The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[Darkness Eternal]

Desselius climbed down the stairs of his room, his heavy steps singing throughout the room as he descended into the lower levels of the Goblet. Though his steps were loud, he wasn't wearing any armor. On the contrary, Lycus was quite comfortable in his sack cloth pants and coarse linen shirt. His feet were tucked away inside his huntsman moccasins.

The hunt was a success, as he predicted it would be. The hunters collected their fill of meat and trophies and the adventure was a great one. The rest of the morning now would be pure leisure.

The long-haired Imperial giant massaged his left shoulder with his right hand as he moved to the counter for a heavy and hearty breakfast. He heard a light gasp and turned to the direction of the source; a young human girl, no more than the age of seven, stared up at him with eyes wide and a mouth shaped into a gaping oh.

An all too familiar reaction he's got from women who shied away from his aggressive and ugly appearance, men who felt intimidated. Children were often startled.

Lycus looked at the child and managed to crack a faint, almost non-existent smile to her. It was the best he could do. The girl only backed away and retreated away and buried her face into the robes of her mother. Lycus knew he had the face that was as if it was a sculptor's first attempt at hacking away features at a lump piece of stone. More than scarred: crude, savage, brutal and even devoid of any apparent warmth. For all the revelry of the festival, he was sober now: black hair in a loose fashion, bright eyes that should have had a special drink-inspired shine in them but were predator-cold. The knuckles of his hands showed red from stress of fighting Ogres and boars.

As a man once joked about him; Lycus was born an Imperial, raised by wolves, adopted by Nords, trained by a Redguard, abandoned and thrown into the world.

His smile faded and he returned his attention to the idea of a meal to come. He sat on the chair that squeaked and protested at the weight set upon it and it even seemed to cringe when he situated his rump on the surface. He looked down on it and wondered if it would be strong enough to hold him. It should have. He didn't think he gained any muscle or weight, despite how much food he has eaten. He didn't feel no different either.

So he waited and listened to the still-sleepy early birds that were the patrons exchange gossip in whispers that were unheard by most, but loud and clear to him:

"Did you hear about the brawl we had at the festival?"

" . . . I heard a Dunmer man got drunk, fell of a cliff and died!"

"I've been having a lot of headaches lately . . ."

"I hope I don't pay extra if accidentally pissed myself on the sheets . . ."

"My neck hurts . . ."








This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Nov 15 2013, 04:52 AM

[Rohirrim]

Khan collapsed, exhausted, onto the bar. He slid the parcel containing the meat across to a surprisingly energetic Yetta, who carried the awkward meaty thing to the kitchen. He looked at the blisters on his hands from gripping his sword so tightly. Those ogres put up a damn good fight, make no mistake, and he had certainly enjoyed it. He sat back in the stool, thinking of what to have for breakfast, when he remembered something. Azurah's unmentionables, Sonita's here!

Ohhhhhh. This was going to be hard. On the one hand, she'd be happy to see him, on the other, he hadn't been here when she arrived. With her, if you were fashionably late, you'd become "the late". Probably best not to act guilty. At least he'd bought her that pot from Blacklight. Spotting Lycus, he gave a friendly wave and went back to the menu.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus scooped up a spoonful of porridge and drove it into his mouth after he finished his plate of scrambled eggs and roasted boar meat. Lleris scurried about with a cheery look on his face, but when he reached Lycus to collect his leftovers there was just the faintest hint of something opposite. The small trace of negativity was quickly subdued by his customary smile and polite excuses.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" Lleris inquired Lycus.

Lycus tilted his head, studying the boy closely before replying. "Blackberry Alkanet tea. I'll have some of that."

"Right away, sir." He said as he hurried off, missing a step or two before he stood up tall to regain his footing.

Lycus concealed the need to chuckle. The Nord cook, Yetta, made no effort to hide her true feelings. A smile spread thinly over her young face and she continued on her duties with a gingerly dance to her every move.

"The lad is a skittish today," Lycus said. "What's happened to him?"

"When isn't he skittish? It's the stamina drinks," Yetta said with a faint smile and a slight whisper. "Keeps him up and running around."

Lycus said nothing. When Yetta saw this, she added "Besides, its not every day a man threatens to break his hands."

The big Imperial managed a laugh. He leaned back and folded his large arms across his chest. Was it his hands or his arms that I threatened to break?

"Not use to Imperial hospitality, is he?"

"You mean a Nord's hospitality?" Yetta asked with a dose of playful challenge in her voice.

"For dark elves, a human's hospitality is one in the same," he said. "What is he? Hlaalu?"

Yetta placed more dough into the oven to be baked, keeping focused on her task at hand. Not once did she distract herself to making a mistake. She timed the cooking perfectly but she was still mindful enough to continue her conversation with the patron.

"Yes," she sounded surprised. "How did you know?"

"Spent some years in Morrowind. I know Imperialized dark elves when I see one. Seen em' a lot."

"Oh? What did you do for a living there? If you don't mind my curiosity."

There was just a quick glint in his eye. "Different trades; Blacksmith. Miner. Mostly a hunter."

She eyed some of the scars written over his arms, and she mustered the courage to look on the one in his cheek. "Mined any stones that fought back?"

"Quite a few."

Lleris returned just then with a cup of tea and set it gently and disappeared to take another's order. Lycus took a sip of the tea, set it down and then proceeded to take another. Yetta moved in front of him to collect the plates left behind.

"Are you a notherner of Cyrodiil-born?" He asked after a moment.

[Grits]

Yetta

Yetta moved about her tasks with practiced ease. Breakfast was not much of a challenge to prepare and serve, and chatting with the inn’s customers made the work light. The big Imperial had a tough and even frightening appearance, but Yetta was used to rough company. Besides, she appreciated a man who tucked into her food with a good appetite.

Lycus responded to her curiosity with a question of his own.

“I’m Skyrim born,” she replied. “Grew up on a farm in Whiterun Hold. A cow broke my leg when I was just eight winters old. Did you know that cows can kick? They can. So I learned how to help in the kitchens instead of the fields while I was laid up with the bad leg. When my Pa lost the farm I got work in a tavern. I’d rather cook than follow a plow, especially for those damned Battle-Borns who took our land. Anyway, I came south for personal reasons that didn’t work out.” She doubted that Lycus wanted to hear about her love life. “So here I am.”

She gave him a grin. “I’ll prepare the game you hunters brought back for tonight’s meal, but I cook beef as often as I can get it. Fetching cows.”

Lleris approached to trade an empty platter for a full one. He trotted off to deliver the meal.

“Did your hunting ever take you to Skyrim?” Yetta asked Lycus.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Nov 23 2013, 05:50 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

"Aye," Lycus replied to her with a grin. "I know cows can kick. Seen it a lot."

He wasn't much different than Yetta. He grew up a low-class citizen of the empire. A peasant boy working the farm and tending to his sheep. He remembered once where his hound Tiber was kicked in the snout by one of his cows when he was just a lad.

Yetta too seemed to come from humble beginnings and still worked in a modest trade as a cook. Many women in Skyrim were hardened women who sought to leave the kitchens despite the regular demands of societies' norms. Many of them didn't make it. Like men, not all women are cut out to be fighters. Just as not all women are meant to be cooks.

Gods know how terrible Vera was at cooking . . .

And of course like many others, sometimes things never work out the way they want to. Sometimes moving to another province is the best idea. Cyrodiil surrendered many opportunities places like Skyrim or Morrowind could not. It wasn't the seat of the empire for nothing.

After she asked of his hunting, Lycus leaned a bit backwards from the table. "My hunting had taken me everywhere."

He's hunted in Cyrodiil for a better part of his life. The land was ripe with all sorts of game. Living as a hunter had its uses here.

"I've hunted in Morrowind and in Solstheim."

It wasn't for much long. The majority of the time he spent in the dark elf lands he was hauling stones, picking away at the mines and fighting other men in the arena. It was a few months of a free man that led him to hunt for nix-hounds, kagouti and kwama.

He had the privilege to be alive and breathing during the greatest hunt in the land, hosted by the Lord of the Hunt. Though it didn't last long, he and Vera had traveled there after her grandfather's notes spoken of a time where the young moon would be red, and Hircine and his hounds would stalk the land, preying on men. Many had died, and he was one of the lucky ones to survive the destruction of the glacier. The ice had preserved him and her for two centuries. Times had since changed.

Lycus didn't tell her of the most dangerous hunt he's experienced in Oblivion where he and other mortals were trapped in the Hunting Grounds for weeks, and were pitted against the denizens of the realm. Yetta would strike him as an insane drunk too into his cups or a madman spewing nonsense.

"I've lived in Skyrim soon after I retired when I became Grand Champion of the Arena," he explained. He left out the part where he departed for the safety of his mother and his father and those he held closest. "Hunted everything from elk to men, from giants to mammoths. I built a cottage in the Falkreath woods and stayed there for sometime."

[Darkness Eternal]

When Yetta was unresponsive, Lycus got up and left.

[Grits]

Abiene

Snowflakes drifted lazily in the light breeze as Abiene made the turn up to the Wobbly Goblet.

“A joyous Saturalia to you!” she called out to Lowren, giving him a cheery wave. The pasture held a fair number of horses, some wooly with their winter coats and others blanketed against the chill. Abiene hoped that there would be a room available at the inn.

The ostler raised a hand in reply to her greeting but didn’t give any indication that he wished to stop his work and chat. Abiene continued up the path, shaking the snow from her cloak and hood as she stepped into the tavern’s warmth.

Auguste stood behind the bar reviewing some document with Bograk. Hethilion put his broom aside and approached Abiene.

“Have they returned?” she asked before he could get a word out. “I sent a note this morning, but then I just couldn’t wait for a reply. So I came to see for myself. Skyrim isn’t that far away, don’t you think they should be back soon?”

Hethilion took her pack while she chattered. His face told her the answer.

Abiene bit the corner of her lip, trying to hide her disappointment. “Oh, well is there a room? Yes of course, I suppose that’s why you’ve taken my things for me. Hethilion, thank you.” She took in a deep breath. A rumble sounded from her stomach area.

“What is that wonderful smell? That’s not just steamed pudding and butter cakes. I confess, I’m nearly starved into an ill temper. I’ll just run into the kitchen, all right? Yetta won’t mind. I won’t touch a thing, I promise.”

Abiene gave the dour Altmer’s arm a quick squeeze and darted off down the corridor before he could object. She had arranged for her bills to be sent to Seed-Neeus in Chorrol for payment, so she would never again be caught with empty pockets when it was her turn to buy a round. An open tab gave her very few liberties, and she intended to make full use of them.

“Happy Saturalia!” she called over her shoulder to Hethilion. The savory aroma filled her mouth with anticipation as she approached the kitchen door. “Mara’s Mercy, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything quite so tempting!”

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Dec 26 2013, 06:54 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus stood tall over his handiwork and it was good. The smell practically had taken away all of the malevolent focus of the hunt that knocked periodically in his head or the worry that Vera might be in paradise right now.

The food was spread out on the table before him: venison and boar meat done over an open fire, wet with a sauce made with the drippings; a fresh capon cooked with honey and almonds; black olives and bread; and a handful of boiled eggs with diced onions.

To the side was a scrumptious sight of bear rib mixed with garlic-sprinkled mash potatoes, glazed carrots and moist buttered rolls. Among these were the spiced meat of boar with honey, green beans bathed in Funnel Cap Sauce. But it wasn't these that were the only specialties filling the air with a captivating aroma. Even the thrushes and bobolinks braised in a white wine sauce, with their flesh scented by the sweet taste of the figs used to fatten them, wasn't enough to make the air dance with the promise of a full-stomach.

Lycus turned over to his sweet masterpiece that would make a khajiit's want to devour its own rear; Saturalia Sweet Rolls, Jazbay-Apple Pie, Butter Stars and Pumkin Tarlets and the cornucopia of food filled the air with such an amazing scent that the occasional patron stopped by to inquire what was being made.

A silver tray with wine cups and a jug sat on the table near him as he poured himself a small cup and drank from it. He didn't do it alone. The other workers were involved in it as well. Yetta was a talented woman and Lleris had his uses, despite being a Dark Elf. But he knew he had to be involved and he knew Bograk wouldn't object. If she did, he'd might as well take the meat elsewhere.

I'll be damned if I let another person cook the meat I hunted.

It wasn't out of spite or mistrust. More of a customary obligation to cook one's own food. Nobles and high-lords had food cooked for them all the time, even if they once in a bloodmoon pushed their fat rumps out of bed to go hunting they never had the will to spend a few hours in the kitchen preparing that food. He learned to hunt and cook his own food ever since he was just a young man and it was soothing, just as fishing or sleeping in the wilderness or hiking in a deep forest. It took his mind off certain things. Things he couldn't afford to keep his mind on with others around. Soon he might even be done before the group returns from their journey.

Thank the Huntsman Vera isn't here yet. Her cooking might as well grow spider legs and scurry off out of the kitchen and damn everyone if they tell the truth. She's blessed with the skills of using a bow, a knife and her hands but cooking . . . Dagon's realm would sooner freeze over.

Lycus turned and saw an extra bit of cooking he reserved just to sample. The best, more enjoyable part of it was that he could taste his own work. And that he did.

A large round loaf was in the center of the table. Lycus twisted off a big hunk. The bread was thick and smelled of olive oil and onions in the dough. His strong teeth ripped into it, tearing off a sizeable chunk from the bread. He chewed and swallowed it and found satisfaction in the knowledge that it was perfect.

“Mara’s Mercy, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything quite so tempting!” a voice said.

Lycus turned to the door to see a cloaked Abiene standing there, obviously hungry and lured by the scent the food produced. The large Imperial moved from one side of the kitchen to the other, evidently bothered by the apron that was tight around his massive body. His hair, tied into a ponytail to prevent rogue strands from falling into the food, was also peeving him. It gave him a slight headache. But he didn't complain. He was use to discomfort.

"Pray to your gods to remove such temptation from your path," Lycus said over is shoulder as he poured a white cream over the sweetrolls. "Don't give in just yet. Food isn't done."

He stood back and inspected the dessert with a careful, analytical eye. He then turned to Abiene, and gestured with his head for her to enter. "You're free to come and see what your nose has lured you to. I won't bite, but I'm hoping you won't either."

[Grits]

Abiene

“Pray to your gods to remove such temptation from your path,” Lycus said over his shoulder as he poured a white cream over the sweetrolls. “Don’t give in just yet. Food isn’t done.”

Abiene felt her eyebrows shoot up at the delicious sight. Lycus wore an apron that was as tight as his skin. She quickly schooled her expression even as her cheeks heated. She blamed the kitchen fire.

He gestured for her to enter. “You’re free to come and see what your nose has lured you to. I won’t bite, but I’m hoping you won’t either.”

Abiene hung her cloak on a peg and glanced at Yetta for permission. The Nord woman gave her a welcoming grin.

I see a lot I’d like to bite, thought Abiene. “I promise I’ll behave,” she said with a smile. Abiene picked up a clean kitchen towel and tied it like an apron over her skirt. Yetta’s aprons would likely go around her twice, since she wasn’t much bigger around than one of Lycus’ arms. Compared to the Nord and the big Imperial Abiene felt like a string bean beside a beef roast and a plump, soft roll.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Abiene asked, washing her hands in the basin. “I’m no cook but I can keep a spoon moving, and I have a steady hand with a pastry brush.” She was also very good with a surgical knife, but that was the kind of remark that might turns peoples’ stomachs.

She walked over and gazed at the spread in astonishment. “Lycus, did you make all of this? How did you learn to cook this way? Surely not at a hunters’ camp.”

Her stomach made a noisy grumble. Abiene held up her hands in embarrassment. “Don’t worry, I may be half-starved but I’ll behave. I’ll be sure I… Wait, are those butter stars? Butter stars are my favorite!”

[Rohirrim]

Khan stepped into the kitchen, his battle gear swapped for a quilted coat and linen trousers. He carried a haunch of the venison under his arm, and stopped when he saw Lycus and the woman. "Ah! He cooks as well, then! Hmm. Most impressive. You seem to be lacking a stew, so I hope you would not object to my making of one."

Khan turned to a long wooden counter and began cutting rough chunks of the venison off the bone, leaving a small layer of meat on the bone. He poured a pitcher of water into a blackened pot over the fire. He added herbs, the same ones his mother used to. This was her recipe, and Khan knew how good it was on a cold wintry day.

He added the hock of deer meat and turned to Lycus' bountiful spread. "Are those...Saturalia sweetrolls? I haven't had one in years! Used to buy them from a market stall in Bruma, ate 'em on the wall during watch duty. Takes me back that does."

"I'm rambling, though, aren't I? This looks like a feast fit for an Emperor, and I think several dozen marriage proposals will come your way when the guests taste it."

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus maintained his unwavering focus on the task before him. Abiene was excited, almost too excited, to see the food around her. With enthusiasm she rushed inside, plucked an apron and began to inspect and ask how she could be of assistance. Lycus expected the northerner to answer, but she took too long, Lycus replied instead.

"You stir," he said. "We need a steady hand."

Abiene went over to the array of special dishes and gazed at them with wonder. Lycus thought for a second she would sooner eat the food than help make it. “Lycus, did you make all of this? How did you learn to cook this way? Surely not at a hunters’ camp.”

"Hunting isn't the only skill I have," Lycus confessed. And it was true. Those who looked at him saw an imposing, savage brute who could only use his muscle to fix a problem or deal with an issue. But he's learned many things during his long, grueling years. Call him what they will. Gladiator, Hircine's hound, warrior, farmer, hunter . . . most never imagined he was still a cook as well.

He didn't make this particular talent a secret. "Learned a thing or two from my mother when I was a lad," he said. The rest he had to figure out on his own when he left for Skyrim years before the Oblivion Crisis. Living alone, in Falkreath, in no position to be around non-lycanthropes, he had to make his own food and his own living. "The rest I learned alone."

Abiene squeaked in his ears about Butter Stars and Lycus was unable to resist giving Yetta a fleeting glance. No woman should stand in an empty-stomach. He saw fit to at least allow her the opportunity to sample something.

She did save my life, after all.

"Pick one." Lycus said, with a heavy emphasis on his last word.

It was then that someone else entered the kitchen and Lycus didn't need to turn to know it was the khajiit legionnaire from before. The khajiit was familiar with the sweetrolls, and even revealed to Lycus he ate them during his tours.

"I hope you were on break while eating those," Lycus noted. "Wouldn't trust a man with my life if he ate half the time."

Khan excused his own tongue, and explained that the quality of the food before him was fit for royalty. It was true. But Lycus was glad there was no royalty here that he was aware of. He's spent years working for the rich when he was given no choice. No way in Oblivion would he do anything for free. Especially cook.

"To their disappointment, then," Lycus turned to Khal with something almost like a smile on his face. "I'm a married man."

[Grits]

“Thank you, Lycus!” Abiene carefully picked up a butter star and took a bite. A tall Khajiit walked into the kitchen as she rolled her eyes in delight over the pastry. She savored every crumb while she listened to the two men talk.

“I’m Abiene Metonne,” she said to the Khajiit when there was a pause in the conversation. “I saw you leaving for the hunt. I’m pleased to meet you.”

She wiped her fingers and got busy stirring sauce.

Abiene smiled at the banter over Lycus’ impending marriage proposals. “Vera is a lucky woman,” she said. “I wonder if they will return soon. Have you heard anything, Lycus? I’ve tried to reach Darnand through the crystal ball, but I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. The last time I accidentally made his eye bleed. Anyway I’m not even sure he brought it with him.”

She watched the sauce swirl around her spoon, trying to keep the concern out of her expression. There was no reason to worry. Lots of folk lived in Skyrim, and every day some of them survived to see the next one. Her friends could walk through the door at any moment.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Aelena walked from the Mages Guild to the gates of Chorrol with her carrying her brown, cloth bookbag slung over her chest. It bounced lightly against her hip as she walked outside the gate, heading towards the Wobbly Goblet inn. Ever since the festival, the older mages had been raving about the food and drink there, among other things. She had tuned out the rest of the conversation as it veered towards indecency and borderline voyeurism. Instead, she fixed her mind on gathering ingredients in the early morning, before the sun had begun climbing over the horizon.

She slung her long braids over her shoulder and tucked them into the hood of her heavy black cloak. Her bright hazel eyes scanned the darkened road before she lit a spell in her hand, lighting her body with a greenish light that lit up the area around her. She began walking the roads and off the beaten path for alchemy ingredients.

She found few, which wasn't surprising with the weather. Her breath blew out in warm puffs, the air expelling from her lungs in slow wisps as she walked towards the inn. The morning sun warmed her dark skin nicely, but there was still a chill on the tip of her nose. She swung the door open and tapped her heavy boots on the doorframe, knocking the snow off of the bottoms and onto the ground just outside the door. She took a deep breath, and realized she was starving. And sleepy.

She sat at the bar, her stomach growling as the different smelled caressed her nose. She left her hood up to hide her hair, but put her bag onto the ground. She began looking at the menu.

"Spiced cider, please?" She asked the barman. "I haven't decided on food yet, though."

[Grits]

Abiene tightened her hood and stepped out into the cold. Snow fell in thick, puffy clumps that stuck to tree branches and fence rails. Her Weatherward ring kept the chill from seeping through her boots.

She stood for a moment enjoying the quiet.

Hearts Day is in less than two weeks. I wonder if my friends will have returned by then.

The inn’s Welkynd stone lantern caught the snowflakes in its glow. She put the welcoming beacon to her back and started up the road, first through the village and then northwest toward Chorrol.

[Grits]

Auguste

Auguste filled a mug with steaming spiced cider and slid it across to the young Redguard woman. “Take your time,” he said to her. “The pastries will be out soon, or you can order something heartier.”

As if on cue young Lleris appeared at Auguste’s elbow. He placed a platter of sweetrolls and another of sausage-filled dumplings on the bar. “Happy Othroktide,” he said to Auguste.

Auguste’s brows went up. He doubted that Lleris grew up celebrating obscure south coast Breton holidays. “You’ve been dawdling in the library again?”

Lleris grinned. He nodded a quick greeting to the Redguard woman and trotted back to the kitchens.

Auguste wiped the spotless bar and awaited the lady’s order.

[minque]

Serene, early morning after the accident, which she doesn't know of!

Serene didn't know exactly what woke her up..one moment she was fast asleep, the next she was awake. She felt a growling in her stomach...

Gah, I'm hungry! And where the heck is that husband of mine? hasn't slept in this bed as it seems

She went up and washed her face in the bowl on the small cupboard. Refreshed she looked in the mirror hanging on the wall ..and jumped! She looked awful, her hair was in a mess, her eyes swollen and narrow...she looked like she had been drinking all night...

What happened last night really?

Well some food and hackle-lo tea would probably do the trick. She tried to straighten her hair with her fingers, couldn't remember where she had put her bags....and headed for the door

She didn't notice the note on the floor...

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Aelena smiled up at the barman as she carefully sipped her cider. The warmth seeped down into her gut in a pleasant way. She licked her lips briefly and set the menu down.

"The crab dip with bread sounds lovely. Can I also get a glass of water with this, please?" She smiled sweetly at Auguste and sipped her cider.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus discarded his apron and left it in the kitchens. The food was already done, over with. All that was left was for them to be eaten. He knew as quick as they were served, they would disappear. It was the least he could do to take his mind off certain things that peeved him. Much more beneficial than drinking wine until the point of unconsciousness as a substitute for a lack of a restful sleep.

The cook allowed him to take his own plates to his room, which was free for the night. He saved one for Vera before she returned. He knew how much she liked his cooking, despite him hating hers. She was a tough woman, a cold woman, but he knew how to warm that demeanor of hers. It took patience and affection.

The warrior headed off from the kitchens and into open balancing the plates in both of his hands. Though he knew just how savory the work of his hands tasted for years now, he was still eager to take a bite out of it. But he would wait until Vera returned.

Lycus hurried his pace to get away from the others when he was intercepted by a man who was apparently too distracted to see him. The big Imperial's legs collided with the man's knee, and he felt himself trip over with the food in his hands. The room was an immediate daze that he could not tell right from left right away until his fall came to an end.

The food in his hands was gone. It was there, just not in his hands.

It was over the floor, all over his face and caked over someone else. That victim was a Redguard woman full lips and blue eyes with braids longer than his own hair but in various colors. The colors were added with new ones made of pudding, sauce and meat and other ingredients from different plates all mixed together.

Lycus shot a glare at the man, who apologized to him right away as the other patrons began to look in his direction, either to think of him a clumsy oaf or otherwise. It was an accident, and they happened regularly. He couldn't care less about any of that . . . all he cared now was that his food was everywhere but in his mouth.

He didn't apologize to the dark-skinned human, not right away. He only breathed heavily, with eyes closed and a restrained composure. He let the air escape from his lips thinly than he sucked them in. His fast-beating heart began to slow the drumming beat, and his hot blood didn't' feel nearly as boiling as they did when it happened.

The last thing he wanted was to trigger the change here.

There were too many people here. People who just wanted to celebrate the holidays and engage in festivities.

He didn't want to add them to the list of slaughters.

After he was done he looked to the woman, and shook his head. "My apologies," said Lycus with a hoarse voice.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Aelena's contented feeling ended when hot food was tossed at her. Not intentionally, by the look at the large man and the other patrons. Some laughed, and the man took a few calming breaths.

Must have a temper...ow...this food is hot!!

"It smells like it would've tasted delicious." Aelena replied to his apology. "Accidents happen. That's not the worst I've had thrown at me." She joked with a smile at the man. The man behind the bar, Auguste, she had heard someone else call him, sighed and gave her a rag to clean up with. Luckily it wasn't the one he was already cleaning the bar with.

"I suppose this means I'll be taking a bath here." She kidded lamely as she wiped her braids, a frown on her face. She dispelled the spell on her hair, showing the true color of jet black as she wiped them off.

"I'll help you clean the food up." she said to the large man. She stood up and realized she only came up to his chest. she smiled up at him and laughed a little.

"Either I'm very small, or you're massive!"

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus almost murmured at her comment about the food tasting savory had the accident not happened. He supposed what was left of it could be put to good use . . . by feeding the dogs. Yes, he thought, that would be appropriate. Such a fine dish he put effort into shouldn't go to waste.

He sat there and began to clean as Auguste tossed a rag at her. It was a miracle he didn't foam at the mouth and jumped in their midst to clean the floor. Lycus had a rag in his hand that he used to hold the hot plate. He now began to clean it up.

"The baths here are worth it," he said lowly, occasionally looking up to her as he cleaned the floor beneath him. "Hethilion does a satisfactory job. I find no fault in the man."

As he said those words he noticed her hair changed color to shadow black, and realized she was keeping her hair under an illusion spell. The woman must have some understanding of the magic arts. A mage, it would seem.

He didn't like mages much, just as he didn't like many things. But he could make an exception to a few. Being a good judge of character, he could see that this woman was something different. His instincts told him she wasn't as malicious as the other magicka-using wizards and spellcasters.

Lycus looked down on her as she looked up at him, making a comment about his size. It was odd that his strange, not-so-stellar face and imposing height and mass didn't scare her off. He supposed it was better her see him in this form, than to face the immense seven-foot tall creature that was his true form.

"You have my sincere thanks," Lycus nodded once to her, and then his lips nearly parted for a smile, one that yet looked like a grimace, as if he was having trouble doing so. "Aye, it is both. You're very small. And I am very large."

Her skin-color and attitude reminded him of a woman he once knew when he was just a human. And he took a step back as he collected all of the spilled contents of his plate. "Haven't met many of you Redguard who dabble in magic," he noted silently that only she could hear. His voice raised when all eyes flicked from him back to the usual routine and activity before the accident. "I can assume you're neither Forebear or Crown."