18+ (Private) 1x1 with The_Lost_Foxtrot

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    Tsundora

    Breton Trash
    She returned frequently to her family, it was only right. It was an unassuming little town- not even much of a town, really. To her, it must be so dull living in Ivarstead as a farmer or worker, just toiling away in fields. Thank god her family was never invested in the trade. She preferred animals and vegetables when they were on a plate, and not having to raise them every day.

    Crops would be scarce at this time of year. First Seed was coming soon and the snow was parting. Sabelline was back at home and yesterday, she‘d brought with her elk meat and some oddities like wild bird eggs, flowers and Nirnroot on the way, that odd stuff her brother always liked to work with.

    It had been a good half-year since she saw them last.

    “Sabel, I must ask you something.” Her brother said, leaning towards her from across the table. He always looked intense because of his thick black brows, framing dark, thoughtful eyes. “In a day or so, I want to head to the college of Winterhold. There’s only so much I can learn out here, unfortunately. I was hoping you could come with me.”
    Sabelline blinked at him, a presumptuous frown forming. “Are you teasing me?”
    “Oh- no! No, I mean, even the roads are dangerous. I have a mercenary hired, but it would be good to have the extra protection.”
    Sabel smiled slightly. Maybe that was the appreciation she was finally getting from him. “That right? Well, I’m not free, but I’ll give you a discount or something. Since I’m professional and everything.”
    Morgan nodded quickly, clearly not concerned with payment. He seemed quite amused, no doubt he still saw her as defenceless. Well, she’d show him at any rate. Her bowmanship was undefeated.

    Sabelline headed out shortly and felt the cold air on her face. She was generously adorned in furs, but by all Nine Divines was it as frigid as being touched by an ice wraith. She figured she should get as much hunting and foraging in as possible to prepare.
     
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    The_Lost_Foxtrot

    Luwd uf Shoduws
    Aross hummed slightly to himself as he walked down the road, garbed in his 'merc attire' as some of his brothers and sisters back in the Sanctuary called it. He had just completed a couple of contracts in Markarth a few days ago and decided to take a break from his work...by doing other work.

    A sigh left his lips as he looked around him at the usual orange trees of the Rift, but the taint of cold in the air hinted at a harsh winter this year. He frowned slightly at the thought, by Sithis did he hate the winter, maybe it was his heritage’s fault but he much preferred the warm summer breeze, sometimes he still wondered why he choose to go here of all places then further down south in Tamriel.

    But what was done is done, if he hadn’t gone here then he wouldn’t have found his new home or purpose, "plus the extra gold from the mercenary work always helped", he thought with a small smirk before it vanished as soon as the bridge leading over to his destination was in front of him, Iverstade was as boring as ever, the only interesting thing here was perhaps that one time he killed a traveler that took a pit stop here a about a year ago. Humming to himself with a small coy smile his eyes wandered over the people and buildings infront of him, like a cat eyeing mice, the only thing covering his smile was the cloth of the Morag Tong helmet he wore from one of the bastards he killed.

    Seeing a pair of humans around his age walk in his direction, Breton by the looks of it, he relaxed his body to seem more friendly and easy going before stepping infront of the two. "Hello there ma’am, sir, but do you perhaps know the best place to stay for the night? I was suposed to meet someone here but the sly fox must have slipped past me and ditched me, with most of our supplies at that" he replied while gesturing to the small pack on his back, which only contained two pieces of bread, some dried meat and a couple of healing potions. On the side of the pack was a small waterskin strapped half empty.
     

    Tsundora

    Breton Trash
    Sabelline prickled and noted the stranger’s unusual appearance. His words were not likely even necessary to convince her of his foreign arrival to Ivarstead. Hair stark white like the Throat of the World. His eyes reminded her of summer in the Rift, though she couldn’t say if they were warm or not, they were quite indiscernible. He looked like an elf.

    Sabelline frowned lightly, though it wasn’t intentionally. It was more habitual. Her eyes were, though, hard and scrutinising. “A traveller? There’s an inn, Vilemyr.”
    “Near the bridge,” Morgan added quickly but politely, eager to cut into the conversation, “a good morning to you, have you come from afar? I’d be happy to spare a few supplies, of course. We don’t get many of your type here, just Nord pilgrims, mostly.”

    The generosity of Ivarstead’s folk did extend to the Bretons too. Morgan went up to the Greybeards to spare food, so it was no chip on his shoulder.
     

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