The Elder Scrolls - Ashfall

[The UltimoScorp]

IC:

 

"You know, you might consider joining one of the Great Houses. Redoran and Hlaalu certainly aren't shy about recruitment right now."

 

He chuckled dryly, "Hlaalu in particular."

 

With a more serious time he leaned against the counter, facing the young Dunmer.

 

"And they can keep you away from the Cammona Tong."

 

The apprentice came back in with his weapons, and he thanked and paid accordingly.

 

After strapping them back on, he made for the door.

 

"Your Orc friend has probably moved on by now. Good day, Miss Anguisss."

 

Once more, he was gone.

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Narsis Streets.

 

"Thanks," she managed, before setting off out into the street once more, pulling up her hood to cover her face. She needed to find somewhere that she could lay low for a while... 

[(Daedalus)]

IC: K'Larn (Narsis Streets)

 

K'Larn left The Lucky Guar not long after Diron, casting a curious glance at a table of odd individuals as he did so. Once outside, he set off down the street, ready to leave Narsis. He didn't have anything against cities, but there were times when he just liked the openness of the country. Right now was one of those times.

 

As his mind drifted forward to his coming journey, he recalled, as he always did, the time when he was young and he overheard a conversation between some guests his parents were waiting on. One, a young soldier who had only recently arrived in Morrowind, was expressing wonder at Vvardenfell's size. The other soldier, a woman who had been a soldier stationed of Morrowind for some time, had laughed at the younger soldier. She told him that Vvardenfell was much smaller than many claimed. It only appeared large because everyone on the island moved at a snail's pace.

 

Having never actually been on Vvardenfell, at least as far as he could remember, K'Larn did not know how true that was. The island did look big. At any rate, the conversation had stuck with him all these years, and whenever he set out on a journey, he thought of it. Perhaps it was a subconscious way to inspire himself; he had always enjoyed running, and he ran as often as he could when he traveled. Even now, the itch to get moving quickened K'Larn's pace. He wanted to be out on the road and out of the city.

 

He stepped past a scowling Dunmer and almost into the back of a hooded figure. He lithely sidestepped the figure and said, "My apologies," though he did not stop moving.

 

OOC: Kind of a little bit interacting with Anguis.

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair.

 

She said nothing, just watched the stranger warily with one hand clutching the handle of one of her knives. But the stranger kept going, and she finally forced herself to relax. 

[(Daedalus)]

IC: K'Larn

 

K'Larn didn't look back when the figure didn't respond. He was too focused on getting out of the city. He worked his way through the streets. When he was finally free of the city proper, he maintained his quick walking pace. He had learned some time ago that leaving a city while running tended to make guards suspicious.

 

He followed the road for several minutes. When he thought it was safe, K'Larn took a deep breath, smiled, and ran. He didn't run flat out--in fact, it was more of a quick jog than anything--but he moved quickly enough to feel the light breeze brush his fur. His body warmed and tingled as his blood began to flow. His rhythmic cadence played like a steady drum beat in his ears, and before long, he was humming to himself. He passed docile wildlife and exotic plants that never ceased to amaze him.

 

Inevitably, K'Larn began to think inwardly. It happened often when he ran for long stretches of time; his mind began to turn inward. He thought of the past, the present, the future. Right now, as he ran, he wondered what would have happened if he had not been raised here. He was certain he wouldn't have been raised by Imperials. No doubt he would have been raised by slavers. Even if he had been lucky enough to be raised by his parents in captivity, he would probably refer to himself in the third person like his parents had. And what if he had left with his sister? Last he heard, she was in Cyrodiil. He missed her, but he wasn't sure he would enjoy Cyrodiil as much as he enjoyed Morrowind. Morrowind was much more exotic, much more unusual, much more beautiful.

 

No, in all, he was happy where he was. Maybe not with what he was doing--he had never intended to live up to his race's reputation as thieves--but he was definitely happy where he was.

 

Time passed as his thoughts drifted on, but when night began to fall, he stopped and moved off the road. He would have preferred to continue on, but he figured he would be less likely to run into the "merchants" at Hoarders' Retreat if he sneaked in during the day. For now, he set up camp and, after almost an hour, he fell asleep.

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

RANDOM EVENT

 

Dorian dove for the corner and crouched in the shadows, holding his bow in his hands.

 

-Tyler

[Razgriz]

IC (Artas):

The Lucky Guar gained one new massive, quiet patron. The food sounded edible enough.

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn.

 

She found herself a dingy little inn on the opposite side of town to where the thug had ambushed her, and sat down at a table, ordering the strongest wine they had. In a few hours, once the sun was going down, she'd rent herself a room for the night and start coming up with a plan for where to go from here.

 

But for now, she wanted nothing more than to drink herself halfway to Oblivion... 

[(Daedalus)]

IC: K'Larn (Hoarders' Retreat)

 

The approach to Hoarders' Retreat was simple. The entrance was situated just out of sight of the road, though due to its popularity among traders, a worn path could be found leading from the road to the entrance. He watched this entrance for almost half an hour. He saw no activity, which didn't surprise him. He would need to get closer, or get inside, before he could know if anyone was inside or not. He figured at least one person from the crew would stay behind to protect their stuff--probably the bruiser sort. Generally easy to avoid, but difficult to shake if noticed. Dogged, was the word K'Larn used to describe them.

 

K'Larn crossed the open area between a small hill close to the road and the hill in which the cave entrance was situated. He moved along the side of the other hill until he was next to the entrance, at which point he crouched and listened. His ears picked up various ambient noises from outside, but no sounds--at least none of note--came from inside. Even after ten minutes, he heard nothing.

 

He finally decided to risk a peek. He leaned over and looked inside. A few sightless moments passed while his eyes adjusted, but when they did, he saw several ropes hanging from the ceiling. Along each length of rope were several pieces of bone and glass. It was a simple and common alarm system meant to catch the stupid or those with more honest intentions. K'Larn was, fortunately or unfortunately, neither.

 

He stepped inside and crept forward in a crouch, carefully moving between the alarms while also scanning the ground for any traps. It took him a full minute to pass through the alarm system; he probably could have done it more quickly, but he was in no hurry and he didn't want to press his luck. Once fully inside, he pressed himself against a wall and waited for his eyes to more fully adjust--which, thanks to his being a Khajiit, didn't take long.

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar)

 

"Old friends?" the Dunmer asked Eponine, almost knowingly.

[otter]

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"You know, I don't think your drinkin' habits are particularly healthy," one man in the 'dingy little inn' said, sitting next to Anguis. He had a mug of ale with him, and most of his items were in a room he'd already rented for himself. "Seems like a fast way to gettin' sick, it looks like to me. How about you slow down on satin' your thirst, and maybe engage in a little discussion? I haven't found a stimulating conversation yet tonight."

[IcarusBen]

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar)

 

"Old friends?" the Dunmer asked Eponine, almost knowingly.

IC Eponine [Narsis - The Lucky Guar]

"If you must know... I was a DB assassin. Emphasis on was. I left after... The Oblivion Crisis really knocked us off our feet. So much happened and..."

 

Eponine frowned.

 

"I had to leave before it got too bad. Once, we had honor but now... Savages, the lot of them . The problem is, they don't want me gone. This..." Eponine pointed to the letter. "This is pretty much their way of saying 'come back pretty please.'"

 

She poured herself a glass of shein from the bottle, then downed it in a single move.

 

"But I won't. Not in a million years. Not even if Sithis himself came down from the heavens and bestowed the title of Emperor of All The Land in exchange for rejoining the Brotherhood. They can kiss my bottom for all I care."

 

Eponine folded the letter and put it in her pocket, poured herself another glass of shein (she'd be hugging the loo, for sure), and made a toast.

 

"To burning bridges."

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis)

 

"Oh, I figured that awhile ago," he said, indicating the barman to pour him some more shein. "Somehow I don't buy the concept of them just saying 'please come back' and doing little else. Granted, I also don't exactly buy the concept of them trying to make their way into Resdayn in such a time."

[IcarusBen]

IC Eponine [Narsis - The Lucky Guar]

"It's... It's not so simple."

 

Eponine took another swig of shein, then began to speak again. "They want me to kill the Morag Tong operative I was tailing and bring proof back to the Dawnstar Sanctuary. If I don't... I get silenced. They'd never try and reestablish a Morrowind sanctuary, it's just idiotic considering the present situation, but... It's very, very, very likely that they'll want to... um... send some lone assassins here to kill me, even if they don't want to try and reclaim Morrowind for themselves."

 

Eponine almost appeared to shrink in her chair. "I have a bad feeling about this."

 

OOC:Mind if I pop in a lone DB assassin for Eponine and the gang to fight and/or to be immediately spotted by guards and/or to fall victim to bad karma?

[Nato G]

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"You know, I don't think your drinkin' habits are particularly healthy," one man in the 'dingy little inn' said, sitting next to Anguis. He had a mug of ale with him, and most of his items were in a room he'd already rented for himself. "Seems like a fast way to gettin' sick, it looks like to me. How about you slow down on satin' your thirst, and maybe engage in a little discussion? I haven't found a stimulating conversation yet tonight."

 

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn.

 

"I'm not much of a talker," she admitted, putting her drink down and turning to face the man, keeping one eye on the nearest door just in case she needed to make a run for it, "I've had a long day...." 

[Razgriz]

IC: That honestly didn't sound like the sort of thing you wanted to mention so casually that someone like him could easily overhear.

Expression unchanging, the burly Nord indicated the Guar steak on the menu.

Apparently they were only served medium-rare here.

Fine by him, as long as it didn't kill him. He'd survived too much to be done in by a hunk of meat.

[otter]

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"How so?" Elías asked, curious, and entirely unwilling to be deterred. "Must've been quite annoying to make you drink like y'are."

[Ghosthands]

IC (Kelh) [Narsis - The Lucky Guar]

 

It doesn't take me long to get bored of the conversation at hand. Dark Brotherhood blah blah blah, Morag Tong blah blah blah, Eponine gettin' silenced boo hoo.

 

Leaning back in my chair, I cast a lazy eye over the rest of the cornerclub's patrons. Suddenly, however, in amongst the sea of grey skin and red eyes I spot something that piques my interest: a big guy, human, scarred face and fair skin. Everything about him practically screams 'Nord'. And as if that weren't enough, I could see that he'd just caught a few words of what Eponine was spouting. Perfect.

 

I slide out of my seat and sidle up to the big fellow, and address him with a (hopefully) familiar accent and winning smile.

 

"I couldn't help noticin' that you couldn't help overhearin' what my—"

 

*ahem*

 

"—friend couldn't help lettin' slip. Ah, but where are my manners? It's a pleasure to see a good Son of Skyrim in a place like this. Aspen of Valenwood (but also very much of Skyrim, if I may say so), at your service."

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn.

 

"I.... ah.... might have.... angered some people a while back...." she replied vaguely, "....and they finally tracked me down." 

[otter]

IC (Elías, Inn):

Elías nodded knowingly, considering that it was the same vague sort of story he'd heard many times before. "I made some bandits angry once," he said, smiling slightly. "They ended up following me to the next town. Wasn't very bright of them, though, because when you have strong lungs you can call the guardsmen out pretty easily. I doubt your problem relates just to bandits, though."

Edited June 5, 2015 by Grochi of Potoos

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn. 

 

"No, not just bandits...." she trailed off, not wanting to drag anyone else into her problems. 

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis)

 

Mathyn's eyes flicked from Eponine to Kelh, observing as the latter spoke to the Nord. Observing the Nord's reaction even more so. Things were growing marginally more interesting with the introduction of every shiny new personality into this comically plot-relevant club.

[(Daedalus)]

IC: K'Larn (Hoarders' Retreat)

 

K'Larn slowly made his way inward, coming across only one trap, an easily avoidable tripwire, along the way. He didn't know much about Hoarders' Retreat's layout--only that it was fairly small. He could see a tunnel branching off to his lift, while the primary tunnel continued in a roughly straight line until it curved to the right past another tunnel on the left. It was all sparsely lit by weak torches, which K'Larn found somewhat annoying. The torches were just bright enough to hamper his night vision, while not bright enough to help him see clearly. Still, he had come to steal, and he wouldn't let something so simple deter him.

 

He took the first tunnel on the left, pausing every few steps to listen. He still heard nothing. The tunnel angled slightly downward and led to a small "room" furnished with a simple, full-sized bed, a small chest, and two crates. The chest was locked but easily picked, though it contained nothing of interest--common garments. The crates were sealed, and while they might hold something more interesting, K'Larn did not want to risk the noise necessary to open them until he was sure there was no one else here and that he couldn't find anything else of worth.

 

He left that room and continued down the main tunnel. He took the second side tunnel, which ran straight into a large chamber. This was where most of the merchandise and such seemed to be located. It contained several square crates, a few barrels, some chests, two dismantled carts, and two rectangular boxes. The chests were mostly uninteresting, though one yielded a set of expensive dinnerware. Another held primarily standard weapons, with one ornate dagger in the midst. Again, K'Larn avoided the crates. The barrels contained food stuffs. The rectangular boxes were empty except for some padding, which K'Larn thought odd. He supposed they could be used to transport something long and fragile, though he could not picture the items. Maybe they were further in.

 

Taking what he deemed valuable, K'Larn left the chamber and returned to the main tunnel. He followed it around the curve. The tunnel, lit by a single, dim torch, extended several yards ahead of him and split at the end. The tunnel to the right was completely dark. K'Larn decided to check that one last. The tunnel to the left led to another room about the same size as the first, though this room was furnished much more extravagantly. An ornate dresser stood against the right wall. A small table sat next to the large, well-covered bed. Even the alchemy table against the left wall seemed to add to the extravagance.

 

K'Larn searched the dresser first. Lots of expensive clothes, most of which he couldn't take. Even disregarding the fact that there were too many garments for him to stuff into his pack, such clothes tended to be unnecessarily heavy, in his experience. He moved to the bedside table next. It was empty except for some expensive writing equipment.

 

"A Khajiit. How... interesting. I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure."

 

K'Larn sighed. Why did he get the feeling this wouldn't turn out well?

Edited June 6, 2015 by (Daedalus)

[shadow pridak money gang]

GM:

 

To say spirits were high at the shanty town the Redorans had pitched outside Narsis was, well...

 

"When I say Hlaalu, you say '###### with 'em! HLAALU!'"

 

"###### WITH 'EM!"

 

"HLAALU!"

 

"###### WITH 'EM!"

 

...an understatement.

 

When the whispers of Sanvyn Hlaalu's resounding abandonment at negotiations that day flooded back, camp morale had soared; it only exploded when all the Redoran diplomats who just so happened to be trained at sword and bow and lance learned there would be an opportunity the following day to use their swords and bows and lances. The smell of wine pilfered freely traded for across several pilgrimages into Narsis was choking the camp; laughter and song and taunts clashed as loudly as the sound of steel on steel in the makeshift training yards. Only the expansive pavilion of Falam Ramoran's second son, Brelyn, remained unmolested by good vibes. This, coupled with its grandiose size, made it the only place that the Redoran inner circle could speak as one.

 

Falam Ramoran, it should be noted, was a military man through and through, serious and spare; his tent gave him enough room to stand, sit, and maybe even sleep if he bent his knees a little. Not so with Brelyn, a vain man with his father's raven hair but none of his gravitas; he was sprawled out face-down on a long sofa, head half-buried in a cushion and the other eye only half-following his father at the center of the table. No doubt he'd freely traded for some of the wine outside.

 

His older sister Amili, the only daughter of Falam who had attended the Narsis conventions, was sitting at the table to her father's left and staring at her brother with wide, expressive eyes. Most of the time they were coy, and expressed an easy smile and laughter that was rare amongst the family; now, they stared at her brother and expressed only irritation. Her sworn sword, the Solstheimi illegitimate Gareth the Vigilant, instead deigned to stare with undisguised contempt at the Bretony Captain of the Mournhold Guard, Angel Balchar, who could usually be found sprawling languidly with his chin on one knee on top of a piece of furniture somewhere away from the council tables. His pose was exactly what was expected of him: slightly irreverent, but terse, ready and willing to fight at the very sound of a warhorn. While Angel was popular enough with his men, the young, brawny Nord had always found it a sore point that he could be treated as nothing more than a petty sellsword, while some Breton could rise high enough to command a traditionally Dark Elven office within the space of a few years.

 

Gareth found Angel a grasping, callow youth (though the Captain had fought in the Oblivion Crisis as a young spellsword, killed a dozen Argonians in one night at the Battle of Ebonheart, and had already celebrated his 30th year) with no respect for his place in a foreign land. Balchar found Gareth a bit of a ######. If not for Amili and the Imayns, they would be seated next to each other, and it may have come to blows. The disdain between the two was known throughout the camp; Guards and immigrants tended to side with Angel, while more traditionalist Dunmer stayed neutral due to not wanting to support a Nord over a Breton. Skilled though Gareth may have been with his enormous Orcish longaxe, he was just as much a foreigner with the Captain with a third of the experience fighting alongside Dunmer. 

 

Favel Imayn, the more serious of the two Imayn brothers that sat on the Redoran council, started things off with the obvious, as was his wont: "They'll never cede Firewatch."

 

"No," replied Falam bluntly, giving the man the same answer he'd already given Aryon of Vos in a brief, private meeting after the meeting's adjournment. "He will not. And I wouldn't look to Valerius to surrender his little escapist kingdom without the promise of a better offer, which is made all the more inconvenient by the fact that the only thing he wants is the city. Which he already has, or doesn't have, depending on which idiotic statement of Hlaalu's that you take at face value. Either way, we can't buy him."

 

The sound of a whetstone along Skyforge steel would have stopped Ramoran if he wasn't already done talking; the Captain of his Guard was honing Ferocity, a blade dating back with the Balchar family to the First Era. Supposedly wielded by a proud Thane who fell for an Altmer mage, the sword had been enchanted with a power to absorb and reflect Destruction magic that none since had been able to replicate. As the Altmer/Nord lineage slowly condensed into Breton blood, the sword had passed from oldest child to oldest child, never failing to be used distinctly. The blade had fallen into Angel's hands at the age of fifteen, and after its exemplary use in both Battles at Bruma and the torrents of blood it had shed at Ebonheart, it was one of the most famous blades in Mournhold. When Ferocity was drawn, people listened, and it was drawn now - stretched out over the front of Angel's upper leg, sharpening slowly, a silent suggestion.

 

Amili shook her head.

 

"Even if Firewatch no longer represents the Empire -- don't look at me like that, Gareth," she said to her Nord protector, "even if Firewatch no longer represents the Empire in Morrowind, Hlaalu believes it does. For every six men Valerius commands, they supply one. Trying to take it--"

 

"I'm not suggesting taking it," Angel said. "Have you ever been placed under house arrest, Amili?"

 

Gareth's hands shook in anger at the usage of the Ramoran lady's first name, but Amili settled for shaking her head as she looked at the Captain quizzically.

 

"Six hundred members of the Gold Legion, and another hundred Dunmer. A seven hundred man garrison who can't be arsed to care about a middle-aged man and are too comfortable with their heads on their shoulders to tell him that the Empire isn't sending any help. Potentate Ocato is dead, and for every one friend I have in Cyrodiil I have another warlord's name who's willing to tear apart anything in Cyrodiil standing between him and the Ruby Throne. The Septims are gone. King Helseth is gone. The Elder Council isn't watching. All it takes--"

 

"If you say Morag Tong, I warn you, Breton..." Gareth started, visibly trying not to reach for his axe.

 

"Morag Tong," Angel deadpanned; Brelyn Ramoran laughed loudly and Amili hid a smile behind her hands. "Serjo, I know I have probably never sounded more like a sellsword than I do in this instant, but I commanded the Redoran forces in that room. I know Imperial military thought processes. With no Valerius and no Empire in Morrowind, the Gold Legion will disband, as half of them most likely want to do already, and the Hlaalu are left at an impasse - they won't be able to hide behind what's left of the Empire any more. They withdraw from Firewatch or they drive the Telvanni to make common cause with your forces. It just takes a dozen good men and one clean death."

 

Falam Remoran looked out at the Captain of his Guard for a long time, and then gave a noncommittal, diagonal tug of his head; a mixture of a nod and a disappointed shake.

 

"We adjourn," he told his Council. "Celebrate tonight, but try to regain consciousness before the tourney in the morning."

 

"Will you be representing us, Captain?" Amili teased, as the members of the Council who had made the trip to Narsis sidled out of the grandiose pavilion. Angel smiled grimly.

 

"Oh, come on, sera. You know that's not why I'm here."

 

"I don't know why you're here. Captain of the Mournhold Guard, yes...but Mournhold's so far away, and neither Brelyn and I have seen much of you since we arrived."

 

"If you'd like that to change, take it up with your father."

 

"Oh, come on, ser," Amili laughed, trying her best, lilting impersonation of a Breton accent. "You know I can't do that."

 

"Heh." It was the most amused he could manage in response. "See you at the tourney tomorrow, then?"

 

"Or sooner, if you're not busy."

 

"At the tourney, then." Sheathing Ferocity across his back, Angel's wolfish grin contained just a bit of mischief before he turned and walked down to the nearest campfire.

 

-Tyler

[Razgriz]

IC: A caricature of a Whiterun burr hit his ears, and the Nord candidly looked over to the seat aside him, taking in the sight of an unrepentantly cheeky looking Bosmer grinning his way as if he'd just won the lottery. 

Of Skyrim too? Laying it on a bit thick, are we?

Glancing further across and seeing the Breton in question, as well as an intrigued looking Dunmer, his eye flicked back to Kelh as he took a drink of whatever it was they served him, albeit something with an agreeable taste.

For the first time in days, he opened his mouth to speak, voice a deep and rusty, unmaintained rasp.

Much like an engine starting up after months of disuse, to use an out-of-place simile.

"Artas Oscarsson." He replied, "Need something?"

[Ghosthands]

IC (Kelh) [Narsis - The Lucky Guar]

 

Dropping the heavily stereotyped Nord accent I'd put on, I return to my usual moderate Rift burr, letting the 'r's roll off my tongue in all their glory.

 

"Oh, believe me, I need all sorts o' things. I could use a buyer for some of my fine Dwemer wares, or a beginner's course in Dunmeris, but right now I'll settle for an excuse not to talk to Miss Faircroft over there."

 

Fairly sure I said that loud enough for her to hear.

 

"So, what brings you east out o' the tundra and taiga, eh?"

[Razgriz]

IC: "Wanderlust, I suppose." he replied, noting the obvious jab sent the Breton's way. Well, she had outed herself as a former Dark Brotherhood Assassin, and one being tailed, so it was understandable to not want to appear to be an accomplice.

"Didn't really find anywhere I felt like settling down in."

Not to mention he'd never quite felt like settling down.

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis)

 

"Well, then you'll be right at home in Morrowind, muthsera," the Dunmer smiled at the Nord rather warmly, bowing his head just ever so slightly in welcome. "Wanderlust is something the entire land has got in spades. I'm Mathyn Llethri, by the way. At your service."

Edited June 6, 2015 by Albannach

[IcarusBen]

OOC: Since no one answered, I'll assume I can spawn an assassin.

 

IC Eponine/DB Assassin [Narsis - The Lucky Guar]

 

Bloody ######, the lot of 'em.

 

As Eponine got up to go and find a room for the night, she felt a hand grabbed her shoulder. Turning around, she saw a tall Redguard, dressed in the same armor she was wearing, readying his dagger.

 

"Aw, ######!"

 

Moving out of the way to avoid the assassin's dagger, she drew her kopis and assumed a fighting stance. The assassin was unimpressed.

 

"Sorry, Eppy, but you're done for."

 

"Guys!" She yelled in Kelh and Mathyn's direction. "A little help here!"

 

The assassin dropped his dagger and drew a steel scimitar, and assumed a fighting stance of his own.

[Razgriz]

IC: Nodding calmly at Mathyn's reassurance, he sighed even as the plate of meat was set down before him.

He didn't walk all these miles through the ashy plains just to have a pair of idiot assassins dance around in the background as soon as he got something to eat.

Flicking his eyes over to Eponine's current debacle, he then directed that same languid gaze over to the two currently speaking with him even as he cubed off the end of his Guar steak and sent it into his mouth.

Not a bad flavor. Certainly a welcome departure from Horker.

Now then, who was going to solve this?

Edited June 7, 2015 by Tsumugu Kinagise

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis)

 

Mathyn took a long deep sigh. This was one peculiarly stupid assassin, to attack in broad daylight in a very public tavern dressed in Dark Brotherhood attire.

 

"Call the guards," he muttered to Kelh as he slowly stood, drawing his malachite sword from the sheath by his side as he moved carefully, trying to circle the Redguard and trap him between himself and Eponine. His stance was defensive: he didn't need to kill this man. Only hold him off from killing Eponine for long enough for the guards to flood this tavern. For the second time in a day, no less.

Edited June 7, 2015 by Albannach

[otter]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn. 

 

"No, not just bandits...." she trailed off, not wanting to drag anyone else into her problems. 

 

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"But who would it be?" Elías asked, doggedly pursuing the topic. "Assassins, maybe? I hear there's a real problem with them in these parts." He leaned back in his chair, sipping at the large stein of bock he had at his hand. It would be an understatement to say he was simply curious.

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn.

 

"Not assassins," she replied resignedly, realising that he had no intention of leaving the topic alone. She took another sip of her drink, then lowered her voice so that the other patrons wouldn't overhear. "I may have... sort of... slightly... stolen from the Cammona Tong, okay?" 

[otter]

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"O-ho-ho," Elías replied, snapping back forwards while his eyes lit up in excitement. "Now...just how did somebody like yourself end up with a group like the Cammona Tong?" He pursed his lips - mainly to avoid smirking - while drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

 

"And beyond that, how did you get in trouble with them?"

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn.

 

"What do you mean, someone like me?" she frowned, confused, "As to your second question, I got tired of working with them. The last job they sent me on, I took the loot I was meant to be delivering for myself, and went on the run." 

 

She put down the bottle. "Why am I telling you all of this?" she groaned. 

[Razgriz]

IC: Satisfied with the Dunmer's answer, he returned to his meal, this time spearing the whole thing with his fork and biting off a chunk rather than delicately cubing it, as if he was someone whose author had forgotten the implications of the state of his arm.

[otter]

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"Good question," Elías replied. "Just what do I mean?" He leaned back again, and sipped at his beverage. "As for why you're telling me all of that? Well, it's quite simple. You're drunk and I look like a trustworthy fellow. No doubt it's possible I could be sending you off on some quest or another, but don't worry, that's not how I work." The half-Nord Bard looked into Anguis's eyes, his own twinkling with equal measures of merriment and curiosity, although some basic concern - a part of normal human decency - could be detected there as well.

 

"I will say though, you made a bad decision, skipping on them like that. Any plans for how to deal with them now?"

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn. 

 

"Keep running, I suppose," she almost reached out for the bottle again, but forced her hand to remain where it was, "I mean, that Argonian I met earlier suggested I join up with one of the Great Houses, but that doesn't really appeal to me much..." 

[otter]

IC (Elías, Inn):

 

"The same as having a former Camonna Tong member among their ranks might not appeal to the Great Houses," Elías said after a moment. "Especially not one who is being hunted down. I think you need a permanent solution, though."

[Nato G]

IC: Anguis Nathair - Inn.

 

"Like what?"