Byron turned to the silent new-comer and narrowed his eyes slightly. No was was THAT man a hero, look at him! He was so AVERAGE, it was unbearable! He didn't hide the disdain from his face as he watched the man read the letter Byron had simply looked at, scoffed and thrown into the fire. He attended purely for the knowledge of knowing his equals would be in the room, but he was starting to doubt that as he looked around the room. Where were the golden-haired knights? The grey-beared aged spell-casters? All he saw was a collection of rogues, with a commoner on the side.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, the head-ache of too much Wine catching up with him. It wasn't meant to be like this, he was meant to be associating with the Arch-Mage of Tamriel, the bravest Paladin to walk the Earth, not the man who looked strinkingly similar to the person who cleaned out his stable at home. He sighed as he realized he didn't have stables now, ever since the bandits came. threw his and his parents out when he was the young age of 18, stole everything from them. His parents had went to live with relatives, but he had followed his dreams. Foolish move, he now realized, the Mages Guild now refused to promote him further! Bah, they would all be sorry when he was the most well known caster in all of Tamriel!

His eyes snapped open as he realized he had been very near to dozing off. He shook his head and resumed his light expression of disdain, never missing a beat. He particularly gave it to the man looking him over, his eyes narrowing. The sides of his mouth raised in what could be called a smile. Thin as a wafer, but a smile none-the-less. More of a sneer if you looked closely.

Don Leon looked back at the man who he had once given a mere once-over to, but was now looking at him. The breton was sneering at him, and oozed disdain in the air around him. Like he wanted anything but to be in here. Don Leon raised his left hand from the armchair and uncurled his fingers, revealing a folded piece of parchment that had been hiding there unnoticed. His thumb flicked and unfolded the parchment before his right hand further unfolded it, reading it again.

"Good man, if you find yourself disappointed with the current attendance, I assure you there is little waiting left. According to the letter, we are missing only four more possible members. There may be more, of course." Don Leon pointed to the letter with his right hand and turned it to show the man. "But the wait for the rest of our 'Heroes' should not be much longer. The wait for the Council, however... that may take some time. Feel free to doze."

Byron smiled fakely, tilting his head to the right slightly. "Thank you good sir, but I'm just fine sitting here with my eyes on you. I'm sure that none of you OBVIOUSLY upstanding gentlemen will attempt to rob me whilst I slumber, but I'll stay cautious for now. At least, until we get better acquainted" He said this in a mock happy tone, dripping with sarcasm and contempt. Sadly this seemed to be how all of his conversations went, Byron wasn't a big charmer, despite his tutor's best efforts. Nobody sure if this was intentional, or Byron genuinely did try to be liked, but just had the wrong personality generally.

He eyed the Guards, who stood statue-still and looked directly in front of them, and admired that type. Kept quiet, disciplined, and despite their better wishes were obligated to protect him. Of course, according to Byron, he didn't NEED protecting. And frustratingly for those who would wish to shut him up, he genuinely could defend himself to a point. While he would easily be bested in combat, his hindering and painful spells of destruction could easily down an assailant if given a good distance, or an opportunity to lay his hands on their chest. If he could manage to pump enough electricity into somebody's chest he could potentially stop their heart, if he had enough energy. Unbeknownst to Byron, he was going to need some training before he could manage that.

He looked back at the table, and wondered if he could get some wine. He needed some wine.

OOC: Sorry, I felt no proper time to enter. Still don't, but I get impatient.

IC: Fathis Ules sat in his home in the Imperial City Elven Garden's District. The small candle burned monotonously on his polished wooden table, wax dripping into the brass candle holder, flickering light illuminating the letter in Fathis' hand. It's presence was an unfamiliar one to the leader of the Thieves' Guild, an invitation to an official government function, at Castle Cheydinhall no less! If it had not been given to him by a member of his guild, he would never consider joining the meeting.

A Shadowfoot, supposedly the Champion of Cyrodiil, Savior of Kvatch, how can I afford to ignore someone like that? But the letter also said the Elder Council would be there, and I'll bet they don't like me much. They can probably guess what happened to their scroll?

After much deliberation, Fathis decided he would go, but disguise himself as a lesser member. He would say he was a lesser delegate, an ambassador. Yes, that would work perfectly!

Fathis then spent the next hour preparing his things, and then double checked his equipment. Bow, check. Lockpicks, check. Fox armor, check. And finally?the cowl. He didn't know why he would dare bring the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal on a mission in which he was disguised as a delegate, but it could come in handy. Its powers and its curse were useful. He could always remove the curse, but why would he ever want to?

Fathis, dressed in a common black shirt and pants, walked through the gates of Cheydinhall, his bulky pack almost bending him over. He knew he shouldn't have brought so much, but he couldn't help it. He liked his things, and most was useful. His usually well kept hair was down at his ears, loose and tangled. He could stop and fix it without trouble, but he was here as a lowly thief, not the Fox.

He smiled to the guard, as he always does, and laughed to himself silently. When the guard offered to help him with his pack he politely declined, the effort of keeping his body from shaking with laughter too great for prolonged conversation.

He passed the gates and travelled through the town, his leather shoes making little sound on the cobblestone sidewalk. He looked up to the stores and inns, and couldn't help himself from anolyzing their defenses That wall could be scaled easily, and that window has no lock. The front door there creaks, and? Until he was at the large double doors to the castle.

The guards took note of him again, and this time he decided to deign to converse with them "Greetings, Imperial Officers, would you happen to know anything about the meeting taking place here? The Elder Council sent-"

The guard cut him off "Up the stairs and to the left. Several people have already arrived, so you can drop your things off in one of the guest rooms later, just bring them with you for now."

Fathis had wanted to secure his items before talking to the others, but he would have to make do "Who, per se, has arrived?"

The guard's face scrunched up, he obviously would not be very useful "Umm?There was one girl, small thing, that asked about that earlier. Other than that, I saw a man in a cloak walk in, and one man that walked like he was the Count. There could be more, I've been on break for the past ten minutes."

Fathis smiled, this guard was more helpful than he would have thought. So far, at least three others were here, one of them matched the description of the girl who had invited him. Fathis thought of the other two as he climbed the stairs, and turned to see the door to the conference room half open.

He took a few steps towards it, and then turned off into a side room. A closet, really, but it would do. Fathis set his pack down in a corner, retrieved the letter that had invited him, and his blunt dagger. Then he piled a few bags of what appeared to be grain over his pack until it was sufficiently hidden. He ducked out of the small room and closed the door silently behind him. He tucked the dagger into an inner pocket of his shirt, and kept the letter in his hands.

He crept down the rest of the corridor, keeping to the wall on the side of the door's hinges. He made his way to the door to the left of conference room at the end of the hall, and silently entered. As he had expected, the wall on the right side was shared by the room his future comrades were in. He pressed his sharp elven ear to the stone and listened to the conversation.

OOC: Slowly, everyone. We don't want to take this too quickly.

And Poly, Byron is AMAZING.
IC:

Crow narrowed her eyes slightly as the man repliedk, "Touche." His manner was still mildly annoying, but harmless, she decided. And that opinion may change as I actually get to know him... she added wisely. However, when the next man swept into the room, she could not help but allow a small growl of frustration to escape.


"I trust I haven't come too late?" He asked, something about the tone of his voice set her teeth grinding. "I would have arrived sooner, but as I'm sure the both of you are well aware, the weather outside is hardly ideal for travel."

He froze in a timely manner. "But where are my manners? I am Sid Lucas, hailing from the county Anvil." He bowed like a courtier, and the motion made Crow unsure whether she should be laughing or snarling. He seemed like a trained actor.

He seemed not content with demanding the attention of the entire room (be that only the two of them) and made something of a beeline for her, ignoring Don Leon Sisemo entirely.

"And might I be so bold as to inquire the young lady's name?"

He was altogether to close. She considered telling him no, but that wouldn't get her point across as well as she'd like. She decided to ignore him completely, her eyes moving to the others in the room, sat around the table. "Who've we got here?" she asked those seated. She eyed the rude mage, feeling offended on Don Leon Sisemo's part as well as her own. "I don't know any of your names or purposes, although I can only assume we have some Royalty present." Her lips twitched in a smile as she looked at Byron, but it would be hard to catch. It was not a friendly smile, but it was somewhat amused.

Byron scowled, but didn't say anything other than "Hah, I wish". He said this grumpily, as if he was genuinely disappointed by the fact he had only been born into Lordship, like a child who recieves a nice birthday present while expecting a great one. He didn't realize that she was joking, his arrogant lack of attention not giving him the sight of her subtle smile, so he took it as a compliment. The thought of people viewing royalty as anything other than perfect a travesty upon the Nine. He rolled his eyes, lolling his head as he let out an exasperated sigh of boredom.

"Are there really more people coming? Because I could be out doing better things, such as, oh I don't know, making a name for myself, settling down then having children and eventually dying a happy, old man?" He was easily bored by waiting, when he was back in the Manor he didn't have to wait for anything, he would get it straight after asking or the servant he asked would recieve a good flogging by his father.

"I mean, why are we here anyway? Isn't the crisis over, well done, jolly good, too bad about the Emperor, but we have Ocato" He was genuinely curious about this meeting, he hadn't read the letter fully, he was now regretting that, what if that letter featured the purpose of the meeting and now he appeared like an ill informed fool. Curse his bravado, at least his guests laughed at the time. In reality they didn't, once again he was just augmenting the actual events.

OOC: Yeah, sorry about that, I tend to post a lot more than putting more words into my single posts. And thanks! (:

ooc: Will post later, I've got some things to do...

Don Leon grinned as Crow bypassed Sid and addressed the room as a whole. As he thought; she disliked formality. He'd have to play a different game to keep himself on her good side. And he needed to stay partly on her good side if team play had to be involved. He continued to grin when she threw a subtle jeer at the mage who had tried to agitate Sisemo previously. Don Leon seemed hardly insulted, though, and that was truthful. The man didn't know him, meant nothing to him, and was full of himself.

His opinion of Don Leon was completely irrelevant.

"I mean, why are we here anyway? Isn't the crisis over, well done, jolly good, too bad about the Emperor, but we have Ocato." This was the final clue for Don Leon, the final hint that the man was indeed too arrogant to bother informing himself. Don Leon folded the paper into the size of an average playing card, and curled his left arm. Extending it quickly and with a casual flick of the wrist, he tossed the card-parchment to the mage. It spun through the air and meandered left and right, before careening into a landing before the mage on the other side.

"It gives only a general idea of the reason for the meeting; I'm sure we'll be better informed when the Council arrives." He explained, nodding to the paper. That done, he looked to Crow, give a newly made friendly smile.

"No Royalty here, I am afraid. I'm just a simple lower aristocrat. The name is Don Leon Sisemo." He reached up and with his index finger and thumb, lightly touched his hat and tipped it in greeting. He had averted his attention from Crow specifically, to the wall behind her, his steel blue eyes sweeping the room. "Privateer for the Count of Skingrad." He purposefully left out his 'Hero of Skingrad' status and the fact he specialized in sabotage. He didn't like bragging about his accomplishments or revealing his methods, without first knowing more about the people he was revealing to.

The young Breton woman, with the enchantingly soft features that had initially captured Sid's attention, seemed to dismiss his inquiry off-hand. Regardless of this fact, however, Sid felt no anger, no injured sense of pride at the woman's refusal to even so much as acknowledge him. Quite the contrary; he had often found in his travels that the most valuable prizes were those one must strive for, and the pursual of a woman was no different, in his mind. A sense of excitement welled up in Sid's chest; he did so love a good hunt.

But, of course, there would be time for such endeavours later. For now, he turned his attention to his fellow men, including several additions to the group since his attempted discourse with the young lady. Included among them were a young Imperial lad, clad in a set of chainmail armour, and another Breton man, this one having the looks of a mage about him, perhaps a number of years older than himself. While the Imperial had seemed rather quiet up to that point, the other, the mage, seemed particularly verbose in his appraisal of the general situation.

Once the good Don Leon Sisemo had introduced himself as a man of the aristocracy, and revealed himself to be of the county Skingrad, Sid appraised the man with a nod of approval. "Very good, sir Sisemo. 'Tis good to make your acquaintance." Sid now turned to the man of mage like apparel. "And for you, my friend, allow me to re-introduce myself. Sid Lucas, hailing from county Anvil." He presented the man with another curt nod. "Now then, I sent a boy in the castle's employ to fetch us some refreshments, and I trust he shall return shortly." With that, Sid sat down, several seats away from the mage, but keeping his attention broadly focused on all in the room.

"Now then, let us regail one another with tales to pass the time, shall we? Surely, each of us must have an interesting fable or two, if we were to be invited here by the Elder Council itself. yes?"

Byron looked at Sid and felt a mixture of contempt and begrudging admiration for the two noblemen, now he had learned of their at the very least connection to a sort of noble heritage, he felt that he and them would get along famously. That is as long as they didn't mind him still having the charisma and social skills of a Slaughterfish. He decided that he would make an effort to be less snide, but then realized he couldn't follow through and forgotten about it. He read the paper tossed expertly in front of him with a bitter snatch, and read through it, his mouth shaping the words occasionally.

He placed the paper down, the light of realization in his cold and snide eyes. He decided to keep quiet on the subject of what they were here for from now on, and instead nodded at the people on the table. "Byron Dreugh-Winder, my Mages' Guild associates call me Baron. I hate them" He said this bluntly and seriously, as one would say the colour of somebody's hair. He nodded in greeting, and even flashed a short thin smile at the mention of the drinks, before going back to his usual pre-emptive sneer.

"There was this one time when I was called to the Castle to sit around exchanging forced pleasantries with strangers. But that's a rather boring one, have any of you got any to share?" He asked this with a small grin, the only time he took joy was when he was being sarcastic.

The Present, Cheydinhal

Two breton guards, young and green as grass, were standing in the shade of the entrance to Cheydinhal. They were snickering and drinking a pale liquid from some small vials; they seemed fairly stoned. If anyone else had found out about them, it was highly likely that they would lose their jobs. as a lone man on an old, Brown-And-Black speckled nag road up. He was hunched forward as though in deep concentration, or deep rest. The big one patted his buddy on the shoulder and pointed at the man's direction; the man was swathed in a ratty, old traveling cloak, a simple sheath dangling at his side. His features were obscured completely, the only thing they glimpsed a swishing tail and an occasional slit of emerald green eye. He looked of good build, but of poor training or bad luck, and noticing the bulging packs laden on his horse, they decided to try their luck for a little extra pay.

The sods stepped out, unsheathing their swords casually and strolling up. They grabbed his horse's reigns, slowing it to a halt. The burly one tapped the argonian on the shoulder, who looked up with a placid look on his face. Though that could also just be the natural face of all argonians. His deep, rich, emerald eyes bored into the big breton's skull, and for a moment, he had second thoughts. He shook this off as a bit of cowardice. He pointed his sword from the lizard to the jingling sack on his horse. The argonian jestured to the sack with a questioning expression, and was met by a nod. He laughed. It was a hearty and rich sound, encouraging, though it still had the grating quality that clung to all argonians in Tamriel. He shook his head and went to continue forward, but the guards crossed their blades in front of him. He sighed and moved his hands to his hilts, at which points the still skooma-high guards took a swing at him. He growled and batted aside the burly man's blow with his bracer, proceeding to smash into the man on the right with his tail. The man went down, clutching his side, as the larger guard drew a knife. The argonian stranger smashed him in the face with a vicious punch and kept on riding, pausing only to call back his name to the men.

He laughed that deep, emboldening laugh again and yelled. "Don't worry about your pride, spellmen. You were only bested by Islyths-Eij...The Hero of Leyawiin!"

The clip-clopping of the horse hooves continued as he made his way slowly up to the castle on the cracked, cobbled roads. Many looked up at him, hushed and slightly awed. He no longer held the hunched posture, and his ragged cloak had fallen off; he sat there in a full set of beautiful iron armor, a gleaming ebony blade at his side. He smiled and tossed a few coins onto the ground from the purse the guards had tried robbing; many of the children ran to grab some. He kept on going, reaching the castle and tying his horse to a post outside the door. He noticed others had already arrived. He pushed open the door, recieved his directions, and swiftly moved upstairs, tail flicking and cape swishing all the way. He rapidly approached the door, and, hearing conversation within, pushed it open. He had a toothy grin on his face and he looked around, taking in the assortment of character that had built up in a single room. He gave a deep, gentlemanly bow and looked up.

"Hello, friends. My name is my own business, and for now, you shall know me as only 'Fin'. I am the self-and-count proclaimed 'Hero of Leyawiin'. Its a pleasure to meet you all.

As the residents of Cheydinhal scurried about, attempting to escape the insistent rain, Colasanti Valgus plodded slowly and resolutely towards the castle entrance, his hood pulled low about his face, his ratty coat doing a surprisingly efficient job of deflecting the pelting raindrops. He barely noticed the weather, his mind occupied with thoughts of the events to come.

The letter had been brief and short on details. An individual named Crow had requested his presence at a meeting of the Elder Council at Castle Cheydinhal, and aside from the date and directions for the interior of the castle, there was no other information provided. He couldn't begin to imagine what the Council would want to do with him, and it wasn't in his nature to acquiesce to the requests of nobles, most of whom he would rather talk to at the end of a sharp blade than around a table. But whomever this Crow was, he didn't strike Cole as the noble sort. No flowery speech, no overblown flattery... just the facts, plain and simple.

It was for that reason that Cole had even considered coming. In the end, it was the distinct lack of other available distractions that convinced him to go. So here he was, trudging through the downpour, on his way to meet a bunch of strangers for a purpose he had knowledge of and no stake in. As he approached the entrance to the castle, the two guards glanced at each other uncertainly, then back at the grungy figure of Cole. The elder of the two guards cleared his throat and held up a hand to halt Cole.

"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

Cole looked out from beneath the tattered edges of his hood, and nodded to the door.

"Yes, you can get the hell out of my way."

The guards face twisted in fury, and he gripped the handle of his sheathed sword while motioning to his compatriot to do the same.

"The castle is currently restricted to special invited guests only. We're not going to just let any piece of gutter trash waltz in there, so you better just turn around and crawl back under whatever rock you came from before you get hurt."

Cole's right hand flashed towards the guard suddenly, catching the man by surprise and causing him to jerk backwards. Expecting the man to attack, the guard ripped his sword from it's scabbard, only to find Cole holding a piece of parchment in front of his eyes.

"Looks like they invited the gutter trash, too."

Composing himself, the guard inspected the letter, his face turning red with anger as he did. Finally, he jammed his sword back into the scabbard and waved at Cole dismissively.

"Very well then. Be on your way."

Cole stuffed the letter back in the pocket of his coat and pushed open the doors of the castle. Not even pausing to shake the water from himself, he made his way quickly up the stairs to the designated room, brushing past several servants, paying no heed to anyone. As he tramped into the room, he cast a quick, concealed glance about the meeting chamber, taking quick stock of everyone there. It was already filling up with people, and although many of them looked of noble stature, none appeared to be a part of the Council. Not stopping to introduce himself, he took a seat away from the rest of the group, pulling his pipe from an inner pocket of his jacket. He deftly used his lone hand to pack in the tobacco, and light the pipe before placing it between his teeth.

He puffed away for several minutes, his eyes closed, rubbing his stump ruefully through the smooth black silk that covered it. Finally he opened his eyes and scanned the room again, inspecting each face carefully before speaking around the pipe still clutched in his mouth, his voice sandy and harsh.

"Who is Crow?"

Strafer paused briefly. Where am I? What is this strange place...? He thought as he fumbled through the pockets of his leather greaves, What's this town called... Shaving fall? Shading halls?, The corner of his lip quivered in annoyance, why was it always raining in this godforsaken place? He had only been in this town for a little over an hour, and quite frankly, the Argonian wished he was back at his camp on the outskirts of Bravil. Why did I let Lerus persuade me to go?. He held a small letter parchment in his left hand, then used his right hand to scratch the side of his snout thoughtfully. Cheydinhal! That was the name... Hmmmm... Now that I know the town name, I need to find the castle..., A hiss exerted from the lizards throat, symbolizing an annoyed sigh. He could track and kill a wild troll easily, but finding a giant stationary fortress was quite a challenge.

Sheltering the letter from the rain, he carefully slid the paper back into his pocket and set off. I wonder what this meeting is about, I hope to the gods that it is not another Oblivion crisis, I won't go through that again..., he made his way across a small bridge supported above what looked to be the city canols, then proceeded on an uphill slant towards a gate. This looks promising..., the rain picked up slightly, and the Argonian was forced to pick of his pace.
The Stranger from Afar, moved briskly past the Guards, and in return the two watchmen payed the reptile no attention.

Strafer shook himself briefly like a wet dog, he was glad to be inside, and away from the merciless rain. He could already feel his body warming up, and within seconds he felt like he had stepped out of a sauna. Although, he didn't mind it, after all he liked the heat, it made him feel more alert and at attention. Now where do I find this 'meeting' place? He asked himself, the brow on his near-expressionless face rose slightly in what should have been a pondering look. He explored the wonders of the hall for several minutes, before growing tired of his futile searching.
He came across a single door and a Guard standing outside. This looks promising..., He thought once more. He approached the Guard, and before he could get a word out, the watchmen answered the Argonian's question.

''Up the stairs, to the left...'' He said, sounding rather angry that he had to repeat the same thing for the umpteenth time. ''You ain't the only one here...''

Strafer nodded politely, then proceeded up the stairs. Following the Guards instructions, he turned left and discovered another door. And like the Guard said, Strafer was not the only one there, several others including a fellow Argonian took residence in the room. He cared not to introduce himself, and walked over to an empty chair. As he sat down, he unslung his hist-carved bow off his back and rested it against the end of the wooden table that the chairs surrounded. Now sitting, the lizard placed his elbow on the table and locked his fingers together. His green eyes scanned the table for an invisible anomaly as he rested his chin on his locked fingers.

ooc: I'm not sure if there's a table or not, but I'd imagine there would be. If not, I'll edit

"Hello, friends. My name is my own business, and for now, you shall know me as only 'Fin'. I am the self-and-count proclaimed 'Hero of Leyawiin'. Its a pleasure to meet you all.". By gods, the Lizard would be more subtle if lit by a thousand fireworks whilst the size of Mehrunes Dagon with the stench of Molag Bal. He honestly felt nothing but disdain for flashy b*stards like him, but decided to make an effort. for Byron, that wasn't much. "Why bother hiding your name? I'm sure after that uncouth and highly undignified entrance we could pick you out of a line-up whilst standing next to your identical quadruplets" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "My name is Byron Dreugh-Winder, but you can call just call me Lord" He said this as if he were doing the Lizard a service made only available to his closest friends.

Then the Vagrant came in, and he admitted that was an entrance he could respect, quiet, not very flashy, and it didn't take the attention from him. Then the bugger had to speak, then it all went down the drain. "Actually, I'm not sure which one of you IS Crow" He said a tad more loudly than nescessary, hypocritical after silently mocking the Lizard for his clear attention seeking, but it was DIFFERENT when it was him. He couldn't explain why or where that logic worked, but he didn't have to, he was a nobleman.

Then finally the last Lizard came in. The contrast between the first Argonian's (Even his mind spit out the word) entrance, this one seemed like someone spitting in the ocean. He found it refreshing, too bad they were both Lizards. He was a Lord, he had been raised to believe that those types weren't acceptable in any other circumstance than blind servitude, his butler was a Khajiit, his maid was an Argonian. He always thought they had a thing, and was sickened by it. "My my, we are becominc crowded aren't we? It doesn't matter gentlemen, you're only a good half an hour late" He loved being on time to things, it gave him ground to mock other people.

He looked at the rag-tag bunch of mis-fits and wannabees around the table and sighed, realizing he was ranked among these peons now. It depressed him majorly, but at least he wouldn't have to be with them much longer. Ohhh, trust me, you'll never get rid of 'em said his mind, which he had always believed to be right about these things. It had to be with THESE people, he already hated them all. Or maybe he was just jealous they seemed to be getting along for the most part and he couldn't get passed his own social intolerance. But who cares, the peasants deserved it.

Babur did not like County Cheydinhal. Mostly because he did not like bees. And the warmer months in the region bore swarms of them. But the rain had stifled their activity for the past day and a half, meaning Babur could happily leave his rented room at the Brina Cross Inn freely, though today he sat inside, watching the road from a window in his room. One by one, he had observed individuals pass by who he judged potential invitees to a certain meeting to which he himself had been sent word of. There seemed to be a lot of them; beyond that, Babur could not make much of a judgment. After watching many of them pass by, he set off for Castle Cheydinhal himself, covering his brow with his hand to shield it from the rain.

He approached the castle gates where the weary-looking guards stood. He drew his invitation from his pocket to show one of the guards, who began to say, "Up the stairs-"
"There are directions on the invitation, but thank you," interrupted Babur with a smile and a nod, which left the guard looking rather taken aback. As the same guard opened the door for Babur, the other muttered something like "did they all know...?"

For a town that was supposedly infused with Velothi culture, the pilgrim did not see many traces of it within the castle walls. The palace looked thoroughly Nibenean, with maybe even a Colovian mix here and there. Still, he thought, he did not particularly like the design. He had only been inside one other castle, and that was Castle Leyawin, to which he did not expect to be welcome for a long time. His last visit had ended...interestingly, he thought, smiling to himself at the thought.

As he approached the stairs on the left side of the two thrones, an older guard approached him, asking him to hand over his weapon before proceeding, which he did without quarrel. Sometimes he wished he had a home of his own somewhere, that he could lock his weapon away safely once in a while, as to go about town without a large shard of metal strapped to his side. But as it was, he supposed it made little difference. He found that people tended to care less about armed individuals in the north than farther south.

Approaching the door to what he sincerely hoped was indeed the conference room, the orc knocked twice, softly, and opened the door just enough for him to enter. Upon doing so, he found that he had been correct in thinking that many of those whom he had seen pass the Brina Cross were attendees. He simply looked over the group with a calm but intense look of appraisal, said "Good day," and made his way to a free seat. And, contrary to the harsh expression he had borne upon entry, he then glanced over each individual with an amiable expression, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward. "I see few with the air of a statesman here. Is it safe to assume the Council has not yet arrived?"

"Who is Crow?" Asked a man that look like quite the weathered warrior to Don Leon. He turned to the newcomer, placing one elbow on the table and the other hand remained on the arm of the chair. He raised his eyebrow like he had to Sid Lucas.

"If I may... who is it that wishes to know?" He asked the man, before his eyes cast their light upon two Argonians entering. One addressed himself in almost as pompously egotistical a manner as the Breton mage, Baron. Two of them in one group... this'll be interesting. He took note of the other Argonian who entered silently as well.

And with that he made one single conclusion; there were few outright warriors amongst this motley crew. Most of them looked like the sort of stealthy, far-away fighter types... or thieves. Which presented a problem; besides the mage, they weren't a very versatile group. This would make things challenging.

An Orc sat down at the table, catching Don Leon's attention. He glanced over to him briefly. "It is safe to assume, yes."

An ORC!? Byron sighed deeply, rubbing his closed eye-lids with the tips of his fingers, clenching his teeth. Why didn't they just invite Daedra along? He narrowed his eyes at the Orc, IT was going to be a serious detractor in the integrity of this group. He could put up with animals and Lizards and even people as egotistical as himself, but when they started inviting barbarian beast-folk with a well known hunger for human bones, well, that was just crossing the line.

It's sad that Byron actually believed these things about Orcs, or his narrow-minded views on the rest of the races, but anyone with his upbringing would've probably turned out the same. His education on the other Races was simply Pro-Breton propaganda, thinly veiled as factual information.

He leaned back, his gloved hand resting on his face as he imagined all of the horrible things that could and probably would happen, it was his firmly held belief that this current team would probably be eviscerated by the first insect to saunter passed them, let alone an actual creature. And was he even getting paid for this, had pay been mentioned? They were trying to appeal to the goodness of his heart, but that also had a price. That price was fame, glory, and riches. That was all he asked for, was it to much? Mere idiots got that from doing NOTHING! Look at that Uriel Septim man, he had done nothing but prattle on and supposedly guide the empire, and he got all the glory! While dutiful soldiers, like his father for example, went away with NOTHING apart from the family fortune and country estates they had started off with.

It was a shambles, honestly. "Is this everyone? Because if we get one more happy new face I may just burst a lung".

OOC: I'm going to bed, it's nearly 1am and I have an exam tomorrow. Try not to do to much without me. :]

"If I may... who is it that wishes to know?"

Cole's gaze focused on the Imperial who had addressed him. He took his hand away from his left arm, and slid the crippled limb under the table as he leaned back in the chair, his voice not betraying any sense of anger or sarcasm.

"I do. My business is with someone named Crow, and him alone. So unless that's you, I would suggest you let the man speak for himself."

He plucked his pipe from his mouth and twisted his neck from side to side, an obscene cracking sound emitting from each movement. Settling back in, he replaced the pipe and shrugged nonchalantly. This man in the hat, although possessing the mannerisms of a nobleman, did not seem to be an offensive sort, but was clearly somewhat suspicious of Cole. It hardly surprised him, but it didn't concern him either. Until he figured out who had summoned him and why, there was little point in making friends or enemies with anyone.

Closing his eyes again, Cole sighed quietly and let his head droop, smoke still wafting from between his lips as he smoked, his good hand tucked into the crook of his left elbow, appearing as if prepared to take a nap.

"Let me know when he finds his own voice."

"I am afraid, sire, that he will not be finding his own voice any time soon." Don Leon replied smoothly, putting an emphasis on the 'he'. His mouth curled into a small smirk. Womanizer... to have thought Crow could only be a man.

"You see... You have made a small error, good sir." He motioned around the entire room, his fingers sweeping. "Your business is not with Crow alone, but with the Elder Council, and us, who were also called to this meeting." He set his hand back down on the table. "And Crow is not a he." He didn't specify, figuring the smoker smart enough to deduce it to be the only -which Don Leon now noticed- woman in the room. Unless he thought of a castrated male. He would let Crow introduce herself.

"I am Don Leon Sisemo, Privateer of the Count of Skingrad, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

His eyes flickered open and Cole quickly scanned through the faces until they fell upon the small Breton woman sitting quietly. He snorted crudely at the man's subtle hints. It was that kind of circuitous language that irritated Cole to no end. He couldn't fathom why aristocrats and nobles refused to speak plainly. Cole was by no means a dullard, but his patience for bureaucracy was practically non-existent, and, like nearly everything else in his life, he preferred a direct, straight-forward approach to conversations. He already felt his ire growing from the way the man smirked and spoke.

Nodding slightly in assent towards the Breton woman, Cole's eyes narrowed as he regarded the man who had identified himself as Don Leon Sisemo. When Cole spoke, his voice was tinged with contempt that had previously been missing.

"Looks like I'm not the only one jumping to conclusions, Privateer. The reason I am here is to find out for myself whether or not I have any business with the Council, or with any of you. Only once I've heard what they have to say will I decide if I want to have anything to do with them, or this lot."

Blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils, Cole held up a cautionary finger.

"And as far as I'm concerned, until then, you haven't made an acquaintance of me, Privateer."

Returning to his relaxed position, Cole closed his eyes again, waiting to see if the Breton whom Don Leon had been suggesting was Crow would interject. Inwardly, he just hoped that the Council would arrive soon. His previously even-tempered mood was quickly turning sour.

Don Leon's smile faded into a simple, business like expression, and he thumbed his hat up higher on his brow so his face could slightly better be seen. From the man's mannerism, he could see he was another like Crow; blunt and to the point. While Don Leon did find them refreshing to be around, he also found it hard to fully communicate with them. He didn't speak as round-about flowery as most nobles, sure, but he found it hard to be quite as direct and rude as they were. So he took the middle ground.

"Very well. Perhaps we have both jumped to conclusions, mercenary. I wouldn't blame you if you chose to not work with us, however. This is a rather... interesting ensemble." He knew saying such was jumping to conclusion as well, making the statement highly ironic. But it was too obvious. Here at a meeting to see if he had any business at all? Don Leon was well taught in the ways of the mercenary. He was one before he had become a Privateer. The lack of a hand and bad attitude made him your usual mercenary. They all typically bore scars of battle and were gruff.

This would make an interesting quest indeed. Don Leon sat back in his chair, both hands coming together in front of him on his lap. He sat there and looked at the fingers of his leather gloves... waiting for the Council to come. Motionless. He could do it for hours.

Babur's eyes moved from speaker to speaker with a raised eyebrow. "Why is this 'Crow' so important? It was my understanding that we were summoned for an audience with the Elder Council, not an individual. It is an interesting nickname, though," he added thoughtfully, "and one I believe you share with a Nordic tribal leader and a particularly abrasive Rock Biter chef."

He didn't see why bickering had to arise so soon in the assembly. The pilgrim had scarcely been in the room five minutes, and lashes had already been exchanged with gusto. He payed little attention to them, however. He had seen far more hostility in a room before, and even then it had been apparent that getting involved was never a good course of action. Already he began to wish he could retract his interjection from moments ago. Either way, he supposed, there would be little difference. He had a feeling there were precious few in present company who were of cooperative spirit, and he tended to naturally draw disdain from others, thanks to his heritage, so he supposed there was no sort of reputation to protect here. He doubted any of them knew his name- his deeds had circulated as rumors in the Legion, and some of these leaked into the nearby towns, but chances were slim that any of this lot had heard anything of him. For this he was thankful.

They, on the other hand, he knew quite well. Some of them, anyway. The two Argonians he had recognized instantly, for he had spent the previous few weeks passing through Leyawiin and Bravil on his way to Cheydinhal. They were local legends in those cities. Strafer and Fin, the heroes of Leyawiin and Bravil, respectively. The others were harder to tell; it had been months since his last visit to the heartlands, and he assumed that some of them must have had some affairs there. If Nibenay had sent its heroes, it was only natural that Colovia would be sending theirs. Whatever the case, he thought, he would learn of their status soon enough, judging by how much these men liked to talk.

OOC: We now have more than a full ensemble. Time to begin, I'd say.

IC: Fathis was surprised at the amount of conversation in the room beyond. Ranging from loud announcements of their arrival, to the occasional grating voice of one particularly outspoken person, the Gray Fox was about ready to meet these people. Armed with his most powerful weapon, knowledge, he strode to the door and opened it, almost knocking over a small servant boy carrying a plate full of wine and glasses.

"Terribly sorry, sir." the boy said, regaining his balance. He turned back to the door and Fathis followed right behind him. A fortunate coincidence, now I have a perfect excuse for entering, while keeping my purposes a secret still.

"Boy! Hold a moment!" Fathis called out to the boy, he almost walked inside. He hoped no one noticed the boy.

"Yes sir?" He looked both confused and annoyed, strange for a child. Seems he doesn't think much of me.

"Here, one hundred gold coins, if you do what I say." Fathis handed the boy a small bag of gold, a pre-measured amount Fathis kept for bribery. The boy's eyes opened wide "Yes, all you have to do is pretend that I work here. Just go along with what I say, and I'll give you a hundred more, okay?"

"Yes sir, whatever you say!" The boy's grin would betray Fathis' purposes, but he didn't think anyone inside would notice. The boy put the bag in a grubby pocket in his rough pants.

"Alright, follow my lead." Fathis gestured towards the door, and the boy took the hint and walked inside. Fathis followed right behind him. Act one.

"Sorry, sorry. I insisted the boy get the top shelf stuff, took him an extra ten minutes. Here, my good sir, you look thirsty." Fathis immediately turned into the lowly servant, pouring the wine into a glass and handing it to a well dressed Breton that wore an unsightly smirk. Fathis took the chance to look around, and was struck by the sheer number of people. At least seven others were gathered around, but that was just a cursory glance.

Further inspection revealed that there was only one woman in the room, she must be the Zaire who had sent him the letter. A lavish imperial was sitting at the wall, a rapier hung from his hip. Another imperial, a more warrior looking man, stood in the same area. Two argonians were there also. The breton he had given the wine to stood in the front of the room, and an orc was leaning on the table in the center of the room. Another Breton stood off to the side, and the breton woman Zaire sat on a desk. All this took Fathis moments of rapid eye movement to take in, he was able to look at the room without ruining his act, but it also lacked detail. He would have to take time to examine his companions later.

OOC: Sorry, I was just trying to recap all the people, I get confused...let me know if I forgot your char...

OOC: Apologies for such a late post, Illusionary and everyone, I hope this is acceptable.



IC:
Captain Burd looked tiredly up at Castle Cheydinhal and heaved a resigned sigh, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to shake this “Hero of Bruma” nonsense. He trudged up to the guards brandishing his letter of summons and the guard waved him on exasperatedly before he’d come to a full stop, so he shuffled on in. Burd knew he was late. He’d fought himself the whole trip from home eventually losing out to the remembered words of his wife.

”Oh for Gods’ sake darling, it’s a summons from the Elder Council and you’re the Hero of Bruma; you have to go. Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out, think of it as a little vacation.”
He knew there was no arguing when she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side like that. So he’d sighed, as he too often did nowadays, grinned and promised he’d leave first thing next day.
It hadn’t worked. She was waiting with his care package in her hands, a loving yet insistent smile on her face and his horse saddled outside when he came down stairs in the morning.

He hadn’t slept well that night either. It was a frequent occurrence for him in the time following the Crisis. He’d wake in the dead of night, images burned into his mind of the daedra destroying all that he cared about. Then Yvara would sit up next to him and hug him until he stopped shaking and she’d tell him all was well and to go back to sleep. He drank more than usual now as well, which his wife loathed though she seldom mentioned as much. She resigned to huffing and glaring at him when he stumbled in at all hours of the night and then would point to the couch as she stomped up the stairs.

Burd snapped out of his revere as he approached the doors to the meeting hall. He came to a halt as he stepped inside and looked around at the other occupants. “What a crew…” he mumbled. He tensed with recognition as his gaze fell on the girl in the far corner. “Zaire?” he mouthed silently.

OOC: Again, sorry for tardiness. This group is quicker than I’m used to, lol.

OOC: It'll settle down, and for those who are struggling with the confusion, there will be more flow later too.

IC:

Don Leon Sisemo? That's a funny name... she thought, neither paying mind to her own bestial nickname nor her distinctly un-breton true name. She smiled back at the privateer hesitantly. He seemed genuinely friendly now... perhaps he would not be so bad as she thought.

As more and more entered the room, a powerful argonian, and another of a more peaceful nature, Byron Dreugh-Winder kept up a more and more abusive commentary. Crow found him strangely hilarious- she was beginning to realise that the mage was not rude so much out of the urge to insult people, but simply because he had no social skills and a very honest nature.

It was then that Colsanti Valgus entered the room. She recognised him instantly, though she'd never met him before. She considered going to meet him, but Sisemo seemed determined to speak on her behalf. She sighed. Just what I need... a feminist, determined to stick up for my rights...

Still, it was harmless enough.

Since Sisemo had more or less introduced her by giving her gender, Crow felt no need to give her name. "This is a meeting arranged by the Elder Council. I wasn't sure what spoiled-sons-of-nobles were going to be called in, so I invited you. Your reputation is good." She shrugged. "I hope you are as good as it."

The orc leader was curious as to her importance. He spoke like a scholar, where conversation and speculation became one thing. "No reason," she said, somewhat ironically, for it was clear that she knew what this was going to be about, and that she had some sway with them. "I'm nobody." And apparently the Champion of Cyrodiil... she thought, and just this once she found the idea of it funny rather than tragic.

She looked back at Cole. "Take a seat if you like," she said. "And keep your stink-pipe to yourself." Elder Council business tended to pay well, as she was sure he might assume. As she looked at him this time, she recognised something beyond his grizzled appearance. There was something dead inside this man. She recognised it, for though she hid it well, there was something dead inside her too.

I probably deal with it better... she thought, and her stomach curled. Afterall, there is a daedra prince invested in my survival...

Her eye was caught by a dunmer servant, pouring wine for Byron. Were there going to be such servants at this meeting? She frowned. But he was so convincing, she was fooled into believing him. Afterall, the Council were too stupid to keep things private.

Their final group member came to the door, and as Crow turned to look, she could not help but grin. "Zaire?" he mouthed in her direction. She didn't excuse herself from the others, and went straight to him.

"It's Crow now..." she informed him quietly in a tone that only he would pick up. The Fox would also know her true name, but as it was from his Guild that she had picked up her nickname, she wasn't worried about him revealing it, when he turned up. "Please don't tell anyone who I am..." Though the statue in the Imperial City was not in her likeness, the name Zaire was well-linked with the Champion of Cyrodiil.

"I'm glad you came," she told the former Captain. Though they could not be considered friends, they had fought together against the daedra, and Crow respected the Nord for his simple lifestyle and distaste for fame. "There's a room full of 'Heroes' here, and I'm not sure of all of them. The Elder Council have something big planned... they should be here soon, they are rarely a full hour late. Make yourself comfortable."

She gave him another fleeting smile and returned to her desk, resting one foot on the desk and wrapping her arms around her knee, while letting the other dangle.