Open The SilverBlood Inn

[< That Damned Arrow >]

Kohl hesitated to answer. Finally, he replied, "Like I said: the Jarl pays well for minor work. And I have the Companions way back in Whiterun for gold." He looked amused. "You didn't think that I stay here, in this wretched city of crime? I travel. By carriage, that is. Take minor jobs when I need them, where I can get them. That's good enough here. Plus, I'm rather eager to see that lunatic's head in prison ... or on a silver platter."

 

[Vixen]

Falcion did not speak at first. He looked as though he was listening to some one. Then he spoke up. "So will you let us help you?"

 

[Felidae]

Felidae hesitated again. There was something about the Breton that unnerved her, but he seemed to be telling the truth. The Imperial also appeared to be genuine in his responses.
"I don't know..." she said quietly. "I've always preferred to hunt alone. But I suppose... if you insist..."
The Khajiit downed the rest of her wine and sighed heavily.
"Okay," she muttered. "You can both come. But if either of you attempt to double-cross me, then I will kill you."

 

[Vixen]

He smiled. "Great! You do not have to worry about that from me. I am not one to go around stabbing someone in the back."

 

[< That Damned Arrow >]

Kohl chuckled softly. "I don't doubt it for a second." As long as our other little friend here doesn't recognize me ... not from any of the Court wanted posters, or from when I was living in Cyrodiil. I half-doubt it, but then again this is a dangerous world. The weather is only part of it.

 

[Felidae]

"Well then, I'm gonna call it a night," Felidae yawned, and stood up. "Meet me down here at precisely six o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't be late, we'll be leaving immediately."
Handing Kleppr ten gold coins, the Khajiit headed off to her room, not wholly expecting a decent nights rest.
Unfortunately, she was right.
After ten minutes of fruitless tossing and turning, attempting in vain to make herself as comfortable as possible on the cold stone slab that served as her bed for the night, she gave up and chose to lie on her back, staring at the ceiling in silent contemplation. She still didn't entirely trust these two men, but in this case she was going to need all the help she could get. The Imperial seemed nice enough, but there was something about the Breton that unsettled her. He was hiding something, that much was clear.
Reaching into her saddlebag, she retrieved the Wanted poster from its depths and glanced over it once more, shuddering slightly as the Wood Elf's gaze bore into her.
"I will find you," she muttered softly, before rolling it back up and finally drifting off to sleep.

 

[< That Damned Arrow >]

Kohl was in his room, still awake, sitting on the bed massaging his temples. They don't trust me. They know I'm hiding something..but I can't tell them. They'd tell. They'd get hurt. I need to be more careful in the future. His mind turned to his past, as it does nearly every night when sleep doesn't find him. A memory swam under the glaze of his eyes:
{A tall, black haired, slick-haired boy fished the final ragged hood over his head. His skin was a rich, almost transparent light color, and his eyes were hard and stubborn. It was young Orthington Ramon. A maid stepped into the room and the two exchanged quick glances before she gave him a quick smile. Orthington jogged out of the room, attracting nearly no attention from any of the nobles who were sitting about the House of Ramon, on political business as usual. He passed his tutor, who was bent over a tome and only gave a ruffled, distant look when he passed him. Orthington didn't look back. Finally, he paused and passed through the grand doors of House Ramon. Free! he thought, head buzzing with excitement. He headed down the lane...}
{But it was not long before he heard them. Viscious whispers, a contract ... death and politics. He ran straight to the friendly House of Staurborne ... and was thrust from a second-story window when he tried to find out if the Staurborne were behind the plan to murder his family. He hardly survived, only thanks to a pile of rotten food that some call dumpsters in one of the 'junk alleys'. He fled...fled in fear of his life..}
{In Cyrodiil, he was known as Diux Windhopper. He was paying a visit to one of the farms near Chorrol when he saw a Dunmer woman garbed in black and red ... staring right at him. He fled again.}
And then to Skyrim ... I'll be damned if I stay here a bit longer. I'll be cursed if I keep my head.. And at that happy thought, his eyelids closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep in which he was running, running, and he could not stop, until he was forced by a wall of bricks. And he turned to look behind him, and he saw a white figure in the shape of his mother staring back at him, reaching out...

 

[Vixen]

Falcion had turned in aswell. Shisha No Chi laid next to the table. Falcion sat in the bed thinking about every that had transpired thus far. A memory escaping him from several months ago. He could not remember what it was. Shisha lay quiet for the time being, probably searching through her enormous mind of memories for the one Falcion had forgotten. He soon fell asleep, Shisha lay quiet. The Bretons dreams were soon interrupted by a new one. A very beautiful blonde elf with straight hair, and electric blue eyes stared at him while she sat on a very decorated throne. A crown sat upon her brow. She wore a decorate red armor that showed her midriff and a long red silk skirt. {So, we meet again Lord Dale. This time in another way.} The woman rose from her throne and approched the Breton, the skirt trailing behind her. {Do not for get your promise to me, Lord Dale. Our agreement is still valid. This was once my true form, before the gods enslaved me in the claymore Falcion now wields.} The spirit paused. {I will leave you be for now, but do not forget your promise to me, Lord Dale.} At her last words the dream vanished.

 

[< That Damned Arrow >]

(How are we gonna do this, with having the thread in another place?)

Lord Dale. Kohl's eyes peeled opened. It felt like he hadn't opened them in centuries. Preciously. He sat up, having a creeping feeling that today was going to be significant. And indeed it was, and not just because of a new adventure. Fate had something new planned out for him, or perhaps it was just the playings of Hermaus(probably spelled it wrong) Mora.

 

[Vixen]

(We will just continue it in the other thread. This was just a wrap up.)

 

[< That Damned Arrow >]

(Ok. Damned, out!)

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

After getting some ores in the mines of Markarth, Virk decided to enjoy some mead. Despite the forsworn, the city had some good spots too. He opened the golden doors that leaded to the inn, but looked at his satchel. "Why in Oblivion would Virk need ores?" The imperial never cared for money, and shivs weren't forged through gold or gems.
He entered the inn and looked around for a while. "No bard? Virk will have to dance somewhere else..." He had no money, so he just sat down and waited for music to dance and beg for a few septims. After noticing it would take some time for someone to play lute or drums, he moved to the barmaid and tried to bargain some mead and food for gold ores. "Would you be interested in some of these fine ores in exchange of some horker loaves and mead?"

 

[LordNaskill]

Dalen limps into the tavern his lips as dry as the wind he walks up to the bar and orders a mead he then sits down placing his staff against the counter close so he can reach he then notices the man trying to sell ore the looks upon him with his old wise eyes gazing upon the man

 

[Irishman]

The ageing bar keeper, Kleppr, nearly dropped the mug he was drying with a grubby tea towl when the huge beast-like man walked into his bar. He hastily placed the mug on the bench, reached under the counter and drew out a huge silver goblet with rubies the size of goats nuts adorning it. 'GroBenjii, it's been awile my... my friend.' Kleppr stammered out, smiling meekly. the bar keeper had heard from various sources that the imposing orc in front of him had won yet another of the underground fight club tournments and was expecting to see Benjii any day.
'how fairs my favourite inn owner?' Benjii's baritone voice reverberating around the stone pub. 'I do hope,' Benjii continued, 'that you still have some of that aged bloodwine that i love so much.' It wasnt a question and Kleppr knew it, as he quickly retrieved the large dark bottle, uncorked and poured half of it into Benjii's quality goblet. 'I heard of your recent success. Not that i had any doubt of course Benjii.' The orc waved his huge callused hand in a dissmissive manner and took a long swallow of the rich liquid, some of it dribbling down his chin. The sight of blood resembling liquid around the massive orcs mouth gave Kleppr a sudden chill as his imagination replaced the wine with his own blood if he wasnt careful. Kleppr had heard stories about GroBenjii. Not nice stories. Stories he had hoped were only stories told by the usual drunk crowd that frequented The Silverblood Inn. 'This bottle is, of course, on the house. A reward for your continued and... and unmatched battle prowess!' Kleppr beamed, obviously proud of his quick compliment in the presence of a fearsome sight.

GroBenjii was indeed a fearsome sight. Thick, dark dreadlocks reaching past his shoulders which at the moment where adorned in colourful beads and tipped in what looked like small black shards of sharp glass. His chest was huge and bare, revealing a miriad of large and small scars. Some of them, Kleppr guessed, would have been injuries that would have killed a lesser man. The bartender was not a short man but he still had to crane his neck to look into the dark red eyes of his patron. Red eyes that spoke of experience, confidence and yet also a certain reassurance.

'What! Only the one bottle?' GroBenjii demanded, snapping the bartender back to reality. Kleppr coughed suddenly but tried to cover it up with a forced smile andquickly changed the subject away from offering the orc another $235 bottle of fine wine, 'So whats the next big challenge for the man who has conquered all foes and won all contests?' Benjii looked amused but again took another swig before replying.
'Funny you should ask actually, Kleppr. I have recently heard of the ultimate tournment that is held once every 10years and only the best of Tamriel have been invited. Iv been waiting for a challange and this MIGHT be just that.' With those words, Benjii grabbed the bottle of bloodwine of the counter and sat down near the roaring fire, leaving the bar keeper with a puzzled look on his face.

(this is my 1st real RP entry and i would really appreciate any constructive critisizm or praise so i can improve and find out what areas (if any) that i am doing well). thankyou!

P.S. this characters CC and Pic is found in the OOC Fatality RP.

 

[Irishman]

(OOC)

That was difficult ^^^
for some reason it split my post in half than when i tried to put it back together it went all black and a different font and size. does this happen to other people? VERY fustrating! It took me 15min to edit it that much so i do apologize about the font swap halfway through.

EDIT: i finally fixed it! that was so much harder than it had to be...

 

[Drasok Ghett]

"Ah, the silverblood inn. This seems to be the place" Kjald walked in and spoke to the bar keeper "Daar staad vidir" Kjald said as he walked over to the fire "Finally, warmth" He whispered to himself as he went for a seat next to a blubbering Orc "Move, or i kill you. Simple isn't it?" Kjald looked at the orc, then back at the seat. "Now" He said, angered.

 

[shadowkitty]

Wyldfyre pushed open the door to the Inn. This place being so close to the city gates was naturally her first port of call. She was surprised at how dark it was inside and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. She stepped down a small flight of stairs and crossed over to the bar. Scanning the room she could see the barkeep, polishing an aged tankard. Towards the back of the room was a great fireplace. A huge man sat in one of the chairs, with another man standing over him. They appeared to be having words of some sort. As Wyldfyre approached the bar she noticed that the seated man was in fact an Orc. Wyldfyre was a little nervous at the sight of this orc. Her last dealings with one did not go well at all and this one was twice the size of the one she had encountered. Still, she had not crossed the provence of Skyrim to be frightened by a single Orc.

"A bottle of mead please" she politely asked the barkeep. The man, distracted by the goings on of the two men near the fireplace, almost dropped the tankard he was polishing.

"By the nines!" he exclaimed. He looked up to find a red headed beauty peering at him, a smirk on her face. He handed her a bottle and she gave him a coin, then settled down onto a stool. She took a swig from the bottle and cocked her head towards the two men.
The Orc" she grunted "Who is he?" The bar keeper looked nervous.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Why is that important?" she countered. "It's a simple question. Who is the Orc?". She glared at the barkeep, her green eyes flashing. The man signed and leaned towards her.

"The Orc is GroBenjii, the fighter. And you would do well to keep out of his way lass" he said in a whisper. Wyldfyre bristled at him calling her "lass". She made up her mind to go talk with GroBenjii, just to prove to the barkeep that she was no mere "lass". She slid of her seat, her leather armour creaking, adjusted her crossbow and took up the bottle of mead and strode over to stand in front of the fire, blocking the Orcs light. Whatever conversation the two men were having ended and they both looked at her in surprise. Wyldfyre took a swig of her drink and then pretended to only just notice the Orc, ignoring the other man. "Oh. Am I blocking your fire? Very sorry. It's just I've been on the road for so long today, I needed a drink and a warm fire." she sidestepped the standing man and settled herself down in the seat next to the Orc. She touched his arm. whoa. nice muscles she mused to herself. "You know how it is" she nodded to him, and stretched out her long tanned legs towards the fire. Inside, Wyldfyre was petrified, her heart beating so fast. She hoped the Orc did not take her intrusion the wrong way, as the other man stood there with opened mouth.

 

[Irishman]

Drinking deeply from his heavy goblet full of sweet wine, whilst staring into the steadily burning fire, it wasnt long before GroBenjii began to relax. A short time later however, a man entered the pub. Benjii, thinking that he heard the man speaking a different language, turned inquisitively around and met eyes with the newcomer. The man didnt look happy "Move, or i kill you. Simple isn't it?" he snapped at the orc. Benjii raised an eyebrow. Either your drunk or stupid, or both. Thought Grobenjii, a wave of controlled fury rising and than quickly dissolving in him 'Never underestimate someone you dont know, it may get you in trouble. No matter how competant you may think you are in combat.' Self-control was one of the harder things that Benjii had learned in his martial arts training. Orcs, by nature are not the most level headed of beings, yet Benjii thought he had done very well.

GroBenjii had another mouthful of wine and resumed watching the fireplace as the door opened yet again, letting the mid afternoon sun in briefly. Bout time this place got busy. He heard a woman ordering a drink and saw out of the corner of his eye a flash of dazzling red hair. Benjii smiled to himself, he loved red-heads and after all, he was here to celebrate.

As Benjii sat there thinking furiously for a pickup line, the red haired lady walked over and stood in front him, "Oh. Am I blocking your fire? Very sorry. It's just I've been on the road for so long today, I needed a drink and a warm fire." She was an adventurer of some description, it was obvious in the way her leather armour had softened from wear and clung to her toned, tan body. As she got closer and sat down next to Benjii, he got an uncommon fluttering feeling in his stomach and suddenly felt a little nervous. she was indeed rare sight. GroBenjii took a quick nerve-dampening swig before stating 'I'm GroBenjii, from Mor Khazgur. You can call me Benjii.'

 

[shadowkitty]

The Orc looked her over, taking his time. Wyldfyre's heart beat with a mixture of terror and excitement. Am I really doing this? He took a swig from his own expensive looking wine bottle and spoke.

"I'm GroBenjii, from Mor Khazgur. You can call me Benjii" His voice was deep.
Wyldfyre breathed a sigh of relief. A least this Orc didn't want to immediately kill her. She took another swig of mead, finishing the bottle. Though by the looks of him he certainly has a killer look about him. Large and extremely toned and armed to the teeth. But then she was similarly armed, with weapons in places one could not even see. This Orc was dangerous. Someone not to be foolish with. Which was exactly what Wyldfyre was looking for. She wanted the danger, the excitement. She had journeyed so far across Skyrim, doing odd jobs. Now she was tired and wanted a different kind of action. The Orc was the one she chose. She flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Benjii" she tested the name on her tongue. "I like it". She boldly leaned forward giving Benjii a view down the front of her armour.

"Tell me, Benjii of Mor Khazgur, what do you do for fun around here?" She could not believe she just said that, and the Orc looked as surprised as she was, but it seemed to get the right reaction from him. She flung her empty bottle into the fire. It exploded on the stones and the glass fell to join other countless broken bottles.

"My drink seems to be all gone" she pouted.

 

[Drasok Ghett]

"Im not scared of you, to think i am is a joke in itself, i know you. Benji, right?" With that the girl appeared. The girl seemed to be wanting the orc, or was it a trick "Moorus, neh to ogiim naag" With that he sat down beside the orc "Have you heard of...Darkness, before you say. I don't mean shadows. I mean true darkness....Being" Kjald smiled and looked at the fire "well I'll be gone, best not to disturb what is going on" Kjald smiled as he got up and went to the darkest corner of the room and took out his sword, twirling it in the air