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Snippet #2244357

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

Skyrim

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dominicus Drayk Character Portrait: Adrienne Jastal Character Portrait: Vanryth Galero
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The Sellswords picked up camp early the next morning, accompanied by their new guide, the witch, as well as the mercenary woman, Lynly. Motivations were unclear, and Maya certainly wasn't forthcoming with the reasons behind her choice to help them find this Bloody Curse, an Orc woman as the witch had mentioned. The significance of this individual, as it had been with both of the previous people the Mentor and the Shade sought, remained shrouded in mystery, but as the Sellswords pressed on, a certain air came over the group. They had come this far, still on the trail. If nothing else, their answers would come soon.

The young Glenmoril took them along the eastern road out of Markarth, continuing in the direction they had been traveling in for a time. Her pace was quick, her sense of direction excellent. She seemed to always be the first to voice the presence of travelers coming the opposite direction, though it was unlikely that even her own honed sense of smell could surpass that of the werewolf at her back, the Altmer whom she seemed so pleased to be traveling with. The mercenary woman she gave repeated glances as they walked, especially when the Nord shared the lead with her, since she too seemed to know the lay of the land well. For brief moments she would seem bothered, but then return to her normal composure of confidence. She did not seem a woman to be bothered by anything for very long.

The fire mage, too, seemed moderately pleased with himself, occasionally flicking sparks from the tips of his fingers off to the side of the road. There was, for lack of a better word, a fire in his gait that had not been present before the incident with the dragon. Whether it was surviving a battle with a dragon, the rediscovery of his destruction magic, or being hot on the trail of the Mentor remained to be seen.

They came to a crossroads, with north leading towards Rorikstead, east to Whiterun, and south to Falkreath. The witch chose the southern road, due to it providing the quickest route to their destination, although it would lead them through the mountains in order to enter the Rift. She trusted the party would be up for the hike, however. It was just before night fell once more that they reached Falkreath, and Maya suggested they find some actual beds to sleep in for the night, 'like civilized people' as she worded it. After some discussion, it was decided it would be better to split up, with three to buy supplies in the town before the shops closed, and the other three to secure rooms. When Drayk requested to buy supplies with Adrienne and Vanryth, it seemed the decision was made for everyone. The three of them headed into town, while Maya, Sinderion, and Lynly entered the Dead Man's Drink, the local inn...




Chapter III
The Game Begins




Falkreath's market was modest compared to what Drayk was used to in Solitude, or most cities he'd known, for that matter. There wasn't anything in Skyrim that could match the splendor of the Imperial City... at least in his memory. He occassionally entertained the thought that time had somehow warped his memory of the city, turning it into a more fanciful place since he left. He'd have to go back there someday, when this business was ended and his name was cleared. He didn't know how that was possible, but he'd figure something out. He wanted to show it to everyone.

He shook himself from his thoughts before he grew too absorbed by them. It was near closing time, and they'd need to make any purchases quick. Their food stores had run somewhat low since departing from Markarth, and it would be good to replenish them before making the trek through the mountains and into the Rift. Seeing as he didn't actually do any of the cooking, however, Drayk decided he'd let Adrienne lead the endeavor. He hadn't asked them to come so that he could shop with them, after all, even if the change of pace was refreshing.

No, he had a more important idea in mind. "I figured we should talk about the dragon and... the fire, and all that," he said, the words coming out significantly less elegantly than he'd imagined them. "I know it was sudden, and I didn't ease myself back in... but I don't feel any different. I feel great, actually. I can use this for good now that I have a direction." He believed it, too. He'd done a lot to drive off the dragon that had been tearing into them, and so far he hadn't done anything rash, nor felt any particular desire to. He was confident that the Mentor's help would allow him to now wield destructive power tempered with reason. Whether he knew it or not, he was hoping for the approval of his fellow mages.

As a woman who'd spent most of her life in urban areas, Adrienne was simply glad to see other people again. She felt safer here than out in the wilderness, but not because of the armed guards wandering around or the sturdiness of the buildings. There was just something to be said for a crowd in which to blend and the pleasant thrum and ebb of human voices that one could hear without listening to. It was familiar, and it set her at ease. Which was, perhaps, why she was smiling as she went from merchant stand to merchant stand, taking care of most of the ordering of food supplies. This, the quick, witty exchanges with shopkeepers and the subtle gestures and hint-laden words used to secure discounts in a much gentler way than most of Skyrim's residents went about it, was also something old, and no less welcome for its mundanity. A little bit of the mundane seemed a blessing at present.

She had finished the procuring of the strictly necessary foodstuffs and some all-purpose soap, and was looking with a critical eye at various kinds of yarn when Drayk spoke, and she paused her inspection, index finger still against her chin, and turned to face the others. The young woman found herself torn, and it felt for the briefest moment like the world had dropped out from underneath her, leaving her suspended in nothing so thick as air. A flicker of memory played across her vision, and she had to stop her hand from reaching for her shoulder, still pink against the rest of her flesh. That... hadn't been his fault, not really, but it had been his fire, not the dragon's. She'd been in the way, and she was willing to accept the responsbility for that. It was nobody else's burden to bear that she wasn't very skilled with navigating battlefields yet. She couldn't make it anyone's burden either.

So Adrienne did what she'd always done best: she slipped on the flawless porcelain mask she wore so well and smiled softly. She had promised to do whatever it took to help him in this, hadn't she? Right now, taking away from his confidence that he'd succeed was the last thing she'd want to do. "I'm happy to hear it," she replied honestly. "I trust you, but don't forget to ask if you think you'll need any sort of assistance. I did say I'd help, after all; I'd feel a little silly if I never did." The humor seeped quietly into the cadence of the words, and she nodded just slightly. It was fine. It would be fine. She trusted him, trusted them, and that alone was extraordinary. Trust was not something that came easily to one whose very life had been fermented in lies and deception and double-talk. She was wise enough to know that it should be cultivated and cherished where it could be found.

The mute dunmer found himself below the ensuing conversation. Literally. He had found his own prize on a nearby shelf adjacent to Adrienne's. While she was looking to find homely items, Vanryth found himself searching for the practical sort. Well, for himself. Varyth was thumbing through the various sorts of paper and writing implements. Scrolls, parchment, journals for his paper, quills, charcoal pens, and graphite pencils for his writing. His hand found their way to a (cheap) inkwell and a (mottled) quill. Even though the eldest, he was a still a man, and thusly had an eye for deals-- or rather whatever was cheaper. While his supply of charcoal pencils would do for everyday communications, this would be for something a bit... More special.

He had opened the stopper and dipped the quill in to test it's ability when Drayk spoke. He listened quietly as he spoke to both himself and Adrienne, and then listened to her reply. One silver lining of being mute, one tends to learn patience before "speaking" in a matter. As she spoke, he sat the inkwell on the floor, and plucked a small sheet of parchment from the shelf (Also cheap). Once she was finished speaking, Vanryth followed up with his own note. He set the paper on the floor beside the inkwell and began the scratching that had become his tongue these days. The feather flourished and danced in his sure hands, his writing as elegant and wordy as ever. His own words held a bit more of a bluntness, if the same inkling of humor, to them. He ended the note and handed Drayk the letter, looking around the shop.

Vanryth Galero wrote:Ambition is good, it will ensure that you keep on the right track, though too much of it will burn you-- Apologies for the pun. Dreadful things. Still. Best that you always remember your direction, for a flame without direction can quickly become a wildfire. Not to say that I do not trust you, because I do. And I agree with Adrienne, I am happy you feel that way, and if you ever need assistance, do not be afraid to ask. I may look like an old codger, but I'm not. I promise. Now have you by chance seen where they sell the drink in here? I'd think I'd like to have some for the road.


It's been a while since he too had someone he could trust, though it wasn't the act of trust that he held dear. No, it was rather the idea of being trusted. He had never felt like he... belonged before. The Grey Quarter never felt like home, and despite being filled with his kin was still located in the racist Nord's home of Windhelm. He'd also never had a reason to fight except for the fight itself. Now he had a reason to fight-- three, actually. He never even had a reason to live before. It was good to have these things. It helped temper the the demon of rage that guided his hand many times before. Though, he'd never tell any of the others this. He feared that demon. He feared allowing them to see it. He hoped that he could keep it locked away... For their sakes.

They all weren't without their flaws after all.

The trust of others was never something Drayk had been burdened with before. It was a responsibility he had never proven himself worthy of, something others had never thought to give him. The people he'd run with in Cyrodiil had slept with one eye open, as had he, to ensure that no one thought to slit the other's throat and take their belongings, or steal or horse, or in his case, burn them alive simply because they were perceived as a threat. Certainly he wasn't the only one to have had those thoughts. Alliances born of flights from the law could be only tenuous at best. They were useful to each other or they weren't. Occassionally a friend was made, but even then something came along to sour it. Drayk's thoughts went to Liam for a moment, before he forced them away. It hadn't been the only time, but it had been the worst.

Things had to be different now. He couldn't stand the thought of hurting Sinder, Vanryth, or Adrienne... not after all they'd done for him. He finally had people who meant something to him. He was going to see things differently now. Not only would he not hurt them, he could protect them, repay them for their kindness, for their acceptance. He'd been a dead man when the Mentor found him, scheduled for beheading by the Rif--

How could he be so stupid? He'd almost walked right back into a hold where the guards knew his face and would pay gold for his head. The Mentor had pulled him from that place under the condition he never return. Not that he had a choice now, given the circumstances. He certainly wasn't going to let the others out of his sight, not when they were so close. "There's a bounty on my head in the Rift," he said, his voice low enough so that only his companions would hear. "It's... pretty sizeable, enough to where the guards... might recognize me. We're only trying to find this Orc, so hopefully we can avoid the city and any confrontation with guards."

He was visibly frustrated with himself, that this was haunting him now of all times. "I did some terrible things that they don't think can be forgiven. Only the old man was able to convince them to let me live. I don't want to cause more trouble than we already have, but... I can't let them catch me, if it comes to that. Not with the Mentor so close. I just wanted us to be prepared for that. It shouldn't be a problem." He was wishing he hadn't brought it up. They wouldn't be seeing Riften anyway, nor any guards. He'd be in and out in a day or two at most.

Maybe if he told himself that enough, he'd actually believe it. Nothing was ever that simple.

"Hm. It might not have to be," Adrienne mused. "I know a thing or two about disguises, and if they don't know it's you, there won't be any problems, right?" She turned back to the fabric-seller and fired off a list of rapid, but warm, directions, adding the length of fabric she recieved as a result into her rucksack. "I'll need a few ingredients, too, but cosmetic potions actually aren't all that hard. I can change your eye color, at least, and we can do the rest with ordinary flour and a bit of crushed violet..." She trailed off, approaching Drayk and scrutinizing his face with her head tilted to one side. She stopped about two feet from him and nodded sagely. "Shouldn't be a problem at all to make you look older than they'd be searching for, and we can give you a different accent if you're worried about that. How about it? Would you like to be from a border region? Maybe where Cyrodiil touches Elswyr? I always thought they sounded nice with that little bit of desert lilt."

She smiled, trying to convey wordlessly that there was no point worrying about it now. What she'd said was true, though; there were a number of simple (if underappreciated) ways to make oneself seem like an entirely different person. Those who knew how could do it with nothing but body language and voice, but putting all that pressure on her friend in what was already going to be an intense situation was not something she wanted to do, so adding a few more complicated touches would probably help. A little dusting of ash and flour at the temples, some false purple bruising under the eyes, and less... orange clothing would go a long way.

Hopefully, it would be far enough.

Drayk couldn't help but smile stupidly when Adrienne studied his face. The way she described her solution, like it was such a simple matter to simply make him into a different person... it made him feel so much more confident about this already. He certainly wasn't able to see any of the implications for her, of how experienced she was in altering identities, throwing on masks, so to speak. Drayk just assumed she was an intelligent woman, and he a simpleton in comparison. He was glad she was here, to say the least.

"Sounds like a plan," he said, unable to remove his grin, "I don't know about learning an accent, but a disguise should help. I could probably use a haircut, too." Drayk ran a hand through dark brown hair. It was starting to get down into his eyes. "We should probably go check on Sinder once we're done here. I might need to apologize for leaving him with the newcomers."