You see one of the Breton dancers off to the side taking a break, sitting with a small drink rubbing her tired feet. Save for the scar across her chin, you think she's rather comely. What interests you more, is that she is reading in that dim light, and it is what she reads that sparks your interest as well as your nerve to talk to her. She has a passing interest in Tamrielic Lore and Artifacts.
You might want to walk over and offer her a refill.
Bro, I like that you're participating, but I'm kind of the story teller here bro.
IC:
I ordered a flin from the barkeep, and looked around the room. In one of the groups, there was a particularly large and vocal skooma-head, covered in gang tattoos. The barkeep slapped the drink and a shot glass down on the counter. I dropped a few coins on the counter and he took them away. I drained the entire shot, and poured myself more. Once the bottle was finished, and I was considerably woozy, I picked it up, and walked over to the skooma-head, I broke the bottle on his head and punched him in the face. He went sprawling onto the ground with a roar. When we was down, I leapt on him. I am not a strong man. I am not a fighter. His friends reacted, and pulled me off of him. I stood no chance against them, and they beat me viciously. When I was in Summerset Isles, many years ago, I trained with several isolated communities of mages. In this time, I learned to move my mind elsewhere when in extreme pain, and block it out, with minimal magicka use.
Once the beating was over, and they felt I was subdued, they brought me into a backroom, and threw me onto the floor. I could feel blood flowing running down my face. "Milikgreen, sir, this one was brawling in the bar. Put out Daldrin for no reason." I pushed myself up a few inches and glimpsed a old, bearded dunmer, dressed smartly with a weathered and calculating look on his face. I was slammed back onto the floor with a boot in my back.
"If I can get a word in!" I gasped. "I've been looking for you, Mr. Milikgreen. I'm interested in -hngh- a business deal.". A deep, gravelly voice rumbled. "Let him up.". The skooma-users released me and pulled me up.
"What kind of deal?" The voice rumbled on.
"Well, sir, I'm on an expedition to the underside of the cantons. Artifact finding. Hush-hush, very profitable. I'm looking for... professional mercenaries." I had almost said Hired Thugs, but I thought about how it wouldn't go down well with the men holding me. "I'll pay some money up front, and split 50% of the... lesser artifacts I find amoung you and your men.
"What is your name?"
"Vardanak-Vos. If you do the necessary cross-referencing, you will find I'm a reputable scholar on the mainland. Or was, before everything went to [censored]."
He nodded. "You put emphasis on... minor artifacts. You're keeping anything.... priceless you find?"
"Yes." I said, simply.
He smiled. "You can have these three of my men. Try and return them in one piece." He motioned to the men gathered around me. They were muscled, strong mercenaries. They looked extremely tough, and their well-oiled limbs gleamed in the lamplight, reflecting the curves of their finely crafted bodies. I caught myself looking for too long, and turned back around.
"That's excellent." I said.
"Now, onto payment. 300 gold up front. We'll talk more once you return. I can supply you with a ship and a sailor, too. It'll wait for you for as long as you think you'll be."
I took the money out of my robes and handed it over. He nodded, and waved to the door. I exited with the thugs. The thugs each gave me their names, as well as directions to the docks.
INV:
200 gold.
Robes.
Dagger.
Thug 1(Arinas.)
Thug 2(Starlin.)
Thug 3(Rictig)
14 Water Breathing Potions.