Fandom The Second Rebellion (Skyrim)

[0stinato]

He'd have made it back to the Hall sooner, but he got distracted. He'd been kicking a loose pebble around, clanging off the metal of the boot toe, when he'd kicked it a bit too vigorously. It skittered across the cobbles and into the wall, so, naturally, Kumiko's eyes followed it. Unfortunately, a guard had walked past a few seconds earlier, equipped with flaming torch in hand. The light, almost blindingly bright compared to the dark surroundings he'd got used to, was like some sort of heavenly form. As if he'd been lassoed, Kumiko couldn't help but follow the torch. Where was it going. Whose heavenly body would he be presented with. Would he once again get to fondle a statue.


As his eyes got used to the brightness of the torch, which happened fairly soon, he became less and less wilful to follow it. As he gradually regained his senses, he realised he had tears carving cracks through his fur. Had he not blinked? Had the torch's allure been that powerful?


He had to stop doing that.


Cursing his natural instincts, and partially blaming them too, Kumi found himself in the market square. The guard had stopped walking and was positioning himself in front of the White Phial. Nighttime market guard. There was nothing wrong with that. And the market was a nice enough detour from his original destination. But there was just one itsy bitsy problem.


He had no idea where in Oblivion he was in this Godsforsaken city. Where was the market in relation to the front gates? Did he need to go West, or North, or what? Or East? Or even South? Though, by the looks of it, the actual city wall was only a few feet away. He scowled; any instinct of homing in his brain was completely turned around now. The light had distracted him to the extent where he wasn't even sure which stony path he'd walked down to get here.


"Oi, citizen!"


Oh, the guard. With narrowed eyes, Kumiko turned to him, "Yes," he said, his word more of a statement than a question.


"The market's shut until eight AM. Be on your way."


"Which would be...?" Kumiko shrugged at him. "Which way's the way I need to go? Like, city-gate wise. Where's that? Where're the gates? Am I in the Grey Quarter?"


Instead of electing to answer any of Kumiko's numerous, waffling questions, the guard tilted his head. Kumiko had no idea what the guard was doing, as his face was hidden by the uniform helmet. All he could do was stand there helplessly as the guard stared him down.


"Khajiit, eh. Heard there's been a lot of them around recently. I was wondering why it stunk of fur and hairballs. Should tell the guards at the gate to keep your lot out. Don't need you skulking around the market at night, stealing good Nords' supplies," he paused and looked around his surroundings slowly, before bringing his gaze back to Kumiko. "Had to check you're not a stupid distraction so your harebrained brethren can rob us blind."


Kumiko couldn't think of anything clever to say back to any of that. Up until now, the guards he'd seen hadn't really made a move against him. Even the ones up at the Palace of Kings, they'd been courteous enough to listen as he explained who he was. Up until now, he was sure that Windhelm's attitude had improved. Though, maybe this one guard was the anomaly. If he wanted to be optimistic. But, given the amount of draft he was getting up the robes, he wasn't too sure he'd be very optimistic for a while.


"Just... tell me where the gates are and I'll leave you alone. You're entitled to your own prejudices..."


"Straight down that path, cat. Make sure you're out or I'll get you out myself."


Kumiko left. In a much worse mood and much colder. He'd been looking forward to going back to Candlehearth Hall and having a little warm-up by the fire before turning in, maybe talking to the bard. Get her to sing something. It'd have been a nice night. But now, most of the patrons would've gone to bed, all he wanted to do was chew something. Well, that little chair by the door in his room was doing very little. He'd find a use for it.


((Also, recently discovered that Kumiko is a girls' name so... bravo on that.))

 

[Jellyon]

Still no sign of her.


He rubbed his face out of disbelieve. Where the hell could she wandered off to? Drenmare thought of Saorat as a child running off to god knows where. It was a challange by itself to keep her in one place for more than a minute. He regretted not making a location where they could meet up. Even in a city as big as Windhelm it was sure enough a genius idea. He sighed in exhaustion. Shifting his eyes now upward, he noticed that nightfall started to comsume the once blue coloured sky. It was getting late. Looking back down he saw that people were scattering from the streets like rats in a sewer, returning back into their homes and hoveles to conclude the day. While observing, he felt the much need to sit next to a glowing fire with a bottle of mead in hand. Yes, thats how he wanted to go. Then it was settled, he would continue the search tomorrow.


As he made way to the Candlehearth hall something peculiar caught his eye. While it was hard to see through the black night, he could make out the shadows of two figures. Just being out of range, not involving the conversation himself, he listened in. From what he could hear, it sounded like a small confrontation. Both male for sure. Drenmare frowned with the realisation that Saorat was neither here. However it was intresting to continue. Other than knowing that one of the figures was a Khajiit, it was the typical Nord hate crime. Unlike most Nords, Drenmare never had a problem with the other races. Sure they seemed off at times, but it was all from the stress feed from the war. Of course, Drenmare felt no need to intervene. After the exchange, Drenmare watched as one of the dark figures headed towards the hall where the lights cleared his hidden identity. The Thane of Riften. He never met the man personally, but he seemed like a nice fellow. Drenmare ignored the politics of Skyrim. In his mind, it was borning and tedious. The adrenaline of battle was more of his style. When the Thane entered the hall Drenmare followed swiftly behind.


The warm fire's inside was all the more inviting.


(Going to make this one short. One more day before I head home with good internet.)

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat felt a wave of relief at the offer of help, as she’d feared the man would be refused aid on account of his race, followed by surprise at the person who gave it. The other woman was a Khajiit, to be sure, or was she? Yes, she had to be Khajiit, but unlike any Saorat had ever seen. She looked like some sort of hybrid, half-Bosmer half-Khajiit. Was that even possible? She’d certainly be a rarity, if so, for Saorat had never seen one in all of Skyrim and couldn’t remember ever seeing one in Elswyr. Granted, she didn’t get out much. But, if the woman was a mixed-blood, she would have a hard road ahead of her. Saorat imagined that she would be trapped between two worlds without really fitting in in either, A bit like herself before she found a place with the Stormcloaks. She suddenly wanted to get to know this unusual stranger and see that she found a place to belong, if she hadn’t already.



But, all that was yet to come. At the moment, they had an injured man that needed tending to. The other woman pulled out a healing potion and poured it into the man’s mouth. /Good idea, that./ Saorat thought to herself /Why didn’t I think of it?/ She supposed she had just been distracted and taken by surprise. Unfortunately, she tended to react from instinct when in a panic rather than rational reason. It was certainly a very dangerous flaw, especially given the current circumstances. She thanked Talos that this little lapse in judgement hadn’t attracted too much attention. After it become obvious that nobody was going to get sick, fight, or die, most of the inn’s inhabitants returned their attention to their own affairs.



Suddenly, the man stood up, cast a spell on himself, and walked away motioning them to follow. Saorat narrowed her eyes suspiciously, her wariness returning now that the crisis was over. The man had recovered surprisingly quickly and without any of the expected weakness, disorientation, or confusion. Had he /really/ been injured, or was this some sort of trap? It /had/ seemed rather convenient that he should suddenly drop at the feet of a stranger, then suddenly insist to see them away from the assembled crowd. But what if he had information? Perhaps he had been faking his injury, but not as a trap. Maybe he knew that they would need to speak privately if he shared any information about the rebellion and this was the best way he knew to ensure that meeting. Not very subtle, but Saorat was hardly one to talk. She had to admit that she certainly was curious, and the thought of learning something to show for their trip to the city was very tempting. But, Drenmare would surely be there at any moment and she had to be ready for him. She also wasn’t entirely sure about the man’s trustworthiness. You could never be too careful.



She hung back and turned to slip back into a corner to wait, but stopped for a moment to speak to the stranger. “I don’t know this fellow, miss…” she whispered into the other woman’s ear “If you decide to speak to him, you might arm yourself. There have been rumors of dangerous folk about.” Technically, Saorat hadn’t been assigned to guard the citizens of Windhelm for a couple years now and would be in serious trouble if she tried to again, but her protective instincts were still there. These people were her family and she had to make sure they were safe.



Speaking of adopted family, where was Drenmare? He was supposed to come to the Inn as soon as he could so they could swap information and come up with a plan. Was he even in the city? With a sigh, she anxiously circled the room a couple more times before heading upstairs. The bard was a friend of theirs and known to be trustworthy. Maybe she knew something. It was worth a try, anyway. She might even have a lead on Ulfric so that she wouldn’t have to make a worthless report. The thought raised her spirits considerably and she had a smile on her face when she came into the room.



“Good evening, ma’am. May I request a song?”
“Certainly! What would you like to hear?”
“Well, now, that’s an interesting question. You know Skyrim’s folksongs have a long and storied history, but they’re not always true to historical events. Let me tell you about a few of them first. Now, Ragnar the Red…”


Saorat grinned mischievously as she noticed a few formerly listening patrons suddenly stand and amble away. They had no interest in listening to somebody recite ‘dusty old facts’ to them, allowing the two to speak in peace. Just to be safe, Saorat opened her bag and pulled out an Amulet of Talos flanked by two pairs of bear claws, the identifying symbol for members of the resistance. She replaced it as quickly as it had been revealed and slipped a few coins into the bard’s hand. Although the room was now empty, Saorat spoke in a whisper.


“The Grizzly was supposed to go on the hunt today, but he hasn’t returned. Are there hunters about?”
“Not yet, but some are coming. Renowned hunters, but foreigners. They may take the cubs as well. If they have a cave somewhere, they’d best get away before the arrows start to fly.”
“But what about the Elder Bear? He’s a fierce fighter; he can kill them all, if he can be found. Where is he?”
“The Bear may be alive, but his hunting grounds have fallen to the wolves. He is alone now, wandering alone. Who knows where he will go?”
“His cubs will find him and hunt for him. When he is strong, he will drive the wolves away.”
“Only if they avoid the hunter’s traps in the process and keep silent when the wolves start to prowl. They have to leave their dens, they’re no longer safe. Not a one of them.”



Saorat was about to ask about this ominous warning, to ask where the cubs might find a safe place to hunt until they were strong, but the sound of a door slamming downstairs startled her. Presently, a few more patrons came up the stairs, removing any more chance of conversation. But, the slamming door had given her a new idea. The floor of one corner of the room was the ceiling of the rooms below. If she could “pass out” on the floor there, she might be able to hear bits of the conversations below. Maybe the Argonian would tell her something useful even if she didn’t speak to him directly.


(By the way, if I didn't make it clear, Saorat was asking the bard if Drenmare had been captured by the guards. She said he hadn't, but that the guards were increasing their patrols and would soon be hunting the leaders of the resistance. If they find any other supporters or sympathizers, they'll take them too. She suggested that they find somewhere safe to hide. Saorat asked about Ulfric, protesting that he was still able to lead an army of his men could find him and asked if the bard knew where he was. She didn't know, but said he was no longer in Windhelm because the Thalmor were gaining too much influence there. Unless he gets aid, he will be in serious trouble. Saorat promised that those loyal to him will find him and prepare until they are strong enough to fight and defeat the Thalmor. The bard warned her that they would have to be smart and lay low if they wanted to survive. She also suggested staying away from their hometowns because it was no longer safe for them or their families.)

 

[Abdel featherfall]

Tschira nodded to the one who had brought him over. Hearing her warning she gave a devilish little smile. " Ah don't worry I'll be okay.. Besides I'm curious.. I'll come give you a proper introduction later, promise." She said as she stood. Downed her drink and began her trek following after the man who had beckoned them to follow. Her ears twitched as she listened for possible threats. Her physical dagger was hidden on her inner thigh. Sadly out of reach with her warm clothes still on. 


She seemed totally unarmed but followed without hesitation anyway. " So where are we going?" She asked simply, opting to not use any more words than nessecary until she figured out what was going on exactly. She hoped this would lead her to Ulfric, or at least to the root of the rumors. She knew it was unlikely but she has been lucky before.


@Dragonix975 @AlbaGuBrath

 

[Dragonix975]

"To my room. Over in the corner." He entered it and sat down, waiting for the others. He wondered at all the strange people in the city.

 

[0stinato]

Secured in his room in Candlehearth Hall, after Elda had opened it for him of course, and after he'd double checked everything he'd left was there, Kumiko spread himself on the wooden floor. He'd never thought he'd prefer lying on his front in his armour, but now he was back in it, he felt a great sense of relief. His weight had returned. He was grounded. Everything was pressing on him, his boots were loud on the floor. And, when he fell onto his front, armour pressing into his chest as he landed, it felt more like the playful punch of a friend rather than the smack of an inanimate object. He allowed himself a brief moment to stretch his muscles and get used to the weight again, before he drew a sized piece of parchment towards him. He'd found several of these pieces, along with three quills and an inkpot, in the side table. It was a nice touch. In case anyone wanted to write letters. And Kumiko did.


At the head of the letter, he carefully printed the location, name of the receiver, and the date. The first two were practically muscle-memories by now. Jorrvaskr. Farkas. Both written in his semi-legible hand. Might as well have a little writing practice before he'd write back to Jarl Law-Giver about what Torbjorn had decided. And besides. He'd not written to Farkas in a good few weeks.


He started writing. It was always the way he thought best. Kumiko wasn't one of those people to sit around for half an hour worrying about what to write. In his mind, it was better to use that half-hour for writing, even if he was writing absolute garbage. And besides... Farkas would understand. He wasn't particularly eloquent himself, so Kumiko never felt any pressure writing to him. Farkas had a habit of trying to be lyrical and failing horribly, but those parts of his letters were the parts Kumiko remembered most vividly.


I saw a blue flower on the mountain. It was blue like your eyes.


Vilkas got attacked by a bee today. It reminded me of that bee thing you did.


The rain sounded like your cough.


Brain of a giant, heart of an ingot. Stupid, dim, the definition of a 'big lug', but with a pure heart that meant well. Kumiko liked it. Liked him. Moron that Farkas was, Kumiko enjoyed talking to him. Sure, maybe he didn't add anything particularly meaningful to conversations, but Kumiko could tell he was trying to. And something Farkas was good at was relaying information quickly. They'd occasionally gone out to fight together, and Farkas wouldn't spend time yelling Kumiko's name to get his attention, or telling him what was about to hit him. No, Farkas would just shout "Left!" or "Down!" Which worked well. Kumi would strafe left, or quickly duck, and it'd saved him from getting his fur all scarred up. None of that information needed to be told in any more confused way than just one commanding word.


So Kumiko continued writing. He was enjoying imagining Farkas' reply. Neither of them were particularly romantic in their letters, at least, not past comparing each other to something. At this moment, Kumi was writing about how he'd been jogging away from a mudcrab yowling in pretend panic. Shouting for Farkas to please come and save him thank you sir. Before he'd remembered he was travelling alone and had to deal with it all by himself. Very lonely. Kumiko missed how Farkas would just come out of nowhere and kill things that were threatening the sanctity of his tail.


Kumiko got to the end of the sentence when his ear twitched. He allowed his head to twitch of its own accord, picking up the sounds of voices. Damn his Khajiit ears. It basically made eavesdropping a daily chore. And what was he hearing? That smooth voice, the subtle esses of an Argonian - the Argonian - the one he'd talked to before. The one who'd roped him into a murder plot. The one whose name he couldn't remember but was sure it started with a V. Veyron. Villem. Vatican. Voyeur.


Kumiko cackled to himself. Voyeur. Unless the Argonian had a statue of Dibella beside his bed, it'd be unfair to refer to him that way. Could call Kumiko a voyeur. Easily. For he did indeed have a statue of Dibella beside his bed. In Riften. And he was working on tracking down Volume II of a certain Lusty Maid series. Well, that was less voyeur than libido but... it was the same thing basically. Either way, Kumi wanted to know who the Argonian was talking to. Was he communing with, like, Dagon or someone? If so, it might be worth listening in. Perhaps Kumi would discover the way V-man had become the Daedra he claimed to be.


@Dragonix975 @Abdel featherfall @AlbaGuBrath

 

[Abdel featherfall]

Tschira continued to follow after the man. She walked slowly, keeping a somewhat decent distance between them in case this was a trap. She didn't survive as long as she had by being completely careless. She was somewhat reckless sure but she wasn't stupid.  The way to the room seemed longer than it should have, but that might be because of the fact she was on full alert now. Eyes scanning the corners as the dark posed no hinderance to her.


As they made their way inside she took a quick look around and once she was satisfied an ambush wasn't lying in wait she relaxed, just a tiny bit. "So what did you want? You didn't drag me in here in an attempt to Woo me did you? Because if so I'm going to be rather... Upset..that you wasted my time." She tapped her claws on her leg as she took up a position near the door allowing her an escape route in case things went sideways.


She knew she was exotic looking even to those among her own sub species of Khajit she looked rather exotic. In place of the fur they all normally had she had soft skin with tiger stripe markings like she would if she had fur. It was a condition, and she hoped this fact isn't why the person who had lead her here wanted to speak to her. She knew how cruel the people of this city can be.


@Dragonix975 @0stinato @AlbaGuBrath

 

[Dragonix975]

As he waited for the Khajit to follow, Veryon went over the visions in his head.


It started off as always. Veryon was standing in a pool of darkness, and the oblivion symbol hovered over his head. The deathly skull of Molag Bal, the dark dragon of Peryite, the blazing fire of Mehrunes Dagon, and the slimy tentacles of Hermaues Mora reached down, and blood and fire erupted from his skull. This time, he saw a hooded Khajit walk out of a fire. He instantly recognized her as the hooded figure that had saved him. It cut away to a tall, wizened man standing in bloody snow. Then it cut away to the two other Khajit, one holding Farkas, and the other holding another man. He saw the pairs move to embrace. Then it cut away to blond man, sitting in a throne of bloody stone, speaking, no, commanding: Rebel!. Rocks covered his eyes and then, He then saw a horrific dungeon, with the man lying beaten. His chains were bolted to the walls, and the mossy bronze gate was close, with a smirking thalmor standing behind it. Then he saw a terrible battle. Blood and steel was everywhere, and the man was dead on the ground. Veryon's sword was in his chest. The others stood over a puddle of blood, and in the puddle, was Veryon's face. He immediately knew that he would slay this man. He screamed, "NO!" and the those daedra stood over him and said, "What do you think?"


Veryon yelled out, "This is not what I bargained for!"


"I know Veryon...", whispered Mora.


Veryon did not know why he decided knowledge was worth pain, that the title of Daedra was worth what he had to endure. He wished it would end, he could just become consciousness, without this pain!


Veryon looked up at the Khajit. He said, "Have you heard of Sanalthar Silian?"

 

[Dragonix975]

@Abdel featherfall

 

[0stinato]

Having abandoned his letter in favour of snooping, was suddenly having second thoughts. What if he forgot what he was writing? Fortunately, he'd stopped at the end of a sentence, but he had a habit of getting rather distracted, even in his writing. A paragraph could start off all nice, mentioning how he remembered fondly the Dustman's Cairn memories while slaying draugr at some other Nordic ruin, and it'd devolve into him expressing his hatred for grilled leeks or something like that.


But, in reality, Kumiko really didn't like grilled leeks. The leek was essentially a straight onion, a sized-up version of a syboe, and, while Kumiko could eat syboe well enough, eating a leek raw was a little harder. Maybe his mouth was just sensitive to the odd spiciness of the onion, or maybe he was just a pussy, but... leeks weren't his favourite. But grill them and all the enjoyment would trickle out of them. No longer would he be able to bite into the white end of the leek, playing the gamble of toughing out the pain or crying uncontrollably as a result. Grilled, they had nothing going for them. Just a healthy-sounding crunch followed by a slick aftertaste that hung like film on the back of his tongue. Disgusting things. Kumiko preferred celery anyway, if he had to choose. And tomatoes. The richness of tomatoes was always a welcome mouthful.


Snarling at himself, Kumiko finally left his room. Standing there drooling on about tomatoes wasn't going to get him anywhere. What the hell was he doing, anyway? Yes. V-man-Argonian-man. Whatever his name was, V. He'd heard V's voice. Closing his door behind him, crouched in his usual comfortable position, Kumiko suppressed himself as much as possible. He could see the bar down the corridor. All he had to do was pinpoint which room exactly V was in. It shouldn't be too hard.


Even in his heavy armour, Kumiko was making little to no noise at all. He was incredibly used the armour, used to its foibles. Especially the backplates - one must have got damaged at some point, because it made a little tapping noise whenever Kumiko went to straighten his back. It never used to. But even that shouldn't give him away if he stays low... stays silent.


Unfortunately, Candlehearth Hall was well-lit, as it always was. A well-cared-for inn, Elda had done a good job with it. Had all the charm and appeal a friendly inn needed, aside from the occasional racist visitor now and again. Overall, it was nice. You had the bard, and she was always nice to look at. You had the writer, and Kumiko knew that, if he was even a smidgen more intelligent that long, interesting conversations could be had. Unfortunately, Kumiko was no academic. Never had been. It wasn't really a Khajiit pasttime. Sure, there were plenty of scholars or sort-of-scholars that shared his race, but it wasn't their stereotype. M'aiq the Liar, for example, was one of these anomalies.


Kumiko loved running into him. By now, he'd learned to stand and listen to M'aiq, if he talked. He always had so far, but he'd usually brush Kumiko away when he was done. Everything he said sounded fascinating and wonderful, but had to be taken with a pinch of salt. Or maybe more than a pinch. A salt pile. After all, he was called M'aiq the Liar. But not everything M'aiq talked bout was fiction. He'd talked about many things Kumiko had yet to confirm, but something he had mentioned was the existence of other Were-animals. Werebears. Wereboars. And they did exist. Illustrations had been done of both of them, and who was Kumiko to not believe that Werebears and Wereboars existed, when the object of his affections was a Werewolf?


He would've got lost in his thoughts if not for hearing an unrecognised voice ask a question, followed in turn by V's smooth words. Asking more or less the same question he'd asked Kumiko earlier, but this time addressing the question to someone else. Mentioning that name again. Sanalthar Silius.


Kumiko's ears pricked up and he straightened with a smile. He put up one hand and pushed open the doors with the other, entering the room and seeing the familiar faces of the Argonian, as well as the back of someone else's head.


Upon seeing V wasn't alone, though, he changed tactics, sidling up to the person - who he now realised was a strange-looking Khajiit - and hissing, "Hey! Here's a hint - Silias is a Redguard," he looked at V with a smile of recognition. "Isn't that right?"


@Dragonix975 @Abdel featherfall

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

The city of Windhelm was a city that was familiar to Ologor. He had served in the last defense of the city, before slipping out through the gate to the docks and into the wilderness. He had hacked apart countless Imperials in front of the Palace of the Kings, fighting his way through the Grey Quarter, and even crossed blades with an Imperial captain on the stairs to the docks. Now he returned, a stranger in a familiar place. He passed into the city through the main gate, gaining the attention of a few locals due to his legendary greatsword and his numerous scars. The ringing of the blacksmith's hammer and the feeling of cold snow brought back memories of bloody battle and long hours next to the hot forge. Yet he was haunted by ghosts of the past as he entered the city. The innocent citizens he had to kill, the men he threw from bridges. This was a nice place to live, yes, but he didn't want to be followed by the past every day.


Candlehearth Hall was a comforting beacon in an otherwise cold city. Many long nights and troubling memories drowned away there under a seemingly endless tide of cheap ale. With a quick smile, he entered the Hall and embraced the semi-chaotic nature of bar life in the evening. Yet one thing caught his eye. He watched a small band of wild folk, seemingly foreign to Skyrim, get a room without being harassed by a single Nord. Picking up a bottle of ale, he "staggered" over to a chair near the two, and sat down with a slam. He slid his greatsword under the chair, and proceeded to start taking small sips from his bottle. The sweet nectar that was Honeybrew Mead was a very nice change from the more harsh drinks he was accustomed to, though that mead from Helgen was nice as well... Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the strangers with interest. 

 

[Abdel featherfall]

Tschira had of course been on her toes, figuratively of course as she was already literally on her toes. Damn physiology, she let her piercing green eyes scan the man in front of her. He had asked her a question and she was weighing her options on playing along and saying yes. Or telling the truth and saying No. However her train of thought was interrupted when another khajit , A common one for these parts appeared.  As he got close however her arms unfolded and she was clearly now on her guard.


These two apparently knew each other. If they were targeting her as an easy mark they would be sorely mistaken. However she played along for now and kept her cool. " No I can't seem to recall ever hearing of a Silias that is a redguard.. Why do you ask?" She questioned letting the black was coverings slide off of her claw tips and into an open bag. She wasn't going to take any chances, she took a step away from the new Khajit to garner just a little space. 


She was putting on her best charm. Hopefully to keep the peace between everybody if they had ill intent towards her. She was an exotic looking and apparently unarmed Khajit woman. Her caution was well warranted especially in this damnable city. " So what do you want to k ow about him for? If I tried I could probably find some Dirt about the guy."


@Dragonix975 @0stinato

 

[Dragonix975]

"First of all, it is Silian. Second of all, it is none of your business. Now, you may recall him as a Thalmor informant, the one who captured Ulfric Stormcloak? Well he posses an artifact that I need, and, well, I am going to get it from him..." He turned to Kumiko,"Now, Kumiko, when he hits the fire rune, you collect his remains, ok, remember?" He turned to the other Khajit, "Also, by the way, I want to know your name, and thanks, by the way, for saving me. Could have used you in the Imperial Legion."


Veryon remembered his first encounter with Silian. He was near Windhelm, and he saw Ulfric Stormcloak, guarded by an army of Thalmor, marching away. A redguard stood at the back. That was Silian.


(Gotta make it short, because I have no time.)

 

[0stinato]

"Silian then. Whatever. I'm not good with names. I've forgotten yours," he said, raising his hand at V. "I do try and listen I'm just... easily distracted."


Ah well. It wasn't a problem. Silias, Silian, same sili thing. Guy was going to get killed. By fire. 


Kumiko frowned, "You don't think fire is going to be a bad thing to use? What if it burns the thing you want? And also if I'm seen collecting his remains, I'll be blamed for this. And I better not be blamed for this, freak. I've got a Thaneship to hold up, for Arkay's sake," he said. "Where even is the rune anyway? On the bridge? Just so I know where to lurk. Because I'll collect his remains. But if anyone blames me, I'm not going to hesitate to turn you in, you got that?"


After he'd asked all his questions, the inquisitive fellow turned to the other member of his species in the room. To him, she looked like she'd make an interesting chew toy. If she was about five times smaller that is. Ears, muzzle, eyes, but only a little bit of fur. At least if he did chew her (and those parts he'd expect to taste like rubber) he wouldn't get fur in his teeth. Maybe that was the real reason he refused to cannibalise other Khajiit. Be throwing up hairballs for days. Kumiko couldn't handle that.


He was so wrapped up in his own teeth-related thoughts, he forgot to be intrigued about why she looked like that. He sort of just stood there, head slightly to one side, one finger flicking at his long hair, staring at one of her smooth thighs. Thinking about the more unpleasant sides of being a cat. Completely oblivious to the threat of her uncovered claws.


@Dragonix975 @Abdel featherfall

 

[MightBeASithLord]

[SIZE=12pt]Cervantes leaned back in his seat and put his feet on the round, wooden table. With Black-briar mead in the imperial’s hand, and a dark green cowl over his hazel eyes, he surveyed the Winking Skeever inn. The bustling tavern always lifted his spirit, especially if there was a lovely woman to court to his bedside. He decided to get himself some shuteye before ordering food. When he was just about to fall asleep, he was awoken by a loud slam on table and some prick yanking off his cowl, revealing his short, curly and unruly brunet hair.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Cervantes glared up to see an Altmer dressed in thalmor attire standing in front of him. A mage, and most likely an emissary… There was another Altmer, clad in elven armor, standing to his side, holding Cervantes’ cowl. Thalmor, the bastards that hold the empire hostage with spell and sword. The true emperors of the Tamriel, who reduced the Empire’s grace and pride to folly and shame, due to their intolerance. The murderers who made an orphan out of him back in Winterhold. The Thalmor across from him started the interrogation. “Are you the imperial known as Cervants,” he asked in the usual, pious Thalmor tone.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]“Eh,” Cervantes shrugged and made his disdain clear in his baritone voice, “depends on who’s asking. Why d’you ask?”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]            [/SIZE]“Because there’s been a report of a high body count at our Northwatch keep,” the thalmor to Cervantes’ side answered. The tavern patrons, including the bard, shifted their attention to Cervantes and the Thalmor. The armored Thalmor continued, “And reports say that the assailant wielded various bound weapons and destruction magic. Wearing scaled armor and a dark green cowl.” The Thalmor in front of him gestured to Cervants, who was wearing scaled armor and was wearing a dark green cowl, before sitting down in the table across from Cervantes.


[SIZE=12pt]            [/SIZE]“Furthermore,” the Thalmor mage added, “you don’t have any weapons at your side. You must have incredible skill in magic, sir.” The mage made a snarky smirk. Cervantas chuckled and played with hair, faking being flattered.


[SIZE=12pt]            [/SIZE]“Well, what can I say?” The imperial said, returning the sartastic tone the Thalmor mage had given him. He continued, “I’ve been in the College of Winterhold for all my life. Or at least,” Cervantes leaned forward to the monster sitting across from him, “ever since you made an orphan out of me, killing my parents because they worshipped the founder of the empire, who’s actions saved all of Tamriel.” Sharing sarcasms quickly turned into an exchange of murderous intent. The tavern unleashed a cacophony of whispers, discussing the atrocities mentioned. Cervantes stood up and snatched his cowl back. He started heading for the door before turning to the Thalmor that remained at the table, giving them a glare that could make a dragon shudder for a second. His voice went down to his natural bass octave, and was filled with wrath. “If you wanna try and settle the score,” he said while baring his teeth, “meet me outside at Pinemoon cave” He walked out the tavern and made his to the cave.


[SIZE=12pt]During his walk, he kissed his silver sapphire necklace, and gold sapphire ring, the only things Cervantes could scavenge from his parents’ corpses. [/SIZE]I’ll avenge you both…I’ll destroy the Thalmor and return the Empire to its formal glory. Cervantes looked up at the moon before continuing onward. I promise…


[SIZE=12pt]The Thalmor finally made their way to the cave, with Cervantes waiting for them at the mouth of the cave. They exchanged no words. There was no need to. Blood for blood, that’s what justice demanded. Cervantes summoned a bound sword in his right hand, and readied a ward in his left. He walked towards the Thalmor mage readied its spells, and the armored Thalmor drew its sword and shield. Blades and the virgin snow glistened in the light of the moon and spells.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]The diametrically opposed foes charged at each other. The mage started off by launching a thunder bolt, which was absorbed by Cervantes’ ward. Cervantes advanced and swung at the mage, but the warrior dashed between them and blocked the blow. The Thalmor warrior bashed his shield against Cervantes and swung at the staggering imperial. The elven blade cut into Cervantes’ left arm as he leaped back to gain some distance. He saw the rope of blood on the soft, white snow and the puddle forming at his side. Cervantes had gotten careless, and it almost cost him his life. He remembered his mentor, Mirabella’s, words: You could never be too careful when facing an opponent.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Cervantes began to calculate his course of action, and decided that the highest priority should be the warrior. [/SIZE]You must open the door to enter the house… He launched a thunderbolt and icy spear at each, effectively decreasing his opponents’ magica and stamina. Cervantes charged again with a paralysis spell readied. He struck at the warrior, who blocked the attack. Just as planned, Cervantes thought while launching his paralysis at the warrior. The spell took full effect as the soldier fell to the ground, unable to move. Cervantes stabbed the Thalmor warrior in the neck before focusing on the mage.


[SIZE=12pt]Cervantes winced in pain, noticing that the stress he put on his wounded arm tore it up even more, rendering it unusable. He couldn’t raise his left shoulder anymore after that stunt with the paralysis spell, so he couldn’t cast any ward spells. All that was left to defend him was his agility, and praise the nine he had light armor. He ran to the mage, dodging what spell he could, but got scraped by an icy spear. No matter, the distance had been closed. He cut the thalmor’s leg and kicked it in the stomach, knocking down. Panting, Cervantes commented, “How quickly elven bravado goes when you’re flat on your ass. Eh, emissary?” He held on to his wounded shoulder as he cast a healing spell to patch it up. Thankfully, the thalmor was too shocked to move its body to stop Cervantes from healing.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]The thalmor got up and asked, “How could you have taken out so many at Northwatch if you almost died facing two of us?” The confusion and terror were all but fake in its voice, and trembling body.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]“Ah,” Cervantes nodded, “you see, thalmor emissary, there are three reasons:” Cervantes summoned a new bound sword in his newly healed left arm. “One,” he continued while pacing in circles, leaving bloody footprints in the pure snow, “I haven’t seen my own bed in six days, and I could use a good night’s rest. Two, I got careless. ‘How bad can two measly thalmor be?’ I thought. Lastly, I used a trick I picked up when I visited a Nordic tomb on a field trip with the college. Now…” he got into an engagement stance, “I need you to pay attention for this one.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]The thalmor shot a thunderbolt spell, but before it landed, Cervantes shouted in an ancient tounge, “Tiem!” The world around Cervantes slowed to a crawl. He walked out of the thunderbolts way before walking up to the thalmor mage, and cutting it up with an elegant ribbon dance of red ribbons, bound by ethereal blades. The only word of the slow time shout he knew, and it took him 10 years to master. Due to him being a mere mortal, he could only withstand using it once a day. The payoff was well enough worth it.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]After the dance was finished, Cervantes bowed, and sheathed his blades. The shout’s time had ended, and Cervantes only added, “Never forget this while you burn in oblivion…” The thalmor fell to the ground as the slowly turned crimson. Cervantes walked away, heading to his home, Proudspire manor in Solitude. That night was the best rest he had in a long time. [/SIZE]One step closer, his mind echoed, one step closer…


[SIZE=12pt]The next day, after a heavenly rest, Cervantes decided to head to Windhelm, and raise the proposition of working with them to destroy the Thalmor. After many a days of travel, he entered the city walls, making his way toward the palace of kings. [/SIZE]

 

[Abdel featherfall]

Tschira bristled at his rudeness. " You pull me in here and suddenly tell me it's none of my buiseness? If he has something.. Anything to do with Ulfric I want to meet him before you kill him or whatever it is you want to do. After I talk to him do as you please I won't alert him." She said as her eyes wandered over the two. Now it apparently was her buiseness. Something about the imperial legion.. Oh that pissed her off and she looked ready to gouge his eyes out but refrained. " It was just a potion don't worry about it."


Her ear green eyes flicked to the one rudely staring at her thighs. Just for the hell of it she twisted her leg ever so slightly to give him a little bit more of a view of her inner thigh. But nothing under the skirt. " Excuse me Mister but I'm thinking that my eyes should be what you're admiring, not my legs." She said crossing her arms. Perhaps a little innocent teasing would help her cause. If not, no harm no foul.


She figured that this red guard man whey were speaking of might have a connection she needed. Or at least a connection to a connection to help her get to the truth about the so called rebellion and Ulfric. If he was even still alive to start another rebellion. A rebellion she intended on helping should she have a chance. She awaited their answer to her wanting to speak to the man. However she was ready to walk out.


@Dragonix975 @0stinato

 

[explosiveKitten]

"Ha! Dumbass."


The Khajiit woman wandered out of the dark area of Windhelm, a sack of gold in one hand and a potion in her other hand. She had just collected her payment from a certain Nord in the city, who had asked her to run all the way to Whiterun of all places and steal a novelty ship from Clan Battle-Born. What the hell they wanted with that pointless thing, she had no idea, but it didn't matter. The job went smoothly, and she returned the little figure to her client easily. However, the fool insisted she had broken something and refused to pay her. And everybody knows, that you don't simply NOT pay her. She would get her pay.


It took threatening the man with poison dipped claws to get him to hand over the gold for her payment. Course it wasn't actually poison, she wouldn't waste one of her specialty poisons on some worthless Nord, no. She dripped some cure disease potion onto her claws and told him it poison, threatening to dig her now poisoned claws into his soft, fleshy forearm which she had trapped under her own arm. Idiotic man didn't know the difference between a potion and a poison. So she got away with her gold.


Her ears flicked backwards and her hood fell off with the simple motion, pocketing the potion and spinning the little sack of gold around on her finger. "Weeeeelll, good job Luna." She started, right back to talking to herself, "You have got a good 500 pieces of gold here, you might actually be able to buy some apples. Instead of stealing them. Yeaaah, wouldn't that be nice, huh?" She laughed to herself as she tucked her hands behind her head and gave a big, toothy mawed yawn. A Nord child running by stared at her big teeth in terror and ran faster. She got a little joy out of terrorizing the Nord children. She probably shouldn't be so pleased with herself, buuuut...


"Anyway!" She cleared her throat and pulled out a letter that had anonymously appeared at the mouth of her cave under a rock. "Next job issss... In Riften, apparently. Just guessing from the smell of..." She sniffed the letter and wrinkled her nose, "Fish and mead... Yuck..." She ripped the letter open and began skimming through it, "Good Khajiit- Euch, I hate when the clients pander to me- I need.... blahblahblah yacka yacka blah, uhhhh, my... Mhm.. Alright. Off to Riften. Wheeeeeeeeee!" She shoved the letter back into her bag and stretched her arms up, before taking off running. She was heading towards the main gate when she turned a sudden left and ran smack into a Windhelm guard, sending the both of them tumbling to the street. 


The guard looked at her and shouted, "Did I not tell you to get out of this city, cat?!"


"Errrr, what?" She looked at him and blinked, then glanced, "Eh, I mean, this one doesn't understand what mister means?"


"I said to get out of my city, you filthy Khajiit!"


"Ummm... uhhh..." Ohhhhhh this is a bad situation, I've got a ton of stolen goods in my bag...


@annnnnybody?maybeeee???

 

[0stinato]

Kumiko's complete ignorance at the area he was looking at had got him in trouble. Not too much of it, but certainly a little. He raised his dark eyebrows at the woman as she turned her thigh, confused, not completely understanding her. Why should he admire her eyes? Did she want him to compliment her? Maybe she was a prostitute. Maybe that was why she'd got no fur. Removed it somehow, so she'd be more appealing to the, to take the Argonian term for them, smooth-skins. Get more jobs, earn more coin, die a wealthy woman. He couldn't think of any other reason she'd be insisting on him looking at her.


Although... she looked a little too intelligent to be a prostitute. And the claws wouldn't be any help. Surely a good whore would keep them trimmed down. And V was talking to her. About Silian. He straightened his head, still confused, though deciding to go with the facts that she wasn't a prostitute, and that she'd been roped into V's little scheme, the one which it was far too late for Kumiko to back out of. He allowed himself a yawn, right in front of his new acquaintances. His tongue was certain it could taste rubber now, he'd been thinking about chewing it so deeply. It'd been a while since he'd had a good old chew of something, and, to be honest, he thought he'd grown out of it. But he was getting a craving for something hard on his teeth, and he wanted - needed - to satiate it soon. Hopefully he'd be able to get any information he needed out of V and go off to find something to chew.


He'd finish off the letter to Farkas later.


But she was still staring at him, and Kumiko was finding it hard to read her eyes. He wasn't a particularly bright man at the best of times, knowing only what he needed to know and that was about it, but he could feign intelligence. When he got involved with someone he liked, his dialect improved tenfold. He could tilt his head at a persuasive angle, laugh when needed, and use long words like, "inconsequential" and, "unattainable". Unfortunately, though, as with all things, this 'talent' of sorts had a dark side. Which was, if he was in conversation with someone he didn't like, he became a lot more vulgar and would decorate his muzzle with an unflattering smirk at the end of his sentences. Maven Black-Briar had seen that smirk far too often, Kumiko was sure.


And, even more unfortunately, the way she was looking at him was making Kumiko dislike her. He couldn't read her. Interesting though she looked, what with the exposed, furless tinted skin, and skimpy outfit, he was getting defensive. She'd confused him, and was clearly more intelligent than him. Probably.


"If I wanted to admire eyes," he said, rolling his own, "I'd go and look in a mirror. So--" he stopped himself, realising he could drag the conversation back to what V was talking about. He'd rather talk about something like that than make enemies. He just wasn't in the mood. "Speaking of eyes though. Um," he shrugged at V. "Isn't what you wanted called the Eye of Alduin? That big-ass dragon that's gonna... eat Nirn or something. That's what you want back."
 


Big-ass dragon. There it was. The vulgarity. It was beginning already, and Kumiko knew it would continue. He wasn't sure why this happened. Perhaps his vocabulary was linked to his emotional state. And maybe being defensive birthed a tendency for more slippery and unseemly words to get out. It wasn't good. Especially as a Thane - Kumiko had to deal with people he didn't like all the time. Jarl Law-Giver's infamous youngest son, for example. And all Kumiko had done was wink at his mother once and the young man had been on him. Trying to punch though his armour to his kidneys. Which, obviously, hadn't worked. But even when Kumiko visited Mistveil Keep, if he saw the young man, if their eyes locked at all, he'd go off speaking like some Ratway dweller. Everything became, "son-of-a-bitch" and, "colder than Dibella's tits". He'd won himself a stern talking-to by the Jarl after the latter one (to which he argued that he wasn't exactly wrong - if the woman was insistent on keeping those tender areas of the body exposed, of course they'd be cold). However, if he didn't see the man, Kumiko wielded speech with careful abandon, his every word sharp and precise, tone suave and sophisticated.


@Dragonix975


@Abdel featherfall ((Nothing against Tschira of course! I'm sure they'll get along at some point [or I hope so anyway]!))

 

[MightBeASithLord]

@explosiveKitten((Cocky imperial to the rescue. Also, I hope you don't mind, but I kinda 'guided' Luna or a moment. just to move things along. I tried my best to keep things within reason, but I'll change it if you need me to.))


Cervantes had barely reached Candlehearth hall when he heard a guard yelling at a dark-furred Khajiit women. He turned and walked forward to investigate the scene. had thought it was a child, but the amount of piercings and hair grown had suggested otherwise. Plus, she appeared Maybe now would be a good time to stand up against racism, he thought, or at least save my first damsel in distress. Cervantes walked up get between the guard and the Khajiit. "Excuse me, sir," he said to the nordic guard, "the Khajiit you are currently manhandling is my apprentice." Cervantes put his arm on the Kajiit's shoulder, noticing the leather armor before continuing, "she's traveling with me, for I've taken her as my apprentice in combat." He leaned to the Khajiit and whispered to her ear, "Just play along."


The guard stepped forward. "Your point being?" His tone showed no interest in being polite. Cervantes had to up the tempo.


"Because," Cervantes said with a harder countenance this time, "if you kick her out of the city and leave her in the cold, you'll have to answer to me. And let's be real here..." Cervantes leaned in. "Do you think it's a good idea to mess with someone who has official business with the stormcloaks? Looks bad on your end, doesn't it?"


"Wait, who are you!?" The guard asked with nervousness developing in his voice.


"Cervantes," the Imperial replied, "the spell-sword from winterhold. Sent a letter a few days ago asking if I could visit and discuss possible arrangements for me to lend my aid in destroying the thalmor." Cervantes gave a smile that said, Try me, boy. I dare you!


"Ah, y-yes! I've heard about you. M-my sincerest apologies," the guard said, realizing the risk he was running with throwing Cervantes' apprentice out of the city. "Please don't tell my superiors about this. I-I didn't even know you had an apprentice."


Cervantes lifted his hand in a calming fashion to put the guard at ease. "It's okay officer," he said, "she's new. Took her up right before I left, and accompanying me was a last minute notice." He patted the Khajiit on the shoulder and began to walk to Candlehearth Hall, taking his new 'apprentice' with him. "C'mon," he said, "let's grab something to eat before I meet the commanders." He turned back to address the guard one more time, "Treat her with some respect next time, and you'll be fine." He and his apprentice finally entered the inn.


Cervantes escorted her to a table and sat her down. Cervantes took the seat next to her and said, "You owe me one, lady." He sighed in relief as he called for a bottle of Honningbrew mead. After taking a swig of the mug, he turned back to the Khajiit woman and quietly asked, "What's your name, anyway? As you heard from earlier, I'm Cervantes. Well met, ma'am." He offered his hand to her for a handshake.

 

[explosiveKitten]

( @MightBeASithLord nah bruh don't worry, trust me, I'll let you know when I really mind. And even then it'll probably be really timid. Soooo don't worry.)


Maroluna had no idea how to amend this situation. This guard seemed set on throwing her out to the bears and trolls ohhhh gods no. That would be better then him searching my bag and finding countless Clan Shatter-Shield belongings. Hoooo boy no-


Then a wild Imperial appears, dressed in scale armor and a cowl, then starts blathering about how she's his apprentice- wait APPRENTICE?! At the College of Winterhold?! WHAT? She cast a bewildered glance at the young man, but it didn't take long for her to catch on that this guy was helping her out of trouble. Leave it to the Imperials to do something like that. So instead of asking this man what the hell was wrong with him, she simply nodded to what he was saying and started waving her hands around like she was casting magic spells or something. Oooooooo, OOOOOOOOO I look like an idioooooot.


Then something else he said immoderately soured her goofball attitude.


"Official business with the Stormcloaks?"


...OF COURSE.


Her hands fell to her sides, and she fell eerily silent. And before she knew it, she was dragged off to Candlehearth Hall, sat down and offered a hand by the man whom introduced himself as Cervantes or something. She sat there for a moment, then mumbled under her breath, "Honestly, men don't buy a girl dinner anymore, whats this world come to?" more as a joke to herself to help ease her inner tension, then stood up and took the man's hand and gave it a firm shake, "Yes, hello, my name is uhhh... Screw it, my name is Maroluna." She plopped back down into her seat and looks around, then stretches her legs and arches her back, before turning back to Cervantes, "Thank you, kind sir for saving my hide from a beating back there."

 

[MightBeASithLord]

"No problem, Maroluna." Cervantes pulled out a small coin purse from his satchel and placed it on the table. He smiled at his 'apprentice' and said, "Please, by yourself something tasty whilst I explain myself."


He took another swig of his mug before he started. He explained how he's a recent graduate from winterhold who had been, as he put it, "oppressed" by the thalmor, not giving any details about his parents or his home, save how his mother and father taught him magic and swoardsmanship. "Not the nicest folk," he remarked when recalling the thalmor. He ordered some venison chops before continuing about his training at the college as a mage. "So, the Arch-mage decided to let me stay at the college, where I learned four out of the five kinds of magic. Illusion never worked for me, I don't know why." Cervantes began to talk about his recent attacks against the thalmor, striking them down with spell and blade."So, you've heard of the mass slaughter at Northwatch keep, right? Yeah, I did that."


Cervantes finished his venison chops as he reached the end of his exposition. "So," he explained, "I'm here because the Stormcloaks and I share the interest of wanting to see the thalmor's head on a pike, but similarities stop there. I'm doing this ONLY to destroy the thalmor and make coin. I'm hoping to work as a mercenary along with already being a bounty hunter, because murders and criminals are high on supply AND demand. Politics don't concern me too much."


Cervantes ordered another mug of mead to wet his throat after explaining this much of himself. He leaned back in his chair and took off his hood to let his head breathe for a moment. Running his fingers through his hair, Cervantes let out a deep yawn and stretched his legs out. "So, you know why I'm here," he said with drowsy eyes looking at his new (hopefully) friend, "but what about you? Anyone who's not a Nord and comes here either has a death wish, a lot of coin waiting for them, or no other choice." Cervantes counted the reasons with his fingers before paying for two rooms. One for himself, and the other for his 'apprentice'.


@explosiveKitten

 

[explosiveKitten]

Maroluna eyes the coin purse with the taste of seared slaughterfish on her tongue already. So she ordered exactly that, and while she was listening to his tale of woe, she dug into the fish, trying to eat in the least visibly disgusting way. But with a toothy mawed creature like a Khajiit, it's kind of hard to eat presentably, considering she didn't exactly have molars to chew with like the humans did.


Cervantes got to how his parents were killed by the Thalmor and it took a lot of effort to not give even a bitter snort of laughter to the irony of the situation. Two orphaned teenagers meet in a bar and discuss their tragic back stories to each other. Hoooow sad.


"Me?" She blinked at him when he asked her what she was doing in Windhelm. Most criminals would panic at this question, giving that the guy just described himself as a bounty hunter. Good job, Luna. Give your real name to a fricken bounty hunter, excellent. Luckily, she already had a perfect coverup. She placed a hand over her mouth so the guy didn't have to gaze into her fishy maw, "I'm an alchemist." She held up her alchemy pouch full of ingredients, "I came in here to restock on the rarer supplies at the White Phial, and maybe get some sleep at the inn in the Gray Quarter." She leaned back in the chair, and when sufficiently satisfied that she had cleared all the fish from her incisors, she let her hand fall. "I just came here from Darkwater Crossing, they catch some pretty big Cyrodilic spadetails over there." She let her arms rest on the back of the chair casually. She  looked at him through narrowed eyes, "Now you see, we've come to a problem here."


"I, like any other self respecting Khajiit traveler, use my claws in battle. I have never cast an ounce of magic in my life." She leaned forward with her elbows on the table, "Now you have essentially told the Jarl of Windhelm that you and your Khajiit apprentice have appeared, sent from the College of Winterhold. And don't pretend that guard won't immediately go report back to Jarl Shatter-Shield. You see the problem here?" She waved her finger between the two of them. "The Jarl will be expecting you and your apprentice. And I have absolutely," she let her voice quiet down, "no intention, of making any more deals with the Stormcloaks who kicked snow in my face as a kit." She let her voice raise to ordinary levels again, "So, with all due respect and much thanks for the meal, how are we going to deal with this situation."


@MightBeASithLord

 

[Dragonix975]

After the Khajit revealed more, Veryon turned away. "Tonight. He keeps a fireproofed journal. Probably with something with Ulfric's whereabouts. I will be here." He walked out of the room when he heard a familiar voice.


He walked down the hall where he saw who he thought he heard. He said to his colleague, "Cervantes, my fellow collegiate, I was just wondering about you. As Lord of the College, I was wondering if you had a moment. I must ask you about a task. And I see you have met the thief I have heard about lately, ahh... the one for hire... could be useful...."


@MightBeASithLord

 

[MightBeASithLord]

@explosiveKitten@Dragonix975


Cervantes smiled and cast a restoration spell to try and keep himself awake. Praise the nine for that respite perk. "Ah, you see," he said with newfound energy, "you will be making no deals with the stormcloaks. That is only my matter to take care of, unless you want to destroy the thalmor and restore the empire to its formal glory, effectively bringing us one step closer to ending the racism that plagues this land." Cervantes leaned back in pride of his plans. "Furthermore, I noticed how you're wearing light armor, and I said 'combat'. Not 'magic'. I would've specified that. Also, if you don't want to join me on my complete eradication of the thalmor," Cervantes shrugged, "that's fine. Although, you'll miss out on some extra benefits, other than the one's I have planned out for you. for being my apprentice in close-quarters combat. For example, enough gold to buy yourself a house in one of the...less prejudiced holds." He lifted a gold coin purse, significantly more than the one used to pay for the duo's food and rooms. After putting the purse back in his sack, he gave Maroluna a sly smirk.


"However," Cervantes continued with a flick of his wrist, revealing a conjuration spell in his hand, "I CAN teach you magic if you want...for a price." He cast the spell to summon a bound dagger in his hand. "Maybe some alchemy training would suffice." Cervantes tossed the dagger in the air, and dispelled it with a snap of the fingers. He turned to the sound of a familiar voice.


"Ah, Veryon." Cervantes crossed his legs and flicked his wrist to turn off the spell. "It's good to see a familiar face." The mentioning of Maroluna actually being a thief only stayed in his mind for a moment. It didn't matter, however. If she needed alchemy, and had no weapons, then he wouldn't need to worry about her being a threat. Plus, he had mounds of glass armor from northwatch he could sell, just in case. He raised his empty mug to his fellow collegiate before continuing, "So, what do you need?"

 

[Dragonix975]

"You know how I was preparing a new spell based upon the work of my Dragonborn brother. After all, it is my job. I am currently in the process of stealing the artifact from the thalmor informant. I was wondering if you could perhaps, 'retrieve' some items from Paschcal the Bosmer. Most specifically, a certain potion of blue mountain flower. He will be in the grey quarter..."


(Gotta make it short)