18+ New Beginnings

[Rextoret]

The sun was oddly bright that day. The Imperial City seemed to bustle with life, children playing in the streets of the Market District as their parents purchased goods within the many stores that lined the roads. Sailors busily prepared their ships for departure at the Waterfront, their gruff voices rising into air, intermingling with the calling of seagulls. The guards in the Prison were escorting a new prisoner to their cell, while the mages in the Arcane University were continuing their day-to-day studying.

The noise that filled the air that day came mostly from the Arena, where there was a match being held. A large orc was combating a small wood elf, cheered on by the deafening yells of the crowd. Outside of the arena, a lone marksman was practicing his archery at the nearby shooting range. The normality of the day was interrupted by the entrance of three adventurers into the Arena district. They were an odd group, led by a tall Breton in expensive black finery. The other two were obviously fighters, wearing armor. One was a female Imperial, the other a male Nord. Both looked substantially fit, much more so than the Breton.

The three of them moved forward, making their way to the Arena gates. The Breton in black stopped in front of the receptionist, a short Imperial man. He began his conversation with the man. "Excuse me. We're looking for capable fighters who might be willing to help guard some items on a short trip. Would you happen to know where we could find some who fit this role?" The Breton could have sworn he heard something behind him as the Imperial cleared his throat, but he dismissed it.

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

Avitus squinted, his eyes struggling to adjust to the bright sunlight beating down overhead. He muttered a curse on the brilliant architect who had decided to build the entire Imperial City out of white stone. It got downright painful to look at during days like this. Sighing a little bit, the young thief pulled his brown-and-green hood up and began to move with the crowd. The hood would help his vision, even if it was far too hot underneath it.

He glanced around the Arena entrance, watching a mix of combatants, gamblers, viewers, and mercenaries come and go. In a city with such an extreme standard of normality, one would be hard pressed to find a location that contained a more diverse gathering of cultures, races, and classes. Of course, Avitus was only looking for one specific type of person: namely, rich fools with a passion for betting. While it was true that men of that caliber would be lucky to have more than a Septim or two lining his pockets by the time he left the Arena, those just arriving were carrying stuffed coin purses just begging to be snatched by an enterprising pickpocket such as Avitus. The Arena got plenty of business, and the nobles had plenty of money, so there really wasn't any harm in relieving just one patron of their not-so-hard-earned coin. All he needed was one perfect mark...

"Well, speak of the Daedra," Avitus muttered to himself, a small smirk reaching his lips. There, moving through the crowd at a swift pace, was a tall, thin Breton man wearing a set of black nobleman's finery. If that wasn't a sign that this guy was rich, Avitus didn't know what was. True, there was the matter of the Breton's two armor-clad compatriots, an Imperialwoman and a Nordic man, respectively, but as long as he didn't get caught, the pickpocket saw no real cause for worry.

Keeping his eyes on the Breton, Avitus watched his mark stride up to the Arena receptionist and start talking to him, presumably placing his bets for the upcoming match. Damn. If he was going to get this guys' coin, it was now or never. Keeping his hood down and avoiding eye contact with the members of the crowd, Avitus made his way towards the Arena gates as fast as possible. Luckily, he was able to catch up to the Breton fairly quickly, meaning the noble was still chatting with the receptionist, blissfully unaware of the thief standing a few feet behind him.

Normally, this would have been the part where Avitus inconspicuously moved in behind his mark, quickly reached into the man's pocket, snatched his purse, and walked away before anyone had noticed him. However, the presence of the Breton's bulky bodyguards complicated things. They were both standing directly behind him, blocking off access for Avitus and making it nearly impossible for him to slip past. He would almost surely be caught red-handed, even if he applied a chameleon spell to himself. Damn. So his 'plan' (he used the term loosely, as it was unlikely his spur-of-the-moment attempt at petty thievery would actually qualify as a plan in the eyes of any sane being,) had failed. That didn't mean he had to walk away empty handed, however.

A few steps forward, and he was standing behind the Imperial woman. Thankfully, she had a coin purse tied to her belt. The armor would mean she wasn't as likely to feel him stealing it, but the belt meant it would take far longer than usual to grab the money and run. He hesitated for a second. He could turn and walk away, there was still time. He could just reutnr to his place in the crowd and wait for another, less well protected noble to come along. It would be quick and easy, and nowhere near as dangerous. Plus, he'd have better cover in the increased traffic of the midday battles. Yes, that was it. He'd turn around and walk away.

On the other hand... acting rationally was never his strong suit. Avitus reached out and began to work at the knot tying the coin purse to the belt.

 

[Farthlion]

She hadn’t been here in well over 100 years. There was a sense of new, a whole different group of fighters, several new rules regarding armor choices, and even some of the scenery had been updated. Then again, some things never changed; posters still adorned the wooden walls, several holding a familiar face. The aged drawing of an unmistakably more mature Adrian beckoned new fighters, his hollow star challenging them to fight. Nike shivered and looked away, slightly bothered.

“Not much has changed,” Nike observed as they walked past a crowd waiting to place their bets.

“Except for everything,” Adidas countered.

Nike replied swiftly, “The walls are still up, and the fighters are still fighting.”

“New fighters. New walls.”

The Imperial rolled her eyes as they followed Ciel, a lanky Breton, through the arena. They had been contacted by the fellow a few days before, and they had finally met and discussed the job they had been assigned. After a brief conversation, it was concluded that more muscle would be needed. What better place to find it than the arena?

She was at first very wary of going back. However, after realizing that there wouldn't be a chance that anyone would recognize the pair of ex-fighters, Nike could barely contain herself with excitement. The Imperial's blood rushed just being near the chanting and fighting again. Not long ago, those cheers and chants had once been for them. It was like it was only yesterday that she and Adidas had been fiercely dispatching their opponents in doubles matches, people referring to her with her proud title as Champion. Although the Imperial woman had sworn off the life of a fighter, if someone had asked her to go into the arena and fight, she probably would have jumped at the chance.

The Breton seemed to finally find what he was looking for and addressed the arena's receptionist, "Excuse me. We're looking for capable fighters who might be willing to help guard some items on a short trip. Would you happen to know where we could find some who fit this role?"

Nike’s instincts were not as sharp as they had once been when she was a fighter (even with the whole vampire thing), but Adidas did not seem to be lacking in that department at all. A quick ‘ting’ of metal was heard as a dagger was drawn - the sound identical to Adidas's whenever he would get it out. Before Nike could even turn her head to see what the commotion was, her Nord companion was pointing his dagger close to an Imperial man’s throat.

Nike blinked in shock before grabbing Adidas's shoulder firmly in order to stop him from harming the man. She also snatched the arm of the man so he could not get away. While she trusted Adidas more than anyone, the need to maintain order and justice overrode everything. Nike didn't think he'd just threaten some innocent by-passer - judging by the man's garb, he had to be some type of thief, but the Imperial had to be sure. With a tone similar to a mother chastising a child, she hissed at her companion, "Adidas, what are you doing?"

 

[Delusional]

Breathe.

The smooth, contoured wood of the yew longbow felt natural in the Alleras' left hand. He had a steel-tipped arrow notched in the bowstring, ready to be drawn and fired. He held an apple in the palm of his right hand, his fingers holding the arrow in place lightly.

Inhale.

Alleras closed his eyes momentarily, relieving them from the harsh glare of the sun. He slowly inhaled, relaxing his body. Normally a shot didn't take so long to prepare for; however, with the sun beaming so bright, it would be much more difficult to spot the airborne target with such a blinding glow behind it.

Draw.

All in one motion, the Imperial hurled the apple into the sky. He quickly brought the longbow to a ready position, eyes squinted, searching the heavens for his target. There it was. He drew the bowstring taut, the fletching of the arrow brushing against his leather armor as he tracked the apple's descent with the arrow tip.

Exhale. Loose.

The arrow whistled through the air, finding its mark and connecting with the apple as it fell from the sky. The crisp thwag of the arrow puncturing the apple was followed shortly by the thump of the fruit colliding with the ground of the practice range. Alleras smirked, pleased with himself. The sun was a worthy adversary.

Beads of sweat ran down Alleras' forehead as he propped his longbow up against a bale of hay and tossed his quiver aside. Whew, it truly is hot out here. I should head in soon. Maybe get a drink... Alleras thought idly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

The arena was bustling at this hour; locals were coming to bet away their latest wages on their favorite fighter, weary combatants were leaving, exhausted from their last battle. ...but then again, if the crowds are out, the tavern is bound to be packed. Alleras had no love for the Imperial City--it was far too populated for his liking--but he had even less love for the residents who frequented the local tavern. It would be best to avoid the bar during such times.

Resigned to the idea, Alleras reached down for his longbow again, ready to continue practicing.

 

[Ponder]

There was something so final about a knife to a throat. Adidas wasn't a sadist, not by any stretch of the word, but as the tip of his knife pressed a small indent into the thief's neck, the mercenary couldn't help but feel satisfied. He had won. He had caught the thief, and now he was in control.

Or at least, he should have been.

He gently pushed forward, but Nike's arm didn't budge. "Adidas..." she repeated, a warning tone in her voice.

Adidas said nothing. He wasn't angry. He was never angry. But his eyes remained locked on the hooded thief. Adidas couldn't read the boy's expression, but that didn't particularly matter. Regardless of whether he was a jaded professional with countless thefts under his belt or it was his first time on the criminal's circuit, Adidas would happily make sure it was he never came close to stealing from Nike, or anyone else, again. Granted, things would get rather messy--slitting a throat was never a clean business--but he doubted anyone at the Arena would mind. Nobody liked a thief, and they wouldn't be here unless they craved blood.

The silence stretched between the trio, even as a steady crowd of gambling spectators and hopeful combatants bustled around them. Nike's grip tightened. Another roar rose from the crowd within the Arena walls.

"Adidas!"

Adidas wrenched his arm free. "Had his hands on your gold," he said, sliding his knife back in to its sheath. "You and Pretty Boy can deal with him." Adidas nodded at their extravagantly dressed Breton companion.

Nike watched him quietly. Even though his companion could be as bloodthirsty as anyone, and had a temper that could fry a raw egg, Adidas knew it bothered her that he was so quick to judge and even quicker to act on those judgments, ill conceived or not.

"Fine," said Nike. "Ciel and I will handle this. You go see if you can find anyone hireable out here. We'll look inside the Arena." She paused thoughtfully, then grinned. "Just... try not to kill anyone, okay?"

Adidas ground his teeth, but he couldn't stay annoyed with her, nor her with him. They'd been friends too long for that. "I'll try," he said, and stalked away. The crowd jostled him, but Adidas forced his way against the flow without trouble. Some people yelled or gave him indignant glares as he shoved them aside, but he ignored them and kept going, scanning the crowd for anyone who looked capable. Finally, his gaze rested on a large, armored man leaning against one of the district's lush trees. Pushing his way over, he said "Hey! Looking for a job?"


The man regarded him thoughtfully. "No," he replied, after some apparent deliberation.

Adidas shrugged as the man walked past him. He'd given it a shot. He'd have to find someone else. The district was always chalk full of fighters, but for some reason he couldn't see any. Maybe they were obscured by the crowd. There was a lone archer practicing at the butts, but Adidas wasn't particularly fond of archers. He'd been shot by far too many of them. Still, he was the only other fighter Adidas could see. What the hell, right? He had to come back with somebody.

"Hey!" he repeated, approaching the man from behind. "Need work?"

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

"You call this a fight?! This is like watching mudcrabs mating!"
Gorim hooted from the stands as the two gladiators in the pit below warily paced back and forth. One of them, a physically chiseled Redguard who wore no armor aside from an elaborate, frilled helmet and a battered pair of iron bracers, held a curved shortsword at the ready with one hand, and a small buckler in the other. Adjacent to him was a much smaller Khajiit, who wore a leather cuirass and greaves and was equipped with a barbed spear. After sizing each other up, the two closed in on each other, and the Redguard made the first move. Letting loose an overhead slash with his sword, which the nimble Khajiit narrowly avoided before returning the favor with a spear thrust which proved to quick for the Redguard to dodge. The spear's point sliced into the warrior's side, drawing blood, which sent the crowd into a frenzy of cheering.

"That's more like it!" Gorim cackled, taking a swing from a tankard of ale before scowling in disgust. "Ugh, the stuff you Imperials make tastes like watered down piss." This drew some disapproving glances and glares from the crowd around him. Gorim had already been getting plenty of stares and odd looks already, as was expected with his unusual stature. He grumbled to himself, growing irritable as the people around him continued to gawk.

That's when he spotted a girl sitting a few seats ahead, with shimmering blonde hair and a set of breasts which made the dwarf's jaw drop. Gorim immediately stood from his seat, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd until he plopped down beside her. The blonde woman glared at the stumpy little man with a look of disgust and confusion. "Hey there," Gorim said, grinning from ear to ear. "Ahem! .. Are you a baker? Because you've got a sodding nice pair of buns." Gorim began to chuckle as the woman recoiled back, clearly offended. "You know I may be a little guy, but I'm also a disproportional guy." Gorim jested, his eyes glued to the woman's chest.

"Hey! Dwarf! Stay away from my--" Gorim stood immediately, his eyes locking onto the man who had just called him the one thing you never call Gorim Harrowmont. "What did you just call me you milk drinking arsehole?!" Gorim's face went red, his bushy eyebrows furrowing and his nostrils flaring. Before the scrawny Imperial could reply, Gorim lunged, diving over the crowd towards the man. "Nobody calls me a dwarf and lives!"
_______

"Hey, let go of me!" Gorim growled, trying to fight back against the guards who were dragging him outside. "Quit your thrashing!" One of the sentries spat, before the guards threw Gorim to the ground. The dwarf let out a pained grunt as he tumbled over, "Hngh... arseholes." Gorim stood, dusting himself off.

There were a few others outside by the receptionists booth, one was a hooded thief, the other an armor clad Imperial woman, and the third a tall, well dressed Breton man. Each of them were staring at Gorim with bewildered eyes. "What?!" Gorim snapped, outstretching his arms. "What are you milk drinkers staring at?"

 

[Rextoret]

Ciel spun around when he heard the commotion behind him. From the first glance it appeared that Adidas had a thief, of some sorts, in his grip. He silently watched as Nike and Adidas conversed.

"Had his hands on your gold," Adidas said to Nike, as he sheathed his sword. "You and Pretty Boy can deal with him."

Ciel wasn't quite sure whether that title was a compliment or an insult. While the notion of being called 'pretty' isn't exactly insulting in most cases, the words carried a sting as they left the Adidas' mouth. Still, Ciel was reminded of his youthful looks and his mood was duly raised.

"Fine," Nike fired back. "Ciel and I will handle this. You go see if you can find anyone hireable out here. We'll look inside the Arena. Just... try not to kill anyone, okay?"

Ciel turned to the prospective thief and was about to open his mouth, when a small man was promptly thrown out of the arena by the guards. Catching his attention, Ciel looked over at the man. He was about to let out a small laugh at what he saw, but was interrupted by it.

"What?!" The small man yelled, outstretching his arms. "What are you milk drinkers staring at?"

Looking down at the man, Ciel replied to him. "Well, I'd say we're all staring at you." The faintest of smirks spread on his face. "My little dwarf friend."

 

[Farthlion]

Nike's grasp on the thief's are tightened fiercely. She hated being disrespected. Did the hulking armor and bloodstained shield mean nothing to these people? She should have been respected for her intimidating appearance alone. Nike wasn't usually one to demand such a thing, but the combination of this along with the fact that this Imperial was breaking the law got on her nerves. How dare he attempt to steal from people within the arena!? Gambling was the only way the fighters were paid a substantial amount per fight. If he stole from the gamblers, the fighters who placed their lives on the line would be punished with lower rewards.

She shoved the thief forward, away from Ciel. She'd deal with this idiot herself. If he had thought that she was his savior from Adidas, this man was dead wrong. Nike could be ten times worse than her friend - on a good day. "You're going to regret this attempt to steal from me for the rest of your life, thief."

Her blood was boiling, the side of her that hated lawbreakers only fueling the display of utter disrespect from this Imperial. Nike clenched her left fist. If she punched the man with it, it wouldn't be as painful as with her right, more armored hand. It would do some justice and also let out her anger before she turned him into the guards. Nike gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes as she waited for the thief to reply. She'd let him speak before she broke his jaw.

 

[Delusional]

"Hey!"

Alleras turned around, towards the direction where he heard the voice call out from. A man was approaching him from across the yard; a very gruff looking man, at that. He looked rugged and battle-worn, his face lined, long brown hair messy. He appeared to be a fighter of some kind, most likely a contestant from the Arena. Several times already that day, combatants had approached him, asking to train with him. He had politely declined after explaining that he was only a mercenary, practicing his shot.

"Need work?" The man had reached Alleras and was now standing before him, expecting a response from the Imperial. Alleras ran a hand through his damp hair before speaking.

"Well, in fact, it would happen that I am indeed in need of work," Alleras replied, reaching down for his bow and quiver while still maintaining eye contact with the rugged man.

"Here, come sit with me." The Imperial beckoned for the man, who appeared to be a Nord, to follow him over to a nearby hay bale. Alleras eased himself down onto the hay and began sifting through his satchel as the unknown man reached the bale of hay and took a seat next to the ranger.

He withdrew an unmarked phial from his satchel before slinging it across his back again. He uncorked the phial and took a quick sip, draining half the contents of the small glass container.

"So, tell me, what work is this you offer?" Alleras turned to the man who was seated beside him.

"Also, skooma?"

The Nord shook his head curtly. "Caravan to Cheydinhal. Guarding."

The Imperial grunted, and emptied the remainder of the phial before tucking it back away in his satchel. Boy, I sure hope there are others, perhaps some more talkative, members of this caravan... I would hate to be stuck in the wilderness with this guy, Alleras thought idly. After some silent deliberation, he turned back to the Nord.

"What's the pay?"

"Five-hundred up front. Fifteen-hundred on arrival."

Alleras grunted again, instead a grunt of interest. The pay was fine, the trip was short, there was bound to be others accompanying... he had convinced himself. The Imperial stood; too quickly, and he staggered momentarily, regaining his balance.

"Well, I'm in. Where's everyone else?" Without responding, the Nord stood and began walking across the yard. A puzzled expression crossed the Imperial's face momentarily before he jogged up beside the man and attempted to initiate a conversation.

"So... what's your name?"

No response. Alleras was starting to get annoyed. He could at least have the courtesy to divulge his name to me... sheesh.

"Alright then... I'm Alleras."

Still, no response. Alleras grunted again, resigned. Evidently, there was no getting through to this guy. He walked on in silence, following the Nord as he approached the entrance of the Arena, where an unlikely, or no, a downright strange group of people were engaged in conversation.

Well, this ought to be interesting...

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

The Nord moved quickly for an armored man, and before Avitus could slip away he found himself with a blade pressed up against his throat. His breathing grew short, and he tried to look away, but couldn't. Slowly, he raised his eyes to look at the one who would surely be responsible for ending his life. He gulped, and squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to maintain a somewhat brave composure. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes, and saw the Nord having a heated conversation with his friend, the Imperial woman that Avitus had just tried to rob. She seemed to be asking him to back off, and he listened, removing the knife from Avitus' face and sliding it back into its sheath with a murderous look.

"Ciel and I will handle this," The Imperial said, firmly. "You go see if you can find anyone hireable out here. We'll look inside the Arena." A grin crept across her face, creating an odd shift in tone as far as Avitus was concerned. He had nearly lost his life, and now this woman had the nerve to smile? It was a tad unsettling. "Just... try not to kill anyone, okay?" The Nord gave his companions and Avitus one last look of anger, before turning and wading into the crowd.

"I'll try."

Avitus exhaled deeply, glad to be rid of the man for the time being. He turned to face the Imperial woman, his mark-turned-savior, and extended a hand nervously.

"Thank you so much for saving my life," He began. "I doubt I can repay you. My name's Avitus Var—oh, no."

To his horror, the Imperial was advancing towards him, a very unfriendly look on her face for someone who had just saved him from an untimely death. He turned, attempting to bolt, but she simply shoved him backwards instead. She followed, leaving the Breton who had caused the mess in the fist place behind. Avitus wanted to turn, to run away and hide from this nightmare of a botched job, but the crowd was too thick. He was completely trapped.

The Imperial spoke, her tone lower and more threatening then it had been a few moments ago. "You're going to regret this attempt to steal from me for the rest of your life, thief." Her clenched fist made it clear that she wasn't kidding around. Avitus would take a couple broken bones over a stay in the City prison any day of the week, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to whatever beating she planned on dishing out. This was his one chance to make a case for himself. Or, failing that, to create a distraction.

"Um..." He stammered, twiddling his thumbs nervously. "Well, this is a bit awkward."

 

[Farthlion]

"Um..." The man was very nervous. He probably never expected to have actually been caught. If every fiber of her being wasn't begging her to beat the living hell out of the thief, she would have actually felt sorry for him. "Well, this is a bit awkward."

"Yes, This is awkward. You really seem like too timid of a fellow to have a broken jaw," Nike replied with steel in her voice. Being at the arena brought back memories of the thrill of slowly beating her enemies to a pulp, hearing their agonizing screams as the crowd cheered. She raised her arm in preparation to make impact with the thief's face, but halted her movements as a thought occurred to her, "You know, I'm curious about this... What gave you the idea that stealing from me would be a good idea?"

While the question was unproductive and purely for her own amusement, she decided it would be better to ask now rather than after his mouth was swelling in pain. It seemed a bit cruel, but prolonging the situation a little longer to watch the thief cower was entertaining.

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

"You know, I'm curious about this... What gave you the idea that stealing from me would be a good idea?"

Avitus flinched, expecting her to attack. It took a moment or two for him to register her question. Unfortunately, it was not one that he had a decent answer to. "Uh...well...you see...okay, I've honestly got nothing." Well, this was going to hurt a lot. He made a note to himself that if he survived the ensuing beating, he'd have to work on his speech skills. Normally he just threw some money at the person assaulting him. That made 'em friendly enough.

 

[Farthlion]

This wasn't the response Nike wanted. Truthfully, she had no idea what she had been expecting from him. Frustrated and annoyed, the Imperial woman hurled her fist at the thief, Avitus's, jaw. The sound of bones colliding and cracking loudly graced her ears. Nike grinned wildly as she shook her fist (Avitus's jaw was quite strong) and observed her handy work. The poor sucker seemed to be in a decent amount of pain, so it was a job well done.

As Nike rubbed her knuckles, she noticed Adidas and another man approach. She grinned at her close friend, the sour and angry mood from just a few seconds before forgotten. "Adidas! You found someone already?"

Adidas just nodded in reply, acknowledging the injured thief before them. Nike smiled as she approached the new man. He seemed like the type to be able to handle himself well in combat, and that was enough to earn her respect. "My name is Nike. I am Adidas's friend." She held her hand out to him in greeting. Oh hell... who was she to hold back? Nike clapped the stranger on the back in an awkward embrace. It was much like the way she used to greet the fighters of the blue team.

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

Before he could react, the Imperial woman sent her armored fist flying towards Avitus' face, connecting with his jaw. Time seemed to slow, and he was treated to a sickening 'crack' as his jaw was hit. Or was that a 'crunch'? It could have been both, really. He stumbled backwards, clutching at his jaw. He attempted to open his mouth, to curse the madwoman in front of him, but he was stopped by a searing pain splitting through his bone. She had definitely broken his jaw.

The woman turned to face a pair of new arrivals, the Nord from before and a newcomer, seemingly a mercenary like these two.

Hello? Anyone going to notice me? Nah, you're right, talk to the guy you just met on the street. Let's all ignore the man standing here in unbearable agony. They did. Avitus flew into a rage, or as much of a rage as he could manage in his current situation. Basically, he clenched his spare hand into a fist while the other was massaging his jaw. He still hoped that would get the point across, though. Divines. You don't do this, you don't break a man's bloody jaw and then turn your godsdamned back on him! I swear, as soon as I get healed up...

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

The Arena? That people will pay to see people fight for sport is disgusting... You want to get a kick out of violence, go to your local slum and throw coin at people who need it! They'll fight for your amusement! Nachael shook his head and scowled as he looked on at the massive feat of engineering, the roars of spectators audible even from a distance. The idea of death as sport revolted the half-Redguard, who had grown up with the short end of the stick in life. Funny that they don't consider death by starvation the same caliber of athleticism... It sure is hot today, he thought, his mind wandering. He walked a bit nearer to the Arena, milling about under the awning of a small merchant booth. I should've given my own armor the regulating enchantment I made for Ferisa, it works well for her... Sweat beaded on his deeply dark brow, sweltering even under the shade of his mage's hood. His unmatched set of heavy armor was a bad choice of attire for this day, for sure.

As his eyes lazily scanned the bustling square in the Imperial City, they fell upon a black-clad noble at a counter near the entrance to the Arena. Another one, he thought with disgust.

The man, a Breton, was flanked by two bodyguards. As whatever business was transacting went on, the hybrid spotted a man clad in dark leather armor slinking about nearby the trio. After years in the nitty-gritty of Hegathe, it wasn't hard to tell what this man was after. Nachael found himself practically urging the man on as he looked for an opening to swipe a little coin; the man was doing what he had to do, in Nachael's eyes. He had heard rumors upon his entrance into the Imperial province that there was a thief, the Gray Fox they called him, who was no doubt a skilled man, and whose motives were less surely either selfless or selfish. Nachael didn't care. Either way, Nachael found it easy to root for the pickpocket - and found himself cringing as the man was caught, scolded, and left with what sounded like, even from his distant watch, a broken jaw. Bastards.

Nachael decided that he was in a new land, he had coin, and had what was as close to a new start as he could get - he wouldn't let this rest. He hurried over to the now-disregarded thief and, placing a hand on his shoulder said, "Stay still." The man, an Imperial it looked like, shot the half-elf a confused glance, both at Nachael's unique appearance and his random command. Nachael snapped a flurry of green energy into his palm and held it up under the man's chin, wordlessly channeling his magicka into healing the broken jaw. He watched as bones shifted and bruised skin righted its color, until the Imperial was healed. As the thief rotated his jaw, feeling it to be without pain, Nachael tapped the woman who had done this on the shoulder. "What's the idea, breaking a man's jaw and just turning away?"

 

[Farthlion]

"What's the idea, breaking a man's jaw and just turning away?"

The voice was accompanied by a tap on the shoulder, gaining Nike's immediate attention. Well, that's a dumb question...

"The idea was to cause him pain and then proceed to not devote any sympathy toward his pain," the Imperial gripped her sword out of habit before answering in an honest manner. She turned to give the man a critical look, noting he was an odd looking Redguard who, judging by the rob he wore, was most likely skilled in magic. The sturdy set of armor she was able to spot underneath it told her he was probably not limited to just using spells.

"He attempted to steal from me, so I stole the gift of a healthy jaw from him," Nike paused and frowned as she realized that Avitus's jaw was now healed, "and apparently you have given it back. Why would you reward a man that is attempting to take something that does not belong to him?"

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

"Well, I'd say we're all staring at you." The faintest of smirks spread on his face. "My little dwarf friend." Gorim chortled, the well dressed man seemed to have an elitist attitude, one that didn't sit well with Gorim. "Now you laugh it up you prissy, pompous, privileged..." uhh... what's another word that starts with-- "pussy!"

Gorim began to make a move towards the Breton, when suddenly a squabble broke out between the Imperial woman in armor and the hooded thief. The dwarf stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow as the women let loose a punch which struck the shady figure's jaw with a sharp crack.

"Whoah, that sounded like it hurt." Gorim remarked as he scratched his nappy, alcohol-soaked beard. "Just what's going on here, and who are you people?" He asked as more people began to show up.

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

"He attempted to steal from me, so I stole the gift of a healthy jaw from him," the Imperial woman countered. It was strange to Nachael how frankly she spoke of breaking the thief's jaw. "And apparently you have given it back. Why would you reward a man that is attempting to take something that does not belong to him?"

"I don't think it's a reward if I simply give him back something he started with." The woman didn't look persuaded, and judging by the way she held her sword's hilt she wasn't quite as calm as she betrayed. Nachael looked down at the Imperial's s belt, where the coin purse the thief had evidently gone for was now protectively hanging from the front. "It looks like he didn't get the coin he was after, and he did get the pain of a broken jaw. That sounds fair enough to me. How about you let him go, lesson learned?" The hybrid man had been looking somewhat sternly on the Imperial woman, but with this he softened his gaze a little. Now was the time to persuade, not defend his position to the death. He noticed off to the side that the rich-looking Breton was in a bit of an argument with an armor-clad... small man.

 

[Delusional]

The scene Alleras had stumbled upon was quite chaotic. As soon as Alleras and the unnamed Nord had joined the circle of people standing outside of the arena--a strangely diverse crowd, with an extravagantly dressed Breton and a dwarf, among others--commotion had broken out. An armored Imperial woman had advanced on a hooded man, who was presumably a thief, socking him in the jaw rather hard. Another man had entered the circle as soon as that had happened, a strange-looking Redguard with elvish ears, and all the while, the rather angry dwarf was yelling at the top of his lungs, demanding an explanation for Talos knows what.

Situations like this can be remedied by one thing and one thing alone... Alleras thought as he reached into his satchel.

Interrupting several people who were actively engaged in arguments, Alleras stepped into the center of the crowd, a small bowl in his hand.

"Now, now, let's calm down, everyone. I've only just been brought here by this Nord who refuses to share his name with me, and already I've witnessed a broken jaw and verbal debates!" His words had caught the attention of everyone, who set aside their debates to gaze upon the Imperial-Redguard who now stood among them.

"I've got the perfect remedy to this situation. Sure, we may be enemies and at each others' throats now, but in an hour after taking this, we will all be the best of friends." He gestured to the bowl in his hand.

"So, moon sugar, anyone?"

 

[Farthlion]

"It looks like he didn't get the coin he was after, and he did get the pain of a broken jaw. That sounds fair enough to me. How about you let him go, lesson learned?" Nike was about to reply with something about how there was no way in hell she'd be allowing the thief to get out without escorting him to a guard, but was interrupted by the Imperial man who had been accompanying Adidas.

"I've got the perfect remedy to this situation. Sure, we may be enemies and at each others' throats now, but in an hour after taking this, we will all be the best of friends. So, moon sugar, anyone?" He held a bowl full of a strange substance in his hand, offering it to the the group. Back in her arena days, she had witnessed countless fighters keeping a stash of moon sugar. Although she had no idea what its effects were, nor what on earth one was supposed to do with it, Nike was curious.

She grabbed a few pieces of the crushed up substance and stared at it. "How exactly does one consume it?" Taking a glance around to see if the others were going to grab some as well, she noticed that Ciel and a rather short man had appeared.

"Just what's going on here, and who are you people?" He questioned loudly. The man looked rather unstable and smelled of alcohol... but then again, there were multiple definitions of that. One could be unstable in the way her brother was, finding enjoyment in seeing his own sibling was brutally slaughtered. Or they could be like this man appeared - corrupted by some sort of drink.

"We are a group of travelers looking for some extra swords," Nike answered vaguely. "The pay is good... if you can fight, of course. If not, this isn't the group for you."