Caro trundled along the air, moving with the group as they moved on through the Imperial facility. He was distinctly aware of the presence of eyes on him, but he had made a point thus far to ignore it. No need to go about causing troubles with what was presumably his newfound team of delinquents. Each of the three seemed fitting to take command, though each was clearly of a distinct caste. The social hierarchies here were odd, to say the least. 

Take, for example, the Dunmer. He would be a useful tool and a clever mage himself surely. They had locked him away in much the same way they had locked Caro, accounting for their distinct tool-sets and weaknesses. He stood out, though. For two reasons. Anyone who was anyone knew thoroughly that Dunmer came in two variants: the men and the women. Beyond those variants they were all the same, red eyes and ash skin. These were their distinct traits. The amethyst eyes, however, made this one special. Someone of Barenziah's bloodline was here, and that would prove valuable if ever one were to hypothetically align themselves with the Peoples' Blades. They need an Emperor to rally folk behind whether they support the current one or not. If he fancies himself a mage then he can put on magic tricks and perhaps even learn that dragon language everyone seems to love so thoroughly.

And this handsome young woman that wouldn't stop staring. She was an oddity too. Where the Barenziah-Bred dunmer and the lich fell into distinct categories that made sense for any task of perhaps an illicit nature, the knight did not. And in truth he couldn't help but feel off-put by the recognition that she seemed to carry, that Caro himself did not. Was she the sister of one of the bandits whose soul he shredded to pieces? Perhaps.

The lich took little time to be weary of his environment or the lycanthrope that had just raised hell carving through the room. 

He donned his robe, his boots, his wrappings. His helmet. He raised his staff and he redistributed his magicka patterns to gently activate his enchantments. He turned his attention towards Havfyg, half surprised to instead find Veta paying him the greatest measure of mind once again. 

She was worthy of an interrogation

It was at this point even in the midst of her burgeoning conversation with the Emperor that the lich approached, bowed, and greeted them both in a courtly manner.

"[b]My Liege, My Lady. If I might humbly inquire as to who you might be, Ma'am, and what of my nature is so intriguing I'd like to do so. I take kindly to being stared at, but I question your intentions. Pardon the interruption, My Liege.[/b]"

"[b]My name is Heir Presumptive to the Chorrol County, Reyman Caro. My namesake is our beloved God of War, Reyman.[/b]" As he spoke this he directed his body and head towards Veta. He managed to casually hold himself about his staff, as though he were weightless and tied only to the object.

"[b]I do hate that this business of being wrongly imprisoned and forced to do the bidding of a man I'd willingly serve to the ends of our Empire has distracted us so from what should be a rather pleasant meeting of fine folk of well-plotted bloods. It is your Day, after-all, My Liege. Talos.[/b]"

The air that peeled away from the Lich was rotten, and dry. Caked sand and blackened ichor. Though portions of his face were wrapped in linens his teeth were still clearly visible, as his lips were missing altogether. The result was something like a man baring his teeth as though they were fangs, though his were rather normal and fang-less. His gums were grey and old, however. This creature was clearly of a physical disposition that demanded careful tending. Even as he had bowed he had braced his back with his other arm. Even as he spoke vague pulses of magicka would ripple off of the thing as it undid its own rot and maintained its corporeal form. To call it heinous would perhaps disrespect it, but it was surely an oddity and a great discomfort. Where so many had died Caro had decided, of his own accord, that he should live.

Was it worth it?