The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[Uleni Athram]

Maybe the pelting rain of last week got to him, and he was simply under the weather? Maybe drinking twenty bottles of cheap wine straight finally eroded his legendary resistance and he was having, and he thinks of this as absolutely terrifying, a hangover?

Maybe that horse-riding challenge with the gangly Breton girl (and the private 'riding lesson' afterwards) had gripped him with unfamiliar fatigue? It was a sudden challenge after all, made when they both eyeballed each other and came to the conclusion of testing each other.

Or, maybe he catched something from her. She had the look of a night-walker after all.

That would be the day, Ylenno thought ruefully. The Cavefish Shanker finally dulled.

Whatever it was that ailled him, the prancing elf saw things... dull. And stale. And unfunny.

In fact, he saw things quite tragically; there were no colors in the world, and all had turned into a sepia depression. It was as if he was simply a watcher, not an actor in the world. Gone was his trademark mirth that could and would explode at any moment's notice. Nor would his braying laughter accompany that easy smirk on his moist, luscious lips. And the worse thing about this.... gray disease was that it bereaved him the usual luster when maintaining his hair! Ylenno couldn't believe it himself, when mulling his sudden deadness over. The Florentine Bleeder, not taking care of his hair. The world was truly in the time of ending.

So.

He went out to cheer himself with the only choice left to him, now that all other attempts at raising himself up failed.

He went out to find trouble.

If you're feeling down, beat someone up, is what he use to say when confronted with a striking boredom that can't be shook off. He went down the rougher parts of Chorrol, all by his lonesome, swaggering about and daring anyone to go try him. He inspected the cheap bars and inns for any good brawling specimens, and he even went up the Fighters Guild to stir stuff up. But alas, this ailment had sunk its fangs very deep in Ylenno and during those fights, he found himself just... going through the motions. Like he was dead. His burning passion, the thrill and validation he felt when iniating violence against his fellow man was... simply... gone. He took no joy smashing jaws, no happiness in pistoning guts, and no mischievious mirth striking them where the sun don't shine.

It eventually got to the point when, during a particular fistfight with a tough dunmer called Modryn Oreyn, he simply wrung his hands and stood numbly, letting the other elf batter him without consequence nor rancor. When he was all bloodied up (Ylenno got to hand it with the old timer; guy was good and freakishly powerful) and laying bruised and broken on the pavement, he rolled to his back and stared at the sky, wondering what the hell was going on with him. The dunmer spat at him, deriding him as a soft-bellied goatlover, and Ylenno in turn just gave him... a noncommitant rude gesture.

He numbly counted his wounds that day. Broken ribs, fractured elbow, battered knuckles, dislocated nose, a large black eye on his right, two missing teeth, cracked jaw and several cuts and bruises. Plus, blood. Anybody who would see his condition would say that he either got jumped by eighty raging Orcs or fell down a cliff like a boneless ragdoll, such was the extent of his injuries.

It didn't matter to Ylenno, anyway; as a vain rogue, he knew some mythical and extremely secretive techniques that would heal all of his wounds and make him all the more roguish and handsome for it, so he wasn't really concerned about his appearance. This was so unlike him, that one of his usual brawl-mates, an Argonian by the name of Lumpy, urged him to the Chapel and cure whatever it was that finally put the infamous Florentine Bleeder down. Even in such a vegetative state, Ylenno openly scoffed and balked at such a suggestion.

No gods, no demons, only me.

But since he had nothing better to do, he decided that he might as well visit the place and check out the local nuns. There was a particular lay sister that he spied once, and she was a beautiful Breton with the most manhood-raising accent he ever heard. Her name was Leliana, if memory serves. A young one, too, what with her grim, yet alluring contriteness and boyishly cut short hair. He found her lighting some candles near the altar, whispering some verses as she did so. He remained in the shadows, and simply watched her.

Eventually she felt his presence, and while her first reaction was to be creeped out, but it was replaced by an immediate fussing over at his wounds. Yep, he thought. Too young. They engaged in small-talk, Leliana reprimanding Ylenno of his foolishness, and Ylenno reprimanding Leliana of her virginity and an offer to rectify it. She would've slapped him, she said, silent laughter in her eyes, but his face was already a sorry sight, so he was off the hook. Then she asked him if he was going to the festival happening just outside the gates. This was news to Ylenno, but he figured that this was to be expected. He spent the nights roaming for fights, and the days knocked out or in his rented room, battered and bloodied so any news would've missed him.

He shrugged. He figured he could check that one out, maybe even meet a cute face or eight....

****************


And that was how he found himself in a sea of choking madness and outrageous noise. If he had been himself, he would've been at the forefront of this festival, bashing heads and drinking wine and then passing out, and then do it all over again. He simply shook his head and wandered the festival, looking around him with dull interest. There was some trouble going on between an Imperial (this hulking half-naked man seemed familiar, for some reason), a Khajiit and a gigantic Nord, there was mud pit where people wrestled.

He supposed the Inn itself would be comparatively subdued than the chaos outside, and there were bound to be passable serving wenches inside.

So he went in, and walked towards the bar.

He paused in mid-stride. He retraced his footsteps, walking backwards. He then did a double take.

A slow, a very very slow grin crept in his face. It threatened to rip his damaged face apart. He just stood there for ten minutes, smilling widely at a particular table that sat a cast of eating people. One of those people was very much familiar to Ylenno. A pair of Argonians that sat next to him shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Ylenno continued to stand there, smilling like a loon, looking for all intents and purposes like a psychopath on the loose.

He then began to walk very slowly towards his eyes' target, and gone was the Ylenno that bore a burden inside him. This Ylenno that walked had all of his familiar cockiness, a very challenging swagger in his steps, all movements meant to draw eyes on him. He still had that smile on his face when he finally neared them. All of his attention was focused on Kayla, the Altmer from the Nord with that sexy accent of hers.

He waited for a lull in their conversation, and then with the grace only he has, introduced himself, Ylenno-style.

"Kayla! Of all the places to see that ugly face of yours, I find it here, in the arse end of nowhere!"

He turned to the others at the tabel, and he flashed them his trademark grin while pointing a dislocated thumb at Kayla.

"I used to low-kick this woman at the back of her knees and tease her about her brooding boy-toy! Haw-haw-haw, I'm Ylenno by the way. Ylenno Sasalonia! And me and this snowrod go way back!”

This post has been edited by Uleni Athram: Sep 6 2013, 02:33 AM

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla frowned, then squinted her eyes at the Bosmer yelling at her.

Oh...oh no way...

Only one person she knew walked that way. She'd know that swagger from miles away. The jutted chin, the gleam in his eyes, and not only that, but they stood head to head. he was easily the tallest Bosmer she'd ever known, most only coming chest-high to her. When she had mentioned this, he'd said something about being the perfect height for looking at all the important things. She couldn't remember. Her Cyrodiliic had been worse than it was now.

She grinned and jumped up, but her foot caught the bench table and she fell backwards. She grunted, but recovered herself and jumped at Ylenno and hugged him tightly.

"You! Hi!"

She grinned at him and kissed his cheek, as Cyrodilians were wont to do.

"My ugly face? You look like a troll tried to bed you and succeeded! What have you been up to since Anvil?

Though Ylenno had been a source of irritation at times, he was also a familiar face. she knew he could get himself out of a scrap, and by the looks of it, he'd been in quite a few since they'd last seen each other. She wanted to catch up, tell him about what happened earlier. She knew he'd tease her mercilessly about it. She welcomed his barbed jests.

It was nice to see an old friend.

This post has been edited by Elisabeth Hollow: Sep 5 2013, 04:00 AM

[Grits]

Abiene

That’s the tallest Bosmer I’ve ever seen, Abiene marveled as Kayla picked herself up off the ground.

Jerric approached looking slightly battered, much cleaner, surprisingly sober, and very grim.

“I’ll take my leave,” he muttered before Abiene could speak, bending to kiss her cheek and take a deep sniff of her hair. He stuck his hand down the front of her top to retrieve his pendant. She handed him his ring. Then Jerric gripped Darnand’s arm and hoisted him off the bench. “Breton, a word.”

The two stepped away and engaged in a brief discussion that looked as heated as it was nearly silent. Jerric jerked his head in the direction of Weynon Priory. Darnand nodded back toward the table. They finished by exchanging scowls over clasped hands. Darnand turned on his heel and strode back to the group. Jerric disappeared into the crowd.

Abiene straightened her dress.

“The Nord will not be joining us,” Darnand said, seating himself. He picked up his wine. “He expresses his regrets.”

Abiene glanced at Aravi and gave her a little shrug.

“That was a dear friend, Jerric Kjellingsson,” she said to Sethyas. “I wish I could have introduced you. But… Well, that’s how he is.”

Darnand snorted into his goblet. “He was uncertain as to the extent of his present commitment. As you saw, it was unplanned.” He pressed Abiene’s hand with his under the table. Do not concern yourself, he might have spoken aloud. She had heard it all before.

Abiene pulled her hand away and lifted her wine. “I would love to hear a little music,” she said.

[Darkness Eternal]

The man was close. Too close. So close that she could practically feel the burning desire radiating off his skin. That lust-powered desperation.

She expected this much. From their brief conversation on the subject of love she knew he was simply itching to be with a beautiful young woman ever since his sob story about being forever alone. In his mind he must have seen her as the answer to his problems.

She wanted nothing to do with him. He was a small but relatively known figure near Chorrol and she wouldn’t associate with him in any way other than small talk. Sleeping with him was out of the question even if she was remotely attracted to him.

Irvana moved slightly to the corner to show her disinterest, and he noticed this and made her efforts vain by continuing to approximate himself.

“You’re beautiful, Irvana. You have this . . . aura about you. I can’t put my finger on it.” The horse-owner said as he placed his hand over her leg, forcing his chair closer to her own.

“Not when you can place your entire hand,” she said suddenly. “I apologize if I ever gave you the impression I was interested. I’m not.”

“I am.”

There was an expression on her face that told him bluntly that she wasn’t that type of woman. “I must go,” she muttered as she climbed to her feet. “Farewell.”

His hand reached out to grab her by the arm and he tugged at her forcefully. “You don’t want to do that.” He said to her, and she turned around to see him staring angrily at her.

She pulled back with all her force and hurried off into the crowd to find a face she was more familiar with. With the bug musk, the seeds had already been planted and everything had been set.

Now, all that remained was getting to know more individuals or more about them. Among the crowd were people she knew; Draken was socializing with just about everyone, mostly women. Kayla was embraced by a man she never had seen before and Abiene . . . Abiene was alone with Aravi and a dark elf and a Breton.

She took the opportunity to flee from the sight of kiss-ups and desperate men to seat amongst more calm company. She approached behind Abiene enough to hear her say she wanted to listen to some music.

Irvana maneuvered around Abiene to the side where she the entire table could see her and not just Aravi and the two men. “The troubadours from the Summerset Isles have begun to play again,” she said cheerfully. “I might have helped inspire them.”

She looked at the blue-eyed Imperial . . . girl? Yes, it was a girl. She struck Irvana as a bard right away, and had the black-haired Imperial clasping her hands together. "Oh! Hello there!"

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Sep 4 2013, 09:22 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

“Perhaps something that you enjoy playing? If it’s appropriate to ask, I’d like to hear one of
your favorite songs.”

That was a tricky question; her personal favourite, a piece by the name of 'Soul of a Harper' was a song written by someone on the Isles, and while she enjoyed it, the subject matter it contained, that of disembowelment and torture, would probably not go down well here.

"I think I know just the piece," Salyan said.

In the next moment, she saw what must have been the tallest bosmer she had ever seen, both on Nirn and in the Isles. He greeted Kayla with a sort of hyperactive ecstasy, and the Altmer seemed equally delighted, if not quite as restrained, in greeting him. Glancing at the stage, which was beginning to clear, Salyan decided that introduction would have to wait for later.

As she was about to go, a graceful Imperial woman with dark hair stopped her, seeming to be some acquaintance of theirs. She looked familiar, and it took Salyan a moment to place her; the Imperial who had ousted the Summerset Isles violinist.

"Hello!" Salyan returned back with a smile. "You were the violinist from earlier, were you not? I heard you play; it was amazing!"

She glanced back at the stage and saw a group of Elves about to climb up onto it. She recognised them, the group of buffoons who had a butcher for a violinist.

"I really don't want to sound rude," she said. "But I was hoping to play this set, and those Summerset troubadours are back. I'd rather not lose this slot out to them, of all people."

With a nodding bow of apology, she hurried to the stage. She shoved past the elves, and was stopped as one of them pressed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," the offending elf said. "This is our set."

"You already had one," Salyan said. "Besides, do you really want to let him back on the stage?" This was accompanied with a nod to the violinist.

"What is with everyone today?" the altmer protested, expression a balancing act between rage and heartbreak.

"Look, you've had your turn, let me have mine," Salyan said.

"Or what, lyre girl?"

"Or else," Salyan said, leaning in. "I will break that stupid lute you carry over your thick skull. Now get lost."

At the same moment, she plucked a string of her instrument, lacing the noise into a fear spell. It was a mean trick, but she wanted to play and she knew she could do a better job than this band of jesters. The elf cringed and stepped back.

"Fine," he said. "Take it, you damn lunatic."

Salyan smiled, and stepped onto the stage. Pulling a stool up, she pulled her lyre out of its case, strummed the strings briefly to double-check they were still all in tune, and began to play.

[minque]

Serene

"He's a vampire!!" the thought appeared loud and clear in her mind. She glanced at Seth, apparently he'd "heard" her, because he rised his eyebrows in disbelief, but then he slowly nodded...

Anyway the vampire suddenly left, which was a relief. Vamps who could stand broad daylight were unusual, but she had some deep memory of actually meeting one of them.

She shrugged and tried to focus on the people around the table...

"Funny thing, being in such a crowd and yet...being totally alone"

Nobody took any notice of her so she decided to play a little game....a mind-game

She focussed on one and each...slowly going into their minds reading their thoughts, nobody noticed anything, they were too occupied...that also made it more difficult to get a good reading..

"- Welkynd stones...."
"-Hunting..."
""-music..", someone wanted music

A young girl who just arrived turned out to be a bard, the extremely beautiful Imperial was a violinist

"Irvana, her mind is dark...need to get in deeper..."

BANG! Like an arrow, Seth's voice boomed in her head

"STOP IT Renie! Stop it NOW! You don't know these people...you can't just barge into their heads..because that's EXACTLY what you're doing just now, right?"

She just looked the other way and focussed on the music, had no intention to stop the little game..just do it in another way

"Nobody will notice, absolutely nobody"

[King Coin]

Aravi’s ears flicked when she heard another voice booming through the inn. A short Altmer… No, that’s a Bosmer, she realized with surprise, was the source. Kayla jumped awkwardly and managed to flop to the ground. She wasn’t bothered in the slightest, and hugged the newcomer.

Aravi decided to introduce herself to Ylenno. “I’m Aravi. When did you meet Kayla?” Is he from Skyrim as well? she wondered.

She looked over to Abiene and Darnand and saw Jerric was talking with Darnand. She soon learned that Jerric was leaving. I hardly got to see him. Her spirits dampened somewhat. She remembered his expression. She didn’t see him like that very often but it was usually bad when he was. He didn’t even want Darnand with him, she realized.

Abiene gave her a shrug. She’s not worried… She felt a little less stressed.

Irvana appeared at their table. Aravi couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. It was unusual for her to be in a group of this size. It’s usually just me and Kharjo.

A sharp pain when through her tail and she hissed quietly. Some drunk behind her stepped on it with his heavy boots as he wobbled past. She curled her tail around her chair and rested it in her lap. She rubbed it with a hand to ease the pain.

[Grits]

Darnand

Salyan began to play. Darnand tried to focus on the music and shut out the annoying hum in his head.

Abiene spoke softly at his side. “I bought a few things for Valdi today. She’s at the beggar’s camp in Chorrol. If I don’t get a chance, will you..?”

Darnand felt it again, an unwelcome presence prying at the edges of his mind. He chuckled to himself, grateful for his training.

Abiene let out a small whimper. “I feel…” She pressed her fingers against her closed eyes.

“Abiene?”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I feel quite unwell.” She looked up at him with a wavering smile. A drop of blood trickled down from one nostril.

“Apologies,” Darnand said to the group, gathering up their belongings. He stood and lifted Abiene to her feet. “Do you suppose you are still suffering from the poison?” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered back. “This is some sort of assault. A rape of the conscious mind. Who would do such a thing?”

Darnand could think of several types who would attempt to learn his secrets, but it seemed that someone had scanned both of them. “Perhaps a blackmailer hoping for a lucky catch.” In this crowd it could be anyone. They might not even have a purpose. The thought that someone might casually violate a stranger’s privacy like a window-peeper out to amuse themselves made his stomach turn. Most folk lack defenses, and even fewer are sensitive. The rest would never know.

“I’ll be in Abiene’s chamber, if you should like to meet later,” Darnand said to Aravi. “If we are not there it means we returned to Chorrol. To the guild hall.” He wiped Abiene’s nose with the edge of his sleeve. Kayla was still occupied with the Bosmeri giant. “Madame Velas. Sera,” he said to the couple.

“Irvana,” Abiene began, but he got her moving toward the stairs.

[Darkness Eternal]

Vera sat on the edge of the bed of her room, wearing nothing but a roughspun tunic that covered her entire body. She was full from the food, and still quite sober. She wouldn’t have any wine or brandy dull her senses, especially now with the fact that one of the tavern’s patrons knows what she truly is capable of.

Though she tried to trust Abiene, something in the back of her head told her otherwise. A pessimistic feeling that someone else might end up discovering. To clear her mind from worry and boredom she decided to analyze and inspect her gear. Someone had to put her to good use; she might as well do things herself.

The lower floor of the tavern created a cacophony, from the clanking and clashing of cups and tankards to loud laughter and music.

Arrayed along the bed were her working tools; vials of poisons, arrows, a few daggers, a handful of throwing stars, a bow, old bolts and a crossbow. Aside from these there was Lycus’ shortsword which he allowed her to take possession of. She wasn’t as extraordinary as he was with the blade, but she could handle her own if the odds weren’t against her and there had been many, many times where they weren’t always in her favor.

Numerous times the job turned out to be an ambush planned by men and women who held a grudge on the free-lance mercenary due to her previous works. Either throwing some deadbeat or drug-lord in jail or killing a man wanted for murder. Sometimes her work has a dead end, sometimes things didn’t always go as planned even despite her best efforts. In the end, it didn’t matter. Coin was coin and her job paid well.

She had not reached the top of the mercenary trade without constructing a web of business interests and contacts, some of them-if not most-totally oblivious of one another. Many of these men might have been stupid enough to believe that by paying her a generous retainer, they had thereby secured her exclusive services. Vera could tell of a person’s intelligence by that alone. No mercenary could be trusted. Not even her.

The live ones are usually worth more than the dead ones. That was her general rule of hunting bounties. There had been occasions where one individual ordered the death of another who had hired her services. If the pay was good enough, then there was no issue. Business was business after all. She learned not to take things personally, not when others tried to have her killed as well for putting a dent in their clandestine efforts.

The last unpaid task of hers was in a cavern full of the undead. Though somewhat sporting, it wasn’t beneficial to her other than only giving her some activity to do. A dangerous job with a high-paying employer was something she was craving right about now. Like a skooma addict who has been long without a drink, or a person who's held their piss for quite long enough. She still was looking to get back in the fray for just awhile longer.

Gods know I need the gold.

[Darkness Eternal]

Irvana was hit with something. Not something physical, no, but something intrusive. Unwanted. It was a disturbance was powerful enough to make someone of her caliber feel distraught. There was a hum that throbbed in her mind, something drilling itself into it but yet unable to pierce the vast mist within.

A look of uncertainty passed on Irvana's face soon after the bard woman left to play her song.

Something isn't right.

Abiene must have felt it too, for she began to rub her eyes as if having a headache. She explained she was unwell, and that moment Irvana's eyes widened to see blood trickle down her nose. The tell-tale signs of the tamperment of the mind, evidence of magic at work. Conjurers who had a link with each other's minds could communicate from afar. The long-extinct Dwemer, using the Calling or telepathy, could also achieve such a feat.

She thought it an unused skill, much like the invasion of one's spirit upon another's soul. In the ancient times the soul or spirit transfer could be done by the deceased—a leap into the consciousness of one who is alive— things had changed since then, since teachings had been sabotaged, the technique seemingly lost. Irvana knew somewhere out there are individuals capable of still making such a thing happen.

Now, mind-reading is something entirely different and dangerous. The talk of poisoning, while caught her interest, was gone when Abiene was guided by her friend.

"This is some sort of assault. A rape of the conscious mind. Who would do such a thing?”

Irvana's eyes narrowed. Who would, indeed, do such a thing?

Those nearby were the most likely. So she glanced at each and everyone with an expression of fear and worry of Abiene on her face while she also took the chance to take in their faces. Telepathy required focus.

Kayla was occupied with a bosmeri fellow.

No. She isn't the one.

Aravi seemed peeved about something, and she rubbed her tail, looking overwhelmed.

It wasn't her either.

Her eyes looked to a dark-haired imperial woman with eyes unlike any other. Irvana's immediete suspicion was of her, for earlier she seemed to concentrate on members of the table without directly speaking to them, or when they weren't talking themselves.

Irvana cast a gaze around the tavern and looked back at Abiene as she said her name and headed to the stairs.

With true concern over what happened, she followed behind Abiene and the Breton to the stairs. "I'll accompany you."

[King Coin]

Aravi heard Darnand and Abiene whispering together. She couldn’t tell what they said, nor was she particularly interested. Damn that man! she seethed in her mind. Her tail had a steady, painful throb now.

Suddenly, Darnand’s voice was in her ear. He and Abiene were leaving. Abiene looked unwell. What’s happening?

She had some details she wanted to discuss still. Darnand and Abiene were leaving, with Irvana trailing them. Kayla was still with the Bosmer. Maybe I’ll have to take care of this and inform them later. She didn’t really like doing that.

She excused herself from the table, still clutching her painful tail, and passed the stage where Salyan was playing. Instead of going upstairs, she paused and listened to the music. It was wonderful, and Aravi felt somewhat calmer. I wonder where she learned to play?

[Colonel Mustard]

There was a purity in performance. In combining song and spell into one entity. Arcane energies, invisible to the naked eye, began to flow from Salyan's fingers as she plucked the first notes of the melody, channelling her magicka into the tune.

She winced briefly as she felt something brush across her mind, a flitting, curious shadow, nearly enough to break her concentration, but she ignored it. She had had more ferocious hecklers than that curious sensation. As she came to the right moment, she began to sing.

"Far over the Jerall Mountains rise
Leave us standing upon the height
What was before we see once more
Is our home in distant light"

Around her, as she cast the spell she used for calling up images and pictures, ephemeral and spectral snowflakes began to fall across the cage, fluttering down like moth wings from thin air. White mist softened the air around her, visible but intangible, called by the empyreal energies lacing the song. Those near her, until now largely uncaring for yet another bard, turned in her direction, curious about the sudden appearance of snow. An argonian tried to catch one of the flakes, only for it to pass right through her hand.

"World-Throat mountain beneath the moon
The words unspoken, we'll be there soon
For home a song that echoes on
And all who find us will know the tune"

The verse was accompanied by images of peaks and crags pressing through the faint fog, a mountain range in a bridal veil of cloud and snow.

“Some folk we never forget
Some kind we never forgive
Haven't seen the back of us yet
We'll fight as long as we live”

As these were sung, the image of a fluttering banner appeared, sporting an axe; the Song of the Jerall Mountains was originally composed by skalds of the Companions, a record of the quest of several of the mercenaries to retrieve a fragment of Ysgramor’s axe.

“All eyes on the hidden pass
Through the Jerall Mountains borne
We'll ride in the gathering storm
Until we find our long-missed home”

The image changed to that of a snow-bound valley, shadowy and indistinct figures walking through the white powder with heavy steps, fatigued yet determined in the face of the cold and the harsh weather.

“We lay under the Jerall Mountains cold
In slumbers deep, and dreams of gold
We must awake, up arms we take
And in the darkness a torch we hold

The images changed, the figures trekking through forests, over rivers and streams, shadowed constantly by the peaks overhead. At the final line, a torch in the hand of the leading Companion-figure became the setting sun on a mountain.

“From long ago when lanterns burned
Until this day our hearts have yearned
Her loss was hard, the Wuuthrad-shard
What was stolen must be returned”

Here, the illusory picture became a picture of battle against undead, draugr of Skyrim, of an axe shard, of the darkness of a great tomb that had to be braved.

“We must awake and make the day
To find a song for heart and soul”

A black storm cloud descended upon the shadowy Companions, a blizzard whipping at them while indistinct, predatory forms swooped and dived and bit at them.

”Some folk we never forget
Some kind we never forgive
Haven't seen the end of it yet
We'll fight as long as we live”

“All eyes on the hidden pass
To the Jerall Mountains borne
We'll ride in the gathering storm
Till we find our long-missed home

These final images there most extreme, the Companions surrounded, battling against vague forms of draugr and other monsters, the warriors standing together with their banner raised high even in the face of the overwhelming power of the horde. Swords and axes swung in time with the song's rhythm, and at the climax of the verses an illusory arrow of remarkably realistic quality flew from the bow of a shadow archer and sped towards the audience, causing the front row to jump back in surprise.

"Far away from Jerall Mountains cold.”

The final picture was of the travellers crossing a ridge, before them stretching the green land of Skyrim. As Salyan finished the perfomance, the image faded with the cut of supporting magicka. She was exhausted, drained by the expenditure of arcane energy in one go.

For a few longs moments, the tavern was quiet, before someone began to clap. In a few moments, there was applause from the crowd, and on shaky legs Salyan rose and bowed. There were a few yells for an encore, and Salyan raised a hand to try and calm them.

"Later, my friends," she said out to them. "My supplies of magicka are all but gone; if I played now then you would get a much more lacklustre show from my next song."

She took another bow, and as she stepped off the stage, she couldn't resist giving the altmer whose slot she had usurped a grin.

"Good luck following that!" she called over the noise of the tavern.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Sep 5 2013, 08:42 AM

[King Coin]

Aravi was caught off guard when images started appearing as Salyan sang and played. Her jaw dropped. That’s amazing!

She watched and listened as the bard sang and showed familiar mountains. This soothed and calmed her, and she felt a longing to walk the path up to the Throat of the World.

Next came a familiar banner. The Companions. Her heartbeat raised at this image. She thought of the terrible curse that she received, willingly, from them.

She saw and listened as the figures traveled through the wilderness, then fought a grand battle against undead and monsters. Even the weather beset the Companions. An arrow flew towards them, and Aravi jumped.

The performance ended with another image of the land of Skyrim. Home.

Beautiful. She joined the applause.

She waited for Salyan to step off the stage and intercepted her. “That was so beautiful! Thank you very much for playing that song. The illusions were stunning, where did you learn to do that? Have you been to Skyrim?”

She realized she was gushing. Her ears flattened to the sides a little in her embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re tired after that.”

Then she realized she was holding her tail still.

[Colonel Mustard]

Salyan smiled and blushed a little at the flow of questions and praise Aravi poured on her when the khajiit cut her off in the tavern's crowds. She was holding her tail as well, for some reason, which surprised Salyan a little bit.

Wouldn't that hurt? she thought.

"I've learnt a type of magic that lets me sing and cast spells," Salyan said, giving as brief an explanation as she could. "Though I just got the pictures from some old atlases I've read; I've never been to Skyrim, not yet."

She glanced around the tavern.

"If we can sit down somewhere, I can give you a bit more detail, if you'd like," she said.

[Grits]

Abiene

Salyan began to sing.

Abiene halted on the lowest step with Darnand standing floor level at her side. She slipped her arm across his shoulders without thinking.

Abiene’s favorite singers were all men, but within the song’s first few bars Salyan had surpassed them. She sang at a lower pitch than most women, and her voice possessed the warm resonance that readily evoked an emotional response in listeners. Abiene leaned against her friend, transported by Salyan’s performance.

Snowflakes began to fall within the tavern. “Oh,” Abiene breathed.

“An illusion..?” Darnand murmured. They stood in quiet companionship as the scenes unfolded before their eyes, made all the more captivating by the stirring music.

There was a stunned silence as the last noted faded. Then the audience erupted into applause.

Abiene saw Aravi move to speak with the bard. I must warn her, Abiene realized. She quickly quelled the thought that tried to follow. And the other.

Darnand’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Wait,” said Abiene. Irvana had followed them to the stairs. “Irvana, I apologize for leaving the table as soon as you arrived. I’m not feeling well. May I introduce my dear friend, Darnand Penoit of Anvil? Darnand, this is Irvana.” She knew that sounded abrupt but was at a loss as to how else to introduce her. Mentioning the vampire attack hardly seemed appropriate. “We met a short time ago here at the Goblet,” she managed.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Darnand. He practically lifted her up a step to get her moving.

Abiene felt another tickle in her sinuses. She cast a spell to heal the damage before her nose could bleed any more. The door to Vera’s chamber was closed, as were most along the corridor. This is not the time, Abiene thought. Not while I have company.

“I wonder if Jerric would have seen the images,” Darnand said. He unlocked the door and eased her into the chamber. “He might have absorbed the spell.”

“Mmm,” said Abiene. “I’ll just splash my face with some cool water. It’s not exactly Restoration magic, but it often makes me feel better.” She gave Darnand a smile as she walked to the basin.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Sep 5 2013, 01:20 PM

[King Coin]

Salyan seemed unperturbed of her rush of questions, and even blushed a little. Aravi felt a little less embarrassed, though she still held her tail. She let it go, and was careful to keep it off the floor.

"I'm surprised you haven't been there, the images you conjured were so vivid! I would like to sit and discuss it more with you, but I need to go upstairs. How about I'll come find you when I come back down?"

Aravi climbed the stairs and found the room she was looking for. Here it is. Vera's room. She knocked gently on the door and waited for an answer.

[Uleni Athram]

Ylenno grinned despite the pain that spark up when Kayla hugged him. Skyrim seriously lent her sons and daughters strength of arms, As they embraced, Ylenno's nostrils picked up a residual scent he once had certain experiences with. Though it had been years, the tantalizing perfume of a bug-musk was still familiar to the Bosmer, and Ylenno could smell it on Kayla. Ylenno's grin shrinked to a smirk.

Got an excuse to go stupid here. Gah, who am I kidding?! No one needs a reason to be stupid!

When Kayla leaned in for a greeting kiss, he turned to fully face her at the last moment, closing his eyes like a love-sick teenager and making a childishly kissy face at her. He brayed his trademark laugh.

"Well, you know me, my dear! So deviously debonair and roguishly rugged that even mindless monsters find me unresistably handsome! No need to remind of something so obvious, haw-haw-haw!"

A seated Khajiit introduced herself as Aravi, and Ylenno bowed his head to her, still caught in the bear hug of Kayla.

"A pleasure! I met Kayla during the Expedition to Sutch; perhaps you've heard of that accursed tragedy? Damn underground mazes and Falmer lemme you tell you."

He then turned to Kayla, a glint in his eyes.

"Oh you know, the usual lifestyle of one infamous such as me. Getting into fights, rescuing kittens, helping old people across the street, getting into brawls, assisting the city guards like the law-abiding saint I am, smashing evil-doers. getting into trouble, and dancing some tangoes here and there. Which reminds me."

He made a show of sniffing the air around Kayla and grinned mischievously at her.

"You saucy little snowbear, what have YOU been up to with an infamous Morrowind perfume? Nothing too .... naughty I hope."

It is at that time that a series of vivid images appeared at the stage where the butch looking Imperial girl plied her trade as a skilled bard. Snoeflakes cascaded all around the stage, truly realistic for an arcane simulacrum. It was serenenly beautiful, to say the least.

[Darkness Eternal]

Vera The Huntress.

There was a knock on the door that made the huntress' ears perk up. She reached for a knife, held it in a way that that her forearm concealed it, and gently headed over to the door.

I wonder.

It wasn't Lycus. He was hunting and he had a distinct knock when trying to open the door failed. This was someone else.

She proceeded over to the door, and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and pulled the door open. Standing there was a familiar face that she wasn't expecting to see anytime soon, in this manner.

Aravi was at the door, dressed in fine green robes Vera assumed only worn for the special occasion. She didn't think the khajiit would bother looking for her, especially considering the hunt that happened sometime ago in the caverns. Vera was either expecting a "sorry, wrong room," or a condescending talk about how better that hunt could've been.

The blond woman leaned on the door, and waited. "Is there something you want?"

****

"Likewise." Irvana responded to Darnand, following close behind Abiene as he helped her along up the flight of stairs, to the corridor and finally into her room. Along the way she cast a spell to heal herself, Irvana suspected to keep the blood from dripping.

It served as a reminder how potent the spell must have been, to have such an effect on another. This was something serious.

It is dangerous to have a mind-reader in our midst.

Irvana closed the door behind her as Abiene went over to the basin to wash her face, and she held her arms behind her back to discern anything that might've been further out of the ordinary.

"Abiene. Could you explain to me what you are feeling and what you suspect what happened?" She took a step forth. "It would seem to me that you're mind has been tampered with."

[Grits]

Abiene

“I felt a piercing headache behind my eyes, but that’s passed,” Abiene said. She dried her hands and patted her face with the towel.

Darnand paced between the closed door and window, restless but not agitated.

“My stars gave me a certain empathy,” Abiene explained. “An aptitude that study has refined into skill. It makes me a better healer, but it’s also a liability. I’ve spent countless hours learning to shield myself and my patient from too much emotional intimacy during the healing trance. But I’m no telepath. This was different. An invasion of my waking mind from the consciousness of another. Whoever did it must have terrible power.” She touched under her nose, checking to make sure the bleed had stopped. “The Ritual made me vulnerable. I doubt they could have known that.”

“An attempt was made upon my mind as well,” Darnand said to Irvana. “What is your experience in these matters?”

He hasn’t ruled her out of his suspicion, Abiene realized. “Darnand is a highly trained summoner,” she told Irvana. “Perhaps that’s how he deflected the intrusion.”

“Indeed,” said Darnand, giving Abiene a bland look.

Abiene’s mouth went dry. She knew his training came from elsewhere, but she was not inclined to admit it even to him. It seemed that he already knew.

“Anyway if they tried to snoop into both of our minds, it was probably just a prank,” said Abiene.

Darnand glared at her. “You wish to think the best of others. Do not allow that quality to cloud your judgment in this matter.”

“Or as Jerric would say, when someone pees on you don’t keep hoping that it’s rain,” Abiene replied. She glanced at Irvana. “Except he doesn’t say ‘pee.’”

Darnand had his arms across his chest. He eyes were leveled at Irvana.

Abiene decided to shut up and see what she had to say.

[King Coin]

It took but a moment for the door to be answered. Vera stood there, blond hair somewhat messy and clad in a simple tunic. “Is there something you want?”

“Yes there is, I have a job to offer. May I come in?” Aravi asked. She could tell the other woman was neither expecting, nor happy to see her. Aravi shared the latter feeling. We’re going to need help though, especially if Jerric isn’t coming.