18+ Degenerates

Kharjirr wasn't one for cities, especially those owned by pale skinned vermin. Imperials, bretons, nords. They couldn't walk in his shoes. They'd submit under the weight which was his life. Literally, his shoes were to big for anyone to fit in. The city of Skingrad surely wasn't prepaired for the sight before them. People fear that if which they don't expect, proven by the looks on many faces as Kharjiir passed by. He had his weapon detained immediately upon entering. Half the guards almost put an arrow in his chest thinking he was some beast. Such a giant khajiit isn't a common sight. With his beastly aura came a sort of elegance many never experienced before. A race of khajiit rarely seen, feared amongst those who knew, awe by those who never knew, wonder shared amongst them all. The Cathay-raht earned its reputation simply through its genetics. Many a confidence had been crushed that day. Warriors who claimed the title "mightiest" knew a fight with this man wouldn't end well. Many questioned if he was even a man, which is why no one could bare the weight Kharjiir carried on his shoulders everyday. When you are the topic of discussion everywhere you go, being normal isn't an option. Just pure rage bottled behind fiery auburn eyes. He was forced to wear a ragged cloak by the guard if he wanted to roam the city, and so the lumbering brute made his way in the first city he had gained entrance upon in a good amount of time. This was a relatively new experience for him, so his only option was to find the local inn and see if he could get himself a drink. Quenching his hunger and thirst were his primary objectives, and anyone who got in the way of that would feel the regret in their face for the next week. Kharjiir was quick to fight as the only way he gained respect was by establishing his dominance. The term "alpha male" fit him well and he owned it, only amongst those who he belonged with.

Upon entering the inn, he gathered a sense of who he was dealing with. Sizing up his audience was always his first priority. He used the term audience often because he was a show for most. Unless of course, you were used to seeing a khajiit well over 7ft tall often. Without making eye contact with a single person however, he made his way to the bar and awaited his service. His voice like a bellowing base, if his eyes didn't strike fear in your heart, the sound of his words surely did the job. "This one desires a pound of venison, and fill this with water." He spoke, and it took a moment for the woman across the bar to process the information. No response was given, just a nod given to him and off she went. He was used to this behavior, and he despised it. He wished for once someone would disregard his size and treat him like a normal khajiit. A sly, cunning, lying, khajiit.

The woman spoke of her books and knowledge fondly, turning his veiled jab at her on its head. The smirk that played across his face faltered, and he tsked quietly, still keeping his gaze on her steady. He watched as she turned to look at the newest patron, a man who sounded about as dangerous as a toothless vole, who had made his way to the bar as Dar'Kazhel had spoken to the woman. After a moment of watching, her eyes glazed over as if remembering the past, and a faint smile danced across her lips.

He realized she was remembering a past love, and the realization hit him like a brick. His chest tightened up as he watched her replay old memories, his own past clawing its way to the surface of his mind as he remembered a simple color. Bile rushed up his throat, and Dar'Kazhel had to force it back down lest he retch. Not a moment too soon, either, for the woman appeared to be coming out of her reverie. She turned back to face the Khajiit, and went on about hope and reason, before apologizing and asking Dar'Kazhel to share his own story.

"This one does not care to, Fallen," Dar'Kazhel hissed, turning away from the white-haired Nord to look again at the other patrons. He never did trust someone who seemed interested in the affairs of others without gaining from it themselves, and her interest seemed far too genuine to be a ploy. So he put her from his mind, and watched the man who had entered the tavern moments ago.

A scrawny Imperial who looked as if the water he drank would be too much for his body, the man was so entirely out of place in the rat nest of a city that Skingrad seemed to be, it was almost laughable. No, Dar'Kazhel thought to himself as he chuckled darkly, it is laughable. The mug seemed too large in the Imperial's hands, and his eyes appeared to simply be marbles poked into a snowman's head, they were so sunken. What this one is doing outside of a sick bed must surely be important. Perhaps valuable, too...

Dar'Kazhel was about to call out to the Imperial, to offer his sword arm in exchange for pay, when he was cut off by the tavern's door slamming open. Turning his head curiously, Dar'Kazhel sat witness to something he'd never expected to see outside of Elsweyr. A Cathay-Raht, huge by most of Tamriel's standards - though not the largest Khajiit Dar'Kazhel himself had seen - lumbered through the entrance and stood for a moment, surveying the gathering of folk inside. Apparently, he hadn't noticed anyone of interest, for the Cathay-Raht simply continued to the bar, and ordered meat and water. Dar'Kazhel simply couldn't help himself as he rose from his perch, and slunk over to the huge Khajiit, slipping a dagger from the folds of his armor into his palm. With reflexes that reflected his feline agility, Dar'Kazhel leapt upon the Cathay-Raht's shoulders, and placed the blade just above his jugular. Close enough to draw blood, but still far enough away to only appear threatening to anyone who wasn't either holding the blade or feeling its presence against their skin

"The moons have gifted you with fine muscle, cousin. Why cover it with rags when the sun could warm your fur?" Dar'Kazhel asked playfully, voice low so only the larger Khajiit could hear him.

While waiting, a sense of security was found in a single soul within the tavern. Only kinsmen provided Kharjirr with safety in his heart. Dreams of Elsweyr which should bring him joy haunt him simply because he will never experience them again. Though he didn't pay a moment of attention to the fellow Khajiit initially upon entering, as he sat he felt the growing urge to simply turn his head and give a nod. It was always worth attempting a step towards fellowship with any other of his kind. The descripency between his own and society's views of his race was a strong one. All khajiit deserved the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise in his eyes. In a place where it appears khajiit are guilty until proven innocent, nothing boils his blood more than the situation his kind have been placed in.

In battle, smaller khajiit sometimes used the Cathay-rahts as towers or pillars. It wasn't uncommon for a Cathay to leap from the shoulders of their larger cousins for an aerial attack. Therefore, Kharjiirs body was attuned to carrying much more weight than the fellow stranger. His body was built to withstand such forces that would send another to the ground with ease. When Kharjiir felt his kinsmen land on his shoulders, he reminisced for only a second. His eyes widened naturally from surprise, the blade of which creating the biggest reaction. A gulp from his throat pressed his thick fur against the blade, of course fear didn't plague him for he knew a dagger as such wasn't something to fear in the hands of who was holding it. Whoever the khajiit was, he was a bold one. No other in the inn would dare perform a similar act or it would be a dangerous encounter indeed. The words rung through his ears for a moment before he responded. He imagined the other khajiit used the setting to his advantage when acting as such. If Kharjiir was as smart as he looked, a brawl would surely have begun. However, the khajiit was a lot smarter than he appeared especially when dealing in foreign territory. That is why he surrendered his blade immediately and agreed to wear the ragged robes upon entering this city. Something unusual spawned from the beasts lips, a half attempted smile. "Don't be to fast to call this a gift, and this one's clothes doesn't represent his manners," Was all he responded in a similar whisper, bringing his flask to his lips whilst ignoring the dagger and taking a drink of water. It seemed as though Kharjiir could go about doing anything with this fellow khajiit attached to him and it would make no difference. The weight didn't affect him.

First had come the orc woman who had struck up a conversation with the Khajiit in leather armor. Then a Dunmer woman, clasping something in her hands had entered, claimed a table near the back of the room. After that, a fair haired woman clad entirely in steel plate which could have doubled as a mirror. Next, a grim looking man wearing a hood and keeping his hand close to a sword at his waist had entered and found a seat at the bar. After the first man, a second had entered, only instead of looking grim and dangerous, this one was thin and obviously nervous.

All these people Rowan had observed, classified, and was silently keeping track of as he sipped on his ale. His observations weren't malicious in intent but rather professional. All of the other patrons were dangerous looking but some, or all, of them were potential clients, and Rowan was the constant professional. However, of all the new arrivals to the nondescript inn, Rowan was most surprised by the next man to walk through the door.

Perhaps 'man' was the wrong term though. Although a rough cloak was draped over his hulking shoulders and he carried no weapon, Rowan doubted he would have any trouble defending himself. The hulking figure stood well over seven and a half feet tall and must have weighed nearly four hundred pounds. That was not to mention the thick fur which covered his arms and head indicating that he was a Khajiit.

"And not just any khajiit," thought Rowan raising an eyebrow as he watched the new patron walk to the bar and order something, "Been forever since I've seen a Cathay-raht outside of Elyswer."

Just as Rowan thought he'd seen the strangest thing to occur that day, albeit in the form of a massive Cathay-raht, the first Khajiit he'd seen made a move. Or rather, made to jump on the shoulders of his larger brethren and pressed a dagger against his throat in an impressive display of acrobatics.

Before the two feline men had stopped moving, Rowan had sat bolt upright, his hand reaching up over his right shoulder and grasped the hilt of his longsword, drawing it an inch out of it's sheath. He stayed in that pose for a moment, still, eyes locked on the pair as he decided whether there was a chance of danger.

Dar'Kazhel scoffed at the Cathay-Raht's reply, but still pulled his dagger away from the larger Khajiit's throat before sheathing it. Rather than leap off of his shoulders, though, Dar'Kazhel instead lay across the Cathay-Raht's broad shoulders, forming his body around the back of his neck, and propping his head up on his own arm. He lay like that for a moment, watching the Nord in the back, whose blade was partially unsheathed, his back rigid in his seat. "This one considers all things a gift," he said over his shoulder, "though these rags may need to be re-homed." He gave a wheezy chuckle, eyes almost closing as he studied the reactions of the other patrons.

"But perhaps this one has grown tired of his size? Dar'Kazhel knows of many who would pay good coin just to have your face at a meeting," his tail flickered, taunting the Nord in the back, "though this one gets paid well enough to have his blade ready by the time his patron meets a... 'client'." With that, Dar'Kazhel rolled off of the Cathay-Raht's tall frame, and landed with a soft thump on the floor, his leather boots absorbing most of the sound. Without another word to the other Khajiit, Dar'Kazhel swaggered over to the seated Nord and placed a boot on the lip of his table. "And what's this? A Nord with steel in hand, without even a word of greeting? Why is this one not surprised?"

Kharjiir hadn't paid much attention to the actions of Dar'Kazhel, just listened. It is true, his hands were of much use for labor and many would pay him a decent amount however, he had grown weary of working for others.

Arrogant was a good word to describe this stranger. He rolled his eyes as the agile cat used him almost like a couch. His traps and delts were wide and thick enough to give the khajiit a comfortable couch to lay on. Kharjiir was used to other khajiits using him as furniture. When in the caravans, he particularly provided enough warmth to sustain his four fellow comrades every night. Tucking themselves under his arms and even along his abdomen and on his chest, it wasn't unusual for them all to "cuddle" as they call it.

Kharjiir was quick to hear the slight sheathing of a blade behind him. However, he knew if he stood to the nord it wouldn't end well. Nothing ended well when dealing with the pale-skinned vermin. His venison arrived and he slowly began eating. A strange amulet caught the attention of his eyes. He didn't move his head or make any effort to look at it, but it was of interest to him. He usually never made eye contact with anyone, always appearing as if he had a greater purpose to tend to. However, the amulet radiating a certain aura begged for his attention. One thing Kharjiir certainly had a weakness too was jewelry and this was no exception. So to make it appear as nonintentional as possible, Kharjiir slowly turned his seat around to view what he had heard Dar'Kazhel say to the man who had sheathed his sword. He eyed the female beholding the amulet for a split-second midst his turn. An easy target he supposed, if he ever wanted to take it. But that was just a thought that flew out of his mind as quickly as it came in. He wouldn't dare try something like that, especially on someone of her appearance. One thing he rewarded the pale-skinned was their ability to produce beautiful woman. The perfect evil he thought.

Ylinia lead her vampiric companion through the streets, gradually moving farther and farther from the market district. There was more shouting, something about another dead body having been found. The elven assassin silently gave her thanks to whoever had caused the commotion. It was only a matter of time before the guards found their butchered comrades, and at that point, she wanted to be far from the area. At the very outskirts of the market district, bordering the slums, sat an inn.

The place had definitely seen better days. Several of its windows were boarded up, and the sign that once might have held a name was now little more than a rotting chunk of wood, with scraps of paint still clinging to its' surface. 'A good place to lie low.' She decided, though the cautious part of her mind, the part that told her to survey the room the instant her eyes adjusted to the poorly lit interior, reminded her that such places were also perfect for a knife in the back.

The place was crowded, with servers, perhaps a dozen or so men who looked like they were regulars, chatting in small groups at tables dotted around the room. Then their were those like Ylinia. Assassins, mercenaries, thieves, blades for hire, bounty hunters. In a word- scum. Or, at least what most thought of them. In truth, they were people who'd been forced by 'fate', if such a thing existed, into their professions.

Of the mercenaries, a towering mass of muscle and fur caught her eye first. He was larger, much larger than the average khajiit in the Empire. At the moment, he was sat at the bar, another, smaller khajiit, in rough looking leather, stood at his back, facing a bald nordic man, who gripped the hilt of a sword. His poise, ready to spring up and to the ready, told her he was expecting trouble....and no stranger to it. In a corner, a dunmer woman sat, staring at something that emitted a faint gleam. Surprisingly, a woman in fanciful plate armour, with a sword, shield, and bow on her person, sat at one of the tables. Her gaze traveled back to the bar. An orc woman, sat to one side, an empty seat between her and a dangerous looking hooded individual, who also had a bow and sword. Beside him, sat a main who was covered in cloth, and looked so frail that a stiff wind might knock him over.

Out of all she'd seen, he was the most out of place. Despite the hulking khajiit, who was, more likely than not, a mercenary, and thus had a place here. The frail, robed man, did not. Ylinias' eyes narrowed, even as she tugged on Kyros' arm, leading him to a table near the back of the room. "Stay here." She murmured, trusting that he'd hear her over the raucus patrons. "Keep your eyes open for trouble. And try not to piss off the big one." With a nod towards the huge cat, she looked around, before settling on the dunmer. Without waiting for invitation, she took the seat across from the elf, "hello there." She said, "You look like you've been here a while. Tell me, what news is making the rounds today?" Her tone was light, friendly, but her eyes remained cold.

Rowan eyed the Khajiit even as the man dropped off the Cathay-rahts shoulders and faced him. Somewhat to Rowans surprise, the Khajiit propped one foot on the edge of his table and stood grinning at him, "And what's this? A Nord with steel in hand, without even a word of greeting? Why is this one not surprised?"

Slowly sliding his exposed blade back into his sheath, Rowan again leaned back in his chair and picked up his mug. He took a sip as he watched the Khajiit, his face deadpan before he said, "Hmm, don't mind me stranger..." He gave a faint grin as his eyes darted towards motion near the door. Someone had come in, or rather two people. An Altmer woman clad in close fitting chain mail, followed by a tall man, a Breton perhaps, which a pale visage and wearing plate armor. Both new arrivals glanced around the room before the woman led her partner to a table, which he sat down at, and then made her way to the table with the Dunmer woman.

"It looks like there are some new players anyway." Rowan looked at the Khajiit and lifted his chin, indicating the two newest arrivals.

Kazmirr took a generous swig of her brandy, feeling its effects starting to make her head swim, "strong stuff," she thought. The Khajiit man whom she had been speaking with earlier had made his way to bantering with other bar patrons. Many unusual characters had shown up to the Inn in such a short time she"d noticed. Her bright red eyes caught a Nordic man sitting, engaging the Khajiits in conversation. He was a handsome one, civil looking with a hint of danger, Kazmirr couldnt resist. Without missing a beat, the Orcish woman stood up and made her way to his table. "Excuse me, I dont mean to intrude, but you have an irrisistable aura to you. Mind to get aquainted?" Kazmirr said to the Nord flirtatiously.

The poor woman's smile was genuine, and seemingly just enough to put off the Khajiit, as he responded in a hissing tone. Valencia's smile quickly faltered, her icy eyes loosing their sparkling warmth, returning to the cold barren tundra once again as she narrowed her eyes slightly. She watched another Khajiit enter, far taller than most should be. She could only imagine his size was both a blessing and a curse. She watched Dar'Kazel leave her tot aunt the Khajiit and Nord.

With a sigh, she placed her book away, taking another sip of her water. A few more patrons entered as the 'knight' watched them ever so carefully, trying to read them from the outside. Some taunted, others threatened, others hid, and other flirted. The Inn had become a regular tavern. Valencia took her last bite of her delicate sweet roll, before taking a final sip of her drink.

While doing so, she couldn't help but despise the arrogance that roared around Dar'Kazhel, and the mysterious auras that surrounded so many others. For her, she was the outlier of everyone; her armor sparkling, her appearance healthy, her knightly persona... it was all too pure for the tavern. And she despised it; at least, at the moment. She was like an Altmer mage in a group of Nordic Warriors; no one would talk to her, and she did not belong. Whether or not the reason was for her 'purity' or not, she was left alone.

It was her fault though, to why she made herself look that way. She wanted to be the beacon of hope in a dark world; a light that is easy to spot. Of course, her own sins have tainted her flame of hope, but she continued brush away such embers and feed the fire. In a tavern filled with criminals, she knew she didn't belong, and they knew as well.

"May I get you another water dear?" A barmaiden was standing beside the knight, giving a small smile. The beautiful white-haired young woman nodded her head, giving a small smile in return. "Please, love. Thank you." She spoke softly, handing her the drink and empty plate as she walked away. Valencia then turned around looking down to The Cake and the Diamond, before putting it away and taking out another book. She was more often than not one to continue observing, but because of the patron's disinterest in the knight, she simply decided to relax herself and enjoy her sitting.

"Here is your drink dear. Care for anything else?" "No thank you love." "Alright; shout over if you need anything else." With that, a fresh new cup of water sat in front of Valencia. She stared at the water for a few moments, watching the reflection of a candle's flame ripple in the free water. Finally, she returned her icy eyes to her book, and began reading once again. It was The Poison Song, Book I, by Bristin Xel; a new book series she recently bought at the market.

Dar'Kazhel took the Nord's cue and turned away from the table, slipping past the approaching Orc and swaggering back over to the tavern's bar to watch them all. An Altmer and a Breton - whose skin looked as pale as snow - had made their way into the tavern, finding a table along the same wall as the bald Nord before splitting up. The elf split away from her companion, and went to sit with the Dunmer who had so far simply stared at some kind of jewelry. The white-haired Nord had gone back to reading a book, and the Cathay-Raht was still eating his meal. The hooded man had yet to do anything to catch Dar'Kazhel's eye, but that was all the more worrisome, while the everything-starved cretin in a robe looked just as imposing as ever.

Dar'Kazhel crossed his arms and shook his head, trying to decide his next move. He wasn't a sentimental type, but still he wished to find whomever it was that had slain his crew mates, to open their bellies and bloody his blade with their kin's life force. Not because he felt remorse over his crew so much as he had lost yet another home - it had become taxing on him over the years, and he could feel himself sliding ever nearer to the abyss that was madness. Until that day came, though, he would claw his way through any obstacle to find and secure a place he could call home until he died. And if dying was what was necessary to make that home, then so be it.

Pushing off from the bar once more, the Khajiit took the few steps over to the Nord woman's table, and stopped behind the chair facing her. Resting his hands on its back, he leaned forward until he was mere inches from her face, and waited for a response. This one will not move second as well as first, he decided, studying the woman's features once more, but if anyone knows the desire for home, it is this one, and Dar'Kazhel will make use of that.

The book series was filled with action, romance, and thrills - or, that was what she was told. Because she was just beginning the series, she had left all of the books but the first in her home. That was one thing that gave her a bit of security; a home. It was not her true home, as it never felt the same as Wayrest, but it was secure enough for her to relax and quite frankly, live.

In her peripheral vision Valencia saw the Khajiit return, to then let his face become mere inches from her own face. She showed no signs of discomfort, as she was completely fine with the invasion of personal space. Despite not knowing the male, she held no fear towards him. She continued to read while he was inches from her face, as she finished her paragraph.

"Welcome back, love." She spoke, beginning to read the next paragraph without lifting her eyes to even look to Dar'Kazhel. Her facial expression was not of irritation or emptiness - it was simply, calm. She had noticed he was a bit nosy, and from what she has heard from his interactions with the other patrons, he was arrogant. Whether or not his outward persona was of fact of fiction was unknown to the knight. Despite her lack of knowledge on him, she was certainly not going to be rude to him, even though he had already hissed at her kind behavior towards him earlier.

"Is there something I can do for you, love?" she asked politely, still continuing to read without her icy eyes looking to Khajiit's amber ones. She had no idea to what she could do for him, as he knew nothing about her; unless, he somehow did. The only things she could offer were healing, trading, and alchemy. She also offered... 'part-time' jobs... but those were sins she has avoided successfully for months.

"Welcome back, love," the Nord said as she read her book. Her eyes never even flickered to look at the Khajiit, he noted. "Is there something I can do for you, love?" She asked, and Dar'Kazhel's eyes traced what was visible of her figure, the shape of her lips, the slight curve of her jaw. It had become a way for the pirate to test a woman's guard, and he'd found it could be effective even when done from across a room - and not just on women.

"Probably plenty, this one believes," Dar'Kazhel purred, "but that can wait."

He straightened up, and crossed his arms as he stared down at the Nord, unfazed by her lack of eye contact. "This one has need of information, and perhaps a blade," Dar'Kazhel said as he picked at his teeth with a claw, "but the snow-capped one likely wields steel more. Her people, though..." Dar'Kazhel let his sentence trail off, figuring that she would either understand and choose to accept or refuse, or be of no help at all because she couldn't connect dots. He hated to rely on others for such a menial task, but a potentially well-known pirate would draw unwanted attention - and to have that attention directed at others might be beneficial, especially if he could get the information he needed.

And if possible, this one could even save the snow-hair, Dar'Kazhel thought to himself, mentally counting gold, and request a reward.

Hearing his words, the mostly Nordic woman listened as she read, capturing both the words of the page and words of the air. His purr was almost taunting, but she simply let it brush aside. Every word that escaped the Khajiit's lips entered into Valencia's ears and was stored in organization within her mind. Not only the words she remembered, but his tone, his very diction... everything. Even from her peripheral vision she could see a change in his posture, but the bright light of a flickering flame most likely reflecting from his piercing eyes.

His words though... his very choice in words... while uninteresting to any nearby eavesdroppers, it was valuable to the intelligent knight. She was no fool for such plays on words, and she was certainly interested in why he would desire anything from her... or expect anything, from her.

Not lifting her eyes from her book, she spoke softly to Dar'Kazhel. "A blade I do wield, but information you desire... I do not. So as you say, yes, steel I do hold." Valencia paused, finally lifting her own piercing eyes of ice to meet with the amber ones. "My people... they wield courage far beyond many... this has transferred to me, and I would accomplish anything for them. What could I be of help to you, where I too benefit?" he voice was a bit more serious in tone, losing its softness briefly. The mentioning of her home was a weak spot, and as long as he played the strings correctly, he could possibly get what he needed.

Valencia could only hope that the Khajiit's plans did not involve sin; she was reluctant to go down the same path that led to nothing but guilt, shame, and darkness. She was willing to aid with more innocent affairs; however, for her people... to return home... her true home... the single statement was tempting.

Finishing his venison, Kharjirr spent another moment surveying the room. Nothing special had occurred until an altmer and seemingly her partner entered the room. Kharjiir had always been fond of altmer simply for there elegance. This one however was paler than the clouds on a bright sunny day. She gave him a nod as if paying him respect for simply his presence in the room, and he returned the favor. He read her lips easily from afar, "and try not to piss off the big one." She spoke to her company. He chuckled to himself and finished off his drink. The altmer sat down at a table and began conversation with someone else, losing his attention.

He decide to spend some more time at the inn. Full of misfits, he felt as though for the moment he fit in. Although of course clearly he didn't. His fellow khajiit was making a move on the woman he had wondered about which didn't surprise him. The smaller khajiit was bouncing all over the inn, the center of attention. He supposed he seeked attention, perhaps to compromise for something. It wasn't unusual for khajiit to get themselves into sticky situations by cause of curiosity. He hoped that wasn't the case, the girl he spoke to seemed feeble in spirit. He could sense her feeling of nonconformity in a place full of low grade villains. She seemed out of place for her soft features imposed the implication of good and not evil. He felt bad she was stuck in a place such as this run down tavern. Then again, it was hard for him to muster up any form of consideration for those of nordic decent. So he sat and continued to observe, for that's all he could do at the moment. Hopefully something of interest would present itself.

Dar'Kazhel pondered for a moment on the Nord woman's question, as he studied her. Coming up with nothing, he decided to enlist some help. Turning the seat back to its original position, the Khajiit sat in the chair and leaned back in it, balancing himself with his feet on the table. He turned his head up, and looked to his larger kinsman, who looked peculiar when upside-down. "Hey, cousin," he called, grinning, "this one has found an interesting one. But her words are far too difficult for Dar'Kazhel to understand. Would this one be of help? She may reward with a kiss on the cheek," he winked, surely a strange action in his situation, "or maybe better."

He snapped his head back forward, grinning at the Nord, "This one has no need for courage, though the Fallen Princess surely has plenty. Perhaps Dar'Kazhel's large friend can make use of this one's politeness." While he was sure it was going to be misconstrued, the Khajiit meant nothing lewd by his words. He simply knew no other way to voice his opinion on the matter.

Kyros followed his elven companion into the dimly lit tavern, keeping his mouth shut and eyes open. While he was no stranger to such places, he never enjoyed them. He took in the mixed group of townsfolk, mercenaries, and other shadowy types. The vampire glanced at a large Khajiit sitting at the bar, but the creature didn't hold his attention for long. Despite the khajiits size, the former knight knew that size and brute strength were no match for skill and experience.

The real object of his attention, was a white haired woman, sitting at one of the tables. It wasn't her figure that drew his gaze, but rather, her shield and weapon. The the sword at her side was sheathed, the shield, he recognized. He followed Ylinia to a table at the back of the inn, noting a bald, adventure-type nords sitting a few metres away. In a dark corner, a dunmer sat, examining something that glimmered in the glow of candles. After a warning not to anger the large Khajiit, his companion left him.

He waved away a serving girl, scowling irritably. He assumed himself unobserved, his position, and the dark plate armour, scuffed and scratched, didn't draw as much attention in such a place as it would out on the streets. "The shield of Wayrest..." He murmured, wondering how the white haired woman had come across such an item. And if the sword at her hip, what he'd seen of it anyways, was the sword of the same kingdom, then the human was interesting indeed. Or, the vampire thought, the woman was simply a rogue who had stolen the fine armour and weapons she know claimed as her own. That implication had the breton running the tip of his tongue over his fangs.

If that was indeed the case, Kyros would be exacting justice. And, if the woman had any idea on how to wield the sword, she might prove an actual challenge. Content with that thought, he decided to speak with her before departing the city, and if need be, dispatch of her. Sitting back in his seat, he waited for the leather clad khajiit, who seemed intent on drawing attention to himself, to finish his conversation with the woman.

With narrowed and intrigued icy ices, the woman watched the Khajiit in front of her. Valencia carefully analyzed his diction and tone, trying to make use of it for her own deductive benefits. Dar'Kazhel's choice of words were... both discombobulating and interesting. He called out to his 'cousin', asking for aid in understanding her own diction. Her light blue eyes gazed to the larger Khajiit before returning her piercing but gentle eyes to the leather-clad Khajiit opposing her. His words afterwords were a bit more... flirtatious, but her expression stayed the same. She was a bit unsure whether he was joshing her or the other Khajiit, or even perhaps it was his own personal 'language' he spoke, of which he meant no actuality of it.

His next statement, as he grinned to her, caught the Nordic Breton's attention. Courage not needed... but politeness for another? His 'Fallen Princess' phrase still hit her 'too close to home', but nonetheless her expression was still her usual default: observant, but soft. "Not to intrude on your statement, love... but my politeness? What would your friend need of it?" The white-haired young woman's tone was gentle and soft, but just as equally intrigued.

Her hands gently closed her book, placing it away. She was a bit interested in the event unfolding, and she surely wanted to be prepared if a trick was among the genuine-looking conversation. Valencia was always careful with her books, and certainly with the new one she placed away, she did not want it to be ruined. As she placed the book away, she saw a Elf and Breton enter the inn, her eyes briefly catching a glimpse of the male watching her. She casually redirected her extremely brief attention back to the Khajiits, awaiting a response from the larger one, and to receive a clearer response as to what the conditions of her aid were.

As he was called his tail flicked with excitement. The tiger gazed at the two with the dullest smirk. Dar'Kazhel was quite the fellow indeed. He enjoyed his presence nonetheless, for his unpredictability made him interesting. He wasn't sure how to go about responding to his cousin, and surely the girl answered for him. Her words hinted at irritation but her face surely didn't make it seem as such. Kharjiir stood after she spoke and made his way over to the table.

"Kharjiir will assist you my friend." He spoke as he arrived to his destination. He wasn't entirely sure what they had been talking about, but his presence was asked for so he had made it seem as though he knew. He placed his right hand on the chair his cousin had been sitting at, nearly casting a shadow over his new friend. "This one doesn't seem the type to belong in a place like this. Is she becoming a task to speak with my friend?" He spoke, his deep tone like that of a base. He liked toying with folks like her, and the opportunity was there. He seized it without a second thought. Her response would reveal a bit of her identity. He was curious now, and as it goes, curiosity killed the cat.

As Kharjiir lumbered over to their table, Dar'Kazhel caught a glimpse of the Breton in the far back, staring at them. He grinned at the man, and wriggled his eyebrows before turning his attention back to his fellow Khajiit. As he did so, he noticed the larger Khajiit's paw reaching to grasp the back of Dar'Kazhel's seat, and he had just enough time to shift himself forward to avoid the Cathay-Raht's potentially crushing grip. He shrugged, knowing full well that Kharjiir wouldn't purposefully hurt him - not after the pirate had made use of him as a couch, and brought his face forward again.

Leaning against the table, Dar'Kazhel steepled his fingers under his chin, and bared his front teeth in a grin that few outside of his own blood would recognize as friendly. "Kharjiir will assist you, my friend," the Cathay-Raht rumbled from above. As he went on to quietly prod the Nord for information, Dar'Kazhel studied the wall behind the woman, tracing its grooves and knots with his eyes. For whatever reason, it reminded him of the inside of a ship's hull, and Dar'Kazhel shook his head to stop himself from falling into memories he preferred to not have.

He turned his head, and studied the Breton out of the corner of his eye. With a flash of arguably crazed inspiration, Dar'Kazhel swished his tail back and forth, and twitched the end of it as if beckoning the man forward. He laughed silently, enjoying his newfound game - and the pieces he planned to use were all quite interesting even before they interacted with each other.