[center] [i]A collab post between[/i] [@Leidenschaft] [i]and[/i] [@Peik] [/center]


She rubbed her hands together and held them out to the flame of the sconce. The only company she had was the cold wind drying out her skin with the lightening sky. It was a slow morning that followed her long night. She sighed, the mist coming from her mouth and floating up towards the sky. Already, the drunken, the hungover, and the tired had begun their migration to their homes where they'd fall dead asleep or drink more. Some, she recognised, others she didn't, a lot of them were talking of the high deeds they'd be doing in the company and she couldn't help but smirk knowingly at their passing. Once the tavern had been emptied of most of the newbeards and greyheads, she found herself inside again, taking a seat at a table across the room from the corner Ashav was sitting and quietly snoring in. It was quiet now, no din of conversations, and it was colder than it was last night. The bodies all huddled together in the tavern making warmth were all gone now, and it just left her and a sleeping Ashav. Not even the tavern maids were awake at this hour, she reckoned, so she sat at her empty table without food or drink and wondered what the day would bring now she was with the company. Perhaps she should make her way to the warehouse, but pressing in amongst bodies smelling of dirt and sweat held no appeal at this early an hour. Besides, the commander wasn't in any rush to the warehouse himself.

[i]‘’Damn, I’m late.’’[/i]

Sadri had a tendency to forget just how quickly time passed. Maybe it was because of his Mer nature, or maybe it was because of his preference to be relaxed as much as possible. Or maybe the moon sugar was finally getting to his brain. He didn’t know (he could say that about so many more things). While writing a letter to his parents, he had only smoked just a bit – and lo and behold, he had spent so much time up there – all for nothing, too, for the letter was plain amateurish by Sadri’s standards – now the damn tavern was empty. It was also cold as all hell, perhaps doubly so for someone who was raised in a damned desert. [i]‘’Should’ve worn the coat,’’[/i] he huffed to himself as he went up the stairs. [i]‘’Should’ve worn the goddamned coat.’’[/i]


Upstairs, the hall was mostly empty. His good eye could pick out the silhouette of his superior, Ashav, dozing off on his chair. He was too late. The bard was nowhere to be found, and if she wasn’t up, there was no way Idesa was up. That woman was looking after a child, after all. [i]‘’Damn boy’s like seventeen, why the fuck is she still a nanny?’’[/i] Sadri thought to himself as he looked around. He wasn’t going to wake up his superior just to complain – not that he was the sort of guy who would wake up his subordinates to complain – so he was just alone, it seemed.


And as always, Sadri was wrong. As he looked around the Hall in frustration, his eyes stumbled upon some fellow – no, that was no fellow, and she were, that meant Sadri’s preferences had stooped far too low. From the way of the lass’ clothing, Sadri assumed that she was probably a warrior, perhaps even a newcomer for his company. He liked women who could handle themselves.


‘’So, what’s keeping you up?’’ Sadri asked as he walked over to the lady’s table, mindfully sitting on a chair that wasn’t next to hers. 

"All the men who've made it their quest to either discount me or fuck me." She said, picking at a splinter standing alone on the edge of the table. She looked up from it to look at who she was talking to. "Which one are you?" She asked, though he wasn't entirely an unpleasant sight. After a long time in Skyrim, Dunmer were still a rare sight. In her time in Whiterun, she'd only seen the one, carousing with the Companions in their hall and through town after a successful romp through the wilderness of Skyrim doing whatever paid. It seemed Windhelm held a monopoly on Dunmer, which was odd seeing how they treated them. Of course, this one didn't have the trappings of a beggar and his accent was too... different to be a Dunmer Windhelm-born or recently stepped off the boat from Solstheim. Maybe he'd be interesting, after all, a man with as many scars has just as many stories, and she noticed his lack of a hand. That might just be an interesting tale, then. "Either you're a ponce made to look grizzled by a good beating or you have a fair amount of good tales behind you."

Sadri did not expect such a response from the woman, although he had to admit it was an intriguing one. He appreciated brevity, and it seemed that this appreciation was mutual. Though as she continued, Sadri could not help but feel the stereotypical Skyrim woman behind the masculine façade. One looking for a man of stories. Sadri hoped he could provide. ''I suppose you could say both. I probably was a ponce decades ago, but I guess you shed it after the things that life bring.'' Sadri scratched his beard as he eyed the girl's face. She was most definitely a Nord - a superstitious one could attribute the cold weather to her frown, such a Nord she was. For a moment Sadri feared for the future of their conversation, as these types could be real picky to talk to, but so far things were going good. He hoped. Orc women were still worse, but she was definitely a contender. 


''As for your question, I hadn't planned that far ahead,'' Sadri quipped. ''For now, I was just looking for some conversation.''


She smiled, one corner of her mouth raising a bit higher than the other in a crooked but sincere thing. Looking from left to right, she settled her eyes on him again and shrugged, "I guess I'm the only one here could provide a man with it." She scratched at the side of her face, "Isn't that the truth about life. Wasn't long ago that taking up the spear and signing on to a mercenary company seemed beyond me, but look at me now." She held both arms out as if to give substance to her words. If he could even see it in the half-light of the room, there were scars on her, though the number of hers was dwarfed by his. It was true that Nords wore scars like a Cyrodiilic dandy would show off new trousers or a big, stupid hat. "And I find you should never plan too far ahead, you'll just be disappointed that way. Pick a course and stick to it, my father used to say. Maybe he still does. The bastard's only now taken somewhat of a liking to staying with me and ma. Even then, it's only because we chased his old arse here." She said, she wanted a drink about now, though not because Sadri was an overbearing presence. He was no Leif, but it wasn't hard to be better at conversation than that man. This Dunmer hadn't offered to pollinate her flower yet, so it was already a better one.

She shifted in her seat and sniffled, "You might have seen him about town, big bastard of a man, hair red like mine- or mine like his, more like. He's with the company newly arrived in town." She smiled again, "Seem to be getting all the more popular here up north, what with all that half-head on the throne's talk about making the biggest army Tamriel's ever seen." Her eyebrows went up as if she forgot her coinpurse, "Ah, my name's Solveig, by the way. Figure you deserve a name to the face. Haven't insulted me or tried to get me out of my clothes yet, and you're the only one awake here, so I guess that makes us, what? Acquaintances?"

Sadri had a faint smile on his face as he listened to Solveig's musings. He appreciated the small things, the demeanor, the scars, the faint echo of a backstory. She hadn't planned to be a warrior. She hadn't planned much, more like - from what she spoke of his father, it appeared that this was a family thing. Sadri appreciated that too, just the way he appreciated the girl's teasers into her life and outlook - granted, at Sadri's age it was easier to appreciate things. He could sympathize with the words of the girl's father, as Sadri's experience showed that people with plans were always too stuck-up. Like waiting for an ambush through life. Though it appeared that the girl wasn't all that happy with how her father acted, despite regarding his words on plans positively before.

Sadri's bad eye slightly dozed off at the girl's mention of a big, red-headed brute. [i]''With the company newly arrived in town.''[/i] Wait a second, he knew that guy. He was that tailor-guy. Iorwund? Well hell. Small world. Then again, there weren't many settlements in Skyrim, and the guy was also obviously a Nord. Sadri shouldn't have been surprised at meeting someone's relative. 

''I suppose that makes us acquintances, yes,'' Sadri said after tasting the name Solveig in his mouth quietly. Odd name, but hey, who was he to pick which name was odd and which was not? ''I'm Sadri. Sadri Beleth. With that company you mentioned, actually,'' Sadri said in a warmer tone. He could feel kinship already. Maybe because he had worked with the girl's father. ''I think I know your father. Jorwund? Haven't spoken to him yet, but I guess he and I are also acquintances.'' He did not know why but he enjoyed putting that word again. It was like poetry, of a significantly shitty sort. ''Small world, isn't it?''

"It is when you live in Skyrim, no doubt. Everyone knows everybody and you find it weird how the menfolk turn their noses up at a woman anywhere near a battle these days. They sit and gibber by their campfires about this big name and that big name like old maids around the cook-fire, so it isn't really odd if you know the name Orren Piss-Drinker from Riften even though you're from Markarth Side." She wove her fingers together in front of her on the table, "And it's Jorwen, actually. Jorwen Red-Bear, sticking to the whole thing about names. Now that I've signed on, I guess war'll be the family business and you and I'll be right acquaintances now. How long has the man over there-" and she nodded toward the sleeping Ashav,"-been paying for your drinks?"

''I used to live in a pretty isolated place, so I can't really say I can relate to that, but I understand people talking about names a lot. From what I've seen, if you don't partake in rumors, you often end up as the subject. Maybe that's why people prefer to keep some names up. The more talked about them, the less talked about themselves.'' Sadri slowly massaged the right part of his forehead with his left eye as he continued. ''Actions speak louder and more honest than words, in my book. Can't say I'm a man of names, though that might just be because of all the people I've met.''

Sadri turned his head to face the direction Solveig's nod pointed to, and turned back after seeing that she was referring to none other than Ashav, the now-slumbering man with the vocal cord parasites. He then proceeded to chuckle weakly after thinking of the surname Red-Bear. ''Red-Bear, eh? Fitting, for both you and your father. As for that guy... I guess it's been about a month, give or take. Not sure, really. We only recently saw any action, so I can't say that I can remember anything else aside from that. Damned Forsworn know how to make things memorable.''

"So I've heard." She nodded, thinking back to her own fighting band in the Reach where her mentor was killed. "Aye, Red-Bear. Imaginative, ain't it? Can't say I've got a famous name or any deeds worth singing about behind me." Solveig tipped the chair up on its hind legs as she put her boots on the table. With no one to object, and she couldn't see why Sadri would, she guessed she'd relax a bit. If only to clip her contentedness short, the door of the tavern slammed open as a soft-looking lad younger than some of the youngest who'd signed on last night came huffing and puffing up the stairs. Red in the face, he stopped to catch his breath.

When he finally did, he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Ships spotted, Ashav, sir! We're expecting an assault from the sea!"

With the sound of spluttering and a chair clattering to the ground, Ashav awoke and got to his feet, brushing his shirt and trousers off before rubbing at his eyes. The gravelly whisper of the man's voice was heard finally, "Sadri, Solveig, let's get to it."

"Aye." Solveig nodded. She looked at Sadri and raised her brows. "Figure we come out the other side of these worst expectations, we'll go from acquaintance to shield-siblings, eh?" She stood and they made their way to the door. Once they were on the steps out of, or into, the Candlehearth- relative to if you were looking to get drunk or looking to get home- Solveig nodded. "I need to get my things from my home. I'll meet you at the muster again, Sadri. Should the Gods be willing, or at least should we both be lucky, more like, we'll meet again after."

[i]''Can't a Mer earn a day's worth of rest? For Padhome's sake,''[/i] Sadri thought to himself as the softie-boy suddenly roused everyone and the Redguard suddenly woke from his slumber, surprisingly aware for a man that Sadri thought was dozing off. Things were just warming up... Damn it. Just damn it. As Sadri walked all the way to the tavern's door and started thinking of the implications that an invasion by sea meant, he was suddenly faced with the brunt of the cold of Windhelm as the doors opened. ''We shall see what we'll go to, just pray it won't be an early grave,'' Sadri replied to Solveig. All he wanted from Windhelm was the warm embrace of a woman, some conversation, and some warm food. But of course, whatever it was that pulled the strings had decided to fuck Sadri over once more by sending, what, an invasion? For Anu's sake. 

''Yeah, we'll meet again, one way or another.'' Sadri mused as Solveig left. ''Now I just need to arm up.'' Was that a pun? If it were so, had he intended? He wasn't entirely sure, but he knew that he had to cover himself up, both against the cold and the incoming battle. Rushing downstairs, Sadri immediately threw himself into his room, and after brushing off the thought of locking himself in and filling his lungs with moon sugar vapor, he started frantically putting on his armor, barely buttoning the brigandine vest and the buffcoat before slipping into his chainmail coat. After putting on his coif to complement the coat of mail, Sadri entered his padded coat and wrapped the blanket of his bed around it as a makeshift sash. Fitting his head into the padded helmet, adjusting the nasal bar and grabbing his sword, Sadri rushed out of his room just the same way he entered, this time prepared for both the cold and whatever those ships were going to send.