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Dibella's House of Common Pleasures
2100, Last Seed 21, 4E 205
The sun had set, the curfew had taken effect. Yet in the premiere brothel of Wayrest, the night has just begun. Citizens and occupying soldiers flocked to the "entertainment" district alike, and the latter were more than happy to let their orders slide. Not all who came to one particular brothel, commonly called the House of Commons, came for the bodily pleasures. It was a large three story building of many rooms; many of them housed former pirates trapped between rock and a hard place, while other were occupied by opportunists hoping to pilfer the legendary treasures of the Corsairs.
One such individual was Ander. He had rented a small room three days ago, never requiring any services and never returning until dark. Tonight, he was carried in by a band of mercenaries. Ander was unconscious, but in stable condition. He was soaked liked the mercenaries, though thankfully, only in water. They had emerged from a manhole, guided by receipts in Ander's pocket and Alim's directions.
Overlooking the bustling lobby, where red lights glazed across dark leather, were the premium guest rooms. These weren't the rooms for pirates and scavengers; only the richest (and often the anonymous) could afford them. Sounds of pleasure and pain seeped through the cracks of mostly sound-proof doors. One such room was taken by Relyssa an hour ago. Another was where a Breton man in an ash gray cloak had emerged. This man wore leather armor under his cloak, and partly concealed under his hood was a silver circlet and messy black hair. His relaxed shoulders showed his ease, yet a faint frown made it clear he was not happy. His right hand hovered around his waist, as if protecting an invisible object attached to his belt. The Breton man took out a pipe, lit it with a spark spell and watched the scene below.
"S'toth trusts you were satisfied with his services?" Came a sultry purr from the same room. The Khajiit was a busy one tonight, for his barbed appendages were coveted by curious lords and ladies alike.
"Most enjoyable." The Breton man nodded absentmindedly. Without turning to acknowledge the prostitute, he offered a handful of coins. "Here's your tips."
As S'toth left, the Breton man focused on the newcomers below. He watched Gustav rent a premium room for himself, and cheaper options for his employees. He watched Xenia Richton, madam of the house, chide them for leaving a wet mess (on this already wet mess of an establishment), and redirecting Ander to the nearest clinic. He watched some soldiers cast suspicious glances at the mercenaries (but none of them did anything, since they weren't supposed to be there in the first place). He watched mercenaries from other companies, who were hired by the armies, size up their newest competitors. Finally, he watched the lonesome Nibenese sailor trailing after them.
The Breton man smiled to himself. He made his way downstairs, brushing past the mercenaries and not acknowledging them. He weaved through the sweaty, drunk and aroused mass of people, almost unnoticed, until he was in front of the Nibenese lad.
"You there, come." He gestured. "I have a job for you."
One such individual was Ander. He had rented a small room three days ago, never requiring any services and never returning until dark. Tonight, he was carried in by a band of mercenaries. Ander was unconscious, but in stable condition. He was soaked liked the mercenaries, though thankfully, only in water. They had emerged from a manhole, guided by receipts in Ander's pocket and Alim's directions.
Overlooking the bustling lobby, where red lights glazed across dark leather, were the premium guest rooms. These weren't the rooms for pirates and scavengers; only the richest (and often the anonymous) could afford them. Sounds of pleasure and pain seeped through the cracks of mostly sound-proof doors. One such room was taken by Relyssa an hour ago. Another was where a Breton man in an ash gray cloak had emerged. This man wore leather armor under his cloak, and partly concealed under his hood was a silver circlet and messy black hair. His relaxed shoulders showed his ease, yet a faint frown made it clear he was not happy. His right hand hovered around his waist, as if protecting an invisible object attached to his belt. The Breton man took out a pipe, lit it with a spark spell and watched the scene below.
"S'toth trusts you were satisfied with his services?" Came a sultry purr from the same room. The Khajiit was a busy one tonight, for his barbed appendages were coveted by curious lords and ladies alike.
"Most enjoyable." The Breton man nodded absentmindedly. Without turning to acknowledge the prostitute, he offered a handful of coins. "Here's your tips."
As S'toth left, the Breton man focused on the newcomers below. He watched Gustav rent a premium room for himself, and cheaper options for his employees. He watched Xenia Richton, madam of the house, chide them for leaving a wet mess (on this already wet mess of an establishment), and redirecting Ander to the nearest clinic. He watched some soldiers cast suspicious glances at the mercenaries (but none of them did anything, since they weren't supposed to be there in the first place). He watched mercenaries from other companies, who were hired by the armies, size up their newest competitors. Finally, he watched the lonesome Nibenese sailor trailing after them.
The Breton man smiled to himself. He made his way downstairs, brushing past the mercenaries and not acknowledging them. He weaved through the sweaty, drunk and aroused mass of people, almost unnoticed, until he was in front of the Nibenese lad.
"You there, come." He gestured. "I have a job for you."
As someone who stays up late all the time, summer. It is the only season when nights are more comfortable than days.
In
Anyone up for a game of Mafia? (How to Get Away With Murder Edition)
→
5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Come on, let's make the game happen.
Two main options for our first encounter: Go through the werecroc inhabited cistern, or detour through the wastewater tunnel.
Wayrest, High Rock
1900, Last Seed 21, 4E 205
"You shall not pass!"
Those were the final words and Gustav was not getting through the gates of Wayrest.
The company had spent most of the day traveling from Wind Keep, only to be denied by the throng of soldiers. The mercenaries weren't the only ones barred from entry. Those guarding the gates, currently troops from Northpoint, were on alert after a supposed corsair retaliation this time yesterday. Visitors were not allowed to enter.
"No passage?" Ariane inquired.
Gustav shook his head. The company had already been denied entry at the northeastern gate and the western gate, and they were stuck outside of the southern gate. Bribes didn't work, not for a reasonable amount, at least. They would have to camp outside, or head back to Wind Keep. Then they need to apply for a permit, and judging by the talks of impatient merchants, it would take at least a week to process. Wayrest was occupied by many armies, and all them remained dug in.
Ariane sighed. But just as she was doing so, a man introduced himself, seemingly out of nowhere. "I see we have crossed paths again, and my assistance would be valuable for the second time."
"Who are you?" Gustav narrowed his eyebrows. "And where did you come from?"
"We may not have met, but Lady Ariane and I had the pleasure of working together in the past." This man, short with dirty black hair, but defintely Nordic looking, wore Breton style steel armor. Though said armor fit him poorly and several patches hinted its origin as loot from a deceased ex-owner. "After all, I got this company out of Windhelm."
"Ander." Ariane shook her head. "Survived the Kamals and cleaned yourself up, but still conniving as always."
"Come on now, Ariane, my work may not be as sophisticated as your magic, it is nevertheless critical." Ander boasted, looking extra smug about it. "Just ask our pal, Farid. Where is he anyway?"
"Dead." Ariane stated. "For a month now."
"Unfortunate." Ander looked less smug. "Well, Slick-Teeth, or whatever that Argonian spellsword's called, can vouch for me too."
"Tsleeixth is also dead."
"Oh." Ander scratched his dirty hair. "There's always Rozalia; she's an insider. Surely she-"
"She's dead too, not that it's your business" Gustav interrupted, impatiently. "Look, whatever you're trying to sell, sell it."
"Damn, didn't know so many are gone." Ander was solemn. "Well, you need to get inside the city and I have the metaphorical key. But first, what should I call you?"
"Gustav."
"Of Solitude?" Ander's eyes lit up again. "I robbed your sto-I mean, I read about your shrewd dealings."
"Uh-huh." Gustav crossed his arms.
"Anyway." Ander cleared his throat. "For a small fee, I can get you inside the city and find you a safe place to stay in."
"Keep talking." Gustav was intrigued.
"All your need to do is watch you head."
Those were the final words and Gustav was not getting through the gates of Wayrest.
The company had spent most of the day traveling from Wind Keep, only to be denied by the throng of soldiers. The mercenaries weren't the only ones barred from entry. Those guarding the gates, currently troops from Northpoint, were on alert after a supposed corsair retaliation this time yesterday. Visitors were not allowed to enter.
"No passage?" Ariane inquired.
Gustav shook his head. The company had already been denied entry at the northeastern gate and the western gate, and they were stuck outside of the southern gate. Bribes didn't work, not for a reasonable amount, at least. They would have to camp outside, or head back to Wind Keep. Then they need to apply for a permit, and judging by the talks of impatient merchants, it would take at least a week to process. Wayrest was occupied by many armies, and all them remained dug in.
Ariane sighed. But just as she was doing so, a man introduced himself, seemingly out of nowhere. "I see we have crossed paths again, and my assistance would be valuable for the second time."
"Who are you?" Gustav narrowed his eyebrows. "And where did you come from?"
"We may not have met, but Lady Ariane and I had the pleasure of working together in the past." This man, short with dirty black hair, but defintely Nordic looking, wore Breton style steel armor. Though said armor fit him poorly and several patches hinted its origin as loot from a deceased ex-owner. "After all, I got this company out of Windhelm."
"Ander." Ariane shook her head. "Survived the Kamals and cleaned yourself up, but still conniving as always."
"Come on now, Ariane, my work may not be as sophisticated as your magic, it is nevertheless critical." Ander boasted, looking extra smug about it. "Just ask our pal, Farid. Where is he anyway?"
"Dead." Ariane stated. "For a month now."
"Unfortunate." Ander looked less smug. "Well, Slick-Teeth, or whatever that Argonian spellsword's called, can vouch for me too."
"Tsleeixth is also dead."
"Oh." Ander scratched his dirty hair. "There's always Rozalia; she's an insider. Surely she-"
"She's dead too, not that it's your business" Gustav interrupted, impatiently. "Look, whatever you're trying to sell, sell it."
"Damn, didn't know so many are gone." Ander was solemn. "Well, you need to get inside the city and I have the metaphorical key. But first, what should I call you?"
"Gustav."
"Of Solitude?" Ander's eyes lit up again. "I robbed your sto-I mean, I read about your shrewd dealings."
"Uh-huh." Gustav crossed his arms.
"Anyway." Ander cleared his throat. "For a small fee, I can get you inside the city and find you a safe place to stay in."
"Keep talking." Gustav was intrigued.
"All your need to do is watch you head."
Bonk!
"Ow! What the?" Gustav rubbed his forehead. He just bumped into something, hard.
"Told you to watch your head." Ander smirked.
"Could have told me we're going in the sewers!" Gustav grumbled. "What are you doing here anyway? My boots are all drenched in gods-know-what."
"First of all, we're going through a secret passage." Ander set down his lantern, one of few sources of light (alongside some mercenaries' torches). There was the occasional hole leading up, but the sun was too far set to cast light into it. "It wouldn't be so secret if I go yammering about it."
"And second, this is a rainwater duct." Ander examined the sewer walls. Gustav couldn't see what; this section was not wide enough for two people. "The sewage tunnels are deeper and swarming with slaughterfishes."
Ander picked up his lantern and continued forward, but Gustav dragged him back. "Still haven't answered everything."
"I'm no longer with the Thieves Guild, if that's what you're wondering. I'm good as dead to them when I got caught in Windhelm." Ander shrugged. "Just know that both you and my new employers covet the opportunities of a wartime city."
"Such as looting the deceased?" Ariane perked up from behind Gustav.
"They didn't seem to object." Ander shot back. "I bet you got that shiny wand from a corpse too."
"A pile of ash, actually."
The tunnels were shorter going forward. Someone of Gustav's height had to walk hunched, while shorter individuals like Ander could stand upright. To Gustav's (and Oren's) relief, they soon came across a junction tall enough for most to stand, and wide enough for two people. One side of the junction inclined up, while the other went down. There was a burning torch on the wall with the sharp scent of sterilizing agents. While Ander checked his map, Gustav took a cautious step toward the downward path. He was rewarded with an odor so pungent, that he nearly vomited his lunch.
"That's the waste sewage." Ander pointed out. He led the mercenaries to the upward path. "Here's a shortcut."
A few twists and turns later, the mercenaries found a round cistern ahead. Its ceiling was three stories tall, and had grates showing the darkening sky above. The water was deeper inside, which looked about knee height for Gustav. Several pillars supported the room. Strange purple vines grew on the walls.
"They say the vines weren't here before the Corsairs." Ander noted. "Invasive species brought in by Bosmer pirates."
Ander scanned room. His gaze fell on the barely visible center, where a platform held an unknown figure. Said figure was...eating?
"Quiet down." Ander's voice was suddenly a whisper. "There's people hiding down here from time to time, very bad people; avoid them."
"So, do we go back to the sewage tunnels?" Gustav asked.
"I'll try to skirt around this one." Ander whispered back. "Follow me once I reach the other side, one at a time."
And so Ander set out with the tip-toe precision befitting of a thief. He hugged the wall, shuffled carefully to avoid splashing water and kept his lantern partly behind his back. The figure in the middle didn't notice him, until he was halfway through.
There was a large vine growing from the wall into the floor, and a portion of it was above water. Ander carefully stepped over it, but at the last second, the vine seemingly twitched. It tripped Ander. He fell straight into the water, and his lantern went out. When he emerged again, soaked and only visible by moonlight from above, the unknown figure was staring straight at him. The figure growled; Ander bolted for the exit.
The figure writhed and contorted. Its muscle rippened, nails grew into claws, skins hardened into scales, a tail lashed out, and it became always twice as big. It was a werecrocodile.
Ander almost reached the exit, but the werecrocodile leaped there before him, blocking his exit. It swiped its claws at him. Ander jumped back, narrowly saving himself. Then the werewcrocodile charged. Ander dived to his side, avoiding the attack. The werecroc stomped, but Ander seemed untouchable as he rolled away. However, Ander's poor-fitting armor was laden with water at this point. He got up dazed and heavy, and stared down a rapidly approaching tail swipe.
The swipe was so powerful, that it sent Ander flying across the cistern. He smashed straight through a pillar and stopped by the wall behind it. Amid the crumbling of bricks came the sickening crunch of bones. Ander wasn't getting back up.
The werecrocodile hissed and paced around the cistern. Luckily, it didn't seem to notice mercenaries watching from the entrance.
Black Wastes, Duchy of Evermore, High Rock
2000, Last Seed 17, 4E 205
@Gcold@Spoopy Scary@Hank@Stormflyx
“I hear you’re meeting Gustav for an interview.”
“And I hear you’re leaving. Why is that?”
Wylendriel stared down at her feet, shame impacting her like a punch to the chest. The company had only a few days to recover from the chaos at the banquet -- from physical injury as well as legal, the former which she was able to attend to. To her surprise, so could Mary, the templar now questioning her. The truth was that she felt like she had to leave for a while now. Mercenary life didn’t suit her, but more than that, she provided her chaplain services for the final time when Edith came to visit her for consultation. Sort of. The new commander decided the role didn’t suit her, and the company wasn’t the same without Ashav. It was actually her who convinced Wylendriel to finally leave. Perhaps it was her last advice as the company’s commander, but Edith seemed worried about her mental health and suggested that she ought to continue with the pilgrimage she originally embarked on.
Wy gave Mary a weary sigh as she answered, “I was never a permanent fixture within the company. I was on pilgrimage before I joined them, and I suppose I lost sight of that. It’s time I moved on and work on healing my spirit. Restoration can’t fix everything.”
The templar lay her hand on the priestess’ shoulder and nodded sympathetically, “Indeed it can’t. May Stendarr’s mercy bless you.”
“I must find it for myself I’m afraid. There are things I must atone for before then.”
“That is the way of things,” Mary replied, “one can’t know justice or mercy without strife or punishment. I hope you find peace in any case.”
“You’ll make a good replacement for me,” Wy chuckled. “As much as I’d like to say I hope to see the company again, I fear you all would be a bad omen. So… take care?”
“Godspeed, priestess.”
“And I hear you’re leaving. Why is that?”
Wylendriel stared down at her feet, shame impacting her like a punch to the chest. The company had only a few days to recover from the chaos at the banquet -- from physical injury as well as legal, the former which she was able to attend to. To her surprise, so could Mary, the templar now questioning her. The truth was that she felt like she had to leave for a while now. Mercenary life didn’t suit her, but more than that, she provided her chaplain services for the final time when Edith came to visit her for consultation. Sort of. The new commander decided the role didn’t suit her, and the company wasn’t the same without Ashav. It was actually her who convinced Wylendriel to finally leave. Perhaps it was her last advice as the company’s commander, but Edith seemed worried about her mental health and suggested that she ought to continue with the pilgrimage she originally embarked on.
Wy gave Mary a weary sigh as she answered, “I was never a permanent fixture within the company. I was on pilgrimage before I joined them, and I suppose I lost sight of that. It’s time I moved on and work on healing my spirit. Restoration can’t fix everything.”
The templar lay her hand on the priestess’ shoulder and nodded sympathetically, “Indeed it can’t. May Stendarr’s mercy bless you.”
“I must find it for myself I’m afraid. There are things I must atone for before then.”
“That is the way of things,” Mary replied, “one can’t know justice or mercy without strife or punishment. I hope you find peace in any case.”
“You’ll make a good replacement for me,” Wy chuckled. “As much as I’d like to say I hope to see the company again, I fear you all would be a bad omen. So… take care?”
“Godspeed, priestess.”
Black Wastes was exactly as its name described, a boring waste of space that’s poorly lit at night, to the point where streets fell pitch black. By the time Ariane returned to Red Mug, the inn mercenaries stayed in, Edith had already departed. Edith did notify Ariane of her resignation earlier that day, but that was pretty much it. Sevine was talking to Edith throughout the trip, and from what it seemed, both of them were leaving for their homes in Falkreath. In the end, what mattered to Ariane was that she now held the second highest position within the company. With greater power also came greater responsibilities; Gustav had delegated the new member’s interview to her.
On her way, Ariane encountered Wylendriel. She never really spoke to the Bosmer besides giving her orders. Ariane didn’t like her, but she would make an effort to be more approachable. Even someone as detached and aloof as Ariane felt sorry for what Wy had to endure. Walking past each other, Ariane said a simple “Farewell, Wylendriel.”
And then there’s the new recruit, the woman that rode on the same caravan as the rest of the company. Blond and well-armored, she very much resembled the knights of Jehanna. Gustav said she was a Breton templar, and was instrumental in defeating Sylette. Ariane could respect that, and despite the poor fashion taste with her mismatching colored cloths, the new member already felt more workable than Wylendriel.
“You must be the newcomer, Marley. Or is it Murry?” Ariane approached the templar and offered her hand. “Anyway, I am Ariane Fontaine, field commander of the company.” Ariane hesitated a bit; her new position still felt strange to her. “Gustav informed me that you have already signed the contract. I’m here to assess you, you know, just have a chat, as pedestrian as it seems.”
“Marlene,” Mary answered with a humored smile, “but you may call me Mary. Or Mars. Whichever is easier for you.”
“Come then, Mary, Gustav rented rooms at Red Mug for the company.” Ariane led the templar to an empty table inside the inn. “Rooms here are uncomfortable and the beverages are lacking, but the count of Glenpoint and his entourage already booked out the Dancing Griffin. So, here we are.”
“I’m from Jehanna, which is partly Nordic and with more than a few orcs to call it home.” Mary replied, “So I’m not picky. How far has the company come? You must have some impressive fame and connections for the Imperials to have sent you to investigate the banquet on their behalf.”
“Ah yes, Jehanna, that was where our company received the contract. The city was… tolerable.” Ariane explained. The innkeeper came to their table then; Ariane asked only for a cup of water. She did, however, notice another Breton woman drinking what looked to be decent wine. “You see, we’ve discovered evidence of the vampire plot en route from Skyrim. It was found on a foe too gruesome to describe, and possibly too gruesome for some to handle, such as our former chaplin.”
Then the water came in the inn’s namesake red mugs. Ariane took a sip; even it tasted sour. “Have you heard of Limax Auream, or as the sailors call it, the Golden Slug? It was a real Sload, and we defeated it.” Ariane was evidently proud of their victory. There were some less-than-good parts of the story, but Mary didn’t need to know that; she only needed to hear the good parts. By the look on her face, she didn’t know about the Slug anyway.
“Turns out, the Golden Slug is in league with the vampires.” Ariane’s voice quieted to a whisper, as if people eavesdropped on their conversation. “Our accomplishments were sufficient to draw the attention of the reserve legion. We provide premier security services regular soldiers cannot.”
“Someone capable of dispelling mass frenzy like yourself would be a welcoming addition.” Ariane added, while picking her nails. “How did you acquire such skills? I wasn’t aware that one could learn advanced magic in Jehanna.”
“I was taught by clerics and educators from the School of Julianos,” Mary explained, “in addition to restoration and solar magicks by Maran priests, as well as martial skills. I used to be a Templar, but I find myself being more of a witch hunter or freelance hero these days.”
Mary looked around her shoulder, seeing a few familiar faces from the caravan inside the inn. Members of the company? With a gentle smile, she turned back to Ariana and said, “What do you say to bringing our conversation to the others, commander? The Breton woman looks lonely and, besides, I think showing you that I can work well with others might be helpful to your interview, yes?”
"Yes, an excellent suggestion." Ariane concurred.
On her way, Ariane encountered Wylendriel. She never really spoke to the Bosmer besides giving her orders. Ariane didn’t like her, but she would make an effort to be more approachable. Even someone as detached and aloof as Ariane felt sorry for what Wy had to endure. Walking past each other, Ariane said a simple “Farewell, Wylendriel.”
And then there’s the new recruit, the woman that rode on the same caravan as the rest of the company. Blond and well-armored, she very much resembled the knights of Jehanna. Gustav said she was a Breton templar, and was instrumental in defeating Sylette. Ariane could respect that, and despite the poor fashion taste with her mismatching colored cloths, the new member already felt more workable than Wylendriel.
“You must be the newcomer, Marley. Or is it Murry?” Ariane approached the templar and offered her hand. “Anyway, I am Ariane Fontaine, field commander of the company.” Ariane hesitated a bit; her new position still felt strange to her. “Gustav informed me that you have already signed the contract. I’m here to assess you, you know, just have a chat, as pedestrian as it seems.”
“Marlene,” Mary answered with a humored smile, “but you may call me Mary. Or Mars. Whichever is easier for you.”
“Come then, Mary, Gustav rented rooms at Red Mug for the company.” Ariane led the templar to an empty table inside the inn. “Rooms here are uncomfortable and the beverages are lacking, but the count of Glenpoint and his entourage already booked out the Dancing Griffin. So, here we are.”
“I’m from Jehanna, which is partly Nordic and with more than a few orcs to call it home.” Mary replied, “So I’m not picky. How far has the company come? You must have some impressive fame and connections for the Imperials to have sent you to investigate the banquet on their behalf.”
“Ah yes, Jehanna, that was where our company received the contract. The city was… tolerable.” Ariane explained. The innkeeper came to their table then; Ariane asked only for a cup of water. She did, however, notice another Breton woman drinking what looked to be decent wine. “You see, we’ve discovered evidence of the vampire plot en route from Skyrim. It was found on a foe too gruesome to describe, and possibly too gruesome for some to handle, such as our former chaplin.”
Then the water came in the inn’s namesake red mugs. Ariane took a sip; even it tasted sour. “Have you heard of Limax Auream, or as the sailors call it, the Golden Slug? It was a real Sload, and we defeated it.” Ariane was evidently proud of their victory. There were some less-than-good parts of the story, but Mary didn’t need to know that; she only needed to hear the good parts. By the look on her face, she didn’t know about the Slug anyway.
“Turns out, the Golden Slug is in league with the vampires.” Ariane’s voice quieted to a whisper, as if people eavesdropped on their conversation. “Our accomplishments were sufficient to draw the attention of the reserve legion. We provide premier security services regular soldiers cannot.”
“Someone capable of dispelling mass frenzy like yourself would be a welcoming addition.” Ariane added, while picking her nails. “How did you acquire such skills? I wasn’t aware that one could learn advanced magic in Jehanna.”
“I was taught by clerics and educators from the School of Julianos,” Mary explained, “in addition to restoration and solar magicks by Maran priests, as well as martial skills. I used to be a Templar, but I find myself being more of a witch hunter or freelance hero these days.”
Mary looked around her shoulder, seeing a few familiar faces from the caravan inside the inn. Members of the company? With a gentle smile, she turned back to Ariana and said, “What do you say to bringing our conversation to the others, commander? The Breton woman looks lonely and, besides, I think showing you that I can work well with others might be helpful to your interview, yes?”
"Yes, an excellent suggestion." Ariane concurred.
Two Dunmer were seated nearby, a few tables over, opposite one another. Both were dressed in the traditional tunics of their people, but their clothes had evidently seen better days. The woman’s, especially, looked like they had been torn and burned a dozen times over and patched up by trembling hands again and again. The she-elf, with long messy hair and a strange copper-hued gaze, was staring into her drink, wide-eyed but seeing nothing, while the male mer, dark-skinned and muscular, black hair parted to one side, watched her with a frown. His eyes were splotches of scarlet in a stern face the color of wet ash, as was typical of his race.
“Niernen,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
He leaned forward in his seat and tapped her on her arm. “Niernen?”
That finally got her attention. She blinked and looked up at him sharply, as if he had woken her from a nightmare. “Narzul,” she said softly. “What is it?”
“Are you… alright?” he asked, concern in his gaze. It was evident he was not used to vocalizing such feelings to anyone.
She smiled at him, but it was weak and unconvincing. “No,” she admitted and buried her face in her hands. Niernen said something else but her words were too muffled for her brother to hear.
Narzul furrowed his brow -- a scowl looked significantly more natural on him. “Don’t do that, I can’t hear what you’re saying,” he hissed.
Exasperated, Niernen dropped her hands to the table with a thud. She sighed. “I said that my head still feels… frazzled. The frenzy spell… it was… bad,” the mage finished lamely. She didn’t know how else to put it. Words failed her, and she didn’t even want to mention the guilt she felt. Innocents had been burnt to a crisp by her magicks. That she hadn’t been the one controlling them, controlling her, was of little consolation to her. She didn’t think Narzul would understand.
“Talk to a healer,” he commanded. “Or a priest. They must know something, even if they’re--”
“Outlanders, yes, I know,” Niernen snapped. Then she relented a little. She knew Narzul meant well. Offering solutions was his way of trying to help. He only ever thought in challenges and how they could be overcome. That it often wasn’t as simple as that, that there were emotions in play, was of little consequence to the Redoran warrior. There had been no room for such things in his upbringing.
But what did their upbringing matter now? Their family was dead, their heritage destroyed, and their country usurped by a mad god.
“I’ll think about it,” she said and sipped on her water.
Narzul nodded. “Good,” he said after a few seconds, looking away, at nothing in particular. His eyes fell on Mary and Ariane. “Maybe they know something,” he said and jabbed a finger in their direction. “The templar and the witch.”
That made Niernen laugh. “She’s not a witch, brothermine. She’s… a mystic, a sorceress.”
He shrugged. “Is there a difference?”
There may have been no wine available for purchase at the Red Mug, but that hadn't stopped Relyssa from procuring her own elsewhere, and proudly displaying it on her lonely table in the corner of the room. The colour was shades darker than the red velvet dress she wore on her petite frame. Elbow length leather gloves prevented her from having to make direct contact with the surface of her table, that was both dusty and mysteriously sticky at the same time. The haughty Breton sneered at it.
Quietly, she drank to herself by the amber light of the fire - burning her silver hair a richer gold in its light.
Around her, patrons sat and talked amongst themselves - but she simply sat in her own meditative silence. On her lap, a journal, and in her hand a quill. She was in the middle of writing a letter. For all of the talking she was able to do in everyday situations, penning a letter to her father left her without much inspiration at all. A crease formed across her brow as she struggled even to open the thing.
After a moment or two more, she simply closed the journal - the loose page of parchment being folded with it. Instead, she set her listening ear to the conversations around her. She had been following Gustav. They'd both been set for Wayrest and so she had opted to travel with him and his company. Even after a day or two, she knew very little about any of them.
To her left, two Dunmer were deep in conversation, and she placed an elbow on the table, leaning slightly in their direction - rubbing her ear between thumb and forefinger as she took a sip from her wine and focussed in on them - for no other reason than she simply had nothing better to do.
“Yes, there is, but I’m not going to bother trying to explain it to you,” Niernen said to her brother and rested her head on her hands, elbows planted on the table to support her. She sighed and didn’t speak for a while. “I wish there was something to be done about all of… this,” she groaned. “Can’t lift a thing, constantly tired, constantly in pain, can’t sleep… it’s exhausting to be scared and hurt all the time,” she added softly and closed her eyes.
Narzul rubbed his brow. “Stop complaining,” he said sternly. “It doesn’t become you. I’ve already told you what you can try.”
Niernen threw up her hands. “Right, because a priest in this arse end of the world will know how to accomplish what seven Temple priests couldn’t. Do you really expect me to just stumble over an expert Restorationist as soon as I step out the door?”
“Do you expect to stumble over one while sitting here and moping?” Narzul retorted, nostrils flaring. He didn’t like to be reminded of his failures in Black Marsh and lashed out with his infamous temper. “If you’re not doing anything to get better then how is anything supposed to change?”
She opened and closed her mouth to protest a few times, but Niernen had to admit that he actually had a fair point. She retreated into sullen silence and sipped listlessly at her water while she mulled it over.
That would be the opportune moment to introduce herself, were Relyssa a woman who cared enough to answer such desperate plea for help. She remained stoic in her chair, having listened to and mentally recorded the woman's symptoms. The Breton merely rolled her wrist to turn the wine over in her glass.
Fatigue, anxiety, the curse of a compassionless companion… Not that she could judge, Relyssa had the tools and knowledge to try and yet… She didn't. She just took a long sip from her wine. Later, perhaps. Much later.
Or maybe there was another way…
"I know an expert restorationist," Relyssa said in the direction of the Dunmer pair nonchalantly, inviting herself to their conversation as if she had been part of it all along. She let the words linger, and flicked her hair over one shoulder. "In Wayrest," she added - almost as a disclaimer.
After processing her surprise at the Breton woman’s sudden interjection, Niernen shot a pointed glance at Narzul. Her brother rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. She chuckled and got up from her seat in order to join Relyssa at her table. She hadn’t spoken to the merchant who was traveling with them before, but she knew that the woman was an associate of Gustav. That meant that she was at least moderately trustworthy, right?
Wide-eyed and eager, Niernen sat down and placed her hands flat on the table. “Really? Who? Do you think they could help me?” Then she smiled sheepishly and held out a hand for Relyssa to shake. “Sorry. My name is Niernen. You’re… Relyssa, right?”
"Correct," the Breton replied with a smile, taking the young woman's hand in her own for a polite greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Niernen." After they had made their introduction, she found herself slightly tickled by the questions. It was either that she was toying with a stranger, or the wine. Perhaps both. It was not shown on her face, she maintained as warm and pleasant of a countenance as she could.
"They say this mage put men back together in Windhelm, but now lives a quiet life. I can't surely say whether or not anyone can help anyone… I'm just a wanderer," she added, her piercing eyes sparkling with mystery. "It depends, truly, on what it is you are ailed with, Niernen." Relyssa finished, taking yet another sip from the glass.
Deciding that moving chairs was too much of a hassle, and the chair themselves were uncomfortable anyway, Ariane walked to and stood over the Venims' table. She was short enough that she didn't loom too far over the seated Dark Elves. Plus, she's their commander. A certain sense of authority was very much relevant.
"I know someone who may be able to help." Ariane introduced the newcomer. "This is Marlene, templar and the latest member of our company."
Mary bowed her head before the others and gave Niernen a gentle smile as she said, “I’m not necessarily an expert, but I have an adequate working knowledge of restoration. If I can’t fix whatever is ailing you, I can at least ease some of your discomfort.”
Then Ariane moved to the more interesting questions. “If only they have such fine wine in this shoddy establishment, Lady Relyssa.” Ariane said. “May I ask where you obtained it?”
Well, the arrival of the two others would see the end of her fun for now, Relyssa thought to herself. “Mmmm,” she hummed in acknowledgement, moving her gaze from Niernen to Ariane. “I traded a broken earring to a jewel smith, and several trades later I had this wine. Alto, I believe. Help yourself,” she responded, her tone dry as she pushed the bottle towards her fellow Breton.
Ariane poured some into the only container she had; the red mug. She sipped the wine like it was something worth savoring. It wasn't. "Not exactly great, but not terrible either." She concluded. "Not that we should expect anything better from this insignificant village."
As more and more people crowded around Relyssa’s table, Narzul stared at them for a while until he turned his attention back to his drink. The Dunmer cleared his throat and followed the lines in the wooden tabletop with his gaze, one of his feet tapping along to a silent beat on the floor.
Niernen’s eyes jumped from Relyssa to Ariane and Mary and back again a few times before finally settling on the templar. “You were at the banquet, right?” she asked and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Marlene. I’m not completely unschooled in Restoration either, but… well, two heads are better than one, right?” She chuckled and ran a hand through her hair. Truth be told, the battlemage wasn’t very confident that anyone except a real expert in Restoration could help her, but it couldn’t hurt to try. “It’s… a number of things, really,” she said and looked at the rest of the party members around her. “It’ll take a while to explain. Meet me later and I’ll tell you all about it?”
The incessant chatter was just that. Incessant, and it was circling Relyssa. Without making a fuss, she drank down the last of her glass, placing it back on the table quietly - a perfect imprint of her deep plum lipstick sat on the rim and she raised a brow. "Well, ladies, it's getting late and we've a long day of travel ahead of us. I shall be making the most of my bed while I have one for the night," she said - cutting through the conversation to excuse herself as elegantly, and properly as possible. Then she was out of her chair and just a slender figure snaking through the crowd to her room.
"Good night, and mind the bedbugs." Ariane nodded to Relyssa. She took the latter's seat.
“Sure.” Mary said to Niernen, though her eyes were beginning to trail Relyssa as she stood, with a smile as to be polite, but truthfully she had no idea what a lady such as her would be doing in the company of mercenaries. Their current employer, perhaps? Doubtful. Breton lords and ladies who hired mercenaries had dirty work to be done that they didn’t want to be associated with -- to that end, it was doubtful she’d be traveling with them. Her eyes darted back to Niernen as a stray thought crossed her mind.
“As I understand it, your previous chaplain was a gifted restorationist. Could she not help you?”
"Gifted in restoration, sure." Ariane shrugged. "But she has not been...stable, as of late. The battle against the Sload we discussed earlier has unnerved Wylendriel, and I'm afraid the situation in Evermore was more than she could handle."
“May our prayers be with her then,” Mary replied. “Foul luck that a priestess finds herself in this line of work, though blessed are we that she was. Matters would be worse for wear were she not at the banquet. The vampire would’ve been much more dangerous. Were there others who left?”
“A few,” Niernen confirmed. “Dar’Jzo, for example. The older Khajiit.” Her thoughts were still with Do’Karth, who had quietly slipped out of her life, probably forever. Thinking about the instability of the company’s membership made her uncomfortable and she looked at Mary instead, seeking comfort in the steadfastness she perceived in her eyes. “But most of us are still here.”
“Yes, the old cat.” Ariane nodded. “Speaking of, I need to see Dar’Jzo; he said he wishes to discuss his contract.”
Ariane stood up and pushed the remainder of the wine toward Niernen. “Good night, everyone.” Then she turned to Mary before leaving. “I will inform Gustav of your skills and needs; welcome to the company.”
“Thank you miss,” Mary said with an enthusiastic nod. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Oh, and Mr. Venim?” Ariane added as she stuck her head back through the door with a sharp look toward Narzul, unsure and quite frankly unconcerned with the proper address for dunmer. “The aforementioned old cat? Said to pass along a message: something along the lines of it being a pleasure to work with you and to stay out of trouble, that he’d hate to kill you. Something like that. You know how cryptic he can be.”
“Niernen,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
He leaned forward in his seat and tapped her on her arm. “Niernen?”
That finally got her attention. She blinked and looked up at him sharply, as if he had woken her from a nightmare. “Narzul,” she said softly. “What is it?”
“Are you… alright?” he asked, concern in his gaze. It was evident he was not used to vocalizing such feelings to anyone.
She smiled at him, but it was weak and unconvincing. “No,” she admitted and buried her face in her hands. Niernen said something else but her words were too muffled for her brother to hear.
Narzul furrowed his brow -- a scowl looked significantly more natural on him. “Don’t do that, I can’t hear what you’re saying,” he hissed.
Exasperated, Niernen dropped her hands to the table with a thud. She sighed. “I said that my head still feels… frazzled. The frenzy spell… it was… bad,” the mage finished lamely. She didn’t know how else to put it. Words failed her, and she didn’t even want to mention the guilt she felt. Innocents had been burnt to a crisp by her magicks. That she hadn’t been the one controlling them, controlling her, was of little consolation to her. She didn’t think Narzul would understand.
“Talk to a healer,” he commanded. “Or a priest. They must know something, even if they’re--”
“Outlanders, yes, I know,” Niernen snapped. Then she relented a little. She knew Narzul meant well. Offering solutions was his way of trying to help. He only ever thought in challenges and how they could be overcome. That it often wasn’t as simple as that, that there were emotions in play, was of little consequence to the Redoran warrior. There had been no room for such things in his upbringing.
But what did their upbringing matter now? Their family was dead, their heritage destroyed, and their country usurped by a mad god.
“I’ll think about it,” she said and sipped on her water.
Narzul nodded. “Good,” he said after a few seconds, looking away, at nothing in particular. His eyes fell on Mary and Ariane. “Maybe they know something,” he said and jabbed a finger in their direction. “The templar and the witch.”
That made Niernen laugh. “She’s not a witch, brothermine. She’s… a mystic, a sorceress.”
He shrugged. “Is there a difference?”
There may have been no wine available for purchase at the Red Mug, but that hadn't stopped Relyssa from procuring her own elsewhere, and proudly displaying it on her lonely table in the corner of the room. The colour was shades darker than the red velvet dress she wore on her petite frame. Elbow length leather gloves prevented her from having to make direct contact with the surface of her table, that was both dusty and mysteriously sticky at the same time. The haughty Breton sneered at it.
Quietly, she drank to herself by the amber light of the fire - burning her silver hair a richer gold in its light.
Around her, patrons sat and talked amongst themselves - but she simply sat in her own meditative silence. On her lap, a journal, and in her hand a quill. She was in the middle of writing a letter. For all of the talking she was able to do in everyday situations, penning a letter to her father left her without much inspiration at all. A crease formed across her brow as she struggled even to open the thing.
After a moment or two more, she simply closed the journal - the loose page of parchment being folded with it. Instead, she set her listening ear to the conversations around her. She had been following Gustav. They'd both been set for Wayrest and so she had opted to travel with him and his company. Even after a day or two, she knew very little about any of them.
To her left, two Dunmer were deep in conversation, and she placed an elbow on the table, leaning slightly in their direction - rubbing her ear between thumb and forefinger as she took a sip from her wine and focussed in on them - for no other reason than she simply had nothing better to do.
“Yes, there is, but I’m not going to bother trying to explain it to you,” Niernen said to her brother and rested her head on her hands, elbows planted on the table to support her. She sighed and didn’t speak for a while. “I wish there was something to be done about all of… this,” she groaned. “Can’t lift a thing, constantly tired, constantly in pain, can’t sleep… it’s exhausting to be scared and hurt all the time,” she added softly and closed her eyes.
Narzul rubbed his brow. “Stop complaining,” he said sternly. “It doesn’t become you. I’ve already told you what you can try.”
Niernen threw up her hands. “Right, because a priest in this arse end of the world will know how to accomplish what seven Temple priests couldn’t. Do you really expect me to just stumble over an expert Restorationist as soon as I step out the door?”
“Do you expect to stumble over one while sitting here and moping?” Narzul retorted, nostrils flaring. He didn’t like to be reminded of his failures in Black Marsh and lashed out with his infamous temper. “If you’re not doing anything to get better then how is anything supposed to change?”
She opened and closed her mouth to protest a few times, but Niernen had to admit that he actually had a fair point. She retreated into sullen silence and sipped listlessly at her water while she mulled it over.
That would be the opportune moment to introduce herself, were Relyssa a woman who cared enough to answer such desperate plea for help. She remained stoic in her chair, having listened to and mentally recorded the woman's symptoms. The Breton merely rolled her wrist to turn the wine over in her glass.
Fatigue, anxiety, the curse of a compassionless companion… Not that she could judge, Relyssa had the tools and knowledge to try and yet… She didn't. She just took a long sip from her wine. Later, perhaps. Much later.
Or maybe there was another way…
"I know an expert restorationist," Relyssa said in the direction of the Dunmer pair nonchalantly, inviting herself to their conversation as if she had been part of it all along. She let the words linger, and flicked her hair over one shoulder. "In Wayrest," she added - almost as a disclaimer.
After processing her surprise at the Breton woman’s sudden interjection, Niernen shot a pointed glance at Narzul. Her brother rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. She chuckled and got up from her seat in order to join Relyssa at her table. She hadn’t spoken to the merchant who was traveling with them before, but she knew that the woman was an associate of Gustav. That meant that she was at least moderately trustworthy, right?
Wide-eyed and eager, Niernen sat down and placed her hands flat on the table. “Really? Who? Do you think they could help me?” Then she smiled sheepishly and held out a hand for Relyssa to shake. “Sorry. My name is Niernen. You’re… Relyssa, right?”
"Correct," the Breton replied with a smile, taking the young woman's hand in her own for a polite greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Niernen." After they had made their introduction, she found herself slightly tickled by the questions. It was either that she was toying with a stranger, or the wine. Perhaps both. It was not shown on her face, she maintained as warm and pleasant of a countenance as she could.
"They say this mage put men back together in Windhelm, but now lives a quiet life. I can't surely say whether or not anyone can help anyone… I'm just a wanderer," she added, her piercing eyes sparkling with mystery. "It depends, truly, on what it is you are ailed with, Niernen." Relyssa finished, taking yet another sip from the glass.
Deciding that moving chairs was too much of a hassle, and the chair themselves were uncomfortable anyway, Ariane walked to and stood over the Venims' table. She was short enough that she didn't loom too far over the seated Dark Elves. Plus, she's their commander. A certain sense of authority was very much relevant.
"I know someone who may be able to help." Ariane introduced the newcomer. "This is Marlene, templar and the latest member of our company."
Mary bowed her head before the others and gave Niernen a gentle smile as she said, “I’m not necessarily an expert, but I have an adequate working knowledge of restoration. If I can’t fix whatever is ailing you, I can at least ease some of your discomfort.”
Then Ariane moved to the more interesting questions. “If only they have such fine wine in this shoddy establishment, Lady Relyssa.” Ariane said. “May I ask where you obtained it?”
Well, the arrival of the two others would see the end of her fun for now, Relyssa thought to herself. “Mmmm,” she hummed in acknowledgement, moving her gaze from Niernen to Ariane. “I traded a broken earring to a jewel smith, and several trades later I had this wine. Alto, I believe. Help yourself,” she responded, her tone dry as she pushed the bottle towards her fellow Breton.
Ariane poured some into the only container she had; the red mug. She sipped the wine like it was something worth savoring. It wasn't. "Not exactly great, but not terrible either." She concluded. "Not that we should expect anything better from this insignificant village."
As more and more people crowded around Relyssa’s table, Narzul stared at them for a while until he turned his attention back to his drink. The Dunmer cleared his throat and followed the lines in the wooden tabletop with his gaze, one of his feet tapping along to a silent beat on the floor.
Niernen’s eyes jumped from Relyssa to Ariane and Mary and back again a few times before finally settling on the templar. “You were at the banquet, right?” she asked and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Marlene. I’m not completely unschooled in Restoration either, but… well, two heads are better than one, right?” She chuckled and ran a hand through her hair. Truth be told, the battlemage wasn’t very confident that anyone except a real expert in Restoration could help her, but it couldn’t hurt to try. “It’s… a number of things, really,” she said and looked at the rest of the party members around her. “It’ll take a while to explain. Meet me later and I’ll tell you all about it?”
The incessant chatter was just that. Incessant, and it was circling Relyssa. Without making a fuss, she drank down the last of her glass, placing it back on the table quietly - a perfect imprint of her deep plum lipstick sat on the rim and she raised a brow. "Well, ladies, it's getting late and we've a long day of travel ahead of us. I shall be making the most of my bed while I have one for the night," she said - cutting through the conversation to excuse herself as elegantly, and properly as possible. Then she was out of her chair and just a slender figure snaking through the crowd to her room.
"Good night, and mind the bedbugs." Ariane nodded to Relyssa. She took the latter's seat.
“Sure.” Mary said to Niernen, though her eyes were beginning to trail Relyssa as she stood, with a smile as to be polite, but truthfully she had no idea what a lady such as her would be doing in the company of mercenaries. Their current employer, perhaps? Doubtful. Breton lords and ladies who hired mercenaries had dirty work to be done that they didn’t want to be associated with -- to that end, it was doubtful she’d be traveling with them. Her eyes darted back to Niernen as a stray thought crossed her mind.
“As I understand it, your previous chaplain was a gifted restorationist. Could she not help you?”
"Gifted in restoration, sure." Ariane shrugged. "But she has not been...stable, as of late. The battle against the Sload we discussed earlier has unnerved Wylendriel, and I'm afraid the situation in Evermore was more than she could handle."
“May our prayers be with her then,” Mary replied. “Foul luck that a priestess finds herself in this line of work, though blessed are we that she was. Matters would be worse for wear were she not at the banquet. The vampire would’ve been much more dangerous. Were there others who left?”
“A few,” Niernen confirmed. “Dar’Jzo, for example. The older Khajiit.” Her thoughts were still with Do’Karth, who had quietly slipped out of her life, probably forever. Thinking about the instability of the company’s membership made her uncomfortable and she looked at Mary instead, seeking comfort in the steadfastness she perceived in her eyes. “But most of us are still here.”
“Yes, the old cat.” Ariane nodded. “Speaking of, I need to see Dar’Jzo; he said he wishes to discuss his contract.”
Ariane stood up and pushed the remainder of the wine toward Niernen. “Good night, everyone.” Then she turned to Mary before leaving. “I will inform Gustav of your skills and needs; welcome to the company.”
“Thank you miss,” Mary said with an enthusiastic nod. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Oh, and Mr. Venim?” Ariane added as she stuck her head back through the door with a sharp look toward Narzul, unsure and quite frankly unconcerned with the proper address for dunmer. “The aforementioned old cat? Said to pass along a message: something along the lines of it being a pleasure to work with you and to stay out of trouble, that he’d hate to kill you. Something like that. You know how cryptic he can be.”
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