Private The Grand Extravaganza (18+)

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    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    A party of worn travelers walked on the cobblestone road that ran among the tall pines of the great woods of Falkreath, road-weary under the just-emerging stars; in the light purplish din of the early evening, they moved along quietly, footfall after footfall eager to reach a place of rest. It was clear they had been travelling for a while, yet they still could be heard from just outside of the confines of Falkreath, talking warmly amongst themselves, a man who was evidently a bard occasionally breaking out in song and being joined by a handful of the group. The denizens of Falkreath watched the slow approach inquisitively, between their last chores of the day, eager to put back a few pints and relax. Soon the group came close, and the odd amalgam of travelers smilingly headed for the Dead Man's Drink, followed by a few others who were either curious about the

    The low mumbling of a few of the early patrons of the inn was interrupted when a handsome blonde-haired Imperial clad in all red stepped in and announced, "I have my father's coin in my pocket and we've been on the road for far too long!" This drew an odd look from the residents who had been quietly nursing tankards of ale. "Oh, right, I don't suppose you get many patrons here, that means- probably no more than... Gods, how many years has it been?" His low but audible stream of consciousness was interrupted when the Imperial looked up and took up once more his festive tone. "Drinks! Libations! The nectar of Sanguine! On me!" The man's companions, who had massed behind him at the door, laughed lightly before dispersing from the entrance. A shapely Dunmer took the Imperial's side, and putting an arm around her led her to the bar - already largely occupied by a diverse group of travelers, possibly more diverse than the man's own party but their status as a group made obvious by the light conversation they entertained. "Bartender, two bottles of your finest wine," the man said smilingly. The couple took seats at the end of the bar, next to a Nord man and woman, the woman considerably pale.

    The innkeeper delivered the drink, asking, "How about you let me see some of this coin you're bragging about?" Without hesitation, the Imperial swung the bag he carried around and produced a hefty coin purse. "Keep the drink flowing and you'll see some more. Cheers," he said, turning to his Dunmer companion and clinking glasses.

    "You're celebrating something?" The Nord man asked warmly. "Some coincidence, our little party here has just finished a journey of our own."

    "Really? Oh bartender? Refill all their drinks! Congratulations, friend. We are indeed celebrating." The Imperial extended a hand, which the Nord took in a firm shake. "Tacitus."

    "I'm Thor. It's a pleasure." The Nord looked to the Dunmer expectantly.

    "Arana," she said with a simple and suave tone. "Hah! I'm Serana," the pale Nord woman submitted.

     

    Gentleman Adventurer

    A True Gentleman
    The white-haired mage looked around Dead Man's Drink, the best (that was to say, only) tavern in all of Falkreath. It was, as far as Skyrim's taverns went, fairly average. An interior made of uneven stone and chopped lumber, with a large fire pit in the middle for cooking food. A bard stood in the corner, belting out what sounded like a half-drunken rendition of 'Ragnar the Red', occasionally stopping to hit on the attractive barmaid sweeping up. The smell of stale mead and dried fruit hung in the air, mixing with the smoke from the fires to create a heavy musk that clogged one's nostrils and practically eliminated any other odor in the room. To any other, the place would have seemed cramped, dirty, and uncomfortable, but to the mage, it simply felt like home. True, it did suffer from a distinct lack of the drunken altercations he was used to witnessing, but he always things better peaceful as it was.

    Dead Man's Drink, being in a small town, was obviously not meant to hold many people, and it was already beginning to get somewhat crowded. This was likely due to the group that had arrived some time before the mage's, obviously walking a similar path. The mage wondered if he would run into them in the future. A part of him, for whatever reason, thought it unlikely. Shrugging, he took a few steps up to the bar, reaching into the leather satchel around his shoulder as he did so. He withdrew a small, aqua-colored book and opened it up to a bookmarked page. He muttered a quick incantation in an ancient tongue, and for a split second his body was engulfed in green light. Taking a few steps and closing the gap between him and the counter, the mage gave a weak smile and politely explained to the bartender that he was a little short on coin and the moment, and was wondering if, perhaps, he could get his first drink on the house. The Nord bartender frowned, but found himself, rather oddly, in a generous mood. He went and fetched the mage his requested glass of snowberry juice, before bidding him a good day and moving on to the next customer, a black-haired Breton in blue robes.

    With a slight sigh of relief, the mage collapsed into a chair near one of the tables in the far corner of the tavern. After all that walking, it was good to have a place to rest his feet. He reached his satchel once more, withdrawing another book, this one much too large to fit into anything as small as a satchel. Or, at least, a normal satchel, which this one was decidedly not. The mage opened the book with one hand, taking his drink in the other, and propped his feet up on the table in front of him. Politeness be damned, he was tired beyond belief. And with that, he settled in and began reading 'The Frost of Thirsk Hall'. A content little smile now crossing his face, the mage took a sip of his drink. The smile vanished as he swallowed, instead replaced with a look of mild disgust. The juice, it seemed, had gone bad.

    Eldric, frost mage of the Skaal, sighed deeply. This was going to be a very long night.
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    "So, what's the occasion?" Thor asked, putting back his third ale of the evening and gesturing for another. "We've just returned from a ruin out west. Finally found an artifact we've been after for quite a while. Yourself?"

    "Well, we're back from Solstheim; you know about the vampire crisis?"

    "We've been gone for most of it, from what I gather, but we've had a fast education. A few hit us two nights ago," Tacitus answered. "We were up there to destroy a vampire artifact that- well, if they had it, things would not be so well."

    "You know, it's a good thing we have people like you, bud... buddy," Tacitus remarked, already feeling a little buzzed.

    "Gods bless Skyrim, eh?" Tacitus patted his new drinking buddy on the shoulder. "Damn straight."

    To the side of the two men, Serana and Arana were conversing. "You know, not to pry, but how does someone like yourself end up with a man like him? No offense, of course."

    "Like myself?" Serana laughed. "No offense taken. He doesn't mind," she remarked of her vampirism. "I guess if you wanted to know how I ended up with him in the sense of our relationship, he found me sealed away in a crypt after millenia of sleep, and we had our first date in a cave on the side of a mountain south of Dawnstar. We saw a lot together and couldn't really help forming something of a bond." Serana took a swig of wine. "How'd you meet him?"

    "I saw him at the tavern in the town where I was living one night and decided to talk to him on a whim - honestly, I thought I was just doing it for the fun of spurning him after he bought me a drink, but so much for that. He and I spent some time together for the next week or so, and one night some old friends of his happened into town. He seemed set on going with them, so I just hopped on board and here we are." She looked over at Tacitus. "We've been through a lot- we all have, in this party of ours; see that Nord woman over there?" Arana gestured over at Elsa. "She and I have had our brawls - I mean that - but we're friends. Anyway, we've had good and bad times, and this is good."

    "This is awful," Nachael remarked as he trudged into the Dead Man's Drink behind Ciel and Gorim. "This is truly awful! Remind me never to listen to one of your ideas again," the Red-elf remarked to his sister, who entered behind him, considerably more cheerful than he. "Hey, is it really that bad?" Ferisa offered. "We ended up near a town, we have plenty of coin, and the weather is fair! And look at this," she said of the bustling tavern, "a nice warm, lively tavern!"

    As Ciel approached the innkeeper to inquire about just where the group was, Nachael and Ferisa took up positions at the bar, which was being manned by multiple barmaids due to an unusually high patronage. "I need a drink," Nachael grumbled to no one in particular. "I'll take your strongest stuff. What'll it cost?"

    "Nothing! On me!" Tacitus glanced at the strange-looking man to his left and noticed he was in poor spirits. "What's the problem, friend?"

    "It was my sister's idea... I told her no, but she convinced everyone else, and I just had to go along to keep her from getting killed-"

    "Before he says anything else," Ferisa chimed in, looking over the handsome Imperial, "I'm Ferisa, and he's Nachael, and he gets like this all the time." Isn't he the good-looking one, she thought of Tacitus. "Anyway," Nachael resumed, "it was all her her idea to walk into that damn Oblivion Gate-"

    "Wait, what in Oblivion?"

    "That's what I said. I'm not sure if I should be grateful or disappointed that we didn't find ourselves in Dagon's realm," Nachael said before taking a gulp of liquor. Serana and Arana had caught wind of the conversation and were now giving Ferisa and Nachael a strange look. "Do you know what year it is?"

    "Why would you ask a thing like that? It's 433, in the Third Era! Didn't you know?"
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    Kjan sat at the bar, her hood down and her mind focused on relieving stress by drinking. It had been a long and ridiculous journey. And only a small portion of her time to repay her debt was left. She'd have to make a move soon. While the Nord was growing attached to the group (although she would not admit it, especially the leader), everything in her insisted that it was a very, very bad idea to make friends.

    The Imperial had already finished her first drink when a blonde hair man stepped in, and after conversing with Thor, exclaimed,"Really? Oh bartender? Refill all their drinks! Congratulations, friend. We are indeed celebrating." Kjan was not really celebrating, but she was certainly going to accept anything free. She hated alcohol with a fierce passion, yet it certainly was helping relieve the Nord of her troubles...

    Kjan took a swig of the rest of her mead and immediately held it out to be refilled, giving the bard (a giant of a Redguard) a nasty look as he sat down next to her and began to sing.

    Nike entered the building, Adidas, as usual, not far behind. Perfectly enough, it was just in time to hear an Imperial declare that he would be paying for all their drinks. The Imperial grinned, "Give me three ales and a mead! I am damn exhausted after all this 'Oblivion Gate' plops!" She pounded a fist on the counter in order to gain the bartender's attention, truly excited at the idea of unlimited drinks.

    Farth grinned and clapped the armored woman on the back, "Let's drink to a night of festivities!"

    "Why would you ask a thing like that? It's 433, in the Third Era! Didn't you know?"

    Kjan, who had now downed her second drink, raised her tankard for a refill, "It's 201 in the Fourth Era you drunk moron!"
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    Marcus had no idea why he now found himself inside the Dead's Man Drink in Falkreath with the companions he had ventured to the far reaches of Skyrim with, combating the vampire menace. However, it made no matter to him, because it was a tavern, and taverns had alcohol. It had been too long since he had gotten completely hammered; tonight was the night to change that.

    Before noticing any of the other patrons of the bar, of which there were quite a lot of, the Imperial made sure to down a few drinks first. After all, a party wasn't fun without a buzz, in Marcus' book. Once he had successfully finished a few flagons of various alcoholic beverages, he began to scour the bar for possible entertainment. A particular Imperial man stood out, who was clearly buzzed, and ordering many of the patrons drinks on him. Marcus smirked and stumbled over to where he was seated.

    "Hey there, how are you?" Marcus asked loudly as he stepped in next to the raunchy Imperial.

    Across the bar, Alleras was seated around a table shrouded in clouds of smoke and dust, the table piled with various substances, ranging from Khajiiti moon sugar to the rare hist sap of Black Marsh's swamps. Alleras was laughing hysterically in between snorts of moon sugar, shouting and yelling like a madman. God, I love drugs, he thought before shooting up another line.

    Honestly, he did not entirely remember how he ended up here. The last coherent thought of what exactly had happened in the past twenty four hours that he had was stepping though some blasted portal-like object. Then, suddenly, he found himself here, in some foreign, crowded tavern, his cache of drugs spread out across the table before him, smoke and dust floating in the air around him in rather high concentrations.

    "Eyy! Get over here! We've got plenty of the stuff!" Alleras shouted to no one in particular as he turned around in his seat, facing the rest of the tavern. He had no idea who would join the small crowd of patrons who eagerly took up Alleras' offer at his raunchy call, but it didn't really matter to him--the more the merrier, especially when it came to drugs.
     

    Ponder

    International Man of Mystery
    Adidas sat at a corner bench, nursing a glass of milk. He didn't drink alcohol. He never drank alcohol. He used to drink alcohol by the gallon, a long time ago, but he didn't dare step down that dark and murky road again. Nike, however, had gladly taken up the Imperial on his offer of free drinks, leaving Adidas alone next to an altogether strange little man.

    The man appeared to be scared of everything. He'd nearly screamed when Adidas sat down beside him. Windows, chairs, torches, cats--they all made him flinch. Nevertheless he had somehow worked up the nerve to order a drink, and now seemed to be struggling to come to terms with the horror that was liquid alcohol. Every so often he'd shoot a timid glance at a nord woman across the room, put on a brave face and, with audacity heretofore unknown to mankind, grip his bottle of mead and take a tentative sip. Adidas finished his milk and made to stand, but the man spoke before he could move.

    "Er, hi," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm Pilus." The man wiped a hand on his orange robes and held it out, but Adidas' eyes remained fixed on the rather disconcerting red stains which the hand had so casually passed over. After a short silence, the man followed Adidas' gaze.

    "Oh. Those. Don't... um, don't worry about those. They're just from work." Pilus smiled sheepishly. "I'm sure you understand."

    Adidas silently indicated that he did not.

    "I'm a healer, see?"

    "Not a very good one, evidently."

    Pilus glared at Adidas reproachfully. "I'm a healer, but I moonlight as, well... as a thief."

    Adidas' eyes narrowed. "What kind of thief?"

    "An organ thief."

    Adidas scooted several feet away. Surprisingly, the healer quickly followed, apparently unable to pick up on basic social cues. His eyes were wide, and he nearly dropped the mead in his frantic rush to close the gap.

    "Sorry! I'm sorry! Did that offend you? Do you have an organ?"

    Adidas' brow furrowed. He wasn't usually flustered, but the man's incongruity silenced most words forming in the mercenary's brain. "I... uh, I have many."

    Pilus' eyes brightened. "Really? What kinds?"

    "Same as everyone else. I think."

    "Oh. Oh. I see." The healer looked crestfallen. "You thought I was talking about organs, didn't you?"

    "Weren't you?"

    "Yes. Organs. But not organs." Adidas was unconvinced. "Look," said Pilus, pulling his bag open. Adidas tried to flinch away, but morbid curiosity got the better of him. Bracing himself, he peered over the hem, expecting the worst.

    His jaw dropped.

    The bag was filled with little white ivory sticks. Interspersed within the mass were smaller black sticks, as well as strange knobs and handles, and even a few small pipes. They all looked somewhat related, but for the life of him Adidas couldn't figure out how. And then the truth dawned.

    "Organs." he said.

    "Yeah. Organs." Pilus paused thoughtfully. "It used to be lutes, and before that accordions, but it's not the same."

    "What's wrong with accordions?"

    "Accordions? Don't get me started on accordions! They're false! They lie!" His voice rose to a scream. "And they have buttons! Buttons!"

    Adidas thought it best not to reply. After another sip of mead, the healer spoke up again. "Say, have you been to the, um, temple here yet?"

    "The hall of the Dead?"

    "Yeah."

    "Briefly."

    "You didn't happen to see any, you know... organs in there, did you?"

    "Not the kind you're thinking of."

    Pilus looked down morosely. "Oh," he said, and disappointedly raised the bottle to his lips.

    Adidas rubbed his eyes. This was strange. Too strange. "Damn it," he said, standing up. Spying Alleras' table, he pushed his way over. "Something. Now." Adidas threw himself in the chair across from the man. "Skooma, sap, dust. I don't even care."
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    Elsa waved at the bartender and gestured for another drink. She was leaning her elbows upon the counter, leaning forward almost casually as another flagon came her way.

    Two coin purses, a dagger possibly steel but probably iron, some snowberries and bottles and bottles mead.

    Sitting back she smiled, happy that Tacitus had once again decided to pay for their drinks. They'd been walking for what felt like a whole era and frankly the young nord was looking to get very very drunk. The group she had entered with had broken off to chat to the locals, leaving her to drink and make conversation with whoever she found to appear the most interesting.

    There was a small bosmer sat at a nearby table, nursing a flask of something. She seemed...nervous. Her fingers were twitching and she kept looking around. A few times she appeared to speak but quickly fell silent. At least Elsa thought she might be silent, the elf's mouth never seemed to stop moving, as if the odd bosmer was constantly talking to herself. It was disconcerting to say the least, but considering the nature of some of her travelling companions the bosmer was probably quite normal in comparison. Her mind made up Elsa grabbed her drink and sauntered over, with her pack slung haphazardly over one shoulder.


    Vanya was feeling very uncomfortable. Everyone she knew here seemed quite at home but she was still sat alone while she practised what to say. Ciel had once told her she spoke very formally and though he did not say it expressly, it had been implied that her hyper formality was not a good thing. She hadn't felt comfortable enough to ask him how he thought she should be speaking so she had come up with what she felt was a very good alternative. Over their recent travels Vanya had collected a series of novels and was slowly memorising as much of the dialogue as she could. If her plan worked accordingly she might be able to mimic the language there and eventually, once she was more confident, she would go off book. It was a potentially very exciting project but so far she was yet to put her idea into practise.

    Her thoughts were interrupted by a shadow falling over the table she had sequestered herself to. Looking up she saw a nord woman smiling fondly down at her whilst clutching a rather intimidating amount of alcohol to her chest. Vanya blinked owlishly and wondered what she should say. She knew a greeting was expected of her but suddenly all she could remember was a very odd book about an argonian maid and her master who seemed quite fond of freshly baked bread. They had found the book on their way into Falkreath in an abandoned camp, and Vanya had been puzzling over the innuendo for most of the day.

    "So are you just going to keep staring at me and silently talking to yourself or are you going to offer me a seat?"

    Oh by the gods. Stuck for what to say without being rude Vanya pointed at the chair opposite her and nodded vigorously. Perhaps this wouldn't be happening if she hadn't been sipping at her jagga all day. But she'd been so thirsty and her skin of water had run dry earlier and her flask was all she had besides that.



    "Do you talk at all then? If you don't that's fine, I can talk for the both of us. I'm Elsa by the way, you don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to. You seem the shy type but really you don't need to be, I'm very friendly. I'll call you 'sweet thing' for now. You're so tiny and sweet looking you see. Save for the tattoo of course."

    Elsa was rambling and slowly leaning across the table. Her pack was now stuffed under the table and her arms curled protectively around her drink. It had been so long since she'd had anything but water that the mead had gone straight to her head. She by her lip experimentally and was hardly surprised when she noted the familiar numbness she often experienced when drunk. Looking around the tavern, the thief had a strong feeling things would prove very interesting. Noting Pilus sat alone Elsa sighed a little to herself and prodded Sweet Thing in the arm.

    "See that guy there? That's Pilus, one of my friends. He's a bit shy like you. I'd introduce you both but I get the feeling I'd be doing most of the talking. You'd probably have better luck taking to Farth over the there. He's a bard you see. Absolutely anyone can talk to a hard because you don't even have to talk really, just sing." Elsa giggled a bit to herself and took another swig from her flagon. Her attention was drawn away for a moment as she heard Pilus yelling about something, suddenly talking rather animatedly to some burly stranger. Turning back to her drink Elsa shook her head, her mouth pouting slightly as she tried to estimate how much she had left in her flagon. "Why do they always ask about the accordions?"
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    Garrus stumbled drunkenly into Falkreath, a hip flask that was haphazardly tied to his waist swung as he walked. Dirt caked his body, visible through the the cuts in his armor. His hair, a long tangled mess of black, fell carelessly down his back and into his face. The face that it fell into was set in a permanent scowl. He stumbled forward, more drunk than he had ever been in his life. He slowly approached the tavern, the loud rumble of the voices inside building in intensity as he drew closer. His hands scrambled for the door, lazily pushing it open as he slumped against it in a desperate move to remain standing. That delicate balance was abruptly ruined as the shock wave of noise blasted into his ears. Of course, it might not have been so loud in actuality - but everything seemed incredibly loud and dramatic for the immensely drunk Garrus.

    He stumbled forward, his face solidly colliding with the wooden boards. A loud groan could be heard from his mouth, slurred to the point of inaudibility. He pushed himself up, proceeding to move forward in a manner closer to shuffling than to walking. Pushing through the crowd of people and their double images, he moved forward toward his objective, a seat at a nearby table. His drunken tunnel vision managed to skip over the fact that the seat was right next to Elsa, Garrus' second most hated person at the time. So he pressed on, until his hand grasped the wooden bench and he half-sat, half-hauled himself onto it. He slumped forward onto the table, pulling a huge bottle of whiskey out of his pack. He looked to his right, his eyes locking onto the face of the Nord woman who sat next to him. "Oh gods..." The words came out in a drunken slur, although the fear was evident in his face. Which was rather odd for him.

    He fell off the bench, crawling away from her. "Please Elsa, don't kill me..." He stumbled, his arms falling out from under him. His face once again crashed into the floor, this time leaving a large bruise on his right cheek. But he got back up and ran (stumbled, in a more accurate way), determined to get away from her. He made it away, taking refuge under one of the tables on the other side of the room. He thought he was hiding well, but in reality, he was as blatantly evident as a tower on an empty field.

    ---​
    Sorex walked into Falkreath, the hints of a smile on his face. He wasn't quite sure by what divine magic had him walking once again upon the ground, but he was glad for it. That said, there were a few side-effects. Namely, he was marginally transparent. Luckily it seemed as if he could still consume food and drink, so his first destination was the Falkreath inn. He was adorned with his typical Thieves Guild armor, and his hair had inexplicably grow a bit longer since his death. Of course, his bangs still hung down in his face, necessitating his habit of pushing it out of his eyes.​
    He ascended the steps, placing his hand upon the door to the inn. The small cracks and patterns in the wood were still felt by his cold, dead hand. He pushed it open, greeted by the heat and commotion of the inn. A few faces he knew met his eyes. Elsa was sitting at a table and Farth was present. Garrus was also at a table, albeit under it. He was also more drunk than Sorex had ever seen anyone before. He moved over to Garrus' table, crouching down and peering under it. "Garrus?" The man turned his head, squinting to see Sorex. "Sorex? Oh crap, I'm really drunk..." He took another swig from a mead bottle that he had probably stolen off of a table. Sorex stood again. He knew better than to speak with Garrus while he was drunk, from past experience. He scanned the room, finding Elsa in the crowd. While his reappearance was sure to bring up sorrow, that wasn't enough to make him stop wanting to talk to old friends. Elsa was particularly devastated after Sorex's death.​
    Ignoring that thought, he moved over to where she was sitting. He took a seat next to her, patiently waiting for her to finish her conversation with the other woman across the table. It wasn't like him to interrupt, even if his own (temporary) reincarnation was at hand.​
    ---​
    Ciel was befuddled. While he was clearly in Skyrim, everything seemed... different. He had been minding his own business in Cyrodiil, and the next moment he was outside of Falkreath. He headed for the inn, hoping to get a grasp on what had happened. Pushing open the door, he was greeted by the typical commotion of a inn. And a few familiar faces, Vanya being one. She was sitting across from a Nord woman, and an Imperial who seemed to have a problem with staying... whole. Ciel pushed through the crowd, taking a seat opposite to the ghastly looking Imperial and to the right of Vanya. The two women seemed to be having a conversation, so Ciel politely waited for them to finish. He turned his gaze instead towards the somewhat present Imperial and sparked a conversation. "I'm Ciel Dufont. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" The Imperial's eyes lit up. "Ciel Dufont! The Ciel Dufont? The famous Illusion master who did ******** during the beginning of the 4th era!?" Ciel was quite confused. 1. He had absolutely no memories of ever doing *******. 2. He'd hardly call himself a Illusion master. 3. As far as Ciel was concerned, it was still the 3rd era.​
    He looked at the man oddly, wondering if he was stricken with some mental disease. Maybe it had something to do with the whole thing about being transparent. The man across the table spoke up again. "My apologies, master! It would seem I've forgotten my manners." He bowed and extended his hand across the table. Ciel gingerly took it and shaked it. "I'm Sorex Liore. My master told me many things about you! It's such an honor to meet you! But... didn't you die ** years ago? Maybe you're stricken with the same issue as me?" Ciel looked at his own hand. All accounted for, no transparency in sight. "I wouldn't bet on it." Sorex calmed down a bit. "I'm sorry, but I'm eager to speak to my friend Elsa here. We'll have to postpone our conversation, but I hope you'll teach me some of your spells!" Ciel wasn't sure he could teach this man anything, seeing as he had already mastered what appeared to be effortless Chameleon. "I'm fine with that. I have to speak with Vanya here anyway."
    ---​
    A young pair of half-breed twins walked down the street, casting odd glances all over the place. Everything seemed so foreign to them. Just a moment ago, they had been living peacefully in Wayrest. This cold realm of the Nords was as odd as another planet to them. The girl turned to her brother. "Kiyoshi, everyone here is so tall." Kiyoshi turned to his sister. "Yeah, I wonder if this is a village of Giants like we read in the books? I heard Giants are even taller than all these men though, Izumi." The two continued walking, stopping on the porch of the inn. Off in the distance, they could see an Imperial man in green engaging in a fierce match of "Who has the strongest tongue?" with a Nord woman inside of a bush next to the Jarl's building. Izumi muttered a question under her breath. "I wonder who's winning?"
    Kiyoshi pointed to the inn's door. "Hey Izumi, I'm getting pretty thirsty. Maybe they have something to drink in here?" She nodded and followed him inside after he pushed open the door. Inside, it was a game of not being stepped upon. At the age of 12, they weren't exactly tall compared to most of the people inside. They weaved their way through the crowd, ending up in front of the counter. The innkeeper looked at them. "What'll it be, kids?" Kiyoshi spoke up for the both of them. "Two glasses of milk, please." The innkeeper shook his head and moved to get the drinks. "Second time this day..." He muttered under his breath. He soon returned with the drinks. "Alright, pay up." Kiyoshi digged around in his pocket and pulled out a few coins. "Will this do?" The innkeeper lazily looked at the coins, noticing that they had a different pattern than most septims. "Yeah, yeah. Now scram, kids." Kiyoshi and Izumi took their drinks to a nearby table and sat down, not noticing the large drunk who laid under it.​
    ---​
    Vitus pulled his tongue out of the woman's mouth, bringing some of her saliva with him. She was blushing immensely, and seemed almost unable to stand - only doing so because of the wall she was leaned against. Vitus licked his lips, picking up the traces of saliva. He was quite pleased with his techniques, which apparently never ceased to amaze women (as well as men and asexual beings) wherever he went. "I think I win this match, darling." He said with a voice that dripped with seductiveness. For a moment, she stood unable to speak. She managed to get a few words out between her heavy breaths. "Can... we go back... to my place?" Unfortunately for Vitus and this woman, he had just done the deed a few minutes ago with another woman. Of course, his pride in his sexual ferocity meant that the option of telling her he couldn't at the moment was gone from his choices.​
    "Well... I've got an appointment at the inn that I really need to attend, so I can't. I'm sorry, my love." She sighed disappointingly and responded in between breaths, still recovering from Vitus' vicious techniques. "Well... I'll see you again, Vitus." She winked and stumbled off in the direction of her house. Slipping his white gloves back on, Vitus gracefully walked over to the inn. He pushed it open and stepped inside, greeted by the seductive glances of a few women. He ignored these and walked over to the bar. Right before he got there, he noticed a familiar man lying underneath a table where two children sat. Vitus moved over to this table, and began to crawl under. "Excuse me, children. There's about to be two very attractive men under this table, and I absolutely must speak to one of them." The children gave him odd looks but scooted to the ends of the bench to give him space. Vitus slipped under. He quickly took position next to the drunk man, their faces millimeters away from each other. It took Garrus a moment to realize that Vitus Liore was about to attempt to kiss him.​
    Garrus' head shot up, slapping against the underside of the table. He drunkenly clawed his way out from underneath, stumbling out into the tavern. He yelled with a slur down towards Vitus. "You flamboyant maniac! You... You think I'm just gonna sit there... and let you rape me!?" Garrus ran and stumbled across the inn, taking up a defensive position behind one of the other tables. Vitus gracefully came out from underneath the table, calling to Garrus with a singsong voice. "Come on now, Garrus! Are you really still that scarred from when I tried to grab your ass when we were in that hot spring?" Garrus yelled back across the inn. "Yes! I am! Stay away from me... you bastard!" Vitus gave a small sigh and abandoned that quest. He moved towards one of the other tables, where a man sat in a cloud of smoke. He had various drugs piled on the table. And in Vitus' mind, the second best thing to sex was drugs. He sat down at the table. "You willing to share any of those, my friend?"
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    Alleras was hooting with laughter when a familiar face suddenly appeared at the table. "Something. Now." It was Adidas, to the Imperial's surprise. "Skooma, sap, dust. I don't even care." A half-puzzled, half-amused expression crossed Alleras' face at the sound of the Nord's words.

    "Haha! Adidas! Since when did you cross over into the realm of the Seer?" Alleras spoke unnaturally loud as he fumbled with a pile of phials, sending them clattering across the table. He really had no idea what his hands were doing. Eventually, his grip found a small phial. He turned to the distressed Nord and pressed the phial of skooma into the arena fighter's calloused hands.

    "Here, friend. That will get you started. If you need more, which I bet you will, just feel free to ask... or, I guess you can just take something... yeah..." Alleras' voice trailed off as he entered a trance, staring blankly at Adidas. These trances occurred periodically when the Imperial's intake of substances had reached a certain, rather excessive level, and took his mind to a entirely new place.

    "Hey... where's the friar? I thought I told him to meet me here..." Alleras stood up and began to look around frantically. "Oh god, was he discovered by the general's men? I wonder..." The Imperial started to wander off, but Adidas grabbed him and shook him from his daze.

    "Oh, hey. Was I? I was, wasn't I? Heh." Alleras sat back down in his seat once again and reached for another phial of skooma, which he was about to down until he was interrupted by another man who had approached the table of drugs.

    "You willing to share any of those, my friend?" The Imperial looked across the table, where this man had sat down. He had the looks of a wild one; Alleras liked that.

    "Absolutely. Drugs are for all to share, because drugs aren't just drugs. They are an experience." Alleras smiled and slid a bowl of moon sugar over to the man. "I recommend you start with some of that, though. Hey, what's your name?"
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    "Please Elsa, don't kill me..."

    The thief had just begun to ask the little elf what she was doing so far north when Garrus of all people barrelled his way across the room to sit by her, only to run and hid under a table. He seemed worse for wear and reeked of drink. The young nord wasn't entirely sure how to react. One one hand she was overwhelmed with an urge to pull him out from under the table and truss him up to use as her new archery practise target...but then he didn't seem able to defend himself in any way and that just wasn't fair.

    Just as Elsa was going to excuse herself to investigate she was joined by Sorex. Sorex who by all accounts should be dead and buried in a small unmarked grave that she and Farth had dug themselves while Relyn took care of his body.

    Elsa turned in her seat while he finished his introductions to whoever it was who had just joined them and took a moment to process everything.

    Firstly, Garrus was back from wherever he'd run off to and was under the correct assumption that Elsa wished to tear him limb from limb.

    Secondly Sorex was also back, partially at least. He had a very jarring translucency to him, as if he was halfway between Tamriel and Sovngarde.

    At a loss for what to do Elsa simply grabbed the remainders of her mead and downed it in one go. Wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand she stared intently at Sorex, trying to find the right words. He seemed perfectly happy as he was so she supposed he wasn't in grave danger or anything. Perhaps something witty or charming...

    ...or perhaps the mead would encourage her to poke her old friend's leg to test his solidity before essentially crawling into his lap in order to throw her arms about his neck and hug him as if he might leave should she let him go. "You bastard! You milk-drinking bastard! You died and left us and we were all so sad!"

    Elsa's remarkably touching words were slightly muffled as she spoke into Sorex's shoulder, but no doubt the emotion behind her slurred words would be noted. Picking up her head Elsa ran her hands over Sorex's face, caught between joy and confusion. "If Relyn was here we'd have him check you over. Is death an affliction? Maybe Pilus can look you over. We met him on our way to give your diary to, to...oh gods."

    Her already pale skin seemed to lighten further as Elsa disentangled herself from Sorex and moved to stand behind her chair, gripping it almost like it was a shield. "We took your diary to Garrus and then he left as well but only after I maybe slept with him. Which hopefully you aren't mad about, because you know, it seemed like a really good idea at the time but then he left and now he's under a table."

    Or he had been. Said imperial was now out from under the table, backing away with a look of pure terror on his face while a very attractive looking stranger just spoke quietly to him before sauntering off elsewhere. Garrus was left looking very drunk and upset, and Elsa wondered if she should do something. Steeling herself Elsa chose to do the right thing, despite how unpleasant it promised to be.

    Looking back at Sorex she placed her chair back on the floor and jerked her thumb towards Garrus. "I'm uh, I'm going to go deal with him now. But so you know, it's good to have you back." With the Elsa leant over and pressed a kiss to her undead friend's cheek and wandered over to Garrus, her arms spread and her hands raised as if she was approaching an easily spooked animal.

    "Garrus, please don't run away. I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even armed right now. I just want to sit you down and talk. Sorex is back and I think you could do with talking to him. Maybe I can get you some water which I swear I will not poison. How does that sound?" Elsa was braced and ready to pounce if need be. She wasn't sure what was going through Garrus's head right now, but considering how much he was swaying she assumed that she's be fast enough to catch him should he run.




    Vanya sat at the table, confused but highly entertained by the show taking place before her. Ciel had arrived which was nice. She had wondered where he had got to.

    The nord woman who had been talking to her seemed caught up in whatever was happening. From what she could gather, the drunk man thought she was going to kill him, and the ghostly thief wasn't quite dead anymore, which was a good thing. Except he knew the drunk man and Elsa was scared he might be angry that she planned on killing the drunk.

    At one point Vanya had pulled a stick of charcoal and some paper from her pack and had begun to write down the small scene taking place. "Ciel, this place is fantastic! I don't really know what's going on but everything smells newer somehow and the people are so interesting." It would seem the bosmer was accepting the time flux with no issue at all. She didn't appear too upset by her sudden venture into time travel, instead choosing to use this new and unfamiliar setting as the focal point to her paper on oblivion gates that she had only recently begun to work on.
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    "Who's idea was it to go through that damn gate again?! We've been walking forever now, and I'm all out of booze."
    Gorim was whining like a child, slowly shuffling down the cobblestone road and dragging his axe behind him with a feigned expression of misery and anguish on his face. He resembled an adolescent boy, albeit a bearded one at that, throwing a tantrum.
    "It's hard walking with these stumpy legs, you know."


    The group walked on for a while longer, before coming upon the town of Falkreath. The group immediately headed towards the local inn, which was abuzz with activity. Gorim took off, awkwardly sprinting as fast as his short legs would allow him.

    "I haven't had a drink in hours!"

    Gorim busted through the wooden doors to find himself standing before a full house. The dwarf gave a toothy grin, before shoving his way through the crowd.
    "Out of my way! Gorim comin' through!"
    The dwarf pushed through the mass of patrons, before climbing up onto a bar stool.
    "Bring me the strongest stuff you've got, mead, ale, the mother lode."
    Gorim tossed the bartender a bag of coins, and the man quickly pocketed the money before rushing off to prepare the drinks.

     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    Nike smiled widely as she gazed upon the odd group that had gathered inside the tavern. And she had thought that her group was a mess! There couldn't be a greater variety than the crowd gathered within the building, she concluded as she watched the scene under the table develop.

    Nike went to take another sip of her drink, but then realized that it was empty. The Imperial frowned and immediately stood up from her place at the bar, tankard in hand as she walked proudly to where the man from earlier (who had proclaimed he was paying for everything) sat. Nike didn't know the man at all, but when drunk all recollection of the meaning of personal space was lost to her. Like an old friend would, the former gladiator slung her arm around the man's shoulders, butting into the space between him and Nord sitting next to him.

    "Don't tell Scruffy, but you're my new favorite!" Nike announced, referring to Adidas with his nickname (which he was less than passionate about).

    A random thought then occurred to Nike as she set her empty tankard down and grabbed the nearest drink, disregarding whoever it belonged to. Downing the contents, Nike gave the man a wild look, "There is no way you or anyone here could out-drink me!" The Imperial warrior spoke as though she was addressing the entire room, waving the arm that was not around the man's shoulders animatedly. Truthfully, Tacitus was probably the only one close enough to understand her drunken slur.

    --

    As everything unfolded, a paranoid looking Bosmer sat in a chair observing it all. Her eyes were wide, desperately searching for the one thing that actually concerned her: plants. There were plenty of them outside, yes. Was she going to remove one from its roots? NO! She would rather die than have to put a dear plant through such pain and misery. The thought of detaching such a pure and kind being from its roots brought her pain.

    Faolin even wanted to scream from the madness of these travelers consuming such a drink. It was made with a plant! A poor plant raised to only be destroyed and then ground into a source for a drink that completely ruined one's sense of thought! This wasn't the worst of the scene in front of her, however. There was another Bosmer, her own kin drinking the vile drink!

    In her rage, Faolin marched over to the Bosmer, stopping several feet away before staring her down.

    --

    "Garrus?"

    The voice sounded familiar... Farth knew immediately who it belonged to. A bard was one to never forget a voice, nor the name that went along with it - as it was only customary to do so. This, on the other hand was an impossible sound to accept into his ears. When it came to voices, Farth was pretty certain he remembered dying words best, and Sorex's would never leave his mind for as long as he lived.

    He just stared in amazement. For once, the giant Redguard bard was completely speechless and lost for words.
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    Vanya's mad scribblings were interrupted when she realised someone was stood nearby and was watching her. Looking up Vanya's eyes lit up as she saw a sister elf glaring down at her. Wracking her brain for appropriate greetings Vanya recalled the advice she had dutifully gleaned from those she had been travelling with.

    She had a small flask of jagga filled from her personal drink skin and wondered if it was polite to offer it. Gorim had always emphasised how drinking brought people together, and Alleras had always made his views on sharing substances known. Warily Vanya pushed her drink forward to the angry looking bosmer and nodded to where the flask stood forlornly on the table, it's pungent contents causing many nearby to gag and curl their lips in disgust.

    "Would you like a drink sister? Tastes just like it used to back home, I've been working on the recipe. My own travelling brew." In truth it was surprisingly easy to ferment one's own jagga whilst traveling, though her travelling companions had often commented on the smell. She wasn't about to drink their swill however so they had eventually learnt to put up with the bosmer's rather unpleasant drinking habits. Remembering herself Vanya reached into her pack for some dried meat and fish she had purchased at a market before her odd trip into the future. Despite it's lengthy travel it still seemed edible, which Vanya felt was a good omen for her upcoming conversation with a fellow bosmer. Quickly Vanya looked to Ciel for something akin to reassurance. She had been working so hard on her social skills and she was quite certain everything was going perfectly so far.
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    A hearty grin spread across Gorim's face as the bartender returned with a platter adorned with various bottles and flaggons, each filled with assortments of alcohol; mead, ale, beer. "Just don't do anything stupid." The bartender remarked with a somewhat disapproving expression as the platter was placed on the counter before Gorim, who looked upon the tray with lit up eyes.

    "Heh, heh, yeah, sure. You're getting my money anyhow--"
    Gorim scooped up a flaggon, sending ale sloshing about as he began gulping down the contents, causing alcohol to stream down his beard. After finishing off the contents of the flaggon, he slammed it down on the counter and let out a nearly bestial belch which drew the attention of nearby patrons. "So what have you got to scowl about? By the end of the night you'll be rich!" Gorim began to laugh as he popped open a bottle of beer, tossing the flaggon aside which clanged loudly as it struck the ground.

    Within minutes, Gorim had emptied several flaggons and bottles. At this point, Gorim was definitely under the influence of alcohol. He held fast to the counter with his free hand to prevent himself from falling off the barstool as he continued downing drink after drink.
    "You call this mead..?" Gorim said, slurring his words as he struggled to keep his head up. "This is swill... swill I say!"
    Gorim finished off what was left in the last bottle before continuing. "Are you sure this is real mead? Or are ye' just pissin' in these bottles an' calling it a drink!?"

    "Hey, dwarf! Shut your mouth you disgusting little imp!" Someone called out, prompting laughter which erupted across the tavern.
    Gorim slowly turned, his brow furrowed and his face an intimidating snarl as his eyes locked onto the patron who had insulted him. A tall, well built Nordic man with a shaven head and a squashed, hideous face who was sitting at a table not far off with several other men.

    "What did you call me?" Gorim said through gritted teeth, his face red with anger. The inn fell silent as the Nord let out an amused chuckle and stood from his seat.

    "I called you a disgusting, stubby little dwarf. What are you going to do about it?"Gorim hopped down from the stool and made his way over to the man, who stood several feet taller than the drunken dwarf.

    "I'm gonna kick yer' sorry arse so hard you'll want to crawl back into yer' mother's loins you bald headed maggot!"

    The Nord's nonchalant smirk immediately vanished, replaced by an enraged scowl. "You think you can back up a statement like that, little man?" He said with a brutish voice, puffing up his chest to further emphasize how much bigger he was then Gorim.

    "I'll give you the first hit, whelp." Gorim snapped, clenching his fists at his sides.

    With a grin, the Nordic man reeled back his fist before delivering a swift blow to Gorim's jaw. The dwarf's head snapped to the right for a moment, before Gorim spat and turned back to face the man, seemingly unfazed by the punch.

    "You call that a punch? I give yer' mother love-taps harder than that!" Gorim roared as he brought his stubby leg up, his boot connecting with the man's groin at full force. The Nord cried out as he sunk to his knees, his face going red as he clutched his wound. Gorim then grabbed a nearby chair, before smashing it against the man's back in a flurry of wooden shards. The Nord crumpled, laying sprawled across the floor in a discombobulated daze. At this point, the tavern had become an uproar of cheers and laughter, with all eyes on the fight.
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    "Garrus, please don't run away. I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even armed right now. I just want to sit you down and talk. Sorex is back and I think you could do with talking to him. Maybe I can get you some water which I swear I will not poison. How does that sound?"

    Garrus let out a slow and long breath, sending his anxiety out into the air. Trembling, he gave a reluctant nod and sat down. "Yeah... Some water would be nice. Thanks..." He sat with his head in his hands while Elsa went and got a glass of water. Garrus was even more confused now. Sorex wasn't a hallucination? He really was back? Elsa returned with the glass in hand. He graciously accepted it. Before either had the chance to answer, the man in question meandered over.

    ---​
    Sorex approached Garrus' table. Even if this whole event was confusing, Elsa was right that Garrus needed some talking to. He sat down next to her, facing Garrus. "Hello, old friend. I hate to say it, but you do not seem to be nearly as stable as when I last saw you. Of course, that's only to be expected since you found the Final Illusion. I don't know what you saw there, and I don't know what it could have done to effect you so much as to leave you in this pitiful state you reside within. But know this - the Garrus I knew was no weakling. He wasn't one who'd betray his friends, no matter what was promised to him. Infinite knowledge, money, the world, or fame. He'd not take any of them over the ones he cared about. But the Garrus who sits in front of me, seems as if he'd give anything for a single bottle of whiskey."
    Garrus looked down, his face full of self-disappointment and rejection. Sorex turned to Elsa. "I know you might not want to say this, but what did you see in this man? What do you see in him now? I know neither him or I have been good to you, and we've both had our lows in life. But if there's even a small chance to fix this man, to let him live the rest of his life in a quiet peace, then I'll take that chance no matter what. So, please. Tell me what you've seen in this man, and how you see him now."
    ---​
    "Ciel, this place is fantastic! I don't really know what's going on but everything smells newer somehow and the people are so interesting."
    Ciel was dumbfounded. How could she be so calm and nonchalant while something so odd had happened? He sighed and turned to her. Well, this was Vanya... A moment later, another elf came and sat down. Vanya engaged in a 'conversation' with her, offering her some jagga. Ciel watched with boredom. "Well... Vanya, do you have any clue what's going on? A moment ago, we were in Cyrodiil! And now... Is this Skyrim? And as you said, everything does seem new."
    ---​
    "Absolutely. Drugs are for all to share, because drugs aren't just drugs. They are an experience." The man smiled and slid a bowl of moon sugar over to Vitus. "I recommend you start with some of that, though. Hey, what's your name?"
    Vitus quickly snorted a bit of the Moon Sugar, which he had lined up on the edge of the table. He gave a pleasurable groan. "Great stuff! I'm Vitus Liore, friend. Thanks for letting me use some of this." He looked around, beginning to feel a little under the influence of the drug. "Wow, this is pretty potent..." He turned to Alleras. "So, you do this often?"
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    "Absolutely! Haha! Friend, I live off this stuff!" Alleras laughed, slapping the table several times. "Anyways, I am Alleras."

    The Imperial reached across the table for another bowl of moon sugar to consume more of. He meticulously lined a pinch of moon sugar along the table, inspecting it carefully before snorting it. He yelped in joy, nearly jumping out of his chair.

    "My god, do I love drugs." Alleras rubbed his nose vigorously. "Please tell me you've tried glorious moon sugar before?" He was reaching a point of extreme over-consumption, and he knew it. Lines were blurring, shapes and forms were starting to twist and shake and the colors were slowly changing. Alleras had never reached a point beyond this before; he was getting excited. The Imperial wanted to see exactly how high he could get this night, in this foreign place, with this foreign man, who seemed nice enough.

    "So, what's up with you?" Alleras inquired, somewhat curious, but mostly stoned off his ass.

    ---​

    Marcus stumbled away from the raunchy Imperial man who had become involved in a drinking contest, in search of more entertainment. In his search, he spotted a particular man who sat at the bar alone. He was a large man, but his appearance hinted at something more... friendly. Marcus slowly approached the Redguard, tripping over himself as he walked.

    "Hey there... how are you? I'm Marcus. What's your name?" Marcus' words were at the beginning stages of slurring, but you could still understand him with ease. The Imperial leaned up against bar next to the giant Redguard, awaiting a response.
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    "It's 201 in the Fourth Era you drunk moron!"

    Tacitus smiled apologetically at the strange-looking elves who stood before him. "I'm afraid she's right," he said before raising his drink to his lips and taking a swig. "But, hey, you're safe and sound, you're in a tavern with the tab covered, and you're surrounded by happy people!"

    Nachael furrowed his brow. "We're in the wrong province, in the wrong year! And this tavern smells of piss and stale liquor, and it's too loud to think..." Ferisa gently put a hand on his arm. "Come now, he has a point, you must admit. Let's make the best of things," she said with a winning smile. Just like her to look at a situation like this... like that. He sighed, and noticed that the Imperial had turned to the bar. The man turned back, holding four flagons of something strong enough to be smelt by Thor, facing another way. Tacitus had noticed that the woman looked like she was going to speak, but he interrupted, saying almost reverently, "Shh. Drink. Drink, then talk." He cupped the drink in both hands and began a continuous stream of rapid gulps; Arana, who took a flagon, was sipping heavily, her face flushed. Nachael brooded as he ingested the alcohol, and Ferisa had already finished hers, and was giggling.

    "I'm Ferisa, a-and he's Nachael," she informed the others, still drinking. "I think you said that before," Tacitus replied when his flagon was near empty, "but it's a pleasure. I'm Tacitus, and she's Arana." Arana nodded her greeting as she sipped the liquor. "I'm gonna kick yer' sorry arse so hard you'll want to crawl back into yer' mother's loins you bald headed maggot!"

    The cry drew the attention of most at the bar; Tacitus laughed at the spectacle of the dwarf threatening the massive warrior who insulted him, then asked, "You know him?"

    "Gorim."

    "He know what he's getting into?"

    "Oh, he doesn't know in the sense that he's conscious enough to realize what's happening, but I wouldn't worry for him." Tacitus watched Gorim take a massive hit and shrug it off. "I guess. Say... is that... Sorex?"

    While Tacitus was drawn to the old traveling partner and rival who should have been dead, Thor was sitting, nursing an ale. Serana, on his left, was focused on the brawl taking place away from the bar, so he turned to Kjan. She looked stern, as usual, but unusually she had a drink. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

    Tacitus was about to head off to investigate Sorex's appearance, but an Imperial woman interrupted that. "There is no way you or anyone here could out-drink me!"

    "Oh yeah?" Tacitus said. He knew what this meant. "Bartender! I believe we have ourselves a contest at hand!"
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    "Would you like a drink sister? Tastes just like it used to back home, I've been working on the recipe. My own travelling brew."

    Faolin looked oddly at the Bosmer before remembering that she needed to chastise - no, reprimand - her for the betrayal of her own kind. She stood tall, her eyes wide with terror, and he hands shaking, "You! Do you know what you have done?! How dare you!" Faolin grabbed the Bosmer in front of her by the shoulder, as if she was addressing a child, "What do you have to say for yourself? Do you have no feelings for these poor, helpless creatures? So pure, yet you consume them for your own personal pleasure! These plants are our friends; these plants deserve better than being ground into a vile drink!"

    She became increasingly more passionate as she spoke, her words louder as she questioned the young Bosmer in front of her. Several heads turned at the commotion, but Faolin ignored it. There were more pressing matters at hand.

    ---

    Farthlion sat at the bar sipping his drink as he watched the fight unfold. He would usually play the card of the burly and protective bard, watching out for the innkeeper's best interest, but at this point he could have cared less. The Redguard was still rather astonished by Sorex's presence, and he wasn't exactly a bard anymore. He maybe have once been a simple aspiring author, but now the Redguard had developed into the warrior he was built to be... and warriors didn't interrupt their drinking to break up a simple bar fight.

    The Redguard turned as he heard someone address him, "Hey there... how are you? I'm Marcus. What's your name?"

    Farth gave a welcoming smile as he looked over the Imperial, noting the slight slur in his voice. He was slightly drunk, but then again, with Tacitus' offer of free drinks, who wouldn't be? The Redguard clapped on the Imperial's back, greeting him fondly, "Doing great, my friend. I'm Farthlion, but my companions call me Farth. Are you traveling with your companions as well?"

    ---


    Kjan hated drinking and everything about it, but it felt so good to just drink away her troubles at this point. The Nord had just finished her fourth (or perhaps it was her fifth?) drink when Thor's voice broke through her thoughts.

    "How're you feeling?" he asked, most likely finding her current stage of reckless drunkenness to be unusual, especially considering her overly cautious habits.

    Kjan turned to look at him, a smile gracing her features as she gave the Nord a fond look. Normally, this would have been completely off limits for her. She would have answered with a stern "yes" or "no", making it clear that she didn't want to talk. This was Kjan's way of assuring she would not make friends, to lessen the sting when she finally did betray he group. Instead of sticking to this plan, she reached a hand up to ruffle his hair in a friendly manner. "I think I've never felt so good!" she tapped her hand on the counter in a restless manner before adding nonchalantly, "Has anyone told you that you aren't bad looking?"

    ----

    "Oh yeah? Bartender! I believe we have ourselves a contest at hand!"

    Nike grinned. As someone who formerly fought for a living, she loved a good game. The Imperial viewed most of her jobs as a challenge to beat, whether it was to travel a far distance in a certain time period or to wipe out a bandit clan, it was always made into some type of test to see if she could go beyond the expectations of any regular mercenary. Adidas would sometimes complain about her mindset in which everything had to be a competition, but it was one of the many ways Nike justified that their mercenary work wasn't simply for the gracious rewards.

    The bartender, realizing that this was a prime opportunity to make even more money off of Tacitus, immediately served them two tankards. Nike noted that he was already getting two more ready. "My name is Nike by the way. I never lose."

    "Rules are whoever passes out first or backs out loses," Nike raised her tankard, "As your elder, I shall take the honor of going first," she immediately began to down the contents of her drink. She finished it just moments later, announcing her accomplishment by loudly slamming the empty tankard onto the bar.

    "You're up, my friend!" Nike was already quite drunk. She wasn't sure how long she would last consuming so much alcohol at such a rapid pace. The Imperial secretly hoped that her condition as a vampire would somehow allow her to gain the upperhand in this contest.
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    Elsa folded her arms and glared at a particularly interesting whorl in the wood of the table Garrus and Sorex had sat themselves at. While she was happy Garrus was no longer causing a scene and hopefully sobering up, she intended to engage in the opposite. Glancing about she saw two locals looking on at what had once been their quiet local tavern in abject horror, offering her the perfect moment to lift their drinks from the table and set about drinking herself to a point where none of this nonsense mattered to her anymore.

    One look at Garrus sat forlornly at the table, a shadow of his former self prompted Elsa to admit that perhaps her plan wasn't quite as solid as it could be. Settling to simply drink one stolen tankard of ale she grimaced when Sorex turned to address her.

    "I know you might not want to say this, but what did you see in this man? What do you see in him now? I know neither him or I have been good to you, and we've both had our lows in life. But if there's even a small chance to fix this man, to let him live the rest of his life in a quiet peace, then I'll take that chance no matter what. So, please. Tell me what you've seen in this man, and how you see him now."

    "If you weren't already dead Sorex..." It was an empty threat of course, she wasn't the type to enact drunken vengeance on previously dead friends, but she still felt like shooting something and for now Sorex would suffice as the target of her ire.

    Sighing Elsa grabbed a chair and sat down while she gathered her thoughts. The ale was making it harder for her to control what exactly she wanted to actually say, and she outright refused to cry in front of Garrus, again.

    "Well. We broke into a house together one night and it made me think you know...maybe he would understand me. I thought he did...and then he, he you know, left. Farth told me not to, uh, not to you know, involve myself with him, but you know me well enough to know that I never listen to good advice." Elsa drank heavily from her pilfered ale and chewed on her lip. "Some girls might think that what you did was chivalrous and sweet you know. Going off on some mysterious adventure alone to spare them from the horrors of the unknown. But you know, they're into that house an' home nonsense, they want....they want, wassit called? They want normal...normalcy. I don't though. I'm only ever happy when I'm shooting at things or stealing things, and I figured you made for very good company, and you'd understand that I need to shoot and steal things from time to time. An' then you left without saying anything and you and Farth and Tacitus an-and Relyn saw me cry." Elsa's voice broke a little as she promptly shut her mouth and leant back in her chair. Sending a heated glare over at Sorex as if to blame him for her outburst, Elsa scuffed the toe of her boot against the floor.

    Looking closely at Garrus now, Elsa noted simply how tired he looked, as if staying in Tamriel wore him out. "At first I was angry and wanted to hit you...or you know, use you for target practise. But now...looking at you just makes me feel kind of...sad. I don't hate you, and it would be nice if...if you...didn't look like you're scared of your own shadow."




    ---​
    "Well... Vanya, do you have any clue what's going on? A moment ago, we were in Cyrodiil! And now... Is this Skyrim? And as you said, everything does seem new."
    Vanya frowned and tilted her head to the side in thought. "We were, that is true. But now we aren't, and we're not in any immediate danger, so what's the harm in taking a breather before we try and figure out what's happening hm?" Just as she was about to embellish on the clearly non-threatening surroundings to further bolster Ciel's resolve she found herself hauled up from her seat and confronted by an enraged elf. She wasn't sure where exactly she had gone wrong this time...she'd been so careful!
    "What do you have to say for yourself? Do you have no feelings for these poor, helpless creatures? So pure, yet you consume them for your own personal pleasure! These plants are our friends; these plants deserve better than being ground into a vile drink!"
    Vanya's eyes widened comically and the elf silently and furiously shook her head. "I'd never! I'd never drink that! It's Jagga I swear! I'd never eat a plant, are you mad? Ciel tell her! And could you please let go of me? I don't do well with violence, I don't understand it nor do I appreciate it, but if you don't let go I will use my hammer on you." At that Vanya shakily raised said hammer, though her expression suggested that if she could avoid hurting anyone with it, she would take that chance in a second.​
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    "My name is Nike by the way. I never lose." The Imperial woman looked it; Tacitus could tell, not just the fiery look in her eye gave it away, but one could infer such a thing by the beaten armor she wore. "I'm Tacitus," he replied, "and this... reminds me of my childhood. Make of that what you will."

    "As your elder, I shall take the honor of going first," Nike said, raising her tankard. "Be my guest."

    "You're up, my friend!" Nike said with a drunken slur. Tacitus raised his own tankard and said with a slight slur of his own, "Here goes!" with that, he put back his tankard, taking big gulps in an endless stream of booze and chanting from the crowd until his tankard was dry. He removed it from his lips, holding it upside down, and revealing that there wasn't a drop left to be had before slamming it to the bar. "Round two!"


    Arana just smiled and shook her head. "Now I need a drink." One of the barmaids heard her remark and went to bring her a bottle of mead, before Ferisa cried joyously, "Make it three!" . Meanwhile, away from the commotion that was circling the brawl and drinking contest that now took place, Thor was well into his drinks; probably the reason why he was able to react so calmly when Kjan replied, "I think I've never felt so good!" There was a short silence as Thor processed what had just come out of Kjan's mouth. "Has anyone told you that you aren't bad looking?"

    "Oh, gosh, well, yeah, but she's," Thor looked over and spotted Serana, who had migrated to the center of the tavern with Tacitus and Arana. He took a gulp of his mead before calming himself and saying, "But she's over there."
     

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