Open Escape from Shivering Isles

[UnLonged]

The ragged individual can only be made out to be barely woman as she continues to speak, or rather, lecture Valdir in a tone that can only be produced from a mouth that is cramped with dust. A frown is painted across his face, something natural to him for it is his disposition of indifference, agreement, and pretty much everything that should mold his face to a different figure aside from a grim frown.

"I don't mean to be rude, mademoiselle, while your insights on this plane of existence do fill me with knowledge I don't intend to know in my own accord, I just don't see myself living up to the application of that knowledge and I am pretty content with my own knowledge on things."

Valdir started to walk away from the ragged woman while still in a fetal position, moving in a way like that of a mudcrab's. Another individual then entered the room, a Bosmer donning an appearance of an assassin. He walked without caution and yet, he still embraces the darkness enough to move without being totally noticed. Valdir stood as the door once again opened.

He ran frantically towards the bosmer, almost tripping over himself. "Hold the do-" Before he could even finish his request, the door disappeared in a flash of light, stopping him in his tracks. "AH! les plops!" Losing hope as always, Valdir sat down on the floor beside the Bosmer, shaking his head in disappointment.

After speaking with the bosmer, Haskill then bid the group of people farewell as he disappeared instantaneously. The walls seemed to follow after him as parts of it dispersed in a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Valdir gazed upon the "walls" as they fly away, forming a slight snarl on his face.

The bosmer threw a fit towards Haskill for his assessment on the psychological disposition of the bosmer. Valdir approached the disheartened mer as he sat down on the now empty seat.

"Now now, I understand your predicament. One's ability to take in the assessment of others is quite low, and most of the time, puts us in discontent. Valdir Blacksun, monsieur elf." Valdir extended his arm but pulled it away immediately before the bosmer could reach out to it. "Now that the selfish clown is out of the picture, I can now continue my work." He approached the vegetation surrounding them and snapped of a leaf-filled branch from a tree, using it as a make-shift umbrella. He surveyed the surroundings, looking in discontent at the appearance of the mass of land in the horizon but focusing mainly on the area where dark clouds seems to dance on the ground. "I believe the "one question per person" rule is officially removed." Valdir turned to the group of people. "With that in mind, I ask everyone, where are we supposed to go? Assuming we all are headed to the same place."

 

[Kir the Silent]

"Now now, I understand your predicament. One's ability to take in the assessment of others is quite low, and most of the time, puts us in discontent. Valdir Blacksun, monsieur elf." Valdir extended his arm but pulled it away immediately before the Kir could reach out to it, not that he would have in the first place.. "Now that the selfish clown is out of the picture, I can now continue my work." He approached the vegetation surrounding them and snapped of a leaf-filled branch from a tree, at this point Kir ignored the insane man and took this moment to survey the others. A bosmer that was slightly shorter than himself, but heavily armored and a quick temper as well. A nord that spoke in different voices sometimes, but otherwise unregistered as a threat. The others were unremarkable as well, besides the ash ghoul. Since the fall of Dagoth Ur, the blight had supposedly all but been wiped out.

She, if it is a she is definently up to something. They are mad after all, probably kill me because a butterfly told them to. I can only rely on myself to get out of here, I'm the only sane one, he thought to himself. He suddenly snapped back out of his thoughts hearing the strange man talk. "-everyone, where are we supposed to go? Assuming we all are headed to the same place." By the Nine he was still talking. "I don't know about you mad people, but I'm getting out of here. Look there," Kir pointed in the distance to a smoke plume. "That's either a town or a camp, hopefully someone will actually be able to make sense and give me directions. And food, haven't had anything besides that damned sweetroll..."

 

[Neverwin]

Sverr took notice of his surroundings, frowning. This place just didn't look natural. He heard Kir talk, and he snorted. A Bosmer call HIM mad? Ha! That was a laugh. "I'm more sane than you are, wood elf." He was surprised to hear himself speak and that he was able to speak again. He held the unconscious Nord/Dunmer woman closer to him and gave the Bosmer a dirty look (a look which would've gone unnoticed due to his helmet obscuring his face). "And before you ask, she isn't dead, so keep your hands and your teeth away from her," he growled.

That said, he seemed to be focusing away from Kir now and looked in the direction of the smoke plume. He frowned, noticing the camp was located in the darker and unhappier-looking part of the land. "Bound to be bandits over that way, I imagine. I don't got anything to fear from them, but I can't save everyone's ass from the fire." He looked at everyone else, pointedly ignoring Kir. Then, he pointed out in the direction of what was known as the land of Mania but was only known to him as the friendlier-looking part of the land. "We should head that way."

 

[Kir the Silent]

"As if I would eat her one, two you seem to be holding her close to your mouth and chest, three I happen to be very intelligent whereas you look like an angry tree stump in armor, and four I don't wish to go anywhere with you merry band of madmen." Kir knew he was being rude and an ass, but he was pissed off to the point that his usual calm, joking manner was replaced with cold arrogance. "Your short even by our standerds, and whether their bandits or not doesn't matter. They have warmth and food, by the looks of it."

He crossed his arms at the group. He's obviously the more unstable of the group, short-tempered and dangerous. They may all be dangerous, planning to attack the moment my back is turned. They're all insane. Only makes sense that they would attempt to kill me. Kir's hands went to his hip, one gripping his longsword tightly. Perhaps...I should strike first, no. Not now. Just need to leave this place. Kir looked back to the angry elf and said, "Give me one good reason not as to why I should go anywhere with any of you. Or to head in the opposite direction of obvious civilization."

 

[UnLonged]

While the two bosmers' fight over whose sanity is most pronounced is more than enough to comfort Valdir, the hooded one's suggestion to venture into the darker area of the wilderness made Valdir incredibly uneasy.

"While I am very supportive of monsieur elf's suggestion of approaching the camp for the luxury of embracing campfires and satisfying our gluttonous cravings for whatever type of food they serve here, I for one would hate to even take a step in that dark and dank looking area. Even if they are serving Potage le Magnifique made by The Gourmet."

Valdir knows that even when the lightest of shadows would cross his face, the Keeper of Souls would arise and take over his body for quite some time, an idea that he despises despite the fact that he worships him. The dancing of the leaves on the tree beside Valdir seem to halt in their pace, forming a plane of darkness. Noticing the lack of light, Valdir looked up and in an instant, his demeanor changes.

You may rest for now, my child.

"The Keeper has but one reason. You could prove monsieur tin man here and everyone else that is, as you say, mad that you are the sanest individual here." Valdir, or the Keeper of Souls, spoke in a solemn tone, seemingly washing away the negativeness that courses through his body.

 

[Morganatic]

'Oh COME ON,' Mourner growls.

'Are you really all so weak of self? So suggestible? Some half-baked Breton in a dunce's robe tells you you're mad, you instantly deny it, and in denying it, begin to debate which of your companions is most likely to eat one of the others, draw weapons to slay your kin at imagined slights and provocations.

I see how the Shivering Isles get to people now. You think you're the only sane one - perfectly reasonable, you would, wouldn't you? You see madness all around you - again, quite natural, it's an unnatural looking place, full of unnatural looking and unnatural talking people, you would see madness everywhere, wouldn't you? And so you defend against it - you raise up walls and barricades of the mind, trying as best you can to keep it out, to keep your own space, to keep yourself intact. And then, the Madgod has you. You cut yourself off from all things, you cut yourself off from reason and logic too. All we need - all you need - is a little change in perspective.'

As she's been speaking, she's been darting quick glances left and right, taking in all around her, waiting for the right moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she's spotted a tree - a mushroom tree, like the ones from her homeland - it'll serve well enough for a vantage point, and will make a passable visual metaphor. She'll work with what she's got.

With alarming, double jointed grace, she scampers up its trunk, scorning such mundanities as 'gravity' or 'the need for handholds'. She simply dismisses them from her mind, and up she goes, until she's balancing on the flat, disc-like top. She looks out from her new vantage point, able to see out of the shallow depression they'd been dumped in. She cups a thick, paw-like hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun - a silly, reflexive gesture, she hasn't needed eyes to see for centuries - and stares out into Mania and Dementia.

This fungal mass - reeking with lurid sporeclouds that sting her nose and mouth - is a crossing place. It sits on the border between Mania and Dementia, at once territory of both of them, and of neither - a blending place in the mind of SHEOG,
On closer inspection, she realises that it's not strictly of this land at all, but is clearly a Vvardenfell specimen, uprooted from her memories of Azura's Coast by that s'wit Haskill, stolen from her, and put in this place. Is anything safe? Are even her memories property of the self-styled Daedric 'Lord' now? She'll have to gird her soul as well as her physical body, if she wishes to stay safe in this place. Or begin to assert her own self - her Master's Self - on this place. To push back. She stows the thought deep within her soul, where the Madgod won't think to look for it, or be able if he tries.

On her left is Dementia; on the right, Mania. One is dark, one is light, one is shrouded in an eternal hazy-midsummer, the other - well, it's not winter, doesn't have the bitter elemental purity of that season - the other is damp, sodden, a bleak and storm-lashed expanse of late autumn. She's not fool, though, and knows that they're both one realm, both Padomaic fragments of pseudo-land spun from the mind of Sheogorath. Each one is a mirror of the other, and any camp she finds in one land will most likely have its twin in the other. Eventually, she peers back over her shoulder, looking down at the huddled group of half-mad men and mer.

'For what it's worth, it doesn't really matter which way we go. Do we - as a small band of travellers - prefer the dark side of Sheogorath's madness, which wears its violence and harm openly on its breast, and will present us with ten thousand ways to suffer or die before the day is out? Or do we prefer the more raucous and superficially pleasant land over yonder? We may enjoy ourselves in the moment, but stepping foot in that land's slow, over-ripe, death, just as sure as it would be in the other place - the only difference would be that it'd be under a bright rather than an overcast sky. Up to you - are you manic, or depressive? I don't give a damn. It's all the same to me.'

 

[Kir the Silent]

"What did you dare speak to me wench? Do you know who I am? What I am? I doubt it you could comprehende. But...I will admit that your have a point. By denying his claim we give it credibility." Kir crossed his arms and sighed. "I apologize...to you my fellow bosmer and to you my lady. It has been...a most trying day. But I mean what I say, I don't trust any of you. And as to where to go, well...The dark side, you know danger lurks around every bend. Your careful and attentive, but the light side lulls you into a false since of security and stabs you in the back. I'd rather be aware of constant danger than risk becoming comfortable."

Kir leaned against a mushroom and sighed, "Again I'm sorry. I'm usually less of an ass I promise, but as an assassin shadow and solitude are my friend." Not a group of madmen, he thought silently. That bosmer and the ghoul are deffinently up to something...The bosmer wants to kill me I'm sure and the ghoul, well I'll watch them all closely...yes...I will...

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

Kiera was finally coming to...her vision was returning and though it was cloudy at the moment, she could see the helmeted face of the wee warrior into at her. His eyes, what she could see, were bright and narrow...was he a Bosmer? She rubbed her head and tried to stand on her own. She saw that the room there were once in was gone and everyone was a little more spread out now; this helped with her feeling of panic and she did in fact feel better.

She looked around. Everyone was mumbling to everyone else about which way to go but the entire place looked dangerous to her. Brightly colored plants loomed over everyone's heads and even taller still were gnarled, bent trees that reached out with clawed limbs, ready to grab at the nearest unlucky soul. The air smelled putrid and rank and it made her stomach twist up in knots...

She shuddered and turned to the little warrior, who had just finished exchanging words with the Bosmer in black leather. She smiled at him; Bosmer were so attractive, but her natural shyness wouldn't allow her to hold his fierce gaze. Instead, she focused on the mass of steel armor, the face of the fighter inside still obscured by the helmet. Her voice was soft, sweet, and scared.

"Uhm, excuse me...what happened? Where are we now? Where did that strange man go?"

 

[Kir the Silent]

"Uhm, excuse me...what happened? Where are we now? Where did that strange man go?" As Kir looked at the woman, seeing her expression and hearing her voice. His heart warmed. "I'm sorry if my yelling woke you. You fainted, from all of this I assume. He left us, near no civilization as far as I can tell. No direction and we seem to be...debating about where to go." Kir smiled reassuringly. She reminds me of her...he heart twisted at the painful memories. He offered her a hand to help her to her feet. "Here, let's get you on your feet. I believe I have some water as well."

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

He was talking to her! Her heart skipped a beat. She was horrid with talking to men...The only reason she could talk to the warrior was because she couldn't see his face... She took the mer's hand and stood, dusting off her armor.

"Oh, uhm, no, you didn't wake me up...I just came to..."

She took another long look around. No civilization. That was an understatement. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere... She focused on the Bosmer again, looking him over. He was charming, and nice. The only thing that split her attention from his good qualities was his light armor... He must've been a thief or assassin, someone who hides from a true fight. Neverminding that, she gave him a quizzical look.

"What are we going to do now?"

 

[Kir the Silent]

"Well Stump would want us to head from the only clear signs of life," he said 'Stump' jokingly and decided he would call the other bosmer that sometimes. He smiled brightly at the idea. He rummaged into the hidden pockets in his armor, searching. "Ah, here." He handed the still, weary nord woman a flask of crisp clean water. He frowned abit as he produced only a dwindling sack of provisons and herbs. He usually traveled light, now it was coming back mto bite him in the ass.

"Now that I've calmed, I think rationally the beast thing to do after such an ordeal is to rest and rejuvinate. I suggest we make camp and decide on what to do in the morning," Kir had made his peace with having them as companions. He was still highly suspicious and knew they were up to something. But where better to keep the enemy than close at hand? He decided the nord woman was no threat, but was still abit wary of her. They were mad after all, they could kill him for simply being sane. He would travel with them, but when they made a move, and oh...they would. He would be waiting to strike first!

He had enough provisions to last him a few days, not knowing what was safe to eat. He made it seem like his sack was near empty, so no one would question him or ask for anything. They would probably eat me or kill me for this food, better to watch them. There are deffinently plots being formed against me..

 

[Neverwin]

Sverr grumbled in Valdir's direction. "Very few Bosmer are sane, Imperial."

He blinked and watched the ash ghoul begin to lecture them. He almost felt a little guilty for passing judgement on her. It had seemed so far that she intended to be helpful. She had tried to give him his voice back, and he being more than a little on edge, had thought she had put some kind of curse on him. Then, he gave his voice back, and as far as he could tell, there were no unpleasant side effects. Now, she seemed to be trying to give advice. In all honesty, he knew next to nothing about this place that he was in. It was a bit unsettling, to say the least. He knew Skyrim quite well, and he'd never realized before how the familiarity of Skyrim had made him feel so comfortable. This land was horribly uncomfortable, and as much as it pained him to admit, it made him want to crawl into a dark cave somewhere and never come out.

He took a deep breath, gathering strength and courage.

I'm a Nord, damn it. I'm not going to be afraid of some foreign land! the armored Bosmer thought. The only thing that seemed slightly familiar about the land was that it kind of reminded him of his dreams. His dreams were a lot more bizarre, but the colors of the land were about right for the settings of his dreams. That was slightly unsettling to him as well, and he tried not to think about it.

"As far as I'm concerned, I'm fine with this little group, even the prancing definitely out-of-his-mind Imperial over here. He seems harmless enough. And even you, creature. I think I misjudged you." He gestured in the Imperial's direction, completely unaware that harmless was probably the last word someone would use to describe the man. Then, he gestured in the direction of the ash ghoul herself afterwards and sounded a little apologetic when he said that he had misjudged her. He did not gesture in the Bosmer's direction. "And for all I know, maybe THIS Bosmer doesn't practice the Green Pact. I don't know. I was just giving him a warning. Nobody is eating anybody while I'M around." He crossed his arms.

He tensed very suddenly when Kir spoke up and claimed to be an assassin. His hands went to his greatsword, and he struggled with himself. He forcibly threw his hands down at his side and marched up to the other Bosmer. Very gently, he pulled Kiera away from the other Bosmer and snarled at Kir.

"Listen, I don't like Bosmer on the best of days," Sverr told him, seeming to be entirely unconcerned with the fact that he was a Bosmer himself, "And this is definitely what I would call my worst of days. The fact that you're an assassin as well as a Bosmer just gives me even more reason to want to see the color of your entrails. The only reason I'm not drawing my sword and ending your miserable little life is because the rest of our companions here wouldn't understand why I did it, and I don't want to provoke any innocents. If I even see you so much as pull a knife on anyone here, I will kill you. You understand?"

He backed off a little bit. "And I don't take orders from Bosmer. I say we let the creature decide whether we should set up camp here or if we should decide where to travel now. It seems to know more about this place than any of us."

 

[Kir the Silent]

Kir smiled brightly and nodded, "A self-loathing bosmer? I know why your here now, Stump. And yes, I am an assassin but that doesn't make me a bad person. No women, no children. My blade is for the wicked and the vile. But get in my face again and threaten me when I've done nothing but help and I'll make an exception for the 'no women' rule." He walked back to the nord and handed her back the water flask, smiling. "Sorry about that, you know us crazy bosmer always on about something."

Turning back to the armored wood elf he nodded, "Listen, it would be highly amusing to see you flail about after me Stump. But we have more important things to worry about. I wasn't giving orders, I was making a suggestion. I would tell you if you have a problem with me to go to Oblivion but...wait.." Kir looks around sarcastically, holding his hands out. "We're already here! So threats and big talk won't help anything." He sat down pointedly beside the nord woman and set his jaw. "Like it or not we are on this journey together."

 

[UnLonged]

The Keeper gave out a hearty laugh at the two arguing bosmers, amused by their way of revering to themselves and their constant profiling of each other.

"Magnifque! Quite a spectacle, you two. So I guess it is decided then, that we are all traveling together. Such is a way that is good, despite all of us possessing free will. Ah, c'est la vie." The Keeper took a moment and gazed upon his comrades. He took his walking stick and pointed it at the armored bosmer. "We have an iron-clad individual." He turned the stick to the ash ghoul atop the tall mushroom. "A scarecrow missing a hat." He approached the hybrid dunmer. "And a lady seemingly lost, all of them seeking a powerful entity. All that is missing is a large, feline companion. Hmm..I feel like I have read that somewhere before."

The Keeper turned to the individual standing by himself, the one who is eager to travel and meet with the so-called lord of the realm they are in.

"How about you, monsieur? You have been quiet there ever since the clown sent us off. Are you no longer the one who wishes to be on his way like earlier?"

 

[Morganatic]

Mourner vaults from the top of the spore-tree, landing daintily and with a grace that can only be described as 'alarming'. She springs back to her feet, making a show of dusting off her robe. She pats herself down, cleaning some of the mud off, but mostly just succeeds in dislodging a thick cloud of Red Mountain ash that had been clinging to it. It billows around her like a shroud, each mote catching the light of the setting sun, limning her with a red-gold glow. The gesture, and its results, don't seem wholly accidental.

'Be at peace, quiet one. I understand. We are not in some straightforward Daedric Realm - we are not in a Cold Harbour, do not walk the Scuttling Void, where our only worry would be being swallowed by the great void-maws of giant mer-eating nightmare horrors - that would only be a trifling obstacle, really. No, we're in the Isles, and just as the beasts and Daedra of this fell ecology threaten our bodies, so too do the corrupt ideas and bodiless malevolent thoughts of this place lay siege to our minds, souls, spirits.'

She turns, striding into the centre of the little group. She's spoken more words in the last hour than the year before that, and is still riding high on the sheer joy of it.

'We ought not put so much emphasis on where we plan to walk, for wherever our feet take us, they cannot take us out of the Shivering Isles. I'd counsel more thought as to how we walk there - how to guard our spirits against madness, how to put aside the artifices and illusions that will plague us, and hew close to truth. Put simply - what is our plan? How will we avoid becoming mad, part of this place? How will we avoid stabbing each other while we sleep?

A good first step - a small one, but are not all first steps small? - for that would be to learn each other's names. Were I to feel murderous, which I assure you is not a feeling that no good follower of the Sixth House has ever harboured - I would feel less able to kill a companion whose name and House I knew than someone I only knew from the fact that he'd threatened to kill me not an hour ago. Besides, as our kin-of-Nord friends suggests, it might help us to reduce misunderstandings between us. I know you, Valdir of Blacksun, but not the others. I am Mourner, of the Tribe Unmourned.'

It's a rather cryptic name, but it's all she has. Even her House deemed her unworthy of a name, nameless - 'Dagoth El-nammu', 'the unnamed one' - and her failure to die along with the rest of her House has made her unworthy of bearing the name of that House. She unnames herself, makes herself into a cipher, a transient description, and in doing so, gives herself a chance at a new beginning with these people - a new, fleeting House, to fill the gap in her spirit where once the Sharmat dwelt. She knows it will be hard - she sees the looks they give her, knows they can see past her concealing bandages to ascertain her true nature - and she doesn't even want to think about what her 'new House' will mean to the Sharmat - but such concerns can either be forgotten, or shelved until she can deal with them later.

Once the introductions have gone round - if they've gone round - she'll gesture significantly to the disc of the sun, just cresting the far-off hills, and speak up again.

'Practical matters - what shall we do about a nightwatch? It was suggested we ought to head away from signs of life earlier, but I fear that signs of life are likely to come and seek us out of their own accord, to consume us, lay eggs in our flesh, or take us captive. If we're bedding down here for the night, then we need someone to stay up, to guard against that occurrence and wake the others if anything comes snuffling round the borders of the camp. I volunteer myself to take the night shift - I don't sleep, or, rather, I am sleeping at this very moment, so it won't be any hardship for me. But the trust issue re-surfaces - do you trust me, alone, to watch over our camp while you are vulnerable? You'd be mad not to, and mad to do so - the only question is, which is less mad? Any takers for people to watch me watching them?'

 

[Kir the Silent]

"Very well, my name is Kir. Infamously known as The Silent. My surname is not important and I'm the last of my house..." He said so with a pang of sadness, but quickly recovered. "I never sleep so I can stay up with you, I always say: I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Which may be soon with this band..." he said silently under his breath. Kir mentally went over what he had; two bedrolls, a sack of provisions he could stretch for up to a week, his enchanted flask(which had whatever liquid he desired in it), some herbs for healing and poisons(best not to mix those up), and fyrestone. Suspicious of them, he would keep this list to himself, but saw no harm in making a fire. "I can start a fire if you wish, and Mourner. I apologize for my earlier behavior." He flashed a charming, genuine smile at her.

Beauty is only skin deep after all, he thought. Besides, she certainly seems saner and much more intelligent. As long as no one noticed his food or sleeping rolls, he could keep these supplies for himself and have a better chance at survival. He shifted his weight to obscure his satchel and sack hanging from his waist.

 

[UnLonged]

"Au contraire, mon ami. While it is true that the physicality I possess right now is that of Valdir's, the inner being it houses right now is of the Keeper of Souls. No, Valdir is still inside, he is just, let us say, asleep at the moment." The Keeper approached the ash ghoul in a manner that is creepy and seductive, leaning mostly towards creepy. "We have not met formally, belle dame. You may address me as the Keeper. I would hold your hand and give it a soft kiss, but seeing as you would prefer that your physical appearance be obscured, I shall refrain from doing so. Enchanté."

The Keeper stood up straight and dropped the branch he is using as an umbrella. "Well, now that you are all very well aware of my presence, I shall now give you Valdir." His body shook for a moment, as if a transfer of souls just occurred.

My lord, you know that I hate that.

Apologies, my child but I see it as an opportune moment to introduce myself to your comrades.

Valdir shook his head, removing himself in a trance he was in. "I apologize for the unnecessary exuberance that I have exhibited earlier. Though I am aware, I do not possess the ability to control my actions at that moment. As Mademoiselle Mourner has pointed out, I am Valdir Blacksun, son of Lucius Blacksun." Valdir held his hand to his mouth and gestured towards the open sky. "May he rest in peace."

"Though watching for intruders during the night is folly, I place my trust on both Mourner and Kir. Do not fret, I shall restrain myself from the thought of sending your souls to Aetherius. Plenty of time for that once we are out of here. If we fail to escape however, I'm pretty sure that there are a lot of inhabitants here in this plane of madness that wish to escape insanity."

 

[Neverwin]

Sverr took the Mourner's suggestion and introduced himself. His introduction was grand and puzzling. He called himself Sverr the Short-tempered, warrior, adventurer, and treasure hunter. He listed his deeds, which he claimed were as long as the mountains are tall. Such deeds included driving off a Skeever invasion, slaughtering a giant camp, rescuing a woman from a cave of vampires, and on and on. To finish it off, he listed his ancestry on his father's side. His father, Anlaf; his father's father, Leif; his father's father's father, Hjalmar the Annoying... and on and on, it went. Every single name was Nordic and said as if he had the whole thing memorized.

"I'm not going to sleep if this wood elf assassin is standing guard. I don't trust him with my eyes open; I sure as Oblivion don't trust him with my eyes closed. No offense, creature, but you don't look like you'd be much in a fight. You look like you're falling apart as it is." He didn't actually sound like he was trying to be insulting, just pointing out things as he saw them.

 

[Morganatic]

Mourner bows to Kir, acknowledging his apology with grace and a concealed relief that he's taken her remarks at face value, and not looked too closely at some of what she's been saying. She begins gathering firewood, hauling it over to the others with surprising strength and vigour, before replying to Sverr.

'I'd say much the same of you, Sverr. Underneath a thin skin of plate metal, you're only mortal flesh, and what are skin and blood and muscle if not frail, fragile things? The skin of the divine - quenched in life's blood from the Heart, baked in the fires of Red Mountain - is tougher than you'd think, I assure you. And I know how to steal more than just voices - once you know how to take someone's speech, it's no great stretch to learn how to take their strength, their skill at arms, or their life - whatever you need in the moment. If Kir wants to attack you? Well, then it wouldn't be a great trial to deny him the use of his sword arm, would it - though I'm sure he won't try to slay you in your sleep. But again, we focus overmuch on strife between us, when we should be concerning ourselves with threats without, and threats from within ourselves.'

 

[Kir the Silent]

"Hey now, I happen to like my sword arm." He couldn't tell if Mourner was joking but he had noticed a sag in her shoulders after she accepted his apology. A sign of relief, he thought to himself. If there was one thing Kir was proud of, it was his silver-tongue and ability to read people. What is she hiding? She may be the more sane one here and we could be allies, but still. There is something she's not saying, at least obviously. As Mourner grabbed the firewood and started to make a stack, Kir brought out the fyrestone. "I'll start the fire."

He also thought about making him some food when the others fell asleep, as well as bringing out one of the two bedrolls he had. I may not sleep much or for the first few nights here, but it is more comfortable than laying upon the ground. The leather flask he had gotten back from the nord was empty of the water, but 'One for the Ditch' was easily filled with any drink he wished for. He felt the flask fill with liquid again taking a sip as he moved to start the fire. Touching the fyrestone barely against the wood it instantly caught fire and soon a comfortable fire was burning in the middle of their impromptu campsite.

Kir's stomach grumbled and he ignored it. He was thinking about the food he had in his provisions. Ugh, they need to fall asleep. He sat down partly in the shadows, obscuring his face and his supplies as well, but also close enough to be warmed by the flames.