Open The Bannered Mare Tavern

"Ahhh a magic user my father Emil Ice-Veins was a mage specialized in ice and fought in the great war, he left me to be raised by a maid I don't know what happened to him, but anyways these mechanice machines you are looking for are as good as yours." Jurgen ordered three drinks for them and as they got there he held his out in a cheers position,"ill head out tomorrow morning I should have them within a week, give or take a day or so, after I collect the pieces where would you like the drop off to be?"

"Argh! Land is so confusing," Gar-Ruk mumbled as he walked up to the gate of Whiterun. "This isn't Solitude!!" Although angry he got lost and hadn't arrived at his destination, the Argonian entered the city anyways. Tired from his journey, Gar-Ruk walked towards the Bannered Mare Tavern, looking for rest.

Several heads turned and stared at Gar-Ruk, wondering what an Argonian is doing half-naked in the open. Opening the door to the tavern, Gar-Ruk was greeting by the warm air of the fire. He sat down at the bar, taking his trident off his back and put it to his side. "A glass of water please." Gar-Ruk said to the bar-maid, who was surprised by the unusual request. "Sure you don't want a good flagon of ale?" the bar-maid said. Gar-Ruk replied with a annoyed growl, and the bar-maid went on her way.

After drinking his water, Gar-Ruk rented a room and fell asleep, wondering how he will reach Solitude.

Leepdroon woke up from a nightmare suddenly. He moved a little on hid bed, but failed to fall asleep again. So, he got up and searched his satchel for a few books of the College. He took them to a table outside his room and started reading... A few minutes passed, and he finished his first book. "So that's how you make a decent ward." He thought. He took another book. It was a little burnt and it was rather old. "Falmer language?! How am I supposed to read this? I wonder if J'Zargo knows how to read this..." He asked the barmaid for ale. "Isn't it too late for drinking?" "I can't fall asleep, so I am reading to learn." "As you wish then."
As soon as the bottle of ale arrived, the argonian drank sips while gazing the Falmer book.

A stranger entered. He wore rich, fine clothes ,swept back, black hair and handsome features so that as he passed some girls looked and giggled others didn't care. As he walked past the more drunk tavern goers, they insulted him on his status but he gave them no heed. As he took a seat by the fire he noticed a poster on a support pole. It read
"Skyrim is corrupt. Jarls, citizens and generals bribe and blackmail. Thalmor agents work within the ranks of the Imperial Legion and Stormcloak Army, as well as a group of people carefully placed agents working to rise above all others. You can't let this happen to Skyrim. I am looking for able bodied warriors to help me eliminate a group of people pulling the strings all over Skyrim. We will invade their fort and wipe them out! Those looking for gold and coin, honour and kinship, and a better Skyrim should visit our military camp in the reach."
The man's name was Marcus Guenevere. He was suddenly interested in this and decided that he would try and assemble a group to join with him. There was something he found so appealing about adventuring with a rag-tag team of misfits.

(My first role-play! We'll see how this goes!)

The doors to the Bannered Mare suddenly flew open, almost hitting a passing-by resident, who gave an angry glare at the man who had just kicked the door open. Said man was, by all means, very large; A Redguard, who was well over 6 feet tall, wearing a set of gleaming black Ebony armor was standing in the doorway, observing the interior of the tavern. Everybody in the tavern looked at him for a moment, except a few select people, before returning to their drinks and such. The Redguard, whose name was Atlas, passed one last glance over the interior, and humphed.

"This isn't like any kind of bar I'm used to," he declared rather loudly, "but I guess it'll do. It's better 'an sittin' 'round doing nothin!" He walked over to a stool and sat down, the poor furniture creaking under his weight; a man as large as him in full Ebony plate armor was bound to be extremely heavy. "I'll have some Honeybrew mead," he loudly declared to the barmaid as she took his order. If any of the other drinkers were annoyed of the Redguard's rowdy attitude, they knew better than to complain with the behemoth of a man. "And maybe later, you and I can... get to know each other better," he said, smiling slyly as he leaned forwards on his stool. The waitress rolled her eyes. There was a loud crack as one of the legs of the stool broke under his weight, and Atlas let out a cry of surprise as he was thrown to the ground.

Nobody laughed as he got up; anybody in their right mind wouldn't laugh at a man who was bigger than then by a lot and was armed to the teeth. He stared at the now-broken stool, then back to the barmaid. "You do realize you're paying for that now, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I know..." said Atlas, fishing out his coin purse to pay for the damages. 'They just don't make stools like they used to...' he thought to himself.

The stool crack drove Leepdroon away from his reading. He put down his Falmer book and gazed at two new faces. A fine dressed man, and a big Redguard who was getting up from the broken stool.
"Another mead please..."
As he waited, he kept staring at the book, clueless about what was written in the old pages.
A shadow covered his light and he noticed J'Zargo was behind him. He sat down and greeted him.
"Awake already?" "What about you?" "J'Zargo heard a crack and got up to see what was going on. Any news?" "I heard the Dark Brotherhood chose a Listener, so we must be careful in the roads, and the College gave me a Falmer bookm which I can't read. Can you translate it?" "Sadly no. But we can't ask the College for translations or else we will look bad. Perhaps we could capture a spare Falmer to make him translate this." "They hate us, they would rather die than telling us the words, and most of them are too dumb to speak our language, yet there are a few who repair centurions and pet chaurus, those may help us."
They stood there examining their situation.

Anarenen walk though the doors of the bannered mare he walk to a set of tables and chairs in a small corner and sat making sure to keep his hood on to not draw any attention to his eyes and sharp teeth he quickly ask the barkeep for a drink to calm his nerves he then skulls the drink quickly infront of the barkeep and he say another one sir with a calm but quite voice

Anarenen after skulling another drink of ale he then thought to himself this palce seems quite ill with men and women all around

Anarenen ask the barkeep for another round of ale this time anarenen drunk this slowly he shifted his eyes left
the right skullking out who to talk to he lick his lips with a small grin afterwards Anarenen said in a loud voice "drinks on me lads hurry why u still can"

Leepdroon looked at the man who drank ale compulsively.
"Hmm..."
J'Zargo kept staring at the book and replied:
"J'Zargo will skip. I need to stay sober for now."

When his mead came, Atlas snatched the mug out of the maid's hand. "S'bout bloody time!" he said. He lifted the mug to his mouth and downed the entire drink rather easily, finishing by slamming the mug down and letting out a satisfied sigh.

Then, Atlas heard a man declare drinks on himself. He looked to the speaker, and smiled. "Well, in that case, I'll be havin' a few more of those Honeybrews!" he declared loudly. Then, Atlas walked over to another corner of the tavern, and waited for his drink. In his corner, he looked around, observing the inside's occupants. He could easily see over everyone's heads; it was a nice perk of being at least 7 feet tall. His eyes caught sight of an Argonian with a book. Peeking at the pages, he noticed that they were written in a very strange language; it wasn't Daedric, or any other language he knew, in fact. "What kinda bloody language do they use in that book?" he asked, slightly interested.

"Falmer. Snow Elf language. If anyone could read this so that we learned more about whatever this spell is about, it would be great."
"Yes, yet it has been forgotten for long. Only Falmer who know our language, like Skulkers will aid us here."

Anerenen looks at the 2 sitting one reading and one that looked at him he thought to him self Should i make some freinds after that he skulls another 2 ale mugs and make a loud comment "ahhh thats some ale"

Zihark enters the inn taking a mental note of it's occupants. As he takes his seat around the fire pit he is approached by the busy barmaid. "Can I get you a drink?" she asked wearily, but Zihark simply shakes his head. "I'm only looking for a room for the night and some work if anyone is offering." Zihark explains. "I can handle a sword." Patting the hilt of his sheathed blade. "I've no jobs for you...the room is 10 septims." replies the barmaid. Zihark hands over the coins with a disappointed look on his face. The barmaid notices the mans expression and asks, "are you sure you don't want a drink? That hooded man is paying for this round and you sure look like you could use one." Disinterested, Zihark ignores the woman and she walks over to the next costumer. Zihark looks around the bar again and notices some people talking, one of them holding an ancient looking book. {That must be one of the mages from the College of Winterhold I've been hearing about.} Zihark hones in on their conversation.

Atlas looked at the Argonian blankly.

"So... you're going to capture one of them nasty buggers?" he asked. "How you plan to get near one without it trying to tear you apart, I wonder. Maybe one of 'em will be willing to translate," he joked. He didn't disrespect mages, considering he himself used magic extensively, but there were some things which some of them did that seemed a bit more dangerous than most people could handle.

"If you do plan on capturing one, I do hope you have a good plan," he said. His Honeybrew mead - the first of several - just came back, and he accepted the mug once more.





Drink first, satisfy curiosity later.

A courier entered. He opened a letter and began to read off what it said loudly. "Dear Adventurers, Swordsmen and Thieve's alike. The Crimson-Blade Family would like to kindly invite you to another one of their parties, at Bloodspire Hold. Have a chance at gold, fame, and a night of drinks, feasting, and merry-making." He folded the letter and bowed and walked out of the tavern.

Bloodspire Hold [+18]

(OOC:gonna jump in here if ya dont mind,heres my character card. Name:Baroth Hermingfel
Race:Nord
Gender:Male
Class:Warrior
Age:50
Looks:6'9,caucasin,long blonde braided hair,scruffy beard,hardend face,wrinkles at corners of eyes,green warpaint on left side of face,brown eyes,straight serious eye brows,mainly wears steel armor along with shoulder armor as well.
Personality:Courageous,fearless,serious and determined.Willing to help skyrim in any way he can.And will fight to the last stroke.Mainly fights evil characters,he usually studies a situation before he jumps in.
Weapon:Steel sword and steel shield,may also revert to long bow,if neccesary.Carries sharpened,iron dagger.
Skills:One-handed,sneaking,block,and heavy armor.
Bio:Born and raised in skryim.Had a pretty normal life,up until 20,when he lost his family to a bandit raid.He hunted the bandits down until he found them,and killed them.After that,dedicated his life to helping others.Got involved in the companions for awhile but left for he wished to spread his good deeds across all of tamriel.travled from skyrim ,to hamerfell ,to the dominion,through cyrodil,to morrowind,and back to skyrim to finish the job.) Baroth entered the nosy,clanky tavern.He was exhausted,for he had been traveling all night.He dragged himself over to the counter and sat on a stool. He set his shield down by his feet,sighing with relief. He gave a shout to hulda,asking for a pint of mead,for he greatly needed one.His eyes set down upon the drink that lay infront of him,relieved.He picked up the tankard and began to drink.

(Not the character for my RPG.)
Holo entered the taveren her black cloak, concealing her features. She sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. Her eye's shot to the man sitting not to far from her. "Travel much?" She asked him.

OOc:gtg,ill be on next weekend,if not sooner) he nodded "Aye that i do,that i do....." he said,drinking the pint