Sargon Hlaalu, Outside the Inn, Valton Hold, Sundown



Sargon and Nuramon made their way to the new Hold of Valton, singing the old war-song in unison. Once there, Nuramon jumped out of the carriage and said he had some business to attend to inside the tavern. Sargon saw the bag of meat, his old Huntsman friend was still doing what he did best. The old Dunmer smiled and nodded as the Bosmer went inside 'Felas' Folly Inn'. Sargon now faced a dilemma he really should have thought over, where he would be staying for the night, and more importantly where would his carriage loaded with valuables stay. Hopefully not in the sight of some clever thief.

Sargon drove the carriage through town, looking left and right at the villagers who were hard at work on building new homes and places of business. Eventually he came upon a small clearing, most likely another building sight. The small glen was perched just a bit on a small hillock that nearly overlooked the New Hold, with a grand view of the Rift itself. Here, Sargon dismounted his carriage, and made his way to the back of it. Grabbing onto the railing, he pulled himself onto the carriage bed, where crates, chests, and large sacks of Sargon's valuables lay.

The old Dunmer unlocked a smaller chest with a wave of his hand, the lid popping open to reveal several scrolls bound with red velvet. He picked out a certain one, with strange wax seal on it, bearing the Moon and Star. He broke the wax seal and unraveled the scroll, he silently mumbled the words with his head bowed and eyes nearly shut. After a moment of reading from the scroll, several swells of black smoke appeared around the carriage, swirling violently. After the smoke cleared and the dust settled, four Winged Twilight's could be seen.

"Guard this!" Sargon commanded his servants, they bowed their heads and ducked beneath the carriage itself. Azura's mercy on anyone who tries to steal my possessions. Sargon thought, a smile came to his face as he thought of what kind of reaction a common thief would have upon seeing the Twilight's come from beneath the carriage. Coming out of the comical thought, Sargon continued about his business with the carriage, unlocking another box and retrieving his Dwemer katana, inscribed with Daedric letters praising Meridia.

He also took two books, The Last Scabbard of Akkrash and The Annotated Annuad. Then he simply retrieved his satchel, two bottles of Dunmer brew in them, Sujamma and Matze, self-brewed with his own recipe. With this, he jumped off the carriage and took off towards the Inn.

----------
Helas' Folly


The scene outside the Inn disturbed the Dunmer a bit, seeing a Kinsman of his speaking with a guard, who was in turn speaking to a very impersonal Imperial man. But, these were not his affairs, yet. So, Sargon walked through the door, and into the cozy little tavern. Treading lightly over the wooden floor, creaking with nearly each step, he made his way to the bar. He laid his spear against the bar and uncorked his Matze, pouring a bit into a goblet. He was ashamed to have not noticed yet another Dunmer sitting at the bar.

Sargon picked up his spear and moved over a seat, "Evening kinsman, seems more than one Dunmer has made his way to Skyrim. I apologize, I am Sargon Hlaalu, yet another who made his way to find a new life. If you're feeling a bit homesick, kinsman, try some Matze. My own recipe." Sargon slid the goblet he'd just poured to his kinsman.

"I am sorry, I haven't gotten your name, friend?" Sargon saw the mer's face, and he knew what the mer was. But this didn't bother him, although it would displease Meridia to see one of her champions neglect his duties, and not slay the creature on sight. Sargon only saw a fellow Dunmer, and knew nothing of this one's past, but the first meeting was crucial in making friends, even though they should have been sworn enemies.

Tim the Guard, Outside the Inn, Evening

Tim turned to face the new arrival uneasily, starting to feel very dizzy. He watched in interest as two regal looking Dunmer walked up and put their hands on the Knight he was in the process of accosting. Then Tim the Guard blinked, and saw the two Dunmer merge into one as his vision corrected itself. The guard was feeling very much like he was going to be sick, and the young knight was only getting angrier and angrier, so he decided to stay quiet and wait for the young man's response. Meanwhile, he watched in amazement as another Dunmer walked past from behind the first one, and entered the Inn independently while the first vision stayed still. Torleif Ost-Hjul had never seen illusions do that before.


Jarl Spurvhauke, The Great Hall, Afternoon


Jarl Spurvhauke looked hard at the Justicar as he reamed of a list of compliments. It appeared the Thalmor had heard of his small part in the Great War. Radwulf Spurvhauke felt a glowing of pride when he heard the elf list off his accomplishments, even though he knew the praise was hollow, even though he knew he was being manipulated. The work he had done in the Legion was good honest work, work he was still proud of. He may have never raised his blade against a Thalmor soldier in battle, his logistical acumen had been admired by many high-ranking soldiers. He clenched his fist a little, hated himself a little more, but couldn't help enjoy it. He felt his dead Wife's disapointment in him as he soaked up the praise.
"Very good, yes so you heard of my work in the Great war? I kept the supply books for General Decimus. A clerk, little more. But thank you none the less. I regret to inform you at the moment-" he paused, the momentary happiness in his voice starting to fade, "I have no wish for Legion presence in my Hold. We are but a simple prospect-town, capable of managing our own affairs. You may find your lodging in the east wing" he waved towards a doorway near the Great Halls entrance, the same passage that led on later to his Court-Mage's laboratory. "The second room on the left I believe is empty, and well furnished. I hope you find it agreeable" he said darkly, bowing his head in politeness. Neverless he began to see the Thalmor for what he was again, and hated himself bitterly for accepting those praises moments ago. And so the melancholy fell down on the old Jarl again, as the Altmer said his good-byes, and turned to leave for his holdings.


Fiona Barrow-Heart, Outside the Great Hall, Afternoon

The witch listened closely to the Altmer's response as they climbed the steps to the Great Hall - the only way to access her mage's quarters. She studied his words, turning them over in her powerful mind, and decided she was not being fooled. A Mistress of Illusion, she was not one who enjoyed being fooled. As they stepped through the giant timber doors into the hall Allard finished the end of his offer. Before she could turn to reply, Fiona stoped dead in her tracks, her heart sinking as she remembered who she had seen last go through these doors. And lo and behold, there he was, the Thalmor Justicar, at the end of the hall, finishing his business with the Jarl. The Thalmor was receiving word of his holdings, and just about to turn this way. The door had already closed behind them. Fiona span around at the man she escorting, and not giving him a moment to react, hissed under her breath:
"Stay calm! Follow my lead and don't say anything other than 'woof'!" and with a flourish of her right hand and a flash of pink magicka, she turned Allard into a dog.

Allard (Dog Form) - Afternoon

The door to the hold opened and the witch froze in her tracks. It took him seconds to realise why, there was someone already in the hall. The Justicar. Panic set in and he almost bolted but the witch said something strange, "Stay calm! Follow my lead and don't say anything other than 'woof'!"

There was a flash of pink light and suddenly Allard felt extremely light headed and strange. His entire viewpoint had shifted and a dog was staring at the ankles of the aforementioned witch. He suddenly was greeted with an insatiable hunger and the smell of roast venison, it took all his control not to bound forward and chase the smell. Instead the dog followed the witches ankles as they moved forward, it seemed to have been commanded to do so but it could not rememebr when.

It took a moment for Allard to break free of the effect of the spell, the witch was indeed a master of illusion, for it took one to make it's victim believe whole-heartedly that it had changed. He continued to follow the witch though and peeked through her legs to get a good glance at his enemy. The sight of the elf made him want to charge and tear it's throat out but he didn't. He followed the witch like a faithful hound and hoped that he would be out of this itchy fur soon.

Jal, Hela's Folly

“My name is Raest Kivaan, by the way. Do you have any water here? It’s been a long journey since I entered Skyrim, and I’m absolutely parched,”

"Pleasure to meet ya Raest," Jal replied, "Name's Jal. Water is something we do have, actually. I'll send you over my boy when he comes back from wherever it is he'd disappeared to."

The inn was busy. Almost too busy.By the nine, where's that boy? Thought Jal as a richly dressed, extremely old looking Dunmer approached him. "A glass of fine wine, please."

"Heh, wine? No chance. 'Aven't even got basic ale in at the moment. We should be getting supplies of wine soon, though. I'll tell my boy to bring up water, if that'll do for now. Or you can try some stuff I made myself. Can't guarantee it wont kill ya though!" Jal joked. Just then Jal saw Tom, struggling under the weight of a whole crate of Jal's homebrewd and placed it on top of the bar. Clever lad. Now customers can just help themselves rather than send us up and down those stairs. Jal gestured to the bottles. "Or you can try that stuff. Something I made myself. Tastes like troll's piss mind. I can't charge for it, so feel free to help yourselves. Word of warning, packs a bit of a punch."

"No food or drink at all in this place?"

Jal turned to see a naked Khajiit walk into his bar moaning about there not being any food or drink. "Aye," Jal replied loudly over the noisy inn, "An without mead and a cat without clothes, who'd a thought it huh?" At that point Nuramon walked in waving a bag in the air and shouting about cooking or something. Jal couldn't hear him over the din and went over to have a word. Before he could get over to him, the Orismer black-smith was asking for more mead, slurring just slightly.

"Sure, sure, help yourself," Said, Jal impatiently, waving in the general directing of the bar where the crate of bottles stood. He wanted to see what Nuramon wanted.

Finally able to get himself within earshot, Jal said "Aye, I can cook well enough for these lot. What's in the bag?"

Nuramon, inn, evening

Nuramon smiled at Jal’s answer. He handed him over the bag. “I hunted some boar and brought back their meat. I’ve also found some wild patatoes, but they might not be enough, and some mushrooms to go with it.” he said smiling.

“those that want to eat can order something simple. I’m sure you can come up with something with the little ingredients I got you. Perhaps a simple stew. And when the potatoes are gone you can always serve it with bread. You do have bread do you ?” he asked.

“anyway, that’s something I can’t provide.” He said laughing. “I’ll go catch me another one of your homebrews. The more you drink them the better it gets. You just got to get past the first gulp.”

He made it to the bar and saw that they had brought up an entire crate. He took some and then searched for Sargon in the crowd. He found him talking to another Dunmer. Nuramon went over there and greeted the other Dunmer. “Welcome to Valton. I haven’t seen you around here yet. The name is Nuramon.”

He then turned to Sargon. “I don’t know if you have a place to stay. If not, you are welcome to use my spare bed, old friend.”

He then took another look at the other Dunmer, his eyes standing curious as the mer’s scent drifted in Nuramon’s nose. Something smelled off about him.

Deleted because of changed situation.

Tsavani - Inn at dusk

"What do you mean no clothes? I've got one of the best fur coats in all Tamriel," Tsavani answered back to the Innkeeper, finding herself a seat. Shortly after she made herself comfortable, she found herself joined by a middle-aged dunmer. She didn't avoid, endorse, or object to his examination of her body, beyond merely crossing her legs for a modicum of decency. "A pleasure to meet you, Elarian. I'm Tsavani," she introduced herself in turn. "You're not the first to inquire about me... I've been asked enough that I figure I might as well tell the whole town here tonight." Re-adjusting herself, she gripped her spear. "And this isn't just any spear, but The Spear of Bitter Mercy, given to me by Hircine himself."

After clearing things up, she turned her attention back to the Innkeeper, saying, "I used to be an Innkeeper like yourself, up until a few years ago." Clearing her thoughts, she waited to make sure she had the attention of everyone who was interested before starting to tell her tale.

Graymane, Helas's folly, dusk

[OOC : short post to lfree Tsavani to tell her story - 12PM here, going to sleep]


Elarian relaxed as Tsavani didn't object to his somewhat insisting look, sitting more comfortably as she started mentioning her story. “A pleasure to meet you. Hircine granting you his favorite reward ? It sounds like something really worth the telling. And by all means offer it to all around here. Tales are fancy beasts that can be shared without reducing anyone's portion of them.”

Tourmund,Inn

"The mead was not bad, even if it didn′t tasted like mead".Tought Tourmund, 'but now this place is swarming with Elfs" he gave the Dunnmers a suspicious look "Wonder how many o′those work for the Thalmor". But then he overherd something interesting,the Khajit said something about Hircine and his spear.
"How many Skooma have you been drinking?The spear of Hircine?Why in Oblivion would he give it to you?Far as I now the Khajit dont even worship him."said Tourmund, even tought the spear had something odd about it.He would want to hear that story.

Raryn - Inn, talking to Sargon & Nuramon

It didn't surprise Raryn that the inn had no wine, and infact the only real alcohol they had was either some experimental weed killer or rat poison. Raryn chose the Matze, the Dunmer who offered it to him seemed to have taken an interest in Raryn, obvious by their apparent wealth. "I like your robe, sera." he greeted him, taking a keen interest in the tattoos on his neck. He'd never bitten a tattooed neck before and he wondered if it would taste like ink or whether or not he was being stupid.

He took a sip of the Matze and instantly appreciated it's soft vanilla taste. "Mmm, yes..." he mumbled, suddenly remembering the man had introduced himself as Hlaalu. Either like Raryn he was born into it via a dying bloodline or he was still close to the guild. Either way, Raryn liked to pretend he belonged to the latter. "It is good to meet another Hlaalu in these cold lands, my name is Raryn Hlaalu." Raryn grabbed his walking stick and was about to notion for Sargon and himself to retire to a table when they were pounced upon by a bosmer. While looking at the Bosmer in mild surprise, Raryn noticed a well spoken Khajiit that was stark naked.

He wondered if he was dreaming but quickly reminded himself this was Skyrim. He motioned for Gerald his bodyguard to come closer to him incase of danger, Raryn replied to the Bosmer. "Pleasure Nuramon, my name is Raryn and I arrived today, my home is the Hlaalu Residence if you're familiar with it?" He asked but didn't expect a reply, he wasn't used to wood elves being particularly bright when it came to stature and wealth.

Deciding he was bored of standing, Raryn expertly feinted pain in his back and put pressure on his stick, "Sorry gentlemen, I'm not as robust as I was and it's been a long journey, I absolutely must sit down."

Varlamo Aicandil, Thalmor Justiciar, Outside The Great Hall, Afternoon

The battlemage had pushed the Jarl, testing the limits of his nefarious influence. Varlamo left the Hall disappointed, but glad that he had acquired some kind of authority in the small hold, owning his own room in the stone keep and gaining the Jarl's acceptance of the Justiciar's heretic hunting. As he exited Valton's center, he noticed Fiona with a dog. Varlamo took a second to adjust, as he calculated why Fiona was now with a dog, not having had one before, and not having been to the keep since the Thalmor had entered there, where her dog may have been sleeping. He came to no real conclusion and dismissed the concern as minor, but stored the observation in the back of his mind.

"The court-mage!" The introduction was soaked in sarcastic enthusiasm. "With an animal of course!" Varlamo had forgotten the word for dog in Tamriellic, only remembering it a few seconds later. His voice suddenly lost the enthusiasm previously present. "No reachwoman can survive for more than a second without the company of a beast. Whether that be Lorkhan, or an animal such as a... dog." The last word was loaded with suspicion as the Altmer's paranoid mind ticked away as the cogs moved. He cocked his head and stared at the animal for a brief few seconds. "Hmph."

Varlamo walked a few steps down, so that he was closer to the witch, and her companion. "Perhaps now isn't the time for a discussion on Anuiphysics. I await eagerly to see you in the Tavern later, Fiona is it? Hmph." The battlemage looked at the dog again for a few precious seconds and then left the pair, leaving no opportunity for Fiona, or the dog, to reply.

-----

The Thalmor walked down to the stables to check his horse, a black stallion, filled with pride, dominance and strength. On the horse were chests containing vast sums of money. Varlamo did not worry however, as the enchantments on the golden Elven chests were strong and impassable.

He paused to notice an argument in the town square between a clearly drunken guard, and an Imperial Knight who openly threatened the guard. The knight seemed to be cocky and full of energy. A useful ally. He eventually stepped down as he realised the guard's incompetence, and a huge muscular Dunmer soon came up from behind and attempted to boost his ego by intervening in the brawl.

Varlamo stepped forward making his presence known, perhaps giving the guard a fright as the towering battlemage appeared behind him. "Warrior of Valton, son of Shor, I'm sure we can resolve this reasonably. This man has committed assault you say? Forty septims is it not?" The Altmer went towards his horse and opened a small elaborately decorated golden elven chest with a spell and took out a red velvet bag of septims. Counting forty of them, he put them in a spare bag and after magically closing the chest, walked back to the guard. "Here is the suitable fine, you have no more reason to bother this valiant son of Akatosh."

Graymane, Helas's Foly, dusk


Elarian was waiting for Tsavani story when a big brutish nord clothed in bear furs started spouting nonsense about the number of elves and their possible affiliation to the Thalmor before deriding Tsavani's soon to be told tale as a skooma dream. Nords and civility seems to mix about as well as oil and water. Maybe with that many bears and trolls plaguing their lands there's been some influence. They dislike magic too much for inbreeding to occur...

Elarian smiled at the man “She was about to tell the story, maybe you should hear it before judging. The daedra lords are notoriously fickle – or more accurately they're so different from mortals that we can't easily understands their motives and actions.”. He paused a bit, his smile thinning “And maybe you should try that too before lumping all mers in the same bag and tossing it in the river. My ancestors left the Summerset Isles as daedra-worshiping heretics before following the even worse ALMSIVI, the three now gone living gods of Morrowind. In the Thalmor's view of a correctly ordered world, the only place for me and my kind would be on the pyre. At best groveling at their feet after recanting our heresies, doing their dirty work and licking their boots in penance.”

OOC-He didnt said they worked for the Thalmor he just tought sorry if it was not plain to know

Elarian smiled at the man “She was about to tell the story, maybe you should hear it before judging. The daedra lords are notoriously fickle – or more accurately they're so different from mortals that we can't easily understands their motives and actions.”. He paused a bit, his smile thinning “And maybe you should try that too before lumping all mers in the same bag and tossing it in the river. My ancestors left the Summerset Isles as daedra-worshiping heretics before following the even worse ALMSIVI, the three now gone living gods of Morrowsind. In the Thalmor's view of a correctly ordered world, the only place for me and my kind would be on the pyre. At best groveling at their feet after recanting our heresies, doing their dirty work and licking their boots in penance."

"Well if you are against the Thalmor then you me and you are the same.Aye, I will hear the Khajit story before juding it" said Tourmund and then he tought "How did I said that?Everyone knows Khajits are liars and thiefs,well now I will have to hear it."He sited back on his chair and listened.

Jal, Hela's Folly

“I hunted some boar and brought back their meat. I’ve also found some wild patatoes, but they might not be enough, and some mushrooms to go with it.”

“those that want to eat can order something simple. I’m sure you can come up with something with the little ingredients I got you. Perhaps a simple stew. And when the potatoes are gone you can always serve it with bread. You do have bread do you ?”

Jal did not have bread but we was sure he could make a filling stew out of the ingredients Nuramon had given him. He limped to the kitchen and lit a fire underneath the hob. The kitchen had been stocked with some dry herbs as well as cutlery; bowls, spoons, tankards. Everything except a bit of meal. Jal quickly hacked the boar meat into chunks and chopped up the mushrooms and potatoes. He studies the mushrooms suspiciously, eventually concluding that they were probably safe to eat. Jal worked quickly and efficiently. He'd spent the last thirty years of his life wandering Skyrim and had learnt to cook using even the most basic of utensils and ingredients. With what he had now, this was child's play. Jal threw the meat and mushrooms into a large cooking pot, browning them lightly before removing the meat and adding water, onions and some herbs. He boiled this mixture together before putting the meat back in, and adding the potatoes. Jal knew it could come out slightly thin and watery. He didn't have any flour or wine but it should be tasty. There was also much more meat than potatoes but his guests shouldn't complain - the opposite was true for most stews. Jal left the stew to simmer, bubbling gently, the fumes spreading themselves throughout the inn.

He returned to the bar, just as the naked Kahjiit started to speak ...

OOC: Speech is in "quotes". Thoughts are in italics. Ergo, your character quite thoughtlessly spoke his mind. Also, I'm going to assume she'll receive and finish a bowl of stew in this first post of the story... Feel free to work yourself around it in terms of timing. I'll break this into at least two posts. I decided against merely paraphrasing.

Tsavani - Evening at the inn
Just as Tsavani was about to tell her tale, she was interrupted by a quite-rude nord. "Well, if you keep that attitude up, I might prove beyond doubt that this is the Daedric Spear of Bitter Mercy," she answered. Continuing indignantly, she continued to berate the narrow-minded nord, "And furthermore, despite the fuzz, I am as much an Imperial as any other Cyrod, guided by the Star of Collovia instead of the moons."

Settling back down to try and tell her story, she caught a whiff of cooking... stew? "Any chance I could get a bowl of that on credit? It's been years since I've had anything other than Snowberries, Jazbay, and scorched rabbit," she requested of the barkeep.

"Anyway... yeah, I used to be an innkeeper, owner of the Oak and Crosier in Chorrol, down in Cyrodiil," she began. "The inn's been in my family since the third Era, passed on from mother-to-daughter. But... that's probably boring and irrelevant. I've been living in the mountains for years." Trying to re-organize her thoughts, she idly ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head slowly. "Anyway... I didn't really want to be an Innkeeper - I just happened to be older than my sister. I've always wanted to go out and see the world. There was this really old elf. Henatier, that was his name. He was a local, some rumored as old as the city itself, and been there all his life. He told stories of his adventures through the highlands and mountains of the county... and the orcs from Orsinium always had interesting tales as well. Henatier taught me some tricks for surviving out there, and as soon as my sister was old enough, I gave her the inn, and went out to hunt down a wanted bandit."

She chuckled lightly as she thought back to her early days of an adventurer, "I can't remember all of those days... but I had a flimsy hunting bow, a steel battleaxe, and nice suit of leather armor from the local smith. The first bandit hunt went well, and I also cleared out a few wild animal encroachments. The pay... wasn't as impressive as I thought it would be, but it certainly beat keeping an inn. However, I learned two extremely useful spells from the local mages... I can heal my own wounds, and start fires. However... my mild successes didn't last. I tried taking on a bandit fort... The thing about Bandits is you never have any idea what you're going up against... whether they're simple thieves on the lam who've never held a sword before in their life, or seasoned killers and mercenaries-gone-rogue."

Taking a deep breath as she realized she was rambling, she continued, "I was cocky... Luckily, I didn't manage to kill any of them, so I could talk them out of killing me, in exchange for everything else I had... They stripped me down to rags, beat me senseless, and left me disoriented in a mountain pass. The women in the gang kept them from taking more than that... but the beatings probably would have been less severe if it weren't for them. I was lost, and couldn't find my way out of the mountains. I got a quick hard-knocks crash-course on wilderness survival, too boot. That fire spell I learned from the mages proved invaluable, as I was trapped half-naked in the freezing cold."

Tsavani grinned, "And I guess now you're wondering how I came to lose my clothes... I could say they merely disintigrated from shabby quality and age - I've been wandering for five years. But I actually lost them much earlier. I needed kindling, and the wood was too wet to ignite with just my spell. It wasn't like they were thick enough to do anything against the cold anyway. Of course, it was awkward at first, even in the wild, my sensibilities were objecting. Know all those stories about people running away and making their own clothes from hides? Either false, or they had prior knowledge of tanning. I tried making rabbit and fox-pelt outfits... but they proved smellier and more uncomfortable than doing without after they started to rot. But, I learned how to feed myself out there off the plants and abundant rabbits, wolves, and foxes... Wolf-meat is terrible - don't eat it. And with one exception, Sabrecat meat is also bad."

"I found myself adjusting to the wilderness well, all things considered," Tsavani continued, looking around the tavern to see who was listening, and finishing off her first bowl of stew. "I considered resigning myself to the life of a hermit. Can I please get a refill?" she asked, pausing and offering her now-empty bowl back.

Fionia Barrow-Heart and her new pet dog, The Great Hall, AE CHIM AFTERNOON

Fiona placed her hand on Allard's head, holding him close to her robes and scratching idlly behind his ears as the Thalmor approached, spoke his mocking plesantries, and left. She smiled nervously and tried not to look down at the Altmer she had transformed into a dog.

"No reachwoman can survive for more than a second without the company of a beast. Whether that be Lorkhan, or an animal such as a... dog." Fiona bowed her head and smiled, thinking that for once the Thalmor had her here.

"We adore to surround ourselves with all things beastly, it is true" she admitted, watching the the Justicar walk past with wary eyes. She looked down at the transformed Allard, patted him on the head, and led the dog down the passageway to her tower, where timber gave way to cheaply hewn stone and a small circular turret had been attached neatly to the side of the tradtional Nordic hall. Fiona led Allard up the staircase, letting the dog follow at her exposed ankles. She reached the summet of the tower, and walked across the landing to push open her unlocked door with one hand.

The Witch's study was a glorious mess. Her huge, timber chest was yawning open, it's contents scattered throughout the small room; soul gems, scrolls, a half-assembled Arcane Enchanter. There was an alembic laying on it's side, a Calcinator not far away, and every manner of alchemical extracts laying on the floor between, some fresh, many withered or mouldering. To Allard's newly powerful nose, being in the tower was an vivid, overwhelming experience. Fiona led the Dog over her the bed, patted on the sheets, and took a seat on a near-bye wooden stool. She gave the open door a wary look and threw a weak spell at it, enough to send it gently swinging to shut.

"Now." she said, drawing up her sleeves, "Let's get you back straight-" she announced, and threw pink light from her hands at the bemused looking dog.

Graymane, Helas's Foly, dusk


As the bear-clad nord seemed to understand the logic of his argument, Elarian decided to keep his ideas off-balance - the big brute seemed to have decided he was a declared opponent to the Thalmor. “I never said I was against the Thalmor. Simply that they have a very low opinion of my kind, and I happen to return the favor. I won't waste a tear if they run into trouble but won't go out of my way to lock horns with them.”

Elarian stretched a bit to seat as comfortably as possible while listening to Tsavani's story. Though he kept one hand in what seemed to be a casual rest near his thigh, but happened to leave it very close to his purse. Not out of a specific worry, simply a precaution born from a long experience of seedy taverns and grown into a reflex. Like sitting with his back to the wall.

As the story unfolded, he couldn't help but think there was a grain truth in the rumors about the gods watching over the simple of mind. Even if in her case it was more of a confusion between tavern tales and reality. Never trust tavern boasts unless you can check them with another source or material evidences... The thought made him gaze at the spear.

He commented about her debuts at bandit hunting “With enough practice you can usually tell what kind you're dealing with. I'm a mercenary rather than adventurer, which means my debut weren't alone and made it easier to get that sort of practice. If that mishap didn't completely disgust you about adventure, I've quite some tip you might find useful”.

When she paused to ask for a second serving of stew, Elarian raised on hand, flashing some coins toward the innkeeper “Add one for me, and I'll pay for both. The story's worth it.”

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu The inn, at evening, listening to Tsavani's story.

Thrown into the wilderness, eh? All alone with no weapons nor armor, but still managed to survive for quite some time. That must be what impressed Hircine. Maybe he helped her, or sent challenges her way to test her limits? If a walking stick turned into that spear, Hircine must have been mightily impressed! He was half-way through his second mead by now. It was hard not to smell the stew that the innkeeper, or someone else, was cooking. Apparently he finally got some grub here. Perfect timing. Everyone's relaxed and sitting, and hungry after a long day. That stew will be sold in a matter of minutes.
"Could I have a bowl of that stew as well?", he roared, loud enough for the cook to hear him-and recognise it was an orc speaking, but not so loud that the murmuring growd would raise eyebrows. He turned his attention back to Tsavani, eager to hear the rest of her adventure.

Allard - Afternoon

There was a jolt and a flash of pink light. Allard shuddered and blinked a few times, suddenly he was once again towering over the court mage and smiled. "That was a good idea, however in future I'd prefer it if you could turn me into something with only two legs and preferably two arms also?" He grinned and then said, "Now I take it we can talk more privately here. What I am asking of you is a lot and I'm afraid that there is little I can give you in return. You are my only hope."

He paused trying to let his statement sink in, "Now," he continued on suddenly brimming with confidence, "I am in need of your services as a master of illusion, I need to change form, something less.. obvious. Smaller, more compact and less elf like. Yes, I can picture it now. I'll become the castle 'page boy', that way I can keep tabs on the Justicar; for I must find out what he is planning for this town, of course I'll share my findings with you. Yes it's all coming together now. Now all I need is you to transform me into this boy."

He looked down into her eyes and hoped that she would agree to his plan.

Fiona Barrow-Heart, her study, Afternoon

Fiona watched the High-Elf expound his plans. Her eyes met his as he finished speaking, and she held his gaze for a number of moments, measuring her response. She glanced down at her pale hands, crossed on the skirt of her robes, and returned her gaze, batting those over-sized, darkly-inked eyelashes.

"I have no love for the Thalmor you encountered downstairs, but nor do I have any love for hair-brained schemes and ill-concieved follies. Before I agree to help you, I would like to know who I am helping." she stood, turned away from Allard and took her place in the middle of the room, hands folded in front of her, bright eyes watching his every moment with a cat's vigiliance.

Allard - Afternoon

Fiona held his gaze for a moment before speaking, "I have no love for the Thalmor you encountered downstairs, but nor do I have any love for hair-brained schemes and ill-concieved follies. Before I agree to help you, I would like to know who I am helping."

'Who I am helping'. A cog in Allards mind began to turn as he heard this. Do I tell her the everything or just part of the truth? She asked who I am, but I haven't told people that in years. No, no that information would wait a lifetime.

"I am," he paused, still unsure of what he was about to say, "an enemy of the Thalmor. I am exiled from my homeland due to their treachery and now I must fight against them. I was once one of their champions, one of the best warriors, The Burning Heart. I am haunted by the pain they have caused and have devoted my entire existance to their downfall, one elf cannot destroy an empire but I sure as hell can try." In his eyes tears welled, it was difficult to remember how much the Thalmor had taken from him.

Fiona Barrow-Heart, her study, Afternoon

Fiona Barrow-Heart studied the strange Altmer's response carefully. It was sincere, she had no doubt. Anyone who could evade the Thalmor as long as this man appeared to have done would be a worthy ally. Cogs in the witch's powerful mind turned, and she decided to trust him. His tears seemed genuine, and something in her pride would not allow the witch to believe she was being decieved.

"Very well. I shall do what I can to help you, if I can expect your help in return. This Juscitar, one Valarmo, is an unpleasant sort. He has attached himself to the court here, and looks to rout out any Talos worship in the new Hold." she paced around her study as she spoke, cat-like eyes not leaving the Mer for a moment "You wish war with the Thalmor, and I wish for my business to be undisturbed by Dominion Spys. Very good, our interests may pool." she approached Allard where he soot, eyes narrowing, "However, what you ask is ..difficult. The image of a beast I can conjure and dismiss freely, but only for a short peroid of time. What you ask would require an enchantment, atunned to apply with a constant effect. It is not impossible, and I have the ability, but the magicks are..dark." She knelt to reach into her great yawning chest. "I could manufacture such an amulet, and it would provide a capable disguise, not just now but for as long as you require it. The image is not important, it could be set to that of a boy, or a girl, a man or mer. It makes no difference. What is required, however.." she walked back up to Allard, standing close now, her next words intoned darkly, as if even she were scared to hear them "is a Black Soul. I hope as a Mer you understand what this means." She threw a darkly-coloured soul-gem at Allard for him to catch. "This is the price. If you can fill this soul with Black Soul, the disguise is yours."

Nuramon, Inn, talking to Raryn and Sargon.

"Pleasure Nuramon, my name is Raryn and I arrived today, my home is the Hlaalu Residence if you're familiar with it?"

Nuramon nodded. “Only with House Hlaalu themselves. I haven’t set foot inside the residence yet.” He said smilingly.

Then the old man had a surge of pain in his back and he had to lean heavier on his stick. "Sorry gentlemen, I'm not as robust as I was and it's been a long journey, I absolutely must sit down."

Nuramon nodded. “of course, we understand –“ he wanted to say something else but was interrupted by the khajiit telling her story.

Daikanos, stables and later in the Inn.

"Warrior of Valton, son of Shor, I'm sure we can resolve this reasonably. This man has committed assault you say? Forty septims is it not?" The Altmer went towards his horse and opened a small elaborately decorated golden elven chest with a spell and took out a red velvet bag of septims. Counting forty of them, he put them in a spare bag and after magically closing the chest, walked back to the guard. "Here is the suitable fine, you have no more reason to bother this valiant son of Akatosh."

Daikanos saw the coins reaching the guards hands. “Sad, the knight can’t even take care of himself.” He simply said. He stepped away from the imperial and gave a quick look at the altmer. He had to suppress his laugh when he saw him. All high and mighty like they think they actually own this place. thinks he is big guy. Suddenly he heard his personal voices again. yesss, Kill him. Kill them both. You’ll enjoy it trussssst usssss. He shook his head to shut them out. Shut up! Leave me alone!

He turned around before any of them could speak to him and made his way to the inn. He went in and walked immediately to the bar. He took in the people that were listening to a khajiit talking about her past. He had to look twice at the khajiit. Bloody savages, that’s what all khajiit are. That’s why they are not worth it to be equals of the dunmer or any other race in general.

When the innkeeper passed him, he addressed the nord. “Is there any room left? If not could you point me to a place where I can sleep for the night?”

We're moving over to a new thread as this one is dangerously close to the post limit. http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1338764-valton-the-new-hold-rp-thread-2/