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18+ Into the Abyss We Fall

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by The Seraph, Sep 11, 2019.

  1. The Seraph

    The Seraph Bringer of Dawn and the Morningstar

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    The Bee and Barb bustled with the riff raff of Riften. Thieves, smugglers and pickpockets abound in the cramped inn. The two young Argonian barkeeps placated the inhabitants with copious amounts of ale and mead. As a result, the bar was filled with drunken revelry, amorous conversations and aimless shouting matches. In a forgotten corner, there sat two people planning an arduous journey. An Altmer man dressed in collegiate robes and a towering knight in all concealing armour. The man, Alindion, was giddily discussing the plans. "Allright, allright! Kthondmz, according to all accounts is very heavily fortified, especially in the Slaves Halls, the Laboratory and the Furnace. I do hope this goes swimmingly!"
    The knight in a stern, yet slightly feminine voice stated, "Calm yourself. This is shall indeed be a prosperous endeavour. None can resist the allure of gold and adventure. Now, how much abuse can these, 'automatons' endure?"
    "Ah yes, you're right," said Alindion, "Now, these animunculi are very tough. Numerous accounts state they can survive even a strong mercenary's attacks. Hopefully we shall get battle hardened folks!"
    "Yes, from what I have heard of term Dwemer ruins, only the mighty endure the destroying nature of the ruins." The knight paused. The door to Riften parted open, and in stepped the first of the ardent souls to undergo this journey. Alindion began to gleefully shout the person over, as he had done so for several other uninterested patrons and the knight hung her head in shame at his overly eager display.
     
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  2. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    Beran Masros strode purposefully through the streets, his tattered brown cloak shifting in the wind. The greatsword he carried in a leather and wood sheathe, over his right shoulder. The weapon was nearly as tall as a normal man, though on Beran, it seemed like it could be used as a standard longsword. The steel armour he wore shone in the light of torches mounted along the walls and rails of the city. He could feel eyes on him, watching from the shadows. The city of thieves was well named, and the guild that called the place home were very interested in visitors. He didn't fear for his life- the denizens of Riften were much more interested in his coin purse than they were his blood.

    Ahead of him, the most known inn of Riften, the Bee and Barb, stood with light pouring out of its' windows, and a lit lantern in the doorway. It was not the only tavern in the city, but it was the most accommodating, and by far the safest. Besides, the letter he'd received several days earlier had instructed him to report to this specific tavern. He pushed the door open, stepping past a smaller man who was headed in the opposite direction. His eyes were drawn to a couple of people at one of the tables. An excitable altmer male, in the robes of a mage or traveler, sat with a breton female, who looked decidedly less amused at the elfs' antics.

    Upon seeing Beran enter, the elf started waving in a completely undignified manner, summoning the tall nord over. Suppressing an amused smile, he marched over to them and bent towards the pair so that they could hear him better. "Greetings and well met. I am Beran Masros, wandering swordsman." He glanced at the elf, "I assume you're the one who sent the letter about this dwarven ruin?" His voice was as deep as would be expected in a man of his stature.
     

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