[noa zarfati]

- Erik Steelsheen -

"This is an Arcane matter, friends and I am Court-Mage Fiona Barrowheart. So it would appear, presently I am in charge, and you may address me." an auburn haired woman said, stepping forth from the small gathering. Erik's initial reaction was that she was like all other high end magic users; snooty and arrogant. He just gave a slight nod in reply to her statement.

"Strapping recruits for the Guard, are we?" she asked, scanning each of them. Erik could already tell that she was a little wary of them, and she had every right to be; he didn't know if anyone here had heard of their reputation, but they soon would. Then her eyes narrowed, and for a brief second, Erik was nervous. "No, not recruits...but surely not a detatctment of Companions, visting upon our humble prospect-hold from mighty Jorrvaskr?" She gave them a grin, and Erik could feel the sarcasm in the air by this point.

"Please, introduce yourselfs, good friends, I am sure we at Valton will all be humbled to make your acquaintance." the mage finally finished.

Erik looked back at Clayton, who gave him a wry nod. Right, two can play at that game. Erik started to chuckle under his breath, before turning back to his fellows and laughing merrily. Soon, all of the boys, including Clayton, were in hysterics, as though what this Fiona woman had said was extraordinarily amusing.

"Recruits? You'll be asking if someone stole our sweetroll next!" Erik said boisterously. Clayton emerged from the ranks to stand beside Erik and before the court wizard.

"Aye. You know, I've always thought about a change of career, ever since I took that arrow to the knee..." Clayton chuckled, drawing more laughter, before extending his arm, taking the court wizard's hand and planting a kiss upon it, as one might do to a lord's ring. "The name's Clayton and I am honoured to make your acquaintance, oh esteemed mage." Erik concealed a grin, he'd seen Clayton do this a thousand times before, but it was still amusing how easily he could change his persona. "This fine you man beside me is Erik, my second, and those charming gentlemen behind me are my boys. We're the Crimson Sons Mercenary Company, and I'm their leader. Perhaps you've heard of us?" He gestured to them; by then they had fallen back into silence, but they stood more easily now in a less threatening posture. They had to make a good first impression.

"We heard about your nice little hamlet here and decided that we could provide some service to these good, honest folk." Clayton continued, sounding like the nicest man in the world. Erik knew it was all an act. "See, there's all sorts of danger in the wilds, and that carcass only proves it. Also, new little place like this, ripe target for bandits. Seeing as the town guard is still growing and will undoubted be needed to defend Valton," He gave a brief gesture to the guardsmen standing nearby "Then most of the grunt work of tracking down and eliminating these dangers will fall to us, a service we are all too happy to conduct."

"And for those of our skill, you'll find no better price." Erik added.

"Well then, now that we're all feeling warm and fuzzy." Clayton said, his tone suddenly turning serious and stern "You might then tell our gracious Jarl of our presence, and that if he needs something done, we're the men to do it." He then returned to his previous, charming and happy demeanor. "It was a pleasure to meet you all. When you need us, just look for our building. It's got a symbol above the door the same as the one on our vests. Fare well!"

Erik followed after Clayton and the rest of the gang as they made their way back to their headquarters.

"Wizards." Erik muttered bitterly to Clayton. "Think that the sun shines out their rear. Castle wizards are the worst of them."

"I know what you mean." the bosmer added "I wanted to gut her there and then. What do you think boss?"

"Well boys, there are a lot of bad things I'd like to do to her...." Clayton replied with a grin. Erik joined in the laughter.

"Filthy old man." Erik teased.

[Teghan Harris]

Nellis Nelsh, around town.

Nelsh made a big deal out the smell, a loud outburst at that. No one seemed to care about his curse though, and they continued there talking. An old Orcish man came up to the nvde Khajiit, and started asking about the Spear. Nellis was not interested at all, and was eyeing the guard that came up. Along with him, and large group of thuggish looking men, following one of the men. The coward of a nord could feel fear building up inside him. It was one of is many fears, being near groups of a armed men. It always made him feel like he was about to face a giant. He was so full of fear, he was about to run off in hysteria. But the men started talking, and they ignoring him. Everyone was. It seemed as if he was invisible.

"Oh thank Talos, they don't notice me" he said outloud. He covered his mouth with his hand, releasing he used the word "Talos" in his words. if any Thalmor were around, they would have been able to drag him away for that.

Thankfully, no one seemed to care. This wasn't anything for new for Nelsh. He was a boring man, and when a bard, a court wizard, blacksmith, guard, a entire gang, and a naked Khajiit hauling around a dead cat, people were unlikely to notice the fish lipped man in Miner's clothes, and wearing a fine hat. He noticed the Khajiit was gone, walking towards the hot springs. For some odd reason, Nellis decided to run for her. Perhaps because she was the one that made him least nervous. The court mage had been eye balling the dead cat for to long, the guard was talking with the thugs, the thugs scared him out of his wits, and the bard was busy. Besides, the orc was following her, and he seemed like a nice enough man to chat with. He smelt like a fireplace, and wore blacksmith's robes. The old orc didn't make the normally nervous hord so jumpy.

Running towards the hot springs, Nelsh saw a demonic looking spear on the ground. The twisted thing was emitting sparks, and was black as ebony, if not darker. It made the Nord want to run for the hills. The khajiit and orc talked, saying it was the Spear of Bitter Mercy, a Daedric artifcat of Hicrine. Spear of bitter what? What in Oblivion is this thing?
He looked down at it, but refused to touch it. Being a simple little nord, he had no idea that this weapon was once gifted to the Nerevarine by Sheogorath, who won the spear in a bit with Hicrine. All Nelsh knew is that it shot out sparks, it was demonic, and it looked like it would kill him if he touched it. He then looked at spear's owner.

The Khajiit was clean now, and had some of the most beautiful fur he had ever seen. The feral feeling exicted the mild nord, making him want to fight without pickaxe and dagger, or bow and arrow. He wanted tooth and claw, hand to hand combat. In a rather moronic moment, he yelled out the solution to this excitement. "Hunting!" he yelled out, again covering his mouth, hoping no one would here him. No one did, but he saw the orc trying to get the Khajit to drink with him. He mentioned the inn, which Nellis passed earlier. His stomach growled, and he decided to walk over to the inn.

Sheepisly opening the door, he saw a large amount of imperials. They seemed to be having some sort of drinking contest. The owner was chatting with a Bosmer. Confused, Nelsh decided to take a seat and wait. He took out his pack, and dug through it.

"Again. Potatoes and Carrots. Gods, this inn better have some meat."

He but his sack on the table, and lifted his hand up. He waved it, and spoke.

"Excuse me, may I get some service over here? I don't mean to be rude, but I'm starving."

[April]

Fiona Barrow-Heart, still next to a giant dead cat, morning

The witch listened to the mercenary's speech with no small amusemant. She shifted a little uneasily as they began their boisterous laughter, which she deigned to join in, bright eyes still watchful. She listened intently, grey lips curling into a measured smile as the criminal gang played along with the cordial tone she had established. Degenerates, definately. Friendlier than your average bandit, for now. Trouble - the right sort? the witch interupted her ruminations momentarily to laugh at the mercenary's poor joke, part listening, but mostly now watching the crow that was spiraling and slipping it's way through the air as it made wide circles around the daedric carcass. Do these people expect to get away with their seedy business right here, under the nose of the guard? Most Nords don't trust a sellsword, and the Jarl is no different. No, they are wise to it. They'll have a plan, blackmail or bribery. Make sure not to miss out on the bribery Fiona decided with a nod.

"And for those of our skill, you'll find no better price." to which the Court-Witch smiled gracefully and bowed her head. As the mercenaries turned to walk away, she couldn't wipe the smile from her face.

"Just the sort your father was hoping to attract, aren't they?" she said with a grin, addressing Lliro as she laid a hand on the thawing, slightly mouldered cat. "They seem harmless enough, they'll probably try to extort a pretty septim out of us for work your men can do in half the time, but I doubt they'll be any more trouble than that" she lied soothingly, putting the young man's heart at rest. "If they -do- try and start any racketeering, I'll feed them to the wolves" she finished with a wink.

Fiona Barrowheart drew her breath and looked around her. The constant approach of strangers to this profane scene was begining to tire her. She caught the attention of the hapless guard that had brought her here.

"You, see that this thing is stored safely in the keep. I don't want anyone getting to it, other than me and the Khajiit. If she asks-" Fiona closed her eyes and placed both palms on the belly of the thing, her hands glowing a pale blue, a gentle gust of wind passing from under the cat as the morning chill got that much worse for a moment. Her face was a mask of concentration as a new icey covering bled across the cat's hide from her fingers, covering the beast in seconds. The beast incased in the thinnest covering of ice, Fiona opened her eyes and breathed out. "-tell her it is being preserved."

[rheanna bruining]

Giovu Lepidus - Inn

Giovu watched Jal and the Bosmer disappear to conduct their business. Daft old bugger. What kind of Inn doesn't have access to food or drink? Still, I hope that elf doesn't fleece him too badly. Seeing as his fellow Imperials were engaged in conversation Giovu hoisted his pack and slunk off towards the stairs, tossing what was left in his tankard onto the fire along the way.

The door to the middle room swung open revealing a lumpy looking straw matress and not much else. Home, sweet home thought Giovu as he placed his pack on the bed and turned to lock the door. As he sorted through his meagre possessions Giovu wondered what had become of his shack back in Bravil. It wasn't much, but it was his place. Friendly and familiar. He knew all the quickest rooftop routes and could pinpoint the size and location of anyone approaching from the creaking of the raised wooden walkways. It was probably a skooma den by now, his books used for firewood or worse by the feckless and pathetic adicts. He shuddered at the thought, but was cheered by the recollection that his small library included some of Curio's plays. I think he'd have appreciated the irony of his works eventual purpose.

Giovu stood and looked at the coin purses, now categorised by size on the bed. Not even a thousand, and he didn't even want to think of the value of the ingredients and potions he'd had to leave behind. A few hundred could be stuffed in the bedding, more in the rafters and that just leaves... Drawing his stiletto from his belt he knelt down and began prying at the floor boards.

[Brooks Hardison]

Lliro Spurvhauke – Outside of Gudslott Keep, early morning.

Lliro watched silently as the scene with the ‘Crimson Sons’ played out, and he remained tensed up until they left. They claimed to be mercenaries, but most mercenaries he had met were openly rowdy, and were seldom known to control themselves, ’They must be up to no good,’ he thought to himself, almost missing what Fiona said to him, "Just the sort your father was hoping to attract, aren't they?" she said with a grin.

“Somehow, I feel they are less than sincere,” Lliro stated watching the group in the distance, a frown growing on his face.

"They seem harmless enough, they'll probably try to extort a pretty septim out of us for work your men can do in half the time, but I doubt they'll be any more trouble than that," Fiona assured him, "If they -do- try and start any racketeering, I'll feed them to the wolves" she finished with a wink.

“If they do start such a thing, when the men and I get through with them there won’t be enough left of them for the wolves,” Lliro promised in turn, not noticing the lie behind Fiona’s words. With that he walked back to the guard barracks, with a strong desire to drill the few men he possessed, especially the new recruit.

[SUck MYdIck]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, (an old orc male, blacksmith) the inn.

The iron cuirass was ruined. Oh well. He could make another one, for now he had enough materials. But that wouldn't be true for long. And right now, the only thing he could offer to anyone who asked for a weapon would be an iron sword. Of course, of the finest quality, but still just iron. Gorbad noticed a man who looked a lot like a miner follow the cat and the spear and headed then to the inn. A miner was exactly what Gorbad would need, someone to gather ore and have it delievered to him for a small profit. He decided to follow the man to the inn. There he heard him say "Excuse me, may I get some service over here? I don't mean to be rude, but I'm starving." Gorbad walked up to the man with a friendly and warm smile.

"Hi there! I take it you're a miner, no? I'm Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, the blacksmith here in town and well, let's just say there's no miner here to provide me with ore. I'm not entirely sure if there's a mine nearby either, but we should find out soon enough if there is, perhaps by asking the Jarl. So, as I said, I have need of a miner who could work for me. There'd be a cozy payment for you for everything you can mine and bring to me. What do you say?"
Gorbad had taken a seat in the same table as the Nord at this point and took off his heaby Orcish gauntlet from his right hand. He held out his hand to the man.

[WYatt REed]

Jal Wolfsbane, inn.

Jal's eyes widened at the thought of the gold he had just been offered. That much ... he could do real things with that much gold. The Bosmer clearly had deep pockets if you could afford to give Jal that much gold and start a business of his own.

"Ok, here's how I see it. I'll take your gold and spend it 'ow I think best. Let's say 6000 septims. In return, I can give ya a cut of profits, sure. Say, a tenth? The way I see it, we're all here for the long run. You'll make your investment back pretty quick like by the looks of things" Jal gestured to the main room where he could see new arrivals, "it's the only inn in town."

Jal extended his hand.

"Whaddya say?"

[Neko Jenny]

Nuramon, inn.

“Whaddya say?” Jal said while he extended his hand.

“I’d say fifteen and I’ll be notified of everything that happens to or with the inn. This place is of my interest too when I invest in it and I want to know about renovations, new ideas and just everything that needs to be known so I can at least give you my opinion.” Nuramon said. “When my investment has been paid back we can always lower my cut to a tenth.”

“You can spend the money how you think best, but I want to know where my money will go to.” Nuramon extended his hand to seal the deal. “any decisions will eventually be made by you, so don’t worry about that too much.”

“What do you say?”

[Ray]

Jal, inn

Jal smiled that broken smile again and shook the Bosmer's hand firmly. He was smiling a lot lately. Fifteen percent of his profits wasn't bad, not for 6000 septims. Jal wasn't greedy, he was certain the inn would see good business and giving the Bosmer a cut didn't bother him.

"Nice doing business with you, friend. Drop the gold round whenever you have the chance. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have to go see to our new guests." He flicked his head towards the bar.

With that, Jal walked out of the room into the bar, leaning heavily on his walking stick. He instantly saw three new arrivals, obviously looking for food or drink which, unfortunately, he could not offer yet.

Jal strode, as best he could stride, into the middle of the room and cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem ... welcome to ... ah well, it doesn't have a name yet, but welcome anyway ... all of you are more than welcome to share the fire but I'm afraid I can't offer food or drink at the moment. I've had some ... supply problems." Jal looked around, "But that's all been sorted now, so we'll be up and running soon enough." Jal paused again, unsure, "... of course if any of you are really thirsty, I have my own brew but it's not well ... it's strong. Really strong."

[Juan Cerda]

Burne

Burne sat in quiet contemplation, he thought about his daughter and how much he would miss her when she left for High Rock. She looked so much like her mother, a wave of sadness and nostalgia hit him at once and memories of his wife flooded his mind. She had been an elf, to her he must have seemed so young despite being sixty when they met. She had ran away with him, away from the Thalmor and her people, with her he had felt so young.

“Ello,” A mans voice interrupted his thoughts, and his eyes flicked open to see an outstretched hand before him,“names Theadas, what brings you to this fine new town?”

Burnes face snapped back into that miserable hate filled scowl which he had mastered, he looked up at the mans face. An Imperial, that was obvious, it pained him to think that he was from the same land as this Aryan looking man, he had long ago stopped thinking of himself as an 'imperial', he supported the Empire as much as he supported the Thalmor. As he was about to answer the innkeeper seemed to return, he seemed quite old, which Burne appreciated and there was something about the man, an uncontrollable fire which made him admire him and at the same time extremely weary.

"Ahem ... welcome to ... ah well, it doesn't have a name yet, but welcome anyway ... all of you are more than welcome to share the fire but I'm afraid I can't offer food or drink at the moment. I've had some ... supply problems." The man looked around, "But that's all been sorted now, so we'll be up and running soon enough." he paused again, seemingly unsure of himself, "... of course if any of you are really thirsty, I have my own brew but it's not well ... it's strong. Really strong."

Disgruntled by what the man had said and the way he had spoken Burne stood up from his seat, maybe he had overestimated him. He reached for the door while grumbling angrily about this 'cesspool' and clutching his stick fiercely, limped out into the open air. Perhaps something interesting would be happening somewhere else. He began to follow a random road and see where it took him. He grumbled to himself as the wind continued to attack him, his old weary bones were freezing. It was then that he noticed a great amount of steam emanating from somewhere, as he began to follow the steam back to its source he realised what it was coming from. A hot spring. Perhaps this town won't be too bad after all, he mused. That thought however was quickly dropped when he looked upon the hot spring to find that before it stood a Khajiit.

Burne hated all races equally, of that he was sure, but this particular Khajiit sent through him a feeling of raw unending loathing and mistrust. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to say anything at all but then with a scowl said, "Ah. Of course, I should have known this dump would attract a cat. Here to hunt for vermin little kitty?"

[Sherry Speakman]

Nuramon

“Of course, we don’t want to keep them waiting.” He smiled, happy with his investment. He knew he had given the man a good deal. Fifteen wasn’t much, but he didn’t want a lot, just a steady income and with this inn being the only one in town he knew it was going to fair well.

He followed Jal to the other guests and greeted the them and took a seat next to the imperials drinking some of Jal’s homemade mead. Jal offered some to the newcomers, a nord and another imperial, while also warning them that it was strong stuff. The imperial left, because the inn had nothing to offer yet and Nuramon couldn’t help but smile about the grumpy old man. “I’ll have some.” He then turned to the others and introduced himself. “The name is Nuramon. Are you guys new in town?”

This place is being run over by Imperials it seems.

[Elina]

Theadas, Valton Inn

The old man turned to answer Theadas question when, Jal, the barkeep entered the room.

“Ahem ... welcome to ... ah well, it doesn't have a name yet, but welcome anyway ... all of you are more than welcome to share the fire but I'm afraid I can't offer food or drink at the moment. I've had some ... supply problems." Jal looked around, "But that's all been sorted now, so we'll be up and running soon enough." he paused again, seemingly unsure of himself, "... of course if any of you are really thirsty, I have my own brew but it's not well ... it's strong. Really strong."

At the last remark Theadas chuckled to him self. Theadas then noticed that the old Imperial had got up and left for the door.

The Bosmer who had gone with Jal into the room was now at the bar. “I’ll have some.” He then turned to the others and introduced himself. “The name is Nuramon. Are you guys new in town?”

“Yes,” Theadas answered with a grin “well relatively I arrived yesterday to set up my shop. It’s right across from here. My name is Theadas by the way.”

[Ally Chimienti]

Tsavani continued to bathe herself in the hot-spring. The worst of the mess being long-gone by now and her copper, spotted fur was shining in the light with a glossy sheen. She carried on an idle, mostly meaningless conversation with Elena, choosing to not give away her personal story. "It's been a pleasurable conversation, and I'll tell you more this evening at the inn," She offered, standing up and coming out of the spring.

As he snorted derisively with her and disparaged her race, Tsavani simply gave him an askance glance. "No, I do not vermin, even when they come to me," she answered with a smirk, returning the pleasantry in her conspicuously Collovian accent. It sounded much wittier in her mind, but at least her delivery got the point across. With her bath finished, she picked up her spear and turned to head back to the Castle Mage, igniting a flame in her free paw to dry herself off.

[leigh stewart]

Fiona Barrow-Heart, no longer near a dead cat, midday(!)

Fiona Barrow-Heart folded her arms and watched the daedric carcass be carried up away into the keep's pantry, a absent frown on her lips and cogs turning in her powerful mind. The carrion-bird that had circled the sky swooped down and landed upon her leather-clad left shoulder. The Court-Witch turned to face the raven, her expression lightened like that of a woman seeing again an old friend. She began a gentle pace into the centre of the town, speaking softly to the bird, pausing between sentences to remove a worm from a low pouch in her robes and offer it delicately to the raven. Her bright hazel-green eyes watched the bird's reaction to each offering, as if sharing with her partner a taste of her dish at a restaurant.
"The God of the Hunt," muttered she, "-visited upon us in such a state. A carrier of the Bitter Spear. No augeries fortold these events... ...no, the winds of change have turned upon us and brought quite a stench... ...Hircine has chosen a champion, but for what reason? The Eyes of Oblivion are watching this young town, little friend." Fiona paused for a second, dangling the live worm just out of the bird's reach. "Do you still speak to old Kyncrawe, little Hrefn?" she ventured, offering the worm as she spoke. The bird cawed in response. Fiona frowned. "How about Myninn Slightly-Yellow-Turd...the Nightingale?" The black bird twitched its head to the side and cawed twice. Fiona's eyes lit up, and she projuced an especially juicy worm for her friend. "Marvellous. Could you be a wonderful little darling and ask what Nocturnal thinks about all of this? If old Myninn gives you any sass, just remind her who taught the Raccoon-God that frog-spawn was the juiciest, will you?" Hrefn cawed three times and ducked his head gratefully, before stretching his wings in preparation for flight. "Ahem." cough the witch, and the bird looked down, embarrassed. She lent over and gave the raven a kiss on the beak, after which he lept immedately from her shoulder, circled around the town twice and flew to the west. Fiona Barrow-Heart watched the bird with a smile on her face as her attention was drawn by the naked cat approaching her, flame in her paw.

[Spooky Angel]

Jal, inn.

Jal poured a class of his home-brew for his new business partner. He went upstairs and grabbed some paper and a piece of charcoal. Although he hand learned to write whilst sailing around Tamriel, he was rarely ever in the position to do it. He hurriedly wrote out a note in large capital letters. It read:

BAR STAFF NEEDED. BED AND BOARD PROVIDED ON TOP OF PAY.

TO START IMMEDIATELY.

He put that piece of paper to one side and pulled out another.

The Black-Briar meadery - to who ever this may concern,

Greetings. My name is Jal Woflsbane and I am an inn-keeper in the new town of Valton. In reference to our previous conversation, I now have the funds necessary to place a large order with you. I would like to purchase 2 casks of your product for the some of 200 septims, as agreed. I dare not trust a courier with such a sum so payment will be made upon delivery. You will find the town of Valton on the road between Riften and Ivarstead. It is the only inn in town.

- Jal Woflsbane

Jal proceded to copy this letter out a number of times, each with different addresses. He would send letters throughout Tamriel - he had the gold to fund it, why not turn his inn into something special, Cyrodillic wine, Alto wine, meads, brandies - both the Cyrodilic and the Colovian kinds - , Nord mead, Argonian Ales, and a letter to the Surilie brother requesting a selection of vintages. He knew some probably wouldn't even respond but even if they all turned up tomorrow, he had the gold to pay for it.

He gathered up the papers and headed downstairs again. The old man had left but everyone else remained. There was a low murmur of conversation and the room was smoky from the fire, despite the small hole in the high ceiling, through which Jal could see clear sky. He placed his letters underneath the bar (he would send them later) and walked outside. The cold hit him suddenly as he opened the door, his breath misting. Jal touched his face instinctively, the cold made the old would ache. Quickly, he nailed the sign he had made on the door. With any luck he could hire someone quickly- he would need the help when the orders started coming in. With his knee, Jal knew he wouldn't cope alone. The thought angered him. He had become helpless and fat. Would it have been better to die that night in the blood-stained snow? An honorable death in battle was surely more fitting, doing what he loved.

Jal sighed and hobbled back inside.

[Harry-James Payne]

Varlamo Aicandil, Thalmor Justiciar, and his Two Bodyguards, Road to Valton, Morning


The only thing that could be heard, was the quiet rustle of leaves and the slow, feint clip-clop of the three horsemer. The two glistening armoured warriors that enclosed the unflinchingly calm Justiciar both clinched their reins nervously. No sound could be heard leaving their mouths, yet the three Thalmor spoke to each other, magically communicating telepathically.

"Sire, Lorkhanites and tricksters surround us, we must record our void destined potential to memospore, should we be overrun by these blasphemes!" One of the guards telepathically blurted out, panicked and unsure of the situation, as the small Thalmor party were knowingly surrounded by bandits or Stormcloaks. The enemy did not matter, what did matter is that they could ambush at any moment, and they seemed to outnumber the Altmeri two-to-one.

Varlamo tried to reassure the soldier he would need to fight, as he prepared his own self for combat, gathering Magicka around and within him. "Calm yourself, paladin of Auri-El. Aka has not gifted us his boon, we shall do no recordings. Summon up the echo of Triminac within you and follow it's path with Phynaster. Unbound your inner dragon, release the roar of Auri-El, and you shall become unstoppable. We must fight soldier."

Using telekinesis, the first guard drew his bow and an arrow, attempting to magically release death upon a flanking Nord archer. However, the raiders were prepared and before the mage-archer had time to react sufficiently, they had released several arrows into the mer, one of them striking the throat, causing the soldier to pulsate in agony and shortly after die. The other guard had guided his horse into the group of now charging Nord warriors, the large black stallion clattering through the hastily organised group, as the rider decapitated one of the men with a swiftly drawn Elven sword. They reacted by thrusting their crude iron spears into the horses body, causing it to rear up and throw it's rider backwards. The shocked and panicked Altmer struggled to get his footing again, managing to set an approaching enemy alight before being swarmed and brutally slaughtered.

The remaining four Nords -one woman and three men- circled the now dismounted Varlamo. The battlemage held his sword in midair beside him, his hands braced for spell use. They were cautious of the final Thalmor, he seemed to be more heavily armoured and held an authority about him. His cloak rippled in the breeze, as the sounds of bow string being stretched and slow circling footsteps became vivid in each combatant's mentality.

As one of the Nords motioned an action, the archers of the group released their primitive iron arrows. Varlamo instantly became alive in action, first disintegrating the arrows in a cloud of flame and then sending the floating sword swiftly towards the man he had discovered to be the leader. The sword seemed to lack any friction as it moved through the mans chest, and the frightening danger the other Nords saw in the Justiciar sent them fleeing.

Varlamo was slightly shaken, inexperienced in real combat, and alerted to the fact that had they not ran away, he could easily have been killed. After checking that his comrades were truly dead, the last remaining Thalmor of the small party mounted his horse and rode quickly towards the small town of Valton, which could be seen in the distance.

Varlamo Aicandil, Thalmor Justiciar, Valton, Midday

Varlamo was surprised by just how badly the small expedition had gone so far. He would now have to rely purely on his own skills to survive in this harsh unforgiving and foreign land. He seemed to hold little care however for the loss of his companions, above a purely practical frustration. The Altmer interrupted his thoughts suddenly with the realisation he had arrived in the small developing town. 'By Magnus... Is this Skyrim, or the Deadlands...'

The Justiciar dismounted his horse and guided it into the stables. The stallion was weary, unfamiliar and not built for Skyrim's rugged landscape. This rest was certainly welcome.

The large fur outlined velvet cloak dragged behind Varlamo, picking up dirt from the caked mud surface of the path. The Elven Ebony boots impacted the ground with great strength, causing dust to leap into the air as Varlamo confidently walked into the center of the town, passing the town Inn. As he neared closer to Gudslott keep, a visually wild Breton woman could be seen speaking to a bird of some kind. 'A witch... What is she doing here, openly accepted?' Things only became stranger for the Altmer as he noticed an approaching Naked Khajiit, with a seemingly familiar spear. He dismissed the familiarity, as he was not close enough to the spear to connect it with the lectures he had received on Daedric artifacts back in Alinor, but was still slightly bewildered at the strange circumstances.

The bird flew away after seemingly kissing the witch, and Varlamo approached the woman. "I am Varlamo of clan Aicandil, one of Auri-El's chosen, Thalmor Justiciar and battlemage of the great Second Aldmeri Dominion! I demand immediately that someone direct me to the Jarl or authority of this abomination of the Stone of Snow-Throat."

[Mimi BC]

Tsavani, approaching mages - Midday
With her fur dry enough to douse the flame spell, Tsavani lowered her paw. She chose first to address the Altmer, grinning broadly as she gave a very convoluted set of directions of turns, distances, obscure "landmarks" that may or may not exist, references to the former locations of allegedly once-existant buildings, and ending with, "And It's just beyond the opening to the Barrow on the Hill. You can't miss it."

With that "sorted out", she returned her attention to Fiona Barrow-heart. "So, what are you intending to do with the body? I have rather comprehensive instructions from Hircine on how it's to be used, so I'd like to make sure you don't ruin it. That prize is absolutely priceless."

[Far'ed K.G.h.m]

<sup>Nellis Nelsh, at the inn.

The orc that Nellis saw earlier by the Khajiit had come into the inn. He took a seat by Nelsh, and offered him a job. Saying that the nord looked like a miner, the orc said that he would be willing to pay good money for any ore Nelsh dug up.
Nellis couldn't hold his glee. Not even a day here, and some offers him a job? It was perfect! He would be able to make so much money from mining, perhaps even enough to buy a home. The 1037 gold he had wouldn't last him a while, and he needed a safe place to put it. Perhaps this blacksmith gives room and board as well.... the nord thought.
The Orc took off his gauntlet, offered his hand to shake, and said his name was Gorbad. Nelsh took off his hat, put it on the table, and put out his hand. Shaking the orc's hand, he spoke in a cheerful manner.

"Name's Nelsh, Nellis Nelsh. I would be happy to work for you! I just got here myself, and I have been looking for work. I'm telling you as soon as I find a mine, I'll get right to work!"
Nellis thought for a minute. The orc said he should go see the jarl in order to see if there are any mines in the area. Taking his hat, he stood up. Looking towards the blacksmith, he spoke with happiness in his voice, something uncommon for him.
"I'll be back. I'm going to find out this town does have a mine. Gonna see the Jarl about it."
And with that, Nelsh was off. He ran out the door, and jogged to the keep. He saw the witch again, talking to some bird. Just the sight of her made him feel even more of a coward than he normally is. The nvde Khajiit was talking with some man in golden armor.

The man Nelsh just ran into to.

Knocked to the ground, Nelsh looked at the man. He was wearing Elven armor, had golden skin, and a smug look to boot. Nelsh had seen enough Elves to know he was a High Elf.
But the armor is what scared Nelsh the most. It was the uniform of the Thalmor. Any and all Thalmor scared Nelsh almost more than anything. Laughing a nervous laugh, the fish lipped man spoke.
"Uhhh....Your a spellsword right? You sure look the part."</sup>

[Ebony Lawson]

Fiona Barrow-Heart, the Town Centre, when the Dragon Broke


Fiona looked at the elf like he was insane (unlike her, the woman who talked to birds, or the naked cat who completed their company). She removed a twig from her hair and began to play with it, staring at the Thalmor in amazement. A Thalmor? Here? Already? How deep does this warren go... Fiona looked to the khajiit, a bemused smile forming on her face as she began her tirade. She covered her mouth with her palm to hide a giggle as the cat finished her instructions. The witch turned more serious as Tsvani addressed her

"Instructions? From the Lord of the Hunt? Do not jest, this is a religious matter." she spoke severely, wagging a finger, eyes narrowed "You must speak to me at length on this matter, and we shall see what can be done. The body is being preserved in the pantry. If Hircine wishes a certain course of action-" her eyes flicked to the Altmer watching them, then to the Spear of Bitter Mercy in the woman's hand, and then back to the Thalmor. "-we shall discuss an appropriate course of action." she finished curtly, turning to face the Thalmor, and bowing her head.

"I apologise for my feline friend. She clearly knows not to whom she speaks" Fiona threw a wry look at Tsvani. "I'm afraid the Jarl is presently indisposed" she lied, smiling as she spoke, "however I am Fiona of the Barrow-Heart, one of Lorkhan's choicest maidens, Doctor of the Occult at the College of Winterhold and Court-Mage to the Jarl of Valton, whose land you now find yourself standing upon." she said with a flourish, aping the intonation and rhythm of Varlamo's introduction exactly glancing at Tsavani as she curtsied. Taking a Thalmor seriously, even for a second? Unthinkable. "what brings you to our humble settlement?" she asked, taking steps closer to the High Elf, bright eyes watching him like a predator circling her prey, "is there a Talos worshipper about?" her eyes narrowed, and she looked around her, as if Ulfric Stormcloak could have been sneaking up on them that very second, "Please-" but her teasing was interupted, as a terrifed man stumbled right into her interlocutor and fell pathetically on the floor. Fiona had to immedately turn away and hide her face as she controlled an irrepressible giggle with her fist. It was time to let the poor elf respond to all of this.

[Eliza Potter]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, (an old orc male, blacksmith) the inn.

The Orc took off his gauntlet, offered his hand to shake, and said his name was Gorbad. Nelsh took off his hat, put it on the table, and put out his hand. Shaking the orc's hand, he spoke in a cheerful manner.
"Name's Nelsh, Nellis Nelsh. I would be happy to work for you! I just got here myself, and I have been looking for work. I'm telling you as soon as I find a mine, I'll get right to work!"
Nellis thought for a minute. The orc said he should go see the jarl in order to see if there are any mines in the area. Taking his hat, he stood up. Looking towards the blacksmith, he spoke with happiness in his voice, something uncommon for him.
"I'll be back. I'm going to find out this town does have a mine. Gonna see the Jarl about it."
And with that, Nelsh was off.
____________________________________________

Gorbad watched as Nellis, full of energy, stepped out of the door, and hoped for the best. If there was indeed a mine nearby, he'd be able to make weapons and armor cheap and turn the ore literally into gold with his craftmanship. Otherwise he'd have to rely on traders and other miners, that would surely have refined the ore themselves before selling it to him. That'd mean barely no profit for the gear he made. But now he'd have to establish connections with the trader in town, if he was to make weapons and armor with high quality he wouldn't have time to stand and sell them as well. If he could make a good deal with the trader, who'd then worry about selling the basic armor, weapons and equipment, Gorbad would be able to focus on his work. By no means would the shop need a full stock of everything every day, but once Gorbad filled the shop up he wouldn't have to worry about them anymore and could focus on special orders, which would pay much better.
"Now who here is a merchant.." Gorbad though.
____________________________________________

“Yes,” Theadas answered with a grin “well relatively I arrived yesterday to set up my shop. It’s right across from here. My name is Theadas by the way.”
____________________________________________

"Ah, that's the man." Gorbad stood up and walked up to the group of men talking.
"Greetings to you all. I'm Gorbad, the blacksmith in town. I overheard you saying you were a shopkeeper, Theadas was the name? Well, it just so happens that I'm looking for a shopkeeper to handle the selling and advertising of my fine craftmanship, the more quantitative type that is. I can sell you any basic weapons, armor and equipment every adventurer, guard, soldier and mercenary would need for only 70% of the market price. You would then be able to sell them further for full profit, leaving a cozy reward of 30% of an items worth in your pocket. What do you say?"

[Lakyn Ellery]

Theadas, Valton Inn


"Greetings to you all. I'm Gorbad, the blacksmith in town. I overheard you saying you were a shopkeeper, Theadas was the name? Well, it just so happens that I'm looking for a shopkeeper to handle the selling and advertising my fine craftmanship, the more quantitative type that is. I can sell you any basic weapons, armor and equipment every adventurer, guard, soldier and mercenary would need for only 70% of the market price. You would then be able to sell them further for full profit, leaving a cozy reward of 30% of an items worth in your pocket. What do you say?"

Theadas turned to look at a large Orc. “Uhhh” Theadas’ mind raced for a moment. This will have to do for now at least until I can find a good “supplier”. Theadas regained his thoughts and said “It sounds like a good deal. Though you seem like a very fine blacksmith, if you come across or make anything special I would be willing to help you move the product or even buy it off you just to have at my shop.” Theadas held his hand out to shake. He felt good; it would be his first big move as a new shop owner.

[Jodie Bardgett]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, (an old orc male, blacksmith) the inn.

Theadas turned to look at a large Orc. “Uhhh” Theadas’ mind raced for a moment. This will have to do for now at least until I can find a good “supplier”. Theadas regained his thoughts and said “It sounds like a good deal. Though you seem like a very fine blacksmith, if you come across or make anything special I would be willing to help you move the product or even buy it off you just to have at my shop.” Theadas held his hand out to shake. He felt good; it would be his first big move as a new shop owner.

Special made weapons and armor would be specifical orders, so the shop-keeper couldn't be involved even if he wanted. Or perhaps he could be, if they'd find a good mine. Gorbad replied,
"I will mostly be doing special items specifically requested by someone, because special items are usually made to look unique, fell unique and even be enchanted. I could, of course, make a few special items every now and then, given that we have enough ore and soul gems to work with. We'll have to see how our mine situation looks like before going further than basic iron and steel, though. If someone does ask around for special weapons and armors, be sure to point them my way. I'd rather deal with the really special and personal orders face-to-face with the customer. But as I said, if I get enough ore and gems to use I will be able to create a few special weapons for your shop as well. We can discuss that later if we get so far." Gorbad shook the mans hand.

[Eduardo Rosas]

Glathor, fields outside city, dawn


"It's cold." Glathor whispered as he pulled his fur coat tighter around himself. He had found a spot where he knew the elk and deer were crossing, but he wasn't sure at what time they did this. "Dawn must be to early, I'll come back around noon." he murmured to himself. Just as he stood up, he caught in the corner of his eye a large male elk. 'Townsfolk might like a bit of venison to eat and I could make a fine pelt blanket with that hide' he thought as he spun around and fletched an arrow. The beast was no more than sixty yards away, for Glathor this would be an easy shot. He took a deep breathe in and let the arrow fly. Immediately after hearing the arrow hit its mark he took of towards the animal. The elk bucking and thrashing, with the arrow still in him, took off. Glathor pursued. After about five minutes of non-stop running the elk had become tired and had leaned itself against a tree. Now it was time for Glathor to make his move. He stopped roughly fifteen feet away and began to sneak up towards the animal for fear it might dart off. At about five feet in distance Glathor jumped up, dagger in hand, and went for it's throat. Two swift penetrations to the jugular and the beast was dead. Glathor began field stripping the animal, skinning, and then cutting out the desired pieces of meat. He salted the meat, as a preservative, and then wrapped it in an old piece of hide. He quivered the arrow, which had been laying on the ground during the stripping process, and started making his way back to town.

[Andrew Perry]

Varlamo Aicandil, Thalmor Justiciar, Town Centre, Midday

Varlamo's mind raced, jumping between theories and plots and potential outcomes and consequences as he realised just what the naked Khajiit was carrying. 'The Spear of Bitter Mercy? Why has Syrabane graced me so? What fable is being forged into the mythic now? Xarxes, Herma-Mora, any divine force capable, enlighten me on these mysteries...'

The Khajiit was spouting out nonsense directions, thinking herself clever and amusing. Varlamo found no joy in the feline's playfulness, and instead spent the precious time he had conceiving nefarious plans.

The battlemage was overwhelmed with thought. He had been given perhaps too much to ponder on, and this was made worse as the witch -which he identified to be a Reachwoman after anolysing her appearance- began to openly converse with the naked cat on the matters concerning a corpse and Hircine, the cat clearly having communicated with Hircine. Varlamo was utterly overwhelmed, and found it difficult to compose his thought into one coherent line. 'This place is not natural... This place holds significance in the Wheel. What I do now, will dictate my mortal spectrum in its entirety.'

The Witch now began to speak to Varlamo, her words laced with a slight hostility. She mimicked the Thalmor's introduction, and her personal identification as 'one of Lorkhan's choicest maidens' caused Varlamo to widen his eyes in interest. He however remained unflinchingly disciplined in defense against this predicted severe lack of hospitality. Varlamo again had to put a lot of effort into composing his thoughts, and conceiving his response to the unusual circumstances he was placed into by fate.

Varlamo had readied himself for his calculated response, and just as he was about to begin to speak, a meek and comparatively short Nord ran into the deep thinking battlemage, bouncing off the armour with a large clang and causing Varlamo to steady himself as he staggered. The Thalmor's face tightened in an expression of anger, as he stared without mercy at the stupid little man, who only made things worse by calling the Altmer a spellsword.

"A SPELLSWORD?! You blithering idiot. I could destroy you in a second! You exist, because I allow you to, just as the Aldmeri Dominion enables the Mede Empire to exist. You are a meek little mouse, run away, back to your false philosophies and Lorkhanic gibberish, worm!" Varlamo spoke quickly and full of rage, an emotion he was not too familiar with, but the man had interrupted the Altmer's thought process concerning such important matters, and this enraged the battlemage more than anything. His hands were visibly filled with fire as he raged, but remembering what a powerful artifact the nearby cat wielded, he put out the fires building up in the palms of his gauntlets. He turned to the Khajiit, deciding to ignore the interruption now rather than pay attention to it and prolong the lack of a response to the witch and the feline.

"Suthay-Raht I presume? Though your short hair would suggest you are Ohmes-Raht. How interesting, what is a sugar-cat doing with such a weapon as that? And why does Hircine allow such a beast to wield it? You should not interfere in these divine matters Khajiit, you should leave the spear and the matter, to me and Fiona here, Alkosh and Lorkhaj." Varlamo turned to the Reachwoman. "Fiona of the Barrow-Heart, Forsworn Witch. Lorkhanic drivel I presume? The beat of the doom-drum is all but a feint tap now, the roar of Auri-El and the Dragon is the new sound you shall have to bear. Run back to your clan witch, why do you veer so far from the Reach? You have a duty, your metamorphosis awaits you. You are a failure to your people. You have no place here in this star-bound pattern of the mythic- Valton."

[Keeley Stevens]

Nuramon, inn, midday

Nuramon listened as an Orc introduced himself as Gorbad and offered Theadas a deal to sell him weapons for his shop. There weren’t any real negotiations and in less than a minute they had their deal. “Pleased to meet y’ah, Gorbad. The name is Nuramon.” He said, while giving the orc a strong pat on the shoulder with more force someone would have given his frail body structure.

Nuramon took a swig from Jal’s homebrew, thinking that it was indeed real strong stuff and that if he didn’t want to be drunk early in the day he should’t take more than one jug. He then turned his attention to Theadas who was happy with his new deal.

“So you’re opening a shop, are you?” he asked Theadas. “I hope you’re not specializing in alchemy because that is sort of my specialty.” He said with a bright smile and then took another swig from his drink. It was true what Jal had said the more you drink it the better it got.