Open The Bannered Mare Tavern

OOC: Lol awwwwww snap man

Good, now the Strikers hold a strong presence in Riften, one of their leaders is trying to get the thiefs guild to spy on us and watch are move, all i want you to do is watch him, and when the time strikes kill him, and any witnesses.
Now i follow Chris the best i can, then ill meet you back here, if you wish to contact me just message me through a courier

"It shall be done, my Speaker." That said, Laryn vanished into the night.

Sipro then goes out of the inn and starts shouting out for chris in a fierce voice searching for him.
''Chris come out now! I will find you! I know your out here i'm no fool!''
A guard approaches Sipro, the guards says ''Shut up, it's late we don't want anyone waking you fool! anymore of this and ill have you arrested!''
Sipro walks up to the guard and poisons him ''haha, you'll be dead in 10 minutes of suffering, and you can't even scream!''

OOC: You mean Speaker mate.

Chris would shake his hand. "Names Chris. Change of plans. Meet me in the collage of winterhold."

OOC: This will carry out to my new Rp. [TRB] Ties to the past. Let's continue there.

What do you mean

Chris ran off into the night. Retreating into the night. His footsteps making no noise.

Ooc: Is it ok, Mongo, that Caellian only heard of you like you were in a bedtime story?

Ic: Caellian agrees to Chris and heads off to Winterhold.

OOC: Mora lets go over to where chris is going as on the story im following them so meet me there

Yeah sure, ill meet you in the other chat

Sipro follows Chris in the night
OOC: See everyone in ties of the past!

Lysara quietly slipped into the Bannered Mare. She just finished hunting, selling the hides to Ulfberth and then stopping by Arcadia's Cauldron to sell the leftover bits for alchemy. She sat down at the counter. "Alto wine, please," she says to Saadia.

Allimir watched as quite a few fellows ran off into the night from the very inn he was headed towards.
"Huh. Wonder what the rush is..." The bosmer shrugged and whistled his way to towards the Bannered Mare. Opening the door he saw the warm light and heard the songs of the bard and the talk of the people. This brought an extra-large grin to his features. He felt his heart warm to such sights and he strode up to the bar, drumming both knuckles against the surface.

"Alto wine, please." said the Breton besides him.

The bosmer lifted his hand quickly as soon as she finished her order, "And for me, as well!"

Lysara looked to the wood elf next to her. "Ah, I see you fancy wine as well. I myself have never been much for ale or mead, though Honningbrew isn't too bad, in my opinion."

Saadia brought their drinks. Lysara raised her goblet to the bosmer and nodded. "Cheers."

The bosmer clinked his goblet to hers and grinned, "Cheers, breton." He pressed his lips to the edge and drank a hearty amount of the sweet brew. He set it down with a clink, his eyes drifting around the tavern before settling on what he now considered his drinking-companion, sizing her up. "My name's Allimir. What's yours robe-wearer?"

"I am Lysara, bosmer. From where do you hail, friend?" Taverns always made Lysara a little more sociable.

"Here, there, everywhere. I go from town to town. I do odd jobs at places like the various mills and farms. Though I suppose you can say I'm from Cyrodil by origin. I decided that I need to... travel about." The elf nodded at this explanation, satisfied this would satisfy her. "What about you? What brings a breton lass to Skyrim? Last I checked your people around here are almost as poorly looked upon as my own. And your robes denote you as something... not-nordishly-accepted."

Harrold Hardyng enters the inn, purchases a skin of expensive wine, and sits down at a table. He drinks a cup of wine and sets to sharpening his blade, Heartsbane.

"Ah, Cyrodiil," she said, finishing her wine. "I've been meaning to find my way back, but the jobs I am offered just seem to become more and more.... curious." She turned toward the door upon the sound of someone entering, but averted her attention back to Allimir as the man sat down. "I hail from Chorrol. My father, he was a member of the Mages guild there. I was but a wee lass when he left my mother in High Rock and brought me to Cyrodiil. The Mages took us in. They were impressed by my father's abilities and will to keep me safe.

"He taught me many things, that man," Lysara traced the rim of her goblet with her left index finger. "I miss him dearly. He caught a dreaded ailment on one task he was set out to do. He was to slay a meddlesome band of vampires, out in the mountains. He was strong enough, but there were so many that he couldn't handle them without catching Porphyric Hemophilia... he got so bloodthirsty that he asked his closest friends at the guild to slay him. They explained this to me when I was of age. His dying wish was for me to build myself a name somewhere, and I chose Skyrim."

Isnar the Old walks into Whiterun with 16 septims in the coinpurse latched to the side of his black cloak, he had, covering his head and forehead. He walks into the bannered mare, looking to settle down for a night. He hands the bartender 10 septims, and heads to his room. He put all of his belongings on the bed, his iron war axe, his dwarven mechanism that attaches to his one arm, the cloak, and the coinpurse. "Six septims left. Better make 'em count." He said, feeling the few coins. He went downstairs to see what was happening.