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> To The North, the warm-up RP
Uleni Athram
post Mar 20 2012, 01:18 PM
Post #1


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oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Chorrol, 4E 200


Orange.

That was the color of the skies as Magnus drowned in the west, the final sunburst reaching its extremes in an effort to reclaim its seat in the highest heaven. From behind a veil of space in the east, Celdryn could see the Twin Moons usurping, slowly vanishing the orange with the blue touch of the incoming eve. Such a strange day, or dusk, indeed, to see the three observers in one, vivid moment. Suspicious townsfolk took this as an omen of things to come; indeed, from his conquered spot in the dome of one of the watch-towers, he could hear old naysayers preach on about momentous events that scour and scar all of Tamriel. He could also hear the buzzing of Chorrol.

Even as night stalks the skies, this city was busy as bustling Daggerfall in her drousy day. He turned to glance down and observed the ants as they carried on with their duties; one particular ant caught the green-piercing stare; a fat dunmeri clothed in fine silks, flanked by bored-looking Thalmor, the trio pushing their way towards the Castle. Celdryn watched the dunmer looked wearily at a certain spot in the courtyard; the Breton marked it in his mind and waited until the Twin Moons finally shared a seat on the throne of Magnus; watching from above as Celdryn finally made his move.

The midnight veiled the Breton as he jumped down the tower in one leap, landed expertly on the battlements. The guards posted here drunked themselves to a stupor; at least that would be the explanation they would have after they woke up from their spiked drinks. The ones that walked would no longer recognize the form of Celdryn; to them, he was just a brown lump in a dark setting. A harmless nothing. Fluttering of cloaks as he scaled the outer walls of the castle's closed gate. Reached the top, and glanced down at the courtyard.

There he was.

The dunmeri, now cloaking himself with a nondescript cowl and robe. The guards weren't there; probably bought off to disappear. The green eyes narrowed as the elf flailed his arms about like a madman, muttered some phrases in an alien tongue. The calm wind became enraged, shrieked like a banshee. Torches in the courtyard blew themselves out. Darkness now. Even the light of the Twins faltered as the courtyard became a pit of brooding blackness. Celdryn recognized it immediately as black magic. But to what purpose? And why here, in this very compromising spot?

He got his answer as white tendrils rose out of the courtyard's well, and hovered like hackle-lo smoke around the dunmer wizard, who now looked as if he snorted the sweetest skooma. From this distance, Celdryn saw the elf's nostril flare wide and the tendrils sought it out like it was being pulled... A long, audibe gasp of pure ecstasy from the dunmer. He flailed his arms again, muttered in that dark tongue, and the black mist disappeared along with the banshee wind. The dunmeri shuffled into the confines of the castle, and locked the entrance behind him.

Celdryn, seeing this, could not help but be interested. What manner of thing rose out of the well that the dunmeri snorted? Is it something sinister?

Or what?

He decided to find out. He jumped down with wraithlike grace and tiptoed to the well. The air around it seemed thicker; breathing became labour, as if something covered his nose. The brave breton fiddled with the well's lock for sometime, before he cracked it open and set aside the iron covering. He peered down. Pure darkness. From his satchel, he produced a glowstone; one of those useful tools made by the Dwemer. He dropped it in to test the drop; considerable, but not beyond his skill. He stood his bow against the well and his quiver also. No use for those ranged death-dealers to where he's going. He readied himself for the jump...
----------------

".. himself for the jump... And that is the end of the tale. I should reall-"

The enraptured crowd quickly voiced their complaints against the bard, demanding closure from the cliffhanger he cruelly set upon their curiousities. The owner of the Oak and Crosier had to rely on his loud voice and threats of expulsion to quieten them down on this fine evening. The poor bard, who was on the verge of being manhandled by the mob, shot him a grateful look. He then announced that he would continue the tale of the dashing rogue Celdryn Minan'Kherus tomorrow eve. And until then, here he scooped up his colovian fur helm that full of coins, he bid them au revoir. With the mob now turning to their drinks, the bard approached the counter and sat on a stool closest to the khajiit owner.

He flashed the cat another grateful smile.

"Thanks," he said, breathless from his tale, "I owe you one!"

The Khajiit shrugged and produced a frothing mug of chilled ale. The young bard took it and drank it to the last drop. The khajiit made a remark that had the bard laughing.

"Come now, Tal'Jhiro. A bard is born to seduce; but in order for his tales to have effect, it must sometimes rhyme with the bells of truth. And truthfully? I really did scaled the walls of a castle."

Tal'Jhiro looked at Celdryn with those amber orbs. He then decided that this breton can white-lie all he wants as long as he pays. The cat scooped up the payment and went to service another customer. Celdryn stood up, walked around the counter, and took a bottle of wine from the shelves. He returned to his seat and just as he was about to enjoy being stoned, a young teen of no less than eight winters approached. The kiid tugged on Celdryn's cloak. The Breton turned to face him, annoyed, but it vanished as he looked upon the enquiring eyes of the youth.

"Weh der dwagons undah dah well?"

"Tomorrow child. All shall be revealed.. Tomorrow."

The child didn't took the hint. He stayed, rooted to the spot, puppy brown eyes engaging the greens of Celdryn.

"Ohkay. But.. can I as' you a kweston?"

"Fire it up like you're a professional archer, boy."

A brief confusion on the child's grimy face before it was replaced by the undeniable curiousity found only in the innocent. But before the child could speak, what Celdryn could only guess as the mother appeared from nowhere and pinched the child's ear. Apparently, this child, name of Timothy, slipped out of the house JUST to listen to the tales of the local bard. Celdryn also received a verbal-lashing from the mother bear, who made sure Celdryn wouldn't 'preach his daedric lies' when little Timpthy was in the area.

When they both took their leave, Celdryn sighed. When he turned to his drink, he found it not on his hand, but on the hands of the stern-faced Tal'Jhiro, whose eyes spoke of much amusement at the Breton's suffering.

"Damn it," he cursed.


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jack cloudy
post Mar 21 2012, 11:20 AM
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Kogobal applauded politely over his meal as the bard finished his tale. He had hoped for more. While mindless in its goal to entertain, the story had been captivating. He wanted to know what Celdryn found in that well. Had it been some foul secret, the dark magic the Dunmer had employed? Or were they simply some fuming plants with hallucination-inducing properties? Did the mer really sniff skooma and had the dark magic been nothing more than simple telekinesis? He wished to know but the Breton had made it clear he desired to gain as much with his story as he could.
“Perhaps tomorrow. I can always come back here in a flash and a snap.” Kogobal thought and made his own contribution to the donation-hat. Then he smiled and returned his attention to the rapidly cooling slice of venison. It was all fiction of course, nothing that truly deserved his interest.

Earlier that day

Finally, Kogobal thought, his feet had brought him to Chorrol. He didn’t stay for very long. Everyone treated him as if he’d loudly proclaimed a desire to eat their children. The library wouldn’t admit him, neither would most bookstores. And the people, they terrified him. By the time he was constantly looking over his shoulder to avoid the inevitable lynching, he figured he’d had enough. So he went north. North to Skyrim. Skyrim where the Nords lived, with their magic of yelling. Or so he’d heard.

So now he stood at the gates of Chorrol, though behind a bush and just out of view. Out of habit he checked the misted and scratched surface of his staff’s little glass cap. The sphere was dull and lifeless, as it always had been. With a sigh he shook it and angled it for a better look but nothing stirred within. It was a ritual that had become more than just an aspect of his quest. It had become a part of himself. He simply wouldn’t feel whole if he didn’t peer into the orb at every junction in a road, at every landmark he passed, every morning and every evening. So now he watched, searching for that elusive glimmer of light. But nothing stirred.

Kogobal sighed once more and turned to the second ritual that made him Kogobal, the wandering heretic. He closed his eyes and sought the world, the oneness that united each place with each place. Separate yet connected. From the world he found himself, the grass he stood on. He felt its place, its weavings and its song. With a mental flick of his fingers, he bent one of the weaves, pinched a note, folded them into a complicated and stable knot. Then he fled the oneness and opened his eyes. From now on, whenever he wished it, he could recall that knot and return his flesh and soul to this place. Right here, behind the bush.

With both rituals completed, the encroaching night was free for him to do as he pleased. Kogobal stepped out beyond the bush and walked for the gate. While the guards looked at him sternly, they did at least not reach for their weapons. The people of Chorrol were the same. They looked at him, but without murder in their eyes. Kogobal decided he liked the quaint little city.

He walked around for a bit and then entered a nice looking tavern. A bard had just begun spinning a tale. Kogobal ordered a meal and sat down to listen.

Back to the now

The fun of the evening was spoiled by a child’s mother. Quite loudly she ranted about how the bard’s stories were evil, corrupting and dared she say it, heretical. He would do best not to tell his lies in her city anymore. Kogobal’s face became a stony mask of disgust.
“Ignorant hag.” He thought. He couldn’t let this slide and when the woman dragged the child passed his table, he spoke.

“How can we ever obtain knowledge if we blindfold ourselves to the world with a pleasant fantasy? This land is not made of pure good, sunshine and cute little ponies dancing in flowerfilled fields. To learn is to question, to seek truth by thought. Minds are there to be nurtured, not shackled down. Do not deny the child this by forcing ignorance upon him.” He said softly while trying to keep both his face and his voice under control. He thought he managed better than the child’s mother.The woman faltered in her step, the child looked up at the tall, oh so very tall man with the golden skin, his eyes growing big. The mother glared at him and tried to form words. But in the end she said nothing and dragged her son out of the inn.

Kogobal watched her go and shook his head. Perhaps he did more harm than good.
“In any case. If the Dunmer had truly managed to shove a dragon down that well, it would have an awfully hard time scratching its back down there.” He muttered to himself and laughed.


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Darkness Eternal
post Mar 21 2012, 05:14 PM
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~ Vaultren, Chorrol Inn. ~


***


Night birthed above the town of Chorrol, gracing the sky with the twin celestial bodies known to most as Masser and Secunda. Stars filled the void of the dark skies above, bearing scattering twinkles around the black blanket that stretched out into city and beyond. At this time, Bruma was filled with all sorts of men and women of all ages, titles and differences. While a Imperial-influenced town, Bruma was no stranger to Mer nor Beastfolk. At this time, especially. Most in the streets retreated to the inns and into the taverns.

It was a perfect night for a nocturnal leisurely stroll, a quite moment of skulking around the town, maybe even to meet a lone wench or lass to meet, court and seduce. But to Vaultren, these things were simply a distant memory. It was as if trying to recall fragments of a dream upon awakening. The mind of an adolescent man was filled with all sorts of things born of that age, lust, young love, adventure. But for Vaultren...it was a dream of a time long past.

Vaultren sat up in his bed, awake for minutes now as he was roused by the laughter and shouting of the motley crowd of unruly men and women imbibed with ale and all sorts of mind-altering beverages. Grabbing the sides of his head with both of his hands, the enraged Imperial seethed at the interruption. Accursed feline, liar! Vaultren complained silently. I rented the place for a day and he told me there would be no interruptions!

He picked himself up, swinging his legs from the pathetic excuse of a bed. It cried and squeaked as he removed himself from its near comfortable presence. He took himself to the drawers where he swiftly removed the clothing from within; fancy extravagant black and burgundy outfit, silver and ruby ring along with gold-trimmed boots. As he was about to dress himself, he heard clapping and laughter from the floor beneath.

All these men and women, drunkards and bards...if I dressed like this, they would surely notice my status. And it would bring too much attention, Vaultren caressed his smooth hairless chin. He would have to blend in. I always blend in...always.

And so he did, grabbing a pair of regular shoes, a simple white shirt that was a bit tight, but nevertheless fitting, and regular black pants. He tucked away his personal belongings in a large sack, and marked it with some ink, spelling his initials. D.V. He later tucked it away under the bed, hidden from thieves and men whom could possibly come upon it.

He left the room, locking the door before heading down the stairs to the heart of the commotion and the cacophony of belches, cheer and praise. As he left the hall to walk into the main tavern, he saw what was happening. A bard just finished his tale, which was the cause of all this mess in the first place.

The aggressive-looking Imperial leaned on the wall, folding his arms at the roguish bard. He watched from the shadowed hallway as he happily picked up his helm full of coins, only to head to the blasted khajiit owner. It wasn't long before he was approached by a young boy who seemed to pester him with a question, which was put on hold as a maternal figure materialized from the crowd only to discipline her son and vilify the bard for his tales. She, in turn, was scolded by a High Elf who seemed to have driven her out of the inn after a brief exchange of words.

Vaultren was feeling a bit thirsty and at the same time, hungry. He approached the counter, taking a seat on the stool. As the Khajiit was busy serving another, Vaultren simply formed a triangle with his fingers as he stared from behind it with malice. The feline owner eventually took notice of him. Slightly wary of the angry-looking Imperial. But tonight, Vaultren was in no mood to begin a quarrel or an argument. He simply grinned and made his order.

"I desire a plate of bloodied venison and boar meat. Add a bit of clam meat as well."

"And, to drink?"

Vaultren slightly shook his head. "I would have nothing to drink."

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Mar 21 2012, 05:17 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Uleni Athram
post Mar 21 2012, 07:07 PM
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Celdryn struck the first blow. He narrowed his green eyes, glowing it up in a provoking manner. His eyes said the insults, the contempt, and the longing. There was a stillness of time between the two as Tal'Jhiro and Celdryn engaged in a total war of glares. For a minute, none showed any weaknesses. Untl the Khajiit's right eye twitched, and in the fires of the unrelenting green-stare, almost-blinked. Smelling the blood on the water, Cekdryn intensified his efforts, and the results were to his liking.

"Fine," the cat all but snarled. "Take this one free on the house. There wouldn't any in the future, so beware!"

The young rogue roared out his triumph, adding to the general hubbub of the Oak and Crosier, and snatched the wine bottle like it was his lost lunch money. With a beautific smile and glimmering eyes, Celdryn poured the velveteen blessing on the chilled mug, with passion so hot it was almost strange to behold. With both hands, he grasped it, eying it reverently, and put it to his lips. He opened, the crimson wave flowed in, and he kept the liquid on his tongue, savoring the taste of his battle-won drink. It trailed a graceful line of cold and bitter fire to the pit of his stomach, and he welcomed the beautiful and contradicting sensation. He closed his eyes. A gasp of pure ecstasy. The khajiit looking at him strangely.

He could care less. Tonight, he was looking to get wonderfully stoned.

But the feeling of being watched got him straight into alert mode. Oh yes, Celdryn is no stranger at being looked at; in fact, he even enjoys it. But there was a big difference between being awed at in broad daylight, and being watched in the shadows. He sensed him before he began his observation. Imperial. Would look like a prince if he was younger. Celdryn would bet tonight's earnings that he was. Aristocracy can smell each other's blue-blood a mile away. When he stepped into the light and revealed his unnaturally pale skin, Celdryn congratulated himself. This one was from a noble blood, no doubt about it. Not many Imperials had the skin that would rival an introverted Breton.

That was his only thoughts about this angry-looking Imperial, before Celdryn took a huge gulp of his chilled wine. And as he finished his beverage, he remembered the tale he would weave in the eve of tomorrow. Pffft. He decided that he could form about the continuation tomorrow afternoon. He wasn't really a bard anyway. Just trying this for the extra windfall. And truthfully, windfall or no, it was getting rather boring. He had to make some money in order to get to the Companions of Whiterun, but barding was not it.

He stood up. He gave the pale Imperial a passing look of disnterested curiousity before heading upstairs to his room. On the way, he passed the Altmer who gave the mother of Timothy a verbal-execution. Hmm. He was also one of the enraptured mob who listened to his hastily made 'tale'. He thanked him for his donations with a smile, and resumed his journey to his room. When he entered the sanctuary of his temporary room, he immediately sought out the chest which contained his belongings. He ruffled through it, searching for his diary, when there came a knock on the door.

It was Tal'Jhiro.

"Retiring so soon?

Celdryn turned to him.

"Yes. Suddenly tired. I was supposed to write in my journal before retiring, but what is it?"

"Some of the customers are requesting for some ambience music. The music troupe we hired are already here and they're all set up by the hearthplace, but apparently, their 'skald' has met an unfortunate accident regarding a plant vase and the peel of a banana. Since you're not half-bad, can I count on you on replacing the skald for tonight?"

"Do I get paid?"

"Depends on the crowd. How generous they feel and the scale of your performance. Come now, Celdryn. The Oak and Crosier is known for its hospitality since the Third Era, I do not plan on tarnishing that reputation my ancestors built!"

"Easy there, cat. I'm gonna do it, but I'll have some.. collateral, if you may call it. 25 septims up front, and I'll do it."

"Deal."

A jingling pouch exchanged hands in the dim candelight and the breton followed the khajiit dowstairs to where some of the crowd gathered infront of two Nords, both them having a musical instrument. A drum and a lute. Tal'Jhiro gave an encouraging pat on the breton's shoulders and returned to his place at the counter. Celdryn stepped between the two giants and looked uncertainly towards the listeners. He may not know how to be a skald, but he knew how to please people.

He clasped his hands and gave them a smile.

"OK, since I love you folks so much," here he looked at the Nords by him each in the eye, pleading them to just flow with him, "we shall start with a customer-service! Yes, I am open to requests for a specific ballad! So! What shall it be, my listeners?"

He looked at all the customers.

"Well?"


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Colonel Mustard
post Mar 22 2012, 09:52 PM
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The velvet blanket of night was beginning draw closed the thinning line between day and night as Alvara found her way to the gates of Chorrol. It was a fine evening, despite the approach of nightfall, and her hood was down, grey-white hair knotted in a rough tail. Two guards stood at position just outside of them, each one holding a torch with a longsword in the holsters at their belts.

"Evening, ma'am," one of them said as Alvara approached. "Good thing you came when you did; we were just about to shut the gates for the night."

"Evening to you too, serjo," Alvara replied, stopping for the moment and leaning on her staff. "Say, you know of anywhere a traveller can go to get a good meal and a warm bed for the night?"

"You can do worse than the Oak and Crosier, if that's what you want," the guard said. "Just look out of the signs, you can't miss it."

"I'll be sure to," Alvara said. "Thank you very much, serjo."

"Not a problem," the guard said. "You stay safe now, ma'am."

Alvara raised her staff in a mock salute to the man as he left, and soon enough found the tavern. It was crowded and noisy, bursting with patrons, and as she opened the door she could feel the warmth of crackling hearths and dozens of bodies all pressed in one place wash onto her skin.

She made her way towards the bar, drawing little notice from the other patrons, uninterested as they were in a dark elf in simple traveller's gear. She had to wait a moment for the Khajiit there to finish talking to an Imperial who was ordering some food, and once he was done set about dealing with the usual business of food and board.

Once that was resolved, she took the plate of beef stew that was ladelled out for her and the small bottle of Balmora Blue she had purchased, and found her place by the table. Placing her bags to one side, she drew forth a pipe and a small pouch of Hackle-Lo leaf. She filled it and struck the thumb flints she used for lighting fires over the dried herbs, inhaling as they began to gently smoulder. Soon enough, a thin haze of finely scented smoke surrounded her.

A group of players were setting their instruments up on one side, and what looked to be their lead bard, a Breton by her guess, strode up to the front and announced; "We shall start with a customer-service! Yes, I am open to requests for a specific ballad! So! What shall it be, my listeners? Well?"

After a moment's thought, Alvara decided that it would be nice to hear an old classic and called from the back of the tavern; "Let's hear the maiden and the bear!"
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Darkness Eternal
post Mar 23 2012, 05:31 AM
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It wasn't long before a new sight came Vaultren's line of vision; a Dunmeri woman. Ah, what is this? He watched her from the corner of his eye as she waited until he was finished with his order, and as she took a seat on a nearby table ordering a plate of beef stew. Soon after the savory meal and drink had arrived, she removed a pipe from her sack and began to make the nescessary preparations to make the miniature contraption work.

He discerned what he initially could from the woman. First and foremost her heritage was obviously Dunmeri. The tattoo which crawled from her right ear down to her cheek reinforced his speculation profoundly. Secondly, she was a traveler by the trappings and attire, as well as the staff. Though he took a closer look at the staff and came to the conclusion it served as a magical tool. She bore white-grey hair that seemed to have peeked through her hood, though she certainly was not old at all. Vaultren saw she had a youthful aura to her, a freshness that notified him she was younger than some of the Dunmers in this town. She was also of decent shape, though not perfect in societies' standards.

From the halls of the Inn, returned the Breton bard, much to Vaultren's chagrin. He came down, with a loud shout, he roused the attention of most the tavern's patrons. By Oblivion's pits, what now? Vaultren seethed silently.

"We shall start with a customer-service! Yes, I am open to requests for a specific ballad! So! What shall it be, my listeners?" Proclaimed the Breton.

Just then, a plate was slid beneath Vaultren's chin. He gazed back to see his food, freshly made just as he requested. The beautiful dish made his mouth water, so much that he managed to impale the pieces of bloodied deer meat with his eating utensil, slightly shoving forkfuls of it into his mouth. Though he did it in a way no one would stop to notice. And he was sure no one would even bother, since they had their undivided attention on the Breton bard. B

Vaultren considered asking for a song, but the Dark Elf woman had beat him to it with a request of her own. "Let's hear the maiden and the bear!"

Usually, he was in no mood to listen to bards tales and songs of heroic adventures and mysteries. He was more inclined to the classical feel and soothing sound of palace instruments and the likes, though in a semi-chaotic and yet cheerful enviorment such as this, he could get away with certain things which he could have a hard time doing, providing he did them at his convenient place of leisure. Looking at the Dunmer, Vaultren protested against her wish immedietly after, raising his voice to challenge hers.

"Naarifins Fall!" shouted Vaultren. Surely his voice would at last be heard. He turned slightly to the Dunmer woman, adding with a slight smirk: "The maiden and the bear has been done to death a thousands times over. I would turn on my grave if such a ballad filled my ears once more."

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Mar 23 2012, 05:33 AM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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jack cloudy
post Mar 23 2012, 10:26 PM
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From: In a cold place.



Kogobal


He finished his meal with a bit more hurry than he would have liked. Fear that the foolish woman would return, or that armed guards would burst in, made him devour what was left on his plate rapidly. In the end though, only a young Dunmer entered. He gave a greeting nod as she passed by his table on her way to the bar. Afterwards he leaned back and enjoyed the weariness slowly dissipating from his legs.

"Ten minutes now, I guess there won't be any overzealous guards ruining my evening. Good, I don't know how to fight and I'd rather not spend the night under the stars again."
The Altmer noted to himself and grimaced as he realized that his only method of dealing with an angry mob was to either teleport away or summon his Atronach. The bloodbath the latter would cause made him shiver just thinking about it. Yes, he counted himself lucky that Chorrol was less anti-Altmer as Cyrodiil had been.

A small band took the stage now, among them the bard from before. When the light of the fire washed over the Breton's face, Kogobal noticed with shock that it wasn't so much a face as pile upon pile of misshapen scars.
"What a life has that man led?" He couldn't help but mutter.

For a moment he was lost in thought, wondering if the man's past might have been his muse for the earlier story. Then a voice called out, requesting a song. Another rang out, protesting the choice and suggesting another. Kogobal didn't know who had shouted, so he looked at the band as he gave his two cents.
"The night is too young and the audience too merry for a song as grave as one of war, bloodshed and betrayal. I am personally rather tired hearing of the Thalmor, whether in the role of hero or the role of evil. The maiden and the Boar sounds rather more uplifting, if only in title." He said in the short lull that had followed the two requests.


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Uleni Athram
post Mar 24 2012, 10:05 AM
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There were some mumbling and rumbling from the crowd, arguing amongst themselves over what song the trio should play. Celdryn gave a mental sigh of relief as he waited for the diners and drinkers to make up their mind. At least the mob's differencing preferences gave time for Celdryn to dug into his memory about songs he knew. Sadly, the ones in his mind were of Fighters Guild's origin. He wondered if they would listen to the Ballad of Oreyn and the Company. They probably don't even know that one, chances are. He beheld the entrance of a stranger in cloak, and when he saw that she was a dunmer, his interest piqued. Not about her origin or whatnot, but because of the hackle-lo pipe she smoked from. Instanly, the breton envied her. His own pipe was lost during his journey from the City to Chorrol, and the comfortable paralyzation it gifted was sorely missed by Celdryn's body.

And then he gave her a grin when she made a request. A request of his childhood song.

"Mistress elf, I thank thee! To sing a song of Daggerfall's taverns is unexpected, but it is a wonderful request nonetheless! In fact, that was the first song I learned!"

And before he could regale the whole tavern with the famous tale of the bear and the maiden fair, the angry looking Imperial roared out something that completely deadened the livelihood of the whole establishment. Naarifin's Fall, he yelled. And in the volume of war-cry, too. There was an uneasy silence as the diners and drinkers looked at each other warily. Even the hearth seemed to quieten down its crackling at the Imperial's request. Celdryn stared at him. Someone in the crowd stood up and made a quick exit. Celdryn, done staring blankly at the Imperial, made sure there were no Thalmor hanging about in the vicinity.

He cleared his throat.

"Uhm.. Naarifin's Fall, you say?" Here he chuckled nervously. "I... do not really know if that is wise, friend. I briefly remember hearing about a bard who sung that ... tale, and the next day, he was crucified. I do not relish my hands being impaled to a stick, thank you very much."

It was the truth. Or atleast the Handbook for Starting Bards- Fourth Era Edition, page 23, said so. It was not the Imperial's gall that took Celdryn in a very interesting mood. No. The fact that he even he knew it, an outlawed ballad thirty or so years ago, was what hooked Celdryn's attention. He wasn't that old, apart from the dark rings under his eyes. In fact, he wasn't that older than Celdryn himself! There certainly more than meets the eye on this man... Celdryn regarded him with the green, suspicious stare yet again before its emerald rays were drawn towards the earlier Altmeri, whose lullaby voice brightened the general mood a bit.

Celdryn gave a bow.

"All hail our Thalmor overlords. All hail the superiority of elves over us humble men." The sarcasm he dripped forth was saccharine. It almost looked as if he truly believed what he said. "Unfortunately, they will not have a place amongst us this day. It saddens you a lot, I'm sure." He clapped his hands sharply and the two nords began the ambience song. Celdryn let his body respond to it. His sober bretonic voice was a sharp contrast to the ribald ballad of the hairy bear of which he now sung. He made a few adjustments to some of the notes to bear with his almost-countertenor voice. With time, the mob sang with him. The establishment roared with the silly song.

"A bear there was,
A bear, a bear!
All black and brown,
and covered with hair!

Oh come they said,
Oh come to the fair!
The fair? said he,
but I'm a bear!
All black and brown
and covered with hair!

And down the road
from here to there,
From here to there,
Thrree boys- a goat,
and a dancing bear!
They danced and spun,
all the way to the fari!

Oh sweet she was,
and pure and fair,
the maid with honey
In her hair! her hair!
The maid with honey
in her hair!

The bear smelled the scent
on the summer hair!
The bear! The bear!
All black and brown
and covered with hair!
He smelled the scent
on the summer air
He sniffed and roared
and smelled it there!
Honey on the summer air!

Oh I'm a maid
and I'm pure and fair,
I'll never dance
With a hairy bear!

The bear the bear
lifted her high
into the air!
the bear the bear!

I called for a knight
But you're a bear!
A bear! A bear,
All black and brown
and covered in hair!

She kicked and wailed
the maid so fair,
but he licked the honey
from her hair!
her hair her hair!
He licked the honey
from her hair!

Then she sighed and squeeled
and kicked the air
she sang; my bear so fair,
and off they went,
The bear! The bear!
And the maiden fair!"

It ended with a loud roar of 'Cheers!' from the mob and the two nords began to play another usual tavern ambience. Celdryn, breathless from singing that rowdy song, went to the counter and sat on a stool, oblivious to the fact that he sat with the Imperial, who mus've been mightily displeased. He ordered another ale from the Khajiit owner, and got it and then some. The mug of over-flowing ale was accompaied by a large coin pouch that jingled very loudly. With a smile, he took both. He quaffed the ale to the bottom and looked around for some suitable partner for some small talk. The maiden and the bear gave him some wasteful energy, and he wasn't ready to retire yet!
---------


OOC: Is that the Maiden and the Bear you guys requested? I mean, there is only one song that has THAT unique title, but you can never be sure.


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Darkness Eternal
post Mar 24 2012, 05:11 PM
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The upset Imperial sat idly on his seat as his desire of a song was voted out, but certainly not ignored. He looked to the side as a High Elf notified him that such a song of battle and bloodshed was too grave to be sung in a night to so young. That the people deserved a more uplifting tale to cheer the spirit. Vaultren crossed his arms at his chest, exhaling frustratingly.

He narrowed his eyes, as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight before him; the entire tavern was silent. In a single sentence, he was able to temporarily quash their merry spirit of glee and festivity. He took in his surroundings with a studious glare, eyeing each and every individual. He even spotted a man leave the inn, one who was causing as much of a nuisance with his loud laughter as the other. If only I had mentioned this earlier, I wouldn't have been awakened by these blubbering fools and their "uplifting" songs.

Uplifting?Surely the fall of the most notorious menace would be beyond gratifying, to tell the people that the Thalmor are made of flesh and blood, and that they can die and rot as everyone else. What in Oblivion is uplifting about a wretched bear? Is this man a Thalmor in disguise? Sent to sniff out the embers of rebellion or Talos worship even among the ash-skins?

This Altmer who had spoken out first was an odd one. Like the Breton, but unlike the Dunmer woman, his face was cracked and worn, as if had lived in a harsh environment. Strangely enough, most of the Thalmor Vaultren came across were not so...physically "maimed". Each of them had an unblemished face and a pathetic sense of superiority that came along with their snotty demeanor. This man, Thalmor or not, had obviously seen battle in his life.

Not long after the High Elf spoke out, his voice was accompanied by yet another individual who agreed that the song requested by Vaultren would be unnecessary. The Breton himself, the roguish bard. Vaultren shifted himself comfortably in his seat as he stabbed the last bit of venison with his fork, slowly putting it into his mouth before chewing it with an aggressive touch. He then turned to study the Breton as he spoke with an unblinking stare.

The Breton, who surely had a jolly aura about him as he effortlessly roused the flame of joy and mirth on the others, was actually susceptible to the very thing that kept order in the world; fear. By the tone of his voice, and the pause between words, Vaultren could detect that he feared the Thalmor just as much as everyone else in the tavern. And why shouldn't he? The Thalmor did prove themselves as ruthless and cunning overlords who mercilessly set out on their goals and accomplished them in the end. If only the Empire was as the Thalmor, if only we used fear to keep those in line, not petty agreements. We could of crushed the Thalmor under the heel of our boots and smile as their necks snapped.

He turned in his seat, trying to make of what the man said. Fear of being crucified, or even tortured at the hands of the Elven Dominion. And even after he expressed his distaste of the idea of being at their mercy, he spoke out to glorify them and their "superiority". The Breton's words left a sour taste in Vaultren's mouth. He made the inside of his chest feel as if he was suffering from nausea. Though as convincing as the bard tried to make himself be, Vaultren sensed sarcasm masked in candor. He tried to conceal his dislike for the Thalmor, as most did in these present times. Who would love an organization that banned a few precious songs? He was well aware of the stories of the man being taken after he sang a song that was banned over three decades ago.

Vaultren was disgusted, peeved and angry beyond imagining. As if yesterday he was in an honored position in the Pentelus Oculatus, and before that a Praetor in the Imperial military. Until he was stripped from rank by the men supposedly on his own side, at the request of a damn High Elf! He shoved his empty plate forward away from his presence. This all reawakened a slumbering hatred within him, even more so than before.

The Thalmor in power. The Empire a pathetic excuse of a force...I, stripped from my power and glory. I have awakened into a world of excrement.

The song which Vaultren tried best not to hear was sung, it's conclusion as loud as it's beginning. A cry of cheer erupted from the tavern's patrons, causing Vaultren even more distress. They try to fool themselves into believing they are truly happy.

Next to him, sat the very man who caused all this ruckus to begin with. Though he must of been oblivious to Vaultren's place next to him. He ordered a jug of frothing ale, while receiving a bit of coin for his services. It was well-earned, considering he did bring back to the tavern into it's ever maddening state of partying. Enough to make Sanguine crack a smile, Vaultren supposed.

He wasn't sure he wanted to speak to the man. Truthfully, he wanted to go out into the night, or into the wilderness. But, he could learn a thing or two from a brief exchange of words. He didn't bother looking at the Breton, but his voice was directed toward him.

"Your coin is well-earned, bard. You lifted the spirits of a motley crew of dancing dregs. In an hour or so, they will be too imbibed to even fall into their own beds. Tell me, how long have you sang and danced with giggling loons?"


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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jack cloudy
post Mar 24 2012, 10:09 PM
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Kogobal

The song was disgusting in its banality, the kind of thing peasants would create during a harvest festival at the height of their drunkenness. Kogobal loved every verse at it and laughed out loud.
"Bravo, bravo!" He cheered at the end and clapped his hands. The disfigured bard bowed and stepped off the stage to collect his earnings. He had put an amazing amount of energy into his performance and Kogobal didn't mind the man taking a break. Meanwhile the rest of the band initated another song.

Kogobal listened for a moment, realized he'd heard the song before, and his attention turned elsewhere. He looked within his lifeless staff and then took out his journal. As he was reviewing the few scattered notes he had on Skyrim, The Khajiiti bartender came his way.
"Have you enjoyed your meal, most graceful sir?" he purred. The Altmer looked up from the thick journal, then stooped to snatch a page that had fallen out. He was surprised the cat had come to him. All the other guests in the establishment had to go to the bar if they needed something.
"If they aren't about to kill you, they try to lick your heels. What has the land come to since I last travelled here?" He thought. The bartender scooped up the empty plate and after some hesitation, held out a paw in a silent request for payment.
"Oh yes. It was quite appetizing. By the way, is there a room available in your establishment?" Kogobal asked the Khajiit after handing over a few coins for the meal.

The furred being blinked, his ears twitched.
"The king's suite is still free." He then said. Kogobal couldn't help but frown ever so slightly. The inn was large and well established, but it hadn't looked luxurious enough to hold a suite, especially one holding the name of king. Besides, he figured that the scarce money he had left was better spent elsewhere. What good was a luxurious suite to him if he planned to continue his travels in the morning?
"Yes, that sounds nice. But I would prefer a smaller, more simpler room. Merely a bed and four walls would be enough to serve my needs."

For a minute or so he haggled with the bewildered Khajiit that seemed unwilling to believe he didn't want the suite. Finally however, Kogobal got his simple and most importantly, cheap, room. The bartender walked away and the Altmer returned to his journal.



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Uleni Athram
post Mar 25 2012, 02:24 PM
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Celdryn watched with amusement as some of the revelers set aside tables and chairs to form a space from which they danced drunkenly. They were terrible in their grace, simply shaking and kicking and flailling, and it almost looked as if they engaged themselves in a massive brawl. But the laughter and cheers signified their joy, and Celdryn had half a mind to join them.. In fact, he was about to, when the cold words of the Imperial heralded an offer of conversation. The man was looking straight ahead. The breton looked at the Cyrodiilic and the anger that radiated from him was intense, the air around him seemed hot. Strange, thought Celdryn. He is THAT upset because the two elves veto'd his request? Much more sensitive than I thought then.

Deciding that anyone should have the mercy of at least a talking partner in a rat-packed place of socialization, Celdryn made himself comfortable on his stool and turned it to face the Imperial. He crossed his legs over the other and leaned on the bar, ordering yet another mug of ale. If he was not mistaken, this would be his third. Good. This'll be last he would drink of the groggy substance, and experience tells him that it would be enough to allow him an uninterrupted sleep.

When it came, he sipped, before setting it down. The green piercing stare never left the side of the Imperial's pale face.

"How long? Not many years, really. Gave it a try when things started going... down. Turns out my breton voice could net a few coins, so why stop when it works, yes?" Here he grabbed his mug and downed a considerable portion of the burning liquid. He wiped the foam tickling his mouth. With his question answered, Celdryn thought it fair that he would like some answers for his own.

He began with the formalities.

"I am Celdryn Minan'Kherus, a poor bard that weaves tales about himself just to get coin. Heh. May I ask who I am speaking with?"

He quaffed his ale and noted that it is nearing the bottom. He looked at the Imperial. He then ordered another ale.


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Colonel Mustard
post Mar 25 2012, 03:42 PM
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From: The darkest pit of your soul. Hi there!



It wasn't challenging, it wasn't smart and it wasn't particularly classy, but a stupid, silly and fun song was exactly the sort of thing that Alvara wanted to hear after a long day of travelling. Judging by the applause and coin the bard and his fellow minstrels got in return for singing it, it seemed that she wasn't the only who did, either. Only one person had tried to suggest an alternative, an Imperial who suggested Naarifin's Fall, which was an interesting request; that was a dangerous song, and the bard had quite sensibly opted to not sing it in fear of crucifixion. The Imperial had, at that point, skulked at the back of the tavern with a face that suggested that someone had pissed in his ale, and that had puzzled Alvara slightly; while it was hardly one of the greatest classics ever to be sung, it wasn't that unbearable, surely?

The floor had been cleared at that point for a dance, and Alvara finished her meal and pipe, heading to the bar to return the pewter bowl and cutlery that had contained her stew. She reached it in time for the Imperial to challenge the bard over his choice of song, and paused by them, listening as the Bard introduced himself as a "Celdryn Minan'Kherus". Considering the sheer hostility of the Imperial to the song he had sung, Alvara hung around for a moment on the pretense of waiting to order a drink; with luck, things might boil over and she'd be able to charge some coin to fix the inevitable bruises, black eyes and bloodied noses that would follow.

-----------

OOC: Wasn't necessarily the Maiden and the Bear that I had in mind, really; I just thought "what's the most generic tavern song I can think of? Something with a maiden, that's always the case, and some kind of animal. Like, I dunno, a bear. Then add in some hey nonny-nonnies and some fiddlle-de-riddle-de fol-de-rol stuff and hey presto, tavern song!"

It was about 20 minutes after I posted that I realised what I did...

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Mar 25 2012, 03:45 PM
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Darkness Eternal
post Mar 25 2012, 06:45 PM
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From: Coldharbour



Time had passed that the Breton had already drank more than a second mug of ale already. Vaultren came to wonder when he would stop. Truthfully, most perhaps wondered the reason why he sulked and saw angrily. If looks could indeed kill, then Vaultren might as well already committed a severe case of genocide. It wasn't the mere fact that another song was chosen over his, it was why his song was chosen.

Simply enough, this had awakened a slumbering malice within him, reminding him that the world was no longer his to control, it no longer was under Imperial rule, but the Thalmor. And that fear had kept these people from saying heretical things, fear not of his Empire, but a force undeserving of it's power.

He slightly turned to the Breton, who had adopted a more comfortable position to engage in basic conversation. He shared his story. Apparently, he did not work as many years as Vaultren thought he would. Then again, he did not explain in great detail how long of a span those years were altogether. In any case, he took advantage of his voice to make himself a name by singing...about himself? Vaultren could only crack a very subtle amusing smile. It was comical, in a way. He doubted the truthfulness in some of the songs that the bards sing, especially when it comes to themselves. Most people, at lest the intelligent ones, know that the songs of bards are beyond exaggeration.

And so a name was finally revealed: Celdryn Minan'Kherus. Ah, the name of the character in the first song, Vaultren recalled.

"So he did survive the fateful jump to the well," Vaultren remarked suddenly. Now, however, the Breton requested the same. He wanted to know his name as well. Vaultren did not take awhile to answer. He was called by many names and nicknames, though recently to spare his humiliation, he adopted a simple name that he now carries temporarily.

"Vaultren." he said. That was all that he said. He wasn't proud of the name. It wasn't the name that he was born with, but it sufficed. He was going add more, irrelevant information on the name, until something in his line of sight halted him. He felt a presence near him, but even more was the scent.

The strong smoke which contained all sorts of ingredients. He didn't dare look behind him, but instead he looked at the front of the bar, past the counter, straight at a group of newly cleaned drinking glasses. In the reflection, he could spot the dark form of the Dunmer woman standing behind him and Celdryn. His eyes suddenly widened attentively, but only to an extent.

Eavesdropping, perhaps? Vaultren only found it necessary to add her to the conversation. It was the civilized thing to do, even in such a barbaric place which he had found himself into.

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit. Perhaps the Dunmer lass can join us rather than just listen in to our conversation." The Imperial suddenly called out, turning his body to finally look at the Dunmer woman. Ah, she is a fine one. Voluptuous, young and fresh.. She was unlike the others who came to the tavern, worn out by weather and the general troubles of life. They smell disgusting and overall they are close-minded individuals. This one, however, appeared younger in Dunmer standards, and was much more acceptable than the common rabble which is composed of the representatives of her race.

He would definitely have attempted to woo her, as in the days before he was a member of the Oculatus. The good adolescent years, he recalled them. No reason I cannot relive the past. But with the Breton bard standing nearby, Vaultren wouldn't raise the possibility to even try. It was trouble enough that the Thalmor are around. True, it was a tavern after all and such things are welcomed, yet it was not an option to him.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Mar 25 2012, 09:40 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Uleni Athram
post Mar 26 2012, 05:19 PM
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Vaultren, he said his name was. The breton's experience in dealing with other rogues told him that the Imperial was holding something than he let on, and that interested him. He seemed to form words about the name, but then came the dunmeri maiden. In his comfortable position, Celdryn was able to sense her presence quickly than Vaultren, but only for a fraction of a second. The breton merely watched in silence as Vaultren announced, quite loudly, that she join them instead of eavesdropping. He also observed how Vaultren gave her an appraising stare. Celdryn knew that look all too well. He didn't want to be around when someone wanted to court someone. He valued privacy. And besides, it was all icky for him. Deciding that he didn't want to be tethered into an awkward situation, he rose and downed his third ale. He bid them both au revoir, saying to them that he would now do the sweeping run for 'additional donations, or tips, starting from that High Elf over there' and that he would converse with them later.

Anyone with a sharp mind would know that this was just an excuse to get away. But Celdryn liked to use a stone against two birds. He would go away and let the two have their interactions and he would see if the Altmeri, who now wrote on a journal after chasing off Tal'Jhiro, would have some additional donations and if not, that's good. Celdryn would have the justified reason just to engage him in conversation. With this in mind, he gave the Imperial and the Dark Elf a courtly bow and strutted towards the Altmer, who really seemed focused on his journal. The breton waited respectfully when he was done, and when he was, Celdryn plastered a genuine, if not drunken, smile on his face.

"Master elf! I must thank you for requesting the Maiden and the Bear; I hope my performance was to your liking? Enough to actually net me a few coins of donation?" Here he stopped and remembered that this elf already had. "Ahh, but you already had, haven't you? Yes, quite generous too, compared to the singles the other patrons gave me! Allow me to thank you by introducing myself! I am Celdryn Minan'Kherus, star of the earlier tale, and I am sorry to disappoint you that no, there were no 'dwagons' under the well!"

---


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jack cloudy
post Mar 26 2012, 09:29 PM
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Kogobal

Someone was standing at his table again, possibly had been standing there for a while even. Kogobal looked up from his journal to see who it could be. It was the bard, his carved visage drawn into an inebriated grin. The man introduced himself and made a little joke about the earlier incident with the boy. The Altmer chuckled.
"And a good thing that was. The value of a well tends to go down when things start living in it. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir Minan'Kherus." He said and made a motion to tip his hat at the man but then he remembered he didn't have one. Not since that miserable pup of a wolf ran off with it.
"My name is Kogobal. I hope the night has treated you fairly so far. I for one did enjoy your tale, as well as the folksong."


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Uleni Athram
post Mar 30 2012, 02:41 PM
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Celdryn chuclked with the High Elf, a sound of joy that co-mingled with the general noise at the establishment. He thanked Kogobal for his words, and watched the customers who danced. The two nords who Celdryn played 'The Maiden and the Bear' seemed quite content to play the endless tune that these drunkards loved to hear; considering the coin they're receiving, Celdryn wasn't suprised. Tonight was a generous night indeed. And Celdryn was quite pleased with himself, because after all, he was the pillar that helped this situation become what it was. He became thoughtful and wondered if the life of the bard was suited to him. But then he remembered the thrill of tempting fate. No. This life of drunken merriment wasn't for him.

"Yes. Indeed. This night has treated us with the joy of companionship, even though we might forget it after we sleep. But I guess these humble workers try to forget the crisis we're having these days. Did you hear that there was some rumors of civil unrest in Skyrim and that the Legion could be called in? And that some soothsayers that some powerful god is returning?" He turned to the mob who now seemed lost in the dance they were having. He shook his head. "Yes. We really do need merriment in these dark times."


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jack cloudy
post Mar 30 2012, 09:06 PM
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Kogobal

The band's play was getting rather monotonous, but went easily ignored in the general noise. To his surprise the bard mentioned Skyrim. That and rumors of a god. Which was precisely the reason why he'd decided to go to Skyrim. The province had always been on his list of places to search, this just bumped it into the top spot.
"But of course, that's what all the news is about and he is a bard. Why shouldn't he know?" The Altmer nodded to himself. His eyes slid habitually to the glass orb atop his staff as he replied.

"Rumors of a god, you say? Forgive me, but I have walked the world too long with sight of neither god nor mere saints to believe such talk on mere rumor. Likely it is just bluffing of one side or another trying to scare their political foe into submission." He said then continued with a wry grin.
"I'll believe it when I see it, which is exactly what I intend to do. I just figured I'd stop by here first to get some more recent news. Bruma is a tad too close to the frontlines, if you get my drift."

A quick glance at the bar told him that the Khajiit host was currently unoccupied. Kogobal lifted his hand, his eyes back on Celdryn.
"But all that work before must have made you hungry as well as thirsty. Let me order you a meal. I feel generous tonight. Tender, over here!"


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Uleni Athram
post Mar 30 2012, 10:58 PM
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Celdryn gave a shrug.

"Politics is a dirty game. It seems that even the Gods are pawns in the great and wretched game those politicians play. But I digress. I shall not ruin this night's joy by blaspheming. And talking of politics while deep in our cups is never a good idea." He then watched the altmeri as he looked upon the glass orb of his staff. Celdryn briefly wondered how much that cost the elf (it was a really fine gem, his career as a rogue told him) before he returned his attention at the elf.

"Sad, isn't it? The last thing we need right now is a civil war. It'll stop the recovery of Tamriel; the infamous crisis 200 years earlier has left damage, damage that we have not recovered from. And this recent war with the 'mighty' Dominion just added another set of scars. But men are men. Chaos seems to be in our blood, for good or for ill, and we heed its calling."

His stomach then grumbled. He felt his face warm and scratched his head. He gave the elf a sheepish smile.

"Really sir. You have already gave me much coin. Do not waste it on a bard such as me."

He then placed a thoughtful finger on his chin. The formalities of places such as this confers that you at least have to accept another's offer of generosity. At least.

"Well, I won't mind a drink. The hunger will pass when I sleep, and when I wake, it will return. That way, it'll make my breakfast all the more tastier. So yes, I'lll just have another cup of ale. Cheaper for master elf, that way.

Tal'Jhiro came, and with him, another chilled mug of the divine substance. And also a notification that this was Celdryn's last. The last thing the Oak and Crosier needed was a bar fight, after all. Celdryn huffed.

"Young I may be, but not that young!" He then said the next part with a very loud voice.

"I can handle my liquor better than a battle-weary Nord! And these lot who dance and sing, no match for my iron liver! Anybody who has the stones to challenge me in a drinking duel would probably lose! Terribly!

He let loose a very scandalizing laughter. He stood up, climbed on his chair, and in front of the crowd who now watched him, drank his given ale in one long gulp. The crowd cheered and searched for someone sober to duel the insolent breton. Celdryn roared out a challenge for that someone.


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jack cloudy
post Apr 3 2012, 09:07 PM
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Kogobal

The bard bringing up the Oblivion crisis had shocked him, more than his earlier remarks about Skyrim. Few people he'd met had been willing to talk about that period if he asked them, even fewer spoke freely about it. It was old news, boring, an embarassment or the start of everything bad that happened since.
"We should have banded together over it. Common enemies usually have that result, but not this time. Why? Why did everyone instantly decide to bash in each other's head in a struggle for the throne?"

His thoughts drifted off and he only barely regained his senses when a very drunken Nord shoved him out of his seat.
"Yo, outta my way, sparkleskin! Big Olaf here is gonna show scarface how a real man takes his liquor!" The man yowled, spittle descending on Kogobal. The Altmer grimaced and telekinetically warded off a second wave of spit. The first wave had caught him by surprise however and he found himself forced to wipe his face of the distasteful wetness.

"By all means, don't mind me." He grumbled, grabbing his pack and staff. Most of the folk had centered around the bard and the Nord, leaving the bar as a welcome oasis of personal space and peace. Kogobal pushed through the crowd and went for the bar. The further away he got from a damn drinking contest, the better. The simple banality of this place had amused him but there were limits to his tolerance. Behind him the Nord dropped himself on the chair in front of Celdryn and taunted the man.
"Alright, whistletong. We know you can sing and bark, now let's see if there is a belly behind those brave words! Bring the drinks!"

Kogobal shook his head, his thoughts already returning to the Oblivion crisis. He had spent a few years researching it, but there had been little information he'd been able to obtain. All he truly knew was that the Daedric legions came through charred portals. Portals that now all lay buried on forbidden ground. All that was, except for one he had found in the wilderness. The stories claimed that the portals had been created by a cult to attack the cities they spawned by. So then why had he found one way out there north of Cheydinhall?
"Perhaps it had been as I surmised, that the portal I found was merely a test. Or maybe it was never found before because it now resides at the bottom of a deep and dark lake."
He retrieved a black fragment from his pouch. Scarcely the size of his thumbnail, it had been chipped from the portal by his Atronach. He stared at it, as if he could will it to give up its secrets. He'd often thought about returning to the portal and give it a more detailed investigation. Yet he never had. He feared that he might accidentally activate the beast. While the legend of the last Septim claimed that the lands of Oblivion had been forever sealed in the last act of the crisis, he didn't believe it. Standard conjuration still worked, so why would a large-scale and more permanent tear be impossible?


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Fabulous hairneedle attack! I'm gonna be bald before I hit twenty.
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Darkness Eternal
post Apr 4 2012, 03:56 AM
Post #20


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



The Breton left his presence when Vaultren first opened his mouth to engage the Dunmer woman with conversation. Vaultren understood the reason why he left, probably mistaking him for trying to court the woman. His eyes flew back to the shiny cups along the wall, and to the small mirror. He saw the reflection behind him, and watched as the Bosmer went to speak to an Altmer. Though while his eyes acted as if he was inspecting them, his ears were listening intently to the conversation around him. He was able to pickup various topics, ranging from children, to better brands of alcahol, to sex. Yet what interested Vaultren the most out of all of these was the exchange between the Breton and the Altmer.

He learned that the Altmer was named Kogobal. Even though it was new information, the following knowledge was enough to even bore Vaultren to tears. Talks from nightly companionships, rumors of war with the Legion and Skyrim's soldiers, and even a god of sorts returning. He heard as the Breton spoke about politics as well, not entirely agreeing to their customs. A trait we both share, Vaultren had to admit, I've been with enough of those parasitic leeches who call themselves politicians.

Now the conversation went to the Oblivion Crisis that happened two centuries ago. This had caused Vaultren to stiffen. He remembered the tales of that time period, horrors and stories of the Daedra Horde of Mehrunes Dagon laying waste to everything and everyone, until they were driven and sent back into Oblivion. It was a time where Vaultren did not wish to think about, mostly due to the damage that had been done. He tuned out of their midst and gazed back at the Dunmer woman, remembering that she had been there the whole time.

"You strike me as a healer," Vaultren began.



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And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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