Lemons

RWBY based RP

@DoomFlavored Nah, you right. Tori Freysdottr=Tori, daughter of Frey.

RWBY based RP

@DoomFlavored I second this. Freysdottr sounds better than Raudrgant anyway.

RWBY based RP

@DoomFlavored Know what fam you right.

I've never been good at multiple character juggling, but fuck it, I love them both. We get swole bae and weasel bae.

RWBY based RP

So, I have a question for everybody. Right now, I'm torn between my two proposed characters. If y'all could tell me who you think I should play, that would be appreciated immensely. Saffron is on the first page, Tori on the second. Thanks!

RWBY based RP

@tobiax yuh

RWBY based RP

Tori

Name: Tori Rauðrgant
Age: 17
Sex: Female
Phenotype: Human
Appearance:

Worth mentioning, she's VERY tall, a full six feet even. She's also covered with corded, rippling muscle from working out extensively.

Nationality: Atlesian
Weapon: Weapon: Sigyn - A set of DBPG, or Dust Barrier Projection Gauntlets. With her usual straightforward self, Tori styled it in the fashion of two massive, enormously heavy full-metal plates of armor that encase her arms all the way down up the elbow, heavier than most could lift with one hand. They possess no ranged capabilities, and no special way to augment her punching force (whether it needs augmenting at all is debatable). However, she can insert vials of dust in the side and project the dust in front of her hands to form a barrier. As would be expected, different types of dust produce different types of barriers; red dust will burn what hits it to cinders, light blue dust will freeze it, etc. While she only needs a single hand to create the barrier, a one-handed shield is relatively small and fragile. With hands linked, however, she can create a much more substantial breathing-room space, able to handle even a short volley of artillery fire. If she wants to further bolster the defensive capabilities of her gauntlets, she can encase the barrier of dust with her aura, leaving her personal self with less defense, but everything behind the barrier pretty damn safe. They don't collapse at all, so whenever she's not using them, she straps them to her back. That's quite a feat in itself, as the fists of these gauntlets are about half the size of her torso.

Semblance: Bulwark - Tori can see auras, and can consciously move her aura around to other people or objects.

Aura Color: Brilliant scarlet-red.
Emblem:

Personality: Tori is, in more ways than one, a guardian, and allergic to bullshit. Generally brusque and gruff to those that she finds even the smallest bit suspicious, she's extraordinarily protective of her friends and team members, and will not hesitate to get up in your face if you try something that endangers those that she cares for. That’s not to say she doesn’t have a fun side; in fact, she thrives on attention and loves being at the center of things, especially parties. If she views you as a threat, though—to herself or her friends—she will not hesitate to drop you. As a byproduct of this straightforward nature, she is brutally honest to everyone, and has no stomach for liars. No matter the motive. In her mind, lying is, without exception, a bad thing to do. As much as she wants to protect people, she has a tendency of not taking care of herself, and often ends up sleeping through the day because she’s so exhausted from pushing herself past when she already should’ve rested.

Background: What’s that? You want to hear about my past?

Sure, I guess. Order another round, I might be a little while.

I was born way up north in the far northern reaches of Mantle. Real little town called Svartheim, barely a blip on the map. Mostly farmers, and some retired hunters like my dad. So me, my dad Bjorn, my mom Frej, and my younger brother Ander—wait, really? I never told you guys I had a brother? Weird—we all lived together in this big house in the middle of town, right? Think about that for a sec. Poor town, wilderness all around, big mansion with one family living in it, mostly malnourished, weak peasants. Svartheim’s the kind of place that draws bandits.

So I was sitting by the windowsill embroidering—hey, don’t laugh, I wasn’t always this unfeminine—when I looked out the window and saw a plume of smoke. I didn’t think it was much, but it slowly spread until there were six or seven pillars rising into the sky. I don’t know what’s going on, so I go to ask my dad, right? And he’s lying there in bed, not paying any attention. I try to talk to him, but if you think I’m stubborn, you’ve never seen my dad. I swear he rolled his eyes when I ran off too.

Outside, I ducked out of sight, just wanting to find out what was going on, when I see it: Ander is on the ground, a man with a huge sword just raising it above his head for the killing blow on my brother. And you all know me. You know that won’t stand. Feeling powerless, I reached out my hand to Ander for what I thought was the last time, then fwoosh! I felt my aura whiff right out of me, and I watched the sword swing down at Ander’s neck…

And it bounced.

It bounced right off him, leaving him even more confused than that highwayman.

Soon after, the bandits left permanently, if you catch my drift. Very permanently. And good riddance. So after I saved Ander’s life, my dad finally got a clue and enrolled me in real education. And, well, now I'm here. Much as I love Atlas and the mountains and snow, if I stay there all my life, I'll never get anything done, y'know?

Damnit, I've been talking too long and now my throat’s dry. Where’s the second round?

Buried Backstory Goodies: (GM Only. Things that happened that aren't public knowledge, willingly shared, or known to your character specifically.)
Likes: Tori likes it when people are honest. That's a big one. Beyond that, she finds polishing Sigyn very therapeutic and, in general, enjoys being clean. She's very fastidious, keeping all of her things scrupulously clean. She really likes nature, especially the mountains and cold air (so Vacuo has been rough on her). As mentioned, she likes being the middle of things and tends to thrive off of attention. While it's not something she really likes, per se, she enjoys exercising, and is quite proud of her fitness.
Dislikes: Though it contrasts heavily with her general cleanliness, she can't stand studying, as she can never focus on schoolwork for very long. Thus, she doesn't much like academics and usually doesn't do very well in them, despite being rather good at retaining information. As a rule, she generally doesn't like chaos and disorder. Her greatest dislike, however, is duplicity. She vehemently hates two-faced people, and finds it difficult to even tolerate being around them.
Favors:
- Tori is...buff. Really buff. And big. As a byproduct of constantly training and working to strengthen her aura, her physical body also strengthens. She's very, very strong for a girl her age, easily enough to wrestle most grown men to the ground without much trouble.
- In her own words, "I dare you to try killing me." Between her own skill at combat, her defensive weapon and she sheer volume of aura that she possesses, she can take a lot more punishment than you might think before taking anything approaching real harm.
- While if you don't know Tori she's stubborn and frustrating, to those she's close with, she's a rather easygoing person, ready to go with the flow. Because of this, she's also very, very good at thinking on her feet and improvising.
Disfavors:
- Though she does have a pretty huge amount of aura, it's usually split up; anywhere from ten to fifteen percent of her aura goes into everyone that she guards with it. Even with a normal sized team, she's still losing out on anywhere from a third, to nearly half. In addition, she doesn't have any fine control over her aura over "put it on that thing" or "hit it really hard."
- Tori has zero ranged capabilities whatsoever. If she wants to contribute to a fight, she has to get up close and personal, which can end poorly a lot of times.
- Tori, despite the hardass attitude, is super sensitive to people she likes or teammates being hurt, and if she thinks it's her fault (even if it's not), she'll tear herself apart with guilt.
Relationships- (With whom? What do they think?)
Fears: (GM Only. What stops them in their tracks? Makes their skin crawl?)
Other: Hex Code: #ff2400

RWBY based RP

@tobiax It totally is Nimmie, or rather the art for her. I searched it up and got super attached. Not very good at doubling up, though; one or the other, I think. Leaning more towards Tori now, though, though I'd need to change her name to a color-based one. I just never really get to use her properly.

RWBY based RP

@BartimaeusA defensive character with metal arm weapon?

Sounds like there'll be a swole bae here after all. Maybe I will bring Tori back, @tobiax

RWBY based RP

Don't mind me, just interested enough to create a character.

Saffron

Name:Saffron Merganset
Age: 16
Sex: Female
Phenotype: Faunus - Long-tailed weasel
Appearance:

Saffron

Add a long, black-tufted tail, as well as a full compliment of fangs and canine teeth. Strangely enough, unlike many faunus, she doesn't have any kind of ear differences; she has normal humanoid ears. It can be very off-putting; an innocent-looking teenager opens her mouth and you think you've seen the devil. Because of this, she can't actually eat plants; she's entirely carnivorous. Worth mentioning, she's got a very slim build, and is rather tall for her age; perhaps 5' 9", and weighing no more than 110 pounds.

Nationality: Vacuan, originally Atlesian.
Weapon: Saffron's weapon, called Checkmate, has two major forms. The first is a pair of chunky knives with tanto points, blades perhaps ten inches long and two inches thick apiece. More short swords than anything, really, but she uses them like knives, flurrying them with intense speed. Whenever she wants to, though, she can transform Checkmate into its other form, a pair of machine pistols (think of an Uzi) with a low range and reasonably small rounds, but a fire rate that dwarfs most other weapons entirely, fitting Saffron's fast-paced fighting style. It may not be able to one-shot a Grimm like a sniper rifle, but at close range, fifteen shots a second will drill a hole through pretty much anything she needs to. Checkmate is largely saffron-orange, which is, unsurprisingly, her favorite color; however, in an interesting quirk to drive home the name, the accents on one are white and the accents on the other are black.

Semblance: Flickerswitch - Saffron is capable of moving unbelievably, eye-blinkingly quickly for just a fraction of a second, covering maybe thirty feet maximum with each "flicker."
Semblance Details: (GM Only. Tell me exactly how your Semblance works.)
Semblance Development: (GM Only. Things you'll want to be able to do in the future. They'll be up for consideration.)
Aura Color: Saffron orange. Surprise surprise.
Emblem:

Guns!

Personality: The first thing to remark on Saffron is that she's smart. Really smart. But it's not a steady kind of intelligent-smart. No, her smarts come in what people have called, in the past, "gunpowder knowledge." She has seemingly-random spurts of insight and inspiration. She's not particularly good in school; not particularly good at studying, she relies on remembering things as they happen, taking no note and trusting her memory to bring up what she needs to know at any given moment. It doesn't always work; hence, not good in school.

What this mean outside of school, though, is that she's an excellent fighter. This is for a number of reasons, but none are strategic. Her weapons' name is ironic by intent: she called it Checkmate because she's an awful strategist. The relevant one is unpredictability. One moment, she'll be chewing people up with Checkmate's pistols from a distance, the next she'll be bolting in as fast as she can to cut them up with the twin knives. Because of her slight, quick build, it's hard to tell what movements she's going to make. She's a particularly good tournament fighter because of this, especially with her Semblance further reinforcing it, but it's just as effective against Grimm and bandits.

Finally, the last relevant piece of personality: how she interacts with people. Saffron is, well...'frenetic' would be a good way to describe her. She has a hard time sitting still, and while she's a bundle of happiness, her self-control could use some work. That whole 'gunpowder knowledge' thing is even more pronounced in her interpersonal interactions than it is in her schooling, except that here it results in gunpowder smiles, where she randomly decides that this thing is going to happen, and good like trying to stop her. She doesn't like being told 'no,' and she has a bad habit of dragging other people along on her crazy whim-driven escapades. If she's doing things like that, there's no reason to really be concerned about her. The same goes for if she's crying, or of she's yelling, or really, anything that's loud. No, the time when you really need to worry about her is when she's being quiet.

Background: Saffron never expected to be a Huntress.

Saffron never really expected to be much of anything.

Born to a family of mustelid faunuses (fauneses? fauni? Hmm) in, of all places, Atlas, she wasn't the most popular kid in school. Her parents would have loved to move away, but they never could; poor laborers for the Schnees, they could barely scrape by enough money to Lien to live on as it was. Still, they tried their best for their baby girl so that she could have the childhood they never could, taking on more and more debt to send her to the best schools and programs.

Unfortunately, faunuses as a whole aren't looked on very favorably in Atlas. That goes double for the upper class, quadruple for spoiled upper-class children and adolescents, and octuple if there's something obvious about them to make fun of. For Saffron, it was, predictably, her teeth. She hated it. She hated every second of it. But her parents were so proud of her for going out and getting educated like they'd never been able to, she grit her teeth and smiled through it despite the jibes, the laughter, even the weasel skulls placed on her desk. Yes. Skulls. Plural. Multiple times.

Eventually, she graduated from her school and the runty little kid that she had been was now beginning to turn heads because of her grace and fluidity of movement. Not the heads that she wanted to turn, though. Not at all. The heads that she turned were combat teachers. They offered her something that she'd always wanted: the ability to go somewhere more...suited for her. Vacuo, the land where if you can survive, you're accepted, whether you're a human or a faunus. And when she told them that she couldn't because her parents had no money, they sent her anyway. She's no fool; she knows that this favor is going to be cashed in sometime, and she's going to need to do things for Atlas that she might not find altogether savory. But she's always been one to think in the moment. For now? She's happy. And that's what matters.

Buried Backstory Goodies: (GM Only. Things that happened that aren't public knowledge, willingly shared, or known to your character specifically.)
Likes: Saffron adores the heat. She loves it, revels in it, wishes it could last forever. That's her favorite part about Vacuo: it's nice and hot all the time, and she couldn't be happier. Other than that, her biggest love is being treated like a normal girl. She went through complete ostractization and discrimination in Atlas. The fact that, even if it's not all the time, she can be treated like a girl instead of an animal? It's her favorite thing ever. Beyond the profound stuff, she really likes chocolate, and it saddens her immensely that she can't eat it; like I said, she inherited the dietary restriction of weasels, so chocolate is toxic to her. Sad day.
Dislikes: Going hand in hand with what's up above: Saffron cannot stand the cold. She hates it with a vehemence rarely seen in her. On winter nights, or even spring and autumn nights, it's common to find her bundled up in a comforter on her bed grumbling to herself. It makes her lethargic and grumpy. Equally terrible to her, but in a different way, is being treated like a...thing, I guess. Being treated like an animal. It doesn't really make her angry; she got so used to it during schooling in Atlas that she's almost numb to the anger now. No, it just makes her really sad. If you want to depress her, that's the fastest way to do it. Finally, it rubs her the wrong way that while Atlas sent her to Vacuo, they didn't extend the same courtesy to her parents. She feels very alone all the time.
Favors: Saffron is a close-quarters-combat specialist. Her weapon is pretty much designed for it, her Semblance lets her close the gap rapidly and, combined with her natural flexibility, fluidity and athleticism, allows her to dodge around most everything that threatens her. Speaking of flexibility, that's another of her talents: she's like a gymnast, almost. She's very good at acrobatics, and she can contort herself extremely well. She sleeps curled up in a ball like a cat or ferret. It's adorable. Finally, and in a strong departure from the others, she's very empathetic. Because of how much she wears her emotions on her sleeve, she's also pretty good at telling when something is bugging others, and she's not half bad at puzzling out what it is, either.
Disfavors: She has almost no ranged capabilities. Her piddly little bullets don't do much past a hundred feet, so she's certainly no sniper, and it's a waste of her talents regardless. And going hand in hand with her flexibility and mobility is the fact that, well, she's fragile. She's slender and fine-boned and doesn't have a huge amount of aura, so a single good hit will do a lot to knock her out of a fight. She's no tank. And finally, similar to her bones, her emotions are fragile. She's built her personality and normalcy out of stone on a foundation of glass; she has a massive inferiority complex and has a real problem with, when she's made fun of for being a faunus, retreating back into a shell.
Relationships- (With whom? What do they think?)
Fears: (GM Only. What stops them in their tracks? Makes their skin crawl?)
Other:
Hex Code: #f4c430

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Getting Lubricated

Collab with Stormy and the Schaftonater

17th of Midyear, late at night...

The last time Gaius had felt alcohol in his blood, it had been an uncountable time ago. At least, that’s what it felt like, though it was only a few months ago. Or something. Before the Imperial City had been sacked, in any case. He’d been occupied ever since, too much to open up a bottle or tip back a tankard, or keep very good track of time. And so, he found himself grimacing at the burn of liquor as it went down and looked ruefully at the two bottles that he’d purchased and would never be able to finish. Sighing, he slid them in his tunic pockets in lieu of drinking more, opting instead to wander aimlessly about the celebrations, a distraction that served just as well.

Perhaps an hour after his conversation with Meg, he spied another familiar face. Not someone he knew, no. A familiar face. Though he’d seen it most often in the mirror or the barracks instead of on a grizzled Ohmes-Raht, he knew the taut wariness that lurked behind the khajiit’s eyes: the look of a man who had seen a very large amount of combat. Despite his own wariness, he found himself fascinated by the man; had he seen him somewhere? Perhaps after the prison raid? He wasn’t sure. He’d barely even been conscious returning from Kthrakz, let alone awake enough to recognize a face. Weighing his options for a bit and fingering the still-pocketed bottle, he shrugged heavily to himself and approached the man, holding the unopened bottle out.

“Care to share a drink? You look like you could use one.”

“And a few more besides.” Sevari mumbled, only looking at the face to take the offered bottle and bidding him sit next to him, seeing the tell-tale signs of a life of military service in his every move, “Gaius. You look like a legionnaire. I’ve seen a lot of them in my time, worked with a few Legion men and women.”

“Sevari.” He offered his hand out to the man, straightforward, there was a comfort in that. No games, no tip-toeing. Talking to Legionnaires was a respite in the constant charade of service to the Penitus Oculatus, in which you weren’t supposed to exist. Inspectors, it was no wonder why his ilk were called Specters, a shortening and a bogeyman title. Here one day, gone the next, with a new name and a new job. “You were one of the men we sprang from Kthrakz. Milonem. The name is well-respected, isn’t it?”

Gaius nodded along as the newly-named Sevari introduced himself and gave him a firm handshake, sitting down beside him. “You’re not wrong. I’m a Legionnaire through and through. And right again: the Milonem family has been around for a decent long time. My father was Triarius in the Prima Cohort. We used to be much more well known; after Father and Mother died, I drove us into the ground before my much more competent sister--” he swallowed heavily as memories of Helena rippled through his mind, and he had to pause for a moment before he continued. “--Apologies. Before my more competent sister took over the administration.”

“On to matters more present, and,” he chuckled lamely, “less upsetting. You said that you’ve worked with the Legion before. What’s your line of work?” He had a sneaking suspicion, given that there weren’t a huge amount of jobs that aligned closely to the Legion, but he didn’t want to offend with haphazard guesses. Best to let Sevari speak on his own.

“Inspector.” Sevari said, leaving it at that. “Those special people who fight the Empire’s enemies when the Legion is too heavy-handed. I’ve been fighting the Empire’s enemies for a long, long time.”

Gaius cracked a wan grin, quickly warming up to the fellow soldier. “So have I, friend. So have I. And I suppose now I’m doing so even more with these damn Dwemer.” He fished the corked bottle out of his pocket, popping it open. “Still, I look forward to seeing the looks on their faces when we reclaim the Imperial City and burn their airships to cinders.” Raising the bottle in the air in toast, he prepared for the burn of the alcohol. “To wars, fought and won!”

Not exactly a gentleman to miss a toast as it was occurring, the sight of Gaius and Sevari imbibing together hit that part of Fjolte that had missed and longed for familiar camaraderie and brotherhood. How could he continue to walk past that of all things? It was a festival was it not? He had been feeling much more himself in the days since his escape, and it was hard for Sevari not to stick out, the Nord had not seen much of him after he had walked through the prison, sour and heavy. He seemed less so now.

“Hah! Nothing like a toast among brothers—” he remarked with his usual beaming smile as he swaggered over with the confidence and enthusiasm that would have made anyone believe he had been part of their meeting all along. He had no ale of his own, but that didn't stop him from raising an invisible glass anyway, “to life, freedom, and friendship!” a mirthful chuckle rolled off his toast and he brought himself next to Sevari, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving my neck, friend…” for a second, his expression slipped into one far more serious and sincere than he wanted - not that Fjolte was one to disguise feelings. “You two look like you're talking a bit deep for a festival…”

“What else do two old fighters talk about but their aching knees and numerous stories about every scrape they’ve been in?” Sevari raised his cup a tad to the newly arrived Nord, resplendent in his insufferable fucking beauty, “Wouldn’t expect a Ponce like you to understand.” He quipped good-naturedly with an impish grin while lighting a cigar he’d put between his teeth, “Or could it be the first time in forty-some years that I’m wrong?”

“You might be wrong indeed. I've been in plenty of scrapes, don't let the smoulder fool you…” he laughed and took a seat on one of the stacked crates. “Us Nords come out of the womb ready to brawl, I certainly did. I'm still a man of my youth though, not as old as you two farts by the sounds of it.” He nodded in the direction of the Imperial. He could not remember seeing him in the escape. “I'm Fjolte, by the way, friend!”

“Gaius,” the Legionnaire responded in kind, inclining his head at the boisterous Nord. He smiled at his antics; after the soul-sucking trials of the past few weeks, talking to someone who seemed both generally happy and sane was a welcome reprieve. He turned to Sevari, eyes twinkling in a way that they hadn’t in far too long. “Careful, Sevari. This one looks like he could eat a cow and still have room left over to guzzle a keg and start punching.” With that, he turned back to Fjolte again, passing over the bottle after taking one more long pull and wiping his lips. “To life, freedom, and friendship!”

“Aye!” Sevari toasted, raising his glass. “I think Fjolte knows I’m only giving him shit. I pried the bars apart so he could crawl through them and taste the air of freedom again.”

He chuckled, “And that’s why he should think twice before calling me an old fart. Figured the baby-face young Nord would have some manners.” He took a gulp from his cup and chuckled good-naturedly, “Besides, I’m not even fifty yet, you ass.”

“You laugh at the thought of me eating a whole cow, but it’s been done! Of course, I had my brother Honon the Fat to help me but we cleaned it down to the bone just the two of us. Just regular Loredas activities…” he sighed, letting his thoughts wander to home. He hoped his family were alright. Sevari’s words lifted him from dipping his toes too much into the melancholy of it all, and he laughed aloud - his usual bellowing laugh. “You’re not that old, and I’m not that young. Don’t let this handsome mug fool you both, I’ve seen some shit.” He ran a hand through his sand-coloured hair, and let his laughter patter out. “So what’s next for you two then? Where will the wind carry you after tonight?”

Gaius exhaled a heavy breath. “The wind will carry me where it always has, eventually. Back to my people, back to my home, however long it takes me to get there. I don’t care how many miles and Dwemer lie between us, but I will see the Imperial City reclaimed.” Then a snort. “But after tonight? Hopefully a blacksmith.” He tossed his head back, draining the rest of the bottle and grimacing at the burn.

“Can’t have a legionnaire without his armor.” Sevari said, tipping back his own cup and growling at the burn, wiping his mouth off on his forearm, “Finally, someone who likes whiskey.”

He turned to Fjolte, an eyebrow cocked, “You’ve seen battle? When?”

Made sense of course that Gaius was a Legionnaire. Fjolte almost felt bad for his own past allegiances, but he was no longer ashamed and scared of consequence. He saw no use in hiding it. War put people against each other, simple as, and there was no going back from the truth of it now. “Aye, battle for Windhelm - some others during the civil war. That must have been the last one though… Most fucking memorable I’ll tell you that. Raelynn was there too, well, she was there after. Frightened and out of her depth pulling bodies from the wreckage…” he sighed with a soft laugh and ran his hands through his hair, hoping that he hadn’t just caused potential tension with two new friends. “Now we’re back in the thick of war, I suspect there will be more battles to come.”

Sevari cocked a brow at that. He spit off to the side and lit a cigar, letting the moment drag on as the tobacco crackled with his inhale. He let out the smoke as he spoke, quiet-like, and his eyes didn’t leave Fjolte’s, “Which side?”

The Nord just shrugged at the question and the corners of his mouth curled into an awkward smile, “the losing one.” Fjolte rolled his shoulders back - hoping that his confession wouldn't start a fight or damage any chance at bonding with the two of them, but there was a lightness to him that suggested he'd already accepted if they did choose to hold it against him.

Gaius tensed up, knee-jerk reaction to the presence of a Stormcloak at the ready. His lips began to curl into a snarl.

Then he paused, and thought for a moment before staring Fjolte dead in the eyes. “You know,” he began slowly, “I knew a lot of good men and women that died during the civil war. Riki Armandgove, Srani Briza, Sextus Quirinus, and so many more. Many were at Windhelm.” He heaved in a deep breath. “But there are bigger trolls to kill right now. Maybe after all this, then I'll have to fight you. But for now?” He forced out a lopsided grin. “I’ll shut up and drink.”

“I learnt a lot back then, did a lot of terrible things too - we all did. I like to think I've made good on that in the years since, and if not yet - well I'll keep working towards it,” he said hopefully, his eyes pointed up to the stars. “I don't tend to pick many fights these days either so good luck with that in the future,” the Nord began to laugh, “and for what it's worth, I don't intend to fly those colours anymore. I'm a free man now!”

“Now, now.” Sevari mumbled, taking a pull from his cigar, “What were we but two sides of the same coin? I was never in the Legion, but I was there in Skyrim. Always good men on either side. The real enemy is still out there, and I intend to shove these Dwemer assholes aside to get back to those piss-skinned, knife-eared Thalmor cunts.”

Gaius belted out a sudden laugh from deep in his belly, and raised his empty bottle. “The wisdom of an old soldier, eh?” He turned to Fjolte, this time with a huge, genuine, apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry about that, Fjolte. It’s been a long couple of weeks, as I’m sure it’s been for you too. Fuck the elves, hmm?” He tossed the bottle back, cocking his head for a moment in surprise when he realized that it was empty. “...Except Anifaire. She’s alright, from what I remember.”

“I bet there are some Dwemer that are alright. Good and bad eggs everywhere right? Let's just all get through it in one piece,” Fjolte commented as he placed his hands flat behind him and leaned back on the crate. “No need to apologise to me either. Not much I'll take offense to, brother.” He wondered whether or not he'd met Anifaire, he had recalled a quiet and timid Altmer from the escape, “Anifaire huh? That the girl with the voice softer than a unicorn's fart?”

Gaius nodded and stumbled, realizing that he was probably drunk and furthermore, that he didn’t care in the slightest. “If she’s tall, yellow and meek, that’s who you’re thinking of. Only high elf I’ve ever met that didn’t have a stick the size of Dagon up the arse.” He laughed. “There were three altmer in the Jeralls, counting her: freak that looked more like a ghost than an elf, named Sulandi or something stupid like that, and Durantel. Real shithead of an elf, carried himself like a Thalmor.” He swayed, leaning against a wall. “Couldn’t stand that fop bastard.”

“Ah, Durantel.” Sevari nodded, a knowing grin on his face, “He was on my list. I was going to spit him on my sword in Gilane back when I was masquerading as Dwemer Secret Police. Hell, I might’ve done it for fun.”

Fjolte nodded along with them, taking from his pocket a short smoking pipe, and letting it sit on his lower lip while he scrambled another pocket for his bag of alchemical ingredients. “Ahh yeah, Durantel. I wanted to kick my foot so far up is ass he’d smell my feet you know?” He said in a humourful tone, he didn’t know who the fuck Durantel was, but he’d clearly wound up Gaius and Sevari. Finally stumbling across the bag, he took a pinch and loaded the pipe with it. “Shit, need a light…” he muttered, looking to his left and right for a means to do so. “Be so kind as to pass your flame to a new friend?” He asked, motioning to the lit end of Sevari’s cigar. “I’ll share if you do, this will blow your knickers off.”

Sevari shrugged, puffing a few times on his cigar before handing it over, “That’s the most harmless thing anyone’s threatened to blow off of me.” He said, watching Fjolte light his pipe, “What is it? Moon sugar?”

He frowned a bit, “Don’t tell me you’re a fucking skooma smoker.”

Gaius laughed, maybe just a touch scornfully. “Thought you’d seen some shit, Sevari. Come on, if he was on the skooma, how would he have survived in prison? Boy would be dead from withdrawal already.”

“Very barely, is how. I knew a man who was hooked on it, I tied him to a post for five days and only gave him water twice a day.” He shrugged, as if torturing addicts was a simple hobby of his, “He got clean. He also gave me what I needed to know.”

“Not skooma,” he laughed as he took Sevari's cigar to light the end of the pipe. As he held the small flame into the bowl at the end, it lit up into a violet flame with magenta sparks. “This is something I created after several failed experiments. Can't tell you fellas what's in it though, don't want anyone stealing my recipe…” Fjolte laughed again and took a long drag from the pipe, letting the smoke fill all the way to his lungs - after holding it for some time, he exhaled it as a series of perfectly round rings before handing the pipe to the Ohmes-Raht with a grin, his pupils dilating just so.

---

After an hour or so, having finished the pipe entirely, the three were sat down around the piles of crates. Each once lounging back in their own way. Fjolte sat in his usual relaxed pose with one leg outstretched and the other brought up to his chest, his arm lounging lazily over his knee. There were beaded tears clinging to his eyelashes as he let rip a laugh from the pit of his stomach, and it wasn’t the first of that night either, his stomach felt sore from the endless clenching of laughter, so much so that his other hand grasped at it, and he panted in pain in between each roll of chuckles.

As stories, theories, ideas, and opinions were passed back and forth, the laughter carried on to an almost obnoxious level. “Do you… Do you… Do you think that it would be better to have hands for feet or feet for hands?”

”I have been told that I must have some giants blood in me somehow, you know, because of the size of my…”

”Bosmer women are so fucking hot. Dunmer women too… And Altmer… Women are hot”
“Yeah, women are hot.”
“This sand is pretty hot too, or is it just my arse?”

“If oranges are oranges, then why are lemons not yellows?”
“Why are grapes not purples?”
“And pineapples blues?”

”What the fuck happens if I get scared half to death… twice?”
“Fuuuuuuuck.”

”What’s the meaning of life?”
“Woah...”

”Do teeth have a taste?”
“Mine taste like…. Teeth.”
“Yeah, mine too.”

”What language would we think in if we were deaf?”
“Can you hear your own head?”

“What was that sound? What’s that smell?”
“Sorry, my bad”
“Sounds like you blew your fucking knickers off.”
“Oh, gods.. Party is over. Abort”
“Yeah, fuck me.. I’m out.”

“What’d I do?!”