The cat's features drooped when she heard the Orc speak to her. It was only inevitable that she would have to reveal herself, but having someone else look through her so casually... she couldn't help but feel disappointed in herself for slipping up. Still, seeing as the Orc appeared to be on the way out this did present an interesting opportunity. With a hop, Maza jumped down from the arm she was perched on and placed one of her paws on the Orc's leg. A small red glow flowed from her leg to the Orc; it was a spell of her own devising, a more elaborate Noise spell that could create the illusion of speech. A necessity for someone such as her. Concentrating, she chose her words carefully; they came in a typical Khajiit voice, though with an odd undertone that spoke of the Imperial Province. She tried to keep her "speech" in short, terse sentences to conserve magicka. Nothing was worse than ending a conversation early because of a lack of magicka.
Sage Mazathad-Dra, delighted. This one, a Khajiit. In fact, she is here for that exact reason. This one takes it that you are about to head out? Perhaps it would be wise to bring Mazathad-Dra along on the ascent. She has heard that the steps become dangerous at night and she is quite a skilled mage.

Rawlith-Dar began his long trek up the mountain with torch and axe in hand. His armor chilled with the snow and frost while his coat whipped in the wind, every second was spent being wary and somewhat cold under the shadow of the frozen night. Rawlith-Dar was better off then most though, the combination of his fur and the fur that lined every inch of his coat allowed him to be warmer then most, albeit he still retained a chill as well. While he knew it was unwise to a degree, Rawlith truly needed to push himself up the mountain and he began to sprint. He forced his way past snow-drift and stone-step alike with great haste and great exertion, and while this seemed promising for the early part of the trek, it soon began to hurt him. He reached the looming heights of the mountain and the air became thinner, this presented a problem for him and his torch, with the thinning air making his torch a low wisp of fire, he dropped it altogether and raised his hands. A blue light resonated from his palms as he continued to walk up the moment with a slowed pace and after several minutes of channeling his magic he released the light to spawn up a familiar. A swarm of brilliant green lights encircled him and tiny noises could be heard. He had summoned Elsweyrn Sparkflies, a cousin to the Skyrim Torchbug. They lit his path the rest of the way and he moved on, halting his sprint, but continuing with a light jog. After a few hours he seemed to pass some people, a few pilgrims, and then were a male and little lass, which he noticed was odd, but nevertheless anything out of peculiarity with the rest of the world.

The fight with the Frost troll had taken its toll on Valerion, the ancient castle of High Hrothgar was now in his sights, but the pain from his arm and head was excruciating.
Valerion buried his blade into the snow before kneeling and opening a small black pouch attached to his waist. It contained numerous Black crystals, some were pure black and the others; majority of the others, were a deep hue of purple. These Purple ones had been filled with souls of various travelers and Valerion could use them to heal any wounds he had sustained.
This was the only way he could heal himself as well. Potions were useless and restoration magic just failed to have any effect on him. This made life a bit of a misery at times but so long as he was stocked up he was fine.
He pulled a long Soul gem out and it started to glow in a small shimmering light when he placed it in his palm. He crushed it and it uttered a small hollow scream as he absorbed its energy.
The next bit was the nasty part though, Valerion bit his teeth in preparation for his bones in his broken right arm to snap back together.
And with a sickening crack they did, Valerion screamed into his throat. But the worst was over as he got up and wiped his face, clearing any blood that covered it.
He began exercising his arm, it always felt queer the first few minutes after he healed himself, the body part that suffered never really felt like it was his. He speculated that what ever damage was done was stolen from the soul he used. But it mattered little to Valerion, his preservation came first... Always...

Valerion placed his blade back into his scabbard on his hip as he began climbing the last few steps up into the fabled halls of High Hrothgar, placing both hands onto the doors on the right, he gave a strong push as the doors swung open slowly, a strong smell of incense and log fires hit Valerion's nostrils as he closed the large, heavy doors behind him.

"Ah our first member of Dovah Feyn, thank the Nine we were beginning to lose hope!" came from Valerion's back, it was a sage like voice, wizened and was not much unlike the snows of Skyrim, soft, yet it had a harsh undertone.

Valerion turned and walked into the centre of the large hall, before him stood 2 old men in long dark grey cloaks, their hoods pulled up and one woman who was adorned in a heavy plate armour that matched an Akaiviri style, one of Valerions favorites.

"You need not worry much more sir, I believe there're some more on their way." Valerion said, his voice resonating of the hard stone walls of the castles spacious interior.

"Ah, see Delphine I told you that all hope was not lost." The man said to the armoured woman.

"Yes, I suppose you're right Argneir."The woman replied.

"Right in that case please go into the room on our left, there's a roaring fire and some Salt fish in there for you, as well as soup and wine. Please make yourself at home." Argneir said with a warm smile and his right arm outstretched to the right of him.

"My thanks." Valerion said, taking a small bow.

He walked swiftly into the Dinning hall which had a long stone table in a horseshoe shape, in the middle was a roaring pit fire, as well as a large fire place near the entrance.
he sat at the very middle of the table, furthest away from the entrance, so he could have a good view of anyone who entered, but more importantly because it was generally, in most dining occasions where the most important person sat.

He poured himself a glass of wine, and began sipping at his soup. Eagerly awaiting for the next person to enter the room.

Rozalia fell back into silence as she trudged alongside him, contemplating his answer. She supposed it would be nice to never feel cold. But... heat? To her, nothing felt better than a toasty, cosy warmth after a cold day outdoors. In fact, the idea of a fire in the halls of High Hrothgar was simply tantalizing. She wondered how a touch of her skin would feel to him. Would he feel it warmer than others would?
Her silent musings were caught short as she saw a cloud bank ahead. They had passed the ninth station just then - she had noticed a distinct lack of pilgrims this high up. Gritting her teeth as they stepped into it, Vincent without hesitation, Rozalia following somewhat more dubiously. She was right to be - the cloud stuck ice-like water to her face and body, which burned in the intense cold. She couldn't stop the chattering of her teeth now, but pushed through all the same. It was just as cold on the other side, but her breath was taken away, not by the cold, but by the view. Above the clouds, the wind and the snow, the view was simply wondrous. She'd never seen anything like it. The stars shone brightly, and shimmering colours danced across the moons, in a stark contrast to the blanket of deep blue behind it. Walking along with her head tilted up, her foot came into contact with something heavy and metal. Glancing back down, she noticed a fair amount of blood in the snow, and at her feet lay a rather familiar looking helmet. Picking it up and dusting the snow off it, she held it up to Vincent.
"Look! This belonged to that creepy dead guy that passed us earlier." She announced, then glanced at the blood. "D'you think he died?" She questioned, then paused with a frown. "Like, really died."

Dura let out a low chuckle as she heard's the feline's Noise spell. Bending down to speak to the unusual Khajiit, she looked at the cat, only one amber eye visible through the shadows of the hood and mask, softly glowing with an unnatural light. "The night holds no peril to me. It and I are long acquainted. But you are free to come along, even ride upon my shoulders if you so please. I'll wait by the door for you to get your satchel." The orc vampire rose again, striding towards the door. Once there, she didn't go through instead choosing to lean against the wall by it.

Mazathad-Dra perked up at the Orc's response. She didn't seem to mind the Orc's intimidating appearance, or its boast. Things were going so much better than she had expected! Not only did she have a traveling partner, but said partner had offered her a ride! Granted the Orc was a vampire, but she was sure that it wouldn't be difficult to take care of it if things got tense. Besides, she had always wanted to learn about vampires; everything she read about them seemed awfully biased. Perhaps it was for good reason, but she was itching to find out.

The Khajiit mage nodded and made her way to her satchel, which was thankfully still where she had left it, and threw it open. The rune shone brightly for a second and quickly faded away as it was dispelled. With the assistance of some telekinetic magic, Mazathad-Dra deftly donned her blue cloak and satchel. She shuddered as the powerful warding enchantment flowed through her; she didn't feel nearly as vulnerable as she had before, she even felt ready to take on the frigid climb ahead of her. She headed for the door and stopped next to the Orc that she had offered to accompany. Looking up at the imposing figure, she repeated the Noise spell.
Very well, this one is ready to set out. There are many things she wishes to discuss, if you do not mind.
With that said, Mazathad-Dra sat down on her back legs and looked back up at the Orc expectantly, as if she was waiting for something.

Edit: The guild went down and then this happened.

Edit: The guild went down and then this happened.

Edit: The guild went down and then this happened.

Dreet-Na shivered again and cursed into the cold evening, the last rays of the day were vanishing and he’d been trudging towards that blasted mountain for as long as he cared to remember. Even though he was practically there he was in a short mood as he would still have to climb seven-thousand steps up the Throat of the World to High Hrothgar. ‘Hah – Throat of the World, what a foolish name’ he thought sourly to himself. If Nordic legend were to be believed this is the place where mankind was formed when the sky breathed onto the land. He thought it was funny considering they came from what was once Atmora – a continent to the north of Tamriel. All too conflicting for his tastes, but of course it was possible.

As he passed over an ornate but clearly aged stone bridge he spotted a watchman stood on the far side, an unmoving sentinel watching over the pass, or so he assumed. As he got closer it soon became clear that the man was not even conscious, in fact his sporadic snoring noises indicated he was sleeping on his feet somehow. Unimpressed Dreet-Na stalked past the man who barley even registered his presence apart from a slight grunt as he continued to sleep. Entering the village of Ivarstead he paused as he spotted the tavern , the sounds of general drunkenness and merriment breaking the otherwise generally silent evening. As much as he would like to stop for a drink and a comfortable bed he knew there were more pressing matters, besides he had everything he needed in his flask. As he turned and headed towards the path that would lead him up the highest mountain in Tamriel he reached into his satchel and pulled out his flask, briefly pausing to examine the daedric inscriptions covering it that he was so fond of before he took a deep swig. Exhaling into the cool air he sighed, the taste of the Cyrodilic brandy making him smile fondly even with the upcoming climb. It also tasted all the sweeter since he hadn’t needed to pay the imperial’s tax since he picked it up in cyrodiil on his way through. Sighing and placing the flash back in his satchel he took the first step towards High Hrothgar and Dovahfeyn.

Quite some time later Dreet-Na was towards the top of the mountain where the air was painstakingly thin, the air was freezing and his cloak was damp and covered in snow. He’d passed few on his way up, though he ignored those pilgrims he did. It seemed they were climbing down now, obviously the conditions were only going to get worse. He had paused at each of the ten etched tablets before reading the words carved into them even though he already knew them, just to be able to say it was one more piece of actual history he had touched. Glancing over the side of the mountain he spared a few moments to observe the view, but was not in the mood to appreciate the wonder and simply disregarded it as he continued upwards. Ahead of him a pair of figures came into focus as he trudged closer, one of them was holding something up and examining it – a woman by the looks of it. He assumed they were here for the same reason he was, and so he presumed they may be potential members of Dovahfeyn and took particular interest in them as he approached. She was thin and wearing leather armour with a pair of small blades at her waste, a hood obscuring her features as she stood shivering. Possibly some kind of rouge he assumed, before flicking his gaze to the man beside her. He was tall and wore what looked to him like something a noble would, clearly having cost more than a few septims. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the cold and hand long hair which matched the snow cascading around them. He would introduce himself to them inside he decided, not wanting to spend a moment longer in the cold. Moving past them without a word he gazed up at High Hrothgar, again not in the mood to be impressed he wasted little time in climbing the final few steps and pushing open the heavy wooden doors before disappearing into the warmth.

The warmth was much more pleasant than the cold and he finally felt slightly better as he removed his hood before greeting two of the old men whom he assumed were the Greybeards, as well as a woman who wore what he recognised as Akaiviri armour. Interested he assumed then that she was possible a member of the Blades, however they were supposed to have been entirely eliminated by the Thalmor.

Moving into the room to the right as he was directed Dreet-Na glanced around at the room, some kind of dining hall with a long horse-shoe shaped table in the centre. Numerous fires heated the room and there were several book-cases lining the room, a man seated at the centre of the table waiting. Dreet-Na stared at him for a few moments, examining him. He didn’t look healthy, he decided and hi eyes were a practically fiery red. His armour looked of very good make and quality if not a bit much for Dreet-Na’s tastes. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he decided that he wasn’t a man at all, perhaps once but the air of necromancy seemed to hang thick around him. He had read enough about the darkest powers to recognise such things, and so turning away from the man he began to examine the bookcases and their contents whilst he waited for any others to arrive.

Dura bent down when the Khajiit returned with her things.A She spared an internal chuckle at the sight of a cat in a cloak. Once she was low enough, she held her arm out for the Khajiit could climb up her. Speaking in a low voice again, she nodded and replied, "That is fine, it'll help pass the time as we climb up high to the castle just beneath the sky." Once the feline was on and nestled comfortably, Dura rose and open the door. They headed out of Ivarstead's inn, and into the dark of the night and storm to begin an ascent up the mountain's form. A vampire and a cat, an odd duo at the least, began the trek up stairs snow-made treacherous and sleek, scaling the ascent in weather bleak.

Valerion stared at this newcomer with interest, an Argonian adorned in robes, it appeared that he had little in terms of weapons or armour, so it was a simple suggestion that the Lizard was a Mage, or practised some, sort of magic, otherwise he was in the wrong place.
The Lizards slit like eyes peered at Valerion, obviously trying to deduct something about who he was.
But in the end he turned and started looking through books that were lined across the walls.
He evidently wasn't a social man Valerion thought, so he had to talk first it would appear.
"Greetings!" Valerion said raising his glass.
"Are you here for the Dovah Feyn?"
Valerion stared at the Argonian intently wondering if he'd regard Valerion with a response.

"Greetings! Are you here for the Dovah Feyn?"

The man’s words broke the sound of the crackling fires, Dreet-Na paused and turning his head to face the man he answered bluntly “Yes” before turning back to the bookcase and bringing out a small dark bound book, examining the cover. It was titled ‘Annals of the Dragonguard’ and was a text he had not read before, though he was somewhat familiar with its contents. It was a journal written by a member of the ancient Dragonguard, fitting he thought considering the situation.

“And why are you here?” Dreet-Na asked carefully, his emphasis showing his suspicion somewhat as he turned his attention back to his new ‘friend’. Moving towards the table he chose the seat closest to him, putting him one seat away from one end of the horseshoe table, and several seats away from the other man. Placing the book on the table he ran a pair of fingers down the cover before reaching into his satchel and pulling out a small ornate dwemer pipe and placing it beside the book before staring at the dark haired stranger with a sceptical eye as he listened to what he had to say.

Even with her cloak's wards, the freezing storm bit deeply into Mazathad-Dra's short fur. She hadn't expected for the storm to still be raging by the time she left, but she couldn't squander this opportunity. With a wave of her paw, she cast Wolfskin; it was a spell she had picked up from a merchant named Chesko near the borders of Skyrim. It created a thick magical coat of insulation that kept the caster warm. Invaluable in this climate, really. She couldn't deny that she was in a very dangerous position here, sitting on the shoulders of a vampiric Orc, yet her curiosity about the undead was so great that she shut the quiet voices of concern.

As the Orc started moving up the steps, the Khajiit dug her claws into the furry shoulder that she was riding on and hung on. It would only get worse as they climbed up and getting separated would be... bad, to say the least. Once she was sure that she was firmly secured, she figured that now would be a good a time as any to strike up a conversation.
You haven't introduced yourself to this one yet, you know. It would be comforting if she knew who she was traveling with. Especially when she travels with someone who is less than alive.

The Argonian certainly had some thick scales, or he was just plain stupid. Speaking to Valerion in such a tone!
Valerion stared at the Argonian with a fiery distaste but he soon calmed his expression, Valerion put the way he spoke to him as a mere childish insignificance.
Taking a small sip from his wine Valerion answered the Lizards question.
"I am here for the same reason as you, to kill dragons."
He gave a slight chuckle "Why else would I have made that gods awful trek up this frozen piece of rock?"
Valerion then asked another question
"So tell me 'Lizard'." Valerion placed emphasis on the word lizard.
"What makes you think you can be of any assistance to the Dovahfeyn? All I see is an arrogant mage, and I doubt your skills in magic are of any use."
Valerion had dropped that bloody, happy-go-lucky charade that he always used around others. He could finally be himself.

Dura climbed the steps slowly and deliberately, making sure each step was on solid footing before taking another step, her steel boots crunching softly in the snow. Even with her ability to see in the dark, the storm impeded visibility heavily, so she focused on one step after another, each one taking them a little further to their goal. High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards, masters of the Voice. When the Khajiit's spell spilled the conured voice into her ears, it pulled Dura from her reverie. So the cat knew that the spark of natural life had long since died in her. While it irked Dura slightly that she was found out so easily, by a cat of all things, she was not as surprised as she probably should have been. After all, it was a magic cat, and were cats not full of tricks? The orc started speaking, loud enough to be heard even in the din of the storm.
"Dura gra-Shurk, and as you apparently know, not one of the warm-blooded living. I am vampire. Have been for over a century now. I do my best to keep it a secret, so I would appreciate it if you didn't revel it to others."

The cat smiled outwardly and beamed with a silent pride. The Orc wasn't the only one who could spot a secret. As they continued up the path it became progressively harder to see anything without magical aid, though some quick peeks of the environment with simple detection spells showed nothing of note asides from the occasional snow-covered corpse of assorted wildlife, surely leftovers from the previous adventurers that had decided to go forward before them.

She mulled over the Orc's name. Dura gra-Shurk, was it? It certainly sounded Orcish to Mazathad-Dra, though she couldn't make out its significance, if there was any. Her own name didn't mean anything, after all. There was still quite a ways to go, and many things she still wished to know. What was it like being dead, did it hurt, was keeping it a secret difficult, what was someone like her doing, did she want it cured...?
After some deliberation, she chose to start from the beginning.
You do not need to worry, you will find that Mazathad-Dra is good at keeping secrets.
Not exactly true, but she didn't allow the illusion to show it.
If it is well with you, this one wishes to know how you came to reach such a state. Surely it must have been rather unpleasant. It must be quite a tale.

As the two continued along, they eventually broke through the clouds and into the crystal clear sky above. Vincent momentarily paused his ascent to take in the view. Sights like these, all of Skyrim spread out before him, were what he lived for. They were what gave him purpose, and were what he was willing to fight to protect. However, his momentary serenity was broken by the girl tripping over something. Turning his attention back to her, he saw the aftermath of some manner of battle. The undead they had encountered on the way up appeared to be one of the participants. At least he spared them the trouble of dealing with whatever was lurking up here.

"No," Vincent answered, idly taking the helmet from the girl and examining it, "I would think not. He gives me the feeling of a particularly persistent problem."

Tucking the helmet under his arm, Vincent noticed an Argonian dart past them, kicking up a great deal of snow in its hurry to get to (presumably) High Hrothgar. Vincent decided that it was high time to continue on, and shortly followed after the lively reptilian. The old monastery was soon after reached at last, and Vincent quickly invited himself inside. Brushing off whatever greetings were being showered on him, he heard a familiar voice echoing through the stony halls. Following it into the dining hall, he spotted the undead from earlier harassing the Argonian that had passed them. Eyes smiling with mischief, Vincent approached them, still bearing the helmet that had been left in the snow.

"Ah, sir, you seem to have misplaced this." He held the helmet out as though to hand it to him, but then dropped it to the floor, metal hitting stone with a resounding clang. Walking to a more shadowed corner of the hall, further from the fire, Vincent continued to jest, "One must take better care of their belongings. Not many are as kind-hearted as myself; anyone could have passed by and snatched it up for themselves."

Rozalia darted a dark look at Vincent as he rudely ignored the Greybeards, but she quickly offered up a bright smile for them. She noticed the blond woman looking at her skeptically.
"Sorry 'bout that." She apologized - not sure why she was doing it on Valerion's behalf, but whatever - and the Greybeads smiled.
"Don't worry yourself about it. Welcome to High Hrothgar - it's quite a climb, isn't it?" He said, a twinkle in his eyes, and Rozalia laughed.
"That's an understatement. It was colder than an Ice wraith's bite out there." However, she was swiftly warming up. Although not as warm as the inn had been, the various braziers dotted around the large hall were making themselves known to her, and the feeling came back to her fingers and toes in tantalizingly tingles of pain. A dreamy look must have fallen across her face once the smell of stew wafted towards her nose, as Arngeir - as he had introduced himself, and his colleague Master Borri, with Delphine being the still dubious-looking woman - showed her towards a dining hall. Upon entering - and being supplied with a bowl of stew, a blanket, and a seat, Rozalia realized that Vincent had found that creepy dead guy, Valerion. Who wasn't permanently dead, it seemed. There was also the Argonian they had seen earlier, browsing the books and giving Valerion a most unpleasant look. Man, this guy did not know how to make friends.
Having taken off her sodden wet armour, Rozalia was curled up on one of the stone seats in a thin fur tunic shirt, over simple black leggings.
"I suppose I look even less of a dragon-slayer now. Rozalia thought to herself as she sipped the stew. "That Delphine was looking at me as if I were some wee naive maiden! Well, that maiden part is true, but the rest of it wasn't. Not the first time people have under-estimated me." She then paused in her silent musings thoughtfully, wondering if dragons would overlook her in any way. That would be helpful.
Glancing once more at Valerion's helmet on the floor, her eyes listed back to Vincent's face. She wondered if a fight would brew between these two.

"You survived an encounter with a Dovah already? How did you survive, this is.. this is astounding. Few mortals survive a personal encounter with a Dovah. I apologize, do not mistake this for me calling you weak, but they are Dovah. They are wielders of the Thu'um, their conversations shakes mountains, their roars sunder men's souls."

"This one is well aware of their ability... This one has something he wishes to know about, it happened when he fought the Dragon." Rawlith removed his trench-coat and then laid removed his leather and bonemold chest-piece to reveal his scar. The scar still very much looked like a leafless tree, the trim trunk of the tree going right up the middle of his abdomen and then sprouting branches on his upper chest. The thin lines also retained the light shimmer of magicka that resonated within it, which was a brilliant white color.

"By the nine... You bear a Dovah Ahraan. Arngeir, Brothers, come." The Greybeard was ridden with awe as he looked at Rawlith's Scar and Arngeir and the others only muttered a few things before Arngeir placed a hand on Rawlith's shoulder while speaking.

"Child, I must say you are a wondrous sight, there are many things the Dovah do, but you bear something that is nearly non-existent in history. Come, join the others, and we shall speak more at a later time. We must talk about your Dovah Ahraan alone." Arngeir stated while gesturing to the chamber the people were meeting in.

Rawlith had actually arrived second, behind Valerion a short ways, but had taken the time to talk to one of the Greybeards about his urgent matter before actually getting to meet any of the other members, many of which were now present, including the male and female he had passed sometime ago on the mountain path. He passed through the doorway and perched himself against a wall while looking over the room and all of it's entities. His leather top now back on, as to prevent total exposure of his odd scar to everyone. He only recognized the pair from the path, but he was content with the group so far. He was also quite happy to see a Saxhleel present, which he could feel the Magicka emanating from, as well as from multiple others within the room.
most

He silently listened to the sparse conversation in the room as the people began to settle into the new environment. Rawlith found most relatively mundane, save the unsavory sport who found himself so full of ego that he had perched himself at the "Pride" of the table before anyone else decided to do so. Rawlith wasn't keen on sitting at all really, but the idea that one was so full of himself, and to be so bold among the Greybeards no less, seemed ridiculous and a poor choice. Rawlith pondered the nature of the group, and then realized something even more alluring. He had seen a Khajiit, a Alfiq in the tavern, and had began to wonder if perhaps her intentions were to join DovahFeyn as well. He let a small khajiit smile form on his face, something many wouldn't recognize unless familiar with the Khajiit overall, and he began to hum lightly.