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Missing Lover
(Collab between Mort, Tabby, Stormy, and Poo)
In the centre of bustling Bruma, was a quaint inn that seemed to attract all manner of individuals. From the shady, to the roguish, to the more noble of the city, and finally to the humble traveller. There were of course, those individuals who seemed to blend into any crowd - the invisible men and women who had never stood out for a day in their life. It was for that reason that Cavori Jarian has been sat at the same outside table every day for almost a week without anyone really batting an eye.
His blond hair was dishevelled over his face, matting at the fringe. There was a smell of ale about him that suggested he’d consumed naught but alcohol for the entirety of his stay at the inn. He sniffled loudly, the sound of phlegm present in the back of his throat.
He drank it down with a mouthful of warm ale, a fly sat atop the honey hued liquid. In his other hand, a crumpled and tear stained note. He whimpered pathetically.
“Oh Rosetta, return to me, my love, my one, my betrothed... Release me from this deep melancholy, for I am to die without your smile…”
Strange fate it was that his prayers were answered. Not by his love approaching him, professing her undying affection. Nor was it a servant of Dibella, here to grant him his wish. No, it was a crimson, battle-fueled Argonian with an air of murder and bloodshed that sat down right next to him and looked at him square in the face.
“I am from the guild. I am here to aid you in your landstrider yearnings of lust and heartache.”
As if on cue to pick up from where the crimson Argonian had left off a second one, his scales of a grey colour reminiscent of coal, sat on the opposite side of Jarian. “As my friend said,” Tsleeixth began. “We are here to help you with your troubles. If you could, ah, give us some clues as to what has happened, that’d be most beneficial to our endeavour. Any information that you can give us would be of great help mister Jarian.”
A drink in her hand, Sinalare dropped into the seat across from the others, and propped her feet up on an empty chair. She took a swig from her flask, leaning on her elbow as she stared across the table at the weeping man, unnervingly, awaiting his answer.
From sitting alone, to having three at his table - and two argonians no less! This is different he mused to himself, running the back of his hand under his nose again as he composed himself enough to speak. Were people finally to notice that he was in pain?
“I…” he mumbled out, casting his teary gaze across his audience. “My betrothed, my beloved Rosetta… She disappeared from my life three days past. Leaving nothing but a note…” Cautiously, he glanced at them all again before pushing the note to the centre of their table, smoothing it out with his hands so it could be read.
J,
I can’t do this anymore, it’s too difficult. Please don’t follow me.
Rosita
I can’t do this anymore, it’s too difficult. Please don’t follow me.
Rosita
“Everyone I ask and show this too, they just say I did something wrong, that maybe she found a new betrothed in another town but… She wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t.” Jarian sighed, overcome with emotions again.
Tsleeixth looked at the note that was presented to him and his companions. It was a rather brief note, simply mentioning that this Rosita found it too difficult to remain with Jarian and pleading for him to not follow her. “If you will allow me to ask you a few questions sir…” The spellsword began, turning his gaze away from the note and towards the distraught Imperial. “For how long have you known your betrothed? Did she exhibit any sort of weird behaviour before her, ah, disappearance?”
He paused for a second, to give time to the man to process his questions. “Does she have any close friends or family here in Bruma?” He turned to look at the note once more, an eyebrow rising when he noticed a slight discrepancy. “Also, it was to my understanding that the name of the woman is Rosetta not Rosita. Was this a nickname of hers between the two of you? A childhood nickname?”
Dax examined the note that Tslee was holding, squinting his eyes. He had an introspective look, but to most others he would simply seem angered. Honestly, he wondered if this Landstrider was simply an admirer that didn’t get his way, but since they were fiance’s they must have held some kinship.
“Perhaps one of you cannot spell.” he said.
“You spotted that then?” Jarian asked, eyeing the two argonians closely now. “Nobody else did. Nobody took me serious…” his voice fell low, a lump formed in his throat again.
“Eight months,” Jarian finally said after a few moments, and a few sips of his ale to wet his mouth and lips. “We’ve known each other for eight months, have barely so much as spent a day apart. She wouldn’t do this, I know she wouldn’t.”
“What about the handwriting?” Sinalare butted in. She glanced at the crumpled note. “Do you have anything else she wrote?” She hoped that Jarian had not indeed done anything to cause his fiance to flee, as she might feel bad later for giving him information on her, if so.
But, he paid - it wasn’t her business. And maybe there was actually foul-play involved. “If you don’t think she left you of her own accord, do you have any suspicions? Anyone she had disagreements with?”
But Jarian balked at the notion. His reddened eyes again teared up, and his voice shook. “I- No, Rosetta, my beloved… why would anyone ever have cause to dislike her? There wasn’t… there must be another reason. My love, she would not offend someone in such a way, my dear Rosetta… Something else must have h-happened.” He trailed off, getting choked up, and used his ale to swallow down his feelings and compose himself as well as he could. He rubbed at his eyes quickly, sitting up a bit straighter; he needed to be taken seriously, for once during all this.
“Please. You must help me- help her. Oh, Rosetta…” Jarian picked back up the crumpled, soggy note, staring at it once more as though it would change into his fiance if he stared hard enough. Finally, he broke his stare and, eyes closed, offered the note up to the guild members. “If it will help, take this. Please.”
Dax took the note in his brutal hands, and slowly placed the parchment near his snout. He took a long whiff, and tilted his head. It smelled of honeyflower and lavender. Perhaps that could help in the location of this landstrider woman. “It shall help us, yessss…”
Sinalare’s feet thumped against the floor, too loudly, and Jarian jolted as she moved to stand up.
“Right... Anyway,” she said, adding with a shrug, “enjoy your drinking.”