[i]Anvil, Harborside - 21st of Second Seed, Midday[/i] [center][hr][/center] [i]Rhona[/i] The city of Anvil bore a familiar atmosphere all too well for Rhona. It had been a little less than a month when she left for Skingrad. The weather hadn’t changed much since her departure into Rihad, or even when she left for Skingrad. The air still held the salted scent of the sea mixed with warm air, spices, and now, honeyed flower blossoms and the faint smell of tobacco smoke drifted like a thin blanket. The sights, sounds, and scents of Anvil made her feel sleepy, as if she needed to take a century long sleep before she could shake the tiredness from her soul. Her mind strayed to Durantel, he had taught her so much in so little time, and yet her tutelage was far from over. She thought of Cezare, and of Calen. Part of her wondered if he had escaped from Skingrad before the Dominion tightened its grip on the city, or if he had managed to become caught up in the fiasco. She hoped for the latter. She wondered about Calen, would he pay homage to the temple of Dibella? Rhona had avoided him as much as necessary, she had resigned herself to a degree of pleasantries, that’s what she told herself at least. After all, Aurelia’s leaving was still a fresh wound in her heart that she was still trying to mend. Rhona had rationalized it in every way possible, but it always came back to the fact that she was too scared to set foot outside of her known world, and to place faith in Aurelia, and her friends. But was it different with Calen? Were they just friends? Yes. That had to be it. And it wasn’t necessarily the fact that she didn’t like him as an individual, but rather, she didn’t want to hurt him. What if Cezare found her again? Or rather, what if he found her, and she was with him? She shuddered at the thought alone. His anger, that unbridled rage, especially when inebriated, Gods it terrified her. She endured that pain for so long, she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing anyone else into his destructive path, even for a piece of temporary happiness. And that was it. In every blinding way, every deceivable concept, in those quiet regions of her heart that she buried deep inside, Rhona believed that she had made the right choice… even if it meant for her to make a sacrifice for her own satisfaction. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? Her mind darkened like a storm cloud brewing on the distant horizon, no, Calen was a follower of Dibella. She had let herself be weak in his presence, she had sought comfort in him like she had Aurelia. Didn’t she know better? Her throat tightened. Perhaps she was too naive for her own good, or at least too much of a coward to admit it out loud. Gods, she was a fool at heart. A hopeless romantic, easily swept up in the tides of passion, and temporary love. And that was that. Besides, she had her training with Durantel to focus on as well. He had taken her training seriously, and he certainly had no fondness in dilly-dallying. She appreciated the Altmer for his diligence and tenacity to see her training through. She hadn’t realized that her train of thoughts consumed the time spent walking to the docks, but it didn’t take long for her to sit herself down and spread out her belongings. She began to hawk her own wares at passerby’s. Rhona recognized a series of familiar faces dotted amongst the crowds, and some even stopped to say hello. By early evening she had enchanted half a dozen swords, amulets and trinkets. She had enough coin for a room at the tavern if she wanted, plenty for food and wine, and more importantly, enough left over to buy some charged soul gems. Now if only she could find the vendor again… Rhona gathered up her belongings and set off into the city, searching for the man that had supplied her with soul gems on her last stop. Her feet were sore from the five days spent traveling, and all that was on her mind now was, find some soul gems, and then get some hot food in her belly, plus a nice hot bath if she could spare it. Not to mention a soft bed to rest her head. [center][hr][/center] [i]Brynja[/i] The Flowing Bowl She always surprised herself in the least, finding a tavern without any prior direction had its uses. Like a bee to a flower, Brynja found herself crossing the threshold of [i]The Flowing Bowl[/i]. The structure appeared as old as the Oblivion era, if not older. The floorboards protested under her weight as she headed for the counter, Brynja lowered herself into a barstool, her gaze sweeping across the patrons around her. Her arrival caught the attention of the barkeep, a tanned man with black cropped hair. He was much older than her, at least ten years her senior, but he still had his good looks about him, she would give him that. He sidled on up to her, stretching his massive bear-like hands across the counter/ “What’ll be for ya?” He asked, her ears picking up on the distinct dialect between someone from the Imperial City and Anvil. His words were softer, and slower, with a bit of a twang. “Gimme a bottle of your cheapest ale.” Brynja fished out what coin she had left. Her gaze focused on the gleam of the gold septim as she slid it across the counter towards the barkeep. Money was always a fickle thing when she wasn’t looking to sell her blade, and with the entire incident of Rhea being unable to pay them accordingly, Brynja needed a way to make some more coin, and fast. She watched as he claimed the septim, and proceeded to fill her a mug of ale. When he returned with it, she welcomingly accepted it. [i]Finally.[/i] As he turned away, Brynja called out to him, “Say, I’ve got a proposition for you.” He turned back around, an eyebrow raised, “Oh? And what’ll that be?” “Well, it looks pretty slow around here, and with as many people that are filtering in through Anvil, I’m surprised that you’re not packed to the brim.” Brynja commented, taking a sip of the frothy ale. “Aye, it’s not busy during the daytime hours, as the soldiers are busy with work, but during the evening, they all come crawling here. So what’s this proposition?” She could tell he was curious. “I know I could draw a crowd. How about some good ol’ fashion dueling? No fight to the deaths or anything, just a simple bet. Two fighters. Me against someone else, the patrons would come and place their bets with you. You keep a percentage of the septims earned-” “And for yourself?” “Simple. The bets placed against me, I keep. Plus a free room, and as much ale as I can drink.” “...You’re a big lass.” “Aye.” “You’d drink me dry.” “Never. Think of all the gold that would come flowing into your pockets. I’ve done this before and it works out quite well for both parties. You attract more patrons with thirsts needing to be quenched, and me, I get a roof over my head, plus something to drink.” “How good are you with a blade?” “Look-” “Marius.” “Right, look here Marius, I served as a House Carl for the Thane of Windhelm for nearly eight years. I was a healer in the Civil war, brother of mine taught me how to fight. What more could you want?” “Gods be praised.” “Aye. So we’ve a deal?” “Aye. When will you start?” “Bring me another ale, and let your patrons know. I’ll be ready by late afternoon.” Brynja said. She almost couldn’t believe her luck. Here she was, finding another willing innkeep who would to her have free room and ale by helping attract patrons via a sword fight with anyone that had a desire to put their blade to hers. Part of her felt like an idiot, like an attraction part of a troupe, but she also couldn’t shake the feeling that this [i]was[/i] an exceptional idea. What could go wrong? An hour later, Brynja found herself standing outside of [i]The Flowing Bowl[/i], her entire suit of armor and sword at ready. A crowd of curious onlookers had assembled, mostly drawn due to her towering height, and curious to see who would challenge her. She owed it to Marius, he had done as she had asked, and spread the word like wildfire. He even enlisted the help of a serving maid to help fill the mugs of thirsty patrons while he beckoned to the onlookers. “Step right up! Who wants to challenge this fierce and deadly Nord warrior from the icy lands of Skyrim? Don’t be shy! Just a simple dueling matching, no killing allowed. C’mon folks!”