[quote=@Peik]
[@MacabreFox] - me and [@Mortarion] have switched to the Google Pad because Titanpad's getting fucky. Just fyi.
[/quote]

I noticed that! That Tpad was being a bit fussy. I'll join you guys now.

Also, I present to you:


[i]11th of Sun’s Height, Solitude 4e 199[/i]
[hr]

	The familiar beam of Solitude Lighthouse beckoned to the sailors aboard the [i]Courtesan[/i]. Seated in the crow's nest, Leif's heart leapt with joy at the sight of the Blue Palace perched on its cliff. Scaling the ladder, he began the descent below to the main deck. The harrowing height of the climb no longer frightened him. In fact, the worn wooden planks underneath his palms provided him with a feeling of comfort. He knew how many planks he would touch before he reached the main deck, 44 in total.

	The last remaining light of the evening sun illuminated the sky in a swathe of magenta and indigo. As the ship glided past the stone edifice of the lighthouse, Leif leaned against the railing. His gaze drifted to the water below, its colorless appearance still unsettled him. The tale of [i]Yngol and the Sea-Ghosts[/i] came to mind. He recalled the tale in how Ysgramor battled the sea-ghosts to reclaim his kin. Ysgramor commanded the ghosts to return his kin to him, yet a mighty gale cast the sky in darkness. Two fortnights passed without a halt in the fighting. Churning and thrashing waves rose from the sea, while white lightning filled the sky. When the skies cleared and the sea calmed, Ygrasmor discovered the body of his son on the shore. Leif shivered at the thought of the eerie mists that blanketed the sea. Mysterious and apparitions often appeared in the veil of fog. The seasoned sailors aboard the Courtesan warned him of the hazards on sailing the Sea of Ghosts. According to myths and legends,

	A firm hand clasped him on the shoulder, "It's always a good trip when Kyne gives us a challenge, eh?" Leif turned at the sound of the gravelly voice and gazed upon his mate, Halvar. The rugged Nord had befriended Leif during his first days aboard the [i]Courtesan/i]. His reddish-blond hair bore the tell-tale signs of age as streaks of grey peppered his locks. A vast majority of sailors on board the ship were apart of the original crew, starting with Captain Atgeir here in Solitude when he first set sail from this very same harbor a decade ago. That said, the core crew of the [i]Courtesan[/i] consisted of Bjorn Strong-Fist, Halvar Rock-Jaw, and Orvar Red-Tree. On occasion, Atgeir would take on another hand when they were hauling larger loads. 

	“Aye.” Leif said with a widespread grin, “Have you any plans while we are here?”
	“That depends,” Halvar returned with a wink, “if you can consider drinking a barrel full of ale, and flirting with the sweet lasses in the Skeever as a plan, then yes. What of yourself lad?”
	“I have to admit, I had the same intentions in mind too.” 

[i]The Winking Skeever[/i]

	Once the [i]Courtesan[/i] had docked and the cargo unloaded, Atgeir dismissed the men from their duties for the night. In company, Leif and the other sailors of the [i]Courtesan[/i] set out to enjoy their evening. Halvar, Orvar, and Leif made for The Winking Skeever while Atgeir and Bjorn went their separate ways. Not long after entering the tavern, Leif and his crew mates seated themselves at a table in the center of the room. The smell of baking bread and bubbling stew floated through the air while a young man, an apprentice from the Bard’s College strummed pathetically on a lyre. His thick fingers made it difficult to pluck the chords of his instrument with the learned eloquence of his teachers.

	“Oi, bless my ears! I think we’re hearing the famed Sheogorath sing us a fine ditty.” Halvar howled as his fist pounded the table, frothy ale sloshed from the mug in his hand, spilling across the surface.
	“Ey laddy-buck,” Orvar hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the caterwauling bard behind, “I think you ought to commandeer that from him before he makes our ears bleed.” 
	“Oh come now, he’s not that bad! Cut him some slack, he’s still learning. Learning that he’ll scare away the pretty lasses that is.” At the insistence of his friends, Leif downed his mugful of ale, and stood up from his chair. 

	Striding over to the young man, Leif held out his hand expectantly, in which the lyrist stopped mid-stroke in his song. At first he looked confused, uncertain what Leif wanted,when he demanded in a commanding tone. “Allow me.” The lyrist could be no more than a day over six and ten, for he had yet to grow an inch of hair on his chin. Timid, and desperate to avoid conflict, he handed the lyre over to Leif. With a playful grin, Leif guided the lad into a vacant chair. “It would do you well to pay close attention. I’ll show you how to win a woman’s heart.”

	Leif moved to where the lad had stood moments ago, plucking the cat-gut strings to determine their tune. Adjusting the strings accordingly, he tested them again with a swipe of his hand. This time, a melodious tune resonated off the stone walls. Heads turned in his direction, curious to hear who could play music so sweet. Orvar and Halvar hid toothy grins behind their tankards, the Skeever would have a performance that they wouldn’t forget for many years to come. Closing his eyes, Leif cleared his head of any distractions where he inhaled deeply, on his exhaling breath he strummed another chord, this time of a higher note. When his eyes flew open to meet the curious stares of onlookers, Leif allowed himself a small grin before he burst into song.

“[i]O, back in the days when I was a lad,
There was a lass that I knew I had to have.
Her eyes were the color of honey,
So sweet and so pure.
Her skin would make any sheep blush,
For it was white and smooth, like a winter’s morning hush.
Her hair glimmered and glistened under the fair sunlight,
The color o’ fire, that it shone so bright.

Sweet Oriela,
O’ my sweet Oriela.[/i]” As Leif finished the first verse of his song, Leif snatched a bundle of red mountain flowers from a planter. He moved towards a young lass, perhaps no more than twenty in age, and dropped to one knee. He propped the lyre up, and lowered his voice, where he continued on in song.

“[i]O’ my sweet lady,
I never told thee, of how my heart beats.
When I hear the soft sighs pass o’er your lips,
You make me never want to stray from your side, e’er agin.

Sweet Oriela, 
O’ my sweet Oriela.
How I would take up my sword in your name,
I would slay but a hundred men, if it meant I could see your face.

But alas!
So came the day, when I asked for your hand.
‘Twas here that I discovered,
That you had pledged yourself to another man.[/i]” Leif proffered the bundle of red flowers to the lass before him. She gasped aloud at the gesture and her cheeks turned a rosy hue. He smiled and then rose to his feet. The chords of lyre turned to a sombre note as he plucked at them in a tender fashion.

“[i]O’ my sweet Oriela,
I never thought this day would come true.
Yet, there you were, adorned in blue,
A garland of flowers o’er your crown o’ fiery hair.
To him, ye were wed.

Mine heart,’twas broken forevermore.
Forevermore, forevermore. 
I roamed the wilds o’ Skyrim, my home.
Many a bear did I slaughter, and many a broken bone
Did I suffer. [/i]” Leif moved past the woman he gave flowers to, and ventured over to another lass, this one slightly older, evident of the laugh lines around her mouth. He strummed a few more chords before kneeling. Clasping her hand, he raised it to his lips and planted a kiss. She could not refrain a smile at his actions. He remained in his kneeling position as he returned to playing the lyre.

“[i]O’ my sweet Oriela,
I thought you to be mine.
So beautiful and divine,
There is naught a man that would honor ye,
With the respect and love ye deserve.

So I carried on,
Through the wilds o’ Skyrim.
And I sharpened my sword,
And honed my words,
To be sharper than any dagger.
In my grief, did I stagger,
Ever onward. Ever onward.
To hear your voice agin,
O’ my sweet Oriela![/i]” With that, Leif’s ballad came to an end. The patrons of the Skeever erupted into a thunderous roar, they pounded the tables and begged for an encore. Yet, Leif did not heed their pleas, instead he made his way back to the lad. He sat with jaw agape as Leif returned his instrument to him.

	“There you are my lad.” He said.
	“I… thank you, sir. Thank you.” 
	“Oh don’t thank me.” Leif winked at him, “unless of course, you happen to bed a woman tonight. Use the song if you wish. It is a favorite among many men and women alike.” There he departed from the aspiring bard and made his way back to the table where Orvar and Halvar awaited him. 

	“Lad! You should have seen the looks on their faces.” Orvar said through a series of bellowing guffaws, his face and neck were crimson from laughter.
	“Aye, you put that bard in his place, you did.” Halvar added. He waved at one of the serving girls in the tavern. When she approached, he placed an order for another pitcher full of ale. The rest of the evening, Leif and his comrades downed pitcher after pitcher of ale. Several women and men alike paid their thanks for his performance, they complimented him on his singing voice and ability to play the lyre. As such, they ordered him round after round of ale and plates stacked high with food. Neither of his mates denied the gifts, and ate with ravenous appetites, their thirst insatiable.

	The remainder of that evening’s events disappeared from memory. He knew not when he left the Skeever, nor, more importantly, how he ended in up a horse stall outside of Solitude. He started at the sight of a chicken slumbering in his arms, he released the bird and shooed it away. As he sat up, bits of straw clung to his tunic and stuck out from his hair. Running a hand over his beard, he made an attempt to groom himself proper. Then, he pushed himself to his feet, and blinked away the dancing colors that obscured his vision. Staggering out of the horse stall, Leif gritted his teeth at the overwhelming brightness of the early morning sunshine. With unsteady footsteps, Leif began the long walk back to the docks, hopefully the [i]Courtesan[/i] hadn’t sailed out of port yet.