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Zeroth Post
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Zeroth


Guild Headquarters
Bruma
13th First Seed,
Late Afternoon




“Go on. Say it,” came the low and rumbling breath of the dark character - buried beneath the hood of his felt cloak - a pair of bright green eyes peaking out. He was much taller than his companion, tall as she herself was. Even hunched over at his broad shoulders, he eclipsed the slim Dunmer stood before him.

“Say what?” She asked, pointed ears twitching as she stepped forward, barefoot as always, a long skirt billowing around her ankles as a string of beads tinkled. The Dunmer woman pushed back her own hood, the collected raindrops falling to the floor with a splash.

The Khajiit sighed, weary. “The place is a shit hole, say it.”

That made her tilt her head. She simply observed him leaning up against what she made out as the hearth of the living area. It was hard to tell in the gloom, and everything was covered in dust, too. Her full lips curled upwards into a smile, and a twinkle passed across her scarlett orbs as they softened. “It’s not so bad at all, Sinty.”

My name is Dro’Sintaba.,” he retorted quickly, nostrils flaring with an aggrieved huff. He rolled his shoulders forward and sighed again - like he was forcing every drop of hope out of himself. Deflating.

The Dunmer tutted and rolled her eyes, boldly, in his direction. “That’s what I said!”

She stepped back towards him, forcing her own arm through his, joining the two of them at the elbow. He relented and followed her “It doesn’t smell great, you’re right, but if you let me light the lamps, it’ll burn the stench from the air - have patience my friend.” She added with a smile, showing her teeth, and a dimple in each cheek. He warmed at that, releasing the tension in his shoulders.

With a snap of her fingers, a controlled flame soared beside her and the first lamp lit up. After circling the room, performing the same trick over and over, the chill left the room and a warm glow lit it up in its entirety. The plush furniture was blanketed in cobwebs, dust, and dirt - but it was there.

It was clear it had once been loved.

“Just a quick bit of cleaning here… We’ll have a lounge for our members to relax in…” The Dunmer trilled, leading the Khajiit around the room again. “And through there…” A slender finger pointed to the archway separating this room from the next; “we’ll have delicious feasts every night!” she giggled, her ears twitching again.

“You think so?” the Khajiit asked, his fouler mood seemingly mollified for the time being.

The Dunmer tilted her head, narrowing her eyes coyly. “Oh, I know so…” she purred. Walking now towards an actual door. “But this room… This is the one you really liked.” As if permitting him to walk forwards, she let go of his elbow, and took a step back.

Excitedly, Dro’Sintaba pushed open the door - finding himself in the larger room as he stepped beyond the threshold. A generously sized bed was placed in one corner, a long and sprawling desk had been set up in front of a large window. His eyes widened as he paced through, straightening himself up to his full and impressive height. “That view…” he exhaled.

The Dunmer then followed him in, humming in agreement. “Beautiful, I know.” She remarked, making her way across the dusty rug to the window to release the latch. “The forest beyond this window will carry the scent of pine on a breeze, right to you.” She blinked up at him, smiling again.

Dro’Sintaba pushed back his own hood at last - revealing his dark fur, and the painted stripes across the bridge of his nose. There was a whisper of a smile on his countenance and he nodded. “Thank you Ivy,” he said heavily, unable to meet her gaze with his own for that moment.

She understood how much it meant to him.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 1 mo ago Post by Stormflyx
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Stormflyx Lilac & Gooseberries

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Guild Headquarters
Bruma
19th First Seed, Evening





As rain heaved and fell over Bruma, the late evening scent from within the sturdy walls of the guildhouse was peppered with petrichor and the rich hue of a rich vintage red, firewood, and burning herbs. A thin wisp of smoke circled the edges of the guild office and the window was propped open with two slender legs hanging out out. Skin the colour of a storm clouds that graced the sky were catching the cool heavy droplets before running and falling to the ground to sink through freshly turned soil..

“Close the window, you’ll catch your death doing that,” said Dro’Sintaba as he glanced upwards and observed her for a moment, hung upside down from the sill, her legs hooked outside. There was a curled pile of red hair like a pillow beneath her head. He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, magnifying his piercing eyes in the dim warmth of candlelight.

The Dunmer did not look back, instead she was shuffling through a pile of parchment placed out across the floor before her. “Death can’t be caught, my friend. She simply waits to embrace us when we’ve reached the end of our road.” Ivy responded calm as calm, drawing a finger underneath a line of cursive on the paper.

“This Sinalare, she’s interesting you know,” Ivy mused aloud, “Been a prisoner of war - she’s resilient then, been through a lot… Excellent skillset too I’d say. Wager she’ll be a fantastic hire, work her way up the ranks very quickly.”

Dro’Sintaba shook his head incredulously, sighing from his nostrils. The chair beneath his huge form creaked and his ears flicked back in response. The Khajiit placed an elbow on the table and ran a finger under his chin. “As long as she isn’t mouthy and doesn’t answer back. I don’t know if I’ve the patience for trouble, Ivy…”

“If you didn’t want trouble - ‘haps you shouldn’t have hired the Nord woman, you know… that one” Ivy said as she wiggled her toes. “Werebear… Could be a liability.”

“She wants to cure herself,” Dro’Sintaba answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “And besides from that she seemed dedicated, strong… Low maintenance…”

That made Ivy scoff, but there was no bad intent towards the girl. “Make your mind up, you pick and choose what you like, don’t you?” she laughed, at the hypocrisy.

“That I do…” the Khajiit responded before taking a long sip from his glass.




“It’s good that we’ve got a healer,” Ivy suggested - far from the window now. Cross legged in the centre of the Khajiit’s bed. The same parchments spread around her. Dro’Sintaba was still in his chair, unmoved. He shot a fierce glare in Ivy’s direction that anyone else might have balked under, but the Dunmer seemed entirely immune.

His voice was then a restrained growl, touched with impatience while he blinked slowly and tapped a finger on the side of his goblet. “No ideas,” he replied with a finality. They’d been over it already. Anyone else might have thrown a fit to hear the woman laugh after that, but as she was immune to him, he was immune to her.

“If nothing else, he’s older. Knows how to talk to the youth… He might in some way, assist in the disciplining should we need it,” Ivy said with a motion of her hand as she placed the parchment to the bottom of the pile.

Dro’Sintaba wanted to warn the Dunmer not to push her luck, but he thought better of it. The sound of rain and distant thunder was soothing to his ears as the rest of him enjoyed the warmth of the hearthfire, and the warmth of the wine even more so. The pleasant lingering burn through his chest to his stomach. “Maybe,” he shrugged.

After a longer while, Dro’Sintaba lifted his head slowly from the papers to glance at Ivy. “What of the young Nord? Of Megana,” his lips parted into a smile and there was a twinkle in his eye. “I like her, she’d make a good squire I think.”

Ivy frowned, “she’s not to be your little runabout slave - she’s a grown woman with ambitions and aspirations.” Suddenly, a bony finger extended to point at the Khajiit - who spread his arms under the accusation from the Dunmer. “If I’m not allowed to go about having ideas, nor are you. She’ll attend to jobs just as much as she’ll assist you.”




“La’Shuni….” Ivy breathed out, with a smile on her lips. She reached to a small copper bowl and plucked out a handful of berries, picking at them one by one as her eyes traced the parchment. “I like you, La’Shuni…” she muttered, feeling her cheeks pull inwards at the tartness of the fruit.

From across the room, Dro’Sintaba spoke up; “what was that?” he asked, a crease against his brow. “Did you say something?” he asked, reaching for his goblet again and finding only the last dregs of the red in a tiny pool at the very bottom. He sighed, feeling a heaviness in his chest that made him cough abruptly.

Ivy lifted her head at that, sour berries had her squinting as she observed the Cathay-raht clearing his throat before pouring out another glass. “Steady on Sinty…” she uttered, before looking back at the one named La’Shuni’s application. Intrigued, she added it to her small accepted pile. “I very much look forward to meeting another Khajiit,” she declared - loud enough for the guild leader to hear.

“Ah,” Dro’Sintaba said in a strained tone. “Yes, yes. The maiden historian, yes?” He added with a wave of his hand.

“Mmhmm,” Ivy replied with a nod - her lips stained vibrantly from the berries. “We shall need a scout, and a scholar of sorts is always useful to have around. If you have a squire… Perhaps she could be mine. I feel… I feel happy when I think of her, like there’s a nice pull between us…” Ivy explained happily.




Dro’Sintaba laughed.

He laughed hard until his chest swelled again and his laughter turned into another bout of coughing. “This…. Godsdamned dust in here,” he wheezed, rubbing his chest with the back of his hand, laughter fading away. “Lifts-Many-Boulders… We’ll see about that.

“Don’t start with that,” the red-head replied. Rolling her eyes, a hand falling to her hip as she stirred the pot that sat over the open flame. A soup of some kind bubbled away filling the air with the inviting tang of onion, mushroom, and a bone broth. “He seems… Softer than he looks. He’ll be an asset to this guild - both in his strength and in his vulnerability. He’s a protector,” she added, looking over her shoulder at the Khajiit who was still hunched over his desk.

“Well,” Dro’Sintaba huffed - his chest suddenly puffing out as he shot her a cursory glance, a spark of anger flittered over his eyes. “What am I? Chopped liver?” he spat, offended.

Again, Ivy simply laughed.

“You’d rather sauce yourself and sign papers and you know it,” she shot back, lifting the ladle from the soup to point it in his direction, dropping a generous splash of the food onto the floor.

Dro’Sintaba didn’t answer for a while, simply shrugging at the soup strewn across the floor and returning to the last of the pages.

“This mage… Taril… He seems like trouble, like he’s some kind of flirt,” the Khajiit said with a raised brow and curled lip. He grumbled something under his breath, and Ivy glanced back again.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, a smirk on her lips. “Threatened are you?” she continued - pushing her luck.

He chose not to answer that. He chose to ignore it, but truthfully it did bother him. A reminder of his lost youth in the form of a young adventurer with the world ahead of him. The Cathay-raht turned his head to the window, sighing long at the obscured moon behind the clouds, nothing but a brightness was the indication that it was there.

“Well, we can always use another mage… The other Argonian seems interesting too. An apprentice smith. If we ever grow… We’ll need craftsmen.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes from under the frames of the spectacles. That was the last of them.

“Well, Ivy… Pin the names to the town notice board come the morning. We’ll see if they even still arrive…”

Ivy nodded, tucking a strand of unruly hair behind her ear as she poured out two bowls of the soup, the steam warmed her cheeks and was hot enough to make her blink. It had been a long night, and still there were some on the pile that perhaps one day would walk through the doors and be welcomed to Dro’Sintaba’s guild. But for now, just a small handful. She hoped that they would be comfortable. That her efforts to clean and make the guildhouse warm and homely had been enough. That they would like it just enough to stay.

“Oh they will my friend. They will.”

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Hidden 1 mo ago Post by Dervish
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Dervish Let's get volatile

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Bruma
20th First Seed, Morning


“What is that repulsive creature?! Why is digging up my garden?” a shrill Imperial voice broke the cool, damp morning. The creature, unsightly and of an appearance that suggested the Divines had plucked a bunch of parts from a box and stuck them together to see what would happen, disregarded the woman as its tusks plowed into the dirt once more with a contented snort. It was a large creature, standing a bit taller than a typical pony and about twice as wide, supported on six legs that ended in bony, insect-like spikes that connected to a pale grey and black striped coat with a long ridge of rough fur going along its spine, like the peaks of a mountain range. Its face looked like some unlikely pairing of an elk and a bear, and a short little tail wagged behind the creature as its pointy legs probed the dirt, nose sniffing all the while. It seemed entirely unperturbed by the interruption.

The woman then noticed it had a harness adorned to its frame and a length of severed rope trailing behind it. Someone owned this thing, she realized. She had berated irresponsible dog owners in her time, and had no problem shooing them away. This thing, however, made her stay her ground. Everything about it was so pointy.

“Go, shoo! Get!” she demanded. The creature’s face burrowed into the dirt once more.

“Scooter! Where are you, Scooter?” a strangely accented woman’s voice called, raspy in cadence. A Khajiit woman rounded the corner, dark sleeveless leather armour adorning her from, contrasting with her white coat of fur and tidily braided mane of hair. The Imperial grunted, immediately drawing the connection. The creature and the Khajiit even had matching colours.
Suddenly, the Khajiit’s eyes grew wide, and she exclaimed, “There you are!” she said, hurrying over. The creature responded to the familiar voice, brown-yellow eyes turning ponderously to glance back to meet the amber eyes belonging to his master. It bellowed contentedly and began prancing around with surprising agility that could most charitably be described as aerating the garden with its pointed legs. It suddenly stopped, pressing the front half of its body low as its rear end wiggled excitedly, as if this uncouth display was somehow a game.

Despite the utter annihilation of the garden, the woman had to admit, the strange creature was surprisingly cute, in its strange, monstrous way.

The Khajiit hurried up to the creature, which was hurriedly trying to chew on a truffle it had managed to dislodge so his master couldn’t remove it. It was rather dog-like, in a fashion. The Khajiit stroked the creature’s head and pressed hers against it. “You cannot run off like that, Scooter. People aren’t as understanding of your appetite as La’Shuni!” she said.

The Imperial approached with a huff. “This thing is yours?” she demanded. Suddenly, the Khajiit was standing erect, hands crossed before her, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, yes! This one is very sorry!” La’Shuni exclaimed, bowing her head apologetically. “This one tried to tell the stable master, ‘oh no, an echatere is not a horse! You cannot stable him like one!’, but he didn’t listen and this rascal got out in the night La’Shuni imagines, and he’s very clever, you see! He knows how to gnaw through ropes and open simple latches with his tusks, this one swears he only thinks with this stom-“

The Imperial gestured to the garden with an exasperated flourish. “It destroyed my garden! It’s eating my truffle right now!”

“Ah, yes! Again, La’Shuni is so, so sorry! You see, we had a long road coming from the mountains in the North, and there’s all these strange sights and smells and tastes to him, see he’s never left his home before, so he’s kind of like La’Shuni was only a few years back-“

“The. Garden.” The Imperial snapped. “You owe me, Khajiit!”

The flowers in the Khajiit’s hands were thrust out in offering. “That’s why this one bought you this! It is not much, but this one does not have coin at present, spent what little this one had one food and board last night, but she should be getting a job today!” La’Shuni said proudly. “First one, on her own, you see, and-“
The Imperial took the flowers, looking at them quizzically, the fire dying down somewhat in her dark eyes. “While the thought is appreciated, it isn’t going to replace my produce. I grow my own food!”

Another bow of the head, although this woman was being excessively rude. “Perhaps this one can suggest you invest in a sturdier fence? There are goats in this town, and from experience, they will eat everything…” she realized she was rambling on and smiled apologetically. Scooter grunted and tried to return to the garden, stopped by the muscular arms of the Khajiit woman. It bellowed dejectedly and slumped down on its flank with a thud, another unnervingly dog-like behaviour. “So please understand that this one does not have coin at present, but she will! There’s an adventurer’s guild starting up in town here, and this one will be able to pay for your losses in short order. It’s the best La’Shuni can do, but she promises she will return with coin!”

A nearby bulletin board was suddenly drawing a small crowd when an official came around, affixing parchment to it. La’Shuni’s heart raced; it was time!

“Oh! Excuse me, miss! This is likely her employment!” she said excitedly, hurrying over to Scooter. “This one will be back, she promises!” she exclaimed to the woman.

“Wait!” the Imperial shouted, but it was too late. The Khajiit and her echatere were thundering towards the crowd, bony points clacking into the cobblestone.

La’Shuni found herself in an odd assortment of people from all across Tamriel, and she was brushing shoulders with an incredibly large Argonian and a Nord woman with mousy, dark hair. The Khajiit’s eyes darted across the board and her heart skipped a beat.
Her name.

A claw raced out, pulling the paper off carelessly, which made her instantly regret it due to the rip. It would be seen as so disrespectful and unappreciative, a small part of her mind reminded her as she quickly took in the missive.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “This one got the job!”

Her face was beaming, and she began to excitedly pat Scooter’s neck, his legs clacking contentedly. She waved the paper back at the Imperial woman, who couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. The wonders of youth, she thought as she grabbed for a rake and began the long process of rehabilitating her poor garden.
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Hidden 1 mo ago 1 mo ago Post by Greenie
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Greenie Heaven don't play like violins

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Bruma, 20th of First Seed

Now that she thought about it, it was a little strange to the young Nord that she had never actually been to Bruma before the last few weeks. So close to Skyrim, yet knowing it was part of Cyrodiil had made the Jerall Mountains seem strange and mysterious, and perhaps a little intimidating. Not to mention her father always making a bland and uninspiring face at the mention of anything from his homeland- sometimes it seemed as if he was more Nord than she was! Maybe that was what fueled the curiousity in her to finally step out of her comfort zone, to travel through the mountains and make her way into Bruma, after months of traveling through Skyrim. While she loved the home of the Nords with all her being, she knew there had to be more out there. Tamriel was huge, and Skyrim was just a small wee bit of the world! Stories told to her during her tavern stays had only further fanned the flame of intrigue, until at last the Nord stepped into Cyrodiil, hoping to find something different, something exciting.

She had to admit that at first glance she was rather... disappointed. All smiles perhaps, but disappointed nonetheless, as everything still seemed rather similar to back home, save the names of people perhaps. The smell was similar, the feel of the land, the food even... But then there was something that swayed her disappointment. A new guild searching for recruits? Here? Immediately her mind churned and excitement once more brew within, thoughts of her mother and the Companions at the forefront.

It'll be just like tha', won' it? I'll be able t'do a whole lotta things like Ma did, with others like me!

It was a no brainer, really. Adventuring was fun, but it was lonely business most of the time, and even if she was used to it, she liked being around people. She liked to talk to friendly folks, share food and mead at a table, regale people with tales of valour... or even silly stories and jokes.

There was always the possibility that she would be rejected-

"No, ain' gonna think like tha'!" she scolded herself loudly, smacking the table she was sitting at with the palm of her hand, which she regretted almost immediately, feeling the sting of an embedded splinter. "Gah, Stendar have mercy..."

Ignoring the puzzled and annoyed looks sent her way, Megana Corvus pushed back her chair and stood up, scowling as she looked at the obnoxious sliver of wood sticking out of her palm. Letting out a "blah", she carefully grabbed the intruder and yanked it out... or rather attempted to. Her fingers, though supple, were in fact useless against the teensy piece of wood, as were her teeth when she failed with the aforementioned. A large cough and a simultaneous clearing of someone's throat had Meg look away from her hand. "Ahh..."

Sheepish, she let out a small embarrassed laugh before reaching into the backpack she had carelessly plonked on the second chair by her table, rummaging about inside before pulling out a sad looking money bag that didn't promise many septims within.

Ahh... I really do hope I get in... I'mma be outta gold soon!

Leaving the tavern with her belongings and a slightly stinging palm, the Nord woman paused momentarily, hearing some raised voice in the distance. Unsure what that might be about, she wondered if it would be a good idea to see if there was trouble brewing somewhere. Wouldn't that be what aspiring adventurers and heroes would do? But then... what if people eventually thought she was causing trouble... She paused momentarily to fix her bag, the strap slipping off her shoulder. It seemed as if she'd need to find a replacement for it soon as well.

Before another sigh could escape her, her attention was caught by people gathering near a board Meg has recognized some days earlier as similar to the ones she would peruse to find her next delve to tomb raid, along with postings of marks needing to be hunted. Her green eyes widened and she hurried her way over, trying her best to politely push past those already standing there, nearly smacking face first into the largest Argonian she had ever seen... ever.

"Wah! Sorry!" Meandering a little to the side so she could see the board, she squinted as she tried to read what had been recently posted. Me?... me?.. me...? "Ah! Me!" Her exclamation was not the only one, however, and probably not the loudest one either as it seemed somebody else had found their name on the paper posted as well. It took only a quick glance to spot the person- with those pointed ears, white spotted fur, long spotted tail and catlike features, only a fool wouldn't recognize a khajiit.

"Me too!" she proclaimed, grinning in the stranger's direction. "I'm Meg, nice t'meetcha!"
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Hidden 1 mo ago 1 mo ago Post by Lemons
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Lemons They will look for him from the white tower...

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Bruma, 20th of First Seed

There were a very few things that Aud had gleaned how to read and write over the course of her short life. One of them was her name.

But simply writing her name wasn't enough for her to apply to a guild, and so she'd gone to the inn and payed out a few coins from her meager purse to a studious-looking fellow to write down her application as she dictated to him. There were a few words and phrases she'd had to repeat, as he'd apparently had issue parsing through her rather thick Solstheim accent, but she hoped it was mostly alright. She didn't have any way to be sure, of course, but she didn't see a reason for him to lie to her.

She wriggled out of her small, low tent, breathing deep and savoring the chill in the air. It was getting warmer, now, during the day. Too warm for her tastes, really, and during the summer, she knew it would get much worse from her brief stint at the Fighter's Guild in Cheydinhal. Still, she'd always been an early riser. Had to, really, to get a full day of hunting in. And so she was still able to shiver gently as the sunrise bled over the peaks of the Jeralls, and was reminded that she was alive.

Today the list goes up, she thought, throwing on her cloak and tossing the quiver of spears over her shoulder in a single fluid motion. I hope I make it in. I can hunt my food and make my repairs alone, but companionship is a different matter. It'll be a hard year if I don't find some soon.

She sighed. The fact that she couldn't read or write was a black mark pretty much everywhere she'd tried to fit in since she'd left the Skaal. She didn't expect much out of this one either. Still, what was another guild's rejection when she'd been rejected already, or found them too far removed from her tastes? If she was rejected--the likely outcome--she would keep moving on, as she always had. She caught herself fidgeting with the dagger hung around her neck, and hastily crammed it down her tunic. No sense in freely advertising something so valuable, and so precious to her.

The walls of Bruma loomed above her as she trudged onto the road, then into the city, her thick fur-and-leather books shuffling through the thin layer of snow. Ignoring the quizzical looks that came her way--you'd think that the people of Bruma had never seen a woman carrying six spears walk through their city in Skaal clothing and a backpack that clanked with the muted sound of metal--she continued her walk unabated, headed towards a noticeboard around which was clustered a...rather diverse set of characters. Argonians she was more used to, as some had occasionally come from Morrowind to Solstheim and she'd spied them from afar while hunting, but the mere existence of khajiit as a people still held surprise for her, not least in the way they spoke.

Shouldering none-too-gently through the small gaggle of people and shoving her way between the khajiit and a Nord woman significantly smaller than her own considerable bulk, she stepped up to the board, scanning down the list. She couldn't actually read much of it, of course, but the depiction of a crossed sword and shield had her reasonably convinced that it was what she was there for, and she was rewarded midway down the list with one of those very few things that she could read: Aud Longspear

She let out a breath that she didn't know she'd been holding, and spoke more quietly than those around her, in her husky, heavily accented voice:

"Well, I'll be damned."
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Hidden 1 mo ago Post by Hank
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Hank Dionysian Mystery

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The city was on fire.

Soldiers marched all around him, swords and shields at the ready, their formation flawless and their steps steady, but Rhillian could see the uneasiness in their eyes. He felt it too. Every time the dragon overhead swooped low and dove out of the clouds for another strafing run of blistering hellfire, the air itself bowed and supplicated to make room for the beast’s massive form. The soldiers could feel it, the bow-wake of the displacement, and they flinched every time another street or row of homes ahead of them went up in flames. The dragon was on their side. They all knew that. But it was still a dragon. All of their most primal instincts were telling them to run.

“Steady, soldiers!” came the cry from their commander up ahead. The plume on her helmet was a fierce splash of red against the grey backdrop of the stones of Windhelm and it danced furiously in the wind, spurred on by the heat of the inferno that surrounded them. She was just as unsettled as the rest of them, Rhillan knew, but she was putting on a brave face all the same. That was what good leadership was. The chaplain admired her.

A hand touched his shoulder and he looked aside to see Lucius looking at him expectantly. He was a young man, forced to grow beyond his years, and defaced by a long scar that split his face in twain -- the souvenir of a Nordic greataxe. “It’s going to be alright, won’t it?” Lucius asked.

Before Rhillian could say anything, the clouds above them parted and the great dragon Odahviing burst forth, his wings trailing wisps of condensation. Sat stride his shoulders was the Dragonborn, clad in bone armor from head to toe, a shining blade held aloft. The weapon slashed through the air, like a general signaling his archers to fire, and the maw of the dragon opened to unleash a stream of fire that raked across the Palace of the Kings, looming dark and unforgiving ahead of them. Archers positioned on the roof went up in flames and fell, screaming and writing, to their deaths below, or collapsed in a charred heap where they stood, the flesh on their bones melting into ashen sludge. With a few powerful flaps of its mighty wings, Odahviing ascended back into the clouds, out of range of the Stormcloaks’ ballistas, and it was gone.

“Yes, it will,” Rhillian said, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the awesome spectacle. He smiled and his eyes softened and he raised the amulet of Akatosh he wore around his neck for the soldier to see. “The son of the gods is with us today.”

---

Bruma, Cyrodiil
20th of First Seed, 4E213


He shot awake abruptly and gasped for breath. The Imperial blinked hard to clear the mist of sleep from his eyes, the afterimages of dragonfire still burned into his retinas, and slowly the guest quarters of the chapel’s rectory coalesced into form. Windhelm was long gone, he remembered now, and placed a hand on his chest to find his amulet of Arkay there instead, as it should be. The quick wipe of a hand across his brow confirmed the presence of cold sweat and Rhillian swung his legs out of bed, the mercifully cool touch of the stone of the floor against the bare soles of his feet anchoring him to reality and helping him pull the last vestiges of his slumbering mind out of the realm of his dreams and nightmares.

“Gods, give me strength,” came the familiar whispered prayer, barely audible and little more than a breath from between chapped lips. His amber eyes looked down on his hands and he saw that his fingers were trembling. Lucius’ scarred face came to him again, the image unbidden and unwanted, and Rhillian clenched his fists. The past should stay in the past.

He was in Bruma, and today was the day.

Rhillian got up, washed himself and slipped into his robes and armor, mouthing prayers and mantras as he went through the morning routine. The guest room was sparsely decorated and pragmatically furnished, as proper quarters should be, and Rhillian found comfort in the sensibility of the space’s arrangements. Windows set into the high walls, leading up to a vaulted ceiling, let in bright shafts of sunlight when he swiped the curtains aside and Rhillian basked in them for a few moments, his eyes half-closed against the light. He took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. His fingers were no longer trembling. The light, and the muffled birdsong that came from the church gardens outside, had cast away the darkness. Rhillian smiled as he slowly pulled his gauntlets over his hands.

Francis turned around in his seat when Rhillian stepped into the rectory proper and the old priest inclined his head in greeting. “Sleep well, my son?” he asked and put down the papers he had been reading next to the plate of breakfast in front of him. The living room had the same high ceiling as the sleeping quarters and was dominated by a large oaken table in the middle of the space, large enough to seat a dozen guests, that made Francis seem almost diminutive as he had his breakfast by his lonesome. The walls were lined with bookshelves and display cabinets that contained ecclesiarchical and theological texts, priestly attributes and sacred mementos. It was a beautiful room and Rhillian almost envied Francis.

“Yes, thank you,” Rhillian lied and bowed to emphasize his gratitude. The two priests knew each other from their time in the Legion and the old man had been gracious enough to allow Rhillian to stay overnight after his arrival in Bruma. “This place is wonderful. You must be comfortable here.”

The Breton chuckled and shrugged. “As comfortable as anyone can be at my age, I suppose.” He inspected Rhillian more closely over the rim of his half-moon glasses and frowned slightly. “Are you sure you must go? You look like you could do with some more peace and quiet. My doors are always open for you, you know.”

“Well, the guild will announce their recruits today,” Rhillian said and made sure that his steel claymore was fastened properly across his back. “If I have not been selected, I may call upon your hospitality once more. But just until I have planned my next move. I cannot stay for long, and I wouldn’t want to impose myself on you.”

Francis waved dismissively. “Bah. This chapel runs itself. Sigmund and Fryra are good people, but boring. Nords make terrible conversation. You, at least,” he said and jabbed a finger in Rhillian’s direction that was almost accusatory, “have interesting things to say, hm? Think about it. Now go.” The priest turned back to his papers and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “Leave me to my reading.”

Rhillian smiled. That brusqueness had always been Francis’ way. He nodded and made his way outside, his chainmail clinking softly as he walked, the door to the chapel gardens swinging open with a loud creaking protest from its hinges. “Should get that looked at,” Rhillian called over his shoulder and smirked when he heard Francis grumble something unintelligible in response.

The fresh mountain air of Bruma greeted him and he drank it in gratefully. A few twists and turns through the streets of the city brought him to the town square. From there, the bulletin board was not hard to find, given that a sizable crowd had already gathered around it. Several people caught his eye; a towering Argonian, first of all, that looked to be almost more dragon than beastman, followed by an excitable female Khajiit and even a Nord woman that looked even wilder than a Stormcloak. Rhillian waited politely at the edge of the crowd until a navigable path to the notices opened itself to him and he stepped forward to scan the list for his name.

There it was. Rhillian of Drakelowe. “Title and all,” he mumbled to himself and smiled again. Truth be told, he had expected to find his name there. Adventurous healers were always hard to find. The Imperial glanced sidelong to see another Nord woman with dark hair strike up a conversation with the Khajiit and he realized that these people would be his comrades for the foreseeable future -- his comrades and his flock, in fact. He stepped back to let someone else look at the notice and looked up at the giant Argonian, lifting a hand against the stark sunlight of the morning. He had already memorized some of the other names on the list and one stood out.

“Lifts-Many-Boulders,” Rhillian said to himself and laughed. “I can see why.”

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The water was now boiling, and every few moments another potato was dropped inside of the pot. Normally, the Saxhleel would feel too exposed setting up such a camp. He usually cooked in the middle of the forest, where the fire was blotted out by thick oak and the smoke wafted through the parted canopy above. But here, in the old mer ruins west of Bruma, walls sufficiently covered most lines of sight to him, and he had long since made sure no one else had set up here.

Once the potatoes were sufficiently boiling, he turned and checked on the caribou he had killed. He opened the beast's cut abdomen, and reached inside to feel for its stomach. Clawed hands brushed against a bloated are, and he knew he had found the correct chamber, one of the four they had in their stomach. Within, the flank cuts and tenderloin he had placed within were nearly thoroughly pickled within the multitude of vegetables the animal had eaten over the last two days.

It was an old trick he'd learned among his travels, pickling meat into a dish within the stomach. It provided all the nutrients one needed, and it tasted well for even the Landstrider's picky palate. The moon was half concealed above, casting down a ghastly light on the ferociously marred Argonian warrior. Daixanos' tail flapped idly as he checked the food, and once it was ready, he poured the boiling water out of the pot and into a flask, and poured the stomach contents along with the beef he had inserted in there within the pot filled with potatoes.

The pot was far from cool, but the Argonian's leathery and callused scaled gave him some protection as he began to dig in, maw first. If he weren't sitting cross legged (and if he wore no clothing) he could easily be mistaken for a Daedroth by his snout and the way he consumed his food. He needed to eat fast, however. He wished to make it to Bruma by morning, and that meant he had to leave before dawn broke on the horizon.

Once his stomach was full, he cleaned his area and took the Elk into the wilderness to share with the forest. As he did so, he thanked the Hist for this bounty he had been given, and once more he looked east. His bow strung and his axe used as a walking stick, as he knew how much men grew wary if he carried it in any way that wasn't casual, he approached the outskirts of the nordic city as the sun warmed his scales, peaking over the mountains from behind him.

The city was well built with stone, with roofs and architecure much akin to those he saw in Skyrim. It brought back a small melancholy to Dax, as if he felt the cold north was a home away from his humid and hot swampland to the south. Perhaps he would feel comfortable here, answering the summons for his aid in this new guild he had heard tell of.

As he stepped through the entrance, a bored looking man at the ass end of middle age looked up at his clipboard. Dax cleared his throat. "Adventurer's guild?" he asked. The Imperial was about to ask who was entering Bruma when he looked up to see see a savage Argonian, armed to the teeth with skin the color of dried blood. While Dax wasn't oblivious to the man's surprise and trepidation, he played ignorant, because he truly didn't care. As long as the man didn't have a bounty on his head, he didn't need to be feared.

"Adventurer's Guild?" he asked again.

"T-that way, good sir. Have a nice day."
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Hidden 1 mo ago Post by Mortarion
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Bruma, Cyrodiil
20th of First Seed, 4E213

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.

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

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Hidden 1 mo ago Post by LadyTabris
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Sinalare jolted awake from the endless darkness of sleep, the last echoes of her nightmare fading as she sprung from the bed and rushed to the open window. She braced her hands on the windowsill as she shook off the memories - grasping the iron bars on the door - her knuckles turning white. She peered out over the city from the second-floor room. The early-morning chill, fresh air which had already permeated her room overnight was refreshing - pitch darkness, scraping her hands on the stones along the floor - and the dream faded.

The dream faded. She loosened her grip on the windowsill, finally turning away from it. Her things, hardly unpacked despite the fact that she stayed in the room for four nights now, were easy to throw together. Her purse was getting light. If the Adventurer’s Guild didn’t pan out, she would need to look for other work today, soonest. But why wouldn’t it? Surely her name was selected. She didn’t know anyone who would turn down competency.

The inn room wasn’t quite busy yet when she descended the stairs. Sinalare was always an early riser, even back in Valenwood. Her difficulty remaining asleep was only an added factor. She waved at one of the workers on her way by.

“Breakfast, please, and a drink,” she requested, walking past to the table which was closest to the door, even if it was built for six people. She tossed her things down next to her and seated herself, putting the last of her coins on the table for the barmaid.

The drink arrived quickly. Ale, an unfortunate drink she had become accustomed to. She drank it without hesitation but with much reluctance. Sinalare was never a picky eater; it was best to take whatever was available, despite her preferences. When the waitress added eggs and two baked potatoes to the mix, she said nothing, despite her yearning for… ah, fresh venison, she daydreamed. She ignored the taste easily, from practice, and the strange texture; the eggs and potatoes were gone in minutes.

Sinalare glanced up at the barmaid. She wasn’t the same one as had been there the past few days, and she was staring at the bosmer as she nearly inhaled her food. The girl was young and clearly a bit disgusted. Sinalare glared at her; the girl nearly jumped. She pushed her plate away from her and slung her bag over her back, leaving the inn without a backwards glance at her.

If she was remembering correctly - and surely she was - the guild was to the right. She weaved her way through the streets. Bruma was different from her previous travels; the city was certainly colder than Valenwood or Elsweyr, where she’d spent the most time. The strangest thing about Cyrodiil, she thought as she approached the notice board, was how the war was a distant memory; the participants she had once fought had aged and the Imperials who looked her age hadn’t even been born. They didn’t look at her as an enemy, though perhaps they would an Altmer, and she tried to do the same.

As she scanned the list, she shook off the thoughts. There her name was, right near the top, of course. She tried not to admit to herself that it was a relief; she was sick of asking around for one-time jobs everywhere she went. This way, they’d come to her. Smiling, she made her way towards the guild hall.
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ft. @Hank

Lifts-Many-Boulders was not entirely accustomed to city life. The hustle and bustle of the streets, the concerned glances of Nords and Imperials as he tried to squeeze his way through the thoroughfare and duck his head beneath any arches or doorways, and the civilized nature of it all wasn’t a snug fit for him. The Dresmer deprived him of quite a few things growing up, and it left him feeling like an ignorant baby in a world too quick to label him a savage. Then there was quite the embarrassing feeling of pretending that he knew how to read and looking at the list over and over again as if it was some long, densely packed pamphlet of information rather than a brief notice of who was accepted or not. There was the intermittent person who would come around, read the list, and look either disappointed or grinning from ear to ear. There were two such Nord woman, a khajiit, and one Imperial man seemed to utter something beneath his breath too quiet for his words to cross the vertical distance between the two. A well of frustration was building up in his chest when he suddenly heard the same Imperial name mutter his name. His name.

“Lifts-Many-Boulders,” he chuckled, “I can see why.”

The argonian looked to imperial man, who he stood at least a foot over -- to say nothing of his height, for Boulders stood taller than anyone he had ever met -- but he looked at him with some measure of surprise and awe. He slowly turned and, perhaps when the man was not expecting it, covered his shoulder with his own massive hand, still clammy from the melted snow. He squatted down in order to be at equal head heights, and his reptilian eyes bore into the Imperial’s.

“How do you know my name?” He asked curiously. He assumed that maybe he was some kind of wizard or oracle. Considering most of his interactions were between dark elves and argonians, it seemed like a reasonable guess to him.

Rhillian forced himself to remain still when the giant Argonian placed an equally massive paw on his shoulder. He met Boulders' gaze and saw nothing but genuine curiosity in the beastman's eyes. Relieved, and intrigued by the question, Rhillian cleared his throat and smiled. "Your name is listed there," he explained. "I didn't see anyone else here that looks like they can lift many boulders, so I figured that it must be you. I'm pleased that I was right."

He held out a hand for the Argonian to shake, mildly worried that Boulders was going to crush it unintentionally -- but it would be rude not to offer. "My name is Rhillian of Drakelowe. It looks like we've both been accepted into the guild." He paused and tilted his head. "Forgive me for the question, but I must ask. Can you read?"

Boulders’ reaction was first and foremost one of glee and satisfaction. To think somebody actually wanted him around! The spines on his head were as erect as he was overjoyed, and it took much of his self control to keep himself from squeezing Rhillian into paste. Then he was forced to pause as he looked down at the hand being offered to him; Rhillian’s concerns were correct in that the argonian was in fact worried about crushing the man’s hand, so he gently took Rhillian’s hand between two fingers and waggled it around like some kind of fish, somewhat unfamiliar with the greeting. Of course, he’s seen it done before, but in actual practice and the anxiety of actually meeting people, his observations has gone to the wayside in favor of improvising. At the man’s question, he shook his head. “The Dresmer never taught me.” He said matter-of-factly. “But I liked it when one nice lady read to me. Thank you, Rhill….ian, for reading too.”

Lifts-Many-Boulders popped open one of the pouches hanging from the harness strapped across his chest, and with the claw on one of his fingers, seemed to be fishing for something with laser-like focus before a chunk of fish came out stuck to his claw. It smoked and salted, though it still seemed raw in sections and probably in the center, yet undeniably fresh as the sheen of moisture still clung to the salt and sections of underprepared flesh. The argonian offered it to Rhillian, sticking his finger towards his chest. It was clear he wasn’t much of a talker, and when he did, did so in clipped phrases and preferred to communicate through action and kind gestures.

"You're welcome," Rhillian said. He made a mental note to ask after the nature of these 'Dresmer' later. It was his turn to shake his head when the fish was offered to him. "I can't accept that. Thank you, but people like me, Imperials, shouldn't eat fish until it's been cooked through. We can get sick otherwise." He smiled, though, and ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. He considered how he must look next to the Argonian and the thought made him chuckle. He wasn't a small man by any means and the bulk of his fur-lined robes, as blue as the summer sky, only added to that. And yet Boulders dwarfed him without even trying.

"I can teach how to read, if you like," the priest offered in turn. "You should learn that if you're going to be a citizen of the Empire. We're going to be spending a lot of time together as it is, so there'll be plenty of opportunity. What do you say?"

Boulders cocked his head to the side curiously as he stuck the fish into his mouth and and replied simply, “Dresmer told me my kind can’t read. You are nice to offer, though.”

Then Rhillian’s mention of them working together reminded him of the fact he was given a job to do, and suddenly the sense of camaraderie began creeping in, and he felt the urge to be celebrating with the small nord woman and her khajiit friend. His head cocked to the other side to eagerly watch the little ones jump in place with excitement and gush to one another over their acceptance. He looked around at all those gathered around the post and realized that this would be his new tribe from this point going forward. Looking back to Rhillian, he added, “We have many new friends, yes?”

The purity of the Argonian was endearing and Rhillian couldn't help but grin and nod in agreement. "Yes, we do." Giving it some thought, and armed with the knowledge that the mysterious Dresmer had lied to Boulders, the Imperial theorised that they might be dark elves. Wasn't there a Great House called Dres? "Say, my friend; these Dresmer you mentioned. They wouldn't happen to have grey skin and red eyes, would they?"

Boulders nodded and gave a low growl that seemed to serve as affirmation. “Yes, dunmers. Many kinds of dunmers too, but the ones that took me are from Dres. So they’re Dresmer. You know them?”

Rhillian paused for a second before he shrugged. “I know of them, but I never visited the plantations when I went to Morrowind,” he said and looked at the Argonian in a new light. A runaway slave, he deduced, which explained the lack of an education. “You should know that the Dresmer lied to you. Argonians…” He paused and racked his brain. “Saxhleel, your people, can read just fine. Like everyone else, you just need to be taught. Your former masters deliberately didn’t because that made you easier to control,” the Imperial said and tapped the side of his head. “Knowledge is power.”

“Knowledge is power?” Lifts-Many-Boulders parroted. “Doesn’t sound right. Dresmer lying? That sounds right.” He felt inclined to believe him, at least more than he did the dark elves; but a brief pondering later, Boulders was scratching at his neck and trying to think in the same way Rhillian did. The Dresmer did believe they were trying to teach Boulders something valuable. They must have if they were so damned determined to keep him at whatever he was doing. They did teach him how to work in a kwama mine, for instance. That must have its uses.

“So…” Boulders began, trying to piece it all together. “You say you can teach me reading. If I don’t read, I’m easy to control. But you’d control me into reading. How then would reading make me free?”

It was a fair question, and a clever one. Rhillian got the distinct impression that there was a keen natural intellect hiding in Boulders' head, buried beneath his ignorance and his past. "When you can't read, you can only learn the things the people around you want to know, or the things you can learn by yourself. But throughout history there have been many people who wrote down what they knew. They're dead now, but their books survive." Rhillian smiled and gestured widely with his arms. "You can learn everything about anything when you can read. All you need is the right book."

The needle-like pupils in his Boulders’ eyes dilated, like two black orbs floating in seafoam, betraying any inclination he might have to keep his desires hidden. The end of his tongue wet the edges of his mouth and the spines on his head were standing erect. Rhillian was dangling in front of him something that may yet be worthwhile; it sounded too good to be true, and whether it be like whatever bait the Dresmer used to lure him into whip’s range or an actual, well-intentioned promise, he felt apprehensive to find out.

“You will read to me later then?” He finally responded.

Rhillian nodded, then jabbed a thumb at the guildhouse and added, “I guess I’ll see you around then. Good luck my friend.”

Friend. Boulders cocked his head curiously. The people here in the heartland was much friendlier than those in places along the way. Morrowind, certainly not friendly; Eastmarch, barely friendlier. Between here and there, they’d rather see him keep on walking. Bruma wasn’t exactly welcoming, but there were diamonds in the rough that made it bearable. Diamonds like Rhillian. He waved farewell at the Imperial as he walked away and looked down at the others who were gathered before the post. There were many small ones he’d have to protect. He wondered if they, too, could be diamonds.
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Hidden 6 days ago Post by POOHEAD189
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Lizards of a Scale, Talk a Tale



(Morty & Poo)


Daixanos stalked through the streets of Bruma, smelling freshly cooked food in the air. It was one of the nicer towns in Cyrodiil, he believed. Hardy people and strong stone did well for the welfare of the settlement, and judging by the smell, the food was very good. He didn’t expect to find another Argonian here, but a voice rose up from a corner in the next street and he perked his reptilian head up.

“Brother?” He echoed, and began to speak in a hushed tone. “Yesss, I seek the guild. Will you be inducted in as well?”

“That is the plan, but who knows what will happen.” Tsleeixth said, his previous anxieties easing somewhat at the prospect of having a fellow Saxhleel with whom to talk. “Truth be told, it would be hugely beneficial to me if I was able to join. My pouch is getting a little light now and I could use the septims.” He paused for a second in his ramble when a slightly embarrassing detail dawned on him: he hadn’t even introduced himself to his fellow Argonian.

“Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” Tsleeixth said, chuckling softly. “My name is Tsleeixth, brother. And, if you don’t mind me asking, what is it that drives you to join this new guild? We are quite away from our homeland, aren’t we? So, you’ll have to pardon me if I say that I’m more than a little surprised to find one of our kind here.”

Argonians were known for their lack of emotions, and hard to read faces. Daixanos gave credit to such stereotypes, even among his fellow Saxhleel. However, the twitch of his tail and the hiss in his breath betrayed his mild relief of speaking to a Hist-brother. “Actually, this is the closest I have been to home in many years, friend. Perhaps after a few short years here, I will return.”

Dax looked away for a moment. Not out of shyness, but wariness. Even in a civilized town, he watched for potential threats, almost like a beast himself. “I am Daixanos, of Gideon. A Hunter of Beasts, Men, and Mer should the coin be right. I have been in Skyrim for many years, on a quest from the great trees. I shall not speak of it publicly, but if you’re curious we can speak of it later. You don’t know where the guild is, do you brother?”

Tsleeixth nodded at Dax’s words, understanding why he wouldn’t want to talk about such matters in public. “Very well brother, we can speak about it later away from prying ears.” He said before chuckling sheepishly at his fellow Saxhleel’s question about if he knew where the guild was. “Ah, I do. You see, I was surprised to see a fellow Saxhleel which is why I called. One does not tend to run into many of our kind outside of our homeland after all.” Tsleeixth admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why do you ask brother, do you not know the direction?”

Briefly, Daixanos wondered why Tsleeixth was here to begin with. He had no true suspicion, but it was indeed odd that a fellow Argonian was here. He decided he would ask later, if Tslee didn’t divulge naturally. “I have never been here before, so yesss.” He replied. He felt if he began to look around, the landstriders would get a bit suspicious themselves. “I have only heard whispers of the guild in general. Let us go in so I may ply my trade.”
“Very well. It’s not too far off so we should be there shortly brother.” Tsleeixth said, resuming his walk towards the guild. “It’s a good thing that this guild was recruiting, I was running out of septims and needed a job. Hopefully we’ll both get hired, eh? Shouldn’t be too hard, after all one would think that a recently established guild would be all too eager for new recruits.” He said, letting silence fall for a few moments before he spoke again. “If you do not mind me asking brother, what drove you to seek the guild? Pardon me if I’m prying too much but, well, I’m curious.”

Dax didn’t react as they walked, answering simply. “I only know why I am in Cyrodiil, brother.”They turned a corner, Tsleeixth slightly leading to show him the way. He wondered if Tslee was always this curious or introspective. “I didn’t seek the guild for any reason other than the pay I might receive. It has good benefits, does it not?”

“Yes, it does. I must admit that I sought the guild for similar reasons, albeit I also searched for something a bit more stable than mercenary work. Well, more stable in the sense that there’d always be a place to return to after work if that makes sense.” The spellsword mused before chuckling softly. “Ah, but I digress, I apologize.” He said to Daixanos as they took one last corner, the guild’s building coming into view for the two Argonians.

A small group was already visible, which elicited a small laugh from Tsleeixth. “Well, it seems we won’t be lacking for company, will we brother?” He said, turning to look at Dax before motioning at the bulletin board. “Well, let’s go and see if we made it.”


“Hist willing,” said Dax.
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