, for any expedition she went on. This one was no different.

She breezed out the door and thrust the potion into a standing Westley's hands.

"Drink," she ordered. "Before you start frothing at the mouth. It's disgusting, but it will cure you."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 5 2013, 11:29 PM

"Drink, before you start frothing at the mouth. It's disgusting, but it will cure you."

Westley sniffed the potion, and almost threw up. It smelled horrible!

"Thank you Kayla." Westley chugged the potion down as fast as he could, and handed Kayla back the potion. "If you ever need anything or feel lonely just ask and I'll be happy to help. I'll be at the fighter's guild, okay? I'll see you later." Westley turned and made his way to the guildhall.

When he entered Sten and Huurwen were still training. Westley slipped passed them, went in his room, and sat down on the bed. He hated staying here, but at least he didn't feel sick. This place brought back too many painful memories.

Westley grabbed a scroll of magelight, and cast the spell. He began waving the magelight around in the air, and making it change colors. When the spell wore off, he pulled out his cards and started shuffling them. With nobody to talk to, he rapidly grew bored. It was to painful to talk to anyone else in the guildhall, and Buffy told him to take it easy for a few days. He put the cards down and stretched out across the bed and closed his eyes. Perhaps a nap would be nice.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 6 2013, 12:13 AM

Drakothemir.

"Please excuse me. I need some fresh air, and a moment alone."Westley said.

It happened in an instant. Westley felt sick and dashed out. Drakothemir had no doubt of the reason as to why he left in such a hurry. He is not fond of vampires. but he didn't make a comment on it nor even showed genuine concern. If the man wanted to expose himself, then by Lord Molag, he is free to do so. The better he wakes up in his afterlife, the better. Drakothemir would not be the one cleaning the remains of a dead Lycanthropy.

He lingered a bit, sipping on his wine as he listened to the Bosmer woman share her stories with Ylenno and had helped heal the small injury on his face which he insisted on mettling with. He was getting ready to excuse himself to get some sleep until he heard a loud noise come from outside.

"SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!"

It was Westley's voice. Drakothemir could not believe his ears. This is beyond insanity now. First a tavern fight, now Daedra knows what is happening to him outside. He rose to his feet, rushed to the window and looked outside and saw the man being attacked by . . .dog. How fitting, he mused.

He stood there and watched as Kayla made an attempt to help the man, who had fallen unconscious and began losing blood. He could smell the thick blood of the werewolf from afar. And in some vampiric clans, werewolf's blood was a delight. A wonderful blend between man and beast. Drakothemir tasted werewolf blood before, but he much preferred virgin's blood and the blood of the youth as his sister did.

"Can someone...Hello? Anyone?"

The vampire placed a fist under his chin as he narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn't see him from where he was standing, but he could see her. Unseen, stalking with eyes keen. She tried to help the man to no avail, and had to rely on her allies for help. She called out Buffy's name with a loud voice that rang throughout the air, Drakothemir did not move, but he heard movement behind him. And as anticipated, Buffy answered to the summon with her presence as she rushed outside to heed the call. She knelt down beside him after immedietly asking what Westley had done to Kayla. Her mood seemed to calm as she realized it was his blood and not the High Elf's.

The small Wood Elf did her magic, and Drakothemir nodded just a bit as he witnessed Buffy's healing powers to a certain extent. She was not exaggerating when she said she understood the craft.

He focused on them, partially tuning out everything going on around him as he stood by the window in the inside of the inn. Some men gathered around to stand beside him to look out in morbid curiosity as the boy lay there in his own puddle of blood spilled by his lesser kin.

"The smell of wine is what caused all of this. I passed out because of it, and the weakness it caused me gave the rabid dog an opportunity to injure me." Westley said as he forced himself to get to his feet.

Drakothemir sighed inwardly. In all his centuries he had never seen something so . . .weak. Men and women were easily swayed by alcohol, their minds altered by the potent substances in the drink. And it was understandable that such things could happen. But a Lycanthropy had tremendous abilities that were not known to most men. Werewolves varied in abilities. Like vampires, some had Daedric blood running through their veins. He knew some capable Lycanthropes in the past. Some were bitten, others were born with the gift through hereditary curses and in rarer cases even granted Lycanthropy itself by their Patron, Hircine. This man, Drakothemir suspected, was perhaps bitten. He did not show much control over himself in his human form, and he was easily frustrated and angry to the point of being deadly.

"That dog might have killed me if you hadn't stepped in and helped."

If a simple mutt might have killed you, then you have more things to worry about, Drakothemir said in his mind. How unfortunate would it be for Drakothemir to be slain by fledgling vampires, or worse, a small and very mundane vampire bat? Molag Bal would sooner put him into one of the charnel houses of Coldharbour and and establish himself as Drakothemir's eternal cell-mate than even think of offering him a dominant position.

"What happened?" a man asked Drakothemir as the vampire watched Kayla and Buffy and the beast walk back into the building.

His hand curled into a light fist that was brought to his mouth. "A pup was attacked outside by a rabid dog."

The man did not seem to hear him all that well, only hearing the latter part of his sentence. To clarify, Drakothemir turned to the very drunk man and shrugged slightly. "The rabid dog survived."

The vampire had seen enough for one day. If this is what is normal, then he might as well retreat under castle once more and slumber for centuries. Maybe his sister could tend to clan affairs and help fix the empire's broken state, because by Bal, the people of Cyrodiil were doomed already.

He excused himself from the stranger, politely pushed himself through the crowd of onlookers, and climbed the steps that led into his room. This was beyond his comprehension.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 04:05 AM

Westley

Westley couldn't fall asleep. He found himself thinking about how much a danger Drakothemir was to the others. He could see the vampire obviously had no respect for him, and that was gnawing away at his conscience. He couldnt fall asleep. Westley got up and shoved everything he had into a chest in the corner of the room, but the Blackwater blade. He locked the chest, and the back door to his room, and left through the front door of the room.

Sten and Huurwen were still training, and he could here Mojo barking upstairs. When he exited the guildhall, he noticed that the crowd that had gathered around him earlier had vanished, and once again the streets were empty. He could hear the bells from the dingy at the docks in the distance jangling loudly, and the seagulls crowing in the sky. He made his way over to the chapel in hopes of picking up some healing potions, or a stronger healing spell for the expedition.

He wasn't fond of the chapel, but at least worrying about the gods making his heart explode for wanting the chapel even though he worshipped Hircine took his mind off of Drakothemir. His hate for the vampire grew stronger every passing minute. Westley felt like he was about to hit the boiling point. The only reason he hated Drakothemir was because the filthy night-spawn had bad intentions towards the rest of the group. Westley couldn't stand seeing innocent people being murdered in cold blood.

Murdered in cold blood. Westley was a werewolf. He had killed innocent people by accident before. It may have been an accident, but a life had been lost. A new fear grew inside Westley.

What if I hurt my new friends? I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt any of them. I've lost the ring of Hircine before. Who says I won't lose it while I'm here?

Westley stopped in front of the chapel, and his eyes widened with fear.

By the nine. What if Hircine takes back the ring.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 07:25 AM

Kayla felt a little insulted after Westley's sudden departure. She wondered if she had done something to offend him.

"But at least he drank the potion," she told herself. She sat on her bed at the inn with her alchemical ingredients spread out in front of her, as well as her potions lying in a neat line on the bed. She counted, recounted, and shuffled the ingredients around in front of her, first based on name, then by color, then grouped them together by the effects they had.

She sighed. To keep herself from acting like a fool, she had simply nodded to everyone at the table, feigned an upset stomach, and briskly walked to her room. She didn't turn to see if anyone cared, nor stayed to hear if they were concerned. She knew they weren't, as she was a stranger.

She recounted her actions that day. Braying like a donkey at the slightest bit of humor, teasing a joking with strangers. Some were animated and funny, other cool and calculating, and others just simply silent. Thinking back on the incident with the dog, she thought about what she SHOULD have done.

Anticipated Westley being wobbly and falling. Been quicker to catch him instead of letting him catch her by surprise. Instead of panicked, slowly wiggled herself out from under him, bit by bit, instead of all at once, flailing. She put her alchemical ingredients away and sighed. Everything she had, from her cure disease potions, to her tiny stack of form-fitting clothes, was from experience. Tighter clothes get caught less and are less likely to be grabbed. Only keep what potions and ingredients you need. Bring no excess.

She would have to watch herself around this group. If she went in with them, she couldn't make mistakes like she had tonight. Drinking, brawling, panicking, can get you killed. And she couldn't afford that.

What would her husband think? If he had time to think about her. The letter of consolation, if they ever did that, might come as a relief to him. She had a sizable sum put away for him if she ever passed, but that was more out of pity than love. And he knew nothing about it.

It wasn't that she wasn't fond of her husband, and he wasn't fond of her. The marriage was rushed in the months of their heated passions, and when it cooled, so had their feelings. But she kept up the pretense in an effort to fan the flames of the cooling embers of their marriage. The motions were stilted, the words lacked warmth, and the lovemaking simply wasn't there.

Maybe that was the curse of being a Mer. Human feelings come and go so quickly, but hers took long to warm and long to cool. She still felt a fondness for him, but at the same time, it wasn't like it was before.

Could they even be called husband and wife? They weren't joined by Mara, since she was thrown out of the temple by a prude priestess for being a worshiper of Meridia. There were no known rites for marriage in Meridia's lore, and her husband worshiped Talos. They simply decided they were married, and that was that.

"Why did I REALLY come?" Kayla asked herself. It wasn't for her marriage. Even though she was young, she knew that no amount of gold could spark a real, lasting love. Not the kind of love she desired.

She desired a warm home, outside city walls. A boy bringing her bugs and a girl hiding mice in her smock. Sword lessons and maybe magick lessons too. Sitting by the fire at night after watching the sunset with the person she loved, fingers intertwined, head on shoulder.

She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Westley's blood was specked on her face. She looked down at the rest of her clothes and saw that the blood had seeped into the side of her shirt. Disgusted, she tore off the dirtied shirt and put on an almost identical shirt, with a lower neckline. The pink scar showed even more. An inch of pink, protruding flesh screamed her failure at her, her failure to keep someone safe. She scrubbed her face in the washbasin.

Spotting a piece of parchment and a quill with ink on the table next to her bed, Kayla sat down and began to write furiously, dipping the quill in the ink every so often. The time began to pass quickly for her.

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 6 2013, 11:18 AM

Things had really taken a turn, and maybe not for the better. They had all gotten some food and tea when suddenly a knife came hurling towards them. This eventually resulted in a fight between Ylenno and this imperial who called himself Westley. Luckily it cooled down soon after and eventually another imperial came to sit down by them. They talked a little bit and then Westley said he had to get some fresh air. A little bit after they heard a scream from outside. Kayla ran out and after a whie Buffy went out as well. It turned out that Westley had been attacked by a rabid dog. As westley went to get a room in either the fighters guild, the chapel or the stables, Elaninde figured she coud rent the room for a second night as well.

This night was even more restless then the last one as Elaninde spent it trying to sum up what had happened. No matter how she thought about it, it allways came back to Westley and the ring of Hircine. Why would he have it? Was he really the werewolf she had seen when she first came to anvil? Since Buffy had commented on how his immune system was unusual it wouldnt surprise her. And that would explain why he was so aggressive. Elaninde knew that the ring of hircine would stop transformations but would not silence the inner wolf. Elaninde thought about this for many hours until sleep finally overtook her.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 01:57 PM

Westley

There was a knot in Westley's stomach. If Hircine took the ring back there would be no telling what could happen. Even with the ring he was reckless. He didn't control his temper and he was extremely rude. He knew he had caused quite a stir in Anvil. He needed to take it easy and stay low.

He tried to relax. Maybe Hircine would let him keep the ring. His mind wandered to Kayla. She had seen a little offended when he left the way he did. Westley would probably be offended too if someone just walked off without saying goodbye properly.

Westley looked at the chapel, then towards the inn. Drakothemir's presence was the reason that the wine smelled so strong. The vampire's presence had sharpened Westley's senses so the inner wolf could protect itself. He decided to stay away from the chapel. The gods didn't favor werewolves in their presence.

Westley turned around and headed towards the inn. He owed Kayla an apology for rushing off like that. He stopped to say hello to a few guards, and give a beggar a few coins on his way there. When he entered the inn, the people were more rowdy than before. Perhaps it had to do with lunch coming around soon.

Westley snuck upstairs without the Redguard man's notice. There was a drunk man sprawled out over the floor upstairs. He stepped over him and followed Kayla's scent to a room with the door barely cracked open. He knocked lightly before entering.

"Hey, I'm sorry I left without saying bye or thank you. I also wanted to apologize for throwing stuff at you and getting attacked by a dog" Westley stared at her for a moment. Kayla looked upset. "Are you alright? You seem tense."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 06:49 PM

Kayla waved the parchment in the air to let the ink dry.

"Just writing a letter. If it ever comes to it-" She cut off. Now was not the time.

"Don't worry about the silverware, or the dog. How are you feeling?" she asked. Her full attention was not on him, but the feeling of concern was genuine. She folded the parchment up before setting it on the table.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 07:06 PM

Westley

"Don't worry about the silverware, or the dog. How are you feeling?"

Westley shrugged. In truth he was very tense because of the vampire, but Kayla didn't need to know.

"I'm fine, I guess. I admit I'm a bit stressed out, with everything that's been going on since I got here. But in general? I'm doing good."

Westley leaned back against the wall "I just felt like I had been use for storming off without a word earlier, and I'm sorry if I offended you." Westley averted his eyes for a moment, and thought hard about telling her about Drakothemir. He decided to bend the truth.

"Kayla...." He paused. Perhaps now wasn't the best time to tell her. She was safe. Kayla said she was raised by nords. They most likely trained her how to fight well. Westley decided to change the subject. "You just seem a bit tense. Ate you sure you're alright. I'm sorry if I caused you any stress, I was just in a crappy mood. I shouldn't have taken my anger out in you or Ylenno."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 07:27 PM

"You're not the cause."

Kayla glanced at the letter briefly before tucking it in her bag. She turned back around to Westley, her face neutral.

"It's personal issues. You don't want to hear about it." She gave him a half grin. "Besides, I want to know where you learned how to strangle a dog. I didn't think it appropriate to shove a fireball down its gullet." She crossed her arms and shifted her weight on one long leg.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 07:37 PM

Westley

"You're not the cause."

Westley sighed in relief. It lightened the amount of stress already on his head to know he wasn't causing her stress.

"It's personal issues. You don't want to hear about it. Besides, I want to know where you learned how to strangle a dog. I didn't think it appropriate to shove a fireball down its gullet."

Westley shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Personal issues eh? If you ever need to talk about it, I'll listen. That's what friends are for, right?" Westley smiled before continuing. "And about the dog. When my father died, I ran away. I ended up here, in Anvil, and the fighter's guild took me in. I specialize in hand to hand fighting techniques, and I'm handy with a blade. I'm better with longswords, shortswords, and daggers than with greatswords though."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 07:49 PM

Kayla's half grin turned into a full one.

"You SPECIALIZE in hand-to-hand, eh? We should spar sometime. I can throw a decent right hook, but my choke-holds need some work. Obviously." She let out a small chuckle.

She gestured to the chair where she previously sat. "Sit down, don't feel awkward." She sat on her bed and crossed her legs.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 07:58 PM

Westley

Westley sat down in the chair Kayla pointed at.

"Thank you for the seat. Yea, I specialize in hand to hand. And with the chokehold, it all matters what position you have your opponent in. If you have your opponent in a good position to keep them from getting loose, all you have to do is strangle away. If your opponent is in a position where they can manage to slip away, well, you better be able to throw a good punch or use your weapon" Westley snickered at his own statement.

"The position you're in also matters. You want to be on top of them to a point where you can put all of your weight down on them. The less room they have to squirm, the easier it is to strangle. At least that's how I was taught." Westley put his arms behind his head. "Tell me what you know about hand to hand combat Kayla. Since you were raised by nords I'm guessing you can throw quite a nasty punch?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 08:04 PM

Kayla shrugged.

"I can throw a decent punch. But I could always get better. I wasn't allowed to use magick growing up, so I'm not as skilled at that as one would expect me to be. I can use fire great, and am working on something called 'Mouthful of Pain.'" she winked. "I combine a punch with a fireball. It's only a theory right now, but until I get it right, I'll use my fists and fire separately." She smiled.

"Do you fight dirty or fair? I know some dirty tactics and fair tactics."

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 6 2013, 08:08 PM

Drakothemir.

Drakothemir's elegant face, as pale and white as Secunda, was his real expression of coldblooded concentration. He stared at his reflection in the mirror of his locked room, carefully eyeing the small veins that were slowly creeping into his pale skin and how slowly his skin-tone shifted from pale to even paler. His eyes shifted into a mixture of radioactive yellow and red and black. His teeth—not quite filed into fangs—was still sharper than usual. His youthful countenance replaced with something a bit older and wiser, but yet retaining somewhat of a regal look.

He felt stronger, more agile, more alert and focused. More powerful. He knew he had new abilities at his disposal, powers that can rival even the highest of mages. But in return for that power, he sacrificed his human guise. The clothing a lion would wear to walk amongest the sheep. His hungry and ageless eyes, pale complexion and sharpened teeth gave away his secret. And secrecy and discretion is the most vital virtue amongst the members of the clan. Maintaining that secret is imperative.

The vampire, after drinking too much wine and not even sating the barest of the thirst, felt the need to hunt. As all the other of the Night's Children, he felt hungry and thirsty at the same time. His throat was parched as the infamous Alik'r desert. His breath cold and dead, needing the warmth of fresh crimson blood. His true face needed to be veiled once more. Drakothemir knew, however, even if he donned his fleshy cowl he would still be the same man.

Ruthless, efficient, and unmerciful and pragmatic. The very traits needed in one man to secretly enforce the more draconian methods of his clan's agenda. But it was not always so. He had his weakness, his emotional stress and responsibility that threatened to claim his life and that of his people. He looked at his own reflection once more and wondered: This is the face that my victims have seen. The last face on Tamriel.

This recent Oblivion Crisis reminded him of a time where he was the bane of mortals. His mind returned to the past to pluck out the bloody memories of the centuries gone, recalling many moments that came to him as shadowy recollections, as a man trying to recall images from a shady dream. One stood out the most, though.

In the start of the year 3E 267, he remembers the war against Camoran the Usurper. The legendary mage was so powerful that he sacked Kvatch and High Rock and many other places with an army of undead and Daedric hosts. A menace to mortal society and a threat to Drakothemir's clan if he ever set foot on Cyrodiil to claim it.

There was a legendary weapon. The Vampire's Mace. A tool made by the Hated One: the Lord of Rape and Domination. It was a favorite for vanquishing wizards and warlocks, and Drakothemir would be the one to wield it.

He smirked widely as he remembered acquiring the artifact and his true pureblooded gift. This memory, unlike the rest, was clear as the mirror he was staring into. He saw them in recollection. The women and the weeping children and the blind village men that cowered beneath his presence. And Molag Bal's voice echoing in his mind in similar but not exact words. "The mace must drink. Restore it to glory with the blood of the feeble and the innocent and my blood shall be given to you as a reward . . .as well as my mace."

And his reply? Disspasionate but certain. "As. You. Wish". He Raised the rusted mace with clenched fangs and a pinch of reluctence but with a passionate spirit of commitment. And then the dark deed was done. The mace was his to claim. The war was fought. Camoran was defeated, though not by his hand and in the end Drakothemir spirraled into the Maelstrom of Bal in the Abecean and thrown into Oblivion.

But now he stood there, as a simple religious man wearing a black robes preaching about a non-existent former monk-hood. Still debating on whether or not he should undertake this perilous task with a chaotic group of misfit mortals who would sooner find themselves killing each other than their enemies. How things have changed . . .and how things stay the same. Death is a natural part of life, and with every breath lost there is one formed. If those around him would lose their lives for whatever reason then so be it. The universe would throw new cattle into his path. It happened for centuries and it would not stop until he was a pile of ash.

Drakothemir threw out his hand to the side toward the wooden furniture of his rented room. A strange bottle of human blood, large enough to fit over a pint of blood, was called to his fingers. The bottle floated in the air, sped across the air as if carried by an unseen force and into his clutches. The vampire opened it, drank away the stored blood and watched with disinterest as his face returned to that of a human. The exact copy of a mortal man. With no flaws. Impeccable. Perfect. And at last, Drakothemir's smile came. Not a sham of a grin, but a genuine one.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 08:14 PM

Westley

"Do you fight dirty or fair? I know some dirty tactics and fair tactics."

Westleynraised an eyebrow and chuckled "That depends on how my opponent is fighting. If my opponent if fighting fair, I'll fight fair. If my opponent decides to fight dirty, I'll fight dirty. I'm better with fair tactics though. I know the 'throw dirt in your eyes' dirty tactic, but that's....."

Someone entered thier room and slamme she door. Westley flinched a little, and turned his attention to the door for a moment before continuing the conversation. "That's about it. Usually my brute strength combined with good hand to hand tactics wins me fights when I don't have a weapon."

Westley pulled one of the two silver daggers strapped to each of his legs off and threw it at Kayla. "Here. In case you ever get disarmed during a fight, having a dagger or two strapped to your legs comes in handy if you amt manage to throw a good punch. You can take your opponent by surprise, if you know what I mean."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 08:24 PM

Kayla caught the dagger by the hilt as Westley gently tossed it towards her.

"Here. In case you ever get disarmed during a fight, having a dagger or two strapped to your legs comes in handy if you can't manage to throw a good punch. You can take your opponent by surprise, if you know what I mean."

"Thank you," Kayla replied, completely sincere. Her face twitched with humor.

"You know, in Skyrim, when a man is interested in a women, he often gives her a weapon as a token of affection. It symbolizes he will protect her against danger."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 08:35 PM

Westley

"You know, in Skyrim, when a man is interested in a women, he often gives her a weapon as a token of affection. It symbolizes he will protect her against danger."

Westley sniggered " Honestly, I only need one dagger. I've never needed to use either dagger in a fight, and might as well give it to someone who will if they can't succeed in beating their opponents to a bloody pulp. I've never had to fight dirty with a hidden dagger, and I usually lose mine because I never use them. I usually just throw dirt or rocks in people's eyes, and it usually works."

Westley smirked "Besides, I suppose I should pay you in some way for saving my a** from that dog. I need all the gold I can save up, so I can't pay you with money. By the way, is Skyrim nice? I'm pretty sure it's freezing there, but I've heard it's a nice place."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 08:49 PM

Kayla laughed a little.

"I was kidding, that's not how men show their affections in Skyrim. It's much more brutish."

She scratched her neck absentmindedly as she answered his question. "Imagine a block of ice. Throw some dirt and leaves on it, and you've got Skyrim." She laughed at her own joke.

"It's beautiful. I grew up in one of the warmer areas, so I wasn't always freezing." She rested her head on her hand as she leaned her elbow on her leg. She rubbed the hilt of the silver dagger with her thumb as she reminisced. "It's cold in more ways than one. Unforgiving. Everyone here is so soft," she murmured. She caught herself. "Present company excluded," she laughed.


"In Skyrim, there aren't many healers." She held out her arms, hoping to distract Westley from the long scar poking out near her collarbone. "I had to learn alchemy very young to compensate for that."

She bit her lower lip before looking back to Westley. "What about you? Ever been anywhere else besides Anvil?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 09:00 PM

Westley

"What about you? Ever been anywhere else besides Anvil?"

"I actually...um...live in the Imperial City on the waterfront district. I'm quite poor. That's one of the reasons I wanted to go on this expedition."

Westley noticed the long scar on Kayla's collarbone. She was trying to distract him from it a moment ago, but that didn't work. He decided it would be best not to ask about it.

Westley scowled "There should be more healers in skyrim. You have quite a few scars. I'm guessing that the healers that are there aren't good at their jobs? I don't think I'd lat long in Skyrim. I have a healing spell, but its weak to the point that it can barely heal a papercut, and I don't have enough magicka to cast a stronger one. I'm not too much of a Mage."

Westley rubbed his chin "I'm an adventurer though, so I've seen quite a few Ayliec ruins and caves. I never leave Cyrodiil though. I'm not sure if I have the supplies to."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 09:14 PM

Kayla perked up.

"Ayleid ruins? What are those like?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 09:20 PM

Westley

"Ayleid ruins? What are those like?"

"I bet I you were to fix one up it would look nice, but in the current state that Aylied ruins are in? Horrible. There's traps everywhere. It's not safe to walk around. Some spots on the floor are death traps. They will shoot up into the ceiling, and crush you to death. It happens to me all the time." Westley rolled his eyes "And its really dark. you can't get around without a nighteye spell. But the treasure is definitely worth it. An ancient Aylied artifact can fetch a good price with a collector or a scholar. I've never seen an Aylied ruin in good condition though, so I've already told you all I know"

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 6 2013, 09:39 PM

Tarrick

Westley was, in Tarrick's estimation, mad. There was no doubt about it. The Imperial had clearly skipped off to worship at Sheogorath's shrine some time ago and then waltzed back to civilisation to wreak havoc with the rest of civilised society. First it had been the incident with the fork throwing and his subsequent showdown with Ylenno (who Tarrick suspected was equally unhinged in in his own way), and then he had left the tavern only to pick a fight with a dog and come crying for help.

By the time Buffy had stepped in to resolve the situation, Tarrick was quite sure that there was something wrong with Westley. Nobody sane could act in so unpredictable and erratic a manner, he was sure. He made a note to stick close to Buffy though, seeing as she was also taking part in this expedition; someobdy who was both skilled in healing and in possession all their mental faculties would be useful to have around.

Drakothemir seemed alright as well, as far as Tarrick could tell; maybe rather aloof and superior, even if he tried to act like he wasn't looking down at everyone else, but that was probably due to him being a monk and thus above the decadent ways of normal men or something of that sort. At least he seemed to have a sensible head on his shoulders.

Ylenno was crazy, it seemed, but it was the standard sort of dangerous crazy; you got that sort of madman in the Thieves Guild every now and then and by and large he knew how to read them and how to react (usually by smiling, nodding, getting out of their reach and having an escape route planned). Provided he kept Ylenno friendly and he didn't do anything stupid, Tarrick felt pretty confident he would probably be alright around him.

By the time the drama with Westley had been resolved, Elinande had excused herself to her room; Tarrick didn't blame her, especially seeing as she seemed like the shy type. Still, she might have the right idea, seeing as the remnants of their group were now only Buffy, Ylenno and himself, and he still hadn't returned his ill-gotten gains to his mother. All the drama in the tavern had rather spoiled the mood in any case.

He finished his tea from where it lay on the table and rose from his seat.

"I do hate to love you and leave you," he said to both Ylenno and Buffy. "But there's some things I need to sort out before this expedition tomorrow. Some things to do with my family before I go, you know how it is. I'll see you both tomorrow, though."

He waited a moment before leaving, to see if either of them had anything to say.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 6 2013, 09:51 PM

Kayla bobbed her head at Westley's description of an Ayleid ruin.

"Interesting. Well, thank you for stopping by. Be safe on your walk out." She smiled at him.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 6 2013, 09:55 PM

Westley

"Interesting. Well, thank you for stopping by. Be safe on your walk out."

Westley rose up from his chair "It was nice talking to you. I'll see you later. If you need anything I'm staying at the fighter's guild. It's across the street from the inn."

Westley exited the room, gently closing the door behind him so he won't wake up anyone else in the inn. He made his way out of the inn, and across the street to the fighter's guild. When he entered the building, he could hear some if the guild's members snoring loudly. He went into his room, took off his shoes and shirt, and went to sleep.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 6 2013, 10:52 PM

Buffy:

The table had dwindled to only Buffy, Ylenno and Tarrick when the Redguard rose to excuse himself, explaining he had some details to attend to before the expedition. Buffy took her cue and stood as well. “Some final preparations at the stable and my guild hall are probably an excellent idea." She continued, "Tarrick, I quite enjoyed meeting you and appreciate you escorting us here to the Count’s Arms. Aside from some flying flatware, it was a fine opportunity to meet some of our prospective expedition mates.” Her smile did not fade a bit as she turned to Ylenno. “My brother Bravilian, it is wonderful to see that neither time nor hardship have dimmed your quick smile or sense of humor. I look forward, if there are quiet times in the days ahead, to learning more about your long absence from the City of Mara.”

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 7 2013, 01:13 AM

Ylenno trembled at Buffy's words and her touch. When the soft hand of Bravil's pride touched his face, for an excrutiatingly short instant, all of life's tragedies vanished like ash in the wind, today was blessed yesterday, and Buffy wasn't Buffy. Instead, she was Caelefensil, cleaning up the wounds he took by fighting the other boys in the other part of the neighborhood, giving him a stern admonishing, but always beaming at him with a smile afterwards, a gentle promise of peace on her face... It was all he could do not to melt at the other Bravillian. He moaned the words, "Caelefensil," and a long, haunted sigh escaped him.

It was not heard. Westley's cries for help thundered like a shriek, Kayla responded, and not a minute did pass when her cries for Buffy shook the entire establishment. She was gone in an instant, flying across the room like an arrow from the bow of old Daenlin. Drako the Monko followed and looked outside through the window. Ylenno was left there in that moment of broken memories, and he simply sighed yet again. He took to his steak He ate the sauced cuts with somberly, and as he chewed without energy, he took a look around the Inn and gave a half-hearted smirk Today's patrons seemed to familiarize themselves with the antics of their group; all of them were into their own businesses and not an ounce of attention was sent their way. After a minute or two, they all returned, but only Buffy remained at their seat, quipping with a wekk-placed remark. Apparently, Westley was attacked by a dog. What the hell. He was attacked by a stray dog in the middle of the afternoon road, and he couldn't defend himself. He resorted to calling for help. [i]Maybe he wasn't cut out for the Expedition, if a stray dog could annihilate him so[/i.] But by then, he swaggered about the place like he owned it, and made home towards the Fighters Guild. Kayla retreated to her room, and both Elandine and Drakothemir follwed her example.

It was the signal of the end of the mad they played today, and for that Ylenno was quite glad. He had enough dose of madness for a day.

The redguard stood up and declared his exit. Buffy did so too.

Ylenno finished the last of his steak and wiped his greased mouth. He stood up, took a gulp of water, and set the glass down as he looked at the two,

"I gotta get the sign-up forms back at my room in the Flowing Bowl. So this is a temporary farewell; it still breaks my heart for us to be separated though. Indeed, I had fun today. I enjoyed meeting all of you, truly I do. But since we're all headed for the same Huild Hall, what say we meet up before signing ourselves to the Expedtion? I'd really prefer going in with familiar faces and friends, rather than a cliche angsty, socially-awkward anti-hero you read in novels. Haw-haw! What say you, Tarrick?"

He turned to Buffy.

"How about it, sister? And I'll give you the story once we're back from the Expedition. Too long though, and full of cliches."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 7 2013, 01:55 AM

Buffy:

Ylenno suggested that he, Tarrick and Buffy meet the next day to sign up at the Adventurers Guild. Completely unfamiliar with that guild and those who ran it, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d be ever so grateful for the company. I’ll bring my completed sign up forms and, since I’m here on behalf of my guild, I’ll have my letter of introduction from the Council of Mages with me as well.”

“Shall we meet outside the Adventurers Guild then?” She placed a handful of coins on the table for the serving girl and shouldered her bow. “Oh and at what time?”

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 7 2013, 09:42 PM

Tarrick

"Shall we meet outside the Adventurers Guild then? Oh and at what time?" Buffy asked as she gathered her things and put some coin on the table for the food.

"I think meeting outside the guildhall a good idea," Tarrick said. "The meeting is supposed to be an hour and a half after dawn* so we could meet a quarter of an hour or so before then, if that would work for both of you. Be good for me, if you're both alright with it."




*This is an official GM Fact. Supported by science.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 8 2013, 12:48 AM

Buffy:

“That sounds perfect,” replied Buffy to Tarrick. “I’m so glad to have met you both so we’re not all complete strangers when we head for Sutch.” She smiled brightly from Redguard to Bosmer. “See you early tomorrow then.” With that, she turned on her heel and breezed out of the now much quieter inn.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 8 2013, 05:10 PM

Ylenno gave both of them his trademark roguish grin.

"Team Fluffy-Rainbow-Sweetroll-Unicorns has been founded," he said in a playful tone. "All for one and one for all! Alright, I'll see you crazy clowns later."

He followed Buffy out of the establishment and bid her au revoir as they parted ways; she was satying at the Mages Guild and he was boarding at the Flowing Bowl. As he walked towards the docks, he can't help shaking his head at today's happenings. Today was even wilder than those days when he was on one of his drunken rampages! He meets a childhood idol, gotten into a brawl with a strange young man, and met all sorts of colorful characters. As the gates to the docks opened and he was met with the salty spray of the Anvil harbors, he can't help thinking about the similarities between Buffy and Caelefensil. For a moment he saw the Lady as her sister. It was... sad. Her memory was still too strong for him to move on. He passed by the dockworkers with the image of her face in his mind. He entered the Flowing Bowl, heedless of the large brawl taking place, and went up to his room disquieted. He laid himself on the matress there and went to a dreamless sleep.

*****

The Adventurer's Guild Hall was larger than both the Mages and Fighters Guilds' combined, despite its relative young age. Like all the other buildings in Anvil, it was constructed of white marble, but Oedipus paid some wizards to enchant the whole building with some sort of shining spell; when Magnus was bright enough, the enchanted marble would reirect light like a sharp, foggy metal. It gave off the illusion of radiating. Quite clever. And probably quite expensive too. At its shining parapets were the green and gold banners of the Adventurers, they too shining like a beacon as they fluttered about in the early dawn breeze. The gargantuan oaken door with the sigil of the Guild stood over even the most tallest of Nords, and today, with the beginning of the sign-up season, it was open.

Ylenno peered inside.

If anything, it seemed like it was even larger inside! And the interior ... Lords above, it was simply gorgeous! Black marble floors that were like smoky mirrors beneath one's feet, several sets of small pillars that held the foundation from the inside, and the decorations looked like they belonged from a castle rather than an organization's hall. Ylenno would've liked to see more, but he was waiting for the others by the entrance. It didn't hurt to be fashionably early, he thought. He glanced at some of the approaching figures. They were familiar.

He waved at them.

"Hey! Over here!"

^^^^^^^^^

OOC: Just nudged things along to advance the plot, nothing more. And the 'familiar figures approaching' could be anyone of you guys, not just Tarrick and Buffy, so interact with the elf!

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 8 2013, 05:46 PM

Westley

Westley awoke early in the morning from a restless sleep filled with endless nightmares. He dragged himself out if bed and made his way over to the chest in the corner of the room with his belongings. He had packed an almost full set of glass armor. Westley didn't favor helmets much, besides, his lycanthropy enhanced his strength and speed. He'd easily be able to avoid arrows flying past his head and any traps that may give him a concussion.

Westley changed into his armor, put everything back in his backpack, had a quick bite to eat, then made his way down to the Adventurer's guildhall. The place looked magnificent! It seemed to be composed entirely of marble, and when the sun's rays hit it, the building glowed like a bright star in the dead of night.

The exterior and interior if the building were surprisingly large. Westley gawked wide-eyed at the main hall if the guildhall. Despite being in awe of the great beauty surrounding him, he continued to lurk in corners, away from anyone else. His corner lurking was interrupted when Ylenno saw him, and a few other people. The Elf waved his hand in the air and signaled Westley and the others over.

"Hey! Over here!"

Westley slowly made his way over to the Elf.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 8 2013, 07:08 PM

Kayla moved lithely in her leather armor, dodging bodies in similar garb to make her way to Ylenno. She nearly bumped into a man wearing glass armor. Dawnbreaker's sheathe clacked against his armor, and before she could chastise the man for stopping so abruptly in front of her, a grin spread on her face when she saw who it was.

"Westley!" she cried. "I didn't recognize you without blood all over you!" she teased. Kayla glanced around.

"Where's Buffy?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 8 2013, 07:17 PM

Westley

"Westley! I didn't recognize you without blood all over you. Where's Buffy?"

A wide grin spread across Westley's face "Kayla! Yea, I cleaned myself up before bed last night. Can't go walking around covered in blood. Sorry I bumped into you. No, I haven't seen Buffy, sorry. "

Westley glanced around to see if Buffy was anywhere in sight.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 8 2013, 09:12 PM

Buffy:

The wood elf was up well before dawn. After tending to her mare at the stable, she enjoyed a sweet roll, some strawberries and hot tea with some of her guild mates. They wished her luck as she left the guild.

Her boots and greaves were of natural buckskin. A russet vest of the same material covered much of her medium brown sturdy twill shirt. Willow the bow, a fur wrapped quiver (with drain holes for the rain of course) and her magical pack rode comfortably on her back. http://i668.photobucket.com/albums/vv43/Acadian6/1200%20Series/ScreenShot1267.jpg

She had seen the outside of the Adventurers Guild many times. An impressive building to be sure. She looked forward to seeing the inside.

Approaching the building, Buffy's face brightened to see Ylenno, Kayla and Westley. The Imperial, now wearing glass armor, didn't appear to be wielding any dangerous table cutlery and she didn’t see any stray dogs nearby. Nevertheless, she kept a bit of safe distance from the accident-prone Imperial as she approached.

With a smile, she chirped, “Good morning, everyone!”

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 8 2013, 09:25 PM

Westley

Westley waved at Buffy as she approached Ylenno, Kayla, and himself. She had a bright smile in her face, but still kept a small distance from him.

“Good morning, everyone!”

"Good morning Buffy. I hope you slept well." Westley adjusted the strap of the scabbard for the Blackwater blade as he greeted Buffy.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 8 2013, 09:37 PM

Kayla envied Buffy's petite figure as she strode up to the small group. Kayla closed the distance between them and gave the smaller elf a side-hug.

"Good morning, sunshine!" She grinned. The grin was genuine, but the Altmer was painfully aware of her height. She wished she was smaller and more graceful, like Buffy.

"Are we ready for adventure?"

Posted by: Acadian Feb 8 2013, 10:00 PM

Buffy:

Kayla gracefully closed the distance with her long legs and gave Buffy a warm hug. Buffy returned the hug with both arms and felt a welcome moment of safety in the brief embrace. As the two mer withdrew, Buffy looked up at Kayla, acutely aware the difference in stature between the two, and suppressed an envious sigh. The graceful high elf was so tall and statuesque. No one would ever call her a twig or seedling.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” said Kayla. “Are we ready for adventure?”

Buffy grinned at the high elf’s confidence, and joked, “I thought that was yesterday!”

“Good morning, Buffy,” said Westley with a smile. “I hope you slept well?”

“I did, thank you, Westley,” replied Buffy. “It’s a good thing too, since I don’t know when we’ll get to sleep in real beds again!” She pointed to his arm. “I trust my healing yesterday was satisfactory? No problems with that arm today or your ability to use a sword?”

Between all the words, Buffy managed to briefly catch Ylenno’s eye and give him a warm smile.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 8 2013, 10:11 PM

“It’s a good thing too, since I don’t know when we’ll get to sleep in real beds again!” Buffy pointed to Westley's arm. “I trust my healing yesterday was satisfactory? No problems with that arm today or your ability to use a sword?”

Kayla snorted. "Hopefully the only thing that is impeded is his ability to throw knives and spoons with razor-sharp accuracy!"

Kayla caught the friendly smile Buffy shot Ylenno. Kayla wanted to tweak Buffy's nose, but didn't want to get her hand bit off. Instead, she busied her left hand by tracing the hilt of Dawnbreaker. The sword's gleaming gem was safely hidden under the soft leather flap attached to the metal sheath on her hip. Her right hand, however, was pressed on her right hip. She leaned all of her weight on her right leg.

"You ever sleep on the dirt, Buffy?" She glances at Westley. " I think you roll in it." She playfully bumps Westley with her hip and laughs.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 8 2013, 10:19 PM

Westley

After briefly hugging Kayla and greeting her, Buffy pointed at Westley's arm “I trust my healing yesterday was satisfactory? No problems with that arm today or your ability to use a sword?”

Westley shrugged his shoulders "My arm is much better. Thank you for healing me Buffy. My arm is much better since yesterday." Westley gave Buffy a warm smile.

Kayla bumped Westley with her hip and laughed after asking if he's ever slept in dirt.

"No, I've never slept on dirt. I don't intend to until the the expedition either."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 8 2013, 10:31 PM

Buffy:

Buffy was relieved to hear Westley report that his arm was doing well.

She then giggled at how comfortably Kayla teased the big Imperial.

“Sleep on the dirt?” repeated Buffy. “Well, I admit to a fondness for feather beds and even sheets of silk, but I’m afraid I spend more nights under the stars with my mare. Does a bedroll count? I’ve had to rely on restore fatigue spells instead of sleep a few nights though. Perhaps such spells can be of help if we end up standing long watches.”

Buffy looked up at Kayla and added with a sober shiver, "I'll bet you've had to sleep in the snow."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 9 2013, 01:16 AM

Buffy looked up at Kayla and added with a sober shiver, "I'll bet you've had to sleep in the snow."

Kayla grinned. "If you ever visit Skyrim, I'll teach you how to make a snow cave. I'm not much for any type of magick except destruction, but fatigue spells seem useful."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 9 2013, 02:52 AM

Buffy:

“You can make a cave in the snow?!?” Both eyebrows disappeared under blond bangs. “I have a toe ring of resist frost that a dear Nord named Jerric gave me. . . but I’d need nine more of them to sleep in a cave made of snow!”

Buffy smiled in admiration at the Almer. “I’m glad you’re skilled in destruction. I’m afraid that by specializing so heavily in the bow, illusion and restoration, my destruction skills are. . . well, I can cook a mud crab, light a torch and chill an ale but not too much more than that.” After a moment, she added, “Well, that’s not completely true; in order to support my bow, I’ve become quite skilled with weakness to poison and drain speed effects.”

Hoping to draw Ylenno into the conversation, she smiled his way. "Brother Bosmer, what magic is it that makes your hair stick up like that?"

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 9 2013, 11:21 AM

Tarrick

He had bid his mother farewell and left his earnings with her in the house, left the house after a quick breakfast and made his way to the Guildhall of the Adventurer's Guild. The morning streets of Anvil were bustling, and a lot of the crowd were carrying weapons or equipment with them, no doubt for the expedition.

It didn't take him at all long to find the Guildhall, and as they had agreed, Buffy and Ylenno were already there along with Kayla and Westley. Tarrick hoped that a night's sleep had calmed the Imperial down.

As he came into earshot, he raised a hand and called out; "A good morning to all of you, my friends!"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 9 2013, 07:44 PM

Kayla turned at Tarrick's greeting. She gave him a warm smile and a friendly wave. She wasn't able to get to know him past his antics when they first met. She wondered what flowery words he had prepared for them this time.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 9 2013, 07:52 PM

Buffy:

Among the many voices now crowding the guild area, Buffy recognized Tarrick’s as he sounded a greeting. She caught his eye and, as he approached, joined Kayla as both elves waved their welcome. Buffy spoke, “How does the day greet you, Redguard? We were just trying to tease Ylenno about his hair.”

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 9 2013, 11:01 PM

Once Elaninde woke up she knew that this was the day. This was the day when they would be signing up for the expedition. As she walked around the city buying potions and repairing her gear, she was trying to sum up what had happened in the last few days. She had seen a werewolf enter the city, found out he was probably this guy called Westley, made some new friends and gotten a very low amount of sleep. As she got to the guild hall her mind was still boggling at the thought of going around with a werewolf, sure he had the ring of Hircine but if she decided to take it back... She and the other expedition members could probably take him down in a straight fight, but if he had the element of surprise... Suddenly she saw someone she recognized, it was the hair of Ylenno, the bosmer that had bumped into her yesterday. She decided to go over to him and say hello.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 10 2013, 01:35 AM

First it was Westley, and he was armored in the pricey glass armor, adding more shine to the situation than he liked. Then it was Kayla, her confident stride easily noticeable what with a fine blade riding her hips. There was a supernatural glow there, like an unheralded dawn, and Ylenno found himself shivering despite the warmness of his armor he wore. Next in line was Buffy, her longbow jutting out of her shoulder. Like her personality, it had something magical in it, but whereas Kayla's filled him with awe and a little bit of anxiousness, Buffy's bow had... well, the same energy that aura'd around Buffy. He gave all of them a smile as they chatted by the entrance of the Guild Hall, and already there other groups of adventurers who gave them their greetings.

Buffy asked him about his hair

The roguish grin almost split his face. All this constant smilling was probably aching the muscles on his face. He should probablly tone it down a little.

He gave his educated rant.

"Weeeeeelll, first and foremost, I sue some all-natural Thrassian snake oil I order from some slinky guy called Sam. I find that Tamrielian oil wears off after several hours, and even the elven stuff doesn't hold! Now, before I apply the Thrassian oil, I crush some Lavender petals in a bowl and grind them into paste with, suprisingly, two drops of Surillie wine, some Nibenean flour and troll fat. The alchemical properties of troll fat is quite nice regarding hair, I find, and the Surillie wine keeps it longer. When the flower-and-troll-and-Surillie paste is all doughy, thats when I rub it on my hair. When its all dusty and proper, the oil comes next. Now, here's come the magic. Paste and oil alone couldn't make anyone's hair as animated as mine, so I turn into the arcane for that."

He raised his hand and applied his magick. The whisperings of Alteration hummed, and the hand glowed green.

"Frost Shield. Thats the spell I use. Without the oil and paste, you'd just freeze your hair like a frazzled mane! Trust me, I know!"

Then came Tarrick with a salutation, all geared up and looking quite the wastrel, and following in his heels was the heavy armored form of Elandine. It seemed to him that she noticed his hair amidst the ragtag bunch and took it as a beacon; Ylenno laughed.

"Well! This is certainly quite the gathering! We only need another party member, gee I wonder who THAT is, and Team Pretty Unicorns With Sprinkles On Top would be complete! Hip hip hooray!"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 10 2013, 05:42 AM

"Well! This is certainly quite the gathering! We only need another party member, gee I wonder who THAT is, and Team Pretty Unicorns With Sprinkles On Top would be complete! Hip hip hooray!" Ylenno declared.

Kayla snorted and laughed, turning the laugh into a cough.

"He didn't seem like the type to go dungeon-crawling to me. The fine clean robe would get dirty and the jewels would get lost." Kayla shrugged. "He probably went back to the priory, where it's nice and safe."

She grinned at Ylenno. "Lavender and troll-fat past, eh? The frost spell is a nice touch. Maybe if we both make it out alive, you can show me how to mix that properly."

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 10 2013, 07:40 AM

Straightening his shoulders, Drakothemir raised his hand. The massive door that led to his castle’s inner sanctum opened. Suppressing a grin, Drakothemir walked confidently toward a group of vampires. Members of his clan. His black boots sung as he stepped on the stone floor, echoing through the familiar room. Dark-robed figures all stood in a circle, only parting to allow him to pass by them and into the center where a tall hooded man stood. This was a vampire ancient.

“Welcome home, Lord Drakothemir. We’ve been expecting you,“ was all he said.

Drakothemir felt a coldness grow on this throat. He held his arm behind his back and smiled. I have done my task. It is completed. I have found the secrets hidden within Fort Sutch.

“I possess the ancient knowledge." He could hear the pride in his voice. “Forbidden secrets of time’s long past. My enemies have been killed. There were no survivors to compromise my plans.”

“Your task is not completed.” There was no warning in the ancient’s raspy voice, no clue whatsoever as what was to come. With an unexpected shing, someone behind Draksothemir unsheathed their blade and the ancient sighed. “There is but one final matter.”

Drakothemir opened his mouth to protest at the revelation, but had barely begun to speak when a potent silver sword stabbed through his back. and impaled past his flesh. His eyes grew wide in horror at the sight of the blade protruding from his chest. The pain was tremendous, much worse than he had ever imagined.

With a choked gasp, Drakothemir fell to his knees. The clan began to surround him. Their hungry eyes upon him. This had to be a mistake. A terrible mistake! It couldn't be happening to him, of all people!

He mustered his strength. His vampiric power. To scorch those around him into ashes, or make them tear out their own eyes with his Reign of Terror. Or escape unseen with Embrace of Shadows. But he had none. No powers, no abilities that he possessed all those decades, all those centuries. All of it gone.

The ancient’s fangs fell into his throat, and with a powerful yank all of his flesh was ripped out. Drakothemir’s final cry was heard, but not supported. Darkness and despair devoured him, and he stopped his attempt to fight them. His wailing ceased.

In the dream, but Drakothemir sat up from his bed with a powerful shout. “Ah!!”

It was a nightmare. One of the thousands he had before, and one of the many he had every week for as long as he walked Tamriel. He rubbed his eyes, swung his feet over and kicked himself out of bed.

Avoid daylight by lifestyle . . .

It was morning. He should still be sleeping. But he knew he had to make an appearance sooner or later.

He should still be sleeping. Drakothemir sighed as he washed his face in a nearby basin. He threw on his spare black robes, and fitted over a uniquely tailored black vest. and prepared his sword. He wasted no time in cleaning after himself. He left the room and entered the hallway where he was intercepted by the young tavern girl.

"Oh," she giggled. "You're up! Would you like anything sir?"

The vampire, still composing himself after his chaotic rest, regarded her with an intense stare. His eyebrows arched and bent over his nose. His eyes were bright with a fiery malice that she recoiled and excused herself, waving her finger toward the floor in a gesture of nervousness. Drakothemir stared as she left his presence, and still did even after she was gone. Then he put on his gentle mask. He was not Draken. He was Drakothemir. Former monk, aspirant scholar, young adventurer.

He wouldn't dream of tarrying more than he needed to in Anvil after the expedition. Or in Cyrodiil, for that matter. So his recent behavior was of no concern to him.

He headed out the front door of the inn and walked outside. The morning sun was hot, but not hot enough as it would be at noon. Even so it was painful. The blood beneath his skin boiled and his skin took on a redish hue. His jaw tensed and he rushed toward the adventurer's guild building as quick as he was able. A normal bystander would mistake him for a man that is late on a date or an important meeting or buisiness.

He traversed the town and into the streets and right into the building. Drakothemir felt tense as soon as the light had hit him. He walked out of the presence of the tyranical sun and right into a diabolical sham of one. The light glared at him, piercing his vision to the point of being overbearing. Nevertheless, he did respect the architecture and style. That, at least, was a welcome sight.

As soon as he entered he noticed the group of men he saw before. And even heard the Bosmer speak mid-sentence. "We only need another party member, gee I wonder who that is, and Team Pretty Unicorns With Sprinkles On Top would be complete! Hip hip hooray!"

Kayla seemed to answer him with tease about Drakothemir. "He didn't seem like the type to go dungeon-crawling to me. The fine clean robe would get dirty and the jewels would get lost." She shrugged. "He probably went back to the priory, where it's nice and safe."

"The Deadlands would freeze over if dungeon-crawling required 'types'. Robes are repleaceable. Jewels can be purchased. By the time we go under Fort Sutch, you will wish you were at the priory." He smiled as he approached the group. "It is good to stand in the company of friends. So . . .when do we begin?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 10 2013, 08:04 AM

"The Deadlands would freeze over if dungeon-crawling required 'types'." Drakothemir quipped behind Kayla. She turned easily with a smile as he continued.

"Robes are repleaceable. Jewels can be purchased. By the time we go under Fort Sutch, you will wish you were at the priory."

Kayla did not doubt his words. The whispers at the taverns in Skyrim had even the hardiest of Nord Barbarians gripping their mugs in doubt. The more conceited ones declared their intent to join, but always had excuses not to. The more foolish ones, such as herself, bought passage and were in the group.

"It is good to stand in the company of friends. So . . .when do we begin?" Drakothemir asked. Kayla shrugged.

"I only just arrived." She looked him over. "You look fancy. Dress to impress, right?" She elbowed him good naturedly, but her heart wasn't in it. The note in her pocket bore no weight against her gear, but it still weighed in on her mind. She pushed it out of her mind and kept her easy-going smile on her face.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 10 2013, 08:35 AM

Westley

When Drakothemir approached the group, Westley immediately tensed up. He stood there and listened as Drakothemir engaged in a conversation with Kayla. Westley could sense that the vampire lacked any respect for him.

That's fine. I don't need some filthy night-spawn respecting me. Its best not to interact with him. If either of us end up exposing our true nature, there will be a hell lot of trouble. Besides, he could be useful to the group. We need all the people we can get.

Westley forced a warm smile,and waited for Drakothemir to finish his sentance before speaking.

"Your robes won't protect you much from traps and monsters. You should at least consider wearing a cuirass. Wouldn't want anything happening to you, though I'm pretty sure you're a capable fighter. But still, you never know what could happen." Westley gave Drakothemir another friendly smile, though deep down inside he could feel a burning hatred for the vampire.

Westley didn't want to hate Drakthemir, but he couldn't help it. He didn't have problems with vampires, but the fact that they were willing to take the lives of innocent people to feed thier lust without regretting it bothered Westley. True, his kind was no better, and he wasn't afraid to acknowledge the fact that he found his own kind repugnant, but he liked vampires even less. Perhaps that hate was just programmed into him.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 10 2013, 09:09 AM

Kayla felt Westley tense beside her, but when she turned, there was nothing but an easy smile on his face. She inwardly shrugged, but mentally reminded herself to ask Westley about it later.

A familiar face caught her eye. Someone she knew from her earlier adventurer days, but he didn't know her. He lived in a village that was suffering from troll attacks. When Kayla had arrived, he had been one of the brave few to try to fend off the trolls. He was the only one to survive. His face skimmed over hers, but showed no recognition. Just as well. It was 10 years ago. His face had grown harder, but his cheeks and chin were free from stubble.

Not wanting to seem rude, Kayla turned her attention back to the group. She pinched Westley's nose for no reason and grinned.

"Weak spot! Watch that nose of yours, boy!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 10 2013, 09:19 AM

Westley

Westley's concentration on Drakothemir was broken when Kayla randomly pinched his nose.

"Weak spot! Watch that nose of yours, boy!"

Westley gave Kayla a wicked grin and playfully shoved her. He shoved her a bit too hard, and the tall Altmer began to stagger backwards

"Keep your balance, falling won't do you any good" Westley chuckled, and caught Kayla by the arm before she fell.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 10 2013, 09:27 AM

The shove surprised Kayla, and she laughed as Westley caught her.

"You're right, wouldn't want you crushing me again!" She teased.

She straightened up and checked her sword. Good, still hidden. She planned on the sword being her surprise if any undead attacked in. She had Westley's dagger strapped to her thigh as well, for emergencies. She leaned her elbow comfortably on Westley's shoulder and put a small amount of pressure on it. She grinned.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 10 2013, 01:54 PM

Westley's reaction to Drakothemir's arrival was not lost to him. Kayla turned to him immedietly, which meant she probably sensed it too. He knew Westley hated him ever since their last encounter the morning before back at the Count's Arms. Werewolves have a natural sense and instinct akin to that of a hound or a wolf. They can judge the character of a man or those disguised a man.

Drakothemir appraised Westley with a gentle grin. He knew his kind well. He had vampires within his clan that had heretical thoughts or doctrines such as beliving they had to be cured. Or refusing to sustain themselves for survival and cease to feed on mortals. Those were the dangerous ones. They hated themselves so much that anyone like them they would also despise.

The vampire didn't care much for morals of feeding on the innocent. He was born a vampire. He never chose to be given the Dark Gift. Like Lamae Beolfag, he just happened to aquire it unwillingly though to a much less violent degree. For the last four centuries vampirism is what he knew. It is the only thing he will ever know. He won't change his feeding habits or his ideals to survive in a prejudice world because a vampire or any other preternatural predator believes they must sacrifice their own health and nutrition to keep mortals from harm. Mortals, who would sooner condemn him than help him. The fact that some thought that way was beyond insulting.

If a hare could think it would surely label the fox as evil. If the deer could think, it would label the wolf as evil. If the sheep could think, it would call the lion the same thing. Westley was surely one who believed himself a bad person because of his condition. And Drakothemir understood that his Lycanthropy was partly to blame for the boy's hot-headedness. He was like Westley many centuries ago. Confused. Uncertain. Parental issues and all other burdens weighing down upon his shoulders that accumulated over time.

The irony is that the werewolf might do his best to control his condition and find ways he could stop harming people. But the more he supresses the beast, the more the instincts to hunt grows and the desire to kill an innocent person is bound. Almost as a man who has not felt the warmth of a woman for sometime and wishes to change that in any manner he can. Or a starving creature who longs to chase down their prey for sustenance. Werewolves are Hircine's creatures, the Chase and Sacrifice of Mortals. Sport of Daedra. Flesh and innocence must be sacrificed. It is why they are more powerful when they kill people. And Westley might just lose the battle if he keeps that way. Hircine would be displeased, and possibly send one of his loyal hounds to put him down.

Drakothemir took no sadistic pleasure in killing people. He was a vampire, and they were mortals. The two are natural enemies. Predator and prey. And sometimes the prey have been known to bite back.

The thought of prey made him turn to Kayla. "I only just arrived." She looked him over. "You look fancy. Dress to impress, right?"

He looked at his own robes and shook his head. "These are only black robes. Not worth much here in Cyrodiil." Drakothemir raised his hand to inspect his rings. "Family heirlooms. Worthless in the market, but worth something to me."

Westley spoke to him. "Your robes won't protect you much from traps and monsters. You should at least consider wearing a cuirass. Wouldn't want anything happening to you, though I'm pretty sure you're a capable fighter. But still, you never know what could happen."

Drakothemir chuckled. A laugh that actually sounded sincere this time. Because it actually was. "Oh, I don't think I will do much fighting I'm afraid. I am no mage. No warrior. My only skill is writing and studying history. I can swing a sword, but that's about it. The one I carry was a gift my father gave me. But I never stopped to practice once I was sent to the priory." He paused. "You are correct on that matter. Anything could happen. But I pray to the Nine to give me strength. I will need the gods help."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 10 2013, 02:46 PM

Kayla's mouth twitched in a smile.

"Mhmm, the Nine."

She held no love for the Nine. She would respect the man's beliefs, and not comment on them unless asked. Revealing her inclination for daedra worship, especially one such as Meridia, would surely bring on a fire-fight with words. She saw the individuals as gods-fearing in Cyrodil, condemning daedra worshippers to the forests and mountains outside of city walls. It was the same in Skyrim; one had to travel to remote places, far outside the safety of the walls of the Holds to seek solace in the chosen daedra.

"If the gods fail you, surely one of us might help you." she said to the solemn-looking Imperial. To show she meant it as a jest, she grinned and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 10 2013, 10:15 PM

Tarrick

“How does the day greet you, Redguard?" Buffy said as Tarrick arrived. "We were just trying to tease Ylenno about his hair.”

Before Tarrick could reply, Ylenno gave an account of how his hair was maintained. It was a long, complex, impressive process, and he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sheer over-wrought nature of it all. Once Ylenno had finished reciting his routine, he nodded in slight amazement.

"Sounds like a bit too much effort to me," he said, running his head over the fine fuzz of black hair that covered his scalp. "I'd rather keep it short like this so it's easy to manage. But whatever works for you, I suppose."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 11 2013, 03:32 AM

Kayla nodded at Tarrick's statement about easy-to-manage hair.

"The shorter your hair, the less likely anything nasty can grab it," she said. "I was exploring a ruin with a young lady who had beautiful long raven hair. She was very vain about it, and spent as much time on it as Ylenno does with his hair." She smirked at Ylenno before continuing. "Her hair was to her waist, and it got caught between the bony fingers of a half-starved vampire. Nearly pulled her scalp off trying to get away." She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "Keep it short and simple," She finished. She grinned at Tarrick.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 11 2013, 04:17 AM

Buffy:

Buffy was about to share the recipe she and Ardaline used for hair conditioner, or at least mention the benefits Ylenno could get from sprinkling glow dust in his hair but was glad she stopped herself as Kayla began to speak.

The wood elf with a shining blond mane couldn’t help the warm flush that she felt creeping above the neckline of her blouse as Kayla recounted the vices of fighting with long silken locks. Kayla’s auburn hair was pretty, but not what Buffy would call pampered. She figured the high elf probably didn’t carry shampoo and conditioner in her pack. Buffy most certainly had plenty for both of them but decided this was perhaps not the best time to offer that information.

“Keep it short and simple,” concluded the Altmer.

Buffy awkwardly studied the toes of her buckskin boots. It occurred that her brother Bosmer might feel a bit convicted by Kayla’s words as well. She looked up and chirped, “But think of the damage Ylenno could do with those spikes by lowering his head and charging like a minotaur!”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 11 2013, 04:25 AM

The image of Ylenno's spiked head running full-speed towards an overly-muscular minatour made Kayla cover her mouth in laughter. She turned to say something to Buffy to tease Ylenno, and for the first time realized how long Buffy's hair actually was. Her face turned red, but she kept the smile on her face.

"As long as we can use your hair as a whip, Buffy!"

Posted by: Acadian Feb 11 2013, 04:50 AM

Buffy:

"As long as we can use your hair as a whip, Buffy!" Kayla was joking, but on her slightly reddened face was etched a look of. . . apology? Buffy realized how transparent her own awkwardness must have appeared. The smile of understanding between them said much that probably went unnoticed by others.

Buffy brought a small bowstring-callused finger up to her lips. “Sshhh! The Adventurers Guild will reject the lot of us! I’m sure they’re looking for intrepid explorers, not skilled hair stylists.” Knowing the whole hair discussion had been her doing, she slipped the leafy living recurve bow from her back and pretended to carefully inspect it.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 11 2013, 07:51 AM

Ylenno gave a shrug to all of them as he said, "whatever floats your boats. But I assure you, I am the progenitor of a new age of hairstyles! Oh yes, I kid you not! Ten years from now, people would call me a new god as they gush each other about their own styles! Kids would love it!"

Then he gave all of them a scandalous giggle as.

"Besides, girls who I met love it. They call it the Bush Tickler amongst other spiky sobriquets, no joke! Hee-hee-hee-haw!"

He then looked at the Buffy, and the glint of giddy mischievousness at his eyes remained, this time much more intense.

"Oh, don't worry about that, sister. It woudln't be the first time I stuck my hair into places I really shouldn't!"

The tall bosmer gave a sharp series of barking laughter at his own joke, braying like a hyena for all intents and purposes.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 12 2013, 03:22 AM

Buffy:

Ylenno enlightened the group about the dual nature of his hairstyle – which he called a Bush Tickler. When not being used for fighting, he stated it could be used for fun. Did the Bosmer really try to use his hair like that? It would seem more likely that Argonians might use their head spikes in such a manner. Maybe. Guildmagister Kud-Ei had never mentioned it though.

She continued to allow the inspection of her bow to be the apparent focus of her hands and eyes as she pondered his words. The little wood elf didn’t exactly have a bush. In fact she had very little body hair – not unusual for her race. Her guild sisters teased her that her soft patch of nether down was barely enough to verify she was a natural blonde.

Finally Ylenno’s laughter subsided enough for Buffy to remark as she looked coyly up at the taller Bosmer, “Do you intend to tickle or stab our foes with your popular spikes?”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 03:26 AM

"They call it the Bush Tickler amongst other spiky sobriquets, no joke!" quipped Ylenno.

Kayla's eyebrows nearly shot off her face, but the real kicker for her was when Ylenno looked at Buffy and continued on with, "Oh, don't worry about that, sister. It woudln't be the first time I stuck my hair into places I really shouldn't!"

Her own laughter was noiseless, rather than loud and braying like Ylenno's. She brought her hand to her mouth and bent over and made small squeaking noises occasionally. She laughed so hard, tears filled her eyes and her face turned red.

"Mara's teat, that's disturbing, but funny!" she gasped.

Posted by: mALX Feb 12 2013, 04:15 AM

As she stepped out the door of the Peacemaker shop Maxical’s attention was caught by the same group of people that had been inside the Counts Arms last night, all gathered in the street outside the newly built Guild Hall.

The tall Bosmer was speaking and gesturing so animatedly that Maxical slid in, weaving amongst the others to hear what he was talking about. He had one hand jammed into that beautiful white-gold hair, which was now a wild mass of spikes on one side of his head. His hand was glowing green as if a spell was being cast.

As Maxical gaped at the sight, his hair began to rise till it stood straight up, defying gravity! “GAAAAH!”

The Bosmer‘s mischievous eyes were lit with laughter, they danced over the two girls standing in front of him and his voice cracked on a laugh. “Besides, girls who I met love it. They call it the Bush Tickler amongst other spiky sobriquets, no joke! Hee-hee-hee-haw! Oh, don't worry about that, sister. It woudln't be the first time I stuck my hair into places I really shouldn't!" He continued his braying laugh as the two girls glanced at each other.

The one I’m sure was Buffy from Bravil said something I couldn‘t hear, then the pretty Altmer girl spoke before I could move in closer to hear.

I slid to a stop in front of the braying Bosmer. In a smooth flip of my hand I unsheathed the claw on just my middle finger and waved it at him as if swishing a sword.

“If I catch you trying to tickle my bush with that thing, you’ll meet my Khajiit Castrator here. Then the only thing those spikes will be tickling is the pavement.”

I winked up into his laughing eyes and continued on my way to hear the Prophet Azzan had been telling me about.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 04:21 AM

When the beautiful Khajiit unsheathed her claw and said, “If I catch you trying to tickle my bush with that thing, you’ll meet my Khajiit Castrator here. Then the only thing those spikes will be tickling is the pavement.”

Kayla howled with laughter as the Khajiit with white fur simply walked away, tail swishing, leaving the warning hanging in the air.

"Ylenno," she gasped, "You better keep your hair to yourself, otherwise it might not be the only thing being cut off!"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 12 2013, 04:35 AM

Drakothemir held his arms behind his back, and cracked a smile at the comedy the others told. He didn't find it funny. The jest suddenly took on sexual hints and Drakothemir knew it was time he'd excuse himself. Not that he was uncomfortable, on the contrary, his own personal desires would make Azura weep. He sighed.

"Well, friends, excuse me but I must relieve myself." Drakothemir said to them. Of course, it wasn't the truth. He did not need to urinate or release any bodily waste. He simply needed to gather his mind on the upcoming expedition, to plan what he will do and what he will need to do in order to get what he is searching for.

The rest of the people . . .they all seemed like a motley crew spawned from a nest of jesters and comedians. He had a difficult time believing most of them were capable of fighting or even surviving in the harsh enviornments. Fort Sutch is a dangerous place already with the criminal scum thriving there, but they pale in comparison with the more dangerous dwellers below. Which could be anything. Dead spirits haunting the forgotten halls. Skeletons. Daedra. Vampires. It didn't matter as they were all threats, and these adventurers would surely lose their lives.

I'll be damned if one of them survived . . .Molag Bal would sooner put me in his charnel houses and keep me as his eternal cellmate.

Drakothemir smiled at his own humor, and simply walked off to explore the guildhall, which was too bright for his own liking.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 04:42 AM

Westley

Westley moved farther back from the group, not far to the point where he couldn't hear what they were saying, but far enough to try and ignore Ylenno's jokes.

Westley looked down at the strap that tied his scabbard to his waist. It was far too loose. The last thimg he needed was to loose his weapon on this expedition. Westley fiddled with the strap of his scabbard for a moment before a new voice amongst the group caught his ear. When he looked up, he noticed it was the same white Khajiit he had seen at the Count's Arms the previous day. She was waving her middle finger at Ylenno, and one of her claws was unsheathed. He moved a bit closer to hear what she was saying better.

“If I catch you trying to tickle my bush with that thing, you’ll meet my Khajiit Castrator here. Then the only thing those spikes will be tickling is the pavement.”

Kayla started laughing so hard that she nearly fell to the ground. Westley growled and moved back into his corner.

Great. Another reference to one of Ylenno's jokes. He's going to make my breakfast come back up.

Westley kicked a small pebble, and sighed in relief when it hit a nearby lamppost. He was displeased at the loud noise it made when it collided with the metal post though. He retreated further back into the shadows, hoping nobody in the group had heard the noise.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 04:55 AM

After Kayla wiped the tears from her eyes, she swiped at Westley to clap him on the shoulder. When she swiped air, she looked around and saw both Drakothemir and Westley absent. She snorted. Bunch of old men, she thought. She waved at the rest of the group and sought out Westley.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 12 2013, 05:28 AM

Drakothemir wasn't the only one who seemed to not find mortal humor humorous. The Lycanthropic child looked like he was annoyed by it, and thus left the company and into a corner. Quite the social pariah . . .and he only shows his true colors twice a month.

Seeing the squeamish pup was amusing enough. His collision with an object upon kicking a pebble was not missed, nor was his growling. The vampire skirted around the edge of a growing group of people, faces unfamiliar to him, to walk toward Westley.

As he did so, he saw from the corner of his eye that the woman, Kayla, had left the presence of her friends. Surely to seek out the missing Lycanthropy. Drakothemir knew he had to interfere just this once. The werewolf knew too much. There had been many times where his vampirism was known to mortals, and they had to be killed to maintain discretion. And that was their only error. That they discovered his vampirism. Drakothemir would rather have his mortal guise last much longer.

He didn't particularly hold any love for Kayla. As far as he was concerned she was just another mortal going about her buisiness, seeking to make friends and allies and foge new relationships while her husband lingers in another province. Quite the trusting man, he must be . . .

The vampire politely shouldered a few people, excusing himself as he made his way toward the werewolf. Try as he might, his scent could not conceal his whereabouts. No matter how hard he tried. Drakothemir already located him the moment he left the group. His eyes never left the wolf's fleeing body.

Kayla could wait. Drakothemir could not. He was immortal, and time was meaningless to him. But when his identity was on the line, known by a man who could not so much as control his own temper . . .then things must be done. For if so much as someone else finds out about his Dark Gift. Then blood will have to be spilled.

He hurried his pace and saw Westley standing in a corner. Alone. Just as he always is. Alone.

"Quite the mysterious fellow, you are, Westley," Drakothemir said as he walked up behind him. He spoke in a low whisper. "Yet the shadows do not favor you."

"In my studies I have learned much. I know that mystery attracts curiosity. The veil that shrouds the unknown tempts many to uncover it. Whether this veil conceals treasure or secrets, it is insignifficant. What is important is that there will always be those seeking to know more and that knowledge has a price. Certain times, however, that price is paid in what flows adrift within us."

With Kayla already possibly searching for Westley, what he said is true. The vampire slid his hands into his pockets and stood tall. "Feast your eyes upon the beauty of such a sight: large numbers of thrill-seekers looking to procure and establish themselves as adventurers in hopes of rising to the pennicacle of glory."

He paused, looking around him to make sure no one was within earshot. To be safe, he still continued to whisper. Speaking plainly for a man such as themselves to understand, but for mortals to comprehend on a different level. "The interesting thing about large numbers is that when one steps aside from the circle, not a soul tends to give it much thought. Yet if the one who prowls corners as a periodic hobby leaves, one must wonder why. For mystery attracts the curious, and the curious are often devoured by their own excessive interests in things they are not meant to understand."

"You may not stand as curious, but you possess forbidden knowledge. Knowledge that I myself have sought to keep secret and have kept secret for as long as I loved. Be wise in the certainty that my currency for revealed secrets is blood."

He shot a look at the various people, and adopted a stance and expression as if he was talking to a life-long friend. "

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 05:48 AM

Westley

When Deakothemir approached him, Westley already knew what the vampire wanted. He sat through Drakothemir's speech, not wanting to be rude and interrupt. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Cut the rant Drakothemir, I know what you're demanding, and I'm not afraid of you. Don't worry night-spawn, I won't say anything about what you truly are as long as you keep what I am a secret. I see what you think of me. I know you lack any respect for me. I'm a foolish pup. Irresponsible. I can see why you would think that. You're right. I must learn to control my temper, and be less reckless. It's better for everyone."

Westley walked away from the vampire, and briefly looked over his shoulder. "I'm glad we had this conversation."

Westley headed back towards the group, leaving the vampire standing by himself.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 05:57 AM

Kayla dodged bumping into Westley by way of his shining armor. She saw Drakothemir behind him, and gave a friendly nod in his direction.

"Heart to heart?" she asked Westley. He seemed a bit irritated, yet Drakothemir seemed in an alright mood. Kayla kept a questioning look on her face.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 06:03 AM

Westley

Westley nearly bumped into Kayla, but she's aged to dodge a collision.

"Heart to heart?"

Westley sighed. "No. He just stopped to say hi. Didn't really want anything. Seems like a nice enough fellow."

Westley smiled at Kayla, hoping she'd drop the topic. Just in case, he started a different topic.

"So...what's on your mind. Are you done laughing at Ylenno's jokes?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 06:10 AM

Kayla shrugged. "Done for now. Did you find that in bad taste?" She grinned down at him and elbowed him good-naturedly. "Or does the thought of Ylenno near a woman's lower bits make you sick too?" she chuckled. "It looks like both you and Drakothemir have the same sense of humor." she winked. "None."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 06:14 AM

Westley

"Done for now. Did you find that in bad taste? Or does the thought of Ylenno near a woman's lower bits make you sick too? It looks like both you and Drakothemir have the same sense of humor. None."

Westley sniggered "I had breakfast not too long ago. Imaginin' Ylenno use his hair to bed women is an awkward sight to conjure up after I've eaten something. If I had stayed any longer, the contents of my stomach would have spilled all over the floor." Westley gave Kayla a warm smile.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 06:22 AM

Kayla patted Westley's arm gently.

"Funniest thing," she said casually. "The guards had warned me of a werewolf when I entered the city. I wasn't aware that werewolves would be found so close to cities here." She gave a half-shrug. "In Skyrim, they mostly frolic outside city walls." she knit her brows together. "Frolic is the wrong word. Stalk? Hmm. Closer."

She immediately regretted bringing up werewolves. She shook herself. "No matter," she smiled. "Werewolves or not..." she couldn't finish that sentence, because she wasn't sure how to.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 06:29 AM

Westley

"Funniest thing, the guards had warned me of a werewolf when I entered the city. I wasn't aware that werewolves would be found so close to cities here. In Skyrim, they mostly frolic outside city walls. Frolic is the wrong word. Stalk? Hmm. Closer. No matter, werewolves or not..."

Westley went pale for a moment, but he was relieved when Kayla seemed not be able to figure out what to say. He continued the topic though.

"Are you afraid of werewolves Kayla?" He put his hand in her shoulder and gave her a serious look.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 06:36 AM

"Are you afraid of werewolves, Kayla?"

Kayla balked for half a moment, then laughed at Westley.

"Afraid? No! I just..." she sighed. "I had a friend bitten by one. We tried to find a cure, but he turned." She looked away. "Long story sort, I got a nasty scar from him. But don't worry!" she grinned. "I took a cure disease potion. That werewolf was not me, I promise you."

She looked at the sky. "Such wonderful, warm weather," she murmured. "Right about now, my husband would be opening his shop, and I would be out looking for work." Her face showed sadness fleetingly, but she made her mouth smile.

"Do you prefer the cold, or the warm weather?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 06:45 AM

Westley

"Afraid? No! I just...I had a friend bitten by one. We tried to find a cure, but he turned. Long story sort, I got a nasty scar from him. But don't worry! I took a cure disease potion. That werewolf was not me, I promise you. Such wonderful, warm weather, Right about now, my husband would be opening his shop, and I would be out looking for work. Do you prefer the cold, or the warm weather?"

Westley caught the glimpse of sadness in Kayla's expression, and was intrigued by her story about her werewolf friend. Westley made sure nobody was in a position to hear him, then he leaned close and whispered into her ear.

"I know it isn't you who's the werewolf. You wouldn't understand how. I'm guessing you don't like werewolves. I'm sorry about your friend." Westley pulled away from her. "I prefer warm weather. The cold makes my mood worse."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 06:53 AM

Kayla smiled.

"Werewolves are fine. I only knew the one personally." She was silent for a moment, looking at the sky still. Suddenly she looked at Westley with a serious expression.

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 06:56 AM

Westley

"Werewolves are fine. I only knew the one personally."

Kayla fell silent for a moment. Westley just stood there awkwardly until she finally broke the silence.

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

"What is it you need Kayla?" Westley watched her carefully, wondering what she could possibly need help with.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:00 AM

She leaned down towards his ear.

"If I don't make it, and you do..." she cleared her throat. "In my left pocket, with my wedding ring, is a note. I would greatly appreciate it if you went to Skyrim and found my husband. Give him the note." Her chest ached, but she kept her face neutral. "In the note, there are instructions on where he lives, what his name is, and what city we live in. We didn't leave on good terms, and if I don't return... I want him to know I cared enough to write him a goodbye letter."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 07:07 AM

Westley

"If I don't make it, and you do, In my left pocket, with my wedding ring, is a note. I would greatly appreciate it if you went to Skyrim and found my husband. Give him the note. In the note, there are instructions on where he lives, what his name is, and what city we live in. We didn't leave on good terms, and if I don't return... I want him to know I cared enough to write him a goodbye letter."

Westley was silent for a moment. It pained him to think that Kayla had family at home waiting for her return, and it would be devastating to her husband to hear if her death. Westley had nobody waiting for him. No friends, no family, he'd be willing to give his life to ensure Kayla could return home to her family, though he was most likely never coming out of that ruin ever again anyway...

"If I make it I'll do it. I doubt I'll last long though, but if I do survive and you don't, I'll make sure your husband gets the letter." Westley forced a reassuring smile. "If I don't make it and you do, take my blackwater blade. It won't be useful to me if I'm dead, and its quite a good weapon."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:15 AM

Kayla smiled.

"Oh, ja? And what does this 'Blackwater Blade' do?"

She felt relieved that Westley at least said he would do what she asked. Whether or not he carried out the task, whether or not any of them would survive long enough in the fort to do such favors for each other, would remain to be seen. Until danger presented itself, her default attitude would be amiable, friendly, and teasing. If her time came to enter Meridia's Colored Rooms in that fort, instructions were made to others in the city to provide her husband with the money she had left him. In case she died alone. In case there was no one else left to send the message.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 07:18 AM

Westley

"Oh, ja? And what does this 'Blackwater Blade' do?"

Westley smiled, pulled our his blade, and showed it to Kayla. He would be lying if he didn't say he was proud of it.

"It drains your enemies energy quite a bit. It's quite useful when your opponent isn't running out if energy."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:25 AM

Kayla took a step back. "So... it's like a vampire bade?" She shuddered. "I suppose that would be useful. Does it use the energy to power the sword, or to give you energy and heal you?" Kayla couldn't judge. She had used less-than-fair advantages before.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 07:28 AM

Westley

"So... it's like a vampire blade? I suppose that would be useful. Does it use the energy to power the sword, or to give you energy and heal you?"

Westley grinned wickedly "It drains your opponents energy, and uses the energy it drained to restore yours. So, yes. It's a vampire blade."

He put the sword back in its sheathe.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:33 AM

Kayla nodded. "H,mm. Okay. Whatever gives you an edge, I suppose." She was suddenly very aware of the weight Dawnbreaker had on her hip. She really had no place to judge.

"How did you get that blade? I don't suppose you enchanted it yourself?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 07:39 AM

Westley

"How did you get that blade? I don't suppose you enchanted it yourself?"

Westley's eyes widened with excitement. If there was one thing he loved more than showing off his blade, it was telling the story if how he got it.

"It's a bit of a long story. It all started on a ship-inn in the waterfront District of the Imperial City. I was staying there for the night because I couldn't find the key to my house. This inn was a functioning ship, pretty cool if you ask me. Anyway, this all started with a tale that the owner, Ormil, made up."

Westley swatted at a mosquito trying to bite him before continuing. "I went to bed in the inn. When I woke up, the ship-inn had been cast out to sea. Apparently it had been hijacked by a band if thieves calling themselves 'The Blackwater Brigands'. Long story short, I fought there leader, Selene, and bested her in combat. I decided to take her sword. I had to kill her whole crew to get it."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:43 AM

Kayla's eyes shot up at Westley's story.

"Impressive," she murmured. "I'll bet the guards were pretty upset you stole their thunder," she laughed.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 07:46 AM

Westley

"Impressive, I'll bet the guards were pretty upset you stole their thunder,"

Westley let out a booming laugh. "The guards in the city are more concerned with catching the Gray Fox than dealing with more important problems."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:47 AM

Kayla tilted her head with confusion. "They Grey Fox? What is that?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 07:50 AM

Westley

Westley's eyes widened with shock. "You haven't heard if the Gray Fox?! He's the leader of the thieves guild. The nobleman hate him, but the peasants and beggars love him. Nobody knows what he looks like because he always has a gray cowl on his face. Some say he isn't real, others believe he is just an amazing thief. Those are just rumors though, don't bother with them." Westley crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 07:56 AM

Kayla stared at Westley for a moment. "Well, that was, uh, a mouthful of explanation," she laughed. "As long as he stays away from my things, I won't bother him." She mimicked Westley and crossed her arms, grinning.

"Got a girlfriend in the Imperial City? Maybe a pretty brown-haired woman who's fond of short-tempered men?" she elbowed him and laughed.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 08:00 AM

Westley

"Got a girlfriend in the Imperial City? Maybe a pretty brown-haired woman who's fond of short-tempered men?"

Westley choked and turned a bit red "No. Who are you talking about, I don't have a girlfriend. I live alone on the waterfront district." He started grinning like a madman, and noticed Kayla was mimicking him.

"I'd mimic you, but I'd probably get you upset with my horrible expressions."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 08:05 AM

Kayla laughed at Westley's reaction. "Boy, I don't think you could mimic this gorgeous face if you tried!" She laughed even harder at her own joke, and leaned on Westley for support. She straightened up and wiped her eyes.

"But seriously, no girlfriend? Surely the Imperial City is teeming with lovely women." She raised her eyebrows. "Unless you're not looking for a woman. I'm sure there are many prospects there, no matter what your tastes are." She gave Westley a half smile.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 08:08 AM

Westley

"But seriously, no girlfriend? Surely the Imperial City is teeming with lovely women. Unless you're not looking for a woman. I'm sure there are many prospects there, no matter what your tastes are."

Westley turned a bit more red than before. "I'm looking for a woman, but who wants to go near the anti-social freak who lurks in corners." Westley looked away from Kayla and stared at the ground with a depressed look on his face.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 08:14 AM

Kayla snickered. "You do have that whole 'broody personality' thing going on. Some women find that attractive." She leaned in slightly. "Mystery breeds curiosity. As long as you don't over-do it, that can work to your advantage." She looked thoughtful for a moment.

"For example, if you find yourself in an inn and see a woman you desire, don't stare at her. Glance at her fleetingly, for a small moment, then look away. Don't stare. Staring is creepy." Kayla frowned at Westley's hair. "Comb your hair too, but leave it slightly disheveled." She leaned in and sniffed. "Maybe wash your dog as well. I'm the last person to say anything about washing, but most women don't desire a man who smells like a wet dog."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 08:20 AM

Westley

"You do have that whole 'broody personality' thing going on. Some women find that attractive. Mystery breeds curiosity. As long as you don't over-do it, that can work to your advantage. For example, if you find yourself in an inn and see a woman you desire, don't stare at her. Glance at her fleetingly, for a small moment, then look away. Don't stare. Staring is creepy. Comb your hair too, but leave it slightly disheveled. Maybe wash your dog as well. I'm the last person to say anything about washing, but most women don't desire a man who smells like a wet dog."

Westley was as red as ever. "I don't stare! I can manage my hair, but not smelling like a wet dog isn't possible. I could scrub all of my skin off, and I'd still smell like a dog! I can't help it. That's the way I smell. I don't even own a dog!"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 08:24 AM

Kayla laughed. "Don't get so defensive! I'm only trying to help! And if you can't help the smell, then you need to invest in some musk or something." She poked his belly, even knowing she would only hit his glass armor. "Before we leave on this expedition, find yourself a wench or something. Release some of that tension you have! Good gods, man!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 08:28 AM

Westley

"Before we leave on this expedition, find yourself a wench or something. Release some of that tension you have! Good gods, man!"

Westley snickered "That 'tension' is my personality, and the reason women usually avoid me. I couldn't ever release any of the stress built up inside of me. I was born with it."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 08:32 AM

Kayla rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself," she sighed. "I think you'd calm down if you had a roll in the hay, though. If I see any worthy prospects, I'll send them your way." She returned Westley's smirk. "Just lighten up in the meantime."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 08:37 AM

Westley


"Suit yourself, I think you'd calm down if you had a roll in the hay, though. If I see any worthy prospects, I'll send them your way. Just lighten up in the meantime."

Westley sniggered. "The day I calm down will be the day of my death, and I intend on staying alive for a while. Trust me, all the anger you see is just programmed into me."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 08:42 AM

Kayla gave up and threw her hands in the air. "Then I guess you're doomed, until a woman who is obviously mad, comes up to you and attacks you with kisses or something." She rubbed her forehead. "You're giving me a headache, boy." She laughed. "I've never met a man so intent on NOT getting into bed with a woman!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 08:47 AM

Westley

"Then I guess you're doomed, until a woman who is obviously mad, comes up to you and attacks you with kisses or something." She rubbed her forehead. "You're giving me a headache, boy. I've never met a man so intent on NOT getting into bed with a woman!"

"I never said I don't want to get in bed with a woman, I simply said it won't accomplish anything. I'm always in a [censored] mood! It's just the way I am." Westley smirked at Kayla. She had obviously given up on trying to convince him to release his anger.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 09:00 AM

Had Westley not had on his armor, she would have given him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Then maybe all you need is a good fight. Sometimes knocking parts together doesn't do the trick." She shrugged. Talking about sex was NOT what she had in mind for the morning. She mentally chastised herself for allowing the conversation to turn to it.

"So..." she said awkwardly. "An albino Khajiit is pretty rare to see, I've heard. I wonder if she lives here?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 09:07 AM

Westley


"Then maybe all you need is a good fight. Sometimes knocking parts together doesn't do the trick. So...An albino Khajiit is pretty rare to see, I've heard. I wonder if she lives here?"

"A brawl sound pretty good. And I doubt that Khajiit lives here. You can tell when someone lives in Anvil. They have a certain look, and smell to them. I hope I don't end up in a brawl with that Khajiit though. I'm guessing she knows how to use her claws very well, and the last thing I need is to end up being gutted because I upset her." Westley kicked up some dust.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 09:10 AM

Kayla's face took upon a look of curiosity. "And how does one smell if they live in say, The Imperial City? Does everyone smell like you?" she teased.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 09:14 AM

Westley

"And how does one smell if they live in say, The Imperial City? Does everyone smell like you?"

Westley rolled his eyes. "Nope. I smell special. Everyone in the imperial city smells like scented soap. Except for the people on the waterfront district. They smell like me. Here in Anvil, everyone smells like sea-salt."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 09:18 AM

"What is the Waterfront District? I've heard different things. all I can gather is that it's outside of the Imperial City walls."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 09:25 AM

Westley


"What is the Waterfront District? I've heard different things. all I can gather is that it's outside of the Imperial City walls."

Westley sighed "it's where the Imperial City dumps all of the poor people and criminals."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 09:28 AM

Kayla looked away. "Oh." is all she could say.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 12 2013, 12:17 PM

Drakothemir smiled after Westley spoke. That is all he wanted to hear. In fact, he was more than glad the conversation was short and to the point. He knew he wouldn't have to kill the man right away or any of his friends.

He stood there alone and flashed a smile to everyone, and began starting conversations with people he did not know. One person out of all of them came to mind, however. Macalla. The Vigilante. She seemed to be a worthy opponent and a wonderful pawn. Drakothemir looked around him and came to the conclusion that he had to depart. There were other ways to pursue this adventure, and walking with a pack of jesters would not be the way to go.

Quietly, Drakothemir slipped out and left.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 12 2013, 09:18 PM

Kayla shuffled her feet awkwardly. The conversation had taken an odd turn. She had run out of thing to say, and quite frankly, desired the familiarity of a group. She hooked her arm in Westley's and walked back to the rest.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 12 2013, 10:16 PM

Westley

Westley watched as Kayla shuffled her feet in an awkward way. He knew what had happened. She couldn't think of anything to say. He knew how that felt. Kayla hooked her arm with Westley's and they headed back to the group.

I hope that Ylenno is done with those jokes. In not in the mood to vomit...

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 12 2013, 11:38 PM

Lycus Desselius.

The room of the Adventurer’s Guild was large and sparse, with rich tapestries on the magically polished walls, expensive rugs on the marble floor, and with the ceiling dressed with marvelous carvings of silver. Behind an wooden, gold-inlaid table sat a man named Lycus Desselius, whose broad shoulders, http://oi48.tinypic.com/2rfdbo5.jpg, hard pectorals, sculpted abdominals and sun-kissed skin(that hid under a simple brown shirt)seemed rather out of place among the luxurious hall. He seemed more a man that is part of the wilderness and the forests and hills and plains. His small movements bespoke of steel-bred muscled warrior to a sharp mind. His speech is that of a wise man. There was nothing deliberate or forced about his mannerisms.

His garments were of simple fabric. His roughspewn shirt was brown and almost tattered, his pants were of the same color and less extravagant. His black traveler's boots were new, however, and shiny. He wore no expensive rings or jewelry save for a necklace made of lupine teeth that hung around his neck. http://oi46.tinypic.com/9iz0ox. Written in his arms were scars of past battles, which told to most this man had seen his share of fighting. More than most.

Set aside nearby was his spear, made of silver and adorned with Daedric lettering that seemed to have been burned alongside the sharp tip. Concealed in his boot was a sharp primeval-looking dagger, and sheathed on his sides is a jewel-encrusted scimitar and a wicked-looking Orsimer sword, both edges crafted to the sharpest of points.

He stood alone, partaking in the local dish that was on display and presented freely to thrill-seekers. He sampled the various foods. He popped grapes into his mouth, cut away the pieces of roasted boar and venison and broke an oven-baked loaf of bread in half and filled both with melted cheese. He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, for he already had scoped it out the moment he walked in. He heard different conversations come and go, and even cracked half a smirk at some of the crude jokes that were told. But he minded his own business for now.

That was, of course, to say that others didn’t respect his sense of privacy. A young High Elf girl, no more than the age of seventeen, approached his side to try out some of the succulent meats and fruits and sweets that were presented. She was undoubtedly a servant girl, but was willing to sneak in some mouthfuls. She glanced at Lycus indifferently and looked back to her plate, only to look back at him once more to stare. Lycus pretended he didn’t see her, and remained that way until her glaring was far too extreme for his own liking. Slowly, he turned to meet her gaze.

She squinted her eyes to try and discover something. As if she was trying to capture a memory that was lost to her. The woman suddenly widened her eyes and gasped lightly. “I know you! I’ve seen you before!”

“Woman. You are mistaken,” he told her. “I have been abroad for many years. It has been sometime since I returned to Cyrodiil.”

“Six years ago!”

Lycus remained silent. He knew where this was going.

“The arena! You are Kraven Desselius! Beast of Kvatch! Slayer of Beasts! The Undefeated Cyrodiil! Champion of the Imperial City Arena!”

There was no denying it. “I stand the man.”

“Yes! I knew it! Oh by Azura! I am such a fan! I was a girl back then but I still remember your face from the posters. I can’t believe your standing here! Next to me! Can I . . .join you?”

“If you could bestow upon me a simple favor.”

“Anything.”

“Do not make mention of my presence in this city to anyone. I would be pleased if I was given the privilege to walk unhindered.”

She looked disappointed. “Well, uh, that’s fine. My friends wouldn’t believe me anyways.”

“Gratitude.”

“Would you want anything else? For me to rub your back? Your feet? Carry your gear into battle? Shine your boots! Give you a kiss . .. “

“Woman.” Lycus said again, a bit more sternly this time but with a measure of gentleness. “I require no servants. Especially not from a fellow admirer.”

“Oh.”

“I must leave now,” he said to her. “For I am in a hurry. I wish you good fortune in your life. May fate smile upon you one day and you to it. Farewell” With those words, he gave her a loaf of his bread and smiled without showing any teeth.

The star-struck fan was left with her mouth gaped open. “But . . .one kiss!”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 13 2013, 05:18 AM

Kayla led Westley to the group, then announced that she hadn't had anything to eat.

"I think we all know how ravenous I can get," she joked. "I'm going to see if I can get a small plate."

She picked her way through the crowd and heard a young elven girl pestering a man about a kiss.

"But... just one kiss!" she pleaded.

Kayla rolled her eyes and snorted, pushing the elven girl aside.

"Young lady, do not throw yourself at men. You let them come to you." She chastised. "Now please, step aside, before my appetite makes me less choosy about my meat."

The girl slunk away before shooting Kayla a cold look. Kayla turned to the man.

"I apologize. Not all elves are like that."

And with that, she began filling her plate. Various fruits and meats were piled on as she silently stood next to the man. She stepped aside so others could fill theirs, and began to snack.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 13 2013, 06:24 AM

Ylenno stared at the claw that was being brandished about by a white-furred Khajiit with red hair the color of pure magma. His knees became water and his stomach liquified as his eyes followed the claw here and there.

When the Khajiit left, he breathed an immenslely relieved sigh.

"Dear gods, that cat was crazy! Threatening to proctologize the mighty Bush Tickler! Hagh! I think not, love! He still has many more... ehh, you know what, no, I won't continue that sentence."

He pointed at Westley, coming back from somehere with Kayla.

"Virgin-boy here doesn't approve. Yeah, I saw you kick that pebble at that lamp-post. You shouldn't really kick things at lamp-posts y'know; instead, why don't you lick 'em? Particulary in winter. Yes, winter. Licking lamp-posts in winter is always a good way to relieve yourself of that ever-heavy tension you got there."

He gave the lad another smile as he turned towards Buffy. He had a serious and grim look etched at his face.

"Oh, yes. In all seriousness, things like that did happen and WILL happen. I once stabbed a guy in the eye with Tickler here, and the eyeball got stuck. Nasty business, that."

He suddenly clapped his hands, and he had that omnipresent smile that was quick to be followed with his laughter. He gestured at Kayla who already entered ahead of the rest.

"Kayla the Insatiable Hunger has led the way! We must follow!"

Truth be told.

When Ylenno trailed after the nordic Altmer inside, his jaw almost fell from his face. All around him was beauty that belonged in a very rich castle rather than a Guildhall for mercenaries. It was large, it was wide, and it was classy beyond reason. Ylenno once visited the gilded halls of Cheydinhal's castle. He is willing to admit that the richness flounted over there utterly pales in comparison to here.

There were mercenaries strewn about, minding their businesses or signing up forms in rich mahogany tables inlaid with gold. Here and there were people with green bands around there shoulders; Adventurer Guildsmen, no doubt, acting as security. There were even a few Fighters Guild men smudged here and there.

He walked along the smooth, black marble floor, and followed the scent of free food while admiring the glories of the Guildhall. He stopped once and examined a butterfly-looking jug on a pedestal with a soft, velvet pillow underneath it. A single description says that this jug was recovered by one Celdryn Minan'Kherus, in the ruins of a dangerous Ayleid ruin near the Valenwood border. A wretched and hateful dagger of Daedric metals was caged in a display case, and a glass container above the case held a humming orb of pure darkness. Both were the loot of another Adventurer as he dared the bowels of Oblivion.

Trophies of the Adventurers, both unseeming and epic, were placed here in the Spot of Fame, a ten-feet large shelf with all of their accomplishments in view for those who wished to see. Needless to say, all of them were glorious.

He resumed following the scent and spotted Kayla picking from an abundant table with... with... with....

Kraven Desselius. There was no denying it. Ylenno has got to say that the posters didn't do him any justice. The stones on this guy impressed even him, but the streak he enjoyed in the Arena and the euphoria of Cyrodiil moaning his name six years ago impressed him more. Some would even go far as to say that he was an equal of Shinji.

He approached Kayla, and sat between her and Kraven. He took a silver goblet and filled it with honeyed wine.

"This Oedipus Nebraska must be a stinking rich noble-rat! Look at all this stuff! Its practically a thief's wet dream!"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 13 2013, 06:36 AM

"It IS beautiful," Kayla admitted. "But it seems like a lot of waste to me. I hope they give the leftovers to the workers and the poor on the streets," she said, casting a sideways glance at Westley. "The coin from one of these artifacts alone could shame a jarl into hiding."

She brought a cool glass of water to her lips. She leaned back slightly in her seat, stomach satisfied.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 13 2013, 06:43 AM

Ylenno gave a shrug as he reached out for silverwares. He added to his plate several cuts of venison, a spoonful of vegetables, a large smoked fish and a bowl of steaming rice. He dipped the rice with some soy sauce and twinkled it with various herbs.

"I'm feeling Akaviri cuisine today," he remarked. "Its a good thing they serve some acceptable replacements here."

He then turned to Kraven.

"Generous people, these Adventurers, eh?"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 13 2013, 08:17 AM

Lycus Desselius.

Lycus moved to the other side of the table and away from the young lady when she called out to him for a kiss. It was then that another High Elf woman, much older than her but looking the same with her auburn hair and yellow eyes, rebuked the young woman with womanly advice. One that Lycus was all too familiar with. She then apologized to him after the young lady vanished from sight.

"I apologize. Not all elves are like that." The stranger said to him.Lycus appraised her with his solemn bright hazel eyes and kept a neutral expression. The first thing he noticed about this woman was not good looks, for most Altmer women looked the same to him. But there was something that seperated this one from the others. Her hardened appearance and of course, that foreign Nordic accent.

Living in Skyrim for three years Lycus had integrated himself to their warrior culture. Those were hardened people. Honorable men and women, who grabbed life by the throat and made it sing with a combination of blood, sweat, tears and mead. Even the farmers themselves knew a thing or two about living by the sword or the axe. It wasn't everyday that a Elf, especially an Altmer, would adopt their culture. She was an obvious one.

Lycus added some extra food to his plate. "I would disagree. Most of the Dark Elves are. Certainly not the High Elves. I feared you were her sister when my eyes first set upon you. I am pressed to believe you are different from the other questionable Mer women that crossed paths with me."

He debated on the types of drink he could get. Most were alcoholic beverages to cool the tongue and wash down the food, but somewhere in there there was a jug of fresh water that Lycus felt tempted to get. Wine was good, indeed, but water was also good for the body. In quiet moments or when in the company of friends, he would drink wine. But it wasn't always good to drink it before battle. And he knew that Fort Sutch would be a challenge with all of the armed men that were eager to set foot upon its forgotten soil.

Looking for a place to seat himself, Lycus heard one of the loud Bosmer's enter his field of vision. It was the one with the roguish qualities, who sported a wicked axeblade and was garbed in padded jerkins. His exotic hairstyle, boasted to the extreme for tickling women's treasured parts, was one of the things that made him stand out. The rest was his jeweled necklace and other assortments. Lycus did not know this man but he could tell easily that he was thief. The Wood Elf's later comment about the place being a thief's paradise only reinforced the idea. He was a comical one, Lycus knew. He reminded him of a friend he once had back in his slave years, Daenlin, who once bragged about having a magic cöck.

He was already aquainted with the High Elf woman, who somewhat confirmed she was Nordic when she made a mention of jarls and not Altmeri rulers. And unlike most of her brethren, she was not impressed by the grand display of art by the fellow Nebraska. "But it seems like a lot of waste to me. I hope they give the leftovers to the workers and the poor on the streets."

"They'd sooner feed it to the hounds." Lycus mumbled, mostly to himself, in a gruff voice.

"Generous people, these Adventurers, eh?" The rogue said to him right after he said that. Lycus, already seated, raised his head to look at the man as he chewed down his food.

"The food does fill the belly. It is well received." Lycus remarked. He stared at the man for a long two seconds before turning elsewhere. He looked at all the mercenaries and soldiers, both fresh and seasoned, walk the building grounds. But he was far more concerned about the young men that walked in wearing rusty armor or gear stolen from their wealthy parents. Young boys seeking to brave the harsh world and to live a perilous life of adventure.

"This places promises much. Honey for the eyes, wine for the tongue and promise of future glories. The storied pleasures of life." he cracked a smile. "It brings in too many young ones though. Boys playing at being men."

This wasn't an insult to the Bosmer, though. Lycus could see that this man was street-smart and possible had a nose that had been broken at least two times. His scars told of a violent life, which Lycus understood completely. Though he could not truly judge the character of the man right away, he felt he would get along with him.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 13 2013, 08:24 AM

"It brings in too many young ones though. Boys playing at being men."

Kayla nodded. "That's what the word 'adventure' does to young ones. You're only showed the glory, never the hardship." She turned in her seat towards the man and extended her hand.

"Kayla."

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 13 2013, 10:40 PM

Lycus Desselius.

"It is through hardships that glory can be attained. One day or another they will discover this. But what they do with such discover is the true test of character." Lycus replied to the woman who introduced herself as Kayla. Lycus brought the expensive cup to his lip and drank the water away before setting it down slightly. He turned to the Altmer and shook her hand with a slightly firm grip.

"Lycus," the former gladiator said as he released her hand. He turned back into his food and finished his last portion of vegetables and spices by shoving a forkful into his mouth.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 13 2013, 11:55 PM

Buffy:

The snow white Khajiit with flaming locks and brandishing a single extended claw, slipped away almost as suddenly as she had appeared. Her size – almost as small as Buffy – and exotic coloring perfectly matched the description given by Delphine Jend of a friend of hers. Had Buffy read the Khajiit’s name somewhere, she would have instantly been able to recall it, but she struggled sometimes to recall the words of distant conversations. Then it hit her: Maxical. But again, the Khajiit was gone before Buffy could react.

The group around her was sparse now, as most had wandered into the guild hall proper. Shouldering the bow she had been pretending to inspect, Buffy’s buckskin boots moved noiselessly from the fine stone front alcove onto the smooth black marble inside. She plucked several strawberries from the bountiful tables inside and nibbled while wandering among the exotic treasures on display upon shelves or protected inside opulent glass fronted cabinetry. Tapestries lined the walls and, as Buffy looked up, a massive chandelier of wrought iron hosted countless glowing stones – the kind found growing from the walls in some Ayleid ruins. Higher still, decoratively stamped copper panels were inlaid into the ceiling.

Turning her attention to those who populated the room, it was Kayla’s auburn locks that caught her eye. As Buffy approached, the Altmer shook hands with a muscular man dressed in a tattered shirt. His complexion had a swarthy tone that perhaps marked him as Nibenean, as did the long black hair that trailed down his back. The bladed weaponry he sported appeared to be of high quality, but such things were lost on the mystic archer. The only blades she knew how to use were small hunting knives that she summoned for cooking, field dressing game or cutting her own arrows from foes. The human’s pants matched his humble shirt, and even bore the patches of several repairs. They were tucked into surprisingly high quality black leather boots.

When Buffy got close enough, she heard the man say, “Lycus,” as his hand parted from Kayla’s.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 02:28 AM

Westley

Westley headed into the guild hall with Kayla and Ylenno for a bite to eat.

"Virgin-boy here doesn't approve. Yeah, I saw you kick that pebble at that lamp-post. You shouldn't really kick things at lamp-posts y'know; instead, why don't you lick 'em? Particulary in winter. Yes, winter. Licking lamp-posts in winter is always a good way to relieve yourself of that ever-heavy tension you got there."

Westley ignored Ylenno's joke. He was busy eyeing the food on a nearby table. He lurked in the background while Kayla had a conversation with tan-skinned, muscular Imperial man dressed in tattered clothing. He had lost interest in the conversation the moment it started. He started feeling claustrophibic. There were quite a few people in the guildhall, and it made him uncomfortable. He needed some fresh air before he ended up in anterrible mood and started snapping at people. Westley briefly interrupted the conversation.

"Kayla, if you need anything I'll be outside in front of the guildhall."

Westley exited the place and sat on a nearby crate while he watched Buffy enter the building.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 14 2013, 03:45 AM

Lycus Desselius.

Lycus tilted his head slightly, eyes widening quite brief that only those with the sharpest of vision would have noticed. He focused in on the Imperial man who he had seen before, but never bothered to speak to. His hazel eyes gazed upon unsavory-looking man making his way behind Kayla.

He noticed from quite a distance that he avoided any social conversations. His facial features sprinkled with anger and bitterness was evident to even those with the untrained eye. His mannerisms and gestures were hostile and aggressive and there was an animalistic touch to it.

When Lycus arrived in Anvil he had he had heard gossip of a werewolf sighting. A rumor that filled his ears last night. He didn't suspect it was false. In fact, he knew the rumors were true. There were many reasons he was aware there was a werewolf among the people. One of those reasons was the smell alone.

The Imperial knew what the other Imperial was by the following; the scent and the behavior. Even in human form, Lycus could tell when a man was also a beast. His present shape could not deceive him; he knew full well that the short-haired, blue-eyed man was not really a normal man at all but a Lycanthrope. A werewolf.

"Kayla, if you need anything I'll be outside in front of the guildhall." He spoke and headed out, vanishing from sight. Lycus did not remove his eyes from the man sometime.

They are aquainted. Friends, maybe . . . Lycus reflected.

He turned to Kayla and saw a woman of small stature approach. He immedietly figured her for a Bosmer. The big ears, azure eyes, and petite face was among the things Lycus noticed right away. Like him, she wore simple attire that came in shades of brown and olive. The way she stood behind the Altmer told Lycus that they also were somehow aquainted with each other.

Lycus was much taller than the Bosmeri woman, who to the average man was very short. To her he might have seemed like a brute giant. His eyes lowered toward hers and he took on a serious look. "You all are known to each other?"

Posted by: Acadian Feb 14 2013, 04:18 AM

Buffy:

Lycus set his plate on the nearby table, looked at Buffy and said, “You are all known to each other?”

She looked up at the black haired human who was easily two and a half times her weight. His waist was trim and the simple shirt he wore did little to conceal the powerful looking muscles beneath it. “We met only yesterday, but yes. I gather you’ve met Kayla. The young armored Imperial who just stepped outside is Westley.” She smiled and tapped the side of her head. “I’m sorry, but with these ears I could not help but hear that your name is Lycus as you spoke it to Kayla. Oh, and I am called Buffy. I’m a mystic archer, here representing the Council of Mages.” She waved her hand to indicate the large room they stood in. “Are you a member of the Adventurers Guild?”

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 05:20 AM

Kayla frowned slightly. Westley had, yet again, separated himself from the group for an unknown reason. She huffed into her glass, then drank the last of the now-warm water. She thought about following him, and mulled over it for a moment.

Maybe he found himself a woman and is playing hard-to-get now, she thought. She looked around the guildhall. There were plenty of beautiful women to suit any type of man's needs. Tall, elegant Altmer, gruff she-orcs, dainty Bosmers and Bretons, sleek Khajiit and Argonians. Even battle-hardened Imperial women. But when she looked back in the direction he had headed, she found he was gone.

Wonderful.

With Westley gone, she had no one to pick on besides teeny Buffy. She did not know the newcomer well enough, and the others were oddly silent.

She sighed and kept silent.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 05:26 AM

Westley

Westley sat on the crate for a few moments, and inhaled the fresh air. He found himself disliking sitting in the crate alone, and the smell of the food had made him hungry. He decided to go back into the guildhall. He picked at some of the meat dishes and had an apple before relocating the group. Kayla was standing there awkwardly, not speaking to anyone.

"And I thought I wasn't the most talkative person, but it seems you guys are awfully quiet."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 05:29 AM

Kayla laughed. "Me? Quiet? Nope, just a tad cranky. My sword arm is turning to jelly." She grinned at Westley, gesturing to the room full of various women. "See anything you like? There's plenty to choose from, and I'm sure any of them would give you a run for your money!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 05:32 AM

Westley

"See anything you like? There's plenty to choose from, and I'm sure any of them would give you a run for your money!"

Westley glanced around, and his eye twitched.

"No. I'm fine. I'd prefer to stay over here with you guys. I only left because I get claustrophobic sometimes. Besides, I like to save my money"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 05:41 AM

Had Kayla been eating or drinking anything, she would have choked. She covered her mouth and turned red, giggling into her hand. She leaned on Westley's shoulder, gasping for air through her laughter.

"Mara's teat, you're mean!" she laughed.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 05:45 AM

Westley

Westley watched as Kayla turned red and started giggling. He easily supported her weight when she leaned on his shoulder, taking desperate gasps if air.

"Mara's teat, you're mean!"

Westley grinned. "Not mean, just stubborn."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 05:50 AM

"Aye, stubborn you definitely are." She patted his shoulder and grinned. "Try to stay inside, in case Oedipus Nebraska decides to speak soon, okay?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 05:53 AM

Westley


"Aye, stubborn you definitely are. Try to stay inside, in case Oedipus Nebraska decides to speak soon, okay?"

"I'll try, but if I get too claustrophobic I'll have to get fresh air or I'll garner unwanted attention. I'll most likely miss him speaking if I go after any women as well." Westley smirked at Kayla, and grabbed some mutton off if the table in front of him.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 05:55 AM

Kayla smirked right back. "Not if I come right up behind you and smack you upside the head and say 'BOY! Listen!' Though that might not work in your favor with the woman!" she laughed.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 06:00 AM

Westley

"Not if I come right up behind you and smack you upside the head and say 'BOY! Listen!' Though that might not work in your favor with the woman!"

"I'd probably have a heart-attack from not expecting to be hit in the head." Westley snickered.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 06:04 AM

Kayla laughed and playfully slapped Westley on the arm.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 06:17 AM

Westley

Westley stood there while Kayla playfully slapped him on his arm. He was running out if things to say, so he just wolfed down his mutton.

"Are you excited about this expedition?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 06:26 AM

Kayla nodded. "I'm eager to explore. Find things no one else has found. Then move on to the next." She shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe there's really nothing in there. Though I doubt it. What about you?" She raised her brows. "Calm down on the mutton, boy. You'll choke to death."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 06:28 AM

Westley

"I'm eager to explore. Find things no one else has found. Then move on to the next. Who knows? Maybe there's really nothing in there. Though I doubt it. What about you? Calm down on the mutton, boy. You'll choke to death."

Westley proceeded to quickly eat the mutton before speaking. "I came seeking fame and fortune. I'm getting sick of being treated like a beggar."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 06:31 AM

Remembering her first few years on her own, Kayla could sympathize. For some reason, a dirty, poor Altmer was hilarious to others. She patted Westley's arm.

"I don't blame you one bit. Times are hard right now. Then again, when aren't they for the lower classes?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 06:34 AM

Westley

"I don't blame you one bit. Times are hard right now. Then again, when aren't they for the lower classes?"

"I'm poor to the point where I have to hunt for my food. A lot of people in the waterfront are like that, and nobody does anything to help. A few coins could feed a person for a day! Is it that hard to part with a few coins! Anyway, I do a lot of adventuring. That's where I get my money." Westley reached for another piece of mutton.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 06:38 AM

"Oh yeah? What do you hunt with? A bow? Or do you fall on top of the deer, crushing it to death?" she teased.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 06:44 AM

Westley

"Oh yeah? What do you hunt with? A bow? Or do you fall on top of the deer, crushing it to death?"

Westley chuckled at Kayla's joke. "I'm fast enough to catch up with a deer and kill it with a dagger, but I usually use a bow."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 06:54 AM

Kayla's eyebrows nearly went into her hairline. "You... catch the deer?!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 06:57 AM

"You... catch the deer?!"

"Yea, I'm fast enough to catch the deer. Not sure why, I've always been a fast runner."

Westley started wolfing down another piece of mutton as he wondered while Kayla was so surprised he could catch a deer.

Are people not capable of catching deer or what?

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 14 2013, 07:19 AM

Lycus Desselius:

Lycus looked down upon the friendly Wood Elf who introduced herself as Buffy. It was a unique name for a Mer but he has heard stranger. The name itself suited her for some reason. She told him she heard him reveal his name to Kayla, pointing to her own large set of ears. She represented the Council of Mages, and with recurve bow, she was a mystic archer and represented the Council of Mages.

It was then that Lycus saw that this lithe and tiny Bosmer might have more to her than he first set eyes on her. Her voice betrayed no lies or deceit. Lycus was good at judging the character of a person and he could see that she was quite deadly with the bow. Especially after she raised her hand, Lycus saw the bumps she had at the edge of her fingers which were proof that she was good with the ranged weapon. He would have to see her in action first, but there was no doubt that she was a deadly archer when the time came to take a life.

To answer her question, Lycus shook his head and tried to put aside the fact that most people were now crowding the table and eating away some of the food that he wanted to sample. "A pleasure, Buffy. I am no member of the Guild. I come in response to invitation and a request for one other."

After a moment, the man called Westley returned to the group and sought out to kill his hunger by eating more food. From there he could see that he and Kayla had a sort of a bond. They were friends. The manner in which they teased one another signified a friendship. Lycus had to wonder though . . .would it last? He didn't know the man's intention but he did know that he was dangerous to those around him. As all werewolves are. They can be unpredictable when their bestial instincts take over and those closest to them can be harmed or even killed.

"I'm poor to the point where I have to hunt for my food. A lot of people in the waterfront are like that, and nobody does anything to help. A few coins could feed a person for a day! Is it that hard to part with a few coins! Anyway, I do a lot of adventuring. That's where I get my money." Westley said to Kayla.

Lycus held back a smile. This was a memory he had long ago. Living in poverty near the Great Forest at his parent's farm. Hunting for food to sustain his family who were deeply entrenched in debt. Lycus also remembered sneaking away at night to the Waterfront to earn extra coin by gambling. Part of him back then wished he had gone adventuring instead. But then he would have never become the man he is today. Fate has such a intricate way of dealing with a person that to this day it baffled him the point where he stopped trying to understand it. There are times that will always be difficult for the poor. But in those struggles, if fought and won, can yield the greatest of rewards. People become great by hardship and problems. And by learning from those shortcomings they become wiser and a far better person.

The conversation went from that to hunting deer. Something Lycus was good at since he was a young lad many years ago. He was a gifted hunter and it was one of his hobbies; he killed for both sport and nutrition. He turned to Westley, though the look on his face was serious but not hostile. "An arrow is swift and precise but it requires effort to make sure the destination of its course is true. The shafts must be straight and made of seasoned wood. It has to be feathered with delicate care otherwise it will prove unbalanced."

He paused and reached out for the large spear that stood against the wall beside him. "The bow is among my favorite of hunting tools next to snares. Though my love for the spear outweights my care for the bow. The spear is a marvelous weapon and the damage that can be inflicted upon prey is amazing. It is a tool used even by the Daedric Lord, Hircine. Those with a strong arm can throw it from a tree or even pursue deer on foot."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 14 2013, 07:27 AM

Westley

Westley was caught by surprise when the dark-skinned imperial in tattered clothing spoke to him.

An arrow is swift and precise but it requires effort to make sure the destination of its course is true. The shafts must be straight and made of seasoned wood. It has to be feathered with delicate care otherwise it will prove unbalanced. The bow is among my favorite of hunting tools next to snares. Though my love for the spear outweights my care for the bow. The spear is a marvelous weapon and the damage that can be inflicted upon prey is amazing. It is a tool used even by the Daedric Lord, Hircine. Those with a strong arm can throw it from a tree or even pursue deer on foot."

Westley paused for a moment, and noticed the familiar smell of this man. Them it hit him.

Good gods, first a vampire, now another werewolf! I hope he isn't aggressive.

Westley sighed "I've never used a spear. I stick with bows and pursuing the deer on foot. It's not that hard for me."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 07:34 AM

Kayla saw the pause in Westley. She slid her eyes from Lycus to Westley.

Hmmm.

She shrugged it off.

"Is Hircine the only daedric prince you're versed in, Lycus?" She asked casually.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 14 2013, 07:51 AM

Lycus Desselius:

"Nor should it be. You strike me as a capable hunter. As long as you keep your eyes on the prey and not the horizon, you should fare quite well." Lycus told him, still never smiling nor grinning. He simply remained neutral as if afraid to show any emotion.

The Altmer woman turned her attention to him and asked him if Hircine was the only Daedric Lord he was an expert at. Lycus angled his spear to the side and locked eyes with the High Elf. "I hold knowledge about the Daedric Lords. Mora, Clavicus, Sanguine, Meridia and all the others," he explained. "I set Hircine above them all. He is a patron of hunters and many of us revere him, for he guides. I had always worshiped him as a deity when I was but a young lad in the Great Forest. I needed food for my family so I hunted in his name, whispering it each time I slit my quarrie's throat."

Lycus sat back in his seat and picked off a piece of roasted chicken with his finger. "He favored my hunting and was well-pleased by the sport and blessed me with a greater chance at a succesful hunt. Each week I was able to feed my family."

Lycus, of course, did not tell Kayla or Westley everything. He had an unfortunate history with Daedric Princes that even seasoned wizards would have deemed his experience an impossible occurence. Lycus had a vast knowledge of the princes but it was Hircine whom he understood the most of all.

The Imperial werewolf looked at Westley and allowed his gaze to linger. His eyes narrowed and remained there. He wasn't challenging the man nor was he seeking any quarrel . . .but there was something else there. Hidden. "Daedra are unpredicable deities. Sometimes they bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon. Hircine though . . .Hircine does not indulge in the fickle, and he certainly holds no love for those who spit upon his gifts. He can be a powerful foe and a force to be reckoned with."

I know . . .for I have seen him.

He turned to Kayla. "It is why I always seek to honor him in my hunts," he said, and then paused with an upraised brow. "Why do you ask such a thing?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 08:18 AM

Kayla's mouth twitched in a smile.

"I wasn't aware daedra worship was alright to speak about freely. Like you hold Hircine on a pedestal, I hold Meridia. I suppose you could say she gave me a second chance at life." Kayla blinked away the reverie of her past, and gave Lycus a half-smile. "So when I slit a vampire's throat, I also whisper her name."

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 14 2013, 12:39 PM

OOC: Stop bloody posting when I'm asleep!

Tarrick

Tarrick was about to follow the others into the Guildhall when he felt a hand tapping on his shoulder. He turned around to see a Khajiit standing behind him, Kharaz, another member of the Thieves' Guild.

"What is it, Kharaz?" he asked.

"There's a problem with the Guild," the Khajiit said. "You know Coin-Eye?"

"The Argonian who's lousy at gambling, yeah, I know him," Tarrick said. He glanced over at hall of the Adventurer's Guild. "Listen, is this that important? I've got things I need to do right now."

"Yes it is," Kharaz said. "That idiot lizard won a gambling stake which he was supposed to lose a couple of nights ago; Orrin wants to make an example of him but he escaped."

"If you want me to join a manhunt or something, don't bother," Tarrick said. "I'm going to be out of town for a week or so, maybe longer. Going on this expedition."

"I wasn't going to ask you that," Kharaz said. "But have you seen him?"

"Neither scale nor tale," Tarrick said, silently congratulating himself for the rhyme. "Probably won't have much luck finding him, if I'm honest; he'd have skipped town by now."

"Fine," the Khajiit shrugged. "You go have fun on your grand adventure, Tarrick."

He left, and Tarrick squeezed through the doors to find the rest of the group. They hadn't gone far, congregating around some tables where food was being served, and he hurried up to join them.

"Sorry about disappearing there," he said by way of greeting. "Friend of mine saw me and wanted a chat."

He noticed the tall, well-built Imperial with long hair and caramel skin, who had just finished saying something to Kayla.

"I don't think we've met, have we?" Tarrick said to him. He extended a hand. "Tarric Kathram, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 14 2013, 01:45 PM

Lycus Desselius:

Lycus shook his head to the side to Kayla. "It is not. Since the end of the Oblivion Crisis there are those who do not tread common ground with Daedra or those who worship them. Hunting order's have been formed and open season proclaimed on tracking down anyone affiliated with Daedra. The remnants of the Mythic Dawn are being hunted throughout Cyrodiil. I pass news of three sleeper agents who were executed in Skingrad."

"Understand that Hircine is the Spirit of the Hunt, and all who hunt are walking in his sway, whether it is realized or not. I advise you to hold your tongue on your personal devotion to Meridia, as I should Hircine. She is considered a benevolent Prince . . .but that is of little importance to those who fear the Lord of Oblivion. After Mehrune's attempt, the hate for them has risen as flames."

Before he spoke the group was approached by another man. A Redguard. Lycus saw that they were all part of a group that would take part in the expedition to Fort Sutch. They were people of different skills and combat ways.

"Sorry about disappearing there," the Redguard man. "Friend of mine saw me and wanted a chat."

He was the same as any other typical Redguard. Short wiry hair, dark skin and a goatee. He seemed more cheerful than some of the others that Lycus came across at the docks a day ago. He looked at Lycus, extended his hand and introduced himself.

The Imperial returned the gesture, clasping his hand with a tight and very firm handshake, quite stronger than he did with Kayla. "Lycus."

He didn't bother revealing his last name.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 14 2013, 02:50 PM

Great, Ylenno thought as he gobbled up the last smidgen of the rice bowl. The Grand Champion's a godsdamned Daedra worshipper, and Kayla was one too. He reached for a baked apple and popped a slice in his mouth. THey talked about it rather casually too, and didn't gave a rat's @ss at the wary looks given their way. As their talk of supplication ended with Lycus being acquianted with the returned Tarrick. Ylenno chewed on a gummy cinnamon roll as they spoke a brief pleasantry. They shook hands, and the elf noticed that the handshake was firm in the part of Lycus. Guy was powerful ineed; he saw veins rippling in that muscled forearm of his.

He rose from his seat when all around them the other sign-ups began to file in another room. He looked at the others.

"Spank me from behind and call me Kimberly, but I think the announcement's starting."

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 14 2013, 04:40 PM

OOC: DE, Tarrick doesn't actually have a goatee; he's clean-shaven, and his profile actually said that he once experimented with one but didn't think it suited him.

Tarrick

Lycus had one hell of a grip, Tarrick found, and the Redguard was thankful that the man didn't try and squeeze. He was about to make a few enquiries when Ylenno spoke.

"Spank me from behind and call me Kimberly, but I think the announcement's starting."

"That so, Kimberly?" Tarrick asked. He noticed the other people beginning to head out of the signing up area in the Atrium and into the main hall. "I think he's right, let's go."

He hurried through the doorway into a large hall, filled with benches and with a temporary stage erected at the far end; by the trophies and weapons mounted on the walls, and a generous hearth off to one side, Tarrick suspected that this was usually the main area that the Guild used for dining and socialising. He found a seat, and waited as the hall began to fill.



GM Post

A murmur ran along the hall as a man took the stage. He was an Imperial, tall, imposing, well built. A crimson, fur-lined cloak spanned his shoulders and whispered against the floor, and his weathered and hardened and regal features were framed with a mane of dark, shaggy hair, indiciating a little recent Nord blood in the family line, and a small, well-kept beard, both streaked with grey.

"Greetings, my friends," he said warmly, his voice deep and rich. "I trust that you have all found the hospitality of my guild to your satisfaction. No doubt you're all here, and all immensely curious, about this expedition that I have proposed to the caverns beneath Fort Sutch's ruins. Well, I shall endeavour now to provide you with as much information as possible."

He held up the Black Horse Courier, the edition which had announced the expedition.

"Now, some of you may remember this edition of the Courier, where a brief history of the city of Suchamel was mentioned along with the announcement of this venture," Oedipus said. "In ancient times, Suchamel was once a bustling metropolis before it was razed, but the only marker of it existing today in an old, ruined fortress, so fallen into disrepair that very little of it remains today. But beneath that, we of the Adventurer's Guild discovered tunnels!"

He paused for a moment, and a shadow flitted across his face.

"It was unfortunate for us that we also found that these tunnels were already occupied. Our expedition was attacked by pale creatures with strange weapons, but before our expedition was driven off, we discovered a pair of doors at the end of a tunnel, ones of iron and heavy oak and bound by spells. I wished to investigate further, and I am convinced that the ruins of Suchamel lie beyond them, and to this end, I have organised this very expedition you are all here for; as well as the fine men and women of my guild, I have need of strong arms to fend off these beasts, and of mages capable of dispelling the protection upon this door. For those of you who are here, I assure you that this expedition will be worth your time, whether you seek glory, hidden knowledge, riches and treasures or simply wish for a particularly exciting story with which to one day entertain your grandchildren, I assure you that you shall be provided for."

He took a moment and added; "Do any of you have any questions?"

Posted by: Acadian Feb 14 2013, 05:24 PM

Buffy:

As the group filed into the briefing room, Buffy was drawn to the crackling fire that called her to a seat near it. An imposing caped figure swept into the room. His graying hair and wizened face bespoke of a hard life, with more of his short human lifespan behind than ahead of him. Everything about the man understatedly declared he was in charge. No introduction of Oedipus Nebraska, Master of the Adventurers Guild was necessary.

After briefly outlining what was largely known from the reports Buffy had read, Oedipus asked for questions.

The elf was instantly on her feet. “I thank you for the hospitality that you and your guild have provided this morning. My name’s Buffy and I have some experience dispelling magical wardings that I hope can prove useful in proceeding deeper into the ruins. My inquiry is for any additional information you can provide regarding the pale goblin-like foes you encountered. Their favored tactics, resistances and such.” She sat back down.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 14 2013, 07:00 PM

Kayla knew what her question was.

"Have you found what these pale beasts are, and what their weakness are yet? Poison? Fire? A sword to the gut?" She gripped Dawnbreaker's hilt for comfort with her left hand. All sense of joking was gone from her face, replaced with a steely expression. This was her life, and others' lives at stake.

"Are they alive or undead? That is my main question."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 15 2013, 03:02 AM

Westley

Westley followed the group as they entered the room for Oedipus' announcement. The room was filling quite rapidly, and it wouldn't be long before there were no more seats available. He was forced to wrestle his way to a seat, and when he did get one, it was quite close to the group.

He listened to Oedipus' announcement while he slumped back in his chair.

"Greetings, my friends, I trust that you have all found the hospitality of my guild to your satisfaction. No doubt you're all here, and all immensely curious, about this expedition that I have proposed to the caverns beneath Fort Sutch's ruins. Well, I shall endeavour now to provide you with as much information as possible. Now, some of you may remember this edition of the Courier, where a brief history of the city of Suchamel was mentioned along with the announcement of this venture, In ancient times, Suchamel was once a bustling metropolis before it was razed, but the only marker of it existing today in an old, ruined fortress, so fallen into disrepair that very little of it remains today. But beneath that, we of the Adventurer's Guild discovered tunnels! It was unfortunate for us that we also found that these tunnels were already occupied. Our expedition was attacked by pale creatures with strange weapons, but before our expedition was driven off, we discovered a pair of doors at the end of a tunnel, ones of iron and heavy oak and bound by spells. I wished to investigate further, and I am convinced that the ruins of Suchamel lie beyond them, and to this end, I have organised this very expedition you are all here for; as well as the fine men and women of my guild, I have need of strong arms to fend off these beasts, and of mages capable of dispelling the protection upon this door. For those of you who are here, I assure you that this expedition will be worth your time, whether you seek glory, hidden knowledge, riches and treasures or simply wish for a particularly exciting story with which to one day entertain your grandchildren, I assure you that you shall be provided for. Do any of you have any questions?"



Westley sighed as Oedipus gave his speech, and watched as a few people rose from their seats and asked as many questions as they could before the next person forced their way into the conversation.

Good gods, this is boring! But it's important, so I have to pay attention. This information could save my life...

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 15 2013, 03:54 AM

A group of people assembled along the main hall of the building, crowding the halls and filling the empty seats a man, presumably Oedepius Nebraska, announced himself with his presence. He was an older man with unmistakable signs of age, and although he bore those gray facial and head hairs, he still was well-built for a man of his apparent age. There was a warrior sense about him that could be attributed to his possible Nordic heritage.

Lycus seated himself in the nearest corner, away from the eyes of those who's back were facing him. There were many people of all cultures and sizes and skills. It was no mystery, however, that many of those faces he saw now would not make it back to Anvil. His instincts also told him perhaps there was more to Oedepius than he first imagined. He must know something the rest do not. Lycus might be paranoid, but something as big as a guild and a funded expediton meant there were secrets known to some and hidden for most.

But the Imperial warrior was not interested in the glories or the coin or fame that would come if he should survive the journey. No, he was here for an entirely different reason altogether. This expedition would be an additional step to his task.

He leaned forward and held his elbow over his knee, listening to the man's words on the information regarding the fort and the lost city and then about pale creatures guarding the passage that could very well lead to it.

Not once did Lycus any questions. He would wait and let others ask, and then wait to see what the answers would be. Buffy asked on the general weaknesses and strategic battle habits of the creatures whereas Kayla inquired about their weaknesses and their nature. He wondered these things as well, but not to a great degree as he did other things.

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 16 2013, 02:58 PM

GM Post

A blonde-haired Bosmer stood and said; “I thank you for the hospitality that you and your guild have provided this morning. My name’s Buffy and I have some experience dispelling magical wardings that I hope can prove useful in proceeding deeper into the ruins. My inquiry is for any additional information you can provide regarding the pale goblin-like foes you encountered. Their favored tactics, resistances and such.”

"A wise question, Miss Buffy," Oedipus said. "After all, as the old saying goes; know your enemy. When we fought them, our enemies favoured stealth and ambushes in battle; they used nooks and crannies in the cave walls and ceilings to take us by surprise. They favour poisons and weapons carved from chitin and have tamed some species of giant subterranian insects to fight for them. As well as this, we found that weapons and spells that attack with frost did little damage, but they hate and fear fire; even waving a torch at them was enough to frighten and subude them."

"Are they alive or undead? That is my main question." That was from an Altmer near Buffy.

"They are very much alive," Oedipus replied. "In fact, I'd recommend to you all that you take potions and scrolls of detect life if you don't already have that spell to cast; it will be of great use in seeing any ambushes they shall try and spring before they hit us."

Posted by: Acadian Feb 16 2013, 03:29 PM

Buffy:

Buffy listened carefully as Oedipus spoke about the pale foes he had encountered beneath Sutch. She had little skill with fire (nor ice and lightning for that matter), but her illusionist’s mind immediately turned to commanding the insect slaves of these creatures against their masters.

Although Oedipus projected an imposing presence, she was equally impressed by his gracious manner and display of wisdom - particularly as he urged the use of detect life. Buffy was grateful for her pair of enchanted rings that combined to display pink glowing threats out to great range. Hopefully they would not only help protect the fragile elf, but her prospective expedition mates as well.

The Guild Master then went on to clarify for Kayla that the pale ones were not a form of undead.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 17 2013, 07:35 AM

Ylenno was quite busy glaring eyes with an uppity, arrogant runt to even catch the questions that fired from every direction towards the radiating figure of the master of the Adventurers. When the elf gave his newly found enemy a rude gesture, he turned his attention to the stage and gave a sniff. Nebraska was old and had the look of a seasoned warrior about him, his scars were his own trophies, yadda yadda yadda, but one thing that striked Ylenno was that this person was undoubtedly a blue-blood. There was no pussyfooting about it, really.

He had that kind of face. He and Drakothemir would find each other kindred souls. Ylenno briefly wondered where Monk-boy went, since those dark robes weren't to be found in the meeting place.

Buffy and Kayla asked theirs, and Ylenno decided it was his turn. He stood up. It was when every eyes were upon him that he realized that he didn't know what to ask. He gave a sheepish smile and rubbed his neck.

"So, uhh, we're just going to explore these caves below the Fort, eh? Everyone around here can take care of themselves, sure, but if we meet an unfortunate accident along the way, do we get paid still? We'll never know what'll happen when go under, you know."

He rubbed his hands.

"And when do we begin?"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 17 2013, 10:44 PM

Lycus didn't need to think twice to know that these subterannean pale creatures were goblins. Or known by some scholars as the Falmer. He knew because he lived in Skyrim after exiling himself from Cyrodiil years ago. He came across these creatures and their insectoid menace in his travels deep under the earth. There were stories about these creatures coming out at night to prey on lonely men and women, slaughter cattle and snatch infants from their cribs. They are pale, sharp-toothed and monstrous. Gangrel creatures who wandered off as vagabonds in the coldest of nights.

He remembered when living in Falkreath that some of the Nord travelers often referred to them as the old Volkihar vampire clan of legend, who came out of their icy lairs into the world of men to feed. Who's breath could congeal the blood of their victims. But that was popular folklore. The truth was far different and more complex than it appeared. What Lycus didn't understand was why they were in Cyrodiil in the first place. What relation did they have with the Ayleids? For he knew they were ancient beings and could live longer than men.

The man spoke to the Altmer and Bosmer women and advised that potions and scrolls of detect life would be a good idea, for the enemy were notorious to launch surprise attacks through crevices and cracks. Lycus required no potions or scrolls or any arcane skill to detect them. His natural instinct, combined with superior sense of smell and sight, could detect the creatures alone. They smelled, and their poisons did too. The scent would be easily recognizable. He registered it well.

They could be overwhelming in numbers and they had magically abilities that their ancestors were gifted at during the Metheric Era. Lycus felt fortunate that there was at least a magic caster in the room. The mystic archer. He wasn't sure what to make of the others, however. His kin of blood could prove to be a valuable ally, but Lycus already could sense their differences.

Kayla could be a great ally, since many Altmer's had a wide range of magical abilities. Though her Nordic heritage might have changed that.

Lycus felt confident that his enemies wouldn't pose too much of a challenge. At least these pale goblin-like creatures. A scimitar could seperate the head from the body, a spear could keep them at range and still strike them down. His Orcish sword was strong enough to penetrate armor. But what if there was something more sinister than these? What if the pyramid of nefarious creatures grew considerably worse as the depths increased?

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 18 2013, 05:02 AM

"They favour poisons and weapons carved from chitin and have tamed some species of giant subterranian insects to fight for them. As well as this, we found that weapons and spells that attack with frost did little damage, but they hate and fear fire; even waving a torch at them was enough to frighten and subdue them."

Kayla bared her teeth.

"Falmer." The word came out as a whisper.

Though her specialty was vampires, she had come across them in Skyrim. She hadn't fought many, but enough to recognize the description. Pale, noseless, smelly creatures with a penchant for crude, painful weapons and surprise attacks.

No matter, she thought to herself. They die just as well with a sword in their gut.

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 18 2013, 02:23 PM

Elaninde:

As she entered the guild hall, she was amazed by the work that had been put into this. This Oedipus Nebraska was certanly a rich fellow, or was it the different guilds that had paid for this? As she filled up her plate she heard an Altmer wich sounded like Kayla hushed another elf away and said:

"Young lady, do not throw yourself at men. You let them come to you."

"Now please, step aside, before my appetite makes me less choosy about my meat."

As the elf hurried away she also said:

"I apologize. Not all elves are like that."

After a while Oedipus Nebraska came in and held his speech. When he was done almost everybody started asking a dozen questions. The answers Elaninde found the most worth was that these creatures were pale and fovored poison and ambush, as well as that it was recommended to be able to cast detect life and fire spells.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 18 2013, 03:14 PM

Buffy:

Buffy’s long ears picked up the unmistakable clicking and sliding of heavy armor plates behind her. Turning her head, the wood elf’s eyes fell upon the steel clad figure of Elaninde. The Altmer listened quietly while shifting from one foot to the other in her armor.

The one time Buffy had tried on a heavy steel breastplate, she had been quite unable to move. She later learned that some of the women battlemages, like Arielle Jurard wore armor enchanted to ease its weight. A bitter memory briefly swept over her as she recalled that the plate armor had not protected Arielle from the deadly burning oil that scamps and Dremora had unleashed upon them as Savlian’s army breached Castle Kvatch’s gatehouse. So much fiery death. . . .

Elaninde had skin, hair and eyes of gold. Buffy recalled that golden eyes were rare beyond the Isle of Summerset. The assemblage of steel plating obscured any clue as to the elf’s figure, but her face was somewhat gaunt. That armor had to be heavy though. Buffy tried to catch Elaninde’s eye as she patted the empty chair next to her in invitation.

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 18 2013, 03:42 PM

Elaninde:

After she had filled her plate she saw Kayla, Westley and the dark-skinned imperial that Kayla had brushed another elf away from. Elaninde was smiling a little as she understood they were discussing hunting. She managed to pick up that Westley was fast enough to catch a deer and that the dark-skinned imperial's favored the spear as his main hunting weapon as well as that he held knowledge of all the daedric princes but put Hircine at the top of his list. Elaninde was glad that she didn't have anything against daedric worshipers since just before she saw Buffy patting the empty chair beside her in invitation, she also heard Kayla say:

"Like you hold Hircine on a pedestal, I hold Meridia. I suppose you could say she gave me a second chance at life."

There was a little pause then she said:

"So when I slit a vampire's throat, I also whisper her name."

By that time she had gotten over to Buffy. She sat down and asked:

"So, what do you think?" "Do you have any idea what these pale creatures under fort Sutch might be?"

Posted by: Acadian Feb 18 2013, 04:19 PM

Buffy:

After catching the Altmer’s eye, Buffy was pleased for the familiar face as Elaninde lowered herself onto the next seat. Buffy was impressed how well the taller elf moved inside her heavy armor.

"So, what do you think?" asked Elaninde. "Do you have any idea what these pale creatures under fort Sutch might be?"

“I’ve traveled Cyrodiil, Elsweyr and Valenwood rather extensively and have never encountered such foes.” Buffy scratched one of her ears and added, “Having read most of the tomes contained in the Mystic Archives of the Arcane University while a student there, I believe these creatures to be unfamiliar to my guild.” Based on the Altmer’s golden eyes and slight accent, Buffy was now more certain of her origin. The little elf concluded that, based on Elaninde’s question, the creatures were not native to the Summerset Isles either.

Buffy pointed a small, bowstring-callused finger discretely across the room. “I thought perhaps I saw a flash of recognition of some sort on Kayla’s face as Oedipus described these mysterious foes. She’s not from around these parts and has, no doubt, encountered differing creatures from the northern provinces. I hope to ask her about them when the briefing is over.”

As Elaninde glanced toward Kayla, Buffy added, “Forgive my nosiness, but you seem to move very well in that plate armor. Is it enchanted or do you otherwise use any assistance to compensate for its weight?”

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 18 2013, 05:01 PM

Elaninde:

“I’ve traveled Cyrodiil, Elsweyr and Valenwood rather extensively and have never encountered such foes.” Buffy scratched one of her ears and added, “Having read most of the tomes contained in the Mystic Archives of the Arcane University while a student there, I believe these creatures to be unfamiliar to my guild.” Based on the Altmer’s golden eyes and slight accent, Buffy was now more certain of her origin. The little elf concluded that, based on Elaninde’s question, the creatures were not native to the Summerset Isles either." Buffy answered.

“I thought perhaps I saw a flash of recognition of some sort on Kayla’s face as Oedipus described these mysterious foes. She’s not from around these parts and has, no doubt, encountered differing creatures from the northern provinces. I hope to ask her about them when the briefing is over.” As Elaninde glanced towards Kayla she heard Buffy add:

“Forgive my nosiness, but you seem to move very well in that plate armor. Is it enchanted or do you otherwise use any assistance to compensate for its weight?” Elaninde smiled a little at this question that she had gotten so many times before and said:

"I was born in Skywatch in the Summerset Isles but spent most of my life on the run. I needed to have something that could protect me so I started with light armour but found out it didn't offer much protection against the people hunting my family. Therefore I started trying out heavy armour and found out it was much more effective. Since then I have certainly thought about enchanting it but never got around to do it. After a while I just started wearing it as a habit and just got more and more nimble in it with the time."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 18 2013, 05:15 PM

Kayla had to poke her nose in.

"Summerset Isle?" A wistful look entered her eyes. "What is that like? I've never seen it. I've only just stepped out of Skyrim."

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 18 2013, 06:52 PM

Lycus Desselius:

Lycus overheard the Altmer woman exchange words with Buffy, the Bosmer. He tall stature was indeed very noticeable compared to the small Wood Elf. The two began a friendly conversation with one another, and Lycus simply at by and listened. He was intrigued as Buffy revealed to the other woman that she had been to a number of locations, just as he had.

The Imperial recalled the days of slavery in Morrowind, gladiatorial tours for a few months in foreign places such as Elsweyr and Hammerfell. His exile in Skyrim and the greatest adventure of his life in Solshteim. He had encountered this creatures before and even heard a rather inspiring tale they they too, like him, were once slaves. He didn't know if it was true or not but it was plausible. Being in the company of the Circle of Companions in Whiterun for quite some time, he aquainted himself with Nordic history. The Snow Prince came to mind. There were wild theories that these ancient creatures were all that remained of the Snow Elves.

"A well traveled woman. I am as well. I have been to Vvardenfell, Elsweyr, Hammerfell, Skyim and Solstheim." Lycus told Buffy as he rose from his seat nearby, taking the chair with him so that he could sit close to them. "But these creatures are native to Skyrim. I have come across them before."

He motioned his head toward Buffy's ears. "They have ears as tall as yours. They are kin like the three of you. Mer. We crossed paths in an old Dwemer ruin in the Nordic province. I can tell you that they are incapable of sight. They favor the arcane as well as other methods of attack. What they lack in vision, they make up for in senses. You must be light on your feet if you wish to kill them individually, lest they group in numbers and overwhelm you."

His hand ran across the body of his scimitar which was resting within the sheathe. There was a wild glow in his eyes as he did it. "The quickest way to dispose of one is by seperating the head from the throat. It is no easy task. It is just as severing a man's head. You must find the right angle."

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 18 2013, 07:05 PM

OOC: I had to go after the memory I have from the first TES game so my comments might not be entirely correct.

Elaninde:

Suddenly Kayla asked:

"Summerset Isle?" A wistful look entered her eyes.

"What is that like? I've never seen it. I've only just stepped out of Skyrim." Elaninde had to think a little bit, then she said:

"I don't know if it has changed since I last saw it but what I remember is that even though what everyone says about trees of diamonds and shores of gold is not true. The closest you get to any of that is the Crystal Tower that the eternal champion uncovered during the imperial simalcrum. Other than that its basically the same as everywhere else besides it being a little bit hotter."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 18 2013, 07:55 PM

Kayla was a tad bit disappointed in Elinande's answer. She had dreamt up a wonderful world where she was not scorned in her desire to learn magick, nor the tallest one in the entire village.

Lycus cut in with advice on how to kill the Falmer. Her eyes glinted with disgust.

"A race of Mer. Ja. Snow Elves, they were once called. Now the name Falmer strikes fear into the hearts of barbarians and milkmaids alike. Mothers tell their children to behave, or the Falmer will snatch them from their beds and keep them as slaves." She shook her head and pointed to a long, pink scar along her cheek, slanting downwards. "One caught me with their blade here. The poison numbs the muscles it touches. I'm not skilled in detect life potions, but I can make weak ones. I can also make a few cure poison and disease potions. Anyone who wants one will have to put up the coin for the ingredients, though."

She turned to Lycus. "Skyrim, eh?" She gave him a half smile, and said in Nordic, "Can you understand me?"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 18 2013, 10:07 PM

Lycus Desselius:

Lycus studied Kayla thoroughly, then nodded in agreement. A woman knows what she is talking about. For once. He sat back in his chair and locked eyes with those around them. "In my time with the Companions of Whiterun I learned that the Snow Elves were an ancient race of Mer who's very civilization rivaled that of the Altmer. They were talented spearmen and archers, gifted in the use of combat. The best in the Metheric Era."

He narrowed his eyes into nothing specific and stared. He did not speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was louder. "They shared the lands with Man and grew weary of them. It is said that the first human city of Saarthal. It was attacked by the Elves and a massive genocide ensued. With blood, sweat and tears the battle was fought and the massacre made certain. The event was named the Night of Tears throughout the eons. One man, a famous warrior of the Nordic tribes named Ysgramor, survived. He returned to his ancestral home of Atmora and formed the Five Hundred Companions. The elite warriors. He said 'Go forth into the belly of this new land. Drive the wretched from their palaces of idleness. Oblige them to squalor and toil, that they would see their betrayals as the all-sin against our kind. Give no quarter. Show no kindness. For they would not give nor show you the same.'"

A cryptic smile crept on Lycus face. "They took Skyrim from the Elves and drove them into a retreat to the island of Solstheim. The remaning elves, led by the Snow Prince, met their fate at the hands of the Nords. The survivors were slain and burned. The others were never heard from since."

He cleared his throat. "Rumors persist from the mouth of the scholars that the surviving Snow Elves retreated to the earth and sought allegiance with the Dwemer. The elves were then betrayed and made into slaves, and generations hence their offspring would suffer the same fate. I cannot say if this is true or not but the Dwemer are extinct, as the Ayleid. Dead as all slave masters should be. What is left of them is their old ruins and their infernal contraptions."

He looked at the women and then at Oedepious and lowered his voice. "And these mysterious pale elven creatures. I believe it is no coinscedence. Perhaps the ones here in Cyrodiil sought solace with the Ayleid and suffered the same fate."

He turned to Kayla and returned her reply in Nordic. "Time among your people has taught me well. I share some words in the tongue of the North."

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 18 2013, 10:20 PM

Kayla smiled warmly at Lycus. "It is good to hear that my homeland has taught you something. I hope you do not find my assumption abrasive. I feel alien in these lands. You've brought a small joy to my heart."

She turned away from Lycus. "What he says is true. The twisted monstrosities we will face are cruel, as their former masters were. They will not hesitate to kill you." She absentmindedly touched the scar on her cheek. "Even though they are blind, they use arrows. Their sense of smell is keen. And they stink," she spat. "But so do their tunnels. Enough to singe the hairs in your nose.''

Posted by: Colonel Mustard Feb 18 2013, 10:35 PM

GM Post

"So, uhh, we're just going to explore these caves below the Fort, eh?" an elf with a distinctive haircut asked. "Everyone around here can take care of themselves, sure, but if we meet an unfortunate accident along the way, do we get paid still? We'll never know what'll happen when go under, you know. And when do we begin?"

"In answer to your first question, we shall attempt an exploration of the city which I believe lies beyond the gates," Oedipus said. "We will be searching for libraries, archives and any other repositories of knowledge that we might be able to find, and, of course, I'm sure that there will be plenty of you here who might be searching for repositories of other goods whilst we're there." He accompanied the comment with a wink. "As for pay, you'll get your fair share even if you're injured, and we'll have teams ready to carry any wounded, of whom there hopefully won't be many, up to the surface should the need arise. And while you're down there, any loot you find is yours to keep, though I'd be grateful if any documents and historical records you find might be handed over to myself; there's a little extra in it for you if you do."

"As for when we begin, we set out for the old Sutch watchtower in an hour's time, my friends; prepare your equipment, get ready to pack your bags and say your farewells swiftly, for we won't be waiting for latecomers!"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 03:11 AM

Westley

Westley slouched in his chair while he silently listened to the conversation of his companions. According to Kayla and Lycus, the pale creatures that Oedipus encountered, the falmer, were once known as snow elves, are find if using magick, are blind but their other senses were amazing, and they smelled horrible.

"As for when we begin, we set out for the old Sutch watchtower in an hour's time, my friends; prepare your equipment, get ready to pack your bags and say your farewells swiftly, for we won't be waiting for latecomers!"

By the gods! I don't have enough potions. Wait, did he just say we have a hour until we leave?! Gods be praised, I have enough time to hunt down some potions. Maybe they sell them at the chapel, or at a general goods store. I hope I don't need to go to the mage's guild for some potions. Maybe Azzan has some.I hope so....


Westley waited for everyone else to rise up out if those seats and begin exiting the room before he did, in hopes of night garnering too much attention, though his height made that a bit hard. He was considerably taller than most if the people in the room, or at least mist of the non-elf races. Most if the Altmer stood a few inches over 6'4", but Westley didn't look like an elf.


Go away, go away, maybe if I walk very slowly, nobody will notice me. I need potions.....what if there aren't potions left to buy! Good gods, I need a better healing spell. Maybe I should head to the chapel. Yeah, that's a good start.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 03:18 AM

Kayla went to Westley's side, knowing he didn't want any attention. The elf couldn't help but tease him in a way she knew would irritate him.

"Westley!" She put her hand on his shoulder. "Know anywhere that I could get a few alchemy ingredients? Besides the Mages' Guild." She rolled her eyes.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 03:27 AM

Westley


Westley jumped a bit when Kayla walked straight up to him, and started asking him alchemy questions.

"Westley! Know anywhere that I could get a few alchemy ingredients? Besides the Mages' Guild."

"I'm not sure. I'm actually looking for some potions, and I don't really want to visit the mage's guild either. It's not that I don't like them, I just don't want to ask them for favors. Maybe a general store or somethin' has some alchemy ingredients, thigh that depends on what you're looking for." Westley scowled, then continued. "Do you think the chapel sells potions?"

Westley glanced around the room while he a awaited an answer. There were so many people, how could they handle being around each-other. As much as he hated it, Westley had to face the truth. He was very anti-social, and it wasn't good for him. He could only hope he didn't go feral. Feral werewolves are bad company.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 03:37 AM

Kayla noticed Westley's nervous glance.

"Come on," she said, pulling at his arm. "Let's get out of here. It's too crowded."

Once they were outside, Kayla said, "You don't know of any alchemy shops? We only have an hour until we leave. I want to be as prepared as possible." She held up her finger as she listed the ingredients she'd need.

"Of course I'd need another Cure Disease potion, then I'd need some ginseng and strawberries for the cure poison potion... They also have a nasty habit of using ingredients that slow you down as well. But if that time comes, I've got a fix." She patted Westley's back and grinned.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 03:48 AM

Westley

Westley stared while Kayla pulled at his arm and said, "Come on, Let's get out of here. It's too crowded."

Westley happily followed her outside, longing to be away from the massive hoard of people. How they could all stand the scent if each-other in one room was a mystery to him, and oddly enough, he was once capable of doing that. Westley's thoughts were interrupted by Kayla

"You don't know of any alchemy shops? We only have an hour until we leave. I want to be as prepared as possible. Of course I'd need another Cure Disease potion, then I'd need some ginseng and strawberries for the cure poison potion... They also have a nasty habit of using ingredients that slow you down as well. But if that time comes, I've got a fix."


Westley tried to grin back at Kayla, but failed miserably. He couldn't hide the fact he was very stressed out over a few potions, and was ashamed of his inability to control his temper.

"The general stores might sell that stuff. I need some potions though. I'm not sure of the general store sells potions. If I can't get potions, I need a stringer healing spell, and I'm not sure if the chapel sells those."

Westley tried not to stare at any strangers that wandered by.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 03:57 AM

Kayla's eyebrows went up. Westley was awfully distracted. She put his hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"Hey, it's alright. Where can we find a general goods store? I'm certain they'll have some." She wasn't sure, but usually general goods meant they had a bit of everything.

"If all else fails, then we can ask Buffy to run in to the Mages Guild for us with some of our coin and get what we need." She looked into his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 04:06 AM

Westley

"Hey, it's alright. Where can we find a general goods store? I'm certain they'll have some."

Westley didn't answer for a moment, and Ksyla looked him in the eye and asked of she had fine something wrong.

"No Kayla, you didn't do anything. I'm just a bit nervous about the expedition. C'mon, let's go down To Lelle's quality Merchandise, he might have something."

Westley tried his best to not look anxious. He knew what was going in. His frustration about potions had excited the inner wolf, and it urged to sate its terrible bloodlust, but the ring of Hircine along with Westley's resistance stood in its way, so it was doing everything in its power to break free.

I just need a walk, I'll calm down. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 04:34 AM

Westley's expression told of unpleasant feelings. Not wanting to walk the distance in silence, she decided to fill the space between them with chatter.

"Remember when you asked about werewolves, and if I was afraid of them?" She hooked her arm in his as they walked, not wanting to get separated from him in the crowd. she matched his stride easily, but the sites and sounds were distracting. She would end up staring at a strange sign or person.

"When I was younger, there was a boy in my town. A young Redguard boy. Anyways, he made fun of my ears until I punched him in the mouth for it." Her mouth twitched in a smile at the memory. "After that, he never teased me again. Eventually we became friends. He told me when we grew up, he wanted to marry me." She sighed.

"When we were teenagers, we wanted very different things. He had moved when we were younger, but I found him later on after-" she cleared her throat, "Moving away myself. He wanted to get married, still, after 8 years. I told him no, I couldn't do that, because time had changed me. He told me he didn't want anyone else, and left my house.

Later that night, he came knocking at my door, all bloodied up. A monstrous creature with large fangs that slashed at him, and bit him. He had become skilled with a sword, much like I had, but was barely able to get away." She cleared her throat.

"We were able to get him to the healer, but had no idea he had been attacked by a werewolf. He acted strange after that. Angry. Distant. But I was still determined to be his friend. Then, one evening, as the moon rose, he attacked his family. I heard the call to arms and rushed at him, and he gave me a nasty scar." She touched her chest with her free hand.

"I was the one who put him down. But not before I looked into his eyes and saw HIM in there, begging me to do so." She took a deep breath.

"So, to answer your question, no, I don't fear werewolves. I feel sympathy for them."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 04:51 AM

Westley


Westley listened to Kayla's story as they walked to the docks. He couldn't help but to feel bad, and feared he would suffer the same fate if he didn't control his temper. He took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. He didn't want Kayla to have to relive that experience.

"You shouldn't pity all werewolves. Some enjoy what they are. I don't know how, but if I was a werewolf, is hate myself ten times more than I already do. It must be horrible living like that. I don't even know why I'm so bitter and distant from everyone else. If I knew, I'd stop, but I don't know why I'm so cold. I can't bring myself to enjoy anything. Maybe I'm just depressed, I don't know."

Westley looked down at the ground, and pretended to pay close attention to all of the details in the floor. He couldn't bare to look at Kayla, knowing that she may have to relive killing someone she didn't want to because of Hircine's curse. Even worse, the thought crossed Westley's mind that he'd succeed in killing Kayla if he lost control.


Gods, if that happened, I'd never be able to live with myself. I need to calm down.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 05:01 AM

Well that topic fell flat.

Obviously Westley wasn't in the mood for talking. He did need to loosen up. She grinned at him mischievously.

"After we get the potions, maybe I could drop you off at a brothel and you could loosen up! Maybe then you wouldn't be so grumpy!" She laughed at her own joke.

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 05:08 AM

Westley

"After we get the potions, maybe I could drop you off at a brothel and you could loosen up! Maybe then you wouldn't be so grumpy!"

Westley smirked "Here we go with that again....that's the last thing I need. You look a tad stressed too. I thought I saw a beggar in need of some attention...."

The docks were quite crowded, and Westley had trouble seeng the way to Lelle's quality goods. He had to push through a few people to finally manage to spot the entrance. Even the small store was crowded. People were making demands for items, and screaming at the shopkeeper to lower the prices. Westley turned to Kayla.

"This place is crowded! Do you think they have anything left?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 05:18 AM

Kayla punched Westley in the arm and laughed, calling him a dirty name in Nordic. She glanced around the place, shaking her head.

"I can buy the ginseng and strawberries at the inn. I'm sure the owner won't mind. We need to get our things anyways."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 05:28 AM

Westley

"I can buy the ginseng and strawberries at the inn. I'm sure the owner won't mind. We need to get our things anyways."

Westley started to get tense again, "I need potions though! Pah! Let's just try the chapel. They might have a healing spell. Besides. I'm the tallest human in this room. It awkward for me."

Westley secretly grabbed a healing scroll from a nearby table, and shoved it down his curiass. Lucky for him, nobody noticed, and he went and stood by the door to wait for Kayla.

"The chapel sells potions right? Do you know if the chapel of dibella specializes in restoration Kayla? I don't remember." Westley glanced at the nord man standing next to him

Good gods, I'm way too tall.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 05:35 AM

Kayla shook her head. "Have you not listened to anything I've said?" She pointed at herself. "I make potions. But if you're insisting on a spell, we can go to the chapel, but you can do all of the talking."

Hmmph. Priests. Kayla wasn't looking forward to this.

"I don't worship Dibella, so I don't know if they do healing spells or not. I'd expect that any chapel will sell healing spells, though."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 05:43 AM

Westley

Have you not listened to anything I've said? I make potions. But if you're insisting on a spell, we can go to the chapel, but you can do all of the talking."

Westley tried not to raise his voice too much "How many potions can you make? I need about five or six."

Westley tried to move closer, but nearly trampled a Bosmer man in front of him.

"Sorry sir!" Westley stepped back a bit.

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING YOU OVERSIZED APE!" The Bosmer scowled, and forced his way past Westley and out of the shop.

The people here are more rude than me....

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 05:51 AM

Kayla made a rude hand gesture at the irate Bosmer's back before answering Westley.

"If we leave right now and head back to The Count's Arms, I can get started right away. But I'd only be able to make about 4. I can get the ingredients from the kitchen."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 05:59 AM

Westley


"If we leave right now and head back to The Count's Arms, I can get started right away. But I'd only be able to make about 4. I can get the ingredients from the kitchen."

Westley smiled "Four is good enough. I'll help you in any way I can so we can get this done quickly. C'mon, let's go so we can get started"

Westley pretty much pushed Kayla out of the store, and fought through the crowd of people to get to the gates. Time was of the essence, and now was no time for lolligagging, or arguin with strangers. The Count's Arms was fairly empty, most likely everyone was rushing to prepare for the expedition.

"So, what ingredients do ya need for the potion Kayla?" Westley raised an eyebrow and glanced around the room.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 06:04 AM

"I'm going to need some wheat, 4 cloves of garlic, and juniper berries. Though I don't think there are any juniper berries in Cyrodiil. Oh! And some ginseng and strawberries." Kayla pressed some coins into Westley's hands. "If the kitchen wenches give you trouble, throaw this at them" She grinned.

"I'm going to go to my room to prepare."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 06:15 AM

Westley

"I'm going to need some wheat, 4 cloves of garlic, and juniper berries. Though I don't think there are any juniper berries in Cyrodiil. Oh! And some ginseng and strawberries. If the kitchen wenches give you trouble, throaw this at them"

Westley pocketed the gold coins Kayla gave him, and casually walked towards the kitchen. There was a cook, and a few wenches in there. One of the wenches looked at him

"YOU! You're the one who was throwing silverware! What do you want!"

"I just need four cloves of garlic, wheat, juniper berries, some ginseng, and strawberries. Enough for four healing potions please."

"Why should I give you those ingredients you...you...you utensil flinger!" The wench scowled at Westley, and he didn't hesitate to scowl back.

"I have gold. Here, you don't have to share it. Just take it and give me what I want. I'll leave you alone after that."

The wench snatched the gold from Westley's hand, and started counting it all up. She smirked with satisfaction before looking up at Westley and scowling again, but didn't answer before slapping him hard on the face. "Fine, take what you need and LEAVE THE KITCHEN!"

Westley scowled, rubbed his cheek, rushed to get what he needed, and hurried up the stairs to Kayla's room. He quietly entered, and plopped the ingredients on a table near Kayla.

"Here you go. Anything else you need?"

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Feb 19 2013, 06:42 AM

Kayla's eyes were narrowed with concentration.

"Nope. Just wait a moment."

She already had the apparatuses filled with boiling water. She quickly crushed the garlic with the flat of her knife, then made it into a almost paste-like texture into the mortar and pestle. She scraped the paste into the boiling apparatus before crushing the juniper berries and putting them in the apparatus as well. As the water traveled to the dropper, she stuck a stem of wheat into the empty bottles waiting under the dropper, and set it back under.

As the bottles filled, she wiped out the mortar and pestle and chopped up the strawberries and ginseng, stopping every so often to replace the almost-filled bottle with an empty one. She was using up all of her extra bottles, but that was fine. She crushed the strawberries up, making a red mush, and scraped it into empty bottles. As soon as the bottles for the health potion were filled, she corked them and gave them to Westley.

"Shake before drinking." she said simply, her attention still on her work. She dropped the chopped ginseng into the boiling water and let it steep for a moment. She cleaned up the mess while she waited. She popped a stray strawberry into her mouth and poured the hot liquid into the bottles with the strawberry-ginseng paste. She swirled the bottles around a bit, letting the hot water touched and extract each bit of the ingredients.

She had filled 4 bottles of cure poison, and 4 bottles of health, in under 30 minutes. She was impressed with herself. She corked the bottles and tossed them into her bag. She packed up her alchemy equipment and nodded to Westley.

"Let's go."

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 06:52 AM

Westley

Westley quietly watched as Kayla created some prions. She handed him the healing potions, and packed her stuff.

"Let's go."

Westley tightened the straps of his backpack a bit. "Do you know where the rest of the group is? Never mind. I forgot where we're supposed to meet. Any idea?"

Westley scanned the large crowds of people for the other group members. He was a bit nervous about the expedition, yet he was excited. He stopped in front of the guildhall with Kayla, and waited for any signs of the group.

This expedition better be worth my while, and I better not die. If I die, I'm haunting whatever lives in those ruins for the rest of eternity.

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 19 2013, 09:50 AM

Elaninde:

She listened coriously as the dark-skinned imperial and Kayla described these "Snow Elves". When they were done Oedipus Nebraska said that they only had one hour left to prepare for the expedtion. As Kayla and Westley hurried out the door, Elaninde thought she could go to the inn and get some food. As she entered the inn and was about to ask for some food that would last long, she heard a wench from inside the kitchen yell at what, by the sound of it, was Westley:

"YOU! You're the one who was throwing silverware! What do you want!" And sure enough, soon after she heard Westley answer:

"I just need four cloves of garlic, wheat, juniper berries, some ginseng, and strawberries. Enough for four healing potions please." Elaninde thought she should just try to ignore it for now and continued to ask the owner for some food and got more or less just some salted venison and some apples.

As she arrived back at the guildhall, she saw Kayla and Westley outside and walked over to them. She asked Westley:

"What was that yelling in the kitchen about Westley?"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 19 2013, 01:44 PM

Lycus was among the first to leave. He was not claustrophobic nor was he overwhelmed by the sense of smell. But he was in no mood to be intercepted by the Altmer fan-girl. He stepped outside and headed over to a place to restock. There were too many people there, and they were all well-armored. But even among them there were weaker ones. Children, even, who accompanied their parental figures. They made fine prey.

Every werewolf suffered from bloodlust. It was inescapable. It did not matter if they were born with the gift, bitten, ingested the blood of a werewolf or was turned by Hircine himself. Lycus knew well that the Beast within confused the mind, warped the Spirit. It blurred the lines between animal and man. The darker emotions, the raw contained desires of the flesh, are amplified beyond comprehension. For the Beast itself has no control.

He walked among the crowd, and spotted Kayla in the distance walking side to side with Westley. The two could be mistaken for a couple, for they were always together. He didn't think much of it until the word "werewolf" came to mind. His ears perked up, his interest caught as a rabbit in a hunter's snare. He quickened his pace and followed behind but remained a careful distande.

From afar he heard Kayla's sob story about a dear friend that she had to put down due to Lycanthropy. And how she pitied them. Lycus frowned. Werewolves do not deserve pity . . .for they would never give another pity when they are swallowing one's heart down their gullet.

"You shouldn't pity all werewolves. Some enjoy what they are. I don't know how, but if I was a werewolf, is hate myself ten times more than I already do. It must be horrible living like that. I don't even know why I'm so bitter and distant from everyone else. If I knew, I'd stop, but I don't know why I'm so cold. I can't bring myself to enjoy anything. Maybe I'm just depressed, I don't know."

There were many reluctant werewolves in the world. The majority of them become distant and moody. This is natural. But they soon hate themselves for their actions, for what they have become. They cannot cope with the death of others and suffer with dread that every fifteen days or even in a burst of anger they would shift and once again take an innocent life without control to thought.

But Lycus, who had seen many friends die, who had taken the lives of many people for a career, had been desensitised to death and suffering. It had been a part of his life since he first was sold as a slave in Morrowind all those years ago. He had experienced what most men would consider mind-altering. He was at the precipice of madness and where most men would take their own lives in such overwhelming states.

Killing was as natural as breathing. This was the fundamental truth to Lycus. And while he did not hate Westley for hating himself, he still knew that the boy would bring more harm to himself and others for that belief alone. The more the beast is supressed, the more it is contained, the more it wishes to be unleashed. As a man who is denied food or sex or a woman denied her desires, it will gnaw at them until they give in.

But Westley had much more to worry about than taking the life of an innocent person, or taking his own life and dooming himself into an eternity where he would be hunted for the rest of his infinite existence in another dimension. He had to worry about Hircine. Lycus sensed the ring on the man. Hircine's fabled artifact. That explained why he was in control even amidst his crazed state of mind. But what most Lycanthropes do not understand is that Hircine has no patience for the fickle. He holds no love for those who abuse the gift.

There were tales of men who, rather unsportingly, stole the ring and were cursed with it. Men who possessed the artifact but did not embrace their condition. These were marked men. Men who summoned the wrath of Hircine and were victims of a dark open season. Their souls were in danger and they would soon know what it is to be the hunted. Hircine would want them killed. And who better to deliver the deathblow than a loyal hound?

Lycus braced himself. Westley had to find a cure and recant his Lycanthropy forever or soon he would be Hircine's target. It was a dangerous game, and beyond under the Shadow of the Beast was no easy lifestyle. Lycus knew this.

He stared at the couple for one last moment before retreating into a store that sold armor and weapons.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 19 2013, 02:16 PM

Buffy:

Kayla and Lycus believed the pale foes were falmer – snow elves. Mer or not, Buffy would pierce their hearts or command them to tear each other apart as readily as she would do with humans who posed a threat to her or those assigned to travel with her.

Oedipus then announced the expedition was to depart within the hour. Although Buffy was ready, knowing the exact departure time would allow her to make a few final preparations. She left the guild hall and made her way toward Anvil’s main city gate.

After notifying the stable of Superian’s pending departure and settling her account there, Buffy briefly dipped the foliage of Willow, her bow, in the trough and ensured her own water skin was full. She had inspected each arrow in her full quiver hours ago, before the meeting, and there was no reason to repeat the task.

Bringing a glow to both hands, she passed them slowly over the rippling muscles of her leggy black mare. Superian's tack gradually materialized and fell perfectly into place. Buffy verified that her saddlebags contained adequate arrows and poisons for resupply if needed.

Blowing a kiss to her mare, she then stepped off for the city gates again, trailing words over her shoulder, “See you in less than an hour, girl.”

The small mystic archer then reentered the city and made her way to the Mages Guild. She mentally reviewed that her pack contained a full complement of poisons. Relying heavily on spells, the only potions or scrolls she carried were a good supply of each to dispel the only thing that could stem her flow of magic – the dreaded effect of curse magic that some erroneously called ‘silence’.

She knew that if her expedition mates could keep her alive, her touch spells could unpoison, cure, restore or heal them of anything they might run afoul of.

During her brief stop in the Mages Guild, she notified Guildmagister Carahil of what she had learned so far and the expedition’s departure time.

As she stepped from her guild, Buffy whispered, “I hope I know what we’re doing, Acadian.”

“Close your eyes and open your mind,” was quiet his reply.

She did so and felt his spirit absorb some of the apprehension. Her breathing was slower as she opened her eyes and resumed the short trek to the Adventurers Guild. “Thank you, my paladin.”

Buffy recognized several faces as she approached.

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 19 2013, 02:50 PM

When Oedipus blew his whistle and the meeting place exploded with people's rushed exits, Ylenno stayed in his seat and stayed for a while. He felt no need to hurry; he already had what he'd need on his person, and there was no use in buying potions or anything like that, since he bought them already. The elf made sure to triple check his gear before going here after all. The elf lit up a roll of hackle-lo and burned his lungs out for a bit, stretching his legs, calming his nerves. This expedition.... Well, he wasn't worried about the expedition, truth be told. What he thought about deeply was what what'll he do afterwards. He'll duck and avoid the Orums, that was a given, but running won't last long. Those Orcs had long reaching distance, and longer memories. They wouldn't let an asset like the Floretntine Bleeder slip their grasp easily.

A breton Adventurer Guildsman, with short cropped blonde hair, and creepily enough, deep crimson eyes, gave him a royal-red stare and a plea to take out his death-smoke away. There was something ... off about the guy, Ylenno noted as he complied and went outside. Something feral and fay and a clear aura that one shouldn't ruffle his feathers.

As Ylenno greeted the outside with circles of smoke, he spotted a grouping of a colorful bunch, anxious like, looking like they waited for someone eagerly.

The elf kept his roll on and walked towards them with a sinister smirk on his face.

Among the group was the arrogant runt he locked eyes with earlier. When he spotted Ylenno, he gestured towards him. Almost immediately, the rest of the group's eyes were upon him, bloodthirsty like maddened dogs.

"Hey there," he saluted them. "Sorry to keep you jumpers waiting!"


****


The door to Morvayn's Peacemakers opened quietly and Ylenno shuffled in.

For all intents and purposes, he looked like he was lynched by a mob and sent rolling on a hill of trash. There were several forming bruises below his neck, some scratch marks too, and his lips were busted, a slow trickle of blood staining his gray scarf. One of his eyes looked like it received a brutal hammering, and there was an ugly gash on his right ear.

The little brawl happened outside the gates of Anvil, on a secluded place so no guards would be involved.

Yet he still had that smile, that everpresent braying laughter, and there was giddy hop on his steps when he walked. He stepped up on the counter and laid his damaged leather gloves on the countertop, wanting it to be repaired as soon as possible.

"Shouldn't take long," the dunmeri armorer said after getting over Ylenno's appearance. "10 septims would do it, and I'll even add some metal coverings on it."

Ylenno nodded, and fished for a suspiciously rich-looking coin pouch that didn't go well with his debonair look. He took the approriate amount and paid the coins to the armorer.

When the armorer was gone off to sew repairs, the elf took a vial from one of his pouches and drank a small amount. He took small drips to his fingers and rubbed it on damaged places. He felt the effects immediately and soon, he looked just as a roguish as he did before. The black eye would remain though, and the buzzing aftershock too.

It was then that Ylenno noticed that he wasn't alone in the shop. There he was, the former Grand Champion from six years ago. The elf didn't really had a chance to talk with him back at the Guildshall, and since they were on the same adventure, he figured it'd be nice to know him.

"Hey, Champion," he said to him. "Wha're you doing here? Buying weapons? With your sword, saber and spear, I don't think you need anymore, you'd be a walking arensal!"

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Feb 19 2013, 08:27 PM

Lycus Desselius, Morvayn's Peacemakers.

The weapon's store was dark and sparse, lit by the light that dimly filtered through the blue glass panels and the roaring fireplace

The Lycanthropic former Grand Champion explored the store with great interest. His exotic look attracted a few curious stares, but he was otherwise kept alone by some of the store's visitors. While the Dunmeri store owner attended one of his customers, Lycus headed straight for a set of Orcish armor resting on the counter.

It was one of the finest next to Daedric and Dwarven. He would choose this set only because the others were not available for purchase. Orcish armor was prized among the Orsimer brethren, but not exclusive to them. The armor is made with an ornate, light steel plate design which can be worn over cloth padding that results in a light and comfortable fit when put to comparison with other steel plate designs.

He removed his shirt and tossed it to the ground. Written in his bare-chest was many small cuts and bruises from recent toils but what stood out the most was a large scar that ran below his chest and over his stomach. A scar he wore with pride, for it marked the day that Lycus faced the greatest opponent a mortal man could ever face in his lifetime.

He placed on the armor over his head and shoulders, and began strapping it on when he heard a small noise.

"Hey! You can't do that!"

Lycus turned his head to see a small Wood Elf with blond hair and a short pony-tail. No doubt the apprentice to the owner of the store. The muscular Imperial turned away from the boy and continued to tie the belt of his armor around his body. "Stand down boy. I but seek to know the nature of this armor."

"But . .but . .you can't just put on armor and then-"

"You would tell me that I must first spend coin from my purse to make purchase? Then when I am faced with an opponent in proper contest I am to rely on something I am not entirely certain will save my life? I must check the craft, the size, the worth of it. I would consider buying this one. It fits me well. The craftmanship is superior and it shall not see me drained at journey's end."

The Bosmer blinked. The large Imperial placed his firm hand on the Bosmer's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I can see that you are skilled in fashioning weapons. I want the boots, the gauntlets and the helmet to match the cuirass. Your finest in stock. In return you will see your purse weight heavier with coin."

"Right away!" he chirped.

Lycus set aside his weapons; his scimitar, his Orcish blade and his spear. He stood over them and gave his weapons a somber look. Debating whether or not they needed any repairs. But they were in legendary conditions, and extremely sharp. One swing cut easily decapitate a foe or sink through flesh as if melting a butter-knife through ash-hopper jelly.

It was then that Lycus head another voice come from behind, sounding different than the man he just spoke to. He smelled blood in the air, and turned around to face the man. It was Ylenno from the Guildhall. The rogue he spoke to briefly over the dining table.

"Hey, Champion. Wha're you doing here? Buying weapons? With your sword, saber and spear, I don't think you need anymore, you'd be a walking arensal!"

Lycus looked at the man and saw the black eye and the bloodied lip still red. He didn't remember seeing him like that when he first encountered him. It was obvious he had a fresh confrontation with a person . . .or a group of people. He turned back to his weapons and shook his head.

"A man needs but one sword to cleave his fate," he whispered gruffly. "But there is no shame in carrying more. I require no additional swords than I already have. I come here for armor."

His expression was a serious one. Not a smile nor grin was offered. But to soften his rather grim countenance, Lycus' tense face lessened. "I would not face my enemies stripped down to my bare shirt and dangling manhood. Those days are past."

He tightened the Orcish armor around his waist and turned to Ylenno. "Are you handy with the blade?"

Posted by: King Of Beasts Feb 19 2013, 10:45 PM

"What was that yelling in the kitchen about Westley?"

Westley was a bit startled when he noticed Elaninde approach him, her steel armor brilliantly glowing when the sunlight hit it, and asked him a question. He stared at get for a minute before answering.

"The wench was mad at me for throwing utensils the other day. Wanted to kick me out, but I needed to get ingredients so Kayla could make a few healing potions."

Posted by: Uleni Athram Feb 21 2013, 05:22 AM

Ylenno's eyebrows raised themselves outrageously as Lycus turned his game-face on and whispered his reply with a dramatic flair of a grim person burned out from social interactions.

The elf looked at the Imperial with deep-set-blue silverine eyes full of sinister merriness.

"What's so wrong about a full-frontal-assault? If you have ... that sizeable spear as those bards from six years ago says you do, then perhaps the opposition would be dumbstruck long enough for you to shank 'em good and proper, up-close and personal? Quick and dirty so you can finish them fast?"

For some reason or another, or perhaps none, he threw back his head and laughed his signature braying laughter. When his mirth died to small giggles, he drew his axe and phantomined a battle. He swished it there, chopped an invinsible foe here, struck them in a vital area there.

But beneath those playful swings, a hardened eye can see that the axe was made for Ylenno, and Ylenno for the axe. He handled those chops and swings with alarming accuracy and used economical energy, never wasting undue amounts of vigor than was necessary at all. The body danced well with the weapon, and the weapon graced the handler well. There was a poetry in motion every time there was a swing, swift and powerful, and Ylenno could be seen dreaming, glazed, a masterful thrall in the dance of death, a lethal puppet stringed on by the urge to simply decimate the opposition. He was a rush of tidal wave, raging serenely, a beautiful ugliness when he gets his momentum.

A cough from the armorer Varel Morvayn put a stop to Ylenno's demonstration, and the elf laughed an apology as he took his repaired gloves. He returned to Lycus and gave him a goofy grin.

"I'm not much of swordsman, really. Those pointy sticks kill well enough, I suppose, but they... heh, let's just say they aren't meant for the likes of me."

The goofy grin suddenly wore a mischievous feel to them as Ylenno continued on.

"But if you're asking me what I think you're asking me, then hell to the yes, I AM very handy with a 'blade'. Girls call my hair the Bush Tickler, but when things go bumpy in the night, they'll meet..... my Cavefish Shanker!"

The armorer behind the counter heard this, facepalmed, and muttered an agonized 'dear gods'.

Ylenno ignored him and continued.

"But hey, phallic sobriquets aside, if you've asked that for... a dance later on, then lemme say that I don't swing that way! I'm not that kind of 'elf', see? I don't put from the rough, or, or, Spart your Tacos, okay? Okay."

----



OOC: *evil laugh* I likey what I did here!

Posted by: PhoenixGamer Feb 21 2013, 05:50 PM

Elaninde:

"The wench was mad at me for throwing utensils the other day. Wanted to kick me out, but I needed to get ingredients so Kayla could make a few healing potions." Was Westley's response.

"Ah, that makes sense." "I was just in the inn to get some food, since I rarely go anywhere without everything else I need, although I almost wish I had stopped by the arcane university on my way here and gotten a resist poison enchantment." Elaninde replied back.

"Anyway, do you have everything you need?" She asked.