Scrub Mage

Mist: Call Across the Sea [Anime Fantasy Adventure]

Sounds dumb, chump.

The Elder Scrolls: Days of Night

17th of Xeech
Departure from Daggerfall

"The Nut is planted, hidden and tucked. By the time one arrives in Anvil the Nut will have sprouted, and is no more."

Walking through town was hardly eventful, and Dances-In-Milk saw no point in dwelling on time spent meandering along cobblestone roads and navigating to the fish-stunk port. The last time he had strolled through Daggerfall he had been mugged, and his hurried, almost lumbering, footsteps carried him to his destination with zeal. His face was scrunched up in a well-worn irritation, and by the time he had found his way to the port he was ready to tuck himself below deck. His satchels dangled at his sides, and the quiet clanking of glass reminded him that he needed to buy leather inserts to prevent the tools from crashing into one another. It had been some time since he had traveled with his lab disassembled, so the feeling of it hanging at his side brought him a droplet of comfort.

The gangplank was already well-walked by the time Dances-In-Milk found his way to the Kismet, though the name dribbled out of his mind and became nothing as soon as he had determined this was the vessel which would carry him to Anvil. The wood croaked and creaked underfoot, but for each wooden squeal his bone answered with its own dirge of youth. Age was catching up with the Saxhleel, but there were more important things to do than wither and die. It had taken him longer to climb the plank than he had hoped, and he kept his countenance low. This was not his first time on a boat, and it would likely not be his last. Digging in his bags he procured his writ of passage, and wore it on his person should anyone question his place on the floating wood.

The old creature crawled beneath deck, going out of his way to keep others out of his way. The walk through Daggerfall had left him tired, and though he didn't want to sleep until the boat had left port, he at least needed to catch his breath. His legs weren't what they used to be, nor were the shoulders which supported his bags, nor were his lungs or heart. The more time he spent standing up, the more his precious years dwindled. It would be like eating Nightshade, only less preferable. If only his employers had been willing to give him what he was owed, then he might have been able to afford a private suite in which he could lock himself away and avoid the mess of strangers. Instead, the cretins had given him scratchings of paper to turn in to a bank, something which everyone involved knew would result in Dances-In-Milk missing his boat to Cyrodiil. Were he less short on time, he would have mixed some form of laxatives into their healing potions, but even then, he felt such retribution would have been beneath him. Then again, he needed that money to rent a carriage to Skingrad, and he knew his bones would shout and stab at his flesh for walking the road instead.

And, as a result of their undercutting him financially, he was supposed to sleep in one of these nooks. The Saxhleel looked to his legs, back to his temporary abode, and knew that it would be less than comfortable. With legs so curved and bent and scales so burnt and temperamental, he knew each wave they crossed would be like swimming in Oblivion. Already irritated with his choices, Dances-In-Milk decided to walk to the deck of the ship, where he would remain until absolutely necessary. The fresh humidity would do his scales wonders, even if the smell of salt was all too familiar. And, worried some sod would take his precious Calcinator, he made sure not to leave either of his satchels behind in the crammed space.

So, shoulders still irritated at having to carry their load, Dances-In-Milk made his way to an unneeded space on the deck, uncorking his jug of milk not only to drink, but to rub a dropping of on his scales like an all-too-watery ointment. After about a third of the jug had disappeared, he corked it again and stashed it away. The Nords could call him a milk-drinker all they wanted. Indulging in the humidity, the old beast rested his elbows on the side of the deck, and rested his head. Despite his intentions not to, he began a very light napping, still aware of the sounds around him but unaware as to their meanings and intentions. The difference between daydream and dream were impossible to sift through, and in his dozing mind the old Hist call rang just loud enough to keep him from snoring himself awake. In his sleep the smell of moist wood reminded him of a home he'd left long ago, and he soured his face.

The Elder Scrolls: Days of Night

Dances-In-Milk

"Xaexriuukk, Dances-In-Milk"

_{"My potions are fit for a beast, let alone a man."}

══════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ══════ _______________________________________________ _______________________________________________ ═══════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ══════ "Xaexriuukk, Dances-In-Milk" _______________________________________________ 73 | ♂ | Argonian _______________________________________________ Tribal Alchemist, Former Wandering Healer, Scholar ▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Old and Hunched, Years of Brewing ► Skin Color - Pale Teal ► Jewelry Material - Gold ► Eye Color - Amber ► Other - Legs are burned and bestial. ▼ D O S S I E R ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Birthplace - Hatched in Murkmire, to the Kota-Vimleel tribe. ► Birthsign - The Atronach ► Biggest Regret - Lending aid to a predator in disguise. ► Xaexriuukk's Goal - Compile an accurate bestiary on all vampiric strains, drawn from firsthand account and rooted firmly in fact. ▼ F A V O R E D A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Intelligence ► Willpower ▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Alchemy - Expert ► Enchanting - Adept ► Security - Adept ► Smithing - Adept ► Stealth - Adept ► Archery - Novice ▼ S P E L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► None ▼ E Q U I P M E N T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Weapons - One shortbow, five arrows ► Armor - Faded blue clothes. ► Containers - Two satchel bags, one for ingredients and one for alchemy equipment. ► Food, Drink, Potions - A variety of meats (diced for easy snacking), a jug of milk, two potions of healing, one potion of invisibility, simple poison. ► Ingredients - Columbine Root Pulp, Gingko Leaf, Ginseng, Nightshade. ► Miscellaneous - Alembic, Calcinator, Mortar and Pestle, Retort

══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════ Were Xaexriuukk a younger Argonian, with straight legs, he would stand at an impressive seven feet. But he is not a young Argonian, and his legs are not straight. His legs are bestial, and he is not meant to wear boots. Most pants are uncomfortable for him, unless tailored properly. Currently, he wears a loincloth, though it looks a bit more impressive than one would expect. The scales are ruined and charred, and his back hunches over as if he is always leaning over an alchemist's table. His claws are unkempt and look half-dead, and the way he quickly steps is reminiscent of hot coals walking over hot coals. When he is on the move, his steps are almost zig-zag, as if he is trying to keep himself balanced with his two satchel bags acting as a strange counter-weight. His satchel bags are old, having been patched multiple times, and constructed from dreugh hide leather, and his clothes are an oddly regal blue fabric with red sleeves, which after countless years of alchemical wear-and-tear, are still a stunningly beautiful (albeit faded) shade. They are riddled with potion stains, and smell faintly of salts. While his face generally holds a distasteful look, his pale teal skin is complemented by golden jewelry, undoubtedly made deep in Black Marsh. His crest is worn and thin, and his lower jaw is oddly aggressive. The jewelry which adorns his crest is, upon close inspection, dutifully engraved with delicate depictions of flowers of all sorts. His face is short, and his snout ridges look durable. His lower jaw is streaked with a once-bright-now-dull midnight blue, and if one looks close, past the aged dullifying of colors, it is plain that his neck was once speckled with the same color, now closer to a grey. ═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════ Xaexriuukk is an old Saxhleel, but to say that he’s learned from experience is almost a mistake. The Saxhleel is stubborn, jaded, and very self-centered, and just about his only positive qualities are that he is grumpily helpful, and that he is not arrogant. In an odd contrast, he prefers most people call him by his Cyrodillic name, Dances-In-Milk. Xaexriuukk has learned many things in life, but what he learns does not extend to social graces. His mind is more honed for learning and creation than it is for small talk and ethics. He has burned many bridges in the past thanks to his bluntness and unwillingness to entertain what he perceives as wasteful stupidity, and he plans to keep burning bridges out of spite. Conversation wise, Xaexriuukk is prone to using as few words as possible, focused on brevity and efficient communication of important ideas. While not exactly a traditionalist, Xaexriuukk is fiercely stuck in his ways, and despite decades of living away from Argonia, he still behaves in an oddly tribal manner. He does not tolerate intrusions on his territory, he leaves empty alchemical flasks in places as warning, and he is an ardent Sithis worshipper. This is to say nothing of his reflexive violence, and his general attitude of “they got what was coming for them”. Having spent most of his life in Black Marsh, Xaexriuukk has witnessed his fair share of egg-brethren die at the hands of one another, and when he left the Marshes he witnessed Men and Mer alike purchase poisons to kill one another. If they are egg-brethren, they will be reborn amidst the roots. If they are not, then they got what was coming for them. He has a particular disdain for Dunmer, for reasons obvious to anyone who knows even an inkling of his people's history.

Xaexriuukk is very self-centered, but that doesn’t mean he’s selfish. Rather, he’s preoccupied with his own goals and thoughts. When he is part of a team, he values his teammates almost like tools, though tools which are less likable than his own. But he knows he couldn’t fight most battles by himself, and so he happily tolerates supplying the side he’s on with means to survive.

The Saxhleel alchemist is also rather modest. Humble would be a stretch, but Xaexriuukk tends to think that most people know the basics. This means that he's not arrogant about his work, but explains it as he would to equals - which often leads to him growing irritated when he does have to explain basic concepts, though less for identifying it as stupidity, and more for it costing a chunk of time (but, it's not a waste).

While his disposition tends to be dour and sour, Xaexriuukk is oddly helpful. He can give you the recipe, the location of the ingredients, and the current moon phase, but he won't brew you a potion that he doesn't already have prepared. Of course, his disposition when helping tends to be hurried, irritable, and carried with the assumption that you know what you're doing. In short: Xaexriuukk will help you help yourself, just don't expect him to be happy about it.

In addition to his generally cold disposition, Xaexriuukk prefers to keep people at a length, and he hates when people mispronounce his name. As a result of both things, he prefers people to call him by his Cyrodillic name, Dances-In-Milk. It is not a name he likes, which helps him to keep people at spear’s length, and it is easier to pronounce for Men and Mer than Xaexriuukk. On the rare occasion he grows to like someone, he tries to teach them how to manage a Saxhleel name.

Of note about his demeanor that one would not expect at first, Xaexriuukk is rather fearless. He is bold, but cautious. He doesn't charge headlong into dangerous situations, he takes time to consult his research and plan. He is quick to adapt and change his plans when they no longer suit his needs, and he is able to remain levelheaded in most situations. Paradoxically, he is plagued by a lingering paranoia, driving him to be suspicious of strangers and new areas.

At the root of it all is a sense of world-weariness that has sat with Xaexriuukk his entire life. When he decided to leave Argonia, this world-weariness became an intense irritability that bleeds out to nearly every aspect of who Xaexriuukk is.

_{═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════}

It licked the sap and became Xaexriuukk, and the others celebrated with names of their own.

Xaexriuukk's egg-brothers reeked of blood, and he brewed to the best of his abilities. He had heard their mouths drip with accounts of an engagement with Tum-Taleel, but he was taught to mistrust the words of the dying and dead. He poured a potion of healing down one of their throats, one too weak to drink on his own, and watched as the potion sent him into a quiet slumber lasting three days. And then six. And then forever. When his hands were washed, his teacher told him that sometimes these things happen. Xaexriuukk swore that these things would never happen again. Xaexriuukk was young, but older still, when these things happened again. More Tum-Taleel, and less villages. They would never stop happening, but each time he swore that it never would again. When it happened for the sixth time, he considered learning healing magic. When even a basic incantation left him feeling drained, he knew this was not the path. He turned again to alchemy, and with his resolve firmly stead he never strayed again.

There is a single act of help that changed the way Xaexriuukk viewed the world, remembered vividly all these years later. It was years after Xaexriuukk had began wandering when he went to aid, and hopefully cure of her disease, a sickly Miredancer. Apparently her sickness was contagious, but he was certain he could develop a cure if only he saw the symptoms up close. He examined her and began his brew, and when he was hunched over his arrangement - still aligning the calcinator to the proper positioning, with a basic brew bubbling in the retort already - she assaulted him. In the ensuing struggle she nearly bit him, but with some quick thinking on his part he managed to turn the boiling retort into a primitive fireball, and it exploded twice. It was only by the grace of The Atronach did he survive, and even then, grace only went halfway. The first blast left him unharmed, the second burned quite a bit of his body.

The locals helped him into a bath, one which he demanded have any milk available added to it. He flailed as the milk helped to ease some of the more potent alchemical burns, some of the natural magical qualities helping to neutralize some of the worse effects of the imported Imp Gall he had used. While he still retained usage of his legs, they were marred with lingering burns that he never sought help for, and Dances-In-Milk became suspicious, unwilling to help others near as much as he used to. Had he never gone to help in the first place, he might still be the joyous healer he was well on the way to becoming.

By the time Xaexriuukk departed from Argonia, all traces of who he was had faded into his current demeanor, and he mourned as Dances-In-Milk.

Bitterness overtook him and it became his most potent ingredient in his poisons. Brews meant for sickness and death earned him more coin than the ones meant for healing, and each coin was put toward paper he would need to begin his work proper. Aiming to rewrite the Tamrielic understanding of vampirism from the ground up, condeming books such as Immortal Blood as too vague to have been helpful, Dances-In-Milk knew that solid, undeniable truth must be dragged into the light, kicking and screaming as it did.

Dances-In-Milk worked as a researcher for a time, isolating himself in a tower as he studied alchemy once again. This time he focused less on traditional poisons of the Black-Tongues, and more on mastery of his skill. He learned what every ingredient he could get his claws on did, and how to best turn it into a weapon or a shield. He learned how to properly coat blades, how to coat arrows. He learned how to best grind his ingredients, and he learned the best places to get water which wouldn't muck anything up. He became an expert, and was later commissioned by sellswords in Daggerfall to brew them all manner of things.

When a trusted source tipped him off to vampiric lore to be learned in Skingrad, Dances-In-Milk booked the first boat to Anvil he found, finally ready to put pen to paper and drag vampires out into the daylight kicking and screaming.

What Are You Listening To?

Beat your meat, go to sleep.

The Elder Scrolls: Days of Night

I use the abbreviation code a bunch so make sure to hover over dots for e x p a n d e d l o r e.

Dances-In-Milk

"Xaexriuukk, Dances-In-Milk"

_{"My potions are fit for a beast, let alone a man."}

══════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ══════ _______________________________________________ _______________________________________________ ═══════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ══════ "Xaexriuukk, Dances-In-Milk" _______________________________________________ 73 | ♂ | Argonian _______________________________________________ Tribal Alchemist, Former Wandering Healer, Scholar ▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Old and Hunched, Years of Brewing ► Skin Color - Pale Teal ► Jewelry Material - Gold ► Eye Color - Amber ► Other - Legs are burned and bestial. ▼ D O S S I E R ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Birthplace - Hatched in Murkmire, to the Kota-Vimleel tribe. ► Birthsign - The Atronach ► Biggest Regret - Lending aid to a predator in disguise. ► Xaexriuukk's Goal - Compile an accurate bestiary on all vampiric strains, drawn from firsthand account and rooted firmly in fact. ▼ F A V O R E D A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Intelligence ► Willpower ▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Alchemy - Expert ► Enchanting - Adept ► Security - Adept ► Smithing - Adept ► Stealth - Adept ► Archery - Novice ▼ S P E L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► None ▼ E Q U I P M E N T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Weapons - One shortbow, five arrows ► Armor - Faded blue clothes. ► Containers - Two satchel bags, one for ingredients and one for alchemy equipment. ► Food, Drink, Potions - A variety of meats (diced for easy snacking), a jug of milk, two potions of healing, one potion of invisibility, simple poison. ► Ingredients - Columbine Root Pulp, Gingko Leaf, Ginseng, Nightshade. ► Miscellaneous - Alembic, Calcinator, Mortar and Pestle, Retort

══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════ Were Xaexriuukk a younger Argonian, with straight legs, he would stand at an impressive seven feet. But he is not a young Argonian, and his legs are not straight. His legs are bestial, and he is not meant to wear boots. Most pants are uncomfortable for him, unless tailored properly. Currently, he wears a loincloth, though it looks a bit more impressive than one would expect. The scales are ruined and charred, and his back hunches over as if he is always leaning over an alchemist's table. His claws are unkempt and look half-dead, and the way he quickly steps is reminiscent of hot coals walking over hot coals. When he is on the move, his steps are almost zig-zag, as if he is trying to keep himself balanced with his two satchel bags acting as a strange counter-weight. His satchel bags are old, having been patched multiple times, and constructed from dreugh hide leather, and his clothes are an oddly regal blue fabric with red sleeves, which after countless years of alchemical wear-and-tear, are still a stunningly beautiful (albeit faded) shade. They are riddled with potion stains, and smell faintly of salts. While his face generally holds a distasteful look, his pale teal skin is complemented by golden jewelry, undoubtedly made deep in Black Marsh. His crest is worn and thin, and his lower jaw is oddly aggressive. The jewelry which adorns his crest is, upon close inspection, dutifully engraved with delicate depictions of flowers of all sorts. His face is short, and his snout ridges look durable. His lower jaw is streaked with a once-bright-now-dull midnight blue, and if one looks close, past the aged dullifying of colors, it is plain that his neck was once speckled with the same color, now closer to a grey. ═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════ Xaexriuukk is an old Saxhleel, but to say that he’s learned from experience is almost a mistake. The Saxhleel is stubborn, jaded, and very self-centered, and just about his only positive qualities are that he is grumpily helpful, and that he is not arrogant. In an odd contrast, he prefers most people call him by his Cyrodillic name, Dances-In-Milk. Xaexriuukk has learned many things in life, but what he learns does not extend to social graces. His mind is more honed for learning and creation than it is for small talk and ethics. He has burned many bridges in the past thanks to his bluntness and unwillingness to entertain what he perceives as wasteful stupidity, and he plans to keep burning bridges out of spite. Conversation wise, Xaexriuukk is prone to using as few words as possible, focused on brevity and efficient communication of important ideas. While not exactly a traditionalist, Xaexriuukk is fiercely stuck in his ways, and despite decades of living away from Argonia, he still behaves in an oddly tribal manner. He does not tolerate intrusions on his territory, he leaves empty alchemical flasks in places as warning, and he is an ardent Sithis worshipper. This is to say nothing of his reflexive violence, and his general attitude of “they got what was coming for them”. Having spent most of his life in Black Marsh, Xaexriuukk has witnessed his fair share of egg-brethren die at the hands of one another, and when he left the Marshes he witnessed Men and Mer alike purchase poisons to kill one another. If they are egg-brethren, they will be reborn amidst the roots. If they are not, then they got what was coming for them. He has a particular disdain for Dunmer, for reasons obvious to anyone who knows even an inkling of his people's history.

Xaexriuukk is very self-centered, but that doesn’t mean he’s selfish. Rather, he’s preoccupied with his own goals and thoughts. When he is part of a team, he values his teammates almost like tools, though tools which are less likable than his own. But he knows he couldn’t fight most battles by himself, and so he happily tolerates supplying the side he’s on with means to survive.

The Saxhleel alchemist is also rather modest. Humble would be a stretch, but Xaexriuukk tends to think that most people know the basics. This means that he's not arrogant about his work, but explains it as he would to equals - which often leads to him growing irritated when he does have to explain basic concepts, though less for identifying it as stupidity, and more for it costing a chunk of time (but, it's not a waste).

While his disposition tends to be dour and sour, Xaexriuukk is oddly helpful. He can give you the recipe, the location of the ingredients, and the current moon phase, but he won't brew you a potion that he doesn't already have prepared. Of course, his disposition when helping tends to be hurried, irritable, and carried with the assumption that you know what you're doing. In short: Xaexriuukk will help you help yourself, just don't expect him to be happy about it.

In addition to his generally cold disposition, Xaexriuukk prefers to keep people at a length, and he hates when people mispronounce his name. As a result of both things, he prefers people to call him by his Cyrodillic name, Dances-In-Milk. It is not a name he likes, which helps him to keep people at spear’s length, and it is easier to pronounce for Men and Mer than Xaexriuukk. On the rare occasion he grows to like someone, he tries to teach them how to manage a Saxhleel name.

Of note about his demeanor that one would not expect at first, Xaexriuukk is rather fearless. He is bold, but cautious. He doesn't charge headlong into dangerous situations, he takes time to consult his research and plan. He is quick to adapt and change his plans when they no longer suit his needs, and he is able to remain levelheaded in most situations. Paradoxically, he is plagued by a lingering paranoia, driving him to be suspicious of strangers and new areas.

At the root of it all is a sense of world-weariness that has sat with Xaexriuukk his entire life. When he decided to leave Argonia, this world-weariness became an intense irritability that bleeds out to nearly every aspect of who Xaexriuukk is.

_{═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════}

It licked the sap and became Xaexriuukk, and the others celebrated with names of their own.

Xaexriuukk's egg-brothers reeked of blood, and he brewed to the best of his abilities. He had heard their mouths drip with accounts of an engagement with Tum-Taleel, but he was taught to mistrust the words of the dying and dead. He poured a potion of healing down one of their throats, one too weak to drink on his own, and watched as the potion sent him into a quiet slumber lasting three days. And then six. And then forever. When his hands were washed, his teacher told him that sometimes these things happen. Xaexriuukk swore that these things would never happen again. Xaexriuukk was young, but older still, when these things happened again. More Tum-Taleel, and less villages. They would never stop happening, but each time he swore that it never would again. When it happened for the sixth time, he considered learning healing magic. When even a basic incantation left him feeling drained, he knew this was not the path. He turned again to alchemy, and with his resolve firmly stead he never strayed again.

There is a single act of help that changed the way Xaexriuukk viewed the world, remembered vividly all these years later. It was years after Xaexriuukk had began wandering when he went to aid, and hopefully cure of her disease, a sickly Miredancer. Apparently her sickness was contagious, but he was certain he could develop a cure if only he saw the symptoms up close. He examined her and began his brew, and when he was hunched over his arrangement - still aligning the calcinator to the proper positioning, with a basic brew bubbling in the retort already - she assaulted him. In the ensuing struggle she nearly bit him, but with some quick thinking on his part he managed to turn the boiling retort into a primitive fireball, and it exploded twice. It was only by the grace of The Atronach did he survive, and even then, grace only went halfway. The first blast left him unharmed, the second burned quite a bit of his body.

The locals helped him into a bath, one which he demanded have any milk available added to it. He flailed as the milk helped to ease some of the more potent alchemical burns, some of the natural magical qualities helping to neutralize some of the worse effects of the imported Imp Gall he had used. While he still retained usage of his legs, they were marred with lingering burns that he never sought help for, and Dances-In-Milk became suspicious, unwilling to help others near as much as he used to. Had he never gone to help in the first place, he might still be the joyous healer he was well on the way to becoming.

By the time Xaexriuukk departed from Argonia, all traces of who he was had faded into his current demeanor, and he mourned as Dances-In-Milk.

Bitterness overtook him and it became his most potent ingredient in his poisons. Brews meant for sickness and death earned him more coin than the ones meant for healing, and each coin was put toward paper he would need to begin his work proper. Aiming to rewrite the Tamrielic understanding of vampirism from the ground up, condeming books such as Immortal Blood as too vague to have been helpful, Dances-In-Milk knew that solid, undeniable truth must be dragged into the light, kicking and screaming as it did.

Dances-In-Milk worked as a researcher for a time, isolating himself in a tower as he studied alchemy once again. This time he focused less on traditional poisons of the Black-Tongues, and more on mastery of his skill. He learned what every ingredient he could get his claws on did, and how to best turn it into a weapon or a shield. He learned how to properly coat blades, how to coat arrows. He learned how to best grind his ingredients, and he learned the best places to get water which wouldn't muck anything up. He became an expert, and was later commissioned by sellswords in Daggerfall to brew them all manner of things.

When a trusted source tipped him off to vampiric lore to be learned in Skingrad, Dances-In-Milk booked the first boat to Anvil he found, finally ready to put pen to paper and drag vampires out into the daylight kicking and screaming.

The Elder Scrolls: Days of Night

Infamously bad at posting consistently but concept looks good and definitely something I'd keep an eye on if I don't have the time to consistently post myself.

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

Mass Effect: Sinless

𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚 - 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭
𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝

Cherk Sab hadn’t been very helpful.

After all, how could he be? Not safe to spew what he knew over a long-distance call. And what little he did know wasn’t exactly helpful. It was always important to keep a trail, but this time around he was rushed by his employer. It was a time sensitive job that paid well (too well, in hindsight), so he was forced to forego his usual obsessive background check. Whoever had hired him was cleverer than most of his standard patrons, but at the very least he made sure to track down the cretin’s address. Now it was just a matter of hitching a ride across Omega to knock on her door.

A couple of calls later and the volus was out the door, waddling through the crowded station to meet with a colleague who’d give him a lift. The volus kept his eyes open, watching the folk around him as he watched for any signs of an attempt on his life. Could never be too careful here on Omega, especially when you were about to hit the front of the extranet yourself. On his side hung his trusted executioner, surprisingly innocuous all things considered. Standard fare on this lawless asteroid, but also a huge red flag for anyone looking to hassle him.

At least I’m getting out of the house.

Cherk’s thoughts were narrow and concentrated, matching his footwork as he continued down the bustle. He approached a shuttle bearing familiar markings and gave a carefully timed two knocks to the driver before hopping into the passenger seat. The two didn’t talk – this was a business meeting, not a personal outing – but the ride passed quickly as it made its way to the Fumi District. It wasn’t a part of Omega that Cherk visited regularly, so he made sure to load a map up on his omnitool, taking the quick download time to look out the window and get a glimpse of the huge facility.

Cherk quite liked the layout of Omega, but tonight he was just worried that he might spot a rocket headed toward him. That rocket, of course, never came.

---

𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚 - 𝐅𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭
𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Though he was thankful, he caught himself thinking that whoever had blown that luxury liner to smithereens probably hadn’t thought this far ahead. He chased the thoughts down with a snide, Sloppy work. Cherk kept his eyes open as he waddled out of the shuttle with his Batarian chauffeur, a former slaver turned – well, a current slaver, just working for the right people this time. Cherk’s respirator sounded as he pulled up an address to punch into his map.

Culi Hen
2145 Lead Road, Apt. 678
Zumi District

Staring down at the thing, he couldn’t help but think that the name was fake. He wasn’t too familiar with Asari culture, but Culi Hen sounded too made up to him. Maybe he was just reading into things a bit too much, but he was too short on time to really dig his fingers into things. Regardless of whether it was real or fake, this was who hired him, and so he had to bag her for questioning. “Odham, get your nets ready. I’ll go in first, see if I can get her to come along quiet.” The volus’s tone was strictly professional, and he saved his breath for the end of the sentence.

Cherk buzzed the residence once, and when he was greeted by the face of an Elcor his guard shot up. “Hello, I’m looking for a…” Cherk pretended he was checking a list, as if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes memorizing a name as he tried to get through the streets of this unfamiliar District, “Culi Hen?” His respirator squeaked as he looked back to the Elcor answering the buzz. “With frustration: One second.” The face on the other end flared as the Elcor exhaled before walking off and mumbling something in the background. In a few short moments, the Asari popped up on screen. “Yeah what is – oh shit.” Her eyes recognized the volus, and he shifted to the side uneasily. “There seems to have been an issue with payment processing, and my omnitool is on the fritz, so I figured I’d drop by to discuss options.” His respirator, again, squeaked, almost as if it was trying to play up the unassuming nature of the volus. However, it didn’t take much for an Omega resident to detect the threat in his words.

Luckily, the Asari buzzed him in anyways.

As the volus wandered into the building, he shot off a quick message to Odham,

Care – Unidentified Elcor.

Cherk hopped into an elevator and passed the time by messaging a few of his guild members on Galaxy of Fantasy. Just the usual banter followed by a couple of more technically inclined directions to secure some loot later. Schedules meant that only a few people would be on, so a part of him felt obligated to get his job done quick so he could hop on and help them. Upon arriving at the door to the apartment, Cherk made sure to dust himself off enough to look presentable. He practiced a few openers before extending his hand to ring the residents inside and stood suspiciously still as he waited.

A few more moments later, and the door opened to the Elcor from earlier. He marched out of the apartment rather abruptly and continued going until he was gone. Cherk’s respirator sighed in relief, but on the inside, he was trying to figure out how to quickly get a message to someone to follow him out. Anybody could be in on it, and it would have been unfortunate to let someone worm out of his grasp. He quickly pulled up his omnitool and shot off a message to his Batarian companion, typing it out so fast that it was riddled with typos.

Now, that simply wouldn’t do. Each recursive attempt to correct it at the same speed only ended in failure, and after the third or fourth time, he resorted to starting the message over to make sure it came across clearly. By the time he was done, the Asari from earlier was giving him an impatient look, and he was sure that he was being overly suspicious. His respirator sounded in the awkward silence as he looked up to her.

“Sorry, had to send a message to someone on Galaxy of Fantasy. Do you play?”

It was the least suspicious thing he could think to say.

“So, what’s this about payment? Could we get this over with quick, I sent my friend to grab some food and I’d like you to be gone by the time he gets back.”

“Ah, I was hoping that maybe you could come down to discuss the details with my associates and I in the Carrd District. We’ve completed the job and –”

“Well, I don’t have the money yet. Could I swing by tomorr-”

Cherk’s hand hovered down near his trusted Executioner, and his tone turned a bit more serious at the mention of no money. He wasn’t as displeased as he let on, but he figured it’d be a good excuse to kidnap her. Couldn’t much do anything about it in Omega anyhow. But really, he just liked playing up the threats. And maybe he was a bit touchy about the money. Just a bit, honest.

---

𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚 - 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭
𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐭

Culi Hen’s real name was Halixse Sedeeri, and her Elcor friend was named Carrlon. They’d both put up rather miniscule fights (though, truthfully, it had been Odham who’d scrapped with the Elcor, and it had also been him who’d helped bring haul him into an interrogation room – well, really, that one was a combined effort from a few folks he had to call in for assistance). Everything they said seemed to point to the fact that they didn’t have any real idea to what was going on, they’d been paid off by someone else to request the job, and the poor bozos didn’t even remember the name of their own employer. Halixse was high out of her mind, and Carrlon was either putting on one hell of an act, or he was truly just that absent minded. Cherk didn’t know which possibility was more frustrating.

Interrogation wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he was determined to get something more tangible out of the two. The past hour or so had been exciting, but more importantly, it had meant that he hadn’t had a chance to check his omnitool for a while. He had a few messages from higher ups, a few job requests, and more importantly, frantic requests for him to hop onto Galaxy of Fantasy. The volus lamented the fact that he’d let things get so out of hand, but he figured he’d get to them later. Except the messages from higher up – he had to get to those right away.

Mostly small things – “Oh, did you finish adding up those numbers yet?”, “I’ll put a hole in your suit and watch you squirm if you don’t hurry up with those numbers.”, “I heard you play Galaxy of Fantasy.”, “You really shouldn’t be playing games while you’re supposed to be sorting numbers.”, “SERIOUSLY, IF YOU DON’T FINISH THOSE NUMBERS SOON I’LL FEED YOU TO A KROGAN.” – just the usual chit-chat among frustrated clientele. One did stand out though, something about a job offer that he couldn’t refuse (this time from a source he knew was good). It was low stakes, needed a team that could get it done quick, etc. etc. Cherk glanced it over and shot a response to the sender, confirming that he had a team that could take it on, all he needed were the details.

---

To: Ardan Parvius, Cheyenne Jung, Khosin Grathe Sedgoroh, Kori’andh nar Chayym, Kyo Zhang, Naryxa Kesir, Zaash Gakkez
From: Cherk Sab
Title: Update on the Incident at New Syrtis

Hello all,

Unfortunately, it seems that we were hired through a proxy. Luckily, we’ve detained our proxy along with a potential accomplice, so we should have a reliable lead soon. I was hoping to get this out of the way sooner, but we’ll have to wait until their systems are clean to see if they’re a bit more clearheaded. If you’d like to ask them questions yourself, please feel free. We currently have a small villa of sorts located in the Carrd District if you need lodging for the next few days. It is rare that a mission goes this sour, and I’d like to apologize for not vetting it properly. It was a time-sensitive gig that offered an unrealistic amount of money, something which would have been too good to pass up.

I’m sure that you all have your suspicions (wise, especially in this part of the galaxy), but I can assure you I had nothing to do with this incident. Unfortunately, we will most likely not be receiving payment for this job, so as a gesture of good will, I have forwarded each of you your share of 1/10th of the funds we were promised from my own pocket. That works out to roughly 1666 Credits for each of you, with the remainder being set aside for Kori’andh, whose share I have transferred to the appropriate individuals.
Additionally, seeing as how I did hire you for a mission as opposed to a framing, I would also like to extend another offer to you. I will forward it to those of you still interested in working with me as soon as the details are passed along to me.

Again, there is relatively safe lodging here if you need somewhere to lay low while this whole ordeal blows by, and I would recommend coming down regardless of whether you have something worked out somewhere else.

Sincerest apologies,
Cherk Sab