18+ And Justice for All

[UnLonged]

"Well..he did helped us. Gods know what would happen to us if he didn't showed up." said the monk that healed Malpenar of his wounds which would evidently lead to his demise if not cared for.

As dumb luck would have it, a rather shabby yet functional cart was with the stormcloak troop - filled with rations and could give space for the still unconscious imperial to lay upon. A pair of monks grabbed him up and slung his arms over their shoulder, effectively carrying him to the cart despite their small frame.

"My blade! My love! My.." Malpenar jumped at the moment he was set down on the wooden boards before laying down once again, semi-conscious. With his recovery coming along, his slowly waking mind realized his hand was without his sword. "Give..give it here." he murmured, a shaking hand pointing over to his rusty dai-katana - a companion he has for many adventures. An elderly monk moved his seemingly rusty joints to give aid to the man who set them free, carefully picking up the katana from the ground and wiping off the thick blood on its blade. "Unusual blade, this is. Rusty and yet.."

"Don't touch..it." said the imperial in a weak tone, knowing time and time again do people grow curious of his sword - and with their curiosity came injury. The monk withdrew the finger that which attempted to test the blade, still in awe of its condition. He placed it gingerly beside the imperial, the blade immediately held by his arms.

"Let's go, closest inn from here is Old Hroldan. After we drop him off, let us continue to Markarth." A pair of monks grabbed each end of the cart and pushed it down the road, the rest marching along - leaving the gruesome scene for their eyes to rest, for their noses to be devoid of the rusty crimson mist that seemingly remain still.




A few hours passed and the orange glow of the sky turned black - stars twinkled and the moon is just rising. Another peaceful silence to be enjoyed as Malpenar slowly regained consciousness in full. "Are we close?" The chattering of the monks were silenced for a short moment, all of them quite surprised that the imperial knows where they are taking him - all of them unaware that the old inn was his destination all along. "We are here, Old Hroldan. The lights of the inn is but a few distances away."

Malpenar braced himself against the side of the cart as he sat up, still feeling rather sore on his sides. "You can leave me here. I can manage." Slight fear of the man still courses through the veins of each robed man and woman he is with, his request immediately granted. "Thank you for your help, monks. May your gods guide you safely to your destination." Still not fit for brisk walking, he pulled his scabbard from his back and used it as a walking stick after sheathing his sword in.

The wheels of the cart faded slowly as the monks continued on a different road from Malpenar's. I suppose I can understand why this rebel leader person chose this spot. The roads that grow away from the inn was rarely used, the path looking very desolate - only life that is for certain are the shrubbery that grow beside it.

Malpenar gripped the handle of the door and pushed it open. The warm fires from the inn were in battle with the cold air on his back. He quickly closed the door behind him, as silent as it was done so, patrons of the tavern noticed him still. The many looks he received as he passed through the crowd was with slight shock that turned sour - his extravagant apparel sticking out like a sore thumb, that and some dried blood around his lips and parts of his damaged coat were truly eye catching. Nasty assumptions that he is a creature of the night could easily be heard from their mouths, obviously making sure that Malpenar hears them - statements that the imperial brushed off.

He took one slow trip around the inn, using his tall sheathed sword as support still, looking for someone in particular - someone who stands out. To him, though, none of them do. He walked around the inn once again, now looking for something that stands out. Lo and behold, a parchment paper unattended along with a moulted feather and an ink well. Not one for thinking things through at the moment, he immediately picked the quill and dipped it in the jet black liquid in the well - writing his name very legibly.

"If anyone is looking for a Malpenar Valeius, he'd be at the bar. Thank you." he shouted out with a slight touch of enthusiasm. Some chatters were broken with his unusual call, some even shouted "freak" in a far corner - but he paid it no mind once again, his sole focus is making his way to the barkeep and grab himself a drink. He took a seat on an empty stool and eyed the barkeep who was busy cleaning a mug with a slightly stained rag, his eyes on the imperial's torn and bloodstained coat. "A cold pint of mead, please. Oh and do you happen to be a skilled tailor?"

 

[Osiris]

Skwitzgarr stared in awe at Brynn's wound, "That's a nasty cut, nothing that can't be fixed though" he grinned. the Nord suddenly leaned in closer to him, her aura radiated like the sun, causing Skwitzgarr to blush a bit. "And you? what brings you here?" she asked curiously, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "The Reach is my home, and I've spent many cold nights inside this Inn...but tonight, I have come to rally others to my cause," he informed her rather proudly. "You probably haven't heard much...I'm not well known outside of these parts, but I am the leader of a Revolution against our King," the Warrior said in a hushed tone. "If it's a fight you want, I could show you some of my own moves," he winked with a sly grin. "Otherwise, maybe you'd like to join the fight to purge Skyrim of Tyrants, it would be nice to have someone of your..unique qualities, around.." Skwitzgarr added with a smile. Almost forgetting he was still wearing it, the Nord removed his hood, revealing a long Mohawk swept to the side, and three long claw marks running across his skull, the mark of the beast, as he called it.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

You probably haven't heard much...I'm not well known outside of these parts, but I am the leader of a Revolution against our King,"

Brynn pulled away and sat with a regal posture, her eyes although still full of mischief found themselves on her hands, both folded over one another on the table top.


"If it's a fight you want, I could show you some of my own moves,"

She couldent help but grin along with him at his comment, a small laugh even escaped her, a noise that resounded like a bell but she kept her eyes fixed on her hands non the less and waited for him to continue.

"Otherwise, maybe you'd like to join the fight to purge Skyrim of Tyrants, it would be nice to have someone of your..unique qualities, around.."

She looked at him quickly craftily, her grin wide and undeniably warm.

“I must admit, in all truth I had come here to find none other but yourself, SkwitzgarrTrolls-Blood.” This time her gaze met him and locked onto his own eyes. “ I came looking to join you, however it was considerably more enjoyable to be offered a place within your ranks then to ask for one.”



She leaned in again as she had before her eyes full of sparks, her face nearing his ear “As for your own moves, you’ll have to join me in the hunt when you can spare the time.”

 

[Torok]

"Fight for you? No." Dandre said, slamming his hand down on the table. "Listen! I could care less about your rebellion and I don't care that we're the same. All I want is to get my mate back from those damn Stormcloaks and then hunt down Ulfric Stormcloak and kill him like the miserable prey he is! I'll tag along with this group you call a pack until I complete what I've set out to do, don't expect me to consider you alpha, Nord." He said looking Skwitzgarr straight in the eye.

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

People streamed in and out of the inn, illuminated by the torches lit upon the old stone walls of the inn, or by the lanterns held by some of the persons. The loud noise from the inn echoed through the mountains and hills, echoes of mournfull song, talk, and the clashing of mugs as the occupants drowned themselves in mead or ale.

This had to be it, although, not the greatest first impression.

He now reached the inn, and gently moved in through the crowds, there were countless men and women fighting over the few remaining seats along the tables set upon the sides of the inn.

He had no idea what to do anymore, his objective had been to reach the supposed location of this new "rebellion", he didn't even know who their leader was, no less how capable he or she was.
Looking at the poorly equipped ragged soldiers within, the uncontrollable echoes through the hills, revealing their location too far away, and the massive lights set both within and outside of the inn, he did not believe much of these poorly disciplined sellswords, there were promising warriors within as well, but a distinct lack of them was showing.

He walked further in, people catching fast glances to his light Chitin armor, a special set of armour only crafted in Morrowind. He knew it was a risk, but he slowly removed his helmet and crooked his fingers, making the helmet hook onto his hand safely, and he moved his free hand through his hair to keep it back, as he walked further in, his bright, shining eyes seeking for any sort of indication of an alpha, a commander or any other that might be of assistance, but the huge crowds were hindering his eyesight utterly, a proper nuisance really.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

Brynn had barely managed to swallow a snarl, let alone the thundering growl she could feel boiling up within her. The scent of more of her kind, Hircine Hounds as they were aptly named and the electric feeling of conflict filled her nose and clouded her head. The more the animalistic behaviour surfaced the harder she had keeping her own inhuman side from breaking free of its constraints.

This is clearly a challenge she thought to herself. Often times when two males with alpha personalities came together they challenged each other in some way, this was true in every species, Lycanthropes being no exception.

She rose partially from her seat and leaned over the table, the newest male focused on Skwitzgarr kept his eyes locked and so did not move. She brought her face close to one side of his own and began to whisper in her own serious and slightly challenging tone.

“Do not disgrace yourself.” She spat the words “Not all of these souls accept those of our kind for obvious reasons, you losing your temper… your giving them a reason to believe those dangerous words. I do not care if you feel you must prove your pride to anyone you come across, I simply do not care however as you are in my presence I suggest you conduct yourself with some sort of dignity and grace.”


She stopped for a minute and waited looking no longer at his face but around the inn, she placed her hands on the table with slow calculated intent. Her tone taking on a sense of mockery.

“You air your laundry so publicly, it is entertaining.” She scoffed as a grin crossed her face “It is also entertaining to see you disrespecting the man who captains the vessel through which you wish to locate your mate. Try not getting in your own way. Its pitiful.”


She breathed out and sat calmly back down. She had let the instinctual side over take her, she was not sure of the cause. Perhaps it had been the long travel, the overwhelming feeling in the air, the close proximity of other werewolves, the violation of some moral code she was not sure. All she knew as she sat back down was that no one so single minded, who only worked for their own personal gain and so obviously so deserved her respect or be spared her opinions.

 

[Torok]

Dandre just glanced at Brynn with his dark orange eyes, not bothering to turn his head. How dare she speak to him like that, telling him what to do? He had no time to lick the boot of the man who had the courage to organize this somewhat dis functional group of 'warriors'. "So far, all I see is speaking, politics, honeyed words from this Skwitzgarr. Until I see him actually maul someone, or make some Stormcloak heads roll I will not be under him!" He shouted. He didn't want to be commanded, especially by a woman who can't even take care of a simple wound, nor by a Nord that can only talk and not show prowess in combat. "I am however willing to follow this group so that I can do what I wanted all along, until I see some progress, I will not be a subordinate to this Nord, who seemingly doesn't appriciate the raw power of the beast."

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

“Being respectable doesn’t mean licking someone’s boots,” she said with a yawn “Giving someone a chance to show you what they can do is not licking some ones boots. Being able to speak is not being weak. Being able to control yourself, that is not being weak. Losing your temper over friendly words, that is weak and quite embarrassing.”

She leaned back resting her arm on the back of her chair and crossing her legs.


“Making an assumption based on a few words, about someone’s whole personality, their capability, that is not only ignorant but idiotic. Your making yourself look like nothing but a one dimensional grunt who has problems controlling their temper.”

 

[Torok]

"Respect is not freely given, it has to be earned. Until I see him take a city with this band of misfits I won't raise my sword in his honor. Let's see some action before we talk about respect and who leads who." Dandre simply stated, standing to his full height.

 

[Blackdoom59]

After a long journey, Garret would finally reach Old Hroldan. From just outside the inn, the loud noise of it's residents could be heard, even with heavy rains and thunders, echoing trhough the region. He entered the inn, wet from head to toe, leaned to a wall as water drops fell from his armor. He looked around the inn, trying to spot the man he was supposed to meet in the first place.

"Steel armor, brown-crimson hair with bead...and, what was it..a..dark green war paint!"he thought to himself, trying to remember how Skwitzgarr looks. His right eye swept the inn, looking for his target. And so he eyed him, on a rather large table, already talking with some of his companions. He went in for a closer look, only to be disappointed by how Skwitzgarr’s companions behaved.
“Until I see him actually maul someone, or make some Stormcloak heads roll I will not be under him!"

Garret stood next to the table, trying to catch more of the words Skwitzgarr’s followers spat upon eachother. ”Your making yourself look like nothing but a one dimensional grunt who has problems controlling themselves.” It was clearly not the best first impression. But Garret didn’t have an entire day to wait for them to end their argument, and so he introduced himself to the group:

“Greetings, Master Switzgarr!” He showed his right hand, awaiting a friendly handshake from the leader of the rebellion. “I have written to you many times, but it’s an honor to finnaly meet you in person. And greetings to you too, fair fighters, I can see you are getting along nicely.” He made a brief stop to chuckle, but regained his seriousness in an instant and continued talking. “I am known as The Cold Benefactor, master alchemist from the North, but friends call me Garret.” A wide grim crossed his face. “For those that don’t know, I will be supplying you all with the necessary potions for your battles, so that everything goes according to plan."

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

"You mishear me, or maybe you don’t understand me” she put emphasis on the second last word as she relaxed her shoulders and leaned forward slightly, smiling. “I said conduct yourself respectfully. Conduct yourself with some sort of dignity, not for anyone else but perhaps for yourself.”

She sighed and drank the last of her mead. As entertaining as those that this man reminded her of they were simply not the best at picking apart the meaning behind words. She looked over a Skwitzgarr for a moment unsure how he felt about how the situation had transpired. He may see her as confrontational but she did not mind. She found pride in defending her values.

It was not until a new man came into their small group that she snapped out of her slightly defensive behaviour. She looked up at the man as he shook the hand of the man by her side. The first thing she noticed was the deep red of his beard as well as the scar running across his eye. She couldn’t help but laugh at his commentary remarking his smooth way of speech. A nice change.


“A pleasure to meet you” she extended her hand as well as a warm greeting.“I’m sorry your first impressions were of the two of us bickering.”

Her face became soft and her lips parted slightly. She titled her head waiting for a response. She had a feeling this would be an interesting night.

 

[Blackdoom59]

Garret grabbed her hand and shook it slowly. He had always felt that women are fragile beings, not capable to handle themselves, even though he saw some female warriors himself. He looked at the lady that stood in front of him, analyzing her in great detail. She looked charming, and she shared Garret's sense of humor.

"So, why do you want Ulfric gone?" he asked her, as he took seat at the table, taking his hood off to reveal his unique features, such as his eyepatch. "She looks young..." Garret thought to himself before questioning her. "Too young to be fighting in a battle where odds aren't in our favor." The girl seemed quite confident when she was arguing with the breton next to her. Garret raised his left arm, signaling the bartender to bring a drink. Awaiting his answer, he stared into beautiful blue eyes, for she reminded Garret of a former lover.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

Brynn let her hand sit lightly in his at first touch however met his handshake with a confident one of her own. As he sat she analyzed him with a careful yet friendly gaze.
"So, why do you want Ulfric gone?"

She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes. She could fee a fire burning in her, the same one that had driven her every move, her every struggle. As she spoke her words flowed together with a silken grace yet a overall aura of strength.

“Why do I want Ulfric gone?” she laughed bringing herself nearer to Garret “I have a great many values you see, ones that I cannot find it in me to watch be violated. Some call It a flaw. However I can’t live my life knowing that I am doing nothing to defend these morals. I believe that race should not define the right to equality. I believe that all should be safe to keep and practice their own faith as long as it does not hurt those around them. I can not sit and watch as we are persecuted for our individuality. For the gain of some pompous leader that does nothing but cause pain and suffering. I can not accept a life where everyone lives in paralyzing fear.”

Her voice had grown more impassioned as she continued. She stopped for a minute to take a deep breath and lower her voice once more.

“There are many reasons I fight, they may not be the most complex and you may think me a fool. I could live my life in great luxury of my own kind if I wished. I have nothing materialistic to gain but… if I hadn’t at least tried I would never have found peace with myself.”

She took a minute to calm her beating heart. She cursed herself internally for over sharing or perhaps coming on much too strong. Oh well now is not the time to start worrying about the opinions of others.

 

[Boudica]

Arguing had already broken out the hot inn - too many sweaty, sickly bodies pressed against each other like slabs of meat wrapped in a hot butchers swaddle - sweet and pungent, obnoxious and beautiful - the way the skins would slip against each other; each body wriggling free of the confines that were their fellow mortals enjoying their drinks and foodstuffs. With his vampire's eyes he could see individual beads of sweat nestled with a thick black brow - could watch it break free and sluice down the cheek - following the curve of the cheekbone to the chin.


Focus.


He was never one to shake his head rapidly - to snap himself from situations such as these required a pinch of the brow or a stressed blink - and then he could draw himself from the details and into the bigger picture which the majority of these people had never left in their lives…

What a blessing, he thought as he leaned against one of the thick pillars that helped hold up the thatch roof - the key pillars that were in the darker, cooler corners of the inn - where moonlight streamed through and broke upon cheek like a smooth stream of silver. That corner had a table with a candle similar to the one which he had left in his 'house' - in fact he could have sworn it was the same but collected his thoughts, gave another blink, and brought himself from his reveries that were harmless - for now…


There was a collections of barrels nearby, and as he went to sit upon one and tap his fingers in a hypnotizing rhythm - its true sound of lute and drum loss and unheard by any but his ears. It was not until the barkeep asked him to bring the barrel to the bar that he stopped and it felt as though all time had stopped indefinitely when his fingers drummed that final dull thud - the beat that had been growing the glorious crescendo, through the veins back to the source of their sweet rhythm - to the heart of the music - had been stopped abruptly to the gruff holler of the nord wiping a rag around the inside of a pint glass and throwing his hand to and fro over shoulder - pointing and beckoning the barrel upon which Abel was sat.


Whilst he was tapping, he could feel every slosh of liquid through the relatively thick wood - heard it slip this way and that like the bodies in the inn - all unison, swaying one way then the next before returning to its brooding stand-still; the tranquillity of liquid always threw Abel off - as soon as it stopped completely, he could feel it no longer - his connection had severed and he was at one with himself again.

But that of course resumed when he picked the hefty barrel up with an ease he tried to mask, and transported it via shoulder and two arms (despite only truly needing one) to the bar top - placing it down upon its side and giving a façade of effort with a wipe of his brow, a huff and a smile - the barkeeper was sufficiently fooled but then again, he couldn't see the lack of any sweat…at all, the lack of body within that 'exhausted breath' and the strain of the skin at the corner of the pale mouth. But, the vampire had perfected it so well over these years - that many mortals were none the wiser to his façades and his masquerades; skirting around the edge of existence whilst appearing to be a part of it at all times…

He had turned his 'life' into performance and it was starting to toll…


The looks he had gotten whilst moving the barrel had been a mixture, lust, jealousy, mistrust - all well founded emotions to feel when in the presence of something such as Abel - something strange, different handsome but in a way that made you suspicious; like he belonged to a different age, an age of Atmoran's and demons…

Perhaps they were spot on with that assumption…


Perhaps they were more intuitive then they thought, than they even knew - the herd instinct when a wolf was lurking amongst them - prey and predator - survival and death…


He turned back to the room, and looked at the small gathering of people. He identified the speaker from earlier - he never forgot a voice and their scent was that of wolf…there were more predators in this room, one wrong move and the herd would be spooked, and hooves can crush the skull of the fiercest dog if they were in great enough quantity - so the argument wasn't something that the atmosphere needed at this moment in time. He slipped through the crowds, gentle and brushing as a ghost before he approached the table that was rapidly gaining a buffer of bodies. He was about to lay a hand on the shoulder of the previously arguing man but refrained - instead being caught into the conversation of the riddance of Ulfric. This was why the vampire had come in the first place - not to become embroiled in petty fights, but those of a greater magnitude - it was what he had known all of his life after all - both in true life, and undeath…

 

[Torok]

"I do respect myself, how you don't see that is beyond my understanding." Dandre said to Brynn. He then looked back at Skwitzgarr. "When you want to speak to me about tagging along with your group, I'll be over there by the fire." He simply said as he turned and walked over near the firepit and stood in front of it, he wanted to get his armor dry, fur, cloth and metal did not mix well with rain water. He removed his soaked fur pack from his back and set it down by the edge of the pit, he did the same thing with his helm. His pitch black hair was a bit wet. He hoped this storm would end before the attack, if there was going to be one anytime soon. Or are they just going to politely ask the Stormcloaks to hand over their prisoners? Time will tell if there was going to be bloodshed or just a verbal debate.

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

Suddenly the inn went silent, the songs ended and all focus was upon the two fighting each other off verbally.

Another great example of the unflinching discipline. He laughed as he leaned himself to one of the supporting columns to watch the conflict, as most others seemed to do as well, some even daring to throw in a "On with it!" or "Fight back!".
"Respect is not freely given, it has to be earned. Until I see him take a city with this band of misfits I won't raise my sword in his honor. Let's see some action before we talk about respect and who leads who." Dandre simply stated, standing to his full height.

"I do respect myself, how you don't see that is beyond my understanding." When you want to speak to me about tagging along with your group, I'll be over there by the fire." The other man marched over to the fireplace, through the thrilled crowds, whom now seemed to give up on the chance of a fight, and stepped back to their places, and the volume of song and noise once again returned slowly to the inn.

And with the return of song, another man joined the seemingly popular party gathered around the table.
“Greetings, Master Switzgarr!" The newcomer shouted joyfully as he approached the party, Jokar sighed and grabbed a bottle of mead from a passing by Nord, the man seemed too drunk too realize, which was fine with Jokar.

Their conversation ebbed on, or so it seemed at least, the conversation was drowned by the sheer noise surrounding him, but their mouths moved on in what looked like deep discussion. His patience finally ran out, and he moved onwards to what he was now sure to be the rebel Switgarr.

“-any reasons I fight, they may not be the most complex and you may think me a fool. I could live my life in great luxury of my own kind if I wished. I have nothing materialistic to gain but… if I hadn’t at least tried I would never have found peace with myself.” He heard the woman say as he approached the group. He studied each of the rebels.

The young Nord woman, seeming confident enough to spread information of her too easily, or was that part of a ruse? She reeked of animal, both in ways and scent, her eyes were the eyes of predators, more than of any man.


Then the brutally scarred Breton, one of his eyes turned blind from a wound covering the side of his face, cheek to forehead.


Of course also, the lord of rebels, seated silently watching these other two speaking, clad in fine steel armour, and a brown fur cloak, he did have the aura of a leader about him.

And last, a person he did not spot until now, cloaked within the shadows right behind the group, another vampire. Although the man did not resemble any of the Volkihars or their followers, Jokar's petty remains of soul and life boiled in hatred at the sight of another one of his kind. But seconds passed and the hatred vanished deeper into the black holes within him which once were filled with soul, long ago, before the bloodcurse.

Jokar snapped back and once again dragged his hand through his hair, keeping it back.

"I believe this is the rumoured rebellion?" He said grimly, looked to the vampire, and forced the hatred back down before continuing, again watching the one known as Switgarr.




"And you must be Lord Switgarr, you're a renowned man, refugees on the borders' spoke of you, I think we can assist each other." He smiled curteously to Lord Switgarr, and exchanged glances and nodded to what he suppsoed to be his two lieutenants.

"My name is Jokar Valeri."

 

[Blackdoom59]

Garret was amazed by how the words poured from the girl's mouth. Without a doubt, she was backing up her words with feelings, Garret could see that in her eyes. She was passionate and, in some way, ferocious when she showed her true intentions. Garret liked that about her, but he also felt she was awfully mature for her apparent age. Garret has experienced life long enough to know pain, sorrow, loss, betrayal. In his eyes, she was too young to worry with such things, however he accepted that and moved on, knowing not everybody is like himself.

“There are many reasons I fight, they may not be the most complex and you may think me a fool. I could live my life in great luxury of my own kind if I wished. I have nothing materialistic to gain but… if I hadn’t at least tried I would never have found peace with myself.”

"I don't think you're a fool just because you stand up for something." Said Garret, right on time as two bottles of wine arrived at the table. He pushed one over, letting it slide to Brynn. "I feel like I know so much about you now, lass, but I don't even know your name." A smirk crossed Garret's face as he spoke, he took some coins out of his purse to give to the bartender, when another voice could be heard among them "I believe this is the rumoured rebellion?" A dark elf, wearing light chitin armor. Garret turned his head to him, but didn't analyze him a lot. "And you must be Lord Switgarr, you're a renowned man, refugees on the borders' spoke of you, I think we can assist each other. My name is Jokar Valeri" . Garret nodded, showing off respect towards his future companion, then turned his head at Brynn

 

[Torok]

Dandre sat down on the stony floor, now almost completely dry. He reached into his pack, rummaging through it for a while and finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled his hand out of the bag and looked at the ring in his hand, it was the band of Matrimony that Marcurio worn before he was kidnapped. It was the only thing that Dandre had to remember his mate by. He had to choke back any hint of tears, he can't look weak in front of these people. No matter how much it hurt to hold it in. He let out a sigh and put the ring back in his pack, before resting his hands on his legs and staring blankly into the flames.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

"I don't think you're a fool just because you stand up for something."

Brynns face lit up, she was glad someone understood. She reached out and brought her hands around the bottle that had been pushed towards her. Titling it slightly with a playful smile in thanks she took a short drink.

"I feel like I know so much about you now, lass, but I don't even know your name."

“Know me? You know my morals I suppose I am my principals. Don’t fool yourself however, there's much more to me than that” She laughed and again gave him a spirited glance and laid her hand to rest on his arm “My names Brynn, Brynn Ráðúlfr”

She did not break contact however a voice had caught her attention.

"And you must be Lord Switgarr, you're a renowned man, refugees on the borders' spoke of you, I think we can assist each other.My name is Jokar Valeri."


She did not look back or locate the man however the voice sounded oddly familiar. Where do I know that voice from…

 

[Boudica]

Finally, thought Abel, the other has stepped forwards and made a word instead of staying and brooding animosity from his cool corner of the inn. He resumed false breathing to appear as normal as possible - the rise and fall of his chest would have been felt by any who was pressed close enough - but it was good that they did not possess the sense to feel through to the inner cavities where his dormant, dead heart lay; the organ having its occasional frantic sessions of beating when he had gorged himself an fresh, rejuvenating blood breathed life to the stagnant lungs, the static heart, and darkened organs.



He felt the animosity creeping its way towards him; crawling along invisible threads that connected everyone to each other and in this case it wasn't some vampire sense that allowed him to feel the smothered hostility - it was just good old fashioned sense of mood. Of course, hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of years had allowed him to feel more in the atmosphere than most as he had had more time to do so…however, the anger that shot along those invisible threads from the Dunmer to Abel's paler personnage wasn't exactly subtle, and he felt in in that cavity within; it may have even jolted the heart if he had been mortal and prone to anxiety attacks.



No, the barbs would have to be much sharper, and much more physical to cause any change in that department. But that thread and emotion had connected Abel to the unknown vampire and had brought him closer to analysis and attention - yet he did not utilise this just yet and afforded him a rather genuine look of respect, and a deceptive smile of friendliness. For all that Abel could be charismatic - it should be noted that he was hardly ever genuinely friendly with anyone



"Rebellion," he spoke for the first time outside of himself so that anyone could hear, voice that matched his looks - comforting and deceptively friendly yet the liquid hardened in the stomach after a while and left a heavy feeling nestled there - the voice that would match a creature that waited in the long grass until something innocent and vulnerable wobbled by…



"So I gather…you made quite an impression in the square Trolls-Blood…"