The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla's smile looked strained as her lips thinned out as she pursed them.

Share the room? Great.

She'd had enough.

"Look, it's been a long trip. There's no way I'm sharing the room with some strange man."

Not sober, anyways.

"There's not another room somewhere in this inn that I can sleep?"

The last thing she needed was another man looking at her with disdain at her scars. Frankly, she was sick of it. Sick and tired of the whispers, the looks from giggling women. She'd overheard men making bets with each orher, daring the other to bed her for a hurtful amount of money. She'd gotten her scars saving people.

All she wanted was a bit of respect. But it was obvious she wouldn't receive any here.

[Darkness Eternal]

Moslin bit back the urge to growl. He wasn't in the mood of being questioned about rooms when he made it perfectly clear there was one available. He decided, then, that he would have to elaborate more. "Are you soft in the head? No. There isn't any other room. The only room there is is my room and there ain't no where in oblivion that you're sleeping in there. Either accept the room I'm offering or go sleep outside."

With that he added a thick clear of his throat and a spiteful snort, muttering words to himself as he set about to wipe the bar with an old rag. "Picked the wrong night to just walk up in here'."

****

Drathen Decumus did not complain when he wasn't given a lantern to walk about the dark corridor into the extremely dark room. Shadows did not bother a man who by lifestyle only lived at night.

Looking around Drathen wondered if they purposely kept this place in such sordid conditions with broken glass and pieces of wood scattered all about the floor. Without the influx of visitors in this forsaken place, surely the old man could devote his time of the day to clean up. But it was obvious this might be on of those childish traps these peasants put out.

The old man below can go on expecting Drathen to poke his foot on some nail or trip over wood but he wouldn't be given the satisfaction of so much as a cry. Lantern or no Drathen could see this place as clear as day.

He closed the door behind him, and to his chagrin found that there was no lock to keep others out. How amusing, he reflected. They loathe the intrusion of outsiders and it seems they want to impose such case on strangers who set foot here.

But that wasn't just it, though it may play a part in it. There was a disturbance within him. He could feel something malevolent in the air. It was thick and palpable, especially to a man such as himself. There were dark forces working here and he was sure of it. The faint wiff of blood as he climbed the stairs minutes ago made him suspect that somewhere, somehow, these people might still cling to that old religion of theirs.

The atmosphere of this place was dark and forboding, eerie. He'd suspect to see a vengeful spirit or two that he'd personally slain all those years ago try to choke the life out of him. No words would be exchanged, however, for what really does the dead have to say to the dead?

Drathen caressed the hilt of his saber gently as he unclipped the sheathe from his belt and set it aside on the double bed. Those sheets weren't the cleanest, but they certainly weren't the dirtiest of them. Which made him wonder, why was the other room locked away? These things he would have to know. Not out of any sense of noble obligation, but because if his dealings go potentially well, the last thing he wants is his name and reputation tarnished of rumored involvement with possibly cultists.

Still, these things did not bother him. He knew he had already drawn enough attention to himself. His clothes and those various sets of mysterious rings that adorned his fingers might have already spread word of his presence in town. A town, he remembered, made up of a small group of people.

He pulled a chair and placed it near on the window. In complete darkness he sat there, occasionally looking at the very faint light coming from beneath the door and out of the cracked and stained glass that offered him a dreary view of the outside. His horse was still there, unharmed and untouched.

Good, he thought. He clasped his hands together and interlocked his fingers, vigilant eyes staring out into the distance but while his ears remained open. Below he could hear the conversation between the old man and what sounded like a nordic woman. Drathen devoted his interest in the exchange below. This Nord woman did not belong here in Hackdirt.

"I don't like outsiders too much but the wilderness is dangerous and I don't want the damn Legion snooping around if they find some elf's body in the forest with animal bites or bandit bruises."

A Mer? With the accent of a northern maiden? Drathen sat back a bit as he continued to eavesdrop on the conversation that slipped through the cracked floorboards.

"The only room we got. The other one is infested with rats and spiders. You'll have to share it with the gentleman that just came in a few minutes ago. It is the room on the right just up the stairs if you want to take it. Large enough to accomidate both of you without trouble."

Drathen frowned.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

One side of Kayla's upper curled in a snarl as she slammed her open palms on the folthied bar the man nonchalantly wipes, startling him.

"Then YOU go inform your guest that the pitiful state of YOUR inn is causing him some major discomfort."

She muttered some obscene phrases in Nordic as she busied herself digging into her bag.

"Tell him I'll split the cost of the room. How much is it?"

"Thirty septims."

"THIRTY?!" An audible squeak was heard as she gripped the leather strap of her pack tightly.

I may commit my first murder tonight.

[Darkness Eternal]

Moslin's lip thinned out. The only good outsider making such demands was a dead one. But seeing her this irritated brought a grin to his face that only served to make her angrier. "Thirty septims. Take it or stop wasting my time."

As soon as those words parted his lips he turned around to look at the flight of stairs and saw the man standing there. Vlanhonder, for the first time, felt startled. He didn't make any noise on his way down as if he was naturally light on his step.

He didn't look too happy but neither did he look angry. His expression was unreadable. He set his piercing eyes on him and then looked at the other outsider. He held his hands behind his back as if he were watching one of those dramatic theatrical plays people like him tend to do in the outside world.

"The only discomfort here," the nobleman said with grace. "Is the one we allow to affect us."

He walked over to to the counter, produced a sack of coin from the pocket of his pants and set them gently on the table. All thirty pieces. "I'll pay for the expenses. There is no need for any innefectual agitation." His last words were added with a bit of force, and Vlanhonder did not miss the fact that the other Imperial was looking at him when he said this.

His fancy vocabulary only meant that arguing with the proprietor would change nothing.

"You're sure about this?"

"Quite positive," Drathen said, and then turned to the Altmer woman. Rather than staring at her scars or looking at her in disgust he only maintained strong eye-contact with her. It struck him now that he was the domineering type of men. The many rings on his fingers only confused Vlanholder if he was married or not.

"Regretfully I must inform you that there is only one bed," Drathen said. "It is a double-bed. Fortunately, however, there is plenty of space to accomidate us both without any pressing issues. Forgive me if I may seem a bit too . . . bold to suggest something as this. But the wilderness is no place for a woman to be at this hour. Highwaymen have set up territory not too far from here. You'd fare better if you remain here, tonight."

He composed himself and stretched out a hand to Kayla. "Ah, excuse my manners. I did not properly introduce myself. My name is Drathen Decumus."

[Elisabeth Hollow]

No place for a WOMAN?! Kayla gripped his hand, maintaining eye contact.

"Kayla. Just Kayla."

She thought about adding a name like Giant-Slayer or "the Skinner" but she wasn't in the mood to fight. Between her headache from earlier and the knowledge that she was leaving a handsome man back at the Goblet that was willing to bed her for free more than once, she wasn't very cheerful. Not to mention the stitching on her armor was atrocious.

She shook the man's hand slightly, her full lips still in an irritated purse. "I hope you don't snore."

That was all she really had to say. She didn't expect him to try anything, and he didn't ha e the feel of a thief. "I'm a very light sleeper." She added, in case he was.

At least he's somewhat attractive. Maybe if he smiled.

[Darkness Eternal]

Drathen released his grip from her hand and forced a smile. "A pleasure to make you're aquaintance, Kayla. You'll be pleased to discover that I am silent as the grave. It is as if I am not there."

He said that to Kayla as much as he did to the tavern's owner. He didn't want to sour the mood between them though now he knew this man hated outsiders and whatever hopes of investing in both the establishment would be futile. Drathen did not concern himself too much. There was bound to be more favorable places to invest.

But as for right now . . . he had to wonder what to make of this woman. He could discern that she was a fighter, that much was given. Perhaps a spellcaster. He noticed everything about her, from her scars to her curves and even her eyes, for anything could yield information about her to him.

"You have a goodnight," Drathen told proprietor, who as expected did not even return a glance. The spooky grin on his face, though, spoke enough volumes.

Drathen turned his back on Kayla and began to walk. "Come, I shall lead you to our room. Do be careful, though. The lack of lighting in this place is sure to cause an unfortunate accident."

And with that he held out his palm, away from the eyes of the proprietor, and cast a spell. Fire materalized and remained in a stationary position in his hand. The area glowed of orange and yellow and with another hand, he opened the door that led into his room after he took the flight of stairs.

Leaving the door open behind him, he entered inside and lit an old candle he saw sitting in the corner of a cupboard with the fire and graciously handed it to Kayla. "Be careful not to let this slip from your grasp. The dust gathered in this place and the wood is sure to attract the flame."

With a grin, he added. "Wouldn't want to burn this place to the ground."

He turned around and closed the tattered curtains to cover the window. Then he sat on one end of the large bed and removed his gold-trimmed shoes and set them gently on the side. His sword still laying beside him.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla's lips twitched in a smile as she sat on the edge of the bed. "It looks like someone beat you to it." She said in regards to the burning comment. "A while ago, actually." She slid her boots off and set them under the bed. She stood up and dug in her pack and loosed her ponytail.

"Please look away. I'd like to get out of this armor." He obliged, turning his head and body away slightly. She felt grateful as she slid her armor off and pulled on a pair of her sleeping bottoms.

We're these this tight before?! She remembered that she had been eating well at the Goblet the past few days, as opposed to on the road. She huffed.

He'll have to deal.

She pulled on her sleeping shirt, much more loose than her bottoms, thankfully. Her bottoms came only to her mid thigh, which caused her to turn red with irritation.

He will have to DEAL. We'll be under the covers, anyways. Not like he'll be looking.

"I'm done, you can turn around. Sorry for my immodesty." She sat uncomfortablely on the rickety chair near the door.

[Darkness Eternal]

Though she gave him the clear to turn around, he didn't. He remained seated looking out the window, eyes searching throughout every corner and behind every wall. Not a soul on sight, just like when he came here. This place is a ghost town.

"This place was a haven for religious cultists. Legion came in and burned this place to the ground after hostilities ensued against their victims. Many of the accused townspeople who thrived under cult practices were executed."

Drathen said this as he tried to piece back the puzzling memories of that time. It wasn't too long ago, not by his standards. The sights were still fresh in his mind.

He turned around after he saw no particular danger out there. If anything decides to threaten my life, I'll have the life choked from him.

The nobleman became aware now that the house over our heads was quiet. Now and then feet moved below and the boards creaked and the light in the cracks of the boards surrendered a faint, uneven illumination. Though his face was a mask of delight, Drathen worked well to conceal his true emotions.

Drathen was pleased that there was someone in the room with him. A woman, no less. Before her arrival he imagined he would be doomed to stare at candles for hours as if they were people and standing by the window like a zombie in this unfavorable room until his clothes smelled like old wardrobe tunics.

Kayla wasn't unnatractive. True, he'd seen many fresh young women in his many lifetimes, each of them more beautiful than the last. But this Altmer, as spiteful as he felt about their kind, offered just the teasing visual of skin and flesh that made him wonder, Might I try to sample such exotic cuisine?

He took the time to highlight Kayla's attributes. There were scars on her face, this he saw earlier. He could not judge the size of her chest for the shirt she wore was loose, but everything below her waist seemed constricted by the tightened bottoms. Of course, he did this inconspicuously. Not many women appreciated being desired in such fashion.

But with those scars, he reflected for a moment, she'd be pleased someone would find her desirable. Here in Cyrodiil, however, she looked far better than those maidens who might as well be lads with long-hair and horrific complexions.

To strike conversation for the sake of it, and perhaps even because he might have some faint distant interest in what the woman was doing in a godsforsaken place like this, Drathen made himself comfortable in bed as he faced Kayla as she sat on the chair.

"If I may ask," he said. "What is it that lured you here to Hackdirt?"

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla crossed one leg over the other and cracked her knuckles nervously. The place made her skittish, and being in the room with a strange man didn't help her nerves. She bit her full bottom lip before answering his question.

"I'm helping a woman locate her two children. Melven and Maleva. Red hair, boy and girl. Young adults. But no one here is any help, and their mother said she sent them to Hackdirt." She ran her fingers through her shoulder length auburn hair to give her hands something to do. "But if they're not here, then that means they probably didn't make it. And I can't bear the look on a mother's face when you tell them their child is dead. Two is worse."

She'd done it before, too. She furrowed her brow slightly as she bit her bottom lip at the memory.

[Darkness Eternal]

Drathen saw that Kayla was easily frightened by the place. She was on edge just by the sounds and creaking the entire establishment made, as if the house itself was groaning.

Kayla revealed that she was here in search of two missing youths. That their mother sent them to Hackdirt. He wondered for what reason, and then as he thought of a possible explanation it suddenly dawned on him.

He recalled a certain time in the history of Hackdirt that the locals went out to lure in outsiders in their town. Instead of kidnapping visitors to the town, they took a less risky route in bringing about newcomers who had no appointment or reason to be in Hackdirt.

Drathen could not tell if this was the case. He also knew some people were bold enough to go about and kidnap children. He knew, because he had done this before. The Bretons didn’t invent Children’s Day for no reason.

“Well,” said Drathen. “I hope they are safe and secure and that you may be fortunate to find them all in one piece.”

When the light of the candle began to flicker, Drathen raised a finger from that tip sparked an orange flame. With careful grace he moved the flame from his finger and toward the candle, lightning it once more.

“Quite noble of you to go your way into a peculiar town in search of a woman’s offspring without any knowledge of what you might be getting into,” he noted with unwavering eyes that were intently fixed on her. “To be quite blunt you strike me as a woman who is no stranger to violence.”

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla's lips twitched in what was almost a smile. "I wonder what tipped you off. The sword? The well used armor?" She looked at his clothes as discreetly as she could, hoping her raised brow wouldn't lead him to think she was looking him up and down like he was in display. Not that he wasn't attractive, but he WAS lying across the bed with his head propped on one arm.

He hasn't undressed. She realized. I don't think he intends to sleep.

He was still dressed in finery that made her most expensive piece of clothing look like rags. Which, most of them were. She wasn't poor, not at all, but she invested her coin in more practical items, like armor and food. She maintained Dawnbreaker's sharpness by bringing it to any skilled smith she could, passing it off as an ancient relic instead of a Daedric weapon. Most of the time it worked.

She looked back up at his face, crossing her arms. "What's a man dressed like you doing in the skeever-hole?"

[Darkness Eternal]

It wasn’t her armor that hinted him of it. It wasn’t her sword either, he knew any idiot could hold a blade and call him or herself a sword master. There was one thing that revealed Kayla’s style of life and that wasn't anything she wore.

“Your eyes.” Drathen said to her. They had a certain history to them that if read properly, revealed more than it should. “A man can tell just by reading them.”

Kayla might bear the scars and the armor and the sword but it was the look that have her away. It was the same as him. No matter how he tried to change it, or act or smile his way through, he couldn’t change what his eyes told.

If he somehow looked at himself with the eyes of others, he would see his own clean-shaved, smooth skin on his handsome face. Though he had been in countless battles, he bore no physical scars. Though well past innumerable decades, he was as yet unwrinkled, with no lines to tell of the passage of time. Some could tell there was agelessness about him, a stillness; he was often told that, rage and joy had no difference when registered in his face. His eyes, though colored red and yellow, were cold as ice. Try as he might, his prince-like appearance was direct contrast in what the windows of his soul reflected. It could be said that this was one of his weaknesses.

He did not blink but rather maintained his eyes set on Kayla, choosing his words carefully. “A peaceful land, a quiet people. I have interests in investing on property around Skingrad and Chorrol.” He didn’t want to get into the specifics of why, and he honestly believed Kayla wouldn’t care. “I am beginning to rethink of my desires.”

This was, of course, said about both the purchase and Kayla, and he was sure Kayla only paid attention to the former. The way things struck him now, it didn’t appear that Hackdirt changed its ways at all, and that some wounds of the past still festered within the fiber of this settlement.

Things wouldn’t change unless this entire place is leveled and every bone is turned to dust . . .

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 11 2013, 08:38 PM

[Elisabeth Hollow]

"Your eyes..."

Kayla leaned back into her chair in surprise, as if those two words had knocked her backwards.

Out of everything, the armor, the sword, the hideous scars on my body, he chooses my eyes? What game is he playing?

She didn't sense any untruth in his words, though. There were things her eyes had seen that none should see. But she had, out of necessity and desire to protect, chosen to bear witness to gruesome scenes. Women and children ripped apart and strung up in caves, men skinned alive and left for dead, begging for death as they writhed in pain on the sharp ground of the earth, dirt and rocks digging into their open wounds.

She swallowed and maintained eye contact, matching his unblinking gaze with her own. Her chest contracted in what was almost a scoff, but a good natured sound came out. A half smiled played upon her lips.

"If you can find a peaceful land, send for me. Even a woman with the eyes of a fighter grows tired of constant battle."

But it never ends.

She set her jaw and kept her gaze up. Not once has a battle really ended for her. After one battle, another wages. And it was all a part of a war she couldn't see, couldn't fathom. Kayla wasn't a thinker. She wasn't a scholar. She was a fighter, that Drathen was correct about. She was a disgrace to her Elven brethren, and a boon upon her Nordic comrades.

She raised her slender, muscular arms above her head in a stretch and leaned back, breaking eye contact. She was getting tired. She realized too late her navel was showing, exposing long, pink scar that crossed it. The vampire that gave it to her intended to gut her, but a quick punch to the nose ended all chances of that.

She hadn't spent much time around nobles, and had no idea whether Drathen was as rude as the others she had encountered here in Cyrodiil. The nobles in Skyrim, at least most of them, respected scarring as a sign of usefulness, survival, strength. The nobles here seemed to regard her as lower than dirt, and that suited her just fine. She set her gaze on Drathen, then the empty area beside him.

I should try to sleep if I'm going to search the woods in the morning.

[Rohirrim]

Khan stepped onto the wet grass, leading his dappled mare to the stable, hoping to catch a few seconds of relief from the downpour himself. He noticed a young Bosmer sitting in the straw at the end of the paddock, and threw him a few septims. "Take special care of the horse. It's my only way back home." Nodding, the Bosmer came forward and took the horses lead, bringing her into the paddock. That having been taken care of, Khan turned to look at the sign above the door. "Hmm. The Wobbly Goblet. Well, here goes nothing", he said as he opened the heavy wood door.
A strong warmth filled the room, probably due to the large fireplace in the room. Behind the bar stood an Orc woman, with a club on her belt the Khan guessed was NOT for anything nice. He also saw a Nord woman tending a stove, though what the good-smelling food was, Khan could not see. He removed his hood, letting it fall back over his cloak. He assumed the Orc was the owner, so he went over to her, followed by his hound, a husky named Bran. "Do you take dogs?", he asked her. After the Orc responded with a nod, he asked "How much for a room?" "Fifteen septims a night" was the response. When the appropriate amount of coin changed hands, the Orc said: "Very well, I'll have Lleris take your bags up. In the meantime, why don't you and your dog go grab a bite to eat? It'll only be a few minutes." "Alright then." "Sitting down on a barstool, Khan spoke to the Breton obsessively cleaning the counter. "I'll have an onion-leek pie, a mutton chop, a ham for my mate here, and...do you have Honningbrew? Oh, you do? Excellent. Two bottles of that, then." As he looked around the room, Khan felt his homesickness go away. This, he thought, would be a very good vacation.

[mALX]

*

Maxical:

With her back leaned against the wall and from this vantage point she could see the full dining area and most of the tavern.

The Khajiit caught her eye when he entered, not as a suspect in the poisonings; but because of the huge dog at his side. She'd always been afraid of dogs, worried they may suddenly take it upon themselves to consider her a meal.

The cat wasn't much older than she was herself, but held a bad scar across his nose that must mark some major battle he'd fought and survived. He didn't look like he was from around these parts; put her in mind of that big black Khajiit she'd seen outside the morning she arrived. Maybe they were related.

She went back to scanning the crowded tavern.



*





This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 13 2013, 06:54 PM

[Rohirrim]

Bran, smelling an unknown scent, abandoned his ham and walked toward the Khajiit leaning against the wall. He barked once, twice. Khan, hearing the noise, got off his stool and walked over, grasping Bran's quilted arming wear.

"Terribly sorry", Khan said as he tried to calm Bran down, "He gets a little nervous around strangers, being a war dog and all. Can I buy you a drink in the way of an apology? I'm Khan. Tribune Khan. And you are?"

[mALX]

*

Maxical:

"Scared to death." She pounded her fist to her chest in greeting.

"Does he bite? I'd ask if he eats cats, but he seems to like you well enough. I'm Maxical."

She shook her head no on the drink. "Nothing for me, thank you." She raised her glass of fruit juice to show she had plenty.


*

[Grits]

Bograk

Bograk watched Auguste serve two bottles of Honnigbrew to the big Khajiit. His meals arrived hot from the kitchen a moment later.

Riad thumped his parchment with a finger, regaining her attention. “We’ll have more than enough to get us through the Harvest’s End festival without buying any more barrels from those monks,” he argued.

Bograk snorted. “Your bad blood with some priest isn’t going to cost me my reputation. I’ve already ordered the extra beer. Get over it. I’m more concerned that this rain is going to keep us from putting the tents up.”

“Our reputation,” Riad corrected her. “And what’s this about tents? If it keeps raining there won’t be as many folk here to collect their free drinks. Less of a loss for us.”

She shot him a glare. “You’re kind of missing the point of the festival, Riad.”

Lleris trotted back down the stairs and gave Bograk a cheery nod, indicating that the room was ready. Bograk glanced over when the husky barked, but the two Khajiiti seemed to be talking peacefully. She went back to arguing with her partner.

[Rohirrim]

Khan smiled at Maxical's joke. "No, he doesn't bite. Not unless I tell him too. Well, I'd better eat, I've been riding on dried Snowberries for three days now, but it was nice meeting you, Maxical. Say, before I go, are you the only one staying here? It seems far too big for that."

[mALX]

*

Maxical:

"Riding on dried Snowberries? You should try a horse, it might be faster."

She grinned, then answered his question.

"No, I don't think so. There's three including me in the suite, and another in the room beside us on the north wing. I'm not sure about the other wings, but I think at least two of them have occupants. All these you see in here..." She indicated the tavern crowd.

"Most of these are just patrons of the bar from what Lleris said."

*




This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 13 2013, 09:52 PM