Cato Varinius
West Weald Inn

"I have no reason to defend myself, unless you give me one. Could you close the door behind you?" The Breton glanced at the door suspiciously before inviting Cato to the only chair in the room with a wave of his hand. This is starting to work out quite well. Certainly more exciting than my typical day, by any account. Cato was quite satisfied that things were going his way, instead of him being violently murdered for walking in on something of a temporary home invasion.

"Ah, an invitation to the room I paid for. Unorthodox, but I suppose it's a nice change of pace." Cato said as he strolled into the room, closing the door behind him and heading over to the desk. He set his sword and the brandy down on the table before setting off in search of glasses for the brandy. Varinius eyed the Breton as he sat down upon the bed, a bit of dust being thrown into the air as he did so. I must remember to leave some coin for the cleaning, don't want to seem a rude guest. Cato turned his attention back to his search, scanning the room carefully. "Aha! There we are." he exclaimed, walking over to a pair of goblets resting on a dresser.

He retrieved the goblets, but scratch marks on the floor near the door caught his eye. Doubtlessly due to the acrobat's improvised barricade. Add a few more septims to the tab, I suppose. A shame too, that floor is mahogany. Cato shook his head briefly before heading back over the desk, setting the pair of goblets down next to each other. As the author poured the brandy, his Breton roommate spoke up. "I too saw you downstairs. I'm Robentie Genis, but you can call me Rob."

"Well met, Rob, my acrobatic friend," said Cato picking up the two goblets of brandy and bringing them over to the bed. He handed Robentie his drink before heading back to the desk, pulling out his chair and taking a seat. "My name is Cato Varinius, and you may call me whatever you wish." The Imperial inhaled the smell of the brandy before taking a small sip. "Ahhh, worth every septim. It's actually quite good, but this is Skingrad after all. In retrospect, I suppose I should have sampled the wine, but I'm starting to run rather low on funds."

"Are you a writer or something?" the man asked, and for a moment Cato has excited that this man had read some of his work, but then he realized that he had probably seen the author scribbling away at the bar downstairs.

"Why yes, indeed I am," Cato said, beaming with a controlled pride. "Perhaps you've heard of some of my work? Maybe even read it?" The Imperial leaned forward, cupping his goblet in his hands. "The Adventures of the Azure Alliance? The Bloodworks? Or perhaps one of my more obscure pieces?" Rob didn't give off any real signs of being a big reader, but then again being a reader did not have many evident tells. He had burned enough not to assume people have read his books, and he wouldn't be surprised if his new drinking buddy hadn't.

Rob Genis, Upper West Weald Inn, Afternoon.

The Imperial stayed true to his word and even closed the door behind him as he entered the room. To Rob’s delight, he also put down the sword on the desk between the bed and the wall.
"Ah, an invitation to the room I paid for. Unorthodox, but I suppose it's a nice change of pace." The Imperial said and began looking for something, most presumably glasses for the brandy. Rob had been skeptic about a free glass of brandy, but it seemed like the man would, once again, stay true to his word.

“Yeah, about that…” Rob did his best to look sorry, but couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t exactly expect someone to barge into a bedroom at the middle of the day.” He looked out of the window as if to reassure him that is was, in fact, still day-time. He couldn’t see the sun from this angle, but judging by the slightly more orange nuance he’d slept one, maybe two hours. It wasn’t as much as he’d hoped to sleep, but it was enough to make him feel invigorated.

“Aha! There we are.” The Imperial said; two goblets in his hands. He gave the floor by the door an odd look while he poured an equal amount of brandy into both of the goblets.

“Well met, Rob, my acrobatic friend.” The imperial said and picked up the two filled goblets of brandy, bringing them over to the bed. Rob was surprised that the Imperial knew of his acrobatic skills, but when he reflected on what evidence might lead to that it was quite clear. He’d been downstairs, seeking a room and then he’d appeared up here. He recalled that he hadn’t closed the balcony door either, but that had been intentional. He wanted to have a quick escape if possible. The Imperial handed Rob one of the goblets before sitting down on the chair himself.

“My name is Cato Varinius, and you may call me whatever you wish.” The Imperial continued. Rob nodded as he spoke and took a sip of the brandy. He had never appreciated the taste of brandy or any other liquor. What Rob valued was the punch it packed. No need to tell Cato that, though. Rob smiled in appreciation as he took a small sip of the brandy. A bigger gulp would’ve packed a bigger punch, but it seemed very rude to do so with an expensive drink he’d gotten for free.

“Ahh, worth every septim.” Cato said, seemingly caught up in the brandy completely. “It’s actually quite good, but I supposed this is Skingrad. In retrospect, I supposed I should have sampled the wine, but I’m starting to run rather low on funds.” Rob couldn’t help but feel a bit puzzled about how the man handled his financial situation. If he was low on funds, why did he buy ridiculously overpriced brandy and even worse, share it with a complete stranger that had barged into a room he didn’t belong in?

Rob thought about what he’d seen downstairs, Cato had been writing something. Almost no-one wrote things in Cyrodiil or Daggerfall, unless they did it for a living. Thus Rob came to ask a question, keeping up the small-talk. “Are you a writer or something?”

Cato replied with an enthusiasm that showed that he was indeed a writer. “Why yes, indeed I am. Perhaps you’ve heard of some of my work? Maybe even read it?” Cato leaned forward, cupping his goblet in his hands. “The Adventures of the Azure Alliance? The Bloodworks? Or perhaps one of my more obscure pieces?” Rob had heard of the Bloodworks, but hadn’t actually read it. He shook his head and said,
“I’m sorry, whatever you wish, but I haven’t read either of those books you mentioned.” He had mentioned only two books, right? Or maybe it had been three... The Adventures, the azure alliance and the Bloodworks? Rob shrugged and took another small sip of the brandy.

“Thanks for not calling the guards on me, Cato.” He said, looking down into the depths of the goblet. “And thanks for the brandy.” He raised his goblet slightly higher and nodding with it towards Cato. For a moment, he thought about paying for the room and the brandy, the eight septims he’s offered to the innkeeper, but quickly abandoned that plan. He was extremely low on funds as it was, he couldn’t afford to throw away coin just to make a nice gesture. Rob adjusted his position on the bed, making it creak a little.
“I’m wondering…” He started, pausing to sip on the brandy. “Why you did this?” When Rob said this he looked around in the room, as if to highlight the door, the brandy and himself. The small goblet with brandy was now empty and Rob put it down on the desk, hoping for a refill but without looking at the bottle of brandy or the goblet. He wasn’t going to ask for more than Cato offered.

Cato Varinius
West Weald Inn

Cato had chuckled and shrugged as Rob explained that he hadn't been expecting to see anyone in the rooms at this time of day. Glancing out the window, the Imperial had to admit it looked a bit eariler. But the journey from Skingrad had been a long one, and Cato had found himself feeling quite tired downstairs. However, now that he was having a conversation and had some brandy in him, he wasn't feeling so tired.

“I’m sorry, whatever you wish, but I haven’t read either of those books you mentioned.” Rob said, shrugging as if he had barely any idea of what the author was talking about.

The Imperial nodded, holding up his hands. "Don't worry about it my friend, I have no illusions of grandeur," the author said, smiling after he took another sip of the brandy in his goblet. "Although perhaps you might want to give one of them a read some day, I've been told they're quite entertaining." Varinius didn't like to brag about his work, but he hardly ever heard bad things about them, and he thought of that as a testament to his craft.

“Thanks for not calling the guards on me, Cato. And thanks for the brandy.” Rob had been looking down at his brandy, but now he held it up and nodded to his Imperial benefactor. He shifted his weight, causing the bed to creak underneath him. “I’m wondering…Why you did this?” said Rob, looking around him to indicate the room and the brandy as he set his goblet on the desk.

Varinius noticed that it was empty, and he took the liberty of refilling the goblet as he pondered the answer. "Well, at first I thought I might head down and alert the innkeeper that my door was barricaded and that I suspected a second-story man had taken up residence in my room." Cato pushed Rob's refilled goblet closer to him so that he could grab it once more. "But then I decided that it would make for an all-together better story if I just...went with it." Cato finished before he downed the rest of the brandy in his goblet.

"You see," Cato said as he began pouring himself another goblet. He didn't pour very much, as he didn't intend to get entirely smashed. Regardless of how the night had gone, Rob was still a thief, and he still might strip the Imperial blind if he passed out. "I've run into a rough bit of writer's block, and I deduced that the best way to remedy that would be to go out and experience adventure for myself. So I suppose having a drink with you is in part due to my efforts to experience an adventure."

Cato took another sip of brandy, smacking his lips quietly. "What about you, my clambering friend," he asked, unwrapping his pointer from around the goblet to point at Rob. "What events led to you being tired enough to break into a crowded Inn in broad daylight for a nap?" Up until that point Cato hadn't given much consideration as to how the thief had found himself in this situation, and he found himself curious.

Rob Genis, Upper West Weald Inn, Afternoon.

"Don't worry about it my friend, I have no illusions of grandeur," Cato said, replying to Rob’s comment that he hadn’t read any of his books. "Although perhaps you might want to give one of them a read some day, I've been told they're quite entertaining." The Imperial continued. Rob nodded a few times as if he was thinking of doing that. He remembered reading a lot of books about magic in his youth, but in vain. Alas, he had no talent for magic and all the studying of different schools of magic had been wasted resources.

Cato poured more brandy in Rob’s goblet, which brought a smile upon the Breton’s face.
"Well, at first I thought I might head down and alert the innkeeper that my door was barricaded and that I suspected a second-story man had taken up residence in my room." Cato said and pushed Rob's refilled goblet closer to him. He grabbed it with his left hand and nodded with the goblet in Cato’s direction again, as a silent ‘thank you’ gesture.
"But then I decided that it would make for an all-together better story if I just...went with it." Cato continued, before he downed the rest of the brandy in his goblet. Rob couldn’t help but think of the stereotypical, boring writer-type figure who sat inside seven days a week in the middle of dusty parchments, scrolls and books. The last remark caught Rob’s attention.

"You see, I've run into a rough bit of writer's block, and I deduced that the best way to remedy that would be to go out and experience adventure for myself. So I suppose having a drink with you is in part due to my efforts to experience an adventure." The Imperial said and finished his explanation of why he hadn’t reported Rob, like any other person sure would’ve. Rob nodded slowly, thinking that he’d been lucky. If Cato wouldn’t have had this weird craving for adventure, Rob might be rotting in the Skingrad dungeon right now.

Cato took another sip of brandy, smacking his lips quietly. "What about you, my clambering friend,"
Rob snapped out of his philosophical ‘What could have happened’-scenarios.
"What events led to you being tired enough to break into a crowded Inn in broad daylight for a nap?” That question had Rob clear his throat and have a sip of brandy. What would he tell this guy? The whole truth? Part of the truth? A lie? Half lie, half truth? He gave himself a moment to think, inspecting the goblet with brandy, the roof, the window, the door, nothing in particular. When he’d made up his mind about what to say, he faced Cato again.
“Oh you know, a normal day of my life. Being chased by the guards, accused for false murder, sleeping outside in a muddy bush to not be seen and then walking all the way from the imperial city to Skingrad in the middle of the night, arriving a few hours ago.” He made it sound like he was doing it every day, with the pace he talked and the tone he spoke with. Rob let out a loud yawn, covering his mouth with his leather protected hand. He looked at Cato and wondered what was going on inside the head of the writer, what he would say next.

The West Weald Inn
Emeline

Honour! Honour!

The frail Breton could hardly believe how self-righteous the man was. Just like every other stupid peasant that couldn't tell Alteration from Illusion, adventurers seemed incapable of discerning the cause from the consequences, which never failed to drive her up the wall anew. Without provocation, a bunch of heavily armed people had blundered into her home with the intention of murdering her in cold blood - and he was surprised she'd defended herself? Does he even realize I'm an actual person?!

Fortunately for her, the first skills any necromancer wanting to survive for more than a week in that thankless plane of the mortals was restraint and the capacity to play relatively stupid or innocent in a crowd. Acting was as much a part of the sensible necromancer's life as dwelling in caves filled with the walking dead; and Emeline was a sensible necromancer, no matter what this heavily armed oaf believed. She realized, unlike some of her colleagues, that staying pent up in an underground ruin was neither practical nor particularly healthy. And that was why she'd learned to act in certain ways that made her brief forays into civilization less of an issue than they may've otherwise been.

This, in turn, was why she had elected to stay silent for now and let her new saviours handle the situation further. Which the bulky Imperial was making considerably difficult with his remarks.

Devil cloaked in human flesh?! Then what are you, the merciful Church of Stendarr?

The young necromancer's left eye twitched slightly as she struggled not to let her mind slip down that unpleasant route of suggesting that maybe this one was deserving of the Quagmire after all. She hated the implications of that avenue of thought, what it showed was happening to her - more than anything, she didn't want to become that grouchy, stark-raving mad sort of necromancer that was on a quest of personal revenge against the world. She'd seen their sort - and hadn't been particularly impressed.

It was, however, remarkably hard not to declare a one-woman's crusade on all people, everywhere, when they seemed so bent on pissing her off. Just let the kindly man with the sword handle it. Him and his... err, yellow Argonian friend? I'm sure they're qualified to handle this, don't try to murder the barbarian...

Thus absorbed in trying not to lose more faith in the races of Man than she already had, Emeline didn't notice that, in-between her indecisive milling about, the proprietor had sent a small young boy out of the inn. It seemed someone had no intention of seeing the loud sword-swinging warrior square off against the chivalric interloper and his yellow pal in her beloved establishment.