[hr][center][h1]I N T R O D U C T I O N S[/h1][/center][hr] [sup]1 5 T H O F S U N D U S K 4 E 2 0 5 F E A T U R I N G : D A R ' J H A N , E P E S O R N , & V E L Y N[/sup] [indent]Dar’jhan shifted on the hard, pillowless stool he was sitting on, trying to get himself, but mostly his tail, into a better and more comfortable position. His eyes looked at each of the other potential recruits of this resistance, his new comrades-in-arms if the older Nord wanted them. Though Dar’jhan had gathered already that the man could use all the help he could get. It was a curious thing, to be able to fight beside a man, a Dunmer and an Altmer and be equals in this endeavour. A curious thing indeed. With a sideways glance he made sure for himself that no one was willing to be the first to speak, or perhaps they were still thinking about the words the Nord had spoken or the reasons why they wanted to be here and join. The Khajiit cleared his throat and bowed his head in greeting as he started to speak in his Khajiiti accent: “I have been given many colourful names, here in Skyrim but my name is Dar'jhan or Half-moon as the Khajiit from my caravan call me. Whatever you decide to call me, this one does not care. That choice is yours. I was on the road with a Khajiit trade caravan, assigned to guard the merchants from terrors of the wilds and any kind of...barbaric hostilities by both men and mer. Sadly I have lost the other Khajiit after we were attacked and do not know where they are or what has happened to them.” During this, he had closed his eyes with a frown, as if the thought was too painful to talk about but as he opened his eyes again, he stared straight at Brunwulf Free-Winter and tilted his head. “To ask us what brings us here to this resistance, is a very astute question. For me, it is simple to answer. I offer my services to you in the hope and believe that you can help Dar'jhan find out what happened to the caravan.” He spoke calmly in his warm voice. “You will find me experienced and quick both with mind and blade. With sword and shield this one stands ready, fearless of what the road will bring to him.” He gave a courteous nod and grinned. Epesorn listened attentively to the first person to speak: the cat. This khajiit, Dar’jhan, looked quite capable to Epesorn. He did not know much about khajiit - in fact, this was the first he’d seen in Skyrim. There were a few he’d met in Alinor, of course, but they were often in the lower ranks of the Thalmor, so there was no extensive interaction. Most in Skyrim must have been driven out after Ulfric took power. The khajiit’s face unnerved him - it was harder to read expressions on a cat’s face. The grin, however, was unmistakable. Next to speak was the old Dunmer next to Epesorn, who was perched cross legged atop the chair in which he sat. He was dressed strangely, in a battered set of chitinous armour, much scratched and worn. It made him look like some kind of ancient bizarre insectoid creature, with the head of a Dunmer grafted on top. “Under sun and sky, I greet you all warmly, though you’ll see little of the former here in this frostbitten land.” His voice had that dry rasping quality of many of his kind, at least the older ones who still remembered Morrowind, a side effect of growing up in the ash. “My name Serjo Redoran Velyn Virith, but most here just call me Velyn now. I am a warrior-poet who’s lived a long life and picked up some useful skills along the way. The reason I am here is to help my people, amongst other things.” His lips turned upward in the hint of a sly smile at the end of his cryptic words. Velyn’s blood red eyes switched from the Brunwulf Free-Winter who sat opposite him to the one amongst them who had not yet spoken, the young golden skinned Altmer. They rested on him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. When he did not, the old mer cocked his head to one side and continued anyway. “And what about you, boy? I was not expecting to run into one of your kind in Skyrim.” Dar’jhan smiled at the words spoken by the Dunmer, Velyn. There was honesty in them but also a certain degree of mystery that seemed to surround him. It made the Khajiit wonder what kind of skills he could possess. He could only guess. The attention shifted to the Altmer who had yet to speak a single word. Darj’han sat back with his arms crossed on his chest and narrowed his eyes, waiting in anticipation for the story. The male Dunmer, Velyn, looked quite old to Epesorn. He was clearly the oldest in the room, while Epesorn was the youngest. The Dunmer’s age had taken him aback at first, but he did not doubt the mer’s ability. There was an air of confidence about him, a sureness that belied his years, one that Epesorn immediately envied once as he sensed it. When Velyn finished speaking, the group turned their attention towards him, and he felt a spike of fear, as one might feel before public speaking. Epesorn lifted his chin, tapping his throat, then tapped his lips, and made a crossing motion with his arms. The meaning was obvious - he could not speak. To compensate, he first raised a hand, holding up one finger, then patted the shortsword at his side. He held up a second finger, and with the other hand, Epesorn splayed and let a small flame flicker overtop his palm, snapping his fist shut when they’d all got a good look. His two combat skills - sword and magic. He grinned at the group, both out of nervous energy and excitement for whatever task was to be had for the lot of them. Epesorn would have felt as if his own introduction was lackluster compared to the others, were it not for both the trained arrogance his Justiciar instructor had endowed him, and the more natural kind which tends to emerge from the ignorance of youth. “Well,” Velyn began, chuckling softly at the mimed performance of the younger Altmer. “I have been known to talk enough for two, I think we should get along just fine.” A male Nord - or, at least, that was what Epesorn assumed the human to be - was the last recruit to speak. Glad to have the attention on someone else, he watched the man curiously. Epesorn fidgeted with his hands and feet to release the tension that had built in his gut the minute he stepped indoors.[/indent] [hr] [i]Written in collaboration by [@TheFox], [@opticOpinicus], & [@Kassarock][/i]