Snippet #1993560

located in Skyrim, a part of Skyrim: The Mentor & The Sellswords, one of the many universes on RPG.




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Mentor's Manor (Dining Hall)

Claren was not ashamed to admit fear. She had never been ashamed to admit when she felt the shivers of terror in her stomach, in her spine. Rather, she had hardly ever felt fear. No creatures, no weather bothered her, she would throw herself off a cliff without a second thought for the simple excitement of it... she would have fallen upon her own sword simply for the entertaining experience of dying. No, Claren had never been afraid of anything in her life. Not really. Not beyond a rush of adrenaline.

She was afraid now.

Claren could not deceive herself. With the Mentor missing, things were going to go down hill. Blunt as she was, even with herself, she had admitted that to herself the minute they had confirmed his absence from the grounds. The note he had left made it sound as though he was not going to return. Not of his own accord. So what were they meant to do? This broken, fragile bunch of motley heroes dragged up from the depths of society and made to play at being good, being just. Ridiculous. And illusion she had been so desperately glad to live with, for who wanted to spend their who live seeking satisfaction from lust? Blood-lust, drink-lust, wander-lust, bed-lust... everything she might lust after, she did, without any form of control. The Mentor was her control, the Sellswords were her control. A venue for entertainment, a channel for the violent and seductive energies that filled her in times of boredom. What would happen to her now, without the Mentor there to provide direction...?

No, she did not really care about that. What happened to her mattered little. She was more concerned about her family members - the men and women to whom she had developed undying loyalty to in the last several years. She leaned her elbows on the table, staring around at them from between strands of fine golden hair. Screwed up. All of them. Maniacs, psychos, madmen and madwomen surrounded Claren on all sides. She felt at home among them, wished them nothing but good. This was not good. Why had the Mentor left them?!

Claren gave her head a brisk shake. She had never been very good at allowing her thoughts to linger on tragedy. She leaned forwards, deeply invested in the conversation. Markarth. They would travel to Markarth? She agreed with the group, of course, it was the only logical choice of destination. The only hint they had received from the Mentor in that hastily scribbled note. The rest was just gibberish about some man they had yet to meet... Markarth. She was not particularly fond of the city. She'd been there, of course, in her travels - when exactly she could not remember. She had been so lost in a haze of sex and drink and murder then that she could not have said which foot was her left, which her right. That had been before she had figured a few things out, learned to keep a good head on her shoulders. That made it... before she was thirteen years of age. Several years before the Mentor had found her...

No, she did not like Markarth. But she would go there.

"I agree," she called, putting her hands down on the table and glancing around at her comrades. A slight smile pulled on her lips - not because she was happy, there was nothing good about this situation. No, she smiled simply because she did not know how not to. She smiled even when she killed. "Markarth is our only lead."