The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[mALX]

Eyja:

Eyja gave a quick glance around the room before spotting the Dunmer seated at one of the smaller individual tables a little farther back in the dining room. His armor was exquisite, like nothing Eyja had ever seen before. Everything about him was unusual, from the tattoo on his face to the fact that he was traveling so well armed he could have started his own war and finished it in the same afternoon.

Eyja remembered her first glimpse of Sir Damien Reynard, decades ago now. He had struck her the same way, everything about him unique when stood against other men. Who was this man? Without a doubt he came from another Province, or Eyja would have heard of him by now.

She sidled over to his table and turned at the last minute so her back was to him, but close enough that he would hear her.

"The meat here isn't that tough, no need to come so heavily armed to the table." She remained facing away from him, but turned her head back to see if her sally would bring a response from the intense Dunmer.

If he ignored her, she could walk away without the snub being witnessed by any of the other patrons, whose interest in the man's appearance was as obvious as her own; though as yet they hadn't approached him.




This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 13 2013, 09:24 PM

[Black Hand]

The Dunmer's head raised as he listened. Silent for a moment, his shoulders moved up and down as his chuckling raised.

"Aye?" He said looking over his side. "Good to know." he said as he turned around to the side.

"It's not the meat I have contest with. It's the scores of bandits on the way here. By my count, if they had united they could have taken Chorrol threefold. Pay the weapons no mind, they are of no threat to anyone. It's just a habit to carry them, and I have to provide my own security on the road." his gravelly Dunmer voice was friendly enough; if not strangely accented, it was Cyrodiilic certainly, but also heavily influenced with Dunmeri.

"I certainly wouldn't attend a formal dinner with them. Nothing beyond a traditional belt knife for bread and such." He offered, removing the ebony shortsword 'Shimsil' and placing it on the table along with his bow and quiver, the daggers; which were many, seemed too much of a pain to remove and some deeply ingrained habit seemed to refuse them being removed from his disposal.

"Sethyas Velas, formerly of Cheydinhal." he introduced himself.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

"Stefan LeRoi, at your service."

He took her hand gently and lightly kissed it, then turned his attention to the door when another traveler came in. he released Irvana's hand and made mental notes of the man's appearance, jotting them down in the parchment of his memory.

The ebony sword. The robes. The extra weapons. Surely this man was a warrior of some sort.

Even if he wasn't, Stefan was already scripting the events that had led him here.

Long lost lover? No, too generic. Vengeance? Overplayed. Fallen honor?

Perfect.

Stefan's brow knit together as he watched the man's mannerisms, the young beauty beside him forgotten. A smirk raised one side of his mouth as he watched the way the man's hair brushed against his armor as he talked to the beautiful Nord woman.

Ah, a fiery affair, one night stand. I'll show that Scribonia wench how to write a novel!

He absently took a sip of the wine beside him.

[Darkness Eternal]

Oh this is most precious . . .

Stefan LeRoi. The name evoked a series of written works in Cyrodiil that gave Irvana a good reason why she still was a fan of the works and poetry. This man's work, however, was so controversial that his books had been taken off the shelves for being downright disturbing, offensive and overwhelmingly lewd. But vulgar and offensive material is not what lured Irvana to his works. The macabre inspirations, dark tales and horrors is what attracted her to his stories.

From what she has read she understood that LeRoi took inspirations from various sources, often based on reality and true events, and molds them into his own legends with a spark of his imagination, thus crafting a yarn that has been considered either horrifically terrific to slovenly distasteful.

As the door behind her opened and another person entered, Irvana's focused was shifted from her freshly kissed hand to the man himself. She watched as he looked at the door with curiosity. His brows furrowed, and he studied the man who entered, which she already registered by the reflection on the silverware on the table.

The man who entered sat, made his order, and introduced himself to a Nord woman who initiated conversation with him. He was a Dunmer, and either a warrior or some rogue. Heavily armored to the teeth to prevent certain doom from the infestation of bandits around these areas.

Irvana had the desire to cast a smile, but she continued to look at LeRoi with her alluring eyes. Two swords is enough for her to defend herself against a pack of brigands or her own bare hands. Lightning and fire often worked best, or having them tear their own eyes out in the illusion of fear was useful, too. But as a modest young woman, killing directly was never the best way to go about things. Sometimes, doing things by oneself was too dangerous, and sometimes there were those days where people were simply dying to lend a bow or an enchanted sword to help. And that was fine, nay, it was perfect. A good reason hiring bodyguards was useful, or a mercenary-for-hire.

She blinked once and flicked aside her hair, exposing her swan-like throat. "A pleasure, Stefan. You have me sitting here curious as to what brings you to this tavern."

She bit her lip. "If you'll allow me to guess, wheels to help set your latest story into motion?"

Then came the smile, and the white set of perfect teeth of Irvana that said: Oh yes, Stefan, I know just who you are.

[mALX]

Eyja:

"Hail then, SethyasVelas. I am Eyja." She pounded her fist to her chest lightly in salute. Eyja's eyes fell to the blade he'd removed. Ebony, and honed sharp enough to cut a hair from the look of it. This man didn't just carry blades, he knew them.

Eyja's eyes slid expertly over the man for other weapons. The unusual cuirass blocked checking any he may have hidden higher than his waist. Her eyes scanned his waist sash and down to his boots counting hilts. Daggers, lots of them; and each as unusual as the next. Jeweled hilts, beautiful inlay and etched patterns.

One dagger is defense, this many is an expert. Eyja guessed he was a higher echelon assassin, and good at what he did.

Sitting on the seat next to him was an urn. Eyja scanned her mind for any Dunmer she'd killed that had relatives in another Province. There were none. She breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't here for her at least.

When Sethyas followed the shortsword with his bow and quiver, Eyja held out her hand to stay him from removing anymore.

"Please do not feel you must remove them. It was just a tease to start a conversation. You wear them very well, and if you remove more people will think I am holding you up."

While she talked she sized up the bow and arrows he'd laid out. The arrows were longer than any she had seen before.

The bow showed mellowing of age. This man had been using this bow for some time. Eyja made a quick calculation in her mind. The way that bow was made, and the length of those arrows; these could kill from a great enough distance that the archer would never even be seen or considered.

How strong Sethyas must be to pull that bow back. His armor and gauntlets covered the arms, but there was no doubt he was built well under that armor.

"I've no doubt the next travelers through will not be held up, I'd wager you've done Cyrodiil a service in making the roads safe for others. I'm actually tempted to take a walk south just to count bodies."

She gave a cheeky grin to distract him while she studied his face. His eyes were as intense as he was, that quiet demeanor was no act. His eyes looked tired, but not the kind of tired sleep would cure...and not too tired to act if needed.

The tattoo caught her eye again. She tried not to stare, but the tattoo...it almost looked like a black hand covering his mouth.

Eyja felt a slight shiver as that thought hit. The Black Hand. Maybe the Dark Brotherhood had sent an assassin after her. This guy looked like he could get the job done.

[Black Hand]

He had stopped after shimsil, but acquiesced at the statement.

"I needed to take them off anyways. They grow heavy." He studied her face carefully as her eyes flitted over the weapons, he took a quick glance over at the pair seated.

A Cyrodiilic-looking man seeming to flirt or otherwise engage in conversation with a woman. She pretended too keep interest in the man, he perceived. But she was a dangerous sort he suspected. There was such a thing as being *to good* of an actor. She seemed as though she could convince a Nord to buy snow.

"I doubt they will either. They seem to be rather aggressive out here. I'm more used the option being given of surrendering my gold before they attack. I even met one once, years ago that became a friend of sorts even." He replied, thinking of Nels Llendo in Pelagiad.

"But, I don't litter the countryside with them, the bodies have been taken care of." he said matter-of-factly. "Um, buried that is. As I have respect for the dead, and it would make my journey here a bit ironic if I did not." he gestured to the Urn.

He suspected that there was something on his face in what seemed like a flash of something behind her smile. He realized that there was always something on his face.

"The tattoo? Aye. It's not war paint which would have been kinder by whoever put it there. I've had it since before I walked. I didn't even know what it meant until I arrived in Morrowind, and that was only a handful of years ago. Something to do with local custom and religion apparently." he offered.

"I may not look it, but I was raised as a Cyrod. By the Stendarr orphanage as a matter of fact. Given the tattoo and the fact I was in Cheydinhal very near the border, I suspect my forebears were a very traditional type." Though he had in fact no clue to who his parents really were.

"And." he lowered his voice a bit. "They are of no threat to anyone, so long as they are of no threat to me." he said as he placed a hand gently on one of his blades, but maintained a tone in his voice making it clear that he was not issuing a threat, a friendly warning at worst, sensing some sort of discomfort. He could just have been reading too much into things.

[mALX]

*

Eyja raised her brows when she heard he'd buried the bandit's bodies. Not many would, unless they were covering a trail that may be followed. Even she could tell when a bandit had been killed by an expert instead of in a brawl they were overcome in. Then he mentioned Stendarr.

Her brows knit. He could be religiously inclined. He did have a quiet way about him that bespoke of someone who followed those paths. Eyja came to a quick decision. She was going to come clean with him, and hope for the best. If he was here to assassinate her, she would prefer to know it before he had one of those daggers at her throat.

"I know nothing of the Stendarr beliefs or worship. My only gods have been survival and revenge. I am no threat to you unless someone has paid for it to be so, and none have. If they did, I would give them their gold back before attempting it. I am no match for you, and know my limitations."

Eyja watched his eyes carefully before finishing her thought. "The tattoo does your face justice, it wasn't meant to be offensive if I stared. You see, I have made some enemies, and they use a black hand as a symbol of their organization. Your tattoo has the look of that black hand. My concern is that you are here for me."

He may not tell her if in truth he was here to assassinate her, but there was an unwritten honor among assassins that she hoped her honesty with him would provoke. If he was, she was going to bolt like a rabbit and hope to outrun him.


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 14 2013, 04:59 AM

[Black Hand]

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as her sudden confession. Fear certainly wasn't something he was expecting he inspired, which seemed to be the motivation. Then again he knew how assassin's were. They were paranoid by nature. They expected the worst, because they caused the worst.

"Well then. I don't follow the Nine, though I'm well aware of their lore." he started.

"I'll tell you plainly. I follow Mephala." he said, seeing if she knew the implications. Whether she did or not, he continued. "This garb is commonly seen on agents of the Morag Tong in the east."

"That means I'm not here for you. Only the Dunmer under the Temple, and outland members of the Great Houses are subject to a writ of assassination. Unlike the Brotherhood, we deliver justice not indiscriminate murder." His eyes looked off to the side for a second. "Usually."

"Black Hands are an ancient symbol for all Assassins, dried blood, innocence lost, dirt from shame, hidden in shadow. The interpretations are as innumerable as the methods for their trade."

"The tattoo is actually a relief of the Tribunal Temple's symbol, indicating Mephala, notice the different shape." he said pointing to the outlines briefly. "Which wasn't my choice for it to be placed there, nor is it required upon joining the Tong. It was simply coincidence, fitting, perhaps poetic, but still coincidence."

"As far as the Brotherhood goes, well, I suppose you may say the enemy of my enemy is my friend..." he mused. "But as far as killing you; or anyone else for that matter, it is not the reason I am here. I am tired of the slaughter, and only wish to complete my duty for this funerary rite."

"You might want to use this information for leverage. Myself, I would certainly at least consider it. But, if the Dark Brotherhood learn I am here, blood will most certainly be spilled. If it happens that I am fortunate enough that it is not mine, then I might consider an attempt on your life." he finished.

"Besides. If I've learned anything, it's that anyone can die." He glanced at the urn. "I wouldn't underestimate you in that scenario, why should you underestimate yourself?"

"Armor, weapons, magic. Meaningless when death is on the line, unless you know how to use them to stop it. Read the person, and not the cards they're holding. I suspect you already do as well, anyways. No, by being open to a certain extent and folding my hand, I hope to make it clear that I'm not here for the grand game. Though, I could be either very stupid or very brave all the same." he smiled slightly.

"As far as making enemies of that magnitude; I don't know your story in that regard, but you very well could be as well. The fact that you're alive and telling me all this also speaks well of your skills. Another reason I would not be so quick to dismiss you." He said with a slight squint.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Stefan's attention was drawn back to the beauty as she spoke to him. the raven hair that framed her face set off her pale skin in the most delicious way. He found himself studying different parts of her face, memorizing each moment and storing it away.

She mentioned his book, and he gave her a grin. Ah. A fan.

"You caught my, my dear." He gave an innocent shrug and sipped the wine again. "I am, once again, finding myself roaming the Cyrodiilic countryside in search of that perfect heroine. That one woman that every man desires to bed in that fit of passion, that one woman whose beauty and charm and and wit is matched by her unforgettable beauty." He ran his eyes up and down her form briefly.

"Tell me, what do you know of daedra, dear heart?" He sipped his wine yet again and set the glass upon the bar and leaned in close so only she could hear him.

"Have you ever felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as they seared their desires, their longings, into your soul? Choking upon their will as it's forced down your throat, the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by someone much...more...powerful?" He whispered the last three words into her ear before pulling away, a languid smile on his face. he reached over and lightly brushed a stray lock of hair from her neck.

"You have lovely skin, dear heart. Unblemished, pure. Tell me, would you like your beauty immortalized in one of my works?"

[mALX]

*

Eyja:


Eyja felt the relief wash over her. He made it clear that unless she turned on him, he could be trusted.

She shook her head. "I know nothing of Mephala other than she is considered one of the good Daedra and connected in some way with the Morag Tong. What little I know of the Morag Tong is that their assassinations are only done by writ, like government contracts." She paused, glancing back at the other patrons to make sure they hadn't come closer.

"Any information I gather on others stays with me unless they become enemies; and then only use it as leverage against them to their face, blackmail. I've never turned over any innocent or friend to another for my own gain. I spoke of my gods being survival and revenge. The revenge is why the Dark Brotherhood has become my enemy. One of their members killed my sister, and I sought revenge. I was but a child when it started, made some mistakes I wish I could take back. I too am tired of the slaughter, but...you live what you have become. This is my life now, and I have to embrace it with no regrets because regrets won't change anything. As long as your blade is not intended for me, you can count me as friend should you need one. If trouble finds you, find me and we'll end it together." Eyja pounded her chest as a vow.

She indicated the urn at his side. "I take it this was a friend you cared deeply for. You have my deepest sympathies for your loss. I carried the ashes of my sister with me for the first decade, but by then the war had become my own. I finally had to let her rest and carry out the battle I started alone."


*

[Darkness Eternal]

Irvana seemed charmed, interested and captivated by the man's charming words and seductive demenaour. She knew that he found her attractive, that much was certain. The way he set his eyes on her entire body from head to toe, and the gentle touch of pushing aside a strand of hair spoke volumes of this man just as his books did.

"Tell me, what do you know of daedra, dear heart?" Stefan asked before sipped his wine, and then he set it down to speak within inches from her face. "Have you ever felt the cold, unforgiving grip of a daedra lord as they seared their desires, their longings, into your soul? Choking upon their will as it's forced down your throat, the bitterness and ecstasy of being completely dominated by someone much...more...powerful?"

What do I know about the daedra? She asked herself. Entirely too much. Books upon books, notes over notes and novels on top of novels and experience after experience granted her a vast knowledge of the daedra. But why brag? Why tell the world one's knowledge of something when the truth can be spoken in just a few words. Words which Irvana heard come from her mouth. "I know some things about the Daedra." She confessed with a sheepish smile.

When the question came if she would be long remembered in his book, she clasped her hands together and released a light gasp. "Stefan! We've barely met and already you desire to give such a privilage to a woman you hardly know."

She wasn't complaining. Rather, making a loud observation. "I am not sure what I have done to deserve this . . . Oh, fie! I would be honored to be the instrument that will aid in your next novel."

She excused herself, raised her finger, ordered a bit of non-alcoholic drink and turned her attention and her body to Stefan LeRoi. She set her hand on the counter and rested on her elbow as she spoke. "I am a fan of your works, Stefan. They rival the bestselling novels in the empire, and though they have attracted much negative attention from the public, there are those who respect these fictional tales."

"You know," she added with eyes glowing bright with enthusiasm of a young child. "There is an old story, long forgotten in the mists of time to the majority but preserved by a handful. A legend here in Cyrodiil of a young Breton woman. It is a story meant to frighten children told by superstitious villagers but it is quite a dark tale, full of omens that speaking of it is said to rouse curses. It always intruiged me when I heard about it as a little girl despite it giving me nightmares for hours on end in the middle of the night."

"Perhaps you may want to borrow ideas from it and weave it into your story?" She drank half her cup. "Would you like to hear it?"

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jul 14 2013, 07:15 AM

[mALX]

*

Maxical:

Maxical wrapped an arm around Abiene and guided her carefully, talking quietly to her as she did. "Come along, dearest Abiene. We will get to the Mages Guild. I think you may need healing. I can't heal at all, not even myself; or I would help you. Come along dear, not much further."

Maxical glared at the gate guards for staring interestedly rather than offering assistance. "Where is the Mages Guild here in Chorrol?"

The guard pointed straight ahead, but a large statue was in the way.

"Thanks for all your help there, yeah." Maxical fumed.





***********

Earana elbowed Honditar. "Looky looky what we have coming. Today is looking up for me already."

Honditar eyed the Khajiit steering their healer around the statue. "A white one, never seen that before."

"Looks like she's already drunk, the healer is having to all but carry her."

"You've got it wrong, Earana. She is helping the healer." Honditar hurried forward to help, followed by Earana.

"Has something happened to Abiene? Here, let us assist you."

***********




Maxical gratefully accepted the help offered without taking her eyes from Abiene's face. "She is unwell. I am trying to find the Mages Guild, can you help me? I do not know where it is." She glanced up to see two Altmer, a man and a woman.

The man slid into position on the other side of Abiene and put his arm around her the same way Maxical had. "I'll take her, give your arm a rest. My name is Honditar. My friend here is Earana."

"Thank you kindly for your assistance, Honditar." She turned to thank the Altmer woman and found the woman eyeing her like she was looking at a sweetroll. "Earana, thank you."

"Think nothing of it, my pleasure, really. What brings you to Chorrol? Will you be staying with us?"

Maxical stayed on the other side of Abiene and kept pace with the man Honditar's guiding of Abiene. She called over her shoulder to the Altmer woman, "My friend Eyja and I are staying with a friend in town."

The man Honditar gave an unreadable glance at Earana. "Looks like you'll be a guest in my house." He gave a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Earana seemed to be infuriated by it for some reason. When we reached the Mages Guild porch I noticed Earana hung back in the street. Honditar held the door open while Maxical led Abiene through.

"Would you like me to wait, and escort you to my house when you finish here? Eyja knows where it is, she will come when she is good and ready if I know her."

Maxical shook her head. She didn't want to go to a strange man's house. And he kept shooting that Earana looks as if he'd won a prize in a raffle.

"Er...no, she is to meet me here. If she is delayed I'll stay in the Mages Guild. Thank you so much for your help, Honditar."

Honditar nodded and let the door close slowly between them.





***



An absolutely huge Argonian man was fidgeting nervously in the far end of the lobby while a beautiful Imperial woman seemed to be chattering his ears off, if Argonians have ears, that is.

"Hello? Hello, can someone help me please?"

The Argonian's face showed obvious relief at the interruption. "Greetings, citizen. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Miss Abiene is unwell. I think she needs a bed and a healer."

He wasn't relieved enough to help me escort Abiene, instead he insisted on seeing my identifications to enter the Guild.

"I'm graduated from the Arcane, but have not joined the Mages Guild as yet, although I plan to."

"You have declared yourself now, it is that simple. Very well. You are now an Associate of the Mages Guild. Here is your key and charter. I am Teekeeus, head of this Guild. For your first task, take Miss Abiene to the third floor, the bedroom on the far left."

Maxical gaped at him. "Isn't there anyone that can help me escort her?"

"Membership in the Guild is quite an honor, but also a responsibility. You must learn to face your tasks head on, and without complaint."

The beautiful Imperial woman was eyeing Maxical with interest. "I've heard of you, the white Khajiit. Hello, my name is Casta Scribonia, writer of..."

Maxical gasped, nearly dropping Abiene. "Casta Scribonia! You are my absolute favorite author in the entire realm! I have read every one of your books! 'Women Gone Wild' was one of my favorites, I nearly got sent down from school for reading it aloud in the dorms at the Arcane! Oh, meeting you has to be one of the greatest moments of my lifetime, I so wish Delphine was here to meet you. She is the one that got me started reading your books."

Casta beamed, opening her mouth to respond. Before she could get a word out Teekeeus interrupted.

"You have a task, Associate." Teekeeus tapped a long finger nail on the table beside him.

Maxical glanced from Teekeeus to Abiene, then longingly at Casta Scribonia. What a moment to have this happen.

"It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Scribonia. I hope to meet you again one day, and make a better impression; not babble your ears off. I'm sorry, I'm just such a big fan."

"ASSOCIATE!"

"Yes sir. Come along, Abiene dearest."

Maxical eased Abiene onto the bed and removed her shoes. She pulled the covers over her and felt her forehead.

"You don't have a fever. I think what is bothering you is in here." Maxical bumped her fist against her heart and took Abiene's hand in hers, brushing her hair gently from her face with the other hand.

"I can't heal you, but I'll sit with you till one that can comes."

Maxical leaned back in the chair, still holding Abiene's hand. "I can't believe I actually met Casta Scribonia in person!"


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 14 2013, 09:50 AM

[Black Hand]

The similarities of their stories made him raise an eyebrow. For it was his own sister's remains in the Urn. She was the former member of the Dark Brotherhood.

"Well. If I come across a situation I cannot handle alone, I doubt I'd be able to return for your assistance. But, fair enough."

"You don't know of Mephala, which is good and bad." He commented. "And I know of the regret that leads to the ashen expressions and the masks we wear. I quote from the guildbook: 'The Black Glove': 'Do you have your friends and your finery, but no place to go? Do you laugh and cry, but no longer feel? Do you wear these masks? Then, perhaps, your oath and service may please the Black Glove.'

"The doctrines of my guild can be strange, even terrifying to those who don't know the true meanings behind them. Murder is a sacred art, despite being legal we maintain our traditions of secrecy and skillset...deception..." He started thinking aloud.

"It wasn't until I joined the guild that the world started to make sense to me. When I made my first kill; in self-defense mind you, what truly frightened me wasn't the the blood or the death. What frightened me was my hands. They were still, calm." he recalled with a measure of regret to his own tone.

"When I met my former tutor and master in the Tong; a traditional and native Dunmer, and priest of Mephala, he was the first person who ever told me that there was nothing wrong with me. Indeed, he called me talented. My self-loathing would not hear him of course. Not until much later. One of the first things he taught me was causality."

"Cause and effect is the only truth that lies behind our perceptions. When the rain falls, we call it good because it is beneficial for our survival. But if that same rain were to not stop in balance with our need, and caused flooding and ruined our crops, we call it bad. But the rain is still just the rain."

"In order to deceive, there must be a need. If a venomous snake were to crawl under a table with many patrons, and we knew that the sudden motion would inevitably cause at least one to be struck and likely die, the need for a deception would be present. We would immediately make a game, offering large amounts of gold for the last person who would not move, while the other secretly take care of the creature."

"These blades have two sides. One could be called good, the other bad. But it is still just what it is. It is what you do with it, that defines it's state. Otherwise, it is only what it is."

"Ruthlessness, cunning, deceit. I am capable of these things, when and where they have a need." Sethyas offered.

"But I also never do anything that goes against my own sense of honor. Maybe not sense of right and wrong. But, honor. Then again, there are some things that truly wrong, things that would not be palatable to the worst of us. If you witnessed a child slain by a soldier, would you feel nothing? Or would that Soldier be able to count his final breaths on one hand?"

"Act in accordance with your own honor, and though the world may call you what they wish, you alone know that you hold your honor. For you alone must always be with yourself. You can walk away from other people, banish them from your life, but you can never do this to yourself." he said with a sense of regret to his voice.

[mALX]

*

Eyja looked him fully in the face, showing him what the mask she always wore hid. Without the cheekiness and flirtation she looked like she may have decades back before all this started, a frightened child whose only tie in this world lay in the sack of ashes she cradled.

"It was like you said, no where to go. I know that mask well and have worn it long. I'd stopped feeling before I turned fifteen. A man much like your tutor pulled me from the mess I'd gotten myself into that year, but couldn't stop the war I'd started. So he taught me well how to fight it."

She shivered and when she looked back at him her face was once again the poised beauty that had approached him originally.

"None but my mentor have ever seen below that mask, till you just now. It takes me back to places I don't want to ever go again, but they are always there beneath the surface. This mask I wear; yes it is a deception needed for my job; but it is also a protection for me. It keeps me from feeling what you just saw."

Eyja took a deep breath and exhaled it before finishing what she was saying.

"Yes, I am sick of the slaughter. But have you ever wondered what you would do if not this? We who have lived this are not made for the life others enjoy. Marriage, having a home and children. That is something I have long since realized. The alternative, to hole up in an isolated cabin and spend the rest of our days in hiding and alone...I would hate that worse. So I keep working. And actually, the last years have been without killing. I am acting as bodyguard to a young girl who is in the service of Cyrodiil."

Eyja gave her boyish grin. "And must do it without her realizing I am there by commission."


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 14 2013, 07:32 PM

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Stefan's interest was piqued.

"Do tell, dear heart. Any story that is so horrid, that it brings ill will to those who speak of it, is worth hearing. Though, one might wonder, if the story is cursed, how was it passed down so willingly?" He gave her a genuine smile, devoid of any charm or flirtation, changing his dark eyes from piercing to playful and a split second. He showed her his own white teeth as he let out a throaty chuckle, enjoying his own observation.

He saw a flicker of something in her eyes. She's on to me. He thought. He leaned his own elbow on the bar, mirroring her movements from earlier. It's always more fun when they know. he turned his charming smile back on, still showing his own straight, white teeth.

She was a smart one. Oftentimes the younger ones didn't catch up to his game until after they woke up the next morning, his side of the bed long cooled, clutching the parchment with words describing their beauty, penned by his own hand, clutched to their breast.

"Tell me this story, dear heart, and do not leave a word out."

[Black Hand]

"What I would do?" He stop and considered, it was odd as he was...unique.

Theoretically he would live much longer than even Dunmer were supposed too. He could die by violence, but never from disease or age. In fact, if what he perceived and lived through in that Dragon Break was real, he was already 372, and not the thirty-one years of age he measured for continuity's sake. Then again, there was no way to say if all of it was real or a hallucination within the jills of Akatosh.

"If you survive long enough. All this becomes history. Ink on parchment gathering dust on a bookshelf." he thought, fingering a journal in his satchel.

"If you choose to carry it past that, you are the only one who suffers." he mused.

"There is a concept that is strange and alien to our kind. Forgiveness." he thought aloud, stroking his chin, then looked at her.

"Forgiveness is not the same thing as forgetting or accepting. I've heard it said the naive forgive and forget, the foolish neither forgive or forget, and the wise forgive, but not forget."

"When you forgive, be it yourself; which is most important, or others, you are not saying what happened was right. You are saying we are all mortal and capable of mistakes. If as a child you were too weak to prevent what happened, be grateful for the motivation it gave you to become strong."

"But, forgive yourself for being a child. It was unfair certainly, but such things should not be brought upon children in the first place. And the weak of mind and poor of spirit would only sink so low as too terrorize innocents such as these." he said with a dark tone.

"Rise above it. Aye, easier said than done, I know. But you are what you do. As actions follow thoughts, so our thoughts stem from us. The pain can make you better, or it can make you bitter. It's a choice. But we are not our thoughts, we can identify with them, act upon them, but...we can always change our mind. The gift and the burden of our Free Will."

"As to what I would do...everything. I'd be a penniless Alchemist living in a shack. I'll join a shipyard and become a dock worker. I'll sail to distant lands and take on local customs and adventure. Until I do any of these things, how can I say I wouldn't like them?"

"We....we're good at what we do. It doesn't have to define us. Though our hands may be black, they can also hold other things. A shovel, a spoon, a quill. It doesn't matter what shade we see, a scar is word written on our skin and our minds. But you are the page."

"When the time comes for this life too pass on and I must wear another set of roles like so much robes, I will. I'm free to be anything I wish. As are you."

"But, fulfill this...interesting contract. It seems you are part of something greater. Where there is need for our kind, we answer the call. We don't have to be evil. We can be a part of causality. And sometimes, death is the only answer to the question at hand. Indeed, we can be agents for a noble cause. If my hypothetical soldier were to live on, who knows what other evils he might visit upon the world? We exist for a reason. We take on the burden that other's cannot bear. I see a mixed blessing in this. Even predator's must have a predator to keep them in check, this is how I see it anyway."

This post has been edited by Black Hand: Jul 14 2013, 08:06 PM

[mALX]

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Eyja took in everything he'd said. In many ways it could have been Foxy speaking, they were much alike in their thoughts; in their advice.

"May I live long enough that all this becomes naught but dust on a parchment then. We Nords don't have the long life expectation that you have, being Dunmer. As you said, what we do for a living shortens any expectancy we may have had. It is too late for forgiveness over the death of my sister, that time has long since passed. They don't even care why I battled them now, they only know I did and that has made me a target of theirs just as they were mine once. Now it is only survival that I continue to fight the Dark Brotherhood. One of us must survive, I want it to be me."

Eyja glanced out the window, and was surprised to see the sun had traveled well behind the inn. The rays of light were slanted almost horizontally.

"The years have given you wisdom few possess, you have given me much to think about. I hope we meet again some time, Sethyas Velas. I could learn much from you. I do not make vows lightly, should you need me send a signal and I will come. You have my pledge on that." Eyja pounded her fist firmly against her chest, reconfirming the vow she'd made earlier.

Eyja paused for a minute as a thought struck her. She untied a pocket of her pack and felt around till she found what she was looking for. She held out a tiny child's ring to him.

"This is the signal. This was mine as a child. It has no value, but I've never seen another like it. Send that with anyone and a coded message of your location. I can break any code, and I'll know it comes from you no matter what name you sign. If you send this, I will find you."

Eyja's cheeks flushed as she continued. "I am known widely, notorious as a prostitute. It is a role that gets me in anywhere I want to go. Many men from all over send me jewelry with boldly flirtatious notes attached. It is the best way messages can be sent without alerting anyone that you are sending one. If you want me to bring a platoon with me, tell me to bring a certain pair of boots you like to see me in; choose any kind of boot. Boots on the ground is what I'll bring, my own men. They were trained by the same man I was, my mentor. I can access them within hours. If you request more than one pair of boots I will bring an army, but it will take days to amass them. If you don't mention boots, I come alone."

Eyja put the ring into the palm of his hand, then tied her travel pack closed.

"You are right, my charge awaits, and has a penchant for falling into trouble where none existed till she arrived. I had best take my leave and go find her. It has been a pleasure talking with you, Sethyas Velas."


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This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 17 2013, 10:18 AM

[Black Hand]

He took it with a nod and a smirk.

"Then, it would be a pleasure to make use of your services." he chuckled.

"There is a rare form of magic not often seen outside Morrowind." he said taking out a simple amulet on a leather cord. It was a simple silver coin with a hand that matched his tattoo's shape.

"I don't know if your familiar with 'translocation', the Mages Guild and the Telvanni Mage-Clans out there teach it under the College of Mysticism. They have scrolls called 'Divine Intervention' and 'Almsivi Intervention' that will magically transport the user to the closest Imperial Cult Shrine or Tribunal Temple. These are usually used by travellers out there for a last ditch effort to save their skins."

"A more advanced aspect is the 'Mark' and 'Recall' spell. You can anchor yourself to any point in the world with the Mark spell. You can then return at anytime to that same spot; instantly, by casting 'Recall'. This amulet works along those lines. Except I myself am the 'Mark', and activating the amulet will 'recall' you to wherever I am, while simultaneously casting a 'Mark' from where you left."

"Meaning, if you ever have need of me and my services, you have but to activate the amulet, wherever I am, you will be translocated there and then we can return to where you were."

"But." He warned. "The material is not highly enchantable, so using it destroys the item. Meaning you can only use it once, so be certain of your need before using it. But, if you're too scared too think it through, that probably does mean you need it. Plus enchanting them is expensive, almost prohibitively so, as I know of only one enchanter that is capable of making them." The Altmer in Indoranyon, no less. He thought, thinking of the reclusive wizard that he almost killed in the ancient Dunmer Stronghold.

"I do not have access to an army, but...I have taken the lives of many, many beings. Be they mortal or otherwise, if death is possible to grant, I usually find a way to impart the gift. Now, if your facing down an entire army...well...that's a bit out of my league I am afraid. There is strength in admitting that one is outclassed."

He handed the amulet to her, and granted her leave.

"It was a pleasure to speak with you as well, Eyja."

[mALX]

*

Eyja gave a genuine laugh at his joke. Her brows raised in surprise at the amulet and her cheeks flushed deeply, feeling the honor of him bestowing something he may need himself.

"I will pray to Mephala that you never have need of this yourself since you have bestowed it on me then, and that I never need it so I can return it to you intact one day. If you are facing an army, send for my boots and they will fight on your side. You have my promise on it."

Eyja slipped the amulet over her neck and held the coin in her hand as she gave him a small hesitant smile. "Maybe fate brought our meeting, that when the time comes neither of us will part this realm. I hope that is so, I would not want to know I still lived and you were not on Nirn because I wore your amulet. Hail, Sethyas. Hail, and long life to you."

Eyja made her way across the dining room toward the door, feeling the heaviness of that wish. If he got in a bad situation now, she held his means of escape. She may need to become a devout worshipper of Mephala just so her prayers for his safety be heeded.


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This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 14 2013, 10:58 PM

[mALX]

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Maxical:

Maxical was startled from her daydream of Casta Scribonia by the door opening and a Bosmer man popping his head in.

"Please, Sir." Maxical waved him in.

"You must be the new Associate. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Athragar. How can I serve you?"

"Miss Abiene took ill after drinking some tea at that inn outside the Chorrol gates. I think someone may have slipped something in her drink. Can you heal her? I have no healing magic at all."

"Teekeeus said you are from the Arcane University. Maybe someday I'll be able to move there. Training and spells, training and spells. It gets so boring here after a while."

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds real boring. Now will you look at Abiene please? She may have been poisoned. There were lots of men there, a pretty Breton woman alone. Maybe one slipped something in her drink."

Athragar's eyes lit with intrigue. "Ah, I see what you mean. Let me see what I can do." He stood over the bed and appeared to be more ogling Abiene than diagnosing her.

"Sir..."

"Yes, I see. I see." He started casting a white mist over her.

Maxical breathed a sigh of relief. An older Redguard woman tiptoed silently up to the door and peeked in.

"Are you the new Associate? Teekeeus said you were a student of the Arcane Arts. Perhaps you know my husband? Alberic Litte. I'm Carmen Litte. My husband is the sorcerer here, in fact; my husband is the Advanced Trainer in Conjuration for the Mages Guild."

Maxical scowled at her. Why did she keep opening every sentence with 'my husband'? Was she marking her territory?

"Let me stop you before you feel the need to start urinating on the bedposts. I am married, and have no interest in your husband or any other man."

"I don't know what you could mean..."

"Listen, if you can heal, will you come in here and help poor Abiene? I think someone slipped her poison at that inn across from the south gate. There were many men in there, a pretty woman like her..."

That was the wrong thing to say, Mrs. Litte's lips drew into a tight line. Maxical's temper was starting to build.

"Perhaps I'd best call your husband in here to check her."

"No need for that, Restoration is not his field."

"Well if it isn't yours, then please make yourself scarce. Find someone to help Athragar, will you?"

Maxical poked Athragar in the ribs. "Keep going, you're doing great. I'll get someone up here to help you."

She didn't have to wait long. Teekeeus came thumping up next. "What is going on here? Carmen tells me you were rude to her!"

"I...she...you don't understand! She was marking her territory around here like a dog, I was afraid she'd lift her leg next. And Abiene has been poisoned, some man at that inn across the road put something in her tea, trying to knock her out and have his way probably."

"These are serious charges, can you prove it?"

"I will go investigate it myself if you can heal her. I can't, I have no healing magic."

"I thought you said you were university trained?"

"Well...I am, but I couldn't pass everything."

"OUT! You connived your way in here on a ruse, a lie! And I want your key back, and that charter I gave you!"

Maxical dropped the key and book in his hand and fled down the two flights of stairs to the lobby. She ground to a halt there, glancing around for Casta Scribonia. She was gone. The idea hit Maxical that she may catch her outside walking. She hurried through the doors and scanned the streets, empty with the exception of the Altmer woman Earana, who hailed her.

"Hey, Earana; did you happen to see the famous author Casta Scribonia leave the Mages Guild since I went in? I was hoping to talk to her."

"Well you're a bold little thing, aren't you? As a matter of fact, Casta Scribonia will be visiting me in my room at the Gray Mare shortly. Come wait for her with me, and I'll introduce you."

"You will? Oh thank you!" Maxical fell into step beside Earana.



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This post has been edited by mALX: Jul 15 2013, 06:39 AM