What's your name, Imperial?"
"I'm Westley. Pleasure to meet you as well. I hope I didn't hurt you too bad when I threw you, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just got upset. I can't believe we're fighting over a spoon though. Maybe we both need to learn to control ourselves. I'm sorry, I don't drink alcohol, but perhaps we could discuss this matter over a steak?"

Westley sat down, inviting the elves to join him.

Ylenno

"Yeah," Ylenno agreed. "Perhaps we should, Westley. Good way to start a friendship though, butting heads like this. And don't worry," here Ylenno gave the Imperial a rogue's grin. "I had worse. You have unnautral speed. kinda like a lightning really."

For what Ylenno's promise of free drinks for everyone was worth, it sure did regain a sense of normalcy back again. People returned to their businesses and didn't spare the two brawlers a second glance.

"You don't drink, huh? That's quite okay, wouldn't want rupturing your liver with acid, do we?" A serving wench came over and took their order. Ylenno gave her a wink as she scurried off to the kitchens to get their steaks.

"So, lemme guess. Expedition? You don't look like a commoner, and you already prove you can handle yourself. Me and the group over there is looking to sign up. Maybe you can join our little merry band of ne'er-do-wells? It isn't easy always being on your own, you know."

He laughed.

Westley

Yeah, I'm here for the expedition. I've never thought of returning to Anvil, but me being an adventurer sort of drew me on. The expedition to Such sounds interesting, and I've decided that it would be a good way to gain fame and fortune"

Westley picked his cards up and started shuffling them as he spoke.

"I'm not really a commoner. Like I said I'm an adventurer. My speed isn't that unnatural though. I just have quick reflexes. I was art of the fighters guild here in Anvil. I ran away after my father died trying to save me, and Azzan was nice enough to take me in. I decided that the fighter's guild life was t interesting enough for me though. I wanted to journey out into the world, see new things. You know what I mean?"

Ylenno nodded.

"I know what you mean. Sorry about your father though, but I hope you atleast knew him. I was raised an orphan in Bravil, you see. Not really an ideal place to grow up on, but a community's a community, and we took care of each other."

The steaks came quite fast, sizzling with oil, juices giving it a delicious shine. Smoke rose from them and tingled Ylenno's nose with the scent of cooked meat and herbs.

He stood up and picked his plate.

"Why don't I introduce you to the others? Since we're all looking to sign up, we might as well know each other!"

He strode to their table and set his plate down, beckoning for Westley to follow.

OOC: 'Kay guys, its your turn.

Ylenno brought Westley to another table with another Bosmer, anothet Altmer, and a Redguard. He awkwardly stood there for a moment before greeting them.

"Hi, I'm Westley Arctus."

Kayla narrowed her eyes at Westley, but smiled all the same.

"I'm Kayla, or as you know me, Target Practice." She kept her warm smile. Before anyone could ask her any questions, she cut up her steak and devoured the pieces quickly, keeping her mouth closed, but at the same time, knowing she looked like a hungry animal. She turned crimson and wiped her mouth.

"Nice to meet you Kayla. I've never met an elf with a Nordic accent. It sounds....nice."

Westley fiddled with the straps of his shirt.

"You make a good target."

Kayla blushed darker. The dark-haired Westley was obviously sorry. She forgave easily, and she needed no enemies.

"Thank you," she replied. "Born and raised in Skyrim. My husband would like you. He's a Nord who likes a good brawl. Though I don't think he would much like you throwing things at his wife!" She laughed at her own joke.

She patted Buffy's shoulder. "This is my new friend Buffy." Again, she pronounced it Boofy. She let out a disgruntled sound, then masked it as a cough. She felt so out of place in this establishment, even with the flying silverware.

"Everyone here is so calm! By now, three brawls would have broken out, and everyone would be placing bets on the winner." She shrugged. "Oh well." She smiled again.

Westley noticed Kayla blush, and raised an eyebrow.

"This is my new friend Buffy"

Westley stared at the Bosmer for a moment. "Hello Buffy. I'm Westley." Westley extended his hand out to the Bosmer, and shook her hand.

Buffy:

For reasons that eluded the forest elf, an Imperial began tossing flatware at Kayla. The Altmer quite capably began to take the young man to task when Ylenno intervened. Well, one thing led to another and soon, Bosmer and the Imperial were both on the floor. Once back on their feet however, the rutting season between two young bucks seemed somehow resolved. Men were such curious creatures.

The young Imperial then joined the group and introduced himself as Westley Arctus as several pots of tea and Kayla’s steak arrived. Everyone watched in amusement as the Altmer inhaled her steak. She then introduced herself to Westley while quite smoothly mentioning a husband. Kayla’s hand then fell lightly upon Buffy's shoulder and the wood elf heard herself being introduced to Westley.

The Imperial that had started quite the ruckus was young. He wore his dark hair closely cropped and was dressed in humble attire. His blue eyes harbored a look that was ever so slightly unhinged – and strangely familiar. As a child of the forest, Buffy knew well the eyes of Kynareth’s predators and this human’s gaze was different, but somehow similar. Her thoughts were interrupted as the young man extended a hand.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Westley. I appreciate the introduction by handshake instead of dodging errant utensils or being tossed onto the floor.” Her eyes lost none of their sparkle as the elf’s smile eased into a frown of concern and she turned toward Ylenno. “That cut on your face is minor, but I am a skilled healer. Would you like me to repair your wound?”

Drakothemir was at the table exchanging words with a Vigilante of Stendarr woman named Macalla, who in the end, had retreated to her bedroom after they had shared stories of each other's past. After while he was sitting alone, contemplating on what this woman could be in his eyes. Or more specifically, what use can he find her to be.

Suddenly the entrance to the Count's Arms began to pour in a group of people he never seen before. Most of them Mer. They sat together in a round table, each of them as loud and uncaring of those around them.

The vampire simply kept his head down, and continued to eat his food. But his ears were alert and so were his eyes. From where he was seated, he could very well see the group. But he didn't stare. He only kept his head gazed at his plate while his peripheral vision did all the work.

And the impossible happened. The young Lycanthropy threw a piece of silverware over his shoulder, and the Altmeri stranger, predictably annoyed by the flung item, retaliated with verbal assault. And the entire Inn seemed heavy with argument relating to that of bickering children. The air soon changed into threats and warnings of bloodshed. This Drakothemir found interesting. Despite their childish and sheep-like behavior and ignorance, they were brave enough to engage in physical contact that skirted on the edge of violence. And what amused him was that he didn't even have to say a word to them.

The werewolf had displayed surprising speed, and to his disadvantage, everyone present had taken notice and even one of the strangers had commented on it after he was tackled to the ground. It was foolish, for a man with a gift to show his prowess to everyone. It was wise, however, for one to conceal that prowess until the moment where taking a life was very nescessary. All respect for the young werewolf had vaporized in an instant. This child could get himself killed as well as others . . .

In the end, they all began introducing themselves to each other knowing well that they had different talents that could be used for the expedition! If only they knew a Lycanthrope stood among them . . .unpredictable. Dangerous. Treacherous.

Ah . . .the expedition. Drakothemir suspected as much, He finished his food, slid his plate away, and stood to his feet. The undead Imperial approached the group, the hem of his black robes sweeping the floor as he walked to them.

"That cut on your face is minor, but I am a skilled healer. Would you like me to repair your wound?”the one called Buffy said to one of her comrades.

"Should he pursue the crusade to Fort Sutch . . .I promise that cuts and wounds be the least of his problems. It would be most wise to save your abilities for moments when you could profit from them. Nine forbid he loses a limb or an eye . . ." Drakothemir said to them, and then paused. "What I am trying to say is: I hope you are all all battle-hardened for combat."

He stopped, and looked at his sword and then offered a generous smile. "I'm afraid I am not."

Buffy:

Before Ylenno could reply to Buffy's inquiry about the small cut on his face, a darkly dressed Imperial approached the table and stated, "Should he pursue the crusade to Fort Sutch . . . I promise that cuts and wounds be the least of his problems. It would be most wise to save your abilities for moments when you could profit from them. Nine forbid he loses a limb or an eye . . . . What I am trying to say is: I hope you are all battle-hardened for combat." After a moment, he added, "I'm afraid I am not."

Buffy looked up at the Imperial. “I cannot speak to the abilities or choices of others here, only my own." Her sober words were not loud, but carried clearly across the now quiet table. "I fought under the command of Guildmagister Sigrid Firewalker as we helped Captain Savlian Matius’ army recapture the city of Kvatch at the beginning of the Oblivion Crisis.” She blinked, determined to keep her words measured and dispassionate. “I am, unfortunately, well-practiced at healing the carnage of combat. My gift is not one to be rationed though, nor does the treatment of minor cuts and bruises dilute my ability to heal grievous wounds.”

She managed a thin smile. “My name is Buffy.” Nodding to indicate each of those at the table in turn, she continued, “This is Ylenno, Elaninde, Westley, Tarrick, and Kayla.” Lifting an eyebrow, she returned her gaze to the stranger. “Welcome, Imperial, and thank you for your concern about our welfare. By what name are you called?”

Kayla eyed the newest Imperial sharply. He seemed harmless enough, but like the nightshade flower, sometimes the most harmless looking things can be very dangerous. Dressed in a black robe, Kayla was reminded of a mage. Hardly anyone else wore robes.

Imperials here seem to be more outspoken, she thought to herself. Maybe this one won't follow in the other's footsteps and throw a plate at me.

Something seemed...off. He looked normal, sounded normal, but something was nagging her.

Maybe it was the long trip. Her food hadn't digested yet, so she was still a bit silly in the head. Maybe Westley's assault had shaken her up. Buffy introduced each of them, and when she said Kayla's name, she stuck her hand out so shake the Imperial's hand. She eyed his face carefully.

Westley

When the vampire approached the table, the hairs on Westley's neck and arms stood up. He didn't like the look of this vampire one bit. He could practically smell the vampire's malicious intent. He stood up and smiled in a mocking way at the vampire.

"What is it you wanted? It's nice to meet new people." The corner of Westley's twitched. He held back a low growl as he intensely observed the vampire. He didn't like the look of this man one bit, and he certainly wasn't going to stand by and let the night-spawn harm innocent people. He tried his hardest to not show any signs of aggression, lest he arose any suspicion.

Lord Drakothemir.

Drakothemir took the time to study the people that sat before him. Each of them all different in appearance with elvish similarities. The only exception was the Redguard.

The woman named Buffy seemed one of the oldest, though the Bosmer male who called himself Ylenno with the exotic hairstyle seemed to be in his late twenties, as was the High Elf woman that accompanied them. They, unlike the other Imperial, seemed more mature. But it wasn't maturity that Drakothemir was looking for. Not only that. It was the individual skill each and everyone of them possessed that was of concern.

Buffy. The first thing Drakothemir noticed about her was her size. She was small. And her lovely blond-hair. vivid blue eyes and large ears gave most the impression that she was a simple Bosmeri woman. But in their culture, Wood Elves learned how to use the bow at a young age, and she certainly appeared to be able to wield the bow she carried with deadly precision.

“I cannot speak to the abilities or choices of others here, only my own."

Drakothemir waited for her response. He was eager to find out what her craft was, and what she was capable of. This is precisely what he longed to hear.

"I fought under the command of Guildmagister Sigrid Firewalker as we helped Captain Savlian Matius’ army recapture the city of Kvatch at the beginning of the Oblivion Crisis.” She said, her tone even and fair, not as passionate as say, the Lycanthropic hound or the hungry High Elf. “I am, unfortunately, well-practiced at healing the carnage of combat. My gift is not one to be rationed though, nor does the treatment of minor cuts and bruises dilute my ability to heal grievous wounds.”

She fought under a Guildmagister and aided an Imperial captain in retaking the city of Kvatch from the Daedra? Impressive. Most impressive with the fact that the city was retaken. And no doubt she played part in the recovery. Drakothemir has heard of such things happening, but not in great detail. It had been a short time before he returned to the land of the living, and thus he was given little time to discover the facts of the war against the Daedra invasion. The name Savlian Matius was familiar to him, but he doesn't recall the man. Sigrid Firewalker, on the other hand, completely escaped his knowledge.

So . . .she is a healer and an archer, concluded the vampire. She will certainly make sure no one dies in combat or passes out from bloodloss.

Drakothemir had no intention of feeding off of any of them. In fact, he was well aware they wouldn't be the only adventurers there with him. There will be others, who are destined to die in the forgotten halls of Fort Sutch, but among this group? Possibly, but not by his hand. The traps and snares and possible spirits and monsters that lingered there would be the ones to worry about.

“This is Ylenno, Elaninde, Westley, Tarrick, and Kayla.” Buffy added after introducing herself. Drakothemir smiled and bowed his head slightly, taking the time to analyze them each carefully and quickly in a normal fashion.

Ylenno had a mischievous air about him, and the menacing axe he carried and his appearance told Drakothemir he was some kind of roguish warrior or carried himself as such. There was an aura of magic about him that Drakothemir could sense, and he came to the conclusion that perhaps this man had some knowledge of the arcane arts. He looked dangerous, and his roguish qualities was something that he would have to watch out for. Though he knew how to avoid a confrontation when he could, especially with the hot-headed hound named Wesley.

The second High Elf, Elaninde, was even more of the standard appearance of a High Elf. With golden locks of hair, two golden eyes and moderate lips. He suspected that under her armor, she was a thin girl in body size judging by the width of her throat and her arms. Aside from these, he couldn't gather much information on her. But her race alone was enough to know that she may be talented in the arts of the arcane.

Drakothemir was somewhat aquainted with Westely. The Imperial werewolf who nearly throws a tantrum every passing minute. Not much could be said about him. His personality has shun quite well in the very short time Drakothemir had been around him. He was impulsive, angry and bitter. According to him, he possessed no manners because his father had passed away, which could explain his negative qualities and current emotional state of mind. The fact alone that he was a werewolf, an angry one, no less, was of much concern to Drakothemir. He was a threat. His Lycanthropy alone could get others killed, and above all, he certainly knew Drakothemir was a vampire. There was no doubt about it. Their supernatural sense of smell and awareness was the reason for that.

He could tell Westley did not like him from the start. No matter how futile his attempt was to mask it; the silent growl, the hairs sprouting in the back of his neck, the mocking smirk and the twitching lips and the intense gaze. All signs that he felt challenged or threatened. Like a common wolf, Drakothemir thought. The vampire actually suspected he might be wanting to devour these people, and felt that Drakothemir was no more than a rival in his territory. But he saw no ill-will coming from the werewolf toward his new comrades. Not after he got into a fight with the Bosmer. Out of all of them, he could very well be the most dangerous. Maybe. His reckless nature is testament to that.

Kayla was the High Elf woman perhaps over the age of thirty whom he noticed was lithe in appearance, and had auburn hair on her head. She came off as a typical Altmer. What Drakothemir learned from her the moment she got into a heated argument with Wesley was that she was married. Though regular in appearance, her strange Nordic accent and of course, her own words to Wesley told Drakothemir she was born and raised in Skyrim, possibly raised by Nords considering her husband might as well be one from his description. There was the possibility she was lying to cover her true heritage for whatever reason, but Drakothemir wasn't counting on it. There were scars alongside her arms that could have been there from a fight or maybe even self-inflicted injury. There still could be much to learn from this woman, and the way she looked at him sharply told him she could suspect something . . .but all Drakothemir did was smile back to her as her name was said.


Tarrick was the Redguard who led the group into the tavern and ordered tea for them. The only real human in the group. He had a clean-shaven look, short black hair and dark skin, as the countless other representatives of his race. Place him among the other Redguard of Anvil, and he would blend in quite well. He struck Drakothemir as a likeable man, by mortal standards. The way he opened the door and behaved around women was a sign that he was somewhat of a gentlemen.

All in all, they were a team of adventerers who, judging by what Drakothemir had heard them say, were eager to set foot under Fort Sutch. Each of them could have different skills, and not many of them seemed at all dangerous. But Drakothemir underestimated people before, and it nearly cost him his (un)life.

"What is it you wanted? It's nice to meet new people." Westley said to him in a dark tone. Drakothemir was not moved, nor did he even show any signs of anger or annoyance as he looked at the man. He was going to make a comment regarding his small gesture of kindness toward him, but it was not to be mentioned. That was one thing Drakothemir knew was just between the two men. There was tension there, and both Imperials knew what each other were, and what harm could be done to not only one another, but those around as well.

Drakothemir grabbed Kayla's hand with his own cold one, and shook is firmly, but not as strong as he would have done to a man. He then pulled away from her. "A pleasure to meet you all."

He looked at Buffy. "Well met, Buffy. Why unfortunately, may I ask? To be able to help others and save lives, especially in something as horrific as battle is a gift. Something I always wished to learn."

And he never did learn anything from the schools of restoration. He could heal himself from drinking blood alone and draining the life-force of others, healing all manners of wounds while his foes turn into a lifeless husk. It was selfish, indeed, and destructive. But nescessary. And he was proud of it.

He stopped, looked at Wesley, and nodded in agreement. "It always is a delight to meet strangers. You all seem quite . . .well-mannered. For hostility to end in handshakes and exchange of names tells me you're all friendly." He steeled himself. "A welcome change in this city. Not many sailors like us land-walkers. Ah, and I prattle about. Forgive me. My name is Drakothemir."

He turned to Buffy, the one who took the liberty of introducing him to the others. "May I sit and join you?"

Kayla jerked her hand back, but the man seemed to not notice.

Cold.

Calm down, she told herself. Vampires aren't as common in Cyrodiil, and certainly not within city walls. He just might be cold-blooded.

She sat down quietly and let the others mostly talk.

this is good

OOC: Thank you flower, but we try to keep this thread limited to purely the flow of the RP. There is another thread on this forum for discussion of this Sutch RP.

Buffy:

The Imperial’s skin lacked the olive tone of a Nibenean. Colovian, Buffy guessed, and unaccustomed to the sun. From his well-spoken manner and expensive looking rings that adorned manicured hands, she imagined he was from wealth. Although her own minor title was granted by deeds rather than acquired by birth, she nevertheless had spent enough time in the courts of Cyrodiil to recognize the polished manner and speech of another noble when she met one.

While introducing her table mates to the Imperial, Buffy noted that Kayla withdrew from a handshake with the dark stranger too quickly; almost reflexively as if burned by his touch. . . or chilled.

“My name is Drakothemir. May I sit and join you?"

“Well met,” replied Buffy. After glancing around the table and seeing no objections – except a brooding look from Westley – she gestured toward a chair and added, “Of course.”

She raised a cup of warm tea to her lips. Ylenno’s small scratch had stopped bleeding and Buffy figured he would ask if he wanted to take her up on the offer to lift all evidence of it. She hoped for perhaps a moment alone sometime with Kayla to learn why she had recoiled from Drakothemir’s touch. Westley also seemed disturbed by the dark stranger, but the young man’s apparently inherent volatility obscured any significance to his reaction.

Tarrick

The last thing Tarrick had expected when he entered the inn was for somebody to kick off with them for no real reason, but that happened almost as soon as he and his small group entered. An Imperial lobbed a fork at Kayla, Kayla naturally got annoyed and just as Tarrick began to worry that he would be forced to do something resembling a threat to life and limb Ylenno stepped forward to confront the man, allowing Tarrick to hover in the background, at the perfect spot to look present and involved but also in easy reach of the door should things turn violent.

In the end, things ended up being both good and bad for him. Good because things simmered down as rapidly as they flared up (Tarrick made a mental note to tread carefully around this temperamental Imperial) and bad because it turned out Kayla was married.

Once the group had been sat down, the tea had arrived, and introductions had been made, another figure introduced himself, a pale Imperial by the name of Drakothemir. Buffy made the introductions for them and pulled up a chair. As Drakothemir was about to sit, Tarrick asked; "So, Drakothemir, I take it you're here for the Fort Sutch expedition?"

Drakothemir.

Drakothemir pulled a chair and sat himself down. Though he was focused on these people, he was still attentive to his surroundings and every person around him. He prepared his mental state and awareness for every detail- minimal or great- so that he could get a better understanding of these people. His vampiric nature and lifelong training allowed him to find weaknesses of character or personality in most people he came across. He relied on his instincts and sharp-mind to guide him to the most efficient means of finishing a quest or completing a task. Thus he carefully inspected all of them.

"So, Drakothemir, I take it you're here for the Fort Sutch expedition?"Terrick asked.

The Imperial nodded gently as he locked eyes with the Redguard. "Yes. It is why most of us are here in the city as visitors. I came from Weynon Priory in pursuit of a scholarly life. I have always been fascinated by the lore of the world and I hope to be one some day. This can very well be the opportunity of a lifetime!"

He blinked once and looked at the table, his expression taking on one of embarrasment. "But I have never been much a warrior, I must confess. The monks at the Priory do not focus much on armed combat." He looked up at Tarrick, then Buffy and the rest. "I heard Fort Sutch was a criminal haven for marauders once. If that isn't dangerous enough, I cannot imagine what dwells beneath the earth. If we are to take the words of Tulas Feramo as fact."

He looked at the tavern wench, nodded to her as a sign that he wanted something to drink, and then turned to Ylenno. " That is why it is wise to form a . . . merry band of ne'er-do-wells. You can protect me from harm, and I shall dig for clues." He said to the Bosmer, using his own words. His tone wasn't malicious nor sarcastic but it was meant to be peppered with humor. His rather crooked smile was also added, though he was well-aware he would come across as a foolish man trying too hard to make friends.

"You can protect me from harm, and I shall dig for clues." Drakothemir said. He gave a sheepish look not too far from what Kayla often used when embarrassed. He confessed to being a scholar, and Kayla figured that was might have thrown her off.

A nice robe, along with rings and a thirst for knowledge. He was a bookworm. Kayla could appreciate a thirst for knowledge, though she never had much time to pursue her own interests aside from tossing a mean firebolt. But that was necessity, and she couldn't blame the man for being well off enough to pursue his own studies outside of practicality.

Maybe she could relax. Have a glass of wine. Though she would have to be careful. Good conversation made her unaware of how much she drank, and she got silly when intoxicated. She took a sip anways. Kayla doubted the conversation would go past introductions and eventually meander into an awkward silence, everyone grasping at straws for topics, which is where she would head outside after getting a room and bask in the warm air.

If there were any rooms left. Kayla doubted the chapel would welcome a Daedra worshipper, with a Daedric artifact in her possession. But Dawnbreaker was safely tucked away in her bag.

She glanced at Buffy, and briefly wondered if the smaller elf had ever been in a brawl. If not, Kayla would certainly teach her a few things.

Buffy:

Drakothemir mentioned the words of Tulas Feramo. Buffy wondered if his knowledge extended beyond the Black Horse Courier. For the declared heretic now awaited execution and his book had been banned by the Elder Council. That ban did not extend to the Arcane University of course. Once she had been briefed by Grandmaster Boderi Farano on this assignment, Buffy reported to the Mystic Archives and read the guild’s authorized copy of ‘Suchamel, the Ironstar of the West’.

Suchamel - now called Sutch - was founded during the time of Queen Alessia. It’s garrison’s success at defending the western edge of the new human regime ironically led to mistrust and destruction at the hands of the very empire it protected. Silly humans. Of course, Buffy realized that her own ancestors were no wiser in attempting to rule by enslaving humans and thereby sowing the seeds that allowed Alessia to rise to power.

She looked around the table. All were here for various reasons, but linked by this expedition sponsored by the Adventurers Guild. It was a new guild, not yet seven years in existence. Its reputation was sound though. The Fighters Guild was highly respected for helping law-abiding folk with coin to solve situations requiring steel. The upstart Blackwood Company was reported to be much less scrupulous and willing to entertain contracts that skirted outside the Empire's laws. It seemed however, that the Adventurers Guild was more focused on discovery and uncovering antiquities for both fame and profit. They could have their fame and profit. As a Knight of the Lamp, the small elf’s task was to assist as required, observe and survive – so she could report her findings to the Council of Mages. It would be up to the Arch Mage and Master of the Adventurers Guild to sort out the disposition of any arcane discoveries.

Buffy briefly caught the gaze of Kayla. Despite Ylenno’s gallant intervention to save her from flying flatware, the high elf seemed quite capable of taking care of herself. Buffy imagined that life as an Altmer growing up among Nords in the harsh north could do that. For a moment, Buffy pondered her own response had the altercation deteriorated into a dangerous bar fight. No doubt, she would have gotten her feet to the floor to enable the flow of her magic, then invisibly scampered to the safety of a corner, ready to magically immobilize anyone who got too close as she decided her next move. She didn’t think quickly in a crisis, but endless drilling with preplanned panic responses helped compensate somewhat.

Buffy noted the scars crisscrossing Kayla’s forearms. Between the healing knowledge gleaned from Mara’s priestesses, University instructors, Anvil’s own Carahil and the paladin that traveled inside her, Buffy knew she could completely lift those old wounds. But she also knew that some fighters regarded their scars as badges of courage and reminders of battles survived. In the end, Buffy suppressed her instinct to heal others and stayed her normally busy tongue – for now. The elf believed that her long ears would serve better than her big mouth at this juncture as she hoped to learn more about the pending expedition and those who sought to undertake it.

Drakothemir, Count's Arms.

There a bit of a silence after Drakothemir spoke. He could sense most of them did not trust him or felt awkward around him. He could tell this by seeing as how they were more energetic and happy when they first walked in prior to Westley throwing silverware across the room for no apparent reason other than his own rage. A rage with Drakothemir partially felt responsible for. Had he not provoked the hound would he still had reacted the way that he did?

Curious, Drakothemir settled back in his seat for a second. No matter. There were worse scenarios that unfolded from insignificant things as words or gestures. A tavern brawl would be a speck compared to what has happened in his history. Nevertheless it would still be quite interesting.

The Nosferatu glanced around the tavern soon after he last spoke his words about the Priory and his scholarly interests. He then looked straight at Kayla as she took a sip of something . . .tea? Wine? He breathed in as a regular man, but caught the scent of something stronger. Blood from Ylenno's face. He saw it shed when the spoon had hit his face minutes ago. But it didn't bother him as much as, say, a vampire fledging would be bothered and thrown into an orgiastic abandon. It took years to master his blood-hunger even when his clan's bloodline was altered by Clavicus Vile. It was a long, bloody process but in the end it paid off. Somewhat.

Vampires always felt thirsty. Drakothemir felt thirsty at the moment just by seeing that tiny bit of nectar. But he wasn't stupid. The enviornment, the people and the current situation allowed him many opportunities such as ordering more wine which he had already been seen drinking. While it would only wet his throat, it would not quench his thirst and it had no nutritional value as blood did. And blood was both his food and drink.

Drakothemir refused to allow himself a smile as he raised his finger to summon a servant boy who looked much like the other young woman who served him wine earlier.

"Bring us a bottle of Tamika's wine!" Drakothemir told him, and turned his gaze to Kyla. He wasn't particularly fond of Altmers. Many people of Tamriel weren't fond of them either due to their pride but Drakothemir respected their excessive confidence only because they deserved it. They had fine tastes and wondefully crafted archictecture and they made fine mages. But most of his enemies were High Elves and it was due to their rooted attitudes that made them such enemies against him. It had always been so, and he was sure he would have problems with Altmeri maidens in the future . . .if they proved to be murderous or dangerous.

Kayla, on the other hand, has evidently assimilated into Nordic culture. Drakothemir did not miss when she revealed her parents, biological and adoptive, had been killed along with her siblings. Despite her somewhat civilized attitude(aside from slamming her fists on the table), Drakothemir wondered what else this woman had picked up in her years. The scars on her arms could be many things, but what mattered was not the physical attributes but the mental quality. And Drakothemir knows that the mind is a malleable thing. Malleable and yet so vast that many could truly understand how their own psyche works and how powerful it could be if set to the task.

Somewhere in his expression there was a smile. "The monks never drank much wine in the Priory. I probably shame the Nine right now in spending my year's savings in this bottle." He waited as the young man vanished into the kitchens. "But I never had the pleasure of sharing drink with new people. It is one of new things I wish to experience with friends."

He looked back at Kayla with a cheery look on his face as he spoke in a friendly tone. "Whatever it is you are drinking is a load of swill compared to Tamika's wine. I do not know how the beverages are in Skyrim but this wine is almost as if drinking water from the Realms of Aetherius!" He turned to Buffy and Ylenno and then Westley. "I believe a single bottle won't hurt us. You all look quite able bodied to shrug off some fine drink. But we probably shouldn't set out to the Fort if we drink it."

As he finished his sentence, the boy rushed in with a single bottle of Tamika's wine. One of the finest wines in Skingrad, or perhaps even Cyrodiil itself. No doubt it was valued for the taste and not the price.

The man placed the bottle on the table, along with new cups for everyone else. The vampire sighed. "Divines bless that woman for her gifts with grapes."

He pulled a small sack of coin from the pocket of his robe and set it on the table. "I'm sorry if it's not vintage, but we've all just met and I am short coin."

"Tamika's?"

Kayla had never had Tamika's before. She'd heard of it, but she mostly drank mead, beer, and cheap wine. Drakothemir, the Imperial with one of the most odd names she'd ever heard, seemed sincere enough. She grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass. She took a sip.

A sweetness she hadn't expected crept up on her tastebuds, along with a bite of alcohol. Her eyes widened.

"This is delicious!" Sh exclaimed. "I'll have to buy some for my husband as a surprise when I go home." She took a bigger mouthful of the wine,. Good wine can replace boring conversation. Perhaps she will stay inside. She took another gulp of the wine, emptying the goblet, aware of how much she was embarrassing herself. She turned crimson yet again.

"You were right," she said to Drakothmermir. Drakmorthemer? Oh gods, she couldn't remember his name! Maybe she could get away with calling him Drako? Probably not. She was sure there was a 'D' in there somewhere.

She looked at her glass in wonder. How fast did this stuff work? Maybe it was a placebo. Probably a placebo. What a funny word. Placebo. Godsdamnit. She awkwardly stood up and hoped no one noticed that she was a tad bit clumsier.

"I'm going to go find myself a room before they're all taken," she announced. She felt herself turn crimson again... or did she? Maybe she wasn't turning red at all this whole time? What if it was all in her head?

She turned around and walked towards the bar. She bumped into a table and excused herself. She prayed a room was open.

Ylenno wasn't fond of this Imperial the moment he saw him. It was clear to his lowborn eyes that this man was a blue-blood. A trained ferret that said and gesticulated everything that was taught to him. His expressions were human enough, but if you were to survive the gang-torn streets of nightly Cheydinhal, you were to do so by seeing through people. And what he saw through right now was a man who perfected the expressions of emotions, but it lacked the natural flair of a mortal. A monk. Sure.

But a blue-blood's a blue-blood.

Plus, he spoke like the foppish b@stard he is, and that sold it out for Ylenno.

Looking around the table, it was clear he wasn't the only one who felt wary and unlaid around this Imperial who called himself Drakothemir. When the man smiled at him, Ylenno grinned roguishly back at him, nodded his head, but the motion wasn't into it. He resumed eating his steal, listening politely at the three-way conversation between him, Buffy and Kayla. When Tamika's began to be whipped out, and Kayla drunked out on the first sip, that was when he decided that danger was close to home.

"Tamika's explosive enough for the tongue I guess," he said, hands on hips, a mischievious smile on his lips. "But monk-boy, real men drink the Surillie Borthers! No doubt you picked Tamika's for her taste, but!"

Here he placed a foot on his chair, and propped his elbow on it, leaning close to the Imperial. But before he could reveal the cheapness of Tamika's with his over-extravagant drama, Kayla upstaged him with a loud declaration of approval before sauntering shakily towards the bar in hopes of catching a room.

His face was drawn out in comdeic sadness as he stared at her retreating form.

"Never mind," he sighed. "I forgot what I was going to say anyway!"

He plopped down on his chair and resumed eating his steak. He remembered the cut made by the spoon and wiped it with one swipe. The bleeding has slowed, but there was still an outrageous amount that bloodied his fingers.

"Damn," he groaned. "Another wasted drop of my awesome blood!"

He turned to Buffy.

"You know, I always remembered seeing you prancing about Bravil like the world was made by unicorns and rainbows filled the sky in all that, but if memory serves, this would be our first time out together!"

He gave a scandalous giggle but turned serious as he fixed her with a stare.

"How's Bravil, sister? I never had the chance to visit in my travels, and news reaches me slow. Is good 'ol Daenlin still hitting bulls-eyes? Nilawen still making all those imp-chips?"

He might've denied with all of the fibre of his being, but he couldn't fight back the hopefulness in his tone. Caelefensil's memory was too strong in his mind for him to resist.

"Are they still taking care of the... the graves of Bravil's departed?"

*







My entering the Count’s Arms went unnoticed, thanks to all eyes being trained on the brawl taking place on the floor of the main dining room. All eyes except one, that is. A handsome young Redguard was standing back from the rest, his eyes were scanning the pockets and purses of those viewing the fight. They lingered slowly over the gold pouch of one well dressed Noble that was staring intensely at the bleeding cheek of one of the brawlers.

I quickly untied my own pouch of gold from my waistband and jammed it down the front of my greaves before sidling up to the Publican. I had to dig my elbow into his side to catch his attention.

“I’ll lay ten gold on that Imperial boy, he looks pretty strong.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows raised in recognition and surprise. “Maxical! What ill wind blew you back to Anvil? Him? Yeah, he smells strong too; like he’s been sleeping in a kennel or something. He’s staying in one of my rooms, that’s one set of sheets I’ll need to wash before I can rent the room again.”

“What’s going on, Wilbur? Where’d all these people come from?”

“They’re all volunteers for some excavation going on up in Sutch, from what I overheard. If you‘re wanting a room better speak up quick. I expect they’ll all need a room except Tarrick over there.” Wilbur pointed at the Redguard. “He’s a local.”

Wilbur leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I‘ll warn you now that I’ve doubled the rates while this bunch is here, you’ll have to pay what they would to stay here. Man’s got to make a living you know.”

“Geez, doubled rates? What’s the chances I’d get clean sheets?“

Wilbur shrugged.

“I can’t afford it. Anyway, with all this going on I’d be better off staying at the Fighters Guild. I’m going to talk to Azzan about joining them.“


*


The brawl was already breaking up, the Imperial boy climbed off the Bosmer he’d had pinned and was helping him up. A soft whistle blew out under my breath as the Bosmer came into full view.

“Dear gods he’s tall, and look at that hair! What are those markings on him, some kind of war paint?”

“Ask him, not me. From the look of him, he’s one of those Tribals.”

“I’ve heard of them. He sure has a good tan.”

My eyes slid over the group as they began settling back into their chairs. A pretty redheaded Altmer was berating the Imperial boy. That Redguard Wibur had called Tarrick glided silently closer to the others, his feet never making a sound on the tiled floor. His eyes darted to the many rings decorating the hands of that Imperial Noble with a calculating expression in them. No doubt I was right to hide my gold pouch, although it might be too light to tempt him.

That Noble seemed to be sizing the other‘s up…wait, huh? How odd! When I first saw him I’d thought him handsome, a lot younger than he looks now. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting. With the candle light full on his face the lines were clearly visible. He must be a lot older than I’d thought. His movements were cat-like as he approached the group, as agile as any Khajiit‘s. My interest was perked by the fact that he carried two swords, one was a beautiful saber with an ornate hilt. The other I recognized as a Blade‘s Katana. He sure didn’t seem like any Blade I’d ever met.

I shivered at the expression in those intense eyes of his. Cold and detached. I’d bet those two swords he wears have seen plenty of blood, and he’s never lost a minute’s sleep regretting a drop spilled. Without a word his nod brought Wibur’s serving wench on the run to take his wine order. That man was used to being in charge, either that or the wench knew him to leave large tips.


*


The men began settling into chairs, and without them blocking the view I could see a tiny blonde Wood Elf perched in a chair with her feet tucked under her, probably to not feel so dwarfed by all those strapping men around her. Being short myself I understood that, and usually sat the same way. I shot her a commiserating smile that she didn‘t see, her full attention was caught by the Noble who was joining her table.

The odd looking bow hammocked across her back caught my eye, I’d never seen anything like it. It had to be as long as she was herself, and looked like a fresh-cut sapling with the leaves still attached. Something about that struck a familiar chord. Hadn’t Delphine Jend’s last letter mentioned some kind of living bow one of her guild mates had…a tiny Wood Elf named Buffy! No doubt that was the same girl. Delphine said that poor girl lost her man at the battle for Kvatch, and hasn‘t been the same since. I tried to send her a look of deep sympathy, being widowed too. She didn’t see that either, her eyes once again were on that Noble as he was speaking.

The words, “The monks at the Priory do not focus much on armed combat." Floated across the room to me, and before I could stifle it a loud snort escaped me.

“Monk my a$$!” I hissed under my breath. That man was of no religious order, and those two swords weren’t just for looks. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Wilbur frowning at me, shaking his head. “Sorry, Wilbur.”

“You can protect me from harm, and I shall dig for clues.” The Noble continued. His smile didn't reach his eyes; fake, put on for effect. More likely the others would need protection from him. His gaze was now fixated on the bleeding cut of that tribal Bosmer, the intensity in his eyes…frightening. I felt another shiver shoot down my spine. There was trouble ahead for this group, no doubt.

"The monks never drank much wine in the Priory.” He said, then ordered a bottle of Tamika’s Best while claiming to be penniless. His clothing made a lie of that, it was the finest cloth…the man came from wealth, that was obvious. I snorted loudly again, this time on purpose.

As I watched, the Noble lay his gold pouch on the table beside him. The Redguard Tarrick’s eyes widened, then the lids hooded over them quickly. That Noble wasn’t dumb, he must have done that for a reason. I’d bet there was very little he did without some reason. Maybe he’d seen Tarrick eyeing his jewelry and hoped to give him a taste of that saber before the night was over. Between the two of them, in my heart I’d root for the Redguard…but doubted he’d come out of a match-up with that Noble alive.

The pretty Altmer girl was gulping down the Tamika’s way too fast, she’d be drunk soon if she wasn’t careful. Sure enough she wavered and staggered as she rose, bumping into tables as she made her bleary eyed way toward us.

I dug my elbow into Wilbur’s side again, pointing at her slow progress. “I think one of your double priced rooms is about to be requested. I’m going to head over to the Fighters Guild before any more fights break out here. I’ll see you later.“

I dodged the drunk Altmer and slipped out the front door, heading down toward the Fighters Guild. Something told me this excavation group was going to bring a lot of trouble to Anvil. I hoped little Buffy would be safe, with her husband dead there was no one to protect her.


*

OOC: This post was a surprise cameo walk on, one of the many surprises Uleni and Mustard have planned for this RP and its members.


*

The Altmer drank her fill of wine and announcing how delicious it was. She ended up emptying the goblet of wine and found it so pleasing that she might even buy some for her husband. Good that she enjoys it, Drakothemir mused. But her mind seemed to be quickly affected bu it, and like most of the inebriated she was clumsy and turning into a redish color. He felt somewhat dissapointed. This one might not survive the expedition . . .unless she put her honed Nordic talents to good use. One must have a sharp mind when going beneath the ground to face Cyrodiil's darker sides of nature. And if he was to pair with these people he expected some of them so survive at all costs until he needed what he required. If what he searched for was truly there to begin with . . .

Then, as a myth, he would vanish from their lives and never hope to come across them again. He would be mentioned as the odd Imperial or the dark-robed one. It did not matter. He would be gone, and whatever fabricated reputation would go along with him.

Kayla drank a bit and had her mind tremendously altered. Drakothemir could see that she was easily influenced by a cup of wine. And that came down as a weakness to most. The vampire looked at her with a curious gaze, both anticipating what she would do next out of interest of once more making conclusions from her actions, which seemed legit enough. But Ylenno spoke out to him, capturing his attention for a fraction of a moment.

"But monk-boy, real men drink the Surillie Borthers! No doubt you picked Tamika's for her taste, but!"

Then he was interrupted by Kayla, who had drank enough to know that it was enough. She rose to her feet, excused herself, and walked away from the table toward the front counter. Leaving Drakothemir and the rest of his aquaintences at the table. He looked at Ylenno and cleared his throat. "I am no monk. Not anymore at least." He confessed with an added smirk. "So I am perhaps just as a real man you are."

He didn't waste anymore time speaking. While his perceived former-monkhood was evident by his black robe and use of swords, his rings bespoke otherwise. It was then that Drakothemir realized that he never told him the were family heirlooms. And he never was going to tell them unless one of them asked for it. The Vigilante woman knew about them, but she chose to pester. Drakothemir found it best to hold his tongue. They can think whatever they will of him. In the end, it did not matter. There were truth to some of his words. He is of a religious order. His rings are family heirlooms claimed by him. And his swords . . .well . .that is a different story altogether. In the end, his noble heritage was obvious. Painfully so. It was rooted into his blood and radiated in his speech and mannerisms. Four centuries of walking Tamriel as such could not hide that fact. And him recently reawakening and adopting a life of a former monk simply contradicted his behavior. But Drakothemir had an answer. He always did.

While Ylenno spoke to Buffy, Drakothemir began to ponder on the albino Khajiiti woman he say walk in earlier. She did not tarry for long, and had left the inn after she came to speak to the proprietor. Though she was far from him, he could still capture snippets of her conversation and even heard her snide comment about his monk status with a vulgar comment. Hmm . . .the woman does not even know in the slightest idea who I really am and yet she doubts every word on my tongue.

It was strange to see her walk in and then walk out. She might have wanted to avoid something after she seemed eager to avoid bumping into a rather almost drunk Kayla. What did she want? And who is she? Drakothemir wondered.

He tapped his finger on the table and considered retreating into his own room for the day.

Westley

Westley couldn't stop focusing on Drakothemir. He was getting angrier with every moment tat passed, and it wouldn't be too long before he snapped and smashed a wine-bottle over the vampire's head. He was momentarily distracted when a white Khajiit walked in. He stared at her for a moment, and could sense that she was somewhat suspicious of Drakothemir.

When she turned around and left the inn, swiftly avoiding a drunken Kayla on her way out, Westley was forced to turn his attention back to Drakothemir. The rage that had built up in him had died down a bit, and he was able to keep it at low levels by focusing his attention on the other people in the inn. He could still hear a few nobleman making snide remarks about him.

Everyone in the inn was being loud, be the smell of alcohol filled the place. It made Westley very dizzy. Especially the smell of wine. The smell if wine was very strong to humans, but with his enhanced hearing and smell, it was like shoving the wine bottle up your nose and inhaling.

The room started spinning, and Westley covered his mouth with his hand and forced the vomit that was rising to his throat back down. He couldn't take it anymore. He slowly rise up to his feet.

"Please excuse me. I need some fresh air, and a moment alone."

Westley stumbled out if the front door of the inn, and nearly fell down the steps. Everything was spinning at an insane speed, and he had a horrible headache. It was a fairly warm day, and the sun was beating down on him, making him feel worse than before. Even outside he could still smell wine, an it was driving him crazy, but he was to dizzy to move. He passed out where he was standing, the smell of wine still lingering in the air.

After Kayla paid for her room, she turned around and saw Westley abruptly get up and leave the inn. She would check on him after she put her things away. She waved at Buffy and motioned that she would be in her room, gave her a thumbs up, and left.

She dropped her bag on her bed with a sigh. Buffy's feather spell had worn off a while ago, and while it was useful when it was in effect, it was short-lived. She changed out of her leather armor and put on a clean set of clothing; brown pants and a plain, well-fitted shirt that reached her collarbones. She kept her boots on and washed her arms and face after she laid her leather armor out on the bed.

The cold water woke up her senses. She wasn't drunk. At least she didn't think so. The wine probably just made her sleepy. She ran a comb through her hair, deciding it was in need of washing and braided it behind her head.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. Right above the neckline of her shirt was the tip of a large, gnarled pink scar slashing downwards, one in a series of four. She blinked. She figured no one would notice it, especially being in the spot it was in. Nobody was looking at her like that. She didn't feel like telling the story of that scar. Any of the scars on her arm, sure, but not that one. That one was painful.

She sauntered back out, and seeing the empty place where Westley was, remembered he was absent. She sat down and asked where he went to no one in general.

Buffy:

Buffy kept both hands cradling her tea cup when a bottle of Tamika’s appeared. Kayla, however, quickly downed a cup of the ruby liquid. As the Altmer got to her feet and headed for the bar to hire a room, her gait revealed she held her wine no better than Buffy could. The little wood elf smiled while noting that the Nords had not fully turned the Altmer into a daughter of Skyrim.

Seated next to Buffy, Ylenno asked her about Bravil.

Buffy smiled at the mention of Daenlins’ name. “The old archer is still shooting, and I expect will be doing so until he fletches the perfect arrow.” Her smile faded as she looked into the other elf’s sober eyes, leaned closer and lowered her voice. “After you left Bravil, I was one of the lucky ones. I was apprenticed to Master Daenlin until I was old enough to become one of Kud-Ei’s girls in the guild of mages. Caelefensil was not so fortunate. She was an attractive young elf and survived by doing what she needed to. She certainly didn’t deserve to have her candle snuffed out so young. When, later, my friend City Swimmer was killed, we buried the Argonian behind the chapel next to Caelefensil to keep your sister company. The graveyard is the sacred ground of Mara and her Priestesses ensure it is well maintained.”

Buffy found herself beginning to blink back tears and was determined to at least try to lighten the mood. “Oh look at you!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been picking at that silly scratch on your face and made it bleed again. It seems like I’m going to be the healer for this group.” She slipped from the chair, stood next to Ylenno and admonished, “Now hold still. Don’t make me paralyze you.” Before he could respond, Buffy placed a glowing right hand upon the Bosmer’s rugged face. Within a few seconds, she had withdrawn her hand and was curled up again on her chair. “There won’t be a scar there but don’t worry; I didn’t fix your old scars or the evidence of a long ago broken nose.” She grinned then added, “Your roguish looks are still intact.”

It was then that she noticed Westley’s chair had joined Kayla’s in emptiness. Her eyes traveled first to the bar. Perhaps he had chivalrously gone to assist the wobbly Kayla. Buffy adored chivalry. But the auburn-haired Altmer was by herself, signaling Buffy that she had gotten a room. Buffy grinned and nodded in return. Her gaze then moved to the tavern’ door just in time to see Westley’s back as the volatile young Imperial slipped out of the inn.

Westley

Westley had only blacked out for a few moments. He forced his eyes open, though everything was quite blurry. For some reason the streets were empty, and he didn't have the energy to scream for help. He looked up, and noticed the fighters guild hall. He remembered when he first went in there all those years ago. Azzan was kind enough to take him in. Wait, Azzan! Maybe Azzan, or someone else could help him get to the chapel, away from the scent of wine.

He forced himself to crawl across the street, but his condition was getting worse. He started seeing stars everywhere, and he felt feverish. It felt like someone was taking a warhammer and repeatedly bashing him on the head with it. He was only able to pound on the door once before blacking out on the front steps of the guildhall.

He started hearing voices, but he couldn't see anything. He could feel the breeze against his shirt and the back of his head, and he could feel the warmth of the sun. He forced his eyes back open again, but didn't have the strength to get up. A dog was sniffing him and licking his face. He tried to shove it away, but he couldn't lift his arm.

Westley snarled at the dog, and it snarled back and began barking loudly. Westley was still too dizzy to get up, and the dog was ready to attack. He was able to turn onto his back, but the dog lunged, bit into his arm, and began trying to tear it off. A rush of adrenaline shot through Westley's body, and though he was still feeling weak and dizzy, he kicked the dog in the chest as hard as he could and screamed for help.

"SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!"

Kayla heard the screech over the talk of the inn. She bolted up and ran outside, where she saw Westley on the ground, a dog attached to his arm. She straddled the dog's back, arm under the throat, and cut off its air. The dog released Westley and began to try to snap at her.

She rolled onto her back and hoped that the owner would come by soon and subdue the dog. Otherwise she'd have to put the dog down, and the last thing she wanted was for people to see her shove a fireball down an animal's throat. The dog flailed in her arms as it struggled to breath.

She cursed in Nordic loudly. She was losing her grip.

Westley

Someone pulled the dog off of Westley. When he looked up, Kayla was on the ground struggling to keep the do in her grip. It was barking, snarling and snapping at her. He took a good look at the dog. Its fur was filthy, and very shaggy. On some parts of its body, there wasn't any fur at all. The dog was skinny to the point wher you could see its ribs. White foam covered its mouth. It was a stray rabies. He had to think fast.

Westley forced himself up to his feet, grabbed the dog by the neck, pinned it to the ground, and strangled it. It took all the strength he had, but Westley managed to keep the dog pinned to the ground and kill it. After the deed was done, he rolled onto is back, clutched his arm, and screamed in pain. The dog had managed to bite into his arm again, and blood was getting all over the floor.

Killing the dog and taken up all of his energy, but it was with it. Kayla wasn't injured by the dog. She surely would have gotten sick if she had been bitten, but Westley couldn't get sick thanks to his lycanthropy.

Kayla sat up, panting.

"What did you DO to that dog to make it attack you?!" she asked Westley.

She got a good look at the now dead dog. It was obviously a stray, which was weird inside city walls. She stood up, grunting, and brushed herself off. Westley's arms, shreds of skin ripped back to reveal mangled muscle tissue, caught her eye.

"Good gods, man! Here, let me get you a cure disease potion!" She began to lead Westley back into the inn by his good arm.

Westley


Westley watched as Kayla sat up and stared at him for a moment to question him about the dog.

"What did you DO to that dog to make it attack you?!"

She observed the dead dog for a moment and them noticed his arm. Herr eyes widened with shock.

"Good gods, man! Here, let me get you a cure disease potion!"

Kayla helped Westley up and began leading him to the inn by his good arm.

Westley answered the question while they walked.

"I did nothing. I blacked out in the steps of the inn. When I woke up, I noticed nobody was around, so I crawled over here and tried to knock on the door of the fighters guild, but blacked out before I could. When I woke back up the dog was licking my face and sniffing me. I tried to get up and it attacked me."

Before he knew it, Westley's legs gave out, and due to the added weight from his massive amount of muscle, when he fell it brought both him and Kayla to the ground. As soon as he hit the ground he blacked out from blood loss.

Kayla flailed under Westley's weight. He was almost pure muscle, and as slight of figure as she was, she couldn't move. He had knocked the breath out of her as well, so she could only try to catch her breath before panicking.

He knocked her on her stomach, and though she was no weakling, she was still not strong enough to pull herself out from under him.

"Can someone...Hello? Anyone?"

No answer. She reached behind her and felt rather than saw the pool of blood. Warm and sticky, the iron-smell filled her nose. The dog must have ripped a vein.

Opening her mouth and filling her lungs, she let out the most ear-piercing scream she could.

"BUUUUUUFFFYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

Buffy:

Kayla returned to the table and asked about Westley. A cry from outside the inn brought the Altmer back to her feet and she sprinted through the crowded bar and out the door.

Buffy smiled and commented to the table. "I guess the guards just nicked another of those pickpockets drawn to Anvil by word of the expedition." Rolling her eyes, she added, "Or perhaps our hotheaded Westley has provoked another fight."

When Kayla did not return, Buffy grew concerned. “Excuse me. I don’t want to see Kayla get on the wrong side of the guards as they do their job.” With that she slipped from her chair and headed for the door. It took her some time to make her way through the crowded bar full of men. Her size attracted little attention and the attention it did garner more often resulted in the elf being groped by large hands rather than a path being cleared for her.

“Boooooffffeeeeee!” The cry from outside the inn just as Buffy reached the door was unmistakably that of Kayla. Buffy muscled the heavy door open to see Kayla and Westley in a pile on the street. Blood covered the nearby cobblestones.

“What did you do to her!?!” screamed the little elf as she sprinted the short distance. Buffy dropped to her knees and slid to a stop next to the pair. The paralyze spell in her hand intended for Westley evaporated as she saw the blood was his. Kayla was wiggling out from under the man, but her eyes were bright. Westley was unconscious.

Kneeling over the young Imperial, Buffy placed one glowing hand on his mangled arm and the other on his chest. These were animal wounds! She quickly determined his arm was the only injury and, while not grievous, it was bleeding profusely. White magic flowed down her arms as she repaired blood vessels and mended flesh. She gritted her teeth as she absorbed some of the young man’s pain. She was only vaguely aware that a small circle of onlookers was gathering around them.

Soon enough, the wounds were healed and the exhausted elf sat back on her heels. Westley opened his eyes. “Stay put,” she admonished. “The magic I’ve infused into you will greatly speed your ability to replace the large volume of blood you’ve lost, but you’ll need to take things easy for a day or so.” Buffy then looked to Kayla. “What happened?”

Once Westley awoke, Kayla was able to yank herself out from under him. Buffy had, with surprising capability, healed Westley's mangled arm. A pained look crossed Buffy's face, but Kayla had held still while she healed Westley.

Buffy knelt on the ground. Kayla swore she saw a sheen of sweat on her forehead. she asked Kayla what happened.

"I came out when I heard the cry, and Westley was being attacked by a rabid dog." She blew out a relieved sigh, and continued.

"I tried putting the dog in a chokehold, but the fur made it too difficult and it started slipping out of my grip. Westley jumped up and strangled the beast to death."

Kayla pointed at Westley's arm. "You need a cure disease potion still. Do you have a room here? We can have someone help me take you to it. If not, I'll see about getting you one."

She pinched Westley on the arm, a half smile on her face. "Don't get yourself eaten just yet, boy!"

She turned to Buffy. "Thank you so much. If you need help with anything, let me know."

Westley

Westley heard Kayla's scream right as he blacked out. When he awoke, Buffy was hovering over him.

“Stay put, the magic I’ve infused into you will greatly speed your ability to replace the large volume of blood you’ve lost, but you’ll need to take things easy for a day or so.”

He listened to Kayla explain what happened before sitting up. Kayla pointed at his arm.

"You need a cure disease potion still. Do you have a room here? We can have someone help me take you to it. If not, I'll see about getting you one."

Westley took a deep breath before answering.

"Yes I have a room. I don't want to go back into the inn though. The smell of wine is what caused all of this. I passed out because of it, and the weakness it caused me gave the rabid dog an opportunity to injure me." Westley forced himself up to his feet before continuing. "Thank you for coming to my aid Kayla. That dog might have killed me if you hadn't stepped in and helped." Westley turned to Buffy. "And thank you for healing me"

Westley gave Kayla and Buffy a warm smile before focusing his attention on the crown of people watching him. He became quite uncomfortable, and shooed them away.

"Nothing to see here people, just a little fight between me and a stray dog. Everyone is alright"

As Westley shooed the crowd away, Kayla pulled herself up, then pulled Buffy up.

"I'm still getting you that potion. I don't think I could drag you to the chapel."

Please don't insist on going to the chapel, she mentally begged Westley. As she dashed inside, the bewildered looks of the others in the group stopped her.

"Dog attack, Westley bit, getting potion," she said hurridly before disappearing into her room.

Buffy:

Westley seemed better. He explained about being attacked by a rabid dog and not wanting to go back into the inn because of the smell of wine. Kayla ducked back into the inn to get a cure disease potion.

Buffy said to Westley. “If you have a problem with wine, you might see if the Fighters Guild, chapel or even the stable could put you up for the night.” She glanced at the body of the dog and guessed Westley was right about it being rabid. “You do not carry rabies. I would have detected and cured it by spell if you did. Your immune system is. . . unusual, but that is your business. Anything I learn about a patient from the intimate bonds of healing stays between them and I.” She looked up at the Imperial and smiled. “Remember what I said about taking it easy for a time and, for Mara’s sake, try to stay out of fights.”

She pondered whether to await Kayla's return or simply slip back into the inn. Regardless, she was beginning to harbor second thoughts about her current assignment. This group was managing to injure itself without even leaving the walls of Anvil!

"If you have a problem with wine, you might see if the Fighters Guild, chapel or even the stable could put you up for the night.”

Westley winced at Buffy's suggestion. It had been years since he had last talked to anyone in the fighters guild, and he doubted Azzan or anyone else would recognize him. But the chapel unnerved him. Dibella surely wouldn't be pleased with the presence of a werewolf in her chapel, and the lady at the stables most likely wouldn't let a stranger stay since her encounter with the werewolf.

He knew he couldn't stay in the inn. The smell of wine and the loud noises would kill him before anything else did. He'd have to speak to Azzan, even though he didn't want to. He entered the inn and headed upstairs to his room to pack up.

He changed his bloody strapped shirt to a blue plaid shirt, and put everything he owned into his backpack. Westkey made his way downstairs and gave his key back to the Redguard man.

"I'm leaving, thanks for letting me stay."

He headed over to the table where his new friends were.

"Please tell Kayla if she needs me I'll be at the fighters guild." The smell of wine was already making Westley dizzy again, so he rushed back out of the inn, and crossed the street to the fighters guild. When he entered, Sten the Ugly and Huurwen we're practicing fighting and blocking. He walked up to Sten and knocked the iron greatsword out of his hand.

"I'd like to see Azzan." Westley smiled.

The Nord seemed to get angry for a moment before he recognized Westley. He broke out laughing.

"Westley! Long time no see! Go ahead upstairs, Azzan is in his office!" Sten bent over and picked his greatsword.

"Thank you Sten. I'll see you later."

"No problem Westley, anything for an old friend." Sten resumed training with Huurwen while Westley made his way up to the dining hall.

The only living thing in the dining hall was Mojo, the fighter's guild dog. Westley walked up to Mojo and patted his head.

"Long time no see little buddy, I see you're doing well for yourself." Westley chuckled when Mojo licked his hand and walked off to the opposite side of the room.

He head up the stairs to Azzan's office, and silently entered. Azzan was sitting down at his desk, scribbling something down on a parchment. Westley swallowed hard before speaking up.

"Azzan?"

Azzan looked up and eyed Westley for a moment before a wide grin spread out across his face. He shot straight up out of his seat, reached over his desk and hugged him.

"I can't believe you came back Westley! What do you need?"

"I need a place to stay Azzan. Will you let me?" Westley adjusted the straps in his bag.

"Of course Westley. You can have the room downstairs near the member's barracks. The porter can sleep on a bedroll."

"Thank you Azzan. I'll be back soon, I have to go meet up with a friend."

Azzan chuckled before replying back "Ok Westley, if you need anything feel free to ask."

Westley went downstairs, unpacked his stuff, and went back outside in front of the inn to wait for Kayla and the cure disease potion.

Buffy:

Buffy wasn’t sure how much of what she said registered with Westley. Without a word, he went back into the Count’s Arms! The wood elf followed the confusing human inside. After reclaiming her perch on the chair next to Ylenno, she shrugged to the table in general. “This town is going to the dogs.”

She poured herself another cup of tea as Westley bounded down the stairs, paused for a brief word with the publican and, once again, left the inn.

Kayla dug through her backpack through the clothes, various potions, until she found a green tinted bottle. She pulled the cork and sniffed the liquid. She coughed. The odor of burnt feathers told her this was the right one. She plugged the small bottle back up, making sure to check on Dawnbreaker and see that it was still in the room.

Before she left, she counted her potions. Ten cure disease potions (9 if you don't count the one in her hand) 5 stamina potions, and two large bottles of health potions. One to mix in her spare water pouch, and the other weaker one to brush onto surface wounds. She unscrewed the cap on the weaker potion to ensure the brush was still attached. It was. She carefully packed her potions away again. Every bottle was concentrated to fit into a small vial in her hand, or pocket, and not take up a lot of room. An alchemist at the College had done it for her, and was teaching her how to do that when she left to marry her husband.

She walked past the group without a nod but with a wave, a determined look on her face. She could visit an alchemy shop and replace the potion. She needed to have ten potions, at all times, for any expedition she went on. This one was no different.

She breezed out the door and thrust the potion into a standing Westley's hands.

"Drink," she ordered. "Before you start frothing at the mouth. It's disgusting, but it will cure you."

"Drink, before you start frothing at the mouth. It's disgusting, but it will cure you."

Westley sniffed the potion, and almost threw up. It smelled horrible!

"Thank you Kayla." Westley chugged the potion down as fast as he could, and handed Kayla back the potion. "If you ever need anything or feel lonely just ask and I'll be happy to help. I'll be at the fighter's guild, okay? I'll see you later." Westley turned and made his way to the guildhall.

When he entered Sten and Huurwen were still training. Westley slipped passed them, went in his room, and sat down on the bed. He hated staying here, but at least he didn't feel sick. This place brought back too many painful memories.

Westley grabbed a scroll of magelight, and cast the spell. He began waving the magelight around in the air, and making it change colors. When the spell wore off, he pulled out his cards and started shuffling them. With nobody to talk to, he rapidly grew bored. It was to painful to talk to anyone else in the guildhall, and Buffy told him to take it easy for a few days. He put the cards down and stretched out across the bed and closed his eyes. Perhaps a nap would be nice.

Drakothemir.

"Please excuse me. I need some fresh air, and a moment alone."Westley said.

It happened in an instant. Westley felt sick and dashed out. Drakothemir had no doubt of the reason as to why he left in such a hurry. He is not fond of vampires. but he didn't make a comment on it nor even showed genuine concern. If the man wanted to expose himself, then by Lord Molag, he is free to do so. The better he wakes up in his afterlife, the better. Drakothemir would not be the one cleaning the remains of a dead Lycanthropy.

He lingered a bit, sipping on his wine as he listened to the Bosmer woman share her stories with Ylenno and had helped heal the small injury on his face which he insisted on mettling with. He was getting ready to excuse himself to get some sleep until he heard a loud noise come from outside.

"SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!"

It was Westley's voice. Drakothemir could not believe his ears. This is beyond insanity now. First a tavern fight, now Daedra knows what is happening to him outside. He rose to his feet, rushed to the window and looked outside and saw the man being attacked by . . .dog. How fitting, he mused.

He stood there and watched as Kayla made an attempt to help the man, who had fallen unconscious and began losing blood. He could smell the thick blood of the werewolf from afar. And in some vampiric clans, werewolf's blood was a delight. A wonderful blend between man and beast. Drakothemir tasted werewolf blood before, but he much preferred virgin's blood and the blood of the youth as his sister did.

"Can someone...Hello? Anyone?"

The vampire placed a fist under his chin as he narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn't see him from where he was standing, but he could see her. Unseen, stalking with eyes keen. She tried to help the man to no avail, and had to rely on her allies for help. She called out Buffy's name with a loud voice that rang throughout the air, Drakothemir did not move, but he heard movement behind him. And as anticipated, Buffy answered to the summon with her presence as she rushed outside to heed the call. She knelt down beside him after immedietly asking what Westley had done to Kayla. Her mood seemed to calm as she realized it was his blood and not the High Elf's.

The small Wood Elf did her magic, and Drakothemir nodded just a bit as he witnessed Buffy's healing powers to a certain extent. She was not exaggerating when she said she understood the craft.

He focused on them, partially tuning out everything going on around him as he stood by the window in the inside of the inn. Some men gathered around to stand beside him to look out in morbid curiosity as the boy lay there in his own puddle of blood spilled by his lesser kin.

"The smell of wine is what caused all of this. I passed out because of it, and the weakness it caused me gave the rabid dog an opportunity to injure me." Westley said as he forced himself to get to his feet.

Drakothemir sighed inwardly. In all his centuries he had never seen something so . . .weak. Men and women were easily swayed by alcohol, their minds altered by the potent substances in the drink. And it was understandable that such things could happen. But a Lycanthropy had tremendous abilities that were not known to most men. Werewolves varied in abilities. Like vampires, some had Daedric blood running through their veins. He knew some capable Lycanthropes in the past. Some were bitten, others were born with the gift through hereditary curses and in rarer cases even granted Lycanthropy itself by their Patron, Hircine. This man, Drakothemir suspected, was perhaps bitten. He did not show much control over himself in his human form, and he was easily frustrated and angry to the point of being deadly.

"That dog might have killed me if you hadn't stepped in and helped."

If a simple mutt might have killed you, then you have more things to worry about, Drakothemir said in his mind. How unfortunate would it be for Drakothemir to be slain by fledgling vampires, or worse, a small and very mundane vampire bat? Molag Bal would sooner put him into one of the charnel houses of Coldharbour and and establish himself as Drakothemir's eternal cell-mate than even think of offering him a dominant position.

"What happened?" a man asked Drakothemir as the vampire watched Kayla and Buffy and the beast walk back into the building.

His hand curled into a light fist that was brought to his mouth. "A pup was attacked outside by a rabid dog."

The man did not seem to hear him all that well, only hearing the latter part of his sentence. To clarify, Drakothemir turned to the very drunk man and shrugged slightly. "The rabid dog survived."

The vampire had seen enough for one day. If this is what is normal, then he might as well retreat under castle once more and slumber for centuries. Maybe his sister could tend to clan affairs and help fix the empire's broken state, because by Bal, the people of Cyrodiil were doomed already.

He excused himself from the stranger, politely pushed himself through the crowd of onlookers, and climbed the steps that led into his room. This was beyond his comprehension.

Westley

Westley couldn't fall asleep. He found himself thinking about how much a danger Drakothemir was to the others. He could see the vampire obviously had no respect for him, and that was gnawing away at his conscience. He couldnt fall asleep. Westley got up and shoved everything he had into a chest in the corner of the room, but the Blackwater blade. He locked the chest, and the back door to his room, and left through the front door of the room.

Sten and Huurwen were still training, and he could here Mojo barking upstairs. When he exited the guildhall, he noticed that the crowd that had gathered around him earlier had vanished, and once again the streets were empty. He could hear the bells from the dingy at the docks in the distance jangling loudly, and the seagulls crowing in the sky. He made his way over to the chapel in hopes of picking up some healing potions, or a stronger healing spell for the expedition.

He wasn't fond of the chapel, but at least worrying about the gods making his heart explode for wanting the chapel even though he worshipped Hircine took his mind off of Drakothemir. His hate for the vampire grew stronger every passing minute. Westley felt like he was about to hit the boiling point. The only reason he hated Drakothemir was because the filthy night-spawn had bad intentions towards the rest of the group. Westley couldn't stand seeing innocent people being murdered in cold blood.

Murdered in cold blood. Westley was a werewolf. He had killed innocent people by accident before. It may have been an accident, but a life had been lost. A new fear grew inside Westley.

What if I hurt my new friends? I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt any of them. I've lost the ring of Hircine before. Who says I won't lose it while I'm here?

Westley stopped in front of the chapel, and his eyes widened with fear.

By the nine. What if Hircine takes back the ring.

Kayla felt a little insulted after Westley's sudden departure. She wondered if she had done something to offend him.

"But at least he drank the potion," she told herself. She sat on her bed at the inn with her alchemical ingredients spread out in front of her, as well as her potions lying in a neat line on the bed. She counted, recounted, and shuffled the ingredients around in front of her, first based on name, then by color, then grouped them together by the effects they had.

She sighed. To keep herself from acting like a fool, she had simply nodded to everyone at the table, feigned an upset stomach, and briskly walked to her room. She didn't turn to see if anyone cared, nor stayed to hear if they were concerned. She knew they weren't, as she was a stranger.

She recounted her actions that day. Braying like a donkey at the slightest bit of humor, teasing a joking with strangers. Some were animated and funny, other cool and calculating, and others just simply silent. Thinking back on the incident with the dog, she thought about what she SHOULD have done.

Anticipated Westley being wobbly and falling. Been quicker to catch him instead of letting him catch her by surprise. Instead of panicked, slowly wiggled herself out from under him, bit by bit, instead of all at once, flailing. She put her alchemical ingredients away and sighed. Everything she had, from her cure disease potions, to her tiny stack of form-fitting clothes, was from experience. Tighter clothes get caught less and are less likely to be grabbed. Only keep what potions and ingredients you need. Bring no excess.

She would have to watch herself around this group. If she went in with them, she couldn't make mistakes like she had tonight. Drinking, brawling, panicking, can get you killed. And she couldn't afford that.

What would her husband think? If he had time to think about her. The letter of consolation, if they ever did that, might come as a relief to him. She had a sizable sum put away for him if she ever passed, but that was more out of pity than love. And he knew nothing about it.

It wasn't that she wasn't fond of her husband, and he wasn't fond of her. The marriage was rushed in the months of their heated passions, and when it cooled, so had their feelings. But she kept up the pretense in an effort to fan the flames of the cooling embers of their marriage. The motions were stilted, the words lacked warmth, and the lovemaking simply wasn't there.

Maybe that was the curse of being a Mer. Human feelings come and go so quickly, but hers took long to warm and long to cool. She still felt a fondness for him, but at the same time, it wasn't like it was before.

Could they even be called husband and wife? They weren't joined by Mara, since she was thrown out of the temple by a prude priestess for being a worshiper of Meridia. There were no known rites for marriage in Meridia's lore, and her husband worshiped Talos. They simply decided they were married, and that was that.

"Why did I REALLY come?" Kayla asked herself. It wasn't for her marriage. Even though she was young, she knew that no amount of gold could spark a real, lasting love. Not the kind of love she desired.

She desired a warm home, outside city walls. A boy bringing her bugs and a girl hiding mice in her smock. Sword lessons and maybe magick lessons too. Sitting by the fire at night after watching the sunset with the person she loved, fingers intertwined, head on shoulder.

She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Westley's blood was specked on her face. She looked down at the rest of her clothes and saw that the blood had seeped into the side of her shirt. Disgusted, she tore off the dirtied shirt and put on an almost identical shirt, with a lower neckline. The pink scar showed even more. An inch of pink, protruding flesh screamed her failure at her, her failure to keep someone safe. She scrubbed her face in the washbasin.

Spotting a piece of parchment and a quill with ink on the table next to her bed, Kayla sat down and began to write furiously, dipping the quill in the ink every so often. The time began to pass quickly for her.

Things had really taken a turn, and maybe not for the better. They had all gotten some food and tea when suddenly a knife came hurling towards them. This eventually resulted in a fight between Ylenno and this imperial who called himself Westley. Luckily it cooled down soon after and eventually another imperial came to sit down by them. They talked a little bit and then Westley said he had to get some fresh air. A little bit after they heard a scream from outside. Kayla ran out and after a whie Buffy went out as well. It turned out that Westley had been attacked by a rabid dog. As westley went to get a room in either the fighters guild, the chapel or the stables, Elaninde figured she coud rent the room for a second night as well.

This night was even more restless then the last one as Elaninde spent it trying to sum up what had happened. No matter how she thought about it, it allways came back to Westley and the ring of Hircine. Why would he have it? Was he really the werewolf she had seen when she first came to anvil? Since Buffy had commented on how his immune system was unusual it wouldnt surprise her. And that would explain why he was so aggressive. Elaninde knew that the ring of hircine would stop transformations but would not silence the inner wolf. Elaninde thought about this for many hours until sleep finally overtook her.

Westley

There was a knot in Westley's stomach. If Hircine took the ring back there would be no telling what could happen. Even with the ring he was reckless. He didn't control his temper and he was extremely rude. He knew he had caused quite a stir in Anvil. He needed to take it easy and stay low.

He tried to relax. Maybe Hircine would let him keep the ring. His mind wandered to Kayla. She had seen a little offended when he left the way he did. Westley would probably be offended too if someone just walked off without saying goodbye properly.

Westley looked at the chapel, then towards the inn. Drakothemir's presence was the reason that the wine smelled so strong. The vampire's presence had sharpened Westley's senses so the inner wolf could protect itself. He decided to stay away from the chapel. The gods didn't favor werewolves in their presence.

Westley turned around and headed towards the inn. He owed Kayla an apology for rushing off like that. He stopped to say hello to a few guards, and give a beggar a few coins on his way there. When he entered the inn, the people were more rowdy than before. Perhaps it had to do with lunch coming around soon.

Westley snuck upstairs without the Redguard man's notice. There was a drunk man sprawled out over the floor upstairs. He stepped over him and followed Kayla's scent to a room with the door barely cracked open. He knocked lightly before entering.

"Hey, I'm sorry I left without saying bye or thank you. I also wanted to apologize for throwing stuff at you and getting attacked by a dog" Westley stared at her for a moment. Kayla looked upset. "Are you alright? You seem tense."