ConstableWalrus — Roleplayer Guild

((Collab Between Idlehands and ConstableWalrus))

The inn was rambunctious, people coming and going most drinking and grouping amongst friends with a scattered few alone at their own tables for various reasons. The main part of the party was together as they sat and talked of plans, some were grounded in some reality but most were flights of fancy out of a terrible Imperial Novel. Cyrendil sat by himself, scanning the crowd with sharp green eyes between bites of the terribly stale bread they had served him, it made him wonder whether the bread was actually stale for the rest of the patrons, or that the innkeeper disliked high elves. Dislike enough to serve him stale old bread, but not nearly brave enough to try to poison.

He had already taken off the heavy gauntlets and rested his sword along side him on the table, after a few days of almost non-stop riding he was tired, filthy, and hungry. “I’d kill for a warm bath and freshly baked bread” he mused to himself taking another harsh bite and ripping a chunk off with his teeth trying his best to moisten it with the water they gave him. He had been through worse of course, The vampire dens of Cyrodiil offered huddling in the dark surrounded by gore for days until the master vampire returned. But that didn’t stop him wishing for some minor comforts. Being honest with himself, he’d settle for a moment of silence and time to sharpen and manage his sword.

Gaela finished her meal, having said her thoughts on the grand scheme starting to take place. The talk continued, focused on other ideas, and eventually she grew bored, her eyes starting to wander around the room. Her gaze rested on the high elf, Cyrendil, gnawing on a chunk of bread with grim determination. He had been in battle against the centaurs, she had seen him cut one down as it charged at him. She took her mug and slipped from her chair, idling around the tavern as she made a meandering bee line towards the lone elf. 

“Hullo,” she said, her mug grasped between both hands as she looked over his tarnished armor. Unsure what else to say to the aloof Altmer, she finally asked, “Are you all in one piece then?”

Cyrendil had caught Gaela’s gaze as he scanned around the tavern and was unsurprised when she stood and started meandering towards him as if she was taking interest in the things going on with strangers before she arrived at his table, he pulled his gaze upwards to meet hers as she hugged her mug with both her hands.

“As far as I know, nothing has fallen off yet.” He looked past her towards the group who kept eating around the table passing drinks and speaking. “You are going to be busy with this group… Gaela was it?” He knew her name perfectly well, and gestured to the seat in front of him. “Take a seat if you’d like, you know by watching you are terrible as masking your intentions.” 

He let out a small chuckle and put the piece of bread down on the simple plate and took a drink of water. “Not meaning that as an insult, means you are honest. Or just very very good at feigning it. I’m leaning towards the former.”

She slid into the chair, propping her elbows on the edge of the table, her blue-grey eyes distant for a moment and then she blinked, “Oh, yes, I’ve had more action in the last few days than in months of traveling. I think I’ll start a collection of arrowheads I remove. And I had no intention of masking...my intentions,” Gaela replied before taking a sip from her mug. “That bread looks awful, you should try the sausage.” 

Cyrendil shook his head slightly as she snapped back suddenly as if she’d been far away for a moment. “Right, so that’s why you slowly made your way around idling then? I’m in the business of watching people very closely Gaela.”

“I have not eaten since the inn, the last thing you want when you have not eaten for more than a week is to fill your stomach as fast as possible, makes you sluggish and slow. Also it could kill you if you are not careful. Seen that one first hand.” He took another long sip from his water his green eyes peering over the mug and watching her.

He set it down on the table and clasped his hands “So, I doubt you came over to talk about the sausage. Did you need anything? Questions? Concerns?”

Gaela looked at him for a long moment, then finally shook her head slightly, “Just checking on you, if you had any injuries that might need tending. Several of our party needed quite a bit of help, I didn’t want to overlook anyone.” 

She tapped her fingers against the mug and her eyes darted around the room before setting back on his angular face, “I’m a healer...Restoration and also an alchemist by trade.” 

“Very admirable of you, but as you can see other than the fact I’m filthy and tired. I’m quite alright.” He watched her mannerisms, the darting of her gaze the rapping of her fingers against her mug. “Restoration hmm? A good school, a shame I tend to use it more as a weapon than healing. But it comes with the job.” 

“As I’m sure you heard me ramble on when we first got out of our… Shared experience. I am a Vigilant.” He replied looking at her rounded features and freckled face “You have me talking, not many get the chance to ask me questions I’d seize the moment.” 

She furrowed her brow slightly and turned her mug, “I was really just checking on you. Though it’s strange to see a Vigilant in our predicament. I would have thought you could just walk away. You are protected by your order, are you not?” 

Cyrendil nodded, the bright gold of his hair that hadn't been stuck to his neck moved as he did. “It had crossed my mind a few times, I could just simply up and leave now. And I’d be totally fine, Maybe go back to Cyrodiil for a time for what it’s worth.”

“But while most of this party most likely deserved to be in that place, there are a few whom I think didn’t.” He leaned forward a little bit with that “You, the Imperial woman, and even the conjurer I don’t think deserved to be locked up. Can’t say for the others, they have not made a good impression.”

He looked down on his plate at the terribly stale bread “Tell me while you were meandering around, did anyone else have bread this stale on their plates?” He picked up the thick slice tapping it on the wooden table making a small thunk as he did. “It’s like chewing on the table.”

Gaela quirked her lips and looked up at him, “You assume I didn’t. Yet you have no idea what I was arrested for.” 

Her lips twitched with a smile and she raised an eyebrow, “I honestly was not looking that close. Maybe the innkeeper has Imperial loyalties?” 

Cyrendil looked blankly at her “Quality of character, not a person's past. Again, either you have your heart set in the right place, or you are devious and able to mask your true intentions under a very thick veil.” 

His jaw tightened visibly when she mentioned Imperial Loyalties, the thought made him want to grit his teeth. But when he spoke his voice was calm and controlled but his eyes was a barely contained frustration. “Imperial loyalties… Like I am some Thalmor spy right? Here to spy on their inn. Sneak about because that's just what Altmer do.” The tone slowly evolved into a condescending and mocking one. While not directed at Gaela it was directed at the race of men.

“It didn’t use to be this way.” His voice grew soft, the anger fading from his eyes and he took a long drink of the water draining what was left and set the empty mug down.

“It was one of those...’probably should have thought that out more moments’,” she admitted, sighing to herself. “Well intentioned or not, I made a mistake. Though honestly I don’t think bad enough to warrant an execution. So, here I am, to clear my name. I suppose.” 

She looked him over and shrugged, “People are often ignorant to the wider world, I doubt many Altmer come through Camlorn these days. And...”

Gaela pointed at him, “Most of us are just blinks in your long life.” 

He listened to her and nodded “Most things are not, that is why it does not matter to me what you did. But who you are, motive tells a lot about a person… We all make mistakes we wish we could turn back Gaela, Every day.” And as she pointed at him, he looked down. “True, most wish for a longer life but it is not as glorious as it sounds. You get to watch people, you might have been friends with, maybe even loved. Grow old, and then die. Unless I placed myself in Summerset forever, that is the burden  of long life. You get much experience in whatever you choose to do, but the grief of life compounds over time.”

“For the longest time, races were together. For most of my life I was welcomed with open arms, save for some who didn’t like Mer regardless. But now? Fear and ignorance have bred a most black hate for my people.”

Gaela steepled her fingers over her mug, “I don’t follow politics much, I know war happens and it might come to Highrock. All this means to me, is more people I’ll have to heal. It’s unfortunate, but what can little folk do against the wills of the powerful? Like now...we’re at the whim of some lord that is using us like pawns. People see the Aldmeri invading, the Thalmor hold themselves above everyone and so naturally people fear and take offense to that. They can relate more to the Imperials, they’re men. Such as I see it anyway. It’s an unfortunate mess all around. I just try to patch the leaks.” 

She gave him a helpless shrug and half a smile before reaching out to pick at his stale bread, crumbling a corner off of it. 

“You won’t get appreciated for the work you will do, I will let you know that right now. But you will help a lot of people, even if they don’t deserve it.” He said after he listened and watched her take corner off the bread “I’d be careful with that, it’s like a rock. Don’t want to crack your teeth on it.”

He gave her a small smile and nodded slowly “Maybe when things quiet down, if granted you are not too busy trying to patch them up to bad. We could take a walk, discuss things. If you promise to not get too terribly distracted trying to pick ingredients off the road.”

“It’s for the birds,” she said, tucking some of it in her pocket. “And I never got into Restoration for the accolades or the glamour.”

Glancing up at him, she smiled, her eyes taking a dreamy cast as she thought about collecting. “I haven’t had much of a chance for that. We’ve been rushing so. Yes, once there is a chance, I’d like to replenish my stores.”

Cyrendil would not leave the town undefended, as the rest went to the stables to no doubt steal a wagon and run off, he would stay to make sure the guard was in place enough to sustain itself for the time being. The centaur attempted to swarm into the small town grunting in their savage tongue and striking at anything that dared moved.

But as sudden as it started the raid faltered, the guard finally getting organized enough in the chaos to made a wall of defense and the centaur had no choice but to retreat. Cyrendil watched the damage, half the homes were ablaze, civilians who happened to be outside at the time lay dead and bleeding into the snow. Including, he was sure, the ones who were killed by his 'party', his nose scrunched up at the thought.

Seeing that the guard would have it covered, he went to the stables, a few horses strong and a cart were already missing. He saw a few left that were in a condition to be ridden, searching around the now empty section that someone had once occupied, he found ink and a quill jotting down a quick note to whoever owned and ran the stable.

"The Vigil has need of a horse, It will be kept very comfortable and safe on it's journey and returned promptly and unharmed as soon as possible. If you require compensation for this one horse, take this note to the Vigil Hall outside of Wayrest, and you will be compensated accordingly. -Vigilant"

He folded the note and placed it where one could easily find it, taking the time to saddle one of the horses he mounted up and made haste towards Camlorn.

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Arriving late he spotted a few of them lingering before shuffling themselves off into the inn. He would have missed them save for the many blood stains from the wounded in the cart, which had already dried into the wood. He pulled his traveling hood down, and made his way with the mare he rode to the stables. Usually Cyrendil wasn't to fond of riding, he had preferred to walk. Because when times became more travel than food a horse was hard to keep fed.

But this silver mare had bore him with haste to Camlorn, and he patted the side of her neck before dismounting. He would keep her, he had decided. And walked her to the stables, asking the boy there to take good care of his horse. Before moving towards the inn his party would no doubt be in drinking again. It was loud as he opened the door stepping inside and finding himself a seat ordering from one of the roaming barmaids to bring him a mug of water and some bread.

He took a breath and closed his eyes, pulling back the long travelers hood so his golden hair could be free and Cyrendil rubbed his temple. More than once on the ride up he had considered leaving, what use of it to save a batch of rotten fruit? He cast his glance to the party, a jumbled assortment of bandits, addicts, people whose concept of honor was thinner than a harlot's dress. He shook his head looking back at the table, when the maid brought him what he asked for, he thanked her and took a bite of bread.

His elven ears heard Gaela's plan and he tilted his head to listen more, still chewing on the tough stale bread.

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