Hank

Ask an Admin, v2.

Then, shouldn't Stark's position be changed to something like Facebook Group Moderator so there could be another mod position fulfilled?

@Mao Mao

That position doesn't exist. Whenever Mahz is on an extended leave of absence, we cannot change anything structurally about the site -- moderator roles, forums and subforums, systems and features, etc. That's exclusively his domain. Ruby and I have the power to appoint and demote moderators and we exist to have the final say over escalated issues. That's about it. Consider us a maintenance crew. A few people compared us to janitors and that isn't entirely incorrect.

If Mahz had his way, the site would have no rules and the moderators wouldn't have to exist. He prefers for the community to moderate itself. Some people make that impossible, so here we are, out of necessity. But because of that vision, we have no interest in rewriting the rules to be even more specific so that they can be lawyered endlessly. And even if we did, our repeat offenders would still get in trouble just as much as before. They break the rules constantly, no matter how you rewrite them.

I was like that once. Before the Guild was wiped, I was the most infracted person in the Guild's history and the biggest pain in the collective staff's ass for years. But I grew up, realized that I cared more about the site than I cared about being a rebel, and turned my style around. I recognize a lot of my past self in our most persistent troublemakers. Their complaints are worded nicely sometimes and it's dressed up under the guise of 'inconsistent moderation' or 'unclear rules', but it really comes from a place of just wanting to be free to do whatever the hell they want and not liking it when they get banned over it -- and, after years of being a frequently problematic presence, they still expect to be treated like a first-time offender. It's disingeneous and immature and at this point, frankly, tiresome.

That's not to say that there are zero valid points in this thread, or zero honest and sincere people. I understand the request for transparency from some, because our persistent troublemakers make it seem like the issues with moderation are much greater than they are.

But I assure you, the vast majority of the people on this site have no idea about any of it. It (and by this I mean moderation in general) truly, seriously, doesn't affect a lot of people. Most of our users don't need us at all. I've seen people here write that Ruby was unfair to a majority of users, which is a gross exaggeration -- if she's even been unfair to anyone in the first place. Most users are just here to write and chat and have a good time, and they do, and we don't get in the way of that at all. Sometimes people get caught in the crossfire whenever some Guild drama flares up (always owing to the same group of people, mind you) and they try to involve themselves, but that is statistically negligible. If that's happened to you, feel free to talk to me about it.

Whenever our group of troublemakers keeps their noses clean for a while, we can go days or weeks without having to take any staff action. Whenever one of them is banned, they cause an uproar and resort to public outrage. Then things quiet down for a while and rinse and repeat.

"If it smells like shit wherever you go, check under your own shoes."

Old Hand Returns

Welcome back! It's good to see another veteran return to the fold.

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

Neither is Morgan. I have too many stories I want to tell with him. I'll be here when the world turns back to normal and we can resume. :)

Guild News: April 2020

Good job, intern. If you keep it up you might actually be paid one day!

The Elder Scrolls: Legacy

Birdwatching

_{with @Stormflyx}

21st of First Seed
Hall of the Adventurer’s Guild
Bruma, Cyrodiil

Upon arriving at the guildhall, Rhillian had been informed that his sleeping quarters were to be in the basement of the building. He had marveled at the warm interior design and the plentiful shafts of light that illuminated the ground floor -- it was clear that a woman’s touch had been at work there. Descending into the basement, however, prompted the priest to chuckle and sigh. There was still dust and cobwebs in the corner and the lack of natural light was almost suffocating in comparison to the floor above. That said, there was an undeniable peace to be found in the silence of the earth pressing in on all sides, and even the basement was well-furnished. He took a deep breath and basked in it for a moment, relishing the serene solitude. “I can work with this,” he said softly to himself.

Rhillian stowed his belongings away in the chest at the foot of the bed he claimed as his, placed in the far corner of the cellar’s bedroom, and knelt down by a small alcove set low into the stone walls. He placed his silver chalice there and surrounded it with small wooden effigies of some of the Divines: Arkay, Stendarr, Kynareth and Akatosh. Words of prayer and blessing were mumbled under his breath while he worked, his hands moving slowly and deliberately in well-practiced motions. It wasn’t the first impromptu shrine he had erected. When he was done, he lit a candle next to the chalice and sank back on his knees, content to watch the flickering flame and give silent thanks for his acceptance into the guild.

Silent also were the steps of a certain woman as she moved quietly though the basement to find the underground men’s bedroom. If it had been up to her, she would have simply found more space upstairs for some of their members but that has been one time when Dro’Sintaba had truly put his foot down. It was all dark, and there was still a slight scent of mildew in the air, Ivy realised as she stuck her pointed chin into the air to sniff at it. A slight frown harshened her features for a flicker of a moment. She’d find whatever that smell was soon enough, and rub it down with oil to remove it.

In any case, she floated over the stone floor, the loose hem of a teal and gold velvet dress swishing with her graceful steps as she came upon the doorway of the men’s room. She gave as polite a knock as she could — while all of the members were certainly interesting in their own way, she was expected to show a more formal introduction to their house healer, that was just manners, after all. “Mr Off-Drakelowe?” She spoke against the closed door with a relaxed expression and a relaxed stance. “If you’re in there, of course,” she added as a clarifier. “I’m to give you a tour before our welcome dinner.”

Rhillian’s head turned sideways as soon as Ivy knocked on the door and his body tensed up. He was a priest but he had served in war too, and some wartime habits never went away. He relaxed when he realized it was one of his employers and he rose to his feet, removing the sheath of his claymore from his torso and placing it by his bedside. This was no time for weapons.

The Imperial opened the door and smiled at the sight of the alarmly red-haired Dunmer. “Rhillian, please,” he said and held out a hand for the woman to shake. “You must be Ivy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She was evidently light on her feet, for he had not heard her approach, and even her sense of dress spoke volumes about her disposition. She embodied air as much as Rhillian embodied water and the breezy warmth in her eyes was infectious. Rhillian’s smile widened slightly. “A tour would be most welcome.”

Upon taking his hand, she offered him something of a Breton’s curtsy, bending her legs just enough to lower herself politely in his presence. “It is a pleasure to meet you too,” Ivy replied warmly. “I am indeed, Ivy.”

The Dunmer wasn’t surprised at Rhillian’s appearance, and in fact found him to be exactly what she had expected from reading his letter of application. It was good that her instinct still served her well. There was a non-threatening aura about him, but that did not mean it was not touched with history and with a rich story — he appeared to her like an old, precious tome might. Simply wisdom, folded in leather and bound elegantly.

“Less of a tour, more to be an informal mosey around the walls, Ser,” she said lightly. There was an accent on her tongue, and smoke in her voice that did nothing to deter from any notion of her being exotic — Ivy did little to hide that she was a gypsy of Tamriel. “I wish to show you the space we set aside for your work, in particular, Rhillian,” she smiled. “Small, but you should find to be enough. Come,” Ivy said with a beckoning wave of her hand as several bangles jingled around her slender, dark wrist. “It is back upstairs, follow me.”

He thought about the shrine for a moment before he remembered that he had been hired as a healer first and foremost. “Of course,” he said and inclined his head, unfailingly polite as ever. Rhillian followed her back upstairs.

“Am I not mistaken in assuming that it is your hand I see in the furnishings of this hall?” he asked as they crested the top of the stairs that had led them out of the basement, and he gestured around him with one hand to indicate the place in general. “It feels like a home already.”

The Dunmer stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced around at the furnishings in question, before giving a shrug of her shoulders. “I just received a budget and so we made a list and I did what I could to make it happen… That the things make this place feel Iike a home for you is pleasant to my ears,” she breathed happily.

Without thinking on it for a moment longer, she stepped out across the hallway - directly across the hallway to another door, this one was locked unlike the others. The only other room with it’s own lock belonged to Dro’Sintaba and that was for good reason, it was for good reason that this room was off limits to most too.

From a chain around her neck, Ivy pulled a key free and opened the door — what greeted the two was just as she had described, a small room. There was a single cot in the corner - the sheets neat, taut, and crisp white. Shelves lined the walls and carried vials of various tonics, poultices, rolls and wads of cloth, and bottles of rubbing alcohol. Leaning against the door, Ivy tucked a closed fist under her chin. “I think this should suit, I believe you should have most of what you require but feel free to do as you wish with the place.”

As she toyed with the key in her other hand, she eventually pulled the chain over her head - careful that the silver links didn’t snag at her hair. Ivy handed the little brass key to Rhillian.

Rhillian’s eyes widened in appreciation. They had clearly put a lot of thought into procuring all of the supplies he would need. It was more than he’d frequently had access to during the Civil War in Skyrim. He took the key and, much like Ivy had done, wore the chain around his neck, stuffing the key beneath his furs and robes where it rested against his chest, side by side with his amulet of Arkay.

“Thank you,” he said in earnest and placed a hand on Ivy’s arm. “I didn’t expect this, truth be told. I’m used to people underestimating or being thoughtless about what’s needed to properly practice the healer’s craft.” His golden eyes softened and he chuckled. “Looks like I underestimated how prepared you would be. I am glad to be proven wrong.”

“We take our health, and the health and wellbeing of others very seriously here,” Ivy replied with a warm smile and a friendly wink. “You are welcome.” She too, placed a hand on his arm, encouragingly so in fact.

“We are lucky to have you in our service, I shall hope you shan’t have need of this room at all,” she giggled before stepping in, making her way to take a seat on the patient’s bed. “It must be a strange change for you to join us,” she said, watching him closely.

“Let’s hope the gods will it,” Rhillian agreed. “The most fortunate healer is one who has to do nothing at all.” He watched her as she made her way to the bed, observing the way she moved, and he wondered just how lithe and agile she could be if she wanted to. When she had made herself comfortable and looked back up at him, he smiled and did not shy away from her gaze.

“A little. These past few years have been very quiet. But…” He paused, formulating the rest of the sentence, and realized that he was going to be honest with her already. She invited that kind of openness with her demeanor and her eyes. He was fairly sure that it was a good thing. “I am ready for a change. It feels good to be among people of action once more. It’s been too long.”

“And people of action we are,” Ivy commented with a playful smirk. “I heard about the ball you rescued today,” she giggled, placing a hand over her mouth. The dunmer did not shy away from the obvious humour in the situation. “Maybe next time, some higher stakes.”

Rhillian laughed along with her. “Unfortunately, the ball was long past rescuing.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “And Lifts-Many-Boulders had to rescue me from a goblin that tried to drag me underwater. The boy ended up not having any coin either, so it was a big to-do for no reward,” he admitted freely. “I already fear what might happen to me if the stakes should be any higher than a missing ball.” The priest chuckled. “And what of you? Are you going into the field as well, or is your role more… administrative?”

“Administrator?” Ivy gasped in response, bringing a hand quickly and dramatically to her chest before creating a comedic blech of a sound. Soon after, she was brought back round to laughter — the thought alone of having to sit and do paperwork bored her to tears. “Oh no my dear. Not quite not quite…

I decided to take a well deserved break from my life and take up a new hobby you see,” Ivy said, looking directly in Rhillian’s unusually bright eyes, there was a happy twinkle in hers. “I thought how nice it would be to take a break from the world and teach myself how to garden, to plant seeds in the ground and watch them grow. To nurture them, tend to them, keep them safe from the various elements. Just to see,” she added in a long breath before staring off into the middle distance. “To see what they become.”

It seemed to him like she was speaking metaphorically and Rhillian surmised that the seeds she mentioned were the new members of the guild. But he had seen an actual garden out front as well when he came in. So maybe a bit of both? “An admirable profession,” he said and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “How does the proverb go again? Society grows great when we plant trees in whose shade we’ll never sit? Something like that.”

He, too, looked wistfully into thin air. “I tried to do the same for my flock in the war. The soldiers. But it’s hard to shelter them when… well, you know.” Rhillian cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, looking down at them as he did so. “Let’s assume that the guild will face less dire circumstances.”

“Hard to shelter everyone indeed, but we do the best we can for those we can help. Always better to save one soul than lose yourself trying to save too many…” Ivy sighed, raising her shoulders with her breath before placing her hands onto her knees. “Not that I fought in any wars,” she chuckled.

After a moment's pause, her idle hands found their way to a pillow on the bed and she picked it up, feeling the pleasantly light spring of the goose down inside as she patted it with her hands before cuddling it to her chest. “Sooner or later everyone will find themselves friends here, maybe later after that we’ll be family. Nothing is ever too dire when you’re with family now, hmm?”

“Family,” Rhillian repeated. He thought of the mother that had left him on the steps of the chapel in Drakelowe. He used to dream about her, a faceless figure humming a heartbroken lullaby, but it had been years since she had visited him at night. Decades, even.

The priest nodded. “Family is whatever you make it, wherever you find it. As long as we stood shoulder to shoulder in the war, we could face anything.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “And we did, and we won. I’m just….” he said, trailing off. Instead of finishing his sentence, he smiled and looked back at Ivy. “Instead of fighting in wars, what did you do?”

The Dunmer thought about what he said, ruminating on his choice of words by closing her eyes and breathing them in. Slow, one by one. “I travelled the provinces,” she began, opening her wide scarlet eyes, smiling ever so. “I danced in every town, in every city, every village. Sang songs of peace and harmony…” Her voice turned into a hum then, her words came melodic and soft and she released her hold on the pillow to let her arms move gracefully in a lazy wave at her side.

“I believe that in war… There is only loss, the price for victory is… Too much,” she admitted only slightly sombrely. It was as if she could picture all of those who had fallen. “So I danced to bring joy and smiles... And happiness.”

“Yes,” the Imperial agreed. “Too much.” He fingered the amulet of Arkay around his neck and breathed in and out slowly. “They don’t tell you about that in the histories and the songs. I mean, they do… how many died, how many were wounded… but it’s not the same,” Rhillian said softly. “I’ve buried too many boys. Lost too many of them on the operating table. And when it’s all over, you can’t help but wonder… is this what it was for?”

He cleared his throat and smiled. “But it’s alright. Life goes on. You have the right idea, you know. Happiness is what it was all for. We owe it to everyone that can’t be with us anymore to enjoy our time here. To be kind to one another.” Rhillian chuckled and, in spite of the conversation’s subject matter, a boyish gleam appeared in his eyes. “I look forward to seeing you dance some time.”

“Life goes on,” she sighed wistfully in response. “Your boys live on too, you know? In the good feelings that you have, the instincts that guide you through your life now. The warmth you feel when you’re content.” Ivy smiled, hugging the pillow again.

She found it in herself to narrow her eyes in his direction at his last comment, “I feel too old for that now. Too responsible… But we’ll see just what can be coaxed out of me this evening…”

“A challenge I shall leave to the others,” Rhillian said wisely as the weight of his years crept back into his gaze. He wasn’t a young man anymore either. “I assume you haven’t forgotten how, hm? Spreading smiles and joy comes so naturally to you, I doubt your limbs would ever forget how to work their magic.” He laughed again. “You’ll be fine.”

Ivy responded with a slight frown, and scrunching of her brow that harshened her sharp features. “Sometimes I’d be glad for this body to forget some of that magic, believe me,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “Gives me more grief than I can handle sometimes… But, only sometimes,” she added, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There’s been a lot of good things that have transpired from that magic.”

“Good things are meant to be shared,” Rhillian said with a cocked eyebrow. He pulled up the bedside chair and sat down, hands folded together in his lap. He was intrigued by the Dunmer woman and her life’s story -- how different it must be from his own. “I’m curious what they might be, if you don’t mind me asking.”

At that request, Ivy smirked. “Oh I don’t know Rhillian, I think you’d be bored to tears with my stories,” she said - but there was no blush on her cheeks that might suggest embarrassment of any kind. “Let’s just say that joy and happiness can be found in many ways,” she giggled.

Unperturbed, Rhillian nodded. “So Dibella teaches us,” he said sagely. “She’s no Mephala, but there are many ways of joy and happiness that fall under her domain all the same.” She had hinted at enough to satisfy his curiosity -- Rhillian was not the type to pry any further when such details were not volunteered -- and he smiled. “It is good that you have lived life to the fullest. The gods would approve.”

“That they would, that they would,” Ivy breathed out in response. “I spent many of my years barely living at all, it made sense to be indulgent after that. But tell me, Rhillian—“ she stopped, and pursed her lips, as if she was sensing the way his name felt to say. Such a long word it was. “Do you have a nickname? I like nicknames,” she said. “I can’t call you Rhilly, it rhymes with silly and I also already gave Dro’Sintaba such a name… I shall have to think about it some more.”

As if that had simply been nothing more than an intrusive thought she had to work through, she jumped back into whatever she had been trying to say before. “Ah yes, for fun and for happiness — what is it that you do?”

"After all that I have seen, every moment of peace and prosperity is a happy one," the priest said and clasped his hands together. "I like to help people experience the same thing, help them find satisfaction and tranquility in the simple pleasures of good living." He fell silent for a moment and pondered the other half of her question. "I think birdwatching is fun," he said at length and then smiled sheepishly. "That probably sounds very dull."

“Birdwatching?” Ivy asked, tilting her head curiously while her eyes narrowed in thought. “Not dull, just different. Can’t say I’ve tried it. I find it hard to stay still… That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” she asked, her toes wriggling, as if in a subconscious demonstration. “I’d frighten the birds away.”

That made Rhillian laugh. It was easy to imagine the Dunmer acrobat growing fidgety and restless. "Yes, you would," he said, still chuckling. "Birdwatching is all about melding into the background. Become one with the grass and the bark through stillness." He sank to the floor and sat down on his knees, his hands laid to rest gently on his thighs, palms facing the ceiling.

"Breathe," he whispered, "and become wind." He inhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly so, eyes half-closed but still alert. "Wait and observe. Clear your mind from all but birdsong." He smiled at a memory. "A lark tried to make a nest in my hair once. I didn't move until dark."

In response, Ivy too slipped off the bed and brought herself to the ground -- mirroring Rhillian’s own movement. “I can be still,” she whispered. “Breathe, eyes on the target,” the Dunmer continued, resting her hands palms down onto her lap. In the light of the medicine room, she could see that Rhillian’s eyes had a pleasant glow to their unusual colour. “I think if a lark tried to make a nest in my hair it might never get back out,” she giggled.

His eyelids fluttered wide open and he laughed again as he looked at the voluminous fullness of Ivy's hair. "Who knows what else you're keeping in there?" the Imperial mused. "You know, that would be a good character for a children's story. The Dunmer acrobat who keeps mysterious and enchanted objects in her seemingly endless and labyrinthine scarlet hair… and it's up to our youthful protagonists to get you to bestow them with the artifacts they need for their quest." Rhillian cocked his head. "But that is a harder task than it seems, for she is wilful and mercurial, despite having a heart of gold. It writes itself, don't you think? We could even feature the lark, accidentally rescued by our brave heroes as they untangle the web of strands and locks, who's been in there for years!"

Bringing a hand to her mouth to chuckle into, Ivy’s head fell to the side again, her shoulders jittering. “And what of you? The kindly, wisened Priest who gives the would be heroes the will to continue on,” she said with a sigh, relaxing her body, unable to continue to be so straight backed and stiff like Rhillian. She kicked a leg out to her side, and rested her weight on her arm happily. A hand placed on the freshly cleaned floors.

“That poor lark would be happy to fly again, having been whirled and twirled for all those years. I bet it would come out a dizzy little thing. Perhaps the kindly Priest takes care of such a tired lark and nurses it back to health, hmm?”

He smiled and golden light, perfect and flawless in its angelic luminescence, flickered into existence in the upturned palms of his hands. Rhillian looked down into the lights and they reflected even more brightly in his eyes. "Some say healing magic looks like this because it's the purity of Aetherius shining through into our world, like the sun and the stars but channeled with purpose -- which is why it brings life. What do you think?"

“It’s beautiful,” Ivy said, moving forward to lean towards Rhillian’s hands, and all of a sudden she was resting on her front, gazing at the glowing. She held out a hand of her own, and as the Imperial’s hands had filled with it, so did her own — just a small, tiny pool that paled in comparison to his. It didn’t hum like his spell, but it was there. “It’s special, perhaps it is the gift of the sun and stars but I think it comes from somewhere much closer, from inside of ourselves. Little pieces of our own hopes and dreams and wishes for others.”

That was an interesting perspective. “Destruction can be fueled by anger,” he said. “You say that Restoration is fueled by love? Hm. I like that. It’s a beautiful way of looking at it.” The priest reduced the flow of magicka to his palms and the lights dimmed, swirling slowly like a lighthouse fire out at sea, casting long and uncertain shadows through the basement.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and suddenly looked up to meet Ivy’s vermilion gaze. “You give me hope for this guild.”

That gave her pause for thought. Fueled by anger? She asked herself, the question evident in her expression too. “Perhaps,” Ivy answered quietly, letting her own magic disappear too. She thought of the flames that she could conjure in her hands, as strong as the magic that sat in Rhillian’s own -- hers was just that, destruction. She’d never considered just where the well for that magic sat, it had never felt like anger. To Ivy, her fire was her peaceful place.

Snapping out of it, she blinked the thoughts away, and smiled, her eyes wide as she met his too. “Hmm, I’m glad you’re here too,” she admitted with a nod, and as sincere a smile as she could - her dimples prominent in her cheeks again. “Ah!” she exclaimed, bringing her hands together, inspired by the shades of glowing yellow in the Priests eyes. “I know, I’m going to call you Dandelion,” she smiled, a giggle finishing it up.

"That… isn't any shorter than Rhillian," the Imperial said, confusion in his voice. But dandelions were beautiful flowers, so he didn't feel offended by her choice of moniker.

“Eh,” the Dunmer offered with a nonchalant wave of her hand, a bone in her wrist clicked with the movement. “Shorter wasn’t going to work for you anyway.”

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

Done!

Lemons, will Aidann hear Avery's call and return to the camp in front of the keep or will he keep up his search alone?

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

_{featuring @POOHEAD189 and @Stormflyx}

After checking the entirety of the stables and making sure that the building was well and truly empty, Morgan returned to the entrance with his brows furrowed. Evidence of the presence of an ornithosaur of some kind was concerning. Cockatrices and basilisks were some of the most dangerous monsters on the Continent and the rest of the party would be vulnerable to their ambush tactics as long as they were unaware. It was important that they were informed as quickly as possible, and then… Morgan needed more information about the beast before he could form a plan of attack. He cast his gaze back into the gloomy depths of the stables for one moment longer, dust motes dancing in the thin rays of sunshine that crept in through broken windows. He wouldn’t find it here.

Morgan stepped out of the stables, eyes searching for Balidvar, and blinked at the sight that greeted him in the courtyard. A man, seemingly an assailant judging by the knife that lay near his corpse, had been dispatched, leather-clad and thin of stature, now lying dead on the mud and straw. So monsters weren’t the only animals that inhabited the keep. Strange, Morgan thought as he approached the king’s bastard, fortunately still alive and well. Such beasts as the one he had sniffed out weren’t known to tolerate the presence of humans in their dwellings. The witcher glanced at Nadia and Renar and wondered briefly who had been the one to kill the vagabond and save their leader from an ignominious demise.

Stepping up to Balidvar, Morgan’s gaze flitted between the warrior and the dead stranger. Another man might have asked something like ‘are you alright?’ or ‘what happened?’ but Morgan simply nodded by way of greeting and cut straight to the chase. “A monster lives here,” he said. “An ornithosaur of some kind. It’s recently been in the stables. I need more evidence to figure out what species exactly. In the meantime, I recommend moving everyone out of the open.” He looked around and narrowed his eyes at the walls. “We should get out of the courtyard as well. The skies are not safe.”

It was only then that he looked at the corpse again. “Bandits, you reckon?”

Balidvar, steely eyed gaze sweeping across the courtyard to make sure there were no more surprises, gave a curt nod. “Bandit. A dead one. If it were not for Nadia, he would have gotten me for certain. There could be more in the halls.” He replied, and sheathed his backsword. It was hard to tell if Balidvar had heard him speaking of a monster at the moment, and it was a reminder that it was his father, not Baldivar, that had conscripted the Witchers.

But after making sure they were not to be ambushed in the open again by a madman, he regarded Morgan. “An ornithosaur?” He echoed, and the implications were dawning on him. He wasn’t an expert on monsters, but he was fairly well read for his age. “You mean the winged, beaked drakes?”

“Correct,” Morgan confirmed. He didn’t like explaining things to people so he hadn’t bothered to tell him what an ornithosaur was, but he was also somewhat surprised when it turned out that Balidvar knew of what he spoke. He had already resigned himself to having to field ignorant questions but apparently that wouldn’t be necessary. “Then you know this isn’t something to be ignored.”

Balidvar had to admit he didn’t know the traits of most ornithosaurs, or how many different types there were. But he wasn’t about to voice that, as he had heard plenty of stories on how they turn people to stone or use their venom to kill them quicker than nearly any snake bite. He was beginning to realize just why the dead man had been so frightened out of his mind. He and whatever companions he had who had sought refuge here were likely hunted, or at least harassed.

“Fuck,” The bastard said, squaring his jaw. He indicated Morgan should follow him the dozen feet to the gate as he called out to the men he had available. “I need four lads in here what can bear arms! Now!”

Morgan came with him but he shook his head behind Balidvar’s turned back. Four lads with arms wouldn’t be much help against an adult cockatrice, if that’s what they were dealing with. It took a witcher’s reflexes to stand against the razor-sharp claws and beak of such a vicious, lightning-quick beast. Not to mention the venom many of their kind were capable of fielding. Still, if it made Balidvar feel better, he wasn’t going to comment.

“The Bear needs to know,” Morgan said instead. “The monster could be deeper in the keep, waiting for him.” The conundrum that faced them now, as far as Morgan was concerned, was whether or not it was better to send him to fetch Aidann, or whether he was needed with the rest of the party in case the monster arrived to attack them instead. It felt like a death sentence to send a runner after the other witcher, however, without knowing where the ornithosaur was.

Fortunately, that was not his call to make. He looked at Balidvar with a hard, expectant gaze.

From the corner of the courtyard, the back of Avery's neck prickled with the looming sense of urgency that Balidvar was rousing with his voice and command. She let go of the ivy she was holding onto, and made her way into the scene. Winifred was still nowhere to be found, but that was of no concern. Wherever she was, she would be just fine.

"The Bear?" The sorceress quizzed, crossing her arms over her chest, that was interesting to know. He was of the elusive Bear school and that piece of information was… Disappointing to know. "If he isn't too far I can reach him," she suggested. "But it is your call, Captain," she continued, looking at Balidvar with one of her patented smirks.

Balidvar knew that look well, raising an eyebrow at her as if he played a chess move in some private game of facial expressions. The situation, referring to the ornithosaur, was definitely not ideal. But this was why he had brought along a retinue of soldiers, two witchers, and a few others capable of handling themselves.

“You’re right Morgan. Aidenn needs to be informed. He only went forward into the first hall, but judging by your concern, it’s still risky. Avery-” He said, turning to her and pointing at the castle. “If you can get in touch with him and get him out here in the next minute, I’ll give you leave to harvest a few of whatever-the-fucks-in-there parts along with the witchers once it’s slain.”

He knew the sorceress would likely enjoy that, and he considered just what to do next. His first instinct was to venture forth himself, but he was meant to give counsel and lead when necessary, not blindly run into danger. “Morgan, if you think the beast is nearby, I suggest you ready yourself in the proper way. If you need any more herbs, I would ask one of the specialists outside. But I have a feeling you’re well equipped.”

“Always,” Morgan said, a grim glint in his cat-eyes.

“I can get him quick enough, assuming of course that he wants to be found…” Avery answered, there was something cryptic in the way that she spoke that wasn’t exactly unusual for a sorceress. Her face scrunched ever so slightly as she recalled all of the information she knew of the man, the tone of his voice in the few words she’d heard him utter, the way that he walked, his complete appearance. Her eyes closed as she painted the image, sending her intent to reach him into the atmosphere around them.

”Aidann...” The woman had formed his name in her voice in her mind and visualised it in her minds eye finding the Bear wherever her was. Hopefully, the intrusive word of a sorceress in his own mind wouldn’t frighten him too much… If of course they found him. ”Return to the courtyard…” It would be embarrassing for this not to work, she also considered - possibly sending that afterthought to Aidann too.

The witcher stared without shame at Avery while she worked her telepathic magic. His medallion was trembling with the arcane energies that her spell created and he watched her like a hawk, wary of the slightest adversarial movement. He didn’t trust her. Hell, he didn’t trust any sorceress. Not after what they did to Kaer Seren. But nothing untoward happened and his medallion ceased its restlessness after Avery finished her message for Aidann. He exhaled slowly through his nose and his fists unclenched in his gauntlets.

“He will return?” he asked Avery pointedly, not bothering with formalities or introductions.

She may have had her eyes closed, but she could see and feel all of the distrust that Morgan sent her way. It stung, to be so judged, but it was harder still to stand in his poisonous radius. It made her curious as to what exactly it was that made him so hostile. What baggage he was carrying…

Still, in the face of animosity there was only one defence. ”Do hurry. Your good friend Chuckles simply can’t wait to be reunited,” she sent to the Bear. Unable to hold it, she tittered at her own joke before opening her eyes, flashing a set of scathing daggers of her own at Morgan. “We’ll see.”

The Griffin’s eyes narrowed at that. Was she amused at his expense? “Typical,” Morgan sneered. “Casting spells without a guarantee of success.” He directed his next words at Balidvar. “Keep her on a short leash, lest she bring the whole keep down on our heads.”

"Urgh," Avery groaned half-heartedly at him. Her expression never veering too far from a sly grin. "Can't please everyone," she added with a dramatic shrug of her shoulders before flouncing off to a boulder upon which to take a seat. She'd had enough of that pesky one for now.

Balidvar didn’t say anything at their exchange. Only quietly smirking at Avery’s manner for a brief moment, and then reiterating his thoughts to Morgan. “Believe me, I know. I think Foltest sent her more to test my resolve than anything.” He knew she would hear that too, even if he was joking. He couldn’t help but rile her up every once in awhile. Still, they needed to focus on business. He hoped they could too. He’d heard of the tales of Witchers and Sorceresses ‘getting acquainted’ rather well before. He hoped that didn’t happen here, at least until they were in a secured position.

“Let me or my Captain know of any help we can give to you and your fellow Witcher. The quicker we kill whatever is in there and clear the castle, the quicker we all have a roof over our heads and beds to sleep in.”

Morgan thought about that for a second. “Don’t touch anything,” was all he said before he strode off at a brisk pace, returning to the camp being set up outside of the castle gate -- and the fire they’d started. It was time to brew.

The Elder Scrolls: Legacy

_{featuring the lovely @Stormflyx and @Spoopy Scary}

At the outskirts of Bruma, in a secluded spot of the forest that was shaded by a thick canopy of trees, a young boy stood. He remained stood upright until he stooped down to his haunches - a mop of ginger hair flopped over his forehead and obscured is pale complexion, the redness of his cheeks and the delightful smattering of orange freckles. Sun kisses was how the boy’s Nordic mother described them.

Young Boril leant over across the moss covered stones, sticking his head over the edge of a very deep hole - so deep that he couldn't even see the bottom.

It had taken him the best part of the evening trying to get his father to assist him in writing a note for the town board. Even more persuading to get his father to agree to a paltry sum for the job.

“Ball?” He called down, only answered by the echo of his own voice. “Ball?” He cried again, pouting a fat lip and pressing down upon it with his bucked teeth.

Young Boril hoped that someone would be along soon.

Cast in shadow by the much larger shape of Lifts-Many-Boulders beside him, Rhillian of Drakelowe emerged from the forest and approached the boy with a warm smile and soft eyes. The boy’s notice had been endearing in its innocence and Rhillian remembered well how forlorn one could feel as a child when seperated from a beloved toy. There had been more pressing matters to attend to, bandits and rats and all sorts of trouble, but Rhillian didn’t think of himself as a warrior first -- he was a guardian, and none needed guarding more than children.

“Hello,” he began and sank low on his haunches until his eyes were level with the freckled boy’s mournful gaze. “My name is Rhillian. This large fellow is my friend, Lifts-Many-Boulders. He’s very strong. You must be Boril, right? We saw the notice about your missing ball and we’ve come to help.”

The argonian grunted and nodded in acknowledgement of the boy’s presence and mimicked Rhillian’s gesture of squatting beside the hole. He grabbed a fistful of dirt and rocks and dropped it into the hole and listened to the sound in order to gauge how deep it was. The dunmer showed him how to do that in the kwama mines. The clattering below definitely sounded like it was too deep for the child to safely climb down — to say nothing of the darkness.

After Rhillian finished speaking, Boulders followed simply, “We’ll find it for you.”

Boril was immediately startled by the sheer size of the Argonian in front of him, but as children seem to do, he quickly giggled in excitement - sensing no ounce of danger from the giant. "Wow sir, you not gonna fit in the hole!" He said, awe in his voice before he glanced to the other man. "Mmm," he mumbled, sticking out a lip. "I was playing here and it fell in… It's my favourite ball. It fell all the way to the bottom! But I can'ts climb down. Mummy said I can'ts go in the hole myselfs…"

Suddenly the boy straightened himself up, placing his hands on his hips; "if I was big as you I could do anything!"

“I have no doubts about that,” Rhillian said and ruffled Boril’s hair with a chuckle. He rose to his feet and stared down the hole as well before looking up at Lifts-Many-Boulders. “You know, he might be right,” the Imperial mused. “You really might not fit down there. Shall I go first?”

Boulder’s low grunt as he nodded was enough approval for Rhillian to continue. It was probably best for the smaller one to go in and see if there was enough room than for him to go first and find that it was only as deep as his waist -- good luck maneuvering around like that. It was times like these when in Morrowind, when he wouldn’t have someone helping him, he’d just find a log or sturdy branch and pry some of the boulders loose to make enough room for himself. Hopefully this one turned out to be small.

It took a few seconds for Rhillian to parse that the Argonian’s low growl was his assent. The lizardfolk had their own ways of communicating, and they were not always readily apparent to smoothskins like him. The Imperial nodded once he had understood and he shot one last glance at Boril. “We’ll be back before you know it,” he reassured him and then lowered himself into the hole, disappearing from sight as he descended.

---

The cave, at first glance, was just a cave.

A body of water pooled in the centre that anyone climbing down would soon find themselves knee deep in. There was just enough light from the mouth that spilled through and lit it up. It was small in size, and tendrils of moss were growing from all of the books and crannies between the rocks.

And there it was, burst and deflated, propped up against a boulder and floating on the surface…

A child’s favourite and beloved ball.

Rhillian sighed. “We’re too late,” he said. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, at Boulders behind him, who had just dropped like an anchor into the pool. Knee deep for Rhillian was more like a puddle to the argonian -- the entranced glare of whom alerted him to something in the water. A shine caught Rhillian’s eye, and he stopped the movement halfway, only to reverse slowly, eyes fixed on… what, exactly? Below the surface of the water, something glittered. A piece of metal, perhaps? That would explain how the ball was punctured and deflated. But how could an inflated ball fall into the knee-deep layer of water with enough force to puncture itself against something under the surface?

“What is that?” he asked quietly but remained where he was, his instincts telling him to wait for something to happen -- or not. Lifts-Many-Boulders waded forth towards the curios. He was unfamiliar and ignorant with most creatures outside of Black Marsh and Morrowind, but was confident enough in his ability to handle such creatures just short of a rabid wamasu. Rhillian considered warning the Argonian to be careful, but the way the hulking giant seemed to fill the cavern entirely with his shape made the words die in his throat. What could possibly hurt him? The argonian stepped forward, spines on his head bristling with anticipation, he reached his hand into the water to grab the mysterious object.

What he procured was an old, rusty dagger of simple make. The leather that was once wrapped around the handle had long since rotted off its waterlogged wooden handle. The slightest pressure squeezed it into a pasty, pliable mulch. While the argonian was notably hard to read, when he turned to look at Rhillian after the anti-climatic discovery for his input, there was an unmistakable sense of disappointment as his spines drooped down.

Rhillian, on the other hand, was far more alarmed as a sense of danger began to creep through the dank cavern. He knew that dagger had no reason being down here and deposited where it was -- and while he normally wouldn’t question the argonian’s instincts, this was where experience in the heart of Tamriel mattered.

“Boulders,” Rhillian said, slowly and steadily reaching his hand out, “you should back away from--”

A sudden splash and nasally snarl erupted from a watering hole beside Rhillian as two green, long-fingered hands grabbed him by surprise and a goblin attempted to pull him under.

“Shit!” the priest exclaimed, hands scrambling to pull his claymore free from its sheath, but the surprisingly powerful arms of the goblin had a vice-like grip on his torso. It wouldn’t be long before the vile creature would succeed in dragging him beneath the surface, and then it wouldn’t be long before he would be dead. “Help!” he implored, gritting his teeth as he resisted the goblin’s pull with all his might, trying to brace his feet against the slippery rock beneath the water.

The ordinarily lumbering argonian leaped forward with surprising swiftness, his powerful legs propelling him forward as his clawed hand came crashing down over the goblins head. With his sure grip, he raised the goblin out of the water, it’s skinny legs kicking and flailing in defiance of its capture. It raked its brittle claws over Boulders’ armored scales to no avail, who looked curiously at Rhillian as he caught his breath.

“What is it?” Boulders asked.

“Goblin.” Rhillian panted, then grimaced in disgust at the unsightly creature. “A savage and unintelligent monster.”

“Hm.” Boulders grunted in intrigue. “Should I kill it?”

“Yes. Please.”

On cue, Boulders crushed the goblin’s head against the jagged rocks, silencing it’s barking protests and it’s flailing limbs slowed to minor twitches. Rhillian waded over to grab the deflated ball and sighed. So much fuss over such a small thing. Boril was going to be disappointed.

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