ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jan 17, 2016 20:06:37 GMT -5
Notice to All of Able Body, Soul and Mind:
His Honourable and Righteous Lord Torsil hereby cordially invites you to attend an expedition into the heartlands of Valenwood's great woodlands.
The expedition requires:
- Several strong bodies for manual labour (including potential digging) and ferrying of goods.
- Several strong arms for protection (preferably with experience in such matters).
- Research Assistants knowledgable about Magical Arts, Cyrodiilic History or Northern Bosmeri customs (this is a serious academic expedition, adventure seekers need not apply).
- Mules or Horses capable of carrying enough goods to ferry these good souls across Cyrodiil.
The expedition shall leave from Insebrook in the Colovian Highlands (seek directions from nearby Chorrol) on Morndas 7th. Arrive at least one day early to secure your position, as excess will not be taken nor will concessions be made for wasted travel. The local inn has been instructed to provide appropriate board and fare gratis for those seeking contract.
Wages to be decided upon acceptance of contract, but note the Honourable and Righteous Lord Torsil is a wealthy and benevolent Breton. "Humph... Should be good enough." Wrinkled fingers shook slightly as they laid down the feather quill that wrote the notice. Candlelight flickered as he removed a wax seal from the heat, placing upon the parchment a splotch of red with a stylised T emblazoned in a circle. "What... This is thirty now? Should be enough." The old voice said, to one being in particular. His voice wasn't hoarse as his age would suggest. Rather it was somewhat silky and rich, like that of a Bard or Storyteller. A small creature leapt atop his lap, all arms and legs with a long tail and a small impish face. It oo'd at the work and grabbed the finished scroll before leaping away to a nearby pile. Lucina, his faithful Imgakin companion. "What would I do without you, little one." The Imgakin seemed not to notice the words, but a small twitch of its tail as it ran off and out of the study room belied her knowledge. How remarkable those creatures were.
Insebrook was a quiet little hamlet in the Colovian Highlands. It played host to a small inn with a few rooms, a smithy that rung out tools for the local farmsteads, a few huts that each had sizeable vegetable gardens and a dirt trail that led south towards Chorral. The most impressive feature, however, was its great tower. Seemingly plucked from the annals of time the white tower blends the Septim architecture of the Imperial City with the the white stone of the Ayleid ruins it was founded upon. Indeed one such arch forms the entrance to the tower, with a larger one framing the dirt road just outside of the village. It is quite the local landmark. In the centre of the village lies a seemingly inconspicuous well made of the same stone as the arches, but for those with magical talents its waters radiate a tempting energy that refreshes the mind and body when drunk. The people were friendly, giving welcoming smiles to those that arrived for the expedition - of which there were just under a dozen. A handful of horses and two mules had been acquired and were currently eating the town of oats and grains around the back of the inn. The inn itself was equally busy, and the expedition had already begun meeting and greeting under the watchful eye of an old Nord named Stanfer, the tower's Seneschal and the village's unofficial mayor, who sat by some scrolls (and some local mead) at a lonely table. Bed rolls lay off to the side, ready to be rolled out for the procession. The room was a mess of equipment and merry people. The mead and fare were free, which those who had signed contracts were engaging in plentifully. A rather comely female Khajiit, dressed in armour of steel, had jumped onto a table and starting strumming the songs of her homeland on a lute. To those perceptive newcomers, who spent too long staring at the tower, they may notice the flicking of candlelight in one of the highest windows. Or the almost ghostly face of an aging Altmer watching silently over the town. |
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Wake
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Post by Wake on Jan 17, 2016 21:21:18 GMT -5
In the darkness, outside Chorrol, Loredas 5th In the darkness of the night, a figure moved quietly along the road, quiet enough not to be noticed, loud enough to have a presence. It shifted, walking down the cobbles, boots clicking after every step, metal clinking at every movement. The traveler peered into the darkness at the large wall of Chorrol, blinking at it's fortified design. Slowly, a Guard by the gate on duty, holding a torch, watched as the figure came closer to reveal a High Elf, smiling happily as bright green eyes come into view, the woman's curved blade, worn bag and leather armour showed she was quite clearly someone who's been places and seen things beyond the Guard's comprehension. He nodded towards her as she entered the city- and the first place Octavia sought was somewhere to rest her head. Her footsteps bee-lined to the Grey Mare Inn. It was never Octavia's intention to come across another adventure. In fact, she had just come from a rather large adventure which lasted her many years- an adventure of knowledge, leaving home, studying at the College in Winterhold then travelling across the north of Tamriel to find someone to teach her how to use a blade. Her journey had no real goal to it, other than to learn. Chorrol was meant to be a rather small stop on the way home to Anvil, since she hasn't seen her parents in those many years since she left.... but there was a rather curious piece of paper hanging in The Grey Mare Inn which caught Octavia's bright green eyes. After she had rented a room with what was left of her coin (which wasn't a lot to begin with), she approached the poster with a curious gaze and read it, interested. Once it was read- Octavia knew she couldn't ignore the challenge. She wasn't exactly qualified with anything of the Heartland Elves, they being, after all, a rather ancient race that enslaved the Imperials...nor was she at all experienced with anything of such advanced magick. But she knew history. And she knew how to fight. How hard could it be? Octavia curled up into the bedroll the tiny, bare room offered her, sighing sadly at the uncomfortable feeling it gave her. She promised herself, childishly, one day she'll be so rich that she won't need to sleep in uncomfortable beds. Closing her eyes, Octavia also swore to herself she will take up that challenge.. she will go on that expedition, she will find Insebrook and Lord Torsil... she promised herself. That night- she slept well.
Sundas 6thOctavia got up reasonably early and asked the Innkeeper which direction Insebrook was. After being told it was along a fairly normal 'dirt road', it was what Octavia looked out for when exiting the north gate, heading out on another adventure. With no gold on her, a curved blade, a backpack with a few supplies and a bedroll, the High Elf was merely stumbling in the dark, seeking adventure to keep her going. It wasn't long before, while lost in the complex palace of her mind, Octavia came across a rather innocent dirt trial...
When the High Elf arrived at Insebrook, she was drawn to the tower like a spriggan to nature. After a few moments of inspecting it and being rather amazed by it, she quickly turned to find the Inn. The poster didn't directly state they needed to meet inside an inn, but Octavia knew well enough that no one was hanging around the tower, the smithy made no sense, the farmers wouldn't house scholars... but an inn certainly would. She entered the inn, keeping herself to herself for now, sitting nearby to people who would arrive... from time to time, she might get involved in a conversation, to make people aware she was there for the expedition, but until someone spoke to her directly, she wasn't going to put herself in the candlelight.
That wasn't to say Octavia was at all depressing. She was actually very noticeably upbeat around the happy atmosphere, being merry with everyone else. Though she didn't drink much- one bottle of mead lasted her the entire night. |
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Jan 18, 2016 18:01:46 GMT -5
"Interesting."
Fendryn Enakain sat at a secluded table in the Grey Mare. Earlier, he had noticed a note posted to a noticeboard, he took it down and saved reading it for later. An expedition, the letter said. Fen's interest was piqued. It was getting late, but what better time to head to Insebrook than the present? Fendryn placed the note in a knapsack, and headed out the door. He beelined straight for the gates, and walked into the stables, where his horse was kept. He climbed into the saddle, and began a slow trot east.
Fendryn stopped the horse as he approached a city watchman.
"Excuse me, sir, but would you know the way to Insebrook by any chance?"
"O'course. Just keep along east for a bit, and then you'll see three rocks at a crossroads, head left and follow that path straight to Insebrook."
Fendryn nodded at the guard, and followed his directions.
Fendryn trotted through the gates of Insebrook, and left his horse at the stables. He was mighty tired, and needed some rest. He walked at a brisk pace to the inn, and rented out a room, which he headed for immediately, and fell onto the bed into a deep sleep.
Fendryn awoke early, and was quite starved. He politely purchased breakfast, and sat at a lone table, waiting.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jan 19, 2016 17:05:14 GMT -5
The Seventh.
"You know, the board is free here... Sir." spoke a calm and all-too-charming voice. The owner was a male Altmer, not too much beyond Fen's own years - perhaps just less. It was hard to tell exactly with Mer... Each individual aged differently... "You only needed to tell them you were here for the expedition, of course I image they knew that." The Altmer looked up to one of the bar staff, a comely imperial with a spattering of red hair, and gave her an all-too-knowing wink. The girl looked down, back to clearing a plate of breakfast, her cheeks blending in to her locks. "Perhaps you should save your money for something more important, should you need to reshoe your horse my good Dunmer!" The Altmer gave the Dunmer an exaggerative bow, before turning on his heels and walking off. He wore a olive green robe, thickly woven and quite opulent in its design. Seemed to be straight out of a clothier in the Imperial City, that one.
The inn was busy come the morn, all the expeditions crew had come out in force to get their last good meal before they'd set off. Their provisioner could do wonders with beef jerky and bread, but beef jerky was still beef jerky. With what they could carry there'd be hunting and gathering to be done on the trip. Wild radishes and boar made a good enough stew for the road. Luckily the two guards that had shown up were, by their own words, 'decent with a bow'. Their guide, who was also their provisioner, wasn't too bad either, but he was more a trailman than a wilderness scout. The six labourers would be more than just mouths to feed until they reached their destination, peasant folk were always well regarded as gatherers. They're the sort of people you turn to when you need to know if a certain mushroom is edible. The three research assistants that had signed up put them up to... Twelve hired hands in total.
Three mules would carry the majority of their provisions, while one horse would pull a cart with room for six (including driver) people (and some more goods) and another a cart of goods. The guide had a horse, as did the two guards and the three research assistants. Plus, of course, Lord Torsil and the Scholar who would lead the expedition - both of whom had yet to be seen. Indeed the only representitive of leadership had been the old Nord, who had been waiting in the inn's guestroom before even the crack of dawn. He seemed impatient, but had politely asked everybody to awaken in their own time. Well, as 'in their own time' as you can get when a Nord bangs on your door. Suffice to say, nearly everybody was downstairs and eating food by now. The labourers, accustomed to awaking early, were already fitting the steeds. Yet still no Torsil?
The Altmer paid no heed, he had something else in sight. He'd spied a delectable little morsel of an Altmer last night, drinking mostly alone. He'd been so deep in telling the story of the time he'd bested the ghost of a Dwemer Technomancer in combat deep in the heart of Veveldunir that by the time he'd finished the story she'd gone off to bed. All that was left being her nursed bottle of mead, strange how she'd not taken the free fare they'd been offered. Divines knows he had his fill of it. He didn't intend to leave her eating breakfast alone.
Grabbing a bowl of apple cabbage stew and two hunks of bread as he passed the bar, he moved over to where the elf sat. Bowing his head as he approached, "Sanendil, may I?" he didn't particularly wait overly long for a reply and he moved to seat himself anyway. "You don't drink?" he took a dip of the bread in his soup, stopping before he ate, "Last night. The mead not to your liking, miss...?"
The Scholar watched over the labourers from his tower, muttering incantations as he weaved his hands behind his back. Spells that would allow him to face the coming day, intricately woven spells that would strengthen his old bones and keep him walking without a limp or hobble. "Don't worry, Stanfer will take care of you while I'm gone Lucina. See to it that nobody enters the upper stories, not as if I don't trust them but... You know..." The little beast oo'ed, almost sadly. The old Altmer gave her a little smile, grabbed his pouch and made his way down to the courtyard.
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Wake
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Post by Wake on Jan 20, 2016 15:28:39 GMT -5
That night, Octavia didn't sleep very well. Not that anybody had noticed- she tried to sleep just out of the way of everyone, ending up sleeping on the floor, in fact, against the wall, not looking passed out from drunkenness, but rather, peacefully meditating... and sleeping, of course. She didn't want to ask anyone to share a room, since the house was already packed- she didn't want to get in anyone's way either. But she also didn't want to sleep outside. So, just out of the way, comfortable in the corner, she slept, surrounded by sound. This also meant she woke up quite early soon, before the Nord decided to wake everyone else up.
The only reason she didn't sleep very well is because of a bad dream. Wasn't anything of ill mentality- Octavia simply had a bad dream.
While sat with a rather large piece of bread and a tankard of milk, refusing the soup, stew and ale, Octavia blinked as the Elf appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
"Octavia" she said in a cheerful tone. "Of course you may. Last night? I simply wanted a clear mind. Too much alcohol would make me soft in the head....in a strange, well-mannered village such as this full of strangers? I couldn't possibly get drunk. Not that I don't trust anyone here, I just simply don't know who I am sharing the expedition with." Octavia gave a soft smile to the Elf. "Being here, seeing all these people for this purpose... it's overwhelming."
She finished with a bite into her bread, watching the Elven stranger for a reply. Her voice was soft, gentle...yet well collected. No 'uhm' or 'ers' anywhere. She simply spoke after thinking what she was going to say.
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Jan 23, 2016 19:23:23 GMT -5
"You know, the board is free here... Sir. You only needed to tell them you were here for the expedition, of course I imagine they knew that." Fendryn looked towards the olive skinned elf. "Well it looks like this inn has already conned me out of coin." Fendryn said with a chuckle added to the end. The Altmer looked towards a young Imperial, quite attractive girl. She blushed after the Altmer winked at her. He chuckled again. "Perhaps you should save your money for something more important, should you need to reshoe your horse my good Dunmer!" Fendryn nodded, and he seemed to be leaving. A courteous bow. Why was he here? He didn't seem the adventurous type. He had the flair that some boastful mages had, but it would be hard to tell. Fen decided not to dwell on it, and went back to his meal.
The trot of two horses in synchronization entered the village. They stopped next to the inn, and an old Dunmer spoke to his companion, and the companion left, quite quickly, too. The Dunmer trotted to the stables, and tied the horse up. He was unaware of how long they would be waiting at this village for, so it would be best to keep the horse satisfied. He strolled through the village, basking in the sights of manual labour. He didn't dwell long, and hurried inside the inn.
A Nord had approached the Dunmer. "You here for the expedition?" Modyn replied with a nod, and the Nord walked to his desk of sorts, and he presumed to follow. It took all of two minutes to file the paperwork, and the Dunmer left to find a table. He eyed two that would be suitable. One contained a fellow Dunmer, who simply looked like he detested company, and wanted to eat his food in peace, and the other had two Altmeri. The Dunmer walked over to the two Altmeri, and gestured to the seat. "May I sit here?"
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Wake
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Post by Wake on Mar 19, 2016 17:01:36 GMT -5
( Going to write and post something because I started playing Skyrim again recently and thought: Oh hey! That thread went quiet very quickly ;~; )
"Of course you may" Octavia smiled warmly at the Dummer, saying the exact same thing she said to her fellow Elven kin before taking a small bite out of her bread. "I did not expect such large company for this expedition...Wouldn't such a large event draw the attention of higher authorities? Synod? The Dominion? I don't see anyone here of those colours..."
The High Elf woman's smile was shadowed somewhat by half her face being somewhat red in shade, the other side fully tanned, an obvious faded burn from the past where Octavia's face was burnt. It was clearly visible through distinguished jet black hair and bright green eyes. Her appearance was something of a unique marvel, showing a strange sense of experience- and her clothing was even more to deduce. The leather armour was somewhat normal for adventurers of all natures who travel long distances without the need to slow from heavy metal...a long red scarf made from fabric common in Skyrim- and yet, her blade, curved- a scimitar- a common blade from Hammerfell. It was clear that Octavia had traveled quite far ways, despite her accent heavily being that of someone from the Heartlands of Cyrodiil. Diversity would be an understatement- the fact she was an Altmer made things more unique.
Octavia was, if anything, the opposite of stereotypical to her race, but to much stereotype of a traveler.
Leaning back on her chair, sat up-right, Octavia continued to smile warmly, expecting a conversation to erupt, taking great interest in the events to come.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 20, 2016 12:29:35 GMT -5
(Oh jeez, good point. I'm sorry about forgetting it was my turn, but hey I'm almost finished with uni now! TWO. MORE. MONTHS! In this slow period, got very few actual things but revision, I'll try to keep up with expectations!)
Selendil looked up to the old Dunmer that came to visit their table, he looked fresh of the trail. Dirt and dust still stuck to his gear. A late arrival, lucky he got onto the expedition at all. They'd no doubt be moving soon. Selendil gave the Dunmer a slight nod of approval as he sat down, at Octavia's behest. The Dunmer had all the look of a Mage about him, an easy spot for somebody who had lived around Mage-folk for much of their life.
He took a sip of his cabbage soup while Octavia spoke, noting the slight smile on her face. She was a happy specimen, that was clear. Although she looked to have a hair few stories to tell, he looked forward to sharing with her over the course of the expedition. Selendil moved to answer the lady's question when a crooked older voice spoke up behind him.
"The expedition is an independently funded venture, Miss. Our benefactor would like us to take the credit for our research, not give it to the Synod. He has gone to great lengths to make that clear, only recruiting from the local people does help. The Aldmeri are aware of the expedition though, I believe. Permits have been arranged for our passage into Valenwood."
The old voice came from a robed figure, steeped in magic for those who could sense that. His hood was down, bringing to light the face of a simply ancient Altmer framed with silvery hair. He walked with a staff and a genuine smile on his face, yet his eyes seemed to pierce those at the table as he inspected them. Unlike Octavia, he was very much the stereotype of their shared heritage. A lot like an older version of Selendil, in fact.
His smile faltered and he bowed his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, how rude of me to interrupt. I forget myself sometimes... I am the Scholar for this expedition. I hope you are all enjoying the amenities granted by our little village?"
Selendil just sipped at his soup, uncharacteristically quiet for those that had witnessed his escapades the night before.
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Mar 21, 2016 20:02:48 GMT -5
"It is peculiar that no such faction has appeared, but I shan't keep my hopes up. The Aldmeri and the Synod are likely to rear their heads somehow."
The elderly man that spoke to them was a powerful mage, Modyn felt that. Two powerful mages so far, and a great deal of scholars and young, undisciplined magi. Modyn let a small smile appear on his face.
"I'm sorry, how rude of me to interrupt. I forget myself sometimes... I am the Scholar for this expedition. I hope you are all enjoying the amenities granted by our little village?"
Modyn took the lead on the response, seeing as the rest of the group had quieted down significantly.
"Nonsense, we are but your guests. The village is quaint, and has a certain charm to it. And the company it offers is very welcome. It's not often I get to socialise with other Magi."
Fendryn sat quietly. Soaking in all the information that idle chat offered. Facts can be so misleading, where rumors, whether true or false, can be quite revealing. Fendryn had picked up quite a few rumors in his time listening to idle chatter in the odd inn or tavern. Adventures to be had, secrets to be revealed, who had bedded who. Most of what he heard was of little interest, but the people he listened to usually weren't as learned or seasoned as the people at the table he sat at now.
As the Scholar revealed who he was, Fen bowed his head in respect. Respect to certain people was a valuable tool, and by the looks of the Scholar, a little respect would go a long way. There was much to be learned from elderly mages, mostly because they are elderly. Mages beyond 500 are usually very powerful. And if Fendryn had to estimate, the Scholar was somewhere around a thousand years.
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Wake
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Post by Wake on Mar 22, 2016 12:22:43 GMT -5
"I'll drink to that" Octavia said with a raise of her mug of milk, giving a small smile. "This little town is very peaceful compared to many places I've seen. The tower is most impressive." It was quite fortunate to Octavia that she actually stumbled across the poster while in Chorrol, extremely uncertain of what she was going to find, another full-fledged adventure at that towards the heart of the most ancient of Elves. Despite her adventures, Octavia was not by any means a powerful Mage...her talent for magic was higher than the usual commoner, but her unique attribute was knowledge itself. She knew this- thus, the curved blade.
"I'm quite glad we won't have Synod or Aldmeri breathing down our necks. Nor the Empire" Octavia admitted, leaning back a bit, comfortable with the old robed man and the company of strangers. "If your benefactor is Lord Tu-- Was it Torsal? Tursil? Whoever his name is, he has my thanks. I was on my way back home to Anvil after many years of being away in Skyrim and Hammerfell when I came across the poster. Such a unique opportunity, I couldn't just simply let pass."
Octavia almost called him 'Lord Turtle'.
"If I'm talking too much, just tell me to shut up" the Altmer gave an innocent laugh.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Mar 23, 2016 10:05:07 GMT -5
The Scholar gave the Dunmer mage a short smile, an appreciative gesture for the compliment on his village. It was a nice little village, hard working and hard built from the wilderness of the Colovians. The small graveyard that had sprung up behind the tower was testament to the investment these families had put into their home. The young lady seemed to agree, which equally pleased him.
The other Altmer gave his consent to the comment with an agreeable nod, although had yet to speak. The Scholar thought he might be a mute, he wouldn't be the first mute mage to grace Tamriel. In truth though, Sanendil had little to add to the comments. The village was... Quaint, but it was no Firsthold. It was missing some essential amenities... But what can an Altmer expect from a Human village in the middle of the woods.
Both the Scholar and Sanendil looked at Octavia almost quizzically (their expressions seemed to equally match) when she expressed her displeasure at the Aldmeri and the Empire in the same sentence. It wasn't often you find a complete neutral entity. Sanendil had his allegiances but the Scholar couldn't help but smile at the 'young' lady's response. Like her, he too liked to consider himself somewhat of a neutral entity. It didn't pay for one of the scholarly arts to hold too much allegiance to one side, of course he had his preferences. The Night of Green Fire still burned bright in his memory.
"Nonsense my dear," the Scholar replied, shaking his head a little, "There can never be too many words spoken in the world. I'll pass your thanks on to Lord Torsil, for I am afraid he himself unfortunately can't attend the expedition. It's a shame, I very much expected his company." The Scholar seemed somewhat off-put by his comment, a feign of sadness flashing over his features. He soon brightened up again, though. "Nevermind, I shall have the company of the expedition to keep an old Mer entertained!"
He turned his attention to the two magi at the table. The old Dunmer seemed to have a kindness about him, but perhaps he was merely being polite. Dunmer were hard to read, more often than not they held barriers up to the world and remained eerily aloof. Perhaps he merely presented a front for the expedition's sake. He'd need watching, not closely but... The older the Mage the more cunning. As for the Altmer mute, the Scholar was stood behind him. Couldn't quite see his face, but he held himself like an Altmer from Alinor. He would need watching, the Aldmeri may not have left them alone after all. "So, you two gentlemer are our expedition's Magi?" He gave them a smile, and shot a look to a neighbouring table and the Dunmer that watched from there too. He looked to be a third Mage... Perhaps this expedition might have too many Magi? Was there such a thing?
"You, however, must be here as a caravan guard. But you seem far too interested in the expedition than just for the Septims. A fellow book-wyrm? Definitely a traveler, if you've just come down from Skyrim through Hammerfell. From Anvil!" He let out a short laugh, "Quite the rounding journey! You must have some tales to tell." He didn't need to watch her, he thought. She wasn't spying, she was avoiding something. Perhaps even running.
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Wake
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Post by Wake on Mar 25, 2016 10:22:21 GMT -5
Octavia smiled softly and blushed slightly as she was told she could speak as much as she wanted. It was rare for Octavia to have company at all, let alone such kind and delightful company. She knew it was short lived- an expedition into unknown lands into ancient Elven ruins was never a fun thing to do. The Altmer nodded her head politely in appreciation, looking quite happy.
"I- I studied quite hard in the Arcanaeum at the College of Winterhold for many years" proudly, yet shyly, spoke the Altmer. "I don't know much about the Bosmer and their lands- only what I've read.. it's a highly dangerous place to go, even Merchants avoid the Merchant tunnels due to wild creatures. We may need to protect ourselves from Spinners- I read that they are... like an inquisition that enforces the Green Pact, a code of Bosmer customs."
She realized quite quickly that she was just sitting there like a book that reads itself- so she suddenly said "If I can learn more while on this expedition, I wouldn't mind getting no septims at all. If you believe I will be best used as a caravan Guard- I studied how to fight with a curved blade in Hammerfell's Dragonstar for many years. I would be honoured, mi'lord."
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Mar 30, 2016 3:31:32 GMT -5
For the majority of the conversation, Modyn remained quiet. It was rude to interrupt a conversation that consisted of two people. A group, however, was fair game to speak when there was room to. It wasn't the only reason for Modyn's silence, the fact of it was, there was little to be commented on.
"So, you two gentlemer are our expedition's Magi?" It was also rude to ignore someone that has directly addressed you.
"Indeed, my good sir. I am Modyn Seran. I know a thing or two about conjuration, and a select few things on the Dwemer. I am very interested to see where this expedition leads us."
Modyn did not lie often. And this was not an exception. He chose his words carefully, as to not lie, but also to not reveal his intentions. While they weren't grim, or evil, he'd just be misunderstood, and it would pay off for people to simply be left in the dark, it wouldn't affect them, anyway.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jul 25, 2016 3:32:58 GMT -5
Sanendil turned slightly to give the Scholar a curt nod. "I am indeed a Mage," the Altmer said, breaking his mute appearance to speak with some pride, "from Alinor - like yourself. Here to test the scholarly waters of Cyrodiil, for what it's worth. A trip into Valenwood interests me, I've taken part in a number of expeditions into Ayleid ruins but they all seemed looted during the Third Era or beforehand."
The Scholar nodded somewhat in agreement, there had been a series of high profile raids on Ayleid ruins during the Third Era. Picked clean of everything, even the clay bowls. Some collectors just didn't care for preservation.
Octavia had certainly traveled. From Winterhold to Hammerfall and back again. Her seeming jittery nervousness belied her experience, either it was a feint to hide her motives or his presence was having more of an effect on the company that he expected. "We have nothing to fear of the Spinners," he said once she was finished, "we'll keep to ourselves, for the most part. We'll use magic to keep us warm and eat only what we bring or hunt. There'll be a place for you in the guard, don't worry."
When the Dunmer spoke out, the Scholar couldn't help but give a slight quizzical look. "An expert in Dwemer, looking to enter Valenwood looking for Ayleid ruins? I suspect you're more on this expedition far out of your comfort zone for research into Conjuration rather than Dwemer. Although discovering the extent of Dwemer-Ayleid communications would be a dramatic breakthrough! I severely doubt we'll find that in Valenwood, though. Perhaps there's call for a follow-up expedition near Cheydinhal." The Scholar gave the Dunmer a smile, talking about future expeditions when the first hadn't even started. He shook his head dismissively, planning too far into the future was a problem for the elderly.
"I must depart, though. Time is moving as if Akatosh himself were pushing it." The Scholar gave a slight bow, before turning to hobble off held up by his staff. He threw a hand to his Seneschal. The grim old Nord gave a nod and rose as the Scholar left the inn.
"Right!" His booming voice came out over the company's monotone tavern-room din. "Gather all your goods, equipment, companions. We move off in half an hour. Come on, come on! Black rats in snow move faster!"
The inn erupted with life as the company rose to ready themselves, the two serving maids brought in to clean their mess began hurriedly shifting cutlery. The wise few travellers among them quickly downed their food, or pocketed the bread and apples they had been served for later.
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Wake
Infant
^ Little Lore-Stalker ^
Posts: 131 Likes: 3
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Post by Wake on Jul 25, 2016 9:33:04 GMT -5
The man's words comforted Octavia to the point of friendship. She relaxed in her chair and smiled towards The Scholar in a cheerful manner. "Thank you for putting my fear at ease" the elf said softly. "I'd be honoured to be part of the guard. I'm not too keen on hunting- I... lack knowledge of Valenwood wildlife on a whole, but as I did with Hammerfell- I shall learn. Else, what is the point in joining you all in this jo-journey, right?" She attempted to chuckle weakly, but it came out as a genuine laugh. Somehow, her lack of experience amused Octavia... giving another meaning to 'laughing in the face of danger.'
Modyn caught Octavia's eye. "Dwemer!" she seemed to say with quite some enthusiasm. "Skyrim was home to many Dwarven cities- I saw a few ruins in Hammerfell also. Absolutely beautiful stonework, far advanced golden mechanical machines, built to defend the halls the Dwemer once roamed... they stopped me from actually going deeper into the ruins, flooding out of pipes. At the time, I lacked swordsmanship training- wait, wait..."
She dug into a bag that managed to, up until this point, hide itself by the High Elf's feet. Plunging her hand into the bag, a few bottles clanked alongside a metallic'clink' as two pieces of phantom metals hit one another. Or was it glass? She pulled out a golden plate, carved wonderfully with Dwemer design, having been used to hold food in the past, it seemed Octavia had obtained it during her journeys and continues to use it for that very purpose. "Found this a while back... the amount of times I've dropped it is pathetic, but it doesn't even have a dent."
When the old man announced it was time to go, Octavia shoved the plate back into her bag, struggling to fit it in at first. She finished off the bread she was eating before downing her tankard of milk with barbarian manners... Skyrim took it's toll on her, after all. Closing her bag and putting it on her back, the High Elf made sure she had everything on her. Armour, scarf, Scimitar, bag, bedroll, waterskin-- yes, she had everything with her. The elf was ready to follow the crowd into Oblivion and back for all she knew.
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