Snippet #2045403

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

Skyrim

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dominicus Drayk Character Portrait: Adrienne Jastal Character Portrait: Aria Windfoot Character Portrait: Sinderion Direnni Character Portrait: Vanryth Galero Character Portrait: S'Baad
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Sinderion Direnni
Markarth


Sinderion was impressed. He for one knew that he would not have been able to talk down the guards as Adrienne had. He supposed it must be easy to forget the young woman’s negotiation skills when she so infrequently spoke. It probably helped that of all of them, the small Breton was perhaps the least intimidating. He was too tall, Vanryth too scarred, S’Baad too… Khajit (a singularly unfortunate truth in Skyrim). Aria’s body language was vaguely wild even now, though she masked it well, and there was something akin to a smolder in Drayk’s eyes still, at least to his perception. There was just something about all of them that wasn’t quite ordinary no matter how they strove to appear otherwise, and he supposed that Adrienne alone was able to disguise it completely.

He swung off his horse at the stables and contemplated his options, eyes drifting over his weapons. It would be better to take all of them in, lest he find himself needing to defend himself or his comrades with only the worst option at hand. He took his blades from their places lashed to his saddle and affixed one to each hip. The bow and quiver weighed comfortably in his back. He was only lightly-armored on the best of days, but left behind his gauntlets and greaves, swapping these out for ordinary boots and gloves. It was as close to ‘nonthreatening’ as he could manage. At least he’d look the part of a hunter more than a soldier.

Trailing after the others, he kept wary eyes trained on the people passing them by. He disliked crowds immensely, and would go to great lengths to avoid touching anyone. At one point, the press of the crowd on a narrow stone walkway was such that he literally had to contort to avoid brushing a woman who wasn’t paying attention to her path. Releasing a controlled breath, he surreptitiously checked on his allies. No problems yet; this was good.

I believe in you. And they’d have to believe in themselves. Sparing the stone-hewn architecture a glance, he mused that it truly was a tragedy that the dwemer were gone from the world, though many of their cultural practices were less-than-favorable.

The group came upon a tavern, then, built less into the stone than the rest of the buildings but still unarguably a part of the cityscape. The Silverblood Inn. Something in that name caused the barest tendril of discomfort to slither down Sinderion’s spine. Scenting the air, he decided that there was not much, if any, silver in the immediate proximity and relaxed, a minor slackening of tense musculature so slight it was almost imperceptible. Only those who knew him best would be able to recognize it.

Drayk was the first to speak, and Sinder nodded his consent. “If we do not make the attempt, we shall never know.” With that, he approached the door and pushed, venturing inside and propping the portal open with his foot for the easy access of the others.

The interior of the place was about what you would expect from such an establishment: dark wooden floors, dingy whitewashed walls, a counter with the inn’s keeper behind it, polishing glasses and metal tankards until they approximated cleanliness. The patrons, too, were the usual fare: mostly travellers, regulars, and the odd bard here and there. Sinder had considered being a bard once; even learned how to play the flute. A thought a long way from today, in a past so distant it was almost hazy now.

There was a fire in the hearth, and Sinder’s eyes found Adrienne first, then darted to Drayk. He was certain she would understand, perceptive as she was, and of all of them, she was perhaps the softest touch. It wasn’t as though he expected Dom to go berserk at the first sign of a flame, but it never hurt to look out for each other. He personally was going to do his utmost to assure that nobody tried to paw at Aria and that Van didn't get too deep into his cups, which were the other most notable trigger-points in a situation like this, assuming nobody attempted to give S’Baad trouble for simply being what he was. Their best behavior was necessary here, and the more precautions he could take, the better.