Auelenne, Whiterun Palace Hall

Auelenne acted interested in the words of her leaning post as she continued to scan the room and gather information.
She caught the scoffing look of a young Breton warrior type.
"Mmhmm, yes, dear. That sounds so nice." She said to the Nord, oblivious to his actual question or comment.
"Really?" The Nord blushed. "That wasn't too straightforward, was it?"
"Hmm? What was your question, dear?" She was looking into his beautiful dark blue eyes, and lightly grasped his hand for encouragement.
He cleared his throat and continued. "I was saying maybe we could go back to my room at the inn, and --"

He abruptly ceased speaking as the room fell silent, and an unmannered Breton rudely addressed the king as common.
That's the same s'wit that was sizing me up! Her mouth was agape as she watched the spectacle. She was almost embarrassed for him.
She heard gasps from the room at his brash choice of uncultured words, and his casual stance. She noted his heavy looking armor, and the oversized weapons apparently stuffed into every orifice.
Must be a lone wolf. That makes him dangerous. She thought about what it must be like to have to adventure with him. Probably not much of a team player, either.
Auelenne imagined the Breton trying to dismount a horse with his cumbersome equipment. She saw him falling on his face, impaled by all his weapons at once.
She snorted out loud as she tried to conceal her giggling.
The Nord was about to repeat his words again, but she had already abandoned him to attempt to join in on a conversation with two Dunmers.
They seem to be very close. Perhaps they're lovers.
"That would be very interesting." She whispered aloud.

Drathyn, Whiterun, Palace
Drathyn stood upright, "Aye, sounds good to me."

Just as Drathyn had begun to walk a rather old yet striking Altmer approached them. She wore not but a dull green robe that swayed softly as she approached. As she approached Drathyn thought that he heard her say something but could not make out the words over the cacophony that had started up again. He turned his head towards the Altmer now realizing that this must be the one that was to be sent in their party. As she drew closer her addressed her,

"Um pardon me, did you say something muthsera?"

Xerca Valeci - Kings Palace in some awesome place, Whiterun or somin'

I am to lead the team? he asked himself, he looked to the king with wide eyes, "Thankyou, your highness, I promise to complete this mission with the uptmost haste." He finished with a bow, his thoughts were on the mission, it seemed simple but he couldn't actually believe he had been apointed as leader. They would be so proud.. he stated as he stared with admiration to the king. "Tariq" spoke a voice beside him. As if being snatched from a dream, Xerca spun around to face the voice, "Xerca, it's a pleasure." he introduced himself as he began to inspect the Khajiit.

He noted the fur colour, the thick clothing and the powerful bow on his back, he became curious about the new companion- back in Morrowind he had been raised to hate most species, Khajiit in particular and now he would have to travel and fight alongside one. He smiled politely and turned to the king, "Excuse me your highness." He called out, "When we finish this particular objective, from where do you wish us to go? Shall we meet the rest of the team at the dragon sighting?"

His eyes glanced once again to his Khajiit ally, why was he here? What was he like? What was his background? And most importantly, did he hold any hatred towards Dunmer for the slavery of his race?

ooc: Working tomorrow 5 'till 1am, so don't expect an evening post from me. :C

OOC: Short Post. You guys probably won't be meeting up anytime soon. When 10 people are in one place, interaction is complete hell, and the RP has trouble moving along. If people get up to 7 or 8 in their groups through more people joining, I may or may not cut you guys down into smaller pieces.

The Strategist of The King, Whiterun Palace Hall

The man turned, eying the Dunmer whom the King has appointed leader of the second group.

"You will receive your objective at your destination, given to you by Bjordi Bear-Tooth the Lord of Laintar Dale. Further instruction will be given to your group at that point, but I doubt you will be rendezvousing with the others anytime soon. We will send you to different places, to fight Dragons across the land. Perhaps you will meet once again, but for now, that is your objective."

Tariq - Whiterun Palace Hall

The Witchhunter had noted that the dunmer or rather now his leader seemed rather spaced out when he approached him and his voice startling the mer that spun around to face him. Deep down Tariq couldn’t help but find it a little amusing, honestly it was a strange being in company of primarily men and mer, despite giving off the illusion of being some sort of man or elf he was neither, not even close. The ohmes-raht would’ve opted for a hand shake even if all the touching for something as simple as a greeting put him off, the Khajiit tried without at first although if greeted in such manner he’d have no choice but to comply. Being inspected by the other Tariq used to the opportunity to study this dunmer who he know knew as Xerca in return; although the information the ohmes-raht gained was far from merely visual, smell was a key identifier to a Khajiit; a sense generally overlooked by the other races possibly due to theirs being considerably poor by standards. It could tell so much about a person that looks would not reveal, you didn’t even have to see the person to get some rather intimate details about them; from things like gender, and race, to even if the individual was sick in some manner.

As far as the Witchhunter could gather the dunmer didn’t give off any bad vibes, and he’d be easy to recognize from a distance or in the midst of a crowd so that was a small plus. Easy to locate and track down beyond that the Witchhunter found himself curious about this mer’s reason for coming to this place and many other factors perhaps he’d learn those in time. Tariq was well aware of the disdain bred between their two races thanks to decades, centuries, or even millennia of slavery; even if the hatred was not as deeply rooted as with the Argonians small remnants of those days existed in stories, even if slavery had been abolished several centuries ago. On a personal level Tariq was not a holder of any grudge against any race not even the bosmer with whom his kind shared a more direct hostility with; the actions committed by a people centuries ago shall not define their descendants in the present if such actions have long since been abolished and are a thing of the long forgotten past. Oh sure, there were bad apples in every group although this should never define ones perceptions of another.

Noting the glance from the dunmer the ohmes-raht pronounced a polite smile, one ear flickering to wave off an itch; the smile was nothing near a grin as that could come off as hostile as far as Tariq knew, but then human/mer interactions and expressions were a subject of slight confusion to him even if he spent a great deal of his advlt life in the company of all races. The deal with conflicting emotional expressions as well as greetings was something he hadn’t full managed to grasp, a slight fault on his part perhaps maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. One good thing now at least was that most his questions concerning the quest had been answered... so the group would split; this would be interesting indeed.

Sir Davian Hawkstar, Registered Badass - Whiterun

"Thank you, you're Highness," Davian replied to the king, giving him a rather informal 'Thumbs up' to show his appreciation for returning attention to the matter at hand, and cessesion of the idle pvssyr in the hall. At the strategist's elaboration on the plan, he responded with an additional, "Yes, sir!"

After profiling the listed names, he headed over to the Khajiit and Dunmer, assuming the latter to be his appointed leader. "Greetings. You're Xerca, right?" He asked, requesting identity confirmation. "I'm Sir Davian Hawkstar, Brother of the Order of the Dragon. Technically, I'm also Lord Hawkstar since the death of my Father, but I'd rather not get that formal." He offered his hand in greeting, keeping his tone and mannerisms casual and informal. He then turned and offered his other hand and introduction to Tariq, believing he remembered something about most Khajiit being left-handed... He looked rather silly with his arms crossed as he tried to multitask his introductions.

"And you must be Tariq. It's certainly odd to see a khajiit so far north, but your skills and abilities will be most welcome in this task."

[OOC: Yeah, groups of http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PowerTrio http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FourTemperamentEnsemble http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FiveManBand are generally best for everyone getting a chance to shine.]

Gih-Me--Whiterun

Gih-Me sighed as the conversing went on and suddenly that snobby young breton talked to the king like he was nothing more then beggar on the street. As the king proclaimed who their new partners were and how proud he was that how many people showed up to help him in his time of need Gih-me walked towards the door ready to leave with her group.



OOC: srry its so short i needed to go to bed XD

Bjordi Bear-Tooth Xerca remembered, and it appeared that they would infact not be regrouping with the others. He was about to ask another question when Davian introduced himself, he shook the heavily armoured bretons hand and couldn't help feel somewhat impresed, "A pleasure sir." he replied. He noticed the warriors exquisite armour and weaponry, the youthful features and the confidence with which he spoke. "Have either of you seen our other companion? Revis?" he asked, he hadn't had a chance to socialise with anyone and thought now would be a good time to get a conversation going.

Tariq, - Whiterun Palace Hall

The Khajiit was mostly busy observing the intricate carvings of the ceiling, given the conversation between Xerca and him-self was concluded mostly in silence. Decides the pillars of this hall was just magnificent, so engrossed was the Witchhunter that he almost didn’t notice the Breton approach had it not been for his ever alert sense of smell and hearing the human’s approach would’ve been totally missed by him. Peeling his attention from the artistic ceiling, as yellow green cat eyes looked the man over; at first noticing how this relatively young man was sporting exquisite armor that was probably worth a fortune just for a mere piece of it. Even if he had a slight love of things beautiful the Khajiit valued versatility over good looks; the best example being the ohmes-raht's own armor and clothing which looked like a pieces stitched together using only mammoth sinew and a bone needled. So primitive, although it had durability in it's apperance that it could’ve very well have been something he had robbed from an over-friendly barbarian Nord which was now vacating a cross-road dressed only in his birthday suit.

The Witchhunter's attention drifted from the other’s overall appearance to his face as the breton introduced himself offering a left hand in greeting, surmising that Khajiit were left-handed by default. With Tariq this Davian fellow was quite spot on the assumption yet this didn’t apply to all Khajiit even if a good portion of the bi-pedal ones were indeed left-handed, although Tariq preferred to look at himself as ambidextrous more than anything. There was just some tasks in which the left-hand prevailed better than the other like drawing the bow, or stitching clothing, or things like writing. Ears flickering back briefly the ohmes-raht took a second to regard the outstreched hand, even if he was uncomfortable with greetings that involved physical contact he took the Breton’s hand in a gentle grip and shook it with ease. “Likewise.” He replied plainly but if not politely, in honesty Tariq was a man… or rather cat of few words preferring to communicate in body-language more than anything. Through a nod, and weak smile he let go of the knight’s hand. The ohmes-raht was well aware he was a rare sight up here, this climate suited the fat-furred Senche's better than they did him but at the same time Bretons too were an odd sight in these parts even though they shared a kingdom on the border with the nation of Skyrim. On the topic of his skills Tariq thought he did have the necessary abilities to hunt dragons even if it was a creature he had yet to face; although he ranked them on the same tier as ancient vampires, lycanthropes, or liches; highly intelligent yet extremely dangerous at the same time but with intelligence came reason, and if dragons were anything on the line of these former beings then they could also, perhaps, be negotiated with.

"I know my limits, and capabilities." the witchhunter spoke as Davien commented on how his skills would be welcomed for this task.

Revis Cervin-Whiterun, Skyrim

Once the king was finished, Revis began to make his way toward the group he had been hired to join. It was slow going, as his long, pinioned lance left little room to maneuver. The weapon was not part of his standard armament, but was specifically designed for slaying the largest of the monstrous beasts that inhabited western regions of Black Marsh and eastern Valenwood.

Reaching the area, the mid-height Bosmer noted that his group was quite Diverse. A Dunmer named Xerca was to lead there group, and when he approached, Revis locked eyes with the Dunmer. Some would take the action as hostile, and if the Dunmer did, that would be the end of any chance of respect from the Endblade the man could achieve. Many races compared true Bosmer to their complacent cousins in other provinces, who had lost their touch with the Primordials. In Valenwood, it was a common greeting between allies at arms, a locking of gazes.

The rust-haired Bosmer let the gesture sink in before turning his attention to the others. A Khajiit, the Towering Nord who Revis thought he had seen leave but was apparently mistaken, and a Breton noble weighed down by an excess of weaponry and armor. So, This was the current Davian Hawkstar. He thought, not impressed. He had the weapons, the attitude, the ignorance, but this one didn't seem to live up to the legacy. Only time would tell.

Revis expected some condescension from the group at their outset. Even with all of his weapons, his glare, and the unmistakable, stark, treated wooden armor, it was unlikely that any, except perhaps the Dunmer, who, by his armor, would likely had at least heard stories about the teams of Bosmeri Endblades who assisted house Redoran in their hopeless, but heroic strikes back against the gates of Oblivion from Morrowind, would see him as anything but some confused northern Bosmer looking for fame. Very little about the true Valenwood left the nations borders.

Kordin The Furious - Whiterun

---

Kordin listened with an increased interest as he heard the king himself give his name as the leader of one group. He began to wonder if the king knew of the men that made up his secret art and order, and realized he had never known, much less wondered if anyone beyond the Temple of Dragonfire knew of the Dragoons. The shadow of a man emerged within his vision on the ornately carved wooden table. Still, he did not look up, keeping the brim of his helm covering most of his face from anyone in sight. A hand reached out in front of him, extending two small, folded pieces of parchment. Kordin took them, opening them quickly, holding one in each hand as he quickly read their contents. Both of them were copies of his instructions for their first assignment. Folding them back up, Kordin slipped them between his common black tunic and the iron scales of his pauldron.

Standing up from the wooden chair, Kordin nodded at the nobleman who had given him the instructions, and began to make his way through the small crowd of people to a stone wall next to the large open doorway. The other had began to mingle as it seemed the king had finished giving his speech. Some approached the king or his noblemen personally, likely to ask questions, or so he thought. With a quiet sigh, Kordin turned away from the stones and leaned his back against it. He would give the warriors under his command their time to meet each other and finish with formalities. As much as he was ready to begin the hunt, he could wait stand to wait for his companions. Staring at the floor, Kordin crossed his arms and began to wait.

OOC:
I figure we should all do any meet and greet or formalities or whatnot with our characters here and now, so that they're already introduced with their team members before we go out on assignment.

Auelenne, Whiterun, Palace



Auelenne gave a slight bow to the Dunmers as she approached them. Her friendly smile shifted to a semi-serious face and she straightened up, as she assumed a more polite and exaggerated posture. She placed her right hand over heart, and bowed again to the speaker.

"I feel so foolish, you seem to have caught me speaking to myself!" Auelenne put her bony fingertips over her lips, to stifle an embarrassed giggle.
"I was wondering out loud if joining your conversation would be more..." She paused and put on her best, and largest smile. "...interesting."

"You two seemed like you were really enjoying yourselves over here - more so than everyone else, anyways."

"That Nord over there was suggesting some very inappropriate things." She motioned vaguely behind her with an energetic tilt of her head. Her long hair brushed across her pointy right shoulder as she did so. "I was hoping you two might be more well mannered."

You guys can kill that fetcher if you want to, I wouldn't lose any sleep. And it would give me a chance to anolyze your fighting abilities.

She slowly extended her hand to the speaker, palm down.

"They call me Auelenne."

The Altmer bowed respectively to Drathyn, a courtesy he was not used to seeing. This Altmer, Auelenne, seemed to be quite well mannered and courteous. She extended a slender hand towards Drathyn, he grasped her hand gently.

"It is a pleasure Auelenne, not many show the Dunmer courtesy in these lands. It is refreshing to speak with someone as well mannered as yourself." Drathyn eyed over the Auelenne, she was apparently quite old yet still had a youthful aura about her. This seems quite out of place, why would a sweet old woman be hunting dragons? There must be something beneath it all. This mission should be quite interesting. He once again met eyes with the tall and slender Altmer,

"Oh pardon me, I forgot to introduce my friend." Drathyn stepped to the side slightly and gestured in the direction of Senes "This is Serjo Senes Varvun"

Senes looked up as Draythan began talking to some old Altmer. He was confused. This is no place for an old women, he thought. Then he caught the woman's words and suggestive smile, and then thought with widening eyes, And a seductress old woman, no less!. He heard Draythan introduce himself, then Senes as Serjo Senes Varvun. Serjo, Senes thought as an overwhelming sense of nostalgia came over him. It's been too long since anyone has called me that. He crossed his arms and bowed his head to the woman, who had introduced herself as Auelenne. "Pleasure to meet you."

Jarn Imgarth, The King's Hall, Whiterun


Jarn watched the proceedings with quiet bemusemant. It was unfathomable to him why men took such a long time to get anything done. But knew he was mad, maybe that was his problem. He noticed the man who had been assigned to lead his group make his way to the entrance of the hall and stand next to it, his back resting on a wall. Jarn moved to introduce himself as a part of him thought that, for whatever reason, it was the right thing to do. He was impressed by the man's armour and weapons. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Jarn liked this. He had served under far too many captains who ended up getting their squad killed through foolishness. Jarn would never want to lead a squad, he appreciated he wasn't well equipped to do so but he also appreciated a leader who knew what they where doing.

He walked over to the Nord in dark armour. Kill him "Greetings," he said in a low voice, "My name is Jarn. You are my leader."

[Why did Jarn approach the wrong squad?]

Davian Hawkstar - Whiterun

Davian had no clue where Jarn was, but didn't seem to mind. "Ah, you're Revis, right? You don't look like a Jarn. I'm Davian Hawkstar," he introduced himself, with his informal tone. He was already impressed with the Bosmer... He didn't expect it would be the Bosmer that understood the significance of adequete arms and armor.

With the party mostly assembled, save for a wayward Nord, he turned his attention back to the Dunmer leader. "Don't be afraid to ask me if you need help with tactics, strategy, or other combat advice. I've got years of experience behind my blades," he offered. "And everyone's weapons are good, right? Facing down the Dragon is the worst time to realize your sword is dull, arrows are broken, or magic weapons aren't charged. It would also be a good idea to clarify our skillsets, to aid with planning, though we can do that on the way.."

Auelenne, Whiterun Palace Hall



"The pleasure is mine." Auelenne gave another slight bow. "Serjo Senes." She said, sounding the syllables in admiration. "That's a fancy name."
She took a step closer towards him, to study the scars on his cheek.
"There's nothing wrong with a few scars, dear." She said in a soft voice.
She held up her hands, palms facing towards the Dunmers. "We all have our scars."
She wiped her palms on her robe, as if they'd go away. Her gaze fell to the ornate palace floor, and she seemed to be in deep thought. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she fought them back with a hard blink. She cleared her throat, and looked at Senes.
"Fear not, Serjo Senes. You're still a handsome mer."
-----
She let out a long sigh, and regained her composure.
She leaned closer to them and spoke in a hushed tone. "Be careful what you say. These walls have ears." She pointed at the wall next to them with her eyes.
"And we don't know who we can trust yet."

She was about to say more, but her thoughts were interrupted by the boastful voice of the Breton who tried to ruffle the court earlier.
The only words she caught were "I've got years of experience..."
"Years of experience?" She said aloud, mostly to herself. She stifled the urge to giggle. She looked at Drathyn.
"Years? He doesn't look a day over fifteen."
Perhaps he built Cyrodiil by himself when he was eight...

She shrugged and pulled out her sack of cookies. She thrusted her hand in and produced three.
"You boys hungry?" She mumbled with a partial mouthful, smiling and munching.

Drathyn, Whiterun, Palace

Drathyn let out a short laugh as Auelenne spoke of the Breton. He does look quite young, and arrogant too not a very good combination.

"Aye that he does, it is a good thing that was assigned to the other group. I do not feel like baby sitting a Breton the entire mission." said Drathyn as he let out another short laugh. "You boys hungry?" said Auelenne as she pulled out a small sack, untying the small leather strip at the top and removing 3 crispy golden round cakes. Drathyn stared at them for a second, he had never really seen a cake, if that was what it is, that had been baked to a crisp and flattened. Perhaps it is an Altmer custom? he thought to himself as he reached out and accepted the cake. He examined it closely in his hands, then broke off a small piece and placed it in his mouth. Whatever it is it is quite delicious. He broke of another piece, larger this time, and ate it too. Looking back up at Auelenne he asked curiously.

"What are these called? I have had small cakes similar to these but not crispy or flat."

Tariq - Whiterun Palace Hall

The Witchhunter’s attention turned to the bosmer, giving a nod in greeting and taking the liberty to look the mer over as he approached. Honestly Tariq was a little bit impressed this guy looked like he knew he was doing on the off-side, the ohmes-raht wasn’t sure if he himself gave off an aura of the same, but that didn’t really matter did it? As long as you preformed and knew your limitations and skills slaying a dragon or two shouldn’t be too hard. The Khajiit’s ears flipped back for a second as Davian spoke he had to admit that the Breton despite just trying to be helpful, which in itself was commendable there was that little trait of being ‘too’ helpful. “I am sure everyone here can provide the insight for us to even stand a chance at surviving this mission." he began, "Experienced or no.” Tariq emphasized the last thing they should was getting too confident such a mistake could easily become fatal. Every time he spoke the ohmes-raht made sure adjusted his speech removing some of the Ta'agra grammar that sometimes confused the speakers of Cyrodillic, or any other foreign language for that matter, like speaking in third-person even if it was sort of odd to speak about himself in such direct manners. “I can’t see how anyone in our line of profession can even afford to let gear deteriorate. Those are do are fools.” the ohmes-raht shrugged his shoulders, anyone that did wouldn’t live long to tell about it anyways.

Senes was confused as Auelenne approached him, observing and talking about his scars. "There's nothing wrong with a few scars, dear." He noticed her turn her hands to face his as she said, "We all have our scars." She wiped her palms on her robe, and looked at thepalace floor, apparently deep in thought. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she fought them back with a hard blink. She cleared her throat, and added, "Fear not, Serjo Senes. You're still a handsome mer." Senes said quietly, "You honor me." as he frowned thoughtfully and thought, Flirtation? Strange ... it's been so long. His thoughts kept him from hearing anything, until he heard the Breton say something about having years of experience. Years? he thought sarcasticly. He's so young, though!

Apparently both Auelenne and Draythan thought the same, both making comments about the Breton boy's young age. Senes chuckled as Aueleen pulled out 3 ... somethings. Both Senes and Draythan took one and bit off a small bit of it. Draythan asked what they were called, and Senes said, ""These are ... interesting. They are small, round, baked things, like bread. But they are sweet and crumbly." Senes took another bite, enjoying the taste of the strange food. "How have I never had one of these before?"

Xerca was a little unnerved when his Bosmer companion stared at him, in a world where it was polite not to stare, he found the whole thing a little threatening. But, as his old etiquette master had taught him, people of other races had different mannerisms, especially here in the land of the nords. So, in reply he smiled and bowed slightly, "Greetings Revis, I presume?" he greeted, he felt a twinge of excitement about meeting a bosmeri. "I look forward to speaking to you in great detail." he added, the thoughts of his enclosed education and how his only knowledge of other races were the opinions of his tutors pulled at the back of his mind.

At hearing Davian speak, Xercas ears twitched and he forced himself not to smile - "Thankyou Davian, however, these are dragons we are hunting - Not the local wolf packs. I expect the scholar we are to meet to be able to give us some practical and hopefully tested advice. You make a good point about our weapons, the cold weather does terrible things to your bows I hear, that being said; it appears we are all experienced in our arts." He added, his eyes glancing over the bosmer as he turned to speak to the group.

"Well, we're only waiting on Jarn now I believe, but - Perhaps I should get the first round." He offered, finishing his glass of ale, "we've still got a few hours before we need to head to bed and we can all talk about the mission while sitting down." Xerca insisted, "So, what do you guys want?"

ooc: Hey Jarn, you're with me. Not the other dude! Get over 'ere boy!

Auelenne, Whiterun Palace Hall





"They're called cookies." Auelenne finished hers, and casually wiped the tiny leftover crumbs from the corners of her mouth.
"That's what I've always called them, anyways." She gave a shrug, causing the soft-looking fabric of her robe to sway slightly.
"I mash the mixture up, and then I flatten them." She sharply slapped her hands together, to simulate her technique. The rush of the sudden wind from her hands blew several strands of her long hair over her left eye. "Bake it on high heat, and they stay delicious for a very long time." She ran her hand through her hair to put it back in place, and she smiled.
"Though I must admit, you two are the first to compliment me." She suddenly reached for her dagger. Her motions indicated that it was about to be unsheathed. She looked at the Dunmers, frozen in her daring position.
Her eyes squinted, and her smile faded.
"Unless you're just saying that to be polite." She stared at them for a moment, in awkward silence.
She couldn't keep up the charade any longer, and she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard, she couldn't stand up straight. Auelenne lurched forward, and slapped her hands over her knees, still laughing out loud. She staggered forward and reached for the shoulders of the two Dunmers to help support her limp figure.
She finally got her composure, and stood herself back up, pink-faced and snorting in giggles.

"Oh, dear. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time." She rubbed her quivering eyes with her thumbs.
"Go on, you can tell me the truth. They taste like a Telvanni experiment."

They're much worse than that. Much worse...

Drathyn, Whiterun, Palace

Cookies? Hmm thats a wierd name... Drathyn watched as Auelenne described the process in which she makes then, violently slamming her hands together to emulate the squishing process. "Though I must admit, you two are the first to compliment me." said the tall Altmer. Then her hand rushed to her side where a delicate glass dagger hung, instinctively Drathyn reached behind his back unclasping the sheath of his razor sharp hunting knife. "Unless you're just saying that to be polite." she said with a piercing stare. Drathyn began to pull the knife from it's sheath ready to strike at the first hint of her drawing her weapon. Then Auelenne burst into an outrageous fit of laughter almost falling over. Drathyn then noticed that the old womer was pulling a joke on them. My my this Auelenne has quite the spirit for her age thought Drathyn as he replaced his eleven inch knife back into it's sheath. It will take some time getting used to her. "Oh, dear. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time." she said as she rubbed her face with her long slender hands. "Go on, you can tell me the truth. They taste like a Telvanni experiment."

Drathyn let out a short laugh, he had heard stories of the Telvanni that inhabited Morrowind in the days before the oblivion crisis that destroyed most of the province. "You had me going there for a second" said Drathyn with a slight grin, "Your...cookies, are quite delicious though. If we ever head east you will have to teach my wife the recipe." as Drathyn spoke these words he felt an extreme sense of homesickness. My wife...my child...will I ever even see them again? Drathyn's grin faded to a slight frown, he looked down at the floor and then at the engraved silver ring on his hand. His wife had given it to him before he left, a token of good luck. He twisted the ring around on his finger and then look back up at Auelenne, the look of sadness and regret deep on his face.

Revis Cervin-Whiterun, Skyrim

Revis just watched dully as Davian began to prattle on, offering advice and self-gratifying comments. Revis suddenly wished he had been placed in the group with the Dragoon, but the copper-haired Bosmer just shrugged and held-his tongue. He couldn't blame the Breton, he was probably used to other hanging on his every word. Revis made a mental not to himself to try to teach him about self-control, if only for the sake of the long-lasting Hawkstar line. It would be sad for such a heralded bloodline's reputation to be sullied by an over-excited noble who wanted to kill Dragons.

Revis turned his attention to the Bow-Wielding Khajiit, nodding at his comments. Tariq skillfully diffused the Breton without insulting his apparently well-thought on pride. The Witchunter was good with words, and the Endblade appreciated that. Even by the standards of Falinesti Bosmer, Revis was known to be blunt, and unfriendly to a degree. As unfriendly as anyone like him would be.

After a second of awkward silence, the Dunmer, Xerca, who was supposed to be leading them, finally started leading. Perhaps all was not lost, as he at least assumed nothing of any of their actions, though his wish to speak with Revis was promising. Few Dunmer remembered the days of the daedra, House Redoran's failing war to hold back the tide, and Prince Sannes of Valenwood's shocking sending of aid to the the Oblivion-scarred province. Even with the aide of the Rangers and Endblades, Morrowind was lost. Few escaped, as the Dunmer had a tradition of fighting to the last. Revis had expected to die alongside his Dunmeri allies ,but he had been sent to Solstheim after it became apparent that Morrowind was lost. Hopefully, Revis would fine time to tell Xerca of those dark times.

Revis did sneer at the comment about bows, and readjusted his own Ebonwood Bow over his shoulder, shifting the quiver of varied Arrows at his waist. Each one was designed for a different purpose. Barbed Tips to shred wings, Broadheads to spit the fine cracks between armored plating, and Magically enchanted shafts that exploded into flames, sent out Shards of Ice in every direction, or particularly nasty magically-imbued Amber heads that, when shattered, released clouds of volatile powder that permeated the area, suffocating and creating terrible sores that could rupture blood vessels, set every nerve ablaze with agony. They were tools of merciless violence, each one unique in its capacity to kill, but only if used right.

Still, Revis remained silent and self-assured. His input would only hinder Xerca's leadership by presenting a challenge, when the Bosmeri Enblade had neither the desire nor the teperment to be the leader of this ragtag band. If he was give a troupe of trained Bosmeri Archers or Venerable Argent Spellspeakers, he could lead without fail, but these individuals were not trained for silent, unquestioning following of orders. They needed a leader who could accept mistakes and modify his plan at will. Revis was out of the question for that mission. Too old for flexibility but too young to see flaws in his designs. Xerca would just have to do his best to not get the others killed.

Gih-Me - Whiterun

Gih-Me watched as the many men flocked to the lady with the snacks. Even from a distance she could smell their intoxicating scent. She walked over to the group and stood nonchalantly nearby observing them all. Walking towards them she said " Gih-Me wishes for a pastry. The smell is absolutely intoxicating. What are they?" Gih-Me felt a bit awkward being the only argonian in the group not to mention her past as a swamp witch. She was used to being alone and living a mostly solitary life. The cold didn't help her social awkwardness at all.

OOC: gah i have no inspiration so sorry if my posts seem to ramble XD