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Anyone care to collaborate with me for this post?
Valentis is very much the sort of man who'd stay nearby someone and support them rather than walk out on his own.


I'd be down to do a collab with Brona and Valentis, if you still think one is necessary :)


Welp, I'm not going anywhere!


A Creature of the Night
February 2nd - 213 Rowanoak Lane 8:30pm




“Is there anything else you need for the evening, Miss V?” The sound of Emory Lindsey’s voice rolled out of the Peugeot, and lingered in the cold night air. She turned back to the car once more, for once considering his offer, but could think of nothing immediate.

“No, Em. I’ll be alright tonight. If you’ll be so kind, have someone over to pick me up in the morning when they’re ready for the meeting.” She added, pulling her wool coat tighter around her shoulders. The wind had picked up considerably now, and the frigid gusts bit with tenacity turning her cheeks a brilliant crimson. With a tip of his hat, Emory shifted the car into gear, and pulled away from the snow-covered sidewalk. She watched the smoke from the exhaust mingling into the drifting snowfall. With a cautious glance, ever watchful of the Adders since the attack on Shay. No one else was outside, not in weather like this. The amount of snow London received in the past two weeks had created snow drifts averaging two feet in depth. Turning on her heel, she made her way inside the apartment flat. Someone would swing by the complex later on in the evening and act as her watch guard for the rest of the night before leaving in the morning.

Apartment #538

Vera slipped off her heels, and stood without abandon in the doorway of her flat, gazing around. With the door locked securely behind her, she felt safe knowing that someone would be watching the place still. Keeping that in mind, she followed the hallway to her bedroom, tugging off the peach tea dress, she cast it aside in the hallway, not having a care in the world. When she came to stand before the nightstand by her bed, a pang of guilt made her hesitate. The last time she did this...it hadn’t ended so well. Then again, she hadn’t touched the pipe for nearly a week when Sam and her had it out in the kitchen just days ago. Sinking down onto the thin mattress, she opened the drawer, as if compelled to just see the pipe and accouterments with her own eyes.

For how long she remained seated on the edge of her mattress like that, she couldn’t say, but finally as if entranced, she finally reached for the pipe, drew out the pellets of opium, and began to arrange the associated items with care. Reclining back, she lit the lamp, and with the brass tongs, she carefully placed a pellet into the bowl piece, waiting for the lamp to grow hot. A familiar orange cloak descended around her as her eyes focused in on the dancing light. Then, she lifted the long stem of her pipe, and held the bowl over the lamp, letting the heat vaporize the pellet. To her, the opium helped ease her nerves, chased away the demons of the yesteryears and lulled her into a daze, a brilliant fog that she never wanted to lift. Part of her wished she could feed her desire for days on end, never rising from the bed, never leaving the flat, just a never ending circle of smoke, a continuous dream of melancholy.
The thick smoke hit the back of her throat, to which she let it sink down in her esophagus for a few moments before expelling it through her nose. As expected, that first hit calmed her agitated nerves, and soothed her into a sense of serenity. She continued, one puff after another until her eyes lid felt weighted. A heavy hand reached to turn the lamp down, and she placed the pipe on the tray alongside the tongs and lamp. Recoiling onto her back, she managed to gaze up at the ceiling, her thoughts turning to Shay. The features of his face came easily to her mind, most importantly the haunting look of his piercing blue eyes. The way he smiled, the sound of his voice, how he held her in his gaze caused her body to flush at the thoughts of picturing him like so. Even now, her eyes drooping with exhaustion, she thought she could smell the scent of his aftershave and cologne. Her thoughts trailed off to the night they spent lovemaking, and she could recall the distinctive feel of his warm body akin to hers.

‘What would he think of me now?’ Vera thought, her mind wandering in and out of consciousness. ‘Would he let me continue on this way? Let me keep my pipe…? If only he were here with me now.’ She thought no more as she drifted off into sleep.





February 3rd 8:45am - Apartment #538

BANG. BANG. BANG!

Her eyes snapped open at the sudden disturbance from her sleep. Kicking off the blankets, she scrambled out of bed, hastily throwing on the dress she wore yesterday, she made for the door. “Who is it?” She called, her voice catching in her throat, thick with sleep.

“It’s Silas, Miss Vera.” The voice matched the street rat that belonged to none other than Silas Lowell himself. She paused momentarily at the doorway before lifting the latch. Forcing a smile as she pulled back the door, she found herself staring back at the young fellow, a heavy smell of cologne radiated towards her.

“Good morning, Silas. Come in, have a seat if you please.” She stepped back to let him in, the smell of cologne mingled with a wiff of cigarette smoke. “Forgive me, I’ll just be a moment.” Vera replied, excusing herself from his company. While he waited patiently by making himself comfortable, Vera busied herself by fixing her curls, washing her face in the sink and all other common rituals that a woman performs. When she finished, she slipped into a black tweed skirt, and a white button-down blouse, her hair secured under the cloche she sported.

Emerging from the washroom, she found Silas gazing out one of the floor to ceiling french windows. Finally, it seemed that the snowstorm that had lasted for what felt like two weeks, had cleared, and now a brilliant swath of blue sky greeted them both. At the sound of her heels clicking against the floor, he turned to face her. “Are you ready to leave, Miss Vera?” He inquired, removing his cap and wringing it in his hands.

“Aye. I’ve everything I need, after you.” She said with a pleasant smile.

9:30am - The Tawdry Countess



While the sky remained clear, an evident chill still clung to the air. She was thankful that she had chosen to sport her wool coat again, unlike Silas who had opted for a lighter jacket. Clearing the entrance into the Tawdry, Vera found Frankie behind the bar already, polishing the tumblers and wine glasses used last night. She recalled fondly how Eris and Elouise crowded around her yesterevening at the sight of Shay and her reconciling. It was no news to them now, that they were an item. Even Sam seemed relatively pleased at them making amends.

Seated around the bar were Samuel and Emory. They turned in their seats at the sound of the door opening, to which her brother offered her a welcomingly smile. “Good morning, V. You look rested, I trust you slept well?”

“Yes…” [i] ‘With the help of the pipe, but sleep nonetheless.’ Is what she wanted to say, but went with, “I did. Thank you for asking.”

“You’d best head into the office, Grant and the others are waiting for you.” Sam gestured with a wave of his hand.

“And Shay?” Vera asked hopefully.

“Aye, he’s in there too.”

With a brisk walk, she made it to the office door, and gave a quick rapt. Therein she received a sharp “Come in!”, to which she opened the door to see Grant sitting behind the desk where he was just yesterday. To her left, on the leather sofa, sat Shay, and to her right, in a matching lounge chair, sat Clint. “Good morning Vera.” Grant began, “Please, have a seat. There is much to discuss.” With limited options, perhaps on purpose, she chose the only available seat next to Shay, and offered him a rather excited smile, she had missed him the night before. As she turned her head to face Grant, her hand snuck out and gave Shay’s knee an affectionate squeeze.

“Have you eaten anything for breakfast?” Grant continued, but Vera shook her head no. “Clint, will you tell Frankie to bring in that batch of scones that Mrs. Foster dropped by this morning? Any coffee or tea?” He inquired, turning back to her.

“Ah… tea, please and thank you.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Yes please.”

“Cream and sugar too, Clint.” Thereon, Clint excused himself from the room to fetch what his brother asked of him, leaving Grant alone with Vera and Shay.

“Now then, Shay. Did you finish that map of the premises as I asked?” Grant said, interlocking his fingers together in a steeple.
<Snipped quote by Leidenschaft>

Ah, my bad. And yeah, I wanted to convey the same thing, that those members of the Bthamz's group that have more medical knowledge -either mundane or arcane- should treat Tsleeixth and Raelyn once the battle is over, sorry if I didn't explain myself properly. As for where Tsleeixth is, he is by the elevator room -which I also think was the entrance- where Leif and Elmera are as well.


Yes, Roze and Tsleeixth are in the same room as Leif and Elmera. I thought Roze had done some minor care for his wounds?
@Leos Klien@POOHEAD189@Leidenschaft@MacabreFox@Frizan@BurningCold@Apokalipse@Sandman9913@Andromedai@LadyTabris@Chasers115@Zelosse

"I'll have the post done by Tuesday", she said.

Which is what I bet you're all thinking right now - shame on me indeed, ladies and gents.

Anyhoo, post is done, and your character is free to move into the gates. This is the last warning call for those who haven't introduced their characters yet; if you're unable to post before all of the group is inside the gate, your character will have to wait to be introduced after the gate is closed and the group makes their way down to the refugee camp at the foot of the hill.

As for those who have posted, the following is what will happen - we are implementing die rolls in terms of combat, but this will only be once the group has entered the plane of Oblivion. The combat that will take place between the chapel and the gate won't be using any rolls, so go crazy (please don't go crazy, I don't need some scamps being dropkicked into the sun).

((Apologies if I missed anyone from the tag list.))


Posted. Hope that's ok! Lemme know if I need to change anything ;)
Once the coast was clear, Brona weaseled her way out of the chapel, rucksack slung over her shoulders, while her hands instinctively gripped the hilts of the swords in their sheaths. She didn’t have much time to overanalyze the situation in front of her, she moved immediately to engage a rather short creature hunched over what she believed to be human remains. Her footfalls fell without sound as she moved across the clearing, while she simultaneously hefted her swords free of their leather bindings. As luck would have it, she failed to notice a twig underfoot, as her boot crushed it, a crisp snap caused the creature to whip its head around in her direction. A chunk of flesh caught between its fangs left her with a wave of disgust.

“Despicable creature.” She thought bitterly, pausing mid-stride to anticipate its next move.

In truth, the creature before her reminded her of a pig, with its twitching nose as it sniffed the air, uttering tiny grunts all the while. Standing her ground, Brona and the small daedric creature examined one another. She debated her next move, but this proved futile, as the it sprang towards her, growling in apparent delight.

“Ah! No you don’t, foul creature!” Brona cried, stepping backwards to escape the elongated claws on its human-like hands. Hitting the ground with a thud, the diminutive creature rolled in the dirt.

This was her chance! Brona seized the opportunity, and with one thrust, ran the creature through its midsection. There she hefted it up off the ground, its yellowish body sliding down the blade. With a satisfied smirk, she made quick work of her foe by decapitating it with her other sword. In all of her time spent with Runil, not once had he ever mentioned the creatures from the realm of Oblivion, after all, she specialized in illusion, not the lore of magick.

“What a strange being…” She murmured to herself before shaking its body off the blade, flinging it to the ground. Lifting her eyes, her gaze swept across the courtyard searching for another enemy.
@MacabreFox Roger that. I'll move to get that up today.


Thanks for getting that posted!



For fuck's sake, I'm not even going to edit the sentence now
<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>

Should we expect a Varg-tuk hotel brand soon? Or maybe the Sevine Tower?


Personally, I quite like the sound of Wolf Fang Inn, it has a certain Nordic touch to it eh? Or even The Huntress' Bow Tavern. She's got to start thinking smart with her financial matters now, how else is she going to invest her money proper?
Nightgate Inn - Night

Long after dusk had fallen, the sight of Nightgate Inn came into view. For Sevine, it brought back memories of the flight from Windhelm. So many had succumbed to the Kamal, and they were lucky to reach the inn unscathed at this point. Together, Jorwen and Sevine had taken command of the group, her being placed in second command if Daelin’s condition...worsened, and Jorwen fell too. In truth, she rather enjoyed the sudden, yet temporary, promotion. Her tasks were simple, help keep the group in line, and keep an eye out for any changes in the surrounding landscape during the march. The Kamal’s had left the scorched encampment without much prying, and to her relief, Rothvar, Keegan, Rhasha and her were still alive. She had done her best to tend to her wounds by herself, but with the ever-present ash in the area, it made it difficult to properly bandage and cleanse the wolf bites. Settling on wrapping the wounds in strips of her tunic she had torn off, Sevine waited until they reached the inn to take better care of herself. After all, she had something to live for… someone to live for that is. It served as a source of motivation to keep her feet moving, even though her left leg throbbed with pain.

Once inside, Sevine took the liberty of purchasing one of the inns for the night. She wanted to unwind in privacy, and nurse her injured pride for being taken down so soon in battle. She made a mistake, plain and simple. By trying to draw attention away from the group so that they could fight with ease, she had over anticipated the ferocity of starving wolves under the influence of a Spriggan matron. Her plan certainly did draw attention away from the group, but at what cost? In part, she felt she was to blame for her reckless actions in the heat of battle. Were Leif there, he would have pointed out a different way to attack, just like he always had back in the war. Whether it was the blood loss, the inflamed wounds, or her sore attitude for feeling like a failure, she wanted nothing more than to be alone at the moment. And quite certainly, the idea of curling up next to Do'Karth sounded more enticing the longer she thought about it. As she stumbled into her rented room, her hand clutched the amulet he gifted her. Sinking down onto the straw mattress, she kicked off her boots, and slipped off her trousers. There, she undid the strips of red tunic around her ankle. A wave of pain flared up as the fabric clung to the edges of the wound as she tore it off with a quick yank. Just looking at the inflamed and punctured filled flesh of her calf made her nauseous; the outer edges of the bite marks radiated an impressive amount of heat. Pressing the pads of her fingers into the raised portion of the flesh elicited a sharp hiss from her. It looked as if her leg was ran through a meat grinder from the way the fangs tore through the muscles. Carefully, she plucked the water skin from her rucksack by her feet, and loosened the cord around the lip, using her good hand to hold it steady. With a trembling hand, she fought to control the flow of water pouring down her calf. As if to make matters worse, the water skin slipped, and emptied its contents onto her leg, and pooled around her foot. Groaning in annoyance at the difficulty of the situation, Sevine sat there in self-pity, wishing that for once she had Do’Karth, or even Leif with her.

With what she could manage, Sevine knotted her leather trousers, rolled up her pant leg with one hand, and hobbled out of the room barefoot to the bar, rucksack slung over her shoulder. There she plopped herself on the stool and waited for the barkeep to attend her. When the bald head of Hadring the barkeep approached her, he cast a curious look at her, one that wanted to ask what happened to her. So she beat him to it. “Wolf attack. Nasty business that is.” Sevine gestured to her right arm, still wrapped in red linen.

“...Right. What can I do for ye?” He asked his eyes darting to the arm she held in her lap.

“Spilled my water skin, so I’ll need it refilled. Perhaps, if you’re so kind as you look, could I bother you for a pitcher of water? Along with a pot, and a bottle of your finest rum?” Sevine asked, sighing with defeat.

After slipping Hadring the coin that she owed, Sevine made her way to the cooking spit, where she hung the pot, and filled it with water. Then, she hauled over a stool and plopped down with a grunt. Restarting all over again, she washed the wound on her calf once more, and then with care, poured the rum onto the raw wounds. She hissed in agony as the liquid seared her inflamed skin like white-hot iron. By now, the water in the pot began to boil, so she tossed in the cheesecloth that she had kept from the last bit of food she had packaged during the first part of the journey in the reach. Over an hour and a half passed, and Sevine had painstakingly cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged both the wounds on her right forearm, and on her left calf. Even now, as she gripped her forearm with her left hand, she could feel the heat radiating from her wound. So she sat there, sipping on the rum that she hadn’t finished, and found herself thinking of Do’Karth. She prayed that nothing ill had befallen him, and that they would soon be reunited again in Dawnstar. More importantly, she found herself recalling the distinct features of his face; the exact shade of amber that his eyes were, the gravelly sound of his voice, even the softness of his fur under the palm of her hand. Abruptly, in her recollection of thinking of him, she felt overwhelmed with longing for him. She wanted nothing more than to find comfort in his arms. A lump formed in her throat while the bottle of rum began to shake in her left hand as she fought a wave of emotion.
@MacabreFox We should indeed. I mean, most of what's left is flavor text anyway. :p


Ditto. I'll let you post the collab if you want to add in a last piece for Elmera. We should end it with Roze and Tsleeixth coming up to join them, that way the narrative flows better.
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