Private {18+} Ascension

Thaliens' secretive companion quietly told Elrasur to mind his own business before speaking with the grim breton knight and then leaving the jarls' longhouse. With little for him to do there, and the eyes of the guards boring into him, the dark elf quickly took his own leave.

There was still a light drizzle of rain coming down as he stepped outside, so the former assassin moved quickly to the inn known as the Dead Mans' Drink. He dodged a pair of legionnaires who looked to be in a particularly foul mood, speaking about a troublesome elf woman.

Entering the tavern, he noticed the dour, halberd wielding man speaking with a one armed human. He didn't hear all that was said, but he did catch something about the man being told when they would be leaving. Elrasur approached and nodded a greeting "Will you be joining us then?"

Kyros glared down at the recently awoken man laying in the bed of the jarls' longhouse. It was clear from the humans' words that he had expected the knight to have at least a few questions. The knights eyes narrowed with further anger. Had their self-appointed leader just read his mind? He wasn't sure how the 'visions' the man had worked, but he wasn't willing to rule anything out. He certainly wasn't about to put his trust in the man, even if he had lead them faithfully thus far. He tightened his grip on Razors' hilt, and wondered if the visions gave him any above normal reflexes. If he disliked the answers he recieived, they would both quickly find out just how useful these 'precognitions' were. "I ought to kill you outright." The vampire knight growled, "how long have you had these visions?"

Uzar had almost finished his food when the young girl, the imperial who didn't carry any weapons or, as far as he could tell, wear armor. His brow furrowed, anger growing within him as he wondered at her foolishness. She had seen his frenzied massacre of the bandits? He was just as dangerous to her, more, perhaps. There was a slight stutter that he picked up on, as she introduced herself and asked his name. The orcs' eyebrows shot up in surprise and he would have laughed, if he could remember how. Still, she was the first who hadn't either shunned him or attempted to use him for their own protection. "My...name..."the words came out as a guttural growl, "is..Uzar."

Athara glared at the nord guardsman standing across from her, and crossed her arms. The man mirrored her, his brows furrowing even further. "You're not getting in, cat." He nodded towards the Dead Man's Drink, behind her, and not the current door he was blocking with his armoured mass. "Go get drunk with the rest of your mercenary degenerate friends." The assassin hissed with frustration, ears flattening against her skull. "Look," she growled, "I just need to get some things. I'm not going to steal anything." The nord seemed less than convinced, and pointed with his left hand towards the tavern. "Not gonna say it again. Get gone, or I'll haul you to the dungeon, imperial mercenaries or not."

The assassin spat a curse and turned on her heel, headed for the inn that'd been previously indicated. Grumbling under her breath, she shoved past the group leaders' side kick and a one armed man, passing the white-handed dark elf as she did so. She found Elwin amid the crowd of regulars and other mercenaries. She remembered something like hurt passing over the elfs' face when Athara had mentioned how disinterested in actual romance she was. Tapping her shoulder, she said "we should talk, when you have a moment."

Karsan eyed the pale-skinned man with more than a bit of trepidation as he stiffened, no doubt questioning the smith’s intentions. Mercenaries were a squinty bunch on their own, and in a dead Skyrim Karsan could understand why, so being doubtful was just good business. Not to mention they too were greeted by the same humble nords. What he’d noticed, and hoped to avoid, were the prying eyes his ‘problem’ drew, and with it, the daunting vulnerability. That, and travelling with a wanted deserter and criminal had been, well.. a poetic migraine of its own. All he could count on was Skyrim’s hospitality to prove a bigger distraction, as it had so far.

“Someone will inform you and your companion when we are leaving." Relieved, the smith’s grip faltered from his axe and he grunted in response, but kept himself forward.

“Hm. Bruma isn’t a small town, and barkeeps talk, especially when they’ve $&@! themselves.” He was, of course, referring to the surprise visit by the Archon and his regime in Bruma, and the lingering unease it left in the city. Karsan was glad to have missed that part altogether. “We have a room, so we’ll be waiting. And you are--” He started to ask for the man’s name, a force of habit, but continued on as a statement. “--well-armed, for a dead Skyrim. Smart.” He did note the man’s chainmail and wicked halberd, all terrific arms in terrific condition, and something for him to grow terrifically wary of.

Karsan turned to step away from the taller man when an accented voice called out to him-- that of a Dunmer. The leatherbound elf was a sore sight for sure, and flimsy as he was, Karsan expected he knew the steel, claw-like blades very well. And his hands, painted completely white? He hadn’t seen anything like them, and he’d bet everyone for miles hadn’t either. His brow hardened as a wet khajiit shouldered past him, and he muttered about damp cats and yarn.

“Looks like it.” He nodded simply, again shifting his weight to favor his good leg. But when the elf lingered, his expression flattened and he repeated his name with a hint of exasperation. "Karsan. My companion and I will be traveling with your group, so..” He unnaturally kept himself in place, fighting the urge to rejoin Morva and steal the wine from her. In first impressions at least, he couldn’t arouse more doubt than a one-armed man did already. This was, after all, the final stretch. For his family.

Morva nearly left her skin as the elf nudged a tablet in front of her, her fingers closing on a steel dagger under her thigh. Where he’d come from wasn’t as troubling as why he wanted to talk to her. Or the fact that she’d been too distracted to see him coming. A twinge of shame came over the former acolyte at the thought and, instinctively, she leaned away from him.

Haphazardly, she spared a quick glance at the tablet, then back to him, wearing an unconvinced expression. The girl quietly wondered if not speaking was a part of his act, and less of a hearing condition, or silence vow. Even still, She'd be tempted to slit his spindly throat were they alone.

“H-hello?” She squinted at the elf, as if to unearth a response he was unable to give. When he didn’t , and instead tapped the tablet, she chewed on her lips in annoyance and examined it more closely. Her understanding of common-tongue was, at best, disjointed and basic, let alone her ability to speak it herself. Reading, however, came easier than writing did.

After a few more moments of skeptical silence, she carefully picked up the chalk and began to scribble under the words, scratching her head, erasing with her palm, and cursing in her native tongue. When a few minutes had passed, she handed the tablet back with a response crammed under the elf-- Sylandres’-- greeting. ‘I am Minx. I go walk with Karsan, to help him. Why do you use write? Can you speak?’

She’d swear she saw someone watching the room from a corner, sipping from a goblet as they sat dressed in full armor. But the figure could’ve easily been confused with any number of the locals, some of which wore armor regularly. Still, being here and talking with the empire’s vultures, she was uneasy. But this was, after all, the final stretch. For Karsan, at least.

Elwin was about ready to drown herself in wine, at least as much as she could without being dangerously inebriated, when she felt a firm tap on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Athara, drenched in water, with droplets still dripping to the tavern floor. The khajiit's Amber eyes seemed sincere, almost regretful as she suggested they talk.

As much as the justiciar wanted to be angry at her, she knew how hard it was to show vulnerability, especially in front of someone she'd just met. She nodded to an unoccupied corner, and said "I have a moment now." She lead the way and waited for Athara to sit before doing the same. Before the khajiit could speak, Elwin held up a hand "before we get started, I want to apologize. We don't know each other, and I had no right to be upset with you."

Cyrius, secluded from the gazes of most of the nords and his fellows inside the inn, stood with his back against the wall, seeming casual and unconcercened, to the undiscerining observer. In reality, he was on edge. Thaliens' companions had returned, except for one. The foul tempered breton who had so soundly rebuffed his offer of friendship.

The imperial vampire generally wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but he didn't trust his fellow vampire. After all, if one couldn't admit to their faults, how trustworthy were they, really? His musings were interrupted by the conversation between Thaliens' hooded bodyguard and a one armed man. Once the man had been caught up in a conversation with the bleeding-heart dunmer, Cyrius slipped to the hooded mans' side. Joren, he thought his name was. "So, we're picking up stray cripples now? What use could he be, besides target practice?"

Elwyn accepted her offer of conversation, and lead her over to an empty corner, with two chairs at a round table. Athara sat first, quickly followed by the high elf. She opened her mouth to begin her apology when the elf held up her hand, surprising the assassin into silence. "before we get started, I want to apologize. We don't know each other, and I had no right to be upset with you." Athara had to work to keep her jaw from dropping, and her mind focused on her own apology, which now seemed somewhat lackluster. So instead, she said "you're right. I don't know you." She leaned forwards, "but I'd like to. Would you be willing to give me another chance? Start new?"

The one handed man confirmed Elrasur's suspicions that he would indeed be joining them as a wet and thoroughly irritated khajiit pushed past him. "That is good to hear. Able bodies are always useful, despite their appearance." Though the human didn't say so, it was clear he was uncomfortable, being questioned and having to remain in one place. The dark elfs' interest was piqued, but he did not press. Out of his own companions, many clearly had things they wished hidden. What was one more?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the dark armoured, sinister form of Vintor, sitting in one of the taverns' corners, unsurprisingly alone. The imperial seemed to have taken a keen interest in the new comers, but Elrasur was unsure of how wise it would be to question him. Turning his attention back to the man, Karsan, he inclined his head. "Very well, then. I shall bother you no more." Excuses made, he drifted to a table of his own, a difficult thing to find on an evening such as this, and ordered himself some food and drink.

Mathias's gazed turned towards the she-elf from earlier, his expression getting cold and almost blank at her not so subtle threat. His eyes narrowed in both anger and pain as he walked beside her, "that is of no concern to you, all you or anybody else has to know is that I will be in shape for the mission, I never leave a contract unfinished" he replied before stopping for a moment at the gates of Falkreath, listening in on their captain talking with the guards for a moment before they were given permission to enter.

Just as he was about to walk towards the marker place, he grabbed the tattooed elf by the arm, his grip tight, "but threaten me like that again you'll find it... difficult, I don't wish to make enemies within our own ranks. But I will not lay on my back and let you finish me off" he muttered into her ear before letting go of her arm and as smoothly as possible walked through the city gates. He could see the people here had it almost worse then the slums back in Bruma, but that is what happens when you try to restart a rebellion with the Empire he guess. So looking around for a moment he noticed that their group split into two, most of them going towards the local inn while a few others headed for the largest building witin the town, most likely the Jarl's home. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, and the next a somewhat different person took his place.

He gained a more narrowed face, high cheekbones and tanned skin, his nose a bit crooked with a large scar going over his nose bridge, and his hair gainnng a more chestnut color while getting longer, reching past his shoulder blades, a few wrinkles lined his face making him look a bit older. Yet the eyes stayed the same, unnerving purple. Nodding to himself he headed for oe fo the towns people, putting on a small smile he nodded to the young man, "excuse me sir, but do you know the nearest place to by alchemical ingridents? our group was ambushed by bandits at the border and we need to make new potions before hitting the road" he asked in a voice that was a lighter tone then before, almost more feminine, to seem friendlier. The man's suspicious eyes softened sligjtly at the voice, before simply nodding his head towards a somewhat rundown house. Nodding in gratitude he walked over and headed inside...

After about ten to twenty minutes he was out of the building, a sack of newly brewed potions, a small smirk of satisfaction on his lips as he finally gained back his streangth, he made sure to make extra stock for the rest of the journey, so after simply chugging back a vail and getting a bottle of ale from the shop keeper he felt refreshed, and headed for the inn. As soon as he was inside again he noticed that his group had settled in well enough, though his eyes lingered on that young lass, Serana, the one that could sense his curse. His eyes narrowed as he silently made his way over, ignoring the khajiit and elf talking, the man that always followed after their captain. He sat down beside the young girl as his appearance reversed back to what it was before, looking forward all the while. "Now that no one is here to destract us, how did you discover my...problem?.. and don't lie girl" he murmured softly, almost a whisper in the wind, his hand placed under the table. the pommel of his dagger poked her side once for show, while giving the mad orc on the other sife of the table a small glanse before focusing on the Imperial girl again. "And if you scream for that mage of yours you'll find a dagger in your throat faster then you can blink... do you understand?" he siad coldly, not that she would know, killing her would most likely make the others throw him out of the company, or outright kill him, but in his experiance he has learned that the ones that has the fear of death hanging over their heads would most likely talk...

Caleb sighed in relief, and glanced over at the argonian and the wood elf who were still near the doors. He nodded, hoping they would pick up on his silent gratitude. He heard Adalias' question and chuckled "well we haven't killed each other yet, which is the important part, I guess." Despite the flippant response, he did appreciate Oriens' actions, both in the forest and along the road. "He may be an imperial, but he's honest one. I can honestly say I wouldn't be here, if he hadn't taken that bandit." He shrugged, realizing he was sounding rather grim. "What about food? Hopefully we can be on the road again by dawn tomorrow, and leave this dreary place behind." He realized then that the girl, Lilliana, was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged, sure that she would find him, or at least Adalia, if she needed something.

Kyliras' eyes snapped to the hand holding her arm, and she resisted the urge to tear into the man it belonged to. It was clear he did not appreciate her less than subtle threats, and he responded in kind. The elfs' lower lip trembled for a moment as the man walked away, before she burst into laughter. Not laughter that would make one think a good joke had just been told, but rather, a deranged cackle that had guardsmen and those few citizens that were still outside glancing or glaring in her direction. Once the man had disappeared from view, her laughter died immediately, and she once more ran her thumb over the keen blade of her axe. "It would be a shame," she murmured to herself, stepping out of the meagre shelter provided by the gatehouse. Soft rain, more a mist than a downpour, settled in her hair and on her face. Gripping the haft of her axe, she slowly made her way towards the tavern, not in any particular hurry. She stepped inside, smiled enigmatically at her fellows, and proceeded to take a place near the robed man. She thought she'd heard his name was Caleb, but wasn't sure. "Where is your young friend? The girl who faints?"

Elwyn smiled faintly at the khajiit. She knew they had their differences, as most of the group seemed to, but for her to make an effort to apologize and to still want to be with Elwyn, warmed her heart. "Of course. I realize that in our line of work, especially where we are going, our lives may be cut short at any moment. But I would be happy to spend what moments we have together." She lapsed into an awkward silence, and made a point of looking anywhere but at Athara. Finally, she said, "so. I, ah, suppose we should get some rest. The fight took a lot out of me, and I think I only have a few moments more to make even slightly coherent sentences." She said with an apologetic smile, and got up, moving towards the innkeeper. On the way, she noticed the masked man who had generally kept to himself, sitting unusually close to the young imperial girl. It seemed odd, but there didn't seem to be anything untowards happening, at least that she could see. She went to the counter paid for her room, and collapsed in the bed, exhausted.

Lilliana had opened her notebook to begin writing, when someone took the seat next to her. She was beginning to glance over to see who it was, hoping it was someone less...unpleasant than the hulking Uzar. A moment later, something sharp was pressed against her ribs and a familiar voice hissed "Now that no one is here to destract us, how did you discover my...problem?.. and don't lie girl" the knife prodded painfully against her as she opened her mouth to cry for Adalia "And if you scream for that mage of yours you'll find a dagger in your throat faster then you can blink... do you understand?" She nodded. "Please...please don't k-kill me. I don't I-I'm not sure how I can sense your um...problem. It just happens. I can sense pain and misery from anyone."

Adalia smiled. "It's good to hear you are getting along. He may not share the same views, but I think he's a good man. As good as anyone can be, in a mercenary company, anyways." At the mention of food, her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in several hours. "That sounds great. Let me-" before she could finished her sentence, the strange, tattooed altmer woman approached, and asked about 'the one who faints'. It was then that Adalia realized her young companion was no longer at her side. She turned, surveying the crowd. "She was just here." She said, all thoughts of food fleeing in the face of her worry. "Lilliana?" Her voice barely carried above the general noise of the taverns occupants.

While Thalien had never been one to take threats well, he knew he was at a disadvantage here. For one, his whole body ached, as if he'd been thrashed by a giant, rather than confined to a bed. This was nothing new to him, and therefore he knew the pale breton looming over him, sword in hand, could end him in a heartbeat. Perhaps even without the sword, Thalien admitted to himself, noting the paleness of the mans' skin. Deciding it was best not to keep a dangerous and seemingly less inclined to be forgiving creature waiting, he nodded carefully. "I've had these visions as long as I can remember. Since I was a boy, really." The truth, though he'd left out some details, but he certainly didn't intend to reveal his entire past to the man. The mercenary captain stared shrewdly at the breton, wondering if the knight could be trusted.

Having every decision he made second guessed because the entire group knew of his...condition, was extremely undesirable, to say the least. "Before we leave this room, I would offer you a deal." It was hard to judge if the stone-faced breton was interested, or merely deciding whether to swing the sword in his hand after all. "I will tell you when I have my...visions, so long as you keep my, ah, condition, to yourself." He cocked an eyebrow, not daring to step out of the bed or attempt to draw his blade. Besides, he was so sore that he doubted he could have done either quickly or smoothly.

Kyros listened with narrowed eyes as the human in the bed explained that he'd had been receiving visions his entire life. Or at least as long as he could remember. That confession did little to ease the vampiric knights' suspicion of him. He knew he was far from holy, but at least his darkness was pure. He had made no pacts and nothing guided him save for his own desires. The vampire did not kill for sport or out of bloodlust, but a desire to find the ultimate challenge. He looked down at the man, wondering if he should kill him anyways. Who could tell how much corruption had seeped into his mind, clouding his judgement and twisting his motives? There would be questions, accusations, and almost certainly a fight. Kyros welcomed that, but something about the man offering to tell him when the visions struck stayed his hand. He considered the offer, wondering why the human would say such a thing if he really was corrupted. After several moments, Kyros nodded and stepped away from the bed. "I accept", he sheathed his sword, but kept a hand on the hilt, "but know that if you lead us astray because of these visions, this blade will be waiting for you."

Vintor had long since finished his wine, and was watching the ongoing events in the tavern with mild interest. Nothing exciting had happened since the pair of imperial legionnaires had decided to leave. The afternoon was starting to turn into evening when the door to the tavern opened. The former paladin had been about to go looking for Thalien and the undead breton. It was not Thalien, nor the vampiric knight. It was an imperial legate, complete with polished pauldrons and a crimson cloak. The man was young, younger than Vintor would have thought, for someone of a legates' rank. His hair was dark and cut short, if somewhat dampened by the rain. His gaze passed over several of the mercenaries, before his gaze drifted toward Vintor, sitting in his corner. Their eyes met, and the legate started making his way through the crowd.

The legate stopped at the table and took in his armour apprehensively. "You are the one in command of these mercenaries?" The mans' voice lacked the typical snideness that the other imperials the group had come across had. Vintor opened his mouth to correct the man, then glanced towards Joren. Thaliens' friend and bodyguard was keeping to himself, and the former paladin very much doubted he would welcome dealing with an imperial, regardless of rank. "For now, yes. What is it you want?"

The legate looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if struggling with something. "I am Marcus Aurius, of the third legion, out of Hjaalmarch. I am in need of some mercenaries."

"Mercenaries for what purpose?" Vintor asked, "we may sell our blades, but we aren't interested in guard duty. Chasing some petty bandits."

The legate waved his hand. "Nothing like that. An outpost in the sea of ghosts has stopped reporting. The work going on there was...important. I need a small group to accompany my men to the outpost, and see what has transpired."

Intrigued, Vintor glanced over the legates' shoulder, towards the others. It was too loud in the tavern for their conversation to be overheard, but Vintor wouldn't put it past his 'comrades' to attempt to eavesdrop. "If we take this assignment, you realize it will not be for petty change. If you expect us to liberate an outpost, be prepared to pay in advance."

The legate nodded, "I am authorized to pay a sum of gold for each of your men that you see fit to bring with you. We leave for the Solitude docks at dawn." The legate stood to leave. "If you are interested, meet me at the barracks in town tomorrow."

Thalien stared cautiously at the undead knight for another moment or two, to ensure he wouldn't be cut in half the moment he stepped out of the bed. When the knight made no move to do anything untowards, the mercenary captain stood, groaning as sore muscles screamed in protest. Sleeping in armour was never a good idea. Thrashing around in armour before passing out was an even worse idea. The back of his head where he'd struck the stone floor was not feeling much better. "I assume it is getting late. Let's head back to the others." Without waiting to see if the man followed or not, Thalien made his way to the door, then to the entrance of the jarls' longhouse, ignoring the inquisitive, distrustful stares of the guards and jarl.

Outside, it was still raining, though not nearly as hard as it had been several hours prior. The tavern he'd instructed the others to gather at was not hard to find, with a lantern-lit sign swinging in the wind. Pushing the door open, he stepped past an important looking imperial officer, and made a quick headcount. It appeared the entire group, minus the glowering tower of doom who'd 'watched over him' while he slept, were present. He noted Jorren watching him, head tilted slightly. He shook his head just as imperceptibly, later he mouthed, though he wasn't sure his friend caught the gesture.

Then he made his way over to where Vintor skulked in the shadows, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You seem to be contemplating something. I'd love to know what it is." He glanced towards the others and raised his voice to carry over the shouts and conversation throughout the tavern. "For the rest of you- get your rest while you can. We depart at first light tomorrow."

Vintor glanced up to see Thalien taking the seat that the legate had only recently vacated. "Good to see you up and about. That imperial lad over there" he nodded towards the "heard we were in town. He offered myself and anyone else interested a job out by Solitude. I'm thinking of accepting. If it's alright with you, I'll round up some of the others and leave at the same time the rest of the company heads out for Markarth." He glanced around, making sure none were paying too close attention. "I don't know about you, but I think it may be best that we get some friends in the empire. Just in case things start going sideways in High Rock." Leaning in further still, he said quietly "what did you see this time? Your absence didn't go unnoticed."

"Interesting" Thalien mused, glancing around the tavern and wondering if the legate had left one of his men behind to keep an ear out. It seemed unlikely, with the majority of the people inside the building at the moment being his fellow mercenaries. He tensed slightly at Vintors' question. It wasn't that he didn't trust the former paladin. Well...he didn't, but he trusted him a lot more than he did any of the others, besides Joren, of course. "See to your side job first. I will tell you when you return. For now, take your rest, and we'll part ways at first light." With those words, Thalien left his companion and went to his own bed, remembering to remove his armour, this time around.

The next morning was little better than the day prior. The sky was still grey, and a thin fog covered the ground, driven by a gentle wind. Scowling at the cloud covered sky, he lead the others outside, before turning to face them. "Listen up. We're headed to Markarth. Making a straight path, as much as we can. Vintor," he nodded towards the man, "and I suppose a few of you others will be headed to Solitude, taking care of an issue for some legate there. We will wait for you in Markarth for no more than a week after our arrival. Anyone who isn't there by the deadline, will be left behind."

In the morning, Vintor and several others, including the one armed newcomer had assembled outside the barracks that the legate had indicated. The legate and a large cart were waiting. He seemed disappointed by the paltry selection of mercenaries, but he nodded a greeting all the same. Then he had indicated they should head out, before too much of the day was wasted. So Vintor, the khajiit woman and her altmer friend, the dour breton knight and the one horned argonian climbed aboard, along with the one armed man.

The trip to the Solitude docks had been uneventful, unsurprising, seeing as they were guarded by no less than a dozen imperial knights, all on high alert. Four soldiers sat with them, heavy crossbows strung and set on their laps. Vintor refrained from asking whether the soldiers were present to keep bandits away, or keep the mercenaries from doing anything 'funny'. It took the better part of three days to reach the capital from Falkreath.

From there, they were sheperded along to the docks, and from there onto an imperial warship. That seemed strange until Vintor remembered the legate had told him the outpost was on an island. Once aboard, they met captain Orinius Praxus, a captain in the third legion. The legate remained in Solitude while the vessel set off on its' journey. The sea was kind to them, and within two hours, Vintor and the others were standing on a beach of cold sand, with an overcast sky above.

The former paladin craned his neck to take in the entirety of the 'outpost' ahead of them. "This seems like something more than an outpost" Vintor murmured. "How many people were stationed here?"

"None of your business, mercenary." Captain Praxus snapped, signalling his legionnaires to set up a perimeter around a decrepit watchtower, where they were observing the silent fortress from. "Your job is to get in, find out what went wrong, and fix it. Not ask pointless questions." He gestured impatiently to Vintor and the others. "Hop to it."