"Why of course, kind Sir. I would love to have a drink with such a well educated Altmer. The name is Dres, Apoc Dres." The Dunmer replied.
"I really don't see what you find joy-inspiring about this rotten place, but very well. I shall return momentarily." Continued Elusmon.

And he hurried into the inn, where he purchased two mugs of ale, thanking the innkeeper, he hurried back out again, and handed a mug of the low quality ale to Apoc.

"So, Dres Apoc, do you live in Bravil?" Asked Elusmon curiously.

The Dunmer took the mug and smiled thankfully to the Altmer.

"Oh, no. I don't live in any place? You could call me a nomad. Been on any place you could imagine, didn't stay too long." Answered Apoc in a polite way.

"And you? You don't seem to be from around here, if you allow me to say it that way?"

He sat on a bank that bas just outside the inn. Having the altmer in front of him, he was in a way difficult to spot, if the Breton girl would by any chance come from the front side?

"I hope you don't mind if I sit."

" I don't mind at all" said Elusmon. "I see we share that in common, I'm myself am a travelling necro- er, a travelling mage, of sorts. I've decided to settle down in Bravil, there seem to be a lot of oppurtunities here." Elusmon winced. How he let his mind wander like that, he didn't know.

Elusmon took a sip of the ale.

"I'm somewhat unemployed, you wouldn't know of any work around here that would need to skill of a mage?" Elusmon said carefully.

He half-watched the patrons of the inn as he tucked in to his soup, but his concentration was more focused on his stomach. Any minute now, his stomach would reject the meal as well as the liquor, and he'd find himself outside again. However, his thoughts about his stomach were rudely interrupted by the appearance of a fellow Altmer in some fine garb. With him was a Dunmer, whose robe hid most of his person in shadow. They left together.

He frowned, realizing his stomach was about to rid itself of its contents, and he hurriedly layed a few coins on the table before jumping from his seat and rushing outside. It had begun raining while he was inside the tavern, and the thick beads of water struck his brow as he bent over the road. The first heave was mostly pain, bile flooding into his mouth, and the subsequent heaves relieved him of what little nutrition he had. After finishing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and receeded back under the awning of the building, realizing that the Dunmer and the Altmer were a mere two yards from him.

"Sorry," he said, "Enchanting does it to you."

Apoc took a few gulps from the mug, after expressing his disgust with a grunt, answered the Altmers question with a pathetical tone:

"I am afraid that we are two now that have the same problem. I am as unemployed as a cliff racer hunter, I can't help you with that. However, I could tell you where to find some easy money, but don't expect too much." This time he took a sip, but spurted it all out. Wha-? Necromancer? This is serious business. What does he want HERE?

Fortunately, there was a distraction that helped him hide his feelings of surprise. Another Altmer came out of the inn and started pouring his stomachs content on the floor, which did not a good job making it more dirty than it already was.

"Sorry," the altmer of an appearance of a mage said, "Enchanting does it to you."

"Ahem, and what enchantment gives you the urge to puke in front of people?" Replied the Dunmer. He smirked. Poor guy, didn't he know about the rumors of bravilian food?

"The enchantment of disgusting food and pouring half your skull into an object, Dunmer." He waved his hand, freezing the pile of undigested soup and bile so it wouldn't stink. "At least, it does it to you when you don't have the fancy apparati of the Guild."

He finally gave the pair more than a cursory glance. The Dunmer was a soldier by his build, and it was apparent he was wearing some armor, if not a whole set. The Altmer, on the other hand, was built like any mage, frail looking and wearing a red robe.

"But you two. You don't smell nearly as filthy as most people here do. So, from where are you?"

OOC: ok this is a bit confusing, Altmer Mage who approved you? I want to know who is in charge here so I can refer other applicants to the new boss, because I'm afraid I'm not coming back. (this is exactly the same with my SI roleplay, first I liked it and nobody joined, when I rezzed it more people joined and I got bored before it started)

once I know who's i charge I'll post a big sign in the OP for future applicants to not bother me with this monstrosity while I am preparing for college and my Colovian Bandit Crisis resurrection

When I made my character sheet, no one was leader, and no one had a problem with it, so I presumed it was alright to continue.

IC:

Elusmon chuckled as the fellow Altmer heaved his guts out. "I travel frequently, fellow Altmer, but my last destination was a seaside town of Anvil, if you really wish to know. Since you seem an enchanter, if you don't mind me asking, what is the current market price of a bag of holding, and do you have any in stock?" Asked Elusmon.

[OOC : we assume that your character sheet had been approved by Cirith]
His meal finished, Ashag moved to the counter for another beer chatting a bit with the barman.

"From Mara's church hey ? You're there to take charge of the chapel on Marconus street ?

Yes, my predecessor had an.. accident they told me."

The barman spat expertly into the spitoon, grimacing in disgust "Screw accidents. Some gonk bashed down the door and butchered the poor gal. Shredded her to pieces. Got his jollies in the process to boot s her robes were tossed in a corner. The watch said some daedra cultist did it with a summon." His face implying he didn't buy word from it.

"And what's your take on it ?

Well, the gal was trying to get peoples out of skooma and the like. From what I've heard she had managed to get a few to completely kick the habit. Word on the street is one dealer or another got her shanked, and greased palms with the watch to get the case buried. You're tougher than her, but watch your steps. I'd don't know who or what did her in, but it was a mess

I'm a lay member, I'm not there to patch souls, only bodies.

There should be no problem. You're too big for the riffraff to bother you
.
Thanks. But I need a few peoples to clean up the chapel. A day's work, twenty drakes a day.

Oh sure, there's a few of my regulars who could use the coins. Too old to work the docks or the constructions, but fine to help cleaning.

That's just what I need ? send word to them to show up tomorrow at the chapel. Say at nine in the morning. And my thanks for the help

No sweat, and I'll pas the word. Farewell"

Having taken care of what had brought him out, Ashag returned to the chapel. Once inside he decided to put on his glasses to carefully examine the traces left inside. Nobody had yet bothered with a proper cleanup, the watch had merely removed the corpse. He might get more information than them and certainly couldn't get less.

As Anne left her hiding spot, the clouds finally broke open and it started to rain. She sent a wry look up at the sky, but didn't pay any more attention to it than that. When one spent several years out on wilderness patrol, one learned to accept the elements.

She headed back up the street she had chased the Dunmer down, ignoring the curious glances from passersby. Should she track him down; would it do any good? Perhaps he had only been a pickpocket looking for a mark... but what daft pickpocket would target someone who was armed? Much less armed with both a melee and a marksman weapon? Surely, no thief could be that stupid. But what else could the Dunmer have wanted?

She shook her head to herself and sighed. She'd never had a head for these kinds of puzzles; people weren't exactly her strong point.

She heard the familiar tread of armored feet, but didn't register it until a guantleted hand tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around, a Bravil guardsman was frowning down at her. He looked haggard and a little resigned; she had little doubt as to why, working in this city.

"Ma'am," he said in a clipped tone. "I'm sure you are aware of the penalty for public disturbances."

She blinked, startled. This was her first time on the receiving end of Legion law, and she suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for everyone she had ever arrested. A wave of defensiveness caused her to blurt out, "It was only a minor one! I didn't even draw a weapon!"

"And that's why I'm not taking you in. Pay a fine of twenty Septims, and I'll forget this ever happened."

Anne stared. She was well aware that chasing a potential thief through the street was no crime. Assault was, sure, especially when the perp was armed... but the little incident with the Dunmer had come nowhere near crossing that line. This guard was obviously fishing for a bribe!

Crooked guards! She'd heard plenty of mess hall stories, and there had been a handful of them in Chorrol... but she had never heard of one so flat and resigned about it. It was almost as if this guard had to be crooked to survive here.

She could argue him out of the fine, she knew. All she had to do was quote the law at him, and he'd back off. She had just opened his mouth to do so when an idea struck her.

She needed into the seedy Bravil underworld. And what better way to establish her credit as a criminal than to be caught by a guard carrying illegal pelts in her bag? It was risky, but she thrived on beating the odds.

She took a moment to steady herself, then met the guard's look squarely. "No."

The guard rolled his eyes. "Come on. You don't want me to have to write you up on charges of resisting arrest, do you?"

"What, and give you the chance to frisk me? I don't think so."

"Then pay your fine or serve time."

"I choose secret option C. See ya!" With a grin that wasn't entirely fake, she turned and ran back the way she'd come. The guard cursed behind her and gave chase.

Anne had a bit of fun leading him on a chase through the streets, dodging through alleys and leading him out onto the main thoroughfare in front of the Fighters' Guild. There, she let him catch her, the heavily armored form tackling her and swiftly pinning her to the ground. She went limp as he tied her arms behind her back with a coil of twine.

"You are under arrest for assault and resisting arrest. I'm taking you in and frisking you, you little hick. Welcome to Bravil."

Anne was roughly pulled to her feet. She kept her eyes facing defiantly forward as he marched her toward the castle. With luck, he'd conduct a routine search of her bag and come across the pelts. With luck, the guard was just crooked enough to pass on the wares to the local black market. With luck, someone interested in acquiring more of such pelts would meet her when she got out of jail.

And if she had anything, Annette Ronet had luck.

OOC: As far as I'm aware, the enchantment for a lesser Bag of Holding would be at least artifact quality work.

IC:

"I don't run a shop. But a decent feather bag would probably cost you around two or so thousand septims. Leather can't hold a strong enough charge, and burlap's a waste of time, so a feather bag wouldn't really suite anyone but an alchemist or a nobleman with a fat wallet. Silk isn't a very strong material, you see?"

He absently groped in his pocket, looking for his pipe, but frowned when he noticed that he had forgot that as well.

"The problem with market prices in this town, as well as running a real shop, is that people are either too poor to purchase something, or you've already been comissioned to make it for them, meaning they don't have to pay a real price. There are a few shops, mind, but they barely make enough money to pay their taxes, let alone buy food or pay off the guards."

Despite his long acquaintance with violent death ? be it as a wrothgarian shaman or as a Legion healer, Ashag felt disgusted by the large blackened spots on the floor and the altar. His mind kept bringing out memories of Ephronia. The short and frail Imperial healer had been a friend. The amount of spilled blood meant she had been butchered. But it also let him see footprints. One each end of the altar, one on the side to do the killing. A woman barely able to fend off a cat, and they needed to be three. Cowards. As a red haze veiled his sight Ashag struggled to control his mounting rage. Sick bastards. Let's see if they show as much courage in front of me as in front of her...

Having recovered his control, Ashag examined the altar more closely, finally noticing several odd scratches in the soft stone. Not a dagger mark, claws rather. But they're too evenly spaced spaced. A weapon rather than natural claws. A descending strike. He didn't move, but he sprayed blood on both sides. Probably using two weapons. And uncommon ones. Even if I'll have to turn this town upside down one stone at a time, I'll find you...

Confident he wouldn't find much more, Ashag started thinking about his finding. Three thugs, at least one of them is using a khajit martial art. Since he's using combat claws, it's one of the lethal ones. Wind Claws maybe. From what little I know it's about the messiest they have. And these guys were as messy as they come. Bah messy is a language I'm fluent with. They'll have a chance to show Malauch they've some spine when I sent them to Him. I hope they'll screw it begging and wetting themselves.