The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[King Coin]

Hello, players! Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet. This is the main thread and you should start here.


~~~

Aravi stopped and listened. A regular patter could be heard on the leaves of the trees around her. She stopped and looked up. A fat drop of water landed on her nose. She blinked and felt more drops land on her forehead and cheeks. The rain was cool; an involuntary shiver went down her back and into her tail. I hope there’s an inn soon. She saw a flash through the canopy of the Great Forest over her head. A rumble echoed off the mountains to the west. The rush of leaves overhead indicated a wind was coming up. Or a lot of rain. She could smell it on the air. She moved to the side of the road, hoping for some protection under the trees from the approaching storm.

***

The rain started coming down in earnest, lightning cracked in the sky. Wind howled through the trees, the eerie sound brought a mild, but persistent and irrational fear to Aravi’s mind. She was nearly running, looking for any place to weather the storm. The slick mud would have been too difficult for anyone but a Khajiit to run in.

A faint glow faded into sight as she ran. She made for it, well aware that this isn’t the normal territory for a will-o-the-wisp. Several buildings materialized in the gloom ahead of her. The soft glow was from a lamp near the road, lit by a welkynd stone. The windows of the largest building, a two story structure, were warmly lit from within. Aravi ran for it. A sign swung on hinges in the wind. She could barely read The Wobbly Goblet painted in a yellow, flowing script. She reached for the door and pushed. It was unlocked.

She shoved the door shut behind her by simply leaning back into it. She rested like that a moment while she caught her breath.

“Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet, young Khajiit.”

Aravi looked up and had to keep looking up. A friendly looking Altmer wielding a mop looked down at her. He had his golden hair made up in the traditional Altmer style, making him appear even taller than he was. “Hello,” she responded breathlessly as she tried to control her breathing. She was in a warmly lit room with polished hardwood floors and whitewashed walls. Regularly spaced support timbers broke up the uniform white walls in a pleasing pattern. A few people sat upon stools at a bar in the back. The rest of the room was taken up by long tables and a massive fireplace. She looked at his mop, and then looked to the polished hardwood floor she stood upon. Little puddles formed from the water dripping off of her armor and tail. Bits of mud clung to her feet.

Reading her expression, he said, “Do not worry, I expect as much when the weather turns foul. I am quite prepared to deal with it. Are you going to spend the night with us? I fear this storm will persist for some time yet.”

Aravi thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew there wasn’t much light, if any, left in the day. And by the time this storm blew itself out… “Yes I think I will. Are you the proprietor?” Aravi moved to the side as he started attacking the little puddles that formed around her.

“Excellent, I’ll have Lleris take your pack up to one of our rooms. And no, I am not the proprietor, I’m Hethilion. I keep everything neat and clean, and maintain the excellent library on the second floor.”

Aravi heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of the library. She knew a Breton that would get along well with him. “Who do I speak to about settling my room then?”

Hethilion pointed to an orc woman standing near the bar talking with the bar tender. “That’s Bograk gra-Mugshak. She’s the owner.”

“Thank you.” She turned towards the bar.

“Ah, miss? I didn’t quite catch your name.”

She smiled. “I’m Aravi.”

***

When she was done speaking with Bograk, Aravi got some hot tea and stood by the fire. Her armor and fur were still soaking wet, she would have to change soon if she wanted to dry off. She looked around at the nearly empty room. Another Altmer was sitting at a barstool, fiddling with a lute, and talking to an armor clad Legionnaire. Her helmet sat on the bar counter and had the distinctive plume of a rider. An Argonian took his meal at the other end of the counter.

She almost missed the Khajiit leaning against the wall. His black fur helped him disappear into the shadows. He was big, almost as big as Kharjo and just as strong. He had his large ears decorated with several sets of earrings.

Aravi turned her attention back to the fire and watched the flames dance. She enjoyed the quiet, only the snapping of the fire and an occasional murmur from the bar could be heard. She had a feeling that it wouldn’t last, as storm like this was sure to drive other people inside as well.

This post has been edited by King Coin: Aug 24 2013, 04:12 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

The wind rose to a howling thunder, and the scattered drops quickly became a downpour. The skies above the Great Forest wept a storm, forcing a young Imperial woman from her sleep. She wasn’t particularly afraid of the rain, and in fact, it rarely bothered her. But once she was awake, it would take ages for her to return to slumber.

Vera picked herself up from beside the log which she used as a pillow, and brushed the dirt away from her laced leather pants and stained, tattered and torn sackcloth shirt with her hands and packed up her belongings and left that dark corner of the Great Forest. She knew it was going to rain today, but she did not expect it would come so soon. The weather in Cyrodiil can be unpredictable at times.

Vera quickly grabbed her satchel and double-checked her personal belongings. Everything she needed was there; A curved hunting dagger with a wicked blade and small green vials containing her secret to bringing back live bounties. Toxins extracted from deadly plants and other ingredients to make a potent result: a type of sedative. One that allows the victim to remain conscious while numbing all feeling and sensation. It disrupts the primary muscle nerves, and yet it won’t shut down the vital organs such as the heart or lungs. Inside the bag was also a heavy sack full of coin, leftover from her last payment, and her official coin to be spent on simple needs such as food, drink, bed and baths.

Knowing that this is all she needed, she hauled the bag over her shoulders and walked through the dark gloom of the Great Forest in the middle of a storm. The forest floor gave way to slippery terrain as the water flooded her feet, drenching her rough-leathered shoes. Her blond hair, drenched to the fullest, clung to her neck and face as she marched through the wilderness towards the source of comfort.

She could smell horse droppings from afar, and it was mixed with the scent of cooking. Vera suspected she was close to a tavern or at least a camp. That was, until she reached a family of shrubs and bushes that gave her a clear sight of a two-story inn up ahead.

Vera was miles away from her lair, and she wasn’t willing to go hunting for her food now. Not in the rain. It would take twice as many hours. With the gold she so desperately wanted to spend, she had decided she would spend some of it at the inn.

The Great Forest was unlike Bravil, and the taverns hosted no vagabonds, thieves or criminals. While she may encounter one or two, she expected to find the basic adventurer or two or the local common folk. The very people Vera liked to be around in times like these for the sole purpose that there was no trouble to be found. She had an empty stomach, constant sleepless nights and a temper. To surround herself with perverted slobs and overfed criminals would be frustrate her. Especially in that time of the month.

Vera arrived at the placed called the Wobbling Goblet, and made haste to the front door. She twisted the knob and entered slowly, unlike the pace she took to get there. The warm air and the scent of food and other things immediately assaulted her nostrils. She breathed deeply and stepped in further.

“Come in! Come in!” a voice said.

She looked down to her feet and saw by the wet prints that there were others who sought to leave the rain for shelter.

Vera focused in on the Altmer man after she took in the scene of the inn and everyone and everything in it. The High Elf was tall, and his bright hair only made him stand out and appear even larger. From the mop in his hands she could already see that he was the one who was responsible for keeping the place clean.

The Imperial woman stomped her feet at the front of the door, kicking the mud and wet leaves off of her shoes right before she walked forward into the tavern. Beside her was a smaller room for the leisure of those seeking peace and quiet.

“How can I be of service?”

Vera blinked water away from her eyes and wiped droplets from her forehead. “I’m looking for food and a room to stay for the night.”

The Altmer smiled. “Well, you’ve found the right place.”

Vera did not answer him right away, and kept her gaze everywhere. She took the measure of the female Khajiit standing with her arms folded at her chest, soaking wet from the rain. And a second black Khajiit that had an aura of authority about him, but there was nothing there that would suggest a connection between her and him.

She turned and looked at the other patrons; an Argonian, an Altmer with a lute, a flour-covered Nord woman scurrying back and forth with plates and dishes in her hands and a big Orc woman with a club at her side.

Vera went straight for the bar after deciding it was too late to answer the High Elf. She carried herself with an air of sheer confidence, an unspoken challenge in the squaring her shoulders and the tilt of her head that dissuaded other individuals from desiring to strike a conversation with her, let alone approach her. Before a warm bath and a warm bed to sleep in, Vera wanted nothing more than to tame the gnawing hunger she had in the pit of her stomach.

She sat on the stool in front of the bar, and was greeted and asked about what she would desire to eat or drink. Vera took a look at the meals available and made her decision right away.

“I want two bottles of apple cider, with a side of roasted mutton with cheese and tomato salad.”

[King Coin]

Aravi heard the door open and looked over. Sure enough, another person was driven in by the storm. The arrival was a thoroughly soaked Imperial woman. She was rough looking, Aravi thought, like she lived off the land mostly. The Imperial stalked off to the bar, her body language clearly indicating she wanted little to do with conversation. Aravi returned her focus back to the fire in front of her.

[Grits]

Yetta sliced a generous slab of mutton and laid it across the steaming mashed potatoes. Garlic, onion, and juniper berries filled the cavity left by the bone. Spring onions pulled up while they were small and roasted until golden filled the rest of plate right up to the edge. When Auguste brought back the order he had raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested their latest guest was very hungry. Or he may have been practicing another of his charming expressions. It was hard to tell with that Breton. In any case he had headed back to the bar with two bottles of cider. Yetta would wager that the guest was hungry. She filled a small pitcher with gravy and perched two rolls on top of the mutton.

A quick sprinkle of Gold Coast salt finished the salad. Yetta smiled at the tiny tomatoes. It was too soon for the slicing varieties to bear fruit, but her early vines were laden with these bite-sized treats. She had cubed the cheese and arranged them together in a pleasing pattern on the lettuce. ‘It all goes in the same place,’ her Ma used to say. ‘And then back out again. Ha!’ But Yetta liked things to look nice on the journey.

She balanced the salad on her arm, picked up the pitcher and mutton, and strode through to the tavern.

The Khajiit Aravi stood by the fire, still armored with tea in hand. Yetta reminded herself to check if she wanted a meal. Perhaps she had dried off and warmed up by now.

A blonde Imperial sat at the bar ignoring Auguste, Borgak, and Tooth-in-the-Grass, the two cider bottles at her elbow. Yetta slid the plates in front of her. The woman’s eyes caught the candlelight like liquid gold. She looked as if she had been sleeping rough. She’s much prettier than me, Yetta decided.

The woman’s demeanor did not invite conversation.

Yetta couldn’t help herself. “I’ve a nice blackberry crumble, if you care for dessert. And there are fresh apples in the pie, not dried. I kept them in the cellar all winter.”

.

This post has been edited by Grits: May 17 2013, 02:01 AM

[Darkness Eternal]

Vera’s presence attracted a few curious stares. She guessed they didn’t get a lot of bedraggled Imperials in these parts, especially at this hour. Her heart skipped a beat momentarily as she spotted the Legionnaire sitting down.

Were the guards still looking for her concerning that last job with that Breton bookie? Whatever happened a year ago was old news but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still in hot water with the local authorities. And she also had one of them killed back in Bravil, a captain, no less. How could the guards be after her? But they were looking for The Huntress. The ebony-armored bounty hunter known around Cyrodiil and not a regular Imperial woman.

To add to Vera’s relief, the guard gave her only a cursory glance, before returning to his meal. Everyone else seemed more interested in their food and drink and talk more than the latest arrival.

Thank Hircine for small favors, she thought.

After her long walk in the rain, it felt good to be out of the cold. A happy-looking Nord woman prepared her order and Vera waited impatiently for her food. Her stomach growled like a famished werewolf. She licked her lips in anticipation, and refused to give into the feeling of tapping into the table as she waited.

Daedra, I feel as if I could eat a horse. She was starving, but she wasn’t that hungry. Yet.

Vera got warmer by the time the woman returned with her food order. She slid a large plate of roasted mutton and a salad in front of her, along with a pitcher. Vera couldn’t complain about the size of the portions; the diced cheese, juicy miniature tomatoes and meat was practically overflowing the plate. The smell of sea-salt overpowered her nostrils. The food was rich, heavy fare with a side of light, exactly what she was in the mood for. She smelled the food for anything unnatural . . . nothing.

Vera reached for a fork and speared a chunk of mutton with it and took a bite. She chewed the food slowly and liked what she tasted. The savory dish went down fine. Better than fine, in fact; it tasted amazingly delicious. Without patience to eat slowly, she started shoveling forkfuls into her mouth, wolfing it down ravenously. She couldn’t eat the stuff fast enough. She reached for the bottle of cider and washed her throat down with the sweet drink. Within moments, she had finished half the plate and was thinking about ordering a second.

“"I’'ve a nice blackberry crumble, if you care for dessert. And there are fresh apples in the pie, not dried. I kept them in the cellar all winter.”" The Nord said, striking up a conversation with Vera. It almost as if she’d read her mind on more food. With the way she ate, Vera didn’t doubt the woman expected a patron to still be hungry.

The young huntress raised her head and locked eyes with the Nord. She chewed on her food and stared. For the longest of time, she gnashed her food down and blinked. After awhile Vera swallowed down her food, she looked down on her plate and nodded.

"“Yes, I'’d like that. And milk. I want milk, too.”" Vera said after pause. Then she continued to eat her food.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 17 2013, 08:08 PM

[King Coin]

“I have a hungry Imperial over there, would you like me to prepare something for you as well? I have mutton out and could have a plate ready for you in a few minutes.”

It took Aravi a moment to pull herself back into reality. She looked over and saw a Nord woman, lightly dusted with flour, waiting for her answer.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll take some. And more tea as well.”

“Do you want me to get a table for you or would you like to eat at the bar?”

“The bar will be fine.”

“Great! I’ll have your food ready in a moment.”

Aravi sipped the last of her tea and lingered by the fire as long as she could. Her armor was still damp, but she was warm now at least. Aravi kept an eye on the bar. True to the Nord’s words, a few minutes later a plate of mutton and a cup of tea were placed on the counter for her, just a couple of seats to the left of the rough Imperial.

She went over to her meal and sat on a stool. She took off her helmet and like the legion rider; she set it on the counter. Her tail curled around her stool, she learned to keep it out of the way of possible traffic painfully once. She adjusted her sword belt. At least she could sit comfortably on the stool without having to take it off.

When Aravi was set, she looked over at the Imperial. Half her plate was already gone and she was quickly making her way through the remaining portions. The Nord returned to the Imperial, adding another mug to the first two, and leaving a small plate with a delicious looking dessert.

“What’s that?” She asked either one, referring to the dessert.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla's shoulder connected hard with the ground as she slid on the mud, caking her short auburn tresses with mud. She spat out a mouthful of the wet earth that had gotten into her mouth as she cried in pain, looking around wildly. The vampire was nowhere in sight. She stood up, panting, her enchanted silver sword held tightly. She turned in circles, looking for her prey. Thunder rumbled, briefly overpowering the loud patter of rain. Lightening flashed, and before her eyes an invisibility spell was heard being dispelled to her left.

Kayla grunted as the vampire knocked her to the ground, the claws of the Dunmer slashing at her frantically. She dropped her sword, letting out a shriek. She kneed the dark elf in the groin as soon as she hit the ground. he groaned in pain, and she punched him in the mouth, knocking him backwards.

She stood up, quickly grabbing her sword and plunging it into the chest of the vampire. The look of pure rage quickly dissipated as he died. She sighed with relief and pulled the sword out of his chest. She drank a cure disease potion for the nasty gash on her right cheek, one that would surely add to the medley of scars on her body, and sheathed her blade. She looked around as the water droplets ran into her eyes.

'No shelter ANYWHERE,' she thought grumpily to herself. She shivered and walked until she found a pathway. she let out an ecstatic sigh when her eyes brushed over the sight of a two story inn. She trudged onwards, her boots sloshing in the mud.

"Blech!" She said as her toes began to swim in her boots. She opened the door and glanced around, her eyes wide. She began to take her wet armor off, leaving her light green soaked shirt and black cloth pants on. She kicked off her boots and poured the water off, leaving them at the door.

"I am so, so sorry!" She said to the barman, her thick Nordic accent contrasting the sight of her pointed Altmer ears. "If you give me a mop, I'll clean it up. it's just, everything I have is soaked, but my septims are still good." She gave a nervous laugh.

This post has been edited by Elisabeth Hollow: May 18 2013, 12:38 AM

[King Coin]

Aravi’s question about dessert was interrupted by a new arrival. An Altmer entered the inn seeking shelter from the storm. Not surprisingly, she was muddy and absolutely soaked. Her voice was a surprise however; she had the familiar accent of a native of Skyrim. Aravi’s ears perked in curiosity. She didn’t expect to run into another traveler from Skyrim.

She listened as the housekeeper, Hethilion , assured the new arrival that the water and mud was not a problem.

[Saquira]

Shivering, Fedura Hlaalu made another effort at pulling her cloak tighter around her body, and failing that she turned her eyes back to her bag to make sure that water had not begun to leak through the leather. The heavy steps of the mare were barely heard due to the heavy smattering of rain against the road, yet the woman could feel every movement and so knew that they still rode upon uneven cobblestones.

The heavy drops of rain distorted her sight somewhat, but she could make out the shape of a large manor in a glade further down the road. Spirits heightened somewhat by the prospect of a warm fire and a filling meal, she leaned forward a bit and smooched at the mare, whose ears flickered slightly before she lengthened her gait.

Coming in through the gate, she steered her horse towards the building that looked to be the stables. There was a large concentration of life force from certain points in the building, all of them shaped as a large four-legged animal. The mare stopped just outside, and she dismounted, taking a hold of the reins as she turned towards the stables. The big doors were slightly askew, and she looked around curiously when she pushed them open enough for herself and the mare to enter.

“Hello, is someone here?” she called out softly, not wishing to disturb the horses. Then her eyes shifted to a spot further in as a shuffling sound was heard and one of the stalls were opened by a short man who stepped out into the stable aisle.

“Good evening, ma'am, are you staying at the Wobbly Goblet?” the man asked, he was an elf, she could see when he got closer. By his short stature she guessed that he was one of the Bosmer.

“Yes, I'm Fedura Hlaalu,” she introduced herself as the other elf smiled and looked over at the mare standing behind the woman.

“My name is Lowren, and I take care of the stables here at the manor. Now, why don't I take care of your beautiful mare, and you can go in and warm yourself by the fire,” the bosmer said.

“That would be nice. Her name is Ceylye,” Fedura said as she handed the reigns to the wood elf after taking her bag from the saddle, and he smiled before walking down the aisle with the black mare. The dunmer woman turned after a moment and headed out through the door, trying – and failing – to avoid the many puddles of water on her way to the main building. When she finally slipped in through the door water had just begun to seep in through her boots, and though the cloak had protected her from the worst of the rain, it had not done a very good job in keeping out the cold.

She surveyed the room quickly before taking of her cloak, habit forcing her to note all the exits and the customers in the room. The closest was an Altmer who was standing near to the entrance - dripping water all over the floor - but none of them seemed like a threat to Fedura, and so she was finally able to relax as she walked up to stand next to the fire, intending to regain some warmth in her body before speaking to the proprietor.

[Grits]

.

Abiene

Lighting flashed. Thunder rolled. Abiene cast the spell to fortify her stamina so she could keep up her brisk pace through the rain. Darnand’s bracelet kept her dry and Jerric’s ring made the spring chill seem balmy, but neither charm prevented the wind from tearing at her clothing.

The trees creaked and roared. Abiene cast a Shield spell, hoping that none would topple. A falling branch would still crush her, but at least the weak spell kept flying leaves and twigs from scratching her face.

Oh, why did I decide to walk? she groaned to herself. In a carriage I would have made it home by now.

She had awakened that morning under a glorious red sunrise at the Wayshrine of Dibella. Walking had seemed like a good way to prolong and savor her relaxation before returning to work in Chorrol. Too bad she was unskilled at predicting the weather.

An arcane glow illuminated a sign at the side of the road. The Wobbly Goblet. Abiene stopped, pulling her hood up against the wind. Before long she would reach Weynon Priory and the shelter they offered fellow servants of the Nine. But this tavern had a reputation for safety and cleanliness, if not for innovative cuisine. A night in an inn bed would seem like luxury compared to her sparsely appointed chamber at the chapel. With few expenses she certainly had the coin to spare.

Abiene turned her steps toward the tavern, tucking her chin for the final dash.

Inside the door she found herself standing in a mud puddle amongst a pile of discarded armor. Her eyes went up and up until they met the author of the mess. A gorgeous young Altmer woman with short auburn hair, soaked and apologetic.

Another high elf stood nearby, wielding a mop and assurances.

“Oh my,” said Abiene.

She offered them both nods and smiles as she stepped between them. Several folk sat at the long bar while a Dunmer woman warmed herself by the fire. A large Khajiit idled in the shadows. Abiene hung her cloak and pack on pegs and walked over to the bar.

A gowned orc chatted with a dark-haired Altmer man at one end. A blue-feathered Argonian sat near them eating. Abiene’s gaze was drawn to the busty Nord woman dressed like a cook. She stood behind the bar speaking to an armored Khajiit and a scruffy Imperial woman. Both of them had plates before them. Abiene suddenly smelled mutton and garlic over the scents of woodsmoke and sweat. Her stomach growled.

“Welcome, traveler,“ said the barman. He slid a Bill of Fare across to her. “What’ll you have?”

Abiene smoothed her windblown hair as she glanced over the menu. “A glass of Tamika’s, the stuffed mushrooms, and a cheese plate with strawberries, if you please.” She pushed the parchment back to him. “Do you have a room available? I’d like to stay while the storm passes.”

“That we do.” The barman exchanged looks with the Nord cook and the orc, no doubt confirming that her order had been heard and understood. In a twinkling he had placed a glass on the counter and filled it with a flourish. “Here you are, miss.”

“Thank you. I’m Abiene Metonne, of the Great Chapel of Stendarr.”

The Breton raised his eyebrows. “Are you a priestess?”

“Oh no, I’m a healer. I pass by here fairly often. I suppose it was high time I stopped in.” She extended her hand over the counter.

The barman took it in his own. “Auguste Allard of the Wobbly Goblet. A pleasure to meet you.”

Abiene smiled back. “How do you do.”

She climbed up onto the barstool and sipped her wine.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: May 18 2013, 09:29 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

"What's that?" The female Khajiit asked. She, too, is surely hungry. It didn't surprise Vera that a plate of dessert would peak her curiosity. The felines are notorious for their love and obsession with all things sugar and sweet.

"Food." Vera replied, mostly to herself though. Her mouth was full, and she had little time to talk now.

Vera heard lightning strike again, but this time it was much louder than before. Her ears perked up, and the she turned to the source of the sound. The entrance door was open, and yet another woman entered. From her looks alone Vera could tell she was a High Elf. Their golden skin, yellow eyes, and tall stature is a dead give away to their haughty race. But her voice, however, betrayed her origins. Or at least her home.

There was a thick Nordic accent in her voice. It was unmistakable. This woman had no doubt spent her time in the frigid province of Skyrim, or at least had been raised by Skyrim-born Nords. The red gash on her cheek was not missed by Vera, who could smell blood from across the room.

Just behind her another Mer materialized from beyond the door. This time, it was a Dark Elf lady.

Its raining women tonight . . .

The Dark Elf woman was cloaked. But it wasn't her attire that struck out to Vera, though she found the wolf skin cloth quite humorous. It was the white in her eyes that meant she sustained some damage in some sort of violent attack or accident. She surveyed the room, much like Vera had when she entered. Vera stared for a quick moment, and turned away. But her mind remained on what she just saw.

There was no way of telling if someone was a killer or a hunter unless the individual was one too. And Vera was quite good at reading people not only from their speech and dress but their mannerisms and gestures. And this woman had the subtle gait of a murderer. As long as she didn't try to kill her, and her targets were not Vera's, then they would have no problems.

The chit-chat in the tavern rose and Vera could pickup a few sentances from the conversations of other people. Most of it, however, did not interest her right away.

She pushed her empty plate aside, and pulled her dessert closer. The blackberry crumble looked absolutely savory and Vera waste no time in admiring the food that sat beneath her face. She had room in her belly for more, and her fast metabolism would allow her hunger to rival that of an Orc.

She dug a silver spoon into the food, and picked off a large chunk and shoved it into her mouth and without barely even chewing it, she washed it down with milk.

By then another person(a Breton woman) entered. Vera didn't need to turn around, for she heard the woman approaching the bar to make an order. A narrow-faced Breton in brown trappings with the softest brown eyes one could look upon. She introduced herself as Abiene a healer of the great Chapel of Stendarr.

Vera betrayed no emotion. She never had a good history with healers. The last healer who tried to help set a pack of villagers to kidnap her on her estate. And the last servant of Stendarr placed her for vivisection due to his deep-rooted hatred for what she is and his religion. To ease her mind, Vera glanced over the bill to buy one last drink when she noticed she was being watched.

"The bill won't be too expensive, but it isn't exactly cheap either with that portion there," the large Orsimer told Vera as she dug into her food. "If you're willing to pay for it, I'd be happy to collect the gold right now. At your convenience, of course."

Vera sensed she had her eyes on her the moment she walked in with tattered clothing and worn leather pants. The lack of bruises or cuts in her face would suggest to most that she didn't sustain any injuries but didn't any coin and was a wandering beggar. The Orc woman, who Vera could only guess was proprietor, must have suspected Vera had no coin in her pockets to pay the bill.

She wasn't exactly her prettiest at the moment. Dark circles under her eyes, mud caked on her wild and unkempt hair, shirt and face and water soaking her pants. She was still dripping wet, and yet made no effort to dry herself immedietly. Her small satchel didn't tell others she was an adventuring hero with a lot of gold. But still. Like a book, No one could judge a pack for its cover. Adding to that is the luxurious inn she found herself in, contrasting tremendously with the appearance she gave off.

But Vera was no beggar, and she certainly wasn't poor. For those who knew her when she was "alive" she was indeed wealthy, and inherited territory in the Great Forest. Everything about her life in Cyrodiil—the estate, the clothes, the social calendar was part of her nobility. Her family surrounded themselves with wealth and material comforts; a far cry from the austere lifestyle Vera chose to have.

Life on the run had been hard, but it had kept her strong. And she couldn't help but come to the conclusion that her former life as a daughter of nobility had made her soft. Life was a constant struggle; the strong would need to survive in any way nescessary. But for a mundane noble, a luxurious living would be the what lulled one into a false sense of peace.

As her lover once said, chains were not always made of iron and steel; they could sometimes be woven of expensive silk and gowns. The easy life was a snare as dangerous as any hunter could be. The sense of urgency and the threat of danger had to be constant, and an easy living would only yield the ennui of security and contentment.

Vera flexed her fingers. Her tone suggested a bit of hostility, but it was due to the lack of sleep. "Will it be too expensive?"

"Are you a beggar?" the Orc woman replied.

Vera licked bits of food from her inside her mouth. "Do you see me begging?"

The proprietor rested her hand on her vicious looking club and offered Vera a terryfing smile.

What's the club for? To butcher the horses outside for meat?

The Imperial gulped down the last portion of her drink and reached for her satchel below her feet. She searched for a sack of coin, and retrieved it to set it upon the counter. "I'll pay for it in full. And I want to rent a room for the night. With a bath."

The Orsimer turned the bag upside down and counted all the coins. More than she expected, surely. Vera could not help but wonder what the woman's reaction would be if she discovered this coin was blood-money. She probably would not care. Coin was coin after all. Vera awaited her response before she would decide to go to the library.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 18 2013, 11:43 PM

[King Coin]

“Food,” the Imperial grumbled. She was in no mood to talk. Aravi was fine with that; there were times when she just wanted to be left alone. She looked to the cook who was still there.

“That’s my blackberry crumble. Would you like some?”

“Yes please,” Aravi replied.

Behind her, she heard the door open a few more times to admit more travelers seeking shelter. Aravi didn’t bother to turn and look this time, instead focusing on her meal.

She cut a small portion of meat and ate it, finding it tender and pleasing to her tongue. She sampled the sliced and buttered potatoes and bread next, dipping each into the puddle of gravy on her plate.

A Breton woman came to the bar and started speaking with the barkeep. Every other patron came out of the storm soaking wet, however this woman showed no signs of braving the storm except her windblown clothes and hair. Interesting. I wonder how she managed that? Spells? Aravi listened as she ate her food to the two speak.

“Thank you. I’m Abiene Metonne, of the Great Chapel of Stendar,” the Breton woman said.

Aravi recognized the name. Is this is the woman I’m looking for?

“Are you a priestess?” The bartender asked.

“Oh no, I’m a healer. I pass by here fairly often. I suppose it was high time I stopped in,” Abiene replied.

It’s definitely her. She finished the food in her mouth and wiped her mouth on the cloth napkin before speaking.

“I overheard you speaking to the bartender. You are Abiene Metonne?” Aravi asked.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla quickly ordered a room and sheepishly trudged to it, looking back apologetically at the fellow Altmer with a mop. She set her clothes out to dry and quickly bathed, thankful for the warm air. She dried out another set of clothes, another pair of black pants, and a soft light blue shirt, and threw them on. She came out in a soft pair of moccasins and sat at the bar and watched the bard, a playful grin on her face.

[Grits]

Abiene

As the auburn-haired Altmer joined them at the bar, the armored Khajiit spoke. “I overheard you speaking to the bartender. You are Abiene Metonne?” she asked.

Abiene didn’t have to search her memory to know they hadn’t met. The Khajiit’s white fur and leopard markings were distinctive, and her green eyes reminded Abiene of Lildereth’s.

She smiled. “Yes, I am.”

[Grits]

Bograk

Bograk separated the gold into two piles, pushing one back to the Imperial. Everything had a price, and this filthy woman had more than enough to pay. Even if her voracious appetite continued at breakfast. After all linens could be boiled and furniture scrubbed. Though she hoped the woman would make thorough use of the bath.

The orc made her pile of coins disappear and gestured for Hethilion to bring a bath to the south chamber. His spells would make quick work of the task.

She slid a key to the Imperial. Offering to help with her satchel was likely to just annoy her. “Upstairs on the left. Hethilion will leave the door open for you.”

Bograk hated to leave a customer with that much gold in their purse. “Would you like a nightcap sent up? Tea, a late snack? A bottle of brandy?” She glanced around but didn’t see Stefania.

Laegon began to play his lute, exchanging smiles with the now-clean Altmer guest. That should bring her barmaid sashaying and simpering through the tavern looking for attention. Blast! Where was that girl?

.

This post has been edited by Grits: May 19 2013, 02:49 PM

[King Coin]

“Yes, I am,” Abiene said.

“I’m Aravi,” she introduced herself and offered her hand to Abiene. “I came from Skyrim looking for you. Two friends, Darnand and Jerric, said you are one of the best healers in Tamriel.”

[Grits]

Abiene

Abiene took Aravi’s hand in both of her own and squeezed affectionately. “Aravi! Of course they have told me about you. I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The significance of Aravi’s words sank in. A scar on the right side of Aravi’s face was the only evidence of injury that Abiene could immediately see. Skyrim had no lack of healers, so something must have driven her to make the journey.

Abiene spoke softly. A Khajiit would be able to hear her over the tavern racket. “Is something—” she began, but the cook interrupted.

“Mushroom caps and a selection of cheeses with strawberries,” the young woman announced, placing the plates in front of Abiene. She unnecessarily swiped the spotless bar with her towel and rocked back on her heels. Auguste gave her an annoyed glance. “Will you have some apple pie with the cheese? Or blackberry crumble?” The Nord nodded eagerly toward the plates in front of Aravi and the blonde Imperial.

The stuffed mushroom caps were larger than Abiene’s head, and there were two of them. This is a small plate?

“Thank you, but let’s see how much of this I can manage first,” Abiene said. The mushrooms were stuffed with breadcrumbs, grated cheese, chopped onion and more mushroom, and what smelled like very spicy sausage. Abiene gestured to the plate and looked at Aravi. “Would you like some of this? My goodness, it’s nearly enough for Jerric!”

[King Coin]

Aravi smiled. They were definitely talking of the same Jerric. “I’m sure she makes her dishes with someone like Jerric in mind! Thanks for the offer, but I have my own plates to worry about. I’ll have enough trouble with this as it is.” She gestured at the meal in front of her, hardly a dent could be perceived. And then there was her dessert. She had to make sure she ate that… maybe she’ll eat it first before continuing with her meal. She took a small sip of her tea.

“What brings Chorrol’s healer out here on a day like this?” Aravi asked. She was hoping to learn a little more about this healer. None of the others could help her, but Darnand assured her that Abiene knew things other healers did not. He refused to elaborate beyond that, but Aravi hoped he was right.

[Grits]

“What brings Chorrol’s healer out here on a day like this?” Aravi asked.

Abiene sipped her wine while she considered how to answer. A frank reply might bring the wrong kind of attention. She settled on part of the truth.

“I’ve been at the Wayshrine of Dibella, south of here in the Great Forest. It’s under the protection of an order that’s familiar to me. I used to live in Anvil, and I know the high priestess and one of the knights from the chapel there.”

Aravi’s face didn’t hold judgment, so Abiene continued.

“The knight is under my care. Their armor is enchanted but quite revealing, and they disapprove of visible scars. You can imagine the difficulty. Anyway, I’ve been doing some… work that has helped me treat her.” She put down her goblet and picked up the cutlery. It would be bad form for a surgeon to fumble slicing up a mushroom. “I decided to walk back to Chorrol, but then this storm! The Great Forest is no place to be when the trees start coming down.” She glanced over at Aravi. There was surely something serious on her mind. She kept her voice soft. “Did you really come all the way from Skyrim to see me?”

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla listened to the conversation of the two next to her with little interest, until she heard the names Jerric and Darnand. She waited until there was a lull in the conversation before turning her attention from the handsome lute player to the two women conversing.

"You two know Jerric and Darnand?" She asked the pair. The scent of the food suddenly hit her, and she swiveled all the way around to see the plate. She felt the hollow pang in her stomach and realized she hadn't eaten in a few hours. She stared at the stuffed mushrooms and ordered a plate, along with some water. She turned her attention back to the women.