Daedalus, Nuramon's House, Late Afternoon

“the ingredients used for healing weren’t cheap tough…” The mer emphasized the words weren't and cheap.

"Of course, I understand. I'll provide the funds as soon as I regain some feeling." Theseus remembered that he hadn't even thanked the stranger.

"And thank you for saving my life. I am forever in your debt, If you ever need anything please feel free to ask." Theseus said with a smile "The name's Theseus by the way., and you are?"

Nuramon, His House, Late Afternoon.

“Nuramon.” He answered. “And the payment can be aranged later. You aren’t going anywhere anyway.” He said with a laugh. “Perhaps it would be best if you rest. We can speak later.”

Itan-Ru, Gudslott Keep, Late Afternoon

Itan-Ru had been about to reply to the Jarl's question when the door to the keep burst open and a group of guards led by a surly-looking Dunmer walked in, with what looked like some prisoners in tow. The Dark Elf walked up to the Jarl and forced the ragged-looking prisoners on their knees before him. He told the Jarl to do as he wished with them, and after the Jarl angrily sent them to the dungeons and told the elf to avoid interrupting him in the future. The elf elf dismissively walked out of the keep, taking the prisoners and guards with him.

The young Argonian had been standing where he was through the entire exchange, as he didn't particularly mind being interrupted, especially not when the interrupter was a Dark Elf who seemed to have a particularly bad temper. Itan-Ru had simply avoided speaking to him, out of fear of somehow angering him further. When the elf left, Itan-Ru spoke up again,

"What were you asking? Oh yes! My tutors were Maramel and Dinya Balu mostly, though I spent time learning with most of the other priests as well." He was about to continue speaking of his tutors, but a raven sitting by the Jarl's side caught his attention. The bird was looking incredibly sick, and seemed to be in a good deal of pain. It's feathers were ragged, and many were missing or about to fall off soon. It's head hung low, as though it were too weak to support it, and its eyes were glazed over - unfocused. Instantly, his focu shifted from himself to the welfare of this poor creature.

He moved closer, the concern evident on his face as he said, "Is this your bird? What's wrong with it?How long has it been sick? Is there any way I can help?" he fired off these questions rapidly, his mind going into overdrive, sifting through possible infections and injuries that could cause this state.

Jormaw, Fiona's Tower, Late Afternoon.

The saxhleel had followed this nibenese around most of the tower. As he listened to the women, he studied the tower himself.
From time to time while he did so, Jormaw even caught a glimpse of this skulking goblin called 'Leandra' making tappings upon the exterior.
When the she-goblin was done with her thorough examination of all matters transmundane, she presently made journey to the interior tower.

They came upon a door where Leandra seemed to give pause at the door handle. 'Must be an arcane contraption,' Jormaw thought.
"An old hermit told me a trick for such an encounter, if you will." He gestured for her to stand aside while he would succumb to a spell.
Then a layer of translucent blue-white glow covered the saxhleel's skin and within a second's wait, he jogged down the door with all of his strength.

Crash!

Whatever was in that door had sent Jormaw in a flaming fury of a sling, for he slided across the next room and into an adjacent shelf.
He wasn't harmed per say, but most of his spell's effectiveness had worn off as his lumped features went dashing into the floorboards.

Before he could get up, he noticed something odd about the room. A slight mist of purple clouded most vision and faint shadows were to be
seen in the distance. 'Bump! bump! bump!' came a sound from another room. Jormaw hastily worked his way up to his feet and slung his claws
open for battle. What he saw was notably reminiscent to a creature he had fought before- a clannfear. But the creature didn't seem interested in him.

'It must be going for the mercenary,' he thought. With a pounce, leap then shudder, he applied his own weight against the clannfear's in a battle of tenacity.
Nevertheless, his efforts would appear to be futile- for this slight creature had leaped out then overhead and was going for the woman in nimbleness.
Whatever the outcome now, he knew they'd have a tough fight on his hands. 'And to think! I won't have a trophy at the end of this, ssh. What a shame.'

Julius Scipion, Shimmermist Mine, Late Afternoon

Julius looked proudly at the wall he had built around the mine The guards lay on the floor panting with exhaustion as Julius had used them to help build the wall, the work was solid and Julius Had already lain markers for the rest of the building areas yet to be built he looked down at the guards before saying “See you tomorrow lads” One of the guards let out a Groan, Julius Chuckled at this before mounting his horse and setting on his way back to Valton.

Roymund Inventius, Helas' Folly. Late Afternoon

Roymund watched as Alguidar spoke, he'd told him to go home and that he could prepare an ointment to help make him feel better. "I need it healing, not feeling better" he thought "besides, I must pick up the arrow-heads from the blacksmith shortly..". His vision shifted from Alguidar as he spoke, staring vaguely at the floor. With a sudden twitch, he returned the gaze back to Alguidar. "Very well, but would you do a service for me?" he asked "The towns blacksmith is crafting a some arrow heads for me. I left a shaft with him for sizing. Would you pick them up for me? Tell him my name, and he'll know i've sent you." Roymund reached back and placed a small purse of coins on the table. "Thats his pay."

With a groan, Roymund lifted himself from table and made for the taverns exit. His footsteps appeared loose, His arm was clearly effecting his sleep and he could be mistaken as half-drunk. He stepped outside with a stumble, taking in a deep breath of the evenings air. "Wake up" he willed himself

Jarl Radwulf Spurvhauke, Gudslott Hall, Late Afternoon

The Jarl of Valton was still caught in such a state of agitation from his Guard Captain's brusque interruption that he failed to pay Itan-Ru's reply any of the attention he had intended and did not pick up on the earnestness he had been probing for. At length Radwulf Spurvhauke pulled his eyes from the retreating Dunmer to the humble young Argonian in his audience. The old Jarl picked up two genuine priests of Mara he recognised from what the Argonian, which was enough. Radwulf raised his brow as Itan-Ru approached him, sincere concern on his face, with questions regarding the raven still languishing at his side. A priest's concern, there was no doubt of it. Radwulf Spurvhauke did the best to svck the sourness from his mouth, a surly disposition not proper when addressing a lizard of the cloth.

"The raven.." said the Jarl, quite amazed by the concern, both from himself and this Argonian, "..belongs to my Court-Mage, Fiona Barrow-Heart, who herself has been missing two days now. The creature flew in through that window not half an hour ago, and landed on my lap." Jarl Radwulf shuffled awkwardly in his throne, embarrassed by what he was about to say, and, as always at these times, feeling the pitting look of his departed Wife. Onward continued his ridiculous life, "..from what I can see, it has been attacked, possibly bitten by something fanged, and slashed. Anymore I cannot say. Can you..do anything to heal it?" he ventured, admonishing himself already, in his mind's voice. A bird, Radwulf, a Bird.

"Only the thing shows some intelligence, and... I do not know. It would be better if it did not perish." he admitted, softly, looking up at the Argonian standing over him.

Fiona's Tower, late afternoon
Leandra

Seeing as Jormaw apparently had some suicidal wish to charge into doors rigged with arcane traps of an uncertain nature - either that, or he knew more about magic than Leandra, which seemed extremely unlikely - the mercenary simply shrugged and stepped aside without turning the handle. Her arm clanged silently in what she imagined to be disapproval, as she'd already been prepared to put it to work and force through the door, but she only crossed her arms over her chest and observed her new tag-along friend with a mixture of mild curiosity and a touch of scepticism.

Proper Synod outlined procedure would be to discern the exact nature of the spell and prepare or acquire countermeasures if disarming was impossible, or, failing that, ready spell absorption and reflection of as great a magnitude as possible. Then again, she had never been one for proper procedure. Another proper procedure as laid down by the Synod was to come out of their education with the capacity to cast a spell, and that hadn't gone so well...

Of course, there was another means to get past a magically warded door, one that her former mentors probably silently approved of - even if it wasn't ever spoken of. Send someone else to trigger the trap. Because what good wizard doesn't have a couple of hired goons or at least Daedra or undead handy for occasions like that? A wizard she may not have been, but the Nibenese was certainly odd enough to pass for one. And she wasn't beyond employing what methods of theirs she could when it suited her, as now.

Light amusemant and a tinge of nostalgia over similarly blocked paths cleared this same way in the past grazed over the surface of the tangled knot of questionable content that was her thoughts as the Argonian charged down the door and onwards. Such emotions were quickly swept away as her survival instincts kicked in, goaded into action by the emergence of another threat of a far more offensive nature from the court-mage's study.

The shape of the creature that had so abruptly attacked them was all too familiar to the Daedra hunter. This made her smile slightly.

Good, can't stand undead. Daedra are always more fun.

Her head tilted slightly as Jormaw tackled the daedroth, giving her a few more seconds. She, of course, barely paid attention to what ensued between the two (remarkably similar, she couldn't help noting) combatants, focused instead on devising a way to dispatch of this new menace. Unlike trapped doors, clannfear were well within her comfort zone.

Crossbow? No no, too close. Might hit Argonian, too... Pointless risk, waste of bolts. The clannfear had slipped past her new companion, with the obvious intent of attacking her.

Leandra's eyes narrowed slightly. Close combat, then. Messy... She sniffed, the handle of her knife already in her left palm. But, necessary. Have to stop, take away momentum. If escapes... problematic. Guards incompetent, disproportionate destruction probable.

It seemed like it'd have to be her, then. Again.

The clannfear leapt at her with an all too familiar shriek. Quick as its attack may have been, however, the Daedra hunter was familiar enough with her prey to be faster still; she ducked and rolled to the side, using the limited space of the hallway as best she could. Sometimes, the fact conjurers and Daedric cultists favoured tight caves for their activities could be a good thing.

Pistons clanged and steam puffed as a fist powered by Dwemer devices hundreds upon hundreds of years old - but still reliable and effective - drove into the daedroth's head, catching it off balance and sending it into the wall that it was almost hugging anyway. It screeched again, disoriented and angered, however silvered steel had already flashed as Leandra performed an offensive of her own.

Eyes or mouth. Ignore head-plate, worthless to attack.

Claws swiped for her head and chest, but met only air and steel respectively as she evaded one attack and her armour met the other. Her steam-powered fist again shot up, grasping the clannfear by the throat - and making the mercenary wince due to the stress placed on her arm by the force of such an attack - and her knife swiftly driving into the creature's eye without hesitation.

Hm. After a few moments, the scowl on Leandra's face turned into her traditional slightly distant smile. Doesn't seem to want to disappear, so bound to the room then. Way to barge into someone's room and kill their pet.

"You alright there, Scales? If you're not, I bet I can squeeze hazard pay out of the Jarl. Hm, that would be nice..." She didn't stop to think that she was still holding the lifeless body of a clannfear pressed to the wall. With any luck, the guard who'd met her at the door wouldn't be sent to see what the commotion was about - or the man would surely need counseling after such a day.

Itan-Ru, Guslott Hall, Late Afternoon

Itan-Ru nodded and said, "I will try. Though I'm not as familiar with the anatomy of birds, so it might be more difficult." He walked forward and gingerly took the bird in his scaled hands. He sent out a pulse of magicka through the raven, focusing on the inside first. He could sense a foreign presence in the bird. No doubt venom from whatever attacked this poor thing, he thought to himself. He gently focused the magic to push the substance, the clear fluid dripping from the punctures on the raven's small body until none remained in its bloodstream.

He exhaled, feeling the strain of removing the venom. That was the first time he'd had to do it, and though he'd read the methods behind it, it was far different the act itself. At least the hard part is out of the way, he thought. He sent another pulse through the birds systems, feeling for any internal damages that would otherwise go unnoticed. Several organs had been damaged by the venom, but it wasn't so far along as to be irreparable. He gave the affected organs a boost to help them fight off the aftereffects of the venom. After all of that was finished, he moved on to the final stages of the healing, going to each slash and puncture in turn and sealing them, knitting the muscle and skin back together like a weaver at the loom. Repairing the damaged nerves, remaking the connections without getting any crossed in the process.

It was tiring work, especially so because he had to learn the bird's systems as he went. he was using a good portion of his magicka to "scout ahead" and see where the paths of fibers should go so as to avoid making a mistake. As he finished, and the glow around his hands finally faded, the bird began blinking, clearing its eyes as it stood in Itan-Ru's hands. It looked up at the young Argonian, the spark of intelligence bright in its eyes once more. He smiled as the bird flew back to it's former place at the Jarl's side, slightly unsteady, but in far better shape than it had been before.

Itan-Ru was a bit calmer now, the healing having sapped some of his energy, though he knew that it would return shortly. He looked towards the Jarl once more and said, "Your raven is going to be fine. He won't be at full strength for a few days, but he's not in any danger of dying now. I'd recommend you ind a way to get him to take it easy for a day or two, just in case." His voice was calmer now, more confident than earlier and he wasn't speaking as rapidly. Another effect of his temporarily lowered energy.

Remembering what he had been asking for before all of the interruptions, he asked with a hint of a smile, "So about me purchasing a home?"

Roland


The clangor of war and the screams of the dying filled his head once again as his mind drifted back to the day of the siege. The cold northern air bit at his face as he raced back down the valley atop his courser. He knew where he was going. Just through the tree line along the river, not even a mile away, marched a regiment of nearly two-thousand Stormcloak reinforcements. He was the Eastern outrider, the scout sent to inform the legate of forces approaching from Windhelm. He was the one trusted with insuring the legion was not flanked, but how could he let his own people be slaughtered for the will of an Emperor hundreds of miles away? Soldier on soldier, fighting for the people, is the true way. Where is the honor in the mindless slaughter of the weak? Where is the honor in butchering woman and child for the sake of taking one keep? Was he doing the right thing? What would happen if he was caught and the Stormcloaks couldn't rout the 4th Legion? These thought's coursed through Roland's mind. Questions of honor versus duty. Questions of morality. He raced on, leaving the keep and line of Imperial soldiers behind him and riding as hard as his mount would carry him along the river road. His concentration was broken as the sound of hoof-beats approached.

"Roland! Where are you going!" The voice was familiar. Roland slowed his horse as two rangers of the 6th division rode up behind him. "Have you informed the Legate of the rebels marching from Windhelm?"

Roland turned his horse so that he could see the hard, tanned face of Arius Legano. Legano was a tough man with thick Imperial blood running in his veins, a nationalist through and through. Roland's heart raced. This was the end. How could he run with two rangers on his heels? He couldn't go back, he wouldn't sit and watch as the Legion cut through another holdfast. His mind jumped back to the question of honor. He lingered for a moment, looking down at his hands gripped tightly around the reigns.

"Well? Did you inform the Legate?" Asked Arius once more.

Roland looked up at the tanned Imperial. There is no such thing as honor. It's all just an illusion. His hand slipped down the bow tied to his saddle and pulled the leather strap.

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Roland, Valton, Nuramon's House, Late Afternoon-Middas


Roland awoke, startled, and pulled the hunting knife from his belt as he bolted upright. A sharp pain burst through his shoulder. He clenched his teeth as he looked around. He was in a cabin of some sort, and from the amount of light coming in through the windows it was almost evening. His keen eyes then fell upon a Bosmer sitting near a table with a man laid out upon it. His dagger still held up in defense Roland managed to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder and leg long enough to speak.

"Who are you and where am I, and where are my belongings?" His voice was cold and aggressive. For all he knew he could be in the infirmary of an Imperial outpost. However he quickly dismissed that as he looked around the room again. He noticed that he was in a house, not an Imperial outpost. There were books, dressers, alchemical apparatuses and ingredients, and...blood. Not an Imperial, but this place wreaks of oddity. He thought as he eyed down the Bosmer.

Alguidar, Inside/Outside Hela's Foly, Late Afternoon

"Of course. Will do!" Said Alguidar, in response to Roymund's request.

Roymund walked out the door, stumbling around, the disease taking an obvious toll on his body and mind. Alguidar sat there for a moment, worried about him. He could slow down the course of the condition but he wasn't sure he could reverse it. As Alguidar was trying to remember the ingredients he'd need, two Imperials walked through the door. One was the one he crossed paths before, with two bodyguards following him.

Not wanting to spend any time in their company, he lifted the crate off the floor and over his shoulder, and picked up the last tin with milk. Avoiding eye contact, he gently pushed the door open with his foot and walked outside. It was a beautiful day but the sun was lower than he expected. Jacqueline was sitting by the wooden steps. Alguidar admired the young Breton's ability to just stop and enjoy the moment, something Alguidar couldn't remember doing for a long time. He didn't know how anymore, his duties constantly taking the front sit, his mind focused on what needed doing. He looked around, taking in the beauty of this town for the first time. The way it seamlessly stood in the middle of the dense forest. A hot spring up ahead. The warmth of the southern sun, hitting his cheeks.

Alguidar walked over to Jacqueline and sat down on the stairs.

"Roymund. Fool. Wanted to get healing by the lizard." He said.

Mentioning the Argonian and seeing the blacksmith on the other side of the road, reminded him that Jacqueline's knife needed fixing, which reminded him of something else. He reached into his pocket to the unmistakable feel of gold coins, clashing against each other. He pulled out a small bag with ten gold coins and handed it to Jacqueline.

"You forgot about this back at the farm."

Jarl Radwulf Spurvhauke, Gudslott Hall, Teatime

The Jarl of Valton watched Itan-Ru work his magic with some interest, the old Nord's eyes glinting as they admired the healer at work. Radwulf Spurvhauke had seen many a healer in his days, good ones and bad ones, and although the Nord had no grasp of the science of magicka himself, he felt he could spot the one from the other. At the very least, some animation in the Argonian's scaled fingers, the delicacy with which he seemed to project his magicka, and a keen, careful look in those reptile eyes, suggested to the Jarl that Itan-Ru had some natural talent for restoration.

Hrefn the Raven's diagnosis was somewhat different. This was not the first time he had become badly injured in his Mistress' service (though this was without a doubt the worst mauling yet), and found the intrusive influx of restorative magicka into his body quite alarming. Not least because Itan-Ru's healing brought the raven's senses back to function, bit by bit returning the feeling, and with it the pain. Fiona was no more skilled a restoratician than this priest, but her balms soothed slowly, and over a period of days. The raven had never experienced powerful healing magic like this, and the sensation was not wholly pleasant. Hrefn jumped up, coming to his senses with an irritated caw, and leapt onto Jarl Radwulf's shoulder, somewhat dizzy, but keenly aware of the fact he had stopped dieing.

Radwulf Spurvhauke looked at the raven on his shoulder with displeasure, and cleared his throat. The Argonian was smiling at him, with warm, beady eyes, and repeating his petition for settling in Radwulf's hold. It was at this point that the Jarl of Valton knew he was about to do something he'd later admonish himself for, something he would never have done before his dear wife had departed. He was about to be overtaken by sentiment.

"Well, there is a building we had set aside for a chapel of the Divines, though it's priest never arrived. If you swear to do good by it, and are fit to provide daily services to the people of Valton there, as well as accept healing duties to any who pass through, the lease is yours, free of charge. It would not be right to charge the same sum to a Priest of Mara as to some lowly shopkeeper, and the Divines know Valton needs all their favour. Are my terms fair?" finished the old Jarl, eyes glimmering. This was not the same man who drove the Ra'Ga cartels from the Anvil docklands, who developed a trade empire than spanned from Lilmoth to Solitude. Damn it if Radwulf Spurvhauke was going soft, but Mara had been Allendra's patron Divine, and they had married in her temple.

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, late afternoon.

Gorbad had rested peacefully on a chair for a while. The only interesting thing that had happened was a party of guards returning from the bandits hunt. The captain of the guard did not look too happy, although they had with them three prisoners. Gorbad watched as the group walked to the keep and then went separate ways, taking the prisoners to the jail of Valton. He saw the captain of the guard walk over to the hot springs and disappeared behind the rock-formation. He rested his eyes for a second and could hear footsteps approach his forge. Gorbad opened one eye and saw two of the guards he'd played suited war with earlier, the same day they'd cleared Shimmermist mine, approach his forge. They didn't seem too shaken up by the loss of a friend. You couldn't be, or you wouldn't be suited for the kind of job a towns guard did. Both of them looked happy, the other a bit less so and Gorbad greeted them.

"I believe someone owes me some gold, mm?" Gorbad said with a wise-guy voice. The guard to the left chuckled and bashed the other in a friendly way on the back. With an amused smile, the guard on the right put down a small bag of 15 septims on Gorbad’s wooden table and shook his head as if he couldn't believe he'd lost a wager to an old orc. Gorbad smiled like the sun all the time and they small-talked for a while, before sharing the details of the mission. It didn't take long before they went back to the barracks. The guard on the right pointed out he'd want to win his money back over a game of suited war sometimes and then Gorbad was alone at his forge again.

He gave the netch leather another look, but put it aside for now. Instead, he began the shaping of the Chaurus chitin, into a set of boots and leg-guards. The chitin was extremely easy to shape; however, you'd still have to be careful with it. Because of the ease to shape it, it was also very easy to over-shape it. Doing that would mean you'd have to shape it back again, which would weaken the armor-to-be unnecessarily much. Gorbad's trained hands and eyes made no such mistakes while he bent, hammered and shaped the chitin at the heat of his forge.

Fiona's Tower, Jormaw, Late Afternoon.

Jormaw watched as the clannfear went after his companion, he hoped that she would be worth her weight and not end up as a half gnawed corpse.

After a hefty thump, then a subsequent choking from the nibenese's contraption, the thing looked dead. Leandra spoke while still holding the thing.
But instead of answering to her query, Jormaw just brushed the floor's dust off his legs and approached the daedric monster.
Whatever the mercenary thought of her victim- she was wrong. 'Bump! bump! bump!' the heart went, the creature was playing possum to make ambush.

'Smart little critter' the saxhleel thought in response. Subsequently, he grabbed the daedroth off of his unwary companion to attempt a disposal.
So with an armlock, a crack, a rip and a throw down the hall later, the beast was begat to Oblivion in all of it's decapitated incorporeal matter.
What was left over in Jormaw's claws looked to be the daedra's limped head. To which had been quickly carved at to get to the bloodied skull inside.

The argonian smiled at his trophy and spoke softly in his natural jel accent, "Druk si mossa, the Warchieften would be proud."
However all of this reminiscence would be quickly put aside after the saxhleel had noticed that the mercenary watched all of this gruesome display.
He scratched his head, 'What did the soft-skin say? oh by the Hist..' his eyes deepened to a close of thought, 'Hmph. Concern? that was it.'

"Sssh, ahem. Hazard pay has already been negotiated." He displayed the skull, "It's coming out of this High Priest's salary."
The argonian gave a cheeky smile and laughed. Whatever discrepancies he had with her Excellency's knowledge or skill were now in trust.
Such as it was when he would meet a skilled sellsword in his travels and after a little brawling, could give confidence to hold them with his life.

With this noted, he beleaguered that they should continue. "At any rate, Tinker-Watch, we should make some haste."
"I mean for all we know this shaman could be trapped in The Dagon's grasp, within the Deadlands." "And I want to be home for dinner."
The argonian was thinking here about a story he heard in a Skaven tavern. Twas' about a mage going up a tower and ending in a tower:

This mage supposedly fought through daedra along the way, defeated Mehrunes Dagon and finally saved a lewd princess in the end.
But it all sounded like hogwash to the lizard. It was only good to reference with humans around, seeming most knew these legends of yore.

With the little amount of social pleasing done, Jormaw picked up his spear near the splinters of the door. He deigned to await the woman's lead.

Itan-Ru, Gudslott Hall, Late Afternoon

Itan-Ru nodded. "Yes, those terms are fair, and I will happily perform these duties you requested. Thank you for your generosity, sir. These people are lucky to have one such as you as their Jarl." He bowed his head out of respect and adjusted the heavy pack on his shoulders. "I'll head there immediately and settle in, hopefully I'll be able to begin services by tomorrow." The young Argonian said politely. He was surprised at the Jarl's offer, which was very generous indeed. Most Jarls would have certainly offered a priest a good deal on a home, but few would take away the charge entirely. Itan-Ru was now certain that coming to this town was a good thing. He walked out of the Keep, and began to search for his new home and chapel.

Theseus, Nuramon's House, Late Afternoon

The young Redguard was awakened from his dreamless sleep by a tap on his shoulder. Theseus uttered a questioning grunt as his eyes adjusted to the dimming light of the Wood Elves house. His back hurt like hell and the fact that he had been lying on a hard wooden table hadn't exactly cured his soreness.

"Sorry for the interruption," Nuramon said, "but I have received news that a priest has arrived. The chapel will probably speed up the healing process better than this piece of wood." The Bosmer gestured to the door as a guard entered the building.

"I'm here to help you to the chapel." the portly guard explained with a gruff no-nonsense tone.

The guard extended his arm and Theseus grabbed onto his shoulder and was pulled off his feet. As they exited the small house, Theseus thanked the wood elf once more.

"Just don't forget about the septims you owe me." was the response.

In short time, the duo made it to the empty chapel.

"Where is the priest?" inquired Theseus.

"Not sure," was the confused response, "but he should be here any minute."

The guard set the injured redguard on one of the chapel's benches and began to pace impatiently. Someones in a hurry.

"You can return to your post. I'll be fine." The guard nodded and briskly began to depart. "And thanks for the help!" Theseus called out.

Now alone, the Redguard began to reevaluate the situation he had gotten himself into. So I'm alone with minimal funds and two wounds...this is turning out better than I expected. Might as well try to catch up on my sleep, not much else I can do.

Theseus shuddered. The chapel had no lit hearth and as evening began to fall it would only get colder in this harsh land. I hope this priest gets here soon, lest I freeze to death.

(ooc I know, crappy post. Just trying to get Theseus to the chapel)

Itan-Ru, Valton streets, Early Evening

Itan-Ru emerged from the keep, ready to finally let go of the pack he'd been dragging around all day once he made it to the chapel, which based on the fact that he couldn't see an actual chapel, meant that a home had already been converted into one, at least partially. Well, that will save me some time, he thought as he walked. He reached into his bag and pulled out another piece of taffy. The other priests used to tease him a bit for his sweet tooth, but it was all in good fun. He smiled as he remembered a few funny events that had happened in the chapel in Riften.

his memories broke off as he passed in front of a home that was darkened inside, which was unusual, as typically in a cold land like Skyrim the hearth would be burning all night to keep the occupants warm. This must be the place, he thought. He knocked on the door to make sure he wasnt about to break into someones home, and stepped inside, the door already being unlocked. He shut the door behind him, leaving the room dark.

deciding to solve the lack of light, he cast a small magelight up onto the ceiling, where it shown down, illuminating the room in a white light that cast long shadows across the floor and walls. In the light, he noticed a bundle on one of the benches. After looking for a second, it was moving... it was a person! he quickly moved up to him, asking, "Are you Ok? Are you hurt?" he noticed the man was shaking a bit from the cold so he said, "Here, I'll light the hearth." His hand was wreathed in flame for a moment as he sent a small fireball towards the logs that had been piled up at the hearth, igniting them almost instantly, the heat from the embers spreading throughout the room. With the cold taken care of, he turned his attention back to the man on the bench, "What can I do to help?"

Theseus, Chapel, evening

The young Redguard was starting to seriously regret his lack of interest in the arcane arts. I might look into it, that is if I survive the night in this thrice blasted cold weather.
Theseus began to wrap himself in a small blanket that had been lying on the floor. His annoyed disposition slowly started to turn into genuine worry. I don't know if I'll make
it through the night in this condition...

Theseus's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door shortly followed by an Argonian entering the makeshift chapel. A flash of light illuminated the dark room and
Theseus got a better view of the stranger.

The Argonian looked of average height for their kind and sported dark blue scales with some lighter shades of blue in the form of stripes and spots. He had bright green eyes
and a short spiky mohawk on his angular head.

"Are you Ok? Are you hurt?" inquired the Argonian

Before Theseus could respond, the stranger said, "Here I'll light the Hearth. What can I do to help you?"

The newly lit fire filled the room with warmth and the Reguard sighed with relief at the new found source of heat. He leaned forward to warm his hands by the the fire and said,

"I was, but the Bosmer down the road patched me up pretty good. I just need some time to rest."

Theseus was surprised at how shaky his voice was, and took a deep breath of air before adding,

"You must be the new priest, right?"

Itan-Ru, Chapel, Evening

Itan-Ru nodded at the Redguard's question. "Yes, I just got here from Riften today actually. I just came out of the keep not a few minutes ago." He sat down on the bench next to the Redguard as he took his pack off his shoulders and set it on the floor, relieved to have its weight off of his back. He was still concerned for the man's health, though the Bosmer had apparently done a decent enough job if this man was awake and talking. Aside from the cold, which was no longer an issue, he seemed to be in a stable condition. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check, as long as he was alright with it.

"You say you were hurt today? Would you mind if I took a look? I am a healer after all." He smiled reassuringly. He was fairly sure the Bosmer had healed him well enough, but a second opinion never hurt anyone.

OOC: argh. sorry for the small post.

Jacqueline

She took the lizard's gold. "Roymund's gotta be real desperate. I ain't gonna trust that scaly slimebag 'n neither should e" she said as she saw Roymund stumble away. "I saw that Dunmer fella n 'is guards draggin' some guys off to tha dungeons not too long ago." She put the small bag of gold in her shoulderbag. "Maybe that was tha guys that killed yer friend."

Theseus, Chapel, Evening

"Of course," Theseus replied to the priest as he took a swig of water from his wineskin pouch.

The Redguard unrolled the strip of moss and gauze around his upper back and beckoned the Argonian closer.

Theseus frowned What am I forgetting, Oh ya! Of course

"The names Theseus by the the way. And you are?"

Frulgar Hrenelt plodded down the road to Valton, having traveled far from his last area of employment as an engineer at a mine The Reach. Hrenelt had rationed his supplies well for the journey, calculating the size of each meal, along with some extra for any setbacks (which he had experienced aplenty, given the weather), necessary to sustain him on the path to the new hold. Having breakfasted with his last loaf of bread that morning, Frulgar sipped a wine that he had diluted (rather, a water he had cleansed with wine), seeing the bridge to Valton in the distance and… a cylindrical stone spire, towering into Kynareth’s realm.

Wreathed in a fur overcoat, Frulgar appeared both rugged and strangely noble, despite his impoverished lifestyle, emaciated by a year of near-unemployment. Thick fur boots stomped down the muddy stone road, starkly contrasting with the fine brick pathways he had engineered during his time as an architect in Cyrodil. Though an ethnic Nord, Frulgar had grown accustomed to the comforts of Cyrodil; initially, he was shocked upon reentering Skyrim, the rugged landscape devoid of the luxuries he had once known. He had, however, adjusted to the new life, though his skills in construction were not as appreciated by the natives- once his brothers- as he would have liked.

Reaching the bridge, Frulgar halted for a moment to observe his new home- or his grave, if he found himself another winter without work. A castle was already visible… homes had been erected… even a chapel? It appeared that his services were unnecessary- that the town would not require a master architect… and that Frulgar would starve.

I see that they lack irrigation… plumbing… a watermill, he thought, envisioning future projects for the town. Walls and towers… Docks? Roads could be improved… lumber mill?

Searching for possibilities, Frulgar boldly stepped forward onto this new frontier, crossing the bridge into his last hope in Skyrim. A few gems in his pocket- he hoped- could buy enough food and shelter from the inn to sustain him until a he could secure a stable job as an engineer. Approaching a guard, Frulgar bowed slightly, then asked,

“Sir, would you kindly direct me to the Jarl’s estate?”

“Oi, ye’ mean keep, milkh-drinkah?” the Guardsman, torch in hand, chuckled, his faceless helm glaring at Frulgar. “Ye look like a brother-Nord… what, those damned Elves made ye one of th’r’own? Some folk aren’t meant f’ur Skyrim…”

“I apologize, sir,” Frulgar yielded, clearly not amused by these antics. “Where is the Jarl’s keep?”

“Gudslott Hall is just up the hill,” the Guardsman replied, surprised by Frulgar’s stoic response; he’d expected at least a smile… A Nord without humor, this one. “Just next to the tow’r.”

Proceeding past the arrangement of Valton-homes and markets, Frulgar gazed into the doors of the Jarl’s keep, his eyes staring into the depths of each crevice and carving adorning the simple entrance… despite his years in service of the Empire’s finest Cyrodilic architects- constructing cathedrals and palaces to honor both god and monarch alike-, the marks of Nord craftsmanship were unmistakable and irreplaceable… Not to be sentimental, Frulgar entered the Hall, accompanied by a nearby guard.

Itan-Ru, Chapel, Evening

"Itan-Ru" The argonian said with a hint of a smile in his voice as he examined the wound on the man's back, noting the moss bandages and the faint smell of herbs. So this bosmer is an alchemist, and judging from how quickly this has clotted a fairly good one. He mumbled to himself as he examined the wound itself, preparing himself to heal it in case it wasnt as clotted as it seemed. "Hmm... it looks like it may have hit a lung, and yet you're still alive. You're very lucky that Bosmer was around to help you. If you had gotten to him any later I can guarantee we wouldn't be having this conversation. Oh, and this may tingle a bit." he added as an afterthought as he sent an exploratory pulse of magicka to assess his condition, as he had done with the bird from earlier. Though to be fair, as he was already familiar with human anatomy it was far easier to make sense of.

He closed his eyes to better feel out the pulse, which was resonating around the man's lung, just as he'd thought. The tissue seemed to be weaker there, though it was growing stronger. That bosmer must have healed his lung as well, though looking at this, I'd say he prefers potions to magic. Still, the lung was in an acceptable condition, and the man was at minimal risk as long as he was cautious. he stopped the pulse, redid the dressing on the wound with a fresh bandage he pulled from his pack and said,

"You're healthy enough, despite being almost killed today. You'll need to take it easy over the next few days to give that lung time to heal completely, so don't go getting into any fights. Also, since you just got here and you don't have a place to stay yet, and you still need time to recover, you may stay here, I'm sure we can find somewhere for you to sleep, these places tend to have a guest room upstairs. Make yourself at home, and if you manage to open that wound back up Or if you feel significant pain, please find me immediately, and I'll see what I can do."

While I'm online and all, I opened a new thread. http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1364736-valton-the-new-hold-rp-thread-5/
Do let me know what you think of the slightly more detailed "Current Events" desription I added. A lazy attempt to mention what everyone's chracter is doing.