[Christine Pane]

Nellis Nelsh, taking a seat at the inn

"Well if it isn't the scourge of the Thalmor." said a unknown voice. The nord cocked his head to see an imperial speaking to him. Taken a back by the sudden introduction, he looked at the imperial. A rather lean fellow, like Nelsh himself.

"Glad to see you're out of custody. Those pompous buggers need taking down a peg or two." the imperial continued. He looked at Nelsh with a smile.

"That I am. Guards don't really care much for the Thalmor. One of them even offered to buy me a drink later! Don't know where I found the courage to hit him though. Normally I'm the most jumpy coward you will ever meet!"

Taking off his hat again, Nellis put his hand out yet again for the new comer to shake
So many people to greet in this town. It's getting a little bothersome.....

"Name's Nelsh. Nellis Nelsh" said the meek nord

God's I've used that greeting so much.....is it getting old?

"And yours is?'

[k a t e]

Giovu - Inn

"Name's Nelsh. Nellis Nelsh" said the meek nord"

Nelshnelshnelsh? What a ridiculous name! thought Giovu, mishearing the Nord's curiously alliterative name under the din of the bar.

"And yours is?"

"I'm Giovu." he said shaking Nelsh firmly by the hand. "You put on quite a show earlier. Maybe we should get a bard to write a song about you. Given their propensity for exaggeration we'll have you taking down an entire company of Thalmor by the time we're finished. Listen, I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm staying upstairs, so if you find yourself thirsty at any point tell Jal to put a drink on my tab." What horror have I condemned him to? Thought Giovu, remembering Jal's distinctive home brew. He glanced at the box under his arm, "Well, if you'll excuse me I have to get to work." and with that he wandered over to the bar.

"Jal? I don't suppose you have somewhere I can set up my apparatus? I need somewhere safe and quiet for my work and I'd rather not spend hours crouched on the floor in my room." Giovu asked hopefully.

[Genocidal Cry]

Allard

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A droplet of water continued to drip as Allard hazily opened his eyes.

Where the hell am I?

He looked left and there he saw a familar face, "Rescal?" he tried to say but realised that he was gagged. Rescal looked terrified, genuinely truly scared, he had never seen him like this before and it worried him immensely.

Drip.

He looked around the place, he thanked Talos that they hadn't blindfolded him, and realised he was in a cave of some sort, before him a pool of water was gathering and a stalagmite above was dripping. The cave was drab and bare and he seemed to be bound to the cave wall next to Rescal. The poor Yokudan was looking everywhere and his face was a picture of despair.

"Well lookey here boys, it seems our very own fallen angel as woken up." a deep voice said, full of malice. A figure slowly walked up to him, a huge brutish man with a long black beard and what seemed like dozens of tattoos. "That's what you elven lot seem to think you are ain't it," he spat, "'Angels'" The way he spoke was so mocking that it made Allard clench his fists, even though he had been gone from the regime of the Thalmor for many, many years it still made him cringe when someone looked down on him. They bred the arrogance into you, The Thalmor. The man then did something that made Allard really want to punch him, he smiled. A crooked, horrible grin, which revealed a black abyss filled with very few extremely pointed teeth.

Others came into view, a crowd of different people, Allard counted seven men, he was unable to tell whether they were imperial, nordic or otherwise and an Argonian of all things. "You see boys, these upity no-good elves - once again emphasising the word 'elves' in a way which filled the word with such malice and hatred that it made Allard shudder - are actually no better than us." he began to laugh, a hideous grotesque laugh and the others joined in. The cavern was filled with endless laughing as the noise bounced off the walls and was echoed all around.

"You see elf, we got your friend here to talk." Allard glanced at the other man, who looked extremely ashamed of himself and looked away, "Boy did he sing like a little birdy, turns out you ain't on too good terms with that Thalmor lot, so we decided you know what, why not sell him over to them. Boy, oh boy won't you be glad to be back with your little friends, why they seemed might interesting in seeing you." There was more laughter and some of the men turned and walked away. The leader of the group then came extremely close and a great stench wafted over to Allard. He took the gag out of Allards mouth and whispered, "We're going to make you sing little angel, but first you can take your rage out on him."

A look of disgust, contempt and bitterness hit the Altmer's face all at once, he roared loudly and tried to punch the oaf who had tied him up. As he swung forward he realised that he was chained to the wall and the man just laughed that horrid laugh once again, "Now enough of that," he said, "You can take it all out on him soon enough."

He then moved over to Rescal and took of his gag, "Have fun." he said and walked off whistling. "I'm so sorry, they wouldn't stop, they wouldn't. I had no choice they, they threatened me and tortured me, I don't even understand. I-I'm so afraid." Rescal blurted out about three octaves higher than usual. It troubled Allard greatly that such a calm and composed figure as Rescal had been turned into this. "It was that Argonian, he has ways with, with poisons and magicks and, and...

"It's alright." Allard surprised himself with how choked and scratchy his voice was, all of a sudden he felt incredibly weak, "Where are we?"

"I don't quite know," Rescal replied shaking, "If only we could get these chains off, maybe then we could.. do something!"

Allard ran his hands down his body, the chains were just long enough that he could touch his foot if he needed to and he smiled. Idiots.

They had taken his armour but not the small dagger that he kept hidden under his thigh. As Rescal continued to babble on about the hopelessness of the situation, he reached deep and managed to pull it from it's concealed sheath. Now all he had to do was to wait for the bandits to return and..

There was a bang.

"Where is he?" A sharp voice demanded, "Bring us to him at once."

A clamour of noise followed and a loud voice rose from the din, "Now lookey here mister, you cannot just barge in here and take our prisoner. The deal was that we gave him you tomorrow at dawn and where the hell is our money?"

There was another bang and suddenly the noise became a great crecendo headed for an almighty climix. Screams and yells echoed through the cavern as fighting broke out. Then a figure ran up to Allard, it was the Argonian from earlier. "You're coming with me." It said and began to take off Allards chains, he slipped the dagger up his sleeve and concealed it for the time being. "Where are you taking me?" he demanded, curious as to what had caused the noise, was it the Thalmor?

"I'm saving you." It hissed and the chains fell off, "Now come on," it gestured towards a tunnel which drew away from the noise. "But what of Rescal?" Allard asked, he didn't want to have to abandon the only remaining member of his original party, even if he had gone slightly cowardly. "He doesn't matter, you're the one worth fortune not him." The creature scowled and then moved close, "Fine, if you won't come easily." Allard felt a white hot pain hit his neck as the animal injected him with some sort of drug. That was the last time he saw Rescal.

Everything was so sharp as he awoke, the light, the noise, everything. He seemed to be away from the cave and in a camp of some sort, he wasn't chained. He appreciated that fact greatly and even more when he realised his dagger was still up his sleeve. The Argonian appeared next to him, "It'ss about time you woke up. I've arranged to ssell you to the Sstormcloaks, much more trustworthy cusstomerss, we're heading a while north of that new town, that Valton. We're about five leagues south of it."

The warrior moved forward and reacted before it could inject him with anymore of that poison, the dagger moved' incredibly quickly and next thing the Argonian was grasping at it's neck, blood gushing from it. It looked so shocked and it saddened Allard somewhat that he had enjoyed the kill. He looked around the camp and managed to grab a short sword the Argonian had kept along with a fresh pair of clothes, a long green shirt, brown pants and some sturdy boots. There was a hat too, something which could be pulled down to cover his ears quite easily, he decided to keep it just in case. He quickly got the clothes on and set off, That new town, that 'Valton'.

Valton. That was where he should go, it'd be a small quiet town unlikely to attract the attention of the Thalmor or so he hoped. He set off running, he had been trained for this sort of exercise and the run was no-where near as tiring as it should have been. It took him a while regardless and by the time he finally reached the new town he was somewhat out of breath. It looked like a nice place to stay, the stone keep was not as impressive as the great buildings in the Isles but he preferred it for that very reason. He entered the town, pulling the soft brown silk hat down to cover his ears better, he knew that his tan skin would be an advantage here, instead of an elf he would likely look like a tall redguard, something which would attract less attention than a strange Altmer. He headed in and decided to enter the large building that struck him as being an inn most likely. As he entered the place a sense of unnerving filled him, there could be Thalmor spies anywhere. He headed towards the bar quietly, the entire place seemed packed with people and for a small town there sure did seem alot of people in the tavern.

"Excuse me," he said trying to get the barmans attention, trying to make his voice sound as un-elf-like as possible, "I was wondering if you have any rooms spare?"

[sexy zara]

Theadas in his Shop,

Fiona Barrow-Heart rapped her fingers on the counter and svcked her tongue. The inventory she had been offered was less than encouraging, and the witch did little to hide her disappointment. She glanced about her and frowned, drawing her words out slowly.
"Oh..is that all? Would you, by any chance, be able to procure some particular ingredients by order? Let me see, presently I require.." she closed her eyes, bringing a list before her mind's eye.
"Crimson Nirnroot, Deathbell, Ectoplasm, Falmer Ear, Huma-oh, I mean: Imp Stool, Jarrin Root, Nightshade, Nirnroot of the regular variety, Red Mountain Flower, River Betty, Skeever Tail, Antlers (not too large), Troll Fat and Void Salts" she recounted the list robotically, one the witch had very clearly memorised. "Oh, in the meantime I suppose the Red Mountain Flower and little antlers will suffice, though they are rather lacking in potency...but beggers can't be choosers, can we?" she smiled, batting her huge, heavily inked eyelashes at Theadas, wondering to herself if the shopkeeper would be astute enough to notice the uniting theme in her list.

Theadas listened to the list, Crimson Nirnroot, what the hell is that. Deathbell, Ectoplasm, Falmer Ear, Imp Stool, Jarrin Root, Nightshade, Nirnroot of the regular variety,Now I have seen those lots back in Cyrodil. Red Mountain Flower, River Betty, Skeever Tail, Antlers (not too large), Troll Fat and Void Salts. By the gods with those ingredients I do not want to be on her bad side. Theadas looked up and smiled at Fiona.

“I’m sorry I’m not in stock of all of what you wish. I still need to make some money before I can really start buying and I’m not quite specializing in anything.” Theadas said apologetically.

Though when he thought about the ingredients she was looking for he had an idea.

“When I was a hunter, I hunted for the pelts so poisoning my kill was never a problem.” Theadas leaned in as she had done when she walked in. “I know what putting together some of those ingredients can make and when together what they can end. So if you are in need of a particular potion I have friend down in Riften who could,” Theadas paused for a moment, “Get their hands on something you’re looking for and it would be a good cost.” Theadas purposed. He stood up straight again and looked her in the eyes, “what d’you say?”

[Marcia Renton]

Jal, inn.

“Greetings, I'd like some bread and cold cuts, and a pint of good wine or ale to get along with them. If you haven't had the chance to stock up yet, mere water will do. Oh and maybe some pastries later on if you have some.”

"Did you not see the sign on the door, fella? Got no stock at the moment. But sure, I can get you some water no problem."

Jal sighed in relief. The water, unlike his homebrew, was in the kitchen behind the bar. Not in the basemant. He placed a tankard of cold water on the table.

"Sorry about the stock situation. Should get sorted out pretty soon."

At that moment Tom walked in accompanied by two men. Jal limped over.

"That was quick, Tom. Well done lad," He said, ruffling the boys hair who squirmed away, quickly. Jal laughed. "Now go serve some customers wouldya? If I have to walk down those stairs once more imma just level the place." Jal turned to the two men in front of him.

"Right, who's the courier?" A young man stepped forward.

"That'd be me. I'll get whatever you need sent, safe and sound."

"Good. Take these." Jal handed him the letters. The man's eyes scanned the addresses and nodded.

"I wont be able to see to all of these personally, but they'll get to where they're needed."

"Good see that they do. Here's 100 gold," Jal said handing him a purse. "You don't get a septim more till you return with signed receipts stating the letters 'ave been received. Make myself clear." The courier rolled his eyes.

"Clear as day. I'll be off then." With that the man took the gold and walked back out the door. Jal hoped he hadn't just thrown 100 septims away. He turned to, who he assumed to be the painter. He was a port sort of man. Reasonably well dressed with a large belly and more than one chin.

"You the artist?" The man struggled through a rather ungainly bow. He was sweating and breathing heavily as he came back up.

"Quintil Ontilus, sculpture of Gods, painter of tragedies, wordsmith, artist, musician, at your service." Jal suppressed a laugh.

"Right, well I don't need Gods nor tragedies, I just seen a sign. I hope that's not too common for you?"

"No, no," the fat man wheezed, "An unfortunate consequence of my undeniable artistic genius is that I'm not appreciated in my own time." He sighed melodramatically and held his palms upwards. "And so I am forced to scraqe a living serving ..."

"Right, enough of that." Jal cut in. "I need a painting of a ship, in full sail, in a storm. With the words 'Hela's Folly underneath. Got that?"

"Ah, so you do indeed need a tragedy. It will make men weep to look at." And the fat man turned on his heels, whipping his red cloak as he did so and walked out.Well that was possibly the strangest encounter of my life.

As Jal turned around he saw a tall figure walk in a take a seat. He couldn't tell from here is the figure was man or mer as the stranger had his hat pulled down over his head. Jal went over to greet his new guest.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you had any rooms spare." He didn't sound like Mer but ... those eyes. Large and orange. Unmistakable.

"Actually we have one left. 10 septims a night if you're interested. It's got a bed ... but that's about all. I only got into town myself today and haven't had a chance to sort everything out. If you didn't see the sign on the door, we're not serving any food or drink either."

[Sammie LM]

Nellis Nelsh, in the inn.

The imperial was acting impressed by Nelsh's little scene with the Thalmor battlemage earlier. He even suggested a Bard's song about it. With the hapless nord taking down legions of thalmor troops in the song, it would make a fine ballad indeed. Nellis felt so proud indside, he almost broke into tears of pure joy. To think that a poem about him being a hero! Sung by Bard's everywhere in Skyrim, just like tales of the Dragon Born! It was more than his mind could take in all at once. For now, he was content with just one bard singing of false bravado.

The man said his name Giovu, and that he would be willing to pay for any drinks for the night.

"Oh thank you! I will make sure not to abuse your kindness this night, Giovu!" Nellis said in a estatic tone. He handn't had a drink of anything other than water for a week, and the sweet taste of Alcohol would be a blessing to him in this town. He wasn't a heavy drinker, he just had a little mead like any other nord.

He sat back down in his seat again, and decided to leave his fine hat on the table. He saw a redguard walk in, and ask about a room. But something was odd about this redguard.....he was tall than any of the Ra-Ga the nord had seen, and his eyes were not to unlike a atlmer's.

Redguard mother and High Elf father I guess? Nellis thought to himself. He overheard the talk between the inn's keeper and the redguard, and the man rented the last room.

"What?" Nellis said. He ran up to the inn owner, bumping into the redguard with the eyes of a mer.

"Oh sorry. Didn't mine to run into to you" he said in a sad tone, hoping it wouldn't turn out like the Battlemage incident.

"Anyways, did you say that there are no more rooms for rent?" he said to the inn owner.

[Austin Suggs]

A large Nord ran and bumped clumsily into the mysterious new guest.

"Anyways, did you say that there are not more rooms for rent?"

"'Fraid not matey. Only three rooms in this inn and they've all been taken."

[Sakura Haruno]

"No more rooms? None at all?" Nelsh said sadly. He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed tonight, after having to sleep on a horse hide out in the wild ever since he left Windhelm.

Putting his hand in his face, he sighed heavily.

"Any place where I could lay a horse hide down to sleep on?"

[Michelle davies]

Allard

"Actually we have one left. 10 septims a night if you're interested. It's got a bed ... but that's about all. I only got into town myself today and haven't had a chance to sort everything out. If you didn't see the sign on the door, we're not serving any food or drink either." The man said and Allard cursed inwardly. He hadn't taken any money from the Argonian and he had nothing, nothing except the short sword he had picked up and the clothes on his back. Would it be better to see if he could trade it for a room or..

There was something strange about the way the Innkeeper kept looking at him and his eyes. His eyes. The realisation hit him like cold water, he had gone to such great lengths to hide his merishness and now his eyes, one of his most obvious features would give him away. He cursed again. He was pretty desperate, "Is it possible that I could do some work for the room, or I could put it on a tab?"

Then a nordic man bumped into him, "Oh sorry. Didn't mean to run into to you." Anger flashed across him but he knew it was better not to cause a scene, especially now, and there was something about the mans sad tone that made him pity him somewhat. The man then turned to the Innkeeper and said,"Anyways, did you say that there are no more rooms for rent?"

A pang of guilt came across him, he realised the poor man probably didn't have anywhere to stay and he could probably find somewhere else. "Actually," he said quickly, "give the room to this man, he probably can pay you."

[Stefanny Cardona]

Glathor, Forge, Midday


Making a mental note to ask the Guard about his assassin problems later, Tsavani turned between Gorbad and Glarthor. "If you say so," she replied to Gorbad's decline of her offer for the pelt, before turning her attention to the wood-elf. "I don't think we've been introduced. My name's Tsavani, and I'm willing to 'sell' you the pelt for the two cloaks. You'll be free to use the excess with any other projects you may have, though you may find yourself surprised at its quality, once the piss gets washed out of it," she offered. "Of course, the price of that cloak includes auxiliary materials, such as the brooches. You'll probably find you're still getting the better deal. Mind if I meet you tomorrow so we can discuss the details more?"



"No problem, I live in a small tent outside the city." Glathor answered.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Not long at all. I'll get to working on it right away." He took the hide and placed it on a table at his side, next to the iron sword and inspected the longbow. It was indeed in need of some repairing and he could reinforce it to be more durable and even increase its range a bit. Behind him, in his tool box, he found some quality wood and a special paste. Reinforcing a wooden long bow was entirely different than reinforcing an armor or sword, so he'd need to be careful not to reinforce it too much. If he did that, it'd be more useful as a club than a bow.

He broke the quality wood into perfect pieces, polished away the weakest wood from the hunters long bow and placed the bow and the quality wood near his forge, close enough for it to heat up, but not close enough to catch fire or ruin the string. He also heated the paste, in a metal bucket that he held inside his forge. This took no more than a few heartbeats, and then he returned with the heated materials and bow to his workbench. Then, he threw the quality wood into the paste and put some of it on the bow as well. Then he took the paste-wood bits and placed them on the long bow, where the weakest wood had been removed.

He gently hit the wood into it's original shape, let it taste the forges fire a few times and shaped it again. He finished the reinforcement by sinking the wooden part of the bow in water. He took off his gauntlets and tested the bow. It bent perfectly and had no cracking sound. Now it would hold for quite a long time and fire arrows far and fast. With a smile, he returned the bow to the hunter. As he had promised, it hadn't taken long at all.


"Thank you." Glathor said kindly to Gorbad. He turned and began to walk to the city exit so he could make his way to his tent and began to prep his tools for the pelt he will be working on tomorrow.

[-__^]

"Actually, give the room to this man, he probably can pay you."

"Well ... sure, ok. Doesn't matter to me. Orange eyes, probably Mer. But trying to hide it. Why? Secret Thalmer agent? Possibly. Don't particularly want one of those sleeping under my roof anyway.

Jal turned to the Nord, who was visibly upset about there not being any beds left. He was glad he finally had a Nord guest.

"Problem solved then, eh matey!"

[Jade Barnes-Mackey]

Nellis Nelsh, inn

Just as the merish looking redguard had rented a room, he offered to give it up to Nellis. Shocked by the strangers generosity, Nelsh felt wracked with guilt, just as the man who gave up the room did.

"What? Oh no no no! I can't just take the room from you! You rented it first. If you don't have the money, I'm sure I could loan you something. Believe me, I've been using a horse hide to sleep on for a while, I'll be fine with it again. I just can't take a room from a elf like you!" the nord said. Noticing he said "Elf", he felt even worse.

"I mean Redguard like you! Sorry, but those eyes just made me think of a atlmer. Forgive my mistake."

[courtnay]

Allard

He turned away to leave but then the blathering nord began to speak, "What? Oh no no no! I can't just take the room from you! You rented it first. If you don't have the money, I'm sure I could loan you something. Believe me, I've been using a horse hide to sleep on for a while, I'll be fine with it again. I just can't take a room from a elf like you!" Elf. Allard realised he really needed to do something about his eyes and quickly. "I mean Redguard like you! Sorry, but those eyes just made me think of a altmer. Forgive my mistake."

"If you must know, my father was an Altmer, he gave me these grotesque eyes." The lie came easily and he didn't even feel bad for telling it, this man probably didn't know much about half-breeds, at least he hoped he didn't. "Anyway, I inquired about the room first. I didn't rent it. It's yours." And with that Allard turned and left the inn. Outside the wind was refreshing although he realised it would be damned cold later on. It was then that he noticed a building with a sign hanging off it, a general store he gathered. It was a long shot but he hoped that he could purchase something in there to solve his problem or at least he could work for the owner for a bit of pay.

He entered the room and noticed an odd looking female conversing with a man, he guessed the owner of the shop. “I know what putting together some of those ingredients can make and when together what they can end. So if you are in need of a particular potion I have friend down in Riften who could, get their hands on something you’re looking for and it would be a good cost. What d’you say?”

Ingredients? Potions? He smiled then, he had found the sort of person he was looking for. He approached the woman and tried not to look into her eyes, "Hello, very sorry for interrupting but is it possible that I could inquire after your services as an Alchemist or if you perform magic that would be just as good?"

[Lloyd Muldowney]

Nellis Nelsh, at the inn.

The half breed redguard confirmed Nelsh's theory of the father being an Atlmer. However, before the man could take back the room, he refused, and left. Not wanting to go after him, Nellis sighed.

"Well, that's going to be screaming in the back of conscious tonight. Any ways, I'll rent that room for the night" Nelsh said.

Taking out 10 gold from his coin purse, he slid them over to the inn keeper.

"I'll try some of that home-brewed ale while I'm at it. Giovu said he would pay for my tab. The inn keeper nodded, and gave Nellis a bottle of the home brewed ale.

"Gonna save this for later" the meek nord said to himself, taking his seat by his bag.

[Britta Gronkowski]

Fiona Barrow-Heart, Theadas' Shop, Afternoon


The Witch's eyes lit up in interest at the offer. She smiled pleasantly, weighing her response before replying, some glee in her tone:

"What a delightful offer. I tend to mix my own brews, as you might have been able to tell from my rather eclectic demands. I don't know if you are aware" she said, leaning to one side and cocking her head in that direction, her tone worryingly familiar now she'd reached one of her favourite subjects, "but in Academia" she stretched that word out, highlighting it with distaste, "..alchemical elements are often designated as holding the simple property 'damage health', as if all were equivalent! As if Void Salt and Imp Stool had the same effect on the body and mind as Deathbell united with Skeever Tail!" she laughed outloud, clearly in genuinely amused by the idea. "Now, your boys in Riften, as reliable as they may be, I severely doubt know the correct composition and mixture for a philter that produces the dropping off of the thumbs and toes, the turning of blood to a black ichor, or poison that kills it's victim not before throttling them of their voice, their motor control, and bringing forth terrifying visions of their deepest fears to colour their dying moments?" Fiona was practically grinning now. Something in the animation of features, and the brightness in her eyes took the years from her face, and made the witch more vibrantly beautiful that moment, when she was at her most disturbing in her words. "Subtitles, missed by the layman, but oh-so vital in the eyes of the expert" she winked, the thought that she had layed it on a bit thick not coming to her mind. "But I digress" -and she was the spoilt mage again, and less the wild-woman, "I will pay a pretty septim for any of those ingredients, the rarer the more valuable, naturally. As a matter of fact, if you even can procure an -extract- of Crimson-coloured Nirnroot, I will enchant your finest blade free of charge" she promised with a flourish. A strange looking man (or was it a mer?) in a stranger hat entered the shop half-way through her speech, hopefully not catching all of the most gruesome parts, and stepped in to interupt her, just as she finished her offer to the now rather bemused shopkeeper.

"Hello, very sorry for interrupting but is it possible that I could inquire after your services as an Alchemist or if you perform magic that would be just as good?" one look at the stranger was enough to send her powerful mind working, wheels turning. An Altmer. Muddy Complextion -not purebreed. Dressed in what amounts to rags, wearing a hat by all accounts ridiculous, and poorly fitting. Drifter, vagrant? No, the build is too strong. Thalmor agent in a poor disguise? Escaped Prisoner? A series of similar hypothesis flashed before the witch's mind and were dismissed or put to one side, as she opened her grey lips to answer him, wearing a knowing smile that pretended it knew more than it did.

"Magic, yes, that is my profession. I am Fiona Barrow-Heart, Court-Mage to Jarl Spurvhauke. I am actually rather busy at the moment, would you mind stepping outside with me, we could continue our discussion on the way to my study? It is just across the street." she lied cheerily. She wasn't busy at all, but whoever this mer is, trouble is likely nearbye. Best to keep this private she concluded, on little more than gut instinct. Something in his hurried tone of voice had given her suspecions.

[chloe hampson]

Tourmund Steelfist,town entrance


It is past time I arrived, muttered Tourmund.He had bought the house some days ago but the shortcut the poacher said was full of bandits,but that did not mattered he had arrived and nedded to see his house and talk to Jarl or the Stewart,but that could wait he nedded some ale and a fire to lay by.He aproached the building he tought it was the inn.As he entered he took a seat by the fire and called the battle hardened nord that was the inkeeper and called out.

"Fetch me some ale kinsman it has been a long travel."

[Eibe Novy]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
GM ANNOUNCEMENT:

And Alduin said: "Ho Ha Ho"

The World-Eater circled around this RP, licking his lips at all the RPers trapped in the Early Afternoon. Alduin laughed and scratched his belly "I'm going to swoop down and EAT this time of day, and all the Role Players in this thread can continue during the evening!"

Then the GM-Demon leaped up and said "No! Wait! Some of us are still talking! Come back after we've finished the conversation we are in right now, THEN make it be evening." Alduin looked at the GM-Demon in a funny way and belched.

"Okay" said Alduin, "But once everyone has finished what they are doing RIGHT NOW I'm going to come back in here and EAT Early Afternoon, and you can all carry on in the next time of day (evening!)" he roared, and flew back up into the heavens.

"Phew." said the GM-Demon. "That sure was close!"


Translation: As soon as everyone is done with what they are doing now, we are moving the whole town on to evening so people can come back from the hunt, and everyone can gather around the fire for a good story. Anyone that has any problem with this can take it up with the World Eater (or me or Lizard Wizard) in the OOC thread.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Daramis McGee]

Giovu - Inn

"Jal? I don't suppose you have somewhere I can set up my apparatus? I need somewhere safe and quiet for my work and I'd rather not spend hours crouched on the floor in my room." Giovu asked hopefully.

The old Nord didn't hear him. He was busy dealing with clients and couriers. Best not disturb him. I'm sure he wont mind if I take a look around. Giovu slipped away towards the cellar steps. Sneaking had always come naturally to him. The ability to remain anonymous, even in a crowded room required more than just light feet. It starts long before the actual event, it begins with appearance and the way you carry yourself. Be unremarkable and indistinct. Partly this ability is down to luck, genetically arrestive features will draw attention. That's why so many physically attractive theives deal in diversion. It's also essential to bare no distinguishing markings. Tattoos, extravagant clothes and prominent jewelry are all fine ways to make an exhibition of yourself. Then there's attitude. This one's always difficult to define, but it boils down to the way you regard yourself. Over the years Giovu had seen so many promising thieves fall at this hurdle. Their planning was perfect, their movement graceful, their senses alert, but they were too proud. Subconsiously, they wanted to get caught, to receive recognition. If you think you're something special, others will notice. The theives with the greatest longevity never spoke of their craft, never boasted and never wanted the vindication of others.

Of course it was no challenge to get into the cellar. Giovu doubted Jal would even care about him snooping around. It's not like he has any stock to get defensive over. Giovu descended the cellar steps and was rewarded with a treasure trove of empty kegs. What a fine haul! Now I can retire and grow fat. Sadly, there was no table for his craft here, although there was plenty of room. A few planks of wood and a couple of empty barrels would probably do the trick. I ought to ask Jal first, although it would be amusing to see how long it will take him to notice. It takes him about a week to hobble down these steps anyway. Giovu resolved to find some decent quality wooden boards. He left the Inn and headed towards one of the many construction sites in the new Hold capital as evening drew in.

[Big Homie]

Theadas in his shop


“What a delightful offer. I tend to mix my own brews, as you might have been able to tell from my rather eclectic demands. I don't know if you are aware" she said, leaning to one side and cocking her head in that direction, her tone worryingly familiar now she'd reached one of her favourite subjects, "but in Academia" she stretched that word out, highlighting it with distaste, "..alchemical elements are often designated as holding the simple property 'damage health', as if all were equivalent! As if Void Salt and Imp Stool had the same effect on the body and mind as Deathbell united with Skeever Tail!" she laughed outloud, clearly in genuinely amused by the idea. "Now, your boys in Riften, as reliable as they may be, I severely doubt know the correct composition and mixture for a philter that produces the dropping off of the thumbs and toes, the turning of blood to a black ichor, or poison that kills it's victim not before throttling them of their voice, their motor control, and bringing forth terrifying visions of their deepest fears to colour their dying moments?" Fiona was practically grinning now. Something in the animation of features, and the brightness in her eyes took the years from her face, and made the witch more vibrantly beautiful that moment, when she was at her most disturbing in her words. "Subtitles, missed by the layman, but oh-so vital in the eyes of the expert" she winked, the thought that she had layed it on a bit thick not coming to her mind. "But I digress" -and she was the spoilt mage again, and less the wild-woman, "I will pay a pretty septim for any of those ingredients, the rarer the more valuable, naturally. As a matter of fact, if you even can procure an -extract- of Crimson-coloured Nirnroot, I will enchant your finest blade free of charge" she promised with a flourish. A strange looking man (or was it a mer?) in a stranger hat entered the shop half-way through her speech, hopefully not catching all of the most gruesome parts, and stepped in to interupt her, just as she finished her offer to the now rather bemused shopkeeper.


The growing attraction he felt for the wild women faded away and the intimidation he felt when she first leaned in returned. Theadas looked eerily at her, By the gods I really do not want to get on her bad side. But his bodies reaction kicked in being young and foolish he started.

“Aye Lass, my boys down in Riften wouldn’y know how too. They don’t like death. Stealth is an art to mix it with death, uggh leave it to the dar…” A large man interrupted and spoke to Fiona.

You really don’it know Theo just hope she doesn’t turn you into a frog or something. Theadas was displeased with himself but still needed to finish the deal. He turned around and grabbed a bunch of the red mountain flowers and placed them on the counter. He then bent over and grabbed two small antlers, which were under the counter as spare decorations, and placed them on the counter as well. He waited for the conversation between the two to finish and said to Fiona. “Here is what you asked for, you can buy the red mountain flowers in a bunch or separately. There are eight flowers in a bunch. 14 septim for one bunch or 2 for a single flower. And 4 septim for the antlers.”

[Guy Pearce]

Graymane, headed for the inn

To Elarian's mixed surprise and regret even his attire hadn't attracted a hint of attention. Considering how uncommon a red brocade coat was in those benighted parts it was unusual. Reassuring of sorts when it came to safety, but worrying when it came to getting enough notice for his projects. And maybe it had been caused by the odd customers showing up. For such a small and new hold Valton seemed to have a a population leaning toward the bizarre. Like the altmer poorly trying to disguise what he was. Or maybe the place was so thoroughly wretched the locals were unable to recognize quality clothes for what they were unless they were made of fur.

The afternoon had been mostly spent back home in reflexions over a course of action. Posting some notices about weapon training might do the trick, but he wouldn't bet too heavily on the town's litteracy. The long winter evenings tended to be spent telling and hearing tall tales and passing out from too much mead rather than reading. I wouldn't be surprised if such notices would attract the bizarre. I can handle them, but it begs the question, can they pay ? I've enough coins tucked away for some time, but I'll need more... A smile came to his lips when he remembered where his main stash was hidden. Thanks to his resistance to heat picking them up from the warm spring under Elarian's house was merely painful. A non-dunmer trying to locate his stash by touch would end up with his hand and forearm cooked raw.

But with the sort of peoples this hold seems to attract, maybe I'll need some extras. Better doors and shutters at least, and some sort of armor to make sure nobody slips a knife in my back. My magic is more suited to killing the troublemaker than in keeping my hide whole... That mercenary pack looks like trouble. No the 'torch the town and murder everyone in sight' kind, but definitively the drunken brawl and vandalism kind. Maybe up to the the odd 't'was self-defense, he flew of the handle and tried to kill me' or 'I swear she was willing, just ask my buddies' sort.

With that in mind he headed again for the inn, though he made sure to check the smithy first – with the inn lacking even a crust of bread the town's smith was more likely to be at his work or home.

[Travis]

Jarl Spurvhauke, The Great Hall, Midday

The Thalmor Justicar marched into the Great Hall, dark cloak whistling behind him, head held high in that trademark High-Elf irrepresable pomp. The Old Jarl looked up at the Justicar wearily, his face a mask of suprise. He watched the preposterous Altmer deliever his speech. The Thalmor's haughty tone produced a ringing in his ears. Jarl Spurvhauke saw Valarmo through a veil of melancholy; today was a bad day. The Justicar's mention of Talos worship and his insulting tone brought what Jarl Radwulf soon discovered to be a wry smile to his weathered lips.

He saw, beside him, a younger version of himself; the shrewd businessman that had driven the Ra'Ga Cartels from the Anvil Docklands all those years ago, lean foward on his phantom throne and press the Altmer on the important issues here. He saw his past self squeeze the haughty Justicar's words, remind him of the precise details of the White-Gold Concordat and the rather limited authority a single Justicar without due papers co-signed from Cyrodiil and Alinor could exert over a Jarl of Skyrim. He heard his own voice, or what he imagined his voice to have sounded as in the prime of his life, reassure the Thalmor that the Concordat would be followed to the letter, that everything would be proper as long as a spirit of full copperation and frankness be established between both parties. Jarl Radwulf Spurvhauke smiled. But that was not how the old Jarl replied.

Then the Jarl glanced to his right, and he saw another throne, another possible Jarl, this time from his deeper past. Two Thrones, the youthful Radwulf, Lietenant in the Imperial Legion, chief attendant to General Decianus. Look at that proud jaw, those determined eyes! Behind them the details of a dozen-score armament lists, shipments and supply routes where held - if the men where to eat, to fight and be armed, Lietenant Radwulf could not afford to fail. The weight of a legion on those young shoulders! And by his side, the beautiful Allendra, in the blossum of youth - what a consort she would have been! With steely gazes the two young Nords, he imagined, held the Thalmor's attention. The link between them almost telepathic -not a word need be said. She was by his side.
"What nonsense is this!" protested the phantom youth, "You come here, into the great hall of a Jarl of Skyrim, with such words! I should have you hung up for this impunity"
"Please, Radwulf" he saw his wife interupt, playing her part so well, "Calm yourself. This Mer means no harm. He is long in the saddle. He has journied from far Alinor. No doubt he has heard stories of the restlessness of our people, and the reckless rebellion of Ulfric Stormcloak" she would turn to face the Thalmor at this point, her tone so measured, and young Radwulf would watch, playing his part,
"Of course, we will make true on the promises of our illustrious leaders and do our utmost to aid you in the fulfilment of the Concordat of White-Gold"
"Yes" Radwulf would enter the conversation again now, "I apologise. Of course, Dear Wife, you are right. Forgive me, we shall do all we can. Boarding will be provided, you make sleep safe in the keep, on the finest bed our humble hold can provide." he would say, hand on his Wife's dear hand, and they would look to eachother, already begining their plans to deal with the Justicar. A look was all it would take. Telepathic, was their link. But that is not how the old Jarl replied.

He sat alone, on his uncomfortable, freshly hewn thrown. A chill rushed in from the still-opened doors, and Jarl Spurvhauke felt it all the more for his years. His heart was weary, and today was a bad day. Something in the way the sun had risen reminded him of those early winters with his dear Wife, and he felt weak this day. The Justicar before him loomed too large, like a gobiln from a bad dream.
"Very well" said the old Jarl, looking up at Valarmo with sullen eyes, "I will do as you say."

[Matt Bigelow]

"Fetch me some ale kinsman it has been a long travel."

Jal sighed. He'd repeated himself for the umpteenth time today. Can no-body is this blasted town read?

"I'm sorry friend, we have no ale. Nor food for that matter. I'm serving my own concoction if you like. It's not the most pleasant drink but ..." Jal shrugged. "It does the job."

[Michael Korkia]

Sargon Hlaalu, On the Road to Valton, Midday


The sound of a fully loaded carriage, bumping and jostling along the stone road to Valton could be heard. The Dunmer driving it, cloaked in fine robes and smoking his pipe, sang an old song of battle. Sargon Hlaalu happily sang away, billows of smoke being blown into the air after each verse.

"Men of Harlech, stop your dream-ing,
can't you see their spear-points gleam-ing,
see their warrior pen-ants streaming,
To this batt-le field!
Men of Harlech, stand ye steady,
it can-not be ever said ye!
From this battle, we flee!"


By the time Sargon was finished, he could just barely see the new Hold at the end of the road. He would take his time however, as the carriage was very full of valuables and spilling them across the road simply so he could save time, would not be a wise decision. Sargon had seen a shape that looked as if it were following him, it was the shape of a man, and he was carrying a large bag. As the trees parted a bit, Sargon saw deeper into the forest with his elven eyes, and the sight was one that filled him with joy.

Sargon stood up in his carriage seat and lifted his whale-bone spear high, the moonstone edge glinting in the sunlight. "Nuramon!" He called to the distant figure, "Old friend, rest your legs! Come and greet an old mer and brother!" He called out once more, his voice echoing his heavy accent and brash voice. He remained standing as he reined the horses to go just a bit faster, hopefully his old friend would take him up on the offer. It was strange to see Nuramon here, perhaps it was fate that he should meet his old friend, a fellow Huntsman.

The old Dunmer parted the side of one of his layered robes, looking to the ebon dagger tucked in his belt. "I remember... and I know, my mistress." A grim look came over his face, Boethiah would use him once more, and Sargon knew it. It was only a matter of time before he sent another soul into her dark grasp.

'No time for that now, this is a happy occasion, new life and old friends!' Sargon mused aloud in his mind, a smiled reappeared on his face as he took another puff of his pipe and continued the old song.

[Alex Blacke]

Nuramon, On the road to Valton, early evening.

He has been walking back to Valton for a few hours now and the last five minutes he had been hearing a voice, singing. Somehow it sounded familiar to him but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so he quickened his pace, shoving away the pain is his leg as he hauled the bag of meat with him.

After the next turn a cart came into his vision. A man, dressed in fine robes, sat on it while clearly smoking a pipe. It was also from this man that came the singing. Aparrently the man had seen him because he stopped his cart and waved with a spear made of the bones of a whale. This can’t be! Nuramon recognized the spear as he only know one man who wielded such a beautiful weapon. When the mer, because it was a mer and not a man, shouted his name with great joy, Nuramon immediately knew who he saw sitting on that cart.

He waved and quickened his pace while he shouted, “Sargon! Are my eyes betraying me?” as he got closer he could clearly see his old friend.

Nuramon! Old friend, rest your legs! Come and greet an old mer and brother!" Sargon greeted him.

He climbed on the cart and carefully placed the bag down. he then gave the dunmer a manly hug and a hard pat on the back. “Sargon! How longs has it been, old friend? Way to long it seems to me. How are you?” I can’t believe it. Sargon here to. This is great!

Sargon took another puff of his pipe and continued to sing the song he was singing before and instead of waiting for an answer Nuramon quickly chimed in.

[Monika Krzyzak]

Varlamo Aicandil, Thalmor Justiciar, The Great Hall, Midday

Varlamo thrived off the Jarl's weakness. His mind explored and shut down possible avenues, the battlemage vividly imagining every possible moment as the strategies unfolded. No smiled adorned the Altmer's golden face however, just the same slightly aggressive facial expression which he chose to don almost all of time. Rarely would his voice change tone, rarely would his mannerisms express something other than authority and power... unless it was in his interests to pretend to do so.

The Justiciar was controlled and sly, pure calculated evil, rarely experiencing failure or defeat. The earlier loss of control Varlamo displayed in the town center earlier disturbed him. He was uncomfortable, insecure and could not find it in himself to deal with the minor teasing he received from the witch and the clumsy bumbling mistake of the Nord. His arrogance and inexperience in this new atmosphere had shaken the mer who thought himself to be invincible. This failure however, only made him stronger as he adjusted incredibly rapidly, starting from the moment the Jarl showed his nonchalant weakness. Varlamo was now in control, his prime.

"Jarl Spurvhauke of Valton, born of Anvil." He started, his voice calm, slow and emotionless. "I am here only for Auri-El and the Aldmeri Dominion. I am here out of... compassion. Love for the Dragon and it's infinite unbounded reach. It pains me so-" His voice changed suddenly, becoming sinister and threatening. "-to have to withstand such intolerable assault and slander. A meek worm of a man, worthy only of the dreemsleeve -of death-, has gotten away with such crimes against the crusaders of Anu. I shall discover his heretical worship, I can see it in his eyes, feel the doom drum's vibrations as it resonates from the buro. And the witch. The forsworn Lorkhanite [censored]. You trust, such a deceptive and manipulative guardian of witchcraft in your court! You are no son of Shor. You come from the land of Akatosh, a true son of Aka. You are a wise and honorable man, Jarl. Trust that I am here, for the good of Valton. You do not wish for emperor worshiping blasphemy in your town. You are a noble son of Cyrod. You should respect the will of the Dragon. The Aldmeri Dominion merely represents the might of the almighty Aka. I trust I will have a room in this bastion of pride, this grand keep of yours, Jarl Radwulf Spurvhauke."