Hank

Rain's Hand [ Culluket x Hank ]

Gregor nodded at her answer, took a measured sip of his chilled mineral water and leaned back. He'd taken off his greatcoat, hung it over the crest rail of his wooden chair and rolled up the sleeves of his black, woolen, high-collared tunic. Several faint scars were visible on his forearms, relics from old fights. Gregor's hat was on the table next to his discarded plate. All in all, he looked more approachable and relaxed than he had all day. That said, Loka was right -- Gregor was a killer, though he killed much more than just people like her. He figured she would learn that soon enough.

"We are pawns in a game being played by some of the most powerful political factions in the empire," Gregor replied. "If there is a pit, I might not see it coming. All we can do is make the best out of this situation. Who knows, you might even come to enjoy this line of work. I take great satisfaction in it." He raised one brow and gave Loka an amused half-smile.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

The Tavern

The Scholar, The Exile & The Hunter

@Hank, @DearTrickster and @Dervish

---

Kiralla wasn't surprised when the guards surrounded them. When she pushed herself back up to stand she lifted her hands above her head in surrender. Snowflake stood close, still as a statue.

"Banish the Daedra!" A guard shouted at her. "Banish it now or-!"

The guard's crossbow swiftly redirected its aim to the incoming centaurs galloping in their direction. Kiralla ducked low behind Snowflake while its hulking presence forced the centuars to move around them. Huddling close to its massive leg making herself as small as possible watching Fiona, Gaela and Finch face the centaurs. One last centaur raced towards with intent to help the one Finch injured then was promptly clotheslined by Snowflake's icy club arm. Quickly casting Ice Spike spell in her hand the form of a icy spear several inches long. Then plunged it into the downed centaurs heart. Life drained away from his eyes as Kiralla watched it go. She absolutely hated having to kill the creatures. Knowing guiltily, she had a fair share of sketches of various centaurs in her journal.

"I'm s-so sorry." She said then slid her hand over his eye lids to close them.

The long and monstrous roar errupted from the tavern making Kiralla nearly jump out of her skin. In her bones she knew who that belonged to without having to check, Maulakanth. Racing toward the door of the tavern it was still wide open after the barmaid escaped through it. The guard Maulakanth cut in half lay by his feet. The other two guards were shouting at him and attacking Maulakanth with unnbridled vengence. Cedric and Brynn had remained warily away from the orc out of reach from the swing of his swords. Her eyes swept through the fight then noted Maulakanth fought with a crossbow bolt sticking out from his abdomen. The guards must of shot him.

Beckoning Snowflake to come back into the tavern she took a long deep breath in having caught the overwhelming reek of blood and death. Then shouted as loud as she could at the guards, "Get out! Now!"

Snowflake climbed back in through the window stomping back to her side. The guards continued the onslaught ignoring her shouting. Balling up her fists she then pointed at the guards, "Snowflake, protect the guh-guards and stop the or-orc from attacking!

Snowflake stomped forward swinging its club arm at the guard's feet to sweep them away, swiftly bringing up its ice spear of a right arm up to stop the swing of Maulakanth's swords dead in their tracks. The sound of grating metal against the ice was piercing.

Maulakanth barely even noticed the frost atronach until it entered his field of view and blocked his swords with its arm. The orichalcum blades bit deep into the magical ice, but Snowflake's arm held, and Maulakanth was forced to a halt. He looked up, initially incomprehending in his rage, until it dawned on him that Kiralla's conjuration was trying to stop him. His eyes sought her out and he saw the small girl, a mixture of determination and desperation writ on her face. While the guards were still busy getting back on their feet, Maulakanth pulled his swords out of Snowflake's arm and took a few steps backward, panting heavily. Blood slowly trickled out of the hole punctured into his abdomen by the bolt -- the shaft was still stuck, blocking most of the flow, but the internal damage was no less severe because of it. More blood was splattered across his torso, most of it someone else's. He had completely disemboweled two men and impaled another on his blade -- that was guaranteed to make a mess. The tavern smelled heavily of iron and the rank stench of leaking organs.

"He shot me," Maulakanth grunted, wincing, and pointed at the severed remains of the Imperial guard with the tip of one of his swords, as if that explained everything. His vision was still clouded with the blood-red mist of Orsimer rage and when the other two guards immediately started yelling, cursing the orc's entire bloodline and making angry promises to put him in the ground, Maulakanth's fury, barely subsided, flared again and he charged, determined to cut the Breton cunts down through the atronach if he had to.

Snowflake brought it's left arm of a club back and waited for the right moment to hit Maulakanth. The orc charged forth meaning to use his immense strength and momentum to cut Snowflake down. Snowflake's club swung directly at Maulakanth's head meaning to knock him out. Kiralla knew it'd take more than a well placed club to his head to stop him. She just hoped it'd be enough to slow him down.

"You cah-can't justify cutting a guard in-in half!" Kiralla shouted. "You're only g-getting us in more-more trouble!"

Ducking low to dodge the frost atronach's arm, Maulakanth was forced to skid to a halt and back away before the ice club smashed into him on the return swing. He was about to yell something offensive at Kiralla when he broke out in cold sweat.

"Oh, great," Maulakanth groaned. Withdrawal symptoms. "Now? Really?" He felt his heart beat irregularly in his chest and rushes of hot and cold run through his body. Panic threatened to seize him and he sank to his knees, swords clanging uselessly on the tavern floor. The adrenaline surge of his berserker's rage was replaced by a crippling feeling of weakness and compounded by his body finally pausing to take stock of its injuries. The pain his abdomen returned, the bolt burning in his gut like a glowing metal rod. The Breton guards, still wary, looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "You," Maulakanth said, his voice hoarse, pointing at Kiralla. "Get the other girl, the alchemist."

"Snowflake, pin him." Kiralla commanded. Snowflake stomped forward using its club to push Maulakanth to the ground pressing its weight and pressure down on his chest. The icy spear poised at his neck inches away from his adam's apple. The cool mist drifing over Maulakanth's skin.

Kiralla approached slowly having taken her staff off her back and pointing it at the orc, with a glare to match. Still a few feet away she kicked away the swords well out of reach.

"What's wr-wrong? Besides the bolt st-sticking out of your stomach." She asked noting his breathing was rather haggard. "I won-won't be dragging anyone else in-in here."

Frustrated, Maulakanth tried to push Snowflake's enormous arm off of his chest, but the strength to do so had left him. He let his arms drop limply by his side, laid his head back and closed his eyes. "Potion," he said. "I need a potion. Strength potion. I'll be fine after that... and some healing, maybe," he added.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Mauly lad. We were supposed to be keeping a low profile and be good little lads and lasses without murdering half the fookin' town along the way. I am not going back in chains because of yer little tantrum, aye?" Cedric said, loosening the tension on his bow. He spat on the floor, looking up at the colossal ice creature pulled out of the ass end of Oblivion to do songs and dances for the mousy Breton girl. "Uh, good boy. Say, Kiralla, any way of having yer walking iceberg drag our orchard coloured shithead friend out of town while there's a mess keeping the guards from evicerating us?"

Kiralla spoke to Cedric her eyes and staff trained diligently on Maulakanth once he mentioned the strength potions she knew where she recognized his symptoms. "Yes. Snowflake c-can restrain him wh-while the centaurs are being taken ca-care of. By-by the looks of it Maulakanth is experiencing what happens to skooma or moonsugar a-addicts when they do-d-don't get their fix. In his-his case it is strength potions."

The offense Maulakanth took at Cedric's words so great it invigorated him through sheer indignation and he turned his head to look at the Breton man. "These snot-nosed sods came in here with knives and cudgels and you have the nerve to tell me I should have 'laid low'? I kept my mouth shut when they came in here, it was Cunt-faced Brynn over here, or whatever the fuck his name is, that escalated the situation. As for the guards -- the captain gave a clear order and the ex-Imperial disobeyed it. Worse, he tried to see me dead. Do you think a sabre-cat lays down its teeth when some heartland twat puts a piece of wood in it? This wasn't a tantrum, you spineless cunt, it was self-defense. Now get this atronach off me and fetch the alchemist, Oblivion take you. I have centaurs to kill."

"You-you didn't have to mur-murder anyone! You don-don't get credit for not killing right away." Kiralla snapped back at the orc. He was trying to defend his actions with self defence, she really had no patience for such blatant disregard to the consequences. "You can't contain yo-your bloodrage enough to thi-think with the pea-sized brain rolling around in your skull. Do you think-think the guards o-or the locals will cer-care that it was 'self-defence' or believe you? No! You cut them in half! Even if you stayed your blade they-they would still pin the blame of the brawl on you."

One of the guards shouted at Kiralla now, "Step away from him! He deserves no less than the king's justice!"

"Oh, is the almighty Maulakanth admitting us puny mortals are a threat? Seems to me a man of yer statue should have had no problem dealing with some irritable locals without dicing them into stew chunks, but you aren't a man of half measures, are you?" Cedric retorted, rolling his eyes. The chaotic sounds of trampling hooves and screaming grew ever more insistent outside, and he knew he couldn't wait much longer. "Well, you big ol' saber cat, I leave you to our lovable iceberg and these nice guards because I have much more pressing shite to do than talk with a pathetic orc who needs his next fix. Get yer shite together, lad. You've killed enough today."

As Cedric headed for the door, he grasped Kiralla by the shoulder. "You heard the gentleman in the fancy armour, king's justice awaits our friend who clearly doesn't want any." he said, heading out of the still-open doorway and into the din of the streets where much bigger problems were at hand.

Kiralla jerked her shoulder away from Cedric, "Do not touch m-me. Snowflake, come." Then followed Cedric out allowing the guards to do their job. "I agree with you a-about Maulakanth but ple-please do not touch me without my permission."

Snowflake slowly backed away from Maulakanth while the guards pressed forward replacing the icy spear at his throat with their swords. Stomping behind its master it climbed back out of the window. Kiralla cast one look over her shoulder at the orc then turned her attention back to the centaurs still terrorizing the town. They couldn't afford to stand around allowing the raid to ruin their chances to get to Camlorn.

After his 'comrades' had left him, Maulakanth was hauled to his feet by the two guards. Righteous anger was still etched on their faces and Maulakanth, his hands being tied together with rope, decided not to provoke them. He tried to control his breathing in an attempt to clear his head. The withdrawal was urging, pleading and begging him to find a way out, some method of escape, so that he could return to the alchemist and persuade her to help him.

And then he could kill that fucking Elkman.

One of the guards gathered Maulakanth's swords, muttering an oath at the weight, while the other kept his blade pressed against the small of Maulakanth's back. "Walk," he spat at the orc. Maulakanth complied. What else was he going to do? The trio left the tavern and immediately headed towards the center of town. Maulakanth assumed the prison was there. He looked around for the others but there was little to see in the growing darkness and the sound of trampling hooves, screaming and the clashing of weapons urged the guards onward. An idea struck Maulakanth, fueled by desperation.

"Over here! Hey!" Maulakanth bellowed after gathering his breath and remaining strength. The guards cursed and hissed at him to be silent, but the damage was already done. A duo of centaurs came galloping around the corner of a house. The guard carrying Maulakanth's swords dropped them and reached for his own weapon. The orc forgotten, the guards turned their full attention on the centaurs. Maulakanth quickly sank away into the shadows of a small alley between two stone houses. This was his chance. He crouched low, the pain in his gut almost unbearable, and managed to hop over his tied hands to bring them to his front.

A mad dash, still keeping low the ground, got him as far as his blades. He picked them up with clumsy, sweaty fingers, his wrists still frustratingly tied together, and ran away -- the Hand of Mauloch running away from a fight. Somewhere in his mind, Maulakanth bitterly cursed himself -- but the addiction was in charge now. The alchemist, he feverishly thought. I have to find the alchemist.

Rain's Hand [ Culluket x Hank ]

"Yes, you've said," Gregor remarked casually when Loka explained for the umpteenth time that she had only been looking at the green-coated nobleman. He had already finished his meal (a simple steak with mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables, the heartiest meal he could find on the menu) and moved his plate aside. He didn't deign to respond to her cheeky dessert comment.

Her question afterwards, however, was more interesting. Gregor thought about it for a few seconds and responded with an almost imperceptible shrug. "Haven't faced a threat I couldn't deal with on my own yet," Gregor replied in an equally low voice. He considered telling her that he thought the Templars were doing this to weaken him, not help him, but decided against it. "But I suppose having another pair of eyes and hands doesn't hurt. As for where we're going, it's Couronnesbourg, the city I told you about. We'll travel by carriage."

Gregor tilted his head and looked at her pensively. "What do you think it is that I do?" he asked, curious.

Mahz's Dev Journal

@Ellri Presumably to stop regular users from taking those usernames.

Bot Reporting 2.0

Rain's Hand [ Culluket x Hank ]

Gregor opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by Loka's hasty sidestep as she strode down the hallway. Annoyed, he followed her, determined to get the truth, when she caught the eye of a green-coated man. While not very experienced in matters of courtship, Gregor wasn't blind, and he could see that Loka was doing this deliberately. The look she gave him was far too lingering to be meaningless. Why she did it, however, escaped him entirely. Gregor halted in his tracks and crossed his arms, staring at Loka with raised eyebrows. His aristocratic upbringing prevented him from making a scene in public so he played along with her little game as best he could.

"Very well," he said, his voice genial. "We can go for dinner. I know a good restaurant a mere hundred yards away. Now, will you please come here and leave that poor man alone?" he asked. He shot the nobleman an apologizing look before fixing his eyes on Loka again, terse impatience subtly visible on his face.

Rain's Hand [ Culluket x Hank ]

Several people passed Gregor in the hallway while he waited, their footsteps quiet on the crimson, velvet carpet. He took off his hat and nodded politely to them. An older lady returned the greeting with a warm smile, mistaking Gregor for a gentleman waiting on his mademoiselle. Her face soured when her eyes landed on the longsword sheathed at Gregor's waist. It was considered bad taste in high society to go around openly armed and this clearly set Gregor apart from the nobility -- ignoring the fact, of course, that he actually was a nobleman. Most people took him for a well-to-do mercenary. Gregor ignored the lady's disapproval and looked outside through a window set at the end of the hall. The shadows were growing long already. The inquisitor tutted. How long did this woman need?

At long last, the door opened and Loka stepped outside. He inspected the clothes first -- they fit reasonably well. It seemed he'd judged her measurements well enough. She could pass for an associate or an apprentice, for sure. He was about to remark on his satisfaction when his eyes wandered up to her face and he saw the makeup and the earrings sparkling in the atmospheric lighting. Gregor knew there was no makeup in his room, and he certainly didn't have any earrings. The door had definitely been locked when he brought the boxes, so what on earth...?

"What is this? Where did you get that?" Gregor snapped, his eyes narrowing, and pointed at her face with an accusing, leather-clad finger.

Rain's Hand [ Culluket x Hank ]

While Gregor didn't interrupt her, he was glad she fell silent upon exiting the dungeon and beholding the Cathedral's private gardens. The inquisitor was already growing weary of her fanaticism. The way she talked about the Blue God made it seem like she'd clapped eyes on the deity herself, which made her certifiable insane. Deciding to ignore that for a moment, Gregor took a deep breath, enjoying the various smells that drifted on the cool breeze -- roses, apples, freshly cut grass. It was heaven compared to the stuffy air of the catacombs. This brief moment of peace was interrupted by the cowled monk's frustrating smile, reminding Gregor of his sour mood. He ground his teeth and tipped his hat in a mock greeting before grabbing Loka by the arm. "Come on, let's go," he muttered, and only then noticed the look of horror on her face.

"Ah, yes," he said in a low tone, smiling wryly, "most people only see the pleasant, polished exterior of the Imperial church. You started at the rotten core. I know, it makes me sick too. Best not to dwell on it." Gregor moved them out of earshot of the monk and the other apple-pickers, walking towards a wrought-iron gate set into the stone walls that surrounded the garden, and continued: "If it's any consolation, I'm an apostate. You will not have to endure the presence of these snakes much while in my company." He stopped at the gate for a moment and looked Loka up and down in a disapproving, appraising way. "This won't do," he mumbled and gestured at her torn robe and unwashed, bare feet. "I've rented a room at a nearby establishment. You can wash yourself there while I get you some proper apparel. Something practical would be best, I think. Could always tell people you're my apprentice." Gregor didn't wait for an answer and stepped out into the busy street, beckoning Loka to follow him.

He kept a close eye on her while they walked through the streets of Maldoror. All sorts of people moved past them, including nobles, city guards, sprinting urchins, street vendors peddling their wares, laborers and craftsmen. They were flanked by tall buildings of excellent architectural make, though some were falling into disrepair. Depictions of the Imperial gods were everywhere, carved into the stone walls as bas-relief sculptures. Maldoror was the seat of Montgarde's government, of course, but also the heart of the state religion.

The establishment where Gregor had rented a room was called Double Tree, with a relatively modest exterior. Inside, rich, silken upholstery, oiled wood and paintings depicting peaceful woodland scenes dominated. Gregor ushered Loka into his room, number 5, eager not to be seen with her in her current state for too long, and had a tub of hot water brought. He stepped out of the room and locked the door behind him, the tumblers sliding into position with a smooth click. "I will be back within the hour," Gregor said tersely. "Don't take too long."

---

Gregor returned fort-five minutes later with three boxes containing clothes from a local tailor. All expenses would be covered by the inquisition, of course. He knocked on the door, opened it wide enough to slide the boxes into the room and closed it again. "Come out when you're dressed," he said through the door, and waited, hands clasped behind his back, foot tapping the carpeted floor impatiently.