Stormyx

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Little known fact, was that our very own Relyssa was to give a performance at the banquet;

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

@Stormflyx and @Gcold

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The banquet was in full flow by the time the Breton had made her way back to the main ballroom, the lights were dimmed and crystalline chandeliers provided an almost romantic illumination to the room, everything was grand and plush - opulence. As was to be expected, the guests were at varying levels of inebriation. It was for this exact reason that Relyssa rolled her eyes. They could be noble in the streets and in their halls and courts, but shove them all into a room with alcohol and they had little more grace than peasants in a grimy tavern. Still, the rich had to have their fun after all, lavish and over the top fun at that…

Having successfully accomplished her goals, and now needing to pass the time until it’s conclusion, Relyssa felt free enough to enjoy herself. She wouldn’t be enjoying herself quite so much as some people that she observed on her strut through the ballroom. She thought about Alim, and about what he had in his pockets, her nostrils flared slightly with the quick twist of anger that crept in, slowly she shook it off - everything would be fine, he would not steal away with it… And if he did, she’d hunt him down and take it back with force.

Just get it out of your mind, Relyssa… she chided herself internally as she moved to a waiter carrying drinks - wine would help settle this, and if not wine then something else… Ahh yes, there was always Gustav, he had suggested a dance and suddenly she very much wanted to take the mysterious Nord up on his offer.

All at once her face took on something of a feline expression. Her steel blue eyes were narrowed in an alluring way and with an almost predatory gaze she scanned the room for him. Her scarlet smile was small, with the few disheveled strands of hair framing her sharp features, she had the look of a trickster in its element. She very much sought to push Gustav’s buttons again. She held her glass of wine with two hands, tapping her fingernails against the stem as if in a manner not entirely unlike the way a lioness might go about sharpening her claws…

There you are, she said to herself as she caught a glance of him belching up the stubborn gas of a carbonated beverage.

Unlike Relyssa, Gustav wasn’t having nearly as much “fun” and “adventure”. His routine had been talking to the few people that he knew, and assuring them that he was here for no reason other than celebrating. Yes, Wayrest’s free at last, and yes, Gustav himself had nothing to do with the mercenary business, or that’s what he tried to feed his acquaintances with. The literal feeding, on the other hand, was a buffet. Hundreds of people crammed into the biggest room in the castle, numerous tables in between, topped with everything from stuffed Craglorn pheasant to smoke fish caught freshly on the Bjoulsae. Gustav always wanted to try Balfieran caviar, but that particular table was occupied by a large Orc, supposedly the champion of some knightly order. Strangely, Gustav saw none of the notable guests there. He milled about the crowded, noisy and even sweaty dining room for a whole hour to no avail; no of the monarchs and other big names were there. Where could they possibly go?

So, Gustav took to the ballroom when it opened, hoping to catch a glance of royalty (and possibly vampires) there. It was more preferable to him than the live performances in the garden. Gustav’s not interested in the “wrestling” match scheduled by the local fight pit. Some of these sheltered highborns, particular the old money, was excited to see “real” battle with their own eyes. Gustav saw more than enough at Smuggler’s Cove; fighting was a mess, and though it might be blood-pumping, it was not very enjoyable. Plus, it’s Last Seed, the mosquitos were vicious.

It only occured to Gustav when he looked around the ballroom, that he didn’t have a dance partner, and he hasn’t danced since the Jehanna New Life celebration back in 203. Watching the more experienced dancers was a little intimidating, especially when many were performing this year’s latest fashionable (and complex) move; the sick spin. He found himself stalking the edge of the ballroom, picking up a sparkling wine from one of the servants and downing it in one fell swoop. Then Gustav looked around again and saw none other than Relyssa Deserine, and it was at this moment the sparkling wine decided to send its gaseous compatriot up Gustav’s system for a speedy reunion. Relyssa probably saw that, and Gustav turned his head away embarrassingly.

She was still there when Gustav looked around for the third time. Oh well, Gustav did ask her for a dance before, didn’t he? He crossed the room to greet her, but before his words came out, his belch decided to say hi first.

“Excuse me, Lady Des-” Another belch interrupted him. “By the nine-” Gustav saw what must be a Dominion emissary nearby, “I mean, eight!”

“Ahem.” Gustav cleared his throat, and bowed slightly in courtesy and apology. “How is your night so far, my lady?”

It was decidedly difficult to keep up. Was that the second or third instance of the Nord bringing up wind? When she wondered whether or not Gustav might blow her away on the dancefloor earlier, this was absolutely not what she had meant. Still, she managed to dig deep enough to find a polite smile, even if there was a glaze of ”what in Oblivion?” over her eyes. “Gustaaaaaaaav…” she began, drawing out his name to a close to awkward length, she leaned back from him ever so - what she had heard was enough, she did not wish to smell it as well…

“Enjoying the beverages are we?” she continued, her tone significantly softer now, her usual puckish expression resumed. “As for my night, well it has been very satisfactory so far.” She hoped the man wasn’t already too sodden to understand the implication of her words. If she had been feeling any more bold, she might have given him a wink too - instead, just a smile with teeth. “You don’t seem to be joining in the revelry, Gustav.” It was not a question, but there was no doubt about it - Relyssa was curious as to why the Nord was not mingling with the crowds of guests.

“You know me, I’m always on the hunt for the next best drink.” Gustav replied. He was expecting Relyssa to extend her hand out for him to kiss, or at the very least, shake. But then again, he had just been picking his way through the buffet, some dried gravy might be still sticking to his hands.

“Well, I’ve done my share of mingling; I just find it most enjoyable in small doses.” Shrugged Gustav. Was his breath so bad? No. In fact, the belches had a little peachy flavor to it, not that he would mention it to anyone else. Instead, he gave cocked his head and looked to Relyssa. She sure cleaned up good; the expensive dress and jewelries fit her well. “I should say the same about you, Relyssa. I haven’t seen you around the guests either, though...”

The band in the ballroom finished the current tune and started playing a new one. It was a fast and cherry summer jingle. Some people were switching dance partners, while some formed circles that were traditional to Bangkorai folk dances. Meanwhile, a bell was rang outside; the big wrestling match was starting.

“Let’s talk further while we dance, or perhaps see the wrestling match instead?” Gustav offered Relyssa his arm. “May I?”

She chuckled at that; “why I’ve been busy putting Alim to work of course, I’m happy to say that you were right about him. He was worth the price…” She smiled as she took Gustav’s arm - pondering over the question. To dance would be good, but that fast music was decidedly not her preference… Wrestling was also not something she was too interested in but it may provide a better opportunity to probe Gustav. “You know, I don’t think my shoes are all that appropriate for spinning in such circles,” she began, lowering her voice until it was practically a velvety whisper in his ear now they were stood together. “I much prefer a slow dance, the closeness… The intimacy…”

“That lad is something, isn’t he?” Gustav matched Relyssa’s smile with one of his own. Brand loyalty always started with a good first impression, this Gustav knew all to well. Het let Relyssa lead him half a step ahead as she took his arm. Then Gustav twitched somewhat uncomfortably at her whisper. “If you say so.”

Relyssa raised her shoulders in a coquettish shrug, flapping her hand in a dismissive motion at the dancers, “I suppose I shall settle for watching some strongmen tussle with each other instead.” The Breton took a sip from her glass, eyes scanning over the crowds once more - she had hoped to see Alim on the outskirts, but no such luck. He better not have scarpered with her prize…

“If I do recall correctly, you were here on a job too, yes? I hope it’s going well…” she commented quietly as they made their way at a leisurely pace to the gardens.

“Work never stops with your own business, I’m sure you know.” Gustav shrugged. He was about to beckon for a refill on his own glass, but the residual belching urges told him otherwise. “Strong men tussling each other is not far from the duties of my employees, so this would be observation in a way. Plus,” Gustav handed his glass to a servant, trying to change the topics in order to not divulge the company’s assignment, “the mosquitos aren’t as bad as I expected. Must be enchantments around the garden, don’t you think?”

“Enchantments? Yes I expect so,” she replied, her gaze focussed on that in front of her in such a way she was just about half listening to the Nord.

Arriving in a large clearing, where a wrestling ring and metal cage around it had been set up, Gustav and Relyssa found a decent sized crowd had already gathered. Announcers from the Evermore War Knights, a mustached Orc and a round little Breton dressed in bright court robes, were just starting to address the spectators through their enchanted megaphones.

“Ever seen one of these?” Gustav asked, and suggested they move to the edge of the crowd, where the view was obstructed and the announcers wouldn’t blast their ears with megaphones. “Wrestling, pit fights and the like are popular in the north. The Ravagers are the stars of Solitude; their matches even allow weapons.”

That made her smile. “Do I look like a woman who would willingly go and watch a wrestling match?” Relyssa held for a moment with something of a devious expression that she met Gustav with. “Because I haven’t… But truthfully I find it rather fascinating, I’m curious to see some strong men, you seem to know a lot about it… It’s as you say, business…” As she drank down the last of the contents of her glass, she placed it down on a servants platter - offering a polite smile and nod. “I find it almost as fascinating as you and your business, admittedly. I’m quite curious to learn more about you Gustav, and how you came upon such a company.”

“You never know what someone does for hobby until you speak to them. Some people enjoy wrestling for the drama; they say the matches are staged.” Gustav said. Eyes darting around to make sure nobody was paying attention them, Gustav whispered. “Do you know that the princess of Jehanna has an extensive collection of Reachman scalps. Maybe it’s better we don’t know.”

“What’s there to say about me? I am an investor, and there’s profit to be made in war.” Gustav returned Relyssa’s nod with his own, and chuckled to make it seem trivial. It became apparent that Relyssa was trying to pry information out of him in some way, and also apparent that he didn’t do the best job at deflecting it. “We do follow an ethical guideline; after all, don’t we all work to make a positive difference, in our own ways?”

It was at the moment that she gave Gustav another of her smiles, that a servant paraded past carrying another tray of wine - from which Relyssa took one - and motioned for said servant to hand a glass to the Nord. “We should toast to our evening, don’t you think?” Relyssa asked in a crisp tone, holding out her own glass expectantly with a raised eyebrow.

Gustav took the glass. This wine doesn’t appear carbonated, and his belch had gone down, hopefully. “Yes; cheers to victory at Wayrest, to good business and an exquisite evening!” He clinked his glass on Relyssa’s, then taking a good swig from it. Regret would immediately manifest in a sudden belch, but thankfully, the announcers introducing the wrestlers drowned out most of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our first contestant, from the frozen wastelands of Solstheim, I present: Gjorn Storm-Fist!” The first announcer began blasting from his megaphone. On his cue, a heavyset Nord, two meters tall and thick as an ox, entered the caged ring. He wore knee-length shorts, fur bracers and a sleeveless shirt, showing burgeoning calves and biceps each twice of Gustav’s. Bushy red beard lined his face, and a mish-mash of scars on his bare arms.

That caused a smile to appear on her face. If there was one thing that Relyssa did appreciate, it was a man of good musculature - a man who looked hardened from battle. The beard was a shame, of course, but everything else… Her head tilted as the eyes of the Breton looked Gjorn up and down. “He almost reminds me of someone I know…” she commented quietly with a smirk.

“This wild berserker draws power from the very essence of wild bears! Witness the savagery of the Skaal unleashed!” The second announcer told the crowd. Some cheered, but Gjorn wasn’t really reacting accordingly. In fact, the Skaal wrestler was fidgeting and looking nervously between the crowd and castle spires.

“His challenger, from the ranks of the Imperial Legions, tempered by forge and war, Ograh gro-Vorinclex!” Emerging after the introduction was an Orc, equally large and heavy as the Skaal, except he was green and has large tusks. Ograh was shirtless, only wearing leather boots, baggy trousers and fingerless gloves. However, he had few scars and slick black hair.

“This mighty legionary once single-handedly defeated a daedric titan! His appetite is insatiable, for steel and battle!” The second announcer boasted. Ograh did rally the excited crowd. However, when he entered the ring, locked inside the cage with his opponent, his energy instantly went down a notch. It was almost like he was scared.

“Hmm, this will be interesting.” Gustav finished his wine, while stifling his belches. He studied the wrestlers, smirking as he realized they were probably both rookies. Probably, not that Gustav was ever in their shoes. “How a about a bet, Relyssa; who do you think will prevail?”

She was still occupied with examining the physique of the Nord that she almost missed Gustav’s words of a bet. She thought about it with another smirk, taking a sip of her wine as she glanced at both of the fighters equally this time. “Interesting indeed… I happen to know a tremendous Nord fighter… Don’t know many Orsimer warriors, but they’re naturally strong - I know that much…” She brought her thumb to her lip as she thought very carefully about who she would place her bet on.

“My honest opinion is that they both look quite inspiring and powerful. The Nord has more scars - which could indicate he’s taking many, many beatings. The Orc has less, but it seems that his mettle was left outside of the ring. It’s anyone’s game, this will be luck. Unless of course the match has been fixed in the Nord’s favour…”

Her mind then drifted to the narrative of the battle. An Orsimer and a Nord - would the high society Lords and Ladies accept an Orc to best a Nord? The men wanted a hero that they could see themselves as, the women wanted a hero they could imagine sweeping them off their feet...

“Ograh.” She said finally, her lips pulling into an undeniably smug half smile.

“I’ll take Gjorn;” Gustav nodded, “let’s see how this goes.”

Surely enough, Ograh would sweep people off their feet, notably Gjorn. Their fight started out evenly matched, both fighters nervous and reluctant to give their all. But things changed when Ograh hit Gjorn a little bit lower beneath his belt. The announcers had been worried that the Skaal was held back by some kind of sickness, until his rage finally came through. Punches, kicks and charges were unleashed at Ograh, and soon the Orc found himself being thrown repeatedly at the metal cage, unable to escape. However, when he fell to his knees for the fourth time, he tugged loose Gjorn’s bootlaces, causing the Skaal to trip. Ograh took this chance to rip free a weakened piece of metal from cage. It was sharp, and as Gjorn charged back in rage, Ograh stuck it right into his stomach. Blood spurted across the ring.

Relyssa gasped at the sight, her mouth remained open until she brought a hand up in shock, to cover it.

Gjorn cried in pain; the crowd gasped in surprise. None of that stopped Gjorn from swinging his fists at Ograh. At this point, he was disoriented from pain, blind aggression and his loosened boot; none of his punches connected. Ograh though, maintained his caution and distance. The Orc walked circles around Gjorn, trying to find an opening for the finishing blow. Eventually, he settled on taking off his belt and strangling Gjorn with it from behind.

“By the eight,” one announcer shouted, “looks like Ograh is getting quite creative; what does the audience think?”

There was a mix off applause and booing. Gjorn’s face was turning purple, and his struggle weak from blood loss; he plead for intervention.

“Looks like we’re an everything-goes match tonight.” The second announcer concluded. “Unless our contestant wishes to tap out?”

Gjorn shook his head furiously, trying to shake Ograh free, with no success. Ograh pressed his knee into Gjorn’s back, restraining him like rodeoing a thrashing bull. Several minutes later, Gjorn ceased resisting; he passed out.

“Looks like Ograh is super effective!” Announcer one laughed.

“Gjorn has fainted!” Announcer two added.

Gustav clapped along with the crowd, or at least, the half that backed Ograh and not yet walked away. He patted Relyssa’s shoulder jovially, and laughed. “You certainly have an eye for...talents, Relyssa. Are you sure you’ve never seen a wrestling match before?”

Having watched the scene play out, the Breton felt suitably pleased with herself for her prediction having been correct. She lowered her hand from her mouth and brought it beside the other to give a soft applause. “Please, Gustav,” she began sardonically, practically rolling her eyes as she turned her head to look at him. “I try to avoid such sports. Although I have trea--” She stopped herself quickly. The alcohol was to blame, and revealing anything about herself to Gustav would be a mistake, especially that she was anything more than a well-to-do heiress. She wanted her job to be as clean as possible, afterall. She turned that sudden pause into a sly smirk once more. “I mean to say that fascinating as it is, I have trepidations about such violent affairs. That poor Nord, he’s in quite a sorry state now, I hope he gets to feeling better…”

“Don’t worry, wrestling matches are rarely lethal.” Gustav reassured. Sure enough, a group of match organizers ran up to the stage with a stretcher to carry a passed out Gjorn away.

Quiet smugness aside, the night was getting along even further, and her patience was wearing down still. She would have to find something to occupy her mind - what was better than the Nord at her side. He seemed almost too easy to play with. “Alright, the wrestling is done - I won our bet, tell me Gustav, what do you propose is my prize?” The blonde turned to face him fully and began to wind a loose curl around her finger while she awaited his response. She was still investigating just what kind of man he was.

It was indeed getting later in the night. The sun was almost entirely set, leaving the royal gardens lit by lanterns, candles and fireflies. However, the activities were anything but winding down. The stage before them was being taken down for musical performances. Gustav was finally relaxing. Maybe there wasn’t a vampire threat after all, just an enjoyable night with an unexpected companion.

“How about a discount on our transaction?” Gustav proposed. He ran his hand through his own blond hair. “You can let others know how pleasant it is to do business with us.”

While the stage was being reconfigured, servants milled about with plates of deserts and snacks. Sagax was not among them, and he hasn’t been for the last hour. Surely he was working elsewhere? One servant approached Gustav and Relyssa with a plate of sausage and cheese cube mix. Gustav took small bowl of the mix, while offering Relyssa another. The cheese was classic Shornhelm diary, but the sausage, it was very peculiar, though strangely appetizing.

“Excuse us,” Gustav asked the servant, once he and Relyssa had a few bites down, “what sort meat is this? Very zesty, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you, sir.” The servant replied. Nervous eyes darted about and avoided Gustav, the boy all but mumbled the rest. “I believe it’s a new recipe, uh, imported from Pyandonea. It’s...Khajiit flesh.”

The haughty Breton was visibly repulsed having learned the source of the meat, and she was thankful to have avoided it. So repulsed was she by it, that her smile was entirely smacked away, leaving only an unpleasant scowl that had drained even the sparkle of mischievous joy from her eyes. “Wonderful…” she remarked bitterly, pushing the plate away and back into the chest of the servant.

“Um, sorry? Sorry, m’lady...” The servant meagerly apologized; he scurried away with the plate.

She sighed and managed to regain a sliver of composure, sliver enough to catch a gentleman watching her from across the banquet hall. Once he had caught the eye of Relyssa, he swiftly turned away and retreated to his glass. She smirked and brought her attention back to Gustav and his proposal. “Ahh, you are very business minded,” she began - taking a sip of wine. She savoured the taste of it in her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “Very well. I’ll whisper into the ear of more than a few individuals…”

“Heh, wow, now I’ve tried Khajiit…” Gustav ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. He was so shocked at what the meat had been, that he didn’t even pay attention to what Relyssa was doing. When he recovered (and decided that Khajiit meat wasn’t half bad), Gustav caught sight of Edith running toward him. Something was going wrong; Edith was disguised as a servant and not suppose to be seen with Gustav outside of emergencies.

“Yes, business…” Gustav thought out loud. He set his drink aside and faced Relyssa with sudden seriousness. “Before we part ways, Relyssa, tell me, what do you know about vampires?”

Gustav debated on whether he should more. Relyssa couldn’t possibly hinder the situation in any significant way, and if anything, she might be of help. “There is suspicion that some vampires are present around this procession and looking to do harm. Just let me know if you see anything...out of the ordinary.” Gustav admitted.

“Vampires?!” she immediately scoffed, trying to hold back the urge to laugh in disbelief. “Of course there are vampires here…” Relyssa turned her face to some of the guests as if to imply they were all blood-sucking heathens in one way or another. She did then take note of the way that Gustav’s demeanor changed. “You’re actually serious?” she said, voice lower now. “If you’re actually serious I don’t wish to stick around - we should leave!” There was a strain in her voice that was sincere - she did suddenly feel completely vulnerable, and a hand ran across her neck almost out of instinct. “I know enough…”

"Oh, I am dead serious." Gustav nodded. "No pun intended."

"You want to know about what I do?" He finally relented. Gustav reached out to pull Relyssa closer, out of earshot of possible eavesdroppers. "My employees, Alim included, found evidence of a conspiracy after defeating a Sload. It's a long story, but there's a reason we haven't seen any monarchs around." Gustav gestured to the crowd; a bunch of important nobodies.

He was talking faster now. "The vampires want to kill them, and while I don't think any of them know it exactly, they've been rightfully cautious. I've been hired to keep an eye out, discreetly, so that-"

At this point, Edith had rushed to Gustav and Relyssa. Edith was no longer wearing her butler disguise, instead, she had donned her armor. Guests were staring at her, and a pair of guards was following her. However, Edith herself paid them no attention; she was panting, after running out from the dining hall.

"Gustav, there's a situation! We need to-" On cue with Edith's warning was the shattering of windows and screaming of panicked people from the dining hall. The two guards that tailed her turned toward the commotion, but before they could react, an Altmer (whom Gustav recognized as Nyrehtaud from earlier meet-and-greets), blasted them aside with a powerful spell and sprinted into the (off-limit) royal residence wing. Behind Nyrehtaud came two masked individual. Their masks then came off, revealing unnaturally pale skin, red irises and sharp fangs.

"By Zenithar!" Gustav gasped.

One vampire leaped into the waiter that had served Gustav and Relyssa moments ago, and tore a bloody breach into his neck. The other vampire fired a frenzy spell toward responding guards, causing them to attack innocent guests and each other.

"If you want to leave, go! Go to Used Sundries and Sevine will keep you safe there." Gustav told Relyssa. People were trampling over each other for the gate, but Gustav himself was focused on the two vampires. "I have a job to do here."

She thought it over quickly. She had to. The doors were blocked by people, there was a woman pushed to the ground and stood over. Her screams muffled by feet over her back - and drowned out by the rest of the screams. That could quite easily be her if she made it for the exit. The Breton heaved a sigh, bringing herself into a defensive stance behind both Edith and Gustav. “Oh darling, if I leave and you decide to die - I won’t get my discount now, will I?”

It irritated her to have to stay, but there was the all important matter of the diamonds in Alim’s bag. She need only make it to him and snatch back her prize, then she could escape.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

oh you sexy boi you.

Parinaaz Bhatt - wip updating

Name: Parinaaz Bhatt (Pari)
Age: 34
Gender: Female

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Appearance:

Hider

Standing at an average 5’4”, Parinaaz carries a confidence about her that she never had growing up. In fact, as a teenager she had always chosen to hide her face and body underneath ill fitting clothing, her face buried behind her hair, and the rest of it hidden behind glasses. Now, she wears a calming smile at all times, she usually appears happy and approachable - despite her serious personality. While she has worked her way out of darkness, there are still echoes of it in her rich mahogany brown eyes if one looks hard enough. It is usually those who have also experienced pain and grief that can pick it up from within her. After all, birds of a feather flock together... There is only so much smiling that can hide pain on the outside. She is quite delicate and soft spoken, but will go through moments of passion where her aura will change and she becomes much more serious - her voice authoritative. Her voice carries a light touch of the accent of Mumbai after her time spent there, and having listened to it her whole life.

Years of frequent Yoga have given her curvaceous body a toned and strong physique that still has a feminine softness about it in the right places. She is always impeccably groomed - never a hair out of place. When working at a computer or other electronic device she will wear her glasses. Her hair is long, and naturally curly - she will usually wear it out of her face in a simple ponytail or plait. She loves the intricate and traditional jewellery of her culture and so will often wear large earrings, necklaces, and bangles. She has a nose piercing but will rarely wear a stud.

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Agency/Organization: FBI - Intelligence Analyst/Homicide Crime Scene Investigation

Education:

Stanford University
Philosophy and Religion (Major) - Thesis Subject: Religious Iconography in Crime
Forensic Sciences (Minor)
Postgraduate: Forensic Sciences

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Background: Born and raised in Seattle, Parinaaz is the daughter of two immigrants from Mumbai who are both very skilled in the medical profession, her father an acclaimed neurosurgeon, and her mother an equally acclaimed maternal/fetal surgeon and practitioner. Having such affluent parents meant that throughout her childhood, she had security and wealth. Having been the only child of the two incredibly successful surgeons it was as though her life was already decided - she would study medicine too. Her parents pushed her during her formative years in school to study hard, and they drilled it into her that anything less than perfect would not do.

Such a strict upbringing took a toll on her social life, and she was ridiculed terribly by her peers for her culture, skin colour, and quiet, timid personality. Of course, the bullying only made her sink deeper into her shell and become more introverted and her confidence was shattered. She rejected her culture, and instead became very Americanised in her ways, stopped practicing Hinduism, and tried to blend in as best as she could. When it came time to decide on her college - Pari had her sights on Stanford (much to her parents delight), however it was Philosophy and Religion that took her interest above all else, ironically enough - she had such a love and passion for culture around the world - despite being so ashamed of her own. She had an increasing interest in forensic sciences too. As if by some miracle, her parents eventually accepted that medicine wasn’t her passion - but were still so proud of her ambition to attend the incredibly prestigious Stanford University that they reluctantly supported it. They had left Mumbai to pursue the American dream, and this was Pari’s own version of that same dream.

During University, Pari thrived. Her natural intelligence shone through and she was able to achieve incredible grades consistently. Her social life thrived as she naturally exuded confidence which attracted like-minded people. She joined several alternative clubs and societies - like the movie society, a DnD club, and an astronomy club. She found her tribe of introverts and having them around her helped her develop her social skills.

During her Postgraduate study of Forensics, Pari was able to take part in more field experience - and was invited to local crime scenes on more than one occasion. Something that was quite different about her, was her ability to look at scenes without being emotionally affected. It was a strange cold distance that she was able to keep. There was a particularly gruesome scene that she attended where a child had been murdered that made a fellow student vomit and walk away, Pari remained stoic and this level of distance allowed her to investigate fully - noticing details that even the senior investigators did not. Truthfully, the things she saw did affect her, she was just good at burying it until she could get home. Her emotions would spill out behind closed doors and she would drown them with alcohol, sometimes drugs. It was a cliche and completely unhealthy habit - but cliche for a reason. It was a hard task - it was scarring, but somebody had to do it - and she was so damn good at it. It had to be her. She began to have an unhealthy obsession with crime, as if the burden of solving them was solely on her shoulders.

After completing her second degree, she was approached by an FBI recruiter who had been given her thesis on Religious Iconography in Crime. After a single meeting, she was flown out to Montana to assist in the investigative analysis of a religious cult that were growing larger and more powerful within a smaller county. It took the team 8 months of undercover work, investigation, interrogation, and analysis to finally bring the cult down. The 8 months had taken a massive toll on Pari, and she was drinking more than ever, smoking marijuana, and dabbling in other drugs - mostly Oxycontin.

During the time in Montana, Pari grew romantically close to a field agent, Simon. The two had a deep connection, he was older than her - 10 years her senior at 36 years old. They would stay up late at night together and talk about many things - literature, movies, art, their ambitions, their lives… Their future plans after they brought down the cult. It didn’t take long for Pari to fall in love with him, and vice versa. But love found in the middle of darkness didn’t last… In the final showdown of the takedown of the cult, while Pari was in the offices compiling reports and data, Simon was gunned down by a cultist. Just like that. He died on the spot - the bullet hit him dead centre between the eyes. He had been trying to help a civilian. The mission was a success, but Pari lost everything.

At 28, she was incredibly accomplished academically, and gifted in her line of work - so gifted that she had been employed by the FBI as an analyst immediately after joining the cult team, and was in her second year of employment with them. Yet, she was so far in a dark spiral - hiding her feelings and pain, in desolate grief over the loss of Simon for two years. It was when she finally hit rock bottom after a cocaine and oxycontin overdose almost took her life that she was forced to make changes to her life.

While unconscious and dying, Pari had a religious out of body experience, which wound up being the start of her spiritual journey back into Hinduism. She recalls looking down at her body from above with a warm light suspending her in midair, and she felt completely at peace. While watching her body, she was visited by the Hindu triumvirate; Bhrama, Vishnu, and Shiva. One by one they explained to her that she had work to do in her life, that this was not her time and she must help those who suffered. All this did, was confirm that her obsession had not been for nothing - it was on her shoulders. After they had delivered their messages, it was Ganesh who pulled Pari back to her body. When she woke, she knew logically that her vision and experience had been the side-effects of the drugs and was nothing more than an drug induced dream - but the messages had resonated with her, and she felt different upon waking. As if she really had been given a second chance by some higher power.

Following the overdose, she was given time off out of the FBI to recover, and so she took the leave as an opportunity to travel, where she ended up in Mumbai - the home of her parents. She spent 3 years there, assimilating herself to the culture, praying, meditating, and practicing yoga. During this time, she also volunteered to help with the struggling communities - raising money, teaching in the local schools, and organising donations from other countries to assist the communities. Still, she yearned to get back into her passion - and almost as soon as she wished for it, her wish was granted when bodies of children started piling up in the slums of Mumbai.

Each body had something in common - they were all young boys dressed in women's clothing, in makeup, and mutilated in horrific ways. Pari was asked to join the local homicide force and they worked for months to track down the killer - her incredible mind and analytical skills were paramount to their success. She was directly responsible for saving the life of a young boy, Rohan, who had been selected by the depraved killer as his next victim. With the killer apprehended, Rohan safe, and her heart mended - she finally felt ready to return to Seattle, and to her old job.

Since returning, for the last 3 years Pari has maintained a lifestyle of complete sobriety, continues to practice Hinduism, and was moved into a specialist homicide department of the FBI. She is frequently called out across the country to investigate anything with religious undertones and symbolism due to her expertise in religious criminology. She continues in her academic pursuits, delivering occasional guest lectures at Stanford University and writing papers.

Now, Pari has found herself on another case - like so many times before. The perpetrator has been dubbed the Blackriver Killer, another new case, another new team….

Personality: Calm and stoic under pressure, methodical and organised in her work - yet somehow manages to frequently misplace her personal belongings. Growing up with such accomplished parents meant that, from early childhood, she was used to working at an extremely fast pace. This has served her well, as she is able to think on the fly and make logical decisions at the drop of a hat. She can be guilty of arbitrary stubbornness, and she has a dislike of any kind of incompetence, dishonesty, and laziness in the workplace.

She requires her strong work ethic to be reciprocated by those she works with. She is dedicated, direct and honest, and enjoys building order and structure. Such a way of being allows her to maintain her lifestyle and stops her from slipping through the cracks and into depressive tendencies. Pari is a great networker who enjoys meeting others.

Despite outwardly appearing to be very set in her ways, Pari is actually a warm person who is happy to spend time with others, give words of advice, and let her hair down. She simply tries not to do this quite as much for fear of over-indulging and becoming self-destructive. She is quietly religious, choosing to keep her practice of Hinduism to herself, it is just another part of her life that she wouldn’t dream of pushing onto anyone else.

---

Likes: Cats, Yoga, deep and meaningful conversations, Dungeons and Dragons, reading, learning new things, golden-age Hollywood movies, writing, sweet foods.

Dislikes: Racism, bigotry, dishonesty, laziness, insects

Fears:

Parinaaz is claustrophobic, and would rather not be faced with spiders of creepy crawlies (it's why she has a cat, Audrey, afterall). She has regular fears that plague most regular people in regualr lives. But the fear that truly freezes her is the fear of an insignificant death. To be carelessly gunned down during a mission, to be just one of many body-bags on the side of the road during the clean up. To die in vain without completing her mission - to die before saving as many lives as she can...

To think that she will never make a difference is a black-hole that would drag her back into addiction and back to rock bottom once more. Her mission gives her purpose, to learn that it is all for nothing... She would have nothing to live for.

Bonds & Opinions: -to be completed-

---

Skills:

Gifted(+5): Criminology | Forensics
Adept(+3): Computer Science | Awareness | Anthropology
Average(+2): First Aid | History | Persuade
Novice(+1): Marksmanship, handguns | Hand-to-Hand | SERE | Military Science

Languages: English (1st language), Hindi (basic), Marathai (fluent)

Weaknesses:

Depressive tendencies.
Recovering addict.
Physically weaker.
Little combat experience.

---

Off-Duty Clothing/Equipment:
Clothing: Comfortable and loose clothing in bright colours with intricate patterns. She loves to wear jewelry, especially large earrings.
Weapons: As an analyst, she does not carry anything off duty.
Tools/Equipment: Mobile phone (with camera, recording etc), tablet, comms headset

Operational Clothing/Equipment:
Clothing: Comfortable cargo pants, long sleeve shirt and bulletproof vest if required.
Weapons: Handgun, flip knife
Tools/Equipment: Tablet, laptop, mobile phone (with camera, recording etc), comms headset

Mass Effect: Renegade

I unfortunately have not managed to finish my sheet. I also feel a little disingenuous applying as I have recently dropped an rp due to lack of time on my part, so I'm withdrawing interest.

I hope everyone else has fun with the game!

If there are ever any open spots in the future, I'd love to try again then.

Mass Effect: Renegade

I've left it very late, so I'm playing a game of 'done is better than perfect' and will post when I get the sections fleshed out as much as I can.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Change

A very Stormy Schafting
@Leidenschaft

14th Sun’s Height, evening

---

The mood of the camp had changed rather tremendously that night, there was a quiet and almost silent peace cast over the camp like a comforting blanket. Everyone had a full belly, and was watered and washed, the Breton could breathe easily knowing that they would survive for some time yet. That same soft quiet was a comfort to her as she made her way barefoot across the cold stone ground in search of a secluded spot.

She no longer felt as weary as she had been, and it showed in the way she carried herself now. No more did she drag her feet and point her chin to the ground. Now, she moved with a delicate and effortless grace, the same way she had before everything. She no longer resembled the ghost of a woman. Now she sat as pretty as a nymph in a billowing dress with fabric as soft and delicate as the petals of a rose. Her long ashen hair loose and cascading in thick and unruly curls.

In her hands, fruit. Fruit in a wooden bowl, finely diced - the scent sweet and inviting, a pleasant aroma that blended with the now familiar smell of forest - of pines, wild flowers, and rain soaked rock. Of campfire smoke and coals, of venison roasting behind her. This was her meditative moment to enjoy the taste of food, to enjoy the fresh air - to appreciate the nourishment, to think and be. Raelynn absentmindedly began to stare out at her dimly lit surroundings while she ate slowly. She took small bite after small bite - like a bird would. Somehow, her mind quietened and any thoughts and concerns that had been in her mind left, and all that was left was a feeling of calm.

Footsteps, and the the shuffling of someone sitting next to her. Neither presences acknowledged the other for a few moments, simply enjoying one another and the calm. The fading light dyed the spaces between the trees black, but a long ripple of orange and pink above the mountaintops was the signs of day. The sounds of mountain crickets and frogs replaced the birdsong and the chill grew colder and nipped at any bare skin it could.

“Home.” Finnen said, leaving the word to the breeze until it faded over to the whispering of the trees, “I remember why I missed it.”

The woman offered a welcoming smile to Finnen, closing her eyes briefly, before meeting the deep amber of his. She gestured to the bowl, now in her lap as she too listened the serene ambience of the evaporating day. For a while she said nothing.

“It's really rather beautiful, actually. More so than I would have thought it to be. I've missed it too.” Naturally, she did not mean the Reach, she was not of the Reach and nor was she of Skyrim, but the unique atmosphere of the province was unmistakable.

“I remember walking these same mountain paths years ago. To be back here and see the same trees, the same rocks, the same mountains…” he looked out at the distant pillar of green light, knowing well that that was the most recent addition before he turned back and continued, “It’s like wandering back to when I was younger. In all my years, I thought I’d never come back. Cast out, branded traitor. I wonder what mother would think of what I am, what I’ve done.”

And again, he looked to the green pillar. Remembered the desperation that day, the fear, everything. “Do you ever wonder? What your family would think of you now? What the person you were would?”

“All the time,” she answered quietly with shame in her voice. She knew that her father had said he was proud of her, but he was disgusted too - it was obvious. But Hawkford family values were far different to those of other people, they had to be. Her mother would be more so. Slowly she wrapped an arm around her stomach. “I’ve changed a lot. In good and bad ways. My life before all of this was… Easier.”

“Wasn’t it.” Finnen nodded, “I never thought I’d be on some crusade to save the world. I never thought I’d do half the things I’ve done. But, I guess that’s how life is. Like Jaraleet says, the river will take us where it will.”

Finnen snorted, his easy smile upon his face, “If anything,” he hesitated at the dumbness of his next words, “I met all of you.”

“Wasn’t expecting sentiment from you tonight,” she said warmly in response, smiling back at the Reachman, her own was the usual small and shy smile that she displayed. As if she was still getting used to smiling openly - really, she was. Reflecting back on the person that she had been... That Raelynn rarely smiled, and not out of unhappiness - it had simply been her haughty nature.

“I don’t believe I’ve laughed so freely and sincerely as I have on this journey…” She confessed in a nervous whisper all of a sudden, bringing a hand to her forehead as she slouched forwards. “That’s rather strange, isn’t it? Considering all we’ve been through.” The supercilious Raelynn of time gone by had not been much for laughter, either.

Finnen chuckled, looking over at his friend. She had changed, from the Gilane infirmary to now, and so many places in between he had not seen. It was like she was a new woman in the old’s clothes. “To be fair, considering all we’ve been through it isn’t really that strange.”

“The family that almost dies together stays together.” He said, somewhat sardonically, “And I’m full of sentiment.”

He pulled the polished piece of ebony from his pocket, holding it in his palm and rubbing it with his thumb. “I’ve kept this for years to remind me of the good parts of being a Reachman. To remind me that we aren’t all savages.” His mother’s smiling face as she stroked her boy’s bruised jaw and kissed his split brow came to mind, the soft feeling of her lips on his tender wounds, a memory of long ago, “Not all of us.”

“After all of this, I'd like to be alone somewhere… At least for a while, to rest.” Raelynn admitted as her eyes traced the movements of Finnen's thumb against the stone. “You've never been anything but the bard to me. Soft, observant, watchful.” She took in a deep breath, thinking over how much she actually really knew of her fellow Breton. She knew that when she looked into his eyes they were as deep as an abyss - turning over with all of the things he had seen and done. Things and events that were not for Raelynn to know.

“I mean to say, you're not a savage. Not to me.” She carefully placed the bowl down onto the ground, letting one hand fall into her lap as the other wrapped around her middle again. She smiled. “Everyone seemed to enjoy their food tonight, thank you for leading the provisioning run…”

“It’s nothing.” Finnen shrugged, chuckling as he remembered the words of Francis, “It’s something to do.”

“I couldn’t have done it without everyone else. I’ve never been good at alchemy and foraging. I’m only glad I could do my part.” He smiled.

“Best to leave the alchemy to me, and you stick to what you do best,” she said softly, returning his smile. “In just the same way that I shan't be jumping up to fight our enemies head on as you do.” It wasn’t entirely true, she’d practically thrown herself at Rourken in the palace, and she had been training with Jaraleet… Training was training though, she’d never held a blade at someone who would cut her down first. Training was hypothetical.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you have some skill in restorative magic too, yes?” Raelynn was acutely aware of the fact that without Brynja, her workload had doubled. If she could help some of the others in learning a basic spell or bettering a technique… The entire group would benefit, it was at least food for thought...

“I do,” he nodded, “Very rudimentary. I couldn’t save a life, but I’m sure if someone pricked themselves…” he chuckled.

“I can help you with that. I mean, I’d like to show you how to heal more than a pricked finger,” she said back, looking at him closely. She could not look for too long, without feeling the reminder of his words from the campfire and the guilt that always followed. Raelynn looked the other way and the two shared another moment of silence before she broke it. “I’m sorry.”

The words were quiet, and but a whispered breath that didn’t pierce the silence but rather tumbled away against it. Her fingers curled against her palms awkwardly, like a defensive recoil. The quiet continued.

Finnen looked on even as Raelynn turned from him. For a few quiet beats, he watched her. The image before him now brought back the ones from the infirmary. She was hunched about herself, as if trying to offer a smaller target to the world that seemed set on taking everything from her. Finnen frowned, knowing why she’d said it, “It isn’t me that needs the apology.”

He let that sit for her, so she could turn the words over in her mind, “I know how it is.” He said, quiet and consoling, “Truly. You look at me now, so different from the shivering whore in Wayrest I once was.” He rubbed his hands over each other, gathering strength. Each recounting of the tale picked at the scabs left by his days in Wayrest, “There comes a point where they don’t even need to raise a fist. Their hooks eat deep into your very soul. They can beat you half to death and then run a bath for you, coo into your ear, gently wash the blood from the wounds…”

“And in that little respite, you forget they’re the ones who gave them to you.” Finnen’s jaw set, he looked to Raelynn again, “Did he hurt you?”

She listened. She listened and she let her thoughts settle before turning them to words. This was Finnen, he hadn't broken her trust yet, had he? Her fingers began to steady, and she allowed herself to look at him - at the battle he was having with the memories of his own traumas. She remembered him sharing that with her, and here he was again being honest. It was only fair she do the same. “Yes.”

It felt like a weight had been lifted. Like a boulder that had kept her stuck beneath it had moved - more still, that she had been the one to roll it away. “In here,” her hand moved to her chest. This was not Raelynn telling this to shock, or to incite rage in another - but to allow herself to heal. She and Gregor had made their peace with what had happened that night, and while it wasn't a tale she was going to whisper in the ear of anyone who would listen, she would let herself tell one soul.

“That night… It was a beautiful night.” She said her voice clear but wavering. “I remember a purple sky, I remember the sounds of the celebrations, the smells. Fjolte, Sora and I… We'd smoked. We meditated and shared an experience that restored my magicka. I was happy…” The Breton glanced down at her hands, at her palms. The scarring on the left that now seemed as though it had always been there. It had taken the form of a comet, or a burning sun. “We made love, and then he… He changed. He wasn't Gregor anymore. His words were hurtful. All I wanted to do was stop him from what he was going to do.”

“I know you all wanted to kill him when you found out, Finnen. You, Gaius…” Her head turned to face him before she spoke again, her eyes filling with the first sign of tears. She grabbed at his hand, as if it would help him to realise the severity of her words. “Believe me when I tell you, that I was going to do it that night. I tried so hard to stop him.”

“And now?” Finnen asked, searching her eyes for what the answer would be before she spoke it.

“It was Gregor that came back, only Gregor. Now he's just… Sad, distant, all the time.” The woman brought her knees up to her chest, resting her chin there with a quiet and steady sigh. “Tell me Finnen, how far would you go for Daro'Vasora?”

“Anywhere I had to.” He said, remembering everything. From her guarding him closely as they traipsed through the Dwemer ruin, from him swearing off peace when he thought the Dwemer had taken her from him, wanting to tear Zaveed’s head off when he paraded her around. “Everything. I’d do everything and anything to keep her safe.”

“Being honest?” He chuckled, “I hope I never have to prove it… more than I have. But I would.”

“I’ve never been brave. Not once. I’d be happier to hide behind someone, hell, that’s what I used to do in danger,” she joined him in his humour, laughing back. “But Gregor… He makes me ferocious,” Raelynn’s lips curled to a snarl and her eyes narrowed. She quickly softened. “I hope I never have to prove it either. But I would.” She placed a hand below each knee, letting her thumbs sit there and draw small circles.

“Does love make us foolish? Or does it make us better?”

Finnen sighed, letting himself fall onto his back and stretching his arms out. “Both.” He said simply, “I’ve never assaulted a Palace in Hammerfell with a handful of people before. I’ve never shivered in the dark in a ruin with only another person for company. But love starts somewhere, and it only roots itself deeper as it goes. I’d think everything I’ve done so far with her by my side has been damned foolish.”

He laughed, and then sighed, his expression softening, “But I like to think it’s made me better. I regret none of it.”

One of his hands reached towards Raelynn, his friend, “Raelynn,” his words came soft, “Make a promise to me, if you will.”

“Hmm?” Her gaze pointed to the hand that was outstretched, his careful dainty fingers, “what is it?” She asked quietly, already wondering what it may be that he would ask.

“Promise me you will never sacrifice yourself over to love. Every day I’m afraid that I’ll… that I will do something horrible. Sora swears she’ll never leave me if that happens, but I told her if I treated her horribly that she has every right to leave.” He said, his once merry expression turning dour, “That she should leave. If Gregor hurts you, you’ll leave him. If anyone hurts you, you’ll repay them in kind.”

“Love might make us foolish, but it should never blind you to seeing the bad things. I felt like I failed as a friend to you when I learned about Gregor. I’m so sorry that it reached the point it did.” Finnen got up once more, leaning on his hands as he looked at Raelynn, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about that. I needed to though. I felt like he was beating you in front of me and I did nothing.”

Raelynn brought her thumb to her mouth, running it side to side over the fullness of her lips while she listened to Finnen, it was an awful thing to imagine his own regret and pain. “I don’t want people to keep seeing me as some victim. First of Zaveed, of my own father, now of Gregor… It’s hard sometimes to even look the people with us in the eye.” The Breton unfolded her legs, letting them hang once more over the edge. She forced herself to look at Finnen again, despite her admission. “Tell me, what do you see when you look at me?” As quickly as she had looked at him, she looked away again as if immediately regretting the question. A hand came up to her forehead to obscure her face.

Finnen took her in. If he was being honest with himself, what he knew of Raelynn lended more to her being a victim. But that’s not what she needed to hear. And that wasn’t what he wanted her to be, what he wanted her to stay, “I see someone who’s ready to be who they want to be. Someone who is trying very hard.”

Her lips parted and she sighed, “I can promise that to you. I think I can… But I want for you to make me a promise in return.”

He nodded, “Anything. Go on.”

“Be kinder to yourself,” she began while nodding her head slowly, turning to face him so that she could place her hand atop his. “Everything that has happened, everything that you’ve done has made you who you are… You’re not the split of many sides. You’re who you want to be.” Raelynn edged ever closer to him, moving slowly to place her free hand on the back of his neck. “Promise me that you won’t take on things alone.” She tried to let her voice be hopeful, she wanted that. To be a silhouette of hope instead of pain… “I see you trying very hard, too.”

“For what it’s worth… I think your mother would be proud of the man in front of me.”

“I promise.” He picked up the polished ebony and held it, looking at it before he turned his head away from Raelynn and wiped his eye, making like his face had an itch. “Thank you.” He said quietly, “Raelynn…”

The last vestiges of light in the sky had vanished and night was uncontested by the sun, yet the moons were not yet high enough to cast shadows of the trees in their pale light. Even so, his hands began to glow just bright enough to lend his soft smile to his voice, but dim enough to be anything but comfortable. He smiled at Raelynn, soft and easy, “Would you stay with me a bit longer?”

Raelynn let her arms fall to her sides, hand face down on the surface of the rock. She almost asked him why? in an unusual, confused tone. A shaking of the pompous confidence she had displayed outwardly for so long on their journey. She held it in. It still continued to surprise her that someone would enjoy her company simply for what it was. She was grateful for the darkness that concealed the redness on her cheeks when she realised that. For a short while, she couldn’t say anything - and instead just enjoyed the feeling of being genuinely wanted. In this case it was for nothing in particular, and was humbling. The words that she eventually gave him were as humble as the feeling that resided in her spirit. “For as long as you’d like me to stay, yes.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

A Bunch of Morons go Digging for Carrots.

@Leidenschaft @Greenie @Mortarion @Hank @Stormflyx

14th Sun’s Height - Morning
The Durehahdddach mountains.

---

Fresh Meat
Vegetables
Fruits
Red, Blue, Purple, Yellow Mountain Flower (desperately need!)
Honeycomb (desperately need!)
Juniper Berries (desperately need!)
Rock Warbler Eggs
Spider Eggs
Thistle and Thistle Branch
Garlic
Two sources of fresh water

Fjolte had scanned over the list multiple times as he sat on a rock aside a path that led out into the woods. There was a tankard of hot tea in his hand that Raelynn had brewed with what she had at her disposal, this morning - simply pine needles, nettle, and some kind of sweet flower. It had an unusual tang to it, but it did the job of warming him up and giving him energy. She’d been thrusting various cups of it on just about everyone too. He could still hear her having absolutely none of it if someone dared tell her they didn’t want any. “It’s cleansing!” he heard her say, which brought a smile to his face. Gods her handwriting was lovely, but it was damned hard to read. “Jiminy borrels?” he muttered to himself, blowing into the tankard before taking a small sip. “What’s a tortel bunch?”

As he had expected, she’d been very assertive in her instructions too. More than one source of fresh water was needed, one for drinking and cooking, and the other for bathing. She hadn’t appreciated his early-morning nonchalance that was for sure, but otherwise she’d been in good spirits. As he tipped back his head to finish the last of the tea, he paid little mind to the noise of the camp. The night before, he’d made it his job to tell everyone about this extraordinarily important quest into the wild for life-saving supplies, and that any and all were invited to come along for the ride. So, there he was - in the spot he’d said he’d be waiting for anyone who wanted to join him in the hunt for Rook Waffle Edge, and Handygold.

The Nord scratched his head and belched quietly, adjusting himself on the rock.

“Charming,” Mazrah said, her voice coming suddenly and without warning from above. She waved at Fjolte from the perch she’d made for herself on a branch that belonged to one of the tall and proud pine trees that this forest seemed to be mostly comprised of. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Fjolte could probably look up her loincloth, if he were so inclined. “What was that you mumbled? Jimmy brothels? I didn’t know you went for that sort of thing,” she added and winked.

And look he did, partly because such a sight could not be avoided, since it was completely the spot that his eyes landed on when he turned to look over his shoulder. He blinked, and met the Orsimer’s eyes instead, clearing his throat. “Don’t know what you mean, Green Goddess,” he commented with a smirk, “Monks have no want for such places…” His smirk lingered for a moment more. “Just tryin’ to make sense of this list here. Been given some pretty direct orders y’know?”

“Monks have no want for such places.” Came the sing-song voice of Finnen close enough for Fjolte to flinch. There he was, the Reachman and his easy smile, squatting and chin perched on his knuckles. He knew exactly the implication of Fjolte’s words because his Nord eyes led him to the meaning.

Of course, Finnen only knew because he’d glanced too. “And to think, I get to wrestle her.” Finnen prodded in his quietest, most shit-eating grinning voice, “But what would a monk want with that?”

Finnen kept his easy smile as he stood, pointing to Mazrah, and forcing his eyes to look at hers and not wander, “I know you’ve never been here.” And he put his hands on his hips and nodded to Fjolte, “And you might’ve, but between us three I’ve got the most history here. I know this country.”

Mazrah smirked and dropped down from the branch, landing on the soft earth on one knee and one fist hard enough to kick up a circle of pine needles around her. She rose to her full height and snatched the list from Fjolte’s hands while looking at Finnen. “Very well, oh mighty wild-man. You lead and I’ll decipher this undoubtedly complex shopping list,” the huntress said and elbowed Fjolte in the side -- something she was making a habit of. She secretly hoped she’d bruised his ribs by now. A few seconds passed after she cast her golden gaze on the piece of paper and her amused expression changed to one of frustration.

“What runes are these?” she asked and glared at Fjolte. “Who gave you this? Is this a joke?”

Fjolte shrugged his shoulders, and gave a grunt, “Blondie wrote it, I dunno man… Maybe she shoulda told me what she wanted. Parchment smells good though.” As if to demonstrate, he lifted it to his nose and gave it a gentle sniff. “Like flowers or somethin’.”

Finnen laid a gentle hand on Mazrah’s wrist and she angled the paper for Finnen’s squinting eyes. There was a few moments where Finnen stood motionless and quiet with Mazrah. He leaned forward a bit more, muttering, “What the fuck…”

From not too far away came the sound of footsteps, and it wasn't long before two women approached the three waiting by the path. Sirine was at the forefront, looking at a roll of paper with a scrutinizing gaze as Meg followed close behind. Both seemed dressed appropriately for a morning in the woods, Sirine sporting her dagger at her waist while Meg had her bow in hand, quiver filled with arrows on her back.

"You don't have to press so hard," the former pirate muttered as she reached the others. "A little goes a long way."

"Aye, sorry 'bout that." Meg looked away sheepishly, her eyes immediately latching on to anyone other than her teacher. "Mornin' y'all!"

“Mornin’ Scraps! Mornin’ Sirine!” Fjolte replied with a grin and a wave of his huge hand in their direction, he held his gaze on Meg a little longer, before drawing back down to the list in his hand.

Sirine rolled up the paper and stuffed it in her satchel before she too looked to the others, raising an eyebrow. "Something the matter there?"

“Yes, that we are wasting precious time.” Jaraleet’s voice echoed somewhere behind Sirine. A moment afterwards, the Argonian had reached the path dressed in his usual leather armor. His gaze was briefly drawn to Meg before he turned to look at Fjolte and the list held in his hands. “Give me that here.” He said, taking the note from the Nord’s hands.

He looked at the list for a moment before he turned his gaze towards the gathered individuals. “We need to gather food, at least two sources of water, and some alchemy ingredients. That’s all.” The Argonian spoke, folding the letter and tucking it in the pockets of his pant. “I’ll take care of looking for the alchemy ingredients, could use an extra pair of hands to pick fruits and vegetables if we find any. I’ll leave hunting to those of you more suited to that pursuit.”

“Don’t range too far.” Finnen looked at the assembled group, finding it bigger than he’d expected it was going to be, “We need someone with good direction if they’re not all following me. These are Crow-Wife lands, we never liked strangers.”

Blimey! The Argonian was one serious character, he’d woken up on the wrong side of his bedroll that was for sure. After having the list forcefully removed from his grip, he held his fingers still in the same position as if it were still between them. He looked from his fingers to Jaraleet and back again a few times, his mouth slightly agape. He broke the pained silence with a loud guffaw, before placing his hand on the shoulder of Jaraleet. “Glad you could make out the scrawl, you must have damned better eyes than us three here, brother!” He said in a happy tone, indicating to Finnen and Maz either side of him. “You seem to know a bit about alchemy - guessin’ Blondie will be pleased you’re taking that on - least we won’t get it wrong.”

The pleased look on Meg's face at seeing Jaraleet join the group faded with the brusque way he handled himself, and for a moment she felt like perhaps retreating and letting the others continue with the foraging and provisioning may be best. [/I]No.[/I] The voice in her head was quite adamant that she stayed. Looking away from the group, she inspected her bow instead, making sure it was strung properly. Her expression had shifted to one of focus- she wasn't going to allow herself to fail her comrades due to emotions. What was meant to happen would happen.

Sirine on the other hand seemed to sport a look of mild annoyance on her face. "I didn't realize we were upholding a schedule," she commented in a very dry fashion, her eyes shifting from Jaraleet to Meg, noting the change in the former. Quite sure the Nord woman could handle herself though, she then looked to Finnen as she continued to speak. "As you know these lands best, I trust your judgement in sending me whichever way, gathering, hunting, or simply a lookout."

“We have no idea how far we’ll need to go to get these supplies, nor how long we will be searching for them. And, as you’ve noted yourself, most of us aren’t familiar with the terrain.” Jaraleet spoke to Sirine, undeterred by neither the look of annoyance on the woman’s face or her tone. “Taking all these things into consideration, I think it’s for the best that we don’t waste time and try to get this done before nightfall.” He said before turning to look at Finnen. “As Sirine said, you know these lands better than all of us. Tell me where I might find the items on the list and I’ll endeavor to return as soon as possible.”

“So we split off into two or three,” offered Fjolte, stepping to the front of the group, turning on his heel to face them all. “I’ve been here before, nothing much I don’t know about mountains and the dangers. Finnen here can lead another group, and Maz another.” He folded his arms across his puffed out chest, “we can break into three, or go off in pairs. Seems Scraps and Maz should be going on a real hunt though, no sense them picking fruit when they’re equipped to shoot at game, y’know?” He rounded off with a soft chuckle, and shot a playful wink towards Meg, hoping she might crack a smile.

Meg's mood had indeed lightened a little by Fjolte's words and wink; she had looked away from her bow at the Nord man voice, sending a rueful smile his way before glancing at Maz, recalling the two times the pair had hunted dwemer together with their bows. A small grin danced on her lips. "Maz, how 'bout it? We see who can hunt the most game- winner wins, er, sommat."

While Meg's grin might have been small, Mazrah returned it with a maniacal, tusky baring of her teeth that wouldn't look out of place on a troll. Her eyes shone with mischief and excitement. "You're on, hawkeye!" the huntress said and clapped Meg on the shoulder. "I haven't had a proper hunting contest in ages. The beasts in these woods won't know what hit them." Like Meg, Mazrah had come prepared and her oversized, iron-reinforced bow was slung on her back along with her quiver of orichalcum-tipped arrows. She took her bow in her hands and made sure the string was nice and taut.

"Mine's bigger, you know," she said sardonically and winked at Meg. "Good luck."

“Jaraleet? Fjolte?” Finnen cocked a brow at his friend, trying not to add to the tension his appearance apparently had for some, “You both know herbs better than I, and I know this country better than most. One or both of you could come with me.”

“I do know em, specially round these parts,” Fjolte added knowingly, the thought of obtaining a replenishment of his own special herbs crossed his mind too. He didn’t believe that Raelynn would have added anything like that to the list. He could procure those in secret, probably. He felt an off energy emanating from the Argonian, and he didn’t rightly want to be in his company if he was to be honest with himself, but… There was always the thought that he could turn Jaraleet’s mood around. Yes, that feeling was stronger than any desire to avoid. He smiled brightly over at the man, trying to send as much positivity as he could his way. “Boys versus girls then is it?” He asked, looking at Sirine - who had not yet been assigned to a group. He wouldn’t have minded her company, truthfully.

"Why not," Sirine replied, allowing herself a smile. She had a bit of a soft spot for the large Nord; Bakih had spoken praises of the man and very much alluded his remaining sane in the desert prison to Fjolte. If there was anything, she probably owed the man a favour. "Sounds fine to me. We can split the list between the two groups- we can have a copy each, it may make things speedier, seeing I will be free while the Maz and Meg hunt." Her smile shifted to a smirk. “Perhaps we can even make it a small contest of our own, like our hunters, hm?”

She looked to Jaraleet, holding out her hand. "If you don't mind, the list?"

“Contests?” Finnen smirked, glancing at Mazrah, “I try not to be competitive.”

“I could do this list myself before noon, y’know - just wanted the company,” commented Fjolte with another signature shrug of his shoulders.

That gave Mazrah an idea and she wiggled her eyebrows at Fjolte. “If that’s true, big boy, why don’t you use all that spare time you’ll have to find me a nice gift? It was my birthday two weeks ago, so you better bring me something truly special.”

But of course Mazrah had been born under the sign of the Steed. So had he, although to share such a tidbit might ruin her own fun - and he wasn’t about to steal her thunder. “Then the nicest gift the mountains have to offer, I will find for you,” he replied with wit on his tongue and something devious in his eyes - only made more delightful by the mock Knightly bow that Fjolte offered her. “I accept your challenge, Green Goddess.” It was on his way back up, that he caught Meg’s eyes and fired yet another wink in her direction.

Jaraleet let out a sigh and shook his head, reaching into his pocket for the list he had put there not a moment ago. “Here.” He said as he handed over the piece of paper to Sirine’s outstretched hand.

"Thank you." Sirine took the paper and unfolded it, looking over the list. The sight of the writing had her chuckle under her breath. It was very neat, and it seemed silly that some would have difficulty reading it, but not everyone learned how to write that way.

"Meg, how's this for today's work? Copy this list down." She held the paper out for the Nord woman to take. Meg blinked at her in surprise but nodded, quickly putting her bow down and grabbing on to the list. In the meantime, Sirine pulled out the roll of paper she had stowed away earlier as well as her usual wooden quill. "Here you are. If you have trouble reading something, just ask." She was given another nod; Meg was quick to comply, clearly an eager student.

“And so the extraordinary quest begins!” Fjolte began, his voice deep and booming with one leg propped up on the rock and one hand on his hip - he looked like some kind of storytelling bard all of a sudden, demanding the attention of a hungry crowd. He flashed his winning grin and waved a hand out in front of him to incite some kind of air of mystery about him… He chastised himself internally for not having had a handful of dust or other such thing - for effect. His eyes narrowed as he brought his leg down back to the ground. “Off we shall go! To search far and wide together to bring back the desired ingredients for the fair maiden! Whose very delicate hand wrote this scented page!” He fell at his knees before Meg and Sirine as they looked over the list, his eyebrows raised as he pretended to catch the scent of the parchment.

“We must not fail in our mission, for the love of the dame depends on it! We are the last hope! The last line of defence!” Once again, Fjolte got up to his feet, this time spinning on the spot, clenching his fists excitedly, the muscles of his chest and arms rippling with his motions. “So I ask you, my companions…. Are you ready on this day? Are you ready for victory?!?!”

“Aye!” Mazrah yelled back, one fist raised in the air and her most fearsome scowl conjured on her face. She poked Jaraleet with the tip of her war-bow and almost broke character by laughing. “Isn’t that right, deadly lizard man? Aren’t we ready for victory?”

Jaraleet shrugged at Mazrah’s prodding, looking entirely unamused by the theatrics of the Nord man and Orsimer woman. “I suppose.” He finally said, turning to look at Finnen. “Are there any caves nearby? One of the items on the list was spider eggs, I think it’d be prudent if we start gathering that and then move onto the other ingredients on the list.”

“I’m sure there’s a few.” Finnen nodded, “Come, no time to waste.”

---

Having given the list that Meg had copied down to the boys, Sirine was busy inspecting the one with Raelynn's writing, once again thoroughly amused at the way it had been scrutinized earlier. Seeing as Jaraleet seemed to be taking on the responsibility of the alchemy ingredients, she decided to go for those she'd easily be able to recognize as food, namely vegetables, fruits and perhaps honey, if she was lucky enough to find a hive.

She looked over at Mazrah and Megana, wondering if they'd caught any sight of their quarry.

The slopes and valleys of the Druadach mountains were mostly the same as the ones that Mazrah had grown up in around Orsinium and the Orsimer was in her element. She knew that the sounds and smells of the camp behind them would have driven game away and further down into the valley, so for now there was time to chat as they made their way to the prospective hunting grounds.

“So, Meg,” Mazrah began and offered the girl her most sympathetic smile. “You and Jaraleet, what’s going on with that?”

Sirine looked from Mazrah to Meg, curious as well. She had known from the first day she'd met the rest of the group that the Nord woman and the Argonian man seemed close, though she found it odd seeing how one seemed to radiate moral goodness whilst the other was a pragmatic cold blooded assassin.

"Nothin'," Meg replied after a moment's tension. Her eyes had been on the landscape before them, but the sudden question caused her to freeze up and look at the Orsimer. "I mean... well..." She scuffed the ground with her boot before moving forward once again, unsure on how to answer the question. "After the trial... I dunno. I mean... ain' like we were..." Her voice trailed some more before she let out a loud sigh and simply blurted out the truth. "I couldn' say it to him. I couldn' say I loved him when he tol' me tha' he did."

That was a more complicated answer than Mazrah had expected. She blinked and, momentarily unsure of what to say, placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. The Orsimer wanted to be the cool older sister that had advice for everything but the truth was that she’d never been in a relationship where words like ‘love’ were involved before. “If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready,” she said eventually but she frowned at her own words. That was hardly helpful. “I don’t know much about love,” Mazrah admitted, “but I do know a lot about setting boundaries and not letting myself be pressured into anything I don’t want. If he wants something that you weren’t willing to give, then he has to respect that.”

Meg smiled up at the Orsimer woman, appreciating the words she spoke, feeling comforted by them in fact. "Aye, an' he does," she replied after a moment's thought. Still, a sigh escaped her and she shook her head. "He hasn' talked t'me since then. I dunno if tha's a good thing or not. I didn' wanna push m'self at him so I kept away but maybe tha' was dumb." Shrugging her shoulders, she looked away from Mazrah. "I s'pose tha's tha' though." It was sad to think she might have lost a friend, but right now she couldn't let her mind be distracted by grim thoughts.

Sirine lend the young Nord woman a sympathetic look before clearing her throat. "You two have your contest," she said with a small smile. "I'll try to find some of these ingredients on the list." With that said, she gave them a nod before starting off on her own.

---

Mazrah returned to the spot they’d agreed to meet with two deer slung over both of her magnificent shoulders, a whole family of rabbits strung up around her waist and a fox in one hand, leaving her other hand to carry her bow. Her skin was glistening with sweat and she was panting, but the light in her eyes revealed that she had revelled in the thrill of the hunt. “Did I win?” she asked with an animalistic, tusky grin.

"Uhhhh..." Meg had arrived only a little before Maz, and she was rather winded from having to drag her sole deer and the two rabbits she had hunted down. Seeing the Orsimer in all her glory, with all that game... it was more than clear who the winner was. The Nord woman couldn't help but let out a laugh at the question which at this point seemed almost rhetorical.

"I think ya did," she replied, still chuckling as she motioned towards the three carcasses behind her. "Fair an' square, y'win an' I gotta pay up."

"Well look at that." Sirine had been sitting nearby, nursing her hands that seemed to be dotted with red. "You sure outdid yourself there, Mazrah. It seems like I had the simplest task." She looked to the side to where she had a small bundle of cloth. "Apparently the bees did not appreciate with my intrusion to their home. All's well however and Raelynn will have what she needed."

“Yes!” Mazrah exclaimed triumphantly and the two deer carcases fell from her shoulders as she raised her arms in victory before she, too, broke out into laughter. “You did great, that one’s bigger than either of mine,” the Orsimer said as she pointed to the deer that Meg had bagged. She took a deep breath and sat down opposite Sirine, piling up the dead animals on the ground next to her. A few gulps of ice cold river water from her waterskin later and Mazrah flashed the two women another grin. “This is fun. Who wants to bet the boys are in over their heads with that whole spider business?”

"I couldn't say," Sirine replied with only the slightest hint of actually thinking over it as she looked at a visible stinger that could be seen on her knuckle. With a small grimace, she managed to grab it and yank it out. "I haven't seen much of their skills."

"I'mma say they'll be fine," Meg offered as she too plonked herself down next to the two women. "I've seen 'em all actually, an' they're pretty good at gettin' shit done."

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Mazrah said with a shrug and a dismissive wave. “I sparred with Fjolte back in the desert and he’s a good fighter, and I’ve been training with Finnen while we’re traveling. He’s crazy strong for a scrawny Breton. But I didn’t come here to sing their praises. Sirine,” she said and turned her relentlessly inquisitive golden gaze towards the former pirate. “Tell me about Zaveed. What’s he like?”

"Zaveed?" Sirine blinked at the random question tossed her way. "Well, that clearly depends on who he's interacting with..." Now she was actually putting some thought in her answer. She guessed most of the camp probably figured she was brainwashed or biased to remain by his side, and until now she had decided there was no point in contesting that- who would trust her?

There was the right word. "Trustworthy," she said. There was a small smile on her face, and her eyes were warm. "Say what anyone will of him, when he gives his word, he keeps it. What you see is what you get, no tricks. It's very rare to find a person like that."

It was easy to believe Sirine when her eyes lit up like that. Mazrah raised an eyebrow. "Fancy that," she said and scratched her chin. "That's good to hear, considering he gave his word to be a better person and all. I'd like to trust him. We need all the help we can get. Are you two just friends, or… ?"

There was a little twitch to the former pirate’s lips. In her opinion, Zaveed had always been a 'better' person... at least to her. She knew his sins were a plenty, and she could admit that perhaps she was a little biased. That didn't mean she had to like hearing that. Of course that train of thought was erased by the question the Orsimer asked. Sirine was a little tongue tied, unsure how exactly to reply that. Her mind went back to the previous night, and once more she felt fluttering in her. As if I'm a fucking child, she thought ruefully.

"We are friends, yes." she started. There was a pause to her words, and then she continued. "Close friends. Perhaps more. Time will tell." It was stated blatantly if not a little choppy. Taking a deep breath, she smiled, looking almost abashed as she shrugged. "Needless to say, I have never been more content since being by his side."

Mazrah grinned. "Look at you! You're adorable," the Orsimer huntress cooed, everything about her radiating nothing but sincerity. "I'll be honest and say you could do worse than a handsome killer-cat when it comes to men. You know, past associations aside. I don't make a habit of thinking highly of people that bend the knee to the Dwemer." She wiped some sweat of her forehead and looked at Sirine intently for a second before adding: "Anyway, the past is the past. Are you guys planning to stick around to see Sora's mad idea through?"

"Adorable, huh." That was a word Sirine had never associated with herself, it sounded amusing and wrong but she didn't want to ruin the Orsimer's mood. Besides, who was she to say what others saw? "I've been with many men who didn't care about me so long as they received what they wanted. So you are right in a sense- I know that he is the best sort of person I will meet. As for the dwemer..." Whatever warmth she had been feeling chilled immediately, and it showed in her eyes. "Zaveed was given no choice in the matter, at least no choice that would have let him live. I would not hold that against him... no one truly knows what they will do if it's to simply stay alive. But yes, that is why we will be staying with this group, until the dwemer occupation is over. They took from us our home and families, and we will make sure to deal them justice."

“No one truly knows? Hah. I know,” Mazrah replied and smirked. “That’s one thing you people can learn from us. A good death is better than a bad life.” She looked at Meg and gestured for her to join the conversation. “What do you think? Nords believe the same thing, right? Sovngarde and all that?”

Meg looked from Sirine to Maz, finding the conversation a little heavy, though she did nod, recalling the Companions from Whiterun as well as the warriors she would come across in Skyrim. "Reachin' Sovngarde is what every Nord warrior hopes for," she agreed, looking to Sirine. "T'die in battle an' reach the Hall of Valor, with gran' tables filled with more food than y'can ever eat."

"I doubt any divines are going to look upon me favourably and invite me to their fancy feasts," Sirine replied, shaking her head. She couldn't help but be reminded of what Zaveed had told her the night before, and it troubled her. She had never been concerned with that sort of thing, but seeing his state yesterday… even if it wasn’t for herself, she wanted there to be a chance of a good afterlife for him at least.

"Death has never looked good to me,” she finally added. “It has always been about survival. Being alive, that is good."

“Being alive doesn’t last forever,” Mazrah said and shook her head. “But a good life and a good death -- you reap the benefits of that for eternity. That is why you should live your life with honor and in harmony with your gods, whoever they may be.” She laughed and added: “Or you find a Daedra to worship and hope they’ll take your soul. We Orsimer have a pretty good deal with old Malacath.”

"I decided I didn't care for any higher beings quite a while ago." Sirine was busy running her finger over the red bumps on the opposite hand, finding the burning sensation a pleasant distraction from the conversation. "Before that, Kynareth was who I cared to spare a thought towards." Her tone was rather dry as she looked over at Mazrah. "What with being a sailor, it seemed the most obvious."

“What changed?” Mazrah asked, her head cocked in curiosity. She failed entirely to pick up on Sirine’s attitude towards the subject.

Sirine looked up from her hands, her lips drawn into a straight line, feeling tense at the subject. She knew the reasons full well, but it was much too personal to discuss, especially with people she hardly knew. Even Zaveed didn't completely know why.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting the air out, she allowed herself a hint of a smile. "A little too much to discuss here and now," she finally replied, sounding almost apologetic. "Perhaps some other time? For now, we should probably meet up with the others."

Meg nodded enthusiastically- she had noticed the tension but was feeling much too awkward to say something. "Aye, I'm feelin' kinda peckish too, would be nice t'get back an' eat sommat."

---

“Well…”

The mouth of the cave yawned like a wolf’s maw. Around it there were the tell-tale signs of spider infestation, large webs gathered around the edges like spittle on a mouth. There was also the matter of there being far too many sun-bleached bones outside, which hinted at the presence of something else that dwelled or perhaps still was in the cave. Mountain trolls, goblins, ogres. Nothing Finnen particularly liked the prospect of meeting. He booted what looked to be a fox’s skull towards the cave, bouncing end over end on the dirt. “Who first?”

Fjolte fiddled with and wrapped his fingers around the string of one of his many necklaces, the round wooden beads clinking gently, that sound of the hollow spheres was broken by a deep sigh that he heaved. He was looking at the entrance of the cave, and wasn’t too happy about it. He’d been more than a little distracted by other thoughts… Thoughts of Meg’s smile and laughter, of Raelynn’s swaying hips and round bottom, Sirine’s long legs, of Aries’ chest...

Yes, he’d been enjoying those thoughts, not to mention that his eyes had been enjoying the journey with this group so far...

This cave was surely a punishment from the gods themselves for his sinful thinking. The Nord brought a hand up to his forehead, the other fell to his hip and his mouth twitched at the thought of trespassing. “How long we gonna have to dig around in there for?” He asked tersely, eyes not moving from the dark opening.

“Not long. By the looks of it, it shouldn’t be too deep of a cave. The webs wouldn’t be so visible if they had space to make a nest in there.” As much as he was terrified of becoming nothing more than prey, Fjolte’s trepidation brought him more pleasure than it should, “Make sure you step light, they use those webs to feel. And do be quiet, the vibrations of your voice echoing off the walls might as well be us stomping around in iron boots.”

The Nord cast a glance from left to right at Finnen and Jaraleet both, his blue eyes holding a cool gaze to them before he gave an indifferent shrug of his shoulders and stepped quietly forwards, deeming it appropriate to keep his trap shut for the time being. Even if he was well and truly in his element, he was very much out of it too. He had received more than one or two colder shoulders on the way from the prison to the Reach, and while that was probably normal - Fjolte wasn’t used to it. He wondered how different a mission into the cave this would be with some of his own hooligans by his side.

He could step near silently too, even for being of such a tremendous size and stature. He wore sandals after all, and they moved softly across the ground unlike steel boots might. If he was not speaking for fear of disturbing a beast - inside, there was a full blown monologue playing around in his mind. Mostly about how the fuck he’d found himself in such strange company, and whether or not he would have been better off taking a solo expedition.

As the darkness seemed to encroach more and more, he took smaller and smaller breaths, focussing his breathing so as to make even less noise. He could hold his breath for minutes at a time if need be, if anyone was going to disturb a pest in this cave - it was not going to be him.

Jaraleet looked at Fjolte as they made their way through the cave, surprised to see the man who had been so boisterous and loud but a few moments ago moving so silently. The assassin mentally chided himself for having underestimated the monk, there was always more to a person under what laid at a superficial glance, both he and Finnen were proof of that after all, and making such mistakes could be costly in the long run.

But they had a job to do and distractions could only be cause for troubles, so Jaraleet pushed the errant thoughts to the back of his mind and devoted his full focus to his surroundings. It didn’t take too long for Jaraleet to detect signs of the occupants of the cave, his eyes, used already to poor light conditions, could see the vague shapes of the spiders as they moved near their nest, his ears hearing the chittering sound that the giant arachnids made as they went through the confined space.

He motioned to both of his companions to stop moving, waiting until he was sure that the three of them were in place before he turned to look at Finnen as one of his hands reached for the hilt of his sword, unsheathing the blade slowly before pointing with his free hand in the direction from which the sounds came from and then to Finnen once more. He waited until he was sure that the Breton had understood what he meant before he turned to look at Fjolte, silently mouthing a ‘Wait here’ and then, immediately afterwards, Jaraleet began moving towards his target.

But of course, Fjolte could not distinguish just what the Argonian was communicating. His face scrunched up in confusion, and he followed Jaraleet as he continued on - assuming that had been what he had been trying to say ”follow me”. As silently as he had been, he kept a small distance from him, but close enough so that should the man need him for anything, he was ready for it. He too could hear the sounds of the spiders - wretched, ugly creatures that they were.

Finnen nodded, freeing his axe from its hoop. The spiders would be easy to deal with. Juveniles just mature enough to mate, but small enough to not pose too deadly a challenge. It still remained that they were inside their realm and everything was stacked against them. Even so, Finnen drew in a breath through his nose, letting it out as quietly as he could. He looked to Jaraleet and Fjolte again, nodding once and they did the same.

It was over as quick as it had started. Finnen has buried his axe just behind the eyes of his spider and Fjolte and Jaraleet had taken care of the other. Before long, they were carrying the eggs out of the cave, Finnen grimacing at his disgusting cargo. Spiders. “I’m glad that’s over with. I don’t ever want to see another spider again.”

“You and me both,” came the deeply dull, moody voice of Fjolte from behind Finnen. He shook off some of the splattered entrails that had found their way to his forearms in the scuffle. Fighting in the dark, when he had already found himself feeling suddenly low of energy wasn’t sitting well with him. Even if it was just spiders, if he had been feeling lighter, there might be a joke to be made about a time he’d cleared out a nest of dozens… But his usual smile had been replaced by an uncharacteristically stoic expression. He saw that the other two had their spoils in hand, and he took a good look at the outside of the cave, the dangerously rocky surface - the sharp edges and the way the breeze was whistling off of it. It was incredibly inviting.

“Some herbs on that list right? Think I’ll take a gander for ‘em” he said, not waiting for a response from Jaraleet or Finnen. Instead he just took to the cliff and began to climb gracefully, in the direction of a ledge high up. “Don’t wait around for me, I’ll see myself back to camp…” He sighed and kept moving, the desire for some privacy overcoming any moment that he would have taken to be affable. He was not one to ignore emotional instinct, he was in need of a brief escape.

Jaraleet nodded in acknowledgement of Fjolte’s words, seeing no point in trying to change the Nord’s mind. “Be sure to show me the herbs once you’ve gathered, that way I can verify that they are the correct ones. It is easy to make mistakes when it comes to herbs and what their properties are.” The Argonian spoke as he carefully deposited the egg that he had been carrying. With his hands freed, the Argonian briefly turned to look back at where they had left the corpses of the spiders and then back to Finnen. “I’ll be back in a second, recon it would be a waste to not harvest their poison glands.” Was all that the assassin said before he headed back into the depths of the cave.

“Suit yourself.” Finnen mumbles, looking at the cave as Jaraleet found himself back inside, drawing a blade. He shook his head and went back to where this all started...

---

Finnen sat, the big eggs cradled in his folded legs as he whistled the time away. Now the killing and the danger was past him, he felt good again. The wind on his face, through his hair, across his bare chest. He felt like a man of peace again, and times like he’d these were few and far between, small moments to be relished. He heard footsteps and talking, not opening his eyes to see who it was, and not caring to stop his whistling. If only he had his lute.

“Hey-hey.” He said to whoever the voices belonged to.

"Heya La- er Finnen!" Meg slowly made her way over to the familiar man, dragging the game she had hunted with her, a tired but cheerful expression radiating from here. "Ya'll're done too?" Sirine wasn't far behind the Nord woman with the two rabbits Meg had caught slung over her back, ignoring the stinging on her hands for the time being. She wasn't sure what to make of the Reachman still, even though it seemed he and Zaveed were no longer completely at odds.

Jaraleet turned his head at the sound of Meg’s voice. “We are, Fjolte said that he’d go and gather the herbs on the list by himself.” The Argonian said, nodding at the trio of women in greeting. “Said that he was going to head straight back to the camp once he was done. I’ll have to look over what he picked once we are back at camp, make sure that he didn’t bring anything poisonous by accident.” The assassin spoke, dipping his hands into the nearby water to scrub them once again.

After he was sure that he had washed off all the ichor that stained his hands and forearm from gathering the poison glands from the spiders, Jaraleet dipped a piece of cloth in the water and began to clean his blade in turn. “Not much left to do. Me and Finnen were waiting for you three, and I took the chance to clean my blade. Though I do suppose we could take a moment to relax before we returned to camp.” He said as he wiped his blade with the practiced ease of a man who had done the task a hundred times.

It took only a short few moments for the Argonian to finish cleaning his blade and, once he was satisfied with his handiwork and he was sure that he had dried the blade properly, he returned the weapon to it’s scabbard. Following his own advice the Argonian assassin quickly made himself comfortable, feeling the nearby sound of the waterfall lulling him into a sense of peace and calm. It had been a lucky thing that the spot they had chosen had been near a waterfall, otherwise he’d have had to wait until they got back to camp for him to wash his hands off of the ichor from the arachnid’s corpses.

His eyes briefly moved to the pool of water, an errant cross passing through his mind briefly. There seemed to be no threats in the immediate vicinity, and what they were sent to gather didn’t seem so urgent as to require them to head back to camp immediately so, surely, there wouldn’t be a problem if he allowed himself a brief moment of respite? The inner debate quietly raged in his mind for a moment before finally settling that, no, a brief period of relaxation wouldn’t hurt. Propping his weapons against a nearby tree log where he could easily get to them in the eventuality that some sort of problem occured, Jaraleet made his way to the edge of the pond and quickly began to strip himself of his clothes until he was only in his underwear. “If something happens, shout.” He said as he turned to look at Finnen and, once he was sure that the Reachman had heard him, then the Argonian submerged himself under the surface of the water.

Meg couldn't help but seem a little disappointed that Fjolte had left and wouldn't be heading back to the camp with them, but she shrugged it off and instead looked at the eggs in Finnen's lap. "Sure glad I didn' havta go after those," she muttered, imagining the spiders from where the eggs came couldn't have been too happy to relinquish them.

"Agreed," Sirine replied. She'd had enough with bugs for a good while. Once more she was being reminded of why she always preferred the sea to the land.

“Wasn’t bad.” Finnen shrugged as if most people just traipsed into monster dens as a good hobby, opening his eyes to another returning companion.

Mazrah had returned with the two other women and she scaled up the side of a tree like a cat, making herself comfortable on a thick branch, much like she had done at the start of the day, keeping one eye on their surroundings and one eye on the others. The pile of dead animals she'd killed had been unceremoniously dumped at the roots of the tree and she pointed to it with a smirk. "Indeed, something with fur is much more my speed. What do you think, Finnen? Good haul, right?"

Finnen again looked up to the woman just above him, eyes again almost lingering on what she’d probably laugh at him being embarrassed of. He cleared his throat and admirably regained his composure, answering as if he wasn’t just fighting a battle between her eyes and her ass, “Good haul, friend.” He chuckled, enjoying this gathering of friends as he shifted to a more comfortable position on the tree trunk, “Good haul.”

---

As time rolled on, and the afternoon came around - the group, having shown off their respective spoils elected to make their way back to camp. It had been Jaraleet who pushed them onwards once he had been satisfied with his swim. On their way back, they marked out the path to the spring for the rest of their party should they choose to take a freshwater bath during their stay in the mountains. It didn’t take long for a quiet serenity to wash over the pool again, with occasional and distant laughing of the individuals the only sound for miles around.

Seeking 1 x 1 Partners - Open

EDIT: 30/05/19
Looking for partners again. Have removed some genres/fandoms.
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Specifically seeking Elder Scrolls/Mass Effect/Witcher only.
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Current Mood in One Gif

The Witcher: Dance of the Cobra and the Wyvern

Some time later,
Lyria

Autumn, sometime in the 13th century

It was probably jarring to anyone unattuned to the arcane, to be instantly transported from a small peasant town to the scenic meadows of Lyria in as short a space of time as Valker and Avery had been. The two places were as different as fire and ice. While Blackbough had been bitten by the chill of autumn, Lyria was holding on to warmth. Flowers were blooming, the grass was incredibly green, and the path was practically made of gold. It was almost to be an assault on the senses after having them dulled by Velen and the severe grey that seemed to be its entire atmosphere.

The sky was visible, a bright blue with nary a cloud in sight. Perhaps it felt extra beautiful having just stepped through the portal. Out of the frying pan and onto a rug by a hearthfire… At least that was how Avery felt, and her expression and entire energy had changed exponentially. She was even dressed as a Lyrian - or more accurately, as herself. An infamously revealing shirt had replaced her huntress gear. Soft silks adorned her curves now - hugging and pinching in exactly the right places. Of course, such a shirt was tucked tightly into her bottoms - high waisted and striped with silver thread. Painted onto the contours of her hips and thighs. Scandalous, really. But she liked to make an entrance. This was her domain, and she was relishing at the thought of dragging Valker through it, as evidenced by the devilish smirk she gave him before clicking her tongue again to have Midnight gallop over the empty path.

As she crested the hill that she brought them on to, the city came into view. It’s long white wall was like a line of bright white chalk - topped with the homely orange sloping rooftops and the welcoming peaks of the towers around the defenses. Beyond that, Lyria’s buildings were all lined up, squashed together in blocks. She could even make out the town square and the clock tower from her point. It was entirely picturesque and beautiful. So very unlike Velen and Blackbough. She was home.

“Fucking hell,” Valker hissed to himself as the world changed and the sun blasted its light across the painfully vibrant landscape. He squinted and blinked repeatedly to get his eyes to adjust and fell silent at the sight of Lyria in the distance; a welcome one indeed. Turning to Avery, he was once again struck mute, his gaze incorrigibly traveling up and down her body and her curves. Her new clothes were even more salacious than what he remembered from their encounters in Kraeg’s Hill and Novigrad. After their almost-moment of intimacy the night before her body was practically a black hole for his eyes, drawing them in with no chance of escape. The way she moved as her horse galloped beneath her did absolutely nothing to alleviate that and Valker followed closely behind her, blind to the world around them.

“Lady Vexx, you’ve returned,” announced one of the guardsmen as they approached the gates and she slowed down, giving him a friendly bow of her head. “He’s with me,” she replied nodding in Valker’s direction. “He’s a friend, he’ll be with me while he’s here,” she added reassuringly. The guard narrowed his eyes and glanced sidelong at his partner, who had a similarly concerned expression. “Now now, don’t you trust me and the people I bring through these walls?” she asked in an overly feminine tone, looking down at them both from her seat on the horse. “Must I fetch her to vouch for me?” That did it, they gave up any resistance there and then and allowed the two to pass through the gate.

Once they had moved out of the earshot of them, Avery addressed Valker quietly. “Sorry about that, things can sometimes be tense here, they’re wary of me. Like to throw their weight around...”

The encounter with the guards had been enough to finally drag Valker’s attention away from Avery’s shape. “That’s alright, I’m used to distrust,” he reassured her and smirked, casting his gaze across the city streets that they entered beyond the gate. Lyria was just as pleasant as he remembered and his eyes wandered from one finely dressed citizen to the next. “I quite enjoyed seeing you demonstrate your importance, actually.”

“Where we’re headed, we won’t be bothered by anyone else,” she replied as they moved through the streets, people were generally affable enough to simply make way with little protest. It was a nicer atmosphere to be in. “Sure beats Blackbough doesn’t it?” she asked, casting a glance over at him with a smile. It didn’t go unnoticed that he looked quite disheveled indeed. Out of place. It didn’t bother the sorceress, in fact she rather liked the look of him like this. The slightest streaks of dirt on his clothes and face, the way his hair had been ruffled about by the wind. He looked as much like himself as he should as she did. “You remember my cats, don’t you?” she remarked, changing the subject and looking away lest she begin to undress him with her eyes. “You’ll get to see them again soon.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. He was looking forward to some time alone with Avery, even if nothing… well, either way, he enjoyed her company. “Yes, I remember them alright,” Valker said in response to her comment about her cats and he shook his head to himself. He had no idea anymore what the one inquisitive bald cat was called, but he had found the creature hard to forget. Without thinking about it, he lifted a hand to try to style his hair back into shape a little. He could use a bath, he realized. He looked at Avery again. A bath with her would be -- stop that, he chided himself.

She chuckled at his response, she remembered that he hadn’t been too taken with them the last time. She laughed again as she remembered plucking Winifred from his box of belongings. The memory of it amused her for the rest of their ride back to her dwellings.

It was as modest and quaint looking as her last home in Kraeg’s Hill. Built in the careful style of Lyria. The bricks were straight and painted white, the roof as sloped as all the others - only with a skylight window right in the centre. With excitement she dismounted Midnight, fastening her reigns to a block by the door. She fumbled for the key, her body jittering as she swung it open only to be greeted by a slightly fatter, and older looking Lorne. His nose was peppered with greying hairs now but he’d heard his mistress and had mustered up the energy that he could to greet her. Still unable to properly meow. She plucked him up into her hand and stepped inside. No sign of the other two yet, but they were far more aloof than her youngest. “Make yourself at home!” she called out to Valker, for now, he was playing second fiddle to the adored cat in her arms who was purring away.

Just like her room in Kraeg’s Hill, her home here was littered with trinkets - perhaps more organised now and spread out due to there being more space. She still had a taste for the Ofiri style, as evidenced by the plush furnishings in vibrant shades of turquoise, magenta, and topaz yellow. Throw pillows, blankets, and rugs everywhere. At least the cats would always find somewhere comfortable to lay their heads. In the far left corner, by a window overlooking a herb garden was her desk - covered in magical tools and crystals. Strangely, a half full jar of some kind of candy too. A long bookshelf stretched the length of a wall too. Most of the offerings being fictional novels, but there was a number of shelves dedicated to magical tomes - and there was section that appeared to be the start of a new collection. The first book being one about werewolves, another about the properties of silver, and finally one about simple folklore.

It had clearly been tended while she was away. Fresh flowers in vases were spread throughout, most notable on her dressing table beside perfumes and glamyres. There was not a single speck of dust to be found. “Valker?” she called out, realising she’d already made her way through her home and kicked off her shoes without even checking that he was off his horse.

Valker followed Avery inside after a minute or so of rummaging through his saddlebags until he found the soap he was looking for. Despite everything, the witcher was quite particular when it came to certain things. In opposition through Avery’s whirlwind return he took his time and only entered the main living space after a thorough inspection of the hall. “Yes, I’m here,” he said and raised his hand like a schoolboy being called for attendance. “Do you mind if I take a bath? I don’t want to make your home dirty again,” he explained as his eyes fell on the cat in her arms. The witcher and the feline regarded each other warily.

Avery watched as he came through to the main space, offering him a smile, but taking a step back. She remembered that while Winifred had taking a liking to Valker, the other two had absolutely not. She felt the purring stop, and so placed Lorne down on the desk so he could scarper to a safe spot. “Of course… Upstairs, it’s just one room…” It occurred to her that Valker would be in her bedroom - and just as she had done seven years ago, she hoped that she hadn’t left anything peculiar lying around, certainly not any underwear. Or, maybe she did -- No… she thought, turning her face away. “There are fresh towels up there… I can get you a candle or two if you’d like,” she commented with a giggle.

Regaining her composure, she took the amulet from her satchel and held it in her hand. “But really, this may take time, so do whatever pleases you.”

That was quite an inviting statement but Valker ignored the surely unintentional implication. “Thank you,” he said and responded to her giggle with a smile. “That won’t be necessary. You should focus on that amulet.” He inclined his head respectfully and retreated from the room to make his way upstairs. The bathroom that greeted him was nice -- very nice, in fact. Avery’s touch was evident in the interior here as well and he laughed at the ornate mirror on the wall. “I’d look in the mirror often too if I looked like that,” Valker murmured to himself and began drawing the bath. He undressed while the bathtub filled up slowly and inspected the injuries he’d sustained in Velen. Avery’s enchanted needle had done good work and there was no sign of infection anywhere. Satisfied, Valker ran his hands over the towels and marveled at their softness. It had been entirely too long since he’d been among high society like this, he mused. Aside from all her other pleasant qualities, it was nice that Avery was a window into that world as well.

After the bathtub was finally filled with warm water the witcher stepped in and lowered himself into it, groaning in satisfaction as his sore, weary muscles immediately felt relief. The water steamed pleasantly and Valker took a few minutes to just relax before he would set about to scrubbing himself clean and he closed his eyes.

Silently, from behind a large vase, the hairless cat Winifred made her appearance. Having already stalked Valker up the stairs - showing no signs of excitement towards Avery as Lorne had. In the seven years she had not changed much at all. Still rebellious and aggressive, although strangely not in the presence of the witcher. With her head tilted in a calm curiosity, she padded over the floor to the tub - gracefully scaling it in a single leap - landing with a perfect balance on the rim. Her huge green orbs fixated on Valker as he lay back relaxing. She moved slowly around the rim to where he had planted an arm to dangle over the side. Her head tilted in the other direction. Her tail flickered and touched the tips of his fingers with such a softness that it could have been a feather.

Valker almost leapt out of his skin. Water sloshed over the rim of the bath and he gasped, eyes shooting open wide, hands uselessly reaching for a blade that was no longer on his back. “Fuck!” he cursed as his eyes fell on Winifred and her unwavering emerald gaze. “You scared the shit out of me, stupid cat,” he hissed. They were one of the very few creatures silent enough to be able to sneak up on a witcher and Valker certainly hadn’t expected to be ambushed here. “What do you want?”

Downstairs, while setting up her apparatus, Avery could have sworn she heard something…

Meanwhile upstairs, while Valker had almost leapt out of his skin, Winifred sat as steady as a rock in hers. Just watching him. She knew that he'd been startled and so offered a light chirp in apology but remained where she was. Only now, she delicately and deliberately raised a front leg and began to lick her paw. Her tail continued to flicker, and she was not going to move.

“Hmph.” The witcher sank back and did his best to relax again, but the sound of the cat licking her paw was an incessant annoyance in his ear and he could feel the cat’s gaze on him still. He stared back. The cat stared back. Neither of them moved. “How am I supposed to relax with you sitting there?” Valker asked Winifred. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare at strangers when they’re naked?”

A thought occurred to him. What if Avery was actually puppeteering the cat and using her as a second pair of eyes? What if that’s how she was secretly spying on him precisely because he was naked? Valker narrowed his eyes. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about Winifred and his medallion wasn’t humming. Unlikely. Valker raised a wet hand and flicked it in Winifred’s direction, splashing the cat with droplets. “Shoo.”

Sat in her chair, Avery couldn't help but think of Valker in the bath. The hot bath. Naked. Surrounded by steam. In the bath. The amulet was in one hand, and her other hand was resting on her thigh. As her thoughts continued to distract her from her task, the fingers of that hand began to stroke backwards and forwards against the fabric of her trousers…

The water splashed Winifred, and that she did not enjoy. As much as it pained her to do so, she gave a defensive hiss at the witcher and plopped down back to the floor again, strutting away from the tub to leave him to his business. Maybe later he would appreciate her company.

“Another monster defeated,” Valker hummed to himself and allowed himself a smile at his own joke. With Winifred having left his side, he closed his eyes again and sank into the water until his ears and his face were only just above the surface. “I really needed this…”

The amulet was truly nothing remarkable - a simple golden pendant in the shape of a sun. It was giving no magical energy. Not that it mattered right now, the sorceress felt too hot to really take it in. The sudden change in climate? She placed it down into a clamp and began to tighten it so that it could be held in place. Slowly she turned it as her fingers gently stroked the handle from top to bottom, while with her other hand she continued to grasp at her thigh. She thought of Valker again and even glanced upwards to where she knew the tub sat. “Oh God…” she whispered and let go of the brass to fan herself with her hand.

Now that Winifred had left him alone, Valker found his mind wandering -- but not very far, as it immediately turned to Avery and the fresh memory of her bouncing up and down in the saddle. The form-fitting silk had left little to the imagination. The water was hot, no doubt about it, but Valker felt another type of heat in his body. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. He wasn’t sure where exactly sitting in someone’s bathroom while fantasizing about them ranked on the rudeness scale, but he was confident it was fairly high up. That said, it wasn’t really his fault. Avery had wilfully transmogrified her outfit into something so provocative. This was a game like she liked to play, evidently. “Two can play that game,” he grumbled to himself and sat up straight, reaching for the soap. His mind continued to wander over Avery’s curves while he cleaned himself and he had to remind himself of what he was doing several times.

Under the table, she was bouncing her foot on her heel, her leg shaking with it. She couldn’t block the thoughts of him from her mind - coupled with the events of the night before… The way that he’d touched her, how he’d almost... She’d known him for seven years now, could he be? She released her hand from her thigh, a sensation of relief flooding over her as it became apparent how hard she had been gripping. The thought of him naked upstairs was enjoyable, but frustrating. It was too frustrating and she had work to do. She reached for the candy jar and removed a square of chocolate and brought it to her lips quickly. Eating something would help, eating more of that same something would keep helping - and so she continued to eat the chocolates one by one. She upbraided herself internally for it, and began wondering if he’d be quite so interested by her if he learned that she had never been fully intimate. That was enough to quell it for now, and so she fell back into the work.

After Valker was finished scrubbing himself, he stepped out of the bath and dried himself off with one of the towels… but not too thoroughly. A faint glistening remained on his dewy skin and he wrapped the towel around himself, adjusting its height until it was just so, covering anything inappropriate but revealing the chiseled shape of his abdomen and hips. He scooped up his clothes and belongings from the ground and, with them in his arms, made his way back downstairs. Valker descended down the steps as quietly as he could and slipped into the main space silently. Avery was at her desk, presumably hard at work, though it looked more like she was stuffing herself with chocolate at the moment. The witcher smirked and placed his stuff on the couch before he spoke up. “Any progress?”

That gave her a start, and she jumped in her seat before turning around to face him. “Oh…” she said in a girlish sigh, her posture relaxing as the very sight of him like… that. It almost caused her to melt in the seat. Her eyebrows raised as her eyes were drawn to the outlines created by the towel, her hand gripped the brass handle of the clamp again. “I…” she began uselessly before painfully tearing her eyes from -- and following his body up to his eyes. Those eyes. “I, no… not yet. I don’t think it’s magical. I gave it a good rub and nothing happened.” Avery turned away and looked at the amulet, as he could no longer see her face, her lips formed a small circle and she near silently exhaled an aroused and shuddered sigh. The ‘climate change’ taking over again.

A childish sense of victory almost made Valker break out into a proper laugh at seeing Avery’s reaction to his current state of dress, but he maintained his composure and resisted the urge to say “Now you know what that feels like.” That sensation was short-lived as he realized that Avery was looking as fiendishly attractive as before and he was not dressed to hide his reaction to that, should his body be rebellious and have a mind of its own. Like most men, it often did. “Ah, well, keep at it,” he said and tore his gaze away to look at the bookshelf. He pretended to peruse the selection while his mind pictured the deep cold of Skellige’s winters.

She was thankful immediately that he got to occupying himself - she could hear him shuffling around, probably looking at things. He had always been so interested in her, her powers, her life… Maybe she could leave him to get some answers as she worked. The thought amused her, all of her strange bits and bobs could barely tell him the story of her life but maybe he’d make one up in his mind. She let go of the clamp now and let her hand hover over the amulet, a magical energy pulsating from her against it. Nothing was happening, but even just attuning herself to whatever energy it did have might help. She closed her eyes meditatively as she focused on it. “There is… probably some food if you’re hungry…” she said to him as she continued with what she was doing. “Just… make yourself at home… I don’t know how long this will take…”

That seemed like a good idea. As Valker pretended to look at the books he eventually noticed that they were divided into sections and that the last section, the new collection, seemed to be about topics related to a witcher’s life and enemies. That made him smile. He’d really made an impression on her. It strengthened his conviction that there might be something there, something real, with her, if he managed to maintain his patience. Valker cleared his throat and checked to see if Avery was looking at him -- she wasn’t -- before he gathered his belongings and scampered off to the kitchen, where the first thing he did was getting dressed again, feeling rather sheepish about the whole thing. He opened one of the kitchen windows and let the breeze cool him down a little. Satisfied, Valker rummaged around until he found a loaf of bread and a jar of jam that looked good to eat.

Now armed with something to munch on, Valker returned to the living room and pottered about some more. The amount of fantasy novels did not escape his notice. Nothing wrong with a little light reading, he knew, but it was still amusing to picture Avery being swept up by the romance books like a young girl. Perhaps that was why she’d taken a liking to him in the first place. He thought back to their conversation in the swamp earlier that day and remembered the look on her face when she spoke of death. For a sorceress, there was an innocence and naivety about her that surprised him. Or at least, there had been. Maybe her encounters with him had been enough to dispel those qualities. He picked up one of the books, intrigued and amused by the painting on the cover that depicted a very sculpted man and a very voluptuous woman in an almost comically exaggerated embrace, and leafed through it. His eyes fell on several words immediately and he then noticed how well-worn the pages were. “My, my,” he mouthed to himself, stealing a glance at Avery to make sure she hadn’t heard him. Now he knew where she got the ideas for her outfits from. It was cute, but it was also… frustrating. If she was so into these sorts of stories, he didn’t fully understand why she’d rebuked him the night before. Characters in these novels engaged in all manner of extracurricular activities while they went about their adventurers. What had given the Avery the idea that it would risk their professional relationship? He wasn’t going to find out by reading more of the novel so he put it back down and made himself comfortable on the couch instead while he finished his toast.

The sorceress was well into her work now - but nothing had really come up, even from feeling her way over the item with magic. She tapped her fingers over the desk and opened her eyes again, staring out into the garden, and at some herbs that were boxed in the planter on the sill. Maybe the answer was something alchemical? The smoke of a herb could perhaps crack the code. She stood up from her seat, forgetting that she had company having been so focussed on her mission. Avery then reached across the desk to open the window, bending across to flip the latch. After a few attempts and wiggles it came loose and she managed to push the pane open. She pulled back to grab a small knife from her desk and resume her position of leaning across the polished walnut surface so that she could take cuttings from the plants in the window. She soon also realised that the soft and cooling breeze was very pleasant, it seemed to carry through the delightful scents of Lyria, unlike Velen which just smelled rather a lot like sulphur. The comparison elicited a quiet chuckle as she worked.

The thought to let her know that he was still there crossed his mind but Valker quickly decided against it, and watched in silence as Avery bent over and stretched herself out to reach into the garden. He felt his hands ball into fists and he had to work to stop himself from breathing in too fast, like a bull seeing red. She was absurdly sexy. Valker bit his lip and, at a loss for what to do with himself, crossed his arms. He’d always considered her attractive, of course, but it was like she’d only become even more beautiful and voluptuous over the course of the past seven years. Had he ever felt so strongly about a woman? He tried to look away and distract himself by thinking back on the women he’d been with but Valker didn’t last more than a few seconds before he inadvertently turned his head back to look at Avery’s shapely buttocks, the arch of her back, the silk of her revealing shirt brushing against her breasts while she cut the plants…

Satisfied with the cuttings, she removed herself from the desk and dropped back into her seat with a content sigh - entirely unaware of the effect such a simple thing had on Valker. She cleared her throat and reached for another chocolate. She began arranging the cuttings, trimming away at any of the excess leaves, and fibres of the stalk. The room was completely silent save for the trimming and clipping at the desk, and the occasional sound of a cat moving around somewhere.

Finally, she tied the bunch off with a short piece of twine - turning it in front of her face to check that it was correctly bound. This was hardly magic, really. It was more the work of Druids to use nature like this. But the method of burning the herbs was said to cleanse energies. It was worth a try, anything was worth a try. Avery ran a finger over the top of the bunch, letting a flame flicker. She had half expected the thing to catch fire completely but to her surprise it just began to smoke. A thin wisp began to pour from the herbs - the smell strong, but not obnoxious or nauseating. It just smelled… Clean.

The entire process must have taken fifteen minutes, swirling the herbs over the apparatus and the clamp that was housing the amulet. Feeling suitable optimistic about it now, Avery placed her hand once more on the amulet - expecting to feel that something was different, but there was nothing. It felt like the last straw and she groaned at first, a groan that turned her face to a scowl as she drooped over the desk with her hands running through her hair in frustration. “Damnit…” she muttered quietly.

“Damnit!” she spoke louder, voice laced with irritation.

Before he himself even really knew what he was doing, Valker had gotten to his feet, walked over to where Avery was sitting and placed an arm around her shoulders while he sank down on his haunches next to her. “Hey,” he said and gave her upper arm a squeeze. “It'll be alright. How can I help?”

How could she possibly stay annoyed at the amulet, when Valker was beside her? His eyes were so soft and he felt relaxed. The arm he’d placed around her was relaxed. When he was this close, it did not go unnoticed how good he smelled. “I just need to take a break. Or find another angle. I don’t know…” She looked at him, and then back to the amulet a few times. “It’s been a while since I’ve had such a challenging task…” Whether it was still the feeling of the anger at the amulet, or something else, she could feel her heart beating faster.

Valker leaned in and kissed her. He knew she didn't want to ruin their working together, or whatever reasons she had, so he kept it at that. “There,” he said and smiled. “That ought to refresh your system.” It was only then that the reality of what he'd just done set in and his expression quickly turned sheepish. Should he pull his arm back? He wasn't sure. With bated breath, he waited to see how she would react.

All she could do was stay silent in the shock of the moment. There was a tension between them now, and he had taken her by surprise, whatever she had been thinking before that had gone. What amulet? Velen? Blackbough... She slowly blinked - knowing she had to do something, anything. Or else he was going to… To what? Leave? She didn’t want that. She didn’t want it at all and so she allowed something else to act for her. Her hands found their way to his shirt which she grabbed at - to pull him back to her. This time, it was Avery who kissed him.

An immense wave of relief washed over Valker and he relished the kiss she returned with every fiber of his being as seven years of tension was resolved in an instant. It felt like his heart was going to burst. He'd never felt an emotion like this before -- how could he? He was a witcher. Valker pushed the thought aside and placed cupped her face with both of his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “Avery,” he stammered when their kiss finally broke. “I know what you said, but I -- I needed you to know how I feel.”

That familiar tingle… It brought a smile to her face and eyes. Or had it been the kiss? Or what he said? She wasn’t sure, she only knew one truth in the moment. “I feel… Show me again… I--” Avery decided not to wait for him, especially since words were not coming to her. She took the opportunity to lead the way by kissing him again. A feeling of regret washed over her for not having kissed him last night, and at the banquet. She wanted to have those kisses now. As she pulled back from the kiss again, she bit her lip. “Sorry I… Is that too much?”

The look on her face was both adorable and irresistible. “Not at all,” Valker purred. He placed one arm around her waist and pulled her forward until she was sitting on the edge of the chair. Their bodies touched as Valker pulled her into a proper embrace and he kissed her again, more passionately this time. She'd wanted him to show her again, he was going to let her feel it too.

She was taken over by a delightful feeling of ecstacy at the sensation of Valker’s tongue on her lips - she gave in to it and her mouth opened while her own hands found the back of his neck. She let her tongue brush over his and it was then that she felt how agonising it had been to have held herself back for so long from intimacy with him. There was an electrifying feeling to being this close to him. “I should have done this years ago,” she mumbled against his lips in between breaths, using a deliberate repetition of his own words.

Valker smiled at that. “But now we have,” he said and pulled her even closer against him, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, fingers trailing up her spine. His tongue found hers again but slowly this time, savoring every second. She was a delight in every sense; her mouth tasted of chocolate and she smelled of flowers. He wanted to move his hands and his tongue, to feel and taste every part of her, but she had been decidedly not ready the night before. He pulled back from the kiss and the hand that had been on her cheek brushed down against her collarbone, his fingers struggling against the temptation to go lower. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his other hand sliding down to her lower back.

She'd kissed men before. In fact she'd kissed a lot of men, and yet with Valker - it was like any past experience was forgotten. This was different, he was intense, the magic that ran through him amplified her senses and so for Avery, this was a first kiss. She was so close to him, she had felt his heartbeat and the vibrations of his medallion on her skin. The sorceress knew he was holding back, last night had made him cautious… But his fingers on her bare skin, the way they trailed there… She bit her lip, feeling a fire within her. A deep longing for more of him. “It's very okay…” she whispered, closing her eyes to lean in to his lips again. Everything he was doing was so soft and gentle, but she knew that he was holding back from his real desires.

Those whispered words were like music to his ears. The witcher wrapped his arms around her and lifted Avery up with great strength, continuing their slow, deep kiss while he did so. He carried her to the beautiful Ofieri sofa and sat them both down on it -- now they had much more room to work with than on that chair by the desk. He looked her deep in the eyes and saw that she wanted him, her burning desire for more of him… perhaps even all of him. One hand moved down from her lower back and onto her buttocks, grasping at the flesh through the fabric of her pants with splayed fingers, while the other slipped into her shirt and cupped one of her breasts, gently squeezing and gripping, his thumb drawing circles on her nipple. Feverish heat burned in his mind and his body and his kissing intensified, his whole body moving against hers with the motions of his tongue.

It felt so special to be here with him, alone. It wasn't like Blackbough, the room next to the stables - empty and bare of anything luxurious. But here she was home. She grabbed at his shirt again, to pull him down with her as she let herself fall slowly back into the sofa. The searing pleasure she felt as his fingers caressed her breast was euphoric and she arched her back against him in response, that yes, this really was more than okay. “Valker…” She moaned out at him between their kisses, feeling something of an unfamiliar ache in her loins as she continued to become aroused by him.

While their passionate embrace continued, Winifred made her way across the room and towards Avery's desk. Not before stopping to watch her mistress and her witcher engage in whatever it was they were doing. She clambered up and hissed at the amulet and began wildly swatting at it - powerfully enough to send it flying with the apparatus, alongside numerous crystals from the desk and to the floor with an almighty crash. After that, she simply sat on the edge and nonchalantly raised her paw again, as if to make out that she'd simply been cleaning herself the whole time.

Valker leapt to his feet and cursed up a storm at the sight of Winifred licking her paw besides the mess on the floor. That blasted cat had startled him today more than anything else had in the past year combined. He looked back at Avery after the fact, suddenly aware of the vulgar tirade he’d just spewed. “Sorry about that,” he breathed and rolled his shoulders. “I don’t take well to surprises. I didn’t mean what I said, I’m sure she’s a very nice cat…”

He trailed off as his eyes fell on the amulet. It had split open and revealed something inside of it -- something silver and shiny. “What the hell?” he said and knelt down to pick up the piece of metal.

It looked like a piece of a witcher’s medallion. Not of his own School, Valker realized immediately, but the School of the Bear. What were the odds of two witchers that had nothing to do with each other being involved in the same mystery? Valker could only assume that the witcher that this medallion had belonged to was also dead. Parting willingly with one’s medallion was unthinkable. He returned to the sofa and sat down next to Avery, all thoughts of passion momentarily forgotten. “Look at this,” he said and held the piece up for her to inspect.

As the sorceress sat up, she tucked her feet underneath herself and looked at the treasure from within the medallion. Unlike Valker she could not recognise what it was, but it did indeed seem to be familiar to him. She could tell based on the way his features changed. Suddenly, Avery shot an annoyed glance at the cat on the desk before turning back to the witcher.

Carefully she took it between her own fingers, the way metal felt was similar to his own medallion and at that she gave him a knowing look, “did this belong to your brother?” she asked quietly, handing it back to him. Her mind already working at what she could possibly do with the piece to gauge any information.

“No,” Valker said immediately. “Look at the design. It’s the lower half of the face of a bear. This belonged to a witcher from a different School. So either Urszula has turned killing witchers into a hobby, or she stole this from the one who did… maybe it came after her and killed Domren. I wonder why he was with her?” He was thinking out loud now and ran a hand through his hair. “Is there anything you can learn from this?”

“She left it there for me to find… She knows that I am,” Avery paused and looked into Valker’s eyes, away from the medallion, “she knows that I am acquainted with a Witcher. I think this is why she had me follow a trail to Velen.” This all seemed a lot like the coincidences that Valker had been considering, and she began to feel bad about having let momentary passion take over what was clearly an important task given to her by the mentor.

“As for what I can learn. I can use aeromancy to find out any information, that will be much easier than trying to solve the mystery of the necklace…” She sighed, and if Valker hadn’t been in such a serious mood all of a sudden she may have allowed herself to laugh at the ridiculousness of it just being a breakable outer shell. “It’s not too dangerous of a spell, whatever happened to the witcher who wore that, I can show it to you.”

There was a split second’s moment of hesitation as Valker’s eyes fell on Avery’s shirt, still loose from where his hand had been, that offered a tantalizing view of her cleavage. If the cat had waited just a little while longer with solving the puzzle for them, who knew what would have happened? But Domren was dead, they had a new clue, now really wasn’t the time for that sort of thing anymore. Later.

“Yes, please,” the witcher said and leaned forwards in his seat, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, eager to see what Avery would do -- and to distract himself from missed opportunities.

With the necklace fragment in her hand, she began to utter her incantation under her breath. It wasn’t a particularly taxing or difficult spell, and within moments it appeared to be working. The piece levitated from her hand, and a gust formed around it that moved it away from the two as they sat. Her hands began to glow with a pale, otherworldly green and the movements that her hands made was like those made when unfurling a scroll. Before their eyes, a portal opened around the floating jaw of the bear. It was different to a portal, in that it appeared more as a floating image - a window into a moment past.

As Avery focussed her words, the picture became clearer for them both to see, and as sure as she had said there would be, there was a masculine figure in the centre of what appeared to be another cave, the walls were highlighted and streaked with blue and violet - the rocks were coated in moss, and there was a body of water running across the ground. The witcher in the picture must have been wading knee deep through it.

“Do you see?” She asked, now that the spell was in effect. The sorceress was unable to remove her eyes from the scene as it played out, slower than it would have in reality so that they could take in every detail of the event. So far, just a witcher with his Bear Medallion wading through water in a cavern.

Valker nodded and narrowed his eyes at the mirage, trying to identify the species of moss that grew on the rocks in an attempt to divine anything concrete from the image. It was hopeless -- this cave could have been most anywhere. One of his feet began to tap on the floor while they waited for something to happen.

He was short of height, but very muscular. His hair was clipped short, and unlike Valker he had no beard but his face was scarred. She began to feel a ringing in her ears, just faintly but enough to be noticeable. It did not deter her from looking deeper, pushing further with her spell. Her hands moved again and brought out more of the image, gave clarity to what had been there.

The face of the witcher began to turn, frame by frame as something clearly appeared in his vision. Bit by bit his eyebrows raised and eyes widened, it didn’t take too long for his lips to part into an open-mouthed scowl - as if he was terrified but wanted to appear as menacing as a witcher should. Whatever he was looking at, the shock on his face indicated he had never seen such a thing before. Avery was desperate to know what he was looking at, and only she had the power to do so - Valker was simply an observer of the mirage. It was her connection to it that made it materialise, he could not interact as she could.

She whispered more of the incantation, but nothing happened and the moment of the Witcher’s death continued to play out until finally she caught a glimpse on the surface of the water of a shadowed figure growing larger and larger. A reflection, it was not too dissimilar to the shape and form of the werewolf that she and Valker had hunted down years ago. Could it have been a werewolf that killed Domren? Surely not. They were not common creatures, but she could not think of a reason that a witcher would not recognise one.

The ringing in her ears grew louder to the point of distraction, and the mirage flickered in front of them, breaking up and knitting itself back together. She looked closer at the reflection of the beast on the water's surface, instinctively she reached for Valker’s hand and wrapped hers around it, squeezing him. “There,” she said, although her voice was pained. “The water, look,” the woman continued as she struggled with the way the spell was beginning to hurt her. It was the same feeling she’d had when she’d tried to push back the wraiths. She did not tear her eyes away, soon there would be nothing left to see and the scene would end, but they were in luck. Two bright green orbs flashed open, the creatures eyes… Such big eyes, so bright, and harbouring such a burning rage.

Then it happened. It was when she was studying the eyes that they moved, the stare meeting hers abruptly. This was… Unheard of. How could it be possible for any kind of being to detect her via aeromancy. It was impossible, and yet the creature was indeed looking at her and just like that the pain in her head grew until she could not take it anymore. It felt as though her brain was melting, as though knives were being thrust into her. Sharp, jabbing pains that she recognised immediately as an incredibly potent blocking response to magic of the mind. She had been blocked in the past, but it was a simple buzz… This was agony. Blood began to stream from her nose and she shut her eyes tightly so as not to have to look at the image any longer. Her hands trembled, as the blood continued pouring from her nose to her chin and down her front. “M-move the piece,” she pleaded, unable to look at Valker, retreating into herself.

“Shit,” Valker whispered at the sight of blood and his eyes went wide. So much for a harmless spell. He, too, had been intently fixed on the shadow-shape reflected in the water and its unnaturally bright gaze and it wasn’t until Avery had said anything that he had noticed her distress and injury. What the hell was going on?

The witcher did as he was asked and snatched the piece of the medallion out of the air and threw it across the room with enough force to shatter a small jar on Avery’s desk. He paid it no mind and instead turned to Avery, grabbing her shoulders with both of his hands, his normally stoic expression alive with concern. “Are you alright now? Can you stem the bleeding? Do I need to fetch a healer?” Valker had enough means with which he could heal himself but nothing that was suitable for the unmutated bodies of others.

As the spell ended, the pain quickly began to subside and she took in several deep breaths in an attempt to steady herself, to bring her back from her panicked state. She could tell that the bleeding had stopped too. The presence was gone. For a while she could not speak and simply dabbed at her mouth, her eyes wide with astonishment. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, finally meeting Valker’s gaze - the distress across his face for her strangely helped her to settle, she wasn’t alone after all. “How could it reach me…?” She asked desperately, eyes flitting around the room to ensure it hadn’t snuck out, it seemed that anything was possible. “It looked at me,” she breathed out in disbelief.

"That confirms that it's not just a monster, at least," Valker said and leaned in a little closer to inspect Avery's pupils. He motioned for her to follow his finger with her gaze. Satisfied that she didn't have any initial symptoms of brain damage, he sat back and rubbed his chin. "Something versed in magic. A shadow only reflected in water… a demon of some kind, perhaps. Their presence in our world is so rare that it didn't cross my mind before."

Valker stared at Avery for a bit. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

It took her a moment to answer, to truly come back to herself after the shock, but she knew that the threat had gone for now. “Yes.” She tried to smile at him, realising then that she was still bloodied and it probably looked rather awful. Avery stood up, her legs wobbling just a little as she teetered over to the desk, facing away from the witcher as she gathered what magic she could to clean it away. “Strong mages can block spells of the mind to a similar effect… Not to such a vicious degree but that's all it was. Whatever we're dealing with knew that we would come looking… This is incredibly dark magic, Valker. It scares me,” she admitted, a forlorn expression on her now clean face. She turned back to him with worry in her eyes. “What do you want to do now?”

That question would have elicited an entirely different response just ten minutes ago, but the look on Avery's face and the sight of her wobbling on her legs made it clear to Valker that she needed to rest. "The spell weakened you," he said. "You should recover. I haven't tangled with demons before so I'm going to learn what I can. Lyria has at least one temple and an academy, from what I remember. I'll start there."

Valker also got to his feet and gathered his belongings. He paused once his swords were on his back again, stepped up to Avery and kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster, cupping her head with one hand. "Take it easy, alright?" he whispered.

She felt a relief when he kissed her, but a sense of anxiety knowing he would leave her. Damn it, this was exactly what she'd wanted to avoid - but, she couldn't deny that it was nice. She placed her fingers on the place where his lips had been and smiled, “of course I will.” Avery let her hands fall to her sides and she leaned back against the desk, “be careful — if anyone troubles you then tell them you’re my guest. Avoid the guards if you can,” her voice fell sheepish at the mention of them, “they’re not my biggest fans.” She tried to laugh it off, but he’d already witnessed their apprehension earlier. “I’ll be here, don’t go disappearing if you find the answers…”

---

Dusk had already fallen over Lyria by the time Valker returned from his quest. He carried a number of scrolls in his arms, dutifully copied for him by the scribes of the academy’s library from an old tome about the various supernatural threats of the world. It was a book that Valker vaguely remembered from his own education at Gwynban but it would be good to refresh his memory, in particular because he had paid no mind to the passages about demons before. The witcher didn’t announce his return and simply entered the house and returned to the living room, deep in thought and his face set in its usual scowl. He placed the scrolls on the desk and it was only then that he thought to look around for Avery.

“I’m back,” he said, raising his voice so that it would travel throughout the house.

She had been in a state of half-sleep, submerged from the neck down in a bath of her own when his voice rang out. Her eyes opened with a start, the water significantly less hot than it had been when she had entered, the room was still steamed up nonetheless. The fragrance of rose and lychee practically humming in the bathroom. She quickly got herself out, a swift motion of her hand to dry herself off, and a teal and orange robe materialised to cover her form. Her hair was still damp and she ran a hand through it to pull it atop her head, fastening it in place with a clip.

All three of the cats had joined her in the makeshift sauna and were just as happily relaxed and sprawled out as she had been. Little evidence of her headache remained. She made her way down the stairs with as much of a spring in her step as she could. “Fruitful trip out I hope?” she quizzed with a smile, her voice more subdued than usual but sweet all the same.

“I think so,” Valker said while he unfurled the scrolls and placed paperweights on them. He looked up at Avery and nodded in approval at the sight of her in a robe and with her damp hair in a bun. “You look relaxed. Good. Come, see for yourself.”

The sorceress stepped beside him, tipping her head to the side to gaze down at the scrolls - they were covered in text. In very small text. So small that she had to lean closer to the parchment to make out the neat words. She squinted to read it, releasing a long sigh as she did so. “Demons…” she said aloud, as she made note of the repetition of that word in particular. “Demons?” she repeated as a question and looked up towards Valker. “Makes sense in a way… No run of the mill monster could, well...”

Valker nodded. “It’s a possibility. There aren’t a lot of options when it comes to entities that can control wraiths, kill witchers and resist magic. They’re poorly understood and rarely seen in our world. The author talks about some methods he’s heard about, but not in great detail, to bind a demon to your will and subsequently banish it. And look at this,” he explained and pointed towards one of the scrolls. “Turns out there used to be a witcher school, the School of the Moth, that were specialists in demonology. The bad news is that they’re all dead and the school was disbanded.” His face was grim and he tapped a finger on the parchment. “I’m not sure what we’re getting ourselves into, to be honest.”

“Nor I, but that thing has to be stopped…” she replied, bringing her thumb to her lips while she thought on what Valker had explained to her. A disbanded witcher school was certainly cause for curiosity and she paced across the living room floor, deep in thought on it. “A witcher school, binding, demons…” Even just putting something of a word to the culprit of the witcher murders made her temples ache, and Avery wondered if she was missing something. Had this demon tried to contact her during the aeromancy? A shiver ran down her spine. It was powerful, and that alone scared her. “Do you have any idea of how to fight one? How can I help?” She turned back to face him, staring into his eyes that had a pleasant glow about them in the candlelight, despite his austere expression. “Do you think that we can fight it?”

“I don’t know,” the witcher admitted. Overconfidence was considered a severe sin in their line of work and Valker had no qualms about acknowledging the gaps in his knowledge. “Demons aren’t like the other monsters that crossed over into our world during the Conjunction of the Spheres. It’s not so much a matter of fighting them as it is a matter of controlling them, according to this book. Take away their powers with magic and you can banish them from this plane. That, I’m sure, you can help with,” he added and nodded, as if to empower his own words. “If any two people can defeat a demon, a witcher and a sorceress have to be it.”

“We both saw what it did to the witcher — and then to me…” Her voice tapered off and she brought her arms around herself. “I don’t doubt you’re right - but… I want us to be careful, Valker.” Avery began to pace the floor again, heading to the long shelf of books, her finger ran across the spines as she moved. She had books on monsters, sure, but nothing on demons. “We can fight it, we could probably harm it but,” she paused and brought her thumb to her lips and closed her eyes. “We have to accept that we might not be ready.” The sorceress already knew that Valker might not like the implication of what she was saying. This demon was targeting witcher’s, after all. “Controlling them - controlling it would require very strong magic, very strong...”

He sighed. “That may be, but it knows you exist now. It might even know where you are. We can’t stay here,” Valker said and crossed his arms, thinking. His brow furrowed even deeper and he ran his fingers through his beard. “There is only one place where I can guarantee your safety. It’s just… well... “

He had caught her attention with whatever it was he was about to say. Her head tipped to the side and her eyes flashed open. “Where?” She asked, her tone brittle at the suggestion of the demon knowing her whereabouts.

“Gwynban,” Valker said, visibly feeling awkward about the whole thing. “It’s our fortress. Our home. I’ve never brought an outsider before.” He cleared his throat and laughed. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I bring you,” he admitted and then immediately realized how that sounded. “That’s nothing personal, don’t get me wrong, and I love my brothers, but… you know what men are like.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t matter, of course. Your safety might be at stake.” Stop talking already, he hissed to himself.

For a while she didn’t say anything, and Valker needn’t have worried about the words that followed his first, she was too busy mulling it over to take them in. “I’ve been away from my work too long already…” she muttered quietly, as if it was to herself more than to him. “The Countess relies on me… Her nephew… I was teaching him, I’ve already been gone weeks—“ Avery sighed and pinched her lip between the thumb and forefinger. She remained quiet for a moment more, staring blankly at the bookshelf.

“You’re right,” she finally said, having come round to herself once more. “If we’re at this… Gwynban of yours, we can put our heads together in safety. They know I’m aloof in my work, it’s just… another way of protecting the Continent. By extension, Lyria.” She nodded and began to move around the room again, only this time with purpose. She took several items from shelves and began piling trinkets up in her arms. After all, she was still Avery. She still liked her things. Before he could say anything about it, she shot Valker a look, “these are important. For studying the magic.” Her expression was dead serious as she lifted the pillow from the sofa and stuffed it under her arm. “Wait,” she said, blinking — Valker’s words finally catching alongside her train of thought, “what men are like? What [i]are[i] they like?”

“Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly. “I mean, nothing you have to worry about,” he added and turned to face the scrolls on the desk, busying himself by rolling them up to be put in his backpack when he was ready. “Gwynban is built into the peak of one of the mountains west of Kaedwen. Nobody except us knows where it is or how to get there. I take it you can’t create a portal to somewhere you haven’t been before?” Valker asked, his awkward demeanor forced to make way for pragmatism.

She cocked an eyebrow and stifled a chuckle, the realisation that she may be thinking of packing too much dawning on her. “Oh dear… Yes it’s something like that. I can get us to Kaedwen. As close as you can tell me… I’ve travelled it quite extensively. I guess it will be horseback after that…” She began to mutter incomprehensibly to herself after that, putting some of the trinkets back. “Are you going to have to blindfold me on the ride there?” She asked playfully while crouched down, scrambling through a small cupboard for something or other, hiding her sly smirk with the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Valker retorted, incredulous. After a second his eyes widened and he turned to face Avery. “Or should I?” he asked, thinking out loud. There was the distinct possibility that old Bram would skin his hide for giving away such a secret to a stranger. Then again, Avery wasn’t the first guest that Gwynban had ever housed. Just Valker’s first. “No,” he realized and went back to work. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Alright then, I’ll be sure to remember every step of the trek there to tell my colleagues,” she joked with another stifled laugh. It suddenly felt a little ridiculous to be so concerned with the things she wanted to bring with her, they wouldn’t be there long, would they? Most likely not. She rose back up to standing and glanced at Valker. “Ready when you are,” she said as she brought the bag to her side. “We’ll take the horses and be on our way.”