http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=982590

Rules:

- No killing.
- All the action must stay inside the inn.

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*Oh, and a drunken lizard now...just what this place needed actually*

Arthur gazes to the wannabe-alchemist and wonders if he has already cured that other stupid weakling.

"Eh, man! You better cure him or I'll finish him! Either way he'll stop suffering!" - Arthur laughed out, loud and discomfortably -.

A rowdy Orc walks in the door and slams his fist on the counter "Mead! Now!". Friendly Nord sitting by the fire asks the barman if he wants him removed

the man in black robes from last night enters, he looks refreshed not as dead as he did before, his eyes still glow a fierce red, but he looks more ..... human, 'goodmorn barkeep'

"Hey, if it isn't here my 'flaming' friend! How are you going? You didn't get too much cold this night, didn't you?" -Arthur laughed out loud again-.

An Altmer Mage enters the inn. He is finely dressed, sporting a green double brocade, green velvet shoes, a green silk garment, and also a blue hood. Iron manacles around his wrists are hidden by the brocade's large sleeve, and a beautiful amulet with two sapphires embedded into it hangs from his neck. The Elf wears two rings - A mundane ring sporting another large sapphire, and a curious, plain black one on the other hand. A small wooden staff is clipped to his back, whilst a small sheath around his waist conceals a dagger with engraved markings on it. The High Elf casts a small fire spell to dry his clothes from the torrential downpour outside whilst examining the current inhabitants of the inn. Once the Altmer's rich clothes are fully dried, he removes his hood, revealing an old, wrinkled face and yellow eyes. The Altmer walks to the innkeeper and opens his mouth to speak, displaying enlarged, sharp fangs.

"One bottle of your finest wine, please" he asked, his voice soft and well educated.

A Dunmer woman sitting in the corner snorted as her eyes flicked over the Altmer with derision, the usual reaction of someone who doesn't have much of an opinion of magic when confronted with a mage - the fact he was an Altmer didn't help either considering her view of that particular race. She had decided to just pretend he didn't exist when he approached the barkeeper when she caught a glimpse of the light glimmering on his teeth... his distended, sharp teeth. She silently swore as she realised what he actually was, besides a High Elf which she had already decided was probably arrogant, vain and conceited. She mentally swore again at her rampant thoughts, hoping that he couldn't pick up on their nature. She slid further down in her seat and tried to remain inconspicuous and busied herself with her mead. She was not afraid of a fight, her constant need to resharpen her dagger and shortsword was proof of that, but picking a fight with a vampire was suicide, which was not part of her plans for the night, and she would need to drink a lot more mead than she had money for. She glanced at the rest of the inn's occupants, wondering if they had realised. She comforted herself with the thought that with an Orc and Nord in the room, there was more than enough muscle to keep the vampire occupied while she slipped out.

Relavesa opened the door of the inn looking some what more rested, although where she might have gone was any ones guess. Last night travel gear had been replaced with replaced with a red, long sleeved, loose fitting tunic and brown pants hanging over black boots. She was never a gown person and given last night she may very will need to run before the night is over. The only peice of jewerly that may be visble was a thin wide gold bracelet. Rather that a braid she left her hair loose and it hung to just above her thighs. With out the cloak it was possible to see a belt with two small daggers weighted enough to be thrown should it come to that. She paused at the door and rung out her hair, she was still wet but she should be close enough to the fire to be warm enough. Taking a seat she calmly tunes the harl while keeping and eye on the rest of the room. Pausing to consider the weather she opens the evening with a song about the joys of the country side in high summer.

As the Breton ArchMage re enters the inn the sound of laughter could be heard but only by him as he quickly turned to see what was going on he could see...nothing.
"By the Nine what was that?"Said the ArchMage as he sat down supping a Tamika Vintage from his robes pocket.

"Must be the imps again" thought the Arch Mage, asking could he lock the door, purely out of paranoia. The barkeep granted his request and bolted the door firmly. About 5 minutes later, a frantic knocking could be heard on one of the windows. The confused customers looked out to see a female High Elf looking terrified. "Troll! Let me in! There's a troll chasing me!"

The Altmer Mage could almost have ignored the panicked shouts at the inn's door.

"Who on Nirn comes to Blackwood and is surprised when they get chased by a Troll?" he hissed, rolling his golden eyes. Evidently, being a vampire did not change that typical Altmer personality ridden with scoffing contempt. Nevertheless, he walked proudly to the door, and he summoned a Gloom Wraith on the other side to assist the frightened person, and just in time too, as the howls of the Troll were now easily audible over the constant rainfall outside.

As the troll dashed away, whimpering like a kitten, the Altmer woman stood up. She proceeded to enter the Inn, and thanked the kind mage. Rather than welcoming her, he told her off for wandering Blackwood without any weapon or scrolls. The timid old lady looked truly humiliated, and almost cried. The kind barkeep, feeling sorry for the old woman, led her to a comfortable chair by the fire and poured her a glass of Tamika's finest. She explained that she had been looking for her husband who was out here on a Fighter's Guild job. The Altmer mage looked cynical."Bah, stupid Fighter's Guild types. Too macho to carry scrolls. He's probably lying in a ditch somewhere, mauled by bears, while the rats knaw at his already decomposing flesh". At this point, it appeared the old woman would have a heart attack

Are you taking over my character? bliviongate: lol.

"Maybe someone should come more prepared for trolls hey Altmer?" Said the drunken ArchMage as he supped down another bottle of Tamika

"Aye maybe we should all go for a dance down the pool eh?" asked the ArchMage in a drunken voice.

The music had stoped at the sound of a troll so close to the door of the inn. She shot the speaker a look at his handeling of the situation. Yes it was foolish for the woman to be out here. Still, there was a more delicate way to make that point. Resting her palms on the upper part of the harp and resting her chin upon them she looked at the crowd. "Don't mind them. Clearly their not the most understanding of people." Then as an after thought added. "Nor do they tip well."

The Altmer Mage sighed. Sometimes, people amazed him. But he was in no mood to argue any more - Instead, he took his bottle of Surilie Brothers to a small table in the corner, the only occupant of which was a Dunmer woman, the one who privately knew of the High Elf's secret. The Mage took no notice of her and neither did he ask if he could sit next to her. He simply glided over, sat smoothly on the wooden chair and poured himself a generous measure of wine. After taking a sip, he once again contemplated whether it was better than Tamika's. In the end he agreed that it wasn't, and instead turned his attention to the Dark Elf sitting next to him.

"Hello, my name is Cirali" he said, showing off his vicious fangs as he spoke.

Little did the mage know, the Argonian who had come in quietly earlier, Neekum-Kai, was listening on his every word. He had been informed that there were mysterious goings-on in this in, and was told to investigate. One slip of the tongue, and this scout for the Order Of The Virtuous Blood would christen his newly bought dagger.

OOC: I think the actual Drunken Dragon Inn actually has one soldier anyway.


Turns-The-Page wakes up in the pond, and proceeds to squeeze the water out of her robes. "Wow, that must have been some strong stuff I had last night".

She walks into the http://www.uesp.net/w/images/OB-Drunken_Dragon_Inn.jpg, and goes about looking for her book and lamp left behind in a hist-addled state the previous night. Stopping for a moment, trying to remember, Turns-The-Page has a moment of clarity and passes a few wet coins to the Barman who made a lot of noise about hammers the night before. As an afterthought, she also hands a couple of septims to the woman with the harp.

She then goes to sit by the fire to dry off, and notices a few charred coins amongst the flames, oddly the same sum as what she just paid the bartender.

The Altmer Mage, who will henceforth be known by his name Cirali, stared in astonishment at the Argonian who was drying her robes in the Inn.

"One of the Bravil pests, no doubt." he said loudly, so she could hear him. "They just can't resist leaving a mess wherever they go." he continued. Cirali then realized that it was almost time for lunch, and so he got up and strode over to the barkeeper, Arthur, much to the relief of the Dunmer.

"I don't suppose you do Venison here?" he asked. "I'd like some Venison for lunch, and also a slice of Sweetcake with strawberries for pudding, please? I can supply my own drink."

And with that, he moved to an empty table, and withdrew from his pocket a glass bottle, full of a red substance - Blood, but in a bottle it is actually known as 'Blood Potion'. Cirali checked nobody was looking, and took a swig. But unbeknownst to him, the Argonian from the Order of Virtuous Blood was eyeing him as he did so.

The Order spy, Neekum-Kai, notices Turns-The-Page. His eyes are drawn to her magnificent body and shiny scales. This was Neekum-Kai's one weakness, women. His mind wandered as he fantasised about the beautiful specimen that stood metres away from him.

Turns-The-Page tuned her reddish eyes on the loud pointy-ears. "Actually my dear, I run a very sucessful archiving operation for the count of Skingrad. And if you had just overdosed on hist sap, you'd be in a lot worse shape than I am".


She catches the Spy looking at her. "Wouldn't you rather have someone your own age my dear? I know a lovely Argonian Girl living in Chorrol. Her mother's a trader too, so I guess she isn't a common peasant either. Though all they stock is food and tan pants".

Suddenly, the door opens again, and a shady figure with black robes and, black hood covering its head, and a giant scythe enters the place. It does no footsteps, nor emits any sound, except when it talked to the innkeeper.

"HELLO, PLEASE COULD I TAKE SOME VENISOM WITH CURRY? AH, AND PLEASE BRING SOME MILK TO THE KITTEN HERE. THEY ARE NICE, DON'T THINK SO?"

OOC: This is a wink for Discworld fans For those who don't know what I'm talking about, go and read some Terry Pratchett books.

Cirali snorted at Turns-Her-Page. "Pah, I'm more resistant than you may think. And if you two are gonna make lizard love, please do it where I'm in reach of a bucket.". Cirali was not a prejudiced person, but he was not a sympathetic one either. He was also competetive and impatient. All these were typical of an Altmer.

"Impossible, my jaundiced friend, lizard love requires a hist tree".

"Surely not all kinds?"

Cirali tucked into his recently served Venison with relish. After that, he polished off his sweetcake, before once more walking to the barkeeper to rent a room.

"Got any rooms available?" he asked.

"We do not speak of it to outsiders".

Cirali simply laughed to himself as he walked up the stairs, for an early nap. Little did the customers know, that it was early for a reason. Bottled was not as good as fresh, and Cirali needed the best. He would be up at around midnight to satisfy that desire.