Redthorn Anvil

Exodus

"Oooooooooo!" Grim wiggled his fingers and began to cackle at Azurael. "What's this? You don't actually like the commander, do you? No one likes the commander!"

T'vor growled something under his breath.

"What's that, lizard-man?" Grim asked.

"I said you're a petty imbecile, Grim." T'vor replied.

Before the deathly Angel could respond, however, a scream could be heard, and T'vor immediately ran to see what the source was.

---

Chrissa nodded eagerly to Anuriel's last comment. "Me too. I'd really like to fly again, I miss it already..." She replied. She finished cleaning up for the end of her shift and left the tent after saying her farewells to Anuriel, again promising to consider the cook's offer. Now that her shift was done, Chrissa found that she had much time on her hands and little to do with it.

Aleatorem Groditoris

As the black rider drew ever nearer to his destination, and to the coast, the light drizzle became a steady rain, but it was not a cool rain. It was becoming increasingly more humid, and the rider was once again reminded of how much he disliked the bay area of Leyawiin. The fabric of his robes did little to protect him against the warm wetness seeping through. He had half a mind to simply slit his quarry's throat as she slept and be done with it. But he wouldn't. That would be irresponsible of him. The woman he was hunting would either be dangerous to the Brotherhood, especially if she knew who the Brotherhood's informants were, in which case, he would kill her anyway--or simply ignorant of her incredible blunder, which, while irritating, would make it unacceptable for him to kill her outright. In such a case, well...There were other means of repayment.

The rider was distracted from his thoughts as his dark horse snorted and shook the rain from her coat for an umpteenth time, only to realize that she was standing still, in front of the very city gate that currently protected his elvish prey from him. He wore a scowl under his now-dripping hood, and dismounted.

"Stay here. And by Sithis, don't go looking for trouble."

He left his horse standing there, whose red eyes bored into her master's back as he walked away, mud and gravel crunching under his boots. As he entered, the two guards standing there stopped him, suspicion growing on their faces.

"Hold, stranger. What's your business here?"

The rider looked up to grace the impeding guards with his scowl.
"My business is to find a hot meal and a roof to get out of this rain."
"Really...then why carry a dagger with you?" The guard gestured to the weapon belted at the man's waist.
"Roads are dangerous, especially at night. Isn't that what you men are saying these days?"

The guard looked irritated.

"Bah. Get on then."

And with that, the robed man headed off down the street, towards the Five Claws. It wasn't difficult to find--inns never were--but he didn't enter just yet. He casually leaned against the wet plaster of the wall, as though waiting. He was waiting, in fact, for a patrolling guard to pass by. When the guard's back was turned to him, he whispered a spell, and he appeared to vanish.
He then slipped silently into the inn.
By this time, the proprietor was most certainly asleep, and the invisible man was neither seen nor heard by anyone--not until he entered Venasa's room, and his invisibility spell wore off. She was small, for a dunmer, but that was a quality much admired in the Brotherhood, for small people made for excellent assassins.
That was what the robed man was. An assassin. He took note of Venasa's hand hidden underneath her pillow.
Smart. But telling.
The robed assassin leaned in the far corner of the room, and waited.

Aleatorem Groditoris

Everyone in Cheydinhal knew about the abandoned house, sitting up against the eastern wall of the city. It hadn't been lived in, not for years. It was generally avoided, that house. Both physically, and as a conversation piece. However, a stranger approached the house tonight. The dark streets were empty, save for a guard on patrol who didn't even look at the man as he passed. The stranger was robed in black, and carried a satchel belted to his waist, which the stranger touched lightly, as if protecting its contents. He was a courier, and he had a delivery to make at the abandoned house. He approached the old, boarded up door, and silently went inside.

It had been sprinkling during his ride to Cheydinhal, and his robes were now quite damp. But the house was as cold on the inside as it was outside, only the air inside was dense and spoke of foreboding. It did little to comfort the stranger's cold bones. He shivered, then made his way down to the basement. Cracked stone walls and splintering supports, lined with dusty cobwebs surrounded him on all sides, but he paid little attention to them. His goal was the dark hole in the far wall of the basement, just big enough for a person to slip past, small enough to be disregarded by the common eye as natural damage from age.

Slip past it he did. The corridor beyond was shoveled out of the dirt, and at its end was a Black Door. Looming over him, adorned with all manner of vile imagery, Black Doors were the ultimate safeguard against anyone wishing to sneak in. For Black Doors were doors that did not open. They had no locks, no keys, no handles. They had no windows or bars, and were hewn from stone, carved, and a strong magic was placed upon them. Black Doors only opened for certain people, and under certain circumstances. It was through this door he entered, into the sanctuary beyond. Immediately, the stranger felt himself at home, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed visibly. He was approached by an argonian woman, who had evidently been waiting for his arrival.

"So, what do you have for us, Courier?" She asked.

From his satchel, he produced a parchment. "A letter from the Listener, mistress. One of our informants has just been killed. The Night Mother demands his blood be repaid."
The argonian sighed as she opened and scanned the parchment.

"Has our Speaker been made aware of this?"
"Yes. He is making preparations to resolve this issue as we speak."
"Very well, then. Thank you, Courier. Will you stay and rest for a bit, or must you run off again?"
"I thank you for the offer, mistress, but I'm afraid I still have several other errands to run tonight."
"Very well, then. Walk in the shadow of Sithis, Brother."

And so, it was out into the cold for the courier once again, the tension returning as he left the abandoned house.

A mile or so away from the city, a rider in black, sitting astride a dark horse, was racing through a forest, just off the main road to avoid being seen. He was riding south.

"Quickly, Shadowmere. We must reach Leyawiin before midnight."

Legend of the Ferra Stone

Sedriso tilted his head and crossed his arms. "Of course you only need me to watch your back. That's what I do. Don't you worry, lass. We'll both come out alive. I guarantee it, as long as you don't do something stupid." He said in a casual tone.
"So you're after the Ferra Stone. That's all very well and good...Are you traveling with anyone else on this quest of yours? Rather, I'd expect not many people would be happy that you'd aim to destroy the thing. Mostly, I'm curious if I should be keeping a wary eye on any of your traveling companions, if you know what I mean." Under his helm, one eyebrow was raised. He made a habit of asking about any other companions his current patron was bringing, just to be prepared. He didn't like meeting up with his patron and discovering nine other party members he hadn't heard about previously. It wasn't exactly 'proper etiquette'. Some mercenaries took it as a personal insult if a patron hires them and then also chooses to hire others. Sedriso personally didn't mind too much, he simply preferred to know beforehand what to expect on the journey.

Exodus

"Eheehee, that tickled!" Grim sniggered, rubbing his gut where Azurael had stabbed him.
"Oh, leave the poor grouch alone, nothing you say or do will change his ways! Well, probably. Hehehehe!"

T'vor turned his attention to Azurael. "Had you expected otherwise, Stormy?" His tone was flat.

"Um, if it's all the same to you, miss Anuriel, I prefer to call you 'miss'! It sounds more official..." Chrissa laughed sheepishly.
"And um, thanks! I'll think about it, I promise!" She added quickly.

[I may edit this post later.]

Exodus

"Ehehe, me? Get hurt?" Grim giggled at the thought. "If that were possible by any normal means, I probably would be dead by now! Or you know, more dead. Heeheeheehee!"
"Oh, I wouldn't envy them if I were you--they tell me that death can be sooooooo boring. Frankly, I believe them! But I'm only half dead, so I couldn't say I know from experience! If I were you, I'd want to die married, because that way I'd always have someone else to be dead with for eternity! I bet it would be far less boring, then, if ya kno' what I mean, hehehehehehe..."

"You disgust me." T'vor hissed.

Grim frowned in mock disappointment.

Sephiroth followed behind the other three--it was an incredible sight, to be sure, but he hoped Grim wouldn't 'accidentally' forget to take all those souls back with him. He wasn't in the mood for the Angel's shenanigans today. When they got back, he would have to go seek out Damien to retrieve the young dragons.

Chrissa found much comfort in her work--it was simple work, and frankly wasn't very rewarding, but it was busy, and she enjoyed the monotonous routine. It didn't change, she knew what to do, and the familiarity made her relaxed. So when Anuriel returned, she was feeling much better.
"Hello, miss Anuriel!" She greeted when the Demon entered.

Legend of the Ferra Stone

Sedriso almost laughed.
"Oh, I can keep you alive, no doubt about that. Sedriso Ulveri, the finest blade--or mage, if that suits you better--that money can hire, at your service. Also the most expensive, if I'm honest, but I can assure you, I am worth every last gold coin. Speaking of which--I charge a flat fee of five-hundred gold per job. No exceptions, no I-owe-yous, and no refunds. However...before we get into all that, let me lay out what I can offer you, yes?" Now, Sedriso was getting into his game, and he rubbed his hands together.

"Simply put, I offer a combination of skills, unlike many of those other mercenaries who only know how to bash skulls in after coming clean from the bandit life. I've been doing this much longer than any of them, as well. Nigh a hundred years now, I think. I dare you to find any human mercenaries that can boast my experience. Be it magic, blade, or stealth, I can fulfill any combat requirements you may ever have. Which means, simply put, keeping you alive is what I do best." He told her.
"So...If you're still interested, then we can get right down to business."

Legend of the Ferra Stone

And...then the woman who'd stood between the guards and the cat started to approach Sedriso, with a look of such determination that he was considering, well...
Fleeing, would be an accurate term.
Instead, he folded his arms and stood ground. He wasn't going to let a woman scare him off. Besides, she may very well want something from him.
Which could mean more money.
...He was fine with that. Was money his god? Hardly. But it most certainly was his motivation. He liked to believe he had a good nose for wealth, and she reeked of the smell. Perhaps he should come out of his vacation earlier than he planned. The anticipation was absolutely killing him.
He tilted his head as the woman drew near.
"...I think it's safe to assume that you want to talk to me, since there's plenty of wide open space on either side of me for you to walk around if you didn't wish to speak to me. So...Is there something I can, say, help you with? Or are you just looking for revenge over a lost family member or loved one that you think I may have killed? Because quite frankly...both are possible. If anyone in your family is disreputable, that is." He said.

Legend of the Ferra Stone

Sedriso's not-quite-relaxing was abruptly interrupted by screams coming from the town square, and purely out of habit, he quickly set his wine down, drew his sword, and rushed out of the inn to see what was happening.

He ran to the square, where the screams had originated from, and saw several people crowded around what appeared to be a...massive cat? With horns.

Looked like something out of his nightmares, to him. And yet the animal seemed peculiarly still, and there was a woman casually standing between it and several guards. And that's when he saw it.
The elf.
Sedriso felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, and he almost spat on the ground.
Damn elves.
But he returned his attention to the scene before him, and he realized why the cat looked so strange.
It really was frozen in place. His first inclination was that the elf did it, considering elves were the most apt at such benign magic, but he had his doubts. Now, there was only one other person around that didn't seem to be running and screaming in terror, and that was a woman. She certainly looked very human, But she seemed...different. She had more elvish features, and she was tall, for a female human.
...A half-breed, perhaps?
Possibly.
Regardless, it didn't look like the foul beast was going to move anytime soon, so he re-sheathed his sword with a low growl. This wasn't what he'd come here for.

He approached the guards that were still stupidly standing around.
"Look, the thing is immobile. Do us all a favor and stop waving those swords about? You might chop off someone's head, acting like that..." He called to them.
"And learn how to hold that weapon properly while you're at it..." He muttered under his breath.
Despicable. And they call themselves soldiers.

He called out once more.
"Is anyone present the owner of this...large feline creature? If so, would you mind putting a leash on it? These people really can't afford to spare it several dozen chickens for a snack."

Legend of the Ferra Stone

Sedriso Ulveri, blade for hire. One of the best, in fact. With all manner of spells, enchantments, and fighting skill, plus a few other tricks, he's a fighter of many trades, and good at what he does. If not the best. And he can be yours.
For the right price, of course.
That was the sort of thing he'd always told people looking for a mercenary to do their dirty work, or to protect them during their travels.
It isn't boasting if you can actually deliver.
He said that sometimes, too.
In a place unfriendly to Drow--most civilized places were, in fact--it was important to have the best credentials...and something to hide your face with.

Sedriso Ulveri, battlemage mercenary of the Drow, was sipping spiced wine in a hot, stuffy corner of the inn at which he was presently staying, after having completed a job. He intended to give himself a few days to relax before seeking further work, but he found it difficult in his present atmosphere. He was likely the only Drow in this gods-forsaken town, and so he refrained from removing his chitin armor and mask to avoid disrupting the general populace with his presence, and was sipping his wine from underneath the red cloth that formed the masked portion of his helm. So far, it seemed, no one paid him much mind.

He hoped that it would stay that way. He'd just done quite a bit of fighting, and wasn't interested in being the cause of another at the moment.