The Tavern 'The Drunken Alit' in the Imperial City is one of the filthiest dives in the empire. It had been the haunt of lowlife, criminals and riff-raff for years. Now a charismatic and beautiful young female wood-elf called Fairgoth is stirring them up, pointing out that even their livelihood is put at risk if so many are killed and pointing out that there are rich pickings to be had off corpses.

Once you have made your first post please interact with others who join up until you are advised of your departure time to the front. This will not be for a day or two as each leader will want to teleport a group rather than individuals. Teleporting forces one by one could be too dangerous. Who knows what they will be facing? If you are there alone, have a look round and describe (as you see it) the tavern, the abbey ruin or the mountain scenery.

The story picks up from where it was left in the original thread.

As the dark cloaked redguard approached, Rif took note that he bore a likeness more akin to a machine than a human. His goggles sparkled slightly in the dim light, giving him a rather menacing look that, in turn, gave Rif some pause. Still, the redguard’s gait was not a threatening one and upon arrival he introduced himself. The introduction seemed awkward and forced, clearly this was a man unaccustomed to such forward behavior.

Without a word Rif closes the flap of his leather bound tool bag and turns to the figure. Before speaking he looks past his greeter to the man he had been accompanied by. Somehow he seemed oddly familiar, as though they had crossed paths before. Again Rif was given some pause, he would have to be cautious not to reveal too much.

“Very well”, he mutters still not looking the man in the eyes, “I’ll join you, for a chat”. Rif stands from his barstool and gestures to the redguard, called Zow, to lead the way.

Before he could get a response, however, Rif heard a voice demanding Fairgoth’s attention. He turned to see a Khajiit with two Breton’s standing nearby. The voice he heard was not the type that a Khajiit would possess, it seamed to thunder from deep inside in places that a Khajiit could not possibly have. Rif watched as Fairgoth turned and confronted the newcomers with an unspoken challenge.

Mehrunes Dagon? Rif was perplexed. “Who is that”, he wondered, “Isn’t that some daedra?” He had never really cared about the lore of the aedra or daedra, and doing so wouldn’t have brought him any financial gains. Rif’s thoughts were cut short as the three assailants seemed to explode in a mist of gore, splattering all who were too close to avoid the spray. Through the red haze he could see that what was once the Khajiit had become something far more hideous and was now engaged in combat with the fair Wood Elf.
To his dismay, Rif realized he was unable to move. “Oh crap”, he thought as he realized he had now way of getting to cover. He recognized the creatures now standing where the Bretons had been as Atronach’s, though he knew little else about them, and he had no desire to fight them in the open.

Fairgoth and the nightmarish leader vanished leaving Rif with his ablility to move restored. As several others drew their weapons to engage the creatures Rif decided it was better to let the warriors do their work. “I’ll only get in the way”, he told himself, “and besides, I have a feeling that punching those things would only make them mad”.

[OOC]Edit from my last post, with a better understanding of how combat is done, sorry for the mixup.[/OOC]

Mehrunes Dagon? Zow thought to himself, perhaps this Mehrunes would be a future foe to fight. He was more fascinated by this person then the disappearance of Fairgoth.

After recovering from the paralyses, Zow reached for his spear, as if on impluse. He went for the the second, non-occupied Atronach. He was low on arrows for his long bow, and this would be a close quaters fight. The Atronach was still at a bit of a distance, so Zow held his spear high, then threw it at the Atronach aiming for its neck.

[OOC] I'm assuming that we are going to repost our responses to the fourth update since there was a lot of PPing going on, it makes sense to replay that bit.[/OOC]

Erunanion watched through the gore that splattered his face as the creature launched itself at Fairgoth. His hand moved instantly to his side; but it did not. He tried to move again, but found he was completely paralyzed. He watch through a red haze of blood and rage as Fairgoth and the creature fought, and eyed the atronach closest him. He was familair with these creatures, and groaned with frustration that he could do nothing to rid the world of one more of Oblivion's foul spawn.

Suddenly, both the creature and Fairgoth vanished, and his movement returned. Struck dumb that the beautiful Bosmer had disappeared, he remained still for a moment. Recovering swiftly, he drew his sword in an instant and threw himself at the closest atronach, lunging at the creature's broad chest, bellowing his warcry.

OOC-repost from original thread.

These other people were quick.

The atronarchs were already being assualted by several of the other patrons, but Oroko managed to find an opening and made a quick slash at one of the atronarchs backs with his sword. He darted out of the way of the fight and thought about using some of his shuriken, but with all the other fighters around, and moving so quickly, there was a good chance he would hit one of them and not the atronarch.

Not that Oroko would usually mind (it might actually be good for a few laughs), but he might be working with some of these people soon and it wouldn't be so great for any future relationships if he were to accidentally tag somebody between the shoulders with a throwing star.

So for now Oroko stood back, looking for some kind of solid opening that wouldn't place him directly in the atronarchs path. While he waited, he sized up the two beasts, as well as the many other attacking patrons. There was no shortage of muscle here, nor courage, though there did seem a distinct lack of brains. Most everybody was concerned primarily with the atronarchs, but as Oroko stood back from the battle, he pondered the third creature, the one that had been disguised as a Khajit and attacked the lovely Madame Fairgoth.

That thing that had attacked her, Oroko wasn't familiar with it. He'd seen more than a few Daedra in his life, but that one...he hadn't been able to place it. That worried him. What worried him more was the fact that these creatures were so bold as to attack a heavily crowded tavern full of warriors and thieves in the middle of the Imperial City.

Things were getting pretty serious. But really, that was fine with Oroko.

It usually meant people were willing to pay more.

OOC- This is a replay of the FIRST part of the previous posts, minus any dead atronachs...

“Gods be smiling on me,” he thought as he listened to the arguing and terse exchanges around him. A slight smile creased his gnarled face as he peered beneath the cowl of the tattered robe into the smoke filled haze of The Drunken Alit. “Elf talk too much. I wish she quiet so I sign up. Not for gold, but gods. She seem nice.”

He finished his mug with a swig and stood. This was his chance: the world would finally see him for who he was. Heroic, kind, intelligent, great… words not usually associated with Orcs. He would make the Masters take notice of him and be proud. They would have to reinstate him.

Sonnaba Beach rolled his broad shoulders to loosen them up and relieve nagging ache of old wounds. Retrieving his worn silver staff from against the wall, he worked his way through the haze to the crowd forming around the Bosmer.

Having been raised from infancy by Dumner had made his childhood both rewarding and harsh. Mu and Da had loved him as their own, but the other Dark Elves never fully trusted him. To make matters worse, every Orc he met seemed stupid, barbaric and cruel.

He finally found a place he felt he belonged when his adoptive parents had been forced to apprentice him to the Imperial Temple as a teenager. Working hard as an assistant to the healers, and then working his way to Shrine Sergeant, he had a family that respected his hard work and loved him as a brother. They had even helped smuggle to Cyrodiil after the incident forced him to flee Morrowind.

He had assumed the name yelled at him by the Dumner in his home village as an act of penance. Alone, he wandered the city trying to live up to teachings of The Temple by helping those less fortunate than himself and trying to do what was right. Taking odd jobs that required either a strong arm or a gentle hand, he had managed to get by without too much trouble. Having sworn off the use of blades since his arrival, the past few years had given him practice enough with his fists and staff. Lately, he actually had a few coins in his pockets from selling his potions and helping those who would rather not be seen going to the more traditional healing establishments.

As Sonnaba approached the crowd, shouting broke out. The pretty Elf cried “Does Mehrunes Dagon believe he can stop us with MINIONS?”

The scent of old blood and bowels was quickly followed by a fount of gore exploding from the Khajiit the Elf was speaking with, as well as two nearby Bretons. Sonnaba tried to raise his staff as he saw two atronachs and foul creature he had never seen emerge from the carnage that was the trio, but found he could not move.

“Paralysis spell!” he though as he cast the counter spell.

Please ignor or remove

[ooc]reprint of previous, starting with battle start[/ooc]

As he regained the use of his muscles, Ralaith realized that he did not have time to contemplate the disappearance of Fairgoth; his life was at stake. In a crowded room like this, he would not be able to hide and throw darts, as he preferred, but he still thought he could get off a few. Pulling out the hand-carved, poisoned, sleek ebon darts, Ralaith hurled two of them towards what he considered to be the arm of the farther of the two atronachs, hoping to reduce its range in any way he could, as the thing was bigger than any atronach he had ever seen before.

As his arm retracted from the second throw, Ralaith noticed a Bosmer girl standing nearby, yelling to find out what was going on. She did not seem to be drunk, but neither had she drawn a weapon. He decided that she must be some sort of magicker, hopefully a healer. He shouted at her to get out of harm's way, to hide or run. He could not reach her right then, but he must do what he could to save for, for if she joined his party, she may just do the same for him. Still, for the moment, she was not his greatest concern.

Ralaith saw that others were jumping towards the monstrous atronachs--he would not be able to get off another dart shot. Instead, he leapt backward onto the bar and promptly jumped again, this time upward and forward. As he reached the peak of his arc, Ralaith pulled out his twin longknives that had been stored in his belt and used the pull of gravity to enhance the force of his downward strike aimed at the nearest atronach, the one Erunanion looked to be about to stab. Ralaith could only hope that this atronach's reflexes were as bad as those of the others he had met in his adventures.

NOTE: This is a repost of my message in the other thread, like the others just did.

OOC: Just so you know, English isn't my first language, but I believe I'm fairly proficient with it in order to make myself understood. I also like to make little spelling mistakes, but oh well, I'm human and humans make mistakes sometimes. Blame genetics.

Ander's head lifted up from the wooden table where it had been for quite a while, since last night, when he heard a conmotion in the place "What's going on?" he thought, forcing his mind to fully awaken from its drunken stupor, or what was left of it thanks to the Brandy he had drinked all by himself, as a Bosmer told him a depressing story about his life. But that had been... yesterday's night, Ander calculated quickly, or so he assumed. It didn't matter now, in any case, for there seemed to be trouble. For that matter, Ander had a knack for getting into the ugliest situations in the land, partly because of sheer bad luck, and for his background as hired blade. Hired Battle Mage, actually.

Known by all as Ander, he was well versed in destructive magic and in melee combat at the same time, like any other Battle Mage who was proud of his job. Under his simple indigo robes he wore an iron chestplate, combined with other minor parts of the remaining set, offering relatively good protection. A two-handed mace hung from his back, a clear message to all that he wasn't as flimsy as he appeared to be at first glance. He was an Imperial, but his habit of drinking too much was well-known to his companions and friends, which didn't speak well for his behaviour in general. Ander didn't really care.

Someone was shouting some kind of message, and before he knew it, Ander was sprayed by gore right on his face "Why did I have to glance right now?" he lamented to himself, as he tried to stand up as fast as possible, while one hand went for the mace strapped to his back. Or at least he tried to, for he was held fast in place via some spell he hadn't seen coming.

He surveyed the situation around him: two atronatchs remained, after the others had left. Clueless to what happened in the last two minutes, Ander measured his chances of survival; it seemed like others proficient in combat where there, too, so he hoped that it would be enough.

When the paralysed state went away, the Battle Mage decided to seize his only chance of casting an arcane offense. Channeling forth electrical energies into an outstretched hand facing the Atronachs, he released the arcane bolt upon the two creatures, mindful of the others nearby, so that he didn't hit an ally or innocent by-stander in the process. He charged full speed afterwards, two-handed mace in both hands.

(picking up from the last update)

"...might raise..."

No sooner had Antehelios begun trying to charm his way into another free meal and bed when a commotion starts to break out from within the tavern itself. A Khajit and 2 Bretons occupying a table 2 tables from his were causing a ruckus demanding that they see Fairgoth, the beautiful proprietor of the Alit. The next thing he knew Fairgoth appeared shouting expletives against Mehrunes Dagon, and the trio were exploding in a miasma of gore and blood as they revealed themselves to be monsters.

Antehelios was in the middle of kicking up his table to serve as an improvised barricade and grabbing and pulling the Imperial barmaid behind him to take refuge when the aura emanating from the nightmarish leader of the trio had paralyzed all onlookers. It was as if time had stopped for all except the attackers and the attacked, Fairgoth. As Antehelios pondered what was going to happen next he surveyed the othe players in the unfolding drama. Some of the other patrons were already in mid leap for an attack. The 3 dunmer he had observed earlier were now stuck charging the Atronachs who were Bretons before. The Breton mage was in the midst of unleasing fire from her fingertips as her Redguard companion drew his axe when they were immobilized.

"This just keeps getting better and better," Antehelios thought to himself as the paralysis suddenly wore off and everyone else began moving normally again. He had kicked up his impromptu barrier and had pulled the barmaid behind him and the upturned table. He motioned for her to hide while he grabbed his warbow and quiver full of arrows and peaked over the table. The nightmarish leader and fairgoth were nowhere to be found, while the lumbering Atronachs were already busy handling the other patrons in the bar. One of the dunmer were busy hacking away at the Atronach that was to Antehelios' right while his other companion tended to their fellow dunmer who had been knocked back by the flaming monstrosity. The Breton witch was peppering the other Atronach with spells as her Redguard bodyguard shielded her from the monster's attacks. Bothe monsters had their backs turned towards Antehelios and both had yet to notice him behind his table.

"Perfect," Antehelios muttered to himself as he notched an arrow and took aim at the back ofAtronach harassing the dunmer. Whenever possible, Antehelios favored attacks of opportunity, as it allowed him to be quick about his grim business and come out relatively unscathed. But this time, he was up against Atronachs, and these otherworlders, these monsters, would hardly be felled by a single arrow, and would be a challenge indeed. He lets the arrow fly to find its mark, and the Atronach winces a bit in pain, but hardly enough to stop moving. Antehelios notches another arrow and then another one and another one and lets them fly one after another to slow down the lumbering brute. One grazes the monster while the rest find their mark, and the Atronach seems to have been wounded enough to turn to his direction and notice his 4th assailant. As the first Atronach charged, Antehelios turned his attention to the other one in battle against the mage and warrior. As before, Antehelios notched arrow after arrow and let them fly towards the creature's back, slowly making the monster resemble a pincushion.

With the combined efforts of magic, axe arm, and concealed sniper the Atronachs were wounded then vanished. With the melee ended the patrons could attend to the needs of their wounded comrades, while Antehelios pondered the whereabouts of the beautiful Fairgoth, and his interrupted meal...

[edited since the Atronachs live or die depending on the DM's choice. My bad....]

Arycama's house on the western side of Balmora
After recieving news of an outbreak of monsters in Cyrodil, Arycama decides to go and check it out. He puts on his chainmail and plate armour, made from refined powers of the daedra. Since Dagoth Ur was defeated, daedric armour is very rare. Many better armour types have been developed since then, but he still likes what he has. He gets his sword, "The Skybreaker" and straps it around him. Then he gets some food, mostly guar meat and cornberries. Then he gets his stash of 10 000 gold. He then slipped on his red and green cloak, and headed for Cyrodil.

Near The Drunken Alit
The boat to Cyrodil costed him 900 gold. Once Arycama arrived at the Imperial City it was nightime and the temperature was freezing cold. Arycama approaches the Drunken Alit through a dark cold alley, a viscious criminal leaps onto him weilding a knife. He quickly dodges the strike and grabs the attackers arm and breaks it with a quick twist. He cries out in pain, as Arycama holds him against the wall. The noise catches the attention of two nearby guards who run over to the fight, holding out their spears. They put hold their spears against Arycama as he puts his arms up. They take his sword away and check him for other weapons, they find a smaller bodkin knife, a hunting bow, a hunting knife, some arrows and several magical items. They take all of them and take him away to prison.

The Imperial Prison
Arycama didn't even get to explain what happened. They just took his weapons and if he talked they would bash him with their spears. He saw his weapons on a nearby table. An old wrinkled looking guard sat near them, fidgeting with them.
"Nice sword." says the guard as he walks towards Arycama's cell. Arycama doesn't reply. "Hmph, probably stolen." says the guard. He thits the bars on Arycama's cell with the sword. It makes a sizable dent in the bars. "Whoa, never seen anything that sharp. I might keep it for myself." Arycama remains silent.

Arycama sits for a few hours in the cold cell untill some fancily dressed man hastily walked up to Arycama, followed by four guards. "You the one who attacked that man?" he asks? "Yeah..." replies Arycama. "Let this man out now." The man orders to the guards. "Yes sir." they reply.
"That man was a wanted criminal. He had a large sum on his head. Im suprised you took him down, you are probably quite a fighter. If you're looking to fight against the monsters from Oblivion, then head to The Drunken Alit." he says. "Well coincidentally I was on my way there when I was attacked." Arycama replies.

The Drunken Alit
Arycama recieves a sum of 3000 gold for capture of the criminal. He got all his items back, and quickly makes his way to the Drunken Alit. He enters to the site of many warriors, criminals and drunkards. He walks in and moves to the side as a drunk stumbles past him and out of the bar.

He sits at a nearby empty table. A pint is there which is half full, yet unattended. He is very thirsty after sitting in the prison for several hours without a drink. He decides to get a pint from the bar, only costing him 3 pieces of gold. He looks to his side to see someone shoot a fire at the firepit, lighting it. Several people crowd around it.

He then sits at his table again. A short drunk looking man snatches the other pint from the table. "Dun ye touch my ale, outlanda..." he says.

After half an hour of sitting down waiting for something to happen, he decides to ask someone about whats happening. He gets up and sips the last few drops of his drink and approaches the women who seems to be rallying people to fight.

[OOC] English is not my native language. Just so you know[/OOC]


KVATCH

Vienne Jolvanne woke up to the terrible moanings and further sounds of panic, reaching her from the outside. Thoughts rushed to her mind, but none of her past experiences could explain such cacaphony. She couldn't perceive how long she's been sleeping for; she had only wanted to take a short nap. She lifted the skirt of her exquisite dress a little so she could walk faster and headed in haste for the room next to hers.

"Vienne, quick quick! We must leave at once, my dear, before it's too late!". With the sight of a deep fear on the man's face as he uttered those words upon seeing Vienne, Vienne felt her legs shaked. With a trembling voice, she almost cried "Edre!?". The man, in as fine as a clothing as Vienne herself, perhaps a lord or a noble, replied back: "There is no time! An acquaintance of ours from Mages' Guild is waiting in the hall, he'll teleport you back to the.." But before he could finish his words, Vienne grabbed and put on her heavy robe and rushed to the hall, trying to hold against the feel of doom and despair overtaking her and threw herself out the front door before the old mage waiting in the hall could stop her.

Picture outside was chaotic. She was lost to the fire that has covered the city the moment she saw it, and stood there as if she was paralyzed. She was oblivious to the people running in fear, often hitting her. Whatever hope she had, has burnt down to ashes. She regained her senses when she realized she was being dragged on foot by the noble man and one of his mercenaries. It was then that she finally spotted the inhumane actions carried out around her by twisted figures, and the rifts they came from. Could these be the daedra? she asked herself. Just when she stopped her carriers to stood on her own, she felt a wet warmth covering her face and noticed what looked to be the head of one of the mercenaries before her feet, and the beheaded body soon took its place next to the head. What followed after that, she couldn't see or hear.



THE DRUNKEN ALIT

It took Vienne quite some time before she could comprehend all that happened. She was in a different place now. At least not in Kvatch any more. She noticed she was on the grass and spotted a tree nearby. She retreated towards the body of the tree in panic and decided to sit there for a while. She questioned her sanity for a moment but was assured that everything that she remembers prior to that moment, has happened for real. She despised herself for acting so weak.

People filling the streets were in a hurry. She noticed that most of them looked like cutthroat types. Thanks to some of those types, getting drunk and moaning on the streets, she learned where she is. She could spot imperial guards in the distance but that didn't help her feel any safer. She could be robbed and raped to death for her clothing alone, she reasoned, even though she didn't have a dime -or septims- on her, and the common robe worn over a blood stained dress - and much less the lack of any belongings which could prove her nobility, except for a mysterious parchment she was handed before she set out to Kvatch, which only turned out to be blank - could raise some eyebrows on the imperials' part, she feared. She could simply be taken for a filthy thief who took advantage of the confusion. She decided to sit until she got herself together.

She remembered more details as the time passed by. She came to the conclusion that the old mage must have teleported her here, and he must have been confused by the chaos as well since this couldn't possible be where she was supposed to be teleported to. Both of them, the old mage and Vienne's noble friend, must have died already, she thought. Finally she remembered Edre. She felt as if her body was burning from within, her heart almost stopped. She finally decided to blend into the crowds to in hopes of easing her pain.

Having grown up around the nobility of Illiac Bay and been used to a court-life style through all the 28 years of her life, she wasn't equipped to survive a life among the commoners or other lowly population on her own and it definitely wouldn't be a smart move to seek her acquaintances for help in Cyrodiil without support and protection of anyone from nobility, as she knew better than anyone else that competition among the nobility looks for any opportunities and, is rather cruel.

Vienne has excelled in all arts concerning the usage of tongue; she could speak to both mind's and flesh's needs, and for this very same reason, she also was very athletic. She was quite sneaky when she needed to be, and she knew well how to prepare various potions for various needs to a point. -all the feats a Breton girl would need for a long lasting and prospering life among the nobility of Illiac Bay. Finally, what helped her become an unforgettable mistress, a ferocious adversary and a charming, irresistable messenger moreso than most others, was her discreet and potent but somewhat limited practice of magick; her deviant illusions and alterations for manipulating and robbing many a men, and her reliance on restoration for showing up on the most friendly yet poisonous of the innocent dinner invitations and such.

As such, she has become quite popular among the nobility of Illiac Bay, men and women, and having lived this long in that unforgiving environment alone was quite an accomplishment, a feat itself. Though A feat hardly of any use in the situation she's now, with any hope of finding Edre gone. There was just nothing she could do until she returned to home, if she could at all.

Or that's how she thought until she heard the low men on the street, talking about how people are joining up in The Drunkin Alit for a soon-to-be-carried-out movement to the rifts, organised by Imperials, and there was a name, a wood-elf called Fairgoth. She felt as if her heart was about to burst through her chest, as she thought there was the least possibility of reaching Edre now again. She was burning from within once again, only with hope this time. She headed in the direction of The Drunken Alit in haste.


[OOC] Sorry for writing a "War and Peace", I'll try not to write that long again. I just had to get into the mood by this way, plus I had some catching up to do.[/OOC]

THE DRUNKEN ALIT

Despite her confidence in her skills on playing out her little games among the nobility, Vienne wasn't all that comfortable now with her blood being pumped through her body in a crazed haste due to a desperate hope, and with the low lives she found herself to be among. After all, her exposure to low men were very limited through her life, and the stench around The Drunken Alit was quite a treat and challenge for her.

Before going in, she browsed through her belongings. Her small journal, feather and a vial of ink was still in her bag as well as a few potions of poison and poison cure next to a blank parchment. She still had her small dagger on her belt. Not that she knew how to use it; she definitely couldn't even protect herself with it, vut she has learned through experience, that a well played out game of intimidation could make the smallest of weapons look threating. She knew better to avoid doing the same around The Drunken Alit though. Finally, she was still wearing her amulet, and she decided to hide it under her dress. She knew that anything else she had taken to Kvatch with herself should have burnt already.

The Smell and the air in the Drunkin Alit was terrible. She decided to stay near to a wall in The Drunken Alit and recognized the Wood-Elf the commoners were talking about. Fairgoth. Vienne wanted to talk right away, but she was busy talking to others. So she decided to find an empty chair and sit for a while, 'till she could catch an unoccupied moment of Fairgoth.

As she say down on the chair, she realized once again how tired she was. She needed some rest, and she couldn't help stop her head swaying in slight moves, primary signs of tireness and exhaustion..


"My friends there told me it's not the best time to show up in Kvatch at this time." This male figure, in highest quality clothing, was desperately trying to change Vienne's mind about travelling to Imperial Province. "Things are stirred up among the nobility right now, and might become dangerous for you. Also take into consideration, that some of your old friends from the north has settled in Kvatch and I don't expect them to sit idly when they learn you have set foot on their backyard again."

"You don't understand. Perhaps I should tell you about this before but I couldn't take the risk of anyone else spying on us. There are others who might get exposed because of this.. It's about Edre."

"Who is Edre?"
"She's my daughter, from a Lord of one of the kingdoms of Illiac Bay, whose wife is incapable of giving birth, and don't try to guess who. No, it wasn't an accident; it was planned that she would be recorded as the wife's daughter, and I would be paid a hefty sum and provided with political connections. Besides, I knew she would be in sure hands. But soon after the birth, she just, disappeared.."

"I was haunted by that for years but in the end, I learnt to live with that. After all the years, I recently heard about her again, that she's still alive and well. I don't know how but I know that's true, and felt that I had to find her. She should be seven by now."

"However, I was told that she's under the influence of a Daedroth or a Daedric Prince, and she may be in Oblivion. I have learnt that this particular summoner in Kvatch could help me, so nothing can stop me from going to Kvatch now"

She refused to debate any more about it. She got angry for his noble friend was so insistant even after she told him her reasons, but she also thought about his warnings. They were not to be taken lightly, but if this is what it takes to get a step closer to finding Edre, it is worth it, she thought.

Vienne woke up to in a sudden as her head fell into empty air. Her head has just slipped between her hands when she fell a sleep. She knew she should be more careful around here. She couldn't tell how long -or how brief- she slept, but she has lost sight of Fairgoth.

She knew she would have to introduce herself to at least some others recruiting there, and some of the folk at least looked like decent enough, kind of types she was used to seeing and sometimes chatting with in noble houses or courts, but she needed some rest and air first. The air inside the Drunken Alit was becoming more nauseous to her perfume-accustomed nose for every seconds she stood in there. Additionally she knew she looked like a mess under the cover of her robe's hood.

Just when she turned towards the door to outside, she heard the chilling voice, speaking of Mehrunes Dagon and his minions. She knew well enough to be scared upon hearing the name of Mehrunes Dagon in such an alarming voice. All of a sudden, there were attronachs and blood splatters. Sounds of struggle followed as others in The Drunkin Alit attempted to attack the attronachs.

Vienne was scared again. But this time, she wouldn't lose control. However this wasn't the type of thing she was used to. She has witnessed many cruelties during her life, but never has she been in such a direct danger. I could make myself useful alive, not dead, she thought and ran towards the door. There was nothing she could do.

But that thought changed just when she reached the door. She had to adapt, she knew it well. She turned her back to the door and shouted as strong as she could in that moment, to the group assaulting the attronachs: "I.. I can heal.. wounds!"

She really thought of Fairgoth doing this, as she thought Fairgoth looked like the kind of person that could be instrumental to her needs, above anyone else she has seen so far in that hole of filth. Noticing she's gone, she turned her eyes to her would-be allies. Yet, scared and barely standing, she couldn't tell if anyone did hear her or understood what she has just said, and her eyes failed to pick up anyone in need of healing.

But she would wait there, to aid someone. Without Fairgoth, this group would be her best bet, she thought.


[OOC] I think I did catched up now, so I won't write that long again.[/OOC]

OOC: IS it still possible for someone to enter the contest evenm tough everyones already been teleported? And i would also like to know if an australian would be able to win the contest, not just americans or whatever.

Please check for update 5.

Gnaag was still awaiting Ralaith reponse on his talking in safe place behind bar. Suddenly all attronachs disappeared similarly like their master. He was pleased to see it, because that was the moment, when his question can be answered.

In the almost same moment came a very nice bosmer girl, so Gnaag used the time and tried to flirt with her.

"Hi I see you are new here. I am Gnaag, what brought you here?"

OOC: My question is in former part of forum, where I also answered Ralaith's demands about my experience and skills.

mistake, sorry, if possible delete

mistake, sorry, if possible delete

{Frog}

After standing bewilderd for a few moments, Fairgoths words start to sink in. Turning back to the bar where he left his spear Frog start to realize this won't be just another adventure. You will need your companions to fight enemies like this and just maybe this elf knows what she's doing.

Back at the bar Frog orders a ale from the barman while he picks up a chair. As the barman give him his drink Frog asks him his name. Now is as good a time as any to see just how much information the barkeep will be willing to offer.

THE DRUNKEN ALIT:

Emeralda was now getting irritated that no one would pay her any attention and tell her what was happening. All were either busy trying to kill the Atronachs or plan their next move. Slowly she backed toward the shadows. Oh, she could fight, alright, but why step in when all the others were already in battle or just ending it! As she stood back, she heard a voice:

"Hi I see you are new here. I am Gnaag, what brought you here?"

She spun around and said " I am Emeralda, and I suppose I am here for the same reason you are!"

Then she decided to tone her voice down and dee if this stranger could help her. " Well, Gnaag, I came here following rumors from my home town. To tell you the truth, I am tired of gathering ingredients for mages, running errands for fighters and spying for assassins...all for a loaf of bread now and then! I am here to prove myself and have some adventure. Hopefully I will be needed here!"

She paused to look the stranger up and down. They were ALL strangers, and what a mix of types, indeed! It would not hurt to make a friend or two, but she had learned the hard way not to be too trusting. Still, maybe since she had been approached, she could now get some answers.

" Please, Gnaag, can you tell me what happened before I got hree? I have missed something important, and I do NOT want to be left out!" She forced the sweetest smile she could muster, and waited for a reply.

Erunanion stumbled forwards, his blade spearing empty air. He felt bewildered, but tried to appear calm as he sheathed his sword and looked at the tavern's occuptants. Spotting the bard who had been speaking to himself and Ralaith, he walked over to him. He saw a young Bosmer approach him, and waited for them to speak to each other before speaking himself. Whilst waiting, he decided to ask this newcomer what skills she might possess also - he was anxious to form a working party and depart into Oblivion. He hoped Ralaith would not mind his asking on both their behalfs. After the Bosmer, whose name was Emeralda, had finished talking he stepped forward.

"Forgive my interruption, but before that happened-" he waved a hand behind him at the blood-splattered decals of the tavern, "Gnaag here was good enough to answer my companion's question about his skills.

"Your skills in Alteration and Illusion could be useful, as could your quick tongue and way with locks. But tell me, what use are you in battle? I did not notice you attacking those usurpers. But then, perhaps you are not that sort of party member. In all the groups I have led, we have always had a skilled healer with us to keep us fit and ready for battle. Do you have any skills in this art?"

He turned to Emeralda. "If I may so bold, can I ask what skills that might aid our party that you might have? While I would hesitate before placing you in any kind of danger we are in need of a healer, or anyone who might have abilities that could aid us in our mission against the beasts of Mehunes Dagon."

Erunanion let out a deep breath, as if purging himself of the adrenaline he had felt flow through him when the atronachs had unveiled themselves. He awaited their answers with interest. He had already decided that perhaps he should invite the Breton Gnaag to join the party, as he possessed no such light-fingered abilities as he did, nor did he know if Ralaith had similar qualities.

EDIT:- Taken Yeknom's post into account.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the Atronachs vanished. Fairgoth stood again in the tavern though she looked a bit more disheveled than before. After giving her thanks to those who had attampted to slay the beasts she disappeared again leaving the would be heroes to mingle again.

"This is going to be some trip" Rif thought. He wasn't quite sure if it was a good idea to meddle in the affairs of anything that called that nightmarish creature a minion. "If that's the lackey, what's the boss like?" Still, he needed the money and maybe it was better to die somewhere other than a back alley during a shakedown.

Rif turned once more to the redguard Zow. "How about a drink?", he offered, "I could use a cold ale about now". He glanced about the gore filled room and wondered again just how good of an idea this was. He hoped these two humans would be useful in a fight and at least be able to distract anything like that so he could slide his sword between it's shoulder blades from behind. At least, where he thought the shoulder blades should be. No way was Rif Entaril going to try to go toe to toe with one of those things.

(OOC) I don't actually intend to let my companions be a distraction. I WILL help in a fight though my character would prefer not to. Like any good thief, Rif would rather never be seen than have to defend himself from an attack. Just wanted to clarify!

This was written before RPG UPDATE 5 but I only get on to the net at 19h00GMT+2 so I would like to post it please.

The voices had started again………..

Now they were reaching a crescendo as he reached the end of the alley.

Ahead, in the dimly lit street he could see three demons drifting along. Why didn’t anybody do anything about them?
Then he realized that they must be disguised by an enchantment spell. Baba-John was immune to enchantments as he was a powerful telepath. This is why he had found solace in the Clockwork City. Fabricants did not think or have feelings, so his mind was not constantly filled with voices………..

He had to follow them. Their thoughts told him that there would be carnage this night. Possibly he might be able to help someone. He reached over his shoulder and loosened The Vampiric Daedric Katana in its scabbard. This sword had saved his skin on many an occasions, as he only wore light armor of dubious origins. The mainstay of his armor was a 50% Chameleon Robe that Sotha_Sil had given him. Sotha_Sil……… Dear gentle Sotha_Sil………….
San_Julit shouldn’t have tried to lie about the whereabouts of his kit. People didn’t know that you couldn’t lie to Baba-John, or is that shouldn’t………..

His mind was drifting again………...

No Wait!

There it is!

THE DRUNKEN ALIT!

The demons were going into The Drunken Alit.
Why would they be going to The Drunken Alit? He had to get inside as quickly as possible. He slipped in right behind the demons as the door was closing. He could not believe his eyes. People were attacking the demons to no avail. Was Baba-John losing his mind? Their attacks were almost ineffectual. What to do? He drew his Sword and attached the nearest demon. The world turned black as he struck the demon from behind....................................................

THE DRUNKEN ALIT:

Emeralda noticed the one called Erunanion come toward her an Gnaag.

"Well, now that you are done thrashing your sword in the air you are ready to speak to me? AND you would like to know my skills?"

Suddenly, so quickly it could barely be seen she hopped up on the bar and then back toward Erunanion, hopping onto his back. piggy-back style, her dagger at his throat. So fast she was that he never had time to react.

"HA!" she said, her mouth close to his ear, one arm around his neck, the other holding the dagger at his throat and her legs wrapped tightly around him. Laughing, she said, " Now what do you think of my skills? Hmm?" and she hopped back off just as quickly. Hoping he was not angry at her display, she continued, cheeks flushed and emerald eyes shining. " I know I am young and small, and I am not a great warrior. But as you can see, I am quick, agile and sneaky. I can quickly climb up a tree or run ahead of the party to scout, and I can make some basic potion. I am practicing my Illusion skills, but, well, they still need work. Hey, I cook a mean pot of crabmeat too!"

"By the way, I overheard a lady calling herself Vienne. I believe she may have the healing skills you..uh, I mean WE..need. You see, I am a very good spy."

The spell lifted before Sonnaba could counter it, so he prepared to swing his staff at the closest atronach. The atronach looked startled as both the Bosmer and the other beast disappeared. Sensing an opening, Sonnaba roared as he swung at the abominations head, just as it too disappeared.

Startled, Sonnaba checked his swing with a grunt, just in time to avoid hitting the others in the crowd. He spun around with nimbleness unusual for an Orc his size, and peered around for any other foes.

The Bosmer reappeared as suddenly as she had left, and Sonnaba relaxed his stance as she explained the situation.
With a sigh, he began to scan the room for a friendly face to form up in a group as the Bosmer (Fairgroth he thought her name was) had suggested. He spied a lone Argonian who he thought he heard someone say was named Frog, and wandered over.
heck out
He pulled back his cowl, revealing a broad face that even other Orcs found ugly, and put on his best toothy smile to avoid frightening him. For some reason, many he had met seemed intimidated by his height and massive frame. He discounted a few females had whom he had helped who thought he was “so ugly, he was cute”. He had long accepted his appearance as just another of the gods little trials and just tried not to scare the locals.

At over 6 feet in height, and a lean 300 lbs, he was big and strong, even for an Orc. His threadbare cloak was once of better than average quality, but that had been many miles ago. Beneath his cloak, plain but unusually clean clothing could occasionally be seen as he gingerly weaved across the floor, unconsciously parting the crowd with his sheer mass.

“Greetings. Me be Sonnaba Beach. You called Froggy? What you make of all this?”

Fairgoth "The barkeeps here may not smell too nice but they will let you talk and keep quiet about anything they hear unless you want it spread around. They can do that too. But don't mess with them lest they spread YOU around."

Faintly these words seem to rain down on Baba-John’s ears.
He opens his eyes and sees the most beautiful wood elf standing near the bar.
With care, he sits up, and hopes that she didn’t notice him. How could she not have noticed him?
As she leaves the room, he gets up and shuffles over to the bar.
He asks the barkeep, closest to him, for a Sujama. When the barkeep brings him his drink he casually asks after the wood elf.
“Where you from?” is all he gets as a reply.

Noticing that a number of other people had turned to Erunanion Throl decided he'd have to be a complete n'wah one last time. Everyone knows if a guard attacks you for a reason outside of the law you had every right to lay him out, he'd done it before and gotten away with it, the only difference between then and now was that before the helmet had not been salvagable due to the heavy use of brass knuckles. That and he'd had two eyes back then but he'd learnt an important lesson about the morag tong from the minor incident invlolving his ocular equipment so there was nothing he regretted about that.

First he needed to get sober. He wandered outside, wiping the blood off of his face with what was left of his shirt and splipping on what may have been something's liver on the way out. He found the nearest trough and dropped his head in it. Rudementary but it would work for now, and he smelt even more homeless so the guards would feel less guilty about beating him into submission. Also, they wouldn't be trying very hard.

He looked around to see a guard emerging from a back alley, probably relieving the pressure build up in his bladder. There were other guards around too. Good plenty of witnesses. He put on an exagerated drunken swagger and stumbled over to a wall in the guard's way. Bent over, supporting himself against the wall he started to wretch until he could feel the guard standing above him. Still bent over his head swiveled to look at the imperial and, trying to conceal the smile, he exercised something he had used as a sergeant to great effect. Utilising a younig man's delicate ego.

"What are you looking at you-" (at this point speech turned from near normal dialect to a damburst of foul language as never heard by one of such relatively few years)

Insults, curses, obscenities and racism battered the guard like a punch in the face, all beautifully slurred and convincingly presented. The guard did what any respectable imperial would have done when faced with a foul mouthed one armed homeless drunk, he punched Throl in the face, making him spin around so his back was facing him. The Nord took this oppurtunity to observe the crowd for a moment. Drunk beating like this happened all the time and the majority of people in this part of town didn't look twice. It was at this point the tables turned.

He waited until he the guard was right behind him, probably about to knock the back of his head in with the pomel of his sword. Poor fool. Hadn't he wondered why the drunk hadn't moved? Throl's leg snapped back at the knee, bringing his heel all the way up until it connected with his attacker's favourite organ. As the guard slumped to his knees, Throl turned around and ripped the his helm off. One hand was placed on the back of the victim's head and before he could react, cranium and knee connected. The weak cartilage in his nose broke and blood started to spew. The guard, now crumpled on the floor was at Throl's mercy.

He could have commited a murder then and there but although the law technically permitted it, he knew he wouldn't walk end the day a free man. He turned to the advancing guards and lifted the battered one.

"You all saw it, he attacked first and was probably going to kill me, even if it was an accident." His voice booming so all the passers by would hear as well. "We all know I have every right to kill this man but I think he has already learnt a valuable lesson. I will leave him to your discipline." At this point he threw the bag of meat to the ground, perhaps a little too violently, and strode off. It would be a while before the guards noticed his belt and sword were missing, and even longer before the young fool would notice his purse was missing.

Throl inspected his new possesions. The belt was a good fit and the sword was in fairly good condition. Not good enough but still fairly good. The purse contained about 200 septims by the feel of it, a lot for a guard to be carrying around but this was probably one of the cocky newbies who had just got out of training and thought he might atract some "skirt" if he flashed his pay around. 200 was enough. Throl vaguely remembered a smithy nearby. Yes, it had been yesterday morning. He remembered the sun glinting off some armour and hurting his eyes. Morning- the sun would have been in the east so the shop must have been west facing on a north-south street. If only he had been sober enough to get his bearings properly and cursed himself for letting himself get like this. It was at this thought he realised it was all coming back to him. Throl Throlson was becoming a military man once more.

He jogged up and down several back alleys trying to figure out where he had been and cursed himself again for getting so unfit. That would have to change. Gasping for breath he suddenly smelt something that jerked his mind. Moon sugar. It was being smoked somewhere around here. Yes! The night before last he had been trynig to sell salt to some Khajiit, trying to pass it off as moon sugar, in fact there had been a building full of them. Wow he must have been way beyond drunk to try something as stupid as that.

Khajiit too, they had either been kind enough not to stab him or angry enough to abandon weapons for claws, either way, the remaining alcohol in his body didnt stop the pain returning at the thought of it. The smell was coming from an open window to his right. The building looked familiar. On closer inspection he spotted a small smear of blood on the wall pointing towards a drain. This was where they had left him. He looked across the street and there the smithy was. He ran over and slammed the purse in front of a burly man about to strike his hammer down on a glowing red blade.

"Quick whatever you.... have that will fit me..... and don't even think of offering me something made of.... leather." Throl was still quite out of breath and it took the smith a little while to figure out what he was saying.
Although slightly taken aback the he turned out to be fairly reasonable and Throl soon found himself donning a below average suit of chainmail. It would do. He ran as fast as he could back to the Drunken Alit. He paused outside to gain his breath properly, this would have to be loud and completely unslurred. No problem, there was no doubt he was sober now, just unfit. He burst through the door and jumped up onto the table.

"Anyone who wants to make something of their pointless drunken lives and get that Bosmer back, I suggest you let me help you." He had no idea whether his voice would penetrate the crowd or even if anyone would care, he continued to shout anyway. "Anyone who simply can't be bothered or are too cowardly after the events that have unfolded this morning, you disgust me. Anyone who wants to throw their drink at my right now, think about this first. I'm sober and very very angry."


[Note, if I have broken any particularly sacred RP rules in the text above i apologise and apologise further if the prospect of a drunk beating up a highly trained guard seems stupid but the idea was that Throl acting drunk after sobering up lured the guard into a false sense of security]

The question regarding Fairgoth's whereabouts was quickly answered when the Atronachs disappeared and Fairgoth returned, brandishing a mean looking Daedric club. "Damn, she must be something fierce," Antehelios muttered aloud as the reappeared Fairgoth began to speak and held everyone's attention. After her announcement, Antehelios pondered his next move.

"Find companions... Who'd be willing to work with a knave like me?..." Antehelios thought to himself as he surveyed potential allies, and perhaps rivals as well. Some people were already congregating into small cliques. Antehelios let his cobalt-blue eyes wander the tavern hall. He spots a comely looking Breton woman standing by the door. She seemed to be waiting for something, and the movements of her common robe covering her bloodstained dress betrayed her anxiety...

"Quite a pickle today, isn't it?" Antehelios said sarcastically to the woman waiting by the door. "It is as if the world was spiralling towards madness... I'm Antehelios, by the way, and you are?"

Seriously troubled by the sudden dissapearence of the Atronachs, and for what Fairgoth said, Ander rubbed his chin to remove any remains of blood from his well-trimmed goatee, and then over his bald head, lest anything disgusting remained there without his acknowledgement

"Would anyone mind to explain to me what in the name of the seven Deadra lords just happened?" he asked outloud at the ones who seemed to be proficient in fighting monsters and the such "I woke up recently, just in time to spot the Atronachs; And I understood what the Bosmer intructed, too. I'm willing to go with anyone here in a group, without any preferences"

Realizing that he was still holding his heavy mace in one hand, Ander strapped it back behind his back.

Baba-John had been alone these past months, or was it years, and was not used to people being rude to him. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with this man so he picked up his drink and sidled over to the corner table.

Taking a sip of his Sujama, he opened his mind to the people sitting around him.
All he could feel was the confusion that was already present in his own head.
What was going on?
Who were the demons?
What did they want with the wood elf?
Why had they returned her?
What..............
So many questions and so few answers.

Baba-John wished that he could use some Moonsugar, but he needed to find answers, and Moonsugar always stopped the voices. Voices were all he had, at this time, so he settled down to wait, whilst watching the people in the bar. Only now did he notice how dirty and smoky it was in here. Possibly he could get a cheap plate of food, as he hadn’t eaten in days.

Fairgoth this, Fairgoth that...................
That must be the name of the wood elf.

Baba-John did not know his true origins, but Sotha_Sil had told him that he thought he was a cross.
Half wood elf – Half Nord
Baba-John was a tall man, almost 6 foot 4, with silver hair and a long goatee and moustache, but he had pointed ears. That is why at an early age he had taken to wearing a cape with hood.

He still wasn’t sure what he was.
The Nevarine......................
Some said so......................
When would the confusion end?

Frog

Turning his head toward Sonnaba Frog quickly scans the orc with his eyes. A bit low on the intelligence scale but
he seems to be strong and orcs are known for thier fearlessness, might he be a good companion?

I'm called Frog in Tree but you may call me Frog. About what happend here I do not know. The wood elf, if that is what she really is, didn't give us any real information but to judge from this little escapade we will need to form groups to fight these creatures. Where are you from?

Waiting for the reply Frog takes a sip of his ale, while further weighing up the orc. He is indeed ugly, he decides after a while, but not being in contact with the other races often, he is a poor judge.(not in friendly contact anyhow - the argonians tend not to have a friendly chat with the slavers they catch.)

The spear glanced over halfway through the tavern. It impaled the far wall. The beasts are gone. Zow was completely disapointed in his opponents disappearance. "Cowards" he thought to himself as he walked over to his impaled spear. "Or rather was this a test? A test to determine our actions? Is Fairgoth playing around with us? This is why I don't trust women" Zow continued to mutter to himself.

He arrived at the spear, and mercilessly pulled the spear out of the wall. "Does fairgoth believe we can just continue our recruiting so easily after what just happened? I do not trust her" Zow continued to ponder. But what was he to do? He was in dire need of money, and needed to understand his surroundings more. Impatient and frustrated Zow walked back to the bar.

"I'm no leader, and I do not wish to lead, but hear my words: we need a band, we have plenty around this tavern to make several such groups. We should ALL meet, discuss, so that we can each finalise our groups. If we all have the same objective, why should we compete with one another? I say we all meet, divide into our groups, so that we can, once and for all, train, restock, then prepare for battle. Regardless if you do not wish to work with me, we should work together to form our groups" Zow annouces to the entire tavern.

Zow then walked toward the back of the tavern, hopeing many would follow, so that this group managment process would soon end, and phase two begin.

Hearing Zow, and realizing he was being ignored at the time, Ander resigned himself to walk to the back of the tavern (Tumbling here and there, for he was still a bit dizzy), and stand next to Zow

"That is what I was trying to say, y'know, but no one is listening, it seems" he said simply to Zow, all the while looking at the other adventurers "The name is Ander, Battle mage. Who are you, and what are you good with, friend?" were the questions Ander asked him, trying to sound friendly.

It was not long after mounting the table that Throl noticed two things:
1- No-one was going to hear him
2- That redguard knew how to fight

He followed him to the back of the tavern and greeted him

"Throl Throlson ex-imperial legion sergeant-at-arms at your service. At a guess you'll be planning to go find that woodelf and at a guess you'll want some good fighters to come with you. I don't know about good but experienced, yes. I may only have one arm but as long as I have an imperial broadsword in my right hand and a good pair of boots under me I'll march to hell and back. I'm no soldier anymore but I swear to Azura that I'm not going to waste another year in this godforsaken city. What do you say? You think you could use a man like me?"

His hand extended, awaiting Zows handshake.

[Sonnaba]

“Pleased meet you, Frog. Me from… around.” He hesitated. Never liked that question. “Been in city for few years now. I work as healer and guard sometimes. Me face atronach before, but never see other beast. You?”

As he chatted, he drew a small book, pen and inkwell from his robes. He flipped in open to a blank page near the middle and began to sketch the creature which disappeared with Fairgoth.

“That what you remember?” he asked in a few moments, showing Frog a fairly good likeness of the unknown assailant.

Ander looked at Throl form top to bottom, analyzing the physique of the ex-Imperial legionnaire "Well, you seem quite capable of defending yourself, by your description of your previous jobs" he comments, then points at Zow with one thumb "He says he is not interested in being the leader, but if my opinion matters to you at all, I say you are welcome to join us"

[ooc]I noticed some powerplaying of Fairgoth in a couple posts back there. To anyone reading this, please, PLEASE do not do this. As of yet, we don't know much about her or how she would react to anything.[/ooc]

As Ralaith recovered from his missed strike (the atronach had disappeared right before his blades would have made contact), he noticed Erunanion turn to the bard and the girl he had noticed earlier. Ralaith sheathed his knives soundlessly and decided to hang back for a second, for it was sometimes better to let someone else do your talking for you, and, so far, he had no reason to mistrust Erunanion.

After Erunanion made his introduction, Ralaith watched the girl do her little trick with the dagger. 'Yes, she's good. But an acrobat, however quick, will have trouble against the Daedra.' Ralaith decided that she needed a little lesson, so he stepped up behind her.

"...am a very good spy," the girl, Emeralda, finished. As she did so, she found a mouth next to her ear, speaking softly enough so only she could hear, yet putting weight into the words.

"Do that again to a companion of mine, and you will find yourself in a condition not even your herbs and flips can get you out of. Yes, you are good, but threatening those who may be traveling with you is generally not a good thing." Ralaith spoke louder, or, at least, loud enough so the rest of the group could hear him. "What good is yet another spy? Watching is useful, yes, but there are many others here who are adept at stealth, myself among them, who would be glad to join a party with such a stout warrior as Erunanion. What sets you apart? What skills can you offer that makes you different? What have you done that I would know about? I would not be opposed to having another skilled in stealth along with us, but it is not our greatest need."

Ralaith turned to the bard. "I do apologize for not answering you earlier, but a small matter popped up and threatened to kill me. I would agree with Erunanion, though. I have no skills with locks, as I prefer to achieve my treasure through coercion and deceit, and my knowledge of magic is limited to basic Illusion and Destruction. However, you have not mentioned any battle skills, nor healing--probably the two things that are needed most against the Daedra, other than a quick mind and quicker feet. You seem like you could be a good companion, but a good companion with useless skills is just that--useless. Now, to have survived this long, even as bard, you must have some skills other than a quick tongue."

Hadrio waited for the Atronach to make a move, but as soon as it began to advance, it faded into smoke. What is this? Surely I'm drunk?! thought Hadrio.

Then all his companions returned, and Hadrio let his guard down, though still wary and ready for anything. He felt slightly let-down, as he was looking forward to a good fight. He looked around the room at his newly reappeared company, and saw Zow rallying up the rest of the lowlives at the bar.

"Zow, fill me in. What's the scoop? Who we gon' have fight with us in our group?" inquired Hadrio. "We cain't have too many peeps in our group... just one or two more, know what I'm sayin'?" He took a breath, and then muttered, "If you need a leader, you know where I'm at."

Throl was impressed. The first thing he noticed was the fact that Ander was bald, merely because there was quite a bit of light reflecting off his head. He didn't really look much like a warrior, more like some stuck-up mage, he was, afterall, wearing a dress. What impressed him was what you noticed at a closer look. Well not so close was the smell of brandy on his breath. Next was the huge mace hanging from his back. Finally, if you looked at him at the right angle, you could make out the shape of armour under the robe.

This man was dangerous. And smart. Throl grinned bearing a set of truly digusting teeth.

"You know what? If our redguard friend here doesn't want to lead, no problem. The person in charge usually gets to be a pain in the arse anyway. I'll fight by your side and bet on the fact that we'll make a difference but there is one minor issue. Where do we go?"

Erunanion continued looking forward as Emeralda suddenly sprung onto the bar and thence onto his back. His expression remained impassive and slightly distainful, but her speed and agility had astonished him. Not least, the feel of her legs wrapped around his chest reminded him just how long it had been since he had last felt such intimate contact.

Clearing his throat, he was about to speak when Ralaith moved like a ghost and appeared at the Bosmer's shoulder. Even with his heightened elvish hearing he could not take out what he said to her, but assumed that it was not pleasant, perhaps taking exception to her fancy acrobatics and half-threats.

Erunanion nodded when Ralaith challenged them both, but Emerelda's revelation of knowing a healer interested him. His own skills in that art were paltry; and he was accutely aware of what a difference a healer could make to a party. Once on an expedition to clear out an egg-mine near Gnisis in Morrowind he had been poisoned by a Kwama Warrior, and had nearly died from the wound before his companions could rush him to the nearest Temple. From that day on he always ensured a healer travelled with him - the scar of the Kwama claw was an ever-present reminder of his own mortality; and he would be damned if he would enter the bleak otherworld of Oblivion without a skilled healer, at least, not if one could be found.

Before either Gnaag or Emerelda could respond to Ralaith's questions, he spoke. "You mentioned knowing a healer. Tell us more of here, and quickly, and you might redeem yourself for that little display." It was hard for him to keep a straight face; the beguiling memory of her light voice in his ear amused him.

Zow stood in the back of the tavern when slowly others began to follow. He was surprised that anyone would, but at the same time, we all had our needs.

"I might be leading this conversation but I do not wish to lead a fight. I lack the experience of consideration. To answer your question battle mage, I attack at a distance, primarly with a Long bow, but if the occasion calls for it, a spear too. If you achieve distance with an attack, you have an advatage; a good tool to ambush with too. I prefer to scout ahead, and report the situation, then think of a plan, and attack. I spy regularly, because I am of curisous nature, but love combat as much as the next barbarian. A battle mage? interesting, you see If experience has tought me anything, fighting foes in a group that have variety, is a more difficult task. Each member's strength, can fill another's weakness. Also the constant adapting of tactics is troublesome. I allready have Hadrio, the other Redguard to join me. As you can see, he uses blunt weapons. And thus a variety has allready began. I am awaiting a thief I met at the bar earlier, before the beasts appeared. And as you, battle mage the first to aproach me, you have first prioity of joining. But I am not the leader, even though time is limited, I believe I cant alone make the decision. For those of you who came slightly late, we can help each other make our groups" Zow annouced.

He then turned over to the ex-soldier and shook his hand and said: "I can't gaurentee you to be apart of my group, unless the thief I had talked to earlier decides against joining. But stay if you wish, we can help each other form groups. Besides, maybe someone will change their mind. We can allways come up with a group of 3 each to make all happy. I can say another brute strength is easily acceptable, and I would not mind to have you apart of our group".

Zow then turned to Hadrio: "Hadrio, as you might of allready figured, I am impatient, I believe we need to train as soon as possible" Zow said, then turned to everyone and continued: "We need to assess our own capabilities, and see what we need; equipment, and training wise. As for me, I need more restoration training, I can heal myself, but no other. I also need to aquire more arrows. Hadrio knows of someone we can meet with, this could help us all".

Zow noticed he spoke too much for his own comfort. But had one last thing to say: "By the way, I'm Zow". He wanted to get a better look of the people infront of him now, Without the constant dark filtering the goggle's lenses had. So he took off his goggles, and placed them on his forehead, revealing his left yellow eye.

Moreton Fairfax, a Breton of more than usual pallor, peered at the Drunken Alit through the dusk gloom, tapping one yellow-booted foot against the other. "Well," he said to no one in particular, "you've been in and out of taverns all your life, Moreton." He pattered fingers against a small knife tucked under his green waistcoat. "There's no reason to be worried by this one - except that its reputation is less than comforting, of course." He swiped a hand over the few straggled hairs roughening his chin. "And the attractive lady elf I've heard so much about is readying to fight the worrisome monsters everyone talks about." He winced and stepped into the tavern.

This wasn't the greatest experience in his life, of course - spattered remnants of what appeared to be flesh still draped a few spots. A huge crowd filled the darkened room, talking quietly (or not so quietly, at times) to one another. He wrinkled his nose at the smell wafting about, and his face lengthened to an elastic moroseness.

Moreton wriggled through the press eventually, settling himself gratefully at the bar and ordering something to drink - specifically, as he said, "whatever will worry me the least." He rotated a hand, drawing a little comfort from the knife hidden in his sleeve, pressing against his forearm. He had nearly a dozen of these small, wicked knives all about him, from his boot-cuffs to under his shirt, nestling between his shoulder-blades.

After a drink, he tried to collar a barkeep. "Excuse me," he said, "but do you know what's going on here? That is - you see, everyone tells me this is where I should go if I intend to defend everything from the Oblivion, and, well, I intend that." Moreton slumped against the bar. "Really, I should say my father intends it. We're a fairly well-off family, you see, and dear Dad has threatened to cut me off if I don't 'head out into the world and make something of myself,' as he said. It's not been all bad, of course - I came here because it's a tavern - nothing more comfortable than a tavern, most times." He smiled as he said this. "And I heard about just the most beautiful wood elf around was the person to talk to; I don't see her around just now, of course." Moreton drew the knife in his left sleeve and toyed with it. "I'm useful, I think. I couldn't really pick up the sword, like Dad, or the spear, like Mother, but I ended up becoming quite good at throwing things at other things, if you take my meaning." He re-sheathed the weapon. "Just twenty and the local darts champion three years running. I'm good with people, too, generally. You'd have to be," he said, smirking just a bit, "to make it out of my house and still be pally with both parents. I'm not too bad with Illusion magic - a bit of fun with a friend and a chameleon spell caught the attention of the local illusionist. A socialite with a hawk's eye, I think that's what Dorothy called me once - my sister, Dorothy. Still at home, I'd assume, surviving Mother's attempts to make a spearwoman of her."

Moreton looked around the room again, tilting his head to a side.

"Whu, wassat?"

Abaddons head shot up off the table, the mug in his hand was flung in a slow arc. This head was very fuzzy. He groaned, his head seemed too tight. Slowly his sense and memorys had come back to him; He was in 'The Drunken Alit' the night before he had been drinking heavily, preparing to leave for battle. Abaddon himself did not plan on any fighting himself, but his coin purse was getting light, and he figured there could be some rich pickings. The words of Fairgoth stirred in his heart. That beautiful young female wood-elf had enchanted him. For her he would fight, he would kill. Nothing could stop him reaching the prize she offered.

He looked around him, it seemed he was not the only reveller to have missed out on the party.

Oroko blinked as the atronarchs disappeared before his, or anybody's, attack could connect. Fairgoth reapepared moments later wielding a Daedric weapon, and Oroko felt his theif's heart burn with passion at the sight of it.

That would make a fine prize, he thought, and flicked his tongue over his thin lips in a serpentine manner. He shook his head, clearing the envious, greedy thought away. There would be plenty of opportunity for treasure later, and treasures that did not belong to mysterious and beautiful Bosmers who took on nightmarish demons and came out of the conflict with little else but ruffled hair. Still, a good thing to remember....for later.

Oroko turned his attention from where Fairgoth had disappeared from, and glanced around the tavern. People were forming up, a few trying to make speeches to bolster the others. He considered approaching a few of them, but already they were gathering small crowds, and Oroko preferred a small group. It just made sense, strategically at least, as well as in terms of monetary gain.

Less people, less ways to split the money.

He saddled up to the bar to keep an eye out for loners when a rather out-of-place looking Breton came up near him and began chatting up the bar-tender. He sounded green, and he certainly looked it, wincing at the gore on the floor and such. This one probably hadn't seen too much action in his life. As Oroko listened, his suspicions were confirmed.

A rich little Daddy's boy, out to play war maybe? Still, he handled that knife well enough, and if what he said about being good with people was true, well, that was a bonus.

Teaming up with a green-horn like this could be dangerous, but it could also prove to be beneficial for both of them. Besides, a rich kid like this, if he helped him get back into Daddy's good graces, maybe there was an additional reward...

Oroko moved over a couple of stools next to the Breton and grinned at him, showing neat, even rows of teeth.

"'Evening to you there, serjo, or, if I may be so bold as to cal lyou Moreton? I couldn't help but overhear you just now, and it sounds like you might need a little help in your future endeavors. As it so happens, I, as well as others here, are also in need of mutual assistance. My name is Oroko, and I'm somewhat of a "freelance businessman"," he gave a very sly grin as he said this. "The lovely, and presently absent, Madame Fairgoth has advised most of us in here to form groups, and i think you and I might work very well together. whadda ya say?"

Oroko raised his eyebrows inquisitively at Moreton Fairfax, and grinned ever wider.

Saluting Zow with index and forefinger together from the forehead and then pointing with them at him, Ander smiled "A pleasure to be partners with you, Zow. I can assure you that we will triumph as a group, you, me, Harion, and the other burglar you mentioned" he stops, gazing in the direction of the ex-Imperial "Or maybe with you, too, if the opportunity presents itself" he adds with a shrug, since it didn't make much of a difference.

"Now, I hope that we won't be teleported anytime soon; my head is in great pain, and I don't have faith that my stomach will hold if we get transported magically, if you grasp my meaning" he warns the others, while he rubs both temples at the same time, trying to make the headache go away "This is the last time I drink THAT much in one night" Ander complains in a low tone of voice to no one in particular.

Moreton was swinging his head about in arcs, watching the mass of people coil in on itself. This is exactly the time, he thought, to get just gloriously merried with a few jugs of wine. "I might have to throw straight early," he said, mumbling quietly.

Another patron at the bar turned to Moreton and offered a bit of a proposition - Oroko the freelance businessman as erstwhile partner. Moreton didn't figure on taking that phrase "freelance businessman" quite at face value, but as a bit of linguistic legerdemain it was deft enough. He smiled. "Forming groups for this sort of thing is just the kind of idea I like, Oroko. Especially as it tends to dash dust into the figurative eyes of my father's ideas - the old n'wah's always claimed one must go it alone to reap any rewards. How he ever agreed to marry someone I'll never know."

Moreton laughed and stuck a hand out to Oroko. "I'm at a bit of a loss with everything, frankly. You seem. . ." Moreton discarded "trustworthy" after a moment's thought. "Well, you seem seeming, anyway. I'm a bit of an accuracy artist, as my auntie once put it - what's your line of violence?"

Ralaith added to Erunanion's question. "But perhaps we could make use of the local shops, as the lovely Fairgoth has said. It is starting to get crowded in here, and the drunks seem to be waking up. Besides, I know I need to stock up on a few things, and it would be better to do it sooner than later, as we don't know when we are going to be teleported."



In truth, the crowd was making Ralaith a tad claustrophobic. It was hard to go unnoticed with so many people around, and he hated situations he could not sneak out of. He did need to get some supplies, anyway--more ebony for darts, as well as some more food and some potions, mainly healing, fatigue, and chameleon. While he could cast a minor distortion spell on himself, he preferred to save his minimal magicka access for pure emergencies, a policy that had saved his life--and the bounty on his head--more than once.

Zow turned towards the group infront of him and proceeded be saying: "Including myself we now have 3 memebers. I await a thief to see his answer, if he does not show, then you ex-soldier, if you wish can complete the group".

He paused for a few seconds, and began to scan from left to right.

"Now I know many of you wish to lead, and I dont think I should be the one to make that decision. If it were up to me, I would have no leader. I do not wish to lead just as much as taking orders. But within any group, may it be a city full of people, or a pack of wolves, order and obedience is needed. At least we should worry about that when neccesary, perhaps when we know each other more. If anyone has somehting to say, say it, in a sense we can all 'lead' through collaberation. Now as we wait, tell me, and everyone here something about yourself, and your abilities. How you can support us, and how you can attack with us, I grow curious" Zow annouces.

He is fully aware of the lack of time that is presented to him. He is iching to get out of the tavern, and get away from the crowds.

Oroko smiled and chuckled as Moreton spoke. The Breton may seem a little green in the ways of violence, but he seemed well-versed enough in the ways of the world. A real rookie wouldn't have seemed as cautious as Moreton did.

He took Moreton's hand and pumped it vigorously.

"My taste in violence runs along similar lines to my tastes in food and women: varied," Oroko said.

He patted the handle of the longsword slung across his back, opened his satchel to reveal his various summoning scrolls and shuriken, and extended his finger, from which a small red flame sputtered for an instant.

"I'm more particular towards close combat myself. My sword hasn't let me down yet, and I don't expect it to anytime soon. My magic's alright, but not good enough to keep the Telvanni from snubbing their noses at me like the uppity fetchers they are," he laughed.

"So, glad to know you Moreton. I'd say between the two of us, we've got the more, ah, "illegitimate" skills taken care of. But judging by whatever demon it was that attacked the well-endowed Miss Fairgoth, I'd say we'll need more than clever words and good aim to get by. We need a good, honest, stupid warrior. The dumber, the better, since brains and brawn seem to be mutually exclusive with those types, but I'd settle for any big hunk of muscle no matter his intellect. A full-fledged mage would be good too, even if most of them are obnoxious company. Have your fill of ale, but if you see any promising looking candidates (preferably alone), don't hesitate to approach them."

Oroko glanced over at Zow and a few of the others.

"I will do the same, and the faster we get our little makeshift band together, the better. If coming here tonight has taught me anything, it's that things are happening fast," Oroko said and patted Moreton on the back, then merged with the bustling crowd, searching for a couple more promising candidates.

Gilthonel sheathed his small sword and shouldered his Bow, he was a from Valenwood (you know the short little fellows that dwell in those regions just southwest of Cyrodill know as Wood elves or Bosmer) and he was on his way to the Imperial city to aid his sister Fairgoth in the mustering of a force for some great deed. After crossing many lands and taking a ferry across the inland sea that Imperial city lay on.

He arrived and it was Quite a spectacle seeing an Elf of the wood clad in his native hunting garments that stood out amongst the fine clothing of the rich. But soon he entered the rather poorer side of town and the then amongst the shanties and slums he spotted the sign of the Drunken Alit.

Then to his amazement he saw his sister in the middle the tavern holding a Deadric weapon the other people in the tavern looked amazed as he did. Then he approached her and Gilthonel and Fairgoth talked long in there own tongue she told him of all that had pasted and of the gates of Oblivion opening again. After this Gilthonel greeted the company and learned their names, and to gain some friendship took out some gold pieces and ordered another round of drinks for the company.

!sorry for the edit!