Fandom Skyrim Factions RP

[AlbaGuBrath]

Moving through the marketplace and watching the people go about their lives, Saorat felt that, for a moment, she could forget all about the war. Whiterun had never taken a strong side during the conflict, the Jarl preferring to keep his people out of it, and even now it showed. It was peaceful - a welcome change from the previous months of being a fugitive. It would be easy to stay here and forget all about the rumors and half-hopes that had carried her here, to accept their loss and move on. But she couldn’t forget, not while there was a chance. They’d made a promise, an oath to keep searching and never give up, and if they were still there, she would be too.

And so, taking a deep breath before plunging into the bustling crush of people, Saorat began another day of searching, asking, and listening for… anything, really. She’d thought they she was close a few weeks ago in Windhelm, but the trail ran cold and it soon became apparent that it was too dangerous to stay any longer. Backtracking south had yielded frustratingly little, not to mention the disappearance of the other former soldiers who had been scouting the area, but now there was something. Not much, just an idea and a risky one at that, but it could maybe make a difference. She just needed more information.

Fralia Gray-Mane did not have that information. The smile on Saorat’s face was growing strained as the woman talked to her about her son, feeling uncomfortable at being pinned in one place while the elder’s animated gestures drew attention to them both, but she just nodded politely as the story continued. Since the artifact she was looking for was a sword, Saorat reasoned, Eorland seemed like a good place to start asking about it. But if he knew anything, he was as taciturn as ever, so now she was here. But the friendly old woman, though apparently more willing to speak with her, had said nothing related to her search. She was glancing around for some inspiration on how to escape without causing offence when she thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar face disappearing around a building. A familiar, furry face.

One story was just coming to a close and another about to start when Saorat finally managed to break in.
“I’m very pleased to hear that your son is doing well, ma’am, really I am. He’s a brave man and I know you’re surely proud of him. But I’ll have to hear your stories another time, I have someone to find.”
A broad smile spread across the older woman’s face and she nodded benignly, shooing her former audience away.
“Ahh, right. Go on now, and good luck! Bring him back safely too…”
Well, that’s not exactly what I meant… Saorat thought as she hurried away, but Fralia wasn’t too far off. If this idea worked, perhaps they could soon be bringing their king safely to his home…

Carefully trying to avoid looking suspicious, she hid herself in the crowd and trailed behind the stranger, watching carefully. She was sure it was the same Khajiit - it wasn’t like they were all that common here anyway - but she needed to confirm that they weren’t still there. A shiver passed through her spine as she remembered the two elves who had been nearby in Windhelm, especially the woman with frightening eyes, who made it impossible for her to get close enough to get any information. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, there’d been vampires. The eccentric Khajiit seemed to know something, but it hadn’t been worth the risk. Now, though, those dangers were nowhere to be seen. She could do it. It would be alright.

She took another steadying breath.
Alright… Here goes...
She quickened her pace until she drew up just behind the Khajiit and cleared her throat.
“Wait…” she started, trying to get his attention, “I know you!”
Saorat lifted her face, shadowed under a grey-green cowl, and her whiskers twitched with humor as she forced an awkward grin at the other.
“You’re the Thane with a towel on his head! What brings you to this lonely city?”

0stinato

 

[0stinato]

"No, I don't have potions to control lycanthropy. I don't have any sort of that. How exactly would you have me make that? The only way I can see is to isolate whatever it is the blood that triggers a transformation, and work backwards from there. So unless you have a sufferer of that curse who wouldn't mind giving me perhaps... three pints of his blood, and five-thousand gold, I'll see what I can do. Otherwise, there is no point in my trying to help you. No one will help you unless you give them that much. The way to avoid werewolf transformations is just to not be a werewolf."

Kumiko Tora felt his lips had pursed in a dissatisfied pout. The Khajiit tried weakly one more time to ask the man in Arcadia's Cauldron. He gave the same answer, a "no," followed by a string of reasons why Kumiko, for bringing it up, was a fool.

Upon entering the alchemical shop, Kumiko had turned to the store's owner Arcadia to ask if she had such thing as a potion to control werewolf transformations. She had looked at him oddly and asked why, a perfectly reasonable question by a perfectly intelligent woman. Kumiko had dithered for a second, then spun a story about the Ring of Hircine being on the finger of a friend of his. That is, the Ring had its curse still embedded in it. Arcadia, upon hearing about the Daedric prince, immediately forbade any further questioning on the matter.

Behind Kumiko, and previously stood at the alchemy station, was a tall but fat Imperial with a fierce expression and an even fiercer nose. While Kumiko had been talking, he had evidently swung round from his post. His gloves had a faint glow to them, as he held the pestle in a fist. He then began asking Kumiko not of the involvement of a Daedric Prince, but rather why he thought such a potion existed. Kumiko, who had only a small grasp of alchemy - he rather preferred chasing some of the ingredients to actually doing anything with them - felt rather weak under the verbal onslaught.

"Alright, fine, fine, look, it doesn't matter, I guess I'll try to have my friend get rid of the ring," he said. "I didn't mean to annoy you, uh... or insult you Arcadia. I'll take my leave."

"Don't go bothering alchemists again with your Oblivion problems," the man threatened.

Kumiko hurried from the shop with a manic grin spreading in his muzzle. Facing any angry face on a human was much funnier than facing an angry face on a fellow Khajiit or Argonian. The latter two, to Kumiko, presented such a strong ability for feral aggression that he didn't feel safe facing off against them. But anyone with a flesh-face he was much more comfortable around... unless, of course, they were a known lycanthrope. Werewolves, werebears, wereboars, sometimes it was hard to tell a controlled lycanthrope from a non-controlled one...

Kumiko put his hands behind his back and decided instead he would try the temple. Perhaps Danica would know more about preventing unwanted transformations than the shopkeeper and her unfriendly patron.

He was going up the stairs when he felt something wasn't quite right. His tail hair was sticking on end. As if he'd been shuffling around on his carpet in Riften. He went to the top of the stairs for a good look behind him, but, before he could turn all the way around he heard--

"Wait, I know you."

It was a feminine voice, but the worlds instilled a reflex in Kumiko and he flinched away. Arrest! That was what his mind yelled. And what had he done wrong, he wondered. He didn't remember getting the guards after him.

But the person who stood near him was no guard - it was a Khajiit. And she was grinning at him.

Her colouring sparked a thought within Kumiko. A Khajiit was better than any other race at remembering another Khajiit, and this one's face conjured memories of battle, of talent and of cold.

"I... am the Thane with the towel on his head," Kumiko replied without his brain saying it was okay, and his hand raised to stupidly point at the very towel that was on his very head. His brain had not okayed that either. "I... Windhelm. Of course, hang on. I recall - you helped me in the vampire attack and then..." he lowered his voice a little here, "there was the Ulfric plan... I didn't see you after I fled the city, I had to get out of the way of the vampires. I couldn't really risk it. I am glad to see you are still alive... as for what brings me here, uh, it's not an Ambassadorial trip this time, it's more I came to see the Companions, you know. I might have mentioned, Farkas is my mans."

Kumiko felt he was being oddly open with the Khajiit. Her name was slowly surfacing in his memory. Saorat.

"I'm Kumiko, by the way, if you forgot. Ambassador for Riften, definitely not a Vampire, all that," he gave her a small bow. "So how is your cause? Any news of... well, you know who?"

AlbaGuBrath

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat stifled a laugh at the Khajiit’s baffled response, but managed to keep it mostly under control, though a low, raspy chuckle still lingered underneath her words.
“Good to meet you, Kumiko.” she replied formally, returning the bow, “I am pleased you made it out safely and that your… friends are well.”

She shifted a little uncomfortably at the mention of the Companions, unhappy with being reminded how close they were. Most seemed like decent enough people, if a little battle-hungry (a common Nord trait), but there was something about them that made her uneasy. They seemed to have a feral quality to them, and their eyes felt dangerously predatory. Unconsciously, she glanced in the direction of Jorvaskr, half-fearing that something would be coming out of the mead hall even now. There was nothing but one or two warriors standing outside, looking completely normal. A relieved sigh filtered out through her teeth, though it did little to comfort her, and her brow creased slightly. She had already approached a self-proclaimed vampire today in the interests of her mission, she hoped she wouldn't have to encounter any of his wild-eyed warrior friends too…

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Saorat turned her attention back to Kumiko. He was right for watching his words here; although the crowd helped them stay out of sight, it would also keep eavesdroppers out of theirs. With an effort, she switched her gaze from slightly off to one side to straight between the other's eyes, as though willing her thoughts to transverse the space between their minds.
“The old farmhouse was destroyed during the last attack, so our friends have had to relocate. Unfortunately, in the hurry, there was no chance to send word of their destination or other plans. I came here to their meeting place, but none of their messengers met me. Until they get settled again, I fear their family will just have to hope for the best...”
Her voice trailed off and she gave a single, hopeless shrug. But in the next moment, the fiercely determined light had re-entered her eyes.

“But I did hear of something, an heirloom, that will be of great value to them if it can be returned! With it, they can restore their legitimacy and enjoy again the honors of their fathers, and it might be able to bring them to a new home…”
She started to describe how she’d heard about the ‘heirloom’, but hesitated. Even under the veil of a story about farmers, there was still the risk of someone piecing it together. She glanced around them again, and continued with a slight strain.
“But, uh… I'm sure you're travelled far, my friend. There is a fire just outside; shall you come for a meal and hot drink?”

0stinato

 

[0stinato]

With the story his fellow Khajiit was telling, Kumiko was reminded of why he had felt so strongly for her as he had. It was the fire in her. Burning somewhere between her heart and liver, it heated the ire that threatened to dampen her fur and pull her down into an abyss. If such thing as a rumour would cause her heart to beat as strongly as if she were on a hunt, then it was a heart to be trusted by Kumiko's own. He reminded himself that a 'hunt' to her mightn't mean the same thing as a 'hunt' to him. It meant differently to his Farkas too, as it meant differently to his Nord friend Erik in Rorikstead. Her hunt existed on the plains of nobility, morality and the future. The Companions hunted for glory and for hunting's sake. Erik didn't tend to hunt past the game season. Kumiko hunted because he had to hunt, because the blood compelled him, because the snarling destroyer inside him could be quelled only by the supping of innocent blood.

The story of the heirloom was left vague, and Kumiko opened his mouth to ask her more when she bid him outside the city walls. He looked away from her for a moment, then over his shoulder at Jorrvaskr. In a moment, he weighed the options. He decided Saorat's invitation was more pressing. He would have to send a letter to Farkas and apologise, and hope that Farkas' brother wouldn't begin turning Farkas' little mind against him.

"Take me where you have your camp set up," he said, with a serious tone beneath his jovial voice. "It sounds as if there is much at stake, including lives. I'd be no worthy citizen if I let that go on without trying to make good a situation I had a hand in a time ago."

He began to walk with her and glanced briefly at Arcadia's Cauldron, although nothing amazing happened when he did. No man came hurtling out to berate him again, which Kumiko found sort of sad - it was fun while it lasted. The man was legitimately angry at him for simply asking a question.

"So... I wonder what you eat all the way out here. If it wasn't a stupid idea, I'd recommend we go after a mammoth or two but, as I said, it's a stupid idea. I suppose there are elks now and again, or, if not, perhaps kill a stable horse and hope no one sees us? Although that's probably an equally stupid idea because then the stablehands get upset, and also you kill an innocent horse that wasn't even a challenge... at least with mammoths they could trample you to mush. I never feel so sorry when I end up killing one of them."

Kumiko kept rambling as they walked. It was practically medical - he had to ramble or else he would not let off enough steam while his mind worked overtime like Dwemer mechanisms to work out a plan of action. He could not ask Saorat a thing while they were in the city and within earshot of guard, citizen and working man, so the rambling would have to do until he could. But it was impurrative (imperative) he got the information so he could lend his own strategic brain to a plan. Where would the heirloom be? Best Kumiko could theorise, there would be problems in obtaining it - heirlooms always presented problems.

He walked with Saorat and spoke a few times of "perhaps eating just vegetables? But then again, hunting vegetables isn't hard, you just sneak up with a stone and bop it on the head. It's not hard at all," while the cogs of his mind twisted slowly.

AlbaGuBrath

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

“You sneak up on… vegetables. And… bop them on the head…”
Saorat tilted her head to one side and gave Kumiko a baffled stare.
“But… they don't even have heads…”
It occurred to her that that wasn't even the most concerning thing he'd just said, but eventually just gave up trying to understand and led the way back with a shake of her head. As they walked and all of the Khajiit’s thoughts spilled straight out of his mouth, she couldn't help but wonder...
What have I gotten myself into?

A short while later, they approached a little shelter nestled into a dip of the earth, providing a bit of respite from the wind. A half-overturned bag of supplies spilled out next to a simple tent, faced to spot approaching strangers, and a few crafting tools were set out on the ground next to their projects.
“Well, here it is.” she indicated the small camp with a nod and shrugged. “It’s not as nice as the inn, but it's portable. And, uh… you don't get into fistfights as often. Hopefully.”
She rubbed her neck and chuckled nervously, then strode straight over to the bag and started rummaging through.
“Oh, uh… There's venison stew in the pot.” she added, reaching around to point without turning, “And I have some leaves to brew some tea, but no honey, I'm afraid. But this…”

A broad grin spread across Saorat’s face and she bustled over to Kumiko, clutching a wrinkled piece of paper as though it was some great and precious treasure. Sitting down on the ground, she smoothed it out to reveal a rough map of the region with several places circled or marked out. A few lines of verse were copied along the side in her careful blocked print and she tapped them with one paw.
“This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I found it in a book in an old shack when I took shelter there during a storm. It turned out that it wasn't abandoned like I thought it was and the occupant chased me out before I could finish reading, but from what I saw… It told about a legendary weapon that, if wielded by Skyrim’s true king, would make the bearer unkillable on the battlefield…”
Her eyes lit up and her paws shook with excitement.
“So, you see… If this is real… It could change everything! There would be no question of the kingship, it would be obvious for all to see. And then our brothers and sisters would know it was safe for them. They could come back, and we would be safe and free again!”

She waited a moment to let the revelation sink into Kumiko’s mind, watching to gauge his reaction while her own giddy expression remained plastered on her face. It was surely an interesting idea, at least, hopefully enough to catch someone's curiosity and encourage them to help. With an uncomfortable cough, she began again.
“But, uh… there's a problem. I've been looking all over and I have no idea where it might be. And even if I did, there's no way anyone could get out of those caves alive by themselves. But, with the way this conflict has been going, most of our old friends are gone or in hiding. This find could maybe even end this conflict, but…”
She trailed off and forced a sheepish grin at the other Khajiit, ears twitching uncomfortably.
“I… need help.”

0stinato

 

[0stinato]

The camp was nothing beautiful, but it told Kumiko a multitude of things. Saorat had her isolation. Whether it was out of choice or necessity, Kumiko wasn't sure. It was true he was more disconnected from the Khajiit culture than he had been since his life in Skyrim had become a permanence in his life. His dreams weren't of the warm sands of Elsweyr but of the thrill of chasing prey through the snow and tall trees of the mountains. Perhaps he simply had grown a Nord heart while Saorat, in her camp, was staying closer to the fur of their brethren.

Kumiko felt his eye wandering to the pot, but didn't acknowledge it more than that. The Khajiit's tone meant something else. So he knelt down with her and put his attention on the map. Her story about it was compelling - a book, an abandoned-- no, not-abandoned shack, and a map, a thousand mysteries or more present in its creases, hidden in the pulp of the parchment.

At the news of the unkillable warrior, the true high king, Kumiko frowned. If that was so, then it must be that the high king would have threads of his life in connection with the Divines. Or, if not the Divines, then something. Something that was buried deep in the soil of Skyrim, even if the name had been lost. Kumiko's mind narrowed this down: to be unkillable meant the high king had dealings, in some capacity with either the Divines or... the All-Maker. He knew much less about the All-Maker than he did about the Divines. But both were interwoven into Skyrim's very soil... it was just that the All-Maker was buried deeper. The All-Maker was acknowledged on Solstheim, but never in Skyim.

Kumiko looked into the eyes of his fellow Khajiit. the point of her search was sound. But the search itself was clearly unstarted and untried. On top of that, it was just her. No wonder she seemed so discouraged.

"You really want to see Skyrim united again," he observed. Then he was quiet for a few moments while he looked down at the map. this was the piece of evidence she had... so... "If we must make a start, we must start there," he tapped the map, "but I don't mean there on the map, I mean the map itself. You found this somewhere, in a certain book in a certain shack occupied by a certain person. If that's what you have found, then the only logical thing to do is to start back where you started."

"You again?"

Kumiko twisted around to see the same Imperial who was in Arcadia's Cauldron.

"At least you're living outside the city," the Imperial said. "You can't break into my house from out here. Or ask me stupid questions about lycanthropy."

Kumiko blinked. "Can I ask you a stupid question about a legendary weapon that would tell everyone conclusively who the High King of Skyrim is?"

"N..." the Imperial glanced away for a half-second and Kumiko stared round at Saorat. "I'm an alchemist, why would I know that?"

"Maybe something," Kumiko said, more to Saorat than to the Imperial. "Maybe something?"

AlbaGuBrath (why are we tagging each other when we're the only ones here, are we mad???)

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat watched the Khajiit’s face out of the corner of her eye as he pondered the map. He’d fallen silent for a little while, so there must have been something he was concentrating on… It was a shot in the dark, she knew, but it was at least a chance. And if Kumiko had travelled as much as she had, instead of being tied to one place like many of the farmers, it was possible that he might have heard something one of her other contacts had missed. At the very least, it was worth a try.

"You really want to see Skyrim united again."
At the other’s observation, Saorat felt tears spring to her eyes as a mixture of grief and hope, pride and shame exploded in her heart and closed around her throat. She blinked rapidly and looked away. It took a few moments before she was able to force out a whisper.
“It… is my home. And they… we… need our king back. We can’t live like this... ”

Whether the whisper was heard or not, though, her attention was soon back on the map and the plan. Her brow furrowed at the mention of going back to the shack and she spoke doubtfully.
“He wasn’t too happy about me being there the first time, so I doubt he’d be too pleased about more strangers tromping into his dwelling… Though, I should probably return this…”
She gestured to the map and grimaced a bit.
“It, uh… Isn’t actually mine. It fell out of the book I was reading when he threw it at me, and it was raining, so I couldn’t just leave it there… But we could make a copy and return the original, and maybe leave a couple coins for his trouble…”
She raised a paw in the air as she examined the map carefully, then swept it along a small circle halfway between between Whiterun and Riften.
“It was dark at the time, so I didn’t see many landmarks, but I believe I found the shack in this area south of the mountain. I was trying to find a friend in Riften, but no luck and I had to retreat back west. I was looking for one of the old camps in the area, but with the rain, I eventually gave up and tried the old building. Next morning, I went around the mountain, found my way to Riverwood, and set up here near the city. It’s been… a few days? Maybe a week. Do you think we could make it back before the scholar noticed…”

At that moment, a new voice interrupted her thoughts and Saorat twisted around to find its source, simultaneously concealing the map back in the pack. When she saw his face, her fur began to bristle and the beginnings of a snarl threatened to bare her teeth. An Imperial… The traitorous enemy that had sold her people… The cowards…
Anger gnawed at her stomach, coupled with shame and frustration that there was nothing she could do about it (yet), and she trembled as she fought to keep from lashing out at the stranger. But as she stared at him, she began to see something else. An Imperial, yes… But not a soldier. Or probably not, at least not for some years. He was a little too old, and a bit out of shape. Maybe not even from Cyrodill, by his voice. If he was one of Skyrim’s people… Then this was for him as well. She relaxed slightly as the mists faded from her eyes, though she still kept a wary distance as she watched the conversation unfold.

The stranger’s voice was unkind and was directed towards Kumiko, which rubbed her fur the wrong way, but he didn’t seem to care too much. There was obviously some kind of history between them, and apparently not pleasant, so Saorat wondered why the Imperial had apparently gone out of his way to ridicule someone he clearly didn’t like. She was even more baffled when Kumiko decided to ask this clearly unfriendly and possibly hostile passerby a pointed question about their mission. What was wrong with him? Was he trying to get them killed? For the second time that morning, Saorat questioned the wisdom of tracking down the strange Khajiit.

But, there was no going back now. Even if she grabbed the pack and ran for the hills, it wouldn’t make either of them forget what had been said or keep Kumiko from sharing what he knew. And, as unlikely as it seemed, he might know this stranger to be a potentially helpful friend to them. He didn’t seem like one, but maybe she would be surprised. At the very least, the stranger might be more discreet than her new friend, which could certainly be helpful in their situation.

Giving Kumiko a glance that said “You’d better know what you’re doing…” Saorat took a steadying breath and forced a hopefully-friendly smile at the stranger.
“Well, an alchemist is presumably acquainted with other areas of study, and spends time travelling to gather ingredients. Perhaps he might of heard stories of such a thing? Perhaps… a poem?”

 

[0stinato]

Kumiko had long since resigned himself as a Skyrim-dweller: he preferred the cold but beautiful landscapes of the land to the heat of Elsweyr. The travelling caravans of his brethren who spoke of warm sands and light skies were lost on him, though as they made their peace with the cold, Kumiko dwelt in it. Knowing Saorat felt the same, he felt a connection reach out to join her.

As a result, when she glanced at him, with a scolding mixture of estranged distrust and hope, he couldn't help but grin. He looked back to the Imperial as Saorat questioned him. The grin remained.

The Imperial paused again. In his face, it seemed as if a huge regret was slowly unhatching in his mind.

"Please answer her," Kumiko implored him. "She is very worthy of having an answer. Or I will pounce on you."

He was playing the bad cop to Saorat's good. He'd seen a couple of guards do it in Solitude. A very organised way of dealing with a problem.

The Imperial physically relented. His shoulders lost their defences, and he shook his head, then looked to Saorat. "I spent my time at the College," he said, "when the war was going on. No one up there cared about it. The only thing that made their... attentions perk up was when, one month, there was mention of a weapon. The librarian found... something. I don't know if it is the... poem you mean but the college talked about it for a month, but it was nothing more than that at that point. That's the problem with the college, everything's theory, no one actually does anything, that's why I left. For example, there was a small expedition to Solstheim to speak to a staff-maker there about the properties of magic weapons. He seemed interested in it just for its property, but didn't take it seriously. So no conclusion was reached and so the college just... let it go. But... I'm just an alchemist now. My time there's over. That was years ago," the defensive tone was returning. "By the looks of it, neither of you two know anything about the intricacies of magic either."

He proceeded to mutter a curse directed at the two under his breath but Kumiko ignored it.

"Hey hey, wait, why didn't the rest of Skyrim know about it then? If the College did?"

"No one likes the College," the Imperial shot back, "and the College doesn't like Skyrim."

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat’s whiskers twitched at the image of the Khajiit pouncing upon the older man, then peeking under his paws to see whether he was still there.
A valiant effort, my friend… But what, may I ask, did you plan on doing with him after you pounced?
She didn't think he’d thought that far ahead, doubted he planned much in advance at any point so far, but the absurdity of it started to thaw a little of the tension that had kept her previously immobile. For a moment, she wanted to laugh. It was a good feeling.

But almost as soon as her wariness began to relax, it sprang back again at the mention of the College. A shiver tickled the back of her neck as overheard whispers and rumors flooded into her mind. Besides the cultural distrust of magic, she had also heard of the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, of dabbling in the dark arts… Even, most terrifying of all, that they had sent the entire city crumbling into the icy sea… Even now, it was said, few people lived there, and those that did held dark secrets. That was long ago, of course, but still she’d only ever heard its name spoken in subdued whispers filled with dread. Winterhold…

There was, however, one thing the stranger said that caused her ears to perk up. He mentioned… a librarian… The image of a room with shelves of books, maybe even four or five of them, came to her mind, and she saw herself sitting among them and carefully wrestling out their new-found mysteries. Ever since Fira taught her the process of understanding their contents, she’d developed an insatiable appetite for the stories, histories, and locations hidden inside the leather-bound tomes. But with the war and her situation, she’d only had access to a few of them. But if they visited this librarian…
Despite her apprehension and reserve around strangers, a grin spread itself across her face at the vision and, instead of retorting that if the College didn’t care about Skyrim they didn’t need their help anyway, she eagerly stepped forward with a question of her own. Or, rather, a stream of them.
“What was it called? And who was the staff-maker? Can we find him? What about….”

As more questions and ideas whirled around in her mind, Saorat trailed off and forced herself to concentrate on one thing at a time, taking a step back again into the detached safety of reserve. She glanced back at Kumiko and suggested hesitantly, hopefully out of earshot of the stranger,
“There’s still the first… question to answer, in the south, but perhaps if there are more questions, perhaps something could be found in one of those books? That is, if....”
She gave the Imperial a wary half-glance and lowered her voice further.
“If… it’s safe… Can we trust him?”

 

[0stinato]

Saorat was going through what Kumiko could only term 'skin convulsions.' Others might call it 'shivering' but it was slightly too warm for her to be shivering. He glanced at her, but failed to read her expression, having not ever felt the emotions she was currently wading through. He looked at the Imperial, who did seem to recognise her emotions, and put on a defensive front as a result.

But then Saorat was in front of him and taking the reins. Kumiko resigned himself at that point to stare at the Imperial as if he was prey. Just to stop the man from running. And what prey he might make... the plumpness of his neck must hide red veins of such prosperity. The red blood Kumiko had seen spilled countless times.

He had a lopsided, slightly hungry grin on his face. But he didn't need to have it - the Imperial was occupied answering Saorat's questions.

"The... poem... was... if I am remembering this right... "And the Blade Sand Melodious." The line - that line - was repeated in every stanza. Hence it's what it was called. I didn't take much notice, I was busy learning Alteration and Alchemy at that point. And the Staff-maker on Solstheim, he's called Neloth. He's still in Tel Mithryn, certainly. We have a trade deal of sorts. He has his apprentice come to the mainland via Windhelm with parcels of exclusive ingredients from Solstheim for me, and in return I supply Neloth with experimental potions. Sometimes you need odd poisons to fend off the deadlands of Solstheim..."

"See, are you sure you don't have any potions to suppress lycanthropy?" Kumiko asked.

"I told you! Five thousand septims and many pints of the sufferers blood, and I'll see what I can do!"

"How about four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine?"

The Imperial glared. Kumiko allowed himself to be taken aside by Saorat as he did.

"I think... perhaps you're right. We don't yet know enough to go poking around in somewhere like the college... It's a hard slog to get up there too. We should only go when we're ready. So I think you're right, it's worth gathering all the information we can down here first. And him... well... I don't think we've given away anything he doesn't already know. He said the college doesn't care about Skyrim and Skyrim doesn't care about the college. I don't reckon he has anyone to tell."

Kumiko looked back, "Is it hard to get into the college?"

Something in the Imperial's face caught. It was as if his expression was stuck. But he eventually nodded stiffly. "Yes. Yes, it is."

Kumiko tutted. "We should take care of business here. You're right," he said, to Saorat.

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

“And the Blade Sang Melodious…”
Saorat repeated the name slowly, turning it around in her memory and searching for any possible connections. She stared at the Imperial intently as he spoke, trying to make sure all the names stayed in her mind, even though some of them were unfamiliar. Neloth and Tel Mithryn? Who, and what, were they? And Solstheim. That was a name she’d heard before from the sailors in Windhelm, but they knew little of it. There were rumors surrounding it connected with legends of dragons, but Saorat dismissed them. Although she shared certain beliefs with her Nordic neighbors, she privately considered those tales to be mere myths. But, here she was potentially chasing a myth now, she mused. Perhaps there might be something to the old stories, after all.

Her heart ached at the mention of Windhelm and briefly considered asking the stranger for news, but decided against it. As much as she missed her friends and worried about her neighbors’ safety, she was still reluctant to have them connected to her, just in case she found trouble. It was probably just foolish paranoia, but this stranger made her antsy. She glanced at Kumiko chatting eagerly with him and considered for a moment. He seemed comfortable enough, and surely if there was danger there, he would smell it too. But then, he was also the one asking about lycanthropy potions in the middle of the day.

“But, what do you need… that for? Ahh, never mind, I don’t want to know.”
Saorat shook her head and waved her question away as she rubbed her nose with the other hand. This one might be as mad as Sheggorath, connected to any number of foul and unnatural beasts, and quite possibly lacking any kind of common sense, but he’d agreed to help her, which was more than she could say of others. Trying to make sense of his ramblings was a distraction, and might lead her into things she didn’t want to know. Better to stay focused on the task at hand. At least the strange Khajiit seemed friendly and sincere. Better than nothing, better than scorn.

“Right, we can start immediately.”
She gave him a quick nod, then turned on her heel and immediately began breaking camp with a speed born of much practice. The map was removed from her pack, the name of the poem carefully written on the back, then smoothed out and folded before being placed back inside. A cautious glance backwards reassured her that it didn’t seem that the alchemist had spotted the ‘borrowed’ item, but she wasn’t certain. Maybe he didn’t have anyone to tell, like Kumiko said, but better to be safe regardless.

With that in mind, she heaved her pack onto her shoulders and set her steps headed north, away from where she’d found the shack. They could circle back around after dark when the travelling would be safer with their sharp eyesight. It should be easy enough to lose any unwelcome pursuers by then. Turning back to the pair, she offered a word of thanks to the alchemist, then tilted her head and asked her new companion,
“Ready?”

 

[0stinato]

"There's some things best left in my head," Kumiko advised Saorat when she queried him on the lycanthropy business. But seeing as she dropped the subject so quickly, he was intrigued as to why. When he saw her packing her things, he wanted to help, but knew his paws would not be welcome. He had nothing of note to offer, so stood by dumbly and watched her handling the map. Her attitude towards it, and its creasing, her hands manipulating its form and keeping it secret. Kumiko would have broken the illusion of secrecy she was evidently exuding by looking round sharply to the Imperial, but the man was busy lighting a pipe of smoking leaf. Its tang told Kumiko it wasn't of Skyrim's soil - it seemed dustier, destructive.

When the Imperial looked up, he didn't even register Kumiko's stare. His eyes were on the other khajiit.

So Kumiko joined her.

"I'm ready, sure. I can send a letter back here. Got all my... business on my person."

Kumiko glanced over his shoulder at the alchemist they were leaving behind, but the man was already gone. His brow raised in surprise, but he recognised the man had retreated many feet away, speaking intently with a cart driver. Animated the alchemist even hit the side of the cart with an open hand, at which point the driver relented under the alchemist's unheard onslaught.

It wasn't important.

Kumiko's mind took a moment to switch gears, but when it did, his eyes changed. His back, straight and true, became his grounding, and his eyes kept track of every moment on the moors. "What was the thing that chased you away from the shack? We should work out how to subdue it, if not kill it, before we have another look. It wasn't a sabrecat was it? There's a shack in the badlands south of Windhelm that is some sort of place of pilgrimage for sabrecats."

"And what of food? I imagine you have something on you, but we could make a proper day of this. Do a bit of hunting along the way. Show me how true you can shoot!"

His eyes settled on the sky as he said this, some worry rising. The moons... would it be tonight they would take their toll? Kumiko almost regretted not taking the alchemist up on his offer of three thousand gold and a pint of blood: if it was anything that would prevent a transformation, was it not in Kumiko's husbandly duties to help that be so? His own blood was not stirred by the image of the great rising behemoths far out of Tamriel, but he ached to know whose was.

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

“Good, that will make travelling much easier. Do you need to get anything from the shops first? You could send that letter then if you needed.”
She considered sending a letter herself to Windhelm, to let Moira know she was alright, but shrugged it off. She didn’t even know if she and Agakil were even still in their old home, anyone could be there now. And they knew that she often had to slip in and out without a word; this wasn’t the first time it had happened. But still, she knew it must worry her friends to not have any way of communicating with her. Pushing the worry to the back of her mind, she made a mental note to think about the issue later.

Saorat tilted her head at Kumiko’s suggestion, noting the difference in approach from her own. Faced with a sabrecat, she would have just backed off and left it to its cave, avoiding an engagement with the powerful beast. But, she supposed it could be possible with two hunters instead of one.
“No, it wasn’t a beast, it was a man. At least, I thought it was. Some old scholar, I think, or perhaps a hermit. Maybe somewhat mad. I don’t want to disturb him if we can avoid it; it was his home, after all. I certainly wouldn’t want a couple strangers coming in and pillaging through my things. He had a right to be angry.”

“Yes, I have food, and the land is bountiful yet. It’s a good season for travelling. But I’d prefer to save the dried food for lean times, or when it’s too dangerous to hunt or forage. Usually I just keep an eye out as I walk to see what flushes out or happens to be grazing nearby. And after dark, many prey animals are starting to sleep.”
A wild grin started to spread across her face, showing her teeth and flashing in her eyes, at the talk of hunting. It was an exciting pursuit, but difficult to do solo. Typically, if she didn’t manage to bring down a beast in the first shot and before it bolted, the hunt was lost. As swift as she was and trained to endure, she simply couldn’t match the beasts designed for that purpose. But with a companion, skill and cunning gained greater power. They would want to discuss a strategy at some point soon.

But first, there was a challenge. Immediately after the words left his mouth, Saorat reached for her bow and quickly notched an arrow, still grinning madly.
“Alright, then, pick a target! It’ll be good practice.”
Playful mischief danced across her features as she added a final remark.
“Your turn next.”

 

[0stinato]

(I rolled a 14 on my d20: I will add a 2 to that since Archery is a major skill, but it is not practiced as much as sneak and one-handed, for a total of 16.)

"I will wave down a courier next time I need a little letter delivered, don't worry. And with this man, what was his deal? Did he just live alone? I assume he wasn't using the map for anything, you didn't recognise him did you?"

With his bow prepared, shining string taut and full of trepidation between his fingers, Kumiko broke from their path after asking the questions of Saorat, looking for the target she wished him to find. He avoided stepping or splashing in the thin streams, stepped lightly across wet rock, avoiding what he identified as a nest of mudcrabs on his right. It was not the ideal time of day for sneaking, but he trod as though it was darkness. And just well it was day: the elk kept to shelter during the night.

He was half inclined to run along the moor and fling his arrow at the backside of a mammoth, but decided that wouldn't pose much of a challenge between the two khajiit unless it was a question of who could run away the fastest. That challenge Kumiko was certain he would lose, due to his armour's weight versus Saorat's comparative light armour. There wouldn't be much of a challenge of killing the mammoth first, not if they were both spiralling through the air towards Whiterun.

He grinned at the thought, with a sideways look to Saorat, before raising his bow from his crouched position and letting an arrow pierce the air. Its arc was grace and shimmering accuracy all at once: the generously proportioned stag Kumiko had selected soon had an arrow in its hide. It reacted, scattering its companions and twisting in pain as Kumiko pointed at it.

"That one," he said. "And it's a strong start for me!"

This hunting style was one he had practically abandoned now. He almost never hunted and when he did it was never for the blood or flesh of elk. He prowled out of the sunlight and subdued his prey. A graceful and subtle attack. And what of Farkas? Well, faced with an elk, he'd rend it. An elk would fall dead before the lupine gaze of that Companion.

"Whoever kills chooses the next target!"