MacabreFox

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Circle of Fear

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Anvil, 23rd of Second Seed
She awoke, disoriented, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim lighting, while the side of her head throbbed something fierce. She felt nauseous as her stomach turned, while her mouth watered at the threat of upheaving. Rhona forced herself to sit up, her breathing rapid and shallow, and much to her surprise she found herself in a strange bedroom, one that wasn’t her rented room in The Flowing Bowl. Panic filled her as she heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps from outside the room, her eyes widening in terror as she watched the door swing open.

“Ah, I’m glad to see you’re awake,” his words were smooth like that of a serpent. The towering figure dressed in black lingered in the doorway before Cezare crossed the room, and came to sit beside her on the bed, a tender smile stretching across his thin lips, “How does your head feel?” He asked, reaching a hand out and turning her head to the side. His touch alone made her want to recoil, but he was the snake and she was but a mouse in his hold.

“Where am I?” She countered, trying to find any strength to steel herself against him. His blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight, but she knew better than to trust him or his words. Rhona could have sworn she detected the scent of… what was it? Spice and citrus? At this moment it made her stomach twist, protesting at the overwhelming scent assaulting her nostrils. She noticed that Tobias was nowhere to be found. What had happened to her goat friend? She prayed that he had run away, perhaps he had followed Megana. Or perhaps he had found Danish.

“You’re safe. You’re with me, Rhona. What could make you happier?” His hand drifted to her chin, where he held it tight, forcing her to keep her gaze locked with his. She had wanted to believe that the Cezare she encountered in Skingrad was but a figment of her imagination. A terrible dream that she hoped would fade. Those were the last words she wanted to hear coming from him, least of all him reassuring her that she was safe.

“Being away-”

“Choose your words carefully, my love. I find that my patience with you has grown exceptionally thin.” The corner of his mouth drew up into a smirk as his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, and so she dropped her gaze. He still wore his black garb, tunic, trousers, and boots. Like a harbinger of death. “Now, come and join me downstairs for your midday meal, you’ve slept long enough and you’ll need your strength for the road.”

...midday meal?, Rhona thought, is it really the next day? How long have I been asleep? What even happened? The only thing she remembered was heading off to the Frisky Dolphin to find a hot meal for the evening, when she heard a peculiar whisper coming from an alleyway. She thought it had been an injured bird…

Cezare leaned in, and she drew away instinctively, he smiled despite his words that followed, “You are still my wife, and I still love you Rhona Amoretto. Downstairs in thirty minutes. I’m quite eager to share a meal with you again like the good old days.” She dared not resist him as he planted a kiss on her cheek. “Put on the dress over there too, I won’t have you dressed as a boy at my dinner table.”

Like the good old days…, she thought bitterly, when were there any good days with him?

When he left, Rhona scrambled from the bed, searching for her belongings, and discovered that she had none, Cezare must have taken them. She then checked the solitary window in the chamber, where she tried to lift it, but found it nailed shut. She could chance breaking the glass pane, but that wasn’t a wise idea. The sound alone would draw Cezare’s attention. Rhona was in the hands of the man that she feared. She rested her forehead against the cool glass, her breath slowly fogging up the window. She could see that the building was two-stories, and found herself looking at cobblestone below; a hard fall if she were to break the window and jump. She would surely break a leg, or worse. Rhona thought of using her magick against him, the problem was, she never mastered holding a steady flow for long. She could only use it in spurts, and it often tired her out tremendously. She thought of using her staff, but he would see it coming, and Cezare could certainly overpower her without much force. Not to mention she had no idea where he had taken it. The only resource she could fall back on was Durantel’s lessons. Then the question became, could she actually use it against him? Could she actually find the courage to rise up and strike him down now that they were face-to-face?

Rhona sighed with a heavy heart, Arkay take her now. She would rather die than carry on with Cezare. But for now, she would placate him and join him for food. Her attention shifted to the dress he mentioned, and like a moth to a flame, she drifted towards it. She examined the dress, simple in nature, a cream-colored linen dress with short sleeves. At least he had some sense for fashion in this sticky heat. She peeled off her clothes, and folded them, placing them on her before heading out of the room.

“No nonsense now,” A voice to her left nearly caused her to jump out of her skin. She turned to see a brute of a man leaning against the wall. He appeared older, tell-tale signs of age from the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, with a short crop of grey hair indicated he was possibly in his forties. “Best hurry on downstairs. Cezare doesn’t like being kept waiting.” Rhona thought to question him on who he was, but she decided that he was right, better to move on before she angered Cezare. Rhona emerged onto the lower level and followed the smell of food. She soon found herself in the dining area where Cezare sat at the head of a long table. He smiled on seeing her in the dress, his blue eyes sweeping over in an approving fashion, but like a kicked dog, she came to take a seat beside him.

“You look lovely. The dress fits you well. I’m happy to see that you’ve kept your figure.” He said, reaching out to take her hand in his, he kissed the top of her hand. The pit of her stomach twisted. She didn’t say anything, though her eyes followed him as he reached for a bottle of wine on the table, and proceeded to fill two silver goblets, one of which he passed to her.

“Where am I?” She asked, her eyes studied the red liquid for any indications of poison, not that she could see any, but she had her suspicions.

“A friend’s house.” He said with the most causal air. He took a sip from his goblet, and set it on the table. She doubted that he knew anyone in Anvil, but she dared not badger him on that subject. “You should eat, you need to keep your strength up.” Cezare encouraged, gesturing at the plate of food set before her. A chicken breast, bread, cheese, and an apple tart. Her stomach knotted, she knew his generosity to be a facade, an attempt to lure her back. Her hands trembled as she reached for the fork and knife, and cut into the meat. She ate a piece, her mind still searching for signs of treachery, but only found seasoned chicken. She swallowed nervously, and made slow work of eating her food, her eyes flickering to Cezare every now and then. His entire demeanor, one of content, she knew to be a lie; she watched as he ate without a single regret.

Halfway through her meal, Cezare set down his silverware, his gaze cemented on her, “I have to admit, you’ve done remarkably well since leaving me. I thought you died long ago, or at least ran off with someone else. Imagine my surprise when I laid eyes on you for the first time in what...two and a half years? My goodness, it was like a waking dream.” Rhona could feel fire boiling in her veins as he tried to play off what he did to her back in Skingrad, the bruise had long since faded after she healed it on her own accord, her hands curled around the silverware.

“How did you find me?”

“How? Oh my darling Rhona, you’re really not as clever as you think.” He smiled, though his eyes betrayed him, she saw something more… sinister, “I know who Calen is. A weak pathetic boy if I ever did meet one,” The color drained from her face at the mention of Calen, it was just as she feared. On seeing her expression, Cezare grinned wickedly, leaning closer towards her, “and when I discovered he left the stables, I was curious to see where he had gone off too, lo and behold, he brought me right to you.”

“I saw you leaving with that awfully big group of mercenaries, and I just couldn’t resist following you. So my friends and I, I’m certain you’ve met Silus already. He’s the one standing guard outside your room in case you decide to test me. There’s Pavo, Quintus, and Eduard. Charming fellows really. Anyways, you know how much I’ve missed you, so I decided to follow you all the way out here so I could take you home with me. Although we certainly cannot return to the Imperial City now, not with the Dwemer. But that’s a minor issue to overcome.”

“You fucking-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Watch your words. I’ve Pavo and Eduard keeping an eye on your precious Calen. I’m looking forward when I get to drive a blade right through him. You’ll be there to see it all happen.” He sank back into his chair, and propped his feet upon the table. Rhona couldn’t stand the smug expression etched on his face. The fire boiling in her veins came out.

“You’re a fucking monster!” Hot tears spilled forth as she leapt up from her chair, her hands balled into fists.

“Sit down. Now.” He swept his feet off the table, and grabbed his knife, driving it into the wooden surface of the table.

“No, I won’t let you hurt him! You’re a monster, Cezare! I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

“Sit down.” He said, his tone hard and firm like a steel blade. Rhona had no choice and sank into her seat, her hands covering her face. “Quit crying. You’ve always looked disgusting when you cry.”

“I hate you.” She sobbed.

“Rhona, you’re my wife. And a good wife obeys her husband. Now quit crying before I give you something to cry about.” His tone changed into one of agitation, if she didn’t change her demeanor, it would cost her.

She didn’t listen to him. She didn’t care anymore, “I never loved you. I never wanted to marry you. I-”

“Goddamnit woman! You want to cry?!” Cezare flew out of his chair, he swept the food and silverware across the room where they crashed with a great crescendo. In all truth, Rhona was utterly terrified. She was scared, and she didn’t know what to do. All she could do was cry, harder now. An iron-like hand grabbed her upper arm, hoisting her up and out of her chair, it clattered backwards as Cezare pulled her to him.

“You are mine. Rhona. You think anyone is coming to save you this time? You cannot escape from me. You will bear my children, and we will be a happy family. Do you understand me?!” He shook her violently until she saw stars, her vision spinning.

“Stop it. Stop! Just let me go.” She cried aloud. He gave an angered huff, and threw her backwards with such force that she hit the floor before having a chance to catch herself.

“Get out of my sight!” He roared. Now she had done it. She had angered him to the point of no return. Cezare grabbed the bottle of wine off the table, and flung it at her head. It shattered against the wooden floorboards where crimson liquid and green glass shards glinted off the candlelight. She didn’t need to be told twice. Rhona clambered to her feet and rushed up to her chamber where Silus paid her no attention.

She slammed the door behind her, and collapsed against the door. Rhona wrapped her arms around her chest. Only if Brynja was here… or Durantel. Gods where had he been? Her body shook as she wept, sinking down to the floor, unable to control the wave of emotions rising up within her. She felt as if she were living back in the Imperial City with him all over again. She squeezed her eyes shut.

I should have stayed near the inn. Vaermina please, please, if this is a dream please wake me from it. Rhona tucked her face into her arms as she drew up her knees against her chest.

Hours later…

Rhona had resigned herself to defeat and climbed into bed, her back to the door. This was it. This was her reality. She was trapped with her worst nightmare. And she couldn’t wake up from it. No one could help her now. No one could hear her cries. No one would come to save her. There was no Aurelia. There was no Calen. There was no Durantel. And all she could do was cry. Gods, how much she hated herself at this moment.

You’re nothing but a coward., she thought to herself. You should have left with Aurelia. You would be safe in Valenwood now... You wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have put Calen in this position- Her thoughts were interrupted at the sound of glass shattering. She sat up in bed at the sound, her ears straining to hear over the stifling silence that followed. There it was. Footsteps. Heavy. Footsteps. She swallowed hard at the sound, her heart began to race. It was like a daedra being summoned from the planes of Oblivion. She could hear indistinguishable shouting from the far corners of the house, and it grew louder as did the footsteps. Soon the words became clear, and she knew it was Cezare. And he was coming for her.

“Does she think she can fool me?!” Another crash. More broken glass. “Let the Gods be damned, I want that bastard found! How hard is it to find one pathetic bard in this whole fucking city?!” She could hear the creak of the stairs under his weight.

“She’s my wife. I’ll show her how a husband behaves!”

Rhona flew out of bed, scouring the room for anything she could use as a weapon in self-defense. The footsteps began to climb the stairs, and though his words were slurred, Cezare would be at her door in moments. Her hands began to sweat and shake with fear.

“Rhona!” He bellowed like a great beast. His boots reached the landing. She decided that the best course of action was to feign ignorance. Not having found a weapon, she returned to bed, and climbed under the covers. She sat up when the door flew open. Cezare’s inebriated figure sagged against the doorframe. His blue eyes were rimmed with red, and his black tunic, now loosened, hung off one shoulder. She knew he was drunk by the way he swayed on his feet. He smiled at her, she was unsure of his intentions.

“Cezare?” She asked, feigning a tired air.

“Ah, my love. Did I wake you?” He crossed the room, and sank onto the edge of her bed. His hand reached out, caressing her face in a brusque manner.

“Forgive me *hic*, I couldn’t stop thinking about you… about your beauty…” the pads of his thumbs drifted across her lips, “about those lips…” He pulled her to him, and while she stiffened in his arms, trying to pull away as gently as she could, his embrace tightened, crushing her against him. She dared not protest. He forced a kiss upon her, his lips nearly bruising her own. She turned her head away as he tried to force her mouth open, his tongue meeting a wall of clenched teeth. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her head back so that he could look at her proper.

“I will make you love me.”

“Cezare-”

“I will.” He said earnestly, and pulled the blanket away. She still wore her dress he had ordered her to wear. Rhona remained still, a mouse still in the clutches of the serpent's coil. He bent his head, and kissed the exposed part of her neck, his rough lips drifting down to her collarbone. She shut her eyes, her lips pursed into a hard line. If she weren’t being forced under lock and key, she would have struck him. She would have pushed him away. She would have done something. But he had her under his control. He was taller, and far stronger than her. His hands came around her waist, exploring the contours of her hips, his breath hot against her skin, and then he pushed her down underneath him. One hand cupped her cheek, and again the smile on his face came. It was as if he was entirely oblivious to her discomfort, and more so, to the pain he brought her. He never cared for her. Not even now. He hadn’t changed. And she still hated him.

“You are the only woman I have ever loved. And I want you to love me like I do you. You are my wife… let me be a good husband to you. Let me love you.” He rocked backwards, and tugged off his tunic in the clumsiest manner, where he cast it onto the floor. Part of her couldn’t help but notice that, he too, had maintained his figure. Despite being an alcoholic, Cezare’s body still held a degree of lean muscle, his chest still covered in smooth straight hair that tapered into a thin line before disappearing below his belted trousers. But then she remembered where she was, and her stomach turned.

Arkay, strike me dead.

Cezare knelt to kiss her again, when he stopped, and turned his face away from her as he let out revolting burp, and collapsed beside her, “...*hic*... I’ll make you look at me the way you look… *hic* when you talk about that idiot boy.” Rhona laid still, until she heard a soft snore rise from him. Had he really passed out? She twisted herself to look at him, and sure enough, he lay flat on his back, reeking of alcohol, but asleep nonetheless. She decided to play it safe and remain where she was for the night, though she couldn’t think of anything else except what morning would bring.

7:00am - Anvil, 24th of Second Seed

Rhona awoke to find Cezare gone from her bed. She had survived the night unmolested by him. But would she survive this day? A knock came from her door and then it opened, Silus peered inside at her. “Miss, your husband says you should join him in the dining area.” She sighed, but nodded. Rhona made herself ready and headed down the flight of stairs where she entered into the dining area. Much to her surprise she discovered Cezare dressed as if he were to set out on the road. He wore the same black tunic and trousers, though now he had a cape buckled around his neck, and leather gloves fastened on his hands. At his side hung a shortsword buckled to his belt. He smiled on seeing her.

“There you are. I trust you slept well?” He came around the table, and embraced her, planting a kiss on her cheek. It took every fiber in her being not to shirk away from him, survive, do not antagonize, “Now, I’ve readied your rucksack.” Cezare plucked the leather satchel off the table and passed it to her.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re leaving the city. And today is the day that you’ll watch me kill Calen.”

“Cezare-”

“Ah, ah. It’ll be good sport to skewer the lad, and a good lesson for you. Come. Pavo, Quintus and Eduard have gone to find him, they gave me explicit instructions for us to be in the market square when the time comes. And then? We’ll sail for Rihad or Gilane. Cyrodiil isn’t safe for us anymore. Not if we’re to start a family proper.” He took her by the hand, leading her to the door. Before he opened it, he turned to look her in the eye, “If you scream, I’ll cut out your tongue. And I do hate the idea of you not having a tongue, but I will if you test me.” With her hand in his, he led her from the house and into the city.

There was a peculiar air that hungover the city, Rhona could see it in the people around her. They scurried from place to place, they looked anxious, on edge, even afraid. But she had no idea why. They made their way to the market square where Cezare ducked off into a darkened alleyway. The sky overhead was thick with dark grey clouds, threatening rain. He had given her back her staff, unknowing of what it was capable of, and together they waited in the shadows. Rhona prayed silently to Nocturne to keep Calen hidden from Cezare’s goons. She would only blame herself if anything happened to him. The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart race, please…, she thought, her hands curling around her staff. Entering the alleyway were two Imperial men. Calen was not with them.

“We can’t find him.”

“Well keep looking! I’m not leaving until he’s found. I want his blood on my blade.”

“Right away.” And with that, they took off into the throng of people. Rhona gripped her staff ever tighter, her eyes focusing on the smooth cobblestone until her eyes were in a state of tunnel vision.

“I have to say-” That was it. She had had enough. She couldn’t stand to hear another word come out of his mouth. Not anymore. Not while she had a chance. And she wasn’t going to waste it. Her lessons from Durantel came flowing back to her, and she reacted instantaneously. She felt like she moved through molasses, time slowed, her heart skipped a beat. Rhona swung her staff low, and drove it with great force where the wooden stave connected with Cezare’s kneecap. He howled as he clutched at his knee, dropping to the ground in pain.

“You fucking cunt! I’ll-” Cezare didn’t finish his sentence as her staff came crashing down on his head. The last expression on his face showed complete surprise as she struck him. She swung again. And again. And again. She kept swinging until she could hardly breathe. Her lungs burned with fire, and her limbs stung from the blows delivered. When Rhona stopped to catch her breath, she realized then what she had done as she stared at the carnage before her. He wasn’t moving. Cezare’s face resembled a bloodied mess. Blood had pooled beneath his head, while brown curls stuck to his face slick with crimson. The walls and surrounding cobblestones bore witness of what she had done, splattered with dark red droplets. She looked down at herself, her eyes widening at the sight of bright red blood showing starkly against her linen dress. Her hands, and wrists held evidence, and she presumed her face as well. Her breathing came in shallow waves. Gods. Did she kill him? She needed to go. She needed to get out of here. As she turned around, she came face to face with Daro’Vasora.

The Khajiit’s eyes were wide, and for a moment, words were stuck in her throat at the sight of the unassuming Rhona covered in the blood of a man she might have just bludgeoned to death. “Shit, that’s… tell me later. We need to leave, now.”

“I… Daro’Vasora… I swear… it’s…” Rhona couldn’t find the words as she stumbled towards her, her hands slipping on the wooden staff slick with blood, “I didn’t mean to… he… he threatened to kill Calen, and I… I couldn’t let him.”

Daro’Vasora gripped Rhona by the shoulders. “Look, I’ve crippled men for life for less, I don’t know what your business with that asshole is, but the city’s under siege and unless we move we’re all going to be trapped.” she released Rhona and wound up a heavy kick into the prone man’s abdomen, prompting an ejection of blood from Cezare’s mouth. “There, he threatened to kill a friend, I hit him after you did, you’re morally off the hook. You can tell me on the way, but now isn’t the time for being conflicted or scared, you understand?”

“I…” she paused, her head swimming, “yes. Let’s go. I…” A dizzying wave came over her as she stumbled forward, crashing into Daro’Vasora.

The Khajiit steadied Rhona, shaking her head. “Piece of shit did a number on you, didn’t he? I’ll take care of you when you’re safe, but be strong for a bit longer, alright? One foot after the other.” She said, as she supported the injured enchantress, leading her out of the alley way.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

A Familiar Face

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A collab by: @Greenie & I

22nd of Second Seed 6:00pm, Anvil

Rhona rose long before Brynja awoke, leaving the sleeping giant in her bed. By the way she snored, she judged that Brynja wouldn’t wake to the sound of her bathing, so she took a gamble and prepped the bath water. She made quick use of the hot water, scrubbing every nook and cranny she could reach until the water became cloudy. She dried herself off, still impressed that Brynja had yet to wake, and dressed herself. Rhona used a scrap piece of paper to leave a note for her, telling her that she was leaving to offer her services down by the harbor.

The air felt heavy from the moisture, but it didn’t bother her one bit. She opted out of wearing her leather boots again, not minding the hot stone against the soles of her feet. Today, she had switched out her linen dress for her tunic and trousers, the change of clothes allowing for her to remain cool in the daytime heat. Rhona found a little niche along the harbor walls where she set up a space to offer her enchanting services again. She laid out her cloak to sit upon, and delved into her rucksack, pulling out her enchanting board, journal and chalk, and setting out a few petty soul gems to indicate what she offered. Tobias had tagged along as usual now, the goat didn’t stray far from her these days, and she felt it almost odd to be without his company. He appeared well-behaved for a goat on some regards, perhaps he had once been someone’s beloved pet?

For the most part, the day was slow and she had had little customers. An older woman stopped to ask her to enchant a silver amethyst ring, and a young Khajiiti youth brought her a pair of boots to fortify them with sneaking, but other than that, she spent her morning and the better part of the afternoon resting against the wall. Her mind was preoccupied with Brynja’s words.

You want to free that heart of yours? Be honest. Be honest with your heart, and with others… your heart will thank you for it. She knew she needed to find Calen, and at least offer him an explanation on why she had been avoiding him. It was the right thing to do. She gathered up her belongings, and in a short time, shouldered her rucksack, leather boots in one hand, staff in the other, sticking her pipe in her mouth and lighting it with the tips of her fingers.

"Oh, fancy seein' you here. Rhona, right?"

“That’s right.”

After spending the rest of the afternoon after lunch wandering about Anvil and filling in her map, the Nord had finally decided to head back to the harbour. She wasn't tired as yet, but a little relaxation sounded good. The humidity was still stifling compared to Skyrim's crisp air, but she found herself slowly getting used to it. It helped that her clothes were no longer thick and winter combatting.

Smiling, she approached the familiar woman, someone she had seen quite a bit of on the journey from Skingrad but unfortunately hadn't had the opportunity to talk to. "You been here 'fore or this's your first time too?"

“No, I’ve been here many a time before. Uh… Meg right?” She asked, chewing on the end of her pipe, “Where are you headed to? I was going to head back to The Flowing Bowl.”

“Same,” Meg replied, glad that she got her name right. “And aye, m’name’s Meg. Been stayin’ here since we arrived.” She waved her grubby map a little before carefully folding it, not wanting it to fly away with the evening breeze. “Been goin’ round an’ addin’ to my map. Not that you’d be needin’ one, I s’pose” She nodded towards Rhona, curious. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Ah, well let’s walk together.” Rhona said, drawing on her pipe, a curl of smoke rolled out of her nose, “I’ve offered my services today, I’m an enchantress of sorts. Been a slow day, really. And yourself? Meet any interesting people?”

"An enchantress, eh? Sounds pretty fancy, never was any good at magic an' that sorta thing myself..." She paused a little, watching the smoke escape Rhona before continuing, "Interesting people? Depends on what y'mean by that. But on the whole, 'sides havin' a nice meeting with Jaraleet, it's been quiet."

“Jaraleet… oh the Argonian. Yes yes.”

She paused for a moment of thinking, then continued, “So... have your services for the day ended or...?" A hopeful tinge in her voice, Meg hoped she wasn't imposing.

“Ah? Not necessarily. Is there something I can do for you?” Rhona asked, pulling the pipe away from her mouth to give Meg her full attention.

It was clear that Meg was uncertain, and there was reason to that uncertainty as well; she had never actually owned an enchanted anything . Chewing on her lip for a few seconds, she finally spoke. “Well, I don' have it here, but my chest piece- d’you think there might be some way t’make it… I dunno… stronger?” It was old, older than she was, but the Nord didn't feel like parting with it any time soon.

Rhona brought the stem of the pipe back to her lips, it was empty now, but she chewed on the end, her brows furrowed together as she wracked her mind, “Stronger as in...reinforce the structure? Or make you stronger?” She rocked back and forth on her heels, Tobias had taken to sniffing around Meg’s boots, before bumping her with his head. Nothing to be alarmed over, just a gentle nudge.

Meg looked to the ground, surprise showing on her face. “Ah, a goat.” Grinning, she reached down and very lightly patted the back of his neck before pulling her hand back and looking to Rhona, slightly sheepish.

“Don’t worry, Tobias is harmless, took to me like a newborn fledging.”

“Ah, sorry, forgot m’self there for a bit. I mean the actual armour. It belonged to my Ma, but it’s old… I’ve been takin’ care of it but it could use a li’l extra help, y’know?”

“Is it… light or heavy armor? I might be able to help actually.” Rhona said, her brows raising. Yes that’s right, she ought to have a enchantment inscription for light and heavy armor in her journal if she remembered correctly.

"Heavy armour," Meg replied immediately. Leather or studded would have suited her better, but there was no speaking sense to sentimental value. "Banded iron- I got it in m'room in the Flowin' Bowl, I can go get it for you!"

“On second thought, I’ve a room over there too. Let’s walk together, no sense in two women walking alone through these streets. It might not be the Imperial City, but there are people who would still do someone harm.” Rhona said through a sigh, and then gestured with her staff, “Right then, let’s get to it!”

The stroll back to the Flowing Bowl proved enjoyable, one that Rhona personally enjoyed, the hot humid air had begun to cool considerably, lessening the effects of the suffocating moisture. It felt odd, walking through these streets again with Aurelia by her side. Her spirit suddenly fell as she thought about those that had come and left. She thought of her mother, and Holbert. Even Lysanna. She felt a twang of guilt as she realized that she had spent little time thinking or even searching for them. She thought of her father, Asbjorn, and her brother Uthred. She hadn’t seen either of them since she was a little girl. What of Sayyid? That dastardly Redguard that stole her heart when she was sixteen? Or what of Vanozza? She knew her tutor had long since retired, but she had lived in the Imperial City. And then there was Eranas, Asirelle, and Viras. Did they still travel with Aurelia? Had they parted ways? Megana had such a vibrant personality, it helped distract her from her early morning thoughts. No sense in letting her thoughts sour the mood. After all, Meg had asked her for help. They had come in sight of the tavern when Rhona directed the conversation back to Meg, she knew she was a Nord, but she was curious about her family, “Tell me about your family Meg. And yourself. Are you from Cyrodiil?”

“Me,” Meg started, “I’m from Skyrim, like m’Ma was, born in Riverwood like her too.” She smiled at the thought of having been born in the same house as her mother; when she thought of it like that, it made her feel closer to her Ma. “Pa’s from Cyrodill, but he’s not been there in… ages. Rhea’s dwemer ruins was the first time I came here…” She motioned about to nothing in particular with her hands. “All this? All new for me. Skyrim’s what’m used to… not that I don’ like bein’ here, ‘cause I do. Just kinda wish it wasn’ just cause a buncha should be dead people are tryin’ t’kill us.” She rubbed the back of her head before shrugging. “It’s kinda surprisin’ how calm people’re here. On the one hand I’m glad, on the other I’m kinda…” She made an awful face before chuckling. “Petty.”

By the time she finished, they had reached the Flowing Bowl. Meg pulled the door open and nodded to Rhona to enter first.

“Not many folks can say that they have known both of their parents. My father, he’s from Skyrim, I don’t know where. But he met my mother in Camlorn. When I was little… my mother ran away to be with my stepfather. I have a brother, Uthred, but I haven’t seen him nor my father since my mother left with Holbert, that’s my stepfather. I was brought up in Bruma, but when my mother married Holbert, we stayed on in the Imperial City.” Rhona admitted half-heartedly as she crossed the threshold, “Family has been a complicated matter for me. But, never pay that any attention! Let’s have a look at the armor of yours, hm?”

Meg couldn’t not to pay attention to that, truth be told. Having lived in Whiterun from her teens, she’d always been a little jealous seeing the children there with their parents, wishing she had a mother around to coddle her even a little. What Rhona had mentioned forced her to realize that she was indeed one of the lucky ones. At least she knew who her Ma and Pa were, and for as long as she’d lived, her mother and father had been together and much in love.

It was hard to remember the blessings of Mara sometimes.

“Right,” Meg replied as she entered the tavern behind Rhona. “Won’ be but a bit!” With that said, she quickly headed off to her room to fetch her armour, which was currently set in a wardrobe that came with the room along with her sword and bow. For a moment the wild thought of having her weapons enchanted tried to tempt her, but Meg easily combatted it, reminding herself that the only reason she even had gold at this moment was because Brynja was a lovely person who could have easily kept it for herself.

“Here ya go,” she called once she returned, setting the chest piece on a table, while Rhona moved over to join her. Taking note of the surprisingly lack of people in the tavern, nevertheless, she turned to her rucksack, and pulled it off her shoulders. She pulled out her enchanting board and laid it flat beside the breastplate. She rummaged around some more until she found what she was looking for, a charcoal stick, a greater soul gem, and her leather bound journal, all of which she set atop the board, flipping through the pages, her eyes sweeping back and forth across the black ink depictions.

“Ahhh. Here we are.” In one hand, she held the book open, and with her free hand cleared the board. She claimed the charcoal stick, and with a careful, but steady hand, began to draw out the inscription for the breastplate, fortify heavy armor. It was one she had rarely used.

When she had drawn out the inscription, Rhona closed the journal, returning both the charcoal and journal to her rucksack. She moved her focus back to the armor, and set it directly over top the enchantment pattern. Rhona let her hands fall away, seemingly lost in her own thoughts before she muttered under her breath.

“Meridia, come to me now, in my hour of need.”

She picked up the soul gem, and placed it gingerly upon the armor. At first nothing happened. Rhona closed her eyes, whispering, “Maybe if the sun doesn’t set…” and just then, a flare of blueish purple light crackled out from the soul gem, encasing the armor entirely, the charcoal pattern glowed brilliantly, attracting attention from some of the patrons before the soul gem burst from the energy consumed. The crystal exploded in a cloud of shimmering dust that settled over the armor. Rhona opened her eyes, a smile spreading across her lips as she turned to Meg.

“Well there you have it!” She wiped off the crystalline powder onto the floor, and presented the armor to Meg.

Having watched Rhona's process as diligently as a student, Meg very carefully took hold of the armour, holding it out before her so that she could see it properly. "Now that was amazin'," she finally said. "Never seen anythin' like it!" She smiled and set it back on the table, thereafter reaching for her money pouch. "How much do I owe ya?"

Rhona regarded Meg’s proposition, part of her didn’t want to take any money from her, but she had used her only full greater soul gem on the armor. She chewed her lip, considering what price to say, and then sighed, “I’ll make you a deal, 75 septims.”

Meg paused a moment before nodding. Luckily she had enough left in the pouch Brynja had won. Picking out a few coins from within, she set the pouch with septims on the table for Rhona. “Should be ‘nough in there,” she said. “Go ‘head an’ count just in case though.”

“Mara tells me to put faith in people. I trust you.” She said, then continued, “Well if there is anything else I can do, tell me now. If not, then I’m headed off to find some food.”

“Should be all,” Meg replied. “T’was nice finally gettin’ t’chat with you.” She gave the enchantress a nod. “Hope t’see you again sometime soon!”

“I’ll be back here tonight, if I see you this evening then we should get a drink. Good evening, Meg!” Rhona collected her belongings, shouldered the rucksack, and then slipped outside into the approaching darkness. She had seen a particular tavern called Frisky Dolphin on the way out to the harbor, and remember stopping there with Aurelia on her last travel to Anvil before the group disbanded. With her staff in hand, and Tobias trotting beside her, her thoughts traveled elsewhere, her gaze turned down to the cobblestone under foot.

When she next lifted her gaze, the sign of the Frisky Dolphin came into view, and that was when she heard a soft whistle coming from the alleyway. She stopped, wondering if her ears betrayed her. She stared into the shadows, straining to see the source of the sound. Rhona was about to continue on when she heard it again. Was it a trick of sound by Nocturnal, her beloved mistress of shadows? She took a step forward towards the alleyway, and halted. The whistle came again, and for whatever reason, the call reminded her of a bird. Was it injured? She took another step, still hesitant.

Just then, a gloved hand snatched at her tunic, pulling her into the darkness. The same gloves hand covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming, she tried to bite at the hand but froze when she heard a voice all too familiar.

“Did you really think you could run forever?” Darkness enveloped her.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Hey guys, it’s time to start wrapping any solo posts or collabs you have in the progress. Movealong post is coming soon

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Sevine found herself standing amongst a pool of disorienting chaos. Fire rained down from above, painting the sky in an eerie red glow, an ominous sign. There was too much carnage on deck for Sevine to properly evaluate the situation, people were injured, dead, or dying, and she had no idea what had happened to Do’Karth. It was a feeling she had never experienced before, not even when she faced off against the Kamal at Nightgate Inn. This was different. It felt like time had slowed, she could hear the uncomfortable sound of blood pounding in her ears. It was the only thing she could hear. And she couldn’t move. Her feet felt heavy, as if her boots were filled rocks. The airship had exploded overhead, raining deadly shrapnel down upon the deck below, wood and metal combined falling like rain. She turned her gaze upwards, watching in disbelief as the airship split in half, the explosion rocking the ship. Sevine dropped to the deck to stop herself from losing her foot, while others aboard the ship were flung overboard. The airship came crashing down into the sea below. This was her blood lust draining away. She had handled fighting against the dreughs with ease. But this? This was fear.

“Man overboard!” Gustav’s words chilled her core.

Do’Karth, his name crossed the forefront of her mind, and that was enough to get her boots moving across the deck. She made a mad dash across the debris and carnage, abandoning Maj entirely, to reach the opposite side of the ship where the airship crashed. The flames that had once consumed it were extinguished by the rain and the waves. There wasn't much time before the airship would start to sink, and anyone with it still trapped aboard.

She reached the railing of the ship, and stopped. The jump from the ship into the water proved daunting, but she had to do it. Sevine paused momentarily, was she really about to jump overboard to save those struggling in the water? To save Do’Karth? And that answer was a simple, and firm, yes. She cast away her Chitlin shield somewhere behind her, as her hands flew to the straps and buckles across her torso. Sevine knew that her leather armor would weigh her down, potentially putting herself at risk even if it offered a layer of insulation against the cold waters. She pulled the leather breastplate over her head, chucking it to the side without a care. She pried the bracers off her forearms, and away they went. Her boots came off, along the steel war axe buckled at her hip. Sevine kept her red tunic and trousers on, the water would be cold, but she couldn’t be completely exposed to the elements, she would have to work fast. More importantly, she would need a running start to clear the ship safely, and not run the risk of being sucked under the ship. If there was anything Leif had taught her about sailing, which wasn’t much to be sure, but a ship of significant size created an undertow.

Doubling back, Sevine gave herself enough room, and turned around. She took a deep breath, and sprinted for the railing. It came up fast. She couldn’t stop now. Her legs propelled her forward with one great leap at the last second, where she cleared the railing entirely, and sailed out into the air. For a split second, Sevine’s eyes widened in terror, she felt as if she were temporarily suspended above the water, and then gravity pulled her down. She plummeted fast towards the blue-grey water, arms and legs flailing. She squeezed her eyes tight as she hit the water, salt water rushing up into her nose and mouth. She sank down into the murky depths, the cold stealing away her strength temporarily before she recovered from the initial shock, forcing herself to swim for the surface. She broke the surface, coughing and spitting out the salt water that burned her nostrils and the back of her throat. When she had collected her bearings, Sevine threw herself into swimming for the first body in the water. The wind howled around her, while the impact of the crash sent large waves for her to fight through. The frigid waters stole all the warmth from her body, causing her muscles to contract, but she had to fight through it. She had to keep swimming, even if her legs and arms protested against her. Her arms cut through the rolling waves that carried her up and down, salt water stinging her eyes, while her legs powered her forward. Because now it was either, sink or swim. And all she had in mind was finding Do’Karth.

Projection

I'm here!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Rescuing Princess Peach

A Collab by @LadyTabris & @MacabreFox

Anvil, Sometime after the duel with Meg

Brynja had worked up an appetite by the time she finished her last duel with Megana. She didn’t quite feel like eating tavern food, and decided to wander the streets of Anvil, a chance on her end because there was the likelihood of her getting lost. She had told Marius to tell the spectators that the next duel would be in two hours, it would give her time to rest her weary bones and replenish her energy. She rounded a corner, slowing her pace. She didn’t recognize the area, but she did - hold on…

She caught the sight of two city guards holding a rather ragged woman between them, and if she weren’t mistaken, it was Anifaire. Puzzled and concerned, she approached the guards, hand resting on the pommel of her longsword.

“What seems to be the problem here?” She asked, her auburn brows knitting together in annoyance.

“Found a-” the first guard began, turning to face the newcomer. He stopped, glancing at the woman and her sword, then his partner interrupted his thought.

“Nothing at all,” he said, moving to continue their patrols. He shoved his friend, who hadn’t begun to move yet. Reluctantly, the other guard followed.

“Coward,” he muttered to his companion as they left.

“Not worth the effort,” the other insisted.

Anifaire, eyes wide, watched the guards leave. Her gaze turned to Brynja, thankful to no longer be alone both in the city and with those guards. She wasn’t sure what they would have done, but she was glad she never found out - the opportunity was gone now that she wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” the Altmer muttered, still a bit confused. “I’m not sure what they thought…”

“Aye, doesn’t matter now. Good thing I came along when I did. What happened?” She asked.

“The bank wouldn’t let me access my father’s funds. He told me I would always be able to.” She frowned. “It’s never happened before.”

A frown turned into a sympathetic smile as Brynja realized the source of her mistreatment, “Where are you staying?”

Anifaire sighed. “Nowhere,” she replied. “I was relying on that money.” .. to get on the first ship out of here, she finished mentally.

She nodded, as much as she suspected. Brynja shifted from one leg to another, before deciding on what to say, “Well… I don’t mean any offense. Folks probably think you’re common riff raff with the way you’re… well, you get my point. I’ve got a room over at the Flowing Bowl. Why don’t you take it?”

With a frown, Anifaire glances briefly at her dirty clothes, but she knew it was the truth. She only wished it wasn’t. “Really? I-“ She hesitated. She’d been getting so much kindness from this group of people. It was completely unlike anything she was used to back home. Even her mother had a certain firmness. Yet, here, in this unfamiliar place she’d somehow found people so willing to give up what they had when she was struggling. It occurred to her that she had never considered what poor people did before. “Thank you,” was all she mustered.

“Don’t mention it. I know a hot bath, and a good night's rest will do you some good. C’mon, I’ll walk with you so no one bothers you again, eh?” Brynja started off for the inn when she asked Anifaire.

“How have you been? I see you keeping to yourself… but it never hurts to ask.”

“Well, it’s just,” Anifaire paused, considering how to put her feelings into words. “It’s a lot to handle. I’ve never been around anything like this before, and I’m not really.. used to strangers, either. I don’t know how all of you seem to just… handle this.”

“No? It comes… easy for me. Served as a House Carl for damn near eight years. Served as a healer in the Legion too. You’ve… got to work together with your companions whether you like them or not if you want to make it through alive.” She paused, thinking on what Anifaire had just told her, “Where do you come from anyways? I mean, what was life like for you before you signed on with the company?”

“I’m from Auridon,” Anifaire replied. She hesitated. “My father is prominent in the government there. Life’s been… easy, in retrospect. I was free to pursue my studies at leisure. I only left my parent’s home a few years ago, to go to the University. This is… very different.”

It all made sense now to Brynja, she could understand why Anifaire acted so reserved and rather prim and proper, “And that’s how you found the company? So… what now? Are you going to head home?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I came here to go deeper into my research, get hands-on with Dwemer ruins and I just didn’t intend for it to be quite this hands on.” She shrugged. “I was trying to get the funds for the journey home, but now it seems I may need to find another option.”
“I’m certain you’ll find a way. Gods know I have. I’ve just convinced the innkeeper at this tavern to let me host a duel for free board and all the ale I can drink. Works out good, as long as I win. Granted, I’d rather heal people than put on a show to earn some coin, but what can you do?” Brynja paused, trying to recall the last time she saw Anifaire fight, so to say, back in the Jerall mountains. “So, remind me again, what can you do? Any magic?”

“I, um, study Alteration magic. I know, not really the most useful thing when Falmer are swinging swords at you.” She had been wondering if destruction would’ve been a more useful study. In what she’d begun to think of as her life before, alteration had been one of the few things she was good at, but now it made her feel useless.

“Mm. Not quite. How skilled are you in Alteration?” The sight of The Flowing Bowl came into view. Brynja wracked her brain, trying not to confuse Alteration with Illusion, and attempting to find an idea on how Anifaire could raise money for a ship home.

“I’m not bad,” she replied, not certain of herself. She had never been confident or passionate about her magic the way she was with Dwemer research.

“Hm. Seems like you’ve got yourself in quite a pickle. But come on, we’ll get you cleaned up right and proper then.”

Together they entered The Flowing Bowl, many of which glanced first at Brynja and then to Anifaire. Their expressions were mixed, some intrigued and others disgusted. Nevertheless, Brynja guided Anifaire up the flight of stairs to the room Marius had given her on agreement.

“Right. Here we are.” She opened the door, and checked inside before holding out her hand as a gesture for Anifaire to head inside. “When you’re finished washing, come and see me downstairs, aye?”

“Thank you,” she replied. She stepped inside the room. When she closed the door behind her, it felt wonderful just to be completely alone.

She took the time to clean herself up, even scrubbing her hair and stripping completely to rub her skin until it was raw and dirt free. In her bag she had only the cloak Alim gave her, along with the two pairs of clothes. The dress she was wearing when she fled the Imperial City was cleaner, if torn up, but it was preferable to muddy clothes. She put it back on and set the dirty clothing aside.

When she finished, she remembered that Brynja had asked her to return downstairs, so she left the room, hair still wet - something which would have been unspeakable once - and made her way down the stairs towards the main tavern area, looking for the other woman. Brynja had taken a seat at a table near a window overlooking the exterior of the tavern, a plate of food before her. She looked tired with bags under her eyes. Nonetheless, Brynja happened to look up in Anifaire’s general direction and waved at her.

Anifaire made her way over and pulled out the seat across from Brynja. As she sat, delicately folding her skirts as though she was still wearing a fine gown, she eyed Brynja’s plate a bit jealously.

“Thank you, truly. I feel much better, even just after washing up.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Brynja caught Anifaire’s longing gaze and a soft smile danced across her lips.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, the barmaid will be back over after she’s done making her rounds,when she comes, order what you want, it’s on me.” She explained, “I’ve been thinking about what you can do to get passage back home, if you care to hear.”

Anifaire couldn’t help but glance around to see how far away the barmaid was, but she tried to hide it. Still, Brynja’s idea intrigued her. “What were you thinking?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong… I’ve never studied Alteration, but… do you know how to lessen the weight of an item? Make it easier to carry?”

“Yes,” Anifaire replied. A bit of relief flooded into her - it was something she could do. “I can do that.”

“Good good. That’ll help you,” She fell silent, trying her best to collect her thoughts, “so here’s what I’m thinking… head down to the harbor, and ask the ship captains if they’ll grant you passage to the next port or wherever their destination. But offer them to help unload or load the ship. You would make the process easier on the sailors and the help would be appreciated.” By then the barmaid returned to the table, her attention shifting to Anifaire.

“What’ll it be?”

“I -” Anifaire stopped, a bit surprised. She hadn’t considered what it was she wanted. “Do you have any… fish? Some kind of fish would be lovely.”

“Rice, or potatoes?” the barmaid asked.

“Rice,” Anifaire answered with more certainty. The barmaid turned to walk away, and remembering a bit late, Anifaire blurted out “thank you!” a bit too loudly. A bit embarrassed, she turned back to Brynja.

“Do you think it would work?” she asked. “It sounds possible.” She’d never thought of her abilities as particularly useful before. After some sleep… maybe she would try.

The barmaid returned quickly with a hot plate of fish and rice. She couldn’t tell what type of fish it was - something local, probably - but it was of little consequence to her. Her manners were ingrained into her life; despite how hard her stomach growled, she sat straight in her seat and ate delicately without the idea of eating faster even crossing her mind.

“It couldn’t hurt to try, I’m sure they would need the help. Maybe check with one of the trading ships, they’re bound to have a large amount of cargo.” Brynja watched Anifaire, taking note of the way she ate her food. Very prim and proper. Something her own mother tried her hardest to instill in her.

Pausing in her eating, Anifaire looked up at Brynja, trying to look her directly in the eyes to emit sincerity; however, she felt nervous, and cast her eyes down to her food as she began to speak. “Thank you for helping me. Being here has been very…” she recalled the guards who had tried to accost her outside the bank, the thieves in the alleyway, and, finally, the dwemer, “frightening. But you have all been so kind to me.” She continued to pick at her food. Even while eating politely, the food was disappearing quickly. Where at home she would’ve paused and enjoyed the meal, setting down her utensils and holding conversations, now the only thing in her mind was the bed she had seen in the room upstairs and how nice it would be to lay there. Still, one couldn’t simply abandon propriety.

It was odd, hearing such words come from Anifaire. Brynja tried to think back on when she had last spoke to the Altmer woman before her but she couldn’t recall, not since the Jerall Mountains. Brynja shook her head after considering the nature of her words.

“It’s tough when you’re alone out here… sometimes it helps having someone looking over your shoulder. Your food is paid for, you should get some rest too.” Brynja rose up out of her chair, and made to head off, when she stopped, something nagging at her core on the inside. She could do more to help Anifaire…

“Here, it’s not much, but it’ll help.” Brynja pulled out the other coinpurse Marius had given to her after the first duel of the day, and set before Anifaire. “Alright then, I’ve got more septims to rake in.”

Anifaire looked down at the purse - something she may have considered to be very little coin once. Speechlessly, she sat as Brynja moved on, until, the surprise wearing off, she finished scraping the last crumbs of food from her plate. A nap was calling her name.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Fightin’ Gals

---

The Flowing Bowl - Early Afternoon Outside, 2:00pm

“How ‘bout a fight then?” The voice belonged to none other than Megana, her gaze shifted to where she stood on the opposite end of the circle. Her limbs throbbed from fending off her last opponent, she wasn’t tired yet by any means, just from the hard blows the Imperial had delivered. Brynja couldn’t help but grin in return, a peculiar thought crossing her mind.

“You wish to test your strength against me?” Brynja called out, moving to stand in the center of the circle. “Then come meet me here.” She drove the point of her blade into the ground between her feet. Meg would be her third contestor if she agreed to challenge Brynja.

"That's right," Meg replied with a nod, ignoring the others around her, some who seemed a little indignant that the chit of a woman was coming between them and a fight, and others who simply believed she would fail. Truth be told, she was quite sure she would fall, but there was nothing like a duel between friends, just like when she would train with her Pa. "Don' think I won'!"

She pulled her sword from its scabbard and entered the into the makeshift fighting circle, the grin on her visage much easier to note than the determination in her eyes.

It was hard to keep a grin off her lips as she moved towards Meg, her hand outstretched towards her fellow kinswoman, “A fair fight then.”

Meg looked at Bryja a moment, noting the grin on the warrior's face before taking a firm grasp of her hand and shaking it. So from arm wrestling to dueling? Well, at least this contest gave Meg a chance to win. "Aye, for sure. Wouldn' be fun if it was anythin' but, eh?"

She lowered her voice loud enough for Meg to hear, “If I win, I’ll split my earnings with you.”

Eyebrow rising for a split second, Meg couldn't help but smirk at the proposition. "Soun's like a plan t'me," she muttered under her breath; like Brynja, her voice too was only audible enough for the other Nord to hear in the current hubbub. Meg could very well use the gold, seeing she hadn't been been or expected to be paid any time soon.

She let go of Brynja's hand and moved back, sword held out before her, making a convincing show of analyzing her opponent. She would lose the fight, yes, but she had to make it convincing... and fun.

A heavy stillness filled the air as the crowd looked on in anticipation, the only voice breaking through was the sound of Marius’ call for bets, “Place yer bets! Bets! Who will win? Will it be the short and fiery Nord? Or will it be Brynja, our towering stone giant? Come on, place yer bets!” A flurry of people rushed to Marius, slipping what septims they could spare into his hand, each speaking with excitement.

“Put my money on the big lass!”

“Here! Put mine on the fiesty one! Give that underdog a fighting chance!”

Before the throngs of people had a chance to thin out, Brynja made her move. She gave Meg a slight nod to indicate she was ready, and without further delay, closed the distance between them in three lengthy strides. She appeared an intimidating figure dressed in her full suit of steel armor, but it was the way she moved, purposeful, her longsword coming up, and brought it down in a calculated swing.

She moves fast! To be fair, Meg hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of Brynja’s attacks, so it made some sense that she had no true idea as to how her companion fought. Of course, the same could be said vice versa. In all their time together, the younger Nord had been keeping mostly to her bow, though she was more proficient with her sword. And it felt good, feeling the weight of another sword hitting against hers as she brought it up just in time to stop Brynja’s swing.

It was clear that this current battle of strength wouldn’t end well for Meg, she could already feel her sword being pushed down. However, she wasn’t about to give up… not this quickly anyway. She ducked and scrambled to the right, and as she did, she grabbed her hilt with her left hand now, pulling it away from under Brynja’s sword. Blade now free and now behind the Nord, Meg attempted to strike at the other Nord’s legs. A gasp went up from the crowd at the counter attack.

“We’re going to fight like that, eh?” Brynja twisted, narrowly escaping the blow that would have cut through a gap in the knee joint. She backed off, giving Megana room. The other two fights had taken most of her stamina, but she knew she could endure. She had to be practical and efficient. With the space that she had given Meg, Brynja decided to taunt her, hopefully enticing her to attack her first.

“You move fast for someone whose father was a hamster. Did your mother smell of elderberries too?”

Meg couldn't help but snicker at that comment. Rather than taking it offensively, it caused her amusement because her father could easily have been seen as a small furry creature among towering Nord men. "Well y'know, mice're usually too quick t'be caught. As for Ma, I couldn' rightly say, but I'm thinkin' pro'ly cheese."

That said, Meg switched her sword to her right hand once more and shortened the space between herself and Brynja, this time striking at her sword arm.

She had limited options. Knock Meg back, deflect the blow and fight in close quarters, or retreat again. Brynja dropped her opposing shoulder, and drove it down towards Meg, aiming to body check her. At the same time, she brought the edge of her longsword up against Meg’s blade.

There was no chance for Meg to do anything with her sword, not with her falling to the ground due to Brynja’s body check. An oof sound escaped her as she landed on her back, a slight grimace as she felt rocks pressing into her. She still had a hold of her blade, so her hold tightened around the hilt before slackening. She let go of her her sword and it clattered to the ground.

“A’right, I yield,” she called, lifting both hands in the air from her position on the ground. She hoped that was enough of a show for those watching them.

For those that had placed bets on Brynja, they gave a cheer and went to collect their funds from Marius, while those with bets on Megana turned away, disappointed that the fight had ended rather abruptly. However, for Brynja, she moved towards Meg, hand outstretched as an offering to help her to her feet.

“You alright, Meg?” She asked softly.

Meg nodded. She could have prolonged the match, but she didn’t feel it would be the wise thing to do, especially if Brynja was to fight more people. Taking hold of the sword with her right hand, she reached up with her left and took hold of the offered hand. “Aye, thanks.” As she pulled herself up, her sleeve slipped a little down, showing the edge of the bandage still covering the half healed stab wound from when they first arrived in Skingrad.

“What the- Megana Corvus. Just what the hell is that?” Brynja demanded, not releasing Meg’s wrist quite yet. Her grip actually tightened as she brought herself to look Meg in the eye.

“When did this happen? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Meg looked away for a moment, trying and failing not to seem like a child getting in trouble. "Been a while now," she finally muttered. "Got in a l'il trouble back when we first got to Skingrad. It's almost healed now as is... y'all had lots on your mind already, what with the Rangers. I didn' wanna be a bother when it wasn' a big deal, y'know?"

“You’re coming with me.” Brynja said, and proceeded to drag Meg over to Marius, who remained rather docile and didn’t attempt to struggle.

“That was a good fight lass! Here’s your cut. When do you want to fight again?”

“Give me three hours, and I’ll be good as new.” Brynja gave a curt nod, and without letting go of Meg, dragged her away from the crowd and into the entrance of an alleyway.

“Let me see it.” She demanded.

Meg pushed her sleeve further up so that her complete forearm now showed, not wishing to further annoy Brynja. Truthfully she felt slightly
giddy at the attention, but there was also the 'you're in trouble' feeling that made her inwardly cringe.

"Well," she said, looking at the slightly stained bandage, "there's it."

Brynja shook her head, clucking her tongue like a disapproving mother, “What are you trying to do kid? Get yourself killed? Cuz that’s what you’re gonna do if you don’t get this cleaned right quick. Just look at this, Meg. This is borderline infected. What the bloody Daedra did you do to it? Did you try and clean it?” She pushed and prodded around the wound, shaking her head.

"Ow!" Meg winced a little but kept relatively still. "I did, mostly! Didn't really think of its since we had t'leave Skingrad." She knew it was stupid but she'd been in such a mood during the journey that it hadn't even crossed her mind to look over her arm.

"Uhm... so... can you fix it then..?" She looked up at Brynja, sheepish as well as embarrassed at having to ask now.

“Course I can. That’s what I did back in Jerall too, remember? C’mon let’s get you to the inn, so I can clean this first before I heal you.” Brynja released her, the look in her eyes softening. “And I’ll give you your half of the winnings too.”

"Oh, right those." Meg finally resheathed her sword, and then let out a little sigh as she pulled her sleeve back down. "It'd be nice, finally havin' some gold." Taking in a deep breath, she slowly let it out before looking to Brynja once more. "That was fun, the duel, even though it was short. And er... thanks for... y'know." She nodded in her arm's direction. "Lead the way."

Moments passed before Meg and Brynja took a seat in the corner of the inn, she had cornered the cook, and claimed a bowl of hot water with a fresh cloth. Brynja settled into her seat and gestured for Meg, and then remembered the gold. She didn’t even bother counting out the winnings, just handed her the entire pouch. She had made plenty from the two duels earlier in the day.

“There ya go. Now lay your arm out flat on the table.”

Meg did as she was told and laid her arm as Brynja said, though her eyes still rather wide as they stared at the money pouch. "Woah... y'sure 'bout givin' all that to me?" She looked to the older Nord, blinking. "You did most've it, y'know."

“‘Course I am. What do you think I’m going to do with all this money? Blow it on booze, that’s what. Marius is giving me free room and beer anyways.” She folded a corner of the cloth, and dipped it into the hot water. Her eyes looked to Meg, “This might be hot, but it won’t burn you.”

Brynja applied the wet cloth to the encrusted wound, and began to clean away the filth that had accumulated, along with the scabs. Her gaze focused entirely on the wound that she didn’t bother making small talk, not that she didn’t want to, but because her work entranced her. She repeated the steps of dipping different corners of the cloth into the hot water, eventually soaking its entirety, and gave her forearm a good, rather abrasive, stroke that cleaned up any remaining gunk. While the wound was clean, that didn’t mean it was healed.

“Ok. This might itch, but it doesn’t look so bad as I thought.” Brynja wiped her hands on the sides of her pants before grabbing Meg’s wrist with one hand, and holding her free hand inches away from the wound. She closed her eyes, and focused on drawing out the restorative magick stored within her. She was exhausted from the dueling, but she hadn’t spent any of her magicka. Slowly, a pulsating white orb swirled beneath her hand. The flow of magicka radiated out around Meg’s forearm, enveloping it entirely. It felt like minutes, when it was really only seconds before she pulled her hand away. The wound healed without so much as a scar.

“There we are. How does that feel?”

"Bloody good," Meg replied, shaking her head. "Always amazes me when I see someone fix up wounds like that." It was also something she was envious of, but she'd never had a head for magic, and neither did the people she'd grown up around.

She gently poked at the wound, tense as if expecting pain, and letting out a breath when there was none. "Thanks so much- and I promise in Talos' name I won' let a wound go untreated again. Promise." She gave Brynja a sheepish but hopefully convincing grin.

“Good. If anything just come to me for goodness sake. If you let that go any longer, I would’ve had to lop your arm off, and then you’d be Megana One-Arm.” Brynja winked, the wound hadn’t been that badly infected, but she hoped that got the point across.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Matters of the Heart

---

21st Second Seed, Anvil 02:00AM

After having dinner and wine with Alim, Rhona retreated to her room for the remainder of the evening, keen on staying out of the public eye in case her path crossed with Cezare, and letting herself sober up. Tobias trailed happily behind her. Part of her wondered if Cezare had followed her to Anvil, especially after her brash encounter with him after two years spent diligently traveling. In all honesty, Cezare reminded her of a wolf on the prowl. He would hunt her down no matter what it would take. She crossed the threshold of the rented room, taking in the sight of the furnishings were simple and few. A wooden framed bed pushed against one wall with a bedside table, where a stout tallow candle sat, like a stoic keeper of the room. She shut the door behind her, sliding the bolt into place, and closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the worn plank. When she opened her eyes again, Rhona made her way with care across the floorboards, hearing their protests under her weight as they creaked and groaned. A miniscule flame appeared between her fingertips as she concentrated on drawing her magicka, she lit the chubby candle, watching the fire cling to the wick. Her eyes focused as the flame danced and wavered, growing brighter. The exhaustion consumed her, like the flame glowing, bringing her to sit on the edge of the bed. She couldn’t break her gaze from the dancing candlelight, as if she had slipped into a trance, and even though her eyes were locked on the flame, her mind let down its walls, letting in an overwhelming tide of emotions that caused her throat to tighten. Her eyes began to burn as she struggled to swallow the lump choking her of the ability to breathe.

Damn it. She brought the heels of her palms to her eyes, applying pressure to shirk the sensation of crying. Her efforts were wasted. Rhona shook like the last leaf of autumn clinging to a branch in a gusty gale. Sensing something amiss, Tobias approached her, pushing his muzzle against her in his attempt to comfort her. She couldn’t handle the poor goat at this time, and perhaps he sensed that as well, as he took a seat between her feet.

I never wanted this… and Cezare of all people. What did I expect? That I could avoid him for all of these years, and think nothing would come of it?, an anguished sob escaped her, she squeezed her eyes shut tight as hot tears flowed down her cheeks, her hands covering her mouth. No one needed to hear this. And that made her cry harder.

No. Rhona stop this. she chided herself, but it wasn’t as easy as telling herself mentally. She reclined back onto the bed, curling into a fetal position, she put her thumbs in her mouth, and bit down, trying to give her body a reason to quit crying. Anything was better than this agony, but that didn’t stop the personal attack she slipped into.

I’m nothing but a coward. Look at me. I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this. And I can’t even tell anyone no. A moan slipped out, one that physically hurt to suppress. Her chest felt tight, and it hurt to breathe, but she didn’t care.

Look at how you’re acting. Why would you ever treat Calen like that? And you have half the damned mind to flirt with Alim? Think of Aurelia, what would she say? It’s been months since she left, and here you are acting as if she never existed. Rhona what the hell is wrong with you? You’re nothing better than a damned whore without any fucking common sense. On and on this went, until she had quite literally cried herself to sleep.

Hours later…

When she woke, the candle had burned low, she knew it was late in the night, but her throat was parched, and she needed something to drink. Her tongue weighed like a mud brick left out in the summer sun, dry and hot, and her head a pounding mess. She moved her stiff legs out from under her, climbing out of bed as if she were an old woman suffering from an arthritic condition on a rainy day. Rhona located the water pitcher on the small table, and much to her luck, it was empty. She contemplated on returning to bed out of laziness, but her bodily discomfort wouldn’t let her. So, she slipped her feet into her boots, and headed downstairs, glancing back once over her shoulder to check on Tobias. He was fast asleep at the foot of the bed. Much to her relief, there were only two people downstairs, the innkeeper cleaning up the remaining mugs from the tables, and a distinct figure seemingly sleeping at the counter. She knew it to be Brynja from her impressive stature alone, she hadn’t removed her armor, and snored softly.

The innkeeper addressed her on sight, “Is there anything you need lass?”

“I just needed to fill my pitcher of water, if you’d be so kind.” Rhona said.

He nodded, “Sit it there on the counter and I’ll fill it.” She left it where he indicated, and before she turned to head back upstairs, Rhona paused, and turned back around, her gaze lingering on Brynja. The woman needed a proper rest, she didn’t deserve to sleep downstairs if she could help it. She crossed the room, and stopped beside her, taking in Brynja’s condition. Reaching out, Rhona rested a hand against her back.

“Brynja.” Rhona called, shaking the giant of a woman softly. She didn’t move.

“Hey. Brynja.” She tried again. This time, Brynja uttered a groggy moan, though she still didn’t move.

“Brynja. Wake up.” Rhona shook her, harder this time, causing Brynja to lift her head. She turned her gaze to look at Rhona, the expression on her face uncertain who was waking her up.

“What?” She growled, her voice hoarse and scratchy, like sand grating against wood.

“I can’t let you sleep down here.” A smile twitched at the corners of her lips, Rhona settled down on the barstool beside her.

“I was what?”

“You were sleeping. Do you remember where you are?” At her question, Brynja’s eyes scanned the interior of the room, where she groaned in annoyance.

“Damn it… hic... I guess you’re right.” Just then, Marius reappeared with the pitcher, and seemingly thinking that the now awake Brynja would need water to help sober up as well, brought an extra pitcher, and two tankards. He offered a smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Brynja accepted the water readily, and drank straight from the pitcher. She set it down, now empty, and turned her attention back to Rhona, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Gods, you look horrible.” Brynja commented.

“Huh? Oh… I… couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm. By those eyes, you’ve been crying.” A silence came between them, causing Rhona to shift awkwardly.

“Why did you fall asleep down here?” Rhona changed the conversation, honestly, she was far too exhausted to even talk about what troubled her. She filled her tankard with water, relishing in the relief it brought her parched mouth.

“Guess I got too drunk… happens sometimes. I gave Anifaire my room, poor lass. She needs a good rest.”

“You gave up your own room? Where did you think you were going to sleep after that?”

“I dunno.” Brynja’s grey eyes were bloodshot, ringed with red, and it appeared she had a hard time adjusting to the dim lighting inside. “So, who’s got you all sad and looking like you have a broken heart?” It was like Rhona couldn’t escape her, she fidgeted with the tankard before sighing. Might as well give her an answer.

“Myself.”

“And what did you do, to yourself?”

“I’m being an indecisive idiot.”

“Is it Calen?”

“How-”

“I watched you on the way up here. You avoided him like he had the Bone Break Fever. So, what happened?”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“If it’s nothing then you can tell me.” Brynja raised an eyebrow, she didn’t like it when people avoided her questions, or tried to play off their inner turmoil. She could see Rhona struggling to muster up the courage to broach the subject, but she needed to come to terms with it if she were going to move past whatever afflicted her.

“It’s a long story.” Rhona tried again, but Brynja only smiled, there was no escaping her.

“I’m listening.” The two women stared at each other, Brynja unwavering in her attempt to get Rhona to speak her mind, and Rhona fidgeting with even finding the right words to say.

“You’re a tough woman.” Rhona groaned through a strained laugh. She shook her head before sighing, “I’ve been traveling the last two years because I left my husband,” she watched as the smile on Brynja’s face disappeared, “and I had met a group of people on my travels. There was a woman… Aurelia… and we became lovers. We were happy together, until she asked me months ago to leave with her and our friends to Valenwood. For whatever reason… I chose not to go. Not because I didn’t love her, but because…”

“Because you were afraid?”

“Yes. I’ve never left Cyrodiil until then, save for our few trips to Rihad. To me, Cyrodiil was safe. It’s what I knew. And maybe I’m just a coward. I don’t know. But I stayed behind, and when morning came, she was gone. Gone before I had a chance to say goodbye.” Rhona took a sip of her water, “I came back from Rihad, and stayed here to raise funds to travel. When I had enough, I headed for Skingrad. And that’s when…” She paused, her teeth biting into her lower lip, “I crossed paths with my husband.”

“Did you both live in Skingrad?”

“No, no. I lived with him in the City, he must have fled with the other refugees to Skingrad. He… he tried to take me back. I didn’t want to go back with him, so I hit him, and I ran. That’s when I ran into Calen. He helped me hide from my husband in plain sight. Quite literally. After Cezare, that’s my husband, had left… Calen took me to wash up, he had smeared dirt and dung on me, made me look like a Redguard woman needing directions. He was kind…”

“And?”

“And he helped lift my spirits that night. Helped get my mind off the idea that Cezare would come back for me, find me, and take me away with him.”

“Why did you leave him, your husband that is?”

“Why not? He was an abusive drunkard with a bad gambling habit. He almost killed me one night. There’s no reason a sensible woman would have stayed, regardless of what people said.”

“Fair enough. So Calen. It sounds like he treated you kindly. So why the aloofness? Why avoid him after he treated you with kindness? Did you think about how that might affect him?”

“I… I didn’t want him to end up getting hurt. Cezare knows who Calen is, if he saw him with me, he would kill him. Cezare wouldn’t care. I just didn’t want to see Calen get hurt because of me.”

“So you did what you thought was best. You avoided him to protect him.”

“Yes. That’s why Durantel is teaching me how to protect myself. So that if Cezare comes and finds me, which I know he will since he knows I’m alive, I won’t go back with him. No matter what.”

“And did you tell Calen this?”

“...No. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You chose not to be honest with him?.”

“Mm.” A silence came between them again, each drinking from their mugs respectfully. Brynja set her tankard down and gazed long and hard at Rhona. The woman appeared conflicted, and she could sympathize. Her words reminded Brynja all too much on how she handled Rorik and the death of Iona. Instead of telling him the truth, she swept her dirty secret under the rug, and letting that regret to torment her all these years later.

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” Brynja asked through a soft sigh, she could tell from the way Rhona’s body tensed at the question that the woman had not told her anything. And why should she? Rhona hardly knew her, save for the night on the road that she could barely sleep. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the remnants of the lucid dream she had, the anguished face of Iona lying cold and dead in her arms. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s just… it helps when you let out the things that are bothering you, instead of becoming a fire of self-destruction.”

“Why is it men make us feel the way we do? Aurelia never made me feel so conflicted.” Rhona sighed, her fingers tightening around the slim handle.

“It’s not men… it’s the idea of being found attractive. The idea of being loved, desired, and wanted. It’s because their words can be poison to our hearts, and we readily cast ourselves off the cliff and into a raging sea of trouble.” Now it was Brynja becoming the somber one. A hard lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

Her voice cracked, “...and for what? For a chance to be told we’re pretty? That we mean the world to them? That we’re the only ones that could ever make them happy. Men think with their cocks, not their heads.”

“Your words couldn’t be more true.” Rhona shook her head, she propped her chin up in the palm of her hand, resting her elbow on the countertop. “I just feel… guilty because I flirted with Alim. It makes me feel like…” She paused on seeing Brynja’s eyes squeezed shut, tiny tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“You want to free that heart of yours from its troubles? Be honest. Be honest with your heart, and with others. I promise you Rhona, you won’t feel so guilty. People don’t deserve anything from you, but it’s nice. And your heart will thank you for it.” That silence came between them again, leaving Rhona wondering what had pained Brynja so much. The giantess sighed, a conflicted smiling crossing her lips as she opened her eyes. “You’d better get on upstairs and get some rest.”

“What about you? You said you gave Anifaire your own room, where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll be alright.”

“I don’t believe that. Come. I’ll give you my bed, and I’ll take the floor. My back could use the stiffness. You need a proper night’s rest.” Rhona rose up from her barstool, and beckoned to Brynja. She knew that Rhona wouldn’t take for an answer, not with that look on her face.

“Fine.”

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

Am working on my sheet! Should have it done here soon.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Anvil, Harborside - 21st of Second Seed, Midday

---

Rhona

The city of Anvil bore a familiar atmosphere all too well for Rhona. It had been a little less than a month when she left for Skingrad. The weather hadn’t changed much since her departure into Rihad, or even when she left for Skingrad. The air still held the salted scent of the sea mixed with warm air, spices, and now, honeyed flower blossoms and the faint smell of tobacco smoke drifted like a thin blanket. The sights, sounds, and scents of Anvil made her feel sleepy, as if she needed to take a century long sleep before she could shake the tiredness from her soul. Her mind strayed to Durantel, he had taught her so much in so little time, and yet her tutelage was far from over. She thought of Cezare, and of Calen. Part of her wondered if he had escaped from Skingrad before the Dominion tightened its grip on the city, or if he had managed to become caught up in the fiasco. She hoped for the latter. She wondered about Calen, would he pay homage to the temple of Dibella? Rhona had avoided him as much as necessary, she had resigned herself to a degree of pleasantries, that’s what she told herself at least. After all, Aurelia’s leaving was still a fresh wound in her heart that she was still trying to mend. Rhona had rationalized it in every way possible, but it always came back to the fact that she was too scared to set foot outside of her known world, and to place faith in Aurelia, and her friends. But was it different with Calen? Were they just friends? Yes. That had to be it. And it wasn’t necessarily the fact that she didn’t like him as an individual, but rather, she didn’t want to hurt him. What if Cezare found her again? Or rather, what if he found her, and she was with him? She shuddered at the thought alone. His anger, that unbridled rage, especially when inebriated, Gods it terrified her. She endured that pain for so long, she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing anyone else into his destructive path, even for a piece of temporary happiness.

And that was it. In every blinding way, every deceivable concept, in those quiet regions of her heart that she buried deep inside, Rhona believed that she had made the right choice… even if it meant for her to make a sacrifice for her own satisfaction. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? Her mind darkened like a storm cloud brewing on the distant horizon, no, Calen was a follower of Dibella. She had let herself be weak in his presence, she had sought comfort in him like she had Aurelia. Didn’t she know better? Her throat tightened. Perhaps she was too naive for her own good, or at least too much of a coward to admit it out loud. Gods, she was a fool at heart. A hopeless romantic, easily swept up in the tides of passion, and temporary love. And that was that. Besides, she had her training with Durantel to focus on as well. He had taken her training seriously, and he certainly had no fondness in dilly-dallying. She appreciated the Altmer for his diligence and tenacity to see her training through.

She hadn’t realized that her train of thoughts consumed the time spent walking to the docks, but it didn’t take long for her to sit herself down and spread out her belongings. She began to hawk her own wares at passerby’s. Rhona recognized a series of familiar faces dotted amongst the crowds, and some even stopped to say hello. By early evening she had enchanted half a dozen swords, amulets and trinkets. She had enough coin for a room at the tavern if she wanted, plenty for food and wine, and more importantly, enough left over to buy some charged soul gems. Now if only she could find the vendor again… Rhona gathered up her belongings and set off into the city, searching for the man that had supplied her with soul gems on her last stop. Her feet were sore from the five days spent traveling, and all that was on her mind now was, find some soul gems, and then get some hot food in her belly, plus a nice hot bath if she could spare it. Not to mention a soft bed to rest her head.

---

Brynja

The Flowing Bowl

She always surprised herself in the least, finding a tavern without any prior direction had its uses. Like a bee to a flower, Brynja found herself crossing the threshold of The Flowing Bowl. The structure appeared as old as the Oblivion era, if not older. The floorboards protested under her weight as she headed for the counter, Brynja lowered herself into a barstool, her gaze sweeping across the patrons around her. Her arrival caught the attention of the barkeep, a tanned man with black cropped hair. He was much older than her, at least ten years her senior, but he still had his good looks about him, she would give him that. He sidled on up to her, stretching his massive bear-like hands across the counter/

“What’ll be for ya?” He asked, her ears picking up on the distinct dialect between someone from the Imperial City and Anvil. His words were softer, and slower, with a bit of a twang.

“Gimme a bottle of your cheapest ale.” Brynja fished out what coin she had left. Her gaze focused on the gleam of the gold septim as she slid it across the counter towards the barkeep. Money was always a fickle thing when she wasn’t looking to sell her blade, and with the entire incident of Rhea being unable to pay them accordingly, Brynja needed a way to make some more coin, and fast. She watched as he claimed the septim, and proceeded to fill her a mug of ale. When he returned with it, she welcomingly accepted it. Finally.

As he turned away, Brynja called out to him, “Say, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

He turned back around, an eyebrow raised, “Oh? And what’ll that be?”

“Well, it looks pretty slow around here, and with as many people that are filtering in through Anvil, I’m surprised that you’re not packed to the brim.” Brynja commented, taking a sip of the frothy ale.

“Aye, it’s not busy during the daytime hours, as the soldiers are busy with work, but during the evening, they all come crawling here. So what’s this proposition?” She could tell he was curious.

“I know I could draw a crowd. How about some good ol’ fashion dueling? No fight to the deaths or anything, just a simple bet. Two fighters. Me against someone else, the patrons would come and place their bets with you. You keep a percentage of the septims earned-”

“And for yourself?”

“Simple. The bets placed against me, I keep. Plus a free room, and as much ale as I can drink.”

“...You’re a big lass.”

“Aye.”

“You’d drink me dry.”

“Never. Think of all the gold that would come flowing into your pockets. I’ve done this before and it works out quite well for both parties. You attract more patrons with thirsts needing to be quenched, and me, I get a roof over my head, plus something to drink.”

“How good are you with a blade?”

“Look-”

“Marius.”

“Right, look here Marius, I served as a House Carl for the Thane of Windhelm for nearly eight years. I was a healer in the Civil war, brother of mine taught me how to fight. What more could you want?”

“Gods be praised.”

“Aye. So we’ve a deal?”

“Aye. When will you start?”

“Bring me another ale, and let your patrons know. I’ll be ready by late afternoon.” Brynja said. She almost couldn’t believe her luck. Here she was, finding another willing innkeep who would to her have free room and ale by helping attract patrons via a sword fight with anyone that had a desire to put their blade to hers. Part of her felt like an idiot, like an attraction part of a troupe, but she also couldn’t shake the feeling that this was an exceptional idea. What could go wrong?

An hour later, Brynja found herself standing outside of The Flowing Bowl, her entire suit of armor and sword at ready. A crowd of curious onlookers had assembled, mostly drawn due to her towering height, and curious to see who would challenge her. She owed it to Marius, he had done as she had asked, and spread the word like wildfire. He even enlisted the help of a serving maid to help fill the mugs of thirsty patrons while he beckoned to the onlookers.

“Step right up! Who wants to challenge this fierce and deadly Nord warrior from the icy lands of Skyrim? Don’t be shy! Just a simple dueling matching, no killing allowed. C’mon folks!”