[Devin Sluis]

Jacqueline, Valton Farm, Midday.

"I'll be right back," she chirped and went off towards the barn. She stopped by her cart and quickly pulled out a small canvas shoulder bag and retrieved the broken tool. She wrapped it in a piece of leather and put it in the bag along with some writing utencils, a few pieces of parchment and some nails of various sizes. She also pulled out a leather belt before she went to the milk room to fetch the tins.

She took the belt and put it through the handles of two of the tins before fastening the buckle and using it as a new handle to carry both tins in one hand. She took the remaining tin in her other hand and left the barn, closing the door behind her.

Back by the house she put the tins down and went inside to pick up a ladle and put it in her bag. She looked around for a funnel but couldn't find one, so she went back outside and picked up the tins. "We better get goin' before tha milk gets too hot in tha sun."

[Tessa Mullins]

Danus Maximus. Helas Folly. Midday.

The Imperial listened to what the cheerful innkeeper had to say. "I see. Poor bastard. He should recover shortly. Here is the gold. So it seems that the innkeeper had gotten ill over alcohol.. (Maybe I should try and quit drinking. Danus thought. As he was eating his apple he asked the innkeeper, "I'm quite a curious fellow so how did you and Jal met?" He said. Danus felt to have a small talk until he's done with his apple.

[Andy durkan]

Roymund, Valton Farm. Midday

Roymund nodded at Alguidar, "Very well, I'll keep an eye on the place" he replied. He watched as the two made preparations for the journey, Jacqueline had gone to fetch the milk. "Providing you back by this evening, i'll have no need to lock the door."

He strode across the room, collected a clean rag from his pack and soaked it in some water. Removing the old, now blood-stained, rag from his arm. He replaced it with the new one, wincing slightly as it touched the broken flesh. "Hmmph.. Not very tough for a soldier boy, are we?" he asked himself "What would old Brand think if he saw you?". With a grim look, he dropped himself onto his bedroll, and closed his eyes. "Catch forty winks, then have a look-over the farm."

[IM NOT EASY]

Alguidar, Valton's main road, Midday

"We should be back much before the evening, hopefully with some gold in the pockets! Ha!" Said Alguidar to Roymund as Jacqueline returned with the tins full of milk. She said she was ready, and so they departed down the road to Valton.

The town wasn't too far away but the weight they were carrying and the dense vegetation by the sides of the road, made it a rather uncomfortable trip. At any moment, someone or something could jump from the tree line and attack them. It was a perfect spot for an ambush. Alguidar and Jacqueline walked at a fast pace, with the occasional casual conversation. The sight of guards finally put them at ease.

They reached the main road that split the town in two. Alguidar's memories of yesterday's arrival immediately came back.

"Ah yes. See? That's the inn over there. That smoke, that's the blacksmith. Oh, and the big building in the distance. That's the keep. I met the Jarl there. Good man. True Nord. Oh, that's right, that's a shop." Alguidar paused for a moment as the harsh reality of this place was brought to the forefront of his mind once more. "Yes. The shop. The horse behind the shop... it was Aguaar's. The dead man the guards brought yesterday to the farm. Good man. Brought me here. Now dead. If I find who did it..."

Alguidar lost focus of their purpose in town already. Again, the thought of buying a weapon came to mind. Maybe even go find the bandits who did that. You could see it on his face. That feeling that, the man didn't deserve to die. And the people that did it didn't deserve to live.

He stood there, in the middle of the street, staring at the horse.

[kiss my weasel]

Jacqueline

After a minute of silence Jacqueline cautiously asked "do ya think tha guards are gonna send tha 'orse to Riften? Will Aguaar's relative 'ave room to keep an 'orse?" Then she realised she might be making things worse by talking about his dead friend, so she changed the topic.

"So, umh, where's tha marketplace?"

[christelle047]

Jarl Radwulf Spurvhauke & Hrefn the Raven, Gudlsott Hall, Midday

The Jarl's face was a comic mask of surprise, his great, noble eyebrows curled to high arches. The old Nord blinked stupidly, staring in disbelief at the raven squirming on his lap. Jarl Radwulf recognised the bird instantly - it was the familiar of his Court-Mage, Fiona Barrow-Heart, and a constant pest in his home ever since that Reachwoman had been invited to his court. What Radwulf could not account for was the creature's pathetic state. It seemed the raven had been badly mauled by some large creature - chewed up and then spat out. The Jarl immediately called for a guard, and sent him directly to the mage tower attached to the wing of the palace. Jarl Radwulf left a severe look in Leandra's direction, scooping up the bird with his huge, weathered hands, and standing from his throne.

All the while, Hrefn the raven called out to the Jarl, in the strongest caws his broken body could summon. Hrefn didn't really expect Spurvhauke to be able to understand him (after all, Fiona was the only human he knew who could), but in his desperation, his mistress' employer was the only person he could think of to go too. So he crowed on, the same message again and again, praying to Kyne with all his tiny heart that the Jarl would understand his message.

Awkward moments passed, the Jarl standing there with the extraordinary Nibenian girl, her arm steaming away happily, this bird heaving in his hands. Jarl Spurvhauke felt quite ridiculous being watched like this, and looked away, finding himself blushing despite his advanced years - the phantom of his dear departed wife admonishing him, as she always did, for his weakness. The wait dragged on and on, til the sound was heard, hurried reports of the guard's heavy boots down the stairwell. The exasperated guard made his way back across the hall to his master, and removed his helmet, scratching the balding top of his scalp, bowing as he address the Jarl.

"Y-y-your Jarlship", the guard found himself saying by accident, even though he had never used or heard that word before, "Fiona's study is locked. I knocked and knocked, but there was no reply. I, ah, don't think she is in, sire." he mumbled, feeling quite affected by the sight of the poor bird, though not quite sure why. Jarl Radwulf furrowed his huge brow at this, and paced about his throne, still holding the now mostly silent raven in his arms. His Court-Mage hadn't been seen for two days now. He had begun to become concerned even before now, but now to be visited by her familiar in such a state. The Jarl scanned the room, cogs turning in his powerful mind, trying to summon up some inspiration to solve this mystery. Unhappily, his eyes fell on the woman standing with bright eyes and the most bizarre outfit he had seen in all his days. Jarl Spurvhauke let his shoulders drop, and addressed Leandra.

"How are you with locks?" he asked bluntly, letting that unconquerable logic of the Tamrielic ruler overcome him - the urge to put his trust in a unusual adventuring stranger was irresistible.

[lisa nuttall]

Alguidar, Valton, Midday

"The horse? I don't know, I never thought of that. It's a good horse. Brought me here in one piece." Said Alguidar, but before he could continue, the young Breton changed the focus back to the thing they were here to do. She was asking about the marketplace, which reminded Alguidar that she was never in Valton before.

"I don't think there's a marketplace, Jacqueline. We could build a small stall and put it by the well. Yes. That's a good place. Anyway, today we're going directly to the people. Get to know them. Get them to know our products." Said Alguidar as he looked around. The inn was an obvious choice but the forge was right there. The blacksmith was there this time, working with his back turned to them.

"We should get our business with the blacksmith out of the way first. Did you bring the knife?" Asked Alguidar, as he looked back at the forge. The blackmith was just turning around to work the forge.

"An Orc? How is this possible? Where are the Nords? What's happening to Skyrim?" Thought Alguidar as he started to realize that this open and welcoming attitude of this young hold, also had its downfalls.

[emily grieve]

Jacqueline

"Oh, I was thinkin' of goin' to tha blacksmith afterwards. Might take a while." She shrugged. "If that's alright."
She looked towards the inn. "How 'bout sellin' tha milk with one gold fer two ladlefulls? I ain't that familiar with how much one gold is worth in yer currency but it ain't that bad, right?"

[Tyler F]

Varyn Uvirith, Valton - Middas, Midday


The canvas covered wagon pitched and rocked back and forth as it rolled over the rough gravel road into Valton. It's driver, a Nordic man that looked in his mid thirties, sat relaxed on the front bench as his two sturdy horses plodded along. Their large hooves creating a steady rhythm of thuds against the gravel and dirt that made up the road. Another covered wagon trailed closely behind. It was a common sight in the Rift to see trade caravans travelling the roads. However if one were to get close enough to this one they would find that this was no ordinary trading caravan. Every time one of the wagons rode through a pothole or over a rock one could hear the jangle and clinking of what sounded like fragile items bouncing around in the back of the wagons. The clanking was soon followed by a long string of curses and insults coming from the back of the first wagon. The most common word being "fetchers".

Varyn, much to his dismay, had figured out that there was no way he could transfer himself and his belongings to the town of Valton through arcane means. This meant that he would have to use the "idiot's, inefficient" means of travel, the wagon train. Varyn had been riding for two days and the travelling had soured his attitude quite badly. As a result the men helping him transport his belongings now suffered from an array of bruises and sores left by Varyn's cane. However the wagons were now nearing the town of Valton, and the Nord's accompanying the old Dunmer were more than glad that their service was nearing its end.

As wagons approached the outer rim of the town two guards approached, the first hailing the driver.

"What brings you this way, and what goods to do you carry?" asked the first man as he circled around the side of the wagon, inspecting it for anything out of place.

"Just a wise ass Dunmer and his wagon load full of junk," quipped a Nord from the back of the wagon before the driver could reply. There was a muffled thud as the Nord suddenly yelped.

"I'd watch your damn tongue ya' pale bastard before I cut it out and spoon feed it t'ya!" barked a rough muffled voice, also from the back of the wagon.

There was a slight rustling as the door-flap of the canvas was thrown the to side and an aged Dunmer crawled awkwardly down the back of the wagon, mumbling curses in Dunmeri to himself as he looked around.

Once he was on the ground he half walked half hobbled to the front of the wagon, his brown wooden cane in hand. The guard opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly as he noticed his interjection would do nothing but insure that he too would be receiving a new bruise, courtesy of the old Dunmer. He decided to instead continue around back and check both the wagons. While the guard inspected the wagons Varyn walked over to the side of the road and began to stare intently at a group of small mushrooms growing there. After a moment he began poking them repeatedly with his cane for no discernible reason. He then mumbled a vague reference to a special tea as he plucked a few of caps and placed them in his pocket.

"Alright, everything seems to be in order. Welcome to Valton," said the guard as he turned to leave, "Good luck with that one," he joked as he nodded towards Varyn at the side of the road. The driver nodded his head slowly before turning to address his latest passenger. "Aye, Dunmer. Time to head into town."

Varyn turned around, a look of displeasure on his face, "I've been riding in that damned horse cart of yours for two days. I'm more than capable of walking down a damn road without your help."

The owner of the wagon shrugged as he flicked the reigns lightly, sending the horses into a light walk; he didn't care if the Dunmer rode or not. The second wagon followed close behind. Varyn made his way steadily down the side of the rough gravel road, stopping every so often to poke at something growing there. Today was not a good day for the aging Dunmer, and he made it his goal to let everyone know, including the various flora growing near Valton.

----------

The wagons, as expected, arrived at the inn a few minutes before Varyn finally hobbled his way into town. The burly Nordic men, a few covered in fresh welts, had already begun to unload Varyn's belongings. There was already quite a sizable stack forming on the front porch of the inn. Varyn made his way carefully up the steps and took a seat in one of the rocking chairs off to the side of the porch, eager to rest his legs. The old Dunmer reached into his robe and procured a long dark wooden pipe and a small leather pouch. Varyn opened it and took a few pinches of the dried leaves out, and began packing them into the pipe. He raised the pipe to his mouth as a small flame sparked to life on the tip of his index finger. Varyn proceeded to light the pipe, puffing the thick aromatic smoke from the corner of his mouth as he watched the Nords struggling to get up the steps with a large trunk. Varyn chuckled lightly to himself as he sat there rocking back and forth.

(OOC: I feel like this isn't a very good post. I'm pretty tired and uninspired at the moment. Just felt like getting at least something in before the night was over.)

[Rhi Edwards]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, (middas), his forge-Hela's Folly, late midday.

Gorbad was quite happy about the spear, but he wasn't quite finished with it yet. Instead, he made a strong leather rope and attached it to the very back of the spear. This way, the wielder of the spear could have the leather rope wrapped around their arm and not lose the spear even if their grip failed. He figured it'd be quite useful. He placed the spear at the side of his workbench and began smelting some more steel, this time for the arrows. He'd done four of the steel-tips, all perfectly sized to fit the wooden shaft the ranger had left behind, when he saw a wagon enter Valton, which stopped at the inn on the other side of the road from his forge. Out walked a grumpy dunmer who looked old enough to be everyone's ancestor. Gorbad figured he was a person of importance, or at least that he'd once been it. What the mer was doing in Valton puzzled Gorbad, but he quickly turned his attention to the arrow-tips again.

He completed a fifth one before he was overwhelmed by a sudden hunger. His thoughts went back to the rabbit Jormaw had given him... But he didn't feel like eating just meat right now. What he wanted was a solid meal to keep him up and about until evening. His early breakfast had kept him going so far, but now he needed a refill. He wondered if the Jal the innkeeper was cooking up something nice this time of the day. He placed the arrows at the wooden table next to his workbench and went inside his house, where he quickly changed to a comfortable outfit, a belted tunic with matching pants and boots, and was soon on his way to the inn.

He walked past the wagon and saw it was full of typical mage stuff. It somehow reminded Gorbad of Fiona's study. He figured he'd have to give back the three borrowed light-amulets to Fiona at some point, he'd completely forgotten about those earlier. The old dunmer was smoking a pipe just outside the inn, but Gorbad politely walked past him and gave the mer a quick nod, he wasn't sure if the mer saw it or not. The dunmer had so dark eyes it was impossible to tell which direction they were looking. He didn't stay outside to find out either, but opened the door to Hela's Folly and entered the inn.

Inside he saw Danus the imperial chatting with an old man behind the counter, which wasn't Jal. A man Gorbad hadn't seen before also sat at there. They were talking of something unimportant, judging by their body-language. Gorbad walked with louder foot-steps than was necessary, as a way of announcing he was approaching. A clearing of a throat would have had the same effect, but that would've been much more direct and attention-seeking. With louder foot-steps Gorbad merely pointed out he was there. He took a seat slightly to the left of the others, leaving an arm-length of space between him and the newcomer. He looked like a warrior, probably an adventurer or mercenary.

Gorbad looked at the man standing behind the counter. He was an aged man, probably as old as Gorbad.
"Fine day to you. I was expecting Jal to be here, but I assume you're just as good a chef as him?" Gorbad asked politely and added a smile. "I'm looking for a warm meal to eat, preferably a big meal at that. A piece of bread and a mug of mead would also fit nicely."

The two others were apparently eating breakfast at this point, but Gorbad had already been up since six in the morning, working all that time. He thought it was odd that they ate breakfast at this hour, but then again they probably thought it was weird he ate lunch at this hour. He took up a small bag of septims as a show that he was a paying customer and adjusted his seat ever so slightly.

[Nikki Lawrence]

Titus Aetius, Hela's Foly, late midday

Titus noticed a man enter. He turned back to his food, and took a bite out of his bread. He wasn't going to greet the man. He was tired, hungry, and didn't have anywhere to sleep. He faniced having a nice traditional Cyrodiilic lunch, but he only had enough money for the bread and mead. The rest he was saving for a room, but the innkeeper didn't have that either. Titus doubted that these Nords knew anything about Imperial food. He took another bite out of his bread, and having calmed down, walked over to the innkeeper.
"Hello. Look, I know you just said your new here, but do you know where I could find come work?"
If the Innkeeper didn't know, then perhaps one of the men next to him had a job for him. Failing that, there was the Jarl, but Titus knew the man was probably occupied with other , more important matters.

[jessica robson]

Julius Scipion, Shimmermist mine, late midday

Julius carefully placed the chisel above the jutting piece of rock then he struck downwards with the mallet cutting of the rough edge he sighed before standing up to look around, he had ordered the guards to dig the foundations for the wall he had already lain the bottom bricks for the wall and was in the process of building the middle and tomorrow would build the top of the wall.

OOC:You wanted a working post, well ya got one.

[Rob Smith]

Skarpi, Valton Inn, Late Midday

“I see” responded the Imperial. “Poor bastard. He should recover shortly. Here is the gold.” He said, placing the gold on the counter before the innkeeper, his face looking worried and concerned for but a mere second. “I'm quite a curious fellow, so how did you and Jal meet?”

Skarpi barked a laugh. “Well you know what they say- curiosity killed the Khajit! But since you and I are not addicted to Skooma or covered in fur, I might as well tell ya’!” said the old man, happy to produce a story for someone, yet unobservabley wary of the man asking, for sellswords like Jal usually have a lot of enemies. “We met many years back, while I we was young adventurers. Well, I was more the adventurer; he was more the sword for hire. Jal was part of this mercenary company, and they were in direct competition with another mercenary company, see? Not the greatest of people to try and compete with, seeing as though they’d rather cut you ta’ pieces instead of use proper diplomacy.”

Skarpi coughed, clearing his throat and continued. “Anyways, I was in the discourteous captivity of the rival mercenary clan, as was Jal. We formed an alliance, and broke out of their base together, a real knee slapper that tale!” laughed Skarpi, his eyes twinkling with the memories. “Anyways, that’s the jist of it. He’s a good man, and I figured I owed him one.”

The Imperial who was listening to the story was about to reply when the other man who had entered earlier, walked over from the table he was eating at, and spoke harshly to the innkeeper. “Hello. Look, I know you just said your new here, but do you know where I could find come work?”

“Hehe, well it all depends on what ya mean by work, sonny” replied Skarpi, grin planted on his face. “If ya mean manual labor and any other sort of blue-collar work, I need to add an addition to this here inn, and I’m sure you can help with that. But you don’t look much like a simple laborer” said the weathered sailor, arching his eye brows sarcastically, as if he were trying very hard to deeply understand the man. “No, you look a bit stronger, a bit meaner. A bit more dangerous ” said Skarpi, putting a quiet emphasis on the word. “I hear there’s a bit of a bandit problem in the hold. If I was younger, I’d help take care of it, but since mah legs seem ta’ be weaker than a diseased stalk of corn, maybe you could? I’m sure the Jarl will gladly accept any help he can get.”

[Paul Rice]

Titus Aetius, Hela's Foly, Valton, Midday

"Thanks. I guess I'll go see the Jarl now, then. Thanks for the food."
Titus then walked back to his table, and picked up the bread and mead, drinking the last of the mead, and then walking out of the inn. He took another bite out of the bread, and then put it away in case he got hungry. He stretched his arms, and then walked towards what was most likely the Jarl's hold. Titus made a note to himself to stay away from the innkeeper. The way he had put emphasis on that last word was strange, to say the least. He walked up to the doors of the hold, and entered. Once inside, he looked around at the hall, and saw the Jarl on his throne, talking to an Imperial woman. Titus walked up to them, and waited for them to finish talking. He didn't want to have to talk to the Jarl. Most nobility he knew were arrogant, and he doubted this Jarl would be any different.

[Donald Richards]

Jormaw, Valton Farm, Late Midday.

Jormaw was pleased with his light catch for the day and hoped the Jarl's cook would pay good gold, like the man had hinted.
The argonian came upon the farm again in his sight, he stopped to think. "Better to make amends to the neighbouring tribe for the old mistake."
Jormaw tranced through the vegetation of the road, going up to the farmer's door with slow resentment in his mind.

His earlier knock with his claw was obviously too much for the old door, so he decided to go for a lighter tap with his tail.
Nothing responded. "Argh, what a coprus ass rash!" he sneered, Jormaw then spoke up "Land-striders? is there anybody home by chance?"

[hannah sillery]

Alguidar, Valton Farm, Late Midday

"The inn first? But the blacksmith might need time to work on the..." Alguidar's and Jacqueline's argument was suddenly interrupted by the sound of wooden wheels making their way through the gravel. Two caravans passed by and stopped by the inn. Not long after, an old Dunmer walked by, slowly, until he found a chair by the inn. Alguidar figured he was probably the owner of all the belongings that were being unloaded.

"An orc. Now another elf." Thought the farmer during the long silence of Alguidar and his companion as they stared at the odd sight.

Moments later, they noticed the blacksmith making his way to the inn as well.

"Well... the inn it is then." Said Alguidar to Jacqueline with a smile.

They approached the inn, the elf seemed to be lost in his thoughts while he was smoking a pipe. He didn't look like he wanted to be bothered. Alguidar debated with himself whether to approach the elf. On one hand, he was tired of all the outsiders coming into town, on the other, the outsiders were all he had in this land. If he wasn't going to accept that, he wasn't going to sell anything.

"Excuse me, Elf. I don't believe we've met. I'm Alguidar, the farmer. This is Jacqueline. You must have had a long journey. Can I interest you in some fine apples?"

[Cool Man Sam]

Danus Maximus. Helas Folly. Midday.

The Imperial listened to what the Innkeeper said. Apparently the previous owner was a former mercenary and the two were somehow brought captive to another mercenary group. Short story short. They became friends and escaped.

Danus was about to reply before the two were interrupted by another person. He was an Imperial like Danus. However that's where the similarities end. Judging by the armor and his appearance he looked like a sword for hire. He asked the the innkeeper to where to find a job. Eventually the Mercenary left the innkeeper. Probably to the keep to find a job.

Danus was almost done with the apple.

"So you heard of the bandits? After what I heard about their first victim I think their just a bunch of madmen with swords. Bashed the poor bastard's face in. Nothing but a mutilated corpse."

The Imperial finished his apple.

"Well I have some work to do. I'll take my leave."

[Robert Jr]

Nuramon, Middas, His house.

The imperial that had found the wounded man ordered another Imperial, who looked like the man’s bodyguard, to help him with moving the wounded man to his house. When Nuramon picked him up he could feel the man was heavy, but he didn’t seem fat. Probably a warrior or hunter of some sorts. If he needs a job I might have some use for him, if he is good enough with his weapons.

When they were about to exit the Inn, Nuramon turned around to the people inside and spoke, “Should anyone need to no where this man is, send him to my house, same goes if anyone needs a healer or alchemist.” He then gave instruction on how to reach it.

He carried the Imperial to his house with the help of the bodyguard. The sun was already past its highest point and the streets were busy as always. They passed several citizens, that gave them the odd look, but Nuramon payed no attention to them.

At his house everything was still quiet and Nuramon figured that Sargon was still sleeping. He turned to the guard. “Hold him for a second and be quiet I have guest that still seem to sleep.” He then opened the door and led them inside, where they layed the imperial to rest on a couch.

“Do you need me for anything else?” the imperial asked, while he clearly hoped Nuramon would decline the offer.

“Nope, off you go. I can handle it from here.” Nuramon said somewhat distracted. He was rummaging through alot of potions in a cupboard when he realised the Innkeeper had been someone else. He turned around to the Imperial that was just leaving.

He felt his arm knock two vials out the cupboard, but he quickly caught them. “Wait!” he shouted. “The Innkeeper, was he someone else?”

The imperial nodded. “Yes, the previous one turned ill. He’s replacing him for the time being. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back.”

Nuramon nodded. “yes, yes, see you later.”

He turned back to the vials and quickly took out the one he needed. It would give the man a peaceful sleep until evening, so he could regain his strength. Witht he vial in hand he walked over to the man. He pulled him up so he could give him the liquid without spilling half of it on the man’s clothes and hair.

This should keep him asleep until evening. That way the healing ointment can do its work. He took the man’s weapons, a finely-crafted sword, bow and arrows and other belongings and hung them on a weapon rack. He then proceeded to lay him in a comfortable position that wouldn’t give him a stiff neck when waking up.

Now on to more important things. Who was in on the bet around Valton again ? He sat down in his chair in front of the couch. Hircine, he warned me about it. Clavicus vile without a doubt, Mephala and Boethia being in on it wouldn’t surprise me either. Now I don’t know about the other princes. It’s been to long since I have dealt with them. I need ...

He jumped up from his chair and ran to his bookshelf. It wasn’t an amazing collections but it held some books of value. He scanned the shelves until he found the books he was looking for. He quickly found the ones he needed and took them with them to his chair. He started with ‘On Oblivion’ and placed ‘The Book Of Daedra’ and ‘The Doors To Oblivion’ next to him on the ground.

I might find my answers in here, and if not I must really speak with Sargon when he decides to wake up.

[Lucie H]

Roymund Inventius, Valton Farm. Late Midday.

Roymund lay in his bedroll, feeling tired but not enough to sleep. The previous night had bit awkward to say the least, he felt a responsability for the two whom he shared the home with. He'd had a mixture of relationships with Nords, often disliking his previous career but got along due to his ways. Bretons, however, he'd only come across once of twice and those he knew spoke to him like common rabble. "Seem fair folk" he thought, rubbing his hand across his scabby-arm "Perhaps i can find these bandits who killed Aguaar, Do Alguidar a good turn for the bed and board he's offered."

He heard a odd thump against the front door, one he'd not heard before. He slowly got to his feet, pulling his short-sword from beside his bedroll, he strolled light-footed across to the door and placed the blade against the wall beside the door.

"Land-striders? is there anybody home by chance?"

He didnt recognise the voice, though could tell it wasnt that of his kin, nor any Nord or breton. He swung open the door, half-surprised by the site of the Argonian. Roymund wore a grim expression on his face, he'd come across this lizard before and it'd shown little manners. Expecting the rude gesture, Roymund said "My fellows are not here, you'd have to return another day if your bearing an appology."

[Floor Punch]

Varyn Uvirith, Hela's Folly - Middas, Midday


Varyn sat on the porch, steadily rocking back and forth in the chair, as his mind drifted off into it's own little niche. Varyn had a habit of doing this, especially when smoking his pipe. Whilst caught up in his day-dreaming, mostly of various ways he could blast his younger brother into bits, Varyn noticed that someone was talking to him. With a slight surprised jerk of his head Varyn turned towards the Nord and young Breton who stood next to him.

"Excuse me, Elf. I don't believe we've met. I'm Alguidar, the farmer. This is Jacqueline. You must have had a long journey. Can I interest you in some fine apples?"

A large cloud of thick white smoke billowed out of Varyn's mouth as he chuckled lightly, "Damn right I had a long journey. Didn't make it any better having to ride with those dimwitted bastards," Varyn nodded towards the Nords who were still unpacking his rather large assortment of luggage. One of them turned and glared at the old mer for a second before returning to his work. At the same time another tripped on the steps. The case he was carrying fell from his hands and rolled down the wooden porch with an awful clangor.

"Dammit! You clumsy s'wit! That's worth both your eyes and your firstborn!" Varyn took a angry puff of his pipe as he turned back to Alguidar, "Hmph, imbeciles. Now what was it you were saying? Apples? The little crunchy red things that those n'wahs brought over? No. Baladas got poisoned by one of those things. Poor bastard. I always like him. We shared an affinity for lighting the slaves on fire and making them duel for buckets of water," Varyn took another long draw on his pipe, "However I could use a good jar of scribe jelly...or is it scrib jelly? No matter, it all tastes the same on a good haunch of guar."

Varyn scratched his beard as he began to mumble incoherent nonsense in Dunmeri, laughing quietly to himself every few seconds. For those who knew the language, and the older dialect, they would discern that Varyn was going on about how he once turned a scribe into a steaming pile of goo by accident, and then proceeded to feed it to his apprentice to test the effects of gelatinous scribe. Once again he drifted off into his thoughts, ignoring the world around him.

[Taylrea Teodor]

Jormaw, Valton Farm, Late Midday.

The argonian didn't seem surprised by the imperial's words. "Must've gone to that old Gorbad to fix those weapons I dismantled" he thought.
Jormaw peered at Roymund "Oh no, maybe it'd be better if that Alguidar wasn't here." He tightened his eyes and tried to give off a warming smile,
"I just came here to offer a salmon from my first catch in Valton river. As a gift per say." The saxhleel nostrils winkled up quizzically.

"Ssh.. are you, are you bleeding?" he studied the man with curious intent, "I can have a look at the wound if you want. I'm quite knowledgeable when
it comes to alchemical medicine of all kinds." The argonian looked at the man's grim face. "I'd hope he's more forgiving than the farmer" he thought in trust.

[Maeva]

Roymund, Valton Farm. Late Midday.

Roymund glared at the Argonian, watching him intently as he spoke. He knew little about Argonians, and their facial expressions but i could have sworn this one had offered a smile.
"Just a minor wound, and you'll have to forgive me if i dont let a stranger loose upon me with his herbs." He rolled up his sleeve, and give a questioning look to Jormaw ".. I'd take your word on any signs of infection though, caught it on a rock amongst the hills."
He didnt like the idea of allowing a stranger, especailly one who had insulted his friends, offer him advice but he knew it'd be foolish to downright refuse. Atleast if he was to know the state of infection, he could seek help for a more official and trustworthy form.

After a few moments, and the Argonians inspection of his arm, Roymund swapped interest to the fish. "I'm sure the gesture would be apprecaited, They've gone into town however you're welcome to leave it with me." he offered out his hands, awaiting the Salmon.

[Davorah Katz]

Valton Keep, midday
Leandra

The young Nibenese observed with some curiosity - and not without a bit of amusemant - as the aged Jarl reacted to the surprise raven who'd quite literally crashed into their conversation. He did seem to recognize the bird, judging from the fact he didn't throw it out or have it roasted. He didn't, however, seem to appreciate her comment, judging by the look he gave her.

Seconds ticked by in a rather awkward silence while the guard called by the Jarl checked examined whatever it was he'd been ordered to investigate - some mage's chambers, apparently. Leandra herself didn't pay much attention, choosing instead to take in the hall's layout and features, out of cautious necessity - in the unlikely event that she'd have to fight there one day - as much as pure curiosity. Halls of the nobility reminded her of home somewhat; so long as they shared a purpose, it didn't much matter to her how alien they looked.

Swaying slightly from left to right, she fixed her Dwemer goggles, pushing them up towards her hair again, and did her best to ignore that the Jarl appeared to be blushing. Either frustrated or embarrased. Probably both. I guess you get that when you have this whole 'wise ruler' thing going but then a stray bird ruins everything.

The appearance of control over a situation was rather fragile where nobles were concerned; she knew that all too well. Most didn't take well to that being exposed, but the mercenary had to hand it to the aged Jarl - he was coping rather well. There were a handful of people she could think of from her childhood that'd have thrown a childish tantrum by now, perhaps taking it out on some servant who happened to get underfoot. The joys of living with the nobility were indeed nearly infinite - partially why she was standing there and then, in the hall of a Nordic Jarl of a newfound Hold, a steaming contraption on her arm. Rather than, say, having an exquisite bath down in Cyrodiil. With hot water. And soap. And clean clothes afterwards...

Yes, all those things clearly are crap and I don't miss them at all. Looking up at the ceiling, Leandra hardly listened to the guardsman's report. It's not like this affected her much, anyway; some or other troubles in the hold would probably be left up to the town guard to ha-

"Locks, you say?"

A twinkle could be observed to her eye, not unlike that of a trader who smelled a potential deal. "Well, if you need a precision job here - as in, actually picking the thing - then I'm afraid I won't be of much use. However, I do have my way around locked objects." She clenched her metal-clad right fist meaningfully. "If you think there's something nasty behind it, I can get rid of the doors and the fallout too... Well, after your guards give me back my weapons, that is."

OOC: Crappy post is crappy. Lesson for today, kids - never post while distracted.

[Chavala]

Jormaw, Valton Farm, Late Midday.

Jormaw handed the salmon to the imperial's awaiting arms. He looked at the wrapped wound and the skin around it, when it came exposed to his sight.
The argonian grumbled, "My friend it seems you've catched an odd case of Rockjoint." He gave a serious look to Roymund,
his mood had deepened into worry now. "If you've been around any wild animals as of late, that would definitely be the cause."

He looked at the farm's poor health, wondering if it was that which caused it. "Look, I know a mercernary who contracted this."
"We had to amputate his leg by the sixth day, although he didn't make it through the operation and healing magics wouldn't wake him."
Jormaw gave a sigh then persisted a stern appearence for the ranger, "Whatever grievances or mistakes I may have made with that Alguidar
fellow shouldn't matter right now." "I suggest- No, I insist you come to my shack up the road by the evening." He took a breath from strain.

"I'll prepare a salve that you can bathe the wound in." Jormaw's tail stiffened from it's wagging and loped onto the floor.

[Daramis McGee]

Roymund, Valton Farm. Late Midday.

Roymund took the Salmon, and awaited the Argonians diagnosis. When he heard it was Rockjoint his face almost dropped, He'd heard of this before. "Killed old Varvieter, turned him slow and useless..." his mind wandered, thinking of one of his old soldiering friends. "Could barely lift a weapon the day he died. Guess that explains my struggles with the bow ea--.."

"I suggest- No, I insist you come to my shack up the road by the evening."

Roymunds thoughts paused, atleast the ones he knew of. He tallied up weither or not he should trust the lizard. Alguidar and Jack hadn't been too impressed, and he come across as rude along the road, but is that really something to just someone on? He clearly knew what he was talking about and could likely help him with it. Roymund knew how to deal with physical wounds, but not the infection or desease that often followed one.

"Very well" he kept a grim look, though his voice had switched to a friendlier tone "I shall meet you within the hour, yours is the old fishermans hut right?"