Alvara had seen some grim sights in her time as a healer, and had helped more than a few of the lethally wounded pass awayin their time. She'd been elbow-deep in the guts of others before, when a sword blade or axe head had split open or stomach or a skull, but even she found the sight before her nauseating. She shook her head after a moment, more to look away than anything else; even someone who wasn't a healer could tell that there was nothing whatsoever that she could do.

She noticed vaguely that Kogobal had picked up a piece of paper lying on the floor, the Altmer having come up there along with her, and reading it with an expression of shocked horror. She caught a snatch of the words 'Penitus Oculatus' and 'assassination', and considering that Vaultren had been the last one with her...

She shivered at the thought that the person she had taken for a travelling companion may well have been the one responsible for this atrocity.

Alvara felt a tug at her sleeve, and glanced over to see Kogobal ask; "Please come with me for a moment."

"Of course," she nodded in reply, seeing his gaze shift towards the stairs. No doubt he wanted to leave before the watch arrived, and that was fair enough. "One minute."

She hurried away to her room, grabbing her pack and staff, quietly thanking her luck that she had the presence of mind to leave most of her possessions packed. In less than a minute, she had her things readied, and hurried to where Kogobal was waiting.

"Let's go."

Kogobal

Kogobal was glad Alvara consented without asking for an explanation or wasting time. He was even more glad when they'd made it out of the tavern and into an alley just before the guards came running. Silently he offered a prayer to the Tribunal in gratitude for the tardy response of the sleepy guardsmen and the preoccupied taverners who'd failed to see them leave.

"I suppose I should explain why I pulled you out of there so quickly. It is simple, or so I think myself. In situations like these the locals will always want to point the accusing finger at the unknown. Better to blame a stranger than face the darkness in the hearts of their neighbours. You and I are the strangers in this case. Possibly some others as well, but I arrived here just yesterday and don't know who it might be. Now I know that I did not murder the poor lass and I'm pretty convinced you aren't responsible either, but no one would listen. Not now at least." He started talking, half tripping over the words. Taking a deep breath, he showed her the paper he still clutched in his hands.

"I forgot I had this, but I think its for the best I didn't leave it for the guards to find. Go ahead and take a look. Assuming this letter is genuine, it seems likely our ah...victim was to kill someone named Vaultren. Obviously it didn't work out that way. Vaultren is not an Altmeri name and the letter specifically mentioned a man. Regardless, if the guard found that and then heard I was at the establishment, they'll come looking for me next as a second assassin working with her. Then someone will remember me talking to you the night before and on the pebble rolls."

He leaned around the corner to check upon the tavern. More guardsmen were arriving now and began to cordon off the site. No one had come out yet though, something for which he was grateful. It meant their sudden departure hadn't been revealed to the guards yet.
"Of course, I'm not the only one who read it. Sir Minan'Kherus did before me and who knows who else. So I think it's best if we got out of the city right now. I for one would rather not get caught in the middle of a powerstruggle between two opposing groups. It's a shame we can't inform the Imperial of last night but I didn't see him in the tavern. anyway, are you still willing to travel with me?"

Women will be women. And the Thalmor will be Thalmor. A potent mix when those two clash into a single, cohesive threat. Vaultren at first figured the young Altmer woman was a regular tavern wench, wishing for the touch of a strapping Imperial man to share a bed. Of course, he suspected she wished to take advantage of him for his gold.

Yet that simply wasn't the case. It never was. Ever since he was an adolescent boy, he had troubles with women of the opposite sex. Of course, most of the times they were not making an attempt to slice his throat open. Sasfiel, as lovely as her warm body and jaw-dropping man-hood raising looks were, was nothing more than a Thalmor lackey in his eyes. For a number of years now the Thalmor wished to take his life...he only saw it nescessary that he would repay a favor.

The fall of Naarifin was an outlawed song, banned by the snobby Golden-rods. Vaultren saw a good chance in raising awareness. While he was not granted the pleasure of music to his ears, he was given a heated delights in the darkness of his room with a foxy woman, even after her last breath was exhaled. He was sure someone must of reported him, or Sasfiel was already onto him from the start. Perhaps a cell in Skingrad informed them of his departure to Chorrol, giving Sasfiel a heads up on his arrival.

Morning already breached the land, painting the sky in a faint blue. The sun was risen as well, painting Vaultren's warm body under its rays. He threw away the devoured green apple as he briskly walked off into the distance with the sack on his shoulders. He did not know if it was wise to leave without bringing the Altmeri scholar and that Dunmer healer along with him. But how much could they be of service? They would smply point fingers and label him as a murderer. He did not care much, for whatever chance he could get at the Thalmor, he would. He knew a few individuals named Vaultren in Skyrim, ones who supported the Empires...ones who could serve as perfect scapegoats if properly made to dance. Who would take the fall while he has a chance to strike once more. But excluding those people, he had a gnawing feeling that he would see Kogobal and Alvara once more, or even the traveling Breton.

In a span of one minute, Celdryn's rented room was stripped clean of his possessions. The Breton's fast hands and faster mind made sure that there were no traces of his existence. Likewise, Celdryn the Bard is no longer in this world. Instead, with his brown cloak shielding his face from light, and all geared up for the death-thrill he always enjoyed, Celdryn the Rogue replaced the mediocre singer. That facet of his identity is now erased, and he returned to his former self. His beating heart, the wardrum instrument that pumped his body full of the adrenaline sweetness, was the testament of how he relished the return. The green stare sweeped across and verified that it was as it should be, sans the marks of Celdrn ever living in here. With the safeness of Wicked and Delight near his reach, the Rogue made his way towards the room's window and surveyed the alley below. A little pond of dirty water and supreme darkness; little light penetrated the dark gloom, not enough to actually reflect the orichalcum metal of his sacred twins. The screaming of Tal'Jhiro, and the general reactions of the crowd would mask the fall if it would be noisy.

It wasn't.

He made sure to close the windows before he jumped down.

In the sanctuary of the shadows, Celdryn became a clump that blended well with the blackness that surrounded him, that shielded him, and he begun to think. As much as he wanted to just run and eschew the rules of being incognito (and therefore lay upon himself the eyes of the law and possibly the Thalmor, which was a tremendous bonus for his thrill-drunk mind), the rational part of his mind glowed brighter than his desire for excitement and he sat there in the blackness, thinking and thinking and thinking. He never was much of a thinker, so he decided upon the simple plan of going to Skyrim under the cover of nighttime.

He then noticed that he no longer was alone. Quietly as he could, he drew Delight and bent to crouching position, ready to leap and drive this sword straight through this intruder's -

It was Alvara and Kogobal, and Celdryn found himself relieved that it was them and not the local watch. They didn't seem to notice him and carried on with their conversation. When he eavesdropped upon the two elves, and found that they too are willing to escape the games of politics, or atleast the city. He emerged from the blackness, soft in sound, not caring that he eavesdropped or how suprising his sudden entrance may be.

"The Imperial from yesterday, the one with the noble features, is Vaultren. I can't scarcely believe that we shared the night with a former Penitus Oculatus. And to warrant such aggressiveness from the Thalmor! I don't know what he did in the past, nor do I want to, but it must be a heavy sin against the elves for them to even send an assassin after 30 years of peace! Regardless, what sir Kogobal said is true. The Thalmor are vengeful elves, and do not care for life. They would trample innocents willingly if it meant capturing what they want. I would bet against the chance of them simply questioning us and letting us go scot free."

He gave a rueful grin.

"Some of us aren't exactly saints, after all. But regardless, I vote with master Kogobal that we flee the city. I know not where your destinations are, but I am headed for Skyrim. Until we part, I suggest we stick together. The innocents must stand with each other, and there is strength to be found in numbers."

Alvara and Kogobal's brief flight took that out of the tavern and into the anonimity of a nearby alleyway, a patrol of watchmen in chainmail clanking past them a moment later as they headed for the tavern itself. Alvara could see already why Kogobal wanted to get away so quickly; with the state of hysteria the tavern was in, fingers would quickly point to outsiders, especially Elves, and if they were lucky they might spend days in a cell. If they weren't, they would probably never leave the town at all.

Breathless and shocked, Kogobal explained about a note he had found, saying that the murdered girl was a Thalmor assassin, dispatched after Vaultren who was himself a Penitus Oculatus agent. Alvara's eyes widened at that last statement, and in reply to Kogobal's statement she said; "Even if I wasn't willing, I'm not sure I'd have all that much choice. But Vaultren was the Imperial we were talking to last night, Kogobal, the one who went off with the High Elf girl; she must have been sent after him. If we meet Vaultren again, it might be a good idea to be careful. Or wise to maybe steer clear; if he has Thalmor after him we'd do well to not get involved."

She shivered at the thought that the man she had been conversing with had been able to kill another person in so savage and grisly a manner, even if that person was a servant of an oppressive, brutalistic regime. A figure suddenly stepped into view from the far end of the alleyway and Alvara whirled to see who it was; it was the Bard, Celdryn, and she relaxed her stance as she realised who he was.

No doubt thinking that they were ignorant of the note, Celdryn did not bother with introductions and instead gave an explanation of what had happened with Vaultren. He added that he was planning to go to Skyrim, to which Alvara nodded.

"Kogobal found the note marking out Vaultren for what he is," she said. "And we were planning to go to Skyrim in any case. We'd do well to stick together, seeing as there's strength in numbers."

She glanced out of the mouth of the alley, where the guards were beginning to calm the panicked crowd.

"It would be best to go now," she said. "Before someone points us out and decides that we're to blame."

Kogobal

"That was Vaultren?" Kogobal said as Alvara made the grand reveal.
"And here I thought I was being paranoid by thinking he might be a common roadbandit." He then muttered to himself and shook his head.

Before either could discuss their plans any further, a shadow set upon them. Kogobal followed Alvara's turn, instinctively drawing the base form of all his anchors in his mind. Fortunately however, the figure revealed himself to be the bard. Not one to waste time with introductions as usual, he repeated Alvara's confirmation regarding Vaultren's identity and agreed on the common decision to flee the city as soon as possible.

"It is good to have you with us, sir Minan'Kherus." The Altmer said with a relieved nod towards the man.
"Your presence here is one worry off my chest. But speaking of fleeing." He continued talking, meanwhile edging back to the edge of the alley to peer at the still growing crowd. Alvara was right, it wouldn't take much longer for someone to notice them.

Kogobal ducked his head back into the shadowy alley and spread his arms.
"It just occurred to me when you arrived, sir. We could leave through the gates but then the guards posted there would remember us. It just so happens however, that I have an anchor placed beyond the sight of Chorrol, just off the road. Are any of you familiar with the old art of intervention perchance? I could get us out of here without anyone seeing, or even having to walk a single step. I do need your coöperation though." Kogobal explained and already reached out for the two as if he was certain of their consent. It seemed like the most logical plan of escape to him. Why would they refuse?

Celdryn grinned and whistled in admiration. The kind of magic Kogobal wielded was certainly rare in this age, where even the simplest form of teleportation is considered a great aid. The books Celdryn read back in his childhood contained a book which had some list of the deeds of the Septim Emperors. If memory serves right, then it was Uriel Septim VII, coincedentally the main factor why the Crisis started, that banned the use of such magicks. Celdryn was sure that in other parts of the Empire, without the hunting eyes of the Imperial Law, many covens practiced the art and passed it down to the generations in an effort to atleast preserve such wonderful sorcery. That brings the point that Kogobal is not a native Cyrodillian. Not that he was suprised though.

"You're certainly quite the mage," Celdryn said, sarcastically sweet. "What's next? A spell that gives all of us immortality and an immunity to diseases? I really wouldn't be suprsied if you know anything of the sort, sir."

The crowd of onlookers were certainly becoming quite the horde. Alvara the Dunmer was right. It wouldn't take long for someone in there to point out to the guards the conspiracy of three suspicious-looking individuals in an alley, just right beside a building where a crime took place. And then he realized that he hadn't much time speaking with her yesternight. He promised to make as they make their way to the north, to Skyrim.

"Au revoir, mon petit Chorrol! We shall now teleport away to someplace exotic, and I bid you goodbye!"

The Breton then placed his hand to Kogobal7s reaching one, and instantly felt the knowldege of an ancient in the wrinkly flesh. Whoever he was, Celdryn had the feeling that this was a man on quest that would really be a never-ending search for something. He gave it a firm hold, like a child holding his parents for protection. He couldn't help himself. This was a new experience, and it should guarantee a worthwile memory to look back upon. Celdryn felt his pulse quicken, but not in the smae amount he got during his flirtings with death and troule.

"Go on then. Magic us away like one of thise romance novels. Heheh, I'll give you extra points if we arrive in a field full of roses where the sun always shines and there is a fair maiden, alongside a hairy bear, waiting for us."

Intervention and teleportation; despite the situation, Alvara could not help but feel impressed at what Kogobal knew of such arts. They were ancient magics, no longer studied legally, exceedingly difficult to learn even in their day; the only place she had known them to be possible were the few magical theory books that she had picked up here and there, and even then all they could offer on the subject was postulation and theory as to how a mage could harness such energies.

She made a mental note to ask if she could learn such arts with her own talents from Kogobal at some point in the future, but decided that such things would have to wait for the future; the crowd outside the tavern was swelling, and she feared that there had been one or two glances in their direction.

Alvara placed her hands on top of Celdryn's said; "No point wasting any more time; let's go."

Kogobal

He threw one last glance over his shoulder, half expecting an angry mob to bear down on their location. Nobody showed in the alley though. Kogobal turned back to his companions, taking their hands firmly in one of his while the other held the staff. He refocussed on the weaves of his spell and shifted into a trance.
"Indeed, let us be off." He murmured and then began to chant, slipping into the Dunmeri tongue as he formed the old mantra.

"Doors unbuilt and keys unforged I seek. Paths untrod and destinations uncharted I seek. The eye is the door, the mind the key. Cast now my flesh part of this world. Cast now my bone part of this world. Cast this world, part of my flesh, part of my bone." The knot took form. Kogobal took one end in his mental hand and pulled, unraveling the knot, drawing it from the bush to the alley.
"Strand of wisdom's hair is my chart, tongue of ancient dreams my feet. Out of memory I forge the key, with memory I open this door. Door to nowhere, door to everywhere. I step through, look up, and here I am."



Kogobal opened his eye to see a berryposessing bush that shielded them from the road. Trees hid them from the walls of Chorrol, whose stone he could see through the gaps. A bird whistled its song from somewhere nearby. He nodded to himself and spoke, in Cyrodiilic.
"And here we are. I have to admit it was a bit harder than usual. Conservation of mass and all that."

He took a habitual look at his staff then waved it in the direction of the road.
"Well then, shall we?"

The Imperial pondered on whether or not his murder of the Thalmor was efficient. He knew soon the hunt would be on for her killer, and the hounds of the Dominion would be snarling after his scent. The two Mer that saw him in the tavern knew who he was, and his identity. But then again, it did not matter, as the Thalmor would suspect he was responsible from the beginning in the light that he was a target. His calculating mind began to plot his next steps. He admitted, it was a foolish act to even exchange words with the tavern goers, but he did not expect an assassin would make an attempt on his life.

Vaultren dwelled on it, cautious that he would drive himself mad. Why would he attack the Thalmor? Because they were too firm in their ways; far too inflexible to adapt. And who else would brave the Thalmor? Very few. But he could take on them, one by one, as time went by. Where strength failed, he would make up for in guile. Vaultren figured he could escape to Skyrim by horse, and reach there much earlier than he would by foot. And so he awaited, as the shadows under the tree. To his chagrin, there was no wagons or carts passing by, no men or women on horseback. Yet, he remained there, occasionally continuing his path along the road under the growing sun.

Though as he went on, his ear captured a strange sound. It was familiar, but yet, it was alien as well. It was the music of the arcane energies surrounding the mundane realm. Vaultren stayed his position, spotting three figures along the road away from the town of Chorrol.

He hid behind a tree, peeking through the corner. It did not take long for him to realize that the trio were all too familiar to his eyes; Kogobal, Alvara and Celdryn. He did not expect to see the Breton again, but he admitted it was unexpected to see all of them. Do they know what I have done? Perhaps. Would they understand? Vaultren took his hand to the hilt of his sword. They better understamd. And so he walked toward their direction, his step confident, his face a cold neutral expression. Though he was hidden along the trees, away from the road. He awaited until he got closer.

Stepping away from the trees, his presence might of been of a surprise to them rather than an annoucement. He intercepted them from the side, stepping away from the shrubs as he approached the three of them. "It is a surprise to find you here. The three of you. It warms my heart to see esteemed company ready to embark on our quest. I suppose in numbers, our traveling conditions will be less taxing."

"Doors unbuilt and keys unforged I seek. Paths untrod and destinations uncharted I seek. The eye is the door, the mind the key. Cast now my flesh part of this world. Cast now my bone part of this world. Cast this world, part of my flesh, part of my bone."

Alvara took note of the first part of Kogobal's chant, wondering whether the words were part of the spell as they were for some types of magic, or merely a kind of mantra to help focus his concentration.

"Strand of wisdom's hair is my chart, tongue of ancient dreams my feet. Out of memory I forge the key, with memory I open this door. Door to nowhere, door to everywhere. I step through, look up, and here I am."

There was the uncomfortable sensation of having every particle of her body squeezed into a miniscule space, moved very quickly and then decompressed again, all in a single instant. She stepped back, gasping at the disconcerting sensation and gathering her breath to fight the small surge of nausea that threatened to well up.

She quashed it after a moment, glancing around at their surroundings; they were in a field that appeared to not be too far from Chorrol, the city's thick stone walls in sight. The slowly rising sun was shining down above them, and the ploughed furrows of dirt were slightly damp with morning dirt.

"That was...unusual," she said after a moment. "Takes a bit of getting used to, I think."

She glanced around her surroundings, and her eyes widened as she saw Vaultren approach. His greeting was warm enough, but she immediately balked at his suggestion of travelling together.

"I'm not so sure about that," she said. "We found that note about you, Vaultren, and if it's the same to you I'd rather that you stayed away from us; I don't want you bringing the Thalmor down on our heads for no good reason."

Kogobal

"Takes a bit of getting used to, I think." Alvara responded which made the Altmer chuckle.
"It certainly isn't the kind of thing one picks up one morning after a trip to the market." He joked. Any further applications of humour were cut off however by the sudden approach of a man. Kogobal stared intently at the man, convinced that he'd seen him before. The Imperial's casual suggestion they'd travel together to ease the burden and Alvara's cold reply confirmed his suspicions. The man was Vaultren.

Kogobal reviewed his options quickly while Vaultren drew near with a casual gait that belied the aura of fear he cast out over them.
"Where's my next anchor? Three hours south from here. No, forget that. Dragging three people takes far too much time and effort. Then what? Fight, ignore?"
"Your err...disagreements with the Thalmor are none of my business. Still, I agree with the lady Alvara. I think we'd all feel more comfortable if you gave us at least a very persuasive reason for letting you in. Like most people, we get rather nervous around...those who have settled a violent dispute." He coughed.

"Really, if you'd just walk away right now, my heart would stop racing."

Vaultren finally was able to crack a smile as Alvara rejected the idea of them traveling together. She added that they were aware of his predicament with the Thalmor due to the note they discovered. He feigned the accusation with a cynical smile, and a brooding chuckle. He sought no reason to lie for what he had done, considering there were not many men named 'Vaultren' in the world, let alone the same town in the same tavern. Lying about his murder was out of the question.

"Love, I am a hard man to detect. I know the Thalmor just as I know myself, and you can trust me when I say that you are not a perceived threat. In any manner, were you not so eager to travel with me alone without qualm or hesitation? They will be expecting to find a lone Imperial man. If we walk together, the chances of being undetected is much greater."

The High Elf, Kogobal spoke now. Vaultren shot him a glance, with a mild expression of distaste and hostility. Is this man serious?Vaultren already had a hatred for the Thalmor, and even less the Altmeri race. But his aggressive visage softened somewhat as he searched for his own words. "If I recall correctly, it was my idea to travel. Alvara agreed to accompany me to Skyrim, yet you intruded in our conversation."

He paced around, glancing at the Breton bard briefly before looking back at the High Elf. "I will not hold that against you. Yet do not expect me to smile knowing you plan to exclude me from the travel I initially had planned. You strike me as a man that would prefer diplomacy over action. I admire that. Yet the dispute with the tavern wench was no verbal argument. It was a life or death situation and my life was threatened. I had to defend myself. You must understand."

The Imperial looked at Alvara with a brief smile befitt of a friend. He offered the same to Kogobal and Celdryn. "I can assist you. I am not a murderous monster as you consider me to be. I know contacts in Skyrim where they can offer a roof to slumber under and foods to eat. I confess that I actually own a place there nearby, if you ever consider stepping away from the field. My abode can accomodate all of us."

He stopped to consider more. "If you refuse, the offer still stands. Your academic craving for the unnatural can be sated, I assure you. I am well-versed with the supernatural. I understand gods and Daedra and I have had my share of experiences with some of them. With Alvara's healing prowess, my knowledge and yours combined, we can stand as a formidable team."

Pausing for a moment, he averted his eyes to the Breton. What use was he? "The bard can serve as entertainment for your desires, destroying boredom whenever it plans to strike."

Alvara thought for a moment as she considered the case Vaultren made. If his contacts were not some fabrication then it was true that they would be greatly useful, and the Thalmor were looking for an Imperial, and not an Imperial, a Breton, an Altmer and a Dunmer. But the way he had dealt with their agent; that spoke of a disturbing level of savagery beneath that civlised exterior, and one that it would be wise to tread carefully around.

"I was happy to travel with you when I didn't know you were being hunted by the Thalmor," she replied to his first question. "But I suppose you make some fair points. I consent to travelling with you, for now, but if you end up putting us at risk then we part ways. Understood?"

Kogobal


Kogobal was astonished at how easy Vaultren set aside the accusations. He didn't even try to hide who he were or what he'd done. And his rebuttal was sound, from a purely logical standpoint. When Alvara agreed to his proposition, the Altmer surrendered to the inevitable.

"I admit that your arguments hold merit. Perhaps more than mere numbers, my presence will keep the Thalmor's swift and shallow glance away. After all, why would a man of the Penitus Oculatus..." He paused as the unfamiliar name rolled off his tongue.
"Travel with an Altmer? It wouldn't be the first time I've been called Thalmor by the Cyrodillians. Besides, we're all taking the same path so avoidance would be difficult. So I shall honour the original agreement, sir Vaultren." He then continued with a bow and gestured towards Celdryn.

"As for sir Minan'Kherus, if he wishes to join us, I am certain he will be no impediment." After all, what man could attain so many scars without any fatal or debilitating injury? Kogobal reckoned that the bard was a man with luck at his side, or more skill than his light demeanour let on.


Figuring that they'd stood there for too long, he began to follow the road but did not step on it. If the Chorrols decided to send a horsebound patrol, looking for an Altmer and a Dunmer, he'd rather be out of sight.

The Breton felt a thousand aetherial hands slowly take hold of every fiber of his being. Gone was the dirty alley of which they had the shadows' sanctuary, and Celdryn found himself in a realm of abstract mists and colors where all of it whirled to an alien wind. No ground to stand upon. No direction whatsoever. The eldritch wind threatened to tear apart the whole being of Celdryn, but the firm grasp he had on Kogobal ensured that it would not be so. Althought there were no Kogobal, nor Alvara, to be seen in this strange plane. Only their hold and the thundering chant of what Celdryn thought be Kogobal's. The ending of the chant heralded an explosion of senses, and Celdryn's eyes were blinded by the sudden surge of Nirn's local fauna; the scent of the wind-swept grass, the musk of soil, the fruity aroma of Chorrol's forest, and the pure sunlight of Magnus. Celdryn released his hold of Kogobal and staggered, suddenly unaccustomed to his native surroundings.

He coughed out a wad, and looked at the High Elf. He smiled.

"One hell of a ride, that. Could do with a little editing, though. Feels as if though I went through several hells of acrobatics before falling from the sky. Or maybe I'm just not agreeable with magic, and she with me. Kinda like a partnership I had with some individual past; but somehow it worked, like right now." It seemed to Celdryn that his body still had a form of realm-lag, as from the bottom of his stomach, a rebellion stirred. He, trusting experience, did not choose to resist it and very quickly distanced himself from the two elves and emptied his system with his breakfast. Only that he remembered that he didn't had bre3akfast, and what he gorged out was liquor of yesternight. Another thing he remembered that the potion he drank was for headaches only, and that his body still ran its natural course. And so he kicked himself mentally while he purged himself of the night's rush. He finished, and from his pack he procured several mints herbs chew on. Say what you will about Celdryn; he still valued hygiene. Specifically, he valued his roguish looks. It wouldn't do to charm a trader if your breath smells like a Nord's on a very bad day.

And so he made his way back to the elves, intent on resuming their journey, when someone made an appearance.

Vaultren.

He kept silent during the exchange and simply hovered around them, eyes narrowed at the Imperial, hands twitching, making up his mind whether to attack or simply forgive and forget. When the Imperial focused a remark on the 'bard', the Breton scoffed (and noted that his breath smelled nice).

"Entertainer, you say? I really think that all of us here know that I'm not your usual airhead waxing poetry about flowers and maidens with bosoms the size of melons. Just as you not being an ordinary Imperial citizen, hmm?" Here his tone dropped. "I should've known in the Inn. I could smell something fishy on you the moment I laid my eyes on you. Even now, I could sniff it. You might be right in saying that the Thalmor are unlikely to find a wanted man in a party of four; but who's to say that party of four becomes a party of one? You might be formerly a Penitus Oculatus agent, but a murderer is still a murderer. The thrill of extinguishing life is sculped in his senses and that is something he can never get rid of, no matter how collected he seems to be. The greatest fiend is the brightest angel, after all."

He drew hsi twin blades, the green Wicked and Delight, and the audible sharpness of them made Celdryn smile. The rush he felt earlier at the Inn was denied to him. He could get it back from this Imperial and solve some trust-issues. He gave a sinister grin.

"Prove it to me that you conquered yourself, Imperial. Let us see if you can keep yourself when the enemy is broken down before you, bloodied and beaten. I will consent if you pass this test in my eyes. Until then, think of me as the hungry wolf and you the frail, little lamb!"

He charged.

The former Oculatus agent looked at Alvara with a gentle smile, before bowing his head. "Understood. It is not my intent to harm friends, Alvara, only those that are evil enough to try to make an attempt on my life."

Kogobal spoke, reluctantly but surely, agreeing to travel alongside Vaultren with the other group. Gracefully bowing, Vaultren smiled without showing anything. it was more of a grin as he spread his arm wide while his stomach was folden. "And in honoring the agreement, you honor me, Sir Kogobal."

It was over, it seemed at first. The rocky relationship between them at least had been rectified to a minimal extent. Vaultren knew they looked upon him with scorn and caution for the reason that he killed a woman. But do they not understand that this was an act of self-defense? Vaultren recalled the moment where he ehard her pull a blade from her concealed sheathe, and leaping out to attack him. He had no choice but to viciously fight back. And that he did, but he would not be stomped upon my moralists and their pacifistic ideals.

Vaultren followed Kogobal down the street, his hand slowly moving away from his sabre. He tried to make conversation, to further explain the reason why the woman named Sasfiel was slain by his hand. Yet, someone halted him. It was the Breton bard, Celdryn. The Imperial turned around to listen to the enraged rogue, who berated him with titles such as "murderer" and "fiend". It was plain obvious that among the others, Celdryn did not trust Vaultren, and was intent on using force against him!

The Imperial instinctevely reached for saber the moment the Breton brandished his twin blades. Of course, Vaultren was not taken aback and was not intimidated. If there was any skill he possessed, it was the skill in the art of the sword. Granted, Celdryn had two blades, yet Vaultren held knowledge to defend himself against a swordsman. Was it not enough to use a single blade? THe Imperial could not believe his ears when Celdryn made it clear he was testing him. Even going as to compare himself to a wolf, and Vaultren, to prey.

Unwilling to argue, Vaultren drew his sabre, forming a rapid X in the air in a flourish. Finesse. Gallantry. Efficiency, Vaultren pondered on the words. The cold handle calmed him. It was solid. Familiar. "I am no murderer, but I shall defend myself if I have to."

And so Celdryn attacked with the fury of a madman and the adrenaline of a skooma-drinker. Vaultren responded with the calm, collected motion of a dove, but within him was the concealed hate and the anger that influenced his would-be attacks and counter-attacks. He considered using a flame spell or a more grittier power, but he struck against it. Celdryn was not to be killed. As Celdryn accelerated forth, Vaultren arced his blade up, maneuvering behind it as he stepped into the defensive. He was not sure how skilled the Breton was, but he would sure find out.

With a flick of the wrist, Vaultren feined his defensive attack by piercing his sharp blade forward toward Celdryn, aiming straight at his shoulder in a quick manner.

The Imperial had a saber. A damned saber. He even let out a show of skills when he cut a quick X in the air, before falling back in a defensive stance. By this time, Celdryn has slipped into the black area of his mind where nothing mattered except for the thrill of flirting with death. Eyes awide and the emeralds burning in a green fire, from his throat a husky approval of the current situation.. Celdryn howled and laughed like a madman as he charged towards the Imperial who had the indomitable poise of a stallion, prepared to meet the bullrush of a mad tiger. What use has the steel saber against the orc-touched blade of Delight who has shed blood in gallons, let alone its serpentine-cousin, Delight, who has erased lives with shadows' aid? These two are deadly enough in the hands of Celdryn, who fights with the grace of Sheogorath, and today shall see that battle-rust he accumulated as a bard shall peel from his system.

Within twenty feet of his opponent, Celdryn ended his dash in a jump, the Twins ready to give a lethal slash, but the Imperial was suprsingly quick and thrust his saber forward. The momentum of the rush and Celdryn's brief frozen disbelief in something so fast gave clearance to the Imperial's move; a long, deep slash engraved itself on the Breton's right thigh, and from a promising start of a fight-ending move ended in a crash-landing. Fortunately, the years of scaling walls and falling from them indrilled something in Celdryn; in a second after he received the slash, he twisted his body to a clockwise sommersault in mid-air, (managing to sneak a retort with a slash to the Imperial's back also in mid-air) and landed heavily in his good leg, behind the Imperial. He wasted no time on charging him, but found to his dismay that the wounded thigh was slightly slow. The bleed was quite heavy for a glancing slice.

Celdryn hissed. And resumed his charge, this time engaging the Imperial in an intense ground duel.

There were many times where Vaultren admitted he was surprised by his adversary, this was one of those times. He was not expecting the aggressive bard to summersault over him, managing to cut his back in the process. While the wound was not as significant as the one he inflicted on the Breton bard, it still meant he allowed his position open. The sharp orcish blade had done minimal damage, but a well-placed blow from the opponent could be quick and efficient, for Celdryn was eager to destroy him. And even a brute with no skill or training could best an opponent who had worried too much about ettiquette in the midst of a physical confrontation.

The mad rogue laughed and howled with the insane drivel of a crazed pshycho. His true colors, through this duel, was being shown. Vaultren wondered briefly what Kogobal and Alvara were thinking. All this time they did not trust him, confiding in a man who was eager to unsheathe his blade and to spill blood.

Vaultren knew well had to deal with acrobatics. He had fought against khajiiti martial artists, fancy necromancers and even relatives in a friendly contest, but he saved his dwindling strength. He cherished the stamina he held. He would not fatigue himself by leaping off of the ground in summersaults or side flips, such things at that particular moment were uncalled for.

He had time to turn around and prepare himself for the next wave. Celdryn's braying were not in his favor, as they notified Vaultren the precise moment in which he would attack. The fine saber flourished in his hand, the metal ingrained with folded silver and an intricate handle made of strong filigree.

The Imperial glimpsed blood tainting the Breton's hips, and he maintained a stoic expression as Minan'Kherus attacked him. A seething feeling washed over Vaultren, but his voice was fair and even, absent the bloodlust of a madman. "Hypocrite! It is you who seeks the thrill of taking a life."

Vaultren saw the incoming Breton, green fire in his eyes. Using his basic movements, he parried the incoming blow with his saber, only to maneuver his wrist simotaneously as his body, twirling around to slash toward the back Breton's leg to temporarily maim him . His voice rising with concern. He attempted to stop the battle. "Do not make me destroy you, Breton. Sheathe your blade!"

Celdryn laughed when the blow was parried; he laughed also when the Imperial went for the basic hamsting movement. The crippling slice was no better than the earlier one he sustained on his knee, deep and blood-letting, but the Breton was on a rush. No, that didn't quite hit the nail on the head. He was absolutely flying high. The hold of adrenaline was beginning to sink its blessed fangs on his mind. And to show how thoroughly nothing mattered for him except for the brushes of death, Celdryn used his wounded right leg to kick the Imperial on the jaw, and used his face as leverage for another spinning kick, this time from his left leg, aimed at his temple. Once again, however, it was a nanosecond slow for he was wounded, but Celdryn didn't care. He jumped away before the reach of Vaultren's saber could whip out a revenge.

"And so said the lamb to the hungry, hungry, wolf. 'Don't make me destroy you!'" The Breton let out a series of sharp, barking laughter. He drew from the shadows of his cloak six, small daggers, all of which were poisoned. With speed, he threw them, and with them, he charged straight at the Imperial. However, this time he would no longer retreat. No longer do any flashy moves. No longer be a sideshow for the two elves.

This time, he would go out in all-out grab for Vaultren's defeat, and he would have the notch on his blade be given another one. Such was the delight from which he took from that thought that Celdryn laughed like mad hyena all the way.

Alvara had expected questions and accusations from the other two when Vaultren had appeared, just as she had had questions. What she had not expected was for Celdryn to simply step forward, draw the his twin daggers and attack Vaultren.

The combat between the two was vicious and swift, Celdryn lunging towards Vaultren to stab at him before darting out of the reach of the Imperial's more disciplined counters with his sabre. The Breton was almost manic in his approacht to combat, hurling out taunts, cackles and boasts along with slashes and stabs from his dagger.

Alvara knew that if she didn't step in soon, one of them would almost certainly end up dead. She got an opportunity to step is as Celdryn drew back from the combat and hurled a set of throwing knives towards Vaultren; she didn't see where they hit, but as he charged forwards, cackling madly, she stepped forwards and threw out a sleep spell. It wouldn't be enough to put him under, not in this agitated state, but hopefully it would be enough to disorient him and to cool his irrational madness.

The flaw in Vaultren's fighting style was not lack of skill or discipline, but lack of malice. He held back from using force for the sole reason to keep Celdryn alive. Alvara and Kogobal did not trust him, and what would happen if he mercilessly slew the Breton? The fight was drawing on with Vaultren, and he was reserving his strength lest he be worn out by the current time. The Breton had made an attempt to kick the Imperial in the face, but failed when Vaultren knocked his head back before he was hit.

Before Vaultren could react, Celdryn opened his cloak and threw sharp daggers at him. It was this moment where fury grew within the Imperial, nearly festering. He could use his hand to halt the Breton, to suspend him and draw the life from his very body, but he held back. He could of maneuvered his blade and decapitated him, but he struck against it. Vaultren swung his sword, parrying the flying blades. Three missed him by a few inches, one made its mark by striking against his shoulder blade. The sharp tip was undoubtedly coated in poison, yet for Vaultren's resistance from his previous years, it meant nothing. Annoyed and angry, Vaultren would take on the offensive to deliver the killing blow. He ignored the mad ramblings of the psychotic creature and stood there, awaiting the charging man. The dagger still stuck in his body.

Alvara stepped in, without warning, casting a spell of sorts towards Celdryn. Vaultren took advantage of this and interefered. He did not have time to see if the spell had fell upon him or not, but he acted upon it. Two feet from the accelerating Breton, Vaultren twisted, performing a powerful leg-sweep. If he were armored, this would of been much more difficult. The Imperial was going to put an end to this fight. Now.

Kogobal


Like before at the inn, surprise made his body and mind sluggish. It was madness! Right when they'd seemingly averted conflict with the dangerous Vaultren, Celdryn recklessly threw himself into battle. And to what end? To avenge a minor insult?

Kogobal's first realization was that Vaultren may not be the only mentally unstable person in his presence. Then he set forth to think of how to stop the fight. He stepped forward to put his staff between the two but drew back again, unwilling to risk harm to his most valuable tool.

"Then what? Spells? I know how to improve a man's abilities, but not how to stop them. I know how to summon the Atronach, but that would surely escalate this nonsense, not stop it...I need to keep them apart, yes."

"Cease this violence at once! For virtue's sake, do you want to get the Chorrol guards involved?! They've got watchmen on the walls, you know!" He shouted at the two madmen. When that didn't help and Alvara moved to intervene, he decided to cast his spell. He took hold of the air between the men, squeezing it together into an invisible barrier. It was a hard task, one that required both time and a delicate touch. Celdryn and Vaultren twisted and spun, throwing off his aim, forcing him to begin anew.
"Stand still, you N'Wah!"


OOC: So yeah, I apparantly got stuck with this big brawl and Kogobal just standing there like a statue. To fix that, I made him slow. Meh, I can work with that as a character-trait.

Things happened too fast for even Celdryn's adrenaline induced mind to comprehend. Just as he was about to lunge at Vaultren, Alvara stepped forth and hurled a spell at him. Instantly, Celdryn felt weary and bone-tired. Veins that pumped with rage now coursed through his body in a serene tide. With horror, he realized that the spell was some kind of calm magick, and cursed the woman. And then then there was Vaultren and cursed himself when the legs underneath him were kicked with power. He landed heavily on the ground, and the air from his lings, his second wind, rushed out of him and he was left there, dazed and suddenly sleepy. He looked at the Imperial, challenging him to strike the last blow. Things went downhill when suddenly, Celdryn felt an eldritch entity pull him towards the Imperial. He struggled, and the source of the strange magic revealed itself to be Kogobal's, if his thundering voice for them to stay still were any indication.

Celdryn struggled, and the adrenaline began to course through, but to his disappointment, it suddenly died, like a flickering flame to a whisper of wind. He spat out a curse and stood still, unresisting. Alvara was certainly worthy of being healer, that much was true.

"Wel it seems that our fun has ended, eh," he said to the Imperial, who he now smiled at. "Remind me to remind you to resume this once we get in Skyrim, yes? I don't like things being left half-complete."

He then looked deep into the eyes of the Imperial. The green-piercing stare delved deep and searched for any signs that Celdryn sought for. There was cold rage there, but it is to be understood. No. What Celdryn sought, and the reason why he engaged the Imperial in a fight, was the brutal beast that led Sasfiel the wench to her unearthly demise. Make no mistake, Celdryn believed Vaultren to be a man of honor, but the sight that greeted Celdryn earlier in the morning revealed unto him a side of darkness. A side of evil that could explode at any moment.

The darkest fiend takes the form the brightest angel. To misguid the unseeing into a false light.

Celdryn was not among those unseeing ones, and his deep stare delved for any signs of that evil, and underneath his cowl, a slow frown made its way on his face. No darkness in those Imperial eyes. No evil. As if... vanished. Like it never existed in the first place. There were devilish things at work here, but for the time being, Celdryn decided that the search for that darkness would come at a later date.

He then gazed at the two elves.

A slow chuckle rippled into a peal of laughter. Not unlike the laugh of one who has played a trick on them; the sound of his laughter was mischievous, but not malicious. He continued to laugh until his sides hurt and tears formed on his eyes.

Vaultren listened to Kogobal, but only partially. He was far more concentrated on Celdryn, the evil madman who tried to kill him for defending himself against an assassin. The Imperial leapt to his feet at the sign of a defeated opponent, thanks to Alvava and Kogobal, he had the advantage. He was quite certain he would of continued the fight without their aid in any manner. He clenched his sword tightly as he stomped over to the man.

The Breton's green eyes stared back at Vaultren's, analyzing it, studying it intently. What is he searching for?

"You should be grateful it is not your pathetic life that has ended," seethed Vaultren, pointing his sharp blood-stained blade at the bard's throat. "Your death would only faciliate our travel and ensure our safety."

The Imperial considered striking him down that moment. One flick of the blade, or the thrusting of it would end his problem. Yet, he knew it would also create new ones. Unlike Sasfiel, this man was now unarmed and defeated. There was no advantage in slaying him, nothing to gain by removing him from existance. And Vaultren never killed for petty satisfaction of a sadistic madman. With hesitation, Vaultren sheathed his blade and exhaled as tears were seen in the eyes of the defeated.

He turned to Kogobal and Alvara, a hostile look upon his face. Earlier, he had approached them sans scorn or anger, now the negative expressions but contorted his visage into a monstrous countance of rage and hate.

"You both are fools, for not detecting a true madman when he stands not three feet from you! What I have done was in defense of my well-being," he turned angrily to Celdryn, pointing an accusing finger. "Yet that man tried to avenge the death of an evil assassin who attempted to take my life because I was one of the few who held the courage of striking out against the tyranical Thalmor, when cowards like you drown in your ocean of illusions and meandering drivel! Judging men like me without thought to what truly is at stake and who truly is the enemy."

He walked off to the road slowly, rearranging his shirt and his gear, he tried to soften his insult. " I am surprised dregs like you two are even alive. You should be careful as you sleep tonight, for that creature, Celdryn, is more than capable of slitting your throat as you slumber." He stared angrily at the Breton. "And your only memories to him would be the songs he sings in the taverns of your innocent demise."

Bizarrely, Celdryn's reaction to both Alvara and Kogobal stepping in to the fight between him and Vaultren was not one of rage, surprise or, as Alvara thought he might do, to attack them. Instead he merely look over at the two mer and burst out laughing. Vaultren turned his attentions on them moments later; his rhetoric was harsh, chastising and angry. Considering what Celdryn had just done Alvara could, to an extent, understand why he might be upset, but there was a limit to what she would tolerate.

"Fools?" she asked. "Yes, Vaultren we are fools. We are fools for trusting somebody who, right until now, acted like a perfectly normal person. We are fools for being somewhat suspicious of somebody who savaged and mutilated a corpse and then claimed it was merely an act of self defence; in fact, that is in retrospect, a very foolish thing to do indeed. What idiots we were!"

She turned on Celdryn.

"And you...I can't even guess what in Oblivion is going through your skull right now, but by whatever gods are listening right now I don't think I want to!" she said. "You attack him out of nowhere and then laugh about it like some maniac!."

She shook her head.

"In my eyes you're both as bad as each other," she said. "And if there's any more trouble from either of you then I'm giving serious consideration to parting ways with you both."

"I'll dress that knife wound of yours, Vaultren," she said, glancing at the injury in the Imperial's shoulder. "And then we'll move on, if you're both quite done with killing each other."

Kogobal

His spell ended up drawing the two men together instead of keeping them apart. Absently he told himself to make a note of this later, along with his conjecture that it might have been the result of excessive pressure differentials. The majority of his attention however was still fixed on the madmen. And madmen they truly were. As sudden as the murderlust had claimed Celdryn, so sudden did laughter strike at him.

Kogobal's mouth fell open in a mixture of astonishment and revulsion. To think he'd actually thought the man to be goodnatured and sane. He might be the former, but definitely not the latter. As Vaultren turned on them next, thankfully with words instead of steel, he could do naught but shake his head. The Imperial had a point, a good one, if the hypocrisy of it was ignored, as Alvara pointed out. There was also a larger amount of politics in his words than he appreciated.
"I know Thalmor are your enemy, but that is completely irrelevant here." Kogobal grumbled under his breath, shaking his head again.

"Just for the record and so we don't have any more surprises. Any werebeings, vampires, liches, Daedra, ghosts, ashbeasts, robbers, moneyforgers and taxcollectors in present company, please raise your hand." He muttered to himself and then walked to the bard, though stopping at a respectful distance. The Altmer glanced at the man's injuries, then at Alvara who had offered to aid Vaultren. Her choice was simple to understand. Distrusted as he might be, Vaultren had not been the agressor in the fight. And since they hadn't seen it happen, he might actually be innocent in the savaging of the Altmeri lass. Though granted, the odds for that one were not ones he would bet money on.

"Unlike the fair lady, I am no healer. So I'll just ask you this, sir Minan'Kherus. Are you still able to travel?" He asked Celdryn and then added:"If yes, please keep in front of us all. If no, ask lady Alvara. And ask nicely."
His eyes wandered to the Vaultren's and Celdryn's weapons and he wondered if Alvara and he shouldn't demand to take them into custody for now. But he kept silent, unwilling to provoke the two killers. It was unpleasant to be sure. He was unable to trust them with their arms, but als unable to trust their response when he took them away.

The Imperial ran his index finger along the cut on his shoulder, picking up the red stain of crimson blood. He listened to Alvara as he inspected the hilt of his blade. Half of his attention was to her while the other half was to his blade. He did not trust Celdryn, and the Breton's comment about continuing the fight at a later time only increased his caution. But he promised himself silently that next time, he would surely not hold back.

"The woman was dead long before her body was put into such a condition," he shot at Alvara. "I was a message left, rather than a sadistic art. I can spend eternity explaining to you how innocent people of ages young and old are kept under the inquisitorial torture rooms of the Dominion with no food and no water. How their bodies were ravaged and mutilated as they were awake. Given potions of stamina to prolong their awareness, lest they pass out into a coma and into death before 'information' was ripped from them."

Kogobal, unsurprisingly, took her side. Explaining that the Thalmor being his enemy was irrelevant. Vaultren folded his arms at his chest now, leaning against a tree, awaiting until everyone was truly prepared to leave. When will it be relevant? When the Thalmor put you behind bars and press flaming iron against your genitals?Vaultren restrained himself from frowning at the man's mention of all sorts of nightmarish creatures and men of ill reputation. Last thing he needed was a paranoid Elf worrying about supernatural monsters.

He did not want to bicker any further. He made his point, and that was final. Vaultren looked at Alvara and shook his head. "I do not require your assistance, woman. I can handle myself, if you do not mind."

In the corner of his eyes, he saw the Altmer analyzing his and Minan'Kherus' weapons. It was confirmed that this Mer was somewhat paranoid, and with good reason. It eased Vaultren to know that they both distrusted Celdryn as well, for the man most certainly proved his insanity. He considered giving the man his blade to cement his trust in him, but he struck against it. It would be unwise to give away his weapon while in the company of a psychotic bard.

Vaultren awaited no further as he left the shade of the tree to walk the path of the road leading to the north.

Celdryn kept on laughing while the three said their piece. He wiped the tears on his eyes, and looked at Alvara. There it was. The sole reason why he lunged at the Imperial in the first place. To butcher an elf that way... Wasn't that a little far? Granted, the breton wasn't a sadistic killer that played with dead bodies so he had no experience in such things, but he thought a simple message with the blood of the fallen should be enough.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I guess you could call it as an advanced reasuurance of sorts. Vaultren is right in one thing though; I'm a maniac and if I wanted you bunch dead, I'll slit your throats in the night, And no, I won't rip out your eyeballs, break the bones on your bodies, or bleed your cadavers dry. I seek fulfillment on the living, and the dead does not fight back. I wouldn't waste any time on your broken clays; but if I was a crazy cannibal, I'd probably eat you."

He then burst out laughing, this time much more louder in volume. When Kogobal mentioned any supernatural beings in present, he simply smirked and toned down his laughter to a chuckle. He'd been a tax collector once. Bad idea of occupation, that was. He then put a finger on his wounds and tested the damage; naught but a little gash, nothing he couldn't handle. The bleeding was heavy however, and Celdryn briefly thought that artery may have been cut.

"I suppose I could use a bandage. Any predators near might smell the sweet crimson happiness of life and decide that I would make a fine meal. Bad idea though; I'm rotten to the core and they may have some intense flatulence in the near future! Esteemed lady of Morrowind, might you be kind enough to heal an insane man?"

He then looked at Vaultren, and all manner of amusement left his face.

"Rant about the Thalmor and how evil they are; don't forget that if you stare deep in the heart of evil, you yourself may become tainted. Or perhaps you are already touched by their shadows? Who knows. Who cares."

He turned away from the Imperial and headed towards the Dunmeri.

Alvara merely gave a half-hearted shrug at Vaultren's self-righteous and judgemental defence of his actions, deciding that he was probably as much in the realm of Sheogorath as Celdryn was; the man was clearly obbsessed with the Thalmor.

Of course, it really didn't help that Celdryn kept up that incessant cackling of his, and the arguments he used to defend himself were a disjointed and bizarre as they came. It was when he asked for healing that Alvara could not help but feel a little bemused. 'Esteemed lady of Morrowind' indeed.

"I suppose I wouldn't be much of a healer if I didn't help those in need of healing," she said, reaching for the pouch in her patch where she kept rolls of linen and pulling one free in order to bandage the wound on Celdryn's leg, along with a small surgical knife in case she needed to remove any cloth that she . "Sit down and raise your leg, let me take a look at it."

The fabric around the cut was was sticky from Celdryn's blood, clinging to the gash, and she cut it away before the bard could raise any kind of protest. The injury itself was neatly made by Vaultren sabre, clean, but deeper than it might look, and by the looks of things, had nicked an artery. Celdryn was lucky; had the blade bit any deeper, he would have bled to death by this point.

She took a breath, calling upon the modest wellspring of magical energies that she had at her command and channeling it into Celdryn's wound. The abused tissue at by the channel for blood began to knit back together as the restorative energy flowed into it, and after a few moments of effort she nodded in satisfaction. The wound itself was still open, but the bleeding was now staunched, and she smeared a poultice of compressed herbs onto it before wrapping it in place with the bandage.

"Right, that's stopped the bleeding, and it's best if it heals under its own steam," she said. "You should be able to walk just fine, but go easy on your leg unless you want this to keep causingyou prolbems."

Kogobal

He kept his eyes on the bard while Alvara healed him. Just in case he tried to strangle or stab her. Celdryn didn't, but he did notice that Alvara chose not to heal him fully. Somewhat relieved, Kogobal averted his eyes.

"So non-crippling or immediately life-threatening injuries are best healed by the body? I wasn't aware of that. Then again, I try not to get injured in the first place. And well, keeping the crazy guy slowed down might not be such a bad idea." He thought to himself and slowly began to walk after Vaultren. As for the Imperial, he wasn't sure what to think of him. Yes, the man was capable of truly monstrous acts but on the other hand, he had not shown to release his constraints unless provoked. The Altmeri girl, unless the letter was planted by Vaultren himself which seemed preposterous, had forced their confrontation. Likewise Celdryn had, after Vaultren had said bluntly that he was acting in self-defence.

Kogobal glanced at his staff, seeking the clarity of mind that eluded him.
"I guess the man is no problem as long as I'm not too kind to the Thalmor. But on the other hand, he's probably just as bad if that 'message' is any indication. Ah well, at least it doesn't rain."

The Altmer looked over his shoulder at Alvara and Celdryn.
"Come on then. Unless we plan on camping in the woods, we'd better make the most of the day."

Vaultren, Outside of Chorrol.

Vautren did not know what to say on Celdryn's response. But he did know how to act. He frowned for he found it annoying. The bard had lost his mind. His rantings about losing blood and being attacked by predators made Vaultren uneasy somehow, as was the Breton's speech. He did not deny that he suffered from mania nor did he hide the fact that he could slit the throats of the others. It was more than enough proof that this man would have to fall one day or another. But who would deliver the killing blow? Vaultren was not sure. Alvara struck him as the typical women he had come across countless times before. A healer, not a fighter. Kogobal, while displaying skills with the arcane, did not seem one to favor conflict.

If it were any regular person with the confused mindset on philosophy, they would allow Celdryn's words about evil to sink in. But Vaultren cast them aside as irrelevant. Petty concepts of good and evil are established by the moral codes of people, who falsely dictates what is right and what is wrong in this natural world. Fate and destiny holds no regards. He knew that. Suddenly he felt himselt traveling back in time when he was in the Legion in his earlier years.

He kept silent as Alvara tended to Celdryn's wounds, not bothering to heal him completely. The Imperial held his breath and forced himself not to breath in the air. The smell of blood and even the sight of it made him squeamish.

Kogobal looked over his shoulders to speak to the Man and the Mer. His plan was to walk before nightfall, and not make camp. He agreed.

"Camping at night can be dangerous. We would all fare better in a civilized place. Celdryn's wounds would better heal at a tavern or at a healer's chapel rather than the wilderness where animals can devour him. Besides, it would be better to avoid any confrontation with highwayment or bandits."

Looking to his wound, Vaultren noticed it was bleeding more profoundly than before. His lip curled in annoyance as his brows furrowed deeply. He would have to heal himself later when he could.

Darkness was encroaching on the northern hemisphere, though signs of celestial starlight above the beleaguered territory was obvious. Well under the sky, a congration of torchbugs gathered in a midair dance, though slowly scattering off as the Imperial, Vaultren, walked past them. The group was well past the Orange Road, well past Bruma, and now standing at the Jerall Mountains. There were trees around them, but all manner of green was dressed and replaced by nature's white cloth. Lining the naked branches and the stones were crystalline snow, their exterior thick with icicles. The sounds were expected as well, the crunching noises of boots and shoes stepping over the snow was audible.

Vaultren began stomping his boot on the solid ice to better accomodate his feet. His skin was slightly pale and blue from the cold. In these past days, he was able to make purchase for himself and the others, buying supplies from Khajiiti caravans that were en route to Skyrim. Venison, drinks and other items of worth was provided.

"The land of the Nords. We are here." Whether by nature or choosing, Vaultren's words were slow, sibilantly.

He glanced at the group and exhaled, his cold breath materializing in front of him. The cold was even greater during the night, and unfortunately for everyone in the group, there were no Nords at all. A Dunmer, a Breton, a High Elf and an Imperial who were known to be supceptible to cold. For him, he carried a blackish grey robe and hood he used to cover his pants and shirt. On his shoulder was a bag filled with blankets and extra shirts. He wasn't sure if the group had purchased any, for he was eager to keep his pace the moment he exited the Khajiiti merchant camp.

On the edge of the hillside above a most frigid peak, he could spot a settlement miles away from where he stood, though a blizzard threatened to shroud them, especially in this time of the year. "If we press on, we can reach Falkreath Hold by morning and seek rest. But ultimately, the decision lies with all of you. We could make camp and remain beneath the higher ground, but I fear we will be sieged by a snow-storm."

He glanced at Kogobal, Alvara and Celdryn, more cautious and worry in his face rather than any malice or rage. He rubbed his hands together slightly. Perhaps I should of purchased gloves, he remembered. He flexed the rim of his robe's sleeve to cover his frigid hands.

Those past days he made an attempt to reconcile with them, strenghten his relationship. He understood there would be incoming headaches during the strenuous trip with the group. It was not something he desired, not at all; he would mend their broken trust soon enough, by rectyfing the situation. Celdryn's attack was a setback, and an issue in which he did not foresee. As a madman and a misguised lunatic as Minan'Kherus was, Vaultren understood that it would do him no good to form a grudge against the man. In any case, first thing was first; their current situation.

"What shall it be?"

By experience, Celdryn knew that Alvara had pulled her real strength in the healing of his wound; he knew that the usual rituals involved focusing on the wound itself, not on the body. Plus, he still felt stiff. But that couldn't be helped. Well-intentioned extremists are rarely kept on a long leash after all. He smiled his thanks and went ahead of the group. Their journey was a tranquil one; no bandits that they met, no predators near that stalked, and most importantly, no Thalmor. As they slowly woved their way to the cold North, Celdryn retreated to his mind and became unnaturally silent. Such signs point that he was thinking. And the object of his thoughts were that of the Companions in Skyrim. Astoundingly, however, he began to rethink his plans on joining them. For him, it was a confusing matter. Ages ago, he enjoyed his flirts with death. Now, to join an organization that promised lots more, it began to.... stale. Somehow, it did not hold the sweet nectar of adrenaline as it used to.

Strange.

He would have to find out this sudden feeling of... whatever it was.
--------

They reached Skyrim in the night. The breton, red-nosed and shivering, looked towards the blanket of stars up above. Millions and millions of holes made by aedra who fled Nirn or some such religious ravings. Celdryn does not have faith in any gods or demons; but the sight of those little starlamps lighting it up with the Twin Moons was certainly etherial in its beauty. He blew a wasp of his breath and watched as it mingled mid-air before disappearing in a whisper that joined the banshee-shriek of Skyrim's harsh winds. He rubbed his hands, and blew into them.

"Better to suffer now and press on and received comfort later than sleep and be buried in snow come morning. My legs are still fine and dandy, and perhaps I can still walk a mile or two."

He turned to the elves.

"What does the fairy folk say in this matter?"

The journey to Skyrim's borders had been a much tenser affair than Alvara had liked. Vaultren had been watching Celdryn, Celdryn had been watching Vaultren and Alvara and Kogobal had been watching them both. Fortunately for the Dark Elf, Kogobal had proven to have full control of his mental faculties, despite his somewhat outlandish appearance. They had had some respite with staying at inns, and earlier when they had met a Khajiiti trade caravan; there, Alvara had manage to exchange some coin for some of the more exotic ingredients she sometimes had need of, as well as swapping a few pieces of advice and anecdotes between her and the caravan's herbicier, an amicable old cat whose fur had lost much of its lustre and thickness with age, much to her discontent in this chill land.

Night was falling, and biting cold wind was beginning to blow. Alvara pulled her battered, weather-worn cloak tight in an attempt to ward off the chill, but even though it helped it failed to dissipate it entirely. Of course, it hardly helped that she was naturally more inclined towards living in the volcanic plains and steamy marshes of Morrowind; Dunmer were not made for the chill of Skyrim, and she wondered why such a large portion of her people had chosen to migrate to Windhelm when their homeland bordered much more hospitable lands. Then again, a refugee hardly had the luxury of being choosy.

Alvara glanced at the horizon as Vaultren what they might do next. While snow was quite far removed from volcanic ash, she remembered an old piece of advice her Ashlander mother had given her about surviving on the plains of Vvardenfel; 'When an ash storm blows in, only a fool tries to walk through it; a wise Mer finds shelter and bunkers down to wait it out.'

"We should go a little further," she said after a moment. "See how far ahead of the blizzard we can get, and if we can reach town in time then that's all well and good; if not, we should find a lee or a cave to shelter in and stay out of its way. If we try and just go through it while it's blowing, we'll probably just end getting lost and eaten by a sabre cat."

Kogobal


He hated the weather. It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with the cold, or flesh-rending gales. Elsweyr had both, though the former only occurred at night. Skyrim was cold all day long. The fur-lined cloak and scarf he'd bought kept the worst from his body, but he still felt it in his toes, his brow and fingers.

Now with the sun setting and the first stars shining above, he felt tired. Tired of walking and tired of watching. Fortunately, both Vaultren and Celdryn had been remarkably quiet these past few days and the Altmer slowly began to relax in their presence. But still he watched them. Even as the question of continuing or stopping was asked, he found it hard to bring his eyes on the mountains around them rather than the Breton and Imperial.

They were getting close to the tree-limit, he saw. Those that remained around them were short, hardy needle-stacked ones. They stood far apart, fighting to survive against the tides of moss and ice. Beyond the sparse forest rose the Jerall themselves, tall and foreboding. Kogobal shook his head. The weather in Skyrim could change without warning, so he was told. But that change was rarely an improvement.
"I'd say we find shelter. The mountains are treacherous and the wind will only get worse as we ascend. I'd rather not stumble around over slick stone and loose gravel under moon and starlight. Not when we are already tired of a day's march."

As Vaultren, Celdryn looked to the Mer to ask their opinion on the matter. Alvara expressed her desire to continue walking and depending on the condition of the weather, press on to a town or locate a safe haven lest they fall prey to ravenous predators.

He looked at Kogobal and noticed the man's obvious discomfort in the cold. High Elves were not bred for snow and ice, they were more accustomed to their tropical climate in the Summerset Isles. Kogobal wanted to find a secure abode to rest in, not directly confronting against Alvara's will to possibly find a place to sleep. Vaulren thought for a second, his hood shuffling in the blowing wind as was his sleeves. Even so, he was not as warm as he should of been. He realized they needed to find shelter soon; A place to rest his head and to eat.

He began to reflect on his earlier travels and patrols he had performed over the years against the Nordic barbarian raiders which attempted to rob khajiiti caravans for material goods. He knew the bandits themselves were slain by the Imperial Legion who guarded the roads, yet their hideout remained intact to this day. True, the cavern was looted and the stolen treasures recovered. But the there were left over barrels and crates that could serve to be made into a campfire. All he needed to use was a fireball to create heat to last through the night.

Vaultren smiled, nodded and exhaled to the three other travelers. He pointed his icy index finger toward the area north-west of the Jerall Mountains. "During my time in the Legion, we patrolled these areas to answer to a distress warning from the khajiiti merchants. There is a cavern about a mile and a half from here, left behind by Nordic raiders who were responsible for their thievery."

He wiped snowflakes that gathered on his face, blinking twice. "If we can press forth now, we should avoid any complications with the weather. All we need to do is remain as a single unit, lest we be picked off one by one."

The Imperial man treaded on the snow, making various crunching sounds as the snow failed beneath his boot. As he walked, he spoke to his companions regarding his last statement. He was not sure if they listened to him or if they never even cared, but he saw fit to warn them anyways. "There is much more to be concerned about than just loose gravel or famished felines. We also have to be careful for those Daedra worshipers and necromancers who seek to kidnap the unsuspecting for their vile experimentations."

"We would be blessed if we even found this cavern abandoned and unoccupied."

Kogobal



It was Vaultren who cut the proverbial knot when he told them he knew of a nearby cavern. For a moment Kogobal was surprised, then he remembered that the Imperial had mentioned he'd had contacts in Skyrim. There was a very good possibility that those contacts were cultivated during his tour in the legion.
"I just hope his friends aren't as outspoken as he is. I'm not sure if my nerves could handle it." He thought and cringed when a wet snowflake hit his nose.

"That sounds good. Lead the way, sir." He said to Vaultren as he followed the man's footsteps. What did not sound good however, was the expectation that his cavern had been reinhabited. If there were any occupants, he hoped they were travelers such as themselves seeking shelter, but he knew that they couldn't rely on optimism and travel guides did warn against using caves. If they didn't hold dangerous wildlife, they held dangerous men. He found himself agreeing with Vaultren's warning to stay on guard.

Kogobal did not agree with his assessment of the occupants being Daedra worshippers or necromancers. Those in his personal experience, tried to get as far from civilization as possible. But bandits were another thing. The path they'd been following was one of the major trade arteries. While their group had been able to take a slight shortcut due to not having any wagons, they were still close to the main route.

"I will be honest with you all. I am not a mer experienced in battle. I know a few theoretical approaches, but mostly I just fled the area when in trouble. But more importantly than that, what do you remember of this cavern? If we do run into a conflict, it would be best to know the lay of the land before walking into it." He declared, already going over those theories as they walked.

"The frost atronach would be our surest bet, I suppose. I'd have to find a place to hide myself first, but it can be done. However, the local temperature is rather low. That Daedra would be right in its element and quite wilful. Can I even suppress its spirit here?" He shuddered involuntarily, both from the cold and his thoughts. An out of control summon was every summoners worst dream. While an apprentice's scamp was easily subdued, an Atronach was something else. An enraged mass of living ice, striking at everything that moved and more than a few things that didn't. It wasn't a risk he'd like to take.

Vaultren.

Kogobal had announced his desire for Vaultren to lead the way, and so he did. In the back of his mind he thought himself leader, then he remembered he was not in the Legion and he was not on tour with the Legion. Titus Mede II had excused his title of Tribune and placed him on watch. Most would certainly be flogged or imprisoned, but not him. Having influential allies was indeed beneficial. In any case, dealing with the Dunmer or the Breton could be dangerous and he would be wise to not enforce his own ideals upon them. The manner they looked at him told him enough that they distrusted him. Kogobal on the other hand showed genuine kindness, or at least respect. He had no personal qualms with any of them, for they offered him no true harm. Save for Celdryn who was the only one who attacked thus far.

His feet kept sinking beneath the snow as he marched on toward the cave. He used the trees and the landscape to recall the location of this cavern. He breathed deeply as he continued on with the group. True, the circumstances were not favorable and were less than desirable. But even amidst this all, Vaultren rejoiced in his misfortunes. He might of been a fugitive of the Thalmor, as of that week. He might of been injured in a fight with a maniacal Breton and he might of been drowned and crushed by an avalanche or lost in a blizzard, but he kept his frigid emotions and only smirked. Life was too grand and too long to be complaining. He still held his life and still had his riches and influence somewhere else, and that was all that mattered.

As always, Kogobal seemed to offer his ideas. He explained he held little knowledge in combat and sought to use more tactical approaches to any violent situations. He also inquired on the information of the cave they were now making their way to.

Vaultren pulled back the hood to reveal his cropped black hair which was dotted rapidly by the falling snow. He scoffed as he remembered about his time against the Bosmer bandits who made the cavern their home one time after the conflict with the Nordic raiders. "You need not worry about being inexperienced, most of the bandits of these areas are weary by the cold, unless they are Nordic of nature. My men and I were ambushed here once two years ago by Bosmeri archers after the conflict with the Nords. Poor creatures had as much cunning as a school of sardines. Those cowardly little shïts, they never even bothered to leave their cave!"

He wasn't sure if the others had laughed, but he found it comical. The tree-hugging savages attempting to use their base animals and archery to bring down the Legion soldiers. It was all amusing. He looked at Kogobal with a weary stare and began to explain. "The cave itself has three corridors that lead into the side of the mountain. The third corridor to the left, as I recall...leads to the exterior exit if taken upon. There is plenty of room to set up a small camp and the left over supplies may be used as firewood in the south halls.”

He paused to reconsider his path. He scratched his hair and erected a haughty breath. "Provided it has not been looted after all these years."

The tribune continued as he recalled the path to this place. "It would be best if we encountered others who were not willing to sink their blades into our flesh. Chances are, the cave might yet be uninhabited, but I've been wrong before."

They were walking over the Jerall Mountains now, heading deep toward it. There was evidence of a small battle that had taken place in the area. Fallen broken weapons and shields littered the snow. Burnt wagons and damaged crates could be seen a few kilometers away. It appeared nobody had even bothered to clean up the remains. In this weather condition, it was obvious why. Though this was a different battle altogether, and more of a raid rather than a skirmish. It appeared as if it had been some time since it occured, considering there were no bodies yet located. It was understandable; the Jerall Mountains was an insignificant spot: too few resources and too few people for the Empire to worry about. For all intents and purposes, this particular spot was forgotten by men and cleaned spotless by natural predators.

In the side of the mountain, there was a large opening that was surrounded by naked trees. The cave opening! Vaultren pointed over toward the direction. "There!"

He rushed over to the entrance of the dark abode, only to stand on the outside. "Best get inside before the storm. Sadly, it is not the most accommodating of places to rest. I would rather be resting in my villa, plowing my fields, collecting grapes from my vineyard and copulating with my beautiful servants."

Vaultren briefly winked to the Dunmeri woman, Alvara, before extending a gracious hand to admit the trio entrance. He fortunate to purchase a bottle of wine at the Khajiiti caravan. Not that swill that could be found in the local abysmal tavern. Though he would be cautious at that very moment, for he knew not what dwelled in the cave and he wasn't sure if the others even had torches to be able to see in the dark. He would have to hold onto his blade rather than his bottle of wine. At least for now.

Alvara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Vaultren's last comment as she entered the cave, shaking the dusting of snow that her shoulders had acquired from her cloak. The occasional comments that he had aimed in her direction had been somewhat tiring, and while she supposed he was attractive enough if one was into refined, older men, his insufferable self-righteousness, general lack of charm and the lingering memory of the way he had dealt with that Thalmor assassin meant that she was quite definitely not interested.

She pushed her thoughts to one side as she scanned the antechamber of the cave, and she was relieved to see it was empty, a few stalactites hanging down from the ceiling and the walls glistening with slight damp. The air within was cool, but warmer than outside, separated as it was by the threshold of stone and frosted moss that separated the innards of the mountain from the outside.

"I'll go check the southern passage you mentioned," she said to the others, raising her staff in one hand and summoning the energy needed for a fireball to the fingertips of the other. With luck, she would be able to find some of this firewood and kindling Vaultren mentioned, and all without running across bandits or a bear.

Kogobal

Kogobal wasn't exactly pleased with Vaultren's continued displays of confidence bordering on the fanatic. But he kept his thoughts for himself.
"We are also weary and unacustomed to this climate. That does not give us an advantage here." He realized.

As they followed the Imperial, the man called their attention to the remains of a raid in the distance. There were no bodies visible, but it didn't look quite as thoroughly looted as one would suspect. Perhaps the bandits had been interupted by the weather, a legion patrol, or were simply shorthanded to carry everything. The Altmer made notice of the spot for later. If the storm let up, they might be able to scavenge something useful from it.

Fortunately the cavern, or at least the entrance, was empty. Vaultren cracked a joke to ease the tension and winked at Alvara before stepping inside. The Dunmer however was not amused and resolutely made it clear that she would check one of the three passages, whether it was to ensure their solitude or to get away from the others. Kogobal thought of following but decided not to. She looked like she could handle herself and was smart enough to know when to run. Vaultren and Celdryn on the other hand. Well, he simply didn't thrust to leave those two alone with no company but each other.
"Be careful. I'll take the middle passage then." He said to her.

Once Alvara had disappeared among the stone spires, Kogobal looked at the Breton and the Imperial.
"Yes, I really don't feel good about leaving them now." He thought and sighed.
"I'm going to summon a Scamp and have it scout out the cave. Just thought I'd inform you first."


OOC: So I'm going to get dragged off to england for a week starting on Thursday. Please try to drag Kogobal along though I doubt much will happen in the meantime.

Vaultren.

Alvara had shrugged off his minor attempt at wooing her. It seemed like most Dunmer, she was a cold one with a tempered and reserved demeanour. He watched with a frigid stare as she voted to wander the cave, implying she would like to do so by herself in solitude. She used her staff to create fire as her form dissapeared into the darkness. If she was brave enough to explore the unknown alone, then by all means no one would stop her.

Vaultren felt a familiar ire grow and fester in his breast, but his outward appearance bespoke tranquility. He nodded silently at Kogobal as he studied the cavern around him. It did not change as much as he last saw it, but there were notable differences. He resisted looking at Celdryn and Kogobal as he had his back turned to them.


He doned his former self and sighed, composing himself as a nobleman instead of a soldier. He held out his hand and brought about a flame that flickered and lived in his palm. With Kogobal pulling a scamp from Oblivion into the material world, Vaultren saw no need to summon anything of his own.

As he vanished deep into the dark tunnels, he extinguished his flame and continued his path through the corridors. He looked back to see if anyone followed. Kogobal could be a threat , even if he did not admit to being one. Vaultren grew weary of him and the others. They potentially could be just as harmfully dangerous as Celdryn. He reflected on his words: "I heard some rather far fetched rumours. About a god or gods appearing in Skyrim. Normally I'd be sceptical about mere rumour, but when that Nord started talking about Elder Scrolls..."

Vaultren had a history with Elder Scrolls, though he never remembered reading one, he knew the White Gold Tower held many of them before it was sacked and looted. What does the Elder Scroll have to do with a god returning to the world? Vaultren had to wonder as he made a turn in one of the tight tunnels to his left. And what is this man's intentions? Surely that talk about witnessing an Aedric or Daedric being manifest into the world was one of many reasons. Perhaps his curiosity was born out of the interest of amassing great power? Vaultren would be careful around this man, for even a scholar could be traitorous and a madman. Likewise for a Dark Elf who fancies herself a healer and even the mad Breton.

Still pacing toward the cave, Vaultren picked up a few strange sounds coming from the end of the tunnel in the large chamber. His nose also managed to capture a peculiar scent. His eyes adjusted as his hand resisted on the hilt of his sheathed word. His steps were eerily silent and absent sound, he melded in with the darkness in a prudent fashion.

Vaultren.

In the end, the sound came from a small skeever being devoured by larger ones. They were warded off by Vaultren's presence. The Imperial knew this cave extensively from his time in the Legion many, many years ago during the Great War. He understood every corridor, every path and route, and he understood the layout of every single chamber. He knew the strengths, and he understood the weaknesses.

During his time with the group, he studied Kogobal, analyzed Alvara and tried to comprehend Celdryn. They hated him, and with good cause. But hate was such a powerful thing, he knew, for his entire life was full of hate. Hate is a passion, and passion gives way to strength, thus presenting powerful opportunities, which then leads on the victory. And his victory was in his grasp. But even hate can be manipulated and self-destructive. He would use his against them, instead of allowing it against him.

Alvara, peeved and obviously infuriated with his actions, was repelled by a simple gesture of the eyes, and he thrived in the knowledge that he made her that way, for she was seperated from the rest. Being a healer, how could she possibly save herself and Kogobal from an impending collision? The ceilings were infested with armies of sharp stalactites, with a gentle nudge, could pierce the cranium of an unsuspecting victim.

Kogobal knew the tenuous relationship between Vaultren and Celdryn, and was guided by his own concept of morality and righteous nature to leave the two seperated, which in the end would be his own undoing. So Vaultren believed. With Kogobal and Celdryn together, and Alvara alone in the dark tunnels, all he was required to do was to seal their fates once and for all.

Celdryn, adrenaline-dependant lunatic and instrumentally gifted storyteller, had all the reason to believe in his instincts. Vaultren's treachery was speculated, but not expected. It was imagined, but not foreseen. With his words, they believed in him, albeit mistrusting him. And they fell into his trap as cattle to the slaughter. He would not make his mistake again as he did with that Thalmor assassin. By leading them out into the wilderness by taking a path through the Jerall Mountains, especially in this time of year, they walked into the fateful snare.

Traversing through the dark corridors, Vaultren's eyes adjusted to all of his surroundings. He saw where Alvara went, and he knew where the Altmer and the Bard went, thus he returned the way he came, certain they walked in their intended paths down a place where none of them had ever visited before. His layout, a lie. While there were seperate tunnels, there were no stable chambers, only a large chasm that led deep into the frozen abyss. If they did not watch their steps, they would fall to their deaths.

There was only a single entrance and a single exit, and they were both congruent and one in the same. Vaultren went the way he came, and crouched until he reached the exterior of the entrance. No sign of the brooding trio, for they were exploring the cavern in their own accord.

Stepping out into the wilderness, Vaultren stood at the end of the cave and pulled away the small scroll he had purchased from the trading caravan days ago. He planned to use the arcane parchment for other things, but this would serve its purpose quite well.

Such a small scroll containing such power. To his advantage, his honeyed words and sharp tongue and superior persuasion skills, he was able to barter his purchase without losing too many coin. The khajiiti were great merchants, but they lacked a touch in the art of negotiation.

Thankfully for their not-so-shrewd capabilities, he read the scroll, adopting spell with his studious eyes. Fire, indeed, was a destructive force. It licked away and devoured everything in sight. But in snow, it would serve no use, unless it was an explosion. A fiery one. By rolling the barrels onto the cave entrance, he was ready to commence his plan.

Filled with pure rum from the cart of Redguard travelers before their untimely demise at the arrows of Bosmeri archers, the barrels were a liquified explosive. He rolled them upwards and set them at the entrance of the cave. With a proper blast, the snow collected above the mountain would fall over and trap them inside, along with the stones.

With a gesture of the hand, Vaultren formed sparks in his hand which morphed into a concentrated fireball. His hands shook, his eyes were set and focused on the cavern entrance. With a long, prideful exhale, he forced the fiery blast from his fist. His teeth gritted into a terrible scowl, darkening his countenance amidst the bright light.

A raging inferno formed at his feet and formed a powerful funnel that twisted and turned through the air and toward the doomed barrels. Yellow and orange mixed in a beautiful illumination of deathly flames which exploded on impact.

The cave interior was obliterated by the blast, and continued to spasm through out, sending shock waves through the stalactite-ridden ceiling. Cracks spread like a web, triggering a tumultous rumble throughout the
interior. The slumbering snow above the cave trembled, and stones and large icy boulders tumbled down to block the path. Layer upon layer of stone collapsed within.

Vaultren's actions, however, had their repurcussions. The blast radius was enormous, that he himself was impacted by a shockwave and was sent back a few feet by the invisible hot battering ram. He crashed onto the snow with an audiably frustrated grunt. At first, he felt no injury.

Long enough, though, that when he climbed to his feet his legs quivered and some of the dust from the
blast had settled. Only when he walked back did he realize that the clash of fire, rum and stone had not left him
unscathed. At some point, perhaps when he was focused entirely on murder, a rock or some other large debris had struck the middle area of his lower back, and now the black robe he wore was drenched in blood.

Despite the dissipating dust, he took in a deep breath, eliciting a piercing pain from his rib cage and a cough that spat cold blood into the frigid air. Drawing on the moment, he numbed himself to the agony and forced his body to limit the damage as best it possibly could. When the injury stopped in its interruptive procupation, he surveyed the area, anchored in place but twisting into a full circle.

As the dust and snow cleared, he saw the door to the cavern completely blocked from the outside, and possibly even the inside as the impact was enough to sent shards of rock to barricade the tunnel. Some minor projectiles did make its way into his skin, and he felt a brief regret that the Dunmeri healer wasn't there to provide her services. In any case chose to remember and honor the souls who might have been lost in the cave.

Alvara, the one who worried about him bringing the Thalmor on their heads, when the sharpened stones of a cave's ceiling would suffice. So volumptous, undoubtedly a succulent one! But her healing would truly be wasted just as her average beauty. Unlike him, she would age and perish. Perhaps? Vaultren believed so.

Kogobal, a scholar who devoted his time in understanding and traveling, may his time in that cavern be enough for him to dream of a life he never truly lived. Feeding himself the knowledge of his fate. If knowlege is power, perhaps you can be powerful enough to teleport out of this place?

Celdryn, the mad Breton, perhaps he could sing and entertain the others before devouring them in an orgiastic abandon induced by demented cannibalism. I passed your Nine-forsaken test, mad one, perhaps you can pass mine? Think of me as the lion who outsmarted a lamb who believed itself a wolf. You now have my consent to die.

A natural avalanche, some would claim. A terrible tragedy! Indeed, a sad catastrophe, Vaultren remarked with a shrug. In any case, the incoming blizzard would impede anyone from discovering this cavern, and the snow would surely cover any trace of magic activity. By the time those inside would be discovered, they may be piles of bone settling as a reminder that hubris and lowering one's own guard can indeed be their downfall.

Raising his black cowl, Vaultren allowed himself a satisfactory smile of triumph and duty. With limping, but vigorous steps, he marched his way through the wilderness to reach Skyrim - -To the North!

Celdryn hummed with unspeakable joy. His heart, beating with such an intensity. His veins, throbbing with mad pulses. And he couldn't supress a dung-eating grin as the cavern all around fell and screamed rocks at its own foundation. Only one man.. no, not man. To call a Vaultren a man would be an insult to alll mankind. An undead beast, is what he was. Vampire. Son of that wretched prince Molag Bal. Spawn of death. Celdryn suspected his unnatural heritage when they first met on that cursed tavern in Chorrol, and kept it in his mind as a weapon of possibility. After all, the signs were there. In plain godsdammned view, no less. But such was the royal game of deception, and as Vaultren was probably of noble birth in his past life, he was an adept at it. Years of undeath didn't help at all. He woved excuses, reasons and lies wwith such a flair, Celdryn had no doubt he would make for a fine, fat-bellied, backstabbing, decadent politician with no true allegiance but to himself and power only. His feet hurried him to the entrance of the cave they refuged in, after dodging so many falling rocks and sharpened stalactites. He was panting by the time he got there. Vaultren's treachery was deep and carefully-planned. Rocks and boulders blocked the entrance, and up above the stone ceilling, cracks began to show. Yes. The Imperial might be a vampire, but like all of his kind, he shared that cursed skill for back-stabbing. The Breton should have seen this coming. He really should have. That, or he should've just let Wicked and Delight bury themselves up his unliving gullet.

This is not a death he wished to go with.

Not. At. All.

And so it was that Celdryn, under unimaginable pain as boulders crushed his entire body, yet missing his head and upper spine by a mere inch, found himself reciting an old incantation. His blood from his smashed lower body would be the oil. His drive for revenge at Vaultren would be the flame. Celdryn was born in Daggerfall. A land of politics, espionage, magic, and witchcraft. Of magical skill, he is a master not, but he heard things. He heard things enough to know that Princes are drawn to strong emotions. What does Celdryn have for emotions right now? Hate. Undeniable, unrestricted hate. Hate so pure he muttered an Incantation of Summoning. Through great pain, he muttered them and invited great darkness.

"I... offer... my blood... and etern,, eternal servitude... to Who.. to Whoever is watching me...." He coughed up blood, began to lose consciousness, but by his hate, he held on. Vaultren was on his mind. "I am Celdryn... Minan'Kherus... and this oath.. I swear to uphold... with my soul... lest I be damned... to Oblivion's pits.. forever more."

He sucked in a breath as all around him, there pervaded an unnatural coldness. Pain became distant, but ever so did it sting. He opened his right eye, and in there, there burned an emerald fire.

"COME FORTH, PRINCES OF MISRULE! I REQUEST AN AUDIENCE BY MY BLOOD!"

Minutes passed. Nothing seemed to happen. Celdryn screamed an unholy scream and cursed Vaultren with all the fibre in his being. He screamed his hate for the vampire, and remained oblivious to a trail of blood that crept upwards from his thigh, through seeps in the rocks that crushed him, and made a puddle just before his face. When all of his energy was spent and he lay there, spent up, waiting for death, did he notice it.

A slow smile unfolded on his face as an eldritch force manipulated the puddle to make an image.

At first, the blood only curdled and churned, as if a raging sea. Then, it calmed, and Celdryn felt a malign presence around him, omnipresent and omnipotent, terrible and wicked, so overwhelming with the power it radiated. There blew a warm wind of sulfur and earth and he knew. And waited. And watched. The puddle seem to fall invertly as if there grew a sudden hole where it lay, and from the center there rose a splendind set of horns, deviously illuminated from a fire below it. A surge energy came from all directions and the boulders that crushed Celdryn crumbled to dust, and the remaining ones crumbled too; as if to make room for the entity that was approaching. He gasped, but watched in paralyzation as the horns revealed its connection to a deer-skull with the eyes of cruel Oblivion itself, and the skull revealed its extension to an unbelievably rippling, muscle-bound body of titanic height.

Celdryn raised his wide, burning eyes to the awe-insprirng figure of the Lord of Hunt.

Hircine.

The Prince looked down upon the broken Celdryn, and growled a wicked laugh that echoed with ten thousand wailling voices of the prey He consumed. He let forth his voice in this unworthy place, and it was a voice of a terrible, and almighty god.

"You have called, and I have answered. Sanguine and Sheogorath each vied for the authority over you, as you show shades of hedonistic flair and madness, but I am Hircine, and I showed them what truly lies in your heart. Do you know what it is?"

Celdryn dared his meek voice to this behemoth of power. He uttered his name with pure, unrelentig hate.

" To... hunt.. Vaul... tren..."

There was a surge of power as Hircine let out an unholy breath of confirmation.

"Yeees. The spawn of the Dirt King. The one who crushed you. The one who gave you a taste of death, the very same death he enjoys now. You desire to hunt him down is strong indeed, if you have to call on powers that be. Is it not so? Then tell me, mortal. Are you worthy of the gift I give to those who hunt the Endless Hunt?"

It was Celdryn's turn to growl. And then he damned himself.

"If I.. have to cover this earth.. with the blood of the lambs... in your name.. then so be it! I am broken, but I beg of you, my lord, my god.. Restore me. Restore me. Restore me so I can skin him alive and nail him to a cross, facing the skies, so he can feel the tyranny of the sun, and lament the glories of the night that will be denied to him! Restore me so I can drink his blood, and eat his flesh, and present his unbeating heart as a trophy to you and mockery of Molag Bal! Restore so I can show him the true hunter, who rightfully reigns supreme in the shade of the moon! Restore me, my Prince, and I WILL BE YOURS, UNTIL ETERNITY'S END!"

So spake Celdryn Minan'Kherus, no longer bound by his desire to flirth with death and the nectar of adrenaline, but now utterly consumed by his desire to hunt down Vaultren. Amd at his vow of eternal allegiance, Hircine simply let out a demonic chuckle.

"Indeed," the Daedra breathed with approval. "Indeed."

WIth a wave of his hand, Celdryn was covered in eldritch light, and the green fire of his eyes grew brighter and brighter and birghter... until there came, from the collection of lightts, an otherwordly roar. There was nothing humane in that sound; the only thing familiar for human ears is that it was full of hate. A massive silhouette rose slowly, of great height but still falling short on Hircine, and it knelt. The lights died down, and it revealed the massive silhouette as a gray-furred werewolf with green, burning eyes.

"Now," Hircine said, slowly disappearing into thin air, "you are my son."

Celdryn gave a howl and lunged at the boulders that remained to block the entrance, and clawed them out of existence. The snow came forth like thunder, like a water from a dam. but the wolf counter-avalanched into them and emerged to the other side. The wolf sniffed the air and bared its fangs in a grin. There was a small aroma of undeath dancing in the air, and the wolf traced it to a flung stone shard, covered in blood. The paws snatched it and from the mouth, came a serpenting tongue that licked the substance off the shard. It was his. Vaultren's.

It looked to the skies. Night was dimly, but clearly arriving. It gave starting howl that echoed all across the nation of Skyrim, whose wolves heard it, and repeated it.

Celdryn Minan'Kherus was no more. Only the hunt remained. And the hut has just began. But before losing himself to his desire, Celdryn had one last thought before his identity destroyed itself.

"Vaultren. I am still the wolf, the predator. You are still my lamb, my prey. Let's have some fun."

It ran off in all fours - to the grim, grim North.