Chrononaut

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Chrononaut, forest mission is full. Either boat or staying at Dawnstar.

@gcold

The INEVITABLE

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Chrononaut, you and @Mortarion can take a few more days with the collab. However, I need to know whether Raelyn wants to go on the boat or not so I plan the dice rolls.

@gcold

MMM

I VOTE FOREST FIRES.

Alternatively, we can go by Poll.

goo.gl/we20z3

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

RAELYN, PART THREE

THE MISSIONING

LEGEND OF THE MISSION

FIRE? DWEMER? HITLER? ALL OF THESE THINGS

THIS SUNDAY. OR TUESDAY. YOU KNOW WHAT, I'LL CALL YOU WHEN WE HAVE A GOOD TIME.

SEE THE SEX. SEE THE VIOLENCE. OR NOT. I MEAN, I CAN'T LIVE YOUR LIFE FOR YOU.

ONLY YOU CAN LIVE YOUR LIFE. UNLESS YOU ARE UNDER THE CONTROL OF A BODY POSSESSING SPIRIT. BE AWARE OF THE SIGNS.

titanpad.com/JKJmRRRuzs

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Chrononaut, Raelyn can join a mission if she gets a recommendation from another merc. Probably from Dax or Tsleeixth, since Jorwen doesn't have the best rep right now and she doesn't know anyone else. We can do this in a quick collab.

@gcold

The New Dax clearly owes her one. Alternatively, she could probably be a passable shipmate with some chest bindings, a fake beard, and a sock in her drawers.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

By @Mortarion and @Chrononaut

The New Dax

---

Tsleeixth was about to have a bad time on the night of Sun's Height 18. As soon as he as tried to return to the inn, he was greeted by Thoring and a throng of guards. Thoring was furious to have seen Tsleeixth again, who somehow managed to sneak past him the first time around. Two guards made sure the Argonian got no closer than Windpeak's porch before stopping him with their hands.

"Argonians without permits are not allowed inside Dawnstar proper; jarl's order." The guard announced. "You're going to find your way to the refugee center, or shall we escort you there?"

Tsleeixth was surprised when, upon returning to the Inn, he was greeted by a throng of guards and a clearly furious Thoring, his incredulity only growing when the guards told him that Argonians without permits were not allowed inside Dawnstar "And here I thought the tent city was because my kinsmen were bored." He said acidly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. It would do him no good to upset the guards, especially since they were -at the very least- being civil enough to not throw curses and racist slurs against him.

"My apologies, the last few days have been stressing and my patience has been running thin" He explained once he was more calm "You see, I left with that expedition that went towards Winterhold and as such the deportation of my fellow Argonians is a relatively new piece of information for me." Explained Tsleeixth, trying to move a little closer to the porch of Windpeak "Maybe if I could talk to my employer, Ashav, I'd be able to procure the necessary permits but, alas, he is inside the inn at this moment." Explained the spellsword, not wanting to cause a ruckus with the guards.

Raelyn appeared beside Tsleeixth, "That's who we're both looking for Dax." she said in a tone reminiscent of Cyrodil nobility, added, saying through a smile, "Don't correct me."

She handed the guards Dax's permit, which he had just used to get inside the tavern earlier. "See? He's entirely legal and confused. Forgot he had a permit, on account of being hit on the head earlier."

The guards looked over the permit, then to each other. They all huddled around Thoring, who was holding the permit. They whispered but were loud enough that anyone nearby could hear them anyway, "I mean, that could be Dax. They all look the same." Thoring said.

Another guard whispered, "That other ones acting weird too." The man snuck a look at Raelyn then back to the guard.

"Alright!" Thoring announced. "Paperwork checks out, I suppose. Don't want to make an event out of it. But if we find out that this is theft or forgery, we will throw you into a cell so far below Mundus that your stink won't reach for days."

Tsleeixth blinked in confusion as an Imperial woman appeared next to him and addressing him as Dax. He was opening his mouth to correct her when she quickly told him not to correct her "Yeah, that's right." He added as the woman handed the guards a pair of permits, blinking again when she invented that he had forgotten he had a permit.

"Yeah, I hit against a rock in a recent battle....can't believe I forgot about the damn papers." He muttered with fake embarrassment as the guards huddled around Thoring.and began mumbling loudly enough for Tsleeixth to hear them "Thank the Hist that to this Nords every Argonian looks the same." He thought bewildered as Thoring muttered that all Argonians looked the same.

The argonian let out a sigh of relief when the innkeep mentioned that all the papers checked out "Don't worry, my apologies for the trouble gentlemen." Said Tsleeixth as he quickly snatched the permit from Thoring's outstretched hand, stuffing it in his pocket promptly after and entered the inn.

Raelyn followed after, "I can't believe you forgot your papers either, Dax. You know, when travelling to strange lands you should always have the proper paperwork."

"Oh you know me, never been particularly good with my paperwork." Said Tsleeixth with a light shrug, yawning a little "Well, time I was on my way to my room, we can talk more tomorrow." Said the Argonian as he stifled yet another yawn before promptly going back to his bedroom.

Alas it seemed that the Argonian, or anyone else in the company, would have much time to rest as the sounds of a scuffle coming from within the inn where heard. Hurrying down the stairs he gasped in surprise when he saw that a crowd was forming around Orakh's room "Someone is targeting us?!" Thought Tsleeixth worriedly as he pushed his way through the gathered crowd, breathing a sigh of relief when some of the other member's of the company started pushing the other patrons away.

However he wasn't prepared for what he saw from the corner of his eye, Orakh lying on a pool of his own blood and Farid being bound by Daelin once Edith had disarmed the Redguard. He blinked rapidly "By the Hist....this must be a dream....." He thought weakly, blinking as if to will the horrible scene away. But acceptance soon dawned upon the Argonian who moved away from the grisly scene, needing to clear his mind for a moment.

Raelyn was practicing near the entrance of the Inn, playing a song she'd been trying to write ever since having met Jorwen. She sung with some confidence,

Hider

Father said,
You'll be dead,
Far off and wan,
Let me go not in your stead,
But neither you are gone,

There was something missing. Perhaps it was Jorwens daughter actually dying, sometimes the reality of a death could really make a dirge sing. Then again, that could also be in poor taste to someone who knew Jorwens daughter. Well, in any case, her death would happen soon. If there was anything certain about war, was that people died. That's why Raelyn avoided the practice entirely.

As Tsleeixth left the inn he heard Raelyn practicing and perplexed by the song, and looking for something to distract him from the grisly events that had occurred but moments prior, followed the sound until he found the bard "Uh, so you are a bard?" He asked the woman once he located her.

Raelyn grinned, "Picked that up did you? The lute must have been your first hint. I suppose from your sheathed blade, you must be a soldier? Or is that to cut shrubbery?"

"Aye, the lute was my first hint like you said as for if I am a soldier or not I think the term mercenary is more appropriate. After all, being a soldier implies you are part of the standing army of a nation, does it not?" Said the Argonian as he sat next to the bard.

"Perhaps, but consider this. A mercenary is someone who is paid by an individual to perform a task and a soldier would be paid by the crown. The crown, king, emperor, or elsewise, is yet another kind of individual. The wealth comes from the nation, but you could say that a mercenaries wealth also comes from a nations wealth, collected by the employer."

"True enough, but for a soldier to enlist within a nation's armies there are certain requirements that need to be fulfilled, such as being a citizen. Any person can sign up for a mercenary company, regardless of nationality or citizenship within a nation." Said Tsleeixth, letting out a sigh "Although some sort of regulation would be good." He thought grimly as he remembered Orakh's murder.

"Ah, but there is! Nations only suffer mercenaries, at any time the practice could be outlawed." she put a finger to her chin, looking upward, "Though, those mercenaries would be just as likely to join a professional army or commit to banditry."

"Hmmm, true enough, but I meant more of an internal-regulation within mercenary companies themselves." Said the spellsword, letting out a sigh "That would have stopped what happened to Orakh from occurring." He muttered lowly, although Raelyn could easily her him, before falling silent, deep in thought over the present situation and the bard's words.

"Orakh? Did I miss something today? I'm usually onto all the local gossip. Did you know that Brittle actually has a huge penis? At least, that's what he told me."

Tsleeixth was mortified by Raelyn's second comment, looking down "Eh...no, I didn't know nor did I care to know though I guess it's a bit late to say that now." He coughed awkwardly before looking down as he returned his thought to Orakh "Orakh was murdered this mornings by one of the company, a redguard by the name of Farid....not sure if you've heard about it" He said to Raelyn.

She put a hand to her chest, "Murder? My my, you're a very busy lot. Can't wait until the battle, have to start killing where you sleep. I'm guessing you brought Farid to justice?"

"Bah, Farid acted out of cowardice, snuck upon Orakh and stabbed him in the jugular as far as I know." He spat the words in disgust, at Farid's treacherous actions rather than at Raelyn "And no, we haven't handed him over to the authorities, last I knew Daelin had tied his hands after the Redguard had tried to do something with a dagger." He said, unsure of what exactly had resulted in Farid's hands beign tied. "We will probably judge him ourselves I think." He added after a while, letting out a sigh "By the Hist, what a mess" He muttered dejectedly, rubbing his forehead a little to try and calm down.

"Is that even legal? By local laws, I mean. Where I come from, you'd have the town guard hang him." Raelyn wasn't sure about this, she suspected that most Nords would have just stabbed him and called it what he deserved.

"I don't know, i mean, Farid killed one of our own, it's not like he had gone and killed a Nord from Dawnstar during a drunken brawl. If that was the case, the people here would be howling for blood already and, so far, things seem relatively quiet." He said, scratching his chin a little as he thought "Regardless, a sentence will be issued, either by Ashav or the local Jarl."

Raelyn said, "Ah, yes. Freelance justice and racial politics. Nordic culture at its finest. You know, they used to make wonderful songs. Even if all of them were about some battle or how someone in a tavern decapitated a man. Speaking of, you don't want to figure out what they're doing? I'm curious, it's not often that murder gets commited out here. They usually call it war."

Tsleeixht listened as Raelyn spoke, nodding in agreement when she asked him if he didn't want to figure what the company was doing in regards to Farid's murder of Orakh "Aye, I am curious as well on what will happen." Admitted the Saxhleel as he stood up "Come, I am sure that they'll be gathering somewhere nearby." He said as he made his way towards the streets of Dawnstar.

They later arrived at The Duel, which was a nice sort of diversion if you were wondering what a pint of blood outside of a mans body looked like on an Argonian.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@MiddleEarthRoze, report in.

@Chrononaut, pick between updating Vurwe's sheet or killing her off. You got three days.

@gcold

I UPDATED IT MASSA.

ALSO POSTED A THING

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Leidenschaft and @Chrononaut

The Things They Left...

There are some kinds of memories that act as a bulwark to the mind. The first kind of memory, is failure. Failure is broken into mist and largely removed from the forefront of the mind. This veil of thought protects sanity.

The second kind of memory, is childhood. These are the memories that are preserved in amber, to be catalogued as a better time and place that we can always recall. These memories are always readily accessible. When the veil fails, this is what most fall back to.

The third and last resort, is love. Love is the salt and the earth, that the amber sits on and the veil mists over. When your early years were nightmare and your life a ruin of failure, you have at least one last reprieve in that someone, somewhere must have loved you.

Or else what's the point?

-----

Gordo and Raelyn were shooting eachother dirty glares across the Inn. They'd been slowly increasing the tempo, pitch, and decibel level of their singing in order to try to drown the other out. It had reached a point that those who hadn't had their glasses shattered when they'd increased their pitch to an operatic screech, were frozen in sheer astonishment. They'd never actually seen two bards fight with music before.

This was another brief lull where the musicians gathered their breath and prepared to, despite the fact they were six broken lute strings and seven glasses of ale down, play again.

"This fucking shouting is getting on my nerves. I wonder if they think they sound good." Cleftjaw asked as they stood in front of the tavern's door they'd just stepped through.

"Who knows. I think every drunk thinks they have golden voices. Anywho, I'm looking for Vurwe. Care to drink with us?" Jorwen asked.

"That venom-tongued knife-ear? No. Come find me after, though." Cleftjaw chuckled, slapping Jorwen's shoulder in a friendly gesture as he walked to a nearby table and struck up a conversation with someone.

This left Jorwen alone in his search, but he didn't have to look far. though he'd caught the attention of Raelyn, it seemed. He wasn't looking forward to her asking about him hosting the duel, or how many duels he'd fought, or how well he knew Farid or any other such questions. She was fond of asking questions about him, but not so fond of giving him answers about herself. He found that odd, usually bards wanted to talk of themselves when they weren't singing about others. He took a seat at the bar, trying to sit as far away from Gordo and his- albeit, surprisingly sweet- loud voice. He ordered a cup of mead and waited for it to be brought to him.

Raelyn grabbed the cup of mead a confused barmaid was trying to deliver to Jorwen and set it down, seating herself across from him. She smelled like alcohol. "Y-you see what did there with...The Fortunes of The Nine? Awful. Awful!"

"I think that was..." He trailed off, his pointed finger slumping away from the cup in Raelyn's hands. "How do you fare? Been payed well by the festival-goers?" He asked.

Raelyn slumped against the table, "Awful! They don't, they don't appreciate the arts. Well, music they love of course, but acting? Wordplay? Lost!" she threw up one arm, gesturing to somewhere above them. "Above their heads! No head for finer things like...like good Imperial ales and, and, soliloquys." she pointed forlornly at Gordo, "It's all his fault. Soon it will all be Dunmeri inspired music, used only to impress barmaids! It's all that...generational cultural influence..." she pointedly ignored the fact he was probably in the same generation as herself.

Vurwe tossed and turned upstairs, the sound of Gordos melancholy song about loss and death awakening her from a drink-laden sleep. She groaned, swinging her legs to the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. She was going to kill him.

She stumbled down the stairs, hefting a wine bottle she was going to chuck at Gordo.

"Vurwe?" Jorwen called from across the room, "I've been looking for you since Windhelm."

She turned, her eyes flashing between Gordo and Jorwen. She had one bottle to throw. She lowered the bottle, "I've been doing the opposite!" she approached Jorwen, handing him the bottle. She leaned in and whispered, "You got a strong arm, just huck it at his big stupid head. Come on, do it!"

Raelyn said, "Awww, come on, he doesn't need to have a bottle thrown at him! He's just, just the end of real music! Just hit him with your fists, that's, that's a proper brawl!"

"Thank you." Jorwen took the offered bottle, sloshed it around, but sadly only dregs remained. He'd no desire to be swigging Vurwe's backwash, though she probably thought she had none and drank perfectly. He set the bottle down and ordered another cup, looked at Vurwe and then ordered two. "How did you even get to Dawnstar?"

Vurwe sat down, "Oh that's a story." Raelyn shot up, grinning, "It is? Hold on, I gotta..." she tried to slide out of her seat, but ended up falling to the ground instead. She pulled herself back up, "Th-this floor has no grip!" she eventually called a barmaid over. "H-" she hiccuped, "Here's my key. Go up and grab my ink pot, paper, writ of passage...wait...no...don't grab that last one, that's a special!" The barmaid went up to grab whatever the Oblivion Raelyn was babbling about.

Vurwe scowled at Raelyn, "Anyway, there I was, the only intelligent woman in all of Dawnstar. You know Gordo over there?" she gestured to Gordo.

"I remember." He remembered paying Gordo to not kick Vurwe out of the tavern many nights ago.

"Well he was no help at all."
Gordo stopped mid song to yell, "I'm the one who loaded all the smithy supplies!"
Vurwe grabbed the bottle of Alinor vintage and hucked it at him, "Your loud stupid feet almost got us hanged!"
It missed Gordo. "You called the smithys son, the son of a goat!"
"His father wasn't there, he could have been!"
"His father was dead!"
Raelyn recieved her paper and writing feather, "Can you repeat that again?"
Vurwe said incredulously, "You're going to write this all down?"
Raelyn nodded enthusiastically.
Gears started turning in Vurwes head. "Well, in that case..." Gordo followed along sliding alongside Jorwen at the table, "We went out with the smithy supplies and got a weaponsmaker to make seventeen swords!"
Raelyn wrote this down. Vurwe nodded approvingly, saying, "And with these swords, we lead the uprising!"
Gordo said, proudly, "It was a proud day for Dunmeri kind..."
Vurwe slapped Gordo, "No, it was a proud day for the glorious Altmer monarchy!"
Raelyn whispered to Jorwen, "Are they lovers?"

Jorwen's eyes went from Gordo to Vurwe and back again before he grimaced, "Don't ever ask me that again." He grabbed the two cups the barmaid delivered before hurriedly scurrying off after scowling at Vurwe. He handed one to the altmer woman, "I came here to talk to a friend, not be hounded by two drunken bards." Jorwen fumed, "Tell me the real fucking story. You don't lead an uprising with seventeen swords, besides, everyone who's read the damned Gazette knows it was Tennant."

Raelyn protested, "But lies are a better story! Look!" she brought up the piece of paper, but on the opposide side. For a brief moment, one could see a stamped document with flowery handwriting. Raelyn flipped it around, realizing she had been writing on the back of her writ of passage, and hurriedly disappeared the document into her leggings with a level of folding skill that would make an origamist pack up their bags and take up gardening.

Vurwe sighed, "Fine. We brought the smithy equipment to a cart we later borrowed."
Gordo chimed in, "Stole."
"Fine! Commandeered, but that's as far as I'm willing to go!"
Gordo added, "We 'ad to move quickly, on account of the arrows."
"I think it's possible the smithys son said something."
"Maybe the cart man 'id?"
"No, we didn't commandeer the cart before leaving, we did it after."
Gordo leaned back, "Huh. I don'ts remember that."
"We left him. In the woods? I mean, he was probably fine. Most Nords are warriors, right?"

"You stole a wagon?" Jorwen asked incredulously, "You stole a wagon." He said, expecting as much of Vurwe, "Did you steal the smithy's ware- of course. You did. You're thieves." He said, nodding.

He drank deep from his cup and only left the dregs, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "You cause trouble wherever you go, it seems. So, you rode your wagon all the way here, what are you planning on doing with the rest of your goods?"

Vurwe said, "Sale of course. I've effectively bought the entire towns steel and have been hiking the prices."

Gordo nodded, "She's also been selling bronze as Dwemer metal. We've had a local metalsmith make little figurines."

Raelyn gasped, "But I thought this was a real Dwemer fetish!" she brought out a warped piece of bronze that looked something like a very tiny humanoid figure with a cylindrical penis.

Vurwe groaned, taking a deep drink from her cup. She somehow did this daintily.

"I don't know if I should be ashamed or amused at your actions. Bring me to the cart, show me what you have, at least." Jorwen said, drinking the last of his cup.

---

Vurwe brought Jorwen to cloth covered lean-to which was guarded by about four rough looking men in chainmail. Two horses were hitched to posts outside. One guard glared at Jorwen through his helmet slit, "He the one from that song in'he? He causing you trouble Miss Highorin?"

Vurwe shook her head, "No, he's fine. He may pass."

The man growled at Jorwen as he passed, "You turn into your bear form, and I stick you with this silver dagger." he moved his hand meaningfully to a sheath on his belt.

Inside was a cart, piled to the brim with mostly bronze but also quite a bit of steel and fully constructed shields, daggers, and figurines. There was no way they were going to be able to leave with all of this.The shields were emblazoned with what looked like Altmer with beards, in a style that was supposed to look archaic.

"How?" Jorwen asked, more curious than disappointed at this point. He stepped forward and picked up one of the figurines, "I don't understand these though. The mercenaries like money, drink and whores. I don't know if they'd waste it on these. This though," He picked up a big sword, almost as long as his own, "You could make a fair bit of money." He felt wrong talking of reselling stolen goods, but the fact remained.

He put the sword back down, "Provided these aren't ceremonial or cheap. And how did you hire those men out there? Bear form?"

"I offered them a lump sum of gold in exchange for not stealing the cart we stole." Vurwe said simply. "They were highwaymen."

Gordo frowned, "You 'aven't heard The Ballad of a Red Bear? By that bard with a white rose?" He pulled out his lute and strummed a bit, singing in a baritone,

Hider

Come by full moon, but do not stray, he comes by night, lives for the fray, watch for ragged beard red by blood, tormenting paws pound through the mud."

. He paused, "You know, that one."

"Is that..." Jorwen trailed off, rubbing at his face, "Has she been singing of me? My Name?" He took a seat on a stack of 'dwemer' shields, grasped up a bottle of Alinor vintage lying on the ground, bit off the cork and poured himself some of it into a 'dwemer' cup. He looked around as he raised the cup to his lips and noticed there were a lot of bronze in here that he could very safely bet was supposed to be dwarven-make goods.

"And you're hiring outlaws." He remembered he had two of them by the name of Mire and Brittle following him around on the orders of one of Morthal's most wanted and disgraced Nords. "Has anyone ever told you that it's hard to be friends with you?"

"You should talk, I'm associating with a man who feeds on the agony of those he kills and made a pact with Molag Bal." she gestured to one of the guards who walked in, "Plus they're a conscientous lot of fine young gentlemen."

It was the earlier man, holding the silver dagger in his hand now, "Just making sure you're safe Mistress Highorin, it's reaching sunset."

"Don't worry, he's mostly harmless. Gordo could probably wrestle him down."

"How many people in Dawnstar know my Name now?" He asked, very apparent that he was wokring hard on keeping his voice low, "I've spent a long time trying to distance myself from that Name, you know?"

The highwayman narrowed his eyes and his hand inched towards his sword, "You ain't scaring me, boy. Had many people reach for their swords in my presence and you don't hear much about them anymore, do you? This blathering cunt right here is my friend, leave."

"M'lady?" The outlaw glanced towards Vurwe for a second, but his eyes remained on Jorwen's.

"He's fine." she waved a dismissive hand and the guard disappeared through the cloth curtain.

Gordo rubbed his chin, "It's not a very large place. The songs less fun to sing than my The Dunmeri Stallion, but if it got into the heads of some merchants or the fishermen...well...who can say?"

Vurwe sighed, "I suppose it's not the right time to introduce my anti-werebear medallions, is it?"

"It is very hard being friends with you." He finished off his cup and poured himself more, rubbing his eyes. "So, you stayed behind in Windhelm for a few days, what happened?"

"Well, it all started with..."

--------

Vurwe opened a letter, delivered by courier. The royal Highorin seal was stamped in the corner. "I hope this missive meets you well, in whatever hovel you reside in. Trouble brews in Summerset. Talk of metal ships, war. Duke Ganron has gained political influence and vows for action. I oppose the action of course, why fight for a force that is destroying the Nords as we speak? But this is not about me as much as it is about you.

Your...reputation, in High Rock has brought some very interesting eyes upon yourself. Have you checked under your bed?" Vurwe stopped, lying low to the floor and checking. Nothing. She continued reading. "Or perhaps behind a tree. I know not how the peasantry lives. In any case, your actions may have inspired some...traditional methods of dealing with embarassing nobility. Those who express less culturally appropriate sensibilities are not often suffered long. What comes to mind is an excerpt from a letter I received from your father years ago. As follows,

-My daughter, Vurwe Highorin, has been uncourtable. Those I have brought to her, she has stung with a tongue of venom and many verbal lashings. I once thought that perhaps her ability to craft words, create works of fine art, and establish what I can only call a merchantile dictatorship would be enough to keep men to her side. This has not been the case. You know that certain forces are plotting my death as we speak. If I am to die, orchestrate a removal of my daughter from her royal seat at the nearest opportunity. Summer birds only know what she would do, given power to establish mandates. I'm sorry, I know that you hate leadership more than anything. But please, sister.-

The same forces move now. Yes it is entirely your fault. I know of your work to bring Duke Ganron to an, albeit unsavory, justice and I approve, but you cannot stay in Windhelm. At least if you like your neck attached to your head.

Good Luck, You Will Need it,
Torema Highorin

--------

Gordo tsked, "She drank for weeks after that..."

Vurwe sniffed, saying somewhat stiffly, "I hadn't heard from my father..." she clutched a necklace at her neck, a symbol of the eight divine. "Well, since he died."

"Oh," Jorwen gripped his cup loosely, and it wasn't just the drink that made him look at Vurwe in somewhat of a new light. "I'm sorry." He said, his voice dipping a bit into sadness. He looked away, expecting her to lash out at him, and perhaps wanting it. It wouldn't do for the venom-tongued, apparently very resourceful woman to look anything but in his eyes.

Vurwe grabbed a bottle of Alinor vintage, popping the cork and drinking from the bottle. She looked down at the label. "I still see him in my dreams. Blood, a bolt in his back. It's what sent me to this gods forsaken snowscape." She paused, then whistled. The guards came, surrounding Jorwen nervously. "Please escort Jorwen back to the Inn. I have some things I still need to take care of."

Jorwen rose of his own accord, knocking back the last of his wine and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, leaving the cup on the stack of shields. He nodded to Gordo, who nodded back with an understanding. Before he left with the guards, one of which he reached out to push away from him but ended up stepping back anyway, he turned back, "A woman like you needn't be ashamed."

He knew what the drink could do to a person, and so did more than half the Reachman tribes in Eastern Skyrim and the westernmost fringes of High Rock. It pained him to see her like this, as much as it pained him to see his daughter distraught. Though she shed no tears, he saw it. "Not ever." With that, he turned, brushing aside the outlaws and leaving Vurwe behind for the second time.

She wasn't the first to have that done to her by him. He knew that. Vurwe's outlaws stopped in their tracks the same moment Jorwen sighted Mire and Brittle standing before him some paces away. "We'll leave you, Red-Bear."

"Aye." He spoke, not turning an inch towards them. He looked from Mire to Brittle and settled on Mire, "Where's my daughter? I've something to say."

Mire only nodded, turning and walking and Jorwen followed. He cast one glance back to the hovel and the cart and the horses. He frowned, turning back and leaving.

-----

When all memory has failed and you have nothing, there is but one more reprieve. It is called mead by the nords, skooma by the khajiit, but its effects are the same. The opposite of memory, to forget.

So the mists part, the salt and the earth give way, and the amber tumbles into the void. One bright day, thus shall it be for all of us.

- Raelyn Giordano, an excerpt from Beautiful Lies

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

Not getting collaborations done within weeks.

The Unpopular Opinions Thread.

@Chrononaut

And history is written by the victor which is why conquered is used instead of stolen. It's a pneumonic device to sound less harmful. They stole and lied and killed and slaughtered all over the globe to "conquer" aka steal people's homes for their gold and jewels and natural resources in a name of a crown.

@SilentWriter83

Small Gods probably has something good about this.

Hider

“You’ve come to wage war on Omnia. This would not be a good idea.”
“From Omnia’s point of view, yes.”
“From everyone’s. You will probably defeat us. But not all of us. And then what will you do? Leave a garrison? Forever? And eventually a new generation will retaliate. Why you did this won’t mean anything to them. You’ll be the oppressors. They’ll fight. They might even win. And there’ll be another war. And one day people will say: why didn’t they sort it all out, back then? On the beach. Before it all started. Before all those people died. Now we have that chance. Aren’t we lucky?”

Argavisti stared at him. Then he nudged Borvorius.
“What did he say?”
Borvorius, who was better at thinking than the others, said, “Are you talking about surrender?”
“Yes. If that’s the word.”
Argavisti exploded.
“You can’t do that!”
“Someone will have to. Please listen to me. Vorbis is dead. He’s paid.”
“Not enough. What about your soldiers? They tried to sack our city!”
“Do your soldiers obey your orders?”
“Certainly!”
“And they’d cut me down here and now if you commanded it?”
“I should say so!”
“And I’m unarmed,” said Brutha.
The sun beat down on an awkward pause.
“When I say they’d obey—” Argavisti began.
“We were not sent here to parley,” said Borvorius abruptly. “Vorbis’s death changes nothing fundamental. We are here to see that Omnia is no longer a threat.”

The Unpopular Opinions Thread.

@ClocktowerEchos Oh I'm not judgemental about that, I'm just some kind of, I think, realistic optimist. I believe in the (actual graphic novel) V for Vendetta view of the world, where society always strives towards Order and inevitably reaches a boiling point where Anarchy rises, then after the initial Anarchy it folds back into a society that slowly becomes more Orderly. Basically, that time is so infinite that every possibility will happen and that permanence is a fancy. Societies rise, they fall, they commit vast cruelties, vast goods, but in the end it all ends up more or less fine as its ever been.

Though I do agree that the world becoming more orderly has reduced worldly violent deaths by far.