Sick Ducker — Roleplayer Guild

Yesterday, the 10th of Sun's Height, was the Merchants Festival. Normally, shops would be wide open with once-in-a-year door crashers. The 10th also serves as Vaermina's summoning day. No town feared the mistress of nightmares more than Dawnstar. The townspeople say they were plagued by night terrors during the dragon crisis, and in that restless period, a priest of Mara and another mysterious adventurer explored the Tower of Dawn. All nightmares ceased once the adventurer emerged with a grotesque staff; her priest companion nowhere in sight. Henceforth, Vaermina's summoning day would be an anxious time. All but the bravest (or greediest) merchants would shut down business. For four years now, Dawnstar celebrates Merchants Festival on the 11th, not the 10th.

One can find many discounts in Dawnstar's stores; the time to buy has never been better.

Inside Windpeak Inn, Ashav answered questions one by one.

“Indeed we are.” Ashav responded to the first voice, another Redguard. Dark-skinned human were more and more common in Skyrim. In light of the Dragonborn's anti-Empire and anti-Dominion rhetoric, Redguards remain the sole foreign race wide accepted by Skyrim. This particular Redguard must been eager, for he spoke up faster than any of the veterans. Alternatively, everyone else could have known Ashav's methods well enough to not warrant asking.

“We could very much use your skills.” Ashav replied. No one could complain about another healer after what they went through in Windhelm.

“Yes. I'll take the new man over that louse Do'Ka-” Dumhuvud tried to inject himself before being cut off by Leif.

“Actually,” Ashav held up a hand, “that would work very well.” Scratching his forearm in thought, Ashav looked over the gathering crowd. “Everyone already enrolled, and you two,” he waved to Almad and S'riracha, “will sail with The Courtesan. As for the rest, why don't you report to the other vessel.” Ashav tapped on the flyer. “Go with them, they need hands as well.” With that, most of the newcomers were dismissed. A few stubborn ones appealed to stay, but Ashav quickly told them off.

“Are you sure?” Dumhuvud whispered so only Ashav could hear. “That cat, S'riracha, or whatever the Khajiit calls itself, too?”

“Both of them.” Ashav stated.

The succeeding questions came from the beastmen; Do'Karth and Tsleeixth. Ashav let both of them finish before talking back. In fact, he spoke slowly and intermittently, as if carefully considering word after word. 

“According to the travelers from Winterhold, there exist corridors leading up from the foundation, all the way up to college proper.” Ashav explained to Do'Karth. “Now, as far as I know, The Courtesan will be joined by three other ships.” 

For Tsleeixth, the worry on the Argonian's face was apparent. Tsleeixth managed to drink out an entire cup of water with no regard, probably assuming it alcohol without examining the taste or smell. This meant Ashav had to meticulously pick out his words. Unfortunately, he had nothing good to say.

“I heard they were travelers and fishers, the group that came in.” Thankfully, Daelin came to the rescue. His information were mostly overheard from street conversations earlier. “Apparently the entire town slid into the sea, but the college somehow remains.” The Bosmer said somberly. 

Once everyone finished asking, it was time for Edith to collect requisition and outgoing parcels. Just like questions, Keegan claimed the first spot signing his name on the mail. He would try to get a set of durable trousers and jacket, which would no doubt serve athletic demands better than his current robes. In his hands was also a letter; for the first time in three decades, Aervyn and Skoerrho of Firsthold would hear from their child.

Dear mother and father, Keegan remembered writing last night. I apologize for leaving so abruptly. Perhaps I was worried over nothing, or perhaps you were right to commit me to asylum. Whatever the case, I wish we could have parted on better terms, like a proper family. I have gone through much, some proving your wisdom correct while other wildly contradicting everything I was told. No matter now, I am headed to the fight of my life, and should I perish, much of what I worked for would be sent to you. Interpret this as you will, for myself seek not your forgiveness nor express my anger; I am merely settling the debts I owed.

In the end, Keegan mulled over on what to sign with. Would it be Thaleruim? Keegan Vasque? Or something completely different so that he can't be traced in case his parents get any ideas. In the end, the appropriate choice was something simple and obvious: Your son.
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Ill Malard

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