"You, are the funniest person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting" The other Breton guffawed, and strangely made Byron feel quite self-concious. He never knew he was funny, he thought he was quite a serious if well-raised man, not a common Jester, like the Argonian he had when he was younger. He was in chains and always danced around to make Byron laugh, they were better days all around, whatever happen to Mr. Chuckles? Oh that's right, he was found dead in the wine cellar! He was planning to escape, and they couldn't have that, so daddy ran him through! If people knew Byron's childhood he would almost be redeemed, people who knew him earlier in life mused.

He tried a confident smile but ended up doing a cynical smirk in Crow's direction, she was the only one he didn't dislike, she was quite well groomed, didn't speak all the time like the other annoying buggers, and only seemed to have positive reactions to him. He was sure he'd learn to not like her though so he dismissed it and looked back down his nose at Ocato, a snob-off, interesting. "Sir, a team dynamic could easily be found in a lavish Inn or by seizing a Manor from one of the nobles in town! What you're doing to the heroes who are meant to save the empire is giving them back problems!" He whined this sentence as a child would a request for a glob of Treacle, or honey. When he realized he was the only one up in arms about this treatment he piped down slightly, realizing at this point he was just making a fool out of himself. He was aloud of course, he was rich, but it was still embarrassing.

Then he heard the mention of the money and nearly choked on his wine, that would be enough to buy the Manor back! The bandit who had seized the deed had been talking big about reselling it to a bandit chum of his, if he could just outbid him he could live out his lavish life in the comforts of his familiar home, with its familiar bear skin carpets and Khajiit heads mounted on the wall! Like the good old days. "Yes, I will go along with the adventure, for those of you left wondering" He sighed, a visible scowl on his face. This wasn't going to be enjoyable at all.

Edit: OOC: Time to grab some sleep, I'll write a new post as soon as I get back tomorrow.

OOC: Just a short post before I get back later today.

IC: Fathis went to the corner like he was supposed to, and watched the events with the interest of a spider looking for prey. A few members accepted the mission, and the Fox regarded it dully. His interest was piqued when gold was mentioned, he noted the man that asked it for the question.

Zaire's outburst of laughter surprised him, as did her statement soon afterwards, she had grown much since her days in the guild. To be able to manipulate the very council to her bidding was a grand feat, perhaps he could join in without trouble...

Fathis disregarded the thought of a showy entrance, announcing his name and position to the whole of the party. That would not be wise. He would seek Crow out after the meeting, and deliberate with her the specifics of his involvement.

When the man that Fathis had taken note of, the timid imperial, spoke, Fathis was surprised to hear his voice. However, the words he spoke confirmed Fathis' suspicions about him. He finished his small confirmation speech, making a total of 6 if he counted himself. He wondered how many more would consent to the adventure.

After the exchange between Crow and the councilor, it became perfectly clear to Cole exactly what type of person this unassuming Breton woman was. She had identified herself as a Champion, as many of the others in the room had, and although Cole had his suspicions, he assumed she was keeping that fact under wraps for a reason. Her confident declaration of her identity surprised him. But there was deep, seething anger in her words, the kind of anger he himself felt on a daily basis. She had at least as much distaste for nobility as he did, if not more. She was also a far more influential figure than her appearance might suggest.

What was more intriguing to him, however, was the very fact that she had stood up for him. The Council wanted nothing to do with him, that was clear even before he arrived. But this woman, whom he had never met, had at least an inkling of confidence in him, enough at least to defend him before the Council. He wasn't sure what to make of it at the present time, but he found himself strangely at ease, despite the remarks by the councilor. Under normal circumstances, he might have made a scene, if for no other reason than to reiterate his status as a professional killer, but he merely tapped his lips contemplatively with his pipe.

Twenty-five thousand Septims was a lot of money. Cole made a decent living, his skills did not come cheap, but even he had to admit that twenty-five thousand, plus whatever else he might be able to negotiate from them, was well worth the risk involved. When it came to money, Cole was extremely pragmatic. If the risk outweighed the reward, he moved on without a second thought.

"Of course, we would be honoured to have you on this mission. As the Champion says... some people are dragged from the gutter to do great things. I hope," he said, biting off each word curtly. "You are one of them."

Cole laughed, a grotesque, grating sound that was more akin to something that would be heard in a smithy than coming from a man's mouth. He laughed not in humor, but in contempt.

"Horse[censored]. You'd just as soon see me hanged as pay me to do your dirty work, even if I were to succeed."

Turning his attention back to Ocato, he again motioned at the Altmer.

"One more question before I agree to anything: Why this Corvus? Why choose a man you know nothing about? He could be a drunk, an addict, a lech, an imbecile, a coward... or all of the above. Why risk the lives of these people you obviously hold in high regard," he motioned to the other members seated around the table, his bright eyes twinkling as he declined to include himself, "To go romping across Tamriel, in search of a man who may not be qualified to ride a horse, much less rule as Emperor? Is this truly the best plan the Elder Council could conceive?"

He sat back and began packing more tobacco into his pipe, his eyes still focused on Ocato.

"Although trust that it would not surprise me one bit if it was..."

OOC: Just in case you didn't see up there, night guys. I'll post again as soon as I can.

Crow watched the young Tobrecan curiously. He seemed to feel that making this statement were somehow a great feat. He has his whole life ahead of him... she thought, though Tobrecan couldn't be much different to her in age. He must feel like his life is just beginning...

Like I feel that mine is ending...

All of the Elder Council bristled at Cole's final question; Ocato sat poker straight, his expression outraged. Lyssa hands, still flat on the table, twitched, as if she itched to throw fire at the insolent mercenary. Fraius turned purple, and looked like he might explode beneath his beard. The thin bosmer shook his head disappointedly.

"That," said Ocato coldly. "Is certainly none of your business. If you cannot complete this mission without that information, then we do not require your services. The Empire needs this man. Your mission is to collect him, you have been informed of what this entails, and the risks, and have been offered more than adequate pay."

He looked around at the others. "If that is all... the main hall downstairs, gentleman. We appear to have wasted the day away. I wouldn't presume to give you a curfew, but if you intend to be a part of this, then please, make your way to the main hall. If not... then here is where we part ways."

He rose to his feet- the other councillors did so as well. "I bid you all good evening. I hope the night treats you well."

Then he left, Lyssa, Fraius and the skinny, silent bosmer filing out behind him.


Crow sat quietly, contemplating Ocato's answer. Why did he want Martin's brother? Well... of course, there was the possibility that they were keeping information from them. That was well within the realms of possibility. But Crow thought it was more than that. She knew the answer, or she thought she knew.

Because they're desperate. Because that's how the Emperor has always been chosen. The closest relation of the emperor is the next in line. Because even though he may not have Septim blood, he's the best they've got. Because this is all they know. Because finding someone related to the Septims could be the Empire's only chance, lest the nobles war here and civil war fills the streets of Cyrodiil.

Because this is all they know.

Crow smiled sadly. And didn't she understand that.

OOC: I'm off for the night now, folks. I should be on tomorrow morning, possibly afternoon as well, but then I'm leaving all this in Chaos' hands.

The meeting with the Elder Council had proved to be as stimulating as Sid had hoped. The lost, half-brother of the revered Martin Septim, stranded somewhere in the homeland of the Dunmer, consumed by civil war. An Empire, on the brink of destruction unless they succeeded. Then there was them: the band of unlikely heroes, gathered together that they might venture limb and life, to save him, at the behest of the Elder Council itself.

Sid smiled contently; if that didn't have the sound of a truly grand tale to it, then he was not Captain Lucas of the Silver Dragon!

There seemed to be a ranging difference of opinion between the various members of the group, some signing up eagerly while others expressed some reservation as to the entire scheme. In the end, however, it seemed that most were willing to partake in the journey. Sid, too, decided he would go along with it; to both serve the Empire and make a considerable sum of gold was a fine opportunity, not to mention the prestige that would go along with it.

Sid stood up from his chair. "My fellows, remember this day well. It is the day we embark upon to make history," he said with an unshaking confidence to the others. All those gathered there, excluding the Elder Council and perhaps the Byron fellow, seemed of a reasonable sort; he did not foresee any problems with their company. And, should the good Byron prove too troublesome for his keep...

Morrowind had no shortage of blades for hire.

With his decision now made, Sid turned his attention to another important matter; the young Crow. So she was the Champion of Cyrodiil, he thought to himself. An impressive status, for one so young. Sid congratulated himself; he had known from the moment he saw her there was something special about the charming creature. As the Elder Council took their leave, Sid made his way towards the young woman, hoping that they might reconcile their differences.

"Excuse me, my dear la-" Sid managed to stop himself, realizing he was repeating his earlier folly. "Crow. I feel I must apologize for my earlier behaviour. Had I known your displeasure for pretense, I certainly-" He chuckled, and shook his head lightly. "Ah yes, but listen to me ramble on. In any event, it would seem as though fate has crossed our paths before us." In a sincere gesture, Sid extended his hand towards the young lady. "I would like to hope we can continue forward as comrades-in-arms, rather than begrudging adversaries."

OOC: Sorry for the lonesome OOC, but IN...I'll need Frank to host for me tommorow night. Going to a NIN concert with some friends, and I will almost assuredly fall into a deep, deeeeeeeeeeeeeeep sleep.

Babur furrowed his brow in thought. He must have looked like a distressed elephant in doing so, but he tried not to think about that. The mercenary raises a good point, if in an unorthodox manner. I do hope the council has actually looked into the man's background before... His thoughts trailed off as he reminded himself that such an assumption may be putting too much faith in the council's abilities.

"Consider, dear mercenary, that the councilmen were trained to be advisers, not leaders. It is most likely for this reason that the council has not simply held a vote to elect one from their own group as the new emperor. And if they had not acted quickly, then the legion's generals would start making bids for the throne, along with the nobles. All the while, the provinces would decide to take their leave of the Empire and become independent. So all things considered," he said, now standing up and straightening his ornate armor, "this was a decent course of action they have chosen. Potentially a bad one in the long run, but if we get things done quickly enough, it should keep the provinces quiet for a while. Or a long while, dependent on this new fellow's abilities."

He started to move towards the door, but stopped halfway, turning around and saying to Crow, "Ah, and congratulations. Only a dozen or so people can say they've had a hand in giving Mehrunes Dagon a bloody nose." He laughed quietly for a moment, and added, "Just take note- many Daedra now know your face. And that can be good or bad." With that cheerful note, he nodded to the group and headed downstairs to the main hall, reminding himself to retrieve his scimitar before departing tomorrow morning.

OOC: I'll help you run the thing, Chaos, but I can't do it all. I'll message you soon about it.

IC: Don Leon found all the events unfolding quite intriguing. The mercenary was apparently very much trusted by Crow, considering how she stood up for him. And considering how she had stood up for him...

It was such a genius blow, so terribly nasty he wished he'd could've done it himself. Pure insult wrapped in silks of pleasantry. And Champion of Cyrodiil? That had come as a small surprise to Don Leon, but considering the air with which she held herself and the fire in her eyes towards the councilor, he could fathom it. When the council left, Don Leon sipped his glass once more.

"Well... I think something important has been learned here." The Privateer commented, setting the glass down. "The Council is not only lack luster in punctuality, but lacking in dealing with the lesser folks, and ability to find information. The Blades are in shambles, but not gone; they could have used them to find information. But instead, like our mercenary friend has remarked, we shall risk life and limb for this chance fellow." Don Leon had risen from his seat and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, looking at Cole.

"I presume you will be accompanying us? I hope you are as good as Crow claims. I imagine you are, though, if she is willing enough to defend you as to jeer a councilor." Don Leon plucked his cloak from the back of the chair, and slung it over one shoulder. After he clasped it around his neck, he tipped his hat to Cole. Snatching up the wine glass and taking one last sip, he set it down again and moved after the orc.

"Good night to you all, see you soon." He proclaimed before he left.

Chewing lightly on his pipe as the first ephemeral strings of gray-white smoke curled upwards from it, Cole's eyes gained a far off look, staring into space at nothing in particular as he gauged the reaction of Ocato and the other councilors. It occurred to him that they could possibly be withholding information, and had ulterior motives as yet unknown to him. That made sense, as Cole had himself considered the relative pros and cons of a shadow government, using a figurehead from behind which a group, such as the Elder Council, might be able to rule, manipulating this alleged half-brother as a pawn.

But there was something desperate in the eyes of Ocato and the others, something that gave him pause and caused a rare feeling in his gut. Fear.

Maybe this really is their final solution. They are completely dedicated to this plan, and they are going to place the entire Empire in the hands of a Legion soldier. With no Septim blood, and no real claim to the throne. Are they really pinning the fate of a nation on a man they know nothing about?

Unspeakable visions of utter disaster were quickly dashed from his mind as he shook his head, trying not to allow himself to look too far into the future. He had no great love for the Septim line. For some time now he had thought of right-by-heritage as a foolish and provincial tradition. The right to rule, he believed, should lie in ability, not genealogy.

But there was an undeniable magic to the Septims, that the entire world had been witness to. Without it, how could anyone hope to rule even in a time of peace, much less a devastated nation?

He was shaken from his musings as the Orc addressed him. Although well-educated, the Orc was forthright and apparently far more amiable than most of his kin. At least amongst those that Cole was associated with. Raising an eyebrow, Cole muttered to himself as the Orc, and several others left the meeting room.

"If the council had elected one of their own, we might as well throw ourselves on our swords right now, and prevent a lot of suffering..."

At Don Leon's words, Cole again found his previous assertions challenged. He seemed to have his own apprehensions, where the others had practically leapt into the laps of the councilors without a second thought. Even Burd, whom Cole assumed would have been a bit more wary, agreed without condition. Don Leon might in fact be more practical than he first predicted. He met the privateer's gaze as he tipped his hat and left.

"I presume you will be accompanying us? I hope you are as good as Crow claims. I imagine you are, though, if she is willing enough to defend you as to jeer a councilor."

Turning his eyes to Crow, who was being engaged by a well-dressed and somewhat flamboyant Breton, he rolled Don Leon's words around in his brain. Up to this point, he had not been deterred by concern for his safety, or for the safety of the other members, but by a need for information. It was in his nature to be as informed as possible in any given mission. The more information one was in possession of, the greater the chance of success. He was better able to form a strategy with a complete outlay of what he would be undertaking. This job was as sketchy and indistinct as he had ever considered taking on. They had to find a single Legionnaire in a nation as large as Morrowind. And in the midst of a civil war no less. No plan of action had been laid out, no conditions for their departure or return, not even a relative location or a sense of who this man was? they may not even know what he looked like.

But some of the most important and influential people in Cyrodiil had been recruited for this task. The Elder Council was willing to stake their very existence on the skills of these individuals. And despite their apparent disregard for the dangers involved, he couldn't help but admire their resolve. The fools within the Council might have come up with as hair-brained of a scheme as he had ever heard, but these people, perhaps foolish as well, were undeniably ready to sacrifice their own well-being for the Empire.

Cole sighed, smoke billowing from between his lips. He didn't have the power to change the minds of the Council, or these people. He had but two choices. He could accept; perhaps he might die, perhaps he might find this man and return to become filthy rich. Or he could decline, return to his life of running down bandits and slitting throats in disease-ridden swamps, leaving the rest of these Champions to their fate. Whether or not this Legionnaire was capable of being Emperor was not in his hands. He could not foresee his success or failure. Much to Cole's chagrin, there really were no other options... although he would rather be eaten by a bear than ever admit that aloud.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something inside of him finally became resigned to accepting the mission. It was not the welfare of his future comrades, nor satiating the desire of the Elder Council. Maybe it was his long-lost patriotism, maybe it was his even longer-lost optimism. Maybe it was something yet to be discovered. Whatever it was, he at last pushed back his hood, fully revealing his grungy features, and ran his good hand through his closely cropped, matte black hair. He cleared his throat to garner Crow's attention, and nodded to her, silent assent to his participation.

It seems that will be one assumption the Privateer won't regret making...

Cole adjusted the sword scabbard beneath his coat and gently stroked the end of the silk-covered stump protruding slightly from his sleeve, his thoughts quickly returning to their usual pessimistic state.

Although I reckon I'll have plenty to regret soon enough?

OOC: I'm just happy that I won't have to put this on hold all weekend. Chaos, FC, you guys are being AWESOME. Oh yeah, and I give permission for a new thread to be made if necessary (just to make that clear) since this moves pretty fast.
IC:

"My fellows, remember this day well," Sid said, rising to his feet while the room discussed the implications of the Council's plans. "It is the day we embark upon to make history."

Crow rolled her eyes while he wasn't looking. Ugh. So many theatrical types in here... she thought, thinking of the argonian Fin, and the privateer Sisemo as well. Although she had to admit (however grudgingly) that Sid Lucas and the others had earned a little theatrical licensce, after all the work they had put in to it. Her eyes fell on Tobrecan. She somewhat hoped that the young man would not model his own manner on these heroes.

She couldn't help but smile a tiny, nearly invisible smile, when she thought about the mission ahead of them. It was colossal, desperate, and dangerous. Just like old times... she thought, but with a pang of sadness. This time, there was no Martin to ferry from place to place, to collect artifacts for, or to drag into shadows and away from hostile eyes. This time, there was only some faceless brother she did not know.

But perhaps he too might prove a worthy friend...

"Excuse me, my dear la-" Sid cut himself off. Crow sighed; the man was like a lodestone. "Crow. I feel I must apologize for my earlier behaviour," she tilted her head to one side. "Had I known your displeasure for pretense, I certainly-" He chuckled charmingly, and shook his head. "Ah yes, but listen to me ramble on," he said. He had a winning smile. "In any event, it would seem as though fate has crossed our paths before us. I would like to hope we can continue forward as comrades-in-arms, rather than begrudging adversaries." He extended his hand towards her; he seemed sincere.

She stared at him for a moment, not saying anything, just thinking and pondering his expression, head still tilted to the side. It was a disconcerting habit of hers, as if time had paused upon her, or she were somewhere else entirely.

Someone cleared their throat; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cole turn towards her; her attention diverted. The mercenary inclined his head towards her, and her eyes lit with recognition. So he was in; excellent. Otherwise it'd just be me and Burd in the midst of a horde of nobles and legends... she thought and gave Cole her tiny, secretive smile.

She turned back to Sid. If he were to look confused or uncomfortable about her silence and sudden diversion, it would not seem strange to her; people always seemed to look like that around her, although she couldn't fathom why. "Sure," she said, shaking his hand briefly, although she hated physical contact with others.

She withdrew her hand. "You know," she told him. The sentence starting in that matter was generally a bad sign for whoever she was talking to. "I didn't consider us adversaries, I just don't tolerate people wasting my time." She didn't know Sid Lucas, so his flirting her was a supreme waste of her time. She had no doubt that was what he'd been doing; he'd very clearly given her a once over and had completely ignored Sisemo. "And you are still somewhat pretensious," she continued, but a grin tugged at her lips and her eyes were more friendly now. "But I suspect that's just your way. I'm willing to be comrades."

She hopped off the desk and added, "I'm gonna go check out the sleeping arrangements, and see if I can't claim the most private part of the room for myself," and then she headed out of the room as she went, she caught the eye of the dunmer servant in the corner; if he was who she suspected, then hopefully he'd get the idea.

She down the hall and then descended the stairs. There was a large room nearby with the words "Main Hall" On a golden plaque above the doorway. She opened on of the double doors, and stepped inside.

There were bedrolls everywhere, but the room was large enough that each man would get a considerable amount of space. Apart from that, the room was empty, save for an empty weapons rack against the wall, and... Crow smiled widely. A room divider, around one corner of the room. Sometimes, however annoying sixism was, it worked in a girl's favour.

She strode across the room to the divider, and slung her pack down onto the bedroll behind it, as well as shedding her Mithril coat. She'd been wearing it too long, and was feeling a bit warm.

Then she came out from behind the divider and sat down, leaning against the wall. She twined her fingers together and places her hands on her lap... and waited.

Don Leon was already in the main room when Crow had arrived, picking a place for himself near the back of the room. It was partly shadowed by the overhang balcony above the main hall room for the second floor, but he stood out from the soft shadows with his white flannel shirt. His cloak was on the floor in front of him, and his crossbow laid beside him.

The cloak ruffled silently as he rummaged one hand through it, digging around with a curious manner. Like he was looking for something, which is not the behavior one would expect for a typical cloak. The answer to this riddle was given when he hand came out with several lockpicks and a probe, which he placed by his other side before digging around again. Each time he entered the cloak, he returned with a handful of odd trinkets. Lockpicks, probes, potion bottles, lengths of thin yet sturdy-braided rope, strings that were even thinner, small sticks of metal bent into hooks and loops, small darts of various materials, and vials of strange fluids. He continued to pull out such items regularly, only occasionally pulling out parchments and quills and once a coin purse.

His rummaging seemingly done, the cloak now empty, he began to shuffle about all these items, organizing them into piles beside him based on what they were. A pile for ropes, pile for strings, pile for odd metal trinkets, piles for lockpicks and piles for probes, piles for potion bottles and piles for vials, and piles for darts. He seemed to be counting them and taking inventory. Another pile he added from his belt, unattaching the several clips of crossbow bolts held there.

Then he began rummaging through his gloves, hat, boots, belt... just about every part of his wardrobe that wasn't indecent to rummage through, pulling out lockpicks and probes here and there.

He was indeed taking inventory, so that when the journey began he would know exactly what he had, and where it was on his body. He was preparing, and while he noticed Crow's entrance, was too preoccupied preparing to formally greet her; that and he knew by now she disdained such behavior.

OOC: Off to work. Later.

When all was said and done, Burd stood and made a beeline for the exit. As he strode purposefully through the halls of the castle, he thought, Bunch of greedy upstarts. I was right thinking there were too many pretty, powdery, simpering faces in a room with only one woman. His brow furrowed, his mood had soured considerably when the conversation turned to the topic of payment. Payment? The audacity... how can they put a price tag on their own homes? Their very livelihood! Don't they realize that all the money in Tamriel will mean nothing if there is no Tamriel?!

Sure, he had reservations about this ridiculous mission just like they all must have. But this wasn't about saving the bloody Council's hide, or fame, or Gods' damned gold. These were the Heroes of Cyrodiil, Hadn't they had their fill of riches and glory and being puffed up by butt-kissing nobles after the Crisis? Ocato was right; The Empire was breaking apart at the seems and everything that all of them held dear was in dire jeopardy, again, our rather still. The Oblivion Crisis wasn't over and it was possible that the damage wrought by the vile daedra could not be undone. But maybe we can buy this failing nation, -our homes, our families- some time... maybe we can still save it.

How could he say no, even exempting the fact that he was probably under the thumbs of the women in his life? He smiled bitterly to himself at that thought. I'd better get in contact with Yvara. Wouldn't do to just rush off on this excursion gallivanting through the Ashlands without letting the wife know what's going on. She'd send the Dark Brotherhood to hunt me down! He couldn't help but chuckle aloud as he marched out the doors of the castle.

Once on the streets of Cheydinhal, Burd headed toward the Mages Guild.

OOC: Editted the last line because I have no idea what time it actually is ingame, lol.

OOC: We'll say evening, because we need to start the next day soon.

Byron had been thinking about it, and decided that it would be best to turn in for the night. "Fine, I suppose I'll go. For the Empire" He turned to everyone, gave them a winning sneer, and said "I dislike most of you. Goodnight" With that he left, his wine in hand.

OOC: Got all the sutle hints XD and had planned to do that from the start.


IC: Fathis continued observing the heroes during the meeting, his eyes always returning to Crow, being the only one here that knew who he was. Or at least he hoped so; else his plan wouldn't end very well. Crow finished speaking with one of the champions, and announced she would be going downstairs. Fathis waited several minutes, as the room continued to empty, then dismissed himself silently. He opened the door and crept out, and, seeing the hallway dark and vacant, made his to the closet that stored his pack. Fathis opened the door and moved the other sacks of grain, exposing his lumpy bag. He flipped open one pocket and retrieved three rings, each enchanted. Fathis placed tem on his fingers and covered the bags once more. The elf left the closet, turned the corner, and crept down the stairs. He turned to the big double doors, noting the gold plate that labeled the room beyond as the Main Hall.

He opened the right door silently, and closed it once more after slipping through the minute gap. He kept to the wall, making sure to avoid the glowing circles of candlelight. He saw the cloth divider in the corner of the room, and then noticed the man, Don Leon, ruffling through his things. He seemed to preoccupied to notice the Fox. Fathis then saw Crow in the dim light, sitting against the wall beyond the divider. He made his way that direction, silently, slowly.

He kept to the dark wall, turning the corner and pressed to same cold stone as the Champion of Cyrodiil. Fathis' entire body was hard wired through years of training and practice to move in the shadows, not even causing a ruffle in the gloom. None of the five senses possessed by mortal men could detect him, partly to his rings and mostly to his skill. He was close enough that he could communicate with Crow without Don Leon noticing, a whisper from the void.

"Greetings Zaire."


OOC: Please note that yes, he could do that, he is the Gray Fox.

While all the others left in somewhat of a haste, Tobrecan stayed behind. Satisfied with the amount of people in the room, the young man stood and started looking around the room. The rich paintings lit up Tobrecan's eyes. Although his mother was a teacher, they were not rich, more of a middle class, but they did not spend money on artwork, partly because they needed money for other things, and partly because their father didn't have the slightest idea about art, which bothered him a bit. After going around the room, examining the artwork, portraits of Cheydinhal nobles, their families, and great fields of Tamriel. Tobrecan noticed that the artist had captured emotions in the people's eyes, particularly a woman whose flirtacious look had been captured, and despite the fact it was a painting, he felt himself blush. He moved on, pretending to examine a painting of a lake, waiting for the red in his cheeks to fade before he left the room to go explore the castle.

Sid allowed himself a moment of relief as Crow accepted his hand in friendship, seemingly forgiving his previous misjudgement. Capital, he thought happily to himself. Absolutely capital.

"You know," she began after she had withdrawn her hand. "I didn't consider us adversaries, I just don't tolerate people wasting my time." Sid could appreciate such an attitude; straight to business, and avoiding the fluff. Not everyone was of the mindset to appreciate banter as he so often did. "And you are still somewhat pretensious," she continued, confirming his previous thought. Yet her face seemed more friendly now, her eyes less distant. "But I suspect that's just your way. I'm willing to be comrades."

Shortly after, Crow left the room to make her own accomodations in the Great Hall, as did the great majority of the others. Of particular note was the man magic man, Byron, with whom even Sid's patience was beginning to wear thin. At the man's rather unnecessary, and horribly uncouth, comment on his dislike for the bulk of their group, Sid could only mutter back "the feeling is entirely mutual." He sincerely hoped the man would not become a hindrance to their combined efforts; dealing with such problems often became discouragingly messy.

Sid himself left the room not for the Great Hall, but in search of another of the estate's hired help. Finding a young Redguard woman who looked the sort, he made haste in approaching her.

"Good evening, sir," the woman asked her, an innocent smile forming on her features. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Indeed there is, my good woman," Sid replied. "I would have you relay a message to the nearest courier, and have him bring it to the Silver Dragon, currently docked in Anvil. Tell them Captain Lucas requests, and indeed orders, them to proceed at best speed to Morrowind."

"Morrowind, sir?"

"Indeed. Seyda Neen, Vvardenfell district, to be precise. Tell them to bring adequate supplies and materiel for a grand campaign; they can be assured that it will benefit all of us in the long run."

"Very well, sir, I'll have a message sent right away." With that, the young woman made off to find the courier, and Sid turned about, making his way towards the Great Hall. He had no idea what they would find in Morrowind, or indeed if they could expect to find any help once they'd arrived. Luckily, his ship was still well stocked with potions, weapons, and anything else they might require for their expedition. It was so helpful to have a ship of one's own in such situations.

On his way towards the hall, Sid happened upon the young Tobrecan once more, the Hero of Chorrol, if he recalled correctly. Sid flashed a friendly smile in the young man's direction, nodding.

"Be sure you don't wander too late, my friend," he suggested simply. "The coming days will require our wits at their sharpest, so I'd not tarry for long." He stepped closer to the Imperial, and lowered his voice slightly. "And if I may be so brash, keep your eye on our good man Byron. I do hate to slander his name, but he seems the unsavoury sort, wouldn't you agree?" With that, Sid continued on, making his own way into the large room they were to share that night.

(OOC: I'm gonna try to edit my post style a bit, to be more similar to the others, as they are easier to read than my text blocks)

As Tobrecan ventured out into the hallway, he was met by the man called Sid. He flashed him a smile, and engaged in friendly conversation with him, mentioning that he should look out for Byron. Tobrecan attempted to respond, but his voice caught in his throat as the man left him. He turned around, shaking his head, thinking to himself 'Even talking to someone is hard for you now? Try to pull yourself together, what do you care what these people think?'

Despite his thoughts, he decided that he liked the man, one of the few, along with Burd, that had done him the service of speaking to him, despite the fact that he was not a noble or legend. The man had had a point however, if the journey was anything like Tobrecan expected it to be, he would have to rest. 'Perhaps later I could explore the castle, after the quest, if the count would allow it'

However, as he followed Sid in the general direction that the woman known as Crow had gone, which he assumed were the sleeping quarters for the group, he found himself once again admiring the stone work of the walls as well as the painting. He had worked as a stone mason's apprentice recently, and he couldn't even come close to the expertise of the person who had built the castle. "I assume the riches of nobility are at work here" he mused aloud, something rare for him, at least among strange people and places.

He walked into the room and saw the many mats lain out for the group of 'heros', looking around for a good place. He noticed the divider, assuming that was where Crow would be sleeping. Tobrecan selected a mat in the opposite corner, away from the door, and dropped his bag. He quickly removed the chain mail armor, preferring not to sleep in discomfort, and slowly laid down in the blue and green outfit he wore, some of his 'fancy' clothes he had chosen to wear to this occasion. Sid was there also, but he didn't talk to him, having missed his chance. Tobrecan has always had sleep problems, and he liked to read himself to sleep, so he had brought a book along with him. Words and Philosophy by Anonymous. He felt it fit him on this journey, still finding out about swordmanship really. He leaned back, and immersed himself into his novel.

After a while, he closed the book, his eye lids feeling heavy. With a sigh, Tobrecan lied back on the mat, punching the pillow a couple of times. He doubted he would fall asleep soon, especially in the unfamiliar castle, complete with its unfamiliar people. He lied with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed, simply thinking of the day so far. He had received some sensitive information, and he was to start a journey tomarrow. However, as he drifted off to sleep, his last waking thoughts were of his brother.

Edit: Added him falling asleep

OOC: Sorry, this one’s kinda long, hope it’s not annoying

IC:
Burd knew his request was unusual, especially coming from a non-guild member like himself. The Argonian mage looked at him for a moment; he couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed. They’re so bloody hard to read, he thought. Finally, she nodded and directed him to a small round table, in the center of which was a clear glass ball about the size of a graqefruit.

“Do you have an item valuable to your wife?” She rasped.

Burd dug the small lock of wavy blond hair out of his pocket and handed it to the mage, to which she cocked a scaly eye ridge curiously. He smiled at her expression, partly because that was one he could read. “She loves her hair; spends half the day on it if she can.”

Deetsan shook her head, her fin-rings jingling softly, as she took the keepsake from him. “Humans,” she muttered around a toothy grin. She sat in a wooden chair on one side of the table and motioned for him to sit in the chair opposite her. “Take my hands so I can direct your magicka,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him; he did so. “Look into the ball and try to visualize her.” He followed the mages instructions as she closed her eyes and started to hum eerily, her snout slightly elevated. He could feel his energy slipping through his fingers as cloudy shapes began to materialize in the crystal ball, and then the swirling mists vanished and it was like he was looking through a window into his own home.

Yvara was sitting up in bed reading a book by candlelight. He could see the title clearly and he smirked, saying it aloud, “The Real Barenziah, huh?”

She nearly fell out of bed, at first surprised at the sudden disembodied voice. She turned in his direction quickly, a scowl punctuating her intelligent Breton features. “About bloody time!” She scolded, “I should have the mages there cook you alive for not scrying me sooner.”

“Love you too, dear,” he beamed.

Her features softened and she smiled in return, twisting in the bed and drawing her knees up into her arms like a child. “Sooo… how was the meeting? How are the councilors doing? I’m dying to know what happened! Oooo!” Her emerald-green eyes widened suddenly, “What was Councilor Lyssa wearing?! I simply must know what the latest fashion in the Imperial City is for the Countess’ trip next month.”

It was Burd’s turn to scowl now, though playfully, “I wasn’t paying attention to their clothing, woman!” He boomed in a deeper-than-usual voice, and then more seriously, “The meeting was all business, I’m afraid, very grave business.”

Yvara’s brow creased with worry which was also suddenly evident in her voice, “What happened, darling?”

Burd relayed the events of the day to her soberly. Finally finished, he said the last words of his speech slowly and quietly, “This mission is going to be dangerous… to say the least… if I don’t come back from this… I want you to know how much I love you.” He cast his eyes into a corner of the bedroom, making sure not to break his gaze with the crystal ball, and thereby lose the image.

She smiled, though her brow was still furrowed, “Of course I know that, darling.” Then she frowned, a stern note cutting her voice, “But what’s this rot about not coming back? Of course you’ll return, and victorious at that.” She scoffed haughtily, looking down her nose at him, pride twinkling in her eyes, “The Countess will have to add another inscription to the plaque adorning your statue.”

He laughed then, loud and hearty, holding one hand to his belly but keeping the other in Deetsan’s to keep his magicka linked. “Yes dear,” he said with mock resignation.

Her face brightened into a smile once more, “Now you’d better go before this scrying gets too expensive, we aren’t made of money, you know.”

Burd raised an eyebrow, and smirked, “It just so happens we are, my dear. Did you forget that your husband is the Hero of Bruma?” his smile faded. Even saying the words jokingly left a bad taste in his mouth.

She tilted her head to the side, still smiling, her expression saying oh, it’s not so bad. “Don’t forget to scry me when you get to the next town with a guild, darling. I’ll keep my crystal ball with me all the time so I don’t miss it.”

Burd sighed, “Yes dear, love you. Good night.”

Yvara blew a kiss and waved as her image began to fade, "Give my best to Lady Zaire, darling. Good luck and hurry home soon!"

Deetsan lowered her gaze to him when he let go of her hands, “Ninety seven drakes,” She said matter-of-factly.

“Highway robbery,” Burd replied.

Deetsan shrugged, “Long distance connection, but I gave you a discount because you’re the Hero of Bruma.”

Burd scowled at her as he rummaged in his pocket for his coin purse.



OOC: Burd might head for the tavern next, if anyone is going out on the town. Otherwise it can be assumed that he won’t be interacting with anyone til morning… if that’s alright.

Byron entered the hall and grimaced with disdain at the meager means, even the bunk house in the Guild was better than this, and the other boys had put a slaughterfish under his blankets! He went over to a random bed-roll and sat on it, hugging his knees to his chest. "I can already feel the dust and insects crawling all over me!" He whined, falling back to immense pain.

He forgot how hard the floor was when only shielded by a thin roll of cloth, and grimaced once more. He took a sip of the wine he had brought with him and looked up at the ceiling. This rat-hole could've at least thanked him with a residence in the place, after-all, only the Count's idiot son's FRIEND died in there, it's not like he was childless!

He brooded as he tried to get some sleep, absent-mindedly taking occasional sips from the rapidly emptying wine glass. He wondered how it came to this, slumming it on a floor with cretins not worthy of shining his shoes. He smirked at this, that was a good one, he'd have to say it at a later date.

Not now though, he had had a little too much wine this evening, both in his home and here, so it was perfectly natural that he had started to feel his eye-lids slowly fall as he wondered if these morons would steal his gear while he was asleep. He decided they wouldn't dare, and slowly drifted off until he was virtually dead to the world, murmuring something along the lines of "I said I wanted a spotted horsey...".

ooc: Eeegh! I seriously need to post more. I don't know whats wrong with me, sometimes I want to post, then suddenly I dont want to anymore... I think I need some inspiration...

Strafer didn't leave immediately with the others, he remained perfectly still in his seat like some sort of statue. In his mind, he was thinking over what had transpired during the meeting. So, we are going after a man who is no where related to the Septim blood line..., he stood slowly and grabbed his bow. Apparently, he is the last Septim's half-brother...whatever that means..., He vacated the room, and headed towards the room that Ocato had set up for them. All they know is that he is in Morrowind..., Even in his mind, he thought of the Dunmer homeland with spite, an Argonian's hell, at least it made Strafer's mind slightly at ease at the fact that the Dark Elves were killing themselves more then they his brethren.

Seeing that most of the 'heroes' were already setting up their territory around in the room, the lizard decided to take one of the corners closest to the door. Sleeping mats were placed around the room, Strafer took one and dragged it to his corner. He then proceeded to sit on the sack mat, and leaned his bow on the wall a few inches away from him. The thin Argonian leaned his back against the wall, he faced the door purposely, one, for a better view of the room, and two, a perfect sight of the door, so he could see who left and who entered. Always be prepared..., He thought, A fancy castle and whole lot of guards won't stop an assassin....

He looked over at the noble that sat, not that far away from him, whining about the state of the room. Strafer couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself. He was going to enjoy this man's incompetent complaints. And as far as he could tell, others probably would too. He found his view settling on the only female in the room, the Breton who went by the name of 'Crow'. He remembered her uproar of laughter at the noble's ... 'disagreement' to this room that Ocato supplied to them just recently. Strafer found himself smiling, or at least baring his teeth in a friendly matter. It seemed a few of the invitees here had no clue what a sense of humor was, let alone have one. Remember, you've only just met them, you don't know anything about them..., His mind told him. His smile turned into a half-frown as he realized that his mind was right.

Babur only occasionally glanced up from his reading of A Hypothetical Treachery to see who else had come into the room. He had long since chosen his bedroll, which was slightly to the left of the middle of the room, if one were to walk through the doorway, and he had dragged it to be perpendicular to the wall opposite the entrance, as to be able to put his back to the wall to read in a more comfortable position.

The next day seemed a bright prospect at the moment; he would like to be able to converse with some of the individuals that had come, if for no other reason than to get to know with whom he would be traveling, and to get some news from the other parts of the province. He would have liked to have begun to speak with some of them now, but many were already drifting to sleep. It would be ungentlemanly to potentially wake them. Babur kept his silence for the night, merely observing another person enter now and again, before drifting to sleep himself, after having put his book aside.

Don Leon continued to rifle through his belongings, sorting them. Now, though, he began to put them back in his cloak, little by little. He also began replacing lockpicks and probes throughout his body, in various places. A lot of the vials and potion bottles he inspected the labels of, reading them before 'hmming' to himself.

This could be used for that, and that for this... He mused, and placed the bottles in each place he felt they belonged in pockets of his cloak. When everything was put back away, and he felt assured he knew where it all was and what it all was, he took one crossbow bolt from his clips on the floor, and loaded it into the crossbow with a satisfying click. The crossbow went beside him, and his rapier came out next, along with a silver dagger.

Pulling a cloth from his cloak, he began to polish the rapier, looking around the room on occasion. Everyone was gathering around now and preparing for tomorrow. He noted one of the Argonians taking up a good position watching the door, bow by his side. A prepared man, good. We'll need such caution. He concluded.

"I can already feel the dust and insects crawling all over me!" Baron whined loudly, making Don Leon look at him briefly. He watched the 'noble' wizard lay down on mat with a small smile. The wizard would likely be annoying to some, but Don Leon found him amusing. If he was trying to test the patience of the privateer, he was failing. So immature. I only hope he is better with magic than socializing.

OOC: Once everyone heads to sleeping and bed, I'll kick us into morning.

Cole made his way to the Main Hall as well, arriving to see that most of the others had made themselves comfortable. Or as comfortable as possible given the meager arrangements. It didn't bother Cole, however. He was used to sleeping in all types of terrains, in all types of weather. One flat piece of ground was as good as another.

Moving to a relatively secluded area against the wall, he dropped his small pack of equipment and removed the sword scabbard from his belt and placed it beside him as he slid down onto the bedroll, within easy reach. Tucking his hand under his opposite arm, he pulled his hand free of the leather glove, and let the garment drop into his lap. Finally, Cole pulled his hood back up into place, let his head droop, and closed his eyes, his pipe hanging loosely from his lips, appearing as if it might tumble out of his mouth at any moment.

He crossed his arms and cleared his mind of the previous day's events, allowing himself to slip into a light slumber. Although he never slept deep enough to dream, flashes of what the ensuing journey might bring caused him to occasionally twitch, ever so slightly, in his shallow sleep.

OOC: Bleh, crappy post. Oh well, it served it's purpose.