[Angelina Mayo]

Roymund Inventius, Valton Chapel. Late Afternoon

Roymunds attention flicked back onto the Redguard "Roymund. What about you, Redguard? and i'd know yours too, priest, if it pleases you." He looked back to Itan-Ru as he approached with a bottle, cup and bandage. This way alittle off putting to say the least, though Roymund was sure the priest had dealt with such ailments before. He accepted the green bottle and followed the priests instructions. The mixture tasted foul, he could almost taste the different textures of it's contents as it past over his tongue. He took his time, but got through the half-bottle required.

A grimace washed over his face, he mopped over his mouth with his left sleeve. With his attention set back on the priest, he spoke "Lovely... Now, whats the next step?"

[Josh Sabatini]

Alguidar, Outside Hela's Foly -> Blacksmith, Late Afternoon

After Alguidar's words implied that he wasn't interested in the argument anymore, the Imperial threw out some more jabs at the rebellion and walked back inside the inn.

"Looking for a job, he said. No. He's doing the bidding of those damned conniving snakes." Said Alguidar to Jacqueline before realizing that the tin he was holding was only half full. In a way, this pointless waste was more frustrating than the words of the Imperial. The farmer's life is too harsh to afford losing any precious drop of milk like that. Blurry memories of him, being scolded after a cow kicked a bucket, came to mind. "How many times have I told you to hold it with your legs? Get the hell out of here, boy! I'll do it myself!"

With a deep sigh, he got his mind back on track. "Roymund's arrowheads! Right!" He finally made his way across the road that stood between the inn and the blacksmith. The sun was quickly disappearing in the horizon but the Orc was still there, he looked busy inspecting some ore pieces. Alguidar stepped on the wooden stairs and into the porch, the wood creaking noise announcing his presence as the wooden boards adjusted to the farmer's weight.

After the flood of elves in the hold, the unwelcome scaly guest and the Imperial supporter, the last thing Alguidar wanted right now was to deal with an Orc. At least he recognized the quality of Orc smithing. Consistent, thoughtful. It was hard to find a bad Orc smith, it was unlikely this would be a first.

"Greetings, Orc. I'm Alguidar, the farmer." Alguidar put the tin down and the crate beside it, then reached into his pockets to find the bag of gold with Roymund's payment. He also hoped he could kill enough time to remember the Orc's name. Too many new names to remember in only two days and it still bugged him that he couldn't quite recall the Jarl's. "Gorbad, the blacksmith, yes? I come for some arrowheads on behalf of a friend, Roymund."

[emily grieve]

Danus Maximus. Helas Folly. Late noon.

It was barely ten minutes since I send the mercenary to reveal the farmer Allegiance to the Stormcloaks. He came back saying that he announced that Ulfric is the true high King. Now I personally wished he would be a little more in a low profile but atleast he got the job done. Except his name.

"That was pretty quick Titus. I even heard what sounded like a Nord arguing with you. So That's enough proof. I may have promised you 500 gold but you didn't get his name so it will be 420 septims instead." I then handed him a few bags of gold.

"Now problem is knowing how the Jarl is I doubt I can arrest him now. I have to wait until he allows an Imperial garrison to be station in the hold. I just want to know about as much possible stormcloak influnece in this town immediantly to avoid complications. However I wlll still inform him about this. You did a good job at this one. Drinks are on me, and if you want a room in this inn I'll pay for it."

[Robert Bindley]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, (very) late afternoon

The heated word-war on the inn-side of the street abruptly ended as the imperials said:
_________________________________
"His armies will do what? Oh, too afraid to make threats when you can't back them up? I'm sorry, but this isn't Windhelm, and Ulfrics thug aren't here to attack anybody who doesn’t agree with them. Why don't you go back to roughing up Elves in Windhelm, like all the other bigots in Ulfrics rebellion. Oblivion take you, Ulfric, and all the other Stormcloak bastards!"
_________________________________
Gorbad continued to pretend his inspection of the ore pieces, but hastily looked up in time to see the armored imperial walk back inside the inn. Gorbad was unsure what to think of this. Valton had wanted to stay neutral in the conflict, but it seemed inevitable that the tides of war would reach the new hold. Especially since its citizens were taking clear sides in the war. Not unexpected. In order for a truly neutral Valton to work, only neutral citizens would've had to been accepted. That couldn't be changed anymore.

Apparently the nord farmer was a Stormcloak favoring man, while the imperial clearly stood for the goods of the empire and the imperial legion. Gorbad couldn't say he entirely disagreed or agreed with either of the two extremes. While the Stormcloaks were in theory fighting for a good cause, their "leader", Ulfric, wasn't a man Gorbad respected, and while the empire had shown extreme weakness in the aldmeri dominion matter... No, the events were too unknown for Gorbad to have an opinion about it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shoes against wood. The farmer introduced himself as Alguidar and unsurprisingly he knew Gorbad's name already. He put away the ore pieces and grabbed the small bag of arrow-heads while he said, "Aaa yes, here they are. That'd be 45 septims." He handed over the bag with a smile before he added, "What's Roymund up to, since he couldn't make it, hmm?" The urge to discuss the conversation he'd just heard hit Gorbad again, but he kept his mouth shut.

[Nikki Hype]

Alguidar, Blacksmith, Evening

The blacksmith handed over a bag with Roymund's order as he asked about him. Alguidar opened the bag and peeked inside. The light was dimming but the forge made it easier to see in its vicinity. Not that the farmer would know how to judge the quality of the arrowheads but just on principle alone, he wouldn't go through with the exchange without even looking. He nodded to Gorbad, pretending to sign approval and handed over the bag with Roymund's payment.

"Ah, Roymund. He's not feeling too good. He got a bad case of rockjoint in the woods, should be resting back in the farm now. I'll see if I can do something for him."

[Elisabete Gaspar]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, evening.

The sun was crawling slowly towards the horizon, painting the surrounding buildings in a pale orange light. Alguidar explained Roymund's state. Apparently the poor fella had caught rockjoint, a deceases Gorbad had seen only a few times during his long life. A nasty creeper that one, supposed to literally turn your joints to rocks. As far as Gorbad could remember, Roymund hadn't acted strangely, nor has any trouble moving about.

Alguidar opened the bag containing the newly forged and sharpened steel arrow-heads and nodded in approval. Gorbad doubted the farmer knew anything about steel and found himself smiling with amusemant while he grabbed the bag of gold. He didn't look inside, a gesture he hoped the farmer would notice. Gorbad turned his attention to the breton lass next to the farmer, who looked as she was about to say something.

[Stephanie Nieves]

Jacqueline

She jumped aside as Alguidar splashed milk around in anger. She didn't know who or what they were talking about, and she didn't really care for the subject either. But still she began to dislike the man that unprovoked had began slandering Alguidar's beliefs. When the man left she didn't really know what to say, so sh kept her mouth shut and waited for Alguidar to calm down. She followed him inside the smith's shop and waited for Alguidar to do his business with him. She looked around the forge and looked at all the familiar equipment she remembered from their family smith's forge back in High Rock.
She tried to spot the things needed to repair her knife. He had most of the things needed but there was one thing missing. Though it wouldn't surprise her if he kept it locked away. Or didn't have any for that matter.

She thought about wether it would be worth asking the smith or not. The last time she had used the carving knife it was almost taken away from her because one of the men she worked with thought she had stolen it. It wasn't like she looked like an old and hardened masoner that could afford such an exquisite tool. Luckily the blade was branded with her name and the hilt had her family insignia on it so she had proof enough that it belonged to her.

She noticed the Orc looking at her, as if he was waiting for her to talk. She slowly reached into her bag and pulled out the tool. She removed the leather she had wrapped around it and laid the two pieces down on his workbench. The blade was half a foot long and of an exquisite metal ment to never break. It was inscribed with the words "Mason Jacqueline Hawkford." The hilt was dark rosewood from the wilderness of High Rock. The guard had the Hawkford family insignia delicately carved into it. "Here goes nothing" she thought.

"Tha lizard pulled it apart. I was wonderin' if ya could fix it." She picked up the wooden hilt. "This part 'ere's gotta be soakin' in Greenveil spirits fer a few days ta make it expand enough ta fit tha blade back in it. Then ya gotta put tha blade back in 'n let it dry fer one day before rollin' it in a piece of leather 'n lettin' it sit in tha embers fer five days." She put the hilt down. "There ain't no use tryin' ta hammer out tha blade 'n makin' it fit that way cuz tha metal's impossible ta reshape." She looked at the Orc smith. "But ya probably know that already so there ain't no use in tellin ya" she smiled.
She knew she wouldn't be able to afford the repairs now since Greenveil spirits were highly expensive and it was a long process.

"How much would ya charge fer tha repairs?" she asked.

[Catherine N]

Theseus, Valton Chapel, Evening

"The name's Theseus, nice to meet you Roymund." The Redguard said, trying his best to be friendly. No use in making enemies now that he's stuck here for gods know how long.
The Imperial hunter downed half the bottle of Itan Ru's concoction with a grimace and muttered something about what's next.

Theseus began to have a feeling of restlessness and rose to his feet.

"I'm going to walk around town and get some fresh air if that's alrite with you." he notioned towards the Argonian.

[Lou]

Roland and Nuramon, Nuramon's House, Valton, Evening



Roland slid to the edge of the couch; his blade was still held up in defense. His hazel green eyes were fixated on the Bosmer across the room. As the ex-forester tried to stand a sharp pain raced through his leg. He stumbled and clenched his teeth, but managed to stay on his feet. The mer uncrossed his arms, holding his hands casually out to his side.

"I mean you no ill will, friend. Sheath your blade so that we may speak civilly."

Roland watched the mer carefully, "A sheathed blade means death, should his company will it," his voice was as cold and hard as his eyes, "I ask you again, where am I, and where are my belongings?"

Roland had learned not to trust anyone. After all, who could blame him? He was a wanted man, a fugitive. Any man in his right mind would have turned him over to the Imperials for quite a hefty sum of coin, yet it had been so long. Had the Imperials stopped looking for him? Was he in the clear now? Two years can change many things, yet none of this mattered to Roland. Honor and duty were concepts that rang hollow to him. He had replaced them with survival long ago. It did not matter if he had the entire Legion or the Stormcloaks or the Dark Brotherhood tracking him down, he chose his path, and his was one of survival.

"Ah, yes. You happen to be in the quaint little town of Valton, east of Riften. More specifically, you are in my house as my guest. As for your belongings, they rest against the wall over there," the mer nodded at the wall on the far end of the room, his hands were still held up in a nonthreatening manner. Roland turned his gaze for a split second, sweeping his eyes in the direction the Bosmer had indicated. He spoke true. Roland's pack and swordbelt hung on a rack against the far wall of the cabin.

"And my horse?" Roland began to back towards his possessions. A sharp pain shot through his left thigh and shoulder with every step. His eyes had returned to watching the Bosmer.

"She is tied to the porch outside, and in much better condition than yourself. Please, sit. You need to regain your strength. Taking an arrow straight through the shoulder has a tendency to put you out of action for a while," the mer grinned slightly. The scene then flashed before his eyes. The camp, the raiders, the midnight flight on horseback down the rough road to Riften, it all came back to him. The horse wandered onto another road. Roland did not reply to the mer, but instead pulled loose the leather tie on his pack. He reached his free hand into it and after a few seconds procured a small glass vial. Within it was a smooth milky-white liquid. He clenched his teeth down on the small cork and ripped it from the vial with a light 'pop'. Roland swallowed the concoction in one quick gulp. The milky-white liquid was a made from the tears of the poppy and then mixed with honey and distilled whiskey. It was an extremely potent pain killer. Roland had learned the recipe from an old man named Edmund. Old Ed, as they called him, had served in the 6th division as the chief healer. He was a jolly old man with a scruffy white beard and a bald head that shone like polished silver. Ed had always been nice to Roland. The two had shared many stories over a few bottles of 'medicinal' mead. However, the cold got Ed in the end. On a ranging north near Winterhold the frost took hold of him. He lost his whole right hand to the bite before finally taking his last breath.

Roland tossed the vial back into his back, and then began to fasten his swordbelt around his waist. The weight of a sword at his hip was a comforting feeling. When the belt was tight and secure he slid the pack onto his good shoulder and eased his way towards the door. The poppy milk was starting to effect him. His pain was gone, but the void it left was filled by haze. Roland was used to the potency of the mixture, and normally it did not effect him much; however, in his weakened state the narcotic was taking its toll on his senses. His vision was slightly blurred, but not so bad as to where he could not see.

The Bosmer spoke as Roland neared the door, "Diluted poppy tears if I'm not mistaken. A strong potion, and an old recipe. I take it your are familiar with science of alchemy?"

Roland eyed the mer for a moment. He wondered whether or not he should reveal anything to the elf. After all, he still did not know who he was. "Perhaps," his voice was cold and almost monotonous.

Roland looked around once more, scanning the shelves, and the alchemical ingredients scattered upon them. The fugitive then looked down to his shoulder, noticing for the first time that it was bandaged. He sniffed the air, and noted a faint earthy aroma coming from the linen, "I take it you are the one who tended my wounds? I have no coin." It was a lie. Roland had near a hundred drakes stashed in his pack.

Roland slid the hunting knife back into it's leather sheath as the mer stood. The elf's palms where still up, "No matter. I'm sure we can work something out. Oh, and by the way. I'm Nuramon," the mer smiled.

Roland's head now hummed with the beat of his heart. His vision pulsated and blurred with every thump of the great drum in his chest. I've lost too much blood, the tears...too strong. Dammit. "I go by Roland," he barely managed to squeeze the words past his lips. His tongue felt like dead weight in his mouth. 'Thump...thump...thump.' The sound was like the thundering boom of a war drum pounding away in his skull. The room spun around him. He reached out for the wall, but only his fingertips found purchase. He tumbled, body and mind, and then there was darkness once again.


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


"Roland, this is madness! I cannot let you leave. Desertion is punishable by death. I'm bound by honor and duty to bring you in."

The words of Arius Legano rung like a gong in his mind. Madness...desertion...death. His hand clasped around the worn leather grip of his bow. His heart pounded in his chest, "There is no such thing as honor, and duty, Arius. I'm going. Do not get in my way."

The Imperial circled his horse around to Roland's right. A look of disgust was plastered upon his hard tanned face, "I thought you better than this, Roland," he drew his sword, filling the air with a sharp metallic song, "Corin, bind his hands. He goes to the lega-"

With one fluid motion the deserter brought his bow up, loosing a arrow at the throat of his comrade, his brother in arms. No...no man who bends the knee to that foul Empire is my brother. The steel head struck true, and with a thud the Imperial dropped from his mount, a river of crimson flowing from the hole in his neck. The steed Arius had been mounted upon reared back, kicking it's hooves out with a frightened scream. The horse bowled into Corin sending him flying from his saddle and into the cold snow covered ground. Roland notched another arrow.

"No please! Mercy!"

The man's cries where silenced as the shaft struck him square in the chest. He gazed up at Roland, a stream of blood dripping from his mouth and down into the pure white snow. A second arrow sent him to the afterlife.

*******************************************************************************

Varyn, Hela's Folly, Valton, Evening

The old Dunmer grumbled as he hobbled his way over to where the Nords sat. Damned fools. Can't even do their job right. Varyn pushed past another patron, and neared the table.

"Bring my luggage inside the inn. I don't want some fetcher stealing any of it," grumbled the Dunmeri sorcerer. However, the Nords did not budge. In fact, not a single one of them paid him any attention. Varyn looked down quickly and patted his robes, checking to see if he was invisible. When he did choose to cloak himself from the naked eye, he had a habit of forgetting he was invisible after a while. With a swoosh his wooden cane soared through the air and landed squarely on the back of the biggest Nord's head.

"By Talos! You crazy bastard! Stop hitting me with that damned cane!" shouted the burly Nord as he threw his chair back. Whack! The cane collided with the shoulder of the man. "Dammit I said stop!" Whack!

"No one tells me when to stop you lumbering imbecile! I'll stop when I'm certain that I've beaten the stupid out of that thick skull of yours!" retorted the aged wizard as his cane swung through the air once again. This time, however, the Nord grabbed it with his hand. "I said enough!"

Varyn's crimson eye's glared at the tall blond haired man in front of him, "Why you!"

A faint smell of burning wood filled the room as smoke drifted off Varyn's cane. Suddenly there was a loud boom that shook the entire inn. Smoke pervaded the room causing the patrons to cough as they shielded their eyes. It took a moment, but as the smoke cleared around the old wizard he began to laugh hysterically. A small tear even formed in the corner of his eye as he doubled over, still cackling.

"I taught you, you stupid bastard!" he yipped as he danced in a little circle waving his arms up and down. The table had been knocked to the side along with all the movers who had been sitting at it, and the Nord who had confronted him was now slumped in the corner of the room. His clothes where charred, and his hair singled almost completely off. He staggered too his feet as two of his friends helped him up.

Varyn sighed, "It's been a long time since I had the pleasure of doing that. Normally there's not as much smoke and you would be a pile of steaming goop, but it seems as though I'm getting rusty," the old mer scratched his beard as he began to settle down. "Now all of you get out there and get my stuff in here before I decide to let Alfred spoon feed your intestines to you!"

Varyn whacked the nearest Nord with his cane as they began to file out the door. The singed Nord was still a bit out of it; smoke still drifted off his clothes and hair. Varyn chuckled once again as they began to bring his possessions in and set them off in a corner of the room.

[Tanya Parra]

Alguidar, Blacksmith / Gudslott Hall / Barracks, Evening

Alguidar could swear he saw a smile in Gorbad's face. "Orcs don't smile much" he thought in passing, but maybe it was just the tusks that made them look so serious all the time. The Orc accepted the gold without counting it. An odd sight to the farmer who would never do that even to his brothers, let alone a complete stranger. He thought that maybe he should have counted the gold himself before handing it to such a trusting Orc as he had no idea if the correct amount was in there.

With Roymund's matter out of the way, the attention shifted to Jacqueline, who explained what had to be done to the knife. The detailed explanation went right over Alguidar's head. Her voice slowly and subtly pulling his mind away from the current events taking place beside him. He still had apples in the crate and some milk left but little prospect of selling them now that the day was coming to an end. Making a profit out of these products was less important to him than raising awareness, even if that meant letting go of them for free. That gave him an idea.

Alguidar picked up an apple and threw it in Gorbad's direction. Then, he tied the bag of arrowheads to his belt, he picked up his crate, the tin with milk and, in the short window of silence between Jacqueline's request and the blacksmith's response, trying not to interrupt them, he whispered to her. "I'll be right back."

---

He walked down to porch into the main road and up in Gudslott Hall's direction. The most important client in the Hold lied ahead, not necessarily in the purchases, but mostly in influence. Having the Jarl demand your products was a priceless honor. The ultimate pride for any farmer in the land.

He reached the doors of the hall, one guard was standing in front of it looking at the farmer as he approached. The look in his eyes were unmistakable, one more commoner wishing an audience this late was an unwelcome sight.

"Greetings! I don't wish an audience, I merely wish to leave my products for the court's chef to use. Free of charge!"

Alguidar dropped the crate and the tin on the floor as the guard remained silent, still making sense of the unusual offer.

"Let it be known that these products came from Alguidar's farm, just outside of Valton!"

The guard didn't have a reason to deny such a request but he clearly didn't want to be bothered.

"Yes, yes. The Jarl thanks you for your donation. Have a nice day."

The guard started to bring the products inside as Alguidar watched. He dreamt of a future where he could tell everyone that the Jarl himself, demanded special deliveries from his farm. Only a fantasy, but one that gave him the motivation to go the extra mile.

---

Empty handed, he slowly started to walk back down the road. He could see Gorbad and Jacqueline were still at the forge. As he walked past the barracks, he remembered her mentioning that prisoners were taken inside just moments ago. Most likely Aguaar's murderers. A guard was sited, by the door, firing up a lantern on the table as the day was getting darker.

Alguidar felt strange being so close to the murderers. The repulsion of their barbaric violence mixed with a pull that led him in their direction. He couldn't understand the brutality of the murder. "I only need some answers." He thought.

Alguidar was fooling himself, that thought merely giving voice to the repressed feelings of revenge that sat quietly in the back of his mind. He approached the guard at the door without a clear idea of what he was going to say. He didn't know what he really wanted, he didn't know what he could really do, but that didn't stop him.

"Guard, I heard some bandits have been brought in today. Is this true?"

[Kyra]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, evening.

The breton woman had apparently been deep in thought, but Gorbad had guessed right. She had indeed a question she wanted to ask. With a slow movement, she pulled up what looked to be some kind of toon. Well, at least what had been a tool. It was now merely a blade and a hilt of the tool. He saw the words "Mason Jacqueline Hawkford" inscribed in the tool. A builders tool then. He guessed the breton was this Jacqueline, or possible her mother. Either way, this was a very fine tool. The lass knew quite a lot of how to repair it as well, but apparently she didn't have what she called "Greenveil spirits". Gorbad had heard of that before. It was, simply put, very expensive turpentine. The reason she wanted to use it was that the metal couldn't be reshaped. That was of course not true. All metal could be heated up and remade. The question was how hot it needed to be. It was partly true, however, since Gorbad's forge wasn't even close to the heat needed.

Gorbad was unsure if he had any good turps about. He excused himself for just a moment when he went inside his house and rooted about. Indeed, he did have some of it. It wasn't much, but it would be enough for the small tool. He took it back outside to his forge where the breton lass was waiting.
"This isn't exactly cheap, you know?" He said with a warm and friendly chuckle while he placed the turps on the wooden table, next to the broken tool. She asked how much it'd cost. Gorbad hadn't thought of a precise amount, but it was above one two hundred septims, and that was merely the turps on its own sold just like that to someone. The additional repair cost, his professional skill, would be added on to that.
"As I said, not exactly cheap... It's going to be five hundred and fifty septims." His left eyebrow was raised ever so slightly as he looked at the breton, awaiting a reply.


*******************************************************************


A guard of Valton, outside the jails at the barracks, evening.

He'd lost the bet of how the bandit situation would go and with that 30 septims. In addition, he had to sit here. Damn lantern wouldn't even lit itself... He saw from the corner of his eyes a citizen of Valton approaching. His grumpy mood wasn't going to get better by these visits. The nord said, "Guard, I heard some bandits have been brought in today. Is this true?"
The guard was about to respond with a poisonous reply, but he saw an opportunity here.
"Perhaps. What's the information worth to ya'?" He said. Not a very elegant way to ask for money... But hopefully the authority of him being a guard would add some more seriousness behind it. He wanted to at least try to minimize his loss by gaining some coin from this man.

[Everardo Montano]

Jacqueline

"Ah... So much fer 'is ten gold" she sighed. "Least I ain't gotta pay fer a special order of that smelly stuff" she smiled. "'S a fair price smith but I ain't got that much money right now. When I got tha money I'll come back and have ya repair it. Now, I'm lookin' ta buy some new nails." She wrapped up the broken tool and put it back in her bag and pulled out three different nails. She laid them out in a line and looked at the Orc. "I need four of those big ones, eight of 'em wide-headed ones 'n forty of 'em normal sized nails." She pointed out the nails she meant as she spoke, and when she was finished she pulled out a few coins waiting for the Orc to name a price.

[amhain]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, evening

As he'd suspected, it was way beyond the bretons wealth to afford the repair. Instead, she ordered some nails. Nails of basic iron he presumed. He'd yet to meet someone who'd wanted steel nails. Of course, those would indeed be much stronger, but also twice as expensive. She pulled out three different nails and left them in front of Gorbad, as a model as to what the nails would look like. She ordered four of the big ones, eight of the wide headed ones and forty of the normal sized nails. Gorbad quickly estimated the amount of iron needed. Yes, he had enough. Next he estimated the prize.
"That'd be two septims for the big ones, three septims for the wide-headed ones and thirteen for the normal sized. In other words, 18 septims." He paused dramatically before he continued, "But since you're ordering so many, let's say 16 septims?" He added with a smile.

[Andy durkan]

Alguidar, Barracks, Evening

Alguidar wasn't expecting the guard's reply. He thought it was ridiculous for him to ask for gold for such a simple question. There was no use getting all riled up about it though, since he was in no obligation to provide such information. At least Alguidar now knew what would make him talk. He took a sit by the table, leaned forward in the direction of the guard and said:

"Tell me everything you know and I'll make it worth your while."

He reached for his pockets, took out a small bag with five Septims and subtly put it over the table.

[Amanda Leis]

A guard of Valton, outside the jail at the barracks, evening

He hadn't thought it'd work, but the nord sat down and took up a small bag of gold. A very small, probably no more than eight gold, but no less than three. The guards day looked to be a bit brighter after all. He told the whole story, at least as much as he knew about.
"Yeah, see, the captain of the guards took a group of guards with him out on some bandit hunting. I hear it was just north west of here, in a cave. Mission went well and they took three of them captive. They're held up in the jail right here in the barracks as we speak. The Jarl was too busy for 'em today." He was unsure what the nord wanted to know. "Same group of bandits that killed a carriage fella, I hear." He moved his hand ever so slightly towards the bag of septims.

[Rachel Hall]

Alguidar, Barracks, Evening

The guard confirmed Alguidar's suspicions. The killers were right there. Alive. He wishes they had all been killed, they don't deserve each breath they're taking in this realm. On the other hand, being alive still made it possible for them to suffer greatly for their crimes. More than they would by dying in the midst of battle.

"Yes. The carriage fella. Name's Aguaar. A friend. Just minding his business. Making a livin'. But these dogs. They just took it away. For what? A few gold?"

He could tell the guard was expecting the gold but Alguidar wasn't done yet.

"Lizards? Orcs? And what will happen to them now? They have to pay."

[Josee Leach]

Jacqueline

The price for the nails were shockingly high and Jacqueline realised she probbly wouldn't be able to haggle the price down enough for her to afford.

"Skip tha normal ones, then. I'll just be havin' tha two others. Do ya have ta make tha nails or do ya have any in store?" She laid a neat stack of five gold coins on the table and put the three nails back in her bag.

[Bad News Rogers]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, evening.

The breton thought 14 gold was a lot and still she'd just a minute ago wanted to buy greenveil spirits.. It didn't make much sense to Gorbad.
"Suit yourself. I don't have them here right now, but it won't take long to make a couple of nails. especially if you only want 12 of them." He took a chunk of iron ore and was about to put it in the smelter before he added, "Are you Jacqueline, or was that the previous owner of the tool?"
The familiar sound and smell of melting ore arose from the smelter.


*************************************************

A guard of Valton, by the barracks, evening.

The nord pulled the bag of coin further away and said:
_________________________________
"Yes. The carriage fella. Name's Aguaar. A friend. Just minding his business. Making a livin'. But these dogs. They just took it away. For what? A few gold?"
"Lizards? Orcs? And what will happen to them now? They have to pay."
_________________________________

The guard didn't remember there being an argonian, or khajiit nor even an orc amongst the captured bandits. There was a bosmer, and then that creepy one-eyed nord and an imperial.
"What will happen to them depends on what the Jarl decides, tomorrow. I have no idea."
He realized the nord was almost out of his mind of either sorrow or anger, or possibly both. It made him feel only a little bit bad about wanting gold, but only a little, since the nord hadn't actually given him any yet.

"Look, there's no reason behind a bandits action. You shouldn't take it personally."
"Or take it personally, I don't care as long as you give me that bag of gold you piece of..." the guard thought silently to himself.

"If it's to any comfort, it isn't exactly a holiday in the jails. Just a stone floor, stone walls and a stone roof. No windows. No fresh air."
He made an attempt to grab the bag of coins again.

[Michelle Smith]

Itan-Ru, Valton Chapel, Late Afternoon

Itan-Ru looked up at Theseus. "Of course, just take it easy. Nothing strenuous or those wounds might open again." he warned. As the redguard left the argonian turned his gaze once again upon Roymund and said, "My name? I'm Itan-Ru, a priest of Mara. and as for the next step..." he gave the cup a little shake, "I'm going to pour this onto the wound, directly on the source of the infection. When I've done that, I'll just wrap this bandage around your arm and we'll be done. Now if you'll come over here..." he, rather calmly and assertively, guided the Imperial to a chair and made him sit, to keep his arm in a better position with minimum pain, "...We can get started." He moved the hand with the cup over Roymund's arm and prepared to pour it when a thought occurred to him, "Oh and this may sting a bit. And by a bit, I mean a lot. Figured I should warn you."

With that, he doused the wound in the potion, holding the man's shoulder to prevent the involuntary twitch that would have hurt his arm otherwise. An audible hiss was heard as the potion washed through the infected cut like a cleansing fire (though a lot less painful than actual flames). he quickly grabbed the mead-soaked bandage and wrapped it tightly around the wounded arm, making sure that the area with the mead-spot was directly over the open gash. He sat down and sighed.

"There we go. that just cleansed the infection site, and the potion you drank should take care of any residual sickness left inside your joints. That wasn't so bad was it?"

[Jason Wolf]

Jacqueline

"Yeah, but ya can call me Jack." She watched as the smith began working. "I got that knife from my da on tha day 'e saw me done with apprenticin' n named me capable of leadin' ma own team of builders." The floor around the forge warmed her bare feet well. The forge smelled different from the ones she had been to in High Rock.
"All of ma da's apprentices get a tool made especially for 'em when they prove their worth, but only 'is own children get tools made outta that steel 'n proper rosewood. One of tha privileges of good blood, I guess..."

The forge was getting too hot for her to stand by so she took a few steps back and sat down by the grindstone.

[Alexandra walker]

Titus Aetius, Hela's Foly, Evening

Titus smiled at the prospect of free drinks and said,"I'm sorry I couldn't get the name. Still, I played the Idiot like a lute, and now you know his allegiance. When you talk to the Jarl, remember, Nord Farmer, he should know who it is. Now, about those drinks. I'm not too picky about what you get, so a bottle of Nord mead will be fine."
Titus took the bags of gold. He had lost 80 Septims, but he had still made a lot of money for a simple job. He hadn't expected it to be so easy, either. Maybe next time, the Nord would know when somebody was just baiting him into an argument. But the man supported a group that wanted to cut off one of Skyrim's major sources of food and supplies, so Titus didn't expect the Farmer to be that bright.

[Lalla Vu]

Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu, his forge, evening.

Jack explained the story behind the masonry tool. She was from a wealthy family then, daughter seeking her fortune and fame far from her parents, quite a common story. While Gorbad refined the iron ore step-by-step, the heat spread around his forge. He was used to it, but he could see from the corner of his eyes how Jack backed away and sat down by the grindstone. With one final melting process, the iron was refined enough to make for some quality nails.

He didn't have any molds to pour the metal in, but he had his raw skill. So he cooled the iron quickly in water, enough to make it solid instead of liquid, and took it to his forge. There, he could more precisely decide how hot he wanted the metal. Once again his orchalium gauntlets proved invaluable in his work. With a quick step backwards and a turn around, he was able to place the hot iron on his workbench without burning himself. He took up one of his smallest hammers and separated the iron in two piles, then into four bigger piles and eight smaller piles. He waited just a moment for the most extreme glow to disappear from the metal before he carefully began shaping the first nail with a wide-head.

"A pleasure to meet you, Jack. I assume you already caught my name, but it's Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu." He said in a very casual way, without looking up from his hammering. The first wide-headed nail was ready and he threw it quickly in the water before he tossed it, from a few feet away, to Jack. "Something like that?" He asked while he began hammering a new one. It looked almost identical to the nail Jack had shown; the only difference was the color.

[Micah Judaeah]

Jacqueline

"Looks perfect" she smiled as she studied the nail. "How long 'ave ya been in Valton? It ain't lookin' like yer forge's been used much."

[xx_Jess_xx]

Alguidar, Barracks/Blacksmith, Evening

The guard was apparently trying to comfort the farmer but without much success.

"There has to be a reason!" Said Alguidar, raising his voice. "Aguaar was not a fighter. He was unarmed. They could have just taken the gold. But no. They butchered him."

A few seconds of silence passed as he looked at the stubborn lantern that wouldn't light up. The answers weren't all that satisfying but at least he knew that the bandits weren't out there any longer, preying on the civilians. He considered trying to get to them. Even trying to kill them. If he could just get a hold of a weapon, he could pay the guard to be alone with them and...

He quickly dismissed those crazy thoughts. Distant desires that lingered that he probably couldn't put to practice, even if he had the perfect opportunity. He was tired. The guard made another attempt to grab the gold and this time, Alguidar didn't do anything to prevent that from happening. He must be desperate. Guard pay must be terrible. He thought as he stood back up.

"I trust the Jarl will make the right choice. Thank you for the information." He said as he started walking along the wooden walkway that led to the blacksmith, doing his best to get this issue behind his back. He relished on the idea that his farm was at least, safer now. This suddenly reminded him that Roymund was probably back at the farm, dealing with that nasty disease. He should head back there soon.

He could hear Gorbad's hammer clashing against iron. Jacqueline was still there. He approached the two and noticed the Orc was working on some nails, so the business with the knife must be dealt with.

"So, we'll pick up the knife tomorrow, heh?"

[Princess Johnson]

Danus Maximus. Helas Folly. Evening

I rarely ever buy people drinks. I only did that because I see potential in this mercenary. Now I couldn't think of any other assignment so I guess I will dismiss him after the meal and drinks.

"Ateuis! Get a bottle of Nordic mead for Titus here, now for me I would like some Nordic mead, two honeybrew mead, and some Argonian ale. Never tried it before. And get some drinks for yourself and the other men. Oh before you leave do any of you want dinner?"

I was asking everyoned that question. Usually this inn serves fine food.