Dreet-Na continued to stare at the Breton, a spark of anger showing through his dark eyes, though only for a moment before it was replaced by a smirk and the man’s tone changed to one that he was sure was filled with condescension and dislike. His words made it clear to Dreet-Na that he was more than sure of his own abilities, confident that he could kill dragons – after all that was why he, they, were here apparently.

"So tell me ‘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."

The man’s words hung in the air for a moment, before Dreet-Na could respond the snow-haired man he had passed on the trail entered the room with a metal helm clasped in his hands. It clearly looked to be a part of the set that this red-eyed troublemaker was wearing. With a sarcastic phrase the newcomer dropped the helmet, causing a very unpleasant and loud clanging noise before he retreated into a shadowed corner of the room – clearly the two of them were as good friends as Dreet-Na already hoped to be.

Again before Dreet-Na could respond the woman he had passed entered the room a few moments later, glancing at the helmet and then her ‘companion’ with a slight concerned expression on her face. The Argonian wondered briefly if these two had some kind of history or if they had simply shared the journey up to High Hrothgar together. At least this woman looked to be full of life, unlike the other pair, he decided – they both looked so pale and unwell that he briefly considered casting a detect life spell to see if they even were alive, but decided against it for the moment.

Next a Khajiit slinked into the room, curious considering Dreet-Na had not seen him at all on the path up – he would have remembered. His animosity towards the red-eyed one forgotten Dreet-Na stared for a moment at this newcomer, rolling his eyes as he looked away sullenly. So far he was not impressed by what he was seeing, though he would reserve his judgment until he knew better and had met the rest of his ‘companions’ in full.

Turning his gaze back towards the red-eyed man Dreet-Na bit his tongue, instead of retorting aggressively as was going to he simply responded “I’d think that we were here to save all of Nirn, not simply kill dragons. Seeing as they were already dead before this whole mess started I’d say that it’d be futile to focus on just that one task, though feel free to get yourself consumed by the World Eater or any of his kin if you so desire. I’ll be trying to figure out how the prophecy of the Dragonborn could be so utterly worthless and how us mere mortals can escape the very destruction of Mundus itself”.

He glared sarcastically at him before he dismissively opened the book he had taken and began to glance through the pages idly whilst he waited for the meeting to begin. He hoped that there would be others more intellectually inclined that would be joining their group, or indeed even the kind of heroes that he had expected – strong Nord men with full steel armour and valour in their hearts, not these questionably pale and odd individuals who looked more likely to try and join Alduin then destroy him. At this point Dreet-Na held little hope for the future success of Dovahfeyn and gloomily sat flicking through pages of the book.

Valerion was awaiting the Argonians answer when some new figures disturbed the relative peace of the room, and unfortunately Valerions suspicions had been confirmed, the little girl and that Vampire had come here for the purpose of joining DovahFeyn. And he was holding something, it was just then that Valerion had realised he wasn't wearing his helmet, even though he had been eating soup but moments earlier...
A look of shear disdain formed on Valerions face as the smug looking Vampire waggled that insignificant piece of meat that is called a tongue.

"Ah, sir, you seem to have misplaced this." - his voice rife with mockery

He dropped Valerions helmet on the floor just in front of him, it clashed with the hard stone floor and made a horrible clanging sound that resonated off the walls.
The Servant of the night walked off to the back of the hall out of the light and into a shadowy corner or the room and said something else.
"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."
Valerion disregarded this however, the little Vampire was being petty and showing how big his fangs were, it mattered not, the day would come were he would regret his foolish actions.
Valerion then turned his attention towards the girl who was sitting on the left hand side of the table, cuddled up and warming herself by the fire. For a moment their eyes met, but she turned to face the man in the shadows, staring intently at him.
Hmmm... I wonder. Valerion pondered silently, looking at the girl with suspicion.

He disregarded this however when another entity entered the room, a Khajiit. Soemthing was quite odd about him though, his aura... was off... it was not far unlike that of the dead one, and yet it wasn't. It was almost as if someone, or thing had tried to steal that mans soul. Valerion started racking his memories of those he had used Goethia on.
But he realised that he had never actually used it on a Khajiit. This was very odd. Valerion knew not of any other way in which a spell; barring his own, could do such a thing.
This was certainly something Valerion would have to delve in later.

But for the time being he retunred his gaze towards the Argonian, the answer that the lizard had produced was... satisfactory.
Admittedly Valerion found himself liking the arrogant spell caster, maybe he could be of some use later on.
valerion replied with complete honesty.
"Well said... But on the matter of the prophecy, I wouldn't delve too much into it, I myself have seen many a prophecy over the years, they, very rarely ever come to anything out of the ordinary. They depict what will most likely happen, or rather what everyone wants to happen. It's merely a play on the hopes of man and all those that inhabit Nirn."

That being said Valerion began pondering about the Dragon born himself, a very powerful being that could take a dragon on single-handedly. It begs the question as to what killed him. Maybe this was something that would be answered in due time.
Valerion began looking at the Khajiit again. His lust for answers arised again and he would have some of them now, if not all of them later.
"You." Valerions voice broke the silence once again.
"Khajiit, may I ask you something?"

Dura didn't say anything for a while. She just sort of trudged up the snow-coated steps quietly. Possibly it was dredging up some bad memories, but she didn't physically show any sign of it. After a bit, there was a roll of her shoulders that suggested a shrug. When she spoke finally, her voice was measured and calm.
"Short of it was that I got ambushed by a pair of vampires who I reduced to ashes with a scroll, but not before being turned. But as we still got a way to climb, may as well give the long version. This was decades ago that I got turned. I was travellin' on my own, was gonna check out a tomb. As preparation beforehand, I bought a scroll of Bane of the Undead, in case I needed to make an escape. While in the woods, I apparently caught the eye of a vampire who thought I'd make a good fledgling. He and one other, probably another fledging that he turned, ambushed me when I was settling down for the night. I was physically forced to accept the bastard's blood and blacked out.
"When I came to, I was a vampire. And I was pissed. Don't think the bastards ever expected a recipient of their "gift" to thank them by unleashing a Scroll of Bane of the Undead. Probably wasn't the smartest idea, unleashing anti-undead magic as an undead. Probably only saved by the scroll's spell being made to not affect the caster. But I was in the rage, and I wasn't thinking straight. So once they were reduced to ashes upon the wind, I gathered my things and headed deeper into the wilderness. Had to come to terms with what I was now. Had to figure out how to live with it. Had to understand how to control myself in the presence of people. Control the thirst that comes with it. Hardest was to learn was how to not stand out. Learn how not to be the one who looks the most suspicious when something goes wrong. Was a couple of years before I felt comfortable in a city again."
When she finally felt silent again, they were almost to the top. Seems travellin' up a mountain takes less time when one's focused on something else. Not to mention all the animal hazards seemed to have been dealt with already. When they entered, she followed the sound of chatter and the smell of food to where everyone else was. Once there, she bent down to allow the small Khajiit off her shoulders then leaned against the wall away from others.

Nikolaus glanced to his right, taking in his cousin's ecstatic look - which was odd, considering the blizzard they were trudging through.
"How are you so happy right now?" Nikolaus asked grumpily, his voice muffled both by the mask covering the lower half his face, and the harsh winds. His cousin - Leonidas - turned to him, Nikolaus' comment issuing forth a wider grin.
"Because we're going to see legends of old! The Greybeards! Just think what secrets they have hidden away in that monastery of theirs - oh, and the MONASTERY! Gods, I can hardly wait to see it! All I've heard about it is spectacular!" He announced brightly, laughing as he picked up his pace in anticipation of seeing High Hrothgar and it's denizens. "Cheer up, Niko! Just think of the fires that are up there, that'll keep you going."
Nikolaus shook his head and gave a begrudging grin of fondness as his younger cousin - who was more of a brother - gallivanted ahead. This was their third week away from Markarth, and despite his dark demeanor, Nikolaus was enjoying it immensely. He'd been getting so... bored, for a word, stuck in the city all the time, especially with Dragons flying about. To be honest, he was a wee bit disappointed about the journey up the mountain. People had stated how it was treacherous climb, filled with Frost Trolls, Ice Wraiths, Wolves, etc. They hadn't seen so much as a fox. Nikolaus supposed the others had gone some time before they had reached Ivarstead (They hadn't stayed there too long - Leo had began flirting with a pretty Nord Maid with a rather unsavoury-looking man with her, while Nikolaus had purchased supplies - he dragged Leo out before the husband lost his temper.) so they had probably wiped out all of the wild opponents on their way. Wondering idly how many would be there, his musings came to a halt as they reached the final station, and the towering structure of High Hrothgar came into their view, a vast guardian of stone that stood out against the bleak snowfall.
Naturally, Leo positively exploded.
"Niko, do you see this?! Can you imagine how long it must have taken to build it in these conditions?! And not to mention the transportation of materials! They must have lost a few lives on the way up; a perfectly noble cause, in my opinion..." Leo babbled on like that until the pair reached the front doors, Niko pushing them open and sighed in relief as a wave of warm air and the scent of food rushed towards him. Leo continued babbling about the interior ("By the Gods Niko, look at the designs on that brazier! AMAZING!"), as they removed their outer cloaks and face gear, to be welcomed by the Greybeards, and a woman wearing curious looking armour. With a thrill of surprise, Niko quickly realized it was of Akaviri design - she must have been a Blade. Leo noticed this too and switched on his dimpled grin, waggling his eyebrows at her. Shaking his head, Niko stood in front of Leo, blocking his view of the Blade - he was unsure whether Leo was drawn by her armour, or her looks. Probably both, knowing his friend.
After being directed into the dining hall - and dragging Leo away from the woman - the pair entered to see a group of people already in there. And they certainly weren't what Niko was expecting. What looked like an Argonian Mage, a pale looking man stood and obscured in the shadows, another pale looking Breton conversing with a Khajiit, an Orc, a young Breton girl... and a cat?
"I hope this was worth the journey, Leo... Leo?" Niko glanced at his cousin, who was openly staring at the pale Breton - well, more at his armour, to be honest. Niko clipped him around the ear, and Leo winced, glaring at his cousin. "NO. Stop it."
"Hey, don't talk to me like some sorta misbehaving dog!"
"Quit eye-stalking people and their armour then! It's rude!"
"But it looks SO FABULOUS."
"NO."
Their quiet conversation continued for a few moments, ending in Leo sat at one of the stone seats, drumming his fingers against the tabletop impatiently and his eyes listing around the room, and Niko leaning against the chair, glancing at the other occupants of the room. He wondered when the meeting would begin.

Haserus had been in a bad mood for over two days now. He wasn't the biggest fan of Skyrim, nor did he like Nords. In fact, he hated Nords. Overweight, ignorant, thick alcoholics. That's what they were, and they hadn't been any different twenty years ago when he was but a small child. Coupled with the consistently cold weather, it wasn't a nice experience. Snow battered the ground in an unending hail of downfall which rendered seeing more than a couple feet in front of you practically impossible. Haserus squinted beneath his helmet, trudging forwards in hope of finding an inn where there would be warmth. He cared not for company, or for women, for he was a man of conflict.
There were two main reasons that had destined Haserus to journey to Skyrim, the land of the Nords. The first being that the Dragonborn had been residing here, a being of immense power, prophesied to bring about the defeat of Alduin. Haserus had very much wanted to duel this man, the ultimate test of skill which would allow his name to be universally known and feared for centuries to come. He had pictured mighty statues raised in his glorious honour back in Hammerfell, a testament to his skill and his father before him. A man who had been around in combat from the second he was born, Haserus had not lived a proper childhood. He had not experienced the sounds of his mother comforting him during a thunderstorm, rocking him to sleep on her lap. He had not seen his mother wave goodbye to him as he ran off to play within the fields with his friends. She died weeks after childbirth, a mystery that is still unknown to him. Instead, he had been in the full time care of his father, a gladiator by trade, and what a damn good gladiator his father was. Because of this, Haserus was bred hand in hand with combat.

The second reason was because of his lineage. Whilst his father was a Redguard, his mother was an Imperial. Having learnt that Skyrim had been plunged into a chaotic civil war, the Legion fighting the hordes of the Stormcloak rebellion, Haserus had seen another reason to become a famous figure within history. Having already been a very renowned mercenary for over ten years, the opportunity to expand this reputation yet further made him salivate. He hated Nords, and the opportunity to kill them in the name of the Empire, become rich whilst doing it and dueling the best the Nords could offer was too much to pass up on.
A wooden sign, eroding with age and bearing scars of many years by the road protruded from the ground. Haserus wiped off the snow, narrowing his eyes so he could read the ruined text. Ivarstead. He wasn't far. He smirked slightly, turning his back upon it and walking into the depths of the snowstorm. There was no point stopping within the village, if he were to be recognized he would be swamped with people, craving to hear the tales of Haserus the mighty. Alcohol spilling over his armour, the fat Nords signing songs that made his ears bleed.

He shivered at the thought. That was another reason to dislike them, the singing! His companions had once joked that he hated the singing because he lost a singing competition in his youth, something which had annoyed him and resulting in many a brawl. He had never, would never and will continue to never sing. Before he knew it, he was passing through the little village. The Guards were more busy trying to warm their hands than to notice he was passing through, which was all the better really. He hastily maneuvered the village, coming to stop only at the first step of the great mountain of which High Hrothgar proudly sat upon. He gazed upwards, struggling to see much through the volleys of snow that spattered down from the sky, and shrugged his shoulders. He was a Redguard, these steps were just another stretch of terrain he would have to overcome. Nothing to a race which excelled with unparalleled endurance.

The ascent had been largely uneventful. Haserus had walked and walked, ignoring anyone and anything that had been making the trip too. He didn't want to stop for idle chit-chat, or to be recognized by what he assumed would be drunken Nords who had probably left the tavern intoxicated relatively earlier. Determined, he scaled the steps with a burning desire to see this pitiful meeting through so he could continue onwards with his quest. He cared little for what the old Greybeards would have to say, or for what underachieving, famous wannabes would be gathering to march willingly towards their deaths. The old man Gracun, the only mage he had ever liked had told him to respect the Greybeards, but anything that didn't wield a sword was a coward and therefore his disdain for them would always block any form of respect. However, as Gracun was his fathers friend, he had bowed his head and agreed to attend this meeting, attempt to be respectful and become a member of this 'Dovafeyn'. As he thought about this, he realized there weren't many things he actually did like. Nords, mages, rangers, thieves, alchemists, undead, bandits and alcoholics. He liked none of them. He could respect a swordsman to the point he would offer them an honorable death in combat if earned, but he couldn't respect anything that wouldn't stare you cold in the eyes, sword in hand, nose to nose. A bandit could be the exception, but they were always undisciplined and fell in quick order to his sword, something a group had learnt but two days ago. Not even a story worth recalling.

Haserus paused. He had reached his destination. It wasn't snowing as harshly here as it was down the mountain somehow, and his eyes analyzed what was in front of him. It looked like a palace, a place of high standard. Directly in front of him there was a set of stone steps, then a brief, snow glazed surface at the top before two more sets of staircases veered to the left and right respectfully, coming to a halt at the building itself.

"Here goes," He murmured to himself, his hands as usual resting upon the hilts of his two swords. Rarely carrying his shield, it sat upon his back, offering protection to any random assaults from behind that you would likely receive in this war torn land. Scaling more steps, it wasn't long before Haserus had the palm of his hand resting upon the entrance to High Hrothgar. Staring ahead, he pushed the door open.

~Haserus pushed the doors open, and they slammed against the walls on the inside with a loud bang. Snow billowed in from behind him as the warrior stepped into the ancient building, his hands resting upon his hilts. Pausing, he studied the room before him. There were various different people, all in their separate groups or otherwise engaged in conversation. He noticed to the side of him several garments hung up, could people not handle a little snow? Less than impressed with what he saw, he stepped further inside. Atleast it was warm. Although he didn't like the cold, he wasn't too bothered about it, yet after trekking for two days non stop in this forsaken land a little warmth was welcome. The fires gleamed against his unique armour, the white carvings beautifully igniting with contrast. He didn't remove his helmet, as the snow began to drip off in minute pearls of water from his flush plume almost instantly.

Immediately, Haserus was greeted by name from a Greybeard. Inwardly smiling to himself that he was indeed known to these people, for whatever exploits they had heard of, he dipped his head in a respectful nod. As the doors were closed behind him, he calmly walked forwards, looking at each figure individually. He figured instantly that these were to be his new companions, though he didn't enjoy the thought of being forced to work cooperatively with people he didn't know, let alone didn't look like what he was expecting.

You see, Haserus had a much different vision in his mind. Heavily armoured veterans, heroes across the lands. People who were known throughout the map, who's names would be whispered amongst the lips of the population before they had even arrived. People who, like him, were rightly feared by their enemies and wanted by those who needed a good sword. Above all, he wanted to see people who would present a challenge to himself, so he could establish himself as the rightful leader of the Dovafeyn. Now however, he certainly didn't want to be a leader, let alone part of the group. Stuff hierarchy, he was going to just be apart of the group and establish his reputation on the field. He silently walked up to a wall, shadowed by a large statue of which he took little notice. Leaning within the darkness, he pricked his ears, soon the meeting would begin, he could try to seem interested and then he could leave.
All Haserus could think of now that he arrived was everything but this meeting. Perhaps he had over hyped the situation in his head, but it no longer mattered. The war between the Empire and the Stormcloaks was very real, he recounted the one battlefield he had passed only a couple hours after arriving in Skyrim. Bodies littered the floor, husbands, fathers and sons, all whom had once had a life that had been taken from them in a bloody war. Haserus couldn't help but wonder if there had been a hero, standing his ground on the bloodied turf. He could imagine a large Nord, heavy armour, the blood Stormcloak cloak draped over his shoulders. No helmet, but his face was indistinguishable within his thoughts anyway. A large two handed battle axe held aloft in one hand, a spear in the other. Men fell at his feet in droves, each unable to fell the mighty champion. Blood sprayed into the air as his axe decapitated one soldier, his spear plunging deep into the midriff of another. Oh, how he would like to face such a foe on the battlefield, to mercilessly, ruthlessly cut him down. To dance between his strikes mockingly, to deliver the fatal blow. HASERUS! HASERUS! The men would below, to the beat of an old, rusting war drum.

Smirking slightly, Haserus awaited the beginning of this meeting.

"We're a part of this world too Papa! Aren't we!! Aren't we here just like everyone else!" A'teal had shouted toward her father, headed for the exit of the stronghold. She had told him of her plans to leave her childhood home, in search of a way to help stop the dragons.

"Our only concern is getting the reach back! It is ours or have you forgotten the Nords stole it from us!!" Her father retorted towards her, causing her resolve to only double against his wishes for her to stay.

"If these dragons go unchecked there won't be a reach to take!" A'teal roared back at him, the other inhabitants of the stronghold watching the family dispute between their leader and his daughter. All hushed to silence some agreeing with her to themselves, others shaking their heads even questioning her loyalty to the stronghold.

This scene played through her idling head, it had played out in reality only three days prior to the current moment. A'teal sighed, she wished her father would've understood her, they had always been close but this was one thing she couldn't budge on. It was for the good of everyone, weather they knew or appreciated it or not, she had taken with her several pounds of dried meat and fruit; as well as one hundred and three septums in a leather purse.
She had stopped north of Markharth, off the road for sure in the woods where she would be well hidden she didn't want any trouble from local Nords or guard patrols. She crafted up a makeshift shelter from branches and a large boulder, a fire pit charred and black from the night before. She was preparing to move yet again, headed west past Falkreath and to Whiterun to see how she could assist. The reach was a poor place for someone of her brood to be alone, heading onwards through the forest she continued on her path. Soft pines brushing against her flesh, the cold wind bit at her but she was used to the cold for sure.

A'teal couldn't help but wonder how the companions would receive a forsworn woman, but they were her best bet a group like them were sure to be on the front of battling dragons. She just hoped all went well, continuing on through the forest as she went snacking on a green apple.

Qa’skil lay across the lavish couch, his bag discarded besides him and his glazed eye staring off into the distance. Not that he realised but he had barely moved in several hours, so far within his own mind he was he barley paid any attention to what was around him as he indulged himself. The room he was in was obviously some kind of lounge, filled with chairs, cushions, artwork and other expensive baubles – the dirty Khajiit looked extremely out of place amongst the finery that surrounded him. Through the archway that lead into the room black smoke was slowly billowing through and pooling in the high ceiling getting thicker and thicker. Suddenly Qa’skil became aware of the smoke, his eye following its trail through the doorway as he remembered he had lit the fire pit and tried to cook a stew that was in the kitchen before leaving it for what he intended to be only a moment. Summoning his strength he sat upright before he made his way through into the corridor and then the kitchen, the entire room filled with dark smoke as the now completely ruined stew boiled away. The dark smoke was leaving through every opening it could find, not only spilling into the rest of the house but also out of the windows into the cold evening air. He cursed several times in-between coughing splutters as he rushed to move the pot from the fire pit, his mind racing at the thought of being discovered because of his own foolishness. Grabbing the edges of the cooking pot and trying to lift it he screeched as the hot metal burnt his hands, causing him to half drop and half fling the pot as the sensation of burning overwhelmed his dulled feelings. Shaking his hands and blowing instinctively on them he froze as the pot crashed into the ground and rolled across the floor spilling what remained of its contents before it came to rest on a bearskin rug, moments later the fur catching fire as the red hot base remained in contact with it. Gaping in disbelief Qa’skil stared as the flames rapidly spread jumping from the rug to a nearby bookcase and table, before quickly spreading along the wall to everything within distance. Realising it was time to leave the Khajiit rushed back into the lounge before he began to snatch up his possessions and stuffed them into his bag, cursing again at the pain that shot through his hands. Grabbing the discarded and empty bottles of Skooma he stuffed them in with his pipe, wanting to leave as little trace of himself as possible considering the corpse that was upstairs laying naked in the grand bedroom – at least the fire should cover his tracks mostly.

With one last glance towards the kitchen Qa’skil made his way quickly to the back doorway he had infiltrated the house from, slipping out into the cold night and becoming one with the shadows as he did so. Several minutes later he had positioned himself further up the street and was watching intensely as the city guard and several men attempted to combat the blaze, though it seemed the wind was making the blaze more and more intense by the moment. It had been a mistake to come to Windhelm, he realised now as a garrison of Stormcloak soldiers rushed past his hiding place and to towards the inferno. Plus even if it were not for the fact this place housed the leader of the rebellion there was also the grey quarter to consider, the numerous Dunmer setting him on edge whenever he encountered one. Crouched in the shadows he began to carefully consider his options and what he should do next. He was dangerously low on skooma and his hands were starting to sting worse than an untreated Chaurus bite, both situations that he desperately wanted to resolve as his buzz continued to slowly wear off.

The grey quarter might be the kind of place he could find what he wanted, but then again it was also the kind of place where the Morag Tong would find him. Growing angry at his inability to make a decision Qa’skil began to grind his teeth and clench his fists – again sending pain shooting through him. It would be too obvious to visit a healer in the city, after all it would soon be the only news around that someone had burnt down and possibly killed... whoever it was that he had killed, and a strange withdrawn Khajiit would draw far too much attention. Turning he slipped through the darkness to the nearest edge of the city wall, and waiting for a gap in the patrol he slipped over before flinging himself down into a snowbank and stealthily making his way towards the road. With a few glances back at the city as he casually strolled away, content that he had escaped unseen.

Frowning to himself he began to search the horizon for the first house or farmstead he would be able to 'pick up' some supplies at seeing that he hadn't had the foresight to loot the mansion before he dosed himself up with the last of his skooma stash and set fire to the place. Qa'skil twitched once involuntarily as he temper started to rise again and he his mood continued to darken.

Rawlith listened for quite sometime before the mention of a "Khajiit" was made as subject to to be spoken with, and in doing so Rawlith slowly raised his head to peer about until he saw the rather Ego-endowed male that had placed himself at the prime "Apex" of the seating arrangement, as if it made much difference to anyone else. Rawlith intended to speak up in reply to the male, but before he could do little more then step away from the wall the Greybeards entered the chamber followed by Delphine adorned in her Blades Armor with the curved Katana upon her hip. The group of Eldest Thu'um bearers and their Blades Associate took a moment to survey the room, and while doing so Rawlith made a quick notion and slid over the table with a light leap and perched himself on the opposite wall nearest where the male had attempted to speak to him.

"This one will speak with you later, for now the Meeting sees to be underway." Rawlith-Dar stated as the Greybeards and Delphine took up standing positions to address the entire room with firm words and steady postures. Arngeir took several steps in front of the rest to begin the Meeting.

"My Brothers and I welcome you. You have all come to aid the mortal plane in it's struggle with the Dovah who plague this land once again. The mighty Dovah seem to have returned, having not been seen for a grand time we realize the threat is beyond any single person's abilities. We are honored to have you all come to us, for whatever your reason may be, you have come seeking DovahFeyn or DragonBane."

Nico swiftly sat down by his cousin as the meeting began, his eyes locked on the elder Greybeards. As they began speaking, even Leo's bored gaze was drawn to them upon hearing the power in their words.
"Although we, as Greybeards, believe in letting fate carry on it's way, we also have come to believe that the time for this world to end is not yet." Arngeir continued, all eyes in the room on him as he spoke. "Following the death of our Dragoborn, Alyx, we have come to realize that working alone is fruitless. This is why it is imperative that you do not venture out by yourself. The dragons are a formidable enemy, and Alduin... well, we will need all the help we can get to fight him." Arngeir finished, then looked expectantly at Delphine, who stepped forwards, looking like she meant business. There was a distinct bluntness in her voice, no doubt borne from years of hardships.
"Well, I suppose that comes with being a Blade. He thought to himself as she began talking.
"Before Alyx died, he managed to procure an artifact known as the Dragonstone, from Bleak Falls Barrow." She began, taking out a piece of parchment, with markings of charcoal on it. "This is a map of all the dragon burial sites in Skyrim, so it should give us a heads up on which ones will rise next."
"Wait... the dragons are coming back from the dead?" The Breton girl piped up, a startled look on her face as she peered at Delphine, steam still rising from her soup bowl. Delphine nodded grimly.
"Yes. Alduin has been rising them from their graves - they didn't just disappear for a few hundred years. They were killed off. But now they're coming back. Now, the ones marked on this map are going to be far stronger than the ones you may encounter out in the wild. Although unsure of where these lesser dragons come from, they are easier to kill than the ones with names; the ones at the burial sites." Delphine continued, then jabbed at one of the crosses with her finger. "This is where we're going - a burial site just outside of Kynesgrove. We'll go there together, hopefully in enough time to catch it before it rises. From there, we'll split off into smaller groups, each group going to separate corners of Skyrim to assess each burial mound in their vicinity." An edge of hardness crept back into her voice as her narrowed eyes swept the room. "Going it alone is not an option; if you're interested in doing so, you can leave now. We have no interest in those with a death wish."
Stepping back from the table, Nico supposed the meeting was over - he understood why they were so against people doing this alone; their numbers weren't that big, to be honest, and the Dragonborn himself had died attempting to kill a dragon alone.
"You'll be leaving at dawn. We'll provide you with food, potions and anything else you may need for the journey. I'd recommend you get some rest and become better acquainted with one another, unless any of you have any queries?" Arngeir asked as Delphine swept from the room.

As the greybeards entered the room with the woman who had greeted him Dreet-Na took out another book from his bag, this time a blank book which was filled with his observations and a gathering of his notes on the lore regarding dragon-kind and the current situation. As they surveyed the room and the others prepared briefly for the meeting to start he took out a quill and inkpot before he began to make notes as Arngeir began to speak, speaking of their quest and the untimely death of the Dragonborn. Soon after the woman took over the meeting and began to describe how the Dragonborn had recovered an artefact called a Dragonstone before he expired, and that this artefact was in fact a map of the Dragon burial sites throughout Skyrim, and confirming what he had already suspected about the Dovah returning from the dead.

It seemed they would be traveling to these sites in order to find out what exactly was happening there, and take a tally of those who had awoken – or so he assumed this was the reason. The ‘leaders’ of DovahFeyn seemed quite concerned with them staying together as much as possible, though this wasn’t surprising given what had happened to the Dragonborn, and Dreet-Na was more than happy to oblige.

"You'll be leaving at dawn. We'll provide you with food, potions and anything else you may need for the journey. I'd recommend you get some rest and become better acquainted with one another, unless any of you have any queries?" The senior most looking Greybeard asked as the woman left the room. As he continued to make his notes a dozen questions swam around Dreet-Na’s head, though most of them were not as important as to ask them now, but he made a mental note to ask them all later once the meeting was over. He was desperate to know more about the ‘bigger picture’, about their long-term plan and goal, though he again didn’t want to ask in front of the others in case their new ‘leaders’ were as clueless as he was about the whole thing and were still searching for some way to defeat Alduin.

He turned his mind to Kynesgrove, a settlement he was unfamiliar with, though its name gave away that it was likely somehow tied to Kynareth, or Kyne as the Nords called her. Racking his brain on what he had previously learnt about Kynareth of the nine-divines before he finally recalled her significance, her daughter’s allegedly being the ones who taught the first Nords the use of the Thu'um. Interesting he considered, since these Greybeards would likely be the ones to know – he wondered silently how much knowledge they had, and how likely they would be to share that knowledge with him.

He decided he had no questions for now, and instead waited for the point when each of the companions would introduce themselves, after all he was still keen to learn what he could about the many individuals who now filled the room. He glanced from one to the next, before he continued to scribe information into his book, making notes about everything he considered may be important.

Haserus observed the meeting, listening intently to what the Greybeards had to say. Admittedly, he wasn't impressed. It was clear they intended everyone to stay together as a group. His eyes analyzed the room quickly, a quick glance at who his companions-to-be were. That too did not impress him. He was used to true warriors, people who viewed combat religiously, people who were skilled, hard and rough. These people, by no means, were any of that criteria, or atleast not at first glance. Biting his lip, thoughts began to swirl around his head. What if these simpletons led him into a trap, what if the great Haserus finally fell and all because they couldn't fight as a unit? His brow furrowed. The more he thought about it, the more he disliked this idea. He and his old companions were links in a chain, a unit who thought as one and reacted flawlessly to anything thrown at them. They had years of experience together, experience that was not lightly earnt. Monstrous beasts, hordes of infantry, renowned heroes and their own retinue. All had fallen to the mercenaries and not without hard felt losses of their own. They had developed a bond forged through the fires of battle, and now he stood alone with a new gathering. Although something told him they were different, that they could indeed surprise him, he chose to repress it and follow his first thoughts stubbornly.

"You'll be leaving at dawn. We'll provide you with food, potions and anything else you may need for the journey. I'd recommend you get some rest and become better acquainted with one another, unless any of you have any queries?" A greybeard asked.
This was his chance. His feelings would be known. He stepped forwards out of the shadows, the flames that lit the room so beautifully reflecting upon his unique armour, the angel white decorations coming to life almost. If anyone hadn't seen him, they'd probably recognize him now.

"You say we should get acquainted with each other?" He paused, looking around the room sternly, then laughed a little to himself, "Look around, Greybeard. You have assembled a group of misfits. Some of them look like they couldn't even wield a sword!"

He paused again, locking eyes with the Greybeard.

"With no disrespect intended, not that I could care if anybody happened to take offense, but this is a doomed expedition. We need warriors, men who fight for a living. Swords, bows. The Dragons will be fierce, they will kill people. We must overwhelm them, hack them down. Pepper them with volleys of arrows."
Again his eyes gazed around the room, all eyes set firmly on him. He smirked, no matter what he said he knew these were destined to be his companions, perhaps not friends, but companions. Better filter out who he would not get along with.

"Or better yet, send the Stormcloaks at them. Not that they'd get far."

Knowing that could touch a nerve with some, his hand lowered, resting upon the hilt of his sword.

Valerion was staring at the Khajiit awaiting a reply when the GreyBeards walked through the entrance, accompanied with the warrior woman;Delphine.
The Khajiit postponed their conversation as the meeting began. It was certainly eventful, Valerion thought, although it answered many of his questions it did however leave some unanswered and in the process created more.
Valerion was a man who hated the unknown,which was partly in tie with his ultimate fear. Death.
It appeared that the rag tag band named DovahFeyn, or Dragons bane - the blades reborn Valerion mused momentarily, would be departing the following morning and setting off for Kynesgrove.
Kynesgrove was a small and quaint village, that mainly consisted of farm land and a Inn, also situated right next to a Dragon Burial site it seemed.
Argneir finished the meeting by telling everyone here to get better acquainted with the others, as it would be a long trip Valerion gathered. Based on his knowledge of the land and his constant studying of Skyrims maps of late, it would likely take up to 2 weeks depending on the route and what ever events happened along the way.

Time to ask a few questions Valerion thought.
But before he could something that Valerion would regard as a stain on his senses occurred.
A man clad in armour that looked somewhat familiar stood up and started speaking brashly, with evidently little thought behind what he was saying, and in turn accusing the room of.
But mainly, in Valerions mind, insulting him to his face.
The man that Valerion only knew too well, named Hasours, may as well have spat on his face with the words he was issuing.

The term seeing red applied very well here, Valerions eyes burned towards Haserous and he then stood up, ready to meet with this delinquent if need be.
Valerion stood up from his chair and walked past the girl who has scowling at the arrogant, prideful fool who was following Valerion as he walked around the table and stood opposite him at the center of the room. Argneir stood their shocked and at a loss for words.
No matter, Valerion would speak for him.

With a voice filled power and confidence Valerion spoke to the room, although it was mainly directed at the redguard.
"You speak with words that have as little footing as you have wits, Haserous!"
Valerion placed emphasis on the name.
"You DARE speak to me with words such as those! You have little inkling as to who, or what I am!
I consume souls and have felled warriors that make you look like a muling goat in comparison, I was the reason why the North of Cyrodil was feared for 2 centuries!"
Valerion turned and faced the rest of the room, glancing at every other member of it shortly
"Even the rest of the room have yet to prove their worth, including yourself."

Valerion turned and faced Hasours once again.
" Even I, who has lived for centuries have never faced a foe of their calibre. But you say we are but a band of misfits, this will actually work to our advantage. Just like you, dragons are a foolish, prideful and arrogant being. They see us as nothing but ants, but arrogance breeds underestimation, and in turn this will give us an upper hand! With the right leader of course."

Valerion had placed out his offer to he room, he would prove to them all that even a dragon cannot withstand Valerions superior ability. He would consume their soul and watch the life drain from the dragons eyes. He lusted for that moment. A small smile cracked on his face for a short time before resuming his speech.
"So let us prove to the fool what we are all capable of!" Valerion turned once agin to the room and thruster his hands out, gesturing the others to step up and say what made them worthy to kill dragons
"I, myself have much to offer, I have ascended from what scholars and mages would call a King Lich. I am above death itself and I shall show the dragon kin just what I am. And in their last moments they will fear me!"

"So!"
Valerion dropped his hands and stared at the others
"What do you offer to the preservation of mundus?"

Valerion hated arrogance, especially if it was directed at him. But he knew about Haserous, he was a formidable warrior for his age, but he was obsessed with looks. Failing to see what strength may be hidden beneath the surface.
Something Valerion knew all to well, that the must unsuspecting person could prove to be a very powerful force.

Rawlith-Dar sat leaning against the back wall, listening to the meeting as it blunt, simple, descriptive intentions unfolded in the quickest manner possible. They left the end of the meeting open with the obvious choice of offering the many people present to speak up and ask questions, though a few seemed to take "ask questions" as voice egotistical opinions and combatant speeches. Rawlith only shook his head to one side with one motion while he listened to the first male speak, a male of high regards to himself and how he viewed the present standing entities.

"You say we should get acquainted with each other?" He paused, looking around the room sternly, then laughed a little to himself, "Look around, Greybeard. You have assembled a group of misfits. Some of them look like they couldn't even wield a sword!"

"With no disrespect intended, not that I could care if anybody happened to take offense, but this is a doomed expedition. We need warriors, men who fight for a living. Swords, bows. The Dragons will be fierce, they will kill people. We must overwhelm them, hack them down. Pepper them with volleys of arrows."

Rawlith's jowls began to rise and his fangs became evident as he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself while the arrogant Yokudan spoke aloud to the group like they were children, as if they didn't know that was at stake, as if they didn't know what kind of power the Dovah wielded in their mere voice. His teeth ground together as he tensed his muscles and crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the instinct to speak out so quickly. Though to Rawlith's relief the arrogant Yukan ended, though to his distaste the male known as Valerion stood up speaking with what at first seemed like a Monologue.

"You speak with words that have as little footing as you have wits, Haserous!"
Valerion placed emphasis on the name.
"You DARE speak to me with words such as those! You have little inkling as to who, or what I am!
I consume souls and have felled warriors that make you look like a mulling goat in comparison, I was the reason why the North of Cyrodil was feared for 2 centuries!"

" Even I, who has lived for centuries have never faced a foe of their caliber. But you say we are but a band of misfits, this will actually work to our advantage. Just like you, dragons are a foolish, prideful and arrogant being. They see us as nothing but ants, but arrogance breeds underestimation, and in turn this will give us an upper hand! With the right leader of course."

Rawlith had listened to one arrogant Yokudan and one egotistical, self-proclaimed undead babble on about their views, their voices, and their intentions. He heard closed opinions and uneducated comments, and short stories of grandeur as if all of them together made a point. He was through, the Khajiit couldn't handle anymore of the unnecessary horse shit. He stepped away from the wall and took a deep breath, his fangs still visible, but without anyone to see with him in the back of the room while he curled his arms into his chest and tensed his body. His eyes seemed to glow a moment with a slight red-tint before he released his tensing body and lunged his head forward while his torso leaned to straighten out with his head and the feline male released a roar. The thunderous sound was the roar of his spell, but obviously with it's magical effect removed for the moment to produce nothing more then a roar. The roar echoed off the stone walls and it sounded like a mature saber-cat had let out a warcry in a system of cave that bellowed from one end to the other.

After a moment the roar's echo settled and the Khajiit stood once more at straight posture with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs firmly together while he surveyed the group, but mostly gave exchanging looks to the two males who decide to turn educational hour into political debate. He finally spoke up to the group in a true manner, something that he believed would be what truly needed to be said to these men.

"Enough! This one doesn't care if you think we are babies with straw dolls, and this one does care if you are some soul-sucking undead spellcaster! This one is ready for both of you to sit down, and for the sake of the Divines quite your senseless rambling. We are all here to fight, we are all here to work together, and we are all here to put an end to the Dragons. The Greybeards and the Blades will lead us. We will coordinate as a team. The Dragons may have one individual leader, but even he would have a the Dragons hunt together. This is not some nordic Bard's tale of fabled legend where adventurers come to garner great fame and honor..." He paused a moment to let his words settle in before ending his own speech, hoping to be speaking sense to these men.

"We are here, to Survive!"

Damn Double Post.))

Haserus watched as the Breton rose to confront him. He watched as he gave a speech, a speech that would surely ignite emotions around the room. He couldn't help but smirk. So the bloke was undead, a man whom had died centuries ago. Was he supposed to be frightened, intimidated? He held eye contact throughout, his brow furrowed as his gaze met Valerions. This guy thought himself to be something special, something unique. Nothing Haserus hadn't seen before. He had fought the undead, his presence had resulted in their final resting place, the ground that they stood upon when facing his legend.

You see, Haserus cared little for rousing speeches, he cared little for what others thought of him. By how the Breton reacted, he could presume he knew of his legend, despite how little the man may think of it. He straightened up, his pectorals tensing. He released his grip from his sword. Although he wasn't shocked, he considered it extremely unlikely that somebody would actually confront him on what he said. He released his grip, smiling, when somebody else rose.

"Enough! This one doesn't care if you think we are babies with straw dolls, and this one does care if you are some soul-sucking undead spellcaster! This one is ready for both of you to sit down, and for the sake of the Divines quite your senseless rambling. We are all here to fight, we are all here to work together, and we are all here to put an end to the Dragons. The Greybeards and the Blades will lead us. We will coordinate as a team. The Dragons may have one individual leader, but even he would have a the Dragons hunt together. This is not some nordic Bard's tale of fabled legend where adventurers come to garner great fame and honor..."

Haserus stared at him, listening intently. He took the words in, and they rushed about his head wildly. This was someone who was ready to work as a team, it reminded him of his companions of old. The ways he referenced everybody as a team, the way he made the team sound like a unit, not a band of people who had randomly arrived. Haserus stared him in the eyes, he spoke like a true warrior. He did not confront him directly, but he spoke to the group as a whole. The more he took in how this creature spoke, the more he actually felt inclined to listen.

"We are here, to Survive!"
Haserus smiled, then he openly laughed.

"That is very true," He spoke, nodding his head respectfully, "However, I must address another issue."

He turned to face Valerion, whom had confronted him seconds before the species of Cathay had opened its mouth. He smirked, staring directly at the Breton.

"You say you are undead, however, if you are indeed undead, then you have died once before." Haserus smiled, his gaze not faltering, "The issue I have here, is that if you have died, you are indeed killable. You see, people!" He turned to look at the others, arms outstretched, "You may listen to the person whom has already died, or you can listen to a man who has slain many undead before him!"

After the sentence he paused purposely to stare Valerion coldly in the eyes. This person did not intimidate him, not remotely. If he had been killed once, it proved he could be defeated.

"I called you misfits, yes I did. However, there is one pure, simplified reason for this. We will not fight in union. What use is a shield wall if you cannot count on the person beside you to hold it? Nothing! Now, I may not have proven anything to any of you, that is of course in person, yet I will happily oblige to do so."

Haserus smiled, stepping back towards the door.

"I fully believe in what the cat man spoke of, however, to prove myself, why don't I and this... Undead... Step outside for a true test?"

As he spoke, he stared at Valerion coldly, his fingers toying with the grip of his sword. He was not one to be confronted, nor was he one to be made a mockery of. This thing may have lived for over two centuries, but his speech had proven himself killable.

"Or is he afraid?" Haserus finished, his chest puffing out as his eyes faltered not from Valerions.

"Oh, for Gods' sakes..." Rozalia muttered under her breath as the testosterone levels in the room suddenly went through the roof. Upon Haserus' invitation to a fight with Valerion, she stood up with a distinct glare upon her face.
"What are you, stupid?" She called out angrily, drawing all eyes in the room. "You want to go and prove something by fighting among your companions? Whether you like it or not, you are both allies in this war against Alduin!" She paused for a moment, looking between Valerion and Haserus. "This fight for survival will not be easy. So I highly doubt that we have time for ego, bravado, or petty squabbling. You ask who we would rather follow? Neither, by the looks of things. I expected more mature behaviour from a centuries old Lich, and a supposed battle hardened warrior." She stopped now, still glowering at them, and not looking nearly as quiet and naive as she had moments ago.

"She's got a point." Niko spoke up once Rozalia had finished talking. "We need to work together to kill dragons - Dovahkiin failed to heed that warning, and now he's dead. As Delphine said earlier," Niko glanced at Haserus. "If it's not good enough for you, you can leave now. We don't need any trouble in this group." He said in a reasonable tone of voice.
"Yeah, we'll make sure to bury your corpse when we find it on the road if you do that." Leo muttered beside him, a scowl on his face.

Dreet-Na listened as the first of his companions spoke, a tall and clearly strong warrior who was wrapped in fine ebony armour featuring scenes of battle gilded elaborately onto the plate. From the man’s confident demeanour and the scar on his face it took only a few moments for Dreet-Na to recognise him, after all victorious mercenaries were a rare thing in Tamriel, the majority falling before they can garner any kind of lasting reputation. This man was Haserus Flurcon, there was no mistaking his signature armour, helm or blades – or the many deeds he had committed. True to his character he wasted little time in voicing his concerns and dismay at the group and their lack of warriors, speaking of overwhelming the dragons and peppering them with arrows.

Predictable and somewhat disappointing he thought to himself as he scrawled down Haserus’s name in his book and underlined it, but warriors with as high level of success as him were of course going to place their faith in the way of the sword and bow over magic or guile.

It took little time for the red-eyed one to stand, his expression showing his clear anger at what the warrior had said. His voice trembled and seemed to hold almost as much power as that of the Greybeards when he spoke.

"You speak with words that have as little footing as you have wits, Haserous!" he stated, his words filled with venom and directed towards the prestigious warrior.

Dreet-Na listened intently and with great interest as this stranger spoke of being centuries old and consuming souls as well as being a feared presence in the north of Cyrodil, eventually elaborating in his speech that he had somehow ascended beyond Lich-hood to become something… more. Shifting in his seat as the argonian made another note in his book, he suppressed a grin as he realised he now had two very interesting specimens amongst his companions, and that things may not be as gloomy as he had foreseen. He noted down both of their speeches in his small book word for word, toying in his mind with the idea that they may at one point be the well-known words of famed vanquishers of dragons.

Breaking the conversation suddenly was a loud and almost ear-splitting roar that emanated through the stone chambers of High Hrothgar and caused silence to return to the group as all eyes fixated on the Khajiit. He was stood gazing at both of those who had spoken, and he clearly was not impressed with their words and their sentiments. His own words were shorter and more direct, to the point and reminding them both that this was not some quest for honour or glory, but that fact that they were here to survive – a fact that not five minutes earlier Dreet-Na had also reminded the red-eyed one of in their short exchange before the others had arrived.

Frowning at their similarities in priority and the fact Dreet-Na found himself feeling positively towards the Khajiit, he created another heading in his book ‘Stupid Khajiit’ and hesitated at what to write before he scribbled the heading out and continued to listen.

Haserus Flurcon spoke again, laughing even at the Khajiit’s words as he acknowledged what he had said. The warrior then continued to speak, poking a challenge at the red-eyed one as he did so, seeming to not really take in the meaning of the Khajiit’s words.

"I fully believe in what the cat man spoke of, however, to prove myself, why don't I and this... Undead... Step outside for a true test? Or is he afraid” challenged Haserus with his hand on his sword and a cold gaze in his eye.

Before however the red-eyed Breton could respond the tension was broken by another voice, this time belonging to the comparatively much smaller female of the group. Her words were harsh and cutting, demeaning the pair for their lack of foresight and overabundance of brawn and finishing by scolding them for their immaturity. Dreet-Na’s throaty laugh pierced the tense atmosphere as the sight of the young Breton girl with her small frame and lengthy black hair telling the centuries old lich and the renowned warrior off as if they were no more than hatchlings. The next to speak was the Nordic looking warrior and his companion, an imperial by the look of him – an unlikely partnership here in Skyrim, however they had entered together and shown that they have some kind of partnership together, so Dreet-Na assumed that they were either above such racial squabbles or were perhaps from elsewhere in Tamriel.

Taking his own turn to speak the argonian cleared his throat and calmly began “She-who-sneaks is correct” he gestured towards Rozalia before he closed his book and stood, leaning forwards and keeping both hands on the table as he did so. “Neither of you shall attain any glory or satisfaction in fighting each other. We are all losers here until Alduin is vanquished and Mundus is safe from its foretold destruction” as he spoke he moved his gaze from Haserous to Valerion. “Once we are done with this task, feel free to resolve your personal issues until one of you lays defeated.”

Seating himself again Dreet-Na continued, this time addressing the group as a whole “Agree or disagree. It is irrelevant until we have a viable course of action. Haserus here speaks of legions of warriors, which may be of some use against the regular Dovah out there, but not against Alduin himself. The first-born of Akatosh will not be defeated by any regular means, and even you and all of the companions you could dream of would not be able to fell the beast with a peppering of arrows or flash of blades – otherwise he would have been defeated before and not have returned to complete his task in our era.”

Pausing Dreet-Na picked up the Dwemer pipe he had set before him and with a flick of his finger he sent a tendril of flames into the bowl and inhaled some of the smoke before he continued “Make your choices now, if you find the company of misfits and other…” he paused and glanced towards Valerion “…undesirables, then perhaps you should enjoy your final days elsewhere.”

Done with his speech Dreet-Na took several more puffs from his pipe before he added “Oh, and I am Dreet-Na, ever a humble scholar and mage”.

With that he opened the mostly empty book again and picked up his quill, waiting to see what response would come his way. As he waited he could not help but wonder at the red-eyed one and his claims. Was he truly greater than the greatest of necromancers, becoming as he claimed more than a king-litch. Mannimarco King of Worms had achieved such power, but was it possible that this one had also found some kind of way to cheat the mortal realm of its one certainty by consuming the souls of others. It was said that the only one who could truly kill a dragon was another dragon or a dragonborn, but did stealing their souls count as killing it he wondered. Dreet-Na watched the red-eyed one as he waited, curious to know how much he would be willing share of his secrets.

It appeared that many people in this room had something to say Valerion pondered, the Khajiit Valerion was going to talk to gave an ear-splitting roar before saying his piece.
He outlined something that Valerion was all too aware of, that the battle against the dragons wasn't for glory or power, it was for the preservation of life, something Valerion tried to get into Haserus' thick skull, but the Khajiit evidently missed the message as well as the warrior who was now boasting once again.

"You say you are undead, however, if you are indeed undead, then you have died once before." Haserus smiled, his gaze not faltering, "The issue I have here, is that if you have died, you are indeed killable. You see, people!" He turned to look at the others, arms outstretched, "You may listen to the person whom has already died, or you can listen to a man who has slain many undead before him!"
Valerion smiled at that, the fool was unaware of how Valerion had 'died', it was not that he fell in battle, but something he done himself in order to become something greater than he was in the mortal coil known as life. But this is not something he would share; yet.

"I fully believe in what the cat man spoke of, however, to prove myself, why don't I and this... Undead... Step outside for a true test?"
"Or is he afraid?"

Normally Valerion would have accepted this without hesitation, he would steal that mans soul and torture his existence until time itself ceased to run. That is what a man as despicable as he, would deserve.
However the circumstances were far from normal, so he let this absent minded challenge go. One day however, he would take it up, and Haserus would regret his egotistical boast.

After that the small girl, as well as the Imperial and Nord spoke afterwards, all reiterating the Khajiits point, but more civilly.
Then finally the argonian Valerion had chastised moments ago, spoke, but mainly directed it at the Warrior, pointing out obvious facts that had not sunk in the mans mind.
And the Argonian actually understood, and seen what Valerion was aiming for. His name was Dreet-Na, and he was a mage as Valerion had accurately suspected.
He noticed however that he was writing in a note book, Valerion couldn't see what was written in it, but he was staring at Valerion, quill in hand evidently waiting for him to speak.
"He finds me of interest" Valerion mused for a moment, before turning his attention to the idiot who was awaiting at the door way, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the hilt of his blade.

Time to set this man straight

"All valid points." Valerion spoke with the same commanding voice as earlier.
"Especially Dreet-Na, who accurately spoke of that if what Haserus had said about the armies and 'peppering of arrows' had actually worked we would not be here today in this room would we?"

Valerion now looked back at the Redguard who was still standing in the same position.
"Haserus, killing you would only go to the assistance of the Dovah and Alduins agenda, as a famous general I knew once said-
"Together we stand, divided we fall."
"This could not apply more to this situation we are in now."
"So no, I shall not fight you."

Valerion then went on to reply the Khajiit

"And the only reason why I said what I was, is to show you all what I'm capable of, that way you can all begin to formulate suitable uses of my abilities in the coming battles, this is also why I asked what you are all capable of, your strengths, and weaknesses."
"It was not bravado nor was it being egotistical, I wished only to see in what we could do together if we worked as one!"

Valerion picked up his helmet and felt that he had enough of speaking to these people, he would sit and listen for a while and then get some much needed rest.
He walked around the table and sat back in his place, picking up his wine and taking a small sip from it before placing it back down, his helmet resting in his left hand.

Niko waited in silence as Valerion spoke, allowing him to finish and sit down before he spoke again.
"He has mentioned a good point there - about out strengths." Niko pointed out, thinking about it. "If we're going to work in a team, I would think that we need to know each other a bit more. How about we introduce ourselves, and what we can do? We'll be able to formulate a better battle strategy this way." He said, then paused, pushing his dark blond hair back from his eyes. One of the plaits holding it back from his face had unravelled. "So, I'm Nikolaus. I'm pretty good with one-handed swords, normally dual wielding, and I'm a good shot with the bow."
"He's a very good diplomat too." Leo spoke up, aiming a grin at Niko, who couldn't disagree. This meeting wasn't the first time he'd attempted to calm a heated situation, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. He was just glad there were a few others in the room that were as level-headed as he was. "Whereas I," Leo continued, sitting up in his chair to grin around at the rest of the room. "I'm more interested in mischief through words than peace."
"Don't I know it." Niko muttered as he sat down.
"I'm Leonidas - call me Leo. I'm pretty damn good with this beauty here -" he waved a hand towards his war hammer, laid on the table. "But my true talents lay in smithing and inventing. I'll make you pretty much anything you can think of... For the right price, that is." He finished, a sparkle in his dark eyes as he surveyed the room. Niko couldn't help but smile, hoping the others would follow suit in these more civil introductions. The tension had appeared to relax, at least.

Qa’skil groaned as he trudged along, his hands stinging painfully as he tried to tighten the tatty make-shift bandages he had wrapped around them. This doubled with the all too familiar feeling of rapidly approaching withdrawal led him to feel thoroughly unwell and in a very sour mood as he made his way through the snowy landscape that surrounded him.

He started to drag his feet more and more as his mood darkened and occasionally he would lash out and aim a kick against a small pile of snow or other target as he muttered to himself as he often did. His eye darted around the mostly barren landscape time and time again, hoping beyond hope he would stumble upon some lost cache of skooma, but instead only seeing snow, trees or occasionally more snow. He had lost track of how long he had been walking, minutes merging into hours as the chilling wind whipped around him and tore the small amount of warmth he could feel away.

“…Sheggorath take this one, he would dance with Alkosh for a sweet taste… Lorkhaj and I shall frolic forever and he would kiss Mara one-hundred times over for just a sweet taste…” rambled Qa’skil almost verging on incoherence as he begged whichever gods he knew to grant him some respite to his torment. Realistically he was simply being overdramatic, with the exception of his hands his current situation was far from extreme. The extremes would likely come over the next few days once the skooma was actually leaving his system and he really began to feel the effects of withdrawal. Of course he still had the small packet of unrefined moon-sugar somewhere in his bag, but at the moment that fact had escaped his mind and so he continued to fixate on where he would be able to find a supply. Several times during his trek he convinced himself to turn around and head back to Windhelm, intent on asking around the grey-quarter where he was sure something would be found. Each time he had only made it a few strides before he turned back, his inner turmoil spilling out as he ranted and raved to himself about what decision he was going to make. In the end his fear of the Morag Tong and being caught again overrode his more debased urges, and he continued walking southwards.

Turning his attention to the road ahead Qa’skil fell silent mid-rant as he spotted the outskirts of a small town. Suddenly his mood and demeanour changed completely as he naturally became as quiet as Nocturnal’s shadow and his more feline senses engaged. Now paying detailed attention to his surroundings it became clear that the place was some kind of miner’s settlement, thick smoke rising in the distance and a faint smell on the air that gave it away. He continued his approach towards the settlement, taking count of only a few small buildings and one larger in the centre of the area and a farm slightly off in the distance. A sign revealed the town as ‘Kynesgrove’ a name unfamiliar to him, ignorant of the Nordic Pantheon he failed to recognise any connection to the divines. The Braidwood Inn was the name on the large building, the others looked to be houses and what was possibly the entrance to a mine of sorts. As it was getting on to be late evening he figured that the majority of the settlements inhabitants would be either in their homes or in the Inn enjoying that local swill they seemed to love so much, nord mead. It tasted awful to him, but then as with most things it got slowly better the more he consumed, at the very least it would do if there was no alternative. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly to better calm himself Qa’skil made his way towards the door to the tavern, after all it would likely be the best place to find out what was what in this little village, if it could even be called that. He hoped beyond doubt that one or more of the miners would be an addict, or perhaps some house-wife would have her own hidden secret and he would be able to somehow barter or steal a few doses. He knew the chances were very slim this far north, but he had to try if he hoped to make it through the next week comfortably and without having to stop and deal with his condition.

The Inn was warm, heat hitting him and enveloping him like some soft embrace as he closed the door fiercely behind him. Glancing around the interior it was as he expected, simple and homely, a bar at the far side of the room and numerous tables and benches spread through the room centred around a fire-pit that served to heat the building. A dark-haired Nordic woman was stood behind the bar and several Nordic looking individuals were seated as well as a pair of imperial women who were sat together. A dunmer woman who was shrouded within the dark robes she wore sat alone in a corner of the room, initially he didn’t notice her but as she gazed up at his entrance he quickly averted his gaze from her and headed directly towards the bar. The small group of Nordic men eyed him suspiciously as passed before eventually losing their interest and continuing with their drinking, one of them even making some hushed joke which caused the others to laugh loudly.

“Greetings traveller” said the woman at the counter, a small smile of greeting covering her face as she did. “What can I do for you hmm? Don’t get many Khajiit in here these days.” Her gaze lingered a brief moment on his right eye, the scars giving quite the impression he imagined before she looked back to his good eye.

Qa’skil nodded a greeting of his own at the woman, his eye searching over every surface and item within his gaze as he searched for anything of note or interest. Seeing nothing his gaze settled upon her directly and he responded “Yes, it is too cold for this one. He is thankful for the warmth of your establishment here and hopes that a bed may be available for this night and possibly several others”.

The woman nodded and gestured towards one of the several doors that lined a walls in the inn before saying “We do have a room available, for only ten septims its yours and I will even throw in an evening meal.”

Surprised by the woman’s hospitality he lowered his gaze and opened his coin-purse. Fortunately it was filled with the gold of the man he had killed in Windhelm, before his demise he was obviously a rich man – which Qa’skil could also have been given the time to properly loot his house. Placing several of the golden coins on the counter he considered what he wanted to eat, realising suddenly that he was very hungry after his failed attempt to make stew all those hours ago.

After asking her what food and drink she stocked he listened as she listed through each item. Once she had finished he grinned and asked “If it would be no trouble a sweet-roll and bottle of your alto wine would please this one”. Once he had paid and turned to face the room he rolled his eye at how polite and ‘nice’ the conversation had been. Such pleasantries were generally below him, however if he was looking to stay here and endure the next week or so without skooma then he would need to behave himself… mostly. Again looking at the inhabitants of the room he decided that it was indeed unlikely that any of them shared the same habits as he did, and so he gloomily made his way towards an empty table away from any of the others. As he did one of the Nordic men turned, a tall strong looking brute with lengthy blond hair knotted into braids as was their custom, and he drunkenly shouted “Hey you, kah-jeet! You with the one eye and the pretty face!”

His companions looked amused, whilst the other inhabitants of the inn seemed to look up and watch the situation, with only the inn-keeper seeming to be distressed by what was happening as all eyes fell to Qa’skil.

Glancing to the left of him and then to the right in over exaggerated gestures as if he was looking to see who the nord was really talking to Qa’skil then met his gaze and responded “Yes, nord with the girlish hair?” his gaze piercing into the man’s deep blue eyes as he did.

The man’s buffoonish grin and happy demeanour faulted at Qa’skil’s retort, and he frowned as if trying to figure out just how offended he should be. A few moments later he obviously decided that he should indeed be offended and so stood, stumbling a little as he did so before aggressively saying “Watch yourself here house-cat, this is our town and you’d do well to remember that”.

His gaze continued to bore into the man, his eye keeping contact with the man’s own as he nodded “Of course…” his voice trailing into a hiss as he continued to stare. The man looked slightly unnerved for a moment, obviously expecting his comment to have had more of an effect on the Khajiit. Turning away from Qa’skil he exhaled loudly before he went back to speaking loudly with his companions about ‘damn foreigners’ and the like.

Continuing to the seat he had chosen Qa’skil sat before he un-corked the wine with a clawed finger and started to take several large gulps from the bottle as he set the sweet-roll on the plate before him. After what was relatively a very short amount of time he again overheard the bawdy nords, this time the one with the braided hair and beard stood as he exclaimed “Watch this!” to those he was sat with. One of the men attempted to place a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but the man was determined as he staggered over to Qa’skil’s table and again slurring “Hey kah-jeet, think you’re so tough?” before with the buffoonish grin once more on his face he pounded his clenched fist into the sweet-roll on the table several times, reducing it to little more than a mashed pile of pastry and icing.

Qa’skil’s jaw dropped slightly as he stared at the mess, his temper flaring as he wondered what on Nirn had inspired this drunken lout to do such a thing, and to him of all people.

“My sweet-roll…” he murmured to himself before his hand instinctively shot down to his glass dagger concealed just below the table, intent on plunging it into his skull a moment later. Just before he did the woman behind the counter shouted across at the nord, clearly upset with his actions.

“Roggi! What in oblivion are you doing!” her face was reddening and she was clearly angry “Bothering my patrons when you already owe me so much in bar-debt! Sit down this instant and I will deal with you later.”

She turned to the man who had attempted to stop Roggi and added “Kjeld, if he bothers anyone again take him home, and you better dock his pay as well.” With that she brought another sweet-roll across to Qa’skils table, and placing it down she apologised several times, before also offering him a bottle of the wine on the house, should he want it. Still staring at Roggi the Khajiit released the hilt of his dagger as the nord made his way back to his table, now looking thoroughly embarrassed at his actions and the scolding he had received.

“It is no worry” Qa’skil purred turning his gaze back to the woman before flatly adding “but I would advise him not to speak with me again”. His threat was clear and he hoped it would be enough to prevent any more incidents from occurring.

Dismissing the woman he turned his attention back to his plate, the new sweet-roll sat beside the now thoroughly smooshed one. Qa’skil’s thoughts turned to what he was going to do to this ‘Roggi’ to exact his revenge, all the while picking small pieces from the crushed sweet-roll and eating them as he starred off into space, his quest for skooma forgotten for the moment, and his quest to avenge his sweet-roll began.