*


Eyja:

Eyja caught Abiene's eye, a serious expression in her own. "Metal gets into the bloodstream and remains after wounds are healed, and any additional exposure builds on what is there. It will continue damaging your organs if it isn't completely cleansed from your system. It never goes away without a bonding ingredient to chelate it."

Abiene's magicka was waning, Eyja took over casting healing till it could rebuild as she continued.

"For the amount of metal you've been exposed to, you may need to keep taking it several times daily for at least a week, and do a restorative healing on yourself several times per day as well. The raw ingredients work better and quicker if you can stand the bitter taste. The potions are flavored, but are much weaker."

Eyja dug in her pack when Abiene took over healing herself. The first thing she looked for brought a sigh of relief, the poison used had not come from her pack.

Next she brought out a small leatherbound case with the name 'Eyja' written in flourished letters of gold on the front. She pointed it out to Abiene as she opened it to reveal a mini inkpot and quill set, along with a small pad of parchment.

"This was a present from Maxical. She pilfered the set from a notorious necromancer and had my name engraved on it in gold lettering." Eyja grinned up at Abiene. "She gives great gifts."

Eyja gingerly removed a leather pocket wedged behind the pad and carefully removed a folded parchment that was yellowed and fragile with age.

"Combine these ingredients, I'll write them for you so you can keep healing yourself."

In a remarkably short time Eyja handed Abiene a fairly long list.

Garlic
Sunflower seeds
Pumpkin seeds
Flax seed oil
Corkbulb root
Netch Leather
Scrib Jelly
Scamp skin
Kwama cuttle
Ash yam
The juice of a lemon
Dried seaweed
Charcoal

"Expect to be near an urn for a while." She folded the yellowed parchment and carefully returned it to the safety of the leather pocket, wedging it back behind the pad.

Eyja didn't mention the blackened teeth and lips Abiene would get from the charcoal. She'd discover it soon enough.

"Send for your friend, but don't wait for his arrival. Get as many of these ingredients as you can and eat them or have an alchemist mix them for you. Any you can't find, I will find for you. I remember seeing a lump of charcoal on the bar at the Wobbly Goblet, I'll fetch it for you."

Abiene's magicka was waning again. Eyja took over casting to give Abiene's magicka time to rebuild.

"It is just a rumor about Talasma, but could very well be true. It is said by many that her basement is haunted, and it is true her husband who owned the 'Oak and Crosier' disappeared shortly after marrying her and was never seen again. Many wonder if he lies somewhere beneath the floor of that basement."

Eyja glanced around at the peaceful looking streets of Chorrol. Pleasant smiling faces greeting each other. This didn't seem like a setting that would have produced this kind of killing. She needed to talk to Honditar and find out more about these residents. He might know more about all those vampire attacks so close to the inn, too.

"Abiene, I need you to remember exactly how long you were at the inn, who you saw there, who brought you that tea, and if it was the same person you ordered it from."


*

Lycus hadn’t slept that day. After Vera’s departure, he had returned to his room to meditate. Even that had proved difficult; his mind was filled with too many thoughts. Vera was a gifted killer, and her hardened attitude and skills made only increased his faith in her survival. Yet he couldn’t explain why he felt a growing sense of worry. Numbers can be overwhelming and he had to admit that she had one flaw when it came for sport. She didn’t take her game as seriously as before. Perhaps because she was too good and too arrogant, that she involuntarily gave the prey an advantage in somehow harming her.

He couldn’t blame her. Surviving for centuries did often give one a particular pride and feeling of invincibility but he knows that time and time again even the hardiest of warriors and the fiercest of hunters often fall short of glory and she isn’t the same woman she was years ago. Hunting was second nature, but the call and drastic need of parenthood was too high and the bloodline of the Castius legacy was in danger if she were to be killed.

No, she will be fine, Lycus tried to convince himself. She can handle herself. She always has . . . most of the time.

In the privacy of his room(which was heavily scented with burnt herbs), Lycus wandered naked from the waist up. His long-hair falling down to his broad shoulders, and his dark skin glowing with the flickering lights the candles granted. Below his feet was a small bowl of dried sage and placed in front of it was the statuette of Hircine standing beside a very mundane-looking drum.

Lycus sat cross-legged before the statue, the drum and the herbs. He closed his eyes and began to breath in rhythm; inhale deeply, exhale just the same.

As by tradition, Lycus purified his aura by burning the herb. The scent and smoke of the scorching plant floated up to his face, and vanished into his nostrils. His mind shifted and he began drumming upon the ancient instrument before his feet with a gentle pounding. This totem was powerful, for it increases his intuition and heightened his perceptions of the supernatural. It also served to release and balance his spiritual energy, and he soon found himself entranced by his own hypnotic rythym.

He whispered with eyes closed. “I call upon the Wolf. Wise Path Finder, my teacher, my ancestor. Give me wisdom, grant me insight, for I need your guidance.”

And so Lycus called upon the Spirit of the Wolf, for it was a symbol of his kind and his ancestors, and also a measure of himself. The lupine beast was revered for his intelligence, his courage, and his strength. Known as a loyal pack member who helps his fellow mates, the Great Wolf is both feared and respected for his honorable characteristics; a keen hunter, proud defender of his territory, an intelligent teacher, and above all a true survivor.

His vision became a blur and his mind felt light as his entire body. The landscape of the room changed before him. The wooden floorboards gave way to dirt, the walls transformed to a great forest and the ceiling surrendered to a crimson sky where a blood-moon reigned and before Lycus stood a great grey wolf.

Stefan was enraptured with the young Imperial woman's story. He cocked his sultry half-smile at her and leaned in slightly closer.

"Thank you, dear heart, for that wonderful tale. I would, indeed, love to craft another tale from it." He gave her his full smile and held up his glass.

"A toast! To new muses, ideas, and lovely nights such as this."

Irvana raised her cup and gave Stefan a smile and leaned back as he went closer. "To lovely nights."

I am worried about Kayla and Aravi, she told herself. What if they failed in killing the creatures?

She stepped off of the stool right before saying goodbye when the hem of her clothes was caught on cracked wood and ripped slightly as she moved. The side of her attire was ripped and strings of linen hung from the area on her hip.

"Drat," she said. "Here I was thinking I wouldn't ruin this fine cloth."

She sucked her lips in and looked utterly embarrased. Now was a good time to put on her familiar and comfortable all-black robe. That, at least, was something more appropiate in the coming minutes. Going out at night dressed with fine clothing was music to highwaymen and bandits or rapists looking to take advantage of a young woman. Wearing a dark robe would help conceal her appearance at least, and disuade others from trying to rob her. Still, that didn't make it impossible. There were a number of times where she'd been assaulted in her dark clothes

"Stefan, it was a pleasure." Irvana said with a low bow, bending her knees slightly. "If fresh ideas strike your mind or if you'd like help, you are more than welcome to see me though I think you don't need the mind of someone like me to write a compelling story."

And with those words Irvana departed, thanking the bartender for the drink. "Gratitude. For the room and the bath. I am so terribly sorry that I cannot pay for it. I lost most of my things last night."

"Don't worry about it," the orc woman said. "Thank Abiene."

"Yes, yes," Irvana replied. "I suppose I haven't thanked her enough for her help. She's a loving soul. I apologize if I seem a triffle bit intrusive but where did she go?"

"She left to Chorrol hours ago."

"Ah. I wish her safe travels, then."

Irvana left the main room and went upstairs into her room where she found her neatly folded black robe that seemed to be washed. She closed the door, undressed and quickly got into her change of clothes. She felt in her own skin now. These robes always suited her well. It matched the hair.

She checked herself one last time before wandering the halls. She remembered being told by Stefania of a library here, and made haste to look around. She was sure no one would mind her borrowing a book. After all she was going to bring it back. She looked around and came upon it.


The library was large for a tavern. Shelves were lined with old and new books of different stories and topics and genres. For a few minutes she pulled out a few, opened them and scanned through the pages before placing them back into the shelf once more. She repeated this until she came across one book that caught her attention.

A favorite of hers. A Hypothetical Treachery.

She plucked the book out after reading the name and placed it under her arm. With haste she returned down the stairs, headed out the tavern and wandered about the grounds of the Wobbly Goblet.

This was a tranquil place, indeed. Large, too. She ventured where the fish pond was behind the inn, hidden away by the grand garden. Nothing but the light of the moons and stars bathed the land below, and the songs of owls, bats and insects reigned the night.

Irvana sat down on a stone beside the fish pond, and saw a small sack full of pieces of bread sitting alone nearby. She brought it closer to her and realized this was used to feed the fish.

How nice!

She grabbed a handful of the crumbs and started tossing them into the pond where she saw the fishes, big and small, swim up to gobble them up. She smiled in delight. She's seen large rats, huge crabs and even fish. But in a contained pond like this? She's never seen fish this large. Then again, the pond was big enough to house many.

She opened her book on her lap and began to read while at the same time gently caressing the surface of the water with her hand.

Bograk

Bograk stood near the kitchen door. Yetta leaned against its frame. The two of them watched Auguste wiping down the bar. An Imperial woman well into her cups sat on a stool opposite the barman. First she slumped to one side, then the other, all the while regaling Auguste with some tale of past glory.

She slid to the left. Yetta reached for Bograk, her fingers digging into the orc’s meaty arm. “Almooooost there…” Yetta whispered.

The front door banged open, admitting a leggy Nord. His armor bore the Dragon Mail insignia.

The tipsy Imperial shot bolt upright at the noise. Yetta cursed.

“Ha!” crowed Bograk. “Better luck next time.” She put out her hand for Yetta’s coin.

“Mail,” announced the courier as Yetta paid up.

Bograk put out her other hand for the letters. “You’re out late, Gudleif.”

“Special delivery.” The Nord crossed his arm over his chest in a salute, grinning. Then confusion covered his face.

“Forget your motto again?” Auguste asked him.

Yetta giggled.

Gudleif made a valiant effort. “Neither gloom, nor… rain…”

Auguste shoved a pint across to him. Gudleif drained it and belched his way back to the door, grinning again.

“With all that he doesn’t need much brains,” said Yetta. Bograk had to agree.

There were two letters in the packet. One was addressed to Aravi, care of the Wobbly Goblet Tavern and Inn. The other was addressed to Bograk.

Dear Mistress gra-Mugshak,


Please be advised that I, a former guest of your inn, have contracted a systemic infection. It is likely that I was carrying the disease when I dined, bathed, and slept at your establishment last night. It is possible that I was not yet contagious.

The illness presents with general weakness and a debilitating fever. It is transmitted through close physical contact, though other methods of transmission have not been ruled out. Thankfully it is readily cured by a spell, potion, or of course the intervention of the Divines by way of the priory across the road.

Please inform me if any of your staff or patrons have fallen ill. However they would be well advised to seek immediate treatment.


Abiene Metonne
Healer, Chapel of Stendarr

Bograk crumpled the letter in her fist. She looked over at Auguste, then at Yetta. “Fetch it,” she said. “Has anyone seen Lleris?”

*

Eyja:

Eyja had confidence in Abiene's healing, the girl knew what she was doing; she had shown that in her careful healing of Honditar, took no shortcuts at all. She was conscientious, and knowing the risk Maxical faced with her disorder Eyja was sure she would see her safely to the Mages Guild where that hateful Argonian would guard the door and the healers would be locked in with Maxical.

Eyja exhaled in relief, the fear that had been overwhelming her dissipated. Maxical would be safe, at least for now.

The thought had immediately struck Eyja that the assassin was targeting herself and bumbled his job by not keeping custody of the poison, letting poor Abiene drink the toxin meant for her.

That was a sloppy mistake, meaning most likely it was the work of the Dark Brotherhood; who were known to take in anyone that committed a murder and call them an assassin. No well trained assassin would make an error like that. They'd be back, would have to realize by now that they missed their target.




***


Eyja paused while the guard opened the gate for her with a suggestive grin. His eyes never left her breasts as he hailed her. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be walking alone at night. if you wait up I get off in an hour. Buy you a drink?" He indicated the Gray Mare.

"That place? I've heard they have fleas in their beds." Eyja raised one eyebrow twice suggestively at him and pointed in the direction of the Wobbly Goblet.

"I've heard that place has bath tubs right in the rooms. I love taking baths." She drawled out the word love, lowering her eyelids slowly and looking up through the lashes at him. "I'll bet a guard that works the gates could entertain me all night with stories of the things he's seen." Eyja emphasized the word 'all' by cocking one eyebrow at him.

His face flushed with pleasure and he swaggered closer and leaned in to answer. "That I could, little lady. I've seen things you wouldn't believe."

His breath blew hot and smelled of onions. Eyja steeled herself not to back away, instead she cocked her head to one side and smiled slowly.

"I'd sure love to hear some of those stories. I've always wondered how you can guard a whole city and still know when a stranger walks through your gates. Will you tell me how you do it? Like today, did you get to see any outsiders today?" Eyja tickled her fingers lightly on his arm and watched him swallow a large gulp.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. A pure white Khajiit..."

Eyja cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, I saw her, she wasn't scary or mysterious. I want to hear stories about dark mysterious strangers, ones that your instincts told you to watch out for. Does that ever happen here in a quiet place like Chorrol?"

"There's been an odd Dunmer man in town for three days staying over at the Oak and Crosier. Cold eyes that look right through you. Aye, I get the sense from him there is more than one shady secret in his past."

"Ooh, now you're talking. Imagine someone like that coming to such a nice town like this. You must have great instincts, have you seen any others? I get chills just thinking about it." Eyja hugged herself and shivered, making her breasts bulge and jiggle before his goggling eyes.

"Not lately, not on my watch at least. There was one last year..."

Eyja cut him off. "Tell me about it when we meet up for that drink. I want to get to that inn before it gets any later."

She pinched his arm and smiled, then hurried through the gate. He watched her walking away, so Eyja had to wait till she'd passed the stables to cast chameleon on herself.




***

Eyja bumped her Detect Life ring as she neared the inn and was surprised to see a pink outline lurking near the back of the inn. She readied her spells and moved soundlessly closer. It didn't take long to realize it was naught but a drunk peeing on the back wall of the inn.

Eyja cut around the bushes and into the front entrance, still in chameleon. Her eyes traveled to the back of the dining room searching for a glimpse of Seth, but at this time of night the crowd had become too thick. A bard was encouraging drunken dancing and what looked like a few call girls were working the crowd. One couple looked like they may be mating in the corner. Eyja imagined Seth might be in his room by now. He was on a sad mission, and somehow Eyja didn't imagine him being the type to enjoy the wildness that had taken over the tavern section of the inn. He wouldn't, she was sure of it. He'd either be in his room or up in the quiet sitting area upstairs.

Eyja moved along the bar and slid the large piece of charcoal into her pocket as she passed, then realized why it was there. A poster hung of a sexy woman and the sign offered self imagined artists to improve on it.

Eyja slid closer to the poster and drew balls of thick black hair in her armpits, then pocketed the charcoal and wove her way to the steps. A man carrying a tray of food was working his way up the steps, Eyja waited and watched for him to make the top so as not to bump him on the stairs.

She had the impression Seth would order food in his room, that could very well be for him. At least that would mean he wasn't sleeping, and she could disturb him long enough to ask him to sell her any ingredients he may be willing to part with.




***



Eyja found herself watching the man carrying the tray's feet, the way they slipped gently across each step as if testing for the creaks to come back later when the tavern was silent. She herself did that when she had a job...





Eyja lifted her short skirt and tugged her dagger free from the leather strap on her thigh, then moved to the banister side of the steps where any sound she inadvertently made would blend with the tavern sounds and there would be less chance of creaking wood.

She slid silently up behind him, scanning his legs and waist for weapons. A shortsword and dagger sheath hung on his right side, the dagger at an angle, and he carried the tray in his right hand.





The bard started a sing-a-long, encouraging the drunks to join in. They sounded like howling jackals trying to match the bard's tenor vocals. Eyja moved closer, grateful for the racket that would cover any noise up here.

The man turned down the short corridor of rooms, then bent down to lay the tray on one of the low hall stands. Eyja glanced over the meal and had no doubts. The apple sliced and garnishing the plate had overly red skin, a sure sign it was poisoned.

Before he had the chance to right himself Eyja acted; with one swift movement she slammed his face into the hot mutton on the tray and plunged the dagger through the back of his neck; counting in her mind to distract the feeling of sickness it always gave her feeling the spinal cord nerves twitching against the blade, the vibrations going down the hilt and into her hand.

Eyja leaned over and spoke into his ear. "Hope you like the mutton, it's the house specialty. Your spinal chord has been severed, but your vocal chords still work. The man you intended to poison might have some questions for you."

Eyja shot a forlorn look at the door the man intended to knock at. It was too far away, and if she released the assassin's face from the mutton he could still call for help. If she released him and he fell, one bump on that dagger might cut a jugular vein and kill him before Seth could question him.

She tried to scoot around the limp motionless body of the assassin while still keeping his face plunged into the steaming mutton. A moan gurgled up from the mutton.

"Shut up." Eyja hissed at him.

Eyja stretched at an angle, trying to balance herself without letting go of the man, and finally managed to barely kick the door with her toe. She didn't think he'd hear it with all the noise downstairs, but to her relief a shirtless Seth opened the door. Eyja dispelled her chameleon and flushed, unsure what to say; finally falling back on a joke she was sure he would appreciate.

"Room service, did you order a game at dinner? This man thought so, he has brought you poisoned food. I thought you might want to find out why, so I left his vocal chords intact." Eyja indicated the dagger sticking out of the back of his neck.


*

Previously...

The food being prepared would take a a few more minutes apparently, but his room was ready whenever he liked. At that moment, as dusk spread over Chorrol and the lighting changed almost perceptibly to the torches and firepit of the tavern. Darkness had come. With it brought the crowds of townsfolk, whose murmured chats could be heard from outside, in the happy tones of revelrers.

He hated crowds. Partly out of personal preference, partly from natural paranoia. Crowds were easy to blend into and disappear. They could provide cover lik the darkness. The mind couldn't focus on one thing in ease, the distractions it provided were too many. Cloak and dagger.

As such, he asked the food to be delivered to his room instead and gathered his belongings from the table. His stride theough the tavern made no sound from his footfall. Though his armor did make him seem a bit larger than he really was, his deeply ingrained habit of carefully shifting his weight with the terrain; be it floorboards or forest, guided each step.

He made mental calculations of the building out of these habits as well. Entering the room, he looked over the windows, calculating if they could open, or if he needed to break through. The distance to the ground, the thickness of the walls, under the bed. When he was satisfied that he was relatively safe, he finished nesting and started to unload his gear.

The heavy travel pack, weapons, and armor. He carefully placed the urn reverently in the middle of the nightstand, so even if it toppled there was less chance of it falling to the floor and breaking.

I should order a bath. He thought as he pulled out a cleaner shirt than the one he was wearing.

Footsteps began too approach out of the din that had arisen.

Food's ready. He thought as he pulled off the well-travelled shirt.

Suddenly, there was a thud, followed by what sounded like something squishy.

Damn, they dropped my food. Better not be trying to pick it up and dust it off. This isn't the Grey Mare...

Next he heard a sharp tap on the door, putting a pause in his shirt inspection. Every instinct flared to life as he threw it on the bed, and rushed to the door, pulling out a backup silver dagger.

Opening the door revealed the curious site of Eyja straddling a waiter on his back facedown, followed by her explanation of what had led too it.

His eyes narrowed at the explanation. The shadow that made his profession easy fell over his face. And his hands reached down to grab the failed assassin.

"I have my own game for dinner actually." he replied in a sinister whisper towards the paralyzed man.

"The meal gets to be your last one. I'll let you eat it when my questions are answered and you beg me to end it." he said dragging him into the room.

"And, I haven't had mutton in a while, so you get to be the one I take my dissapointment out on." he said lifting the man by his collar, and his red Dunmer eyes promising pain.


He looked at Eyja, and then spoke. "Stay or go as you like, but please lock the door."

*

Eyja grabbed up the tray of poisoned food and scooted into Seth's room. She lay the tray down ontop of the urn and hurried back to lock the door.

"Didn't want anyone passing to eat that."

Eyja nodded appreciation at Seth's words to the assassin, pointing out the burns on the man's face from the hot mutton she'd shoved his face in.

"Assassins worth their salt don't kill a man before his supper, basic manners."

Eyja signaled Seth. "An innocent local healer nearly died from a slow acting poison this morning that I believe had been left laying around unsupervised downstairs about an hour before you arrived. If you don't mind, before you grant him death see if he confesses who his target was on that poisoning."

Eyja took a seat in the overstuffed chair by the bed to watch Seth in action, marveling at the strength he must have to hold that fully grown man off the ground that way and the intense and calculating look in his eyes.

She quietly pulled her travel pack off, quickly dug in the front pocket and pulled out a small sack of roasted peanuts. Eyja leaned forward intensely to watch, absently shelling the peanuts and popping them in her mouth as Seth began his interrogation.

*

He set the unidentified man down onto a plain wooden chair that was at the room's desk. Taking time to carefully tie his limbs to the chair's armrests and legs, equal parts caution and to keep him in place.

He grabbed his travel pack, and set three vials onto the desk, and took out a small leather folder. The man was apparently trying maintain some sense of toughness not saying anything, but following him intently with his eyes. The burns on the face must have been agonizing, and he was visibly sweating along with the grease from the culinary gag that Eyja forced on him.

The man gave a momentary glance over to Eyja, who looked like a kid watching a marionette show. Each crack of the peanuts broke the unbearable silence and seemed to mock him in some way. Eyja just raised an eyebrow and gave him a quick, mischievous grin.

Finally opening the leather folder, a variety of tools were visible. Hammer, tongs, screws, icepick, among others. They were well maintained, despite being a dark iron.

"I'll start off civilized. I hate the idea of torture, inflicting pain, undue suffering. That's for your kind." Sethyas started in a low tone, his form hunched over the desk, his back to the other two. If scars were words, as he said, then his back was a novel.

"So, I'll offer you this opportunity to come clean. Tell me why you're here, who your target was; besides me, and who poisoned this Healer she mentioned? And if you would be so kind as to tell us who hired you, I would also appreciate that." He said with an intent tone, taking one of the vials, and pouring some sort of granules onto his hand.

"I'm not gonna talk! Just finish the j--AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

In mid sentence Sethyas had turned around and struck the man with his open hand, the granules being forced in the man's burns.

"That was the salt I would have used on the mutton that you ruined." Seth said, not losing his low tone brushing his hands together removing the excess off.

"I suppose in these situations a demonstration is needed to show that the other party is in fact: deadly serious. I will tell you a truth, and I expect the same in return." He continued.

"The truth is that you will not leave this room alive. But, death is your reward for telling me the truth, and as I said, I find this method most unpalatable. You are forcing qualities of myself that I do not relish to the surface." he said walking back to the table and grabbing a tool.

He brought the hammer down full force on the man's right toe. The scream was again agonizing.

Seth nodded slowly.

"Excellent work, Eyja! You left the right side merely weakened. You could have been a surgeon with that skill." He complimented her, not looking away from the man, then bringing the hammer down on his left toe, that merely made a sickening, squishy sound and a cry of surprise from the man, but no pain after.

"So, you see. I don't like doing this. Please...just talk." Seth said, shaking his head and returning the hammer to the desk, dropping it with a small thud.

"That din from downstairs will be going on til the late hours, and dusk just barely fell." Seth said, approaching the man, and bringing his head down next to his ear.

"And I've only just begun. I can craft potions that actually increase your sensitivity to pain. Please don't make your suffering longer than it has to be." he whispered.

The mans face had begun to swell slightly from where the Dunmer struck him, just below and next to the left eye, leaving it twitching in pain. He spat in the Dunmer's face.

"Do your worst!" He whispered in a smiled return.

Sethyas just shook his head as though he had heard the saddest news. He was more furious at himself for this than the man. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the saliva off his face. He reached over to the mans right hand, and grabbed a finger forcing it quite opposite the normal position.

The man screamed once more, and than gave a sick grin.

"This little sh-sheep...went to market square." He said looking at his torturer, keeping the grin.

Sethyas grabbed the next one, his expression unchanging. The second snap followed with a scream.

"This little sheep said 'No Fair!" The man said looking at the ceiling.

Sethyas grabbed a third. He held back for a moment.

"C'mon! The rhyme ain't do-AHHH!" he said; the third snap in between words. The man's breathing was almost agonal, the sweat and mutton grease falling down to his rapidly rising chest.

"That little sheep, didn't care." Sethyas said.

"Okay, okay...you made yer point....just had to see if you were bluffin' ya know? Mighta got out of this alive after all...guess not." The man said with relieved laughter.

"Paralyzed? Hardly call that living..." Sethyas replied grabbing another chair and sitting across from him. He reached across to the desk and grabbed a second vial.

"Opium. For your pain. A little token of my goodwill." Sethyas offered him, putting it up to his mouth. The man drank it greedily, closing his eyes as the effects of the narcotic quickly spread. In seconds his demeanor changed immensely.

"First question. Who are you?" Sethyas asked flatly.

"No one you ever heard of, or would give a half-septim about. Street gang when I was a kid. Petty larceny when I was an adult. Finally getting into the bigger scores...wanted to catch the attention of the Guild...y'know the thieves?" He said looking to his captor for recognition.

Sethyas nodded slightly, he knew quite well who they were.

"So,...a score went down, only, we left bodies. Big no-no for them...but the Dark Brotherhood, they took an interest. Took me in, taught me everything I know." he continued.

Ejya snorted at the statement. "Sorry! Sorry...go on!" She cracked another peanut.

"Thing is, everyone heard of you! Yeah, the big, bad Dunmer Grandmaster!" the man laughed.

Sethyas shifted ever so slightly at this statement.

"Your twin sister gets recruited...goes after you, doesn't come back. Then the entire chapter out in Mournhold gets taken out in a purification. Somebody outside the chapter set that up, and takes on all our Brothers that get sent after him from that particular contract." he laughed derisively.

"So the rumors spread, and we learn that the Morag Tong get a new Grandmaster. A Dunmer with a Black Hand tattoo on his face. Imagine my surprise when I see a Dunmer fitting that description walking down the the Orange Road, wearing Morag Tong armor." he smiled slightly.

"Thought it was my lucky day." he finished.

"So you did not poison the healer?" Sethyas asked.

"Don't know nothin' bout no healer, Tong scum. I was here for you." the man gave an incredulous look, with a scrib-eating grin.

"And you are here of your own volition then: you came to take me out and offer my head for a promotion..." Sethyas thought aloud, now rubbing his chin looking downwards.

"You got it. Now...kill me or let me go." the Assassin demanded.

Sethyas stood up to finally don his shirt, and put on his pair of black leather gloves.

He grabbed the tray, and returned to his seat, and began cutting a portion of the mutton, bringing the fork up to the mans mouth he gave a simple command.

"Eat."

The man was reluctant at first, but then began to eat. A small portion of everything, until he began to visibly slow down. Finally his head hung low. Motionless.

Sethyas got up and began to take the bedding and preparing them to wrap the body.

"If you're wondering why I believed him, it's because there was more than just opium in there. Herbs and and other minor poisons that are known to loosen a man's tongue were in it. That particular blend is the strongest I've encountered, and the most rare. I don't know the precise recipe, but rather was given it after I helped a small band of travelling Khajiiti." he explained to Eyja as he worked, pulling out a knife and preparing one of the cloths into strips.

"...and yes. The torture was necessary. It works with the bodies elevated chemicals and the like when pain and trauma are introduced, otherwise the effects are much less reliable."

"So, this man's story adds up, and I have some rubbish to dispose of. As to your healer...a slow acting poison. Much more subtle and skilled than our former friend here. There's a greater threat at hand here...and it's still out there..."

*

Eyja winced and felt a sick feeling in her stomach when Seth hit the man's toes with the hammer and bent his fingers back, but covered quickly by doing a thorough study of the bag of peanuts as if searching for a particular one; not wanting Seth to see her weakness.

She felt the tension emanating off Seth when the prisoner began talking about Seth's twin sister. His head had turned just slightly toward the nightstand, almost involuntarily as if in respect. Eyja glanced over and saw the urn, set up reverently centered and near where he would sleep. Like he was still protecting the person after their death.

With almost a physical pain Eyja realized that urn contained Seth's sister...his twin sister. No wonder he was sick of the slaughter. If the prisoner told the truth, his sister had been Dark Brotherhood and ended caught in the middle between the Tong and Brotherhood...and Seth. They would have ordered her to kill her own brother. If she couldn't or didn't, she would have been targeted by her own faction. In even going toward Seth she would probably have been targeted by the Tong.

Eyja felt a warm compassion for him, and the common pain he must be suffering. She still carried that pain, even decades after losing her own sister. And somewhere she'd heard twins were closer than other siblings.

The peanut she was holding dropped from her hand when the man called Seth "Grandmaster," she had to force herself not to gape. Seth was the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong? She had sat and had conversation with the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong?

Worse...sat eating peanuts while he interrogated and tortured a prisoner! What must he think of her? For the first time since her teens, Eyja felt gauche and uncertain.

She quietly tied the sack of peanuts up and slid it back into her travel pack, glad now she hadn't asked him for some of that salt to flavor them.

She had been proud of her skills, but compared to the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong she might seem as amateurish as a child playing at a man's game; or as inept as most of the Dark Brotherhood's roster.

Eyja's breath caught on a sigh of disappointment when Seth donned his shirt. Men always looked better with their bare chests exposed, like gods of rippling feral strength; Seth moreso than most. He moved with the confidence and stealth of a panther in his own domain.

Eyja talked as little as possible afterward. Men didn't like to hear a women's chatter after a torture, they needed time to feel restored to balance. He'd mentioned his trick of mixing the truth serum into the opium though, and she did want to applaud the genius of that.

"I've never seen it done that way, slipped into the opiate. Very nice trick, letting him believe you're doing him a kindness so he doesn't resist the serum. I love psychological warfare, it's my specialty, Se...er, Sir." Eyja flushed, conscious of feeling awkward about what to call him since learning he was the Grandmaster.

"I'm not good at torture, so my mentor trained me to use spikes, like the ones prisons use to control unruly prisoners. I keep several of them loaded with the serum at all times, and have gotten so adept with hitting the vein that it is rarely felt unless they see me doing it."





His last words sent a chill through her. "I was afraid you would say that. The guard at the Chorrol gate told me the only shady stranger he's seen in town lately was a Dunmer staying at the Oak and Crosier the past three days. He could be the other assassin. I know that poison, it marks them as skilled. Still, to leave it laying out of their custody so it strikes an innocent...do you think maybe the one they work for makes the poison, but sends out an underling to do the task?"

Seth didn't answer immediately, so Eyja moved swiftly and in silence to help him prepare the body. She was organized and precise, first retrieving her dagger from the assassin's neck; out of habit twisting it for the kill before pulling it out, then wiping it clean on the cloth napkin from the food tray. She turned away from Seth to lift her skirt and sheath it back into the leather strap on her thigh.

A few drops of blood had dripped to the chair and carpet in the act of removing her dagger, she hurried to her travel pack and dug, producing a brown vial and cloth wadding. She tipped a small amount of the solution onto the wadding and wiped down the chair back, then dripped some directly on the carpet and scrubbed before the blood could leave a telling stain that someone had been killed in the room.

Lastly she shoved the used absorbent wadding into the stab wound with her finger and wedged the napkin she'd wiped her blade on into the back of his shirt, tying it so there would be no more cleanup needed when they moved the body.

Next Eyja squatted beside the body, checking the pockets and inner linings and laying the items she found on the dresser beside her for Seth to inspect. She tugged his boots off and felt the inner linings on them, removing the weapon from one and placing it on the dresser.

"Not much here, and no documents. I've laid it out for you to inspect." Eyja said it quietly, glancing out the window.

"This room faces the back, there is only an old ruin back there. Should we throw him from the window and then carry him off the property?"

A thought struck her, and before she could think better of it she'd turned to Seth and blurted it.

"Please; I noticed earlier that the sheep and horses here escape the paddocks and graze outside this land, and I think they are beloved pets. This body and the remaining poisoned food may taint the soil if it is buried nearby. Can we...would you consider entombing him in that ruin instead of burial?"

Eyja flushed with embarrassment, asking the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong to consider livestock in his choice of burial grounds.

She looked up and caught Seth's eye with an apology in her own. "I'm sorry. I'll do whatever your will is. " She shook her head, then faced him with her embarrassment.

"It's not just that. I didn't know the importance of your position till now. When I sized you up I knew you'd be good at what you do, wise; but not...didn't realize I was talking to the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong. I admit to thinking of you as Seth in my mind; but now that I know, should I be calling you Master?"


*

He shook his head. "I can honestly say that I am not the Grandmaster." leaving out the part that he was retired.

"Makes no difference if I were. We are still equals, you aren't an underling." he said grabbing his armor and re-suiting up.

He went over to the window and unlatched the lock. Looking out into the early evening, it was still too dark to see everything. As such, he put on the Morag Tong hood, enchanted with a superior night-eye enchantment that adapted to ambient and local lighting based on the wearer's perception. Despite the thick red lenses, they were not part of the enchantment, simply to protect the wearer from ash storms.

The deep, dark red hue of the scarf that now covered his face was the same shade of the traditional Morag Tong robes. That was no coincidence in this case, it was the remnants of his own robes.

Looking out again, he examined the surroundings, and was satisfied the coast appeared to be clear.

When Eyja asked to entomb the body over in the ruins, he approved. Burying it where it would do the most harm seemed kind of counter-productive to the reason he eliminated the man in the first place.

"Of course. A bit of a walk doesn't bother me, and the idea of killing someone's pets strikes me as something that this man would have enjoyed." he had replied.

"The potion was indeed well-made. By whomever made it. I have no idea how to replicate it. Unfortunately, I had only the one. But I had seen it being used once before..." he trailed off, remembering the Khajiiti nomads, and the Orc bandit they had used it on. The Elder Khajiit granted him a sample with a small lecture on it's properties and uses.

He grabbed a rope from his pack, tying it around the base of one of the pillars. He pulled on it, making sure it would support his weight.

He and Eyja grabbed the package and took it to the window throwing it out and it landed with a dull thud and slight rustling in the grass.

"If you want to stay and investigate in the tavern, I can do this and I'll inspect the belongings later." he suggested, putting his weapons back on.

"Or, if you wish to come along, that is fine. It...how do I say this? It is starting to get cold outside." he said his head cocking ever so slightly downwards.

"I have some warmer clothes in the pack if you wish." he said grabbing the rope and pointing with his head to it. He rappelled down the side of the building to finish this task.

Aravi entered the inn. She was sore, tired, and hungry. She looked around and saw the inn was a lot less crowded than it was a couple of nights ago. A single man was at the bar along with the staff. This made her a little happier in the state she was in.

She wasn’t wearing her shining elven armor this time; instead she was in her simple bra and loincloth. These were dirty and smelled like sweat, but at least were not covered in blood from her torn ear. She wiped some of the blood off of her face back at the cave, but she needed soap to get it all out of her fur.

The ear was painful, and she hoped to see Abiene tonight. She hoped the healer would be able to repair the tear. Additionally, she had come to a decision on the other matter.

She walked to the counter, intent on getting a room. And a bath.

Stefan nodded to Irvana.

"Adieu, my dear."

He leaned his elbow against the bar and swirled his wine around in his glass, mulling over his thoughts of his next book.

She gave me a good idea, but how can I switch things around so it's not outright plagiarizing?

Perhaps expand on the legend itself, give the young woman more life...

A young Khajiit woman blew into the door, drawing Stefan's attention from his wine to her form. She was wearing naught but a loincloth and a small bra. Blood soaked one side her her face, and he saw that it seemed to come from a poorly healed injury on her ear.

He turned to make conversation when the barman approached the bar, shooting him an odd look as he spoke to the Khajiit. He shrugged and began to turn back to the bar when the door flew open again, revealing a young high elf woman with blood splattered on her face, a few smears on her cheeks and chin, like she had tried to wipe the splatters off her face, but only made things worse.

Interesting...

- - -

Kayla groaned and panted. She wished she had taken a page from Aravi's book and taken her armor off and walked back in her underclothes.

She stumbled p to the bar with Aravi, letting out a breath of relief as she sat on a bar stool. The barman raised his brows at the two of them.

"We want rooms again, please. Separate. Please."

Bograk

Bograk watched Aravi approach the bar. She looked worn out but steady on her feet.

Dar’muktah caught her eye and she gave him a nod. The vampire hunters would want food, drink, and baths. With Lleris missing the Khajiit would have to lend Hethilion a hand.

Bograk pulled Aravi’s letter out of her pocket and slid it across the bar. “Welcome back,” she said. “This came while you were gone.” She glanced over Aravi to see how many of the others had returned.

The Altmer Kayla collapsed onto a barstool. “We want rooms again, please. Separate. Please.”

Hethilion stepped up to take their instructions.

Aravi smiled a little at Kayla’s words. The man at the counter was trying not to stare at the two of them. Is it the blood, or is it because I’m not wearing much? Aravi wondered.

Aravi glanced at the letter, and was surprised to see it was from Abiene. Probably means she had to go back into town. She sighed and opened the letter.

Dearest Aravi,

As I’m sure you have discovered, I am not at the Wobbly Goblet. I’m afraid I will miss our meeting tonight. Please accept my deepest apologies, Aravi. I hope you can believe that only the direst of circumstances would cause me to treat you this way.

But before I explain I must ask you to please let me know how you fared against the vampires. Are you injured? Are you well? I know that you and the others are capable warriors, but you are also a friend. I won’t rest until I know that all of you returned.

I am presently in Chorrol. There has been an attempt on my life.

Aravi raised her eyebrows and her ears perked forward. A twinge of pain accompanied the movement but she did not react.

The poison has taken a toll and will require considerable treatment. More concerning is that the assassin may strike again if indeed I was their intended target. Tonight I plan to sleep at the Grey Mare, a place no one who knows the slightest thing about me would ever think to look.

Additionally it seems I may be responsible for passing along an infectious disease. Hopefully you did not return to an inn full of feverish staff and patrons. If you did, that is also my fault. The remedy is a simple curative potion. And of course the devout might seek treatment at the priory across the road.

It is too much to hope that you might still wish to meet with me, but I do. Aravi, I am not usually this fog-headed and irresponsible. Everything we spoke of before still stands.

Please forgive me, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Your friend,

Abiene

Aravi folded the note and held onto it. I might be going to Chorrol tonight. First I need a bath at the very least.
She ordered a room and a bath prepared for her. She resisted the urge to scratch when she felt another pest bite her. “Do you have any chilled water to drink?”

*

Eyja flushed and quickly conjured her armor on herself. Her short skirt and low cut top worked very well for the role of prostitute, and donning it aided in bringing out the light-hearted flirtatious personality she needed to portray to make the disguise believable. For decades now she’d lived as a chameleon, donning disguises and immersing herself in whatever role was needed to get the job done.

Armor, especially hers in particular; stripped one of their roles and disguises. It bared all pretences in both the wearer and those facing the one in it. Hers was made specifically for the business she had spent most of her life at; every aspect of it designed to enhance or ease the job at hand first, then shield and protect her.

The armor was Daedric, a dull dark mesh to blend her into the shadows or night; so fine and light it fit as a second skin, and was just as supple and soundless; yet strong enough to resist the penetration of a blade or arrow in many instances. The utility belt was specifically rigged with gear to overcome obstacles getting to a target and aid in a speedy escape afterward.

She slid her travel pack onto her back and clipped a metal bracing on her belt around the rope before climbing out the window and sliding smoothly to the ground behind Seth.

Silently indicating the steep incline before them, Eyja squatted down beside the body and slid her hand underneath it, casting a Feather spell from below it so no magic would show in the air and give away their presence behind the inn. The man would be much easier to lug up the steep incline now. She soundlessly signaled her readiness to Seth.


** Eyja’s armor (with a few exceptions); Eyja’s has no cape, and the utility belt in the screenshot that is angled across the girl‘s shoulders is worn around the waist on Eyja‘s armor. Eyja does not wear the bulky gauntlets or boots either:



http://i434.photobucket.com/albums/qq67/Ma...zps5eeb2de5.jpg




*

As a dark shape slid down the rope, his eyes adjusted to the form as she landed. For a moment he thought she had just gone nude to spite his offer. Until he realized that it was some sort of skintight substance over her. Daedric perhaps? He had seen similar variations from various conjurers over his travels. Daedra in their most basic form, actually had no form. They could assume whatever shape they wished. Or at least the more powerful ones.

They were immaterial, spirits. Until they weren't. When within a sphere of a particular Prince; or worse, Nirn, then they sort of took shape like gravity drew objects down. So Daedra summoned as a weapon or armor could have it's shape altered to the will of the caster, if they were skilled enough. Or if the power granted held that shape within it's incantations.

He'd not cast a spell for decades. A century perhaps. He had various 'powers' that he had accumulated over the years. But they were mostly passive. He became nearly invisible in shadow, due to 'Mephala's Skill'; his reward from the Tong for gathering the Tokens of Sanguine. Almalexia had given him an ability to resist paralysis of magickal origin, and his own inherit Dunmer resistance to flames and extreme heat.

No, his passion for the magickal art had become Alchemy. It amazed him how compounded things held such powerful, inherent qualities. Every time he moved to another province, it was like he was learning the art anew. Different way to mix brews, different methods of extracting it's properties, and new ones to identify. Nearly anything that a mage could shoot from their fingertips, he could replicate chemically and either drink or apply to a weapon. Indeed, he kept a vial belt across his chest for the most commonly needed ones at quick disposal.

As she casted feather on the body and signalled, he picked up the package with almost too much force, his muscle memory expecting it to be as heavy as the live man she had paralyzed. He flung it over his shoulder, and the body folded at the waist. They began their crouched ascent the incline, preparing to enter the ruins in short measure.

When he was sure they were out of earshot of the Inn, he finally voiced a concern that had occurred to him mid-trip.

"Are these ruins empty?" He whispered.

*

OOC: (fixed the armor screenshot in MS Paint so it is less revealing, lol).


Eyja hadn’t missed Seth’s initial startled reaction to her armor. She had felt the same shock the first time she put it on. It had taken one good stealth mission to appreciate it fully, though she’d always felt the honor of having received it. Only Foxy’s highest ranked assassins were given the armor.

She crept silently beside Seth, her body low to the ground as she kept pace with him. At his question she nodded briefly and whispered her answer back.

"Unless someone else is making a disposal here as we are. This ruin used to be a prime spot to dispose of things one didn’t want found again. It drips lime inside, so there is almost no odor when packages are delivered here.”

She indicated the cracked stone steps down into the collapsed enclosure.

“The door to the vault is down there. There is barely room for one of us to go in, and you won’t get far once inside; the entire dungeon is collapsed within yards of the entry. There are probably bones scattered on the floor, and it is pitch black in there; night vision helps.”


*

Aravi barely had time to drink her water before she was informed her room was prepared.

“I’ll be back down in a bit,” she said to Kayla. Her muscles already began to grow stiff from the short period of inactivity. She climbed the stairs and went into her room, shutting the door behind her.

She didn’t even strip out of her underclothes before getting into the hot bathwater. She groaned luxuriously as the hot water immediately went to work on her muscles. They even perfumed the water like I asked before.

She got out of her soaking clothes and laid them over the edge of the tub. She washed her hair, and particularly, the torn ear. The soap stung, and she hissed quietly. She rinsed the soap off of her head and went to work scrubbing the rest of her body.

She would have liked to soak in the warm waters, but the dirt from her body turned the water murky. She stood and wrapped a towel around herself. She quickly dried off and put on a blue robe. It was the only scrap of clothing that she had with her that was clean now. She went down the steps again, wondering who she would see.

"Yeah, alright." Kayla said to Aravi as she went upstairs. She cleared her throat and waited. She too had asked for a bath, and supposed that it might take just as long for hers to be prepared and heat up. Her eyelids drooped slightly as she rested her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands. She awoke with a start when she felt herself leaning to the right slightly. She shook her head, specs of dried blood falling onto the bar.She flushed red as the barman opened his mouth. She interrupted him.

"If it helps, that's not mine?" She left an inflection at the end of the sentence and punctuated it with an embarrassed smile. The man hurried off.

Probably to get some scalding hot water.

She was suddenly vaguely aware of the man next to her. She looked over and was startled to find that he was studying her very intently. She stared back for a few moments and absently scratched at the flakes of blood itching her neck.

- - -

Stefan watched the Altmer intently, still sipping his wine. He let out a small smile when she nearly fell over from exhaustion, then shook herself hard enough for specks of the blood droplets to dirty the bar.

He found her magnificent, her and the Khajiit that walked through the door. He had a weak spot for warrior women, for any woman who allowed herself to become strong. She was the the type of woman that he longed to write about. Long hair flowing in the wind as she gripped her steel sword tightly, charging enemies and beheading them with a single stroke. Magickal powers beyond what any man could fathom. And surely these women bedded their partners with utter abandon. Loved like they fought. Taught muscles rippling beneath smooth skin as they reached their peak of pleasure, the-

Stefan sniffed, then sniffed again. He covered his nose. He would leave the odor out of his books. His eyes still danced over her facial features as she caught him staring, a slightly bewildered look on her face. Her eyes were a light brown, and soft with an edge of steel about them. Her lips were full and pink, whitened only once when she pressed them together in thought or confusion. The curvature of her neck reminded Stefan of a swan as she cocked her head to listen to to her fellow Altmer. She followed him up the stairs, casting a look back at him.

Did he see longing? Interest? Curiousity? He turned back to his wine and drank the rest of it and ordered dessert.

- - -

Kayla followed Hethelion up the stairs.

"Thank you so much. Did you see that man staring at me? It was kind of creepy."

Hethelion coughed to cover up his laughter. Kayla shrugged and stepped inside the room. She thanked the man again and shut the door. She shed her armor and underclothes and all but dove into the tub.

Irvana went around the grounds of the Inn, exploring and allowing her curiosity to take hold. There were many places of interest to be found, and many lovely spots to relax such as the pond. This was only on the outside, the inside was impressive. Impressiveenough to attract an influx of foreign people to the area for festivities.

That would be pleasant, she thought. The Wobbly Goblet would succeed even more with coin and the people would be attracted to the parties and events. She had to admit it was a good idea that the Breton had to introduce a holiday. She would be more than happy to contribute with coin if nescessary. All she had to do was establish herself and acquire the septims.

She walked around the edge of the inn and out into the roads casually without the book she borrowed, and in the distance she could see three figures that lifted her heart.

They survived! Irvana rejoiced. Though she didn't recognize the blond woman at first, she saw it was no other than Vera.

Hmm. With the three combined, it is most likely the task was at last finished and the vampire menace destroyed.

The khajiit looked almost naked and she walked as if she'd wandered throughout Tamriel without so much as stopping. She looked exhausted and with good reason! They were gone for so long.

Kayla looked peeved and tired, dried blood smeared over her face like painting of a child. She must have been injured badly, but not badly enough that her life was forfeit.

Irvana remained in shadow beside the tree, casually watching as the trio entered the inn with haste as if was their home sweet home. Part of her wanted to go there and give Kayla and Aravi a hug and embrace them to give them thanks. Gold would suffice but those women chose to sacrifice leisure for battle. They wanted to do this. Otherwise they would've rejected the idea and went on with their lives. But she doubted they would want a young woman fawning over them after they had a rough day.

Perhaps later after they bathe and settle in.

The night seemed much more . . . secure now. Much safer. But there was something yet there. Her instincts told her enough that something was amiss and danger still lurked. She couldn't place her finger on it but it was as if a piece of a functional tool went missing. Her keen mind raced and all of her surroundings and images captured by her mind in the last recent hours came into play.

She hasn't seen Stefania or Lleris . . .

Irvana pondered on what might have been. There was so much to learn by returning to the inn. She already heard everything she needed about the Dunmer and the Nord woman. They certainly were an interesting couple, if she could say so herself.

There are things Irvana needed, and that was inside the Wobbly Goblet. Going out into the night could wait. There was so much to invest. She took pace and returned to the inn shortly after the trio entered and left their seperate ways to go in their rooms.

She sat by the fireplace and paid much attention to the group of farmhands making a mess of things through the door, and the conversation between the argonian and the breton.

Aravi wearing a robe, and was talking to Stefan. Irvana wondered if Kayla had retired to bed. She certainly was an interesting one . . . especially with Dawnbreaker.

Oh yes, Irvana knew what the sword was. That glow, that power contained in that single destructive vessel. Part of her wondered how many undead lives it took, part of her wondered how many fell by Kayla's hand. All of her wondered just how she acquired the blade and if Meridia speaks to her . . . about everything and anything. That right there is the ultimate question.

Sethyas nodded, and followed her instructions. His night vision of course made sense that he'd move forward with the task.

Approaching the vault entryway, he pushed the heavy ancient door in with his foot. The creak opened into a description that matched hers.

How many of these are her handiwork? He thought to himself, with a small measure of professional admiration, stepping over the the various macabre remnants.

An unnamed graveyard, for an unnamed man.He thought darkly, as he dropped the package near a drip.

Unwrapping the corpse, he placed it near a pool of water that turned lime into quicklime that would help break the body down quickly.

He looked at the mans face one last time. Your story may as well have been mine. He thought.

"Had I given in to the temptation; succumbed to the worst of myself in the hardest of times, which is easy to do...this might be me here in your place. In this, I hold my judgement. But you are not blameless either. Nor am I, or anyone who is the cause. As far as I'm concerned, if death was to be your penalty, you've paid your debt. The rest is out of either of our hands now." Sethyas whispered, pulling out a few coins, an old rusty iron dagger, some foodstuffs, and a small draught of brandy.

He placed these objects in the mans waistband, and rolled the corpse into the water.

"I picked that dagger up at the beginning of a journey...may it serve you well in yours." he offered, finishing with saying some silent prayers.

Exiting the chamber, he nodded to Eyja.

"It's done."

Vera Castius thanked Kayla and Aravi for the journey, though she didn’t bother apologizing for any grievances she might have committed during their hunt.

She climbed the stairs, walked through the hall and opened the door to her room where the smell of burning scented herbs, Jacinth and Rising Sun and animal and dirt impacted her nose with such force that she froze in place. It didn’t take her long to see that her lover was on a Spirit journey, a vision quest.

He’s contacting the spirits. The ancestors. But for what?

Most mages who desired to enter Oblivion dedicated time and effort to find means into the dangerous world beyond and behind Nirn. Great power is but a requirement to venture forth in another realm; power that if sought, could corrupt.

She was told long ago by Lycus that his first brush with the otherworldly forces came from his slave master’s daughter, who was fascinated with Oblivion and the Daedra and even made efforts to open a portal into another realm when he was yet a slave to the Telvanni in Morrowind.

Those days, combined with his extensive knowledge on the totems that helped alter and direct new powers of Lycanthropy in new directions years later, helped him achieve the ability to peek through the veil and enter Oblivion by connecting his own spirit.

Vera closed the door behind her gently and locked it. Lycus was unaware of her presence. His body was there, his eyes open and staring into nothing in particular. His consciousness, however, was somewhere else entirely.

She sighed. Of all places and times, he chose this moment and in an inn, no less. Lycus you handsome fool . . .

She undressed, tossed her clothes aside and went to take a bath when she found the tub empty. Her jaw tensed and she let out another long sigh as she scratched her head.

Good to know my husband thinks of me while I am gone.

The smell of blood, sweat and body odor was too strong for her and she wanted nothing more to wash away the blood and smell from her body. She couldn’t call the Altmer housekeep into the room, not when Lycus is summoning spirits and walking the bridge between realms in the very room. It wasn’t dangerous in the sense that whatever would be conjured would go wild. He’s not summoning Daedra, but even still she couldn’t anticipate the reaction from the others would be anything like admiration.

Naked, sweaty and with dried blood smeared all over Vera looked out the window and saw the great wilderness before her. I should’ve taken a bath in that waterfall but the khajiit was unwilling to swim in water where a corpse floated.

And just like that, the answer came to Vera. She rushed to the window and remembered. There’s a pond just outside.

Aravi saw only the Imperial remained at the bar. Kayla must have gone for a bath as well. Vera is, no doubt, with her husband.

Aravi sat near the Imperial, only an empty seat in between them. She sat carefully on the bar stool, the robe she ware restricted her movement some. She ordered a meal and some water.

She spoke to the Imperial, “Hello, I’m Aravi. Did you see where my friend went?”

*

Eyja raised her hand in an almost universal signal for silence and pointed in the direction of the fishing pond. It was quite a ways from the ruin, but sounds carried well in the night here; as if the foggy mist rising from the forest were a wall they echoed back from.

Her ring of Detect Life had shown a sole diminutive figure, from this distance it was no more than a sliver of pink. She couldn't even make out if it was human or a deer from the forest getting water at the pond; but didn't like taking unnecessary chances.

Eyja stepped to the side to let him lead the way, keeping crouched low to the ground.


*

Seth reacted swiftly and silently. His trait activated, and the shadows seemed to writhe around him as Mephala's Skill enveloped him, becoming one with the darkness. It didn't do him much good for those pesky 'detect life' spells, but usually they were used in response to a noise.

Something he did not make when he sneaked around.

He took a slightly longer arc than the beeline they made to the ruins, putting more distance between them and the pond.

Approaching the Inn's room window from which they had exited. He looked around once more, to ensure there was none around. To be doubly cautious he grabbed a vial from his chest bandolier and lifted his scarf to imbibe the potion.

A simple invisibility potion and his form was unseen.

He approached the rope that was nearly invisible in the darkness as well, and climbed up swiftly and silent.

*



Eyja didn't have a potion, and casting a spell would have stirred the air with sound and magicka, drawing attention to her presence more than aiding her in hiding it. The crescent moon and shadow of nearby trees and bushes would have to make do for cover as she shimmied up the rope behind Seth.

He coiled the rope soundlessly as he pulled it in, lifting it up and away from the ledge so the rope hung straight down as it was raised and never slapped the wall. Eyja watched the motion of his hands and tried to memorize the movement, intrigued by how silently he was able to manipulate the sturdy rope.

His skills were intriguing, even more so because he seemed to rely on something within himself; like a sixth sense. Foxy had that same skill, he sensed danger as if it was a tangible scent in the air.

Eyja lacked those instincts, though she had tried hard to hone them over the years. Where she had to rely on enchantments and gadgetry, men like Seth and Foxy only needed their senses. It was an extremely rare ability, even amongst assassins.

There was a wide gulf between herself and both Seth and Foxy when it came to skill and experience. As the one that trained her, Foxy had seen her rise from nothing and was proud of her growth and progress; but Seth had just met her, he only had the benefit of what was before his eyes.

Against other assassins in Cyrodiil she may be one of the better ones, but beside Seth; Eyja knew she must appear gauche and inept, amateurish. She only hoped he didn't find her that way.

Eyja quietly closed the window and latched it when Seth stepped back from it with the rope in a neat coil.

“The other assassin will be back, I’m sure they know by now that they’ve missed their mark. Either myself or my charge may have been the target, but with so many at the inn there is no way of knowing who was intended till they strike again.“

Now that it was over, he may want to know what brought her to his room. Eyja turned to him before he could ask.

“That poisoning this morning is actually the reason I was originally coming to see you. I was on my way to your room and just happened to notice the waiter checking the steps for sound, not a usual practice for a waiter in a tavern. When I saw the apples retained their redness after cooking, I didn’t want to wait till he’d breached your door, just acted on impulse to contain him.“

Eyja continued talking as she dug the list of ingredients needed for Abiene out of her pack.

"I don‘t know how it is in the other Provinces, but here in Cyrodiil only the higher skilled Alchemists know of this poison or are capable of making it. The Healer will need an Alchemist to cleanse it from her bloodstream, and I’m not skilled enough to make the potion for her. She may end turning to the same Alchemist who made the poison, and could be in danger if they are involved with the assassin or their organization. She may end up marked in case she can identify whoever was at the inn this morning.”

She carefully removed the fragile parchment and opened it , laying it on the dresser for Seth to read the list of ingredients.

“These are the ingredients she’ll need, but those at the bottom can only be found in the other Provinces. I wondered if you might happen to have any of these from your travels that you’d be willing to sell me.”

While he scanned the list Eyja remembered something she thought he should be warned of.

“I should mention too, there is some highly contagious viral disease being passed around in Chorrol that originated at this inn. It seems to be passed through close contact, not airborne. I've been chewing on Mandrake root to ward myself from catching it, and have plenty extra if you need some.”


*

Stefan turned his head and smiled a close-mouthed smile at the Khajiit.

"The Altmer with the Nordic accent? Curious one, she is. Yes, she went upstairs to wash off the grime, I'm assuming."

He turned to her fully and, as he did, leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his head on his closed fist.

"What brings two beautiful and dirtied women to this little inn?"

He couldn't quite put his finger on what seemed to be bothering Eyja after they returned. She seemed to be studying his movements. Something that became an automatic trait after a while, in this line. The difference between assassins and thugs were night and day.

Anyone could pick up a blade and murder an innocent. They were usually called Dark Brothers and Sisters and gave the Order a seemingly inexhaustible supply of inept henchmen. Thugs. Little training and less sense.

Perhaps she was put off by the exotic nature of his armor and speech. Again, he couldn't quite put a finger on it. He figured they would be a little less formal given the extreme; yet normal to them, nature of the experience they just shared, but whatever reasons she held back was her concern. Being reserved was a quality he fully respected.

If nothing else, she had proven indispensable and resourceful given that he may as well have never been here before.

He removed his hood as she remarked that the other Assassin would be back.

"Aye. If they're a professional; as it certainly seems to be by your take. Your instincts are razor-sharp. My wit has been dulled by long travel and...recent events." His eyes involuntarily flitted to the nightstand for a split second, before turning to consider her list and her words.

He went to his travel pack and pulled out what looked like a large leather book, but was actually a satchel of sorts. He also pulled out a logbook, and put an inkwell and reed dip pen on the desk.

He set the satchel on the bed carefully, and unbuckled the strap, and it unfolded once into two large sections. He unfolded the second section, and the satchel now lay flat with dozens and dozens of small pouches with names stitched into their face.

His eyes flitted back and forth over her list.

Corkbulb Root.

"Aye! Excellent for 'Cure Paralyzation' potions, and restoratives. Also used for arrows and bolts out in Morrowind...No negative properties at all...yes, I have some."

Netch Leather

"Not on me, no." He said, followed by a sudden realization. "Oh, wait." He looked at his right cuirass under-wrap sleeve, with a loose piece of leather that he hadn't had the opportunity to mend yet. He cut a decently large piece off. "Here you go...uh...no charge."

Scrib Jelly.

"Yes...no...I'm afraid I ate the last of it soon before I arrived. Shame, excellent for mages and cures...perfect for healers...but I'm kind of the opposite."

Scamp Skin

"Bloody Scamps. I could skin them all!" he muttered under his breath, and went to the pouch with that name.
"Ehhh...no, none in stock." he shook his head.

"But--" he said, opening his logbook. "I do have 'daedra skin' it's not the same thing, but you see the effects are quite similar." He said, bringing the page into view, and pointed out his notes.

"Scamp Skin has the 'cure paralyzation' effect, and the 'restore strength' effect. Whereas, Daedra Skin has the 'cure common disease' effect, and 'fortify strength' effect." He thought aloud.

"So the nerve damage most commonly associated with metal poisoning wouldn't be treated with that effect, nor the muscular tissue damage....but it would prove a decent, temporary substitute with the 'fortify strength' effect, letting the body continue its normal healing process, rather than with a diminished one..." he was mostly thinking aloud and continued to the next item on the list.

Kwama Cuttle

"Indeed. Excellent for 'Resist Poison' and aquatic potions: 'Water Breathing and walking'. Here you are." He said going through the appropriate pouch.

Ash Yam.

"Yes, actually. I keep a few with me at all times for emergency rations. They don't spoil and are actually quite beneficial to overall health as well." He said going through his travel pack. He grabbed a small burlap bag and handed her two.

And now the coup de grace. He thought sarcastically, and opened the window just a crack and sat down on the ledge. He pulled out a rolled hackle-lo leaf, lit it, and took a puff, his face becoming encircled with the exhaled smoke. A restorative plant from morrowind, it was usually chewed by the locals with great enthusiasm.

When the Imperials came in with their tobacco for trade, it was immensely unpopular to the Dunmeri due to it's scent and the fact that they had to deal with ash from the largest volcano in Tamriel as was. They did pick up on using dried hackle-lo in a similar manner however. The smell was considered pleasant by the locals, similar to mountain sage, and was quite relaxing and rejuvenating without the inebriating effects of alcohol, or the addiction associated with tobacco.

"If your statement was leading to whether or not I knew of an Alchemist of that skill level, then yes. I scored a 96 on the Mages Guild assessment. That was over fi--a few years ago. I've learned a few things since then." he said flicking an ash out the window, catching himself from revealing his disproportional age to his appearance.

"I suppose I am now honor-bound to assist you in this endeavor, as it's also bound to get out that I'm here with our latest visitor, I must now consider that my life is also in danger. You've proven yourself to me as an ally, and I pledge myself as one as well. My blades and my skills are at your disposal." He looked out the window into the night sky, tracing constellations paths with his eyes.

Then she mentioned the disease that was being transmitted via close contact.

His eyes flitted involuntarily again.

I worry about a lot of things. Disease is not one of them. He thought wryly.

"I'll be okay. Save it for those who need it. If need be I can easily craft Cure Disease potions....in fact, I have a few you can take with you if you wish. I have no ne--I can replace them easily."

He cursed himself. The travelling and the adrenaline of this last hour was starting to subside making his concentration break.

"I also should get some rest. I'm of little use in this state to you, or myself." He remarked, getting up and putting the 'lo out.

"What brings two beautiful and dirtied women to this little inn?"

Aravi’s ears flicked. She didn’t expect that sort of greeting. She took a sip of water before she replied. “Vampires. Someone was attacked nearby, so a few of us found their cave and killed them. Who are you? And what brings you here?”

*

Eyja gave an involuntary giggle at Seth's joke about Scamps. Her eyebrows raised when he mentioned his Alchemy score though.

“A Master in Alchemy!” She breathed it aloud without meaning to, but flushed in pleasure when he offered to help.

“Your help making the potion for her would be greatly appreciated. I doubt she can handle eating the ingredients raw as I did, she is...delicate.” Eyja didn't know how else to phrase it, not knowing if Dunmer would understand the comparison between a Nord's stomach workings and a Breton's.

Eyja put the list away and gathered the ingredients into a clean sack in her travel pack. She slid the Cure Disease potions in with her own vials of potions in the pack and then tied it shut.

Seth hadn’t stated a price, but his demeanor and voice showed he was exhausted. Eyja didn’t press him for a price now, let him determine the value when he was well rested and she would pay it out of her own funds. She felt responsible for Abiene having received the poison, as it was most likely meant for herself or Maxical.

“Thank you very much, Seth. I will return with the rest of the ingredients on the list.”

Seth turned his back to her as he smoked, so Eyja quickly dispelled her armor and pulled her short skirt and low cut top back on. With a grimace she realized the Gate Guard would be below stairs by now, expecting his date with her. She hefted her pack and cast chameleon so the guard wouldn’t see her leaving the inn.

Eyja turned the latch before closing the door so it locked; an exhausted man might not remember to lock it, and no telling who else saw him coming up the road.




***


In the corridor across from Seth’s room was a bloodstain left by the assassin, one large enough to draw notice.

Eyja moved silently down the steps and skimmed along the bar till she found a full bottle of wine. It was all the way in the back, with narrow aisles on either side that could trap someone trying to escape. The bar was lined with patrons, their stools shoved back so they could rest their elbows. One of them was the Gate Guard she was supposed to be meeting, he kept leaning back and scanning the crowds nearest the door.

Eyja decided to try the kitchen. At this time of night the food orders would have stopped, though there may be dishwashing going on. She gripped the swinging door and carefully wedged it open so it wouldn’t bang or draw attention to her entrance by continuing to swing after she’d passed through, barely sliding through before raised voices stopped her.

“I didn’t bother you with it when Stefania disappeared, but now Lleris is missing too!” No doubt that was the Orc woman who had welcomed her this morning.

“Good Daedric Lords, you’re not going to cry are you?” Eyja guessed the voice to be the Redguard man she’d seen earlier. “Stefania was lazy...”

“I’m not crying! Yetta must have left onion peels out, these are not tears...sniff. I don’t care about Stefania if she left of her own will, but Lleris wouldn’t leave me...us on his own! What if he's caught this terrible illness going around? He’s just a boy, alone...sniff...and don‘t tell me he’s fifteen! Just look at his face, that’s not the face of a fifteen year old!“

“I can’t look at him if he’s missing, now can I?”

“Rrrrraaaaaah...sniff sniff sniff.”

“Aw, damn it. Now don’t cry! I can’t tolerate a crying woman...stop it! Aw for the gods sake. Send for Dar’muktah. See what he can find out.”

Eyja grabbed a clean glass off the kitchen counter and cupped it in her hand, then slid back into the tavern quickly. She lined herself up with the full bottle of wine on the bar and then flung the glass in her hand onto the far wall. It hit with a loud crack and shattered into tinkling glass, drawing the attention of the room to that wall. Even the bard stopped playing and swung around to look.

Eyja slid the bottle of wine under her shirt and scooted back up the steps. She yanked the cork with a hard twist and poured it over the bloodstain, then lay the bottle on its side next to it. Unless there were vampires at the inn, no one would know the stain was anything but spilled wine.

As she tiptoed quietly down the steps to the door she heard the Breton man behind the bar bellow.

“Who took that wine that was sitting here? You, Guard! Someone here just stole a bottle of wine off the bar!”

Eyja slid out the door and headed for Chorrol.


*

Stefan gave Aravi a charming smile. Though she was not shapely like a human, Stefan found her pleasing to the eye. He wasn't attracted to beast-folk in that manner, but it never hurt to appreciate something beautiful. Her fur had in interesting pattern that he had never seen before. Perhaps, when we've become better acquainted, I can question her about it.


"I am Stefan LeRoi. Author, adventurer, and self-proclaimed scholar. Slayer of fictional beasts and tamer of actual wild women."

He leaned back slightly, straightening up as he spoke. "I come for respite and inspiration. Tell me, Aravi, how does one as small as you slay a vampire?"

He meant no disrespect. He'd met women and men her size, mostly Bosmer, who slew larger enemies than themselves. Most just weren't as friendly as Stefan had liked. Were he to finally find a friendly being not only cordial enough to tell him of their skills, but also able to use speech properly, he wold snatch the opportunity up like a hawk snatching a field mouse.

A quiet smile broke through Aravi’s fatigue and the dull pain emanating from her ear. That’s quite an introduction, she thought. I wonder who these ‘wild women’ are. She enjoyed the man’s boasts even though she didn’t quite believe them. She didn’t recognize his name, but then she didn’t get to read as much as she would have liked.

“Tell me, Aravi, how does one as small as you slay a vampire?”

“Just like anyone else. With a sword or a bow.” She yawned and covered her mouth. “Sorry, excuse me. It’s true most of them are physically larger and stronger than I am, but technique is more important than raw strength.” She paused to sip her water again and added, “I prefer to not fight them fairly either.”

“You said you were an author, is there anything I would recognize?”

Auguste

A noisy group of farm hands made their way to the door, bunching up as they all tried to stagger through it. Shouts and shoving ensued, but it was either good-natured or the prelude to a brawl outdoors. Auguste was not concerned with what happened out in the road. That was Nora’s problem.

“Auguste!” one of them called back as he left. The barman raised his hand to return the man’s farewell.

Tooth-in-the-Grass slouched in from the tea room, utterly wilted. “They’ve all gone.” He made a pile of gold coins on the bar. “I hope you were keeping track,” he rasped.

Auguste counted the coins at a glance and pushed some back to Tooth. They may not always see eye to eye, but neither of them would cheat the other. “It’s too late for table service,” he told Tooth. “You look done in. Sweep up and call it a night.”

“Hethilion kept up with the spills,” said Tooth. “Where’s that little wench Stefania?”

Auguste lifted a shoulder. He was not inclined to discuss one employee with another. “Get some rest, lizard.”

Yetta brought Aravi’s meal as Tooth headed back through the kitchen. The Khajiit was talking to the writer about vampires. Auguste suppressed a shudder.

“Chicken pie with carrots and peas, and here’s a bowl of strawberries,” Yetta announced. She stepped back and wiped her already clean hands on the cloth ever tucked through her apron strings. “I’m warming a berry cobbler now. On the house. Thank you for making County Chorrol a safer place.”

Auguste glanced from the big Nord woman to the slim little Khajiit. A warrior’s heart can beat in any breast, he mused. Thank Zenithar a barman’s beats in mine.

Kayla let out several loud, audible groans of pleasure and relief as the hot water relaxed her sore and stiff muscles. She quickly scrubbed her scalp as she ducked underwater, then saw the various soaps on the lip of the tub.

"Jasmine and vanilla, Rose and White Lotus? Bird of Paradise?" She sighed in disappointment as she saw there was no plain scent of vanilla. She tentatively sniffed each one, then decided that the jasmine and vanilla mix smelled wonderful. She carefully washed herself, applying the oil to the bathwater. She dried herself off and brushed her shoulder-length auburn hair.

She caught sight of the three long scars across her breasts in the mirror and collarbone and sighed in dismay. She gently touched the raised flesh, startlingly pink against her golden elven skin. She inspected the rest of her large scars. A claw mark from a vampire down the right side of her neck, several stab wound scars, then the long pink scar running from her elbow to her wrist where she blocked a blow from an overly-eager bandit.

She shook herself and brushed her hair, waves already forming. She thought about wearing her green dress, one she had picked up back in Anvil and kept in her pack. She instead put on a pair of loose-fitting black pants with several pockets. She drank a cure disease potion and put a few septims in one pocket to pay for her mean. She donned a white, also loose-fitting shirt. She was dressing for comfort tonight. The dress would restrict her movement and after being in her armor for so long, she wanted as much freedom as she could get.

She dabbed a bit of the oil on her wrists and neck and again thought of the bard.

Forget about him. she thought. If he approached me tonight, I'd most likely fall asleep during the foreplay.

All she wanted was some company tonight. Not sex, not passion, just someone to talk to. She went downstairs to see Aravi talking with a handsome Imperial man. She smiled and ordered her meal, "Anything with ham and wine, please. And potatoes. Just food." and turned to see the girl from the other night by the fire. She ran her fingers through her hair and stood next to her, smiling.

"Hi there, Irvana. Feeling better?"

- - -

"Swords and bows, eh?" Stefan mused. "And you fight dirty. Interesting. I suppose when one has an advantage over another, the playing field must be leveled in unexpected ways. You don't use magick?"

"Hi there, Irvana. Feeling better?"

The raven-haired woman turned to the source of the voice heavy with a northern accent. The speaker was Kayla herself sans the blood stains, the sweat, the dirt and grime but still wearing those dreadful scars.

After seeing her in armor, Kayla was more or less a different person in her white shirt and black pants. Despite her scars, Irvana didn't see too much of a killer in Kayla. Though looks can be very deceiving and those scars and that blade she had earlier sent a message to Irvana that she was every bit of tough.

Irvana smiled and on what seemed to be impulse, she reached out to grab Kayla in a tight embrace that was somewhat weak. She leaned in closer to her neck where her soft auburn hair brushed against her nose. It had a strong smell of jasmine and vanilla. She turned and gave Kayla a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I am ecstastic to see you here alive and well."

A good part of her knew Kayla would survive the encounter. The undead in the cavern weren't as powerful as they could've have been. She would have a much more difficult time killing an ancient . . . or perhaps not. Not with Dawnbreaker at her side. Truly, the weapon is fascinating and mysterious. But to say that the Daedra and magic works in mysterious ways is to admit one’s nescience, for any mystery can be solved through the use of knowledge and unrelenting effort.

"I owe you my gratitude, Kayla. You have my deepest and sincere thanks for dispatching those vampires. The thought of them stalking these areas would be most unbearable."

Irvana let out a sigh of relief as she studied Kayla from head to toe. She looked much better than before, and even healthier in appearance. Surely a woman in her line of work would've have drank a potion to ward off the diseases such as vampirism. Seeing Kayla turn into one would be very problamatic, and Irvana shuddered at the thought. She would have to be put down . . .

Instead of entertaining dark thoughts, she adopted a smile and took her seat. "Please, sit down. You must be famished."

A chicken pie and a bowl of strawberries were placed before Aravi. The hearty meal and the promise of cobbler decided one dilemma for her. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get to Chorrol after all this food.

She thanked Yetta for the delicious meal and picked up her fork. Steam rose from the pie. Eager in her hunger, the first bite burned her mouth. She sipped her water to help quell the pain.

Stefan made use of the distraction to ask another question instead of answering hers.

"Swords and bows, eh? And you fight dirty. Interesting. I suppose when one has an advantage over another, the playing field must be leveled in unexpected ways. You don't use magick?"

Aravi used her fork to stab holes into the pie while she listened. She wanted this food to cool off quickly so she could safely eat it.

“Fighting dirty, as you say, is a lot safer than fighting fair. And I do know a little magick.” She took another forkful and blew on it. “I have some skill in restoration and alteration.” She ate the bite quickly. “Neither of those are very useful in a fight though. Why are you so interested?”

Kayla's eyebrow involuntarily raised when Irvana kissed her cheek. She kept a close-mouthed smile on her face as she returned the embrace.

What is it with these Cyrodiliic women and kissing?!

She remembered Maxical greeting her in the same way the other day. I wonder where she went. I bet she went into town.

Once she got some breakfast, she'd head into town and see if she couldn't find her.

And Abiene. Gods, where did everyone go? How long were we gone for?

To Kayla, it felt like days, even weeks since she'd seen something other than Aravi's (understandably) irritated tail twitches and heard Vera's snide comments. In any case, she was glad to be out of that stinking armor and inot something loose. She nodded at Irvana as she thanked her for killing the vampires.

She sat with her and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Honestly, I was too injured to kill the last one. You should've seen Aravi and Vera, though! Vera's fantastic with that crossbow, and Aravi is really talented with disarming traps." She ran her fingers through her hair absently. "Aravi'a so little that the vamps underestimated her, but she's really quick. And Vera shows no hesitation, which is good...in some cases."

She briefly remembered the thrall, a flicker of regret crossing her face. She composed herself and shot Aravi a smile, then turned back when she noticed her friend was eating. she put a hand to her stomach and laughed as growled audibly.

"Yeah, I'm a bit hungry. That's part of being on the road, though. Eat just enough to get you by."

- - -

"Just simple curiosity, Aravi." Stefan said, shooting her another smile. "So, the three of you went on a vampire hunt, eh?"

I can picture it now... Three beautiful women moving gracefully through the shadows as a snarling vampire patriarch sniffs them out, craving their blood.

Auguste

Kayla settled by the fire with Irvana. Auguste glanced at the stairs. Vera was up with her partner, but no doubt she would want a meal afterward. Yetta wouldn’t go to bed until she’d fed all of the returning warriors.

Yetta came through with her arms full, trailing a mouth-watering aroma. Auguste picked up the wine and followed her to the fireside table.

“Baked ham, home-fried potatoes and onions, summer squash, buttered corn off the cob, rolls with honey, and here,” Yetta placed a small plate beside the platters, “I heard you were from Skyrim so I made snowberry muffins.” The Nord stepped back with her customary flourish. “Plus I’ll bring a berry cobbler when you’re ready, compliments of the house. We’re all grateful for what you did out there.”

Auguste spoke up. “Yetta doesn’t make those muffins for just anyone,” he confided. “It’s not easy to get snowberries, and there’s never enough to put on the menu.”

Yetta flicked him with her towel, possibly blushing. It was hard to tell with her ruddy cheeks and smudges of flour.

“This is from Laegon.” Auguste presented the bottle of Tamika’s. “He’s also eager to express his… appreciation.”

The bard struck a dramatic chord. Auguste watched for Kayla’s reaction so he could turn it to his advantage back at the bar. This situation called for a wager.

Aravi nodded at Stefan’s question and took the small pause in the conversation to make some progress on her food. She heard Kayla laugh somewhere and glanced back. Ah. There’s Irvana too. She wondered if the woman was feeling better now that she’s had some time to recover from the attack.

She looked back to Stefan. She somehow doubted he was done with his questions. “What more do you want to know?” Then a thought struck her. “Are you from around here?” If he is, he may have known one of the victims… or even the thrall.

Bograk

Yetta walked away from the fireside group and approached the bar. She headed for Aravi, carrying a plate piled high with her special snowberry muffins.

“Might want to save those for her breakfast,” Bograk told her. “That cobbler you made is as big as her head. Can’t have you killing the guests through their bellies.”

Yetta’s brow furrowed as she considered. Then she gave a nod and moved back into the kitchen.

The front door opened, and Bograk’s missing waitress sauntered in.

“Stefania!” Bograk grabbed the girl’s arm and steered her into the hallway. “Where have you been all day?”

“Easy!” Stefania wiggled around in the orc’s grip. “I brought that item you told me to get from that… person! Didn’t Lleris tell you? He was supposed to say the message had come!”

Bograk let go of the arm and took the package. “Where’s Lleris? When did you talk to him?”

“This morning!” Stefania straightened her cloak and sleeve with exaggerated affront. Bograk rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where he went. I saw him up in the corridor. After breakfast.”

“It took you all day to pick this up?” Bograk demanded, covering her worry over Lleris. “Spent some time hanging around at the Priory, I’d wager. He’s a monk, Stefania. He lives in a monastery. You’ll not get much attention from him.”

Stefania sniffed and put her chin in the air. “What, someone who lives with just a bunch of men, devoting every hour to serving his Brothers? Ha! He must be desperate for company. We’ll see what I can get from him!”

The Imperial flounced away. Bograk shook her head. That kid has a lot to learn.

The package in her hands felt heavy for its size. Best to get this taken care of. She made her way up through the inn to her private quarters.

Bograk’s suite occupied the center part of the building’s attic, adjacent to Riad’s equally comfortable quarters. She walked to her desk and started to secure the package.

A noise from her bedchamber made her pause. Someone was curled in a quilt at the foot of her bed. Lleris. Bograk covered the distance in a blink.

The lad’s hair was stiff with sweat, his cheeks flushed purple with fever.

Lleris opened his eyes a crack. “Bograk,” he croaked. “I don’t feel very good.”

"Honestly, I was too injured to kill the last one. You should've seen Aravi and Vera, though! Vera's fantastic with that crossbow, and Aravi is really talented with disarming traps." Kayla explained to Irvana with an embarrased laugh. She wasn't proud to admit it, and with good reason.

So, Irvana mused silently. They were a challenge to Kayla even when she is in possession of the wayward solar daughter's sword. A blade meant to destroy false life.

"Oh surely you were capable of dispatching those savages," Irvana said, and with a whisper she added. "With the Lady of Infinite Energies' sword."

She was content to have learned more about Aravi as well. The khajiit is good with traps, it would seem, and her small stature made opponents underestimate her. It was a remarkble thing, to know of one's true strength when others would mistake it for weakness. Being part of dramas and various plays, Irvana understood this as well as anyone.

Kayla then added that she was hungry and in appropiate timing the cook came toward them with a platter full of food with the Breton bartender giving the woman praise for her efforts. Irvana sat by with a faint smile as Kayla was presented with a bottle of wine from Laegon, the bard. He also explained the man was eager to show his appreciation.

Irvana's eyes focused in on the bottle as it was given to Kayla, her mind already processing the information. She has an admirer . . . the bard. Or perhaps he's just another man seeking to gain access into her skirts.

She looked at the platter of food as it was set on the table. "This looks fabulous." Irvana said.

How is it that everyone on godsdamned Nirn can figure out that I've got Dawnbreaker?! Kayla fumed. She expected people who had seen it to connect the dots, unless they were slow or just didn't pay attention to the legends of daedric artifacts.

But seriously, she thought, her eyebrows knitted together in displeasure. I had it hidden away. Didn't I? She knew she obsessively checked the flap to make sure the shining jewel in the hilt was hidden. Maybe Irvana glimpsed it.

She'd heard that certain mages can detect powerful magicks just by being near them. She'd never gotten too interested in magick, so her skill was low beside setting things on fire and providing light in dark spaces. She also knew a useful muffle spell, but it only lasted a few moments.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the most tantalizing smell. She turned her head to see the Nord woman, the cook, bring out a large plate of food. Had Kayla been standing up, her knees would have buckled at the sight. she composed herself and looked up at Yette as the Nord spoke.

“I heard you were from Skyrim so I made snowberry muffins.”

Kayla's jaw dropped. "I haven't had snowberry muffins since I left Skyrim! Thank you!"

“Plus I’ll bring a berry cobbler when you’re ready, compliments of the house. We’re all grateful for what you did out there.”

"Oh, it's no problem." She said softly, gingerly picking up a muffin and smelling it, closing her eyes.

“Yetta doesn’t make those muffins for just anyone,” The barman said. Kayla glanced over at him, then at the cook. She gave her a wide, genuine smile.

"Then thank you doubly for this. I'm truly touched by this gesture."

“This is from Laegon.” Auguste presented the bottle of Tamika’s. “He’s also eager to express his… appreciation.”

Kayla blushed and looked over at the bard, who strummed his loot, looking at her. She bit her lower lip and fluttered her lashes slightly, unconsciously.

"Uh, thank you, Laegon. Tamika's is my favorite wine."

She looked at the food and the wine and realized that was the most appreciation she had ever gotten. Usually she had gold shoved in the palms of her hands with a gruff, "Now go." The stigma attached to vampire hunters was not unlike the stigma attacked to daedra worshipers in some places, though vampire hunters weren't chased out of cities and towns, thankfully. Some assumed them weird, paranoid, even dangerous.

In truth, she was only the last one.

She began eating her food, her stomach protesting loudly at the smell. She popped the cork on the wine, smiling at Laegon and Yetta appreciatively as she poured it into the empty wine glass Auguste had handed her.

"it IS delicious!" She said to Irvana, but moreso to Yette. "And I'll eat every single bit of it."

Glenius opened the door to the inn,leaving Gareth and Lanius in the stable.

He had his green cloak's hood up,he's cloak protected the back of his brown jacket and white shirt and a bit of his brown linen trousers,he also wore fur boots.

He had a satchel,you could see a book poking out of it,too big a fit for the satchel.

He also had a dagger that was sheated in his holster that went around his waist.

He looked around saw the many patrons,some looked at him,he want over to the barmaid and asked for a bottle of mead.

After he took his mead he took a seat by the fire and began drinking,he didn't put his hood down yet.

Glenius was always warry of people and he kept his dagger close.

Glenius had a scar under his eye,it was quite large and went across his nose stopping just above his upper lip.

"I hope Gareth and Lanius are ok" he whispered to himself.

Irvana made her lips a thin line. Kayla indeed deserved the muffins for her exploits back in that cavern, as did Aravi. In fact, Irvana can think of a thousand things these two women deserve for their stand against vampirism.

Kayla seemed visibly irritated. The furrowing of the brows was more than enough to tell Irvana that this might be a touchy subject, or at least one she was confident would never be raised. What she was interested in knowing was why Kayla had went to such lenghts to conceal her weapon? Fear? Fear that someone might steal it? Fear that someone might look upon her with disdain for consorting with Daedric Princes?

I found a nerve . . .

Then as a book, Irvana read Kayla some more. The lashes fluttering like a butterfly in mating season, who bit her lip subconsciously as she blushed in flattery. A small gesture from a man is enough to make this vampire hunter float in her shoes? No. It would appear that she fancies the man. This too, made Irvana all the more curious. Intensely so, but she did not show it. Nor did she decide to comment on it. Most things she just keeps to herself.

Irvana waited for a moment until Kayla swallowed before touching her gently on the leg. "What brings you from the north here to the Imperial Province?"

She locked her beautiful sulfuric radiant eyes with Kayla, and with a smile, she leaned back.

Kayla drained the last bit of her wine from the cup before answering Irvana's question. "I came here to Cyrodiil for an expedition for great treasure. I've been saving up my earnings from adventuring and vampire hunting for years, but all of my money seems to disappear once I get hungry." She looked at the nearly empty plate of food and laughed. She handed Irvana a muffin.

"Snowberries are delicious. My ma used to put them in my oatmeal in the mornings. She'd have my sisters and I go pick some so that by the time da got home, he'd have some bread with the berries baked in. She guarded the recipe from the other women in town like a bear guards her cubs!" She laughed loudly, covering her mouth with one hand. She shot a discreet glance at Laegon, who was strumming his lute to a simple, but pretty tune. She bit her lip again and sighed softly before turning back to Irvana.

"I hope you don't think I'm a giggling schoolgirl, fawning over a bard." She murmured, leaning closer. "It's rare that I get male attention." She smiled. "I don't expect you to understand. You're a very pretty girl, and that man at the bar has been sneaking glances at you."

True to her word, Stefan glanced over at Irvana occasionally as he chatted with Aravi. He answered her question with a nod.

"Yes, I'm from around here. Born, raised, and bred several times." He grinned at her and chuckled at his own joke.

Irvana listened to Kayla as she was handed a muffin, and she stared at the freshly baked loaf in her hands and took a small bite out of it.

Kayla explained a bit of her childhood with snowberries, and why she must been having so much fun eating it. Being away from home for so long is bound to bring memories. Kayla sounded like she had a pleasant childhood with her sisters. This brought Irvana's memories to what she had written of her own childhood, but nothing there was remotely close in comparison to Kayla's.

After striking a note in her words, she covered her mouth in embarrasment and shot a discreet look at the bard. Realizing she demonstrated her concern on his possible opinion on her, she turned to her and spoke once more.

Irvana understood she must not have many male suitors with those scars, but in this day and age men seemed to be desperate for anything that didn't have the same organ as them in between their legs.

She turned to the man at the bar. She wasn't flattered, attracted, or impressed. In fact, it has been sometime since she's last had a lover. One could say she's invested in so much that she had little time for mutual attraction and companionship, as odd as that sounds.

"Attraction must be grounded upon a thing beyond looks alone," Irvana said after awhile. "When one grows old, or if they sustain skin-altering or physical damage . . . what becomes of them, then?" She sighed as she turned her head away from the man and toward Kayla and giggled. "I must confess that I am not always like this. There are certain days where I look absolutely terryfing! Having a water basin next to your bed always helps. But I've been dissapointed far too many times to concern myself with the petty squabbles of the day to day minutiae."

She approximated herself toward Kayla, while at the same time gnoring the bard. "Just be careful with men, Kayla. Be wise. Many are worthy, but many seek to manipulate you. Trust me, it is a terrible thing when you cannot trust the people closest to you."

She glanced over at the bard and squinted her eye, and then leaned back. "Please, do not condemn me for a prude. I love the passion and to feel something for another, I just never truly found the time in recent days. I have been rather occupied with a great many things."

Irvana took another bite of the muffin and set it down on the table. She didn't savor the taste of it as Kayla did. It simply wasn't her choice of food. "Forgive me if I may seem a bit intrusive in your buisiness, but I have not met many vampire hunters in these areas. I was always fascinated by the nightmarish stories of vampires and I loved hearing tales about the men and women who hunted them. Are you alone or are you part of a faction that specializes in tracking and hunting them down?'

Something Irvana said struck a chord in Kayla's chest. She deflated almost visibly.

She's right. What type of man would be interested in a woman that looks like me?

She poured herself another glass of wine and gulped it down while Irvana spoke. The last time she had had a man's affections, though they were strictly physical, was three years ago. They were both drunk, and the deed wasn't memorable, though he claimed she was loud and raucous the entire time. Truthfully, she remembered feeling ill from the alcohol in the middle of it, then waking up the next afternoon in bed with a strange man's hand cupping her breast.

Before that was six years, before she had her facial scarring. She was young and fresh-looking, tall and proud, and willing to bed any man that could beat her in a barfight. Strength is what attracted her. Strength and brains. How low had she sunk that she was getting hot and bothered by a common bard?

Low, indeed.

Kayla was suddenly very glad that she left the dress in her pack upstairs. The neckline was too low for someone with as much scarring as herself. The sleeves were short as well, whereas in her current state of dress, she would only reveal her scar if she leaned too far forward. Even so, someone would have to look directly into her chest, and if they did, she'd most likely knock their head against a table.

She scratched her scalp absently as she answered Irvana's question, leaning forward and keeping her voice low.

"Cult of Meridia. Founded one hundred years ago, before my time. Not very well known, not very active in the spotlight. We mostly moonlight as watchdogs for Meridia, but some of us actively fight vampires." She sighed and glanced at the muffin left partially eaten by Irvana.

Such a waste.

"Ask whatever you like. I'll tell you what I can."

Cult of Meridia, mused Irvana. A small group of fanatics that she hasn't heard in years. She's certainly heard of them when they were founded, but more prominant cults rose like the Mythic Dawn. Even though she never seen much of them in the light, which oddly enough is they might operate, she did not understimate their abilities and potential. The Mythic Dawn remained hidden for so long that they were able to cripple an empire with efficiency and cunning. Through contagion rather than subjugation.

Well versed in history and academics, Irvana has memorized tons of information over the years that one might wonder how a fresh-faced girl can be so intelligent. With coffers stuffed and social graces robust, anything is possible.

Looking at Kayla, Irvana could discern that she's been through a lot and many scars—emotional ones—linger deep inside and with proper words, could be revealed soon enough. She didn't desire to appear too curious or overly invasive of other people's buisiness.

"I am only curious," Irvana said with a bow of the head. "I don't have many friends. The ones I had were partners in dramatic plays in the Imperial City, though they moved on to other things. "A little about myself. I am a bit of a scholar. I spend tremendous amount of time leeching off books and pouring my soul into paper. I like to study everything; social arts, history, culture, schools of magick, and Daedra and everything in between. So believe me that you had my attention when I saw that sword of yours upon your return, for I knew what it was. You strike me as a capable woman and I don't imagine you stole that blade from Meridia . . . what did you to obtain it?'

Her eyes sparkled in the fire, and had a light glow to them. She smiled with a grin of a little girl intent on hearing more about a story.

Godsdamnit.

The question everyone eventually asked her. How did you obtain this sword?

Not through trickery, deceit, no. Skill and potential. She'd shown promise at alchemy, sword fighting, hand to hand, and most importantly, she was very hard to infect. She'd found that out the hard way when she was a child, right after the group took her in.

The potions were part precaution, part paranoia. She kept her skill in alchemy honed by preparing curing potions and brewing deadly poisons, for both the natural and supernatural beings. She'd found a way to completely silence and paralyze a vampire, keeping it from dispelling the effects of the poison and giving her an advantage.

She gave Irvana a half smile and heaved her chest in a small sigh. "In our group, there were about 35 of us, known to each other. There are others, hidden even from other members. Recruitment is tricky, as you have to have something to bring to the table. Some brought information, some brought money, some brought skill. Someone else brought me."

She cleared her throat and took a drink of her third glass of wine. She began to feel the effects of the alcohol slightly, loosening her tongue quite a bit.

"My town was massacred by Movarth Piquine. He had some sort of fascination with children, small girls especially. He turned my sister, and tried to turn me. I resisted the disease, outlasting the other children as they turned quickly. Children can't fight a sickness like vampirism. As soon as they figured out what was going on, the watchdogs in our town tried to cure the children. Once the disease hits a certain point, though, it's too late. But they tried their damndest, even went as far as to try to kill Movarth in his lair nearby.

"They knew our town was doomed, and instead of killing the vampiric children in it, they died at their hands. I awoke in a bed in the alchemist's shop. I remember the man was always kind to me, even when others in town disliked me for being an Altmer in a Nord town. He was a Breton, and not quite as distrusted, as he was human.

"Turns out, he was in the cult, and had sent a courier to some members in the next town. They found me in the bunker, filthy and nearly feral from hunger and terror. A Khajiit man carried me out, Ma'dat. When we arrived at the shrine, he offered me. 'This one brings you bloodied innocence as a gift, my lady.' he said. And she accepted. I was raised from the age of twelve by cultists. They each taught me the skill they had. Some I excelled at, others I failed at. I excel at Destruction magick, hand to hand, swordfighting, and alchemy. I've had Dawnbreaker at my side ever since I stopped whacking myself in the face with practice swords."

She laughed, then let out a little sigh. She shifted in her seat and took another gulp of her wine.

"So, there you have it. Meridia demanded a champion, and she chose me. I'm not a...perfect champion, not by far. But I'm hard to kill. Each one of these scars is their own story, their own battle. This one," She pointed to the one on her cheek. "Vampire, of course. But she was vicious and feral. She'd drained seven children in a small farming villiage outside or Markarth, all under the age of five. This one," she pointed to the one in the shape of a smile on her throat. "A smarter vampire. Not quite feral, but still vicious all the same. He tried to slit my throat, but got a mouthful of fire instead." She barked a quiet laugh.

She frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to babble. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"