Sir Lurksalot

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

"Wait... what?"

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For a moment, Caddach was honestly caught a bit off-guard; His body tensed as the Orc woman strained against her bindings and the sound of stretching steel filled his ears, his feet moving beneath him to rise into a slight crouch with his back still to the wall. A slight haze in the air around him the only hint of the fortification magic he suddenly began to pulse through his body— amplifying the lad's strength and speed— as his eyes locked onto the potential threat. Not in panic or fear, but something much more clinical— an echo of a life before his current, rather domestic profession, of a youth spent training as a Knight and the under the unorthodox tutelage of a damned Dremora in the Arcane University— a cold, patient resolve that though the red-headed Orsimer had gotten the jump on him last time, it would not happen again...

...Which is why it threw him for such a loop when Roshanarra, after snapping the chains free from the walls, ripping off her mask and laying her eyes on him again... simply apologized. With a vaguely Altmeri accent, to boot. Enough that the haze around the boy faded as Caddach throttled back on his magic, allowed his shoulders to slack and cocked his head to the side. In that moment, not entirely sure how to process the distinct absence of a round two to their previous hostilities... but kinda feeling like an arse at how gung-ho for it he had become for a second there.

"...Huh."

He clicked his tongue a little as he realized that his Reachman was showing.

Caddach didn't have time to ponder that or verbally accept Rosh's apology however, as the audible chaos outside the small window near the cell's ceiling and through the halls of the prison itself put an abrupt end to the conversation. As did the corpse of the guy in the spooky red armor that came tumbling down the hallway outside their cell, skewered and bloodied after the Legionaries were done with it and Caddach took note of the permanent grimace on it's spiked helmet now staring emptily into their joined space for a few seconds before fading away, leaving behind an Imperial face twisted into some expression deranged bliss... wearing a scarlet robe. With the lad staring right back, his eyes narrowing in instant recognition as cold realization dawned upon him.

"Oh, Tiber..."

He recognized those robes. He'd seen them in Eldamil's wardrobe after finding that fucking book on the man's desk earlier that very day. Though before he could ponder that particular nugget of awareness and trepidation, that familiar bark of Renault's voice echoed through the cell and rattled in his ears. Closer than it had been earlier, as she stomped into view in front of the door, visibly seething at seeing them all in there, so Caddach just kept his head down to avoid her equally familiar glare as she entered— The Captain having been rather sore about him and his family since breaking up with his brother— and definitely averted his gaze when the fucking EMPEROR of all people entered in behind her. Though he did allow his eyes to flick upward for a moment to share a knowing look with Baurus, who simply gave him a quick nod and a gesture to keep quiet, before Caddach's gaze turned towards Glenroy— the third Blade in their trio— who mumbled a quick apology and shuffled past to reveal that Caddach had apparently been leaning against a the entrance to a secret passage the whole time... before offering out a hand to help the lad onto his feet once Baurus was busy addressing the assembled prisoners and Renault wasn't looking.

"Glenroy." Caddach greeted, grasping the offered appendage by the forearm and grunting a little as the armoured man hauled him to his feet.

"Thraigyr." The Blade greeted in kind, cocking a brow slightly at the young man's condition, even as he stepped out of the way of the towering Khajiit that lumbered past down into the hole he'd just opened up in the wall. "You look like you ran face-first into Stendarr's hammer, the fuck happened to ya?"

For a second, Caddach's eyes flicked over to Roshanarra and narrowed slightly before flicking back to Glenroy again and speaking before the man could follow his gaze.

"Eh, just a bar-fight. Didn't even see who jumped me, truth be told." He lied with a dismissive shake of his head, before quickly changing the topic. "Is it true, then, all that screaming about Geldall?"

"Every word of it."

A cold chill crept up from Caddach's gut alongside a quietly hissed 'Draigh!' at those words, as he leaned back against the wall and out of the way as yet more prisoners hauled their way past, either down the hole or to try their luck in the prison in the midst of the ongoing chaos; It wasn't like Caddach could claim to be friends with the now-former heir to the Ruby Throne, but Geldall had always been good to the castle staff— Even before their little breakfast today— so to hear he died in such a way struck the lad somewhere quite personal.

"But, we're in a better spot than we would've been if you and Baurus hadn't found that bloody book earlier." Glenroy added quietly, using the relative chaos of all the movement in the cell and Renault's barking to go unheard by most others. "You with us? Divines know we could use all the help we can get right now."

The look that came to the lad's face at that moment told the older Blade all he needed to know, as Caddach thumbed his own nose with one last flicker of restoration magic and hocked a loogie full of whatever lingering blood was left in his nostril off to the side.

"Aye, I'm with ya."

"Good lad." Glenroy replied with a nod and a small grin, despite the circumstances, before quickly snapping his eyes towards one of the guards Renault had sent to gather equipment from the lockbox. Pointing at one of the fallen watchmen on the ground as he barked; "You! That man no longer needs his sword! Toss it here!"

And, catching the weapon as it arrived soon after— Scabbard and all— Glenroy offered one last command as he handed the weapon over and Caddach took a step back to attach it to his belt.

"I have to stay with His Majesty, you go on ahead with the others." He ordered quickly. "Help them clear the way if you can, but don't do anything too reckless."

Giving Glenroy a quick nod of affirmation, Caddach cast his eyes back to Roshanarra again as the Imperial Blade turned away to rejoin his liege's side. Offering the Orsimer woman a seemingly amused raise of his brow as he leaned forward slightly and whispered;

"Buy me a beer later and we'll call it even."

Before turning away and heading down the tunnel himself.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

"Locked in a cell with cannibals, lunatics, the Orc that kicked my arse and I am fairly certain that that guy just drank poop water... but hey, I'm not dead yet."

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"Caddach."

The lad returned Darmon's greeting with a small wave of his free hand, allowing a smirk to come to his face as he set his back to the wall again and relaxed. Not minding too much that his initial inquiry to the rest of his cellmates seemed to be lost amongst the sudden arrival of the substantially-sized Khajiit, or the rambunctious and quite possibly batshit crazy ravings of Yarmira... though he wasn't exactly one to judge that, he'd never been to Valenwood or really met many Bosmer from from deep in the Green— as the diminutive Bosmer confessed to be from— so as far as he knew the words of her voice actually made sense in that distant land. Though the mention of Y'ffre rang an old bell in the back of his head, making the young man's gaze travel towards the girl again and his brows to furrow; a flickering memory of his grandmother Elyza— a Druid in her own day— would often still utter prayers to him under her breath as she mercifully cut the throat of their wounded prey after a long hunt, gently stroking the poor creature to ease it's spirit as it passed into the next lif—

'—Wait, did that guy over there just drink shit-water?' The thought came suddenly, interrupting all the vivid memories that came before as Caddach's gaze suddenly locked onto the incredibly verbose man. Watching in silent astonishment as not only did the man indeed slurp down the poop-juice, but then tried to claim innocence for it. Only to be called out on that by a spooky-looking Nord lady that moved in a way that was... uncomfortably familiar to him, though he couldn't quite figure out why; like an old warning in the back of his head he'd heard as a boy, but couldn't quite remember the details of.

Though it did make the boy watch her carefully, far more attentively than he did Kiffar, the Argonians or even the chained Orsimer that had spent the evening trying to flatten his skull. Dark tales from his grandfather's youth and the memory of how tense some of his cousins became when dealing with certain tribes in the eastern fringes of High Rock starting to trickling in from his memory as he quietly watched the way she moved; regarding her as something wild, not quite human... and dangerous.

Though, not dangerous enough to keep him from speaking up when she started joking about eating the poor gentleman, fouled water and all... at least, Caddach hoped she was joking.

"Ma'am, I'd greatly appreciate it if you didn't terrorize that man any more than you have to." Caddach deadpanned in her direction. "It smells bad enough in here as it is; we don't need to make it any worse by adding something wet and brown to the inside of his trousers."

Sure, they were all really only going to be in here for about as long as it took the Legion to make sure the riots outside were good and done, but that didn't mean that Caddach fancied spending the rest of the evening and into the morning marinating in shit-smell. Though he set that thought to the side as another in the cell— a fellow Breton, around his age— addressed him, admitting she hadn't anything in the way of cards or dice, either. At her request for a story, however, the lad smiled a bit and gave the woman a shrug.

"Well, I'm no priest of Zenithar... but if you want the juicy details of my day, I suppose I could oblige." Caddach began with an amused chuckle as he folded his hands behind his head. "I'm a Groundskeeper by trade and my employer's son is getting married today, so me and the rest of the staff had to wake up before dawn to make sure doubly sure that everything was in perfect order— scrub the floors, polish the shiny bits, get the food ready— that kinda thing. Not that I'm complaining mind you, It's what they pay me for... that, and the groom-to-be himself— a good sort— swung by to tell us to take a break and to make sure we were all fed. So that was nice."

Sure, Caddach was omitting a few details— who exactly he worked for being among them— but that was just professional discretion. Well, that and his awareness that some bloody-nosed Breton kid in a prison cell was probably not going to be taken seriously if he mentioned how he and his coworkers had sat down for a casual breakfast with the future Emperor that same morning.

"After everything was all set up, we were released to our usual duties while the fancier servants took charge of the wedding. And that was business as usual; clean the eaves-troughs, scrub the floors, walk in on a pair of wedding guests doing something strange in a broom closet— which honestly happens a lot more than you'd think; nobles of a certain rank and upward tend to do some crazy things that'd make even Dibella blush when they get bored. You learn to stop being surprised by it after a while... besides, what an Altmeri priestess does to her Nordic boytoy with a pair of shackles and a potato is none of my business." He continued, dryly. Before leaning forward a little with a smirk and drawing two fingers upward. "...Though in hindsight, I have my suspicions that that potato may have met with a very unfortunate end."

He raised that same hand in a sharp upward motion at his implication, clapping his hand down on his forearm at the same time, letting out a little snort.

"Either way, after all that was done. I was let off early to go see the big fight." Caddach continued, easing back against the wall again and pointedly leaving out the part about the book, or the fact that it was a Blade that had told him to take off. "...Which was, of course, very disappointing. Before I headed off to Daggerfall Dan's for a quick pint or two, got tripped by some douchebag I knew back in the Arcane University, spilled my beer and then got a suckerpunch directly to the face by the lovely Lady of Fisticuffs and Finger-Munching over there."

He paused to indicate towards Roshanara, still chained to the wall and still visibly pissed.

"Which I could honestly deal with; I grew up around a lot of Orsimer so I knew that some form of comeuppance was coming my way the second I heard the splash and saw where it landed." He said. "...Besides, it was pretty funny watching her toss the guy who tripped me out the bloody window— Didn't know Altmer voices could even go that high!— Though... less so when someone tried to steal my wallet and, before I could get my brain together to figure out what the fuck was even happening, our friend over there jumped on me again and started trying to actually kill me."

Caddach shot another look towards Rosh again. Looking actually pissed for the first time in his little tale, a flicker of lightning dancing across his fingertips for a half-second before he took a sharp breath in through clenched teeth and relaxed again, shaking his head.

"Luckily, I'm fairly decent at fortification spells. Otherwise, I'd likely be a red stain on the bar's floor instead of sitting here, talking your ear off right now." He finished, turning his eyes back towards Sablyn again and noting the way she observed the Guards through the bars. "And I wouldn't worry too much about the Watch, I doubt they'll lay any charges; They just want us in here and not out there with the rioters... Hell, they'll probably even give us all something greasy from the kitchen before they release us in the morning to ward off any hangovers."

Caddach let that one hang in the air for a moment before fixing Sablyn with a raised brow.

"What about you?" He asked. "How'd you wind up down here with the rest of us, Miss...?"

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

"Nine above, that woman has a helluva right hook..."

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"Respectfully, Sir..." Caddach rasped as the Orcish holy-man returned to the cell to offer his services to the rest of their misbegotten, bloodied roommates of circumstance, the lad's voice taking on a slight (and comical) whistling note due to his broken nose. Letting out a wet little snort and giving a slight nod towards the red-headed Orc chained up nearby with a look somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. "...I think I've had quite my fill of strangers touching my face for one day."

Instead, he cast his eyes down towards his right hand— his left already busy holding a wet cloth he'd frosted over with magicka to his bruised brow— and tilted his previously mixed expression rather firmly in the direction of 'grimace', before gingerly tapping it to his nose. Producing a brief flicker of white light from his fingertips, a loud cacophony of broken cartilage snapping, popping and knitting itself back into place and a deeply uncomfortable hiss from his throat that rattled off the walls of the cramped cell. Before his shoulders slackened, and he relaxed against the wall— mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like "Meridia's big glowing arse..." under his breath and cursing himself within his own head for not having spent more time trying to make up for his deficiencies with Restoration Magic.

Shooting one final glare towards the Orsimer woman who'd previously left his nose with the approximate thickness of a fucking dinner plate over a singular spilled pint, Caddach allowed himself to ponder at what point exactly his day had gone to shit. Was it when had to wake up well before dawn with the rest of the lads to make doubly sure at the last minute that the floors, walls and ceiling were extra shiny for Geldall's engagement banquet? Nah, definitely not; the groom himself had come by with his guards halfway through and ordered them all to 'Take a break and bloody well eat something, for Tiber's sake!' when he'd heard how early they'd all woken up. And with the kitchens in full swing for a Septim Wedding, Caddach ate pretty damned well.

Was it walking in on a pair of nobles from Alinor and Skyrim— both invited for Geldall's banquet— having a rather intimate moment in the broom closet featuring shackles, a ball-gag, a hot poker and a potato? Probably not— Caddach had been working in the Tower long enough to understand that there was always a small chance of walking in on somebody doing something weird whenever he opened a door. So he had just grabbed what he needed— a mop and bucket—, politely informed the pair of somewhere perhaps more suited to their privacy and carried on his merry way... though he still wondered what that potato was for.

...Was it perhaps what he'd found on Lord Eldamil's desk?

Yeah. That probably did it; Baurus seemed rather fucking spooked by it when he showed it to him— though he tried to hide it with an easy smile— and it wasn't every day that a Blade ordered him to take the rest of the day off. But our boy Caddach wasn't exactly one to question the authority of the Emperor's personal bodyguards, nor was he apt to refuse the opportunity to see the big fight in the arena (despite how disappointing that turned out to be) or an excuse to cap his day off with a few frosty pints at Daggerfall Dan's... something that usually didn't end with being tripped by an Altmer fuckwit with a grudge and then having his face pounded damn-near flat by the biggest fucking Orc he'd ever seen... which was saying a lot, because Caddach had actually been to Orsinium and knew a whole lot of Orcs.

Yet here he was. In a crowded cell in the Imperial Prison with everyone else who was still breathing and within arm's reach by the time the Legion came to re-establish order; his shirt and face soiled with dried blood (less dry now, as fresh crimson now leaked freely from his now-corrected and unobstructed nose). His features— though no longer swollen— still black and blue as all hell and the wallet in his pocket long gone— funnily enough the lad had actually felt the hand that had liberated it from his person in the chaos of the bar-fight and grabbed it by the wrist, but never got to see whom it belonged to before that same Orc punched him right in the face again and twice more for good measure.

All in all, not a good time.

'...Yeah, on second thought, fuck Eldamil and fuck his stupid book.'

Growling a little at that thought and allowing himself to enjoy the petty bit of spite that followed, the (mostly) Breton crossed his legs and scanned his eyes around the cell at the other occupants with a raised brow and a slightly punch-drunk smirk as he wiped at his bleeding nose with his forearm.

"So... anybody happen to have dice...? Maybe a set of cards?" He asked dryly, finding some small smidgen of humour in all this. Despite the circumstances. "We'll probably be down here until at least the morning, so we might as well pass the time with something other than silence."

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

The Freakin' Groundskeeper

"...So, would this be a bad time to point out that I have no idea what I'm doing?"

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Name: Caddach Thraigyr
Age: 19
Race: Breton, Mostly
Appearance: Of relatively modest height— standing at only 5'6"— but surprisingly built as a consequence of both his occupation and the Karthic blood in his veins. Caddach's light brown hair (with the occasional tinge of the ginge) is cut short in the legionary fashion, both to keep it out of his sharp green eyes and to keep his head cool during those balmy Cyrodiil summers, where he often finds himself working on rooftops across the Palace District— which also accounts for his near constant farmer's tan.

The lad's not without his eccentricities, however; Like the scar on his left brow put there by one Altmer in particular that didn't like him too much, a few other nicks and claw marks here and there from a rowdy youth that included playfully wrestling with his grandma's sabrecat and an unusual tattoo on his left shoulder of Argonian origin, scarified and slightly raised, as it was put there by a mallet and chisel.

Personality: A child of Cyrodiil through and through, Caddach is a clever, hardworking, often sarcastic but all around good natured kind of lad who, despite all his family's wealth and being noble by birth, has never really acted the part; the result of growing up around many different kinds of people from all sorts of places as well as his House's general shutting out from 'Proper Society' by the Nibenese High-Nobility for their 'foreign' origins and ways. As such, to the eyes of anyone else, he's pretty much just your average kid from the Imperial City— knowing the place with the kind of intuition only a local could. Like where to get what you want, where you'll be ripped off and where to cover your coin-purse as well as being on a first-name basis with all sorts; beggars, mercs, shopkeeps, inn-keepers and guards— many of whom he's known since he was a kid and some he actually grew up with. Though that's not to say he's some soft-skinned city boy either, and his youthful travels as well as being raised largely by his grandparents have made him just as comfortable sitting at a campfire in Black Marsh, hiking through the Colovian Highlands or within the walls of Orsinium as he would be at home.

At the end of the day, despite his storied lineage and arguably much more successful siblings, our boy Caddach has never aspired to be anything more than what he actually is. Just a local guy, loyal to his Empire and Emperor, doing his job, paying his taxes and going out for a drink with his friends on the weekends to watch the Grey Prince stomp some ass.

Just a guy. Nothing more, nothing less.

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Abilities:

Skills

Groundskeeper: Caddach's job is to maintain the Imperial Palace, and he's actually gotten pretty good at it; a bit of carpentry here, a bit of slating or masonry there, sweeping or scrubbing the floors... That kind of thing.

Innawoods Survival Training: A consequence of all those trips he took as a boy, and going out camping with his grandparents so often; Caddach is actually quite comfortable in the outdoors and can hunt, scavenge, fish, build a fire to cook the things he hunts, scavenges and fishes and doesn't do too bad of a job at the cooking part either. Can also do the basic things like building a lean-to to protect himself from the elements when he sleeps and knows where to, and more importantly, where not to dig a latrine.

Animal Knowledge: When you grow up with a Druid and a Reachman for grandparents, in a house with many animals, like, for example; a lazy sabrecat, a cuddly, very well taken care of and affectionate skeever and multiple horse-sized wolves... you learn a few things. Though this will likely not see much use outside of perhaps tracking game, identifying and warding off wild animals and perhaps, just maybe, deactivating a hostile— or just scared— beast with the application of precision scritches in the right spot.

Martial Knowledge: Though he hasn't seriously trained with a weapon in years, as a scion to a family of knights, a good chunk of his youth before entering the Arcane University (and even then, unofficially carrying it on under his 'tutor') was spent in martial training, making him familiar with weapons of all kinds— and having more of a knack for it at the time than maybe even he himself realised... Though the most he gets out of it these days is the occasional spar with bored palace guards or a few nobles.

Educated: Though Caddach doesn't speak, or usually act all that differently than your other average kid born and raised in the Imperial City, and generally keeps his mouth shut and his head down while doing his work, he's actually far more clever than he ever really lets on. Sharp, even for a Breton and not at all hindered by his family's relative wealth affording him a damned decent education from an early age and access to all the books he could ever want as a kid.

Magicka: Before his unceremonious booting from the Arcane University, Caddach managed to pick up a thing or two from his... particularly unorthodox teacher. Namely a bit of restoration, some uncommon tricks from the school of destruction (like the ability to use melee weapons as a magical focus, though he is somewhat out of practice with it) and an actually impressive amount from the school of alteration; some of which are technically forbidden under Tamrielic law.

Herbalism: Caddach's dear old grandma Elyza was a druid back in the day, and made sure to pass on some of her knowledge to her darling little 'Snuggle-Bug'. So while his tumultuous time at the Arcane University prevented him from becoming a proper alchemist, he still has more than enough knowledge to identify and make use of nature's bounty to know what can be eaten and to create everything from salves, tonics and remedies to more mundane things like good spices, soothing teas, refreshing poscas and some of grandma's assorted super-secret recipes for food and snacks.

Magic

Destruction

Frost: Skilled enough to use it offensively... maybe, but these days Caddach uses it mainly to chill his drink or, on a really hot day, on himself to cool off, so he's a bit out of practice.

Fire: As above, our boy is— theoretically, anyway— skilled enough to make use of fire spells on the attack. However, Caddach hasn't actually done so in a while, mainly using it for mundane things like heating his tea or cooking his lunch on the fly, so he's juuuuust a bit rusty.

Shock: Something Caddach was trained extensively in, both by Ted and his grandfather before that, as a Nine-Damned lightning bolt to the face is an immediate and particularly effective 'Fuck you and your mom' to anybody looking for the smoke. However, he basically hasn't used it at all since taking on his new job, as there isn't much place for lightning in the day-to-day life of a Groundskeeper, so he's severely out of practice.

Water: A neat, non-standard variation of the Frost spell Caddach picked up as a kid. Useful for a quick drink on the go, filling canteens and buckets or hosing down your friends as a cheeky prank. Actually gets a lot of use out of this one on hot days.

Alteration

Light: One of Caddach's more day-to-day spells, mainly because it's a helluva lot better than carrying a torch around all day on the off-chance he has to keep working into the night. With the added bonus that it's a lot less likely to catch things (like, say, tar) on fire.

Waterwalking: One of the first spells Caddach ever learned as a child, and something he used so often it became almost second nature. Great for not drowning if you fall off a boat, getting to weird places or, if you were a dumb kid like he was in his youth, infinite amusement riding those big damned waves off the Gold Coast. Also very useful for catching slaughterfish, oddly enough; As all you really have to do is stand there, wiggle your feet to get one's attention, then step out of the way as it comes up— mad as all Oblivion and looking for your toes— and whack it with a stick.

Waterbreathing: Something else he learned early on when he was a kid, partly as a back up in case the waterwalking thing failed for some reason and partly because he had a lot of Argonian friends growing up, and the spell helped him keep up with their innate ability to breathe underwater all those times they went out for a dive in the Niben looking for cool stuff or for a bit of spear fishing.

Feather/Burden: A combo of spells Caddach's Dremora friend was damned sure to drill into his head for their utility and for the fact that, in his own words "Anything you can make weigh a few hundred pounds on the downswing is a damned fine weapon.". Unlike a lot of other things he learned from Ted, he actually uses these almost every damned day in his new job, as there's no shortage of heavy things he has to carry or hammers that could use juuuust a little more 'Oomph!'.

Shield: Another hand-me-down from Ted, who reasoned that if the boy was going to be throwing spells, he might as well learn how to protect against them, too— As well as any hypothetical jackass comes at him with a big damned axe or something of the like. Suffice to say, hasn't really had much use of it as of late.

Levitation: Another thing he learned from Ted; While Caddach is nowhere near the level of, say, the masters in Morrowind (who can outright fly), he can 'Jump good' and 'Not die' pretty great after coming down, too. And while these feats are technically illegal under the so-called Levitation Act of 3E 421, the Palace Guards have always looked the other way the one or two times where he (or a coworker) have fallen off the roof and he chose to break the law instead of making a big red mess all over the Emperor's lawn.

Unlock: Really great for when Caddach forgets his keys.

Restoration

Healing: It was never his strong suit, but Caddach can heal his own wounds and to a lesser extent, others. Though it's a slower process than someone who's actually skilled in the art and a whole lot less... pleasant; with wounds still leaving behind gnarly scars afterward and bones roughly snapping back into place instead of gently weaving themselves back together as they normally would.

Fortify Strength/Speed: Something Caddach learned very quickly after he started going on those dives with his friends as a kid. More specifically, after encountering his first swarm of slaughterfish and having to piggyback a (slightly chewed) Argonian all the way home.

Equipment:

Personal Items

-Work clothes; Leather boots with steel toe-caps, brown work pants with a whole lotta pockets bloused into said boots to stop them getting caught on things, and a simple, white short-sleeved shirt with more than a few stains on it from his job.
-A little paper bag of the Arena's home brand of jerky, sweet and spicy flavoured.
-Two little bread rolls.
-A wet cloth one of the guards gave him on request, one that he's frosted over to have something cool to hold against his now very sore head and black eye.

The Lock Box

-His keys, both for around the palace and to his family home.
-A Wine-skin filled with honey-juniper posca.
-A set of dice.

Background:

The Charming Tale of a Young Man Destined to be Punched in the Face

Born to a branch of an ancient, though (until relatively recently) minor noble house from the Westreach region of High Rock that had migrated down to the Imperial City just over a century prior, Caddach had... honestly, a pretty damned decent childhood. Though not high enough on the social totem pole to be invited to those kinds of galas, banquets and balls the Nibenese elite like to throw every other day, partly due to being considered 'Foreigners', even after several generations of living in the capital and partly due to the sheer scandal of a family perceived to be far too friendly with those savages of the Reach— though that accusation in particular actually has some truth to it, as the young man's grandfather and namesake being very much a Reachman, his mother half-so, though she tried to hide it, and even his father's side of the family being suspiciously broad-shouldered and more sturdily built than most Bretons— the tidy profit his family earned from the overland trade of rare alchemical goods, ores and animals from their family's holdings in the Westreach, spices from eastern Hammerfell and lumber from Colovia meant that he and his family could live very comfortably indeed. Even moreso when his eldest brother took the two remaining ships the family had mothballed in Anvil after trade across the Abecean dried up in the wake of the War of Betony to extend their usual trade route down the Niben and into southern Elsweyr and Black Marsh.

So, Caddach whittled his days away as a youth playing in the streets with the other neighbourhood kids like any child of the Imperial City would, learning how to fight as any Thraigyr child should and every once in a while riding out on the back of his Karthwolf, Ryka (a very good girl, in case you were wondering) to visit his uncle out in Kvatch, or going up the trade route with his dad one way to visit friends and relatives in High Rock, Hammerfell and Orsinium or down the other to meet with new trading partners in Elsweyr and Argonia— One trip to the latter in particular resulting in a tattoo on his shoulder a local shaman insisted he should have after a certain incident, the boy himself thought was kind of neat and his mother absolutely hated.

Finally, at the age of fourteen, his second oldest brother began poking him about joining him in the Legions in a few years time. But his heart was set on writing his entrance exams and getting into the Arcane University, so he could stay close to home, which he did that very same year.

And incidentally, that's about when his life ceased to be a charming tale of a young lad traveling the world and making new friends along the way and became a outright fucking comedy.

For no sooner did he walk in the front door to the highest institution of learning in the entire Empire, did he encounter Saullon Ocato— or as he'll call him 'til the day he dies; 'The Fuckwit'— who took one look at him up and down and decided that there was no way in Nirn or Oblivion that this 'Little Barbarian Shit' was going to pollute his university. And very quickly, Caddach would find to his initial horror and eventual annoyance that any potion he mixed would either fail or just blow up in his face, any book he tried to study or report he tried to write would mysteriously either go missing, burst into flames, or some other crazy shit, and any official he tried to bring this apparent sabotage to the attention to, or Nine forbid asked to be taught by being dismissive, mocking, aloof, outright hostile or any combination of the above. And to top it all off, the one time he brought it up to his own mother she outright told him to keep his mouth shut and put up with it so as not to complicate things for their family.

Never mind all the times his clothes would just vanish off his body as he walked through the halls. Or freeze solid. Or spontaneously combust. Or all the times Saul and his ilk would just casually stroll up and punch him right in the godsdamned face, knowing full well he wasn't allowed to hit them back— Something in particular that galled Caddach as he was pretty certain he only needed to punch the spindly Altmer exactly once to snap every bone above his shoulders.

A few months into his tenure, unable to learn, no one willing to teach him but with his family having supported the university too generously in the past (while probably being unaware of it's inner workings) to get rid of him, the lad would find himself downgraded to being essentially an unpaid janitor. Which is where, oddly enough, he found the only instructor he'd ever have his whole time there- 'Ted', Saullon's own bound Daedra who'd been stuck with him for over a decade and hated the little bastard even more than Caddach did. And who was more than happy to teach him all sorts of things the instructors never would, even if they were doing their jobs; like how to fool magic wards, pop open locks with a touch, the first two phases of now very illegal levitation magic and how to really fight with magic. Things Caddach would use to get into the library to sneakily read all the books that were suddenly forbidden to him, and educate himself on all the gaps that Ted couldn't teach.

Two years past that, our boy had long since given up on ever rising above his status as the unofficial toilet-scrubber for the University and was simply learning for his own sake. Riiiiight up until he found one book in particular, one he realized he had to study thoroughly, spending an entire week on it, in fact. Following which he'd toss his mage robes directly into the trash, and go looking for Saullon, who he'd find as he typically did throughout the day, with his whole hypesquad of dipshits and a grumbling Ted in tow and immediately unbound the battle-hardened Daedra right on the spot with all he'd learned from that particular book. A last favour to the best friend he had ever made in that damned place. Who, in turn, must've been the happiest Dremora that ever fucking existed.

He had been waiting years to deliver this ass-whooping, after all.

As Caddach expected, he was immediately expelled from the Arcane University for that particular stunt, though officially he was let go for his poor grades; the full scope of the incident and all that led up to it being a serious threat to too many careers if it ever made the light of day in an official report— At that point, though, Caddach could really give less of a shit about it, and was just happy to leave. There were still... consequences for unleashing a Dremora Kynmarcher on the First Councillor's nephew, however; Caddach himself would be forever branded as a failure of a mage by the Arcane University— a black mark that would prevent him being accepted into most other magical institutions. His family was also told in no uncertain terms that Caddach's little sister, Elara, would not be permitted to study at the University either, as she was set to start in the summer... though to be fair, once she learned what had went on, she outright stated that she would 'Only ever enter that place to burn it to the fucking ground!'.

It also made his home life rather difficult. With his eldest brother and little sister having the boy's back, his mother and second oldest brother being quick to label him a disgrace and a stain on the family and his father caught in the middle; both disappointed in his son for what he'd done, but also furious at not only what led up to the incident, but that his own wife knew and hid it from him.

After less than a week of all this back and forth, it all became too much to deal with, so Caddach just packed a bag and left... yet only made it about a block away from his house by Renault, a Captain in the Blades and an old friend of his brother's, who had been politely asked (because nobody but the Septims orders the Blades to do anything) by First Councillor Ocato to bring the lad to the Imperial Palace for a 'chat'.

Where, assuming he was about to be quietly cut apart by spooky men with knives for his insult to the First Councillor's household... Caddach was instead quite surprised to meet with a suspiciously unassuming Alfiq Khajiit by the name of Riba— the official in charge of the Palace's day to day operations— who had been made aware of the boy and his little 'incident' in the Arcane University by Ocato himself and to Caddach's further surprise... offered him a job as a Groundskeeper. Where he'd be apprenticed to masons, slaters, carpenters and tradesmen of all kinds to learn how to best maintain the Palatial Grounds, that he could stay in the general servants quarters for a few months on a probationary period before getting his own little room, and that, most importantly— and she really stressed this— he was to "Pay attention."

Because, as Riba put it; "One clever servant is sometimes worth more than ten armed guards."

And there he's been ever since. Cleaning out eaves-troughs, scrubbing floors, re-slating the roofs in the Palace District and, most importantly watching, listening and learning just as he was instructed to do those three years ago. And honestly? Caddach kinda likes it. Sure, the labour can be rough sometimes, and you get a lot of weird things going on in the Imperial Palace, buuuuut, it pays well, the room, food and haircuts are free, he gets weekends off and he's actually made a few friends among the other palace staff and guards; even going out to the Arena then onto Daggerfall Dan's (a popular pub in the Arena District) after quittin' time every other Fredas.

All in all, not a bad life for a supposed 'Failed Mage'.

...Well, it was.

Right up until he was let off early to go see the big fight in the arena and some dickhead tripped him in the bar afterward, making him spill some beer on a very specific Orc. Which, subsequently, earned him the mother of all punches to the face.

He doesn't know it yet, but Caddach's life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

...The massive shiner he's currently wearing aside.

Ambition: Caddach... doesn't really have any great ambition or personal goals; he's quite satisfied in his career, thank you very much. Though he wouldn't mind reconciling with his family after having become the proverbial black sheep.

Thraigyr Bits

House Thraigyr

An ancient, though relatively minor house, first attested in the records of the Direnni as one of eight 'Warden Houses' raised in the early First Era to stand sentinel over the Hegemony's frontier in the Westreach... though those same records are vague as to whether they were directly transplanted there by the Altmer of Balfiera— as the Direnni tended to do with their 'Manmeri' bastards— or if the family was already a known quantity in the region among the native Nedic and Karthic peoples. Though neither clan has ever refuted their family ties.

The only one of the eight 'Warden Houses' to survive into the modern day, House Thraigyr enjoys a unique position of being not only a Knightly House of High Rock (with all the privileges that brings) but also enjoys the fruits of a longstanding policy of prioritizing cooperation and commerce with their neighbours in Wrothgar and Druadach over conquest and subjugation. Enjoying strong ties not only with the Kingdom of Evermor, but the local Reachfolk and even the nearby Orcs as well, being one of the few Breton houses willing to deal fairly with (most) incarnations of Orsinium throughout the ages... and in fact being a direct vassal to the Orcish King in the modern day, due to the effects of the Warp in the West. Something that Gortwog gro-Nagorm felt no need to 'correct' afterward because, as the saying goes; "Thraigyr loyalty is like Wrothgarian rain— FUCKING CONSISTENT."

Though largely considered no more than an eccentric curiosity in the wider history of High Rock, the family is still at least widely respected in their local area. Though they are still occasionally subject to ridicule and sometimes outright reviled in other places for their perceived (actually, rather open) habit of 'intermingling' with the Orcs and the Reachfolk.

Thraigyrs of High Rock
The main branch of the family, with a long and storied history in Eastern High Rock, serving various Kings and Queens throughout the ages in both peace and war as both a loyal vassal and intermediary between Breton monarchs and their Karthic subjects— though not blindly, as they have been known to rise in rebellion when sufficiently provoked— and have produced at least two Regents for the Kingdom of Evermor and one in Jehenna and Dragonstar each over the centuries. In the modern day, they serve the Kingdom of Orsinium in their traditional role as 'Wardens of the Reach' and often as ambassadors to Evermor, being one of the few Breton Houses in King Gortwog's employ.

Thraigyrs of Hammerfell
The second oldest branch of the family, the (at the time, modest) presence of House Thraigyr in Dragonstar and Craglorn goes all the way back to the Direnni Hegemony, until they were abruptly forced out by the Yokudan Warrior Waves. Only to trickle back in again over the next few decades and centuries either by their own enterprise or at the invite of Forebear rulers, who requested their expertise in dealing with both the challenges on the frontiers of their new home, and in treating with those the Warrior Waves never managed to fully expel; the Reachmen and the Orcs. In the modern day, the Thraigyr of Hammerfell serve mostly as a source of chartered mercenaries in the province's East that can be relied upon to hold to a certain code of conduct, working in conjunction with local Fighters Guilds. And, more recently, to guard the family's trade caravans going to and from Cyrodiil.

Thraigyrs of Cyrodiil
The youngest branch of the family, House Thraigyr's presence in Cyrodiil began as a modest enterprise trading goods back and forth between Cyrodiil and High Rock just over a century ago. Evolving over the decades into a profitable trade enterprise using their contacts within the Reach to import rare alchemical goods (among other things) to the Imperial City and luxury items back to High Rock that damn near exploded during the chaos of the Simulacrum. Where the family gained a reputation of actually being able to deliver it's goods, even in the midst of the multiple wars happening at the time, though this would not be enough to prevent their maritime operations out of Anvil from drying up after the War of Betony. Where, in later decades, the Cyrodiilic branch would instead focus their remaining ships on trading up and down the Niben into Elsweyr and Black Marsh.

In the modern day, the Thraigyrs of Cyrodiil stand in a strange position in Imperial society; wealthy but not particularly influential, liked by the common people for bringing good jobs and affordable housing to the Capital during and after the Simulacrum but scorned by the old Nibenese houses for being foreign upstarts and 'barbarians', fitting in but not quite 'fitting in', as it were. The growth of what would become the neighborhood of 'Little Wrothgar' in the Imperial City standing as physical proof to their eccentricity.

Little Wrothgar

An unofficial 'Burough' in the Market District of the Imperial City, Little Wrothgar finds it's roots as the relatively poor neighbourhood in which the Thraigyrs first set up shop in the early days of their trade ventures into Cyrodiil. Expanding in influence as the family reinvested their growing profits into buying more properties around their initial operation to not only house their own workforce coming down from High Rock and Hammerfell, but to offer good paying jobs and low rents (with the option to own) to the impoverished locals. Something that attracted more and more immigrants to the area (especially after the establishment of the initial overland ventures into Elsweyr and Argonia) and an accompanying flurry of construction to accommodate them.

This would eventually draw the ire of a certain few local Noble families. Who, already annoyed about an ongoing dispute regarding Colovian lumber and incensed by these 'upstarts' bringing so many foreigners into their city, would successfully petition the Elder Council for a ruling to not only halt the Thraigyrs from buying up any more of the surrounding property, but to force them to build a 'Suitable Wall' to keep their dangerous goods secure and to pay the City Watch for the inconvenience of guarding it... for everyone's safety, of course!

Knowing better than to argue with a decree from the Elder Council, the then-head of the Cyrodiilic Thraigyrs opted to adhere to the ruling in the most spiteful way he possibly could; by instead starting to build upward instead of outward and hiring Orcish Architects to build that bloody wall. A rather substantial and very 'distinct' structure that stands to this very day, not only demarcating the neighbourhood's borders, but standing as a gleeful monument to malicious compliance.

Today, Little Wrothgar stands as a relatively safe and prosperous section of the Market District, where housing still remains affordable to this day due to a regime of rent control and investments into local businesses. With eclectic architecture incorporating elements of cultures spanning the whole of the Thraigyr trade route (From High Rock to Elsweyr and Argonia) and a diverse smattering of people to match as a very deliberate flip of the bird in the direction to the Nibense Nobility. It's increasingly vertical architecture, incorporating towers with terraced gardens and shops built on bridges between them serving only to twist the knife even further.

The fact that the Watch like being posted there— the family having gone above and beyond the initial agreement and built them their own barracks— doesn't much help with schemes to 'Bring that eyesore down' either.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

Obligatory janitor.

The Freakin' Groundskeeper

"...So, would this be a bad time to point out that I have no idea what I'm doing?"

---

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Name: Caddach Thraigyr
Age: 19
Race: Breton, Mostly
Appearance: Of relatively modest height— standing at only 5'6"— but surprisingly built as a consequence of both his occupation and the Karthic blood in his veins. Caddach's light brown hair (with the occasional tinge of the ginge) is cut short in the legionary fashion, both to keep it out of his sharp green eyes and to keep his head cool during those balmy Cyrodiil summers, where he often finds himself working on rooftops across the Palace District— which also accounts for his near constant farmer's tan.

The lad's not without his eccentricities, however; Like the scar on his left brow put there by one Altmer in particular that didn't like him too much, a few other nicks and claw marks here and there from a rowdy youth that included playfully wrestling with his grandma's sabrecat and an unusual tattoo on his left shoulder of Argonian origin, scarified and slightly raised, as it was put there by a mallet and chisel.

Personality: A child of Cyrodiil through and through, Caddach is a clever, hardworking, often sarcastic but all around good natured kind of lad who, despite all his family's wealth and being noble by birth, has never really acted the part; the result of growing up around many different kinds of people from all sorts of places as well as his House's general shutting out from 'Proper Society' by the Nibenese High-Nobility for their 'foreign' origins and ways. As such, to the eyes of anyone else, he's pretty much just your average kid from the Imperial City— knowing the place with the kind of intuition only a local could. Like where to get what you want, where you'll be ripped off and where to cover your coin-purse as well as being on a first-name basis with all sorts; beggars, mercs, shopkeeps, inn-keepers and guards— many of whom he's known since he was a kid and some he actually grew up with. Though that's not to say he's some soft-skinned city boy either, and his youthful travels as well as being raised largely by his grandparents have made him just as comfortable sitting at a campfire in Black Marsh, hiking through the Colovian Highlands or within the walls of Orsinium as he would be at home.

At the end of the day, despite his storied lineage and arguably much more successful siblings, our boy Caddach has never aspired to be anything more than what he actually is. Just a local guy, loyal to his Empire and Emperor, doing his job, paying his taxes and going out for a drink with his friends on the weekends to watch the Grey Prince stomp some ass.

Just a guy. Nothing more, nothing less.

---

Abilities:

Skills

Groundskeeper: Caddach's job is to maintain the Imperial Palace, and he's actually gotten pretty good at it; a bit of carpentry here, a bit of slating or masonry there, sweeping or scrubbing the floors... That kind of thing.

Innawoods Survival Training: A consequence of all those trips he took as a boy, and going out camping with his grandparents so often; Caddach is actually quite comfortable in the outdoors and can hunt, scavenge, fish, build a fire to cook the things he hunts, scavenges and fishes and doesn't do too bad of a job at the cooking part either. Can also do the basic things like building a lean-to to protect himself from the elements when he sleeps and knows where to, and more importantly, where not to dig a latrine.

Animal Knowledge: When you grow up with a Druid and a Reachman for grandparents, in a house with many animals, like, for example; a lazy sabrecat, a cuddly, very well taken care of and affectionate skeever and multiple horse-sized wolves... you learn a few things. Though this will likely not see much use outside of perhaps tracking game, identifying and warding off wild animals and perhaps, just maybe, deactivating a hostile— or just scared— beast with the application of precision scritches in the right spot.

Martial Knowledge: Though he hasn't seriously trained with a weapon in years, as a scion to a family of knights, a good chunk of his youth before entering the Arcane University (and even then, unofficially carrying it on under his 'tutor') was spent in martial training, making him familiar with weapons of all kinds— and having more of a knack for it at the time than maybe even he himself realised... Though the most he gets out of it these days is the occasional spar with bored palace guards or a few nobles.

Educated: Though Caddach doesn't speak, or usually act all that differently than your other average kid born and raised in the Imperial City, and generally keeps his mouth shut and his head down while doing his work, he's actually far more clever than he ever really lets on. Sharp, even for a Breton and not at all hindered by his family's relative wealth affording him a damned decent education from an early age and access to all the books he could ever want as a kid.

Magicka: Before his unceremonious booting from the Arcane University, Caddach managed to pick up a thing or two from his... particularly unorthodox teacher. Namely a bit of restoration, some uncommon tricks from the school of destruction (like the ability to use melee weapons as a magical focus, though he is somewhat out of practice with it) and an actually impressive amount from the school of alteration; some of which are technically forbidden under Tamrielic law.

Herbalism: Caddach's dear old grandma Elyza was a druid back in the day, and made sure to pass on some of her knowledge to her darling little 'Snuggle-Bug'. So while his tumultuous time at the Arcane University prevented him from becoming a proper alchemist, he still has more than enough knowledge to identify and make use of nature's bounty to know what can be eaten and to create everything from salves, tonics and remedies to more mundane things like good spices, soothing teas, refreshing poscas and some of grandma's assorted super-secret recipes for food and snacks.

Magic

Destruction

Frost: Skilled enough to use it offensively... maybe, but these days Caddach uses it mainly to chill his drink or, on a really hot day, on himself to cool off, so he's a bit out of practice.

Fire: As above, our boy is— theoretically, anyway— skilled enough to make use of fire spells on the attack. However, Caddach hasn't actually done so in a while, mainly using it for mundane things like heating his tea or cooking his lunch on the fly, so he's juuuuust a bit rusty.

Shock: Something Caddach was trained extensively in, both by Ted and his grandfather before that, as a Nine-Damned lightning bolt to the face is an immediate and particularly effective 'Fuck you and your mom' to anybody looking for the smoke. However, he basically hasn't used it at all since taking on his new job, as there isn't much place for lightning in the day-to-day life of a Groundskeeper, so he's severely out of practice.

Water: A neat, non-standard variation of the Frost spell Caddach picked up as a kid. Useful for a quick drink on the go, filling canteens and buckets or hosing down your friends as a cheeky prank. Actually gets a lot of use out of this one on hot days.

Alteration

Glowlight: One of Caddach's more day-to-day spells, mainly because it's a helluva lot better than carrying a torch around all day on the off-chance he has to keep working into the night. With the added bonus that it's a lot less likely to catch things (like, say, tar) on fire.

Waterwalking: One of the first spells Caddach ever learned as a child, and something he used so often it became almost second nature. Great for not drowning if you fall off a boat, getting to weird places or, if you were a dumb kid like he was in his youth, infinite amusement riding those big damned waves off the Gold Coast. Also very useful for catching slaughterfish, oddly enough; As all you really have to do is stand there, wiggle your feet to get one's attention, then step out of the way as it comes up— mad as all Oblivion and looking for your toes— and whack it with a stick.

Waterbreathing: Something else he learned early on when he was a kid, partly as a back up in case the waterwalking thing failed for some reason and partly because he had a lot of Argonian friends growing up, and the spell helped him keep up with their innate ability to breathe underwater all those times they went out for a dive in the Niben looking for cool stuff or for a bit of spear fishing.

Feather/Burden: A combo of spells Caddach's Dremora friend was damned sure to drill into his head for their utility and for the fact that, in his own words "Anything you can make weigh a few hundred pounds on the downswing is a damned fine weapon.". Unlike a lot of other things he learned from Ted, he actually uses these almost every damned day in his new job, as there's no shortage of heavy things he has to carry or hammers that could use juuuust a little more 'Oomph!'.

Shield: Another hand-me-down from Ted, who reasoned that if the boy was going to be throwing spells, he might as well learn how to protect against them, too— As well as any hypothetical jackass comes at him with a big damned axe or something of the like. Suffice to say, hasn't really had much use of it as of late.

Levitation: Another thing he learned from Ted; While Caddach is nowhere near the level of, say, the masters in Morrowind (who can outright fly), he can 'Jump good' and 'Not die' pretty great after coming down, too. And while these feats are technically illegal under the so-called Levitation Act of 3E 421, the Palace Guards have always looked the other way the one or two times where he (or a coworker) have fallen off the roof and he chose to break the law instead of making a big red mess all over the Emperor's lawn.

Unlock: Really great for when Caddach forgets his keys.

Restoration

Healing: It was never his strong suit, but Caddach can heal his own wounds and to a lesser extent, others. Though it's a slower process than someone who's actually skilled in the art and a whole lot less... pleasant; with wounds still leaving behind gnarly scars afterward and bones roughly snapping back into place instead of gently weaving themselves back together as they normally would.

Fortify Strength/Speed: Something Caddach learned very quickly after he started going on those dives with his friends as a kid. More specifically, after encountering his first swarm of slaughterfish and having to piggyback a (slightly chewed) Argonian all the way home.

Equipment:

Personal Items

-Work clothes; Leather boots with steel toe-caps, brown work pants with a whole lotta pockets bloused into said boots to stop them getting caught on things, and a simple, white short-sleeved shirt with more than a few stains on it from his job.
-A little paper bag of the Arena's home brand of jerky, sweet and spicy flavoured.
-Two little bread rolls.
-A wet cloth one of the guards gave him on request, one that he's frosted over to have something cool to hold against his now very sore head and black eye.

The Lock Box

-His keys, both for around the palace and to his family home.
-A Wine-skin filled with honey-juniper posca.
-A set of dice.

Background:

The Charming Tale of a Young Man Destined to be Punched in the Face

Born to a branch of an ancient, though (until relatively recently) minor noble house from the Westreach region of High Rock that had migrated down to the Imperial City just over a century prior, Caddach had... honestly, a pretty damned decent childhood. Though not high enough on the social totem pole to be invited to those kinds of galas, banquets and balls the Nibenese elite like to throw every other day, partly due to being considered 'Foreigners', even after several generations of living in the capital and partly due to the sheer scandal of a family perceived to be far too friendly with those savages of the Reach— though that accusation in particular actually has some truth to it, as the young man's grandfather and namesake being very much a Reachman, his mother half-so, though she tried to hide it, and even his father's side of the family being suspiciously broad-shouldered and more sturdily built than most Bretons— the tidy profit his family earned from the overland trade of rare alchemical goods, ores and animals from their family's holdings in the Westreach, spices from eastern Hammerfell and lumber from Colovia meant that he and his family could live very comfortably indeed. Even moreso when his eldest brother took the two remaining ships the family had mothballed in Anvil after trade across the Abecean dried up in the wake of the War of Betony to extend their usual trade route down the Niben and into southern Elsweyr and Black Marsh.

So, Caddach whittled his days away as a youth playing in the streets with the other neighbourhood kids like any child of the Imperial City would, learning how to fight as any Thraigyr child should and every once in a while riding out on the back of his Karthwolf, Ryka (a very good girl, in case you were wondering) to visit his uncle out in Kvatch, or going up the trade route with his dad one way to visit friends and relatives in High Rock, Hammerfell and Orsinium or down the other to meet with new trading partners in Elsweyr and Argonia— One trip to the latter in particular resulting in a tattoo on his shoulder a local shaman insisted he should have after a certain incident, the boy himself thought was kind of neat and his mother absolutely hated.

Finally, at the age of fourteen, his second oldest brother began poking him about joining him in the Legions in a few years time. But his heart was set on writing his entrance exams and getting into the Arcane University, so he could stay close to home, which he did that very same year.

And incidentally, that's about when his life ceased to be a charming tale of a young lad traveling the world and making new friends along the way and became a outright fucking comedy.

For no sooner did he walk in the front door to the highest institution of learning in the entire Empire, did he encounter Saullon Ocato— or as he'll call him 'til the day he dies; 'The Fuckwit'— who took one look at him up and down and decided that there was no way in Nirn or Oblivion that this 'Little Barbarian Shit' was going to pollute his university. And very quickly, Caddach would find to his initial horror and eventual annoyance that any potion he mixed would either fail or just blow up in his face, any book he tried to study or report he tried to write would mysteriously either go missing, burst into flames, or some other crazy shit, and any official he tried to bring this apparent sabotage to the attention to, or Nine forbid asked to be taught by being dismissive, mocking, aloof, outright hostile or any combination of the above. And to top it all off, the one time he brought it up to his own mother she outright told him to keep his mouth shut and put up with it so as not to complicate things for their family.

Never mind all the times his clothes would just vanish off his body as he walked through the halls. Or freeze solid. Or spontaneously combust. Or all the times Saul and his ilk would just casually stroll up and punch him right in the godsdamned face, knowing full well he wasn't allowed to hit them back— Something in particular that galled Caddach as he was pretty certain he only needed to punch the spindly Altmer exactly once to snap every bone above his shoulders.

A few months into his tenure, unable to learn, no one willing to teach him but with his family having supported the university too generously in the past (while probably being unaware of it's inner workings) to get rid of him, the lad would find himself downgraded to being essentially an unpaid janitor. Which is where, oddly enough, he found the only instructor he'd ever have his whole time there- 'Ted', Saullon's own bound Daedra who'd been stuck with him for over a decade and hated the little bastard even more than Caddach did. And who was more than happy to teach him all sorts of things the instructors never would, even if they were doing their jobs; like how to fool magic wards, pop open locks with a touch, the first two phases of now very illegal levitation magic and how to really fight with magic. Things Caddach would use to get into the library to sneakily read all the books that were suddenly forbidden to him, and educate himself on all the gaps that Ted couldn't teach.

Two years past that, our boy had long since given up on ever rising above his status as the unofficial toilet-scrubber for the University and was simply learning for his own sake. Riiiiight up until he found one book in particular, one he realized he had to study thoroughly, spending an entire week on it, in fact. Following which he'd toss his mage robes directly into the trash, and go looking for Saullon, who he'd find as he typically did throughout the day, with his whole hypesquad of dipshits and a grumbling Ted in tow and immediately unbound the battle-hardened Daedra right on the spot with all he'd learned from that particular book. A last favour to the best friend he had ever made in that damned place. Who, in turn, must've been the happiest Dremora that ever fucking existed.

He had been waiting years to deliver this ass-whooping, after all.

As Caddach expected, he was immediately expelled from the Arcane University for that particular stunt, though officially he was let go for his poor grades; the full scope of the incident and all that led up to it being a serious threat to too many careers if it ever made the light of day in an official report— At that point, though, Caddach could really give less of a shit about it, and was just happy to leave. There were still... consequences for unleashing a Dremora Kynmarcher on the First Councillor's nephew, however; Caddach himself would be forever branded as a failure of a mage by the Arcane University— a black mark that would prevent him being accepted into most other magical institutions. His family was also told in no uncertain terms that Caddach's little sister, Elara, would not be permitted to study at the University either, as she was set to start in the summer... though to be fair, once she learned what had went on, she outright stated that she would 'Only ever enter that place to burn it to the fucking ground!'.

It also made his home life rather difficult. With his eldest brother and little sister having the boy's back, his mother and second oldest brother being quick to label him a disgrace and a stain on the family and his father caught in the middle; both disappointed in his son for what he'd done, but also furious at not only what led up to the incident, but that his own wife knew and hid it from him.

After less than a week of all this back and forth, it all became too much to deal with, so Caddach just packed a bag and left... yet only made it about a block away from his house by Renault, a Captain in the Blades and an old friend of his brother's, who had been politely asked (because nobody but the Septims orders the Blades to do anything) by First Councillor Ocato to bring the lad to the Imperial Palace for a 'chat'.

Where, assuming he was about to be quietly cut apart by spooky men with knives for his insult to the First Councillor's household... Caddach was instead quite surprised to meet with a suspiciously unassuming Alfiq Khajiit by the name of Riba— the official in charge of the Palace's day to day operations— who had been made aware of the boy and his little 'incident' in the Arcane University by Ocato himself and to Caddach's further surprise... offered him a job as a Groundskeeper. Where he'd be apprenticed to masons, slaters, carpenters and tradesmen of all kinds to learn how to best maintain the Palatial Grounds, that he could stay in the general servants quarters for a few months on a probationary period before getting his own little room, and that, most importantly— and she really stressed this— he was to "Pay attention."

Because, as Riba put it; "One clever servant is sometimes worth more than ten armed guards."

And there he's been ever since. Cleaning out eaves-troughs, scrubbing floors, re-slating the roofs in the Palace District and, most importantly watching, listening and learning just as he was instructed to do those three years ago. And honestly? Caddach kinda likes it. Sure, the labour can be rough sometimes, and you get a lot of weird things going on in the Imperial Palace, buuuuut, it pays well, the room, food and haircuts are free, he gets weekends off and he's actually made a few friends among the other palace staff and guards; even going out to the Arena then onto Daggerfall Dan's (a popular pub in the Arena District) after quittin' time every other Fredas.

All in all, not a bad life for a supposed 'Failed Mage'.

...Well, it was.

Right up until he was let off early to go see the big fight in the arena and some dickhead tripped him in the bar afterward, making him spill some beer on a very specific Orc. Which, subsequently, earned him the mother of all punches to the face.

He doesn't know it yet, but Caddach's life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

...The massive shiner he's currently wearing aside.

Ambition: Caddach... doesn't really have any great ambition or personal goals; he's quite satisfied in his career, thank you very much. Though he wouldn't mind reconciling with his family after having become the proverbial black sheep.

Thraigyr Bits

House Thraigyr

An ancient, though relatively minor house, first attested in the records of the Direnni as one of eight 'Warden Houses' raised in the early First Era to stand sentinel over the Hegemony's frontier in the Westreach... though those same records are vague as to whether they were directly transplanted there by the Altmer of Balfiera— as the Direnni tended to do with their 'Manmeri' bastards— or if the family was already a known quantity in the region among the native Nedic and Karthic peoples. Though neither clan has ever refuted their family ties.

The only one of the eight 'Warden Houses' to survive into the modern day, House Thraigyr enjoys a unique position of being not only a Knightly House of High Rock (with all the privileges that brings) but also enjoys the fruits of a longstanding policy of prioritizing cooperation and commerce with their neighbours in Wrothgar and Druadach over conquest and subjugation. Enjoying strong ties not only with the Kingdom of Evermor, but the local Reachfolk and even the nearby Orcs as well, being one of the few Breton houses willing to deal fairly with (most) incarnations of Orsinium throughout the ages... and in fact being a direct vassal to the Orcish King in the modern day, due to the effects of the Warp in the West. Something that Gortwog gro-Nagorm felt no need to 'correct' afterward because, as the saying goes; "Thraigyr loyalty is like Wrothgarian rain— FUCKING CONSISTENT."

Though largely considered no more than an eccentric curiosity in the wider history of High Rock, the family is still at least widely respected in their local area. Though they are still occasionally subject to ridicule and sometimes outright reviled in other places for their perceived (actually, rather open) habit of 'intermingling' with the Orcs and the Reachfolk.

Thraigyrs of High Rock
The main branch of the family, with a long and storied history in Eastern High Rock, serving various Kings and Queens throughout the ages in both peace and war as both a loyal vassal and intermediary between Breton monarchs and their Karthic subjects— though not blindly, as they have been known to rise in rebellion when sufficiently provoked— and have produced at least two Regents for the Kingdom of Evermor and one in Jehenna and Dragonstar each over the centuries. In the modern day, they serve the Kingdom of Orsinium in their traditional role as 'Wardens of the Reach' and often as ambassadors to Evermor, being one of the few Breton Houses in King Gortwog's employ.

Thraigyrs of Hammerfell
The second oldest branch of the family, the (at the time, modest) presence of House Thraigyr in Dragonstar and Craglorn goes all the way back to the Direnni Hegemony, until they were abruptly forced out by the Yokudan Warrior Waves. Only to trickle back in again over the next few decades and centuries either by their own enterprise or at the invite of Forebear rulers, who requested their expertise in dealing with both the challenges on the frontiers of their new home, and in treating with those the Warrior Waves never managed to fully expel; the Reachmen and the Orcs. In the modern day, the Thraigyr of Hammerfell serve mostly as a source of chartered mercenaries in the province's East that can be relied upon to hold to certain code of conduct, working in conjunction with local Fighters Guilds. And, more recently, to guard the family's trade caravans going to and from Cyrodiil.

Thraigyrs of Cyrodiil
The youngest branch of the family, House Thraigyr's presence in Cyrodiil began as a modest enterprise trading goods back and forth between Cyrodiil and High Rock just over a century ago. Evolving over the decades into a profitable trade enterprise using their contacts within the Reach to import rare alchemical goods (among other things) to the Imperial City and luxury items back to High Rock that damn near exploded during the chaos of the Simulacrum. Where the family gained a reputation of actually being able to deliver it's goods, even in the midst of the multiple wars happening at the time, though this would not be enough to prevent their maritime operations out of Anvil from drying up after the War of Betony. Where, in later decades, the Cyrodiilic branch would instead focus their remaining ships on trading up and down the Niben into Elsweyr and Black Marsh.

In the modern day, the Thraigyrs of Cyrodiil stand in a strange position in Imperial society; wealthy but not particularly influential, liked by the common people for bringing good jobs and affordable housing to the Capital during and after the Simulacrum but scorned by the old Nibenese houses for being foreign upstarts and 'barbarians', fitting in but not quite 'fitting in', as it were. The growth of what would become the neighborhood of 'Little Wrothgar' in the Imperial City standing as physical proof to their eccentricity.

Little Wrothgar

An unofficial 'Burough' in the Market District of the Imperial City, Little Wrothgar finds it's roots as the relatively poor neighbourhood in which the Thraigyrs first set up shop in the early days of their trade ventures into Cyrodiil. Expanding in influence as the family reinvested their growing profits into buying more properties around their initial operation to not only house their own workforce coming down from High Rock and Hammerfell, but to offer good paying jobs and low rents (with the option to own) to the impoverished locals. Something that attracted more and more immigrants to the area (especially after the establishment of the initial overland ventures into Elsweyr and Argonia) and an accompanying flurry of construction to accommodate them.

This would eventually draw the ire of a certain few local Noble families. Who, already annoyed about an ongoing dispute regarding Colovian lumber and incensed by these 'upstarts' bringing so many foreigners into their city, would successfully petition the Elder Council for a ruling to not only halt the Thraigyrs from buying up any more of the surrounding property, but to force them to build a 'Suitable Wall' to keep their dangerous goods secure and to pay the City Watch for the inconvenience of guarding it... for everyone's safety, of course!

Knowing better than to argue with a decree from the Elder Council, the then-head of the Cyrodiilic Thraigyrs opted to adhere to the ruling in the most spiteful way he possibly could; by instead starting to build upward instead of outward and hiring Orcish Architects to build that bloody wall. A rather substantial and very 'distinct' structure that stands to this very day, not only demarcating the neighbourhood's borders, but standing as a gleeful monument to malicious compliance.

Today, Little Wrothgar stands as a relatively safe and prosperous section of the Market District, where housing still remains affordable to this day due to a regime of rent control and investments into local businesses. With eclectic architecture incorporating elements of cultures spanning the whole of the Thraigyr trade route (From High Rock to Elsweyr and Argonia) and a diverse smattering of people to match as a very deliberate flip of the bird in the direction to the Nibense Nobility. It's increasingly vertical architecture, incorporating towers with terraced gardens and shops built on bridges between them serving only to twist the knife even further.

The fact that the Watch like being posted there— the family having gone above and beyond the initial agreement and built them their own barracks— doesn't much help with schemes to 'Bring that eyesore down' either.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

@Alfhedil
Bada-bing.

The Freakin' Groundskeeper

"...So, would this be a bad time to point out that I have no idea what I'm doing?"

---

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Name: Caddach Thraigyr
Age: 19
Race: Breton, Mostly
Appearance: Of relatively modest height— standing at only 5'6"— but surprisingly built as a consequence of both his occupation and the Karthic blood in his veins. Caddach's light brown hair (with the occasional tinge of the ginge) is cut short in the legionary fashion, both to keep it out of his sharp green eyes and to keep his head cool during those balmy Cyrodiil summers, where he often finds himself working on rooftops across the Palace District— which also accounts for his near constant farmer's tan.

The lad's not without his eccentricities, however; Like the scar on his left brow put there by one Altmer in particular that didn't like him too much, a few other nicks and claw marks here and there from a rowdy that included playfully wrestling with his grandma's sabrecat and an unusual tattoo on his left shoulder of Argonian origin, scarified and slightly raised, as it was put there by a mallet and chisel.

Personality: A child of Cyrodiil through and through, Caddach is a clever, hardworking, often sarcastic but all around good natured kind of lad who, despite all his family's wealth and being noble by birth, has never really acted the part; the result of growing up around many different kinds of people from all sorts of places as well as his House's general shutting out from 'Proper Society' by the Nibenese High-Nobility for their 'foreign' origins and ways. As such, to the eyes of anyone else, he's pretty much just your average kid from the Imperial City— knowing the place with the kind of intuition only a local could. Like where to get what you want, where you'll be ripped off and where to cover your coin-purse as well as being on a first-name basis with all sorts; beggars, mercs, shopkeeps, inn-keepers and guards— many of whom he's known since he was a kid and some he actually grew up with. Though that's not to say he's some soft-skinned city boy either, and his youthful travels as well as being raised largely by his grandparents have made him just as comfortable sitting at a campfire in Black Marsh, hiking through the Colovian Highlands or within the walls of Orsinium as he would be at home.

At the end of the day, despite his storied lineage and arguably much more successful siblings, our boy Caddach has never aspired to be anything more than what he actually is. Just a local guy, loyal to his Empire and Emperor, doing his job, paying his taxes and going out for a drink with his friends on the weekends to watch the Grey Prince stomp some ass.

Just a guy. Nothing more, nothing less.

---

Abilities:

Skills

Groundskeeper: Caddach's job is to maintain the Imperial Palace, and he's actually gotten pretty good at it; a bit of carpentry here, a bit of slating or masonry there, sweeping or scrubbing the floors... That kind of thing.

Innawoods Survival Training: A consequence of all those trips he took as a boy, and going out camping with his grandparents so often; Caddach is actually quite comfortable in the outdoors and can hunt, scavenge, fish, build a fire to cook the things he hunts, scavenges and fishes and doesn't do too bad of a job at the cooking part either. Can also do the basic things like building a lean-to to protect himself from the elements when he sleeps and knows where to, and more importantly, where not to dig a latrine.

Animal Knowledge: When you grow up with a Druid and a Reachman for grandparents, in a house with many animals, like, for example; a lazy sabrecat, a cuddly, very well taken care of and affectionate skeever and multiple horse-sized wolves... you learn a few things. Though this will likely not see much use outside of perhaps tracking game, identifying and warding off wild animals and perhaps, just maybe, deactivating a hostile— or just scared— beast with the application of precision scritches in the right spot.

Martial Knowledge: Though he hasn't seriously trained with a weapon in years, as a scion to a family of knights, a good chunk of his youth before entering the Arcane University (and even then, unofficially carrying it on under his 'tutor') was spent in martial training, making him familiar with weapons of all kinds— and having more of a knack for it at the time than maybe even he himself realised... Though the most he gets out of it these days is the occasional spar with bored palace guards or a few nobles.

Educated: Though Caddach doesn't speak, or usually act all that differently than your other average kid born and raised in the Imperial City, and generally keeps his mouth shut and his head down while doing his work, he's actually far more clever than he ever really lets on. Sharp, even for a Breton and not at all hindered by his family's relative wealth affording him a damned decent education from an early age and access to all the books he could ever want as a kid.

Magicka: Before his unceremonious booting from the Arcane University, Caddach managed to pick up a thing or two from his... particularly unorthodox teacher. Namely a bit of restoration, some uncommon tricks from the school of destruction (like the ability to use melee weapons as a magical focus, though he is somewhat out of practice with it) and an actually impressive amount from the school of alteration; some of which are technically forbidden under Tamrielic law.

Herbalism: Caddach's dear old grandma Elyza was a druid back in the day, and made sure to pass on some of her knowledge to her darling little 'Snuggle-Bug'. So while his tumultuous time at the Arcane University prevented him from becoming a proper alchemist, he still has more than enough knowledge to identify and make use of nature's bounty to know what can be eaten and to create everything from salves, tonics and remedies to more mundane things like good spices, soothing teas, refreshing poscas and some of grandma's assorted super-secret recipes for food and snacks.

Magic

Destruction

Frost: Skilled enough to use it offensively... maybe, but these days Caddach uses it mainly to chill his drink or, on a really hot day, on himself to cool off, so he's a bit out of practice.

Fire: As above, our boy is— theoretically, anyway— skilled enough to make use of fire spells on the attack. However, Caddach hasn't actually done so in a while, mainly using it for mundane things like heating his tea or cooking his lunch on the fly, so he's juuuuust a bit rusty.

Shock: Something Caddach was trained extensively in, both by Ted and his grandfather before that, as a Nine-Damned lightning bolt to the face is an immediate and particularly effective 'Fuck you and your mom' to anybody looking for the smoke. However, he basically hasn't used it at all since taking on his new job, as there isn't much place for lightning in the day-to-day life of a Groundskeeper, so he's severely out of practice.

Water: A neat, non-standard variation of the Frost spell Caddach picked up as a kid. Useful for a quick drink on the go, filling canteens and buckets or hosing down your friends as a cheeky prank. Actually gets a lot of use out of this one on hot days.

Alteration

Glowlight: One of Caddach's more day-to-day spells, mainly because it's a helluva lot better than carrying a torch around all day on the off-chance he has to keep working into the night. With the added bonus that it's a lot less likely to catch things (like, say, tar) on fire.

Waterwalking: One of the first spells Caddach ever learned as a child, and something he used so often it became almost second nature. Great for not drowning if you fall off a boat, getting to weird places or, if you were a dumb kid like he was in his youth, infinite amusement riding those big damned waves off the Gold Coast. Also very useful for catching slaughterfish, oddly enough; As all you really have to do is stand there, wiggle your feet to get one's attention, then step out of the way as it comes up— mad as all Oblivion and looking for your toes— and whack it with a stick.

Waterbreathing: Something else he learned early on when he was a kid, partly as a back up in case the waterwalking thing failed for some reason and partly because he had a lot of Argonian friends growing up, and the spell helped him keep up with their innate ability to breathe underwater all those times they went out for a dive in the Niben looking for cool stuff or for a bit of spear fishing.

Feather/Burden: A combo of spells Caddach's Dremora friend was damned sure to drill into his head for their utility and for the fact that, in his own words "Anything you can make weigh a few hundred pounds on the downswing is a damned fine weapon.". Unlike a lot of other things he learned from Ted, he actually uses these almost every damned day in his new job, as there's no shortage of heavy things he has to carry or hammers that could use juuuust a little more 'Oomph!'.

Shield: Another hand-me-down from Ted, who reasoned that if the boy was going to be throwing spells, he might as well learn how to protect against them, too— As well as any hypothetical jackass comes at him with a big damned axe or something of the like. Suffice to say, hasn't really had much use of it as of late.

Levitation: Another thing he learned from Ted; While Caddach is nowhere near the level of, say, the masters in Morrowind (who can outright fly), he can 'Jump good' and 'Not die' pretty great after coming down, too. And while these feats are technically illegal under the so-called Levitation Act of 3E 421, the Palace Guards have always looked the other way the one or two times where he (or a coworker) have fallen off the roof and he chose to break the law instead of making a big red mess all over the Emperor's lawn.

Unlock: Really great for when Caddach forgets his keys.

Restoration

Healing: It was never his strong suit, but Caddach can heal his own wounds and to a lesser extent, others. Though it's a slower process than someone who's actually skilled in the art and a whole lot less... pleasant; with wounds still leaving behind gnarly scars afterward and bones roughly snapping back into place instead of gently weaving themselves back together as they normally would.

Fortify Strength/Speed: Something Caddach learned very quickly after he started going on those dives with his friends as a kid. More specifically, after encountering his first swarm of slaughterfish and having to piggyback a (slightly chewed) Argonian all the way home.

Equipment:

Personal Items

-Work clothes; Leather boots with steel toe-caps, brown work pants with a whole lotta pockets bloused into said boots to stop them getting caught on things, and a simple, white short-sleeved shirt with more than a few stains on it from his job.
-A little paper bag of the Arena's home brand of jerky, sweet and spicy flavoured.
-Two little bread rolls.
-A wet cloth one of the guards gave him on request, one that he's frosted over to have something cool to hold against his now very sore head and black eye.

The Lock Box

-His keys, both for around the palace and to his family home.
-A Wine-skin filled with honey-juniper posca.
-A set of dice.

Background:

The Charming Tale of a Young Man Destined to be Punched in the Face

Born to a branch of an ancient, though (until relatively recently) minor noble house from the Westreach region of High Rock that had migrated down to the Imperial City just over a century prior, Caddach had... honestly, a pretty damned decent childhood. Though not high enough on the social totem pole to be invited to those kinds of galas, banquets and balls the Nibenese elite like to throw every other day, partly due to being considered 'Foreigners', even after several generations of living in the capital and partly due to the sheer scandal of a family perceived to be far too friendly with those savages of the Reach— though that accusation in particular actually has some truth to it, as the young man's grandfather and namesake being very much a Reachman, his mother half-so, though she tried to hide it, and even his father's side of the family being suspiciously broad-shouldered and more sturdily built than most Bretons— the tidy profit his family earned from the overland trade of rare alchemical goods, ores and animals from their family's holdings in the Westreach, spices from eastern Hammerfell and lumber from Colovia meant that he and his family could live very comfortably indeed. Even moreso when his eldest brother took the two remaining ships the family had mothballed in Anvil after trade across the Abecean dried up in the wake of the War of Betony to extend their usual trade route down the Niben and into southern Elsweyr and Black Marsh.

So, Caddach whittled his days away as a youth playing in the streets with the other neighbourhood kids like any child of the Imperial City would, learning how to fight as any Thraigyr child should and every once in a while riding out on the back of his Karthwolf, Ryka (a very good girl, in case you were wondering) to visit his uncle out in Kvatch, or going up the trade route with his dad one way to visit friends and relatives in High Rock, Hammerfell and Orsinium or down the other to meet with new trading partners in Elsweyr and Argonia— One trip to the latter in particular resulting in a tattoo on his shoulder a local shaman insisted he should have after a certain incident, the boy himself thought was kind of neat and his mother absolutely hated.

Finally, at the age of fourteen, his second oldest brother began poking him about joining him in the Legions in a few years time. But his heart was set on writing his entrance exams and getting into the Arcane University, so he could stay close to home, which he did that very same year.

And incidentally, that's about when his life ceased to be a charming tale of a young lad traveling the world and making new friends along the way and became a outright fucking comedy.

For no sooner did he walk in the front door to the highest institution of learning in the entire Empire, did he encounter Saullon Ocato— or as he'll call him 'til the day he dies; 'The Fuckwit'— who took one look at him up and down and decided that there was no way in Nirn or Oblivion that this 'Little Barbarian Shit' was going to pollute his university. And very quickly, Caddach would find to his initial horror and eventual annoyance that any potion he mixed would either fail or just blow up in his face, any book he tried to study or report he tried to write would mysteriously either go missing, burst into flames, or some other crazy shit, and any official he tried to bring this apparent sabotage to the attention to, or Nine forbid asked to be taught by being dismissive, mocking, aloof, outright hostile or any combination of the above. And to top it all off, the one time he brought it up to his own mother she outright told him to keep his mouth shut and put up with it so as not to complicate things for their family.

Never mind all the times his clothes would just vanish off his body as he walked through the halls. Or freeze solid. Or spontaneously combust. Or all the times Saul and his ilk would just casually stroll up and punch him right in the godsdamned face, knowing full well he wasn't allowed to hit them back— Something in particular that galled Caddach as he was pretty certain he only needed to punch the spindly Altmer exactly once to snap every bone above his shoulders.

A few months into his tenure, unable to learn, no one willing to teach him but with his family having supported the university too generously in the past (while probably being unaware of it's inner workings) to get rid of him, the lad would find himself downgraded to being essentially an unpaid janitor. Which is where, oddly enough, he found the only instructor he'd ever have his whole time there- 'Ted', Saullon's own bound Daedra who'd been stuck with him for over a decade and hated the little bastard even more than Caddach did. And who was more than happy to teach him all sorts of things the instructors never would, even if they were doing their jobs; like how to fool magic wards, pop open locks with a touch, the first two phases of now very illegal levitation magic and how to really fight with magic. Things Caddach would use to get into the library to sneakily read all the books that were suddenly forbidden to him, and educate himself on all the gaps that Ted couldn't teach.

Two years past that, our boy had long since given up on ever rising above his status as the unofficial toilet-scrubber for the University and was simply learning for his own sake. Riiiiight up until he found one book in particular, one he realized he had to study thoroughly, spending an entire week on it, in fact. Following which he'd toss his mage robes directly into the trash, and go looking for Saullon, who he'd find as he typically did throughout the day, with his whole hypesquad of dipshits and a grumbling Ted in tow and immediately unbound the battle-hardened Daedra right on the spot with all he'd learned from that particular book. A last favour to the best friend he had ever made in that damned place. Who, in turn, must've been the happiest Dremora that ever fucking existed.

He had been waiting years to deliver this ass-whooping, after all.

As Caddach expected, he was immediately expelled from the Arcane University for that particular stunt, though officially he was let go for his poor grades; the full scope of the incident and all that led up to it being a serious threat to too many careers if it ever made the light of day in an official report— At that point, though, Caddach could really give less of a shit about it, and was just happy to leave. There were still... consequences for unleashing a Dremora Markynaz on the First Councillor's nephew, however; Caddach himself would be forever branded as a failure of a mage by the Arcane University— a black mark that would prevent him being accepted into most other magical institutions. His family was also told in no uncertain terms that Caddach's little sister, Elara, would not be permitted to study at the University either, as she was set to start in the summer... though to be fair, once she learned what had went on, she outright stated that she would 'Only ever enter that place to burn it to the fucking ground!'.

It also made his home life rather difficult. With his eldest brother and little sister having the boy's back, his mother and second oldest brother being quick to label him a disgrace and a stain on the family and his father caught in the middle; both disappointed in his son for what he'd done, but also furious at not only what led up to the incident, but that his own wife knew and hid it from him.

After less than a week of all this back and forth, it all became too much to deal with, so Caddach just packed a bag and left... yet only made it about a block away from his house by Renault, a Captain in the Blades and an old friend of his brother's, who had been politely asked (because nobody but the Septims orders the Blades to do anything) by First Councillor Ocato to bring the lad to the Imperial Palace for a 'chat'.

Where, assuming he was about to be quietly cut apart by spooky men with knives for his insult to the First Councillor's household... Caddach was instead quite surprised to meet with a suspiciously unassuming Alfiq Khajiit by the name of Riba— the official in charge of the Palace's day to day operations— who had been made aware of the boy and his little 'incident' in the Arcane University by Ocato himself and to Caddach's further surprise... offered him a job as a Groundskeeper. Where he'd be apprenticed to masons, slaters, carpenters and tradesmen of all kinds to learn how to best maintain the Palatial Grounds, that he could stay in the general servants quarters for a few months on a probationary period before getting his own little room, and that, most importantly— and she really stressed this— he was to "Pay attention."

Because, as Riba put it; "One clever servant is sometimes worth more than ten armed guards."

And there he's been ever since. Cleaning out eaves-troughs, scrubbing floors, re-slating the roofs in the Palace District and, most importantly watching, listening and learning just as he was instructed to do those three years ago. And honestly? Caddach kinda likes it. Sure, the labour can be rough sometimes, and you get a lot of weird things going on in the Imperial Palace, buuuuut, it pays well, the room, food and haircuts are free, he gets weekends off and he's actually made a few friends among the other palace staff and guards; even going out to the Arena then onto Daggerfall Dan's (a popular pub in the Arena District) after quittin' time every other Fredas.

All in all, not a bad life for a supposed 'Failed Mage'.

...Well, it was.

Right up until he was let off early to go see the big fight in the arena and some dickhead tripped him in the bar afterward, making him spill some beer on a very specific Orc. Which, subsequently, earned him the mother of all punches to the face.

He doesn't know it yet, but Caddach's life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

...The massive shiner he's currently wearing aside.

Ambition: Caddach... doesn't really have any great ambition or personal goals; he's quite satisfied in his career, thank you very much. Though he wouldn't mind reconciling with his family after having become the proverbial black sheep.

Thraigyr Bits

House Thraigyr

An ancient, though relatively minor house, first attested in the records of the Direnni as one of eight 'Warden Houses' raised in the early First Era to stand sentinel over the Hegemony's frontier in the Westreach... though those same records are vague as to whether they were directly transplanted there by the Altmer of Balfiera— as the Direnni tended to do with their 'Manmeri' bastards— or if the family was already a known quantity in the region among the native Nedic and Karthic peoples. Though neither clan has ever refuted their family ties.

The only one of the eight 'Warden Houses' to survive into the modern day, House Thraigyr enjoys a unique position of being not only a Knightly House of High Rock (with all the privileges that brings) but also enjoys the fruits of a longstanding policy of prioritizing cooperation and commerce with their neighbours in Wrothgar and Druadach over conquest and subjugation. Enjoying strong ties not only with the Kingdom of Evermor, but the local Reachfolk and even the nearby Orcs as well, being one of the few Breton houses willing to deal fairly with (most) incarnations of Orsinium throughout the ages... and in fact being a direct vassal to the Orcish King in the modern day, due to the effects of the Warp in the West. Something that Gortwog gro-Nagorm felt no need to 'correct' afterward because, as the saying goes; "Thraigyr loyalty is like Wrothgarian rain— FUCKING CONSISTENT."

Though largely considered no more than an eccentric curiosity in the wider history of High Rock, the family is still at least widely respected in their local area. Though they are still occasionally subject to ridicule and sometimes outright reviled in other places for their perceived (actually, rather open) habit of 'intermingling' with the Orcs and the Reachfolk.

Thraigyrs of High Rock
The main branch of the family, with a long and storied history in Eastern High Rock, serving various Kings and Queens throughout the ages in both peace and war as both a loyal vassal and intermediary between Breton monarchs and their Karthic subjects— though not blindly, as they have been known to rise in rebellion when sufficiently provoked— and have produced at least two Regents for the Kingdom of Evermor and one in Jehenna and Dragonstar each over the centuries. In the modern day, they serve the Kingdom of Orsinium in their traditional role as 'Wardens of the Reach' and often as ambassadors to Evermor, being one of the few Breton Houses in King Gortwog's employ.

Thraigyrs of Hammerfell
The second oldest branch of the family, the (at the time, modest) presence of House Thraigyr in Dragonstar and Craglorn goes all the way back to the Direnni Hegemony, until they were abruptly forced out by the Yokudan Warrior Waves. Only to trickle back in again over the next few decades and centuries either by their own enterprise or at the invite of Forebear rulers, who requested their expertise in dealing with both the challenges on the frontiers of their new home, and in treating with those the Warrior Waves never managed to fully expel; the Reachmen and the Orcs. In the modern day, the Thraigyr of Hammerfell serve mostly as a source of chartered mercenaries in the province's East that can be relied upon to hold to certain code of conduct, working in conjunction with local Fighters Guilds. And, more recently, to guard the family's trade caravans going to and from Cyrodiil.

Thraigyrs of Cyrodiil
The youngest branch of the family, House Thraigyr's presence in Cyrodiil began as a modest enterprise trading goods back and forth between Cyrodiil and High Rock just over a century ago. Evolving over the decades into a profitable trade enterprise using their contacts within the Reach to import rare alchemical goods (among other things) to the Imperial City and luxury items back to High Rock that damn near exploded during the chaos of the Simulacrum. Where the family gained a reputation of actually being able to deliver it's goods, even in the midst of the multiple wars happening at the time, though this would not be enough to prevent their maritime operations out of Anvil from drying up after the War of Betony. Where, in later decades, the Cyrodiilic branch would instead focus their remaining ships on trading up and down the Niben into Elsweyr and Black Marsh.

In the modern day, the Thraigyrs of Cyrodiil stand in a strange position in Imperial society; wealthy but not particularly influential, liked by the common people for bringing good jobs and affordable housing to the Capital during and after the Simulacrum but scorned by the old Nibenese houses for being foreign upstarts and 'barbarians', fitting in but not quite 'fitting in', as it were. The growth of what would become the neighborhood of 'Little Wrothgar' in the Imperial City standing as physical proof to their eccentricity.

Little Wrothgar

An unofficial 'Burough' in the Market District of the Imperial City, Little Wrothgar finds it's roots as the relatively poor neighbourhood in which the Thraigyrs first set up shop in the early days of their trade ventures into Cyrodiil. Expanding in influence as the family reinvested their growing profits into buying more properties around their initial operation to not only house their own workforce coming down from High Rock and Hammerfell, but to offer good paying jobs and low rents (with the option to own) to the impoverished locals. Something that attracted more and more immigrants to the area (especially after the establishment of the initial overland ventures into Elsweyr and Argonia) and an accompanying flurry of construction to accommodate them.

This would eventually draw the ire of a certain few local Noble families. Who, already annoyed about an ongoing dispute regarding Colovian lumber and incensed by these 'upstarts' bringing so many foreigners into their city, would successfully petition the Elder Council for a ruling to not only halt the Thraigyrs from buying up any more of the surrounding property, but to force them to build a 'Suitable Wall' to keep their dangerous goods secure and to pay the City Watch for the inconvenience of guarding it... for everyone's safety, of course!

Knowing better than to argue with a decree from the Elder Council, the then-head of the Cyrodiilic Thraigyrs opted to adhere to the ruling in the most spiteful way he possibly could; by instead starting to build upward instead of outward and hiring Orcish Architects to build that bloody wall. A rather substantial and very 'distinct' structure that stands to this very day, not only demarcating the neighbourhood's borders, but standing as a gleeful monument to malicious compliance.

Today, Little Wrothgar stands as a relatively safe and prosperous section of the Market District, where housing still remains affordable to this day due to a regime of rent control and investments into local businesses. With eclectic architecture incorporating elements of cultures spanning the whole of the Thraigyr trade route (From High Rock to Elsweyr and Argonia) and a diverse smattering of people to match as a very deliberate flip of the bird in the direction to the Nibense Nobility. It's increasingly vertical architecture, incorporating towers with terraced gardens and shops built on bridges between them serving only to twist the knife even further.

The fact that the Watch like being posted there— the family having gone above and beyond the initial agreement and built them their own barracks— doesn't much help with schemes to 'Bring that eyesore down' either.

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Duncan MacTyr

??? — Dirt Road

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---

Duncan let out a little breath of relief as the noblewoman seemed to approve of their motley trio and turned her attentions to other matters. Namely the poor girl laying wounded by the carriage. Hikari had been quick to volunteer, and Steven was not long behind her, our old man, on the other hand, well...

Two was great, but three started to make a crowd when administering first-aid in his experience— too many hands and too many brains moving about the same body and bumping into each other— and there was also the little fact that the last first-aid course he'd ever been to had been an army refresher module back in '84... And he'd honestly slept through most of the damned thing because he knew he was retiring soon and there was nobody in that bloody room who outranked him enough to give him hell for it.

So instead, Duncan busied himself by tearing off another piece of green cloak and giving his sword a wipe down; not particularly wanting all that gunk to get into his scabbard where it'd undoubtedly start to smell like all hell and be a right pain in the ass to clean out. Before tearing off another clean piece and giving the shield he'd used so enthusiastically before the same treatment, pausing for a second to register that his manic melee-ing earlier seemed to have unfastened a clasp he hadn't noticed earlier; one hiding a much longer strap that might allow him to carry it on his back instead of having to lug it around on his arm.

Which was a welcome sight, truth be told; fucking thing would probably get heavy on the arm after a while.

Frowning somewhat at a particularly stubborn piece of brain that still clung to the shield's face, he reached down to tear off another piece of green cloth and came to a sudden stop as he felt something... different through his gloves. Causing his head to cock to the side slightly and his eyes to cast down toward the corpse beside him for a moment, before he plucked up and pulled the cloak out of the way.

There he found... two rolls of paper, tucked into the back of the bandit-turned-stiff's belt. One looking like a hastily folded note and the other appearing as a more proper looking scroll. His eyes cast upward again as he gingerly plucked the two parchments free, taking another, deeper look around him.

For as much as their previous attackers had outnumbered them, and as much damage as they had done... there was an awful lot of them laying dead or dying on the ground. And Ol' MacTyr had been around the block in enough places over the course of his career to have encountered bandits and highwaymen before— less so while fighting the Germans, but definitely in Korea, Lebanon and Egypt. And it was his experience that men who operated like that generally didn't start fights they didn't know they'd win very quickly; different tools and different lands aside, men generally needed to live to spend their coin.

Which is why it now struck him as rather... odd they'd stuck in as long as they'd had— ten minutes at least by his reckoning, measuring from when Steve had picked them up with his fox-eared sonar to their arrival—, taking those kinds of losses, especially against an adversary that fought like the woman with the claymore did.

Which meant they must've been motivated by something else. Or after something specific.

His eyes turned towards the noblewoman again, and his brow furrowed. Perhaps they'd wanted to ransom her? It'd be a helluva a payout, seeing as how she's the daughter of a Duke.

'...Which also means she's very high on the food chain. And even if they did get paid out, their days would likely be thoroughly numbered... unless...' He added mentally, turning his eyes downward as he unfolded the rougher-looking note.

On it's surface he found, to his lack of surprise... a map. Of a road. With an arrow pointing down it's path and symbols he at first couldn't make out until a momentary blurring of his vision seemed to transcribe them into... numbers. With a few other accompanying notes. Not to leave a stone unturned, he quickly thumbed open the scroll as well, but only found scrawled on it a series of symbols and a merciful lack of visual distortion. Nothing he could make sense of, at least— some kind of code, perhaps?

He'd have to think about that little hallucination later, but first things first; he stood to his feet, sheathed his sword, slung his shield over his back and picked up his helmet before calmly approaching the maid who'd exited the cart last— mainly because of those nearest to the Lady, she seemed the most the most likely to put something pointy somewhere he'd rather she not if he'd approached her Liege directly, judging by that subtle movement in her arm and the look she'd given him and his fuzzy friends earlier.

It honestly kinda reminded Duncan of himself when he was younger and a bit twitchier.

Which is exactly why he stopped just barely out of arms reach of her. And made sure she was between him and the Noble she served before looking past her and speaking directly towards her boss; something borne out of equal parts professional courtesy and understanding how to act around someone who was already 'switched on'.

"Found something, M'Lady." He stated matter-of-factly, offering the documents out in one hand to whoever would take them. "A map, showing your direction of travel, numbers and disposition. The other one looks to be some kind of cypher, but I can't make heads or tails of it."

@VitaVitaAR@PKMNB0Y@Raineh Daze

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Duncan MacTyr

??? — Dirt Road

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"Holy shit..." Duncan muttered under his breath, watching the armoured maid go to town with her great sword. Honestly a little surprised at the raw power she was apparently hiding in that modest frame of hers, but still rather grateful that between the force of her offensive and his own (by his standards, anyway) haphazard flailing, their emerald-caped attackers had apparently decided to cut their losses and run.

A gratitude only vocalized by a loud exhale as the old man visibly relaxed, stabbing his sword into the ground and waving Steve and Hikari over before undoing the straps on his shield starting in on those of his helmet. Taking the opportunity now that the immediate danger had passed to not only address that little cut above his brow but... well, he had crunched at least three skulls in that little melee there.

...And truth be told, the sensation (and smell!) of what he suspected were teeth, chunks of bone and bits of brain sliding down his face was more than a little unpleasant, now that he had the time to think about it.

So, taking a knee, the old man let his shield down before finally pulling off his helmet. Tearing off the cleanest piece of green cloak he could find on a nearby corpse to wipe all the gunk off his face. Slowing to a pause halfway through as something he felt through the cloth and the leather of his gauntlets' palms began to click in his head.

This... was his face— same scars, same shape, same teeth in his mouth— but not the one he had when he was on that plane; with it's many valleys, wear-lines and wrinkles.

An almost comical expression came to him as he began to put it together.

'Am I...?'

"How dare they assault a carriage belonging to my family, I-I'll have these bandits exterminated for this."

The arrival of a new and haughty to the scene caught his attention and ended that train of thought almost as quickly as it began, the man's head snapping up and catching sight of the very obvious noblewoman as she stepped out of her ornate carriage. Which both made sense, the maids and their soldiers had to have been guarding something so fanatically and presented a bit of a problem; Duncan didn't exactly have a lot of experience dealing with any aristocracy. And the ones he had met in passing once or twice over the course of his long life, well...

Ol' Queen Lizzie couldn't legally have his head lopped off on a whim. This girl? Ehhh... that wasn't so certain.

So he quickly finished wiping off his face, discarded the rag and maintained his position down on one knee. Bracing his right hand on the hilt of his sword, still stabbed into the ground, and bowing his head slightly in (what he vaguely recalled as) a gesture of respect as she addressed them and— being the closest to her at the time— responded.

"It is as you say, My Lady." He said, pulling hard on the memory of novels he read as a boy and all those D&D sessions he ran for his son and his friends when they were young. "The three of us were traveling the road before stumbling into the tail-end of that ambush. Where those men drew little distinction between our party and yours and... well, things played out the way they did."

He supposed he could have claimed that they had charged in there like big damned heroes looking to save the day, but being up-front and honest would probably serve them better in the long run.

"I am called Duncan MacTyr," He continued, before indicating towards the pair of kitsunes. "And these are my companions; Hikari Abe and Steven Yu."

@PKMNB0Y@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Duncan MacTyr

??? — Dirt Road

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"Remember what I said." Duncan noted with a resigned sigh, eyeballing the group of men who'd broken off from the main fight and were now rushing towards them and clanging his sword on his shield a few times to make sure he'd have those men's attention. And began to advance. "Keep backing up. Keep the sword up. And if you have to, run."

Those steps became a jog. Then a run. And then a full on counter-charge.

Sure, the old man didn't know a damned thing about proper swordsmanship; the footwork, the techniques or really anything you'd find in an actual medieval treatise... but he did know how to kill. How to harness his aggression. How to feel the rhythm of a fight, how to move his body, how to read an adversary and, most importantly:

How to improvise.

Hugging his large, circular shield tight to his body, Duncan rammed himself right down the centre of the fast-approaching approaching attackers. Ducking under a falchion that came at his neck from the man to his right and responding in kind with a chop to the bandit's knee that he didn't need to see to know it found it's mark with the jerk of the hilt in his hand and immediate blood-curdling shriek that followed. Not that he could anyway; his mind somewhat occupied by the scraping of the man to his left's axe against his shield— said bandit having tried and failed to hook his axe beneath it's lip— and the revelation of the existence of the man who'd been running behind those two, bill-hook held at the high-port so as not to stab his buddies if they stopped, the realization that with their combined momentum along with all the steel Duncan was wearing meant that they were about to have a very intimate encounter and the look on the guy's eyes as he realized it too.

So Duncan threw the whole of his weight behind his shield and planted the edge of it directly into the poor bastard's face. Crushing through his nose with a sickeningly wet 'Crunch!' and stopping just shy of his ears. Not that it granted him any room to breathe mind you; as the weight of his armour still made stopping a stumbling, awkward affair. With the added bonus of having a full person basically welded to his handy-dandy big ol' maybe-not-die dinner plate.

...Oh yeah, and Axe-Guy was still coming at him. Weapon up high.

'Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..!'

Shuffling and twisting his hips in a way that might've actually killed him a week ago, the old man spun and braced his shield up with his swordarm, putting it into the path of the axe and it's meaty essentially into the face of the man wielding it. Hissing at the rattle that went up the bones in his arm at the force of the impact and quickly planting his boot into the stowaway corpse and shoving it off onto the man, keen on not feeling that particular sensation again anytime soon. Which also didn't grant him any real respite, seeing as how he was immediately afterward grabbed from behind and caught captive view of a knife that was clearly aimed for the eye-slit of his helmet careening into it's cheek. Prompting Duncan to drop his sword entirely and grab a hold of the offending wrist to stop it from finding it's mark on the next thrust because damn that.

"HEY! C'MON! HELP ME WITH THIS!" His would-be killer shouted, drawing the attention of another of his friends and prompting Axe-Guy to struggle even harder to get out from under the remains of his rather rotund comrade.

All as the knife inched it's way into his visor and ever-so-slooooowly began to dig into the flesh above his eyebrow.

'...Not good.' Our Canuck snarled internally, letting out a pained hiss before raising his left foot and slamming it down as hard as he could. Feeling metatarsals snapping beneath his heel and having that confirmed by the scream that soon followed.

Sure got buddy to stop focusing on his knife, however. Which allowed Duncan to yank that thing out of his face and slam the back of his helmet into his attacker's. Hearing an audible, wet 'Crunch!' that he suspected and honestly kinda hoped was the man's nose becoming a two-dimensional object, before batting away the mace of the man charging him with his shield and throwing his entire weight behind an armour-clad haymaker directly to his face. Eliciting yet another bloody crunch and making the man tumble over in an awkward heap, and then not move at all.

That got him a reprieve... for all about three seconds before Axe-Guy was on him again. Charging in out of the old man's peripheral vision and barely giving him enough time to raise his shield that came hard enough that it snapped the haft of his attacker's axe, sending another decidedly unpleasant shockwave up Duncan's arm. And, completely unfettered by the seeming loss of his weapon, latched onto the top of Duncan's shield for dear life while screaming to his buddy with broken foot and broken nose to, and we quote;

"GET OFF YOUR ASS AND KILL THIS FUCKING GUY!"

Which was a bit of a problem, seeing as how Duncan was kind of very literally strapped to that shield.

...Though a problem that was soon solved as the armour-clad and blood-soaked knight quickly looked at where the bandit previously known as Axe-Guy's hands were, down to the ground, grabbed his own wrist, looked the man square in the eye and stated flatly:

"I really don't like you."

Before bringing the sum total of his weight, that of his armour and that of his shield directly down upon the man's foot. Shearing it right in half with the brim of the latter. Eliciting a piercing scream that carried on all the way through Duncan shoving him to the ground but was very quickly silenced as the old man brought the defensive equipment down a second time upon the man's throat. With a hand up top for extra leverage.

And then did it again just to be sure.

Picking up his sword again, Duncan turned and fixed the man with the flattened foot and flatter nose— who had managed to get back to his feet and had been limping towards him to finish the job with Stumpy's discarded falchion— with an absolutely murderous glare through the slit of his visor.

"Don't."

He did. Bucking himself up and charging forward in a awkward, limping gait. Sword held above his head and screaming (also slightly whistling) at the top of his lungs. For which the old swore a little under his breath, reeled back and cracked him in the nose again with his shield, dropping him to the ground like a bag of hammers.

Now Duncan had earned an actual reprieve, bending over slightly to catch his breath and analyze what he'd just done. Fundamentally, this wasn't all that different to some of the things he got up to over seventy years ago. In practice, however... while his suit of full plate didn't really hinder his movement too much, the added weight meant that every swing, step had a whole lot more momentum behind it. Which was actually useful in some ways, but extremely disorientating in others; causing him to nearly nearly slip and fall a few times there which would've likely ended with him doing his best ground-beef impression on the edge of one guy in particular's axe. Nevermind the sweat he was working up doing this.

...Also, it didn't help that he was very clearly a little rusty.

The old man's head turned towards where he last saw the other two crash survivors; Were they alright? Did they manage to get the hell out of here?

@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze@PKMNB0Y

Reborn in a Fantasy World, This Time I Shall...!

Duncan MacTyr

??? — Dirt Road

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---

"Uh... Well, I'm pretty sure you can't tell elevation apart when everything level, so I guess we'll go... That way?"

"Works for me," Duncan concurred with a shrug and a bit of a snort as he followed after the most-likely younger man, though minding his pace so as not to get too far ahead of Hikari who, by default, had a bit of a shorter gait than either of them to say the least. "All aboard the heel-toe express; next stop... damned if we know."

Honestly, there wasn't much to fault in that logic; any way forward was still progress at this point. And, even if they happened to run into some kind of obstacle along the way, as long as they had the road as a landmark, they could always just... turn around and go back the other way.

All that aside, it was still a damned fine day out. And the simple act of walking— without a cane, his feeble bones or the constant ache from times long past— was... surreal. Pleasant. Something he hadn't up until that very moment realized he'd been missing for decades now. Post-mortem hallucination or otherwise, our armoured old man couldn't find it in himself to protest too much about the hand he'd been dealt since waking in a grassy field in full plate and accompanied by the pair of his fellow survivors who'd apparently been resculpted and clothed by some apparent cosmic plastic surgeon.

That last thought did linger in Duncan's head for a few seconds. And again, his free hand began to travel back up to his helmet to check if anything had changed—

"...There's fighting further down the road, Be careful."

...And down the hand came again.

"What. How—?" He asked flatly, head turning slightly toward the taller man for a half-second before connecting the dots himself.

'Oh, right. Fox Ears. That's pretty handy.'

Instead that free hand found it's way to the hilt of his sword as they continued forward, until the trio came upon the cause of the steadily louder and louder disturbance; a group of apparent bandits attacking what appeared to be...

...A caravan of Knights and Maids.

Quietly, Duncan cast a quick look back Hikari's way, then down at himself before taking a deep breath and uttering a single word;

"Nuts."

And out came the sword with a calm, measured draw. As old and worn-in as his armour looked, but also just as strangely comfortable. in his hand, something he again filed away in the back of his head as he took two paces forward, both taking in a more clinical view of the carnage before him, and began paying more attention to his peripheral vision, casting his visor from one side to the other ever so slightly to not give away that he was checking his flanks.

One last time, he cast a glance down at the weapon in his hands with a narrowed glare.

Duncan was no stranger to hand-to-hand combat; in fact, he'd made a name for himself with it in places like Ortona, Falaise and the Scheldt. It was the whole reason he was handpicked to do the kinds of things he did in Korea.

But...

That was a very long time ago.

Still, his eyes came back upward as he spoke; a cold, surgical calm in his tone.

"Both of you, start backing up. Don't get separated. Steven, get that sword out; whether you use it or not, it's a barrier between you and anyone trying to kill you." He said, checking his shield one last time. "If things start going south, you grab Hikari and you run like hell."

With one last exhale, he raised his weapon.

"Am I understood?"

Sure, he'd mentioned watching eachother's backs earlier. But this was something else entirely from spooking off some wayward predator. And quite frankly, Duncan had already lived his life. He was far less concerned about his than those of his companions.

@PKMNB0Y@Raineh Daze