"I hope not." Aluna said with a condescending tone "Really, just take me to wherever the local alchemist is. I need something."

Vilvan grunted. "No need to be pushy." He clenched his teeth, remembering that he was doing this for Pelena, not this new volunteer. He also remembered he was representing the Legion at the moment. That meant he'd still have to defer to the volunteer as his 'superior', so to speak. This was no time to argue. It wasn't like he had a real plan for exploring Helnim Wall, so there was no reason for not granting her request.

"He's near the town square. Most of the shops are." He walked briskly, but not so fast that he was forcing the Argonian to catch up. There were lapses of shadow as the rolling clouds covered the sun. "Look's like we're still in for some bad weather," he grumbled, not speaking to anyone in particular. Once again, the people in the street were staring at them. Like when Aluna and Pelena made their trip to the office, the townsfolk noticed the Legion uniform and thought their various disapprovals. Why waste a Legion company? They are so desperately needed these days. Helnim Wall is one of the few remaining settlements that still even has a garrison! This time, however, their stares were those of malevolence instead of idle pities. A Dunmer in a Legion uniform? Disgusting. How dare he!

His steel boots made a satisfying and authoritative sound as each step met with the cobblestone streets. He would be more than happy to glare down any commoner who thought little of him, if only there weren't so many. Instead, he ignored them for the most part. The only sign of his own distaste for them was his quiet muttering as they neared the central area of town. "Here's the market. There are a few stalls outdoors selling various wares, a Dunmer tradition but one that has caught on in Helnim nonetheless. You wanted an alchemist though, right? That'd be Anarion, one of our only Altmer residents. He's not a big fan of the Empire, but with ME alongside he wouldn't dare refuse a C&E order."

Vilvan couldn't resist bowing. "No need to thank me."

The building looked shoddy: the wood was cracked, one of the windows was boarded up, and the roof looked like it had caved in partially. At least the front door still looked serviceable. It had a highly polished and ornate brass handle set onto a beautiful door made of rare wood, by coincidence from a tree native to Black Marsh. Standing close to the building, one could smell incense from indoors, the burning of which was a popular tradition of high society merchants. Vilvan stood a few paces back, making a gesture inviting the Argonian to enter. He looked at her gravely. He was thinking about warning her that Anarion was quick to anger, but thought that with himself nearby there would probably be no need.

OOC: I'd like to invite you to do Anarion's dialogue, if you so please. I'll include it next time if you choose not to.

OOC: Ack! writer's block.

Maldrid walked in to find a breton sitting at the desk, trying to make himself look busy. Maldrid felt embarrassed for the breton, because if you were on duty for the Legion you'd better well do your assigned task and not try to avoid it. People that were lazy on the job frustrated Maldrid and this Breton was already doing a fine job of getting on his nerves. Still, Maldrid kept his composure. The only way that anybody would make Maldrid actually get angry at them is if they continued to insult him or be disrespectful to those in authority. After all this he heard the Breton talk to him.

"Hello, shir! How can the Office of Censhush and Exschice help a gentleman like yourself today? You wouldn't happen to be another one of those Legion volunteers? Would you believe we had shomeone already shign up today?"

"Hello. Yes, I am here to volunteer for the expedition to Black Marsh."

After saying this, Maldrid sat down in a chair opposite to the Breton. The Breton then smiled at Maldrid, which was beginning to get on Maldrid's nerves more. Does this man have no shame? Maldrid thought.

Lucius eyed his sixth drink with curiosity. He wouldn't be drunk by now, as rum was fairly light by his standards, but he should at least have a buzz by now. And yes, nothing. That made him wonder. "Hey, barkeep!"

The Dunmer eyed him warily, but walked over to him anyway, prepared to pour him another glass. "These drinks you've been giving me, that I paid so graciously for. Have they been watered down? Because that would be very bad business on your part."

There was a momentary smirk on the Dunmer's lips before he could contain it, and that was all the evidence Lucius needed. Still, he wouldn't do anything just yet. "No sir, of course not. I would never cheat a customer that way. As a matter of fact, I find it offensive that you would think it."

"Is that so?"

Lucius's hands began to clench, though the Dunmer took no notice and went back to the other side of the bar. Several thoughts went through Lucius's mind at that moment, a full half of them involving him killing the Dunmer in various ways, but he didn't act on any of them. The old Lucius would have, but he knew better now. He had things he had to take care of now, and couldn't afford to be so reckless. So he sat there with a bad taste in his mouth, staring at the glass. His eye twitched at the barkeep walked past him again, but he still did nothing. Sighing, he laid his head in one hand, contemplating what he would do. Should he go to enlist now, to get it over with? He certainly wouldn't be getting drunk tonight, not on the stuff the despicable Dunmer was giving him.

He hated Morrowind so much. At least back home in Cyrodiil, they were honest when they gave you watered down [censored]. In his mind, any place would be better than where he was right at that moment, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that joining up was signing his own death warrant.

OOC: sounds fun.

"No need to be pushy."

Vilvan seemed to be offended and Aluna was pleased. She smiled to herself and followed.

"He's near the town square. Most of the shops are."

Aluna merely replied "I would assume so..."

Then Vilvan said quietly as if to no one "Look's like we're still in for some bad weather." Aluna looked up to the sky, the rain had stopped but the sunshine was regrettably short-lived. Sadly, the clouds were forming once again. Whe she looked back down, she noticed that the clang of their steps and the sound of grinding gravel attracted the glares of nearby villagers. Aluna couldn't do much more than glare back as she had to keep pace behind Vilvan as he walked.

"Here's the market. There are a few stalls outdoors selling various wares, a Dunmer tradition but one that has caught on in Helnim nonetheless. You wanted an alchemist though, right? That'd be Anarion, one of our only Altmer residents. He's not a big fan of the Empire, but with ME alongside he wouldn't dare refuse a C&E order." Aluna and Vilvan stopped in front of the store to the Alchemy shop. Apparently no one shared her hobby in this town of Helnim, as this poor excuse for a building was the most rundown of all the buildings that Aluna had ever seen. The only thing worth notable was the door, looking very ornate and having a rich mahogany color. Though something about it seemed familiar.

Vilvan bowed down behind her as she walked to the door. "No need to thank me."

"All you did was walk me..." She leaned in closer to the door, trying to put a name to the face she saw in her mind. "Wait out here, I can handle myself." Sniffing the wood, there was a certain taste becoming slowly apparent in her mouth. It brought her back to her childhood, and she felt a distant warmth. More specifically, from when she was a little older, it brought her to her naming ceremony. Then she realized that this was Hist wood. Her nostalgia was quickly replaced with a boiling anger. Of course these Dunmer would hack down one of the most sacred of trees to her people of the roots, probably taken after a fruitful slave hunt! Though the proprietor of this shop was Altmer, and this building was obviously very old, most likely it was built before it was an Alchemical shop. She would not be able to point fingers today.

Aluna lifted her leg and turned to the side, kicking the doorknob right off. She picked it up off the ground and dropped it in her bag as the door flung open. The face of an elderly Altmer could be seen as the door swung back and forth. His image was that of a man who had just received a heart attack.

Anarion shouted loudly at Aluna when she stepped inside. "By Talos, Vivec, Azura, what are you doing to my establishment!? Young woman-" he broke off for a moment "...Argonian! How dare you defile and destroy that antique of a door, it's been passed down from each owner, from my grandfather, It's- It's the only worthwhile thing to look at in this forsaken town! I mean I swear if I were half the Mer I was before, I would-"

Aluna slipped out her paper and slammed it on the counter "Would what? What would you do?"

Anarion ignored the certificate and leaned in closer. He stared at Aluna for a moment. "Intimidate me huh..." He mumbled to himself. "Yeah. I'd tell you what'd I do, you stinking Argonian," His wrinkles became more apparent as he furrowed his brow. " poisons, liquid fire, blindness, disease, you name it, I have it bottled up just for you." He grinned a toothless grin. Aluna just looked him in the eye grimly.

"Please, we've only just met."

Anarion continued, twirling a long strand of silver hair from his beard. "So you have a sense of humor? You know, you dirty Argonian, that reminds me of someone, what was his name... Oh yes, Cowers-In-Fear was it. He liked to tell jokes when I wasn't beating him. Spent his days stacking things for me, he'd still be here if it wasn't for that new law those Imperial bastards passed. Of course, he'd also still be here if I hadn't slipped him one of my fine wares the day before he was freed." He coughed horsely.

Immediately all dispositions towards the Altmer, and especially Anarion, were wiped. Aluna hated the Altmer's egotistical natures almost just as badly as the Dunmer's terrible sense of humor. But she always believed that they were still better. Though, now that she thought about it, the Altmer would've probably hunted for slaves in the Black Marsh just as much as the Dunmer did if it wasn't for an entire continent sitting between them.

"Let me ask you... House Dres?"

"How did you guess?" He said with apparent sarcasm. "Yes, my grandfather was a Dunmer, my grandmother and mother were both Altmeri. But a Dunmer in blood," he laughed with some trouble. " and in spirit."

"I have a knack for these things." Aluna stood straight. "But anyways, if I didn't already know better, I'd tell you not to expect to see tomorrow you sick half breed. Don't think that you can scare me with your poisons, and fire waters. I don't think you're in a good enough shape to even try to hold your own against me, let alone use your poisons."

"Don't underestimate me lizard, I'm aged, but I have experienced things you never will, and I'm no fool. I wouldn't try anything on a Legion lackey like you with a Legion soldier right outside my door. Now before you make me change my mind, which you are just one word short of doing, you damned Argonian, what must I do to make you get the hell out of my shop?"

Aluna tapped the counter. Anarion looked down at the paper. "So now they expect me to give away things for free huh? If I still had my slave, I'd have him bring it to you. A calcinator... fine." Aluna clawed at the counter as he bent downwards grumbling. He produced from seemingly nowhere a large and very obviously broken calcinator. The fire gate was hanging off it's hinges and the coal tray was missing, plus, a large hole was punched through the top. It was also huge and heavy looking. A new looking calcinator was sitting on a counter just behind him. "This is the last one I have Argonian."

"Really now?"

"Take it or leave it. I suggest you take it..." Anarion glared. "It's the last one." He emphasized "Last" strongly.

"Do you happen to have a worthless hunk of metal in travel size?" Aluna didn't wait for an answer. She dragged the pitiful heap off of the counter and walked backwards to the door.

Anarion called to her as she walked out.

"Don't come back here when all your friends are dead and rotting in the black marsh. I know why you're here. And give me back my doorknob!"

Aluna slammed the door behind herself.

"Hey, barkeep! These drinks you've been giving me, that I paid so graciously for. Have they been watered down? Because that would be very bad business on your part."

"No sir, of course not. I would never cheat a customer that way. As a matter of fact, I find it offensive that you would think it."

"Is that so?"

Pelena was still recovering from her earlier embarrassment, but she knew the barkeep in Helnim Wall pretty well and wouldn't put it beyond him to cheat his patrons. Doing her job mindlessly and efficiently was always a habit that helped her ignore whatever she was feeling. Why not? Never liked that rat of a barkeep anyways. She tucked away her melancholy for now and sauntered over to the counter again, trying to look casual. The barkeep's lower lip was twitching, obviously trying to keep the stupid smirk off his face. A smile spread across Pelena's face as she prepared to accost him.

"MR. THADAS HLAALU!" she barked, leaning towards him and resting one hand on the counter. Woah, how he did jump! Almost certainly a new record. He grimaced, slowly turning to face her. "Yes, Muthsera?" he asked, straining the word. "I know that it's been hard to make money recently, but how in Oblivion do you expect to make more if your customers know YOU TEND TO WATER DOWN YOUR BEST DRINKS." He shuddered a great deal as she accused him in the most obnoxious manner possible. Several customers turned their way and shook their heads, some thinking it was just Pelena being herself and others suddenly noticing that perhaps their particular beverage did seem a little weaker than they were used to.

"How dare you, you... you... Imperial fetcher!" his face twisted into something awful. He began to quiver. "I don't have to take that from you just because you are in the Gods-be-Damned Legion! That means NOTHING anymore. Do you hear me? NOTHING. I want you out of my sight!" He crossed his arms fiercely. Pelena was taken aback, she knew that many people harbored their own hatreds for what was left of the Empire, but no one had released their thoughts so vehemently until this point. She struggled to think of a comeback. "Oh... well... you think?" He rolled his eyes. She continued "We still have reign over the legalities of the Empire. If you're cheating anyone here, there's going to be a fine. Heftier than usual for lying, of course. And maybe just a tad extra..." she paused for effect, "...For being a useless slack-witted faithless guar-brained REBEL, who didn't have the guts to voice that while the Empire was at the height of its majesty!"

That was more than enough for the barkeep, who gave her a meaty punch that was only slightly lessened by having to lean over the counter. She fell over backwards feeling extremely disoriented. So much for justice. Oh, who am I kidding. That felt good. With some force of effort, she got back up. Fortunately, the other patrons in the tavern weren't as excitable as its master. There was some jeering, but none of the others took to fighting. Still, the air was uneasy. There were a few Dunmer in the tavern who looked extremely disgruntled. They were not at all pleased that they were in a town ruled by the Empire. They would brawl like no other if their honor depended on it here. The barkeep was grinning now as Pelena rubbed her sore head. Something is about to go sour. I really shouldn't go through with this. She knew that while she was representing the Legion, it would be wrong to fight. She hung her head, looking defeated. A smug look rested on the barkeep's face. He had just beaten the Legion in one of their own towns!

That was his last thought before Pelena took a surprise swing under his jaw. Despite everything, I just couldn't resist.

***

Vilvan was going to pretend to be asleep when the Argonian returned, but he jumped right up from where he was when the door slammed. "Oh, Gods. I should have warned you about Anarion. He must've been in a particularly bad mood today. I'm so sorry." Vilvan smiled sheepishly, hoping that whatever caustic words the Altmer had used against her weren't too scarring. "Do you want to see the sights now? Or shall we head back to the tavern? Pelena is usually pretty good at getting her mood under control..."

***

"Hello. Yes, I am here to volunteer for the expedition to Black Marsh."

The Breton nudged his apprentice, who looked none too amused.

"What'd I shay? I told you the word would shpread round! One moment. We jusht had shomeone shign on. We need to get the paperwork ready all over again."

It took about 10 minutes for everything to be in order again, namely due to the sluggish pace of the younger worker. Once they were done though, the desk was filled with fresh forms, most filled with the many terms of the expedition and information about their goals and how important it was for them to establish a presence in the Marsh. Several papers covered the specifics of what would occur upon the death of the volunteer, with none to very little support going to their relations based on the circumstances. One paper in particular was a document pertaining to the volunteer's background, covering their description and background.

"Take your time. I hear the Legion representative works here in town, usually stays at the local tavern. If you want to visit her afterward, you're more than welcome to. Just fill everything in very thoroughly." The apprentice spoke dully and mournfully. Just get out of here. There's really not much point to all this. It just means more paperwork for me. He tried to grin again, but it ended up as some sort of awkward half-smile. The elder worker handed Maldrid a quill and scooted the inkwell a bit closer. "Shouldn't take long. Shlide 'em this way when you're all finished."

"What'd I shay? I told you the word would shpread round! One moment. We jusht had shomeone shign on. We need to get the paperwork ready all over again."

Maldrid continued to sit and watch what proceeded before him. He watched what he assumed was the breton's assistant sluggishly go about the task of bringing paperwork to the desk. Maldrid sighed in disappointment at the assistant's work ethic. If you didn't work on your assigned task it could get you fired. It showed nothing but apathy towards your work. If you felt this way about a job you should quit immediately, circumstances permitting. Maldrid felt that if he were in the breton's position he'd make sure that his own assistant would know what is expected of him. If the assistant failed to meet his basic expectations he'd see to it that his employee would require a new job. After a good wait the forms were placed in front of Maldrid on the desk.

"Take your time. I hear the Legion representative works here in town, usually stays at the local tavern. If you want to visit her afterward, you're more than welcome to. Just fill everything in very thoroughly."

Maldrid heard the breton but took no heed. He didn't want to get into a conversation with this one. No telling how many times the breton might unknowingly embarrass himself in front of him. Maldrid thought to spare him such shame, but then again the breton seemed to have none and it seemed to be rubbing off somewhat on his assistant. What a shame, Maldrid thought, after which he proceeded to fill out his application.

As he read the areas he'd be filling out he noted on it how it said quite clearly 'in case of death' on the form. Maldrid chuckled to himself at this. For most anyone who had enough bravery to join on a Legion expedition, they'd probably think twice after reading that little passage. Maldrid ignored it afterwards and continued to fill out his form. After he finished he handed it to the breton, chuckling to himself that the breton hadn't made a comment on how silent he was being. Maldrid thought that he wouldn't want to hear his rant anyway and put that thought away. If there were any questions asked, he'd answer them.

OOC: Not a particularly good post, but I'm in a slight rush to go do something right at the moment. Should be fine, I'm sure.

"MR. THADAS HLAALU!"

Lucius hadn't seen the woman coming, and jumped slightly at the outburst as a result. He turned to look at the same woman that had knocked so hard on the door earlier. She was obviously Legion, on closer inspection.

"Yes, Muthsera?"

"I know that it's been hard to make money recently, but how in Oblivion do you expect to make more if your customers know YOU TEND TO WATER DOWN YOUR BEST DRINKS."

"How dare you, you... you... Imperial fetcher!"

And things quickly went downhill from there. Though he probably shouldn't have been, Lucius was still slightly taken aback when the barkeep decided to punch the Legion woman, so then it was no surprise to him when she punched back. It's what he would have done, after all. The rest of the patrons seemed caught between shock and disgust, while Lucius was just amused. "Now this is more like it! Come on, whoever ya are, show that piece of trash Dunmer what a real fight's like! It's what the damn Dark Elf gets for trying to cheat me. Typical of the arrogant [censored], am I right?"

It wasn't until after he said the word that he realized what the audience consisted of. "Aw, [censored]."

A punch suddenly landed on his jaw, sending his sprawling over the bar. Another Dunmer reached over the bar and pulled him up by the shirt, hitting him again right below the eye. Lucius blinked, trying to clear his vision, and succeeded in doing so right as another punch came flying at him. He grabbed the fist right before impact, and twisted it to the left, making the Dunmer let go of him in the process. He grabbed his glass which had been knocked over the first time he had been hit, and slammed it right into the Dunmer's face, the shattered glass making him fall back screaming.

Lucius cracked his knuckles as another Dunmer came towards him. "Maybe this day isn't going to be so bad after all."

OOC: Terribly short but we needed a BUMP

"Oh, Gods. I should have warned you about Anarion. He must've been in a particularly bad mood today. I'm so sorry." Vilvan seemed absolutely startled as the door slammed behind Aluna. She stood in front of him and dropped the heap of metal that was supposed to be a calcinator dangerously close to his feet with a loud thud.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear everything that went on in there..." She dug out the doorknob from her bag and held it in her hands, rubbing it lightly with her thumb.

"Do you want to see the sights now? Or shall we head back to the tavern? Pelena is usually pretty good at getting her mood under control..." To Aluna, this seemed like a fairly stupid question to ask. What sights?

"Tavern." She looked at the ground for a moment. "You can leave that calcinator here." She moved in the direction of the tavern, but not until after she flicked a small ember from her hand into a bush of overgrown weeds at the corner of the Alchemy shop.

OOC: Sorry for the lack of posting, I've had work to do but I'm all caught up for the weekend now.

"Tavern. You can leave that calcinator here."

Vilvan thought he noticed her throw something towards Anarion's place, but if she did it was too small to notice. "Probably nothing," he muttered. Seeing that she was already heading for the tavern, Vilvan quickly brushed off his cuirass and followed suit. It wasn't a long or eventful walk back, but the end of their errand proved to be quite another story.

Despite Aluna's head start, Vilvan found himself pulling ahead rapidly. Did she seem to be intentionally slowing her pace to let him get ahead? It sort of seemed like it, but he couldn't be sure. Vilvan did end up reaching the door first. He opened it quickly and entered. He was going to hold the door, but he seemed suddenly frozen in place when he realized he had walked right in the middle of a barfight. His jaw dropped, seeing Pelena trading punches with the barkeep.

"Well what in Oblivion would you do without me?" he yelled above the raucous, laughing heartily as he regained his senses and joined in by her side.

"Traitor!" hissed the barkeep.

"That's hypocritical if you ask me," said Pelena as she stepped away, letting Vilvan fight in her stead. The barkeep was already worn out. He had the upper hand before Vilvan joined in, but now he was panting heavily and a light froth dribbled from the corner of his mouth as his fatigue reached a breaking point. He tried to perform some wild swings to the side, but they were clumsy and easily dodged. Vilvan suddenly hopped forward and gave an impressive uppercut; the barkeeper took a few steps back and toppled over from exhaustion. Several crystal glasses were knocked off the counter and shattered on the floor.

Meanwhile, Pelena had turned to see several other Dunmer thugs and an Imperial man brawling. "Stop right there! Halt!" yelled Vilvan, but they ignored him. The good lady was too exhausted to engage them, so he decided he'd take matters into his own hands. He was going to end this. "I SAID HALT!" A gleaming broadsword burst from its sheath, poised to strike. Vilvan advanced, but he was tackled to the ground. One of the brutes who was not participating earlier had joined in from behind. Several patrons laughed at the action, but nobody else joined in to help either party. Pelena tried to force her way to Vilvan, but a drunken Orc blocked her path. She watched helplessly as the rowdy Dark Elf smashed Vilvan's head against the floor over and over, unable to fight back at all.

It would take someone more agile or clever than her to get past the crowds now. Hopefully the Imperial would be able to hold his own...

Another punch came flying forward towards Lucius, and he just barely managed to sway backwards to avoid the attack. If he hadn't reacted in time, it would have landed on his jaw, and things could have really gotten ugly. He drifted forward and faked a punch on the left, then swung his fast around on the right, hitting one of the Dunmer in the side and nearly making him double-over as another came at him from behind.

Lucius, unfortunately, didn't hear the dark-skinned mer behind him, and paid the consequences as he was grabbed from behind. The burly Dunmer held his arms up by linking his under them and then around the back of his neck, effectively keeping him in a vice grip. The other wiped some blood off his mouth from an earlier blow, and strode forward with a new, cocky grin on his face. Just as he pulled back his fist, Lucius kicked forward, hitting the Dunmer in a very sensitive spot.

This time the Dunmer did double over in pain, and collapsed to the floor, curled up in a ball. Lucius then threw his head back, hitting the other, surprised Dark Elf in the nose and forcing him to release his grip. Lucius spun around and threw a hook at his opponent. The blow landed soundly right on the Dunmer's eye, knocking him backwards to the floor. Lucius turned around to the other Dunmer, who was still on the floor, and kicked him three times in the stomach, suddenly very glad that he had steel-toed boots.

He turned around to the bar, which had mostly been wrecked where he was, and grabbed a still intact bottle of whiskey. He took a long swig from it, smiling broadly when he was finished, then smashed it over the head of the other Dunmer, who was beginning to get up. "[censored] was watered down too..."

The third Dark Elf, who he had hit in the face with his glass the first time, was now back up. He grinned at Lucius, even as he was bleeding from several cuts, and pulled out a dagger from beneath his tunic. Lucius eyed the weapon carefully, backing up as he did so. "There always has to be a guy that brings a knife to a bar fight."

Name: Fara
Nickname:
Age: 55 (appears in her early 20s)
Race: bosmer
Gender: female
Birthsign: the thief
Focus: stealth

Class: huntress ? an expert in moving discretely in hard to reach places as well as archery while wearing at least a modicum of armor to protect against unwelcome encounters. This is supplemented with enough skill with blades to survive a close encounter, as well as the skills to maintain equipment, brew some basic alchemical mixtures and generally survive outdoors.
Skills: sneak, light armor, marksman, acrobatics
minor skills : survival, armorer, blades, alchemy

Mental Description: Fara is quite a cynic, having seen too much mayhem and atrocities from the slavers and the tribal argonians opposing them during her time in the Legion to retain much faith in men, mers or beasts. As she feels having much simply means more to loose and attract trouble, she's just coasting along, fighting boredom with simple (and cheap) fun like carousing on someone else's money. She don't care much about the Empire, the Legion or what happens in Morrowind. And not much more about boring things like military etiquette.

Physical Description: Fara is a young bosmer woman of average size, on the slim rather than voluptuous side. Her face is far from outstanding, most would describe her as nice or cute rather than pretty. Her light built is misleading, as years of hunting service followed by month of legion training have muscled and toned her frame.
She's wearing the standard legion issue pants and tunic, under a scout's light chain hauberk and open helmet. She has replaced the normal Legion boots with Valenwood-style mocassins and bone-reinforced leather greaves. Vambraces of the same material protect her forearms

Height: 5'5"
Weight: 100 lbs
Hair: dark brown
Eye Color: black
Scars/Tattoos: none

Armor : Legion scout armor : a light chain hauberk and an open helmet, supplemented with bone and leather greaves and vambraces.
Weapons: quality steel bow with 100 arrows. Quality steel shortsword. Both have been alchemicaly treated to resist humidity.
Inventory: small mortar and pestle, hammock, utility dagger, folding sapper's tool, first aid kit, several sample pots of her last insect repellent mixes, a flask of moonshine

Bio: Fara was born in a somewhat destitute bosmer family in Valenwood, her parents scraping a living as hunters. She learned the way of the hunt and the bow, but didn't improve her condition much - owing to her spendthrift and lazy habits.
She was merely coasting along with that life when a night of drunken revelry suddenly changed her situation : with the fumes of alcohol dissipated, she found she had signed for joining the Legion. With a pair of burly and barely polite legionnaire standing ready to enforce the contract by chaining and dragging her if needed....

Dumped into the ranks after a few month of training (marching in ranks, using heavy armor, a bit of siegecraft - didgging, hauling siege machine parts, that sort of things...), Fara's hunting skills have kept her alive and she even managed to increase in rank a triffle - but her definitively unmartial attitude made sure she didn't ever made it past sergeant and is currently a mere private. She has already passed ten years in the Legion, most of them spent playing tag with slavers and smugglers around the Morrowind-Black Marsh border. Her equipment isn't exactly standard issue to cope with the conditions there.

The days was still very young, but despite being off-duty Fara was up. Her usual wake-up hour on such days usually was past noon, but the night had been calm. With the hints of an expedition into the Black Marsh everyone was busy readying supplies and nobody could spare the time or coins for a pub crawl. She grimaced in disgust at the thought. What's going through what passes for brains in the higher-up's heads ? You can't track slavers or smugglers with a whole company beating the bushes. And what other reason might send us there ? There's nothing but troubles to be had in the muck.

She shrugged off the thoughts, focusing on he coins in her purse. The result of the morning's unloading of most of her moonshine stockpile. If the rumormill was right - as it tended to be - it would a long time before she could drink something that wouldn't taste of swamp mud. I'll be damned if I crawl back to the fort while there's even single coin on me...

As she passed one of the tavern weighting whether she would enter it or not; her sensitive hears picked the sound of a fight in progress. A quick peek through the half-opened door showed it had yet to erupt into a complete tavern brawl. From what she could see some of the dunmer patrons were intent on beating the crap out of two persons. The local bullies bullies are probably giving some poor schumck a traditional Morrowind welcome... But when she caught sight of the Legion Champion doing her best to press through the crows she sighed. Dang, looks like it's Legion business.

She considered for a second to tiptoe away, but decided against it. They were few peoples around, but even if only one of them reported seeing her, she would be in trouble. Leaving your commanding officer alone in a mess, that's a 'take the door and don't bother with severance pay' offense. I can't afford that. With a resigned shrug she moved to the tavern, quietly slipping in while everyone was looking away. Now that she had a better look, she could glimpse an especially brutish dunmer kneeling on someone's back. Trying rather hard to drive his victim's head through the floor. With said victim wearing Legion attire, she knew her side. But I'm a tad lightweight for that hunk...

With a vicious smile, Fara picked a heavy wooden bucket stored in a recess next to the door. With the agility of her race and a long practice of moving around in cluttered undergrowth, Fara jumped on a table and rushed toward the fight. At the end of the table she jumped again, gathering her legs under her body, sailing inches over the watcher's heads. Screeching to the top of her lungs a traditional bosmer warcry. As the surprised bully lifted his head to see what the noise was about, Fara drove the bucket straight into his face. With her weight and speed behind, the impact knocked him out and he slumped limply to the ground.

Fara didn't waste time to see the result of her assault, she left her speed carry her back to her feet. Still holding the bucket and ready to swing it into anyone's face. She offered the crowd her warmest smile "Someone else wants a bucketful of joy ?". Hoping surprise and her Legion tunic would be enough to keep the patrons in check.

Vilvan had lost consciousness now. Lady Amatius could plainly see that he was giving no resistance to being smashed apart. She tried to get past the Orc again, but he pushed her back onto the ground. "Shtop it," he commanded drunkenly, turning back to watch the fight in double vision. Pelena decided that her only choice would be to seek backup, so she turned away from her poor friend and took a step towards the exit. She gasped as one of her soldiers sprinted inside and leaped up into the air, gracefully landing on a table and continuing her run. She sailed over the crowd as she jumped again, slamming into Vilvan's assaulter with a heavy bucket in hand. The mer toppled over, crying out in pain. "Someone else want a bucketful of joy?"

Pelena suddenly realized she had been tensed up the whole time it had taken for the soldier to reach Vilvan. She let her shoulders fall and exhaled deeply. Several patrons were clapping, seeing as the closest fight was over, and they all dispersed, including the Orc that had been blocking her way to Vilvan. She rushed up next to the Bosmer, recognizing her as Private Fara. "Oh, thank Mara! Private, I don't know how I could possibly express my gratitude!" She quickly turned to the mer that Fara had bowled over, removing a pair of shackles from her belt and cuffing him. The Dunmer was too hurt to resist. The brawl wasn't over yet, though.

There was the unmistakable sound of glass shattering and another Dunmer fell to the floor. "[censored] was watered down too..." There was a brief silence as another one of the Dark Elves got up to resume fighting. "There always has to be a guy that brings a knife to a bar fight."

The expression instantly registered with Pelena. This had gone far beyond Legion standards; one of the thugs was employing weapons! "Fara, we need to take these bastards out before someone is killed! C'mon!" Pelena drew her broadsword and rushed into the fight.

OOC: Ambrose and Manu both have permission to control Pelena/ end the fight. Now that enough people have joined, we'll be heading for the Marsh as soon as everything in Helnim Wall is resolved.

Name:Auric Von Isthbane

Race:Nordic/Imperial

Birthsign:The Ritual

Class:War-Chaplain

Background:Auric Was Born in the Imperial City, he was Raised In a strict belief of the Nine after the Oblivion Crisis Auric Became a War-Chaplain,leaving behind the life as a mercenary he led before.

Physical Description: Tall (6'2) and broad shouldere,his body is heavily muscled and his skin and facial features are very imperial. His black hair is short cropped. And his Grey eyes ard hard. His chest is covered in large heinous scars,as is his back.

Personality:Nice and reassuring, a moral booster,he is otherwise quiet,and cool headed

Equipment Package[Choose One]:

1: Steel Cuirass, Steel WarHammer, 1x Fortify Strength,Chaplain robes

Seeing her boss barging into the fray, sword drawn, yelling 'take these bastard out before someone his killed', Fara decided she had to act quickly. Swords kill peoples. Gut that knife-wielding idiot in a tavern full of dunmers and we'll have a riot before you can spell blunder.. But didn't voice her thoughts aloud, for she knew better than criticizing what amounted to a direct order from a superior

With the crowd opening, she decided to use the goodwill earned by her daring first move. She darted between the remaining patrons toward the counter, easily distancing Pelena. Heavy armor is a fine thing once you're into a fight, but is more hindrance than help to reach it.

As she had no time to waste with playing fair, Fara struck as soon as she came withing reach, striking the dunmer from behind. Holding the handle with two hands, she pivoted on herself to give more speed to her swing. The bucket hit where she had intended, catching the surprised dunmer on the side of his head. Recovering her balance, Fara readied for a kick to the back of his knee, just in case. But didn't need to press her actions as the mer dropped like a poleaxed bull.

She quickly checked him, noting with satisfaction the regular breath and pulse. But frowned when she saw the cuts and shards of glass on his face. No wonder he pulled out a dagger with that gonk smashing a glass in his face. By the admittedly loose etiquette of tavern brawl, that sort of move was bringing things from the realm of brawl into real fight. Too much chances for nasty wounds like a cut out nose or pierced eye, doing it meant you were aiming to hurt your opponent rather than merely remove from the fight.

Fara backed a bit, standing again and looking around to see how would Pelena and the unknown imperial would react. She was not very fond of the odd smile he had on his face. Feels like the bastard get his jollies not merely by besting peoples in brawl, but more by hurting them. That spells trouble. In capitals, with every flourish and extra.

OOC: Approved.

Name: Pallas Flaminia Sulca
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Race: Nibenese Cyrodil
Class: Cleric/Paladin (flaminica Septimalis)
Birthsign: The Lady

Appearance
---Height: 1.67 meters
---Eye Color: A bright blue, imbued with the divine grandeur of her birth
---Hair/Fur Color: Brown hair worn in a courtly style (like http://www.holkham.co.uk/collection/images/ef.jpg or http://www.vroma.org/images/mcmanus_images/coinantonyoctavia1b.jpg.)
---Clothing: She generally wears the short peplos of a priestess, sometimes with a jacket robe with swooping sleeves (e.g., http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j204/ladyvictoria147/RomastatueOstiaicon.png or[src="http://"http://www.vroma.org/images/raia_images/peplos.jpg"]this[/url] but without the inner skirt that falls to the statue's feet). She also possesses legion armor (an Imperial steel muscle cuirass, boots, gauntlets, and leather stripped pteryges skirt) but never uses it.
---Other: Dignified and stately in appearance. Though the nature of her birth is unknown to all, she still has a certain charismatic presence and poise appropriate to one so attuned to Dibella. She has a youthful, but delicate looking, body?toned enough, but still lithe.

Personality: Noble, cultured, sophisticated, archaic, generous, tolerant, kind, artistic.
Likes: The Nine Divines, particularly Dibella and her arts. The Nibenay Valley. Literature and art. The Tamrielic Empire. Cyrodilic brandy.
Dislikes: Dunmeri religion, slavery, Daedra, mages and magic
Talents: Her major skills are roughly aligned with the sphere of Dibella?they relate to restoration, personality-skills, mysticism, some destruction (smiting), and her minor skills are associated with the sphere of Tiber Septim?some proficiency at wielding long swords and using armor, for instance
Weakness: She is used to the pampered life of a chapel and is uncomfortable with the exertions of a junior legionary officer, much less anything more strenuous.
Racial Attributes: The ability to rule all other races.

Bio: Just under two decades ago, an aristocratic legion officer was trapped in an avalanche while on duty in Skyrim. He desperately prayed to the gods for assistance, and was freed and nursed back to health by the goddess Dibella herself. Months later, she reappeared at his estate along the Niben and presented him with a child from her own womb. He swore a terrible oath never to reveal the truth of his new daughter's birth, or risk the wrath of the Nine.

Though technically half-divine, the nature of Aedric influence on Nirn meant that Dibella's power was a function of her own plane and could only be projected on Tamriel. Since Pallas had been born on Tamriel, her mortal half was dominant and she received none of the special attributes that projections of the gods could attain. However, Pallas felt an affinity for Dibella ever since birth and showed remarkable skill in Dibella's domain. She does not know the truth of her relationship, and as far as she knows, all priests share a special relationship with their chosen god in the exact same manner. Similarly, she shows remarkable skill with divine spellcasting and can summon the mythopoeic forces that power gods?functionally, this works the exact same way that mages bend magicks to their will. Since Pallas is as unskilled with magicks as she is talented with the divine arts, she has exhibited a suspicion towards all mages and their kind and prefers to associate with priests of the Imperial Cult.

Pallas was a promising young priestess, known for her charm and commanding presence (both blessings of Dibella), when she was selected to become a flaminica Septimalis?or a virgin priestess of Tiber Septim. Having known only the worship of Dibella her entire life, she was flummoxed but the pontifices and primates of the Cult informed her that the Empire's political decline required a unifying symbol?and the Septims were more integral to the Empire than the other gods, especially with the dynasty's fall. She was assigned to the province of Morrowind to serve in an Imperial chapel as it slowly slipped away from the Empire; her role was to perform services and missionary work to emphasize the beneficent aspect of Imperial rule. If the Empire no longer had the legionary strength to enforce its rule via hard power, it would do so via soft power.

Consequently, she received limited legionary training and a junior officer's commission, just in case. She has only been a priestess of Tiber Septim for a few months, and this new martial aspect is very secondary to her. She still considers herself primarily a servant of Dibella, with whom she feels she has a personal relationship (but cannot guess at its true depth). However, she is fervently devoted to the Empire and all of the Nine Divines and will serve Tiber Septim with as much passion as she serves her patron goddess.

Imperial Settlement of Helnim - Telvannis District, Morrowind Province

Flaminica Pallas Flaminia Sulca

Yet again, it was raining in Helnim. A daughter of the Nibenay, Pallas Sulca was no stranger to the blessings of Kynareth?in her youth, she would often stand outside and bathe in the nourishing waters of the heavens. Yet this was not Cyrodiil, and the familiar sensation of moisture on her shoulders and cheeks scarcely brought a smile to her face. She reckoned that even the ash-saturated rain of Ebonheart was preferable, as that particular keep still maintained some semblance of Imperial civilization. Here, despite the sound of red dragon banners fluttering in the winds, the Empire might as well belong on another continent.

She was not unsatisfied with her work, however. There were more opportunities to bring the blessings of the Nine to the benighted Dunmer whilst in the wilds of Telvanni territory than elsewhere in the province, and she felt that her missionary work in tending to the poor and indigent would stand the Empire in good stead. The Telvanni nobles would never countenance greater dependence on the Empire, but the commonfolk were not too keen on the often harsh and arbitrary rule. The liberality and justice provided by the Tamrielic Empire was often a better alternative?well, for the non-Dunmeri at least. Those elves persisted in their stubborn intransigence and would oppose the Empire even when it served their own interests. Still, Pallas would not give up on them.

After a long day at the chapel, Pallas felt that she needed some time to herself. Though she was a well-bred young lady and a priestess besides, there was nothing wrong with getting high quality brandy at the local bar. It was expensive?in fact, overpriced?but it allowed her to drink among the commoners and earn their good will. Cultivated beverages were a Cyrodilic tradition, but it did nothing but alienate the citizenry when Imperial administrators caroused in private.

Yet as soon as the priestess entered the inn, it was clear that there was something of a situation here. A brief look around the facility showed that angry Dunmeri were brawling with other customers, including a Bosmer, Dunmer, and a Cyrodil in legionary gear. Disgrace upon disgraces! If these legionaries were going to behave like common thugs, then it would be up to her to enforce the Emperor's peace.

Violence was abhorrent to her patroness, Dibella, whose teachings counseled the arts of speechcraft. And as a priestess of Tiber Septim, she was obliged to seek peaceful accommodation whenever possible.

Pallas was not a mage, and she did not twist the unholy energies of the departed ?dra Magus to power tricks of "magicka." Rather, she was a servant of the Nine and she piously channeled the energies of the divine. Each priest did so differently, depending on the god with whom they shared the most affinity with. For Pallas, this involved mentally attuning herself to the divine spectrum of Dibella. Few mortals were aware that the so-called "spheres" that divinities were associated with were actually the projection of the gods immortal will upon Nirn. A warrior who was powered by courage and virtue derived his great strength from the will of Stendarr himself, while lovers feeling the pleasure of each other's embrace were actually aligning themselves with the energies of Dibella?an action that could not be maintained for long and often resulted in an explosive overload once their mortal bodies had reached their limit.

Consequently, her concentration brought a flush to her skin and a hitch to her breathing as she aligned herself with the energies of Dibella. It took but a moment, as briefly as it took a wizard to chant a spell or a sorcerer to summon their magicks. She imbued her words with a heavenly serenity, choosing to calm these violent humanoids and soothe their anger.

She gestured, and her bare forearms emerged from the voluminous sleeves of her outer half-robe as her spell was cast. "Citizens," she intoned in a silkenly caressing tone, "this violence is meaningless. Let not your frustrations inflict pain on those who have done you no ill and wish you no harm."

Her eyes blazed with passion, but she dropped her hands and added a non-mystical offer to hopefully sweeten her request. "The next round is on the chapel. Enjoy, everyone."

Hopefully, that would be sufficient to restore peace and good order.

TAG: Everyone in the bar

OOC: In case I was being too vague in my descriptions, I cast calm humanoid on you all.

Pelena entered the brawl, sword drawn. She didn't intend to kill any of them, but she certainly would force them to surrender. She trotted into their midst, but as she arrived she felt she was slowing her pace and letting her arms relax. "Citizens... This violence is meaningless. Let not your frustrations inflict pain on those who have done you no ill and wish you no harm." The voice was soothing, and yet it resonated with perfect clarity the sense that it was giving them an order. No, it didn't, she only felt that sentiment within her, an echo of the voice that welled up inside her and merged with her own will. Feeling as if she was in a trance, she sheathed her sword. She felt compelled to apologize, but words would not come to her now. As the spell loosened its grip, she regained her sense of utter consciousness, but the need to fight was gone. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach that she must be expelled from the Legion, and that feeling remained even though she realized this would not come to pass. She was the highest ranking member in Helnim Wall, and she would have to willingly choose to step down unless a knight from elsewhere started an investigation against her.

Perhaps dying in the swamps is a most deserved fate. I shan't be respected in this town ever again.

She had felt that her decisions were currently outside her will, but identifying the source of this feeling was not one of her priorities. "The next round is on the chapel. Enjoy, everyone." Pelena ignored the offer, instead moving up to the Dunmeri thugs. "I'll be confiscating any weapons, but there will be no other punishment. You can pick them up at the Census and Excise Office tomorrow. The Dunmer, whose minds were weaker despite their heritage, handed over small knives and daggers with a glazed look in their red eyes. The tavern's owner was not yet returned to consciousness, but people that normally would have taken advantage of the situation were putting their own money on the counter, despite the offer of having their drinks payed for.

Slowly, as the spell wore off for all involved, the tavern regained its tense atmosphere as if the fight had never started.

Fara was still watching when she felt and odd soothing feeling creep into her mind. But it didn't change much in her attitude. There was no anger to be dampened in her mind, as her long familiarity with tavern brawl meant she didn't take it seriously. Though truth to be told she had a hard time taking anything seriously. A corner of her mind kept grumbling at the effect ? it ruined the patron's appreciation of her flashy way of terminating the scuffle.

She upturned the bucket and sat on it, leaning her back comfortably against the counter, her eyes drifting over the room to spot whoever was playing mind-tricks. She quickly spotted the most likely suspect when she offered a round on the Chapel's expense. That's the new priestess they've brought up from Cyrodill. Young, cute as a button and no slouch with magic to calm down a whole tavern like that. But so new she's till squeaking with every step. Now each and every bigoted thug in that tavern will know you can pour candy in his skull. I don't know how they'll react once the spell wears of... And things were setting down nicely, there was no need to wrap wool into anyone's head when wood was working just fine.

But no matter what her thought, Fara wasn't of a sort to let a free drink pass. She stood up from her impromptu seat and stepped on it to have a look above the counter. She picked a bottle of shein ? a local drink, well know to the patrons, was unlikely to have been watered down. She served herself a full glass of the beverage. The comberry gave it an exotic taste compared to cyrodillic brandy but she had grown quite fond of it. And it had more than enough alcohol in it to give a nice buzz. She lifted her glass in a salute to the priestess offering the drinks. Then drained her glass as she felt the spell wearing off.

She placed the glass back in it's place almost exactly when the spell finally ended. Fara kept her back to the counter and watched the patrons, wondering how they would react to a manipulation of their emotions. Badly and violently were unfortunately amongst the most likely. Very few peoples like violations of their minds, even for their own good. Worse, many of these morons fancy themselves as the baddest news you could bump into in a dark corner. Getting tamed by a teenage imperial priestess, even for a short while, is going to get them pissed something fierce.

As the Dunmer advanced on him with the dagger, Lucius's right hand slipped inside his other coat arm, half-drawing his hidden dagger out of it's sheath. Even though it was merely ceremonial, it was still more than capable of spilling blood. Only the handle was visible when the little Bosmer came out with her acrobatics to take down the Dunmer. He grinned as the Dunmer hit the floor, and several thoughts went through his mind at that moment, mainly, kill the Dark Elf scum that had drawn a weapon on him.

He took a step forward, ready to strike with his dagger, when he felt a wave of calm wash over him. It struck every nerve in his body, and he froze in mod-movement. He snarled for a moment, before relaxing and putting his dagger back in it's sheath. "Trash isn't worth the effort anyway," he mumbled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned to look at the patrons, immediately spotting the priestess. He had always reserved a special bit of hatred for people of religion, and their holier than thou attitude. He wasn't surprised that such a person would try to interfere in his fun, but killing a priestess was far from his goals for the day. Besides, it wasn't as if the spell had done all that much. There hadn't been any anger in him at the time, merely a need for retribution. And he was probably better off with her interference than not. He probably would have gotten in trouble with the Legion for gutting the Dunmer pig. Hah, cruel irony there.

He noticed the Legion woman that had started the fight earlier collecting weapons from the Dunmer. He finally decided on a real course of action. He walked towards her, he typical, obviously fake grin back in place. "Tell me, lady; you're Legion. How do I sign up for your suicide trip? I want to get out of this hole in the ground, and I'm sure I'm not welcome here anyway, what with the locals being who they are. Think you could use an extra set of hands?"

Imperial Settlement of Helnim Wall - Morrowind Province

Flaminica Pallas Flaminia Sulca

The priestess was able to breathe a sigh of relief as the din of fighting ceased and the patrons began to regard each other with a quizzical sort of relaxation. Not many patrons took her up on her offer, choosing to pay on their own. No matter; she doubted that the chapel would have reimbursed her?she had a fairly high allowance, given her position, but the Imperial Cult was funded almost entirely on donations and there simply were not very many forthcoming philanthropists in Morrowind these days.

As her spell wore off, the tension in the room again grew palpable. Still, reverting to the status quo ante pugnam was not entirely an improvement. She wondered how she might try to resolve whatever tensions were afflicting the poor souls here (and indeed, driving them to drink) when she collided into something, producing a muffled squeak.

Somebody pitched forward over a chair and cursed vividly in Tamrielic and a debased Aldmeris commonly used in outlying regions. Pallas craned her head up as the person stood, revealing himself to be a displeased-looking Dunmeri gentleman, probably middle-aged, accompanied by the scent of fermented saltrice. He looked a little angry, and the mind-dulling affects of that atrocious concoction known as mazte obviously weren't helping things.

"I beg pardon, citizen," Pallas offered in a courtly manner as she lowered her head and slightly bent her knees in a half-curtsey.

"You. I recognize that voice," the man growled in the typical Dark Elven fashion, "but do you know who I am, Imperial harlet?" He then called her a few other things, but her linguistic skills were not quite up to the task. Besides, it was clear that they were terribly uncomplimentary.

"Yes. Well, I can tell that you are a great and mighty? erm, fighting person." Her eloquence left her when the Dunmer stepped into her personal space, leaving her nostrils awash with the stench of lichen and corprinus (was he some sort of angry inebriated spelunker?). Were she taller, he would have been breathing into her face but instead, she found herself staring at his faded netch leather vest and raggedy tunic.

She tried again. "Uh, well? see. I, uh." Then once she steadied her quavering voice, she continued, "Why don't you enjoy another ap?ritif, perhaps a quality sujamma? I shall cover it for you."

Then she found herself hurtling backwards, and her rear was suddenly sore. She got up and steadied herself, and then stared out at her assailant. Did he just chestbutt her? His attack was unbecoming enough, but assaulting a sworn servant of the Nine? Infamy!

A few other patrons were looking on interestedly, though Pallas could still see a few Imperial legionaries at the other end of the tavern. They had been disarming the patrons, and most had complied. The ones on this side of the bar weren't paying attention to them, though.

A dark elf closer to her grabbed her by the waist and pulled her towards him, pawing at her priestly robe. He said something about knowing what it was like being despoiled like Morrowind was, and Pallas stared at him, barely able to hear over the sound of her own heartbeat and rapid breathing. He made to touch her, and then yanked his hand away as if he had been burned.

He swore, and his friends turned away and laughed. He began to laugh too, and it looked like they had forgotten about her completely. The priestess exhaled and nursed her still-throbbing behind. Despite herself, she smiled a little. Everybody thought that priestesses were easy targets for lechers and the sort, but they had safeguards and wardings that they cast daily.

The original Dunmer still stared at her menacingly, and she felt a little unsure of herself. She knew some defensive spells and had a bit of combat training from her brief stint as a legionary chaplain, but she had no fighting instinct. And she was concerned that any scuffle would attract interlopers. Could she dare attempt another calming spell? His mind was dulled, so he might prove to be an easy target but all the other priests had said that the spell rarely works twice on the same target.

"Vaermina's crumpled bosom, I'm in a spot," Pallas swore, albeit in a weakly, Chapel-authorized sort of way.

OOC: I don't mean to restart the fight that just ended, but rather, I wanted to give another character a reason to interact with Pallas and thereby find a way to get her associated with "the group."

Name: Kurt

Race: Imperial

Birthsign: Thief

Class: Nightblade

Background: Kurt was born in Chorrol, then moved to the Imperial City. Time and trials took him to Helnim.

Physical Description[in case of death][optional]: Brown eyes, Red hair, Fair skin.

Personality[for "compatibility" issues][optional]: BLANK

Equipment Package[Choose One]: Option 2 (Substituting the Bow & Arrows for a Steel Short-sword) [Leather Cuirass, Steel Short-sword, 1X Chameleon)

Imperial Settlement of Helnim Wall - Morrowind Province

Kurt

Kurt stepped forward and touched the Dunmer who had just knocked Pallas over lightly on the arm.

"Now, friend, there is no call for that" He smiled warningly, staring the Dark Elf directly in the eyes. The Elf returned the gaze, then stepped back and returned to his drinking mates, muttering some dismissive under his breath. Kurt watched him back to his seat, then pulled his glove back on, flexing his hand, working the leather back into place.

The dusty light of the tavern slides ethereally over his dark brown raiment; an expertly worked cuirass, fashioned by the best armoursmiths of the Legion. He has soft features contrasting a hooked nose, and trimmed, dirty-orange hair. There is a Steel Short-sword buckled at his waist, and a dusty knapsack slung across his back.

He extends a hand towards Pallas, a friendly smile on his face.

"Nice to meet a fellow Illusionist out here in the badlands. Or, I imagine you prefer some more proper title, Priestess, is it?"

OOC: Lady Nibenay, I hope you don't mind that I jacked your format.

OOC: No, it's fine.

Imperial Settlement of Helnim Wall - Morrowind Province

Flaminica Pallas Flaminia Sulca

A stranger walked up to her assailant and said something to him, causing the Dunmer to walk away. Pallas wondered for a moment why her own attempts at dissuasion had failed miserably, and this fellow was able to get the man to desist. No matter.

Was the man preferring his arm for a handshake? Such a gesture would be unheard of in Cyrodiil?the handshake was the greeting among men, and one would never extend a hand to a lady?they would bend at the waist and kiss a lady's hand. As Pallas was a servant of the Nine besides, the usual custom?regardless of gender?was to kiss the priest's ring.

So Pallas extended her hand, palm upwards and forward, hoping that the man would understand the import of the gesture. If necessary, she would indeed shake his hand?it would be graceless to chastise her rescuer on the finer points of etiquette, but she hoped that it would not come to that. He was a man, but with his fiery hair it was difficult to determine if he was a Nord or an Imperial.

"You may call me priestess, if you wish, although my formal title is Flaminica. Either shall do. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing? I must thank you for your timely intervention."

TAG: Mathum

Imperial Settlement of Helnim Wall - Morrowind Province

Kurt

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Flaminca," he says, testing out the unfamiliar word. He takes her hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing his lips full onto her hand. "The name's Kurt, devout follower of the Nine and devoted religious man," he grins slyly, "Care to share a seat at my table?" He indicates the chair with his hand.

Before she can answer Kurt slips through the crowd to the bar, and returns with two glasses, a small pouch, and a bottle of whiskey. He glances up at Pallas, "I guess while the barkeeps out we can just help ourselves," he holds the pouch up to his ear and shakes it, the jingle of coins brings a smile to his face. "So, drink and be merry! we have scarce little time here, let's make the most of it." He pours out two glasses and raises his in toast, "To the Valiant Legion, and their noble struggle against Unruly Bartenders everywhere."