Open The Bannered Mare Tavern

[Derath_farseer]

He stands up "Head to the stables once your ready, I'll be waiting there" He strides out the inn and goes to the stables to wait

 

[BeepBeepImaJeep]

The Alpha ponders the question that the Khajiit has offered him. "Elf-Man. Don't call me that unless you no longer want to be living. I'm the Alpha... I was giving that name and the least you can do is use it..." The Alpha stands up. "Ill join your cause. But I'm gonna need a smither, twelve dwarven ingots, three pieces of leather strips and this Daedric heart" He hold the heart up. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

 

[Dvalin]

Alright concedes the Khajiit grudgingly. Unsure of who 'that bastard' was and not caring much either way. This nord-elf was clearly insane, but that wouldn't stop him testing the creature in battle.To the stables with us then, elf-ma...Alpha. Largas stands, nodding to the Argonian and swiftly exits the Banared Mare into the evening fog just barely settling. Where had the time got to he wondered?

 

[BeepBeepImaJeep]

(Don't we need a new thread for this thing?)
The Alpha stood up and walked out of the mare. Walking towards the stables where his party waited.

 

[Derath_farseer]

((dvalin is setting a thread up

 

[BeepBeepImaJeep]

(Okaie Dokaie)

 

[Dvalin]

******Thread moved to Long Road to Markarth [LRM]*******

 

[Drakaroz]

The young Orc had never stepped into a tavern in his entire life and was not sure what to expect. He toyed with hilt carrying the Forsworn sword, Macana, passed down from generation since before the Empire and the Nords came into The Reach.
He made his way to the matron of the Bannered Inn; "A pint of your strongest ale, half loaf of bread and a rabbit haunch please, and I'll take a room if you have one", said Drakaroz. "Of course sir, please take a seat by the fire and I'll send Saadia your way". He made his way into a corner so as to observe the patrons. These Nords of Whiterun seemed very different from those of The Reach, being raised by native Reachmen he had experienced the cruelty of the Nords, this view was challenged by Ralof and his sister Gerdur and her husband Hod who welcomed him into their home as if he were family, but he always felt this was an exception.

 

[secretsquirrely]

The door to the Inn swung open. It wasn't a violent swing by any means, rather, it was simply noticeable. The Argonian stepped through the doorway with an heir of intrigue surrounding him. Pale eyes with thin black pupils scanned the faces of the various riff raff and Imperial soldiers found within the confines of the The Bannered Mare. He took a few steps towards the bar in a slow and calculated fashion. With every step, his armor jingled lightly. He clenched his aching fists, causing the bones to crack. His look was rather unique for a warrior of his stature. He wore ebony armor, but no helmet. Instead, he wore the armor over a black robe, with the hood up to cover his straight horns. His scales were as pitch black as the midnight sky, with red war paint splashed along his snout and around his eyes.

He had ventured here many times over his years of travelling. Thus, the innkeeper was familiar with his presence. There were rumors of his dealings outside of Whiterun, but no one ever dared to ask. Instead, everyone kept to him/herself where the matter was concerned. He took a seat at the bar, taking a spot next to a young Orc. He eyed the Orc's Forsworn sword and smirked ever so lightly at the sight. He then turned his attention to the barkeep, who immediately poured a red liqour without question. He placed three gold coins on the bar and took the drink. He chugged it down in one go, whiping his mouth with the back of his gauntlet covered hand once he finished. He placed the cup back on the bar and said to the young Orc, "Forsworn sword...impressive..."

 

[Drakaroz]

Drakaroz glanced at the Argonian from the corners of his eye, not sure whether the remark was made in irony at the fact that a child of Malacath, the best blacksmiths in all of Tamriel, would wield an Ancient stone-age weapon. Still, if this stranger was curious, even more so was Drakaroz. He had never seen an Argonian, in the Forsworn Redoubts, the only outside contact was either from trade with the Orc strongholds who exchanged sabre cat pelts and teeth, which the Forsworn used for tools, weapons and armor for mammoth meat and access to the mines that the Forsworn guarded in their mountain homes, the other contact with the outside world was the occassional Silver-Blood hired slave catcher raids...he had heard from his mother that the Argonians and the Cat folk, like the Reachmen, were oppressed by Nord supremacism. "It was my mother's sword, and her father before her and so on and so forth, how do you know of our people by name? In all my years in The Reach I have not seen an Argonian, and there are none in Markath that I know of."

 

[Rale]

The door of the inn slowly opens, and in walks a hooded figure. Rale Veerur, a nord on the hunt for his adoptive fathers killer while donning his fathers legendary nightingale armor, was stopping in Whiterun for a few nights as he grows tired walking from Riften to Solitude. He goes to the barmaid. "A pint of Argonian Ale please, and a room as well, if you have one." The barmaid gave a strange look towards Rale's completely black appearance, even his bow, Eclipse, was as black as night, as if made from pure ebony.
The barmaid hands Rale the pint of ale, and tells him to wait until the other guests have been given thier rooms. He puts nine gold down on the counter, and tosses an extra gold piece to the barmaid, as if to indicate a tip.
Rale sits at a table next to an Orc and an Argonian talking about Markath. He takes off his hood which reveals his short, dark blonde hair, and drink his ale. He then noticed something in the corner of his eye, a forsworn sword in the hilt of the orc, but this one looked...unique. He gains interest in thier conversation immediatly, he leans back on his chair, eavesdropping on thier conversation, sipping his ale intently...

 

[Derath_farseer]

Gor'ath walks back into the tavern to pick up a few supplies, His heavy orc armor clinks as he makes his way to the counter and takes a seat, The glass sword on his back has a slight dark red glow to it,
"Bottle of brandy and the provisions we talked about earlyer" He says to the inn keeper, From his accent he sounds like hes from the orc strongholds. He takes off his helm and sets it on the counter, He has a weathered looking face,a small beard grows around his mouth, his head is shaven besides a small braid in the back, He turns in his stool taking a swig of his brandy and looks over the people in the bar, sizing every one up, His eyes linger on the young orc.
(Edit) Glass great sword*

 

[Derath_farseer]

He breaks his gaze and turns back around taking another swig
"Looking at some thing?" he says to the man next to him wile he takes another swig

 

[Drakaroz]

Almost as soon as Drakaroz looks at the Argonian, he glances at two visitors on the corner of his eye, entering the Bannered Mane, an orc with a glass sword glowing a slight crimson red and a darkly clad man, even whose whites in his eyes could not be seen from under his hood. These two men took their seat, the orc removing his helm and what he could make out something about provisions, he had sized up that this must have been an orc merchant, probably from one of the strongholds, perhaps along his travels he had traded with the Forsword Redoubts, perhaps he had traded with his own people. The little Drakaroz knew about the Orcs was that they usually spent their days in the stronghold, those who live outside the stronghold either make their way to the Legion or are exiles, judging from the looks of this Orc he was no Legionnaire. Meanwhile, the dark hooded figure shows his face and stared with interest at Drakaroz. Sensing eyes behind him, he finally turned his head, Drakaroz's icy blue eyes met with the stranger, the veins and muscles under his grey skin tensed up, although Drakaroz's perception of Nords, which was formed back home had been challenged by the hospitalit y of Gerdur's family, as well as the tranquility of Whiterun which stood in stark contrast to everything in Nord occupied Reach, his isolation in the Forsworn Redoubts still made everything new to him, seem frightening. Not wanting to show anything other than calm to this stranger, the orc raised his mug of Argonian ale to the Nord. "The Orcs never brought this with them when they came to the Redoubts and camps to trade wares." He had to yell at the visitor for him to hear.

 

[Rale]

Rale put his hand on his swords hilt, in case the stranger was there for more than just a chat. He sips some more ale and watches with suspense at the young Orc and the strangers discussion. The Argonian looked quite uncomfortable.

 

[Derath_farseer]

He over hears this and swings around in his stool and stands walking over to the young orc, His armor clinking as he gets closer Drakaroz notices his full height, Almost 7 feet tall a giant even among orcs, he stops at their table.
"Did you mention some thing about the redoubts?" His large red eyes look into his deep blue, Gor'aths yes are have a certain intimidating look but they arent completely not unkind, there's a sadness to his face

 

[Drakaroz]

Drakaroz stares down at the shadow of the giant orc and raises his head to meet a pair of large red eyes, unlike the Nords, the strongholds had always been fair to the Forsworn tribes, indeed when the Khajiit and Orc caravans had come to trade with the Forsworn it was the only opportunity to learn of the outside world, and while the Orcs rarely traded for books, he was able to learn tid bits of news from time to time from them, for while the Orcs had lived somewhat isolated in the strongholds, contact with the outside world was not forbidden, the Forsworn for decades lived in fear of ever venturing out of the territory controlled by the Redoubts, for fear of being captured by the hired thugs of the Silver-Bloods and forced to work their mines. "Yes I am Orc, before some unfortunate events, the mountain country of The Reach was my home", all the while Drakaroz, kept a careful watch from the corner of his eye on the Nord who grasped at the hilt of his sword, by this time he had also led his hand to calmly grasp the hilt of Macana, the ancient Forsworn blade, "we have not known the Nords to think of us anything but savages", he said with a stern look at the Nord.

 

[Derath_farseer]

He glances at the man he was with at the bar then back to the orc "I wouldn't let this lot bother you." He takes a chair from another table and sits with Drakoroz the Argonian
"Names Gor'ath" He takes off his gauntlets and shakes there hands, His hands are rough with calluses he has the hands of a smith, And now that you notice it
his armor is very well made as well, Its clear he takes care of it polished to the point of shining
"Sorry if i seem blunt but my trip as already been delayed, I'm looking for a couple of willing souls to come with me to markarth" He looks at drak
"And you might be the perfect orc to bring,Maybe we can work out a deal? I have coin and your friend here is welcome to join us as well."

 

[Drakaroz]

"Yes these Nords do not seem like those back home", he thought, thinking of the Nord slaver raids and their unquenchable thirst for live bodies to fill the Cidhna mines. He turned his eyes away from the Nord, but still had his hand on his hilt just in case, he turned to look at the tall Orc extending his hand. "Drakaroz", he said as he shook his hand. He had noticed the Orc wore the armor of their race, no doubt something he had crafted himself, a pity Drakaroz thought, since he did not grow in one of the strongholds he could not pick up this masterful art as a youth. The Orc had offered coin, something he was short on after his ordeal with the Imperials, they took everything, but he did manage to take back Macana, his Forsworn Armor to keep him warm in the harsh weather of Skyrim, and he did manage to find a hunting bow and a quiver of iron arrows from a battle with a group of bandits, something that would come in handy when his belly ached for meat, still in the Redoubts, when one wanted something the custom was to offer food, furs, jewelry or weapons in exchange, since the Redoubts were isolated from the outside world, there was little need for septims, which were mostly melted down to craft jewelry, but when in Cyrodil(a city he only knew in books) do as the Imperials do he supposed. "I am listening son of Malacath, you need a warrior guide to take you into The Reach? Our people would surely attack you should you venture alone, centuries of Nord oppression and isolation in our Redoubts have made us a....skeptical people." The Forsworn had been united under Madanach but since his capture his influence had begun to wane, and while the Forsworn rarely attacked one another they do on occasion make war on each others camps in the absence of Madanach and there were some areas of The Reach that even Drakaroz knew to stay away from.

 

[Derath_farseer]

He nods "The tribes are the same." His look falters for a moment he looks terribly sad for a second then his eyes come back into focus "If you could bring my group safe passage I'm sure we can work some sort of payment, Maybe a trading rout with your people, Or if your blood kin need a smith I'd be willing to work with them." He leans back in his chair and takes a large gulp of whiskey
"What do you say, You make your self a good bit of gold and further your peoples goals."
he waves over a red guard woman and orders a round of drinks for the table.