Lycus Desselius.

The Imperial nearly scratched his ear at the nerve-wrecking laughter coming from the rogue. It was too loud and it was as if a nail was scratching against the stone corners of his mind.

"The spear has limitations," Lycus added. "If I must throw it toward one foe, what weapon shall I have then?"

That moment is where the Bosmer brandished his axe and began to swing it. Slaying imaginary foes and prancing about with efficiency and finesse balanced with strength and power. Lycus had a keen eye. He had mastered the art of the blade and the shield and an expert on the blunt weaponary.

Years toiling and training underneath the hot sun and cold rainstorms of Morrowind and watching his beloved wife show her unique skill with the axe and the club, Lycus could discern that Ylenno was no fool, despite his rather odd and peculiar behavior. Ylenno's weapon was unique. It had a superior craftmanship over the very mundane ones sold at the store, and it was etched with different symbols and artwork that made it stand out. It also had a glow to it that Lycus tried to understand. Could it be Daedric? Or enchanted?

The annoyed store owner proclaimed his distress by clearing his throat, putting Ylenno's wild and childlike behavior to a stop. The Bosmer laughed and apologized, picked up a set of gloves and returned back to Lycus.

Lycus by then was already swinging his sword, slowly, however. Just to make sure the fit of the armor was good enough. And it was. It was a perfect fit.

Ylenno returned, and confessed he was not skilled with the blade. Lycus shrugged silently. He can use an axe. That's good enough.

"But if you're asking me what I think you're asking me, then hell to the yes, I am very handy with a 'blade'. Girls call my hair the Bush Tickler, but when things go bumpy in the night, they'll meet . . . my Cavefish Shanker!"

Lycus froze, sheathed his blade, turned slowly to the man and raised a single eyebrow of confusion. He exhaled deeply with his nostrils. This man is insane. Hilariously so. Lycus chose to not comment on that. Not that he felt uncomfortable, in fact, he was well-taught in the Dibellan(or Sanguine) field of intimacy. He smiled, for it was a bit amusing, but otherwise kept a regular expression. He didn't find things comical as he used to. He wasn't the same man as he was before. The old Kraven would join in the tease, grab his own manhood, and raise an arm in the air and shout to proclaim the impressive size of his manhood to men and women and elderly alike. But those days are over. Long dead.

"But hey, phallic sobriquets aside, if you've asked that for... a dance later on, then lemme say that I don't swing that way! I'm not that kind of 'elf', see? I don't put from the rough, or, or, Spart your Tacos, okay?" Okay."

Lycus blinked, set his large hand on Ylenno's shoulder, and leaned in. "Neither am I that kind of man that would have another bend to the dirt and have his cheeks spread. Fortunate for you, I'm sure. " He chuckled and slapped the Bosmer gently and walked off to the counter to pay off his due.

Ylenno froze, motionless and white, as Lycus leaned in and laid a large hand on his shoulder. Up close like this, he could really understand why people admired him. He had strong features, that much was a given, but to see it so near was a different thing. He looked like one of those descriptive barbarian heroes one can find in recent novels, and Lycus upped it up with that savage aura of his.

As usual, the elf had that roguish grin on him.

"Oh yes, oh yes, very fortunate indeed! You won't believe how many times I've been propositioned by raving manlovers who apparently can't get enough of elven androgynity! Sick bastards, the lot of 'em. Don't get me started on catamites!"

He followed Lycus to the counter and watched the transaction take place. He rapped on the plated back of the Imperial. Orcish steel was the same deal with the Orcs themselves, appearance-wise. Ugly and sore, but terrifyingly hardy and enduring. A proper Orcish smith could craft a suit of armor so hard you could break steel on it and not even a dent would show. Or so they say. Mobility was divine for the types of Ylenno, as he wasn't built like a brickhouse or a mountain. Still, he could respect the protection it offered. One of these days, he'd remember to buy a coat of Orcish chainmail.

"Fits you well, Champ. I suppose you'll be one of the front liners. Good thing too, if you'd ask me. Those pale creatures under the Fort sounds like nasty beasts, and we'll need you to soak up the hurt while we at the back wet ourselves silly!"

He turned serious.

"Never heard of their sort before, though. But if they get killed like the rest, then we shouldn't be worried. Much. I dunno about you, champ, but I'm going out and meet with the others. We still have time to kill before Oedipus calls us back in."

He went outside, traced the footsteps of yesterday and walked the path towards the Count's Arms. But on the way, she spied Lady Dame Buffy emerge from the Mages Guild, and started walking towards the Guildhall all by her lonesome.

Can't have that, he smiled.

"Hey there, blondie from Bravil," he hailed her. "Beautifying the streets with your radiant personality, I see."

He took a look around.

"I bet you my week's supplies of Thrassian snake oil that the majority of the others are in the Count's Arms!"

He held out his arm and held that cheeky grin on his face.

"Wanna go see and gamble against Ylenno?"

Buffy:

As Buffy drew a bit closer to the Adventurers Guild, she began to make out familiar figures.

"Hey there, blondie from Bravil," she heard. "Beautifying the streets with your radiant personality, I see."

Buffy spun around to almost bump into Ylenno.

The Bosmeri rogue continued, "I bet you my week's supplies of Thrassian snake oil that the majority of the others are in the Count's Arms!" He then offered an arm and a grin. "Wanna go see and gamble against Ylenno?"

Buffy took the elf’s arm, dipping her head to acknowledge his graciousness. “I thank you, kind sir, but I fear I would win that wager. For you stand here with me on your arm and,” Buffy pointed toward the group assembling in front of the Adventurers Guild, “yonder I see Westley with our two tall mer-maids.”

She giggled, then turned serious. “Ylenno, I do hope when this is over we have some time to catch up. Perhaps you would enjoy some stories about your sister and I’m still anxious to hear what happened to you during your long absence from Bravil." She squeezed his strong arm. "But for the moment I’ll trust you to escort me to where I need to be.” After a moment, she added “Have you seen Tarrick or Lycus?”

"Wait.. what?" Ylenno squinted at the gathered forms by the Adventurer Guildshall and sure enough, there they were, Westley and Kayla and Elandine, deep in conversation, all of them geared up for what secret dances in the shadow under Fort Sutch. Ylenno had a genuine look of surprise on his face.

"I could've sworn they were... I didn't even... But they were... Gods, I must be going blind, sister elf!"

He chuckled with her, and he still had some merriness in him when she spoke seriously. It surprised him to be honest. People back at Bravil didn't bat an eyelash when he returned as the prodigal son; even his fellow orphans, his childhood friends, weren't particularly excited about his homecoming, only giving a damn when money (or violence) got involved. So Buffy actually caring about his 'exile' took him off guard. For a nanosecond the darker side of him thought that she was playing the mama-bear goody-two-shoes act, but discarded that thought away as quickly as it came. Buffy was too true for that.

He gave her a rare specimen of his smile; quiet, genuine, and not overly exaggerated.

"I appreciate it, Buffy. After this is done... yes, after this is done, we'll catch up. I haven't had a genuine talk about .. her since, well. Since I got the news."

He looked around Anvil, seeing but not really looking, an ancient sorrow so ripe in his face that held back some unbidden tears.

"I promised myself that I'll honor her memory by passing on with my life, but... It never really goes away, doesn't it? We can bury them, but we can't ever forget them."

He wiped his eyes and laughed suddenly, but there was a hollow ring to it.

"I'm sorry, I got a bit carried away there. Come on then, sister! Let's go! And I don't know about Tarrick; guy has a quick shadow on his steps. Lycus, however, he's over at the local smith. Met him there. Bought an orcish set of armor, the rich guy."

They walked towards the three others.

"Anyway, do you have everything you need?"

Westley shrugged "I suppose so. I've got all the potions and food I need. I suppose all we have to do is wait for the word, and then we're off to Sutch."

Westley saw three familiar figures coming towards Kayla, Elaninde, and himself. He waved to signal them over.

Buffy:

Ylenno, with Buffy on his arm, started toward the others. When the tall Bosmer shared some of his grief over losing his sister, a wave of the same washed over Buffy. Without even looking, she knew that if she stared to the east on a clear day from here, she could almost see the western edge of Kvatch Plateau. The spot that hosted the grave of Savlian Matius.

She stopped and wrapped both her hands around one of Ylenno's. With glistening eyes she said, “I know exactly how you feel, brother. I-I don’t think the pain ever goes away. I. . . forgive me.” The mystic archer lifted a right fist. Magic escaped her hand as she opened it. Small fingers then closed upon the summoned linen handkerchief that the elf then dabbed to her eyes.

Slipping her other hand around Ylenno’s arm, she said, “Look! Westley’s waving. Let’s go join them.”

Kayla answered Elinande's question.

"We do, thank you. And I trust you are prepared as well?"

Buffy and Ylenno approached before the last word was past her lips. Kayla raised an eyebrow at Ylenno's bruised face, but said nothing. Then she blinked in surprise.

"A wood elf with an axe! Now THAT is impressive!"

Kayla hoped, for the group's sake, that the smaller elf could wield the weapon. She found swords more graceful, and axes brutish, more suitable for the hairy men that banged on tables at wenches that passed them at the inns. She hadn't expected Ylenno to show up with one. She absentmindedly touched the hilt of Dawnbreaker as she grinned at the pair of wood elves.

Lycus Desselius:

"Fits you well, Champ. I suppose you'll be one of the front liners. Good thing too, if you'd ask me. Those pale creatures under the Fort sounds like nasty beasts, and we'll need you to soak up the hurt while we at the back wet ourselves silly!"

Lycus wouldn't have it any other way. Fighting was written in his blood just as hunting was. It defined him as a man and as an individual. Deep down he knew he would not die at a death bed, or peacefully along the shores of some distant beach. No. He would die at the end of a blade. Whether in the wilderness, or in his own home. Whether in some great conflict or a minor one. Either protecting his woman or one day, even his children. It did not matter why. He lived his life by the sword, and thus by the sword he would die. He was once a gladiator, and he now stands a warrior. Deserving only the fate equal to the lives he has taken with his fangs and claws. And he was fine with that.

His time with the Companions only furthered that belief. "Glory in battle, honor in life."

"Never heard of their sort before, though. But if they get killed like the rest, then we shouldn't be worried. Much. I dunno about you, champ, but I'm going out and meet with the others. We still have time to kill before Oedipus calls us back in."

The Imperial nodded gently as he kept his eyes on his own gauntlets, not turning to watch Ylenno leave through the entrance and out into the town. He was a funny fellow, this Ylenno. He meant well. Lycus would have to see if he was skilled in battle, despite his last words on the matter. His dancing with the axe was evidence enough, though.

"Friend of yours?" the Dunmer who owned the store inquired.

Lycus shook his head. "We just met. One of the adventurers on path to Fort Sutch."

"And you?"

"I am as well."

“A brave soul. Some sailors by the Flowing Bowl claim that all those who enter the earth shall die and have their souls devoured by walking mermaids.”

"Then they are lousier fools than I imagined," Lycus smirked. "There will be many men and many women, with all levels of skill."

And he'd seen all manners of creatures, fought all types of monsters and survived against a Daedric Lord. Walking sea-sirens would be the least of his concerns.

“You will join with the others?”

“I will. Together, an inferno shall be ignited in the depths of Fort Sutch. And if I survive, I shall piss out the flames that smolder and mark my place." Lycus said with a wolfish grin. "If not, then I'll march my way to the afterlife."

Before he could say a word, a gentle hand tugged on his elbow, and he turned to see that same Altmer fan girl standing at his side. She was wearing, in keeping with the adventurer’s occasion, a set of light armor made of elven material that had seen more years than it should have. She was a mere shadow of a girl, fresh-faced and virginal. Her skin was golden, slightly contrasting his sun-baked body. She stared at Lycus with her bedroom eyes and smiled.

What in Hircine's name does she want?

“Look at the muscles on you!” giggled the Altmer. “I never had the chance to feel them. The golden-rod at the guildhall didn’t let me. But that doesn’t stop me. If she a friend of yours?”

Lycus shot a look to the Dunmer man, nodded and thanked him, and shook his head to the girl as he began to walk away. “No.”

“Then you need a friend?”

Lycus was quiet as he continued on. His heavy boots striking the ground with heavy thuds as he traversed the store’s length. She jumped in front of him at the threshold of the exit, and sighed. “Please. Sorry if I seemed a bit upfront. But I’ve never seen a man such as yourself.”

“You’re not looking hard enough.”

“But you’re here! Now. In front of me. Please. I am you’re biggest fan. I paid to watch every match and I had even got a lot of coin betting on you. For a girl at my age, that was difficult. But I am of age now. Wouldn’t you want to relax? We can go on adventures together in far away lands! I can be of assistance and do anything you desire.”

Lycus considered his next words. He breathed deeply, to better control himself lest he succumb to his natural urges and strike out at the girl. And his hand moved from the sheathe of his sword toward her face. His fingers grabbed the bottom of her chin slightly and he looked into her eyes for what might have seemed like an eternity. His eyes traveled from her eyes to her mouth down to her chest, which he secretly admitted looked as if they concealed a pair of mosquito bites rather than full breasts. He nodded as a hungry man eager to engage in an intimate encounter with a young woman. He gave her a look that said: I like what I see.

“It is an offer only a married man or a fool would refuse,” Lycus whispered. “I know the desire you feel. You cannot wait any longer. You have spirit, woman. I will oblige.”

“We can go to a tavern-”

“Or you can go to the room upstairs and wait for me. Morvayn is a friend of mine.” He lied. “He will not mind as long as we are quiet and quick. Go there and wait for me.”

She did as she was told, spiriting herself away to the upstairs. Morvayn had a confused look as he saw the Altmer woman run up the stairs. He chased after her with an upraised fist. “Hey! Get out of there!”

Lycus immediately left the shop and headed outside. She would wait for him, but he would never return. She seemed too young, and appeared too inexperienced, and he was married and a loyal man. He had no time for such thing, especially on the eve of what could be a challenging battle. This woman had absolutely no chance in Nirn.

He hurried off and away, hoping that he would never see this woman again. He already registered her smell, of ale and beer and sweat and odor, which told him she must have been trying her luck in the local taverns or perhaps she worked there. It did not matter the case. She can find another man’s ground to worship, for his was not meant for her kind.

GM Post

Melisare found the bedroom, opened its door and sprawled back on the bed, relishing the feeling of the cloth-covered straw. It was, perhaps, somewhat uncomfortable, but she didn't care, concerned only for the fact that Kraven Desselius would be with her soon and she would be in the embrace of a pair strong, bronzed arms. She sighed in contentment, closing her eyes.

They snapped open as someone hammered on the door, and she sat up in time to see the armourer burst through it.

"What in Azura's name do you think you're doing?" the dunmer asked.

"What do you mean? Kra-Lycus said that you two had an agreement and that you wouldn't mind if we-"

"Well, he's lying to you, girl, now get out of my damn bedroom!" the armourer snapped. "He's gone!"

"Gone?"

"Yes, Gone! Now you get out of here too!"

Melisare rose with anger, confusion and disappointment boiling in the pit of her stomach. He had seemed so earnest when she had spoken to him, she was sure he had fallen for her charms. But him lying to her like that, that enraged her more than she could imagine.

He couldn't have got far, she knew that much. She hurried through the streets, towards where she guessed he might be; the gathering point for the Adventurer's Guild expedition. Not far away, she saw him, a tall figure in heavy, Orsimer-forged armour, and hurried towards him. She slipped around him, and before he could react, landed a slap square across his jaw.

"You lying, dishonest pig!" she yelled at him in a fury.



OOC: Have fun, DE.

Lycus Desselius:

Lycus maintained a quick pace as he tried to speed his way out of the street corner. He knew it wouldn't be long before the woman would chase him again. It happened so quick that he did not know how to react or what to say. It's been years since he had seen a lovestruck fan. Was his decision to tell her to go to the room a poor one? He wondered.

As if reading his mind, the woman sprung from nowhere and answered his question with a lightningfast slap to his face. Wham! Her palm striking him against his face with frail force—not enough to truly break anything but sufficient to send a sting of bitterness straight to his brain. The expression on his face had no value. He was dumbstruck.

Lycus tasted his own blood upon his lips. His tongue caressed the broken surface of those lips and wiped away the blood. He had underestimated this young, fiery woman and realized his rejection of her wiles had provoked a violent response. But she was not the only one with violence and rage boiling in her heart. Lycus did too, to a much more tremendously dangerous degree.

"You lying, dishonest pig!" came the furious yell.

Bystanders stopped in their tracks to avert their eyes to the source of the distress while others already caught the woman in the act and now stared at the man who had been struck by a younger woman. There were murmurs and even giggles from the ignorant.

Lycus did not even move to massage his face for he was too stunned to even take control of his actions. His constant signature composure evaporated in an instant, as the slap in the face set his temper ablaze. His face changed color and reddened, while swollen veins seemed to throb violently at his temples. His hazel eyes, filled with rage, shifted to a molten yellow for the fraction of a single second. His nostrils flared and appeared as if all the air in the world were gathered inside. His breaths became ragged and heavy, despite his growing effort to maintain a normal rate. His jaw tensed and his neck bulged, while his teeth gritted each other as if he was feeling an unbearable amount of pain.

The Lycanthropic urge to lash out at his attacker, to shift and transform, to engage in the thrill of the hunt was tempting. Oh so tempting. There were many ways to dispatch his foes. One of these methods is as simple as reaching out and snapping her neck with his massive hands or choking the life from her. But Lycus knew better. He struggled to breathe but eventually gained control of that raging force of nature that was his Beast. This woman had all the reason to retaliate. He'd given her a reason to. But to do it in public, however, had put him in a very tight situation.

He turned his focus out from all the negative emotions and thoughts, even putting the fact that she had hit him behind him. He blinked and inhaled and exhaled slowly and met her gaze after he believed he had a measure of control over his bestial urges.

"Woman!" Lycus said. Firm and loud. "What fever grips your mind? That you would raise your hand to me and brand me swine?"

Before she could say another word, he interrupted her. "I am honored that you appreciated my career as a gladiator. Yet hold no romantic interest in you. Nor shall I ever and I apologize if that grieves your heart. But you are too young. Enjoy the other simple pleasures life has to offer but listen to my warning and heed it well: stray far from my presence and men of my kind."

He was honest. He didn't want this woman anywhere near him. Lycus had built emotional ties in the past with women. Not all of them were succesful. He knew well that if he allowed her near him she would risk her life. The lass was naive and young. Should she pursue men of his kind, warriors and gladiators, she would surely face a handful of life-threatening issues among other things. He was no knight in shining armor nor would he compare himself to one. There was no need for unnescessary bloodshed. Especially in the streets of Anvil.

OOC: That was... quite restrained in the part of Lycus!

"A wood elf with an axe," Kayla declared when the duo of elves approached the trinity. "Now THAT is impressive."

Ylenno gave the Altmer his most cutest duck-face and scratched his neck sheepishly. He pointed at her own sword, which, quite frankly, gave off an aura of intense energy. An energy that was pure, but not in the same league of holiness or divinty. An eldritch purity. It gave him some minor goosebumps.

"Your sword is all the more impressive than my axe, really. Got a powerful enchantment; my magicky senses-a-tingle everytime I'm near!"

He leaned conspiratorily, and whispered in her ear.

"What's even more impressive," he said in his most Nordic voice possible. "Is your accent, lassie. Gives your smouldering sexiness a glow!"

He threw his head and laughed heartily, a hand on Kayla's shoulder. Then, his eyes and widened and one practically feel a light bulb suddenly go to life above his head. He opened his mouth.

And an explosion of flesh followed. There was a banshee shriek of betrayed hope, 'you lying dishonest pig!', and Ylenno turned sharply at the source, wondering what was happening or even if the searing curse was directed at him. He was a rogue after all, and had all the infamy such an occupation brought.

It turned out that it was hurled towards Lycus who now stared at young, and most cute elven girl that panted and frothed like a maddened dog. By the way Lycus stared at her disbelieving, and the sudden redness on his cheek, and the earlier explosion of flesh, it seems to Ylenno that the Grand Champion was .. was.... slapped!

A hulking, almost feral man was slapped in the face by a young teenaged girl. It was as funny as it was absurd.

Ylenno openly burst out laughing, his braying laughter even more intense than usual.

"What in Oblivion," he exclaimed between gasps for breath. "He just got sla-WAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NYAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He took a peek at Lycus' face and he simply died. Guy was angrier and more furious than a spitfire woman on her bleeding month! He had to hold onto Buffy for support as he howled and howled.

"Lords above, forgive me, but, heeheeheehee, that.. that.. was absurd!"

"Your sword is all the more impressive than my axe, really. Got a powerful enchantment; my magicky senses-a-tingle everytime I'm near!" Ylenno declared.

Kayla kept a tight-lipped smile and put her hand protectively on Dawnbreaker's hilt. It was subconscious more than anything, and meant more for her own comfort. But when Ylenno leaned up and whispered in her ear, she felt a tad uncomfortable.

"What's even more impressive," he said in a ridiculously off Nordic accent, "Is your accent, lassie. Gives your smouldering sexiness a glow!"

Then she realized he was joking. Her giggle that joined his laughter was interrupted by a resounding SLAP, and when she turned, Lycus was red-faced facing an equally red-faced...

"Oh, that girl! Dumskalle! I told her to leave him alone!" She covered her eyes with one hand and shook her head. She was relieved that Lycus held his temper. He could easily crush the petite Altmer girl, or flick her aside with one finger. The most his anger showed was his bulging eyes and color on his face. He eloquently told her off, and Kayla was a smidgen impressed, but more-so relieved.

Buffy:

As Kayla and Ylenno were teasing each other about axes and swords, Buffy realized that she didn’t know anything about either weapon – except she was glad her allies knew how to use them. A large figure in dark armor approaching caught her eye. She recognized him and was about to wave at Lycus when a young Altmeri lass sprinted past him then wheeled around to face the big human. She loudly slapped his face and called him a pig!

Buffy sucked her breath in and watched as Lycus’ palpable rage seemed to make him swell from twice the Altmer’s size to three times as big as his attacker. No doubt he could snap her in two with his gauntleted fist. The elf looked familiar. . . yes, she was the same serving girl in the guild hall that Lycus had summarily dismissed earlier. Buffy didn’t know what the man did to provoke the girl, but had to believe that he deserved the slap. After all, only righteous anger could prompt such a suicidal attack!

The small mystic archer's buckskin boots discretely carried her a couple steps to allow a clear path, as the emerald magic of illusion tingled in her right hand. Don’t hurt her! Buffy silently screamed, hoping somehow that her desperate thoughts mattered.

After a moment, the tension of a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike eased, as Lycus chose words instead of steel. Buffy could not hear all of what he said, but she didn’t care. He had not crushed the girl. Somewhat embarrassed, she quickly allowed the magic in her hand to dissipate. Only then did she realize she had been holding her breath since the sound of the girl’s slap had reached her long ears.

Buffy’s embarrassment only increased as she felt Ylennos’ hand on her shoulder and heard his laughter. She awkwardly smiled and forced a chuckle.

GM Post

Melisare looked at Lycus in confusion, before she said; "If you weren't interested you should have said so instead of misleading me; some honourable man you are."

She heard some wood-elf with a nonsensical haircut laughing, laughing at her, and glared at him.

"The lot of you can be damned!" she called to the group who were ogling the scene. "I hope you and your 'honourable' friend meet your end in those pits!"

She stormed away, still seething with rage.

Westley

Westley idly stood by while a young Altmer woman argued with Lycus. Apparently he had lied about being interested in her, and she didn't take it lightly. She had slapped Lycus hard across the face, and Westley watched silently as he began to seethe with rage.

C'mon, don't do it, don't hit her back

Westley sighed in relief when Lycus told the girl off. He could hear Ylenno howling with laughter in the background, and it was only a matter of time before the Altmer woman turned her rage to the rest of the group.

"The lot of you can be damned! I hope you and your 'honourable' friend meet your end in those pits!"

Westley didn't take her insult lightly. Just as she stormed off, he confronted her before she got out of earshot.

"Who do you think you are, coming over here and slapping people over a lie, then insulting everyone else for no good reason! You'd be best to watch your tongue..." Westley scowled at the girl, and bared his teeth at her.

Lycus Desselius.

"If you weren't interested you should have said so instead of misleading me; some honourable man you are."

I told her once I didn't want anything from her . . .she persisted.Lycus told himself. He never really focused on young girls like her. Not anymore. He'd had his share of a young woman when he was a young man himself and they were nothing but trouble. All of them. "I did! Your addled brain should have registered that I held no interest in you as a lover when I said I required nothing from you. I bode you farewell on your journey and that was your cue to turn upon heel and leave me be. Yet you caught my scent as some lovesick pup and never took the hint. Again, leave me be. Farewell to you."

Ylenno cackled in the backround like some rampant imp and he was quite sure he even heard a few chuckles from other members of the group. His face reddened, though not from embarrasment.

"The lot of you can be damned! I hope you and your 'honourable' friend meet your end in those pits!" the girl said to all of the ones who were laughing in the backround. She then marched off in a fit of rage.

Better her than me, otherwise there would be piles of spilled entrails all over the town . . .

As she walked off, Lycus was going to address the crowd before he heard a familiar voice confront the woman who just struck him in the face a moment ago.

"Who do you think you are, coming over here and slapping people over a lie, then insulting everyone else for no good reason! You'd be best to watch your tongue..." Westley snarled at her. His rage palpable. Lycus was fast to act, and rushed over to him despite the weight over his body. He didn't hold back his anger, politely send the woman off just so that the young hound could tear her apart. There was no sense in the bloodshed, and her death would only be due to bruised egos and insults. Not the way prey should die. It was senseless.

He set his hand on Westley's shoulder and said: "It would be best for you to let her go about her life."

Even though the pup only bares his teeth, he could actually give into his urges and bite her. Lycus was good at reading other members of his kind, for he dealt with a number of them before in his time in Skyrim and in the afterlife. He could sense Westley was wild and had much rage in him. The way he growled at the woman was evidence enough. And it is troublesome because there were too many people looking. Too many witnesses. And Lycus was not planning to spend his days in a filthy Imperial prison for relation with the death of a young woman scorned. He'd been in prisons for quite long enough . . .

He squeezed even tighter and leaned in to whisper to Westley's ear so that only he could hear. "There will be no spilled blood in this city, blood-kin. She is just a girl. The more you feed your impulses, the more you will desire to kill. And she need not die today. There would be no sport in her last breath."

Before the Altmer girl could even say a word, Lycus pointed a finger at her and held it in the air. "No more. Begone, now, woman. I seek no more quarrel than I have already caused. My say in this stands final."

"You-" She began to say.

Lycus' rage reached its peek and he lowered his finger and clenched his hand into a fist. "Begone!"

She hurried off at the booming sound of his voice. He turned to all the other bystanders, citizens of the empire and sailors both. "Gaze your eyes elsewhere. What is done is finished. There is nothing more here. Go about your lives, as I will mine."

The crowd stared at him and after sometime they all began to disperse and leave. Some dissapointed there would be no entertainment, others relieved. Even the guards who already were going toward the scene of distress seemed to back away after Lycus raised a hand and told them that it was a "misunderstanding."

He released his hold of Westley and began walking toward the group of people he recognized. He licked away a bit of blood from his lips, and stood in front of them. He stared at each of them with his heavy hazel eyes before speaking. "I hope you all filled your spirits high with laughter, for after we go under Fort Sutch, your spirits will descend with you."

It wasn't a threat. His tone was even. Normal. He showed no hostility at all. He could see that they were a happy bunch, but when tested with the ways of battle and death could they really muster the strength to laugh at death? Ylenno, certainly, for he surpassed the definition of what is considered normal. But the others? Who knew? Only time would tell.

"It is a shame that my day has begun with this sour event."

Westley

Just as Westley was about to lunge and pursue the girl, Lycus rushed over and stopped him. The bronze-skinned Imperial out his hand on Westley's shoulder.


"It would be best for you to let her go about her life." Westley was shocked when Lycus leaned closer and whispered into his ear. "There will be no spilled blood in this city, blood-kin. She is just a girl. The more you feed your impulses, the more you will desire to kill. And she need not die today. There is no sport in her last breath."

Westley took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He stood there while Lycus dismissed the crowd. When everyone was gone, he approached Lycus.

"Thank you for stoping me. I almost lost myself over something stupid, and I apologize for it." Westley smiled warmly.

Kayla's heart pounded when Westley's temper got the better of him at the slight Altmer girl's insult. It pounded out of surprise and shock that something so little could set him off. She reached out to calm him down, but Lycus was already there, leaving her hand floating in mid-air.

Lycus murmured something to Westley, causing the expression on Westley's face to snap from seething to surprised. When the crowd thinned out, and the onlookers carried on with their lives, Kayla walked to the two, Dawnbreaker bouncing angrily on her hip as her hips swayed with decided irritation.

"Thank you," She arrived just in time to hear Westley say to Lycus. She put her hand on Westley's arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"What was that?" Her voice was higher than she intended it to be. "All she did was lash out in anger. She didn't MEAN anything by it, Westley." Her glance flitted to Lycus for a moment, then back to Westley. "Could you PLEASE calm down, Westley? I know you're on edge right now, we all are. But try not to lash our at children, okay?" She gave him a nervous smile.

Westley

Westley flinched a bit when Kayla gently squeezed his arm.

"What was that? All she did was lash out in anger. She didn't MEAN anything by it, Westley. Could you PLEASE calm down, Westley? I know you're on edge right now, we all are. But try not to lash our at children, okay?"

Westley sighed. "I know. My temper got the best of me. I exploded, couldn't control myself. Too much rage bottled up inside me. I should really calm down. I'll try not to do anything like that again, alright."

Westley looked away for a moment.

What kind of monster have I become? I nearly attacked a girl over an insult. What's wrong with me?

Buffy:

Buffy quickly realized that Ylenno was laughing at the situation, not her. Laughter was an odd reaction but, then again, Ylenno was a delightfully odd Bosmer. She knew how close to the surface his grief was buried, and marveled at the light and carefree demeanor he so casually projected to most.

The girl then hurled insults at those who had been subjected to the scene and, for a few moments, Westley, the girl and Lycus were all loudly engaged. At that point, Buffy began to understand Ylenno’s laughter, even as she raised both hands to shield her keen ears from all the commotion and slid a pair of steps farther from the group.

Buffy watched as the young Altmer wheeled and hurried off past the smith’s shop she had come out of, past the inn and down the street as if heading for the gate to the docks. By the time the girl was out of sight, Buffy noticed that Lycus had rejoined the group. She hadn’t heard his words, but it was the big human’s actions that mattered. He had displayed the self-discipline to extricate himself from the awkward tiff without violence. Westley, on the other hand, was still being calmed by the soothing words of Kayla.

Ylenno's sides actually hurt so much he had to groan in pain amidst his laughter. He bared his teeth in both pain and in smile as Lycus dismissed the spitfire maiden, and he eas about to snide in a remark when the lass turned and insulted him and the group in front of the assembled crowds. Ylenno barked another series of sharp laughter and would've blew her a mocking kiss, but it was Westley who retaliated. In a very compromising manner, too. Ylenno's street-smarts enabled him to see the genuine fury in the boy's steps and all manner of giddiness in the elf disappeared as he realized that Westley would've iniated violence against her. He made to stop the lad before he got all of the group locked up below, but, fortunately, it was Lycus who got there first. He conquered the situation with what Ylenno thought he should've used in the first place; his loud commandeering voice. When he cast her out and rebuked her, she fled, and whispered Westley into a state of calmness. Kayla joined in and she conversed with the lad, who now looked to genuinely regret his decision to march up.

The show ended, and the assembled masses of onlookers dispersed one by one.

Ylenno's mirth returned.

"What a scandal," he piped in, followed by a smirk. "That kind of drama I expect from a household, really. The girl would be the nagging fishwife, Lycus the ever-suffering husband, and Westley as the rebellious teenager! Haw-haw-haw-haw!"

It was meant in jest, of course. To raise the overall spirit of the situation, since Lycus got all nihilistic about that. 'Spirits shall descend with you," really? He almost spoke like the sesquipedallian Monk-Boy now! But elonquence with words or no, the public scandal was over, and with it, the possibilty of having trouble than was necessary. That was what mattered, really. Ylenno turned to Buffy and found her a little step away from the group, tiny hands on her respectable elven ears. He found that quite odd. Surely she was used to things such as these? Bravil was home to events infintely more bloodier than this little, after all. But then he remembered that she probably lived with the nicer crowd of Bravil, and that she may have been shielded from the realities of the streets. She was fortunate then, if it were so. He approached her.

"Oh look, little Buffy is playing with her rabbit ears! Or is she trying to hide them, afraid of the cruel teasing of the world? This grim matter needs to be looked in at the most fastest convenience! Come over here, Buff, there's no need to distance yourself away from this scandalous gathering of ne'er-do-wells!"

He turned to the others.

"Apart from Tarrick, we're all set as a pony all giddied up like a buttercup. I'm pretty sure he's on his way now, so why don't we just wait for him inside the Guildhall? Its rather hot standing in the afternoon all armored up, you know!" He took a glance at Lycus and bit his lip.

"And there may be a small chance that the girl will call all her thuggish boyfriends and send them after us in a blood vengeance. You never know with teenagers like that. She had the guts to insult armed strangers after all!"

Buffy:

Ylenno lightheartedly teased Buffy about covering her ears during the fracas. “It wasn’t the events, it was the volume. My ears are quite – oh, nevermind.” With her hands still up near her head, she turned them to face Ylenno and wiggled her fingers at him as she stuck out her tongue. After a moment, she dropped her hands and grinned, even scooting back closer to the other Bosmer like he asked.

"Apart from Tarrick,” Ylenno continued, “we're all set as a pony all giddied up like a buttercup. I'm pretty sure he's on his way now, so why don't we just wait for him inside the Guildhall? Its rather hot standing in the afternoon all armored up, you know! And there may be a small chance that the girl will call all her thuggish boyfriends and send them after us in a blood vengeance. You never know with teenagers like that. She had the guts to insult armed strangers after all!"

Buffy wasn’t concerned about the girl returning. She was pretty sure that with some time to cool down and think, the young Altmer wouldn’t again dare risk the ire of Lycus. Rather, the little elf cued on something else Ylenno said, for she too had noted the angle of the sun. “My pony is indeed all giddied up. Given the number of visiting horses at Anvil’s stable, I gather I am one of the few who will be riding to Sutch. Regardless, it is a notable distance north to the ruins and I hope we’re underway in time to travel with some daylight.”

OOC:
Just a note. If you tease elves about their ears, you're likely to get the following merish display, demonstrated here by two of our own elven lasses - Caution! You’ve been warned!

OOC: Acadian, dafuq did I just watch?

Elaninde:

"We do, thank you. And I trust you are prepared as well?" Kayla said. Just after the last word had gotten past her lips she suddenly said:

"A wood elf with an axe! Now THAT is impressive!". Elaninde turned around and saw Ylenno approached them. Ylenno put on a duck-face and and said:

"Your sword is all the more impressive than my axe, really. Got a powerful enchantment; my magicky senses-a-tingle everytime I'm near!"

"What's even more impressive," Ylenno said in his most Nordic voice possible. "Is your accent, lassie. Gives your smouldering sexiness a glow!" Just after he had said that, Elaninde saw an altmer woman slapping Lycus, screaming:

"You lying dishonest pig!" This seemed to be funny since Ylenno started laughing like a madman when he saw Lycus' face. Despite how angered he must have gotten when the altmer slapped him he handled this quite calmly, and simply explained to the woman that he held no interest in her whatsoever. The woman responded to this by saying:

"If you weren't interested you should have said so instead of misleading me; some honourable man you are." She must have heard Ylenno laughing as she suddenly turned around at them and said:

"The lot of you can be damned!"

"I hope you and your 'honourable' friend meet your end in those pits!" This seemed to anger Westley as when Elaninde turned around at them she saw him first being told by Lycus to let her go on with her life and then being calmed by Kayla's soothing words. Ylenno seemed to die of laughter but calmed down and said:

"What a scandal,", followed by a smirk.

"That kind of drama I expect from a household, really. The girl would be the nagging fishwife, Lycus the ever-suffering husband, and Westley as the rebellious teenager! Haw-haw-haw-haw!"

"Oh look, little Buffy is playing with her rabbit ears! Or is she trying to hide them, afraid of the cruel teasing of the world? This grim matter needs to be looked in at the most fastest convenience! Come over here, Buff, there's no need to distance yourself away from this scandalous gathering of ne'er-do-wells!"

He turned to the others.

"Apart from Tarrick, we're all set as a pony all giddied up like a buttercup. I'm pretty sure he's on his way now, so why don't we just wait for him inside the Guildhall? Its rather hot standing in the afternoon all armored up, you know!" He took a glance at Lycus and bit his lip. Buffy answered by saying:

“My pony is indeed all giddied up. Given the number of visiting horses at Anvil’s stable, I gather I am one of the few who will be riding to Sutch. Regardless, it is a notable distance north to the ruins and I hope we’re underway in time to travel with some daylight.” Elaninde decided to break in here and said:

"I guess it would be ok to wait for Tarrick inside the guildhall yes, I have everything I need and actually got to borrow the horse of a friend this morning, this is the town I spent most of my time from my parents death until my 26th birthday."

Lycus only nodded at Westley's apology, and left him to be alone with his lover, Kayla. In the backround he could hear Ylenno still flapping his tongue as if Sheogorath had fed him a heavy dose of nut-house cheese.

"What a scandal," said Ylenno with a growing smirk. "That kind of drama I expect from a household, really. The girl would be the nagging fishwife, Lycus the ever-suffering husband, and Westley as the rebellious teenager! Haw-haw-haw-haw!"

The big man frowned, and with a half measure of what could possibly be a smile, he said. "You left out the Bosmeri pet jester."

The group stood there and began to plan their next move when Ylenno mentioned concern about the Altmer girl coming back. Truthfully, Lycus was expecting anything at this point. Should the girl be brave enough to send whatever man or child, or man-child she conjured up with her feminine wiles, Lycus would not be as merciful as he was before. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. There is only one life he is commanded to take, and he wasn't sure he would do it yet. It was too soon. There would be no sport in it. To kill his prey, he must first know what he is hunting. The character of the animal that would be ensnared into the trap.

While the rest discussed among themselves their concern over the Altmer girl, Kayla sighed and patted Westley's arm. Just then, she had an overwhelming urge to knock Lycus' teeth from his head. She turned towards him and turned back to Westley.

Hmm. That was odd, she thought. Maybe Westley's temper is catching.

She shrugged it off and tuned in just in time to hear someone mention going inside. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and agreed. "Not used to this heat," she murmured. "I'm used to being frozen almost all of the time."

Westley

Westley watched as Kayla wiped the sweat off of her forehead. "Not used to this heat, I'm used to being frozen almost all of the time."

Westley chuckled "You'll have to learn to get used to it. It's not as warm down here in anvil as it is in the Imperial City."

Westley forced a reluctant smile, then spaced out for no apparent reason. He feared that he would lose control and hurt someone, or worse. Lycus was right. There was no need for mindless bloodshed, and taking innocent lives was the last thing Westley wanted.

Buffy:

In response to Kayla’s acknowledgment of the heat, Westley reminded her that Cyrodiil was indeed warmer than the frozen tundra that the Altmeri daughter of Skyrim was probably used to.

Buffy nodded her agreement. “I guess between my lack of mass and large ear surfaces, I dissipate heat quite easily. I’m sure the light density of my bird-like bones and thin Valenwood blood probably helps too. It’s the cold I have trouble with. In fact it was a Nord named Jerric who gave me the resist cold toe ring I always wear. Like my mare’s saddle pad with the same enchantment, it does no harm during pleasant weather but is of great comfort when the temperature falls.”

Lifting her gaze to meet Kayla’s, Buffy added, “I also carry a resist fire ring. Would you like to borrow it? I’ve rarely needed it - not even when traveling the warmer provinces of Valenwood or Elsweyr.”

The small elf did not add that, in fact, the only times she had ever worn the ring were during her three visits to the Deadlands. Out of respect for the true heroes and champions that had defeated the forces of Mehrunes Dagon during the crisis, Buffy had no wish to imply credentials she did not have.

Westley told Kayla she'd have to get used to the warmth. She frowned. She missed Skyrim. The feeling of warm furs on her body was replaced with a sheen of sweat. There were only two times it was acceptable to sweat; during battle and during lovemaking. Since she was engaging in neither one at the moment, she was offended at the trickle of moisture making its way down her back.



Buffy offered her ring of resist fire, and Kayla blinked in surprise at the offer. "Actually, that would be wonderful. I'm not used to being so warm." She refrained from repeating verbally what was in her head. She had nothing to give the smaller elf in return, except a warm smile and gratitude. She squeezed Buffy's shoulder and thanked her.

Buffy:

Buffy dug into the small jewelry pouch at her waist and quickly produced her ring of resist fire. “Here. It’s not strong enough to ward you from fireballs, but it can certainly defend against hot weather.” Pressing the ring into Kayla’s hand, she stood on tiptoes and quietly whispered up toward one of the statuesque Altmer’s delicately curved ears, “Keep it. I can easily make another when I return to the University. Save up your sweat for that man back home.”

Kayla gave Buffy a beautifully warm smile in return while gently squeezing the smaller mer’s shoulder and thanking her.

Stepping back, Buffy announced, “I’m going inside to see if there’s any strawberries left! I hope Tarrick shows his handsome face before the afternoon shadows lengthen much more.”

Tarrick

Tarrick was gone almost the moment that Oedipus finished his speech, out of door and heading along one of the streets of Anvil. He had overhead Lycus and Kayla talking about these creatures, these Falmer, and how they relied on sound, not sight to track their prey. With that in mind, and considering his usual approach to danger, he decided that he would need something to help keep the odds in his favour.

The place he reached was Lelles' Quality Merchandise (or possibly Mercandise), and he pushed open the door. Norbert Lelles, the Breton owner of the place, looked up as Tarrick entered.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"That's what I'm hoping," Tarrick said. "You sell clothes, right?"

"Among other things, yes," Norbert said. "What do you want?"

"Velvet," Tarrick said. "Just two big patches of velvet, that's all. Oh, and a needle and thread."

"Alright then, if that's what you'd like," Norbert said. "That should come to...six septims, please."

Tarrick paid his money, took his goods and left. He found a quiet spot on a bench in the street, took out his needle and thread, and began to sew, forming the velvet into two bags, each one large enough to cover his foot; each one would quiet his footsteps as well as any spell.

The work took a while, but once it was done he tucked them away and headed off, keeping an eye open for the rest of the group. He found them soon enough, gathered in one of Anvil's main streets, and waved at them as he approached.

"Sorry for disappearing like that," he said. "Had important things to do and needed to them in a hurry. I miss anything important?"

Lycus Desselius.

"And there may be a small chance that the girl will call all her thuggish boyfriends and send them after us in a blood vengeance. You never know with teenagers like that. She had the guts to insult armed strangers after all!" Ylenno said. Lycus scoffed inwardly at the words. It wouldn't surprise him. She could use her wiles on foolish young men guided by the shriveled blade between their legs to brave an attack on him while she remains behind, safe from his wrath.

He should have followed his instincts and naturally rejected the woman, though it would have caused more harm than any good. But he promised to put her past his mind. If she sends her lovers to try and make an attempt against his life, so be it. But in the meantime he would remain

Lycus listened to Kayla and Buffy converse about the weather and the cold and the heat. Buffy was not used to frigid climates and mentioned of a ring she was given to dispel the cold. She also had other enchanted items to help her discomfort. Lycus knew where she was coming from. He too was used to hotter climates and warm weather. From roaming through the hot ashstorms of Morrowind, to the sands of Elsweyr and Hammerfell to the Cyrodiilic climate, he was no stranger to heat.

When moving to Skyrim, he remained close to Falkreath for it's proximity to Cyrodiiil. There were few times where he had to make journeys into the frozen glacial valleys of Skyrim and Solstheim, but he had to rely on his superior form to survive the harsh snowstorms. Even then the winter was hard on him. It wouldn't be long until he had to return to the Nordic homeland . . .he only wish he could make the best of his current stay in his own province of birth.

He was debating on whether he should leave or not when a familiar face appeared. It was no other than Tarrick, who already came apologizing for his notable absence. "Sorry for disappearing like that," he said. "Had important things to do and needed to them in a hurry. I miss anything important?"

"Nothing important." Lycus told him, resisting to massage the lingering after-effects of an adolescent's slap. He stood there, and looked at the others and then to Buffy. "There are many adventurers on their way to Fort Sutch. I think it is best we be on our own."

He hauled his spear over his shoulder and turned around to begin walking. A smile, one that never was seen on his face since the time he had lingered, crawled along the edges of his mouth. "If we let them ride to their destination, what glory will there be left for us?"

Buffy:

Before Buffy could enter the guild, the sound of Tarrick's voice stopped her. She turned to see the Redguard’s arrival and hear both his apology for being delayed and inquiry as to if he had missed anything.

It was Lycus that fielded the question, truthfully stating that Tarrick had missed nothing of significance. The heavily armored man then looked around at the group and, when his gaze met Buffy’s, he said, "There are many adventurers on their way to Fort Sutch. I think it is best we be on our own." Turning as if to leave, he added, "If we let them ride to their destination, what glory will there be left for us?"

Buffy scratched her head, confused as to whether the big human was challenging the guild master’s intent to lead the group or whether he intended to set off on his own. “Lycus, you may have my share of glory,” she offered. “I am here as a Lamp Knight to support a sister guild’s pursuit of knowledge and discovery. Perhaps there is safety in the numbers that an organized expedition provides, not to mention Oedipus’ familiarity with the ruins, foes and wardings that bar the way below. I for one,” she gently suggested, “would welcome the protection that your armor and weaponry can provide by staying with us.”

The words fell against Lycus’ back and Buffy was unsure if he heard them. Glancing up at the sun, she mentioned to no one in particular, “The hour of preparation time that Oedipus spoke of has nearly passed. I would expect him to join us shortly.”

GM POST (kinda) and YLENNO

By the time Tarrick returned from whatever task he ran, Ylenno was already inside, cooling his body from the heat of afternoon Magnus. Whatever conversation the others had inside would've been null to the elf's ears; and even if their talk carried over through the walls, he doubted it would've matched the volume of the Adventurers Guildhall as it sprang to life. The true electricity of the event struck the air now, and Guildsmen and hirelings alike went about their businesses with lightning fluidity. It was an ordered chaos. Everybody knew what to do.

Ylenno watched all of them as he sat on a bench, fanning himself and his sweat away. Observing always helped Ylenno; it gave him a general rundown of the situation and allowed him some roguish assessment. Right now his streets-eye, as it were, allowed him to see that some of the Adventurers and hirelings had identical armbands on their biceps, and those with the same color stuck together. Like some sort of group.

He stopped a gigantic Orc with a red armband and asked what those were for.

"Its show who you were grouped with," the Orc said with a gravelly voice, looking down on the elf. "These Adventurers team you up with others like some kind of balanced group! To cover their weaknesses while you cover theirs, or some such. Guess that's why tjhy took a look at my form and glued me up to some mages over there."

He waved a hamfist hand towards a shuffling group of, sure enough, robed wizards and among them were a couple of warriors, and perhaps even a rogue or two. All of them had red armbands on their biceps, like the orc.

"Go get yourself sorted out back at the Atrium, shorty. You'd be useless as a loner when we go under."

Ylenno nodded, bid him a good day and stood up. He weaved through the assembled masses of walking armaments and finally found himself in the Atrium, relatively unscathed, On the dais where the inauguration speech was held, there stood the strange Breton with the equally unnerving red-eyes of his. He stood regal as a hawk-like king, and his royal-red stare peered through crowds of motley mercenaries..... until it found Ylenno's gaze.

There was something off about the way this guy looked, Ylenno thought as he held the gaze evenly. Something... maleficent. The breton then gestured for him to come, and judging from the armbands on his hands, Ylenno guessed that it was probably for him and whoever else that had the fortune of grouping with him. He had a smirk on his face as he stepped up on the platform.

From this close, Ylenno found that the Breton and him were of equal height. But their was an aura of something else that glows around him, something that gives this lanky figure the presence of a giant. If the breton minded Ylenno's analyzation of him, he didn't show it. He merely handed him a blue armband.

"So who's grouping up with me," Ylenno asked while adjusting the mark on himself.

The voice of the Breton was dark steel dipped in deep velvet wine that shined on the auburn fire of a black sun. It was sonorous and had an echo, supremely contemptous with a High Rock accent, and like his red eyes, it bespoke a powerful maleficence and hissed a very confident superiority.

"I have a list of names here," the Breton drawled with that chilling voice of his as he handed Ylenno a piece of paper and the rest of the bands. "Get these to your group. There will be a final meeting here in the Atrium before we venture out, so come back once you get yourself acquianted with the others of your group..."

Ylenno resusted the urge to grind his teeth. He wasn't one to jump conclusions but this man gave him a nasty vive, and that vibe screamed 'evil' like it was going out of style for cliche villains. He just nodded his head and let the rest of the breton's words go through one ear to another, just remembering the important stuff. He didn't waste anytime staying there; any longer and he wprobably would've turned to Daedra worship.

When he found himself near the entrance, he stopped and took a look at the paper given to him. A list of names written in a beauiful hand danced on it, and they gave him a smile. Ylenno smiled back. This was the list of names that gave him a giddy feeling;

Elandine, sellsword of some renown.

Buffy of Bravil, representative Lamp Knight of the Guild of Mages.

Lycus Desselius, former Grand Champion of the Arena.

Kayla, daughter of Skyrim.

Westley Arctus, former member of the Anvil Guild of Fighters.

Tarrick Kathram, local of Anvil.

Ylenno (the first and last of his name, supremely handsome heir-apparent of the Prestigiously Majestic Clan Sasalonia of the Royally Extinguished Bloodline of Sasalosiel of the Bushy Realm of sacred Valenwood).

He had a goofy grin on his face as he read his name and the faux-title that trailed off like a worm after his name. He was suprised that the Adventurers would actually go through the trouble of writing the whole thing down. Oh well, he thought. It didn't h-

He noticed the last name on the paper.

He read it.

His eyes widened and bulged, and his thin eyebrowsd raised themselves outrageously. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land. He couldn't believe it. There, in bold letters. The object of his bewilderment.


OEDIPUS NEBRASKA, MASTER OF THE GUILD OF ADVENTURERS.

He decided that the others would share his surprise, and the look on their faces would be a treat too. He went outside, and just in time to see Lycus walk off. towards the gate Buffy was off to the side, and she voiced Ylenno's thoughts.

"That's right boys and girls." he announced as he made his presence known. He gave a nod of greeting to Tarrick.

"There'll be no lone wolves limping off. Things are already organized inside, and apparently we mercs have to be grouped together. To make things easier, I guess. Here."

He handed each and every one of them the blue armbands. He waved Lycus to come over so he can get his.

"Its a delightful coincedence, isn't it? We all know each other, and then we get grouped together! Things are looking up, if you ask me."

He turned serious as he drew the piece of paper that confirmed their status as a group. He waved it in the air, getting their attention.

"We're also going to be joined by another guy. Try not to faint when you hear his name, okay?"

He turned to Buffy and gave her the paper.

"If you would do us the honors and recite all the names there, sister?"

Buffy:

As Ylenno explained that the Adventurers Guild had organized the expedition into teams, Buffy affixed the blue band he had given her to her left upper arm. It clashed with what she wore, but at least it matched her eyes – sort of.

The fellow Bosmer then pressed a scroll into Buffy’s hand as he said, “If you would do us the honors and recite all the names there, sister?”

As Buffy unrolled the document and skimmed over it, her face danced among relief, humor then surprise. She cleared her throat and donned her most courtly manner as she took some minor liberties with the beautifully quilled words.

“To all who shall see these presents, greeting. Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the following intrepid adventurers, they are hereby bound together by bands of blue:
Elaninde, renowned spellsword.
Buffy of Bravil, Lamp Knight, Guild of Mages.
Lycus Desselius, former Grand Champion of the Arena.
Kayla, Daughter of Skyrim.
Westley Arctus, former member of the Anvil Guild of Fighters.
Tarrick Kratham, local of Anvil.
Ylenno, Bravilian Bushmaster.”

Supressing a smile at her creative shortening of Ylenno's title, she then looked up from the parchment. “The final member of our group is Oedipus Nebraska, Master of the Guild of Adventurers.”

Westley put on the blue armband handed to him by Ylenno as Buffy read the list of members in his group. His eyes widened with shock when Buffy announced the last member in their group.

“The final member of our group is Oedipus Nebraska, Master of the Guild of Adventurers.”

"Oedipus Nebraska is joining out group?"

Westley smiled. Surely this could only be beneficial. Having the man who knows the most about this expedition along side the group would definitely give everyone an advantage over the other groups.

"Any idea when Nebraska will get here?"

Kayla took the armband when it was given to her. She didn't speak of her surprise when she found out they were grouped together. She did, however, gasp in surprise when she learned that Oedipus Nebraska would be in their group.

"Wait a moment, " she said suspiciously. "Not only were we, as a group, put together to explore this place, but we're having the head of the Adventurer's Guild come with us?" She snorted. She kept the next part of her sentence to herself, which was Something doesn't seem right...

Ylenno gave Buffy a mock-disappointed look when she shortened his titles. He even tsked, but there was a smile on his face. Westley shared his mirth, and asked when Oedipus will come. The elf gave a shrug in his way.

"Nope, we'll be the ones who'll go to him, not the other way around. There's a final gathering going down back at the Atrium, and once we're all 'bonded by bands of blue,' as my sister elf elonquently put, we should go there." Another shrug. "Maybe he'd answer your questions, I dunno."

Having the Guild Master himself as a member of the group was as unexpected as a sudden thunderstrike on a clear sunny day. It jolted his veins and gave him a shiner. Ylenno's days as a thug on the streets toughened him up on pleasantries; he wasn't the one to look the gift horse in the mouth. Surely, as others here no doubt thought, having Nebraska himself lead them personally could soften whatever dangers that lurk below the Fort? This man braved those deeps himself and his experience there would be a great help to the group. Having been in large brawls himself, the young elf understood the aid an experienced hand could give and for that, he was grateful.

Unfortunately, Kayla didn't think along the same lines. She voiced her thoughts openly, and while Ylenno could understand the sheer volume of surprising coincedence in the events, he simply didn't understand why the other elf would suddenly go on a conspiracy-theorist mode. Yes, he heard her last remark. He was still a fellow elf after all, and his ears were quite sharp due to his heritage.

"Oh yes, this whole chain of events, this expedition, conviently 'grouping' us together, Oedipus joining us, its one big, dastardly move to specifically kill us all in a very horrible manner because we wronged Nebraska before in a previous life, and apparently he has one hell of a memory!"

He gave a laugh, lest Kayla mistook his sarcasm for offence. He turned serious.

"I don't see why something like this isn't right, to be honest. Sure, its a massively delightful convienience, and being cautious is generally a good thing to be, but if you'd ask me, out of all the mercenaries that jumped on this Expedition, all of us are probably the most capable.

And its not a brag. Look at us, for gods' sake! We have a former Grand Champion of the Arena with us, and famed hero of Bravil too! And, dun dun dun duuuun, we have yours truly! So yeah, it won't surprise me for Nebraska to lump us with his personal guard to add for his maximum protection."

He gave a massive shrug. He was as clueless as the rest of them.

"But that's just my inner-genius thinking. And what I do know, is that I don't know. We'd be better off if we'd ask the man himself; come on, my sweet darlings, the Atrium awaits!"

As Lycus prepared to leave, Buffy called out to him. He stopped and turned around, but not fully that he was facing her.

"Lycus, you may have my share of glory. I am here as a Lamp Knight to support a sister guild’s pursuit of knowledge and discovery. Perhaps there is safety in the numbers that an organized expedition provides, not to mention Oedipus’ familiarity with the ruins, foes and wardings that bar the way below. I for one would welcome the protection that your armor and weaponry can provide by staying with us."

Oedipus does hold knowledge over the nature of the ruins and the life-threatening mysteries that dwell below. And of course it would be a brave but foolhearty act to venture there alone. But Lycus had no intention of assaulting the ruin by himself.

Grand Champion of the Arena in Cyrodiil and Champion of the Arena of Kvatch, as well as Vivec, Lycus was seasoned in combat and stood as a survivor in the Daedric Wild Hunt and champion of Hircine. With Lycanthropy running through his veins, he was given more abilities and skills that surpassed the common man. Though he was all of these things he was still mortal. When time could not wound him deeply, the blade or the spell of an enemy could.

Numbers can be overwhelming and Lycus knows not what else he faces below. His desire was to simply reach the doors of Sutch before the other groups ventured in.

By this time Ylenno had ventured in the Guildhall, and the rest of the group waited impatiently. Lycus was pressed to leave until the Bosmer came out from the hall with a parchment in his hands.

"That's right boys and girls," he said. "There'll be no lone wolves limping off. Things are already organized inside, and apparently we mercs have to be grouped together. To make things easier, I guess. Here."

Lone wolves . . .

Ylenno waved to him so that he could get one of the armbands that was being offered that served to identity each group of adventurers. His was blue. He handed the parchment that held the names to Buffy, who started to read it with polished tone fitting of a woman of the court or higher standing.

Each of the names were read, and when she reached the end, Lycus' expression took on a turn of mild interest into confused suspicion. Oedipus joins us . . .

Lycus saw the advantage of this. The master of the guild himself would be joining the group. He among everyone else knew what lies under Fort Sutch and that meant they had an advantage over the other teams.

Ylenno was excited. Westley seemed to like the idea. But Kayla? Kayla had a look on her face that spoke volumes of her distrust. Ylenno did not share in her suspicion, and even spoke out.

"Oh yes, this whole chain of events, this expedition, conviently 'grouping' us together, Oedipus joining us, its one big, dastardly move to specifically kill us all in a very horrible manner because we wronged Nebraska before in a previous life, and apparently he has one hell of a memory!"

Or perhaps he wants to use the dregs to mop the fort clean so that he can discover some hidden treasure . . .

Maybe not, Lycus added. It did not matter to him. What Ylenno said did make sense. There were capable men and women in this group. He could see Buffy had a deadly streak about her. From his short time being with her he already heard her name spoken in different titles. Undoubtedly a great ally. He was eager to see how she would fare in combat.

Terrick was a roguish man, much like Ylenno the Jester with the tongue that never tires. Being a Redguard, Lycus hoped the man would be a fearsome warrior as many of them are. Sailors, pirates, sea merchants, sand-walkers . . .Redguards came in all shapes and sizes in various martial prowess. It is in their blood. And it is in Lycus' blood, as well. He is part Redguard. The scimitar on his side was not just for show.

Kayla. Where would Lycus begin with her? She was raised in Skyrim. She must had acquired a few set of skills while living in the Nordic lands. Her accent already told most that she integrated herself with their culture and was raised among them. Her time will come to show that she is good with the sword.

Ylenno. The jester who favors comedy over contention certainly showed Lycus that he wielded the axe in a fluid manner. Even so that child's dance back at the armor store was due to his rather insane personality, there was deadly truth to his every swing.

Elandine. Anti-social Altmer woman. She doesn't speak too much and gives Lycus a feel that she is absent or non-existent. He had to wonder what made this woman deadly. Her magical powers, maybe.

Westley. A fellow Lycanthrope. Hot-headed, bitter and of course, brash. His gift alone would make him a deadly adversary only if he knew how to fight with a sword and shield. His connection with the Fighter's Guild was not missed by Lycus. If he could put his skill to good use, then it would be beneficial to the group. As long as he doesn't shift in the fullness of the moons like Lycus, then it would be fine.

Lycus stroked the faint stuble of hair on his chin and followed Ylenno into the guildhall.

Kayla was slightly taken aback at Ylenno's quip towards her suspicion. She was sure he was joking with her, but all the same, she felt it didn't call for him making that much of a scene. She hadn't even said that something wasn't right, unless Ylenno suddenly became a mind-reader.

Or perhaps she was more transparent than she initially believed.

Kayla rolled her eyes and slipped on the ring Buffy gave her. She fanned herself and grinned. That was much better. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn't win, being an elf-sicle in Skyrim, and a sweaty Altmer in Cyrodiil. No matter. Perhaps soon she would be lobbing fireballs at the heads of Falmer. Or not. That would cause a commotion, as would a party of clanky armour-covered people.

She inwardly shrugged. Perhaps it would not be so bad. She had yet to see the abilities of the others, though Ylenno's axe and Buffy's apparent skill with a bow gave her some relief. She wasn't too skilled with a bow and arrow, and she never wanted to pick up an axe or hammer. She eyes Lycus' scimitar for a moment, and wondered how he was with that. She heard of his skill in the Arenas, but never cared much for staged fighting events.

Westley, Elinande, and Tarrick's skills were completely unknown to her. Kayla cracked her knuckles. She wondered if any of the others had a secret weapon up their sleeves, something that made them more than they appeared. All she had was her hand-to-hand skills, and those were a bit rusty. If she ever lost her sword, she'd have a back-up plan, at least.

Kayla followed Ylenno and Lycus into the hall, motioning Westley to hurry up.

Westley

Westley followed Ylenno, Kayla, and Lycus into the hall. He tried his hardest to stay at the back of the group, and away from strangers. True, he was happy about Nebraska being in the group, but he couldn't help but wonder....why? Why his group? He shrugged off any suspicion for the moment, and kept his head down. He didn't speak to anyone, he didn't look at anyone, he didn't go near anyone. Too many strange faces in one place.

He glanced up at the others. They were calmly walking through the crowd of people, unlike Westley, who was starting to get anxious. Going unnoticed is hard when you're one of the tallest people in the room. He felt....awkward just walking around, towering over the other people in the room. Strangers glanced at him, then turned around and whispered to their companions. Westley grit his teeth.

Why won't they leave me alone?! Have they not seen a tall man before?!

Westley kept trying to ignore everyone around him, but it was hard.He was anxious and claustrophobic, and the inner wolf was just itching to come out and attack. Westley was disgusted with himself. He had the feeling to kill innocent people for no particular reason other than some powerful, uncontrollable bloodlust. He tried taking deep breaths to calm down, but he only got angrier.

He decided to turn his thoughts to the expedition to ease the urge to hunt. What fortunes must lie beneath Such! The intensity of the bloodlust went away as soon as the thought of adventuring a brand new place and discovering epic new things crossed Westley's mind, and he smiled in satisfaction . He had won against the wolf....for now.

Buffy:

Buffy had never followed the sports page of the Black Horse Courier, so she was surprised to realize that Lycus was a former Arena grand champion. She had fought once in the Arena to earn ship passage home when she was seventeen - not quite old enough to join the Mages Guild. It was fortunate that her bow skills, honed since the age of eight by her apprenticeship to Master Daenlin, had proved sufficient. To have risen to such a pinnacle within the Arena spoke well of Lycus’ martial talents. She was glad when he joined the others, herself included, as they filed into the guildhall.

For the mystic archer needed a safe perch from which to unleash her spells and arrows. When alone, wrapping herself in the comfort of shadows accomplished this. And she could always disappear, summoning a distraction if required, slink away and reengage on her own terms. There was safety in solitude. Ironically, numbers nullified many of her tactics, forcing her to rely upon the armor and blade of allies to shield against foes, or at least distract them.

Once inside the guildhall, Buffy studied those wearing the blue band. Ylenno, Kayla and Tarrick all appeared to be light skirmishers, and Buffy was confident that their likely speed and nimbleness would prove invaluable. Her long ears had earlier overheard Kayla discussing potions with Westley. A skilled alchemist, it appeared. Hopefully, the Altmer retained some of her race’s affinity for destructive magicks as well.

It was Elaninde, Lycus, Westley and perhaps Oedipus, however, that Buffy hoped could provide a wall of steel. It was encouraging to learn from the team roster that Elaninde was a spellsword; what the Altmer lacked in sheer mass, she likely made up for with offensive spells.

Elaninde:

Elaninde was just thinking about going inside the guildhall when Ylenno came out and said with a smile:

"That's right boys and girls." ""There'll be no lone wolves limping off. Things are already organized inside, and apparently we mercs have to be grouped together. To make things easier, I guess. Here."

He handed out a set of blue armbands and as Elaninde put her armband on her arm, she noticed Westley's ring and suddenly remembered that he was a werewolf. She remember seeing it as he was on his way up the stairs at the count's arms, and how she almost didn't get any sleep that night. Her thoughts were interrupted as Buffy started reading from the parchment Ylenno had handed her in a surprisingly courtly manner:

“To all who shall see these presents, greeting. Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the following intrepid adventurers, they are hereby bound together by bands of blue:

Elaninde, renowned spellsword.
Buffy of Bravil, Lamp Knight, Guild of Mages.
Lycus Desselius, former Grand Champion of the Arena.
Kayla, Daughter of Skyrim.
Westley Arctus, former member of the Anvil Guild of Fighters.
Tarrick Kratham, local of Anvil.
Ylenno, Bravilian Bushmaster.”

Elaninde was first amused of Ylenno's title, then shocked as Buffy read the last name on the list:

“The final member of our group is Oedipus Nebraska, Master of the Guild of Adventurers.”

As Westley asked when Oedipus would meet them, Kayla said in a suspicious tone:

"Wait a moment, ", "Not only were we, as a group, put together to explore this place, but we're having the head of the Adventurer's Guild come with us?"

Elaninde could, almost as if she read Kayla's mind, guess that the other Almter's next thoughts were:

"Somethings not right...", and Ylenno answered:

"Oh yes, this whole chain of events, this expedition, conviently 'grouping' us together, Oedipus joining us, its one big, dastardly move to specifically kill us all in a very horrible manner because we wronged Nebraska before in a previous life, and apparently he has one hell of a memory!" "I don't see why something like this isn't right, to be honest. Sure, its a massively delightful convienience, and being cautious is generally a good thing to be, but if you'd ask me, out of all the mercenaries that jumped on this Expedition, all of us are probably the most capable.

And its not a brag. Look at us, for gods' sake! We have a former Grand Champion of the Arena with us, and famed hero of Bravil too! And, dun dun dun duuuun, we have yours truly! So yeah, it won't surprise me for Nebraska to lump us with his personal guard to add for his maximum protection."

"But that's just my inner-genius thinking. And what I do know, is that I don't know. We'd be better off if we'd ask the man himself; come on, my sweet darlings, the Atrium awaits!" As they walked into the guildhall, Elaninde noticed the vast amount of different groups. From what she could tell, they were set up in a manner that would cancel out most of the weaknesses a group could have.

As they continued towards the Atrium, she was trying to analyse what the different people in her group could do:

Herself: She imagined she would mostly be on the front-line herself, trying to make the best out of her situation.
Buffy: Buffy was a lamp knight, and part of the Mages Guild, so Elaninde imagined she would stay a little bit behind, giving support to the ones at the front.
Lycus: Apparently a former grand-champion of the Arena, and therefore going in the front with herself. Hopefully he knew how to use the scimitar at his side as Elaninde had seen what the could do in the wrong hands.
Kayla: Kayla seemed to know a lot about these Snow Elves, and hopefully could be useful in that way.
Westley: Since Westley was a werewolf, he probably wanted to be on the front line as well and even though, if he suddenly lost control and transformed, Elaninde felt sure that the rest of the group could take him. Since he also have been a member of the Fighter's Guild, he must have some experience with both armed and unarmed combat.
Tarrick: She didn't know much about Tarrick, but hopefully he had some special trait that would make him a good asset.
Ylenno: The little bosmer was probably a dangerous opponent with that axe, and could probably slip away easily.

When it came to Oedipus, Elaninde figured she would just have to wait and see what his most obvious traits were.

Lycus was one of the first of the group to enter the hall, but he did not miss Westley straying too far in the back of the group. The long-haired Lycanthropic Imperial glanced behind him quickly and saw the younger fellow grit his teeth as he was being stared by a small couple in the hall. He wasn't the only one. Lycus himself attracted a few stares and whispers. His enhanced hearing picked up various words like. "He's that barbarian that was slapped outside," or "He's quite the big guy."

Lycus looked at their direction, offered them a slight nod, which they returned back to him in respect and continued on with the group. He didn't quite understand completely why Westley allowed himself to care what others thought. From the time he was here, he noticed the man was anti-social, violent, and hostile. Almost attacking the woman who insulted his friends, when Lycus himself mustered the strength to not choke the life from her when he was actually attacked by the woman.

It was then that Lycus returned a look and saw a ring hugging around his finger. No . . .it can't be.

It is! Hircine's Ring!

The larger werewolf concealed a look of surprise as he walked along Ylenno, Buffy and Kayla. He wanted to glance back to make sure his eyes did not deceive him, but he already looked too much. He remained silent, lost in thought. He was given the fabled ring of Hircine, an artifact said to suppress a werewolf's bloodlust and give total control over their transformations.

But Westley had little control. He had a measure of it, yes, but not total. The ring holds back the desire to kill, and to hunt. And when the moons are full, the ring, if wrapped around the finger of the individual, grants them conscious of their every move. Killing innocent people can be avoided. This worried Lycus profoundly.

Westley has not made peace with his Lycanthropy. He tries to bottle the inner wolf. Lycus can sense this. He always knows how to seperate those who cannot come to terms with their condition and those who embrace and revel in it. He's heard stories of those who do not honor Hircine, or who spit upon his gift with regret and contempt. Those do not survive for long. They are either hunted down and killed by Hircine's command, or they get themselves in situations where they are killed by mortal men.

If the ring fails to give Westley aid, then Hircine is not pleased with him as Lycus initially was told before. Was it in his dreams? A vision? He could not tell. The words in his mind at the time were booming. Dark and commanding. The voice of a master who has spoken with his hound.

"I have another task for you, my loyal hound. I have a child, apparently miserable with all the blessings I have given him, who needs ... what is the euphemism? To be taught a lesson? A very serious lesson. Track down this rogue shifter, put him out of his obvious misery."

Lycus cleared his throat. The words were fresh on his mind, though it was spoken months ago when he was hunting in the Great Forest near the shrine of Hircine. He was a hunter. He knew predators do not hold themselves guilty of their kills, whether innocent prey or not. The world is injust, and the hunter who has a conscious must realize and accept this. Those who do not, those who are utterly dominated by their inner beast, act on instinct and abide by the fundamental nature of life. That there are predators and there are prey. There is no morality behind the laws of nature. No evil in the lion or the wolf or the bear, and no good in the hare or the deer or the goat. There is only survival. Survival of the fittest. Survival of the smartest.

He breathed in deeply, and released a long, low sigh. Westley is young. Lycus has been a Lycanthrope longer than he has and he understands why the young man may feel the way he does about what he views as a curse. His life was much different than his. While one who does not hold Hircine's favor, he yet shares the blood. Lycus respects this. There is always an alternative.

If he could have a clear mind(quite impossible for a Lycanthrope), and a willing spirit, he can be swayed and convinced that what he was given is a gift. Lycus knew he had to help a brother. As he himself was helped so many years ago when he was given Lycanthropy.

He knows that in the time in the fort will give them proximity. If Westley could manage to remain far from the High Elf woman. If the man does not comply, and continues to be shackled by his morality, they he would have to find a second alternative. He knows of a cure and can point him to the right direction.

If not . . .then Hircine's will must be obeyed. And Lycus knows that if Westley breathes his last breath, he is doomed to the Hunting Grounds. And one day when Lycus goes to paradise, Westley will be the hunted. Deep inside, the tiny speck of Lycus' understanding nature . . .hoped it would not come to this.

To ease his mind, he looked at Buffy. "You are the smallest Bosmer I have ever seen in my life. I am certain you hear this a lot, but I have came across many of your people. Surely you know this is an advantage when hunting your prey, yes? Or a foe."

He looked at her bow and crinkled his nose. "What does it mean to be a 'Mystic archer?'"

Tarrick

Nebraska is with us? Tarrick thought to himself as he tied the strip of blue cloth around his arm. Could be useful, that; he might have planned things to be safer for himself, and in that case then it's plain sailing for me.

On the other hand, it might be that Nebraska was a glory-hungry fool who would cheerily risk his life and the lives of others for the sake of something to boast about. He hadn't seemed that way in the briefing, but if he was, well, Tarrick could always just slip away from a fight; he was a sneak, not a brawler, after all.

They headed into the main guildhall, and the Redguard couldn't help but notice Westley looking a little uncomfortable.

"You nervous, Westley?" he asked him. "Don't think you need to be, seeing as you're built like a minotaur; you'd think if anybody in this group should be worried it'd be me."

He accompanied that statement with a gesture at his own wiry frame.

"No meat to take a hit on these fine bones," he added with a grin.

Buffy:

“You are the smallest Bosmer I have ever seen in my life.” Buffy recognized the deep voice and turned to face Lycus. “I am certain you hear this a lot, but I have come across many of your people. Surely you know this is an advantage when hunting your prey, yes? Or a foe” His eyes traveled to the leafy bow protruding above the elf’s shoulder. “What does it mean to be a ‘mystic archer’?”

“I am a small target, yes.” Buffy smiled up at the human. “My style of archery is related to my size and the fact that even the finest archers need a backup to their bow – especially when forced into close quarters. I was apprenticed to the great archery master, Daenlin, from the age of eight. By the time I was seventeen, he realized I was as big as I was ever going to get and that I lacked the power, speed, endurance and quick reflexes to master even a small blade. Master Daenlin told me that I am the finest sniper he has ever seen, but an abysmal skirmisher. After speaking with the local Mages Guildmagister, they both agreed that magic would be necessary for me to avoid or survive melee combat. Several of the schools of magic can serve to this purpose, but I quickly learned that my talents for the arcane favored illusion and restoration.”

She reached up to one shoulder, and several small fingers absently brushed the leaves of her bow. “I could be called an archer who uses magic instead of blade to back up my bow. Just as accurately, however, I could be called a mage who uses a bow for direct damage instead of fire, ice and lightning. The powerful weapon on my back is both alive and attuned to me. It willingly compensates for my lack of strength by relaxing its recurve as I pull its silk. That allows me to comfortably manage its heavy draw. It also controls restoring its shape after firing, resulting in near silent shots.”

Lycus:

Lycus kept staring at Buffy with rising interest, and her bow just the same. She was petite. Her story on using the bow made sense to him. What she lacked in strength or speed, she made up in illusion and restoration. A potent combination that would be deadlier when put side to side with her fantastic archery skills.

He made a sound with his throat that sounded more like a grunt than anything else. There had been times where one boasted about their skills in combat or of themselves only to prove themselves incapable of living up to their inflated stories. He saw that Buffy was not one of these people.

He could detect honesty in her voice and saw that she was a simple, humble soul.

“I could be called an archer who uses magic instead of blade to back up my bow. Just as accurately, however, I could be called a mage who uses a bow for direct damage instead of fire, ice and lightning. The powerful weapon on my back is both alive and attuned to me. It willingly compensates for my lack of strength by relaxing its recurve as I pull its silk. That allows me to comfortably manage its heavy draw. It also controls restoring its shape after firing, resulting in near silent shots.”

He almost suspected as much. Women in general typically had trouble using larger bows, and sometimes used strength potions to aid them in hunting or combat. Some didn't even require potions and could easily use a bow for their desires. It is not as direct as a sword or an axe. Depending on her strength, a woman shooting a bow may not even have the penetrating power that a man could but may even stand as his equal in accuracy.

Buffy had magic on her side. Lycus had no reason to doubt her words about being tutored under one of Tamriel's finest archers. She was graceful as she was dangerous. He was glad to have her on his side.

He circled his head around her back, trying to inspect the bow with his eyes and refraining to intrude upon her space to touch it. It was an impressive-looking weapon. It suited her quite fine.

Lycus himself was not at loss for the use of magic. He was terrible in all the different variations and had experienced enough of magic when he was a slave to a Telvanni Household in Morrowind years past. His strength and focus came from natural energies concealed to most in the mists of time, used and studied by ancient shamans and indigenous tribes of Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Of course, it was a lost art used only by those directly attuned to the Old Gods or the ancient Daedric Prince, Hircine.

"I would not fault you for using magic. You'd fare better than I would in such use," Lycus said after a moment's thought. "An art that has dragged many a man to ruin." He looked at his weapons and the swords that decorated the walls of the guildhall. Out came the mumble. "Much like everything else in this world."

His eyes darted to the trophies lining the sides of the hall as he walked on by. His thoughts went back at the animals or other living things he had skinned or decapitated for the sake of converting the remains into trophies. He did not look at Buffy when he spoke to her once more. "You are quite the huntress, then. You have many victories in your hunt? Collect many trophies?"

Buffy:

Buffy had noticed, during the brief time she had known Lycus, that the man could seem somewhat. . . detached, or even a bit aloof. She was therefore encouraged when he listened intently to her explanation of mystic archery. He even politely leaned closer to inspect her bow. She accommodatingly turned sideways so he could better see the weapon on her back, yet still talk to her face.

"I would not fault you for using magic. You'd fare better than I would in such use.” After a moment he added, “An art that has dragged many a man to ruin.”

She was tempted to assure him that her own sex was not immune to the darker temptations of magic. For Buffy had been the one to deliver ‘ruin’ to rogue mages like Caminalda and Earrana. The former was a frost maiden who preyed on traveling merchants near Brina Cross, and the latter, a bitter and dangerous former guild mage. Lycus seemed content, however, to scan the abundant weaponry displayed around the guild hall, so she held her tongue for the moment.

With so many disparate conversations in the busy room competing for the attention of her sensitive long ears, and Lycus’ face turned from her, she was unable to make out his next comment. She did see his eyes then travel up to the animal trophies lining the walls. This time his words were clear, “You are quite the huntress, then. You have many victories in your hunt? Collect many trophies?”

Remembering how much wardrobe she insisted on carrying, the elf grinned up at him then replied, “I’m afraid there’s little room in my saddlebags for trophies.” After a moment, she added, “When I take one of Kynareth’s forest creatures, it is either in defense of my mare and I, or to sustain myself. In the latter case, I honor the animal’s spirit by striving to fully utilize its bounty.” She gestured to the buckskins she wore to emphasize the point. “I’ll resist taking deer or boar unless I’m feeding numerous mouths. That’s why most of my food prey is rabbit or crab – not very exciting, I admit. I’m sure you know better than I, however, that for those of us who venture beyond the walls of Tamriel’s cities or even under the countryside’s many ruins, there’s no shortage of dangerous foes to maintain our skills.”

Buffy looked up and smiled at the dark-haired man. Her eyes were drawn to the dark cuirass and heavy sword belt around his waist that hosted numerous weapons. Since they were to be on the same team, she hoped to learn a bit more about him. “From where do you hail, Lycus, and what draws you to this expedition?”

Kayla listened to snippets of the others' conversations while she mulled over her own thoughts. Lycus questioned Buffy over her skills as an Illusionist as well as her bow. While Kayla halfway listened, she ran her eyes over the different trophies displayed nearby. A Daedric dagger caught her eye. She leaned in closer to look at the design on the blade.

The edge of the blade seemed to be serrated with an edge of hatred, like most Daedric daggers. She turned her brown eyes to the tip of the blade. She had seen many different types of blades, as she was on the receiving end of most of them. Most swords had a convex tip, straight blade with the end rounded to a point. Just as common were the flattened "V" designs.

Kayla remembered when she had been stabbed by a blade with an asymmetrical point. She absently put her hand where the old scar would be on her stomach, above her navel. She leaned her weight on one leg and crossed her arms. She spotted a vase on a pillow on display and wondered what was so special about it. She read the inscription beneath it.

"Celdryn Minan'Kherus. Never heard of him." She murmured. She straightened up and came in on the last snippet of conversation. Lycus asked if Buffy ever kept trophies of her kills. Kayla thought that was an odd question, but at the same time, not totally illogical. She found women rarely kept trophies of their kills, whereas men needed the reminder of their triumphs. She herself never kept anything from her kills, except the knowledge that she had bested yet another vampire. And gold. She always kept the gold.

Lycus:

The tall Imperial continued walking, listening to what Buffy had to say to him as the group went along. He wasn't the best conversationalist in Tamriel, but he retained some of his knowledge and wisdom along from his previous years before his mind and body-altering condition.

Buffy went to explain to him that she did not take lives unless she had a good reason to. In that case, taking the life of larger game such as deer or boar was only acceptable if she was not the sole person to gain sustanence from the flesh of the animal. To feed herself, she chooses to eat smaller animals such as rabbit or crabs.

Lycus could relate to a certain extent. He lived as a farmer and a hunter in these lands sometime ago before his gladiatorial career. Living in debt, he was unwilling to spend every bit of his coin on food or new clothes, and relied on his skills as a huntsman. He fed himself, his mother and his bitter and spiteful father in hopes of saving enough coin to pay for the expenses.

From what she told him, he could tell the small Wood Elf honored Kynareth and abided by the traditional respect to that particular Aedra. He understood the act of honoring the animal's spirit by using it's body for whatever beneficial use it may offer. In her case, for nutrition.

Lycus could not, however, share his sentiment regarding Kyne. Those who worship Kynareth and respect what she represents do not walk in the same path as Hircine. For Kyne is mother to man and beast, and Hircine is father to manbeasts. The "perversion" of all that is natural. Kynareth's rewards and blesses those who hunts for the sake of survival alone. Those who respect nature and all living things. Hircine, in contrast, rewards skinners, butchers, men who kill to survive and for sport. What matters is not the reason, but the act in and of itself. The blood course of a living hunt.

"Ah," he said silently after looking at her buckskins. "I see where you are coming from. I am a big-game hunter. Hunting is in my blood. I was under the impression you were a huntress."

Yet, he respected her ways and would not seek to brook an argument. The conversation died down a bit, and Lycus lost any words of interest. Buffy was curious about him, looking at his equipment. She then broke the silence and inquired about his origins and his reason to come along the expedition.

It was a common enough question that required a common enough answer. Glory? Riches? Fame? Lycus would fight for these things had he been the man he was years ago. But life has changed and things are much more simpler now. Less chaotic. He fished for a good answer in his mind, and realized he had to give a shorter version of why he truly was there.

"I come from these very lands," explained the Imperial. "Born and raised here in Cyrodiil from humble beginnings." He stopped to look back as Kayla was focused and drawn to a sword along the wall. He returned his attention to Buffy so that he could better answer her. He refused to look back at the other werewolf, or the small statuette of Hircine hiding in his pocket.

"I consider this a hunting expedition," he said quietly as he looked down to the human and elven skulls dangling from a belt from his recently purchased armor. "To find any great game that dwells beneath Fort Sutch."

Ylenno kept quiet while the rest of the group bantered between themselves. Lycus and Buffy discussed the ways of the hunter and the fine linings on archery combat, while off to the side, Tarrick and Westley talked about their builts. Elandine was her usual quiet self, and Kayla... well.

It didn't take a genius to know that she was irate at the rogue elf. The way that she avoided his gaze, a thin purse of a line where her lips should be, and generally giving the tall bosmer a respectful distance. Ylenno watched the altmer inspect the trophies of the Adventurers, and suspected that the object of her irritation may have been his rebuttal at her suspiciousness of Nebraska's joining.

The elf gave a shrug.

He really didn't see the reason why she would simmer at that, but people were people. You don't the know the position of their toes, so you wouldn't know how not to step on them until you do. That said, Ylenno thought that confronting her now and closing the gap would be.... intensely awkward. He didn't know how she would react, only that she'd probably sock him a good one on the mouth, and make things more awkward.


But Ylenno... Ylenno liked things awkward. It was simply his way of mending things by directly taking it on, and while the results weren't exactly favorable, he didn't believe on letting things burn themselves out.


So with a goofish smile on his face, he stroded towards Kayla and gave her a playful lowkick on the back of her knees.

"Hey there," he announced. "I noticed that you're seperated with your boy-toy over there." He pointed towards Westley as he gave her a smile.

"Something happened between you two? Your marital link severed with irritation at each other? Aahh, but Uncle Ylenno here is experienced with such things. I find that ... well, not really. I'm just here to iniate a random conversation like the others are doing right now. So, here's a random question to kick things of-"

He was interrupted by the red-eyed Breton appearing out of nowhere and standing really uncomfortably close at his back. So close in fact, that he could feel his breath on his neck. He would've turn around and shoved the creep away, but ... it was the malevolent voice again. It freezed him. He stared helplessly at Kayla.

"I'm afraid that this would be no time for small-talk, young master Sasalonia. We are waiting for you, and some other latecomers, but it will only be a matter of time before they arrive, and I suggest you and yours hurry over to the Atrium."

He disengaged himself behind Ylenno, and stood off to the side, facing the whole group while at the same time stopping them. Ylenno swirled and glared at him.

The lights of the guidhall, reflected below by the black mable floor, gave him a rather sinister yet handsome glow. Some of the darkness covered his face, and it highlighted his aristocratic features. The red eyes, however, stayed the same malevolent red, and for some reason, it glowed hotter and more intense than before.

And rather than a casual attire he wore earlier, now he wore an immaculate armor of gold and brass. It was highly intricate, with a design of two golden arms hugging him on the torso. He had two godless looking axes on his waist, golden too, and it was sure to be enchanted with gnarly magciks. Like his glowing red eyes, all of him shined brightly at the light of guild hall.

In short, he looked like a golden angel.

This 'golden angel' gave the group a kingly bow.

"I am Celdryn Minan'Kherus," the sheer maleficence of his voice snaked through the ha;; and silenced all other noise, piercing through each and every one of the group. Ylenno rubbed his forearm; he could be wrong, but somehow the temperature dropped and the atmosphere turned cold.

"Please, let me shepherd you to the Atrium. Along the way, maybe I could match names with faces."