He remembered little of that night, some years ago. Just flashing, blurring images that played themselves over and over in his primitive, little brain. A warrior of steel and darkness, ambushing him as he dozed through another winter's night in the frozen north of Skyrim. It was a brief, but fierce battle. He could not remember clearly, how he had howled as the blade cut his flesh, and he could not remember with certainty the taste of his adversary's life blood on his fangs. The only thing he knew with certainty, was that he became afraid, and he fled. He abandoned his home, running like no creature ever should, from a warrior of steel and darkness. And that memory was a pain that his simplistic mental mechanisms could not understand. Though, a more advanced creature, such as Man, would describe it simply as hurt pride. As it happened, hurt pride was a big issue for such a beast as Skharn. As the bear reached the the summit of the icy peak, he paused briefly to take a much needed respite. The snow was pouring down in droves, and even his thick mane was a meagre defence against the bone cutting chill. But the cold did not trouble this bear, for primitive thoughts of revenge were means enough to keep him warm. Skharn was a name given to the bear by the Forsworn, a peoples he had stalked for many days and nights as he continued his search for the warrior of steel and darkness. In their native tongue, it simply meant "Anger" - their only true means of summing up the monster that took more of their number with each passing day. It meant little to the bear, but enough to know the word was a warning of danger. The name Skharn had spread, as tall tails of a seven headed dragon covered in fur made its way to all four corners of Skyrim. Indeed, famed hunters had pursued the beast, but with little luck. Despite no sightings, the stories never went away, and indeed, countless dozens of deaths on the country's remote roads and city outskirts were often attributed to Skharn. So when the bear heard he name "Skharn", it knew someone had seen him. Knew someone was afraid. Knew someone was about to try and kill him. The dim lights of Winterhold's ruined form were of little concern to Skharn. He hadn't travelled to the frozen north, covering three hundred miles in three days, to look upon another human settlement. Nor had he come to take note of the giant man made mountain behind it. No, he was following someone. An Altmer - the Elderborn - had happened by the bear's temporary dwelling a week previous. Though Skharn lacked the mental capacity to reason well, he understood immediately that the Elf was someone of power. Someone, who if not attacked in the correct manner, could very well kill the bear. So as Skharn, not wanting to bite off more than he could chew, went to resume his slumber, he noticed something else. He didn't know what it was, but it agitated him, spreading unrest into his mind and limbs. A man may have romantically referred to this as the hands of fate, pulling Skharn to his destiny. Whatever it was, Skharn felt the urge to follow the Elf. And follow he did. For days and nights, the bear shadowed the Elf, always keeping out of sight and using his nose to follow his quarry's trail. As the ground turned to ice, the further North they went, the scent became harder to follow, and for a time, Skharn lost his target. It was only the very brief memory of a settlement nearby, and a bear's natural talent for remembering pre-travelled routes, that he was able to find Winterhold. And now Skharn would wait, watching from the blizzard for an Elf whose importance to him made little sense. @Vortex

Brannus chuckled, the Argonian was no novice, nor was she a fool. "I can assure you, miss, everything here is as it should be, I've no use for trinkets and gems, and the wood provides us with more than enough fresh meat and water. Now, as you said, let us not stand here in the cold for too long, the chill must be much worse against your scales, and many beasts are fond of roaming the snow. So, let us talk of payment, what are you prepared to give in exchange for these goods?" The snow and glacial winds battered against the large nord's armor ice crystals forming over colder steel. Snow began to cake the many pelts and furs Brannus wore draped over his shoulders, and the wyrm skull mounted upon his right shoulder-guard. The smell of the raw meat and decaying flesh were all that could be found amid sterile snow and ice, their decay and rot slowed by the cold, ice holding some of the mutilated bodies together, slowly cracking and shifting as the chill began to fill each and every crevice of necrotic flesh. Wolves could be heard, howling in the distance, as was common of the tundra, they seemed to join the great winds in song, crying out for blood, to take their prey together with claw and frost.

Asuma overheard the conversation and lifted her head off of the counter, she almost fell asleep again, She leaned in a tiny bit and started listening, hearing something about "werewolfs" and the "champions" She also noticed that now pretty much everyone was Staring at her, even the list of "trustable" ones She started to doubt she was in the right place again, might as well ask the bartender where she was, with a voice of worry she asked the Reptilian bartender excuse me uh, which city is this?

"Hmm. You don't seem like the type whose bartering in septims, and the fact that food is involved suggests you aren't looking for necessities. I have access to several armorers and are carrying a good load of steel in the hull, and perhaps you're interested in a more... high grade protection. I have access to materials which technically require Imperial shipping permits, but considering there are at least three separate standards in the places I travel that is not too much of a concern. I don't barter in crewmen or 'favors.' I'd be obliged to hear what you're looking for out of this," Walks-In-Light said with a ponderous tone. Canis, managing to put aside the brief period of revulsion, sorted through the goods with a deft eye as the captain addressed Brannus, attempting to mentally price the jewels and furs for the purposes of ascertaining how much they could reasonably go for on the open market.

the bartender replied saying Winterhold and Asuma realized her big mistake. She made a big wrong turn Ughh!, I knew I should've gone west! She gotten a bit angry, but not for long, it didn't matter now she'd found pretty much everyone. muttering a curse she'd did a facepalm, the bartender left and started serving some other drunken nord customers just my luck...

Tarja heard the girl hissing under her breath, having realized a most humorous folly, and snickered to herself standing up and approaching her. A strange weapon she had in her possession, a blade, slightly curved, but not as harsh as the scimitars of Hammerfell, those damn guards going on obsessively over them damn curved swords. No, this appeared more the blade style of Akavir, Tarja only knowing of the mysterious race through many a tale passed about a warm fire and a cold mug of ale. "Lost are we?" She said. Gods..compared to the youth, she must appear as a giant looming over her, casting a shadow that could eclipse even Masser. And still, she had no recollection at all of where she had seen the girl last but was certain she knew of her. "What's your name lass?"

A hardy laugh rang from behind the Nord's helmet at the merchant's words. "Oh, I understand, such 'favors' tend not to be worth what I'm giving in the first place. However if you were so inclined, after this transaction I wouldn't be opposed to the two of us exchanging one 'favor' for another." A couple of the other deserters joined their leader in a short laugh, before he spoke again. "Either way, it sounds like a good trade, Falkreath provides for the men, but not for our forges. I'd also be very gracious to have some of those more... elusive goods that you spoke of. After all the Empire no longer holds this land under their regulation. I'm certain our collective company can handle the exchange and loading, your man there does seem to know a thing or two about the merchants trade. While they take care of that, why don't I buy you something to fend off the chill while you're still in port? We can celebrate the beginning of a hopefully long and beneficial partnership." The four accompanying Brannus grumbled softly to themselves upon hearing Brannus' order, but a quick, silent glare from their leader silenced them. Once more the tarp was draped over the goods, protecting it from the flurry of snow and ice that assailed the entirety of that desolate Hold. Cargo secure, they lead the hourses back toward the town, and towards Walks-In-Light's ship.

"I'll gladly buy our drinks. I only like favors when other people owe them to me. Also I don't want to deplete what stores of septims you all have. Canis, I assume you can do the math while I entertain our guest," Walks-In-Light said, with a mild grin. "Aye, captain. Let's see here..." he said, going into much deeper levels of mental math as he attempted to ascertain the amount of material this booty was worth. "Captain, I'd estimate that we can reasonably offer about 20 ingots of the stuff, 30 steel ingots, and 40 ingots of iron for the haul sans the 'specialty meats.' Does this sound reasonable?" Canis said with an air of deference around him. "Canis, I appreciate the formality, but calm down a little please. And yes, assuming that Brannus here accepts, I feel we should have a deal, am I wrong?" Walks-In-Light said, turning towards the tavern. " I'm going to be a Snow Elf if I don't get out of this cold soon. I'll get our drinks. You seem like a mead type, no?" Walks-In-Light said over her shoulder to her apparent admirer as she began approaching the bar.

Tarja heard the girl hissing under her breath, having realized a most humorous folly, and snickered to herself standing up and approaching her. A strange weapon she had in her possession, a blade, slightly curved, but not as harsh as the scimitars of Hammerfell, those damn guards going on obsessively over them damn curved swords. No, this appeared more the blade style of Akavir, Tarja only knowing of the mysterious race through many a tale passed about a warm fire and a cold mug of ale. "Lost are we?" She said. Gods..compared to the youth, she must appear as a giant looming over her, casting a shadow that could eclipse even Masser. And still, she had no recollection at all of where she had seen the girl last but was certain she knew of her. "What's your name lass?"

You could say that Spooked Asuma, because she nearly fell off of her bar stool with a look of fear in her face and pissed off the Drunken nord beside her, the drunken nord made a grunt and went back to drinking his life away. Asuma grabbed the counter too stop herself from falling again she blinked a couple times, she noticed the Really big warrior woman in front of her, so big that she was actually casting a shadow over Asuma, Blinking a couple times more again she told the Woman nervously, Yeah just made a wrong turn and ended up here ha.. the laugh was incredibly fake, Should I tell her my name?...its not like I'm a criminal or anything. Guess it couldn't hurt Uh my names Asuma She told the giant of a woman

Drysyval was enjoying nice conversation with friends until somebody rudely interrupted him. The man didn't even see 'pardon me', as he cut Drysyval short. All he said was 'Greetings', and then asked for directions. Drysyval would smile and nod at the man, but he would have preferred a bit nicer of an intrusion. " Uhhh, sure. I don't think that I'm the best person to go to, as I'm not directly associated with the College, but I don't mind giving you directions. Where is it you need to go? It is rare to see students as old as you attending the College, but it is never to late to start studying magic. They also usually have someone show you around the school, but it is fairly late. " Drysyval apologized to his friends, wished them a good night, and stood up from where he was sitting. Even if the man was just asking for directions, Drysyval would probably just end up bringing him there physically. It was much easier than giving directions verbally, and probably faster than writing them out. Hopefully, this would be over and done with soon, and he could lay his head somewhere for the night. He also hoped that his friends wouldn't be too upset that he had to retire for the night, but they probably weren't. Probably.

The young man seemed to have a slight scowl on his face as his conversation was interrupted by Keldir, and Keldir gave no heed to the annoyed expressions of the group. When the man said "Its never to late to start studying magic", Keldir gave out as short laugh as he tried to suppress it but he found it rather amusing that some young mage, probably a apprentice of one of the teachers at the College, would make such a comment to the likes of Keldir, a master of the arcane. This muffeled laugh turned the look of annoyance of the groups faces to one more akin to confusion as they probably now thought Keldir as some sort of madman, which he was not. After the young man departed from his friends and bid them goodbye, Keldir gave the man a slightly, and only slightly, better greeting "Thank you boy, I appreciate your kindness. The name is Keldir by the way, might I know yours?"

You could say that Spooked Asuma, because she nearly fell off of her bar stool with a look of fear in her face and pissed off the Drunken nord beside her, the drunken nord made a grunt and went back to drinking his life away. Asuma grabbed the counter too stop herself from falling again she blinked a couple times, she noticed the Really big warrior woman in front of her, so big that she was actually casting a shadow over Asuma, Blinking a couple times more again she told the Woman nervously, Yeah just made a wrong turn and ended up here ha.. the laugh was incredibly fake, Should I tell her my name?...its not like I'm a criminal or anything. Guess it couldn't hurt Uh my names Asuma She told the giant of a woman

The taller Forsworn glared at the haggard before turning back to the heavily flustered Imperial quite underneath her, the woman thinking it a bit cute how frightened she looked towards her. Imperials, while most opinions of Nords were well biased and well venomous of the milk drinkers of Cyrodiil, Tarja had none such towards them, though she was half-blood of the alleged true sons and daughters of Skyrim, but she accounted herself more as a child of the Reach, her old life gone with the passage of time. Asuma....the name struck a bell, a bell that rang ceaseless through her mind, trying her damndest to connect the girl's face to that particular name. ....Then it clicked. "Riker's kin..." Tarja breathed astounded. Her heavy hand fell on the girl's head and ruffled her hair as lightly the savage woman chuckled. "You were but a wee lass last I seen you, child. You grew these past winters. Tell me, where be Riker that old dog?" Riker, he was a stout hunter, skilled with a bow as much in the way of the sword, yet he had a bit of a folly during their last outing, during the Blood Moon of Hircine no less, when they were chasing Sinding through Bloated Man's Grotto. The man, he was wolfkin, just as Tarja, yet the Prince ordered for the lad's death, and swift as it was...but not without a fight. She and Riker nearly escaped with their lives while the rest of the hunters were torn to shreds by the lycan. For that, he owed the woman his life. But years it has been since that last excursion, and seldom did Tarja make contact with the Imperial after.

Asuma didn't know what to say, Or perhaps. Didn't know what she wanted to say, she didn't want to be the messenger of death, so why tell her?, Asuma made up a lie in her head. and then Lying to the Humongous Person, Scratching the back of her head Oh yeah, We were uhm just heading to Whiterun for a tiny vacation I kinda got Separated and came here by accident, tough luck huh. the lie was pretty obvious, Who would take a vacation in whiterun at this time of the year?,

"It sounds like fair bargain to me, now, enough business, lets drink." The large Nord chuckled to himself as he and the Argonian woman walked back to the inn, escaping the cold and relaxing as the fire and cooking pits radiated heat. Brannus took a seat in the corner of the tavern, he didn't mind whatever drink she might get, as long as it could warm the blood. He took a moment to survey the rest of the patrons, for such a ghost of a town, the inn was rather busy that evening, all sorts were there, Bretons, Orcs, fellow nords, there was a wood elf dressed in the robes of the college, a High elf seemed to make his residence within the right most room, and along with Walks-in-Light, it seemed all they were missing was a cat to create a microcosm of Tamriel.

Twas obvious Asuma was telling untruths to Tarja. For starters, the Forsworn could recognize the shakiness of the young Imperial's voice not to mention the slight perspiration upon her brow. Secondly.....who took vacations in Whiterun at all? Tarja's brow furrowed and her eyes darkened upon Asuma. Her hands clasped against her hips firmly and she leaned closer in whispering, her voice rather stern, "Methinks you're lying to me, lass. Come now, where be your da?"

Twas obvious Asuma was telling untruths to Tarja. For starters, the Forsworn could recognize the shakiness of the young Imperial's voice not to mention the slight perspiration upon her brow. Secondly.....who took vacations in Whiterun at all? Tarja's brow furrowed and her eyes darkened upon Asuma. Her hands clasped against her hips firmly and she leaned closer in whispering, her voice rather stern, "Methinks you're lying to me, lass. Come now, where be your da?"

Asuma leaned back a bit again, this time more cautiously so she doesn't fall again. She really didn't want to tell her, but she had no choice, she felt like she would break into a thousand pieces if she mentioned Riker's unfortunate.....passing... a frown forming on Asumas face, a tear appearing in her eye, She told Tarja the bad news in a sudden Ear-piercing yell, alerting everyone in the bar except for a Unconscious nord Hes dead! and then started to cry like a mother when she heard her sun died in a war, her hands on her face as she cried.

The college of winterhold; a place of learning and advancement for some, for others, a place to hate. The town around it was certainly as dead as a door nail. It didn't help that the empire had long been pushed out, and the entirety of skyrim was now under nord control. It was little concern for an Imperial such as herself- generally well accepted by most races of Tamriel(Sans the Altmer, though they tended to look down on everyone anyway), she tended to have freedom of movement without aggravation or annoyance by locals. She had been sitting down in the lobby of said college when a high elf had come in and started doing some large magic. She continued to read her book unabated. Flavia hadn't come to the College because she had any particular person to speak to, or an item to collect. It was simply a bit more quiet here than the tavern she was staying at. Since she was someone with a vast amount of contacts, it wasn't hard to come here and just sit in the lobby.

Murkan decided that after so much of the Breton's droning, he would at least numb the pain. He came to the point that he don't care if his employer is robbed or killed. "Breton, be silent. You talk much like imperial women.." His eyes trailed off to notice the young Imperial talking to the hardened Nord. He tried to listen into the conversation, curiosity may kill the pig-man. The young lady seemed familiar. Every time he chased the thought, it evaded him somehow. Murkan gave a slight frown when the lady started to cry. The Breton mocked him for it. "Orc has feelings? I thought you lot were into killing and whats nots?" Something inside of Murkan snapped, maybe it was Malacath defending his own, maybe he was just sick of the Breton being a dimwit. The brute put one hand around the Breton's neck and squeezed. The Breton kicked, gasping for breath, the stool was knocked over. The Merchant was slowly lifted in the air. "Murkan is not pig. Murkan is not monster." He finally let go before the Breton passed. The Man crumbled to the ground, clinging his throat, gasping for air. The Mer sat down, looking straight ahead at something that didn't exist.

Murkan decided that after so much of the Breton's droning, he would at least numb the pain. He came to the point that he don't care if his employer is robbed or killed. "Breton, be silent. You talk much like imperial women.." His eyes trailed off to notice the young Imperial talking to the hardened Nord. He tried to listen into the conversation, curiosity may kill the pig-man. The young lady seemed familiar. Every time he chased the thought, it evaded him somehow. Murkan gave a slight frown when the lady started to cry. The Breton mocked him for it. "Orc has feelings? I thought you lot were into killing and whats nots?" Something inside of Murkan snapped, maybe it was Malacath defending his, maybe he was just sick of the Breton being a dimwit. The brute put one hand around the Breton's neck and squeezed. The Breton kicked, gasping for breath, the stool was knocked over. The Merchant was slowly lifted in the air. "Murkan is not pig. Murkan is not monster." He finally let go before the Breton passed. The Man crumbled to the ground, clinging his throat, gasping for air. The Mer sat down, looking straight ahead at something that didn't exist.

Asuma had a face of Horror, watching the gigantic Green giant smash the Mage, HES on the trustable-people list!?, She wasn't used to people fighting, but this was obviously what it was like, what it was like when the Soldiers found her village, this is what probably happened to her father More thoughts went through Asumas mind, Her eyes were glued to the Orc beating up the person, however, a feel of release had came to her as the giant let the man live, But it still lingered in her mind.

Just as Tarja feared. Such grim words to hear, Riker, dead, and certainly not by age, for the old man had the strength of a full-grown mammoth and could fare more than a few harsh winters in old Skyrim. Just by the painful lamentations and sobs of poor Asuma, shedding every last burning tear she could bring to her sore, melancholic eyes, the Forsworn woman could only believe his death was not a peaceful one, that there was foul play afoot, hence why Asuma would be in search of her father's last known companion, at least from what Tarja could tell. Well, Hircine rest his weary soul upon the verdant plains of the Great Hunt, and may someday Tarja join the man Riker again on another outing with the Stag Prince under the Blood Moon. "There there, child." Tarja whispered kneeling down and resting a comforting hand on Asuma's shoulder. "This is grave news indeed you bring from Cyrodiil, but your father was a warrior, strong and courageous. His death was not in vain if it were to protect you, his only kin." Given, she may have wrapped the weeping youth in a hug, yet Tarja wasn't much for showing that sort of emotion. "You need to dry your tears, Asuma, and carry on, for the sake of your father Riker. He'd be proud to see the warrior you've blossomed into." And just as her hand retreated to her side, a commotion sounded from behind her. Tarja turned, just in time to catch eye of the Orismer roughing up that mouthy Breton he was escorting. A tad bitter was the sight, since Tarja, though not a Breton herself, was fond of the people of High Rock, and in a curt motion she drew her dagger and leveled it at the Orc just as he released the man, leaving him on the floor to cough and wheeze at his throat nearly crushed by brute strength. "Ease that temper, Orismer! Or it shall be my blade in your throat!" Tarja snarled clenching the hilt of her dagger tighter. Not only did the big green bastard rough up a Reachman, but he also evidently terrified poor Asuma with his show of natural Orcish brutality, just making the situation worse it seemed.