Charon rose and cleared hs throat, his deep dunmeric voice filling the room. "I will assist your Kingdom, and despite the differences between my fair people, and yours. I shall burn these foul creatures to a cinder. How long would it be before they conquered your people and moved into my homeland? He rose his glass of spiced brandy and downed it. Grinning he would take out the well crafted wakazashi and touch the tip to the floor. Mocking the large Nord. His other hand he rose and flames engulfed it, the fire burned blue from pure manna. He grinned and thought inwardly If his coffers offer as much as he says, I will be Magelord in no time. Charon nodded in respect to the king and spoke once again, sure to be loud enough to be heard. "Will we be outfitted, and when and where do we march? I assume we wont be just randomly roving the countryside killing them as we find them."

"You gonna eat that, or you gonna keep sniffing it?" the Imperial woman said to me, then said with a sigh, "Considering this might be the last of a wonderful banquet and we might get killed and you might be made into a pair of boots or belts, I would enjoy as much as I can...."

I glared at her. A pair of boots. Oh, how original. What a witty woman, I thought, annoyed at this girl already. I took another bite of mutton, and listened to the pointless banter from my fellow adventurers. The Imperial woman began making jokes, and mocked the short Bosmer about his height in particular, even though he was clearly years older than she was.

No respect at all, I thought, shaking my head in disappointment.

After listening to more conversation for several minutes, including a mention of the Nerevarine and a rather ridiculous claim about a wereshark, a Nord wearing silver armor and a bearskin cape, obviously the King, entered the dining hall with a contingent of 12 guards. I glanced around the hall, looking for reactions to the King's entrance. The only noticable one came from the Imperial girl, whose face had morphed to a look of borderline-contempt for this Nord. Interesting, but irrelevant, I thought

A guard started to announce his prescence, but was cut off by the King, who began making a speech. He talked about the plague of werebeasts that had gripped his land, and made a reference to the island of Solsthiem north of Vvardenfell. He asked, nay, practically begged for our help to stop this curse of lycanthropes.

The large Nord drew his weapon, and made a vow to stop the beasts, mentioning a grudge against Hircine in the process. The King was pleased by this, and asked, "Who else wishes to aid this man?"

I noticed a look of pure and utter disgust cross the face of the Imperial girl, though she tried to pass it off by taking a drink of wine. I was intrigued by this, but a Dunmer who I hadn't noticed before distracted me. He said how he wished to help the Nord, despite racial differences. He drew his weapon and used magicka to engulf his other hand in flame, as an act that I could only contribute to being a compulsive show-off.

I put the leg of mutton down on the plate in front of me, and sat foward in my chair. I slowly slid my throwing knive back into its sheath and grasped my trusty spear in my left hand, standing as I did so. Quietly, but with authority, I said, "I will aid these two men against these monsters," I paused for a moment, then added, "I also have had experiences with vampires, which might come in handy."

Hjolifur was stunned by how the big Nord acted. He stood up in front of the king without being asked. How rude is this man? However, Hjolifur wanted to hunt the beasts and serve his country. "I can offer my blade and my voice, and I hope that My shouts ring true through every valley in your land." The other part of the speech that irritated Hjolifur was about spitting in Hircine's eye. As a hunter, Hjolifur has often felt hircine's presence, and although he hated Were-beats, Hjolifur admired them as the perfect hunter. Regardless, Hjolifur offered his services directly to the king, following the argonian, one of the Dunmer, and the other Nord.

The cerimonial way to prove one's Thu'um is to sharpen their blade, but as my sword was already sharp and I didn't want to damage it, so I blew out one of the guard's torches from across the room. A simple shout, but more than many people, Nords included, are capable of.

The guard holding the torch didn't know what to do, and so another one of the guards went over and re-lit the torch. as he did so, he said "praised be Kyne."

Balarithgaer stood up, but was barely over the table, so he took of his shoes and stood on the chair, proclaiming "I will aid these four in defeating the Were beasts rauaging your province!" And took a swig of the Mazte from his goblet. Strange... He thought Why are they serving us Mazte here in Skyrim?. He then stood down from the chair and made an observation of the group, the two Breton's hadn't spoken at all, and the Argonian next to him had just spoken then. The Imperial woman had started to get a wee bit twitchy, and the giant Nord seemed rather up-himself.
The sane Dunmer seemed to want to fight Lycanthropes, but his theatrics gave Balrithgaer the impression that the Sane Dunmer wanted to take charge, but shrugged this thought from his mind.. This is going to be an interesting adventure, they all probably think the short, old bosmer will die first, but no, I shall not!

He held out a hand to the Argonian "Name's Balarithgaer, I hail from Valenwood, where do you come from?"
The Argonian looked battle-hardened, and had Dark Green scales, which Balarithgaer had never seen before, only Orange, red and Purpley-blue on males.He had an intimidating body, mucular, but Baralithgaer got the impression, that there was armour underneath as well. He had to be careful around this one, looked dangerous if they got rubbed in the wrong way, as did most people in this group, actually - especially that large nord, even though Baralithgaer got the impression he was exaggerating when he said he killed 'ten-score of were-beasts, vampires as well', but he wasn't so sure, and definitely wasn't willing to ask him about it. The other Nord seemed Mighty, but not fearsome, just the tongues that he spoke in, Maybe it was just because they were the same age as each other.

Baralithgaer actually hoped that they would 'randomly be roving the countryside' as this would of worked best for his needs, more places to hide, and more wind for an arrow to travel with, though there would be negatives with the wind and outdoors, of course - such as being spotted easily with a Giant Nord with you, but that was all part of the fun.
Baralithgaer spoke "I propose we search for the caverns and lairs!.... of course... its all up to the King" He added quickly and raised his goblet in the Kings direction.

Several more people joined the group, including the smaller Nord and the Bosmer. I didn't quite know what to think of the Nord, but the Bosmer seemed decent.

As if he read my thoughts, he turned towards me and said, ""Name's Balarithgaer, I hail from Valenwood, where do you come from?"

I hesitated for a second, but said, "Leyawiin, in Cyrodiil," I paused, then added, "You can call me Broken-Scale, by the way," I surprised myself by saying that. Normally I was much more reserved around strangers, but I liked this Balarithgaer. He seemed trustworthy and humble, unlike the rest of these hunters. Plus, Bosmer were known for their innate marksmanship abilities, and he must've had years to perfect his skills by now. He might be useful to have at my back.

Castle Riften

Aren't we a bunch of show offs. Every time he managed to concentrate, Gille seemed to find something new about this group that suggested working with them would be a bit of a pain. Both Nords seemed rather over the top and the king with his oratoryskills also seemed odd; maybe it was a cultural thing. He might have spent many years away from High Rock, but at heart, the Spellsword was still Breton, there was no denying that, and he had to admit - these Nords with their shouting magick and fur capes seemed pretty silly. Regardless of what he thought of them, however, he loved Skyrim and, more importantly, he had already come here, so no turning back now.

"Yeah, sure, I'll fight. Can't promise about the spitting part, but live and see is what I always say." Spit in the eye of Hircine... Sounds damn silly, doesn't it? Who'd be insane enough to spit in the eye of a Daedric Prince, particularly when we ourselves are going on a hunt of sorts and should be asking his favour... Personally I'm not big on the whole Daedra worship thing, but you can't deny they're there and they do stuff, so might as well avoid pissing them off too much.

Though Gille's face remained neutral and his eyes even gave off a glint of what could be interpreted as seriousness, his voice didn't sound all that enthusiastic, at least no match for some of the oaths given previously. A job was a job for him, no matter who needed it done and why; maybe this one was extraordinary in that it promised to be far more difficult than chasing some rats out of a basemant, but on the basic level it was all the same - kill stuff, get paid. Stakes were proportionately higher this time around, but what should one expect when going to do a job for the king of Riften, the supposed heir of the First Empire of Man... Ancient history, all that, but I don't mind it if ancient gold follows shortly.

Aitor watched the king enter the room surrounded by guards. He then closely listened to some of the others speak to the king as if he was some divine. To contrast that he stopped swinging on his wooden chair, slowly stood up, faced the king and said: "Goh, you took your sweet time, oh King". He grinned at the king, hoping that he wouldn't take it too seriously. After that he began slowly walking up to the king while saying: "I'll do it. Just because I want those riches you're promising us, not because I care about the Empire. But tell me... Where do you want us to travel? How many were-beasts shall we murder? Whom is goi-" As he was getting closer, the guards around the king began giving him evil looks, with angry facial expressions on at the same time. Aitor noticed them and stated: "Oops, I better back away. Your apes are getting angry".

He then turned his back to the king and casually walked back to his chair with his iron armour making a heavy noise. At least I didn't give out the expression of me cleaning his shoes with my tongue like some of the others. Aitor didn't care about his reputation with the others. Even if some of them were offended by how rude he was towards the "Almighty King of Skyrim", all he wanted is others to fight by his side and vice versa. I'm amazed at the stupidity of those patriots. He thought Their country did nothing for them, while they spent their whole life working for the country. Ridiculous. And what did the king do for them? Oh, I guess he feasts every day and then goes to sleep with 3 Imperial women. Tamriel would be a better place with no leaders and countries. Although a leader is always needed.

Aitor then leaned forward taking another piece of chicken. He closed his eyes and started munching the well cooked meat, smelling the lovely warm piece of wing at the same time. Ahh, delightful. At least they've got some decent cooks in this castle.

Charon didnt get a rise from the pompus Nord so he just grinned at the hulk and sheathed his blade, regaining his seat he poured himself more spiced brandy. The fool Dunmer soon rose and made a ridicule of himself, as the man returned to his seat Charon scowled at the fool. Charon sipped at his drink and waited for the others to vow their skills to the Kings cause. This wont be enough He frowned and shook his head slightly as he took a better look at each of his comrades. "I hope your skills at fighting are better than your manners." He said to the rude Dunmer after he returned to his seat and began to eat. The Bosmer, and the large Nord seemed to be the ones who would actualy be of any use what so ever, the others were cannonfodder. Charon took another swig of the heady drink and waited for the King to tell them what to do.

OOC:
Sorry so short, fighting with my girlfriend

I looked around myself, seeing one food-sniffing Argonian, two Dunmer, a smallish Bosmer, two Nords, one female Imperial and one other Breton. I looked at the rich-smelling food, sitting in front of me. I wasn't hungry, but still ate to show respect. The other guest had already started socializing, as I sat there, awkwardly, not speaking a word. A bone of venison flew past my head and hit the Dunmer sitting nearby. I turned to see who threw it, and to my surprise, it was the Bosmer. I chuckled to myself and drank to hide it, to which, I had almost chocked.

I turned to the Argonian, “greetings. From where do you come?” The Argonian looked up at me. “Cyrodiil. And the name’s Broken-Scale. Pleased to meet you.” I smiled, and stretched out my hand, “and to you, too. Oh, and the name’s Gabriel, by the way.” We shook hands and nodded to each other. The Argonian seemed kind to me, as did the Bosmer, even though we have not yet spoken. The Bosmer, who announced his name as Balarithgaer, earlier turned towards me and gave a smile, and stretched out his hand for me to shake. “Hail, Breton, what do others call you?” He asked.
“You can call me Gabriel. Everybody does.” I answered.
“Pleased to meet you, Gabriel.” Balarithgaer said warmly.

Before I could speak to my brethren, the King had entered the room, and I imagined a great, majestic sound, when I saw him. I stood up and gave a little bow, “Your Grace”, I said respectfully. The Dunmer stood up too, and for a moment, I thought the Dunmer would show some respect, but instead he spoke rudely to the King. "Goh, you took your sweet time, oh King.” The Dunmer grinned at the King and spoke, "I'll do it. Just because I want those riches you're promising us, not because I care about the Empire. But tell me... Where do you want us to travel? How many were-beasts shall we murder? Whom is goi-" He was cut off by the Kings guards, giving him dirty looks, then sneered "Oops, I better back away. Your apes are getting angry". Then the Dunmer returned to his seat, as I. How rude, the fool. He’s only going to get himself killed. I thought. At last, we get to slay some beast...and things. Everybody seemed pumped about going out and hunting things, but, hey, I was too.

I was getting anxious. Exchanging formalities with strangers was not my thing. The young Breton whom I had just met seemed nice, and I had nothing against him, but I really wanted to get out this place and get paid.

I was already nervous enough about agreeing to attempt to take down Hircine, and this waiting around didn't help. Hircine was the Prince of the Hunt, and we were going on a hunt ourselves. So, technically, Hircine should be our patron Daedra, not our sworn enemy.

I picked at the leg of mutton I had been eating, taking small bites of the meat, despite not being hungry. I tried to contain my anxiousness, but I'm sure it was obvious to all with eyes, like I was also sure that other people felt the same. Finally, after taking a small sip of wine, I decided that I couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Let us start the Hunt soon, please. You promised us riches. How are we going to earn them if all we do is sit here? Is this situation not serious enough to earn immediate action?"

Veronika could tell most of them were impatient, dying to go kill some Werewolves. She sighed and stood up, it was her turn to give the oath to the king. There was only one thing she would swear; the death of the vampires. Veronika removed the hair that stood in front of her face, pushing it aside. Clearing her throat, she stood up and looked at the king.

"Your majesty, the hunt is in my blood. I will slay those vampires as you wish. Those ticks won't stand a chance against us" Veronika replied to the King with a coy smile, then she turned and looked back at the table. "You have my skill and my blades, I will join you" Veronika said after a moment's consideration, without looking at everyone, she simply sat there, waiting on what woould happen next. One thing was for sure though, she was absolutely itching for a fight against a vampire.

The King gave a warm smile, and in a very rare act of grace, bowed before his new warriors. "I have trust in all of you, faith and strength in your skills. May your actions be as swift as your blades against the beasts. Now, I may take my leave of you. As for being armed and equipped, if need be, you may help yourselves to the weapons rack on the left wall of this room," the King made a gesture towards the left wall, which had several racks of standard weaponry, as well as four suits of armor, "Now, I must take my leave. I have much planning to do in the defense of the cities." With this, the King bowed once more and departed with his guards. One of which stayed behind, he was far lightly armored than the other guards, wearing only some leathers and furs with a bow and quiver of arrows on his back.

"My name if Rolf, I was ordered to assist you in scouting the areas that were attacked heaviest in the last month." Oh, he was a scout alright, contrary to most Nords, he was only slightly taller than the Bosmer. He looked like an agile little fellow. "Anyways, if any of you need extra supplies, as his Majesty said, help yourselves the racks on the wall. Outside the gates is a pack mule with some provisions. I'll be waiting there." The small Nord walked out of the room.

Snidely, Goliath made a remark, "Don't let door-knob hit you in the head on your way out." It was a stupid joke, but Goliath couldn't help but poke fun at his below-average sized countryman. "Well then," Goliath announced, "If any of you need equipment, for the last damned time its over on the racks, I'll be head outside." Goliath reached down and threw his knapsack over his back, but not before taking out his pipe and a match, lighting and taking a large drag from it as the sweet-smelling smoke rolled from his beard. The great Nord headed out of the hall, calling back to his new companions, "If anyone would like to join me, I have a few more pipes already packed." With this, he headed out of the room through the great doors, and into the bitter night air. Once more taking a drag from his pipe. As the buzz set in, he been to contemplate his companions. The one he thought of most, was the young Imperial woman.

Goliath had hunted were-beasts for decades, and he could tell one just by looking at them in their human form. Often very bedraggled, as well as being extremely inclined to eat any meat put before them. But why would a werewolf want to hunt other werewolves? Goliath thought. He'd have to probe her later for an answer, but now he waited for the rest to show up at the gates where the scout and mule waited.

OOC: Can you change a little bit in my character description from 'On his back he has a sack which carries what little possesions he has, a small amount of gold, a comb, some health potions and poisons, his alchemy set and ingredients and treasure he has found on his excursions. Not having a home, he has a bedroll which he also carries around, but leaves behind when he is hunting.' to 'On his back he carries a satchel, which carries what little possesions he has; a small amount of gold, a comb, some health potions and poisons, his alchemy set and ingredients and treasure he has found on his excursions. Not having a home, he also has a bedroll which is tucked tightly into the satchel, which wraps everything up and keeps it safe'. I know its on;y minor, but I would like it done. Thank you

Finally Balarithgaer thought. He finished his mutton and burped, rather rudely, he thought, at least the king had left.
He heard a Nord voice, but could not see one "My name if Rolf, I was ordered to assist you in scouting the areas that were attacked heaviest in the last month." was what he'd said, but where was he? Once Balarithgaer heard Goliath's slightly offending joke, he saw Rolf, and laughed at the Bosmer-sized Nord - but quietly, he didn't want to make any enemies.
Balarithgaer loaded whatever food was left on the table into his satchel, knowing that potions would need to be made on this trip. He then headed over to the weapons racks, grabbing some silver arrows, they would probably be needed on this trip. Thats when Goliath started his pipe, which Balarithgaer could not stand, and coughed loudly and obnoxiously, to display his disgust.
He didn't feel overly confident, and was literally shaking in his boots, he drunk some more alcohol to calm himself, before corking the bottle, and putting it and two other bottles of mead into the satchel. But discreetly, he didn't want to be known as the 'Old Drunk' of the group.
Balarithgaer heaved open the heavy castle doors, the wind blowing his long charcoal hair into his face. He pulled up his hood and felt the shield enchantment overcome him more. Balarithgaer was the third out of the castle, and stood next to Goliath, ready for battle, adventure and -mostly- riches.

The King gave bid us farewell, but left behind a small scout, who said his name was Rolf. I had to stifle a chuckle. He was a Nord, but he was barely taller than the Bosmer.

The big Nord made a joke about Rolf's height, then picked up his pack, lit a pipe and wandered outside, following. I picked up my spear and slid my bow over my left shoulder, and then tossed my own pack over my other shoulder. Before I went out the door, I glanced at the rack of weaponry that the King, Rolf, and the big Nord had all mentioned. I was fairly well set with armor and weapons, but I saw a silver shortsword that I figured might be handy to have around, just in case. Werecreatures hate silver, right? I thought, as I picked it up and strapped it to my belt. I resumed my walk towards the exit then pushed open the door.

The cold of Skyrim greeted me with a hard, icy wind. I bared my teeth, wishing that someone made boots for Argonians. "How hard could it be? Just one pair of boots, that's all I ask . . ." I muttered to myself as I walked up to the pack mule. I patted the beast on its head, then stabbed my spear into the ground, leaning against it as I waited to head out.

The guide had almost insisted that we take from the weapons rack, and so I filled in my lack of armor. Although I had fought in the war of Bendr'Mahk, I kept only my cuirass and greaves – both steel – and I had an heirloom white clovian fur helm, supposedly given to one of my ancestors by King Reman II for service in battle against Resdayn. I took from the suits of armor a set of steel pauldrons, Steel boots, Nordic iron bracers, and a Trollbone sheild (although I hadn't used a shield since the War of Bendr'Mahk, I had been trained in its use with my Heavy Armor training before battle – so I knew that they can save your life.) I also grabbed a Nordic Iron gorget (neck guard) that looked like it was in very good condition. I knew this armor would weigh me down and slow my movements a lot, but being a healthy, athletic Nord I was more than capable of handling the weight.

Before leaving I said thank you to the King. He pointed out that the shield I had chosen has a minor dent, and apologized. I simply turned it over and shouted, and the dent was fixed. I left the castle quickly – having put my new armor in a bag – and walked outside. As I left, I was hit by a blast of Nordic wind. the weather is amazing today. Kyne is favoring our journey. Then I realized that the cold blooded member of our party must be freezing.

"Do you want to wait inside, friend? The other Nords and I are fine – as is Balaritgaer (pronounced correctly this time) probably – but you, being an Argonian, might have some trouble."

My discomfort in this weather must've shown, as the smaller of the two Nords said to me, ""Do you want to wait inside, friend? The other Nords and I are fine – as is Balaritgaer probably – but you, being an Argonian, might have some trouble."

I shook my head emphatically. Great, they already think I'm weak. "No. I'll be fine. I'm just not used to this cold ... and this wind ... and the snow ... but I can handle it," I said to the Nord.

As Goliath finished his pipe, the wind blew it out for him. The Nord smiled and closed his eyes as he felt the life-giving winds of his home-land, it was bracing! It gave him strength. Goliath hadn't noticed that two of his party had come outside, Hjolifur and Broken-Scale. Hjolifur made a comment on the Argonian, how he must be freezing in this weather. Goliath replied to the comment, "The Argonians have lived in far worse conditions than we have, kinsman. Broken-Scale undoubtedly can hold his own against Kyne's winds." Goliath gave the Argonian a friendly pat on the shoulder. "We will be on the hunt soon, my blade thirsts for the blood of these creatures." Goliath became solemn, it was time he shared his story, and why he hated the creatures so much.

"When I was sixteen, werewolves attacked my village. The other warriors, along with my father tried to drive them off, killing only a few. It was when I heard screams from my own home that I rushed inside... A great black Werewolf was upon her... he was... " Goliath's fists tightened with rage at the thought of his beloved virgin sister being deflowered by a monster, "The attack ended when the Alpha slit my sisters' throat and fled into the darkness with the rest of the pack. The skull I wear on my shoulder is his. The morning after the attack, I cursed Hircine, who I had once worshiped. But now, I want nothing more than to see his pets slaughtered." Goliath looked away as a single tear froze on his cheek. He scratched it off.

Pulling his fur hood over his head he said in a solemn voice, "Well, we wait for the other then I guess? Then we will be on the hunt!" Giving his fellow Nord and the Argonian a wicked smile.

The large Nord overheard the smaller's statement and said, " "The Argonians have lived in far worse conditions than we have, kinsman. Broken-Scale undoubtedly can hold his own against Kyne's winds." He patted my shoulder and added, "We will be on the hunt soon, my blade thirsts for the blood of these creatures."

I was about to respond when I noticed he had become saddened by something . .. a memory, perhaps?

As if he heard my thoughts, the Nord said, "When I was sixteen, werewolves attacked my village. The other warriors, along with my father tried to drive them off, killing only a few. It was when I heard screams from my own home that I rushed inside... A great black Werewolf was upon her... he was... " I noticed that he was clenching his fists. I could guess what had happened. He continued, "The attack ended when the Alpha slit my sisters' throat and fled into the darkness with the rest of the pack. The skull I wear on my shoulder is his. The morning after the attack, I cursed Hircine, who I had once worshiped. But now, I want nothing more than to see his pets slaughtered."

I was greatly saddened by his tale. I could sympathise with loss, with heartache, with seeing someone you love being hurt. He snapped out of his sorrow however, when he pulled up his hood, and said with a grin, "Well, we wait for the other then I guess? Then we will be on the hunt!"

I chuckled. "We shall," I paused, then added quietly to the large Nord, "I am sorry for your loss. We will teach these beasts - and Hircine himself, if need be - the true meaning of pain, if I have anything to say about it."

"My name if Rolf, I was ordered to assist you in scouting the areas that were attacked heaviest in the last month. Anyways, if any of you need extra supplies, as his Majesty said, help yourselves the racks on the wall. Outside the gates is a pack mule with some provisions. I'll be waiting there." A Nord spoke, as he walked out.

I turned to His Majesty. "Permission to join the hunt, your Majesty." Watching the other walk of into the distance. After all, I did not want to be left behind, as I could not wait to het some vamipric blood on my sword. By Azura! I hope they are waiting for me. Or perhaps not, as the excitment of hunt was pumping through their veins. O, Akatosh, if you can hear me, let them wait. I thought. His majesty gave his approval then I knelt down and said " I Thank you, Your Majesty." Then I stood up, grabbed my belongings, put on my chainmail armour and picked up afine steel sword and iron bow, and walked my way out of the castle, into the icy-cold air of Skyrim. Why did you hesitate? I thought You're delaying everyone! I was cursing myself for being so scared to speak up, as now, everyone must hate me for not saying a word. The cold air bit into my fingers, even with something covering them, it felt like I was getting frosbite, so I shook my hands vigorusly to get the blood flowing.Finally. I had caught up with the rest of the hunters waiting outside. "Sorry, my friends. I beg for your forgivness." I spoke. "And let us continue with this hunt, shall we?"

OOC: Sorry for the delay everybody, I truly am!

"We wait on some others to exit the castle as well, so don't worry about it. We were just talking about our motivation for joining this hunt. Werewolves stole the lives of my family also, Goliath. I returned from the War of Bendr'Mahk to find by parents bodies in pieces on the floor of my kitchen – slaughtered by were-monsters. I buried them, fixed my farm, and hunted werebeasts of all types until I met my wife." I try and protect what I love from things that would destroy them. Its less about revenge, and more about prevention. "Did anyone else find it odd that King Thayn said that we were spitting in the eye of Hircine? I mean, I worship Kyne and Shor more than and Daedra, but as a hunter I hold no grudge against Hircine. Some of his creation need to be put down, but I must admire lycanthropes as perfect predators." I also hope that we don't end up with an Archeincicle standing in front of me. Where the hell is everyone else?

OOC: not trying to rush other members of the RP who aren't here, just an in-character thought. They aren't taking to long as long because they are done for the day probably.

The Dunmer waited for the King to finish speaking, he was silent when the scout spoke as well. Looking to the wall he shook his head, and made his way to a small cupboard opening it, he took a few health potions, and half of the restore magic potions, sliding them carefully into his pack he grinned and made his way after the members who were outside. Charon lit his own pipe, the scent was different then that of the giant Goliath, the smell was sweet and almost sour, made of Crushed Telvanni grown mushrooms along with some "Secret ingredients" It was a very heady smoke. The Dunmer's robes shimmed dully in the night as the enchantment warmed him as if he were by a fire. "So, Goliath, you made a remark about our short friend Rolf, but if you think about it. He has had to spy on the wolves, often isolated, by himself, in light armor so as not to be heard, as well he doesnt have your massive stature, so, does size equal skill in your book?" The Dunmer shook his head and took a deep drag from his pipe as he awaited the next adventurer to come out. He wanted to get the job done, being with all these different races was beginning to grate on his nerves.

Castle Riften

"You know, I agree with you, err... slightly smaller Nord. Whoever we are fighting, it doesn't make much sense to piss off a Daedric Prince with poor oratorical abbilities or whatever." Gille butted into the conversation between the two Nords and the Argonian. He had made his way out of the castle shortly after the non-ass Dunmer, choosing to completely ignore the weapon rack and instead stuff every pocket he had with as much food as was reasonably possible. The Breton had little idea what others intended to do about food; it was an aspect of journeying that many adventurers tended to overlook. Neither did he much care about their food, actually - he was entirely happy to be self-sufficient, carrying and warming up his own food, sewing his own clothes and the lot. If none of these manly men (and the rather manly female) were experienced enough to know about the logistical aspects of a journey, he sure as hell wasn't going to babysit them.

Not my problem if they starve to death or need to have their legs cut off because there was a huge hole in their pants. Although I'm sure the scout will pull those less experienced of us through to the 'clang clang sword smash' bit that we're required for. Still, I'd rather not have to ask others for help. It was an attitude Gille had developped over his long years of travelling alone - asking others for help was bad, he needed to pull his own weight. Not more, not less. And if anyone couldn't pull his or her weight, it wasn't his place to offer them help; the Spellsword usually didn't refuse when asked to help, but rarely offered his services himself, unless gold was involved. Don't blow your trumpet, don't even tell them you have a trumpet. Stuff goes better that way.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Gille tilted his head at the Dunmer's comment about size. "Well you'd think that he's actually less of a scout now than if he were tall and could put forth the same result. Size is ultimately irrelevant to the truly skilled, but offers advantages - or disadvantages - for certain occupations. Our, err, Goliath, wasn't it? Fitting name, that. Anyway there's an example, a warrior clearly benefits from longer limbs and there's no reason to get all moralistic if he views the world from his point of view, i.e. that size is good. I'm not huge, neither am I too short, so I don't view size as too important. And a shorter bloke might be predisposed against size and link it with stupidity somehow."

Skyrim's traditional cold seemed to have done wonders about Gille - the suffocating, warm hall full of official-ness and whatever made the Breton quite cranky and judgemental, but right now he cared less than a couple of minutes ago. He still thought that these people were probably boring and some of them were just asses, but the environment impacted this man a lot and outdoors he felt back at home immediately.

"I believe I heard mention of extra pipes available, so if you don't mind I'll borrow that for a bit. I'm Gille by the way."

Aitor listened to the king carefully, looked at others walk out of the building and finally stood up. He grabbed his silver mace with his left hand gave a quick look at the other weapons but decided not to take any. When walking out he did not feel the cold hit him. That's because his back was numb all the time. He had a terrible accident when younger, so he can't feel his back and his hands.

As he found himself outside, he looked at the others and walked up to them. He was ready to adventure, but he knew that he'll have to get to know most of them, although he didn't really like doing that. He thought When are we going to finally kill things! I've waited for far too long... After the others stopped speaking he said with an angry tone: "This is ridiculous. Lets go, I'm tired of waiting" He jogged to the castle door, opened it and shouted: "Come on, we're waiting for you guys!" He then closed the door violently and came back to the mule. Kill, come back, get paid. Easy enough. He knew he was wrong. Very wrong.

The king left the room with his guards, and the task was set upon them. Finally, now I can eat some more. Veronika said in her hand, she got up from her seat, causing the seat to fall back on the floor, throwing her arm at the table, she began her hunt for the food that remained on the table, reaching for the silver platters and snatching whatever she could get. She sat down, devouring the food like a starving bear, listening to the conversation between them. One of them, the calmer nord, said he held no grudges against Werewolves, even admitted to admiring them. And he respected the Daedric Prince, Hircine. Veronika stared at him with careful curiosity. The larger Nord mentioned the weapon racks, so there she would go, her equipment now was a bit rusty, new weapon's would be great. Veronika stuffed more food into her fur pockets, wrapping them in the red cloth and then shoving the cloth in a sack. She left the men and their conversation aside, going to the weapons room. Veronika made her way to the location, entering it and seeing a variety of weapons. Her choice of course, was the blunt weapons. Axes, clubs, maces, perfect for chopping, slicing and crushing. The silver axe was her primary choice, so she approached it and held it in her hand, feeling an all familiar touch. The swords were insignificant to her, she had all a long time before she learned how to wield one properly, and besides, the frost makes the blade stick, any fool trying to unsheath their blade while a werewolf comes at them is as good as dead.

"Time to chop some leech heads!" Veronika whispered to herself. She placed the axe on her back, and then traded her club in exchange for the other one, placing it on her left hip, the spiked weapon hanging, as she caressed it greatly. Looking around, she grabbed a few smaller items and left outside to meet with the others. There was the large brutish Nord, Goliath, the scaly lizard fellow, the Dunmer and another, smaller Nord. She arrived just in time to listen to Goliath's story about what happened to his family, she scoffed loudly, listening to the other one chime in about his family. Right then, the cold began to annoy her already, but lucklily, she had a fur coat and other fur equipment to suit her needs, but nevertheless, this cold was absurd.

"Tragic. Your sister being wolf meat and all. At least you can remember her every time you look into the skull of the one that killed her, am I right? You said you worshiped Hircine and now you hate him...such a devout worshiper you are" Veronika said sarcastically "A true follower would serve him no matter the cost! But I understand, it must not be so easy to have your entire family murdered by animals. So in that regard, I wish you luck." Veronika said, trying to clean off the snow from her hair, shaking it wildly. She glanced over at the rest of the group, and revealed a predatory smile. Just waiting for the other's for the hunt to begin, she chuckled loudly.

"Anyone else excited? We finally get to go hunting. The thrill of finding prey, crushing them beneath your boot. Tasting their flesh, drink their blood. Never spoil the rewards of the hunt, remember that. So, who are we waiting for?" Veronika said, feeling the sharp edge of the silver axe. Her eyes a bright silver hue, showing the weapon was indeed new and ready to take first blood.

"Oh, you all may call me Hjolifur. The wait we have is a blessing, and for those used to the Nordic seasons the weather is quite freshening. I am anxious to hunt down more wear-beast, but as most of us know; never rush right into the werewolves den. The beasts we hunt are intelligent, strong, usually insane, and serve a powerful daedra. Before we get ourselves killed, don't say that you, 'can't wait.' Battle gives us a rush, and pits us truly against an opponent; however death from a werewolf claw in a juggular – assuming that the elves and beast-races have those – is so quick that I doubt any of the mages or potons we have here would be capable of saving us." Hjolifur wasn't scared of death in action, fighting against evil beast. He just understood that it is something that can happen, something that probably would happen, and perhaps the others around him needed to prepare for that.

The dunmer is a psychopath, and the imperial is simply... animalistic. They both seem to be able to pull their own weight, if not more, but drinking were-blood? Im not sure about vampires, but I think actually drinking were-blood might turn you quick. I hope its an anology.