The Blood- An Elder Scrolls RP (IC)

[Serge Drevlan]

Zharjo||Jeoffrey

The meeting had been over with. The heated debates were over and the tensions nearly forgotten. The Dovahkiin was called off with an emergency and the only ones who were left were Arngeir, of the Greybeards, Delphine and Esbern of the Blades, and Jeoffrey of the Blood. Jeoffrey was an older Breton of distinguished status. Or he seemed to be, most people didn’t know anything about him but simply guessed that he was of higher status due to his love of books and usually extravagant speech. He wore what was likely Ebony armor but was covered with ripped pieces of black cloth. At his back was sheathed a great sword which radiated with heat and a magical red hue. He was, most of the times, however, reserved. The four people, some could argue the 4 most important people in Skyrim at that time aside from the Dovahkiin, stood in a square pattern staring at the ground. They had just agreed on something which they could not come back from. They would have to rely on the Dovahkiin and his blood to stop the coming invasion of the Dragons. These people were now responsible for the fate of the world.

“I will see that they do not fail.” Said Jeoffrey.

“No, I will.” Spat Delphine.

Esbern grabbed at the woman’s shoulder and hushed her. “We must rely entirely on the skill and ability of the Blood now, Delphine. We haven’t any other choice.” Delphine scoffed and stood away from the three men. Arngeir was quiet and Esbern noticed. “How do you feel about this?”

“As you said, we don’t have any choice. I may be a little shocked that the Blades would hide something so massive and that Jolin would betray us in such a way but I suppose it’s all done now. I won’t fight the past, I can’t.”

Jeoffrey touched his fist to his chest and bowed to the two men. Delphine turned at the sound of the metal hitting metal. Jeoffrey mocked a curtsey to the lady, left the room and eventually, High Hrothgar. As he exited the temple he turned right, to find his team standing in the corner. Some were talking and others seemed nervous but all seemed ready. Jeoffrey walked up to the group and held his hand out to Zharjo.

The giant cat stepped off the wall, where he’d been leaning, talking about some nonsense or another with Shogro, and pulled something from his belt. It was a rolled up piece of paper, clearly a map.

Jeoffrey grabbed it from the Khajiit’s claws and tossed it into the air. Purple lines rushed to it and held it up as Jeoffrey cast a silent spell. On the map, three locations were circled; they were the locations of the positively confirmed Dragon Locations, but even more important, the locations of the Dragon Priest’s cults. They were as follows: Ancients Ascent, Shearpoint, and Lost Tongue Overlook. Jeoffery looked at his pupils and smiled brightly.

“We’ve been given the O.K. Which would you all prefer to hit first, no rest of the wicked, eh? I’m partial to Shearpoint.”

Zharjo piped up first, “Ancients Ascent has good choke points. Count my vote for that. Let us hurry this along as fast as we can, I believe there is serious trouble ahead.” Zharjo’s eyes rose into an almost straight line as he peered deeply into the clouded sky. Far off one could maybe make the outline of a dragon. And if one had excellent hearing like Zharjo, they would hear the soft roar from so far away. Zharjo walked pass Jeoffrey and looked at the horizon; “It has begun.”

[Jones]

The winds of High Hrothgar howled, sending chills down Kray'vars spine. The thick bear pelt wrapped around him provided some protection, but when one was several thousand metres above the ground there just was no protection against the cold. Adjusting the quiver on his back, the Wood Elf observed as the old Breton exited High Hrothgar. Speaking to no one in particular, Kray'var spoke to himself.

"I think it's go time. Finally getta' see what all this training was worth."

Pushing himself off of the crumbling wall of the monastery, Kray'var brought himself to a standing position. His ears twitched as the cold tugged at him, nagging at him like an annoying child. The Wood Elf always had some kind of smile on his face, whether it was a devious grin or one of straight friendliness it was not prominent today. Rather, today he seemed almost what one could call nervous, with the usual joking attitude a rare thing for today.

Rubbing his gloved fingers over the scabbard for his dagger, he listened as the group was called to order by the Breton named Jeoffrey. Standing at a much shorter statue than many of the group, his presence was often inconspicuous. For a being that relied on stealth all throughout his life, this was not a bad quality to have. And at this point, he listened intently.

Dragon Priests... For the love of Y'ffre. Just what we need to start off...

The debate over which tomb would be visited first was taking place between the Khajit and the Breton, where they placed their votes. At this point, the Dark Elf did not care where they visited. They would all be at the various tombs at one point or another, so did it really matter?

"It doesn't matter to me where we visit first. Besides, we're going to have to hit them all eventually right?"

Upon saying that, the Wood Elf backed off a step. As he watched over the cliffs of the ledge he stood on, he could see the Western sky all throughout Skyrim. It appeared that a snowstorm was besieging the region around Solitude, something that'd cause trouble for the massive shipping port out that way. The sun shone further out towards Markarth way.

Odd little place that Markarth, gave me the chills the very first time I stepped into that town. Must be cursed.

After this silent thought, the Wood Elf turned his head once more back to the group. Still debating about the target, Kray'var just wanted to get on the road already.

[Alabala]

Aeonille

Much like the others, Aeonille had been leaning quietly against one of the adjacent walls, wrapped up in her choice of apparel, notably a thick, dark green cloak. She'd been listening to the winds for a long time, not bothering to listen to whatever argument Jeoffrey was having with the Greybeards or the Blades. Outward, it would not show, but she was tense, nervous even, as she went over in her mind in just how many different ways things could go wrong.

The woman had spared him but a glance as he stepped out and spoke to them, showing them their targets. A scowl grew on her face, unseen from the angle her head was bowed at, it struck her as odd just how simple their master thought it would be. "Which one would you like to hit first", those words irritated her, she reminded herself that he was probably taking this as seriously as he should. She had simply listened thus far, but eventually the exchange between the others would make her speak up.

"It does matter where we go first." she said simply, in a neutral tone, though it came to her soon that she'd have to elaborate. "We would've done better to scout out each place, the first wont be expecting an attack just yet, the other two will have ample time to mobilize their defenses, should we succeed in clearing our first mark. I suggest we head to the place that is easiest to defend, if they don't know that we're coming it won't matter."

She pushed off the wall and approached the Khajiit and Jeoffrey, her movements were slow and deliberate, she rubbed her arms over the leather to try and fend off the cold. Her eyes locked on the two men, looking at the latter in an inquisitive manner.

"And I should hope you're not planning on going to one of these places immediately. It's our first mission, but I wouldn't let someone else's eagerness get us all killed. I'd say we need a day at the very least to prepare. We have to gather rations for the trip, prepare our equipment and devise a plan, not to mention the amount of time it'd take for us to get there."

She had folded her arms as she spoke, looking at the other breton in an expectant manner, one slender brow arched upward. Her pale lips were pursed slightly as she grew silent and awaited Jeoffrey's answer. She'd prepared well enough for the trip up the Throat, but felt that a combat situation would require a touch more.

[Ryukan]

Balthor


Most people Balthor assumed, would think High Hrothgar a menacing sight to behold. The massive temple had been built from stone blocks carved right out of the Throat of the World, its tall spires were covered with the carved images of dragons perched over the entrance. It didn't help that the fortress was dotted with small openings and alcoves that twisted the frigid howling winds of the highest peak of Skyrim into inhuman screeches and other worldly screams.

However, to Balthor standing thousands of feet above sea level atop the Throat of the World; assailed by frigid gales and quite literally in the coldest region of all of Skyrim. The legendary temple imposing as it were was at least shielded from the wind and looked about as welcoming as the common room of the Bannered Mare back in Whiterun. Perhaps next to the fiery hearth with a mug of Ale in one hand and the welcoming attentions of a comely girl in the other. Which of course begged a question.

“Is there any reason that Jeoffrey was the only one let inside High Hrothgar and we were all told to wait outside, in the coldest part of all of Skyrim and after climbing a Mountain.” Balthor said dryly, in a half hearted attempt at small talk with his fellow Blood members.
As he spoke a stream of white mist escaped from his lips and scattered into the howling winds as if to punctuate the severity of the cold.
“The higest mountain in all of Skyrim mind you.” He drew his coat tightly about him.

Like his fellow team mates Balthor had absconded with his general travel gear for something better suited to the inclement conditions: a thick wool vest doublet, dark coat and heavy trousers, and a thick body encompassing fur coat. The warm clothing would certainly keep Balthor from freezing immediately in the snow, but all the same it was hardly comfortable atop a Mountain.

Before anyone could respond to Balthor,the gates of High Hrothgar groaned open and all thought of the conditions were briefly forgotten as Balthor was reminded of the reason why they had been assembled here in the first place. As Jeoffrey approached, Zharjo the group's only Khajit representative and perhaps the most physically imposing of the Blood,stepped forward and handed over a worn map. In no time Jeoffrey had the map hovering in the air with a simple spell and their next three objectives highlighted with magic.

Jeoffrey was intent on getting started immediately and wanted to head over to Shearpoint, the closest Dragon Cult to their current location. Zharjo was more concerned about geography; the Khajit likely believed it would be easier to get the drop unto Ancient's Ascent. A lithe form wrapped tightly in a bundled bear pelt stepped forward, muttering something that Balthor didn't quite catch in the frigid wind, it was Kray'var the team's resident Bosmer ranger. The elf barely glanced at the map before he curtly decreed his utter neutrality on the matter. Kray'var wasn't much for staying out in the cold it seemed and just wanted the team to get on its merry way. Balthor couldn't agree more of course, but something like this required some more planning before they could get anywhere near their goals.

Balthor took a moment longer to closely examine the map as another slender form wrapped tightly in a thick green cloak proceeded to scold Kray'var for his seeming disinterest and the others for their haste. Aeonille one of three Bretons on the team and the only woman had a good point, they'd been training over a decade to get to this point of the game but a moment of recklessness would be their undoing unless they advanced their goals intelligently.

“Aeonille is correct in her summary of our needs,” Baltor snapped his fingers, casting a quick Candle Light spell which he manipulated into the form of a directional arrow. “Shearpoint may be the closest to our current location but, it is also very isolated. Information on the region coming down from High Hrothgar is going to be rather scarce.”
The arrow of light traveled from his fingers and alighted unto the map, curling a route from the city of Falkreath to Ancient's Ascent.
“I say we resupply from Ivarstead on the way down the Spine and head toward Falkreath, Ancient's Descent is just south-east of the City and within just a half day's travel.” Baltor paused, tweaking his mustache a bit as he thought of a plan.

“I think with luck our resident Dragon Priest might have drummed up some activity in the region and we can learn about it from the locals,” Balthor said. “With a city so close to the dragon sighting its likely we'll get some kind of news about activity in the region, and we can also ask the locals for some information regarding the geography of the region itself.”

Balthor's glowing arrow sparkled briefly as it outlined his suggested route.
“We can stay in Falkreath for a few days and as our resident Breton sneak suggested we can prepare. Perhaps start base of operations from which we may begin combing the locals for information, at the same time scout the region a bit and gather some supplies for the operation.”

“But first,” Balthor once again tightened his heavy cloak about him, “Can we get out of this blasted weather before we start losing bits of our bodies to frost bite.” He said dryly.
“We spent most of the day getting up the Throat of the World and far too long waiting outside while you talked to the important folk. I'd like to get a warm fire going, and myself out of this wind before we go get started doing anything.”

[Grif of Hearts]

Shogro Gro-Nashkur~
The Throat of the World

The Blood had taken a perch outside of the temple known as High Hrothgar, nestling themselves in the snow covered cliffs of the throat of the world. Within the temple people were discussing the topic of dragons, although to the Blood it mattered little what was going to be said. While some of the other members of the Blood may have wanted to be involved in the discussions and debates with the Blades and the Greybeards, Shogro did not. He would not know what to say and was unlikely to be of much assistance to the Breton man who represented the group of warriors and hunters. He was perfectly happy to remain out here in the cold and snow, although judging by the murmurings of others he may have been the only one who was. He found High Hrothgar quite a fascinating place, and just thinking about what this place had been through made his skin tingle. It was a mighty beautiful place, and it was an honour just to visit.

The figure by the name of Shogro, clad in navy robes and scaled steel, was sat down against one of the many stone walls that constructed the temple, his legs crossed and his palms resting on his knees. It would have seemed almost childlike if he was not adorned with steel. He had kicked out some of the snow beneath the spot that he sat, forming a small circle of stone where it was not too cold to sit. Although it was still a seat made of hard and uneven snow, he had generally made himself comfortable, if only for a while. The other members of the Blood had done the same, setting themselves up in various positions against the wall of the temple, and while a few were conversing amongst themselves and generally trying to pass whatever amount of time they were to spend up here, Shogro was content with silence. On his part, at least. The quiet meant he could think.

His halberd, the primary weapon of the Orc, rather than keeping it tied to his back at this point, was laid down on the floor next to him. It took some of the weight off of his figure, and meant that Shogro could actually sit without having to turn the weapon in its holster at an awkward angle. From where he sat he could just manage to see through the fog and clouds that marked the mountains and the space above Skyrim, seeing the green and white plains below. It looked so small from up here, the other mountains barely making it up two thirds of the height of the throat, and the group wasn't even at the peak yet. The sightseeing would be enough to draw Shogro's attention until Jeoffrey eventually returned, and what he wouldn't do to see the whole of Skyrim from further up the mountain.

When Balthor spoke, questioning why only Jeoffrey had headed inside the temple instead of the entire party, Shogro replied with little more than a shrug. Judging by his next sentence the man was cold and mostly looking for a place that they could get out of the snow, although Shogro himself wasn't too bothered by what some might call 'poor weather'. He occasionally threw a few words back to Zharjo, a Khajiit and fellow member of the Blood. As per usual, conversations with Shogro did not last long and his responses were short and simplistic. Surprisingly for a Khajiit, a people known for being lithe and agile by the other races, Zharjo was just as tall and heavily muscled as Shogro was. He was likely just as strong, if not stronger. His size had something to do with the moons, if Shogro's memory served him well, although the Khajiit were not a subject he knew much of, beyond what he may have learned from brief chats with Zharjo. He was a friendly sort though, and the similarities hadn't bred any kind of rivalry over the years, thankfully. He doubted that Jeoffrey would allow such a thing among members of the Blood even if it might brew some healthy competition. Other than that, Shogro made little small talk with the others standing outside in the snow. There was no need, as soon the man they had been waiting for burst out from the thick stone doors of the temple and into the sunlight and fresh air.

He headed over towards the Blood who were busy trying to pass the time, although seemed noticeably relieved to see Jeoffrey appear once again. Shogro pushed himself up onto his feet, and gave a slow nod to acknowledge Jeoffrey's arrival. His foot rested over the pole of his halberd to stop it from getting lost one way or another, and one the steep cliffs of the Throat of the World it seemed entirely possible that the pole arm would find itself tumbling off the side of a cliff. The man before him pulled out a map, and after a small and simple spell was cast, a few different images appeared across the screen, marking several different locations across Skyrim. Three to be exact. Shogro scanned over them quickly, and two of the location sounded familiar, although only through word of mouth and some small mentionings in a few books. He had not been to any of these locations himself, he thought, but was more than eager to see what they had in store for the group.

When asked which location Shogro preferred, he spent a few precious moments staring over the map, leaning just slightly over the table. His right hand moved to his chin, scratching it as he thought. A few moments had passed, the other members of the Blood throwing in their suggestions, before Shogro placed a thick finger at the land just north of their current position in High Hrothgar. His vote was for Shearpoint. While a few others were suggested, Shogro had to agree with Jeoffrey on this one. The location was particularly close to the mountain that they stood upon, and it would not take long for them to reach their first destination. It seemed like a waste of time and energy to head off towards any of the others when Shearpoint was so close. Lost Tongue overlook was a tempting choice, as they could easily head there, circle around and head straight through to Shearpoint. The closer option seemed more preferable however, getting down one of the targets as quickly as possible meant that there would be less to worry about in the long run.

“All have merit, though,” Shogro said, showing that really he did not mind which they took to first. Was it really all that an important question? It didn't seem much like one, as all of the locations on the map would have to be visited at some point and there was no tactical advantage to visiting one before the others. Any would do, assuming that the group didn't spend time discussing which that they should hit.

Balthor seemed to have been thinking about this the most, having a solid plan of action rather than just suggestions to which way they should go. He had always seemed like a smart fellow, and his knowledge and skilled usage of magic only sought to prove this point. Resupplying was a smart idea, even if the group likely had the equipment to reach Shearpoint and find themselves back in a settlement. Shogro had gotten very little by taking risks however, and the resupplying first was only logical. He would be fine with that plan, as the idea of gathering a little information on the shrine would be a helpful one, he thought. The man spoke of Ivarstead as a good place to begin especially in the realms of resupply, and Shogro found himself nodding every so often when the man spoke, just reassuring the idea of Balthor's route.

Shogro bent over, picking up his halberd and sliding it through the straps of leather that lined the back of his robes, and then slipped his hands into the pockets of his robes. It was a signal that he was ready to leave this place, assuming all of the others were content with leaving too. Whatever was to be done would be followed by Shogro, and there was plenty of time for an official plan to be decided whilst on the way down the Throat of the World. Picking up anything of his that rested on the floo and, Shogro was outfitted and ready. He nodded once more, this time to Balthor, but then again to Jeoffrey.

[Alabala]

Aeonille

The breton woman breathed heavily and at a slightly quicker pace, her breath turning to a thick mist infront of her mouth as the gripping chill of the Throat's peaks enveloped her breath in its embrace and slowly crept through the thick fabric of her cloak, which she tightly clutched around herself. She had remained silent while everyone else had stated their position on their course of action, only nodding quietly as she considered the options the others gave.

She seemed as eager as anyone else to leave these high peaks and return to the cold, but all the same more forgiving climes of Skyrim. She huddled in her cloak and leathers, gritting her teeth for a moment.

"I agree with Balthor." she started, glancing to the others around them "We should move swiftly and plan ahead as we proceed. If we can manage to move through all three of these points of interest mostly uninterrupted, our momentum will give us the extra advantage we need." As she spoke, her gaze wandered over the faces of her companions, eventually drifting off the cliff of the mountain. She couldn't see much for the mist, but her mind filled in the huge gap, jagged rocks and steep falls awaited. Heights had always proved to unnerve her, albeit not to the point of losing control. It was the main issue when she practiced Featherfall, it was difficult to concentrate when fearing a deadly fall. She diverted her attention again, seeing as some would notice her staring off the side of the mountain.

"To Ancient's Descent, then." she muttered and stepped to the side, then glancing over her shoulder "And right now, descent seems like a wonderful word to me. Let us begone."

With that, she pulled down her hood, bidding her head to keep the cold wind from reaching her face. She felt cold and this high, she seemed even paler than she already was. Even with her conditioning, all the alchemical tinctures and extracts that she'd imbibed and incorporated into her arsenal, she often had to remind herself just how human and vulnerable she truly was. For someone as slim as her, this cold could prove dangerous. Her breath started to get shaky, but she did her best not to let it show, she'd grown to try and match the men around her in both tenacity and strength.

As she slinked past the men to stand at the edge of the group, she passed them each a glance. Regardless of her competitive and sometimes hostile nature, her nature also left room for worry, as this was to be the climactic moment of decades of training and preparation. The moment of truth was at hand, and she was looking forward to it, and dreading it both.

[Serge Drevlan]

Zharjo||Jeoffrey

Jeoffrey listened to the team intently as they all aired their frustrations or concerns or agreements. It was each individual idea, that he listened to. The team was certainly opinionated, he realized then. Everyone seemed to have an idea for a possible attack, but something which seemed constant was the need for equipment and that it wouldn’t matter which location they attacked first. Jeoffrey smiled at the end of it all and began walking down the trail to the bottom of the mountain.

“We have plenty of supplies and will have plenty of time to prepare for the eventual attack. Don’t worry. I’ve been planning this for a very long time.” With that, Jeoffrey began walking down the trail.

The walk down wasn’t any worse than the walk up. There were a few trolls which Shogro and Zharjo dispatched of and a pack of wolves which Balthor and Aeonille took care of. Kray’var spotted both the dangers before the things were even visible in the thick snow. When the group reached the bottom, they would see two large caravans waiting for them. They were lined up, one after the other, with a cart at the front with four horses. The transport vehicles had benches inside, enough for the whole team. And on top of the two Caravan's were chests and bags filled with equipment and supplies and food. A tall High Elf waited for the group in front of the caravans with a smile on his face. The amount that he was being paid was enough to make anyone smile for the rest of their lives. Jeoffrey pulled Zharjo to the side and whispered something in his ear as the group went ahead. Zharjo nodded and made his way over to the back end of the caravans. He sat on the floor and began removing his greaves. Jeoffrey walked over to the High Elf and handed him a bag of gold.

“Thank you, friend. We are ready to go.” He said with a smile. The High Elf, who’s name was Armion, simply nodded and took his place at the head with the horses. He grabbed a basket from the bench where he would sit and began feeding the horses. “We should be leaving in a few moments. If any of you need anything from Ivarstead, I recommend you get it now. If you have any questions, they should be asked now. I will be here when everyone is ready.” Jeoffrey addressed his group and when he was done he sat on the step to the first caravan. It creaked a bit under his weight.

The horses neighed, satisfied with the food they’d been given. The sun had just risen in Ivarstead and people had begun their daily routines. It was a good day to begin a quest against Alduin the World Eater, indeed.

[Countdown0]

Roric

Some of the other members of the Blood complained of the cold of High Hrothgar, but for Roric is wasn't any sort of bother. All Nords were born with an innate resilience for such things, and Roric found the chilling winds so high up the Throat of the World to be quite comfortable, though over his armor he did wear a cloak made of bear hide and fur to fend off the stronger, colder breezes. While the others discussed where they each thought they should be going to first, Roric stood in silence next to the bridge that led from Ivarstead to the famous steps, waiting for the rest of them to show up. It meant that he probably would have to wait a while to find out what was happening, but that was okay.

Roric was actually a little bit excited for that. He had been training for this day for as long as he could remember, and now was the time. He just knew that they would be marching off to face the enemies they had so long learned to combat. Today was the day. For some it might be alarming or worrying, but Rorik waited with almost childlike eagerness. He wasn't immature, but Rorik had a certain lust for grand stories and tales of heroes. To follow in their footsteps was a dream for the young man, and he was proud to take on the first of what he hoped would be many journeys this day.

Once the others had finally reached Ivarstead, Roric was still waiting patiently with the high elf who was being paid an apparently large sum of money to take them from place to place. The Nord wasn't really impressed by wealth. It was useful, certainly. Without money he wouldn't be able to afford the materials he needed to practice his smithing, nor to repair and improve his warhammer and his armor. But Rorik almost pittied the elf, who seemed more interested in his pay than in the sights that they would see and the thrills that could be found along the road that laid before them. Still, he wasn't one to judge. Everyone had their own reasons for what they did.

Rorik nodded in salute to the other members of the Blood as they passed by him, gretting each of them in a friendly way.

While the rest of the Blood were waiting for the permission to begin they're assault a man, barely a man actually, approached Roric. He rode on a horse and wore finely polished armor. At his side was a katana. He'd given a note to Roric, it was sealed with the insignia of the Blades. The man said to give it to Jeoffrey immediately. Rorik himself frowned but nodded and took the note to Jeoffrey, handing it to the older man. "Apparently this is for you."

Rorik thought for a few moments, letting Jeoffrey read the note before looking back at him again. "Jeoffrey, where are we going anyway?" He asked, curious and not wanting to wait much longer to find out.

[Alabala]

Aeonille


The dangers of the Throat seemed so distant to Aeonille, now that she was approaching the lower regions and Ivarstead. Some odd feeling within her seemed to find the settlement quaint, inviting even, despite the biting cold that always bothered her to an extent. She paid only as much heed to the high-elf caravan master or Jeoffrey and the rest as would merit a side-glance. Right now, her interest lied in Ivarstead, but in a more involved manner than simply stocking up on necessities, as those were apparently not an issue, judging from the stocked appearance of the carts. She intended to slink into the town and watch its inhabitants. She'd always been distant, even among most of the Blood, and her social graces were not among her more prominent qualities. Her proficiency at stealth would've made it easier to watch the townsfolk, see how they moved, how they spoke to each other. The notion made her feel both infuriated with herself and infinitely ashamed, realizing just how distanced from normal people she was.

'Twas not a longing to be normal that drove her, no, but curiosity. She'd hardly ever taken chances to be among people during her training and now that she had seen but a glimpse of their simple life, during the Blood's approach to High Hrothgar, she felt the need to see more. What little she'd seen from Roric, the nord in their party had made her curious about his people. He was capable, that much she could tell readily, but also possessed of boundless enthusiasm that made her wonder if most of his people were similar in one way or another. Her forray into the ordinary would be cut short, however as she heard shouting from nearby, coupled with the heavy footfalls of an armored man.

She was attempting to slink around the others, just as the Blade rode by Roric to leave him the note. She'd stopped to hear the man out, frowning somewhat and spinning about to approach the venue and to come into view just in case it was anything important, though she didn't see the man's features or anything more distinguishing than his armor and weapon. Clasping her hands behind her back, she took a few more steps closer to Roric as the other warrior rode away.

"What did he want, Roric?" she inquired, looking at the note quite pointedly, then back at Roric, a brow curiously lofted being the only change to her otherwise still features. She'd folded her arms, her eyes looking past the nord and peering into the back of the blade who slowly but surely lengthened the distance between them.

[Grif of Hearts]

Shogro Gro-Nashkur~
The Throat of the World

The trip back down the mountain with seven thousand steps was not entirely unlike the trip up. Cold, long and tiring, although the trek was made in the knowledge that soon they'd reach warmer lands. A few beasts that lurked within the various caves that marked the sides of the mountain came out looking for a fresh meal, although they were met with iron, steel and fire. The group faced little more than wolves and trolls, and they were not much of an issue for the heavily armed group. They were dispatched just as quickly as they had been spotted, some due to Shogro's own weaponry but many from the others in the group. They all had a goal now, and these monsters were just something to side-track them from the task at hand. They were few and far between though, and certainly not a threat. In the time spent heading down the mountain however they had decided on which dragon monument that they would all head to first. The majority seemed to be in favour of heading to Ancient's Ascent, which would become their first hit. Even though it was not Shogro's personal preference, he was happy with the decision none the less and made no comment against the idea. Shogro still said little, and while it was not particularly noticeable, he was quite impatient to get to the three marked locations as soon as possible. Impatience was usually Shogro's way of showing nervousness or worry – a general want to get the task at hand over and done with as quickly as as humanly possible. Or orcishly possible in Shogro's case. He figured that it was better than procrastination at least, mostly because it definitely got the job done and out of the way. As if implying this with his position in the group, Shogro had taken a position nearer to to the front, where he could both be look out and protect the group from harm should another beast find its way towards the group.

Jeoffrey quite happily explained that the group's growing fear of running out of supplies half way through the trip was an unnecessary fret, and that the group had more than enough food and medicine to last them across the Skyrim-wide trip, followed by a remeasurement that he had put enough thought and time into preparing this. Shogro trusted him, as there had been very few times when Jeoffrey had disappointed him before. It meant that they wouldn't have to stop in a local town for food and supplies, which in turn meant that they could reach their targets as quickly as possible. As the group made it further down the mountain, they could spot two caravans, with enough room to hold the entire group and likely stocked full of foot and equipment. That would be their ride, taking them from place to place. Shrine to shrine more specifically, although Shogro wondered just how those huge caravans were going to be able to navigate some of the thin mountain passes that they would certainly have to head through to reach all of their goals. Shogro was glad that they would be given a lift however, as even his legs ached a little after scaling the rocky sides of the Throat of the World. Letting the horses do some of the work for them sounded mighty appealing, and the others likely felt the same.

Shogro gave a gentle nod to Rorik and Armion whom had been waiting at the base of the mountain for the group's return. The first was a fellow member of the Blood and had chosen to remain down here with the horses and the warmer air, and the second owned the horses themselves, Shogro believed. Rorick quickly questioned Jeoffrey on whether or not they had decided a place to head, which the rest of the group knew that they had. Shogro tapped the man on the arm, garnering his attention. “Ancient's Ascent,” he said before Jeoffrey could respond himself.

While it was suggested that the group could spend five minutes wrapping up any loose ends that they might have or buying any last minute essentials that they might need in Ivarstead, Shogro himself decided to stay with the caravans. He needed nothing from the shops and knew nobody here in Ivarstead, and couldn't think of any other reason why he should stay. He was perfectly happy to remain here, his figure leaning against the side of one of the caravans. He unfastened his gauntlets while he waited, glad to finally get the uncomfortable things off, and generally loosened many parts of the scaled steel that wrapped around his body, although he wouldn't bother taking them off until he was inside the caravan. His robes would be sufficient enough for the caravan ride.