18+ Dusk

[Baneloth]

Donath chuckled at the the assassins breathless response. Maybe he had squeezed a little too tightly, but at the same time it was good to know he could still surprise people half his age. "Bah, there's not a bandit livin' that can take me down. I might be gettin' along in age, but I can still chop a fool in half." And speaking of surprises, he surely was when someone small crashed into him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Mr. Donath!" Once Donath had regained his bearings, he recognized Mila, Simus' adopted daughter. "It is you! Papa and Alice said you were going away! Do you wanna talk to him? He's probably out back smithing." He patted the girl on the head. "Good t' see ye too, little 'un." he laughed. "Sure, I'll talk to him. It's been a while, and we-" he indicated Averaine with a nod, "We're just dropping in anyways"

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Though the trip was swift, Torin was glad to be back on the road once more. He'd never been particularly fond of remaining in one place for too long, and he'd been patrolling the wilds for so long, cities and towns, sometimes even villages, felt cramped to him. Whiterun was busy, one of the larger cities he'd visited, and though he wasn't happy there, he enjoyed the opportunity to meet some of the others of their group from a year ago. Their appearance was a welcome, though unexpected surprise.

He clasped forearms with Averaine, remembering a time when he would sooner clashed blades than come near enough to touch the vampiric knight. Despite his initial reservations, Averaine had proven to be a loyal and steadfast companion, and the ranger and knight had struck up a good friendship. "My friend" he said warmly. "It does my heart good to see you well. And the others, also. I had not expected to see you again so soon" he remarked. Truthfully, he hadn't expected to see any of his companions for a long while, which was why he'd agreed to follow Salthar to Whiterun.

He had a feeling that the few moments among friends should be grasped tightly, before whatever darkness that was stirring fell on them. Cries of joy drew his attention, and he stood back, smiling as Alice, Cilla and Mila ambushed Aliah, Elizabeth and Donath.

 

[Stormmaiden]

Lythare spent most of her time replacing the arrows that she'd been unable to recover after her and Shadaris' skirmish with the men in the pass. She also supplemented those arrows she still had with more from the hunting goods store. She was still a little nervous around humans, and Whiterun was filled with them. Some of the cities inhabitants were dark or wood elves, like her, but she was still wary.

Having bought what she needed, she headed back to where she'd last seen her assassin companion. Who was gone. At first, Lythare froze, searching for the woman. She saw her some distance away, talking with a familiar bald, stout warrior. 'Donath' others stood nearby, and she recognized them as their other companions. She made her way to them, a smile coming to her lips. As she did, she lifted her arm and whistled sharply. Aethos, her loyal bird, swooped down from his perch, landing on her gauntleted arm. "Look, Aethos. Everyone's here" she said, and the falcon bobbed his head, as if he understood.

"Let's go say hello, shall we?" The falcon regarded her with a golden brown eye, which she took for agreement. She approached the group, smiling as she did so. "So, I'm gone for a few minutes, and everyone decides to appear out of thin air?"

 

[Drahkma]

"My friend" the ranger said warmly. "It does my heart good to see you well. And the others, also. I had not expected to see you again so soon" Averaine clasped his long time companions arm, smiling. He was honoured that the ranger considered him his friend. Ordinarily, the two, one ranger, the other vampire would have been forced to fight one another. The two of them, had however fought alongside each other, and come to trust in each others abilities. The knight was happy to have met up with the ranger, and the others, of course. "It is good to see you as well, Torin." The knight said.

 

[TheShadedOne]

Shadari glanced up as Lythare showed up and began speaking with the others. Her real attention though, was on Salthar, who, like her, was keeping his distance from the rest of them. She was reminded of the piece of cloth with the insignia on it that she'd tucked into her belt. If anyone would know who or what it's wearer had owed allegiance to. She removed it from her side and strode over to him. "Salthar. I have something you might want to take a look at. Lythare and I ambushed a patrol of those 'new stormcloaks' at one of the passes heading to Whiterun from Dawnstar" she tossed the cloth to him. "Their leader had this on his uniform. A little strange choice of insignia for stormcloaks, don't you think?"

 

[T. Rakinson]

"Well well, look who drank too much last night!" Sogrlaf jeered, the crisp morning air of his native land filling him with gidduness & excitment.
To an onlooker it would seem the Nord was talking to the pile of sacks located at the tip of the boat, but as he & his ship-mates laughed a quiet & half-hearted groan spilled within the heap. Moments later a large, well-built figure bursted from its now desecrated den & pounced towards its offender at the far side of the ship, causing the vessel to lurch forward dangerously to one side. As a result the ship-mate was spared of his fate by falling into the murky green waters of the harbour.
Now caught in the open & his burst of anger quickly subsiding, Shork found himself surrounded by the crew of the Northern Maiden, most of whom had thoughtlessly run to the side of the boat to rescue their floating friend, causing the boat to again almost careen over on its side.
Blinking in the harsh sunlight caused by absense of cloud cover, Shork then felt a firm hand on his shoulder & turned to see Gjalund Salt-Sage, the aptly named captian of the ship, giving him a stern look.
"Now calm down fella, unless you want to pay for this ships replacement yourself. Sogrlaf was just messing with ye'".
Shork nodded, remaining fierce on his exterior but privatly admiring the Nord for his bravery. Most people he knew steered clear of him when he was hungover, so he guessed for old Salt-Sage to stand his ground likely took some guts.
As has eyes slowly began to grow accustomed to the ash-free air, The orc looked past the edge of the boat & craned his neck upwards to sake in the sight before him.
High above the river that connected the docks to the sea was a precarious rock formation jutting out from the hillside, which only seemed to be supported by a large pillar of rock on the other side of the banks. Atop this abnormal natural formation stood a fine palace with blue roofs, & magnificent stone architecture surrounded it, forming a daunting yet impressive stone wall. Shorc gave a low whistle.
*"So this is Windhelm? I'll admit, I am impressed", He remarked.
A nervous shuffling of feet behind him suggested otherwise. He turned to see another shipmate Shork vaguely remembered being named Lygrleid looking at him nervously.
"Actually... this isnt Windhelm. This is Solitude" he muttered nervously, glancing round for support from his crewmates.
Shork didnt know what to say. On one hand the Northern Maiden had dropped him off at the wrong port, but as he briefly recalled his knowldege of Skyrim's geography, he realised they had taken him further than he had wanted to go.
Still, he felt obliged to ask.
"How come were parking in Solitude? I asked you for passage to Windhelm, You bunch of stuck up-"
"Actually" Gjalund interrupted him mid-rant, "We brought you into Solitude 'cause it 'aint safe over in Windhelm. Bunch of Milatia-Bandits or somethin' or other prowl the docks, we havent gone back there in months".
Shork did not look satisfied, so he went on. "I tell you what. We didnt warn ya', so I wont ask you for an extended fare fee. You can take your stuff & go now".
Replying with just a grunt, Shork went over to the imploded sack pile & fished out his own belongings. After finding his mace, Bonemold armour, Pickaxe & half-empty bottle of Shein, horror struck him; how would he reach his destination, he had planned to travel to Whiterun from Windhelm, & had no idea which way to go from here. Not overly panicked, he strolled over to the East Empire Company warehouse & asked one of the local guard for directions.

***​

​

Three days later, a guard could be heard sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him from the Whiterun watchtower; he had ran for the city after, during his morning patrols, had spotted a large, shaggy brown & vaguely humanoid bear staring at him with a hungry look in its eyes watching him from the southern hills.​

​

(*Is this okay for my dialouge colour?)​

​

 

[Madrar]

Salthar accepted the patch of cloth from the Khajiit assassin, and examined it, listening to her report as he did so. She was right, the insignia, a red hand, on a black background. Quite a leap away from the white bears' head on the blue background of Ulfrics' stormcloaks. It appeared Azeraile wasn't too keen on keeping with tradition. "I agree. I must attend a meeting of my...peers, in dragons' reach. I'll take this with me, and inquire as to whether they've seen this particular insignia south of the passes" he assured the assassin.

With those words, he turned away from the group and made his way gradually up hill, towards the jarls palace. The city was busy at this time of day, with merchants attempting to draw in any passerby that looked like they might have a little coin. The vampire lord ignored them all. Although a few were selling some oddities that made him wonder how, exactly they'd gotten their hands on them. He navigated the city districts until he'd reached the palace. A pair of guards watched him wearily.

It appeared, even three years after the Thalmor had been driven out of Skyrim, the sight of his robes still engendered fear and hostility. He held up the written summons, and the guards let him pass, though grudgingly. The great hall was abandoned, and a guardsman informed him that the council, along withthe jarl had gone up to the great balcony, that overlooked the plains. Heading there, he encountered several guards at the doors. They allowed him passage, and he came exited out onto the great porch, where a table had been set up. Jarl Balgruuf sat at one end of the table, with his advisor at his right hand, and his Dunmer bodyguard at his left. At the other end of the table sat four people who, including Salthar, who,collectively were called 'the wise'. Two humans, and two mer. For the humans, and undisputed leader of the council, was Saroth the Black. An Imperial that was well into his sixties, but moved with the strength and vigor of a much younger man, the blacks long beard had turned from black to silver long ago. A black wood staff rested against his chair, tipped with a piece of obsidian stone, shaped into the likeliness of a diamond. Next was Hassar the Blue, a Redguard woman wearing sapphire robes, and rings, and who was surprisingly competent with frost and water based magics. There also two elves at the table. Amgril the gold, an Altmer mage, that had risen to a seat of power despite having little to no connections with the Thalmor. The second was another Dunmer, garbed all in red, with a ruby tipped wand at his belt. All of them were powerful in their own right, and were the closest Salthar had to having 'peers'. If it ever came to a confrontation...defeating one of them was possible, if draining. Two, dangerous, but not impossible, but against three or more? Even Salthars' powers wouldn't sustain him through a fight like that.


The head of the council glanced up. "Ah. Master Vivarian, you've arrived" the black robed wizard said, gesturing at the only remaining chair. Salthar first inclined his head to the Jarl, who looked vaguely uncomfortable at having quite so many wizards in his court. "Jarl Balgruuf. I see that my warnings were not heeded. Is there any particular reason why?"

The Jarl paled. "Well, I...there simply haven't been the funds, plus, we've seen no conclusive-"
Salthar cut the man off. "The enemy may already be at your doorstep. Your status gives you influence over several villages. You should have fortified them long ago!" The vampire insisted.
"Enough." Saroth interjected sternly. "The jarl has refrained from fortifying his city and villages at our insistence"
Salthar turned to face the old wizard.

"With the enemy at their doorstep?" He respected the head of the council, but they did not see eye to eye on most scenarios. However, instead of looking obstinate or angry, the head of the wise simply looked genuinely confused. "What enemy?" The vampire narrowed his eyes, and Amgril interjected.
"Salthar, Tamriel, for the most part, is at peace. A hard won, but solid peace." The high elf stated softly. Salthar snorted and shook his head. "And what of those creatures we fought last year?"

Sorath made a dismissive gesture "For all we know, they could have been a form of corrupted Falmer. You never did encounter more of the beasts, did you?" Salthar would have liked to argue, but once more, there was no real proof. He doubted the council had any interest in interviewing his companions. Frustrated, he pressed on. "And what of this northern holds. Under the control of one of Ulfrics' warlords, and gathering more followers to his banner everyday. Among them, the dangerous sorcerer Jorn Blackstone." With those words, he tossed the piece of tattered cloth onto the table.

Sorath stared at the cloth a long time before looking back to Salthar. "I see. Unfortunately, the Empire has deemed this 'warlord' a minor threat. And his 'sorcerer'. Orders are being passed down to every commanding officer in the legions as we speak. No action is to be taken against the northern holds" the head of the council said. Salthar felt his fists clenching. He'd hoped that the Imperial at least would be sympathetic. "If that is all" the silver bearded human said, "the council is dismissed." He stood, smoothing his obsidian black robes absently with one hand.

As the others stood to leave, Sorath motioned him over. "I am sorry I could not be of more help. But neither the council nor the Empire wishes to wage another civil war. However, I've only said that no official action was to be taken. Go to Windhelm. Find out what you may about this 'warlord', and if he proves to be a threat to our interests, eliminate him" Salthar inclined his head slightly. So it was to be as it had been during the war. The council publicly condemning his actions, while privately encouraging them. With Soraths' discreet blessing, the vampire turned to leave Dragonsreach.

 

[Aethalia]

Aliah heard...something that sounded like a cry of joy, shortly before someone in Imperial garments crashed into her. The young woman started talking about how good it was to see her in a relieved tone of voice. "Alice?" It was. The oldest of the Psyrakon sisters lived in Whiterun, with the rest of her family. "Oh,Alice. It is good to see you again!" She returned the hug, glad that Alice, at least didn't seem to have changed with much of Skyrim. Despite the fact they were in Whiterun, Aliah still noticed a few less than friendly glances thrown the way of her and her companions. Just because the civil war was over, didn't mean all of Skyrims' inhabitants were overly friendly to non-Nords. It wasn't as bad here as the northern holds, but if the people truly believed in this new Whitescar brotherhood, it would only be a matter of time.
A new, but still familiar voice drew her attention. The vampiress glanced over to see the wood elf ranger, Lythare, with her faithful falcon companion perched on her gauntleted arm. "Hello, Lythare. It's good to see you as well"

 

[WindWalker]

Technically, Julius was off duty. Alice and the girls had already left, when he dressed in his Imperial uniform, and headed out into the city. As usual, Whiterun was full of people going about their day to day business. As he strolled through the streets, he noticed a group of guards talking among themselves. None of them looked very happy. As he got closer, he could hear better what they were saying.

"Damn elf. Strutting around like he owns the place" growled one.
"Careful, Tormen." Warned the mans friend. "Some say he's not what he looks like. That he-" the guard lowered his voice "dabbles in dark magic"
"Aye." Said another. "And that he lives in the mountains near Falkreath. Has himself a nice little fortress where them vigilants can't get to"

Julius froze. There was only one elf he knew that matched those descriptions. And a vampire at that. He turned on his heel, wondering what to do. It wasn't that Salthar was an enemy of his, but Julius certainly didn't want the Altmer wandering around Whiterun without a small army keeping an eye on him. He decided to head back to Breezehome, and see if Alice and the others had returned yet.

When he arrived, he was met with a sight of mixed warriors, some human, some not. He recognized them as his old companions from a year ago. He sighed wearily, feeling both frightened and excited. There could only be a few reasons the group was in Whiterun, and he didn't think a casual reunion was one of them...

 

[TheShadedOne]

Although someone else might have found the reunion heartwarming, Shadari just found it made her uncomfortable. She glanced around, taking in the guards and civilians walking by, and decided she'd be much happier where she'd be able to keep any eye on people, rather than the other way around. She turned to Averaine, Torin and Lythare. The three that weren't currently engaged in conversation with the Psyrakons, or otherwise engaged. "Well, I'm headed to the Bannered Mare. You three care to join me?"

She lead the three of them away from Breezehome, and towards the popular tavern. Of course, there were other, sleazier taverns, but this one was the most likely to have clean beds and fairly fresh food. She opened the door and headed straight to the bar, tossing a large bag of coins to the middle-aged human woman. "That's for food and rooms for my friends and I" she said, heading for a table in one of the corners, and motioning for the others to follow.

(There. Sorry for slight scripting. I'll change it if you want)

 

[T. Rakinson]

Shork woke up in the most unusual of surroundings. He seemed to be in a cave, the walls rich with minerals & the floor... well, the floor was soaked in blood.
'Urrgghh...'
After adjusting his eyes to the dark underground space lit only by a small pine fire, he saw the splattered corpse of an elk, its contents leaking out onto the hard stone. The carcass looked neither cooked or consumed in a fashion that would suggest restraint, so Shork was guessing this was his own work.
At least he would be leaving on a full stomach.
Once dressed the Orc started to make his way down a narrow, uneven passageway, repeatedly having to duck to avoid bruising his skull, which felt as it always did after a night of hunting & -Shork sniffed his miners clothes- drinking? Oh dear. A scouring of his backpack confirmed Shork's suspiscions; he was out of drink. Almost instinctively Shork upped his pace from cautious exploration to frantic hybrid of sprinting & galloping towards any exit. With the prospect of soberity looming, little else was on the Orc's mind until he reached the surface.
It was when in fact he reached the surface that his panic for liquor subsided, only to be replaced by fear of the unknown. Apparently Soberity was further off than he had initially thought.
Not far from Shork's standing point outside of his den lay the city of Whiterun. As his eyes took in the scaling battlements of the fortress city, his mind tried to piece the image with his intentions.
I came to Skyrim, to Whiterun,too... I was here to... too...
He gave up & gave in to his drunken urges.
I came to drink.

***​

After cleaning himself off the best he could so that he would look presentable to public eye, Shork made his way to the cities entrance, trying to appear oblivious to the unmasked guards stares & covering of noses. Hoping he did not smell as bad as these guards reactions suggested, he was surprised to only be stopped by one, plucky young guard.​

'You smell like a wet animal' the young Nord asked courageously.​

Shork decided not to respond, but as he tried to pass the short figure he found his path blocked again.​

'Hey' the youth smirked, feigning authority, 'You think i'm gonna let you walk in, smelling like tha-'​

He was cut off by a low growling noise emmiting from the back of Shork's hroat, yet bravely stood his ground despite the firm warning to back off. Shork didnt know how far conventional public appearance would keep him peaceful in his semi-sober state.​

So the fleshy, uncleaned teeth came out. The guard faltered, eeither out of fear or disgust of th sickening display, & quietly allowed Shork to pass, his head kept down until his threatener was through the city gates.​

Fortunatly Shork was spared of any further scenes by the sheer size of the city. The guards seemingly had their work cut out as it was. Gripping his ears slightly as noise from one particularily noisy house on the right side of the street punctured his woozy brain, Shork made haste towards a well lit inn at the end of the road, having seen no better accomadations along the way. As he shakingly pushed the bar door open, a bard seemingly began drumming to an unfamiliar yet annoying melody, causing his movement to the bar to resemble a stagger.​

Fortunatly the barmaid seemed to sympathise with his aches, & after serving a shadowy Khajjit women she brought over a fresh pint of ale.​

'Havent seen one of your kin in a while' she added in a friendly tone whilst he downed the ale. He found the taste of his newfound beverage to be strong yet soothing, & had ordered several pints before realizing he might not be able to pay for them.​

As the alcohol entered his system & drugged his senses, his mind finally began to decipher his actions; there was an offering... some drunken guy... a threat to all the land? Initially this had sounded like a call for rounding up mercenaries, but on deeper thought he realized his situation could be a fluke. & after three pints of frothy ale, this was not the conclusion he wanted. Which made Shork angry.​

Which subsequently meant when the impish bard he'd heard drearing on earlier tapped him on the shoulder, told him to slow down, that the Nord stuff was strong, Shork turned round & slammed his knuckled fist into the mans face, causing his nose to erupt with blood & his feet to buckle.​

'Could 'ave fooled me' he jeered at the unconscious bard, as his Friends jumped to his defense, & what was to be a very one-sided brawl broke out.​

 

[Drahkma]

Averaine followed the assassin to the inn, not minding having some time to speak with Shadari. Once the four of them entered the tavern, took their seats, and were served, meals and beverages, both of which Averaine declined, politely, of course, he turned his attention to the Khajiit woman. "It has been a long time since our last meeting" the vampire knight stated. "How goes your hunt for the mage, Blackstone?" For as long as he'd known her, finding and killing the mage had been the Khajiits obsession. It worried him, on some level.

His reminiscence on the womans recent activity was interrupted by the sound of a body impacting the floor of the tavern. The vampire knight turned in his seat, and saw an unconscious Nord spread across the floor, his nose trickling blood. An Orc, obviously the perpetrator, faced off against several of the bards friends. For a moment, the knight considered intervening on the Orcs behalf, but decided against it. For all he knew, the Orc could be a criminal, or trouble maker of some degree. If the fight became to raucous, Averaine would step in. He didn't want to see any uninvolved patrons come to harm. He turned back to his friends, keeping an eye on the situation.

 

[willowwisp]

Elizabeth was caught completely off guard by the mock attack. She turned grinning, and wrapped her arms around the girl. "It's so good to see you again! I thought I'd never see you in forever!" Cilla squealed.
Elizabeth giggled. "Forever is a long time, you know. So I'm happy I got to come back and see you before then"

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Although Torin enjoyed the reunion, when Shadari invited him and some others to the Bannered mare for drinks, he accepted. The ranger preferred the wilds to the enclosed walls of the city, even if, technically, the city was safer. However, he certainly didn't have anything against spending a little time with his friends in the tavern. The four of them sat at a secluded table, and Torin ordered a goblet of red wine with a meal of roast pheasant. He listened in as Averaine questioned the assassin about her hunt for Blackstone.

He was also fully aware of a brawl about to break out across the tavern, and catching the vampire knights eye, he guessed the half-Breton had as well. The ranger shifted in his seat, ready to intervene if it became necessary. Casually, he brought his pipe up to his lips, igniting it, and drawing in a lungful of smoke, releasing it to the taverns already smoky atmosphere as he did so. Besides the Orc and his soon to be Nord opponents, the atmosphere was pleasant, if not entirely quiet. Torin decided to enjoy the brief rest while he could.

 

[TheShadedOne]

The four of them sat around the table, looking for all the world like a band of mercenaries, or perhaps travelling companions, which they were. Whiterun was far from the worst city she'd been to, and its taverns and inns had a long way to go before they became disgusting. Still, the assassin kept her wits about her, even as she sipped at the ale she'd ordered. Which was why she noted the Orc that came in shortly after them as out of place. Not because he was an Orc, but because of his apparel. She'd heard of bonemold armour, but never seen it, at least not outside of Solstheim. He was, most likely, some sort of mercenary.

"It has been a long time since our last meeting" Averaine said, drawing her attention back to her companions. "How goes your hunt for the mage, Blackstone?" Shadari eyed the knight. It was unlikely he had any information on the mage, and was likely asking out of genuine curiosity. She shrugged "I've been after him since we parted, a year ago. He hasn't left Skyrim, as far as I can tell, but he still manages to keep a step ahead of me" the last few words, she spoke with a growl.

"Once I catch up to him..." she left the rest unsaid. They knew her well enough to guess what she'd do once she found Blackstone. A commotion caught her attention, and she glanced over to see a Nord hit the floor, knocked out cold. Several of the mans friends closed in on the Orc mercenary she'd spotted, and she smirked. Unless the Orc was much tougher than he looked, he was about to get his green ass handed to him. Then she noticed Averaine and Torin keeping a careful eye on the situation and sighed. It looked like the pair of them would jump in if things got out of hand. Which meant Shadari would be obligate to join in. Not good for her reputation.

 

[Stormmaiden]

Lythare followed Shadari, Torin and Averaine to the inn. She was happy to see another ranger, and Averaine was a sight for sore eyes as well. She released Aethos to hunt, knowing the loyal falcon would return to her when she called. He'd never failed to before, and he wouldn't now. They entered the tavern, and she noticed that, as with most cities, it was packed with drunken people, most of them that smelled worse than they looked. Several of them glanced towards her and her companions, but she ignored them. She'd gotten better at that since arriving in Skyrim, and most stares and comments no longer bothered her.

She took a seat with her friends, and, though keeping a cautious ear to the crowd, enjoyed their presence as much as she was able. She listened to Averaine and Shadari's exchange, and frowned. It sounded, to her, anyways, that Shadari intended to take Blackstone on by herself. She leaned forwards, not wanting her words to carry past the four of them and said "Shadari, I hope you know you don't have to fight him on your own. We're your friends. We're here to help"

 

[TheShadedOne]

Shadari locked eyes with the elf. She knew she was getting better than she deserved, being able to call the four at the table her 'friends'. Up until a couple of years ago, she'd been on her own, hunted by both Imperials that were loyal to Blackstone, and Stormcloaks. Lythares' offer comforted her, but at the same time, she knew that there was no way she could involve them in her fight against the mage. She'd started the hunt alone, and she would end it alone. "Yes, I do. I appreciate your saying I don't, but this is between me and him, and it's much too personal to involve anybody else"

That was the truth. Killing Blackstone wasn't about justice, or the greater good. It was revenge, plain and simple. She didn't want any of her friends mixed up that, and deep down, she knew killing the mage wouldn't solve anything. He had powerful friends all over Tamriel, and once news of his death reached them...she'd become the hunted.

 

[T. Rakinson]

To Shork's credit, alcohol paired with inner rage were a risky yet deadly combination, especially when fists were the weapon of choice. His vision remained blurry & his mind obviously was not working at full capacity, otherwise Shork would not have turned his back on the spit in the centre of the room. If he fell back now, his Bonemould defenses could only protect him so much from the flames. Still, it meant he could now view most of his oppenents, pathetic as they were. Some had seemingly drank even more than he had, & they were all Nords notably, so Shork was guessing intelligence had not picked a side in this scenario.

The first fist was slow & clumsy & Shork intercepted it with ease. His first agressor was a weedy man, almost as frail as the impish bard he had rushed to the defense of. Catching the balled up fist in his open plam, Shork pushed forward, barely retaining his composure to laughter as the Nord stumbled back, his fist bleeding from contact with such rough skin. Living in the ashlands had its benefits.
The second assaulter was faster, but for what it was worth it simply threw the man off balance. Catching the Nord off guard, Shork brought his fist into the mans gut, causing him to collapse & cough helplessly as his ventilation was briefly cut off.

His seemingly final opponent looked more imposing & some of those watching throughout the room cheered him on as he stepped towards Shork. He wore a set of what Glover Mallory back in Raven Rock called Banded iron armour. It looked durable, something that was hard to take on in a brawl.
He tactically stepped forwards, fist raised, showing more skill than his crumpled allies. Shork threw fist after fist at the wall, & even those that breached it only struck iron, causing a vibration that made the Orc's ears burn in agony.
Finally Shork had to stop, having been pushed to exhaustion. The Nord saw his oppurtunity & slammed his own fist into the orc's face, knocking him to the ground. A chair followed as he tried to get up, & this time his Bonemould only served to weigh him down.

For some reason, Shork found the pain... enjoyable? He found himself almost yearning for the next chair; signs of a concussion. But though the reality of the pain did not reach his mind, Something else did. The laughter.
Everywhere! His ears wept silently as they congratulated his opponent, raised their flagons's in his name. But worst of all was the jeering, jeering towards the broken figure on the floor lay helplesly after his embarrasing defeat. Nobody rushed to his aid. Shork himself gave in to it all.
But something inside him did not.
With a roar an adept hunter would associate with a bear after repeatadly having struck him with a flurry of arrows or sharp blades, a barely conscious Shork pushed off the ground with agility & agression. He pounced forward at his final opponent; soon to be casualty. Expecting another blow, the Nord smiled & raised his arm shield again, not knowing it was not the face Shork was targeting.
With his hands open like claws, Shork performed a angled slash that cut through the iron like knife through butter, exposing just a thin layer of clothing beneath before bare flesh. As his foe cried out in pain Shork struck him at his self-made chink-in-the-armour, his claw-like fist penetrating the skin. Against his will, he felt his nails begin to grow, cutting deeper still into the wound.
The crowd watched all of this on with with horror. Finally the hand discontinued its dive & pulling out, drawing thick blood, as people ran for the guards, Shork simply stood there, seemingly frozen. To onlookers it seemed as though he was inspecting his gnarled hand. But to Farkas, who had left Jorrvaskr after being sent on a short trip to "rough up an unknown assailant", this was something familiar; a battle between wills for control.

 

[Drahkma]

Averaine cast a concerned glance towards Shadari. He knew very well what it was like to want vengeance. But he'd never fought against someone like Blackstone, and he worried for her welfare. Which probably shattered most people stereotypes of vampires. The brawl between the Orc and Nords had finally broken out, and it looked like the Orc was holding his own. The knight turned away for an instant, intending on talking the Khajiit out of her plan, or at least attempting to, when the scent of blood struck him, hard. Not the blood of the patrons milling around, whose blood he could scent only when he concentrated now, but fresh blood, welling from a wound. The half-Breton spun in his seat, his hand snapping to Goldbrands hilt.

The Orc stood, apparently frozen, overly long nails extending from his hand. Averaine cursed himself for a fool. Though he should have, with the mixed scents in the tavern, and more pressing matters, the knight had completely missed the scent of a lycan. People around the Orc either ran or sat frozen in terror at their seats. Averaine knew what happened next would either trigger a bloodbath, or the Orc would manage to control himself. Either way, he couldn't be left to roam around Whiterun, not if he was unable to control his changes. "We have trouble" he said to his three companions, drawing his blade the rest of the way.

 

[Simus]

When the orc went into the Bannard Mare two guards on patrol followed him in. Both to keep an eye on the newcomer from the Ashlands and because they were both bored out of their helmets. It had been months since any major crimes had been committed in the city or the entire hold and there weren't any bandit clans anymore. Skyrim was at such peace and had been for the last year that the guards questioned the need to even carry weapons anymore. The ending of the brawl between the orc and three strong men reminded them why. The seemingly broken and drunk orc was a werewolf! Without a thought to the patrons inside, both guards flew out the doors and sprinted down the street towards Breezehome and the guard barracks.

Alice welcomed Aliah's cold loving embrace and returned with her own warm embrace. Alice and her father had met many vampires in their time. Most were the very monsters the Vigil made them out to be but some were tolerable. A very few Alice called friends such as Salthar and Averaine but Aliah was special. She was just as kind and friendly as any mortal and Alice loved her like a big sister.

"I'm so glad you're okay Aliah." Alice said with a sincere smile. "It's so good to see you again. What are you all doing in Whiterun though? All at once? I daresay this isn't just a reunion. What's going on?"

Cilla meanwhile snuggled into Elizabeth's chest in response to her warm protective hug and beamed up at the healer she idolized. "Me too! I have so much to tell you! Alice and I spent some time at the College of Winterhold so Alice can get better and I can do magic now! I can make fire and ice and wards and even heal little cuts! Can I show you?! Do you wanna see!?"

Cilla was ready to bubble over with excitement when the guards ran up to Alice, scared and exhausted. "Captain! Captain Psyrakon! We found...we were at the Bannard Mare and...It...there was a fight and then claws and...."

"Slow down guardsmen." Alice said, turning to the guard after breaking Aliah's hug. She put a hand up to the terrified young man no older than her. "Take a deep breath and tell me what happened at the inn."

The guard relaxed some, his partner still shaking, and straightened up. "Ma'am. There's a werewolf in the Bannard Mare! Along with a rogue looking cat and an elf in some fancy red armor. Plus a wood elf that don't look nobody in the eye. There was also one of them rangers from Falkreath with them and that orc who turned into a werewolf went berserk right after they entered!"

"I know those people guardsmen. They didn't cause your trouble and they're no threat to the inn. That werewolf however is. Get to the barracks and round up at least fifteen men. Get everyone out of the inn, then make a perimeter. Do not engage the werewolf without me. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am!" The guard said and saluted Alice. Then he ran off to the barracks. Most of the men in there were off duty and half drunk but they could still form a line outside the inn and lock it down. So long as they didn't have to actually fight anyone.

"I'm sorry about this Aliah but duty calls. I know it's a lot to ask but most of the men in the barracks are drunk and I could use some more backup. Would you mind helping me with this?"