[i]Bruma, Cyrodiil[/i]
[i]20th of First Seed, 4E213[/i]

Tsleeixth woke before the first rays of the sun broke through the window of his inn room. It was a habit born of many years of hardship, and the hard work that had taken to live through them; after all, every hour wasted meant less time in the day and time was a precious commodity that Tsleeixth had learned form a young age to appreciate to its full extent. Stifling a yawn, the Argonian made his way to the windows and threw them open fully.

As the cold air of Bruma greeted him, Tsleeixth allowed himself a brief smile. It reminded him, in a way, of Skyrim and, for a brief moment, that thought brought a pang of nostalgia in his chest for the land of the Nords that he had left behind, the land that had been his home for so many years. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned his back to the window and headed for his belongings left at the foot of his bed and began to get prepared for the day; first were his clothes and then his armour and, once that was done, he checked to see how his finances were doing, frowning to himself when he realized that they were getting low. "Sithis damnit, I guess that if I tighten my belt a little bet and am more frugal with my meals I could afford another night in this room if this guild thing doesn't pan out..." Tsleeixth muttered to himself as he looked at the meager amount of septims in his coin-pouch.

Slinging his rucksack over his shoulders, he made his way down to the common room of the inn, where he asked for a simple slice of bread and some water to quench his hunger and thirst respectively. As he ate his breakfast, Tsleeixth thought on what would be his next course of action if his application into the new guild was rejected. He supposed that he could try and attempt to join the Fighters Guild or, if that failed, he could try and join either the Synod or the College of Whispers. “Bah, no sense worrying about it now.” The Argonian muttered to himself as he finished his breakfast and stood up from his table, making his way out of the inn. After all, there was no sense in worrying what might come to happen when the present was still unfolding.

“Trust that the currents of the river will lead you safely…” Tsleeixth muttered to himself, repeating a saying that his parents used to tell him while he was growing in Riften. Still, despite the familiar saying that usually brought him comfort, the Argonian’s mood did not improve as he made his way towards the bulletin board where he knew the results had been posted, ruminating on what not being accepted to the guild could mean for him. That is, until a peculiar figure caught his attention, a Saxhleel like him; the colour of his scales that of dried blood, a stark contrast to his own which were of a black colour, who was heading in the same direction that he did.

“[i]Brother!”[/i] Tsleeixth called, hoping that his Jel wasn’t as rusty as he thought it was. “[i]I wasn’t expecting to see one of our kind here, are you trying to join this new guild as well?[/i]” Tsleeixth asked as he approached the other Argonian.