18+ In the Blood

[DraySedaris]

Allessan spent most of the next week quietly roaming the city. The knight knew very little about about whatever it was the pair had discovered a week ago. He knew little about the sickness that plagued the land, and even less about some mysterious sigils. But what he did know was that the city would not long protect them from a force that could empty out half a village. It didn't seem like Ossion's handywork. But that didn't mean it was impossible. The vampire lord was cunning, and if he wasn't responsible for the disease, it was not much of a stretch of the imagination that he was in league with those who were.

A few days passed while they waited for one of their number to recover from her injuries. The war priest, Beren, was constantly coming in and out of the bar. Allessan had to admit that the man's devotion to someone he didn't really know was impressive. But then, he wasn't really versed in the ways of the priesthood of Arkay. He went for a short walk, and when he returned, the eccentric elf had returned. Allessan joined him, "Have we heard nothing about what the sigil means?"

 

[Harkatti]

Kristina sat at the bar, mulling over her choices. They were disturbingly small in number. She could carry on with the group that she didn't know or trust, or she could strike out on her own, or she could return to Karthwasten and try to discern what that odd sigil had meant. Of course, the thought of encountering the thing once again made her feel ill. Before that night, she'd never thought of magic as 'good' or 'evil'. Magic was magic and the intent of the caster made the difference. But that 'sigil' as they'd taken to calling it...she shuddered. She glanced up as her fellow breton and the dunmer with the strange tattoos on his face sat at the bar. The pair began speaking about the sigil, and Katrina couldn't help but pipe up "I can say one thing. Whatever that thing is, it is evil."

 

[HurrHobo]

"I knew it."
What Solun told to the others at the Silver-Blood Inn did not change a thing. Unkmarog always had a hunch something more sinister was brewing behind the scenes, and the sickness could be just a small part of it. Whatever it was, the orc remained resolute to make things right -- even if it meant charging into the abysmal pits of Oblivion. Unk went to his room to meditate... and drink.

Days passed. Most of the time he was spotted at the inn drinking or roaming the streets, greeting his new companions whenever they crossed paths. But there were also times when he was actually training, preparing both his body and mind for the upcoming challenges. Wearing only his ragged pants, worn leather bracers, shoes and hood, he underwent gruesome training sessions on the rocky cliffs of Markarth. The orc's dirty skin glistened with sweat as he was punching a small rock, practising his sword forms, carrying stones in his arms and doing push-ups. If someone saw this, they would most likely rub their eyes in disbelief; Unkmarog, the drunk orc, training hard.

On the fifth day, when returned back to the city from his training session, he headed to Silver-Blood Inn for a drink. Before reaching his destination, someone was trying to catch the orc's attention by pulling his pants gently. It was the same little girl whom he saw on the day they arrived in Markath.
"Oh. It's you again, little brat," Unk scoffed while sweat was running down his face. "What do you want this time?"
*SPLAT*
Almost in an instant, his sweaty face was covered in fluffy cream and dough. The little girl giggled and ran away after she threw a large pie to the orc's face. Unk stood there a for a long while, slowly wiping off the cream of his face. His rage started to build up.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE..!!"
A guard noticed the orc's tantrum and approached him.
"Problem?" the guard looked slightly amused, and his right arm rested on the pommel of his sword. Unkmarog ignored the guard's gaze and kept wiping his face.
"No... No problem at all."
The orc snarled and finally made it to the inn. He sat down on a chair and put some coins on the counter. His face was still visibly adorned with pieces of the pie and some cream.
"Ale. Make it double. And don't ask any questions," Unk raised his hand to protest the bartender's curious look on his face.

 

[Rafen]

Beren carefully watched Alice as she ate and drank. He knew how to care for wounded comrades, and administer last rites, should it come to that, but he was not much of a physician. Besides battlefield dressings, he knew little of how to address physical wounds. It was fortunate then, that Arkay had granted some healing magic. To his eyes, the Imperial looked drained but not any overt physical pain. She stated as much, and mentioned her dreams. "You did speak while you slept,"he confirmed, but no one knew what to make of it." He settled more into the chair. "You've been resting for about a week. Five days in all. I wasn't sure you were going to wake. About your dreams..." He cast a glance towards the doorway to the other room, ensuring his fellow priest hadn't returned. "Are you sure you want to speak of them here? If you feel they are important, it may be best for Solun, at least, to hear about them."