Fantasy Tamriel: The Great War

[JR McCormick]

Fenrir


His grip on the daggers hilt was tight, and dank hair matted with grease hung over his face. It obscured his vision but he was able to pick out the young Bosmer on the far side of the bar counter. The Elve's short bow was pulled tight, and it's tension matched that of the tavern. Grasping what the archer meant, he carefully reached out his free hand to the iron doorknob and rested his fingers on it. He breathed shakily, tasting stale mead on his tongue as his heart rate settled.


Meeting the Bosmer's gaze once more, he nodded, and threw the door inwards on its hinges. If something chose that moment to miraculously dodge an arrow at such close range, he was ready to cut its throat. Or at least he was ready to try. Fenrir seen then that not only was his forearm shaking, but there was a pit in his stomach. He wasn't honestly sure whether it was from hunger, anxiety... or anticipation... the thirst for a fight, and the smell of blood in the air. His eyes wandered toward the Nord man and his Stormcloak soldiers. It was mildly unsatisfying to see that their situation hadn't been interrupted by the blood curdling howl. And despite how well he enjoyed the Argonian's prior approach... he had wondered how the lizard would have faired had things turned sour. Which, evidently they had. It was often the least likely foes that lived to tell the most outrageous of stories. He should know, having told a few himself.


Cocking his head to the Bosmer, he tried to direct him out from the bar with a nod, hoping he would ignore the racial squabble. If the Elf had a clear line of shot, Fenrir would feel less wary of entering the room. He bent his legs with a slow creek of leather, and began prowling slowly around the corner, his heart in his throat... and his curiosity well peaked.

 

[nevermore0714]

As soon as Drawald start the punch, Leo released an arrow, his hand going straight for a second before the first was even fully loosed. With the first aimed straight for the brute's leg, Leo prepared to aim the second for the torso; the sound of the arrow flying was like music to his ears.


As her husband loosed his first arrow, Dani stabbed her left arm forward to grab the Argonian's arm and yank him away as hard as she could, hopefully before the Nord could harm him. As her left hand grasped the scaly arm, her right hand went directly for her dagger, and then arc'ed the blade towards Drawald's elbow from behind, planning to curve it downwards for his wrist as soon as it connected.


The pair hated this brute already, and would feel no guilt for any harm he suffered, though they hoped for this conflict not to end in death.

 

[Naps]

Brahiel Duskgrass


Despite the current state of the tavern, Brahiel had all focus on the door in front of him. As the door was flung open his eyes quickly scanned all within his line of sight. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he relaxed his arms, hinting to the rogue that it seemed clear. As if in response the rogue nodded back as he began to creep around the door frame. Brahiel drew back on his bow and edged around the counter. His eyes scanned the interior of the room opposite the direction the rogue was facing.


Moving ever so slightly he eventually saw the guard hunched over near the bed. The man didn't seem well, but he was alive. A few more steps put him up against the wall not far from the door. Brahiel was close enough now that he could whisper to the rogue. "I see the guard, but something's off with him. Your side?"


Brahiel lowered his arm with the bow and held the arrow firm in his fist. Bows had their advantages, but at this distance he'd rather rely on his quick hands and a well thrust arrow. The room was still a mystery, but Brahiel had relaxed enough to glance at the fight nearby. It seemed that the time for words was over as punches were being thrown and blades drawn, but when he heard an arrow fly he felt a chill run down his spine. With his free hand he grabbed the pelt off the floor and threw the bundle up as a shield. He knew the arrow wasn't aimed at him, but he wasn't taking any chances either. By his luck he was in the shadow of the large nord.

 

[Anaxial]

Distracted by the blood curdling howl, the Argonian was not as prepared as he had wanted to be for the Nord's assault. Thankfully he had positioned himself in front of the Nord women who was defending him as the drunken Nord seemed to fit perfectly with the old stereotype that Nords fought better when drunk on mead. Bar-Shei made no attempt to dodge the attack, only braced his legs and guarded the Nord woman behind him, he wouldn't risk her trying to defend him once again.


The blow hit hard and made a peculiar sound as flesh smashed into scale. Thwak! Bar-Shei's eyes grew wide as the colors around the room turned blindingly vibrant. Not a second after, his vision went dark and blurred as he jammed his eyelids shut. He didn't cry out though, didn't even grant the Nord so much as a gasp for breath no victories would be found from the Nord's assault. Bar-Shei wouldn't grant the Nord his hatred, he would not grant the Nord his pain, though holding in his agony cost him his breath, his chest turning tight as his lungs begged to be released. Bar-Shei remained standing for a moment, the dizzying strike causing him to reel back a step before he collapsed on his knees.


This was the only victory Bar-Shei gave the Nord.


Now fallen, Bar-Shei finally released his breath -it was sharp and painful and he immediately dragged in another ragged breath. The Argonian immediately held an arm behind him, though his eyes were shut he blindly waved his arm trying to signal that he was fine, the couple needn't react violently, he could handle this. His voice failed him however. Pushing himself up to one knee, Bar-Shei kept his head down to the ground as he tried to recover from the prodigious strike.


"St-... op. I'm-... I'm fine." Bar-Shei rasped out between ragged breaths and sharp coughs.

 

[Mousie]

Iriene Stormore


The rooms atmosphere seemed to get more and more chaotic. Like a night without stars to shine their undying light, the most of the tavern's patrons had a blindness to what was happening around them. Iriene could sense a malicious presence approaching them from all around. But the presence wasn't located in the tavern room where the man screamed. It was coming from outside from almost all directions. Something even Iriene wasn't use to sensing, despite her Great War experiences.


The bastard elf looked upon the patrons that began to fight each other for childish reasons. Although Iriene could understand the hatred the Nord's felt for Altmer like herself, she couldn't understand why he would try and hurt a pitiful Argonian merchant. Besides the Stormcloak soldiers, she was still very intrigued by the actions of the Nord and Breton couple. With the approaching darkness that would swallow the room whole, Iriene knew that if she didn't intervene, they'd all be doomed.


Iriene clenched her left wrist tightly and began to slowly unbind leather straps off of her glove. The glove's main purpose was to conceal both her power and abilities. As she loosened the last strap, she looked up and saw her fellow Mer and the rogue-like man investigating the door. With a slight nod, Iriene knew her purpose from that moment on; Stopping the pointless fighting between the multiracial patrons.


Casting a spell was like a second nature to the bastard-elf. She raised her left forearm and grasp a blinding spell of pure light, something that would serve her metaphorical overview of the situation at hand. Gracefully casting it the magelight above the group of people fighting, Iriene quickly focused both of her free hands into an illusion spell. She held her stance and focused intently on calming the great Nord who was still across the room from her. Even at this range, Iriene knew that her chances of hitting him were high.


After a moment of concentration, she launched a green projectile at the great Stormcloak soldier. Whether it would be successful or not, Iriene still had a large amount of Magicka and a library of spells to cast, no matter the results.

 

[Dungeon Master]

Falkreath


Dead Man's Drink


9.15pm

The Tavern had turned mad in but a moments notice, as the tension dissolved to a dizzying spree of shouts and thuds. Drawald's fist met scale and gut, at the very precise moment his right thigh was grazed by an arrow. True enough, Danielle meant to protect Bar-Shei, but holding onto his wrist only shifted her balance as he dropped to his knees, sending her daggered hand off course. Irene's cast of Calm hit true, and would certainly have some effect on the Nord, though her projectile merely served to scatter light on the far wall, and cause some customers to shield their eyes.


"...by the Eight I'm bli..."


"...who the hell did th..."


"...I'll have your tongue you magical little bast..."


The voices rang on, as folk regained the vision and settled back into their chairs, scorning the mysterious voices from moments ago.


In the far side of the tavern, Brahiel and Fenrir were busy investigating the guards room... and to their intrigue, it was empty serve the guard himself. Bloodied nose, and ghostly pallor.

 

[Brinie]

Drawald Wynfled





The arrow whizzed past his thigh, cutting through the metal chain that protected it, he winced slightly from the pain that came with the strike, baring a fresh new scar on his thigh. The pain was nothing he could not handle, he endured far worse in the midst of war. The scars that covered his body under the armor proved it. Regardless, it was hard to completely ignore the pain, it was just not something anyone would ever grow used to.


He recoiled for a second, his body recovering from the fresh wound, before he prepared a fist to strike the argonian a second time whilst he was on his knees to finish it. However, something strange seem to click in his mind as the elves spell struck him. Out of the blue, he started recalling memories of his mother, and the warmth that came with the forge where she taught him. Nothing could ever beat those memories. His face of anger transformed in to one of nostalgia.


His anger instantly dissipated at the very thought of his mother. He held his fist in the air for a few moments contemplating whether he should strike the argonian or not. Against his better judgment, he stopped, his arm fell limp in the air as he fell to his knees. The confused nord brought a hand to his own head and combed through his hair with his fingers. After a moment of struggling, his companions each grabbed one of his arms and helped him to his feet, rekindled.


He turned to face his companions, placing a hand over his wounded thigh. "He ain't worth the trouble. Let's finish our mead and then leave this shit hole of a town." Drawald suggested to his party. With some reluctance, they nodded in agreement. He was certain that the two would tell everyone once they got back to camp, that he actually walked away from a fight for once. He dreaded the rumors that would spread once that happened. He turned his head to face the area the noise had come from, curiously. He was too caught up in the fight to notice what was going on, he assumed that another fight had sparked up somewhere else.

 

[JR McCormick]

Fenrir


His grip loosened on the dagger's hilt, and his body became less tense. There was no one else in the room, he seen, and it relieved him. He maintained his focus on the guard, unwilling to approach him further lest his sickness spread, and sighed. "Just him." he said, taking a second to flick his head toward the Elf that had suggested they go in here in the first place. He straightened himself, and ran a hand through the grease of his hair, removing it from his face. What had gone on here? He had no experience with illness, and was unsure what exactly could cause a man to scream out so violently when it was clear he hadn't been attacked. The guards eyes were shot, and his face was caked in drying blood. The smell was metallic, and filled his nostrils unpleasantly.


He turned to his accomplice and began asking, "Have you ever seen anything like thi-" before his sentence was interrupted by the screaming Imperial bartender, Shay, who poured into the room and began pointing an accusing finger at Fenrir. She was unable to get a word out before he retorted, "What are you trying to say, wench? I was out there the entire time!" He held his hands up as if to plea innocence, and the barmaid dropped painfully on her face. "Shit!" he yelled, and made for the door, grabbing the Elf as he moved, drunkenly. "The bastard's contagious. It got her."


He looked the Elf square and pointed at the rest of the tavern. "Find an alchemist. Find someone who can identity whatever the fuck just happened here."


He shivered, wondering if he'd been infected, and caught his breath. When be reached for his mead cup, though, he found it was empty. Glancing at the bar, he shrugged and walked to the other side.


She might be dead. But someone needed to pour the mead.

 

[nevermore0714]

Running to Fenrir and sheathing her knife, Dani calmly said, "I am an alchemist. Everyone just needs to stay calm and I can help you figure out what happened to the poor young woman. Is anything else going on that I should know about before I start inspecting?" She looked in Fenrir's eyes as she spoke, her voice and face betraying no emotion.


Quickly moving his arrow back to the quiver, Leo approached Fenrir and Dani. "What is going on? I'm sorry, I was a bit distracted to pay attention to whatever else is happening here." he apologized. "Would you mind catching me up so the wife and I can help you with all this?"

 

[Naps]

Brahiel Duskgrass


The pelt fell to the ground proving unnecessary, still better safe than sorry. Brahiel had heard someone casting magic, but it seemed to have come from the other Mer. Things seemed to be settling down near the fire. But before he could speak again the barmaid rushed over in a frenzy, dropping to the floor moments later. The rogue was cursing as he feared whatever it was would spread, and he grabbed Brahiel pulling him away from the poor woman. When the nord mage came over saying she was an alchemist, it was in that instant that Brahiel remembered her odd actions when the couple had first entered the tavern. Out of everyone here only those two had drawn blood.


Brahiel tried to position himself between the rogue and the alchemist-mage. He still held an arrow firm in his hand, though at his side. He pricked one of his fingers and with the free hand he traced the shadowmark for danger on his back. Hopefully the rogue was at least knowledgeable of the Thieves Guild markings. Brahiel didn't know if it was poison or disease, but he believed in the strength of his blood blessed by Y'ffre. He spoke clamly, "The barmaid was out of it before dropping to the floor. The guard in that room is in no better shape. I'll leave them to you." Brahiel gestured the rogue to follow him over to the fire. So far he was the only one that seemed to be dependable.


The Argonian seemed to be recovering slowly while the Mer-mage looked to be concerned about something else. Off to the side now Brahiel wanted to speak only so that the rogue could hear him. "Don't trust those two... take these for yourself and the Stormcloaks over there." Brahiel handed the rogue several bird feathers and a potion vial. He was no alchemist, but he knew the basic effects of reagents and he had 'acquired' quite a few cures for when he hunted more dangerous prey. "I'm going to check on the Argonian and the other Mer. The normal patrons are getting


suspicious, so we might need to leave soon."

 

[Anaxial]

The Nord had yet to strike him again, something that the argonian was dreading, yet expected from the rough Stormcloak soldier. After a few moments of ragged breathing, Bar-Shei managed to open his eyes and lowered his arms to cradle his stomach that already burned with that familiar burning sensation of a inner bruising, he could feel it in his bones and was thankful he hadn't broken anything. Bar-Shei flopped backwards, landing on his ass and adjusting his tail so that he may comfortably sit down on the cool tavern floor. When his gaze met the room finally he noticed that the Stormcloak had returned to his table and a few of the strangers had gathered near one of the rooms -how queer.


As he was beginning to force himself back to his feet, he saw the Bosmer hunter seeming to come to investigate the situation. The others in the bar had seemed to be minding their business -as it should be. Bar-Shei wasn't one to take charity lightly.


"I'm fine, really... Knocked the wind out of Bar-Shei but... I will be okay." He said as he staggered to his feet. He kept an arm wrapped painfully around his stomach and kept his eyes to the ground as he started to wrap himself back up in the thick fur coatings. "It is best if Bar-Shei leaves, I don't want anyone else to be put in danger for Bar-Shei." He said quietly as he wrapped up his legs and feet.

 

[Mousie]

Iriene Stormore


One of the most signature of spells in the Illusion school of magic, Calm had made a perfect connection against the Nord. Like an Elvish blade pierced into the heart of a raging soldier, the Nord calmed down inevitably and accepted his fate. The cycle of life and death made for a metaphorical justice on both ends. But the bastard elf Iriene, knew that her duty in the tavern was far from over. Her keen senses on the forces that surrounded them grew stronger the closer they got. The incoming approach was going to be nothing short of disastrous and seeing as a few other patrons made their ways towards the exit, Iriene had to stop them. But how?


As a traitor to both her own race and code, Iriene struggled with interacting with others. Especially for the fact that anyone could be an active Thalmor agent. Time seemed to slow down as she trailed her eyes from warriors to merchant, from rogue to fellow Mer. Even the Nord and Breton couple had a strong purpose for the incoming danger. As Iriene's eyes gazed across the room searching for a reason to warn these strangers, she steadied her vision on the fireplace. The burning flames and settled down attitudes of some people made the room look deceptively peaceful.


"Listen to me... patrons of Dead Man's Drink." The bastard elf spoke loudly with a commanding voice. A boastful trait she'd earned from climbing the ranks among the Thalmor's forces. "There's an approaching danger that would spell the end of all of us if we do not fight it together." Iriene moved from her distanced position towards the middle of the room. Seeing almost everyone's eyes drawn to her voice made her feel uncomfortable, but at the same time powerful. "If any of you leave this establishment, you'll meet your dooms." The Altmer finished her untrustworthy warning with a glare at everyone around her.

 

[Dungeon Master]

Falkreath


Dead Man's Drink


9.30pm

Laying motionless on the floor, in comparison to the shuddering guard, it became clear to those investigating the bedroom that Shay was not effected by the same illness that struck the guard. She was not bleeding from the mouth, nor screaming, or shaking violently. In fact, she wasn't even breathing.


The guard was still alive.


With tensions clearing in the air, a voice rang out over the tavern, warning of approaching dangers. Whether the patrons chose to heed these words, was entirely up to them.


On the main streets of Falkreath, however, dark shadows prowled the cobbled stone and dirt. In search of their lost quarry. Could it be they would find their way to the tavern?


And what would happen if they did?

 

[Brinie]

Drawald Wynfled





Drawald lifted his mug in to the air, pouring the last few droplets of mead that clung to it. The nord brought a hand to his face to wipe his mouth clean. Drawald then placed the mug back on to the table and sat there with a satisfied expression his face. He had enough of this place, he got what he came for, now it was time to go. When the altmer's voice reached his ears, he nodded with disapproval. He pondered what the women was trying to accomplish, observing the altmer female as she made her little speech.


He wondered if that girl had any affiliation with the thalmor. There were two things that he despised the most, the thalmor and the empire. The thalmor were the ones that banned talos worship, whilst the empire merely stood there frightened. If there was one thing he despised above all else, it was the thalmor.


Drawald paced over to the tavern's doors, without anger filling his body, his movements were sluggish. The nord turned to the altmer with an unimpressed expression on his face. The nord let out a hiccup, his hand reaching for the handle on the door. "Tell me wench, what sort of danger do you speak of? What will happen if I open this door? Will a dremora waltz in and start cleaving heads off?" The nord challenged.


In truth if that were to happen, he did not plan to fight with anyone in this accursed town. He would defend himself, and his soldiers, nothing more. He doubted that there was any sort of looming danger. Just another lunatic, trying to paint themselves as some sort of psychic.

 

[JR McCormick]

Fenrir


The female alchemist had arrived mere seconds after Fenrir had suggested his Bosmer accomplice went in search for one. This was the lady that threatened to burn the Stormcloak, he remembered. Internally shaking his head, he removed all question and continued filling his cup from behind the bar. He wasn't going to argue at this stage, especially considering her proximity to the corpse, and Fenrir's growing distance from it. She was more than welcome to discuss the situation with the Bosmer, to whom he glanced upon her approach. It was then that he noticed something peculiar... a mark on the Elf's lower back. A symbol of sorts. It was scrawled lightly in his own blood, and depicted what looked like an arrow head piercing a circle. This was a mark Fenrir was all too familiar with.


Thieves use a code in order to communicate with the rest of their faction. Safe houses, items worth stealing, empty targets... and this.


Danger.


He straightened then, taking a small sip from his cup with one hand, and unsheathing his dagger with another. From behind the bar he was hoping it had gone unnoticed, but he couldn't have been certain. The tavern was full of eyes, after all, and he wasn't capable of watching them all. Especially when he was so fixated on the mark.


A loud voice carried over the taverns hen, and he unwillingly turned to find the source, taking his eyes from the Bosmer's lower back. An elegant Mer lady was standing by the fire... ambiguous in form, tall and slender. She had expressed a sense of danger in the town, and Fenrir wondered if perhaps that was the signal the male elf had intended to pass on. Was the danger already in the tavern, or were they waiting for it to arrive?


He moved to the other side of the bar, and stepped toward the 3 Stormcloak soldiers at the tavern door, having heard their leader addressing the slender elf.


Standing to the rear of their commanding officer, he raised his voice loudly enough to gain their attention, without frightening any of the regular patrons. And toying with the end of his dagger idly, he spoke.





"Looks like this might be your lucky day, gentlemen... if it's still a fight you're after."

 

[nevermore0714]

Dani began inspecting the body of the dead bartender. "It's important to first make sure that the poison actually killed her instead of only giving the appearance of death." The Nord woman checked the bartender's pulse at the neck, but couldn't even feel the faintest movement. Taking a vial out of her satchel, she held it to the freshly made corpse's mouth and tilted some in. "If she has any life left in her, this should counteract whatever poison she ingested, if she got it through drinking. Now we just need to figure out who gave it to her."


While Dani worked, Leo was looking around the mead hall again, getting a good look at each face and the weapons each person had. "I don't suppose anyone plans on confessing, eh? If not, it's none of my business. If the wife can't do anything for the bartender, it's none of my business who caused it."

 

[Naps]

Brahiel Duskgrass


Brahiel didn't have the chance to speak to the Argonian, before Bar-Shei began layering himself in fur. He seemed dismissive to having anyone aid him further. Brahiel wasn't one to force help onto others. He more or less understood that having the Argonian and that Stormcloak together would only cause more fighting. If one was willing to leave then he would let it be. Moments later as if to counter his very thoughts, the female Mer ominously voiced concern of some threat outside of the tavern. Brahiel had meant to speak with her, but now didn't seem to be the best time. The Stormcloaks made for the door with the rouge close behind.


He made his way back to the counter, keeping an eye on the couple as he drew closer. Retrieving his long bow, Brahiel also picked up the elk pelt. He had a deal with barmaid, pelt for scales. Since she was dead he took it upon himself to make sure the pelt went to good use as he cloaked himself. If they were to leave he would need it. It would also help to conceal the shadowmark until he could remove it. Watching the couple Brahiel was almost certain that the alchemist was responsible and that her examination was nothing more than a ruse. He decided to play along for a bit. "I'll search the counter for anything that may have been poisoned."


He went around the side and attempted to loot anything of value while he searched. Just as he was reaching for a coin purse he realized something. The alchemist had said 'poison'. Brahiel collected his thoughts before standing up. No one had made a distinction as to the cause of the guard's illness and the barmaid's sudden collapse. It could have been anything from disease to magic, but she specifically said 'poison'. It was more than a hunch. He saw the alchemist scratch the barmaid, he saw the barmaid collapse, and now the alchemist had just provided the connection. "Are... are you sure it was poison? How about checking the guard?"

 

[Anaxial]

Had he not just been gut punched by an angry Nord, Bar-Shei may have been a little more concerned with the going ons around him. Instead, he could only scowl painfully at the ache in his chest and sluggishly wrap himself back into his layered fur carapace. It took a minute, applying the layers carefully, ensuring they wouldn't come loose, much longer than it took to take it off. However, he hadn't even finished putting on his second fur coat before the Altmer stood and warned everyone of danger. The Argonian spoke under his breath, merely thinking out loud than stating something.


"Pfeh... there is danger here." He said turning his eyes to see the Nord challenging whatever danger lurked outside. A darker part of Bar-Shei wished a Daedra would burst through those doors.


It was only then that he had really noticed the corpses and the ruckus of the Tavern, before he was distracted by the Nord, then by the pain in his gut, and while it still ached he could see clearly again, he could see two bodies strewn across the floor. A confused look crosses the Argonian's face, his eyes scanning the couple who defended him. They seemed to be attending to the Barmaid who had since fallen.


"Dead...? did she dead?" He thought, things were getting bad and it seemed the Nord wasn't the cause.


"Danger? Outside? What's going on?" He asked, walking towards the Altmer as she announced the presence of such dangers.

 

[Mousie]

Iriene Stormore


Voices of doubt and concern immediately followed the grave warning Iriene gave everyone. She already knew that it was a long shot in getting the Stormcloak's to trust her, but perhaps people with lesser bias against her past such as the Argonian could survive what was coming. Out of all the voices that murmured, the one Iriene recognized most was the troublemaker of a Nord who spoke with brute skepticism. A trait that she was all too used to seeing in her previous enemies.


"I can sense multiple powerful beings outside this room, but I can't focus my ability to its full potential with all of this noise and interruption." Iriene spoke to herself silently. She looked towards everyone again. Confusion, fear, and anger. A combination of expressions that only spelled hope for disaster.


Iriene turned her abnormal blue crystal eyes towards the group of Nord's and saw them still turned towards her direction from the doorway. If they opened that door, they'd damn every single soul including her own, to whatever was out there. The bastard Altmer brushed her left shoulder off before she bursted into a quick movement across the room towards the door. Her finesse was ungraceful compared to those like the rogue Nord or the marksman Bosmer, but she had to act quickly before everyone realized what she was about to do.


Hastily approaching the door, Iriene noticed that the Stormcloak brutes were still blocking the exit, oblivious to what was on the other side of it. With a deep breath of concentration, Iriene focused her determined eyes and aimed her left hand towards the metallic handle of the door. A frost spell quickly sprayed in a small and controlled cone towards the handle. Whether it would successfully connect and freeze the handle or not, she knew that their fates depended mostly on the Stormcloak's next actions.

 

[Dungeon Master]

Falkreath


Guard Barracks


9.45pm

The evening fog had thickened drastically, and chose to fill the air rather than laze on the ground. Within it, several dark figures moved fluidly. They darted independently from here to there with unnatural grace, before gathering at the guard barracks as one. Their pace wavered upon reaching the door, and the collective came to a soft halt.


"He left his post early," grumbled the obvious commander. "We'll find him in here." He spat, "What's left of him anyway."


Stepping back, sent his boot at the wooden door... blowing it from the hinges.


Shards of wood rained on the resting guardsmen, followed by a shower of steel and blood. In the time it took for the aerial chips to settle, every guard had been annihilated. Bar one. The young Nord man lay shivering on his bed, fresh piss staining his breeches and tears blurring his vision. A hooded lady was sat next to him, gently stroking his hair.


"Don't be scared, you brave solider... everything is going to be ok."


Smiling, she turned to her large superior, who's faced had gone sour. "Where is he?" he yelled to no one in particular, taking a moment to scan the room. Lounging next to guardsman, she stretched lazily and spoke.


"Calm, Urlnach... we'll check the public buildings. He can't have scampered far."

 

[Brinie]

Drawald Wynfled


Drawald moved his hand from the handle, after feeling a chill reach it. He stared at the handle with weary eyes, more of that damned magic. The handle became encased in frost from the altmer's little spell. It was worrying how the mood changed so fast in the little tavern. A fight was not exactly uncommon, but murder as well? Even Drawald had to admit, whatever was happening here was definitely not the norm. Perhaps it was the effect of the mead, but still, he felt particularly on edge. It was an ominous sort of feeling, in his gut. It was the same feeling that came during times of war, when he was approaching an imperial trap.


The nord turned to face the altmer, with gritted teeth. "If they are as powerful as you say, those doors are not going to hold." The nord spoke flatly. He observed the individuals of the room. They seemed capable enough, not the usual drunkards that dwelled in the taverns that he was so accustomed too. They held a variety of talents, talents that would prove formidable should they somehow manage to get together and fight.


"Would it be worth it to barricade these doors... or should we prepare for the worst and take up a strategic position to defend against an assault?" The nord spoke aloud to himself, putting a hand to his chin in contemplation.


From the elves words, he can tell that whatever was outside the walls of the tavern was not human. Powerful beings, not powerful men. Vampires, perhaps? He's heard that there have been several reported attacks among skyrim's many cities, was he caught up in a vampire attack of sorts? He turned to face the altmer women. "Tell me, what you do believe we are up against?" He inquired, still half uncertain of the women's prediction.

 

[JR McCormick]

Fenrir


The Nord's voice rang solidly as the patrons fell silent. They carried weight, and had an unfortunate pang of truth to them. A decision had to be made, and if the Elf was right, time was wasting. Stepping back from the situation he began to check his armour, count his blades, and roughy tie his hair behind his ears. Loose strands fell about his face, and hung solemnly to his chin. Taking a final sip of mead, he buckled his worn leather sword belt and tucked the remaining length around on itself. He strode toward the Bosmer and placed a partially gloved hand on his shoulder, as if to request his attention.


"How good are you with that?" he asked, gesturing with his head to the long bow. He continued to adjust his armour, and took a moment to flex his back while stretching his arms out lengthily. The leather creaked with satisfaction... and he turned his attention to the large Nord. "If this goes down the way she says it might... you and your men need to be ready for whatever comes through that door." He looked for a long time at the Nord, his statement hanging in the air. He wasn't certain the big man would stay, let along fight for anyone but themselves. Fenrir wasn't truly sure he would either, but time would tell.


His attention turned then to the lady Mer, as his hand pressed against the icy cold iron she had manipulated. "If someone comes through that door... say me... how fast can you close it back up behind them?"


He turned to the tavern, as a whole, and let any interested eyes fall upon him.





"I have an... idea."

 

[nevermore0714]

Looking at Brahiel, Dani clarified, "Yes, I'm pretty sure it was poison. I've known of many barmaids who died in place of someone else; my guess is that someone planted poison in a drink and the poor girl accidentally took the poison for herself. I can't think of any other thing that could have happened; were it disease, it's unlikely that it would not have happened several times over within the near vicinity."

 

[Naps]

Brahiel Duskgrass


Things were becoming complicated. As if by pure bad luck all these events were unfolding on the same night. Brahiel didn't really care about the alchemist or her husband. If they found it fun to go around killing people and playing it off as some murder mystery, then by all means they could have their fun without dragging him any further into it. The Thieves Guild had a few cardinal rules, one in particular being not to kill a mark. Brahiel went about his business nodding slightly to the alchemist's response as he attempted to steal the coin purse from earlier. Nothing else seemed worthwhile except for a few sweet roles that no one would miss. Moving out from the counter he was briefly stopped by the rogue. The rough looking man had actually questioned Brahiel's skill with a bow. Since he had favor to the rogue he simply smiled saying, "I don't like to brag, but I once took down a bear at three hundred yards. In a blizzard."


Brahiel watched as the rogue seemed to take the lead after the Stormcloak expressed mild concern for the next course of action. Even the Argonian was becoming aware of the situation. As the rogue reached the door to the tavern he questioned the female Mer. Brahiel wasn't sure what the rogue was planning, but taking the initiative was definitely the right thing to do. The alchemist still seemed busy with the barmaid's body. Brahiel grabbed a chair and entered the guard's room in the most casual of manners. He closed the door and set the chair against the handle hoping no one had noticed. He unsecured his short bow from his armguard and placed it along with his long bow on a side table. Taking three arrows between his knuckles, Brahiel approached the guard from behind. "Have you recovered enough to start talking? Seems there are some nasty things outside the tavern, isn't it a guard's duty to protect the hold's people?"


There were too many unknowns present for Brahiel to come up with a plan of escape. The couple had been at the top of his list, but after seeing how predictable they were it would be best to leave them aside. This guard, the last person to enter the inn, was next. At this point it all could've been coincidence but not long after the guard had entered things had escalated. His horrid screams may very well have attracted what lay out in the cold. Brahiel was willing to risk everything on his current hunch. If he offered the predator it's prey, then he very well might get away.

 

[Anaxial]

Argonians had a special connection to magic, even if you weren't skilled in it. It was said that all Argonians must have their eggs hatched under the Hist trees of Black Marsh and the babies must drink the sap of the tree to get it's soul. When an Argonian died, his soul traveled back to the hist and was born again carrying on the memories of his past life to a new body. That all being said, Bar-Shei knew what happened when people didn't heed warnings when Mages were warning of a danger they could 'sense'. The last time such warnings were ignored, the Daedric Lord of Destruction himself crawled out of a portal to Oblivion and invaded the Mortal World. The last time such warnings were ignored, thousands died.


"If my say has any merit to you, Nord-" Bar-Shei said, finishing putting on the final layer of his coat, pulling up the hood. "Argonians never do well when we sit still. If there's something out there, it could attacking more people." the Argonian turned to the Altmer mage and quickly walked up to her. "What is your name? We need to know if we can trust you and if so- what sort of danger lies out there." he pulled the wrapping up over his face and once again was completely concealed by the fur coatings.


He wasn't a fighter, but he had to admit; taking a punch from an Angry racist Nord wore on one's patience rather quickly. After the pain had mostly subsided in his stomach, a fiery pain was replaced with a different sort of fire. Determined and anxious, Bar-Shei felt irrational, he didn't know what needed to be done- but he had to do it. He was practically bouncing up and down as he spoke, pacing rapidly, constantly adjusting his gloves. He was off, and it showed.