Kayla waved the parchment in the air to let the ink dry.

"Just writing a letter. If it ever comes to it-" She cut off. Now was not the time.

"Don't worry about the silverware, or the dog. How are you feeling?" she asked. Her full attention was not on him, but the feeling of concern was genuine. She folded the parchment up before setting it on the table.

Westley

"Don't worry about the silverware, or the dog. How are you feeling?"

Westley shrugged. In truth he was very tense because of the vampire, but Kayla didn't need to know.

"I'm fine, I guess. I admit I'm a bit stressed out, with everything that's been going on since I got here. But in general? I'm doing good."

Westley leaned back against the wall "I just felt like I had been use for storming off without a word earlier, and I'm sorry if I offended you." Westley averted his eyes for a moment, and thought hard about telling her about Drakothemir. He decided to bend the truth.

"Kayla...." He paused. Perhaps now wasn't the best time to tell her. She was safe. Kayla said she was raised by nords. They most likely trained her how to fight well. Westley decided to change the subject. "You just seem a bit tense. Ate you sure you're alright. I'm sorry if I caused you any stress, I was just in a crappy mood. I shouldn't have taken my anger out in you or Ylenno."

"You're not the cause."

Kayla glanced at the letter briefly before tucking it in her bag. She turned back around to Westley, her face neutral.

"It's personal issues. You don't want to hear about it." She gave him a half grin. "Besides, I want to know where you learned how to strangle a dog. I didn't think it appropriate to shove a fireball down its gullet." She crossed her arms and shifted her weight on one long leg.

Westley

"You're not the cause."

Westley sighed in relief. It lightened the amount of stress already on his head to know he wasn't causing her stress.

"It's personal issues. You don't want to hear about it. Besides, I want to know where you learned how to strangle a dog. I didn't think it appropriate to shove a fireball down its gullet."

Westley shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Personal issues eh? If you ever need to talk about it, I'll listen. That's what friends are for, right?" Westley smiled before continuing. "And about the dog. When my father died, I ran away. I ended up here, in Anvil, and the fighter's guild took me in. I specialize in hand to hand fighting techniques, and I'm handy with a blade. I'm better with longswords, shortswords, and daggers than with greatswords though."

Kayla's half grin turned into a full one.

"You SPECIALIZE in hand-to-hand, eh? We should spar sometime. I can throw a decent right hook, but my choke-holds need some work. Obviously." She let out a small chuckle.

She gestured to the chair where she previously sat. "Sit down, don't feel awkward." She sat on her bed and crossed her legs.

Westley

Westley sat down in the chair Kayla pointed at.

"Thank you for the seat. Yea, I specialize in hand to hand. And with the chokehold, it all matters what position you have your opponent in. If you have your opponent in a good position to keep them from getting loose, all you have to do is strangle away. If your opponent is in a position where they can manage to slip away, well, you better be able to throw a good punch or use your weapon" Westley snickered at his own statement.

"The position you're in also matters. You want to be on top of them to a point where you can put all of your weight down on them. The less room they have to squirm, the easier it is to strangle. At least that's how I was taught." Westley put his arms behind his head. "Tell me what you know about hand to hand combat Kayla. Since you were raised by nords I'm guessing you can throw quite a nasty punch?"

Kayla shrugged.

"I can throw a decent punch. But I could always get better. I wasn't allowed to use magick growing up, so I'm not as skilled at that as one would expect me to be. I can use fire great, and am working on something called 'Mouthful of Pain.'" she winked. "I combine a punch with a fireball. It's only a theory right now, but until I get it right, I'll use my fists and fire separately." She smiled.

"Do you fight dirty or fair? I know some dirty tactics and fair tactics."

Drakothemir.

Drakothemir's elegant face, as pale and white as Secunda, was his real expression of coldblooded concentration. He stared at his reflection in the mirror of his locked room, carefully eyeing the small veins that were slowly creeping into his pale skin and how slowly his skin-tone shifted from pale to even paler. His eyes shifted into a mixture of radioactive yellow and red and black. His teeth—not quite filed into fangs—was still sharper than usual. His youthful countenance replaced with something a bit older and wiser, but yet retaining somewhat of a regal look.

He felt stronger, more agile, more alert and focused. More powerful. He knew he had new abilities at his disposal, powers that can rival even the highest of mages. But in return for that power, he sacrificed his human guise. The clothing a lion would wear to walk amongest the sheep. His hungry and ageless eyes, pale complexion and sharpened teeth gave away his secret. And secrecy and discretion is the most vital virtue amongst the members of the clan. Maintaining that secret is imperative.

The vampire, after drinking too much wine and not even sating the barest of the thirst, felt the need to hunt. As all the other of the Night's Children, he felt hungry and thirsty at the same time. His throat was parched as the infamous Alik'r desert. His breath cold and dead, needing the warmth of fresh crimson blood. His true face needed to be veiled once more. Drakothemir knew, however, even if he donned his fleshy cowl he would still be the same man.

Ruthless, efficient, and unmerciful and pragmatic. The very traits needed in one man to secretly enforce the more draconian methods of his clan's agenda. But it was not always so. He had his weakness, his emotional stress and responsibility that threatened to claim his life and that of his people. He looked at his own reflection once more and wondered: This is the face that my victims have seen. The last face on Tamriel.

This recent Oblivion Crisis reminded him of a time where he was the bane of mortals. His mind returned to the past to pluck out the bloody memories of the centuries gone, recalling many moments that came to him as shadowy recollections, as a man trying to recall images from a shady dream. One stood out the most, though.

In the start of the year 3E 267, he remembers the war against Camoran the Usurper. The legendary mage was so powerful that he sacked Kvatch and High Rock and many other places with an army of undead and Daedric hosts. A menace to mortal society and a threat to Drakothemir's clan if he ever set foot on Cyrodiil to claim it.

There was a legendary weapon. The Vampire's Mace. A tool made by the Hated One: the Lord of Rape and Domination. It was a favorite for vanquishing wizards and warlocks, and Drakothemir would be the one to wield it.

He smirked widely as he remembered acquiring the artifact and his true pureblooded gift. This memory, unlike the rest, was clear as the mirror he was staring into. He saw them in recollection. The women and the weeping children and the blind village men that cowered beneath his presence. And Molag Bal's voice echoing in his mind in similar but not exact words. "The mace must drink. Restore it to glory with the blood of the feeble and the innocent and my blood shall be given to you as a reward . . .as well as my mace."

And his reply? Disspasionate but certain. "As. You. Wish". He Raised the rusted mace with clenched fangs and a pinch of reluctence but with a passionate spirit of commitment. And then the dark deed was done. The mace was his to claim. The war was fought. Camoran was defeated, though not by his hand and in the end Drakothemir spirraled into the Maelstrom of Bal in the Abecean and thrown into Oblivion.

But now he stood there, as a simple religious man wearing a black robes preaching about a non-existent former monk-hood. Still debating on whether or not he should undertake this perilous task with a chaotic group of misfit mortals who would sooner find themselves killing each other than their enemies. How things have changed . . .and how things stay the same. Death is a natural part of life, and with every breath lost there is one formed. If those around him would lose their lives for whatever reason then so be it. The universe would throw new cattle into his path. It happened for centuries and it would not stop until he was a pile of ash.

Drakothemir threw out his hand to the side toward the wooden furniture of his rented room. A strange bottle of human blood, large enough to fit over a pint of blood, was called to his fingers. The bottle floated in the air, sped across the air as if carried by an unseen force and into his clutches. The vampire opened it, drank away the stored blood and watched with disinterest as his face returned to that of a human. The exact copy of a mortal man. With no flaws. Impeccable. Perfect. And at last, Drakothemir's smile came. Not a sham of a grin, but a genuine one.

Westley

"Do you fight dirty or fair? I know some dirty tactics and fair tactics."

Westleynraised an eyebrow and chuckled "That depends on how my opponent is fighting. If my opponent if fighting fair, I'll fight fair. If my opponent decides to fight dirty, I'll fight dirty. I'm better with fair tactics though. I know the 'throw dirt in your eyes' dirty tactic, but that's....."

Someone entered thier room and slamme she door. Westley flinched a little, and turned his attention to the door for a moment before continuing the conversation. "That's about it. Usually my brute strength combined with good hand to hand tactics wins me fights when I don't have a weapon."

Westley pulled one of the two silver daggers strapped to each of his legs off and threw it at Kayla. "Here. In case you ever get disarmed during a fight, having a dagger or two strapped to your legs comes in handy if you amt manage to throw a good punch. You can take your opponent by surprise, if you know what I mean."

Kayla caught the dagger by the hilt as Westley gently tossed it towards her.

"Here. In case you ever get disarmed during a fight, having a dagger or two strapped to your legs comes in handy if you can't manage to throw a good punch. You can take your opponent by surprise, if you know what I mean."

"Thank you," Kayla replied, completely sincere. Her face twitched with humor.

"You know, in Skyrim, when a man is interested in a women, he often gives her a weapon as a token of affection. It symbolizes he will protect her against danger."

Westley

"You know, in Skyrim, when a man is interested in a women, he often gives her a weapon as a token of affection. It symbolizes he will protect her against danger."

Westley sniggered " Honestly, I only need one dagger. I've never needed to use either dagger in a fight, and might as well give it to someone who will if they can't succeed in beating their opponents to a bloody pulp. I've never had to fight dirty with a hidden dagger, and I usually lose mine because I never use them. I usually just throw dirt or rocks in people's eyes, and it usually works."

Westley smirked "Besides, I suppose I should pay you in some way for saving my a** from that dog. I need all the gold I can save up, so I can't pay you with money. By the way, is Skyrim nice? I'm pretty sure it's freezing there, but I've heard it's a nice place."

Kayla laughed a little.

"I was kidding, that's not how men show their affections in Skyrim. It's much more brutish."

She scratched her neck absentmindedly as she answered his question. "Imagine a block of ice. Throw some dirt and leaves on it, and you've got Skyrim." She laughed at her own joke.

"It's beautiful. I grew up in one of the warmer areas, so I wasn't always freezing." She rested her head on her hand as she leaned her elbow on her leg. She rubbed the hilt of the silver dagger with her thumb as she reminisced. "It's cold in more ways than one. Unforgiving. Everyone here is so soft," she murmured. She caught herself. "Present company excluded," she laughed.


"In Skyrim, there aren't many healers." She held out her arms, hoping to distract Westley from the long scar poking out near her collarbone. "I had to learn alchemy very young to compensate for that."

She bit her lower lip before looking back to Westley. "What about you? Ever been anywhere else besides Anvil?"

Westley

"What about you? Ever been anywhere else besides Anvil?"

"I actually...um...live in the Imperial City on the waterfront district. I'm quite poor. That's one of the reasons I wanted to go on this expedition."

Westley noticed the long scar on Kayla's collarbone. She was trying to distract him from it a moment ago, but that didn't work. He decided it would be best not to ask about it.

Westley scowled "There should be more healers in skyrim. You have quite a few scars. I'm guessing that the healers that are there aren't good at their jobs? I don't think I'd lat long in Skyrim. I have a healing spell, but its weak to the point that it can barely heal a papercut, and I don't have enough magicka to cast a stronger one. I'm not too much of a Mage."

Westley rubbed his chin "I'm an adventurer though, so I've seen quite a few Ayliec ruins and caves. I never leave Cyrodiil though. I'm not sure if I have the supplies to."

Kayla perked up.

"Ayleid ruins? What are those like?"

Westley

"Ayleid ruins? What are those like?"

"I bet I you were to fix one up it would look nice, but in the current state that Aylied ruins are in? Horrible. There's traps everywhere. It's not safe to walk around. Some spots on the floor are death traps. They will shoot up into the ceiling, and crush you to death. It happens to me all the time." Westley rolled his eyes "And its really dark. you can't get around without a nighteye spell. But the treasure is definitely worth it. An ancient Aylied artifact can fetch a good price with a collector or a scholar. I've never seen an Aylied ruin in good condition though, so I've already told you all I know"

Tarrick

Westley was, in Tarrick's estimation, mad. There was no doubt about it. The Imperial had clearly skipped off to worship at Sheogorath's shrine some time ago and then waltzed back to civilisation to wreak havoc with the rest of civilised society. First it had been the incident with the fork throwing and his subsequent showdown with Ylenno (who Tarrick suspected was equally unhinged in in his own way), and then he had left the tavern only to pick a fight with a dog and come crying for help.

By the time Buffy had stepped in to resolve the situation, Tarrick was quite sure that there was something wrong with Westley. Nobody sane could act in so unpredictable and erratic a manner, he was sure. He made a note to stick close to Buffy though, seeing as she was also taking part in this expedition; someobdy who was both skilled in healing and in possession all their mental faculties would be useful to have around.

Drakothemir seemed alright as well, as far as Tarrick could tell; maybe rather aloof and superior, even if he tried to act like he wasn't looking down at everyone else, but that was probably due to him being a monk and thus above the decadent ways of normal men or something of that sort. At least he seemed to have a sensible head on his shoulders.

Ylenno was crazy, it seemed, but it was the standard sort of dangerous crazy; you got that sort of madman in the Thieves Guild every now and then and by and large he knew how to read them and how to react (usually by smiling, nodding, getting out of their reach and having an escape route planned). Provided he kept Ylenno friendly and he didn't do anything stupid, Tarrick felt pretty confident he would probably be alright around him.

By the time the drama with Westley had been resolved, Elinande had excused herself to her room; Tarrick didn't blame her, especially seeing as she seemed like the shy type. Still, she might have the right idea, seeing as the remnants of their group were now only Buffy, Ylenno and himself, and he still hadn't returned his ill-gotten gains to his mother. All the drama in the tavern had rather spoiled the mood in any case.

He finished his tea from where it lay on the table and rose from his seat.

"I do hate to love you and leave you," he said to both Ylenno and Buffy. "But there's some things I need to sort out before this expedition tomorrow. Some things to do with my family before I go, you know how it is. I'll see you both tomorrow, though."

He waited a moment before leaving, to see if either of them had anything to say.

Kayla bobbed her head at Westley's description of an Ayleid ruin.

"Interesting. Well, thank you for stopping by. Be safe on your walk out." She smiled at him.

Westley

"Interesting. Well, thank you for stopping by. Be safe on your walk out."

Westley rose up from his chair "It was nice talking to you. I'll see you later. If you need anything I'm staying at the fighter's guild. It's across the street from the inn."

Westley exited the room, gently closing the door behind him so he won't wake up anyone else in the inn. He made his way out of the inn, and across the street to the fighter's guild. When he entered the building, he could hear some if the guild's members snoring loudly. He went into his room, took off his shoes and shirt, and went to sleep.

Buffy:

The table had dwindled to only Buffy, Ylenno and Tarrick when the Redguard rose to excuse himself, explaining he had some details to attend to before the expedition. Buffy took her cue and stood as well. “Some final preparations at the stable and my guild hall are probably an excellent idea." She continued, "Tarrick, I quite enjoyed meeting you and appreciate you escorting us here to the Count’s Arms. Aside from some flying flatware, it was a fine opportunity to meet some of our prospective expedition mates.” Her smile did not fade a bit as she turned to Ylenno. “My brother Bravilian, it is wonderful to see that neither time nor hardship have dimmed your quick smile or sense of humor. I look forward, if there are quiet times in the days ahead, to learning more about your long absence from the City of Mara.”

Ylenno trembled at Buffy's words and her touch. When the soft hand of Bravil's pride touched his face, for an excrutiatingly short instant, all of life's tragedies vanished like ash in the wind, today was blessed yesterday, and Buffy wasn't Buffy. Instead, she was Caelefensil, cleaning up the wounds he took by fighting the other boys in the other part of the neighborhood, giving him a stern admonishing, but always beaming at him with a smile afterwards, a gentle promise of peace on her face... It was all he could do not to melt at the other Bravillian. He moaned the words, "Caelefensil," and a long, haunted sigh escaped him.

It was not heard. Westley's cries for help thundered like a shriek, Kayla responded, and not a minute did pass when her cries for Buffy shook the entire establishment. She was gone in an instant, flying across the room like an arrow from the bow of old Daenlin. Drako the Monko followed and looked outside through the window. Ylenno was left there in that moment of broken memories, and he simply sighed yet again. He took to his steak He ate the sauced cuts with somberly, and as he chewed without energy, he took a look around the Inn and gave a half-hearted smirk Today's patrons seemed to familiarize themselves with the antics of their group; all of them were into their own businesses and not an ounce of attention was sent their way. After a minute or two, they all returned, but only Buffy remained at their seat, quipping with a wekk-placed remark. Apparently, Westley was attacked by a dog. What the hell. He was attacked by a stray dog in the middle of the afternoon road, and he couldn't defend himself. He resorted to calling for help. [i]Maybe he wasn't cut out for the Expedition, if a stray dog could annihilate him so[/i.] But by then, he swaggered about the place like he owned it, and made home towards the Fighters Guild. Kayla retreated to her room, and both Elandine and Drakothemir follwed her example.

It was the signal of the end of the mad they played today, and for that Ylenno was quite glad. He had enough dose of madness for a day.

The redguard stood up and declared his exit. Buffy did so too.

Ylenno finished the last of his steak and wiped his greased mouth. He stood up, took a gulp of water, and set the glass down as he looked at the two,

"I gotta get the sign-up forms back at my room in the Flowing Bowl. So this is a temporary farewell; it still breaks my heart for us to be separated though. Indeed, I had fun today. I enjoyed meeting all of you, truly I do. But since we're all headed for the same Huild Hall, what say we meet up before signing ourselves to the Expedtion? I'd really prefer going in with familiar faces and friends, rather than a cliche angsty, socially-awkward anti-hero you read in novels. Haw-haw! What say you, Tarrick?"

He turned to Buffy.

"How about it, sister? And I'll give you the story once we're back from the Expedition. Too long though, and full of cliches."

Buffy:

Ylenno suggested that he, Tarrick and Buffy meet the next day to sign up at the Adventurers Guild. Completely unfamiliar with that guild and those who ran it, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d be ever so grateful for the company. I’ll bring my completed sign up forms and, since I’m here on behalf of my guild, I’ll have my letter of introduction from the Council of Mages with me as well.”

“Shall we meet outside the Adventurers Guild then?” She placed a handful of coins on the table for the serving girl and shouldered her bow. “Oh and at what time?”

Tarrick

"Shall we meet outside the Adventurers Guild then? Oh and at what time?" Buffy asked as she gathered her things and put some coin on the table for the food.

"I think meeting outside the guildhall a good idea," Tarrick said. "The meeting is supposed to be an hour and a half after dawn* so we could meet a quarter of an hour or so before then, if that would work for both of you. Be good for me, if you're both alright with it."




*This is an official GM Fact. Supported by science.

Buffy:

“That sounds perfect,” replied Buffy to Tarrick. “I’m so glad to have met you both so we’re not all complete strangers when we head for Sutch.” She smiled brightly from Redguard to Bosmer. “See you early tomorrow then.” With that, she turned on her heel and breezed out of the now much quieter inn.

Ylenno gave both of them his trademark roguish grin.

"Team Fluffy-Rainbow-Sweetroll-Unicorns has been founded," he said in a playful tone. "All for one and one for all! Alright, I'll see you crazy clowns later."

He followed Buffy out of the establishment and bid her au revoir as they parted ways; she was satying at the Mages Guild and he was boarding at the Flowing Bowl. As he walked towards the docks, he can't help shaking his head at today's happenings. Today was even wilder than those days when he was on one of his drunken rampages! He meets a childhood idol, gotten into a brawl with a strange young man, and met all sorts of colorful characters. As the gates to the docks opened and he was met with the salty spray of the Anvil harbors, he can't help thinking about the similarities between Buffy and Caelefensil. For a moment he saw the Lady as her sister. It was... sad. Her memory was still too strong for him to move on. He passed by the dockworkers with the image of her face in his mind. He entered the Flowing Bowl, heedless of the large brawl taking place, and went up to his room disquieted. He laid himself on the matress there and went to a dreamless sleep.

*****

The Adventurer's Guild Hall was larger than both the Mages and Fighters Guilds' combined, despite its relative young age. Like all the other buildings in Anvil, it was constructed of white marble, but Oedipus paid some wizards to enchant the whole building with some sort of shining spell; when Magnus was bright enough, the enchanted marble would reirect light like a sharp, foggy metal. It gave off the illusion of radiating. Quite clever. And probably quite expensive too. At its shining parapets were the green and gold banners of the Adventurers, they too shining like a beacon as they fluttered about in the early dawn breeze. The gargantuan oaken door with the sigil of the Guild stood over even the most tallest of Nords, and today, with the beginning of the sign-up season, it was open.

Ylenno peered inside.

If anything, it seemed like it was even larger inside! And the interior ... Lords above, it was simply gorgeous! Black marble floors that were like smoky mirrors beneath one's feet, several sets of small pillars that held the foundation from the inside, and the decorations looked like they belonged from a castle rather than an organization's hall. Ylenno would've liked to see more, but he was waiting for the others by the entrance. It didn't hurt to be fashionably early, he thought. He glanced at some of the approaching figures. They were familiar.

He waved at them.

"Hey! Over here!"

^^^^^^^^^

OOC: Just nudged things along to advance the plot, nothing more. And the 'familiar figures approaching' could be anyone of you guys, not just Tarrick and Buffy, so interact with the elf!

Westley

Westley awoke early in the morning from a restless sleep filled with endless nightmares. He dragged himself out if bed and made his way over to the chest in the corner of the room with his belongings. He had packed an almost full set of glass armor. Westley didn't favor helmets much, besides, his lycanthropy enhanced his strength and speed. He'd easily be able to avoid arrows flying past his head and any traps that may give him a concussion.

Westley changed into his armor, put everything back in his backpack, had a quick bite to eat, then made his way down to the Adventurer's guildhall. The place looked magnificent! It seemed to be composed entirely of marble, and when the sun's rays hit it, the building glowed like a bright star in the dead of night.

The exterior and interior if the building were surprisingly large. Westley gawked wide-eyed at the main hall if the guildhall. Despite being in awe of the great beauty surrounding him, he continued to lurk in corners, away from anyone else. His corner lurking was interrupted when Ylenno saw him, and a few other people. The Elf waved his hand in the air and signaled Westley and the others over.

"Hey! Over here!"

Westley slowly made his way over to the Elf.

Kayla moved lithely in her leather armor, dodging bodies in similar garb to make her way to Ylenno. She nearly bumped into a man wearing glass armor. Dawnbreaker's sheathe clacked against his armor, and before she could chastise the man for stopping so abruptly in front of her, a grin spread on her face when she saw who it was.

"Westley!" she cried. "I didn't recognize you without blood all over you!" she teased. Kayla glanced around.

"Where's Buffy?"

Westley

"Westley! I didn't recognize you without blood all over you. Where's Buffy?"

A wide grin spread across Westley's face "Kayla! Yea, I cleaned myself up before bed last night. Can't go walking around covered in blood. Sorry I bumped into you. No, I haven't seen Buffy, sorry. "

Westley glanced around to see if Buffy was anywhere in sight.

Buffy:

The wood elf was up well before dawn. After tending to her mare at the stable, she enjoyed a sweet roll, some strawberries and hot tea with some of her guild mates. They wished her luck as she left the guild.

Her boots and greaves were of natural buckskin. A russet vest of the same material covered much of her medium brown sturdy twill shirt. Willow the bow, a fur wrapped quiver (with drain holes for the rain of course) and her magical pack rode comfortably on her back. Screenshot

She had seen the outside of the Adventurers Guild many times. An impressive building to be sure. She looked forward to seeing the inside.

Approaching the building, Buffy's face brightened to see Ylenno, Kayla and Westley. The Imperial, now wearing glass armor, didn't appear to be wielding any dangerous table cutlery and she didn’t see any stray dogs nearby. Nevertheless, she kept a bit of safe distance from the accident-prone Imperial as she approached.

With a smile, she chirped, “Good morning, everyone!”

Westley

Westley waved at Buffy as she approached Ylenno, Kayla, and himself. She had a bright smile in her face, but still kept a small distance from him.

“Good morning, everyone!”

"Good morning Buffy. I hope you slept well." Westley adjusted the strap of the scabbard for the Blackwater blade as he greeted Buffy.

Kayla envied Buffy's petite figure as she strode up to the small group. Kayla closed the distance between them and gave the smaller elf a side-hug.

"Good morning, sunshine!" She grinned. The grin was genuine, but the Altmer was painfully aware of her height. She wished she was smaller and more graceful, like Buffy.

"Are we ready for adventure?"

Buffy:

Kayla gracefully closed the distance with her long legs and gave Buffy a warm hug. Buffy returned the hug with both arms and felt a welcome moment of safety in the brief embrace. As the two mer withdrew, Buffy looked up at Kayla, acutely aware the difference in stature between the two, and suppressed an envious sigh. The graceful high elf was so tall and statuesque. No one would ever call her a twig or seedling.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” said Kayla. “Are we ready for adventure?”

Buffy grinned at the high elf’s confidence, and joked, “I thought that was yesterday!”

“Good morning, Buffy,” said Westley with a smile. “I hope you slept well?”

“I did, thank you, Westley,” replied Buffy. “It’s a good thing too, since I don’t know when we’ll get to sleep in real beds again!” She pointed to his arm. “I trust my healing yesterday was satisfactory? No problems with that arm today or your ability to use a sword?”

Between all the words, Buffy managed to briefly catch Ylenno’s eye and give him a warm smile.

“It’s a good thing too, since I don’t know when we’ll get to sleep in real beds again!” Buffy pointed to Westley's arm. “I trust my healing yesterday was satisfactory? No problems with that arm today or your ability to use a sword?”

Kayla snorted. "Hopefully the only thing that is impeded is his ability to throw knives and spoons with razor-sharp accuracy!"

Kayla caught the friendly smile Buffy shot Ylenno. Kayla wanted to tweak Buffy's nose, but didn't want to get her hand bit off. Instead, she busied her left hand by tracing the hilt of Dawnbreaker. The sword's gleaming gem was safely hidden under the soft leather flap attached to the metal sheath on her hip. Her right hand, however, was pressed on her right hip. She leaned all of her weight on her right leg.

"You ever sleep on the dirt, Buffy?" She glances at Westley. " I think you roll in it." She playfully bumps Westley with her hip and laughs.

Westley

After briefly hugging Kayla and greeting her, Buffy pointed at Westley's arm “I trust my healing yesterday was satisfactory? No problems with that arm today or your ability to use a sword?”

Westley shrugged his shoulders "My arm is much better. Thank you for healing me Buffy. My arm is much better since yesterday." Westley gave Buffy a warm smile.

Kayla bumped Westley with her hip and laughed after asking if he's ever slept in dirt.

"No, I've never slept on dirt. I don't intend to until the the expedition either."

Buffy:

Buffy was relieved to hear Westley report that his arm was doing well.

She then giggled at how comfortably Kayla teased the big Imperial.

“Sleep on the dirt?” repeated Buffy. “Well, I admit to a fondness for feather beds and even sheets of silk, but I’m afraid I spend more nights under the stars with my mare. Does a bedroll count? I’ve had to rely on restore fatigue spells instead of sleep a few nights though. Perhaps such spells can be of help if we end up standing long watches.”

Buffy looked up at Kayla and added with a sober shiver, "I'll bet you've had to sleep in the snow."

Buffy looked up at Kayla and added with a sober shiver, "I'll bet you've had to sleep in the snow."

Kayla grinned. "If you ever visit Skyrim, I'll teach you how to make a snow cave. I'm not much for any type of magick except destruction, but fatigue spells seem useful."

Buffy:

“You can make a cave in the snow?!?” Both eyebrows disappeared under blond bangs. “I have a toe ring of resist frost that a dear Nord named Jerric gave me. . . but I’d need nine more of them to sleep in a cave made of snow!”

Buffy smiled in admiration at the Almer. “I’m glad you’re skilled in destruction. I’m afraid that by specializing so heavily in the bow, illusion and restoration, my destruction skills are. . . well, I can cook a mud crab, light a torch and chill an ale but not too much more than that.” After a moment, she added, “Well, that’s not completely true; in order to support my bow, I’ve become quite skilled with weakness to poison and drain speed effects.”

Hoping to draw Ylenno into the conversation, she smiled his way. "Brother Bosmer, what magic is it that makes your hair stick up like that?"

Tarrick

He had bid his mother farewell and left his earnings with her in the house, left the house after a quick breakfast and made his way to the Guildhall of the Adventurer's Guild. The morning streets of Anvil were bustling, and a lot of the crowd were carrying weapons or equipment with them, no doubt for the expedition.

It didn't take him at all long to find the Guildhall, and as they had agreed, Buffy and Ylenno were already there along with Kayla and Westley. Tarrick hoped that a night's sleep had calmed the Imperial down.

As he came into earshot, he raised a hand and called out; "A good morning to all of you, my friends!"

Kayla turned at Tarrick's greeting. She gave him a warm smile and a friendly wave. She wasn't able to get to know him past his antics when they first met. She wondered what flowery words he had prepared for them this time.

Buffy:

Among the many voices now crowding the guild area, Buffy recognized Tarrick’s as he sounded a greeting. She caught his eye and, as he approached, joined Kayla as both elves waved their welcome. Buffy spoke, “How does the day greet you, Redguard? We were just trying to tease Ylenno about his hair.”

Once Elaninde woke up she knew that this was the day. This was the day when they would be signing up for the expedition. As she walked around the city buying potions and repairing her gear, she was trying to sum up what had happened in the last few days. She had seen a werewolf enter the city, found out he was probably this guy called Westley, made some new friends and gotten a very low amount of sleep. As she got to the guild hall her mind was still boggling at the thought of going around with a werewolf, sure he had the ring of Hircine but if she decided to take it back... She and the other expedition members could probably take him down in a straight fight, but if he had the element of surprise... Suddenly she saw someone she recognized, it was the hair of Ylenno, the bosmer that had bumped into her yesterday. She decided to go over to him and say hello.

First it was Westley, and he was armored in the pricey glass armor, adding more shine to the situation than he liked. Then it was Kayla, her confident stride easily noticeable what with a fine blade riding her hips. There was a supernatural glow there, like an unheralded dawn, and Ylenno found himself shivering despite the warmness of his armor he wore. Next in line was Buffy, her longbow jutting out of her shoulder. Like her personality, it had something magical in it, but whereas Kayla's filled him with awe and a little bit of anxiousness, Buffy's bow had... well, the same energy that aura'd around Buffy. He gave all of them a smile as they chatted by the entrance of the Guild Hall, and already there other groups of adventurers who gave them their greetings.

Buffy asked him about his hair

The roguish grin almost split his face. All this constant smilling was probably aching the muscles on his face. He should probablly tone it down a little.

He gave his educated rant.

"Weeeeeelll, first and foremost, I sue some all-natural Thrassian snake oil I order from some slinky guy called Sam. I find that Tamrielian oil wears off after several hours, and even the elven stuff doesn't hold! Now, before I apply the Thrassian oil, I crush some Lavender petals in a bowl and grind them into paste with, suprisingly, two drops of Surillie wine, some Nibenean flour and troll fat. The alchemical properties of troll fat is quite nice regarding hair, I find, and the Surillie wine keeps it longer. When the flower-and-troll-and-Surillie paste is all doughy, thats when I rub it on my hair. When its all dusty and proper, the oil comes next. Now, here's come the magic. Paste and oil alone couldn't make anyone's hair as animated as mine, so I turn into the arcane for that."

He raised his hand and applied his magick. The whisperings of Alteration hummed, and the hand glowed green.

"Frost Shield. Thats the spell I use. Without the oil and paste, you'd just freeze your hair like a frazzled mane! Trust me, I know!"

Then came Tarrick with a salutation, all geared up and looking quite the wastrel, and following in his heels was the heavy armored form of Elandine. It seemed to him that she noticed his hair amidst the ragtag bunch and took it as a beacon; Ylenno laughed.

"Well! This is certainly quite the gathering! We only need another party member, gee I wonder who THAT is, and Team Pretty Unicorns With Sprinkles On Top would be complete! Hip hip hooray!"

"Well! This is certainly quite the gathering! We only need another party member, gee I wonder who THAT is, and Team Pretty Unicorns With Sprinkles On Top would be complete! Hip hip hooray!" Ylenno declared.

Kayla snorted and laughed, turning the laugh into a cough.

"He didn't seem like the type to go dungeon-crawling to me. The fine clean robe would get dirty and the jewels would get lost." Kayla shrugged. "He probably went back to the priory, where it's nice and safe."

She grinned at Ylenno. "Lavender and troll-fat past, eh? The frost spell is a nice touch. Maybe if we both make it out alive, you can show me how to mix that properly."

Straightening his shoulders, Drakothemir raised his hand. The massive door that led to his castle’s inner sanctum opened. Suppressing a grin, Drakothemir walked confidently toward a group of vampires. Members of his clan. His black boots sung as he stepped on the stone floor, echoing through the familiar room. Dark-robed figures all stood in a circle, only parting to allow him to pass by them and into the center where a tall hooded man stood. This was a vampire ancient.

“Welcome home, Lord Drakothemir. We’ve been expecting you,“ was all he said.

Drakothemir felt a coldness grow on this throat. He held his arm behind his back and smiled. I have done my task. It is completed. I have found the secrets hidden within Fort Sutch.

“I possess the ancient knowledge." He could hear the pride in his voice. “Forbidden secrets of time’s long past. My enemies have been killed. There were no survivors to compromise my plans.”

“Your task is not completed.” There was no warning in the ancient’s raspy voice, no clue whatsoever as what was to come. With an unexpected shing, someone behind Draksothemir unsheathed their blade and the ancient sighed. “There is but one final matter.”

Drakothemir opened his mouth to protest at the revelation, but had barely begun to speak when a potent silver sword stabbed through his back. and impaled past his flesh. His eyes grew wide in horror at the sight of the blade protruding from his chest. The pain was tremendous, much worse than he had ever imagined.

With a choked gasp, Drakothemir fell to his knees. The clan began to surround him. Their hungry eyes upon him. This had to be a mistake. A terrible mistake! It couldn't be happening to him, of all people!

He mustered his strength. His vampiric power. To scorch those around him into ashes, or make them tear out their own eyes with his Reign of Terror. Or escape unseen with Embrace of Shadows. But he had none. No powers, no abilities that he possessed all those decades, all those centuries. All of it gone.

The ancient’s fangs fell into his throat, and with a powerful yank all of his flesh was ripped out. Drakothemir’s final cry was heard, but not supported. Darkness and despair devoured him, and he stopped his attempt to fight them. His wailing ceased.

In the dream, but Drakothemir sat up from his bed with a powerful shout. “Ah!!”

It was a nightmare. One of the thousands he had before, and one of the many he had every week for as long as he walked Tamriel. He rubbed his eyes, swung his feet over and kicked himself out of bed.

Avoid daylight by lifestyle . . .

It was morning. He should still be sleeping. But he knew he had to make an appearance sooner or later.

He should still be sleeping. Drakothemir sighed as he washed his face in a nearby basin. He threw on his spare black robes, and fitted over a uniquely tailored black vest. and prepared his sword. He wasted no time in cleaning after himself. He left the room and entered the hallway where he was intercepted by the young tavern girl.

"Oh," she giggled. "You're up! Would you like anything sir?"

The vampire, still composing himself after his chaotic rest, regarded her with an intense stare. His eyebrows arched and bent over his nose. His eyes were bright with a fiery malice that she recoiled and excused herself, waving her finger toward the floor in a gesture of nervousness. Drakothemir stared as she left his presence, and still did even after she was gone. Then he put on his gentle mask. He was not Draken. He was Drakothemir. Former monk, aspirant scholar, young adventurer.

He wouldn't dream of tarrying more than he needed to in Anvil after the expedition. Or in Cyrodiil, for that matter. So his recent behavior was of no concern to him.

He headed out the front door of the inn and walked outside. The morning sun was hot, but not hot enough as it would be at noon. Even so it was painful. The blood beneath his skin boiled and his skin took on a redish hue. His jaw tensed and he rushed toward the adventurer's guild building as quick as he was able. A normal bystander would mistake him for a man that is late on a date or an important meeting or buisiness.

He traversed the town and into the streets and right into the building. Drakothemir felt tense as soon as the light had hit him. He walked out of the presence of the tyranical sun and right into a diabolical sham of one. The light glared at him, piercing his vision to the point of being overbearing. Nevertheless, he did respect the architecture and style. That, at least, was a welcome sight.

As soon as he entered he noticed the group of men he saw before. And even heard the Bosmer speak mid-sentence. "We only need another party member, gee I wonder who that is, and Team Pretty Unicorns With Sprinkles On Top would be complete! Hip hip hooray!"

Kayla seemed to answer him with tease about Drakothemir. "He didn't seem like the type to go dungeon-crawling to me. The fine clean robe would get dirty and the jewels would get lost." She shrugged. "He probably went back to the priory, where it's nice and safe."

"The Deadlands would freeze over if dungeon-crawling required 'types'. Robes are repleaceable. Jewels can be purchased. By the time we go under Fort Sutch, you will wish you were at the priory." He smiled as he approached the group. "It is good to stand in the company of friends. So . . .when do we begin?"

"The Deadlands would freeze over if dungeon-crawling required 'types'." Drakothemir quipped behind Kayla. She turned easily with a smile as he continued.

"Robes are repleaceable. Jewels can be purchased. By the time we go under Fort Sutch, you will wish you were at the priory."

Kayla did not doubt his words. The whispers at the taverns in Skyrim had even the hardiest of Nord Barbarians gripping their mugs in doubt. The more conceited ones declared their intent to join, but always had excuses not to. The more foolish ones, such as herself, bought passage and were in the group.

"It is good to stand in the company of friends. So . . .when do we begin?" Drakothemir asked. Kayla shrugged.

"I only just arrived." She looked him over. "You look fancy. Dress to impress, right?" She elbowed him good naturedly, but her heart wasn't in it. The note in her pocket bore no weight against her gear, but it still weighed in on her mind. She pushed it out of her mind and kept her easy-going smile on her face.

Westley

When Drakothemir approached the group, Westley immediately tensed up. He stood there and listened as Drakothemir engaged in a conversation with Kayla. Westley could sense that the vampire lacked any respect for him.

That's fine. I don't need some filthy night-spawn respecting me. Its best not to interact with him. If either of us end up exposing our true nature, there will be a hell lot of trouble. Besides, he could be useful to the group. We need all the people we can get.

Westley forced a warm smile,and waited for Drakothemir to finish his sentance before speaking.

"Your robes won't protect you much from traps and monsters. You should at least consider wearing a cuirass. Wouldn't want anything happening to you, though I'm pretty sure you're a capable fighter. But still, you never know what could happen." Westley gave Drakothemir another friendly smile, though deep down inside he could feel a burning hatred for the vampire.

Westley didn't want to hate Drakthemir, but he couldn't help it. He didn't have problems with vampires, but the fact that they were willing to take the lives of innocent people to feed thier lust without regretting it bothered Westley. True, his kind was no better, and he wasn't afraid to acknowledge the fact that he found his own kind repugnant, but he liked vampires even less. Perhaps that hate was just programmed into him.

Kayla felt Westley tense beside her, but when she turned, there was nothing but an easy smile on his face. She inwardly shrugged, but mentally reminded herself to ask Westley about it later.

A familiar face caught her eye. Someone she knew from her earlier adventurer days, but he didn't know her. He lived in a village that was suffering from troll attacks. When Kayla had arrived, he had been one of the brave few to try to fend off the trolls. He was the only one to survive. His face skimmed over hers, but showed no recognition. Just as well. It was 10 years ago. His face had grown harder, but his cheeks and chin were free from stubble.

Not wanting to seem rude, Kayla turned her attention back to the group. She pinched Westley's nose for no reason and grinned.

"Weak spot! Watch that nose of yours, boy!"

Westley

Westley's concentration on Drakothemir was broken when Kayla randomly pinched his nose.

"Weak spot! Watch that nose of yours, boy!"

Westley gave Kayla a wicked grin and playfully shoved her. He shoved her a bit too hard, and the tall Altmer began to stagger backwards

"Keep your balance, falling won't do you any good" Westley chuckled, and caught Kayla by the arm before she fell.

The shove surprised Kayla, and she laughed as Westley caught her.

"You're right, wouldn't want you crushing me again!" She teased.

She straightened up and checked her sword. Good, still hidden. She planned on the sword being her surprise if any undead attacked in. She had Westley's dagger strapped to her thigh as well, for emergencies. She leaned her elbow comfortably on Westley's shoulder and put a small amount of pressure on it. She grinned.

Westley's reaction to Drakothemir's arrival was not lost to him. Kayla turned to him immedietly, which meant she probably sensed it too. He knew Westley hated him ever since their last encounter the morning before back at the Count's Arms. Werewolves have a natural sense and instinct akin to that of a hound or a wolf. They can judge the character of a man or those disguised a man.

Drakothemir appraised Westley with a gentle grin. He knew his kind well. He had vampires within his clan that had heretical thoughts or doctrines such as beliving they had to be cured. Or refusing to sustain themselves for survival and cease to feed on mortals. Those were the dangerous ones. They hated themselves so much that anyone like them they would also despise.

The vampire didn't care much for morals of feeding on the innocent. He was born a vampire. He never chose to be given the Dark Gift. Like Lamae Beolfag, he just happened to aquire it unwillingly though to a much less violent degree. For the last four centuries vampirism is what he knew. It is the only thing he will ever know. He won't change his feeding habits or his ideals to survive in a prejudice world because a vampire or any other preternatural predator believes they must sacrifice their own health and nutrition to keep mortals from harm. Mortals, who would sooner condemn him than help him. The fact that some thought that way was beyond insulting.

If a hare could think it would surely label the fox as evil. If the deer could think, it would label the wolf as evil. If the sheep could think, it would call the lion the same thing. Westley was surely one who believed himself a bad person because of his condition. And Drakothemir understood that his Lycanthropy was partly to blame for the boy's hot-headedness. He was like Westley many centuries ago. Confused. Uncertain. Parental issues and all other burdens weighing down upon his shoulders that accumulated over time.

The irony is that the werewolf might do his best to control his condition and find ways he could stop harming people. But the more he supresses the beast, the more the instincts to hunt grows and the desire to kill an innocent person is bound. Almost as a man who has not felt the warmth of a woman for sometime and wishes to change that in any manner he can. Or a starving creature who longs to chase down their prey for sustenance. Werewolves are Hircine's creatures, the Chase and Sacrifice of Mortals. Sport of Daedra. Flesh and innocence must be sacrificed. It is why they are more powerful when they kill people. And Westley might just lose the battle if he keeps that way. Hircine would be displeased, and possibly send one of his loyal hounds to put him down.

Drakothemir took no sadistic pleasure in killing people. He was a vampire, and they were mortals. The two are natural enemies. Predator and prey. And sometimes the prey have been known to bite back.

The thought of prey made him turn to Kayla. "I only just arrived." She looked him over. "You look fancy. Dress to impress, right?"

He looked at his own robes and shook his head. "These are only black robes. Not worth much here in Cyrodiil." Drakothemir raised his hand to inspect his rings. "Family heirlooms. Worthless in the market, but worth something to me."

Westley spoke to him. "Your robes won't protect you much from traps and monsters. You should at least consider wearing a cuirass. Wouldn't want anything happening to you, though I'm pretty sure you're a capable fighter. But still, you never know what could happen."

Drakothemir chuckled. A laugh that actually sounded sincere this time. Because it actually was. "Oh, I don't think I will do much fighting I'm afraid. I am no mage. No warrior. My only skill is writing and studying history. I can swing a sword, but that's about it. The one I carry was a gift my father gave me. But I never stopped to practice once I was sent to the priory." He paused. "You are correct on that matter. Anything could happen. But I pray to the Nine to give me strength. I will need the gods help."

Kayla's mouth twitched in a smile.

"Mhmm, the Nine."

She held no love for the Nine. She would respect the man's beliefs, and not comment on them unless asked. Revealing her inclination for daedra worship, especially one such as Meridia, would surely bring on a fire-fight with words. She saw the individuals as gods-fearing in Cyrodil, condemning daedra worshippers to the forests and mountains outside of city walls. It was the same in Skyrim; one had to travel to remote places, far outside the safety of the walls of the Holds to seek solace in the chosen daedra.

"If the gods fail you, surely one of us might help you." she said to the solemn-looking Imperial. To show she meant it as a jest, she grinned and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.