18+ In the Blood

[Morbidbread]

Even after the rest of his companions had gone to their rooms, Thoras remained, lost in his thoughts. Despite the cheerful, mischievous face he showed the others, it was the first time since his capture, years ago, that he'd joined a group of adventurers. He feared that this expedition would end in failure, just as it had before. A foolish fear, of course. The circumstances were nothing like that of the last time. With a sigh, the eccentric dark elf drained his goblet of wine, and dropped an additional handful of septims into the hands of the serving girl and the innkeeper, on top of the cost of his room.

The following day, everyone appeared to be more reserved, either having breakfast or quietly leaving the premises. The early morning chill crept into the inn as the hearth died to little more than embers. After a quick bite to eat, Thoras was summoned, along with the others, by the imperial. Once outside, he joined the others in gathering around a rugged stormcloak soldiers, who issued plain silver trinkets to the group, claiming they'd prevent disease. Thoras flicked his into the air, before catching it and secreting it away inside his coat. The imperial woman, wearing a single leather outfit with blue-coloured armour pieces over it, gave a short history lesson about their destination. "Sounds like a lovely place. Shall we depart?" He approached the woman who'd spoken. "Thoras Lorian, at your service," he bowed deeply, sweeping one arm out behind him. "You seem very knowledgeable of a land that, unless I'm mistaken, is not your homeland."

 

[Hale Loneshadow]

As Alice once again displayed her near-encyclopedic knowledge of the realm's history, Hale couldn't help but detect the faintest whiff of the warrior-woman's personal familiarity with Karthwarsten's recent tragedies. Still, even if he had wanted to call her on it, the screaming in his skull demanded other attentions. While Alice finished her lore dropping and the one calling himself Thoras made to grab her attention with a -- and Hale stifled a chuckle at the sight -- sweeping bow, the hungover ex-ranger stumbled over to the nearby well. With a brief, repentant prayer to his god, Hale wrenched a bucket of icy water up from the deep masonry and dunked half its contents over his sweltering head. The cool, clear-ish water revitalized him more than the finest whiskey could offer. Running his hands through his lengthy dark locks, and rubbing his eyes to clarity, Hale Loneshadow was suddenly overcome with shame.

Not that he wasn't intimately familiar with the feeling, of course. Yet all the same, it had been far too long since he had quested with anyone other than his beloved steed, or Kibell the Driver. Lifting the bucket up to his lips, Hale drained the crisp liquid down his thirsting stomach 'till the wooden container's last drops dripped onto his tongue. Finally feeling like his usual raring self once more, the ex-ranger-turned-bounty-killer made an umpteenth vow to not touch his drink again (at least until there was something worth drinking for). Putting his fingers to his mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle, Hale called over Trinity from where he had left him for the evening. Sure as rain was wet, the loyal horse had barely moved a foot from where Hale had left him and promptly sauntered over. Hugging the great painted thoroughbred around his thick neck, Hale greeted Trinity as the old friend he was and led him over to the well's trough for the horse's own drink. As Trinity drank, Hale -- again, for the umpteenth time -- eyed The Dawnbow that was holstered on the horse's side saddle. Hale had not been able to attune, much less use that magical masterpiece of fletchery since the day of his dishonor.

"And I doubt I ever will again," Hale murmured, giving Trinity one last pat on his painted hide before turning back to his newest companions.

"I do indeed hope your god as well is with us, priest!" Hale exclaimed to Beren, putting on his patented grin. "And moreso, I hope he's with your hammer-arm. We shall need all the help we can get with this new devilry!"

Hale looked to Alice, Thoras and the rest of the party trickling out of the Frostfruit.

"Alice is...well, she is many things, but she is also almost always right, and her knowledge of Karthwarsten proves to be no exception." Hale nodded at his old comrade.

"I was going to go there myself, but my driver and I got, ahh, waylaid by a band of former soldiers and chased through half the damned countryside! So unfortunately, I don't know the exact state it's in now, but this sorceress I know up in Markarth was positive that many of those magic-users made mad by this Sickness were holed up there, under the thrall of some rogue vampire and its minions." Hale's hand innately went for the flask of flin at his hip, yet something deep within stirred him away. Instead, he compensated by lighting his pipe and taking a few drags.

"Shouldn't be too complicated for a band of degenerate hardasses like ourselves, eh? Yet I say we try to not cave in the skulls of the Sickened if at all possible...could at least learn a thing or two from them, hopefully. I'm no fool, I doubt we can spare all of them, but we should at least do what we can. I might also suggest taking captive the vampire master or their immediate second, as I'm sure even those sick fluffing beasts will be a bit more verbal than the maddened mages." Blowing a wispy cloud of smoke into the air, Hale took stock of his comrades.

"Well then! Shall we ride out?"

 

[Simus]

“It’s a pleasure Thoras.” Alice said. She smiled at the Dumner’s rather elaborate bow and decided to return the favor, crossing her legs in a small, polite curtsy and putting her hands out to her sides as if holding an imaginary skirt. “I’m Alice. I remember you from the group at the bar last night. I wanted to introduce myself but I didn’t have the spoons for two groups of strangers.” She checked her impulse to apologize because she’d done nothing wrong. Then she took a minute to consider how best to answer his observation. She definitely knew a lot about The Reach for a foreigner and there was a very good reason for that. But how best to answer his question without blowing her cover? After a moment she decided on an answer. An acceptable balance between truth and discretion. “And no, I’m not from Skyrim, I’m from the Imperial City in Cyrodiil. My family and I have been here eight years, ever the Thalmor burned our house down, killed my mother in the Jerrall Mountains and skewered me through the shoulder. One hell of an eighteenth birthday let me tell you. The Legion let them come after us because my father's a Talos worshipper, my mother was a Blade and they had taught their children very well. Obviously most of us got away but we needed some protection as religious fugitives. The Thieves' Guild was getting rather expensive and the state didn't exactly let us empty the family bank account before we had to leave. So we took refuge with the Stormcloaks when we got here and helped support them until we could settle down in Whiterun. That took a couple of years and we'd proven ourselves useful so we learned a great deal about them. The company we traveled with was stationed in The Reach when things got bad in Karthwasten. So I was able to see what happened first hand. The commander did her best to control her men but...it just wasn't enough. It messed her up pretty bad for a while, even after Galmar Stone Fist determined she did the best she could."

Hale then gave her a vote of confidence, mentioning that she was almost always right. That was sweet but highly exaggerated. Alice had made plenty of mistakes in her young and very exciting life and her strange gifts as a seer didn't help all that much. She didn't g around telling people she saw visions of the future because she was worried anyone would think she was crazy. She was checked for crazy in Winterhold's asylum and she was just traumatized and suicidal. Serious, but treatable. Plus she was far from the only person in Tamrielic history who had these gifts. There was an Altmer in Bravil during the Oblibion Crisis who was "Touched by the gods." Of course she really was crazy so that precedent was definitely there. No, Alice kept her visions quiet because people had all the same annoying questions. What did she see? How often? What did it fell like? What was it like to know everything and never be surprised? It was absolutely exhausting and the reactions she got ranged from fear to suspicion to hatred to polite exploitation. People who truly accepted it were rare and valuable and Alice kept them close. Hale was one of those people.

He then went on a long winded tirade about how they'll do just fine cutting these mages down and might even capture the vampire lord in charge of them while sparing the lives of their thralls. Alice thought that was very optimistic but decided to keep her mouth shut. All of these people looked like good fighters so they knew men were going to die today. Some of them may very well be among the corpses. There was no need for Alice to be a Calamity Jane about it.

"We should get moving." She said to Thoras. "The sooner we get going the sooner Hale can walk off his hangover. Especially if he actually drinks water this morning!" She called over to her friend. "We can reach Karthwasten by supper time if we keep a good pace. If not we'll either have to set up camp in the mountains by the Karth River or stop at Dragon Bridge for the night. Both routes are dangerous so I'm good either way."

 

[Telleroftales]

Solun eyed the group as they all made their way outside, accepted the medallions and mingled in front of the tavern. A few villagers gathered in front of their houses, warily watching the group of adventurers and sellswords. Hale was already laying out a plan to capture a vampire and perhaps its thralls as well. The plan seemed rather optimistic to the former soldier. He knew well enough that any plan rarely survived contact with the enemy. That went double for dealing with a creature as powerful as a vampire.

He glanced around at his new companions, wondering how many, if any, would survive the upcoming battle. He turned to the gates as Hale approached, leading a horse he assumed to be his, and both he and the imperial woman, Alice suggested they get moving. "Hale, ride ahead. I'd like at least one of us to give a warning if we're about to walk into an ambush. As for the rest of you, let's get moving. If the weather holds, we should make it to Karthwasten by dusk, as Alice said. We can resupply there, and strike the mine at dawn."

 

[TheArgonianDrell]

The dawn came early, and Sothas was glad he had only partaken lightly of the drink offered by the strange elf once he heard the plan. Going up against vampires was no joke, especially not one in allegiance with sickness-maddened mages. However, none of his companions objected to it, so the argonian kept his jaws shut. With Aylira at his side, he joined the others in the cool morning air, and accepted the enchanted amulet with quiet solemnity. The Stormcloak officer's last remark 'may the gods be with you' showed just how little faith he, and perhaps his superiors had in them. The male imperial who Sothas hadn't had the chance to speak with yet, suggested they get moving.

He and Aylira fell in near the back of the group, the grey-scaled argonian enjoying the sun's rays beating down on what little unarmoured hide he had. "Mine's not working," Aylira griped, giving her recently acquired trinket a shake and eyeing it critically.

"How would you know?" Sothas retorted, but his grin stole the malice from his words.

"Shut up," the dunmer growled, smacking his armoured flank. She stuffed the amulet into one of the pockets worked into her armour and stalked up the line, until she was beside the skinny breton woman. "You. 'Silent as the grave' girl. You can talk, can't you? Do you feel any different?"

 

[Rafen]

Beren grinned at Hale's enthusiasm, despite the danger of the upcoming mission. Besides, he was in no real hurry to revisit the Reach, but he could hardly object without giving the reason. And the reason was something Beren himself was in no hurry to revealed to his new travelling companions. He was ready to head out with the others, as Hale headed off to retrieve his horse, when he overheard Alice, the imperial woman he'd met the night before, speaking to the khajiit.

About a massacre that had occurred near Karthwasten, not so long ago. The woman seemed to know more than a little about what had happened during the battle with the Forsworn. As if she'd been there herself. Exactly as if she'd been there herself. Beren shook his head. It couldn't be...yet...the former mercenary shook his head firmly, set his hammer against his shoulder, and joined the others in marching out of Rorikstead, his eyes fixed on the imperial's back, suspicion gnawing at the back of his mind.

 

[Harkatti]

Katrina minded her own business while keeping a close eye on her "companions". They'd done nothing to make her distrust them, as of yet, but she knew better than to let her guard down around strangers. Especially strangers motivated by money and lust for glory. They'd as soon stab each other in the back than work as a team. Of course, there was always the possibility that she was mistaken, but she rather doubted it. So, she would work with them, find out what this Sickness was and if possible put an end to it, and if it all worked out, take her gold and vanish.

She was so caught up in planning for the future, that she didn't hear the dark elf creep up on her. Startled, she began to reach for her sword, when she realized the elf had asked her a question. "I-what?" She scowled at the elf's characterizing her as overly quiet. "Just because I'm not relaying my life story to anyone in earshot doesn't mean..." she shook her head. "Nevermind. The amulets are enchanted, but I can't tell what kind."

 

[Morbidbread]

Thoras listened to Alice's tale in silence, when she'd finished, he quirked an eyebrow. "That is indeed an unfortunate series of events. You have my sympathies," he said sincerely. As they finally began to make their way from the hamlet of Rorikstead, he added, "despicable as their methods may be, you have to admit, they have amazing fashion sense." Then he plucked at his own rich, violet coat, "nothing compared to my own, of course, but when you work for an organization of terrorists and assassins, I suppose you do the best you can." Thoras had never had the misfortune of crossing the Thalmor, at least not in the traditional sense. He had spent a couple of weeks with an astonishingly limber justiciar, several years ago. He eyed Alice's outfit, noting the tight leather suit, covered by thicker, blue pieces of leather. "Though I must say , your own garments are certainly unique. More so than anything else you'll see here, I think.

 

[FelidaePrime]

Tavir lingered near the rear of the group, her keen ears on alert as they left the safety of the wooden walls that surrounded Rorikstead and made their way toward the Reach. It wouldn't do to be ambushed just out of bowshot from their starting point. If she survived, and she liked to think she would, she'd never live down being caught off-guard by smelly bandits, or mangy wolves, shadowy or otherwise. She overheard the dunmer woman, the one that had come into the inn last night with the argonian, asking about the enchanted amulets they'd all received. The breton woman, who'd kept to herself since joining their little group, snapped back at her. Sensing an opportunity to pester her further, she called "Well what do you relay,then? Besides your bitchy attitude, that is?"

 

[Harkatti]

Katrina stopped in her tracks, then turned to glare at the woman who'd spoken. The khajiit she'd seen from the previous night not far from her. To her surprise, she spoke with a slight accent, one mostly heard among altmer. Strange accent aside, Kristina couldn't help but rise to the challenge in the other woman's voice. The slender woman strode towards the khajiit, only stopping when she was just shy of a sword's length. "What business is it of yours what I choose to relay?" She demanded, "perhaps you would like to tell us why you speak like one of the altmer? What reason do you have to be ashamed of your heritage?"

 

[FelidaePrime]

Tavir smiled, putting her predator's teeth on display. "Oh, I've got nothing to be ashamed of. I was raised by elves. Do you have something against that? Aren't your people bastardized versions of elves?" It was a low blow, but she was enjoying herself far too much. Especially now that she knew the breton would react to her jabs. "Or is it something else?" She cupped a hand by one of her ears. "Come now, don't play the part of a timid mouse."

 

[Simus]

Thoras listened to Alice’s story and then offered his sympathies for it. That was kind of him but unnecessary. Things were a great deal better for her and her family now. The fact that she was still here was proof of that. “That’s very kind of you but I don’t need them.” She said with a polite smile. “I didn’t tell you that story so you’d feel sorry for me. I just wanted you to appreciate how I got here, and how you and I were able to meet.” His comment about the Thalmor and their fashion sense made her frown. Yes, their uniforms were certainly well made and their moonstone armor was beautiful but by Dibella’s beautiful breasts their mage robes were gaudy. Black and gold were two colors that should go beautifully together in that arrangement and simply didn’t. “I’m…glad you admire their fashion choices. I definitely cannot say the same. I mean, if you’re a government that’s been able to trick the most elegant and longest lived people in Tamriel into letting you rule them you can do far better than black with some gold trim and a strangely shaped hood. I love your purple coat by the way. You didn’t happen to get it from a tailor in Solitude named Celene Nox did you? Most of my pieces come from her and your coat mirrors her work.” He then complimented Alice’s own outfit, mentioning the uniqueness of her blue leather armor over her black leather catsuit outfit. “Thank you very much. I like to balance happy and colorful with dark and serious in my outfits. Celene once called it ‘Gothic Wonderland.’ I have no idea what she meant by that but it seems to describe me quite well. My father worked these armor pieces for me back home in Whiterun and Celene made made this catsuit outfit in Solitude. It’s one of my favorite outfits. Good quality leather and generously enchanted.” She gestured toward her shortbow, gladius and dagger. The first strung across her back alongside her backpack, sleep sack and quiver of steel arrows an the latter two secured by scabbards at her sides. “It compliments the rest of my kit rather well. You look like you travel quite a bit lighter than me except for your polearm.” Before Thoras could answer a minor argument flared up next to them. The tall, rather attractive Dunmer woman who was with the massive Argonian from last night was pestering the quiet Breton girl that had followed Alice into the tavern. Alice had left the girl alone last night because she obviously wanted space and this morning hadn’t changed that. The Dunmer either didn’t notice or didn’t care and pressed her for some sort of insight into the amulets they were all wearing. She answered that they were enchanted but she didn’t know what with. Alice agreed with her, understanding all too well that plenty of magic items did something very different than what you originally hoped for. The only way you could find out was through a long and rather tedious detection ritual or through simple field testing. Until that actually happened these amulets might as well be ordinary silver medals with a cleaning enchantment to keep them shiny.

A black furred Khajiit woman then butted in, asking the Breton woman what she could infer besides a bad attitude. She didn’t have the typical hissing accent of Elsweyr but a melodic Aldmeri one from Summerset Isle. Something the Breton girl immediately called out. Such an accent was unusual but hardly unheard of and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. The Khajiit shot back that she was raised by Altmer and that Bretons were just corrupted elves. Now that was just nasty. Alice wanted to go over and chastise both of them but she checked the impulse. This was none of her business and she had drawn more than enough attention to herself the night before. Setting herself up as an authority figure and drawing more was not a good idea. So she simply stood there and carefully watched them. Folding her arms and resting her black gloved fingers in the space between her bracers and pauldrons. Just above her elbows.

She was watching the Warhammer wielding priest of Arkay too. He was watching her back very suspiciously. He had been ever since Alice had told her story of Karthwasten. Almost as if he’d been there himself and suspected as much of her. That gave her a flash of anxiety. What if he was part of that mercenary cohort? He definitely wasn’t one of Alice’s men and there were no civilians or Foresworn left alive that day. And Alice would have been very hard to miss. If that were true then he would have seen her stab that mercenary captain. It didn’t matter that he had clubbed her across the head moments before because her stab had killed him. Then a horribly brawl ensued. One that she had felt honorbound to answer for and had never forgotten.

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Anxiety was getting the best of her. This man had probably never even been to Karthwasten and just found it suspicious that a little girl like Alice knew so much about that bloody slaughter. And even if he wanted her dead he’d have to get in line. Right now, they needed to get moving. She let herself fall behind everybody else as they left the protective palisades of Rorikstead. Feeling safer where she could see everyone and where they’d have to look back to see her.

 

[Rafen]

Beren's attention was yanked away from Alice just after leaving Rorikstead, as two of their female companions, the breton and khajiit, got into an argument. It seemed the khajiit was taunting the breton, trying to get a rise out of her. Which was all well and good, under the right circumstances. Which were absolutely not when the group was on the march, in the open. Seeing that no one else had stepped in, the former mercenary closed the gap between them. "Alright, let's all settle down." He stepped between the pair, placing one hand on the breton's shoulder, the other on the khajiit's. "Like it or not, we're all in this together."

 

[Morbidbread]

Alice declined his sympathies, explaining that she just wanted him to know how she'd gotten to where she was, and how they'd come to meet. She did seem more receptive to his mention of her wardrobe, complimenting his overcoat in turn. She asked whether he'd acquired it from a tailor named Celene Nox. "Alas, I am afraid I must disappoint you. I've never been to Solitude, though many have suggested I should visit. This," he plucked at his coat, "was a gift from a dear friend of mine." For a moment, he remembered the delight in the eyes of his bosmer companion, Ylena, when she'd first seen him try wearing it. It had been shortly before Thoras and the others had departed for their fateful adventure. A flash of pain crossed his tattooed face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

He chuckled at her mention of his polearm. "Well, when one is as lightly armoured as I, it is wise to keep the enemy at a distance." He ran his hand down the smooth haft of the weapon affectionately. "As for traveling lightly, my coat has more pockets than it appears. Handy for carrying all sorts of things. Anything that won't fit, I probably don't need." He glanced away from Alice as an argument broke out between the khajiit and the breton women. He said nothing as the hammer-toting priest intervened, though his lips thinned in disapproval.

 

[TheArgonianDrell]

Sothas stayed near the middle of the group, his armoured bulk marking him as unique among his more lightly armoured companions. He knew Aylira had gone off to speak with the breton woman and hoped she wouldn't cause offence. Aylira's mannerisms meant she tended to offend, even when she wasn't trying to. As if on queue, an argument broke out. Surprisingly, the khajiit and the breton, not Aylira at all, were engaged in a verbal skirmish. The big argonian sighed, shaking his head. "Not even at our first challenge, and already we are at each other's throats."

For her part, Aylira stood back, a faint smirk on her lips, as she watched the two women go at it. She cared not for their quarrel, and she had her answer regarding the trinkets they carried. Even if it wasn't the answer she'd wanted. The Stormcloaks might have wished them success, but she wouldn't put it past some particularly petty jarl or thane to issue them with a bunch of shiny amulets. For all she knew, they were all marching to a horrible, and entirely avoidable death by the sickness.

 

[HurrHobo]

The cold air of the Reach felt different, almost unnatural. No, it was not the absence of warmth... but a presence of something evil, trying to burrow its way into the souls of men and mer. Pondering this, an orc warrior Unkmarog wiped his nose and uncorked a bottle of mead, quickly taking a swig from it. He was sitting comfortably on a mat while staying vigilant. He let out a belch, and in that moment the mat under his butt started to move and groan, clearly expressing pain.
"Hey!" Unkmarog shouted. "Stop squirming! I'm trying to drink here! And think... Drink-thinking?"
In reality Unkmarog was sitting on a nord bandit, who looked like he received quite a beating. He had a black eye and a nosebleed. The bandit spat on the ground and growled towards the orc in ragged clothes, who was taking swigs from his bottle.
"Ghurrh... Just let me g-go, orc..! I surrender..!"
"Hrmh? What was that? You woke up already?"
"L-look, I don't want any trouble. I promise not to bother you aga--"
"BUUUURP"
A loud belch interrupted the bandit and it echoed throughout the mountainous wilderness. The bandit was utterly dumbfounded. Unkmarog then rummaged through his pouch and pulled out a tattered map. It showed the province of Skyrim.
"Look, here", the orc said with some irritation in his voice. He pointed at a certain spot on the map.
"This is supposed to tell me I am close to the Shrine of Peryite. Am I going in the right direction?"
The bandit squinted at the map Unk was holding before his eyes. He then blinked and laughed at the orc.
"You idiot! You're holding that upside down!"
"Eh?"
Unk glanced at the bandit and then carefully examined his map. He tilted his head from side to side, until he decided to heed the bandit's words and finally rotated it the right way. He scratched his chin, looking slightly embarrassed.
"See? Now, will you let me go?"
"Hmm, about that..."
Unkmarog stood up and threw the empty bottle of mead aside. He reached for his orcish greatsword and picked it up. He gave it a good swing before eyeing down on the bandit, who was still too weak to get up on his own.

Before the orc could do anything, he noticed a colorful group approaching. His eyes caught bretons, imperials, khajiit, dunmer and argonian. His sword was pointing at the bruised bandit while keeping his eye on the approaching group.

 

[Harkatti]

Katrina's lip rose in a snarl at the khajiit woman's flippant insults. Her gloved hand snapped to the hilt of her sword, "I'll show you timid, you khajiiti-" before she could continue, the breton priest stepped between them, his tone calm but firm. Katrina heard none of the words he spoke. As soon as his hand rested on her shoulder, her mind yanked her back to that place, and she flinched violently away from him, as if he'd burnt her. "Don't touch me!" She snapped, her eyes wide, her breaths coming in quick, panicky gasps, as her fingers clenched the hilt of her weapon until it hurt. 'Get a hold of yourself!' She scolded , forcing her breathing to normalize, and her grip to relax on the sword. "Just...let's keep moving." She fell back, letting herself drift to the rear of the group, where she would draw the least attention.

 

[Telleroftales]

The ragtag bunch departed shortly after dawn, making their way from the village of Rorikstead towards the Reach. Despite the clear skies, the air remained cool, even into mid-morning. Shortly before noon, problems arose. The breton woman and the khajiit of their party began to argue, and things were getting heated. The group came to a stop, watching the argument with, as far as Solun could discern, a mix of concern and disapproval. It took the former soldier little time to realize they were waiting on him to step in. As the individual who'd taken the slightest bit of initiative. he'd assumed the role of leader of their little group. Something he very much did not want.

Still, he could hardly stand by while the pair tore into each other. He strode towards them, just as the breton war priest, Beren, stepped between the woman. Before he could reprimand either of them, the breton woman jerked away from Beren, as though she'd been scalded. She insisted he not touch her, before retreating to the back of the troop, clearly shaken. Solun glanced from the priest to the khajiit, guessing they were as surprised by the sudden turn of events as he was. Still, he didn't plan on having a repeat. "Save your animosity for the enemy," he told the khajiit. "We're bound to have enough trouble without the pair of you at each other's throats."

With that, he took his position at the head of the line, and they began to move once more. With each step he wondered if they were simply marching into a death trap. He doubted Hale was planning on betraying them, though he hadn't seen the ranger since he'd suggested he scout ahead. But if the others couldn't even walk together without starting a fight, he doubted they would do well in a fight.

His musings were interrupted by a truly tremendous belch. Startled, the imperial looked around, and spotted a bearded orc, sword in hand, ahead. The orsimer was unkempt looking, wearing ragged clothes, the only sign of armour being iron gloves and boots. At the orc's feet was a bruised, bloodied man, who Solun guessed was some sort of thug or bandit. Whatever he was, the man was certainly in an unenviable position, with the orc's blade hovering nearby. Motioning for the others to stay behind, he trudged up to the pair, stopping a healthy distance between them.

"Hail, friend. My companions and I are passing through and mean you no harm." He glanced down at the bandit, "I assume this one tried something rather foolish. I know his type, and I assure you, I've no intention of interfering with whatever justice you see fit to deal him. Though I am curious as to your purpose out here." He glanced over his shoulder, "were you making for Rorikstead?"

 

[HurrHobo]

Unkmarog eyed Solun up and down before shifting his gaze to the group behind the imperial. A small moment passed, and Unk's amber eyes wandered back to Solun with a goofy smile.
"Well now," said Unkmarog. "It's good to see some friendly faces for a change on these roads."
The orc pulled down his hood, revealing his shaved head. It was noticeably easier to spot scars on his green, slightly grimy face. He wiped his nose with his forearm. His gaze was still locked on the group before him while pointing his sword down at the wounded bandit.
"Yeah, you got that right," he replied to Solun, who glanced down at the wounded nord. "This fool thought I was a valuable and easy prey. I gave him a valuable lesson."
Unk gently tapped his left cheek with his fist. He grinned goofily and let out a guffaw. The bandit snarled at the orc as he was still struggling to get up. Unk's sword was still hovering above the bruised thug.
"Rorikstead?" he raised his eyebrow inquisitively at Solan. "Errm, no, I was heading to Karthwasten. But it seems there was, umm..."
The orc cleared his throat, his childlike grin quickly faded away. His face turned red with embarrassment.
"...Some problems."
"Yeah, right," scoffed the bandit, wiping his bloody nose. "That green-skinned idiot can't even read a m--"
"BUUURRP"
Another belch filled the air, interrupting the bandit. Annoyed by this, he tried to muster every last ounce of strength to stand up, but was abruptly stopped by the sharp point of Unk's sword, almost piercing his chest. The orc's eyes were still fixed on the group. He let out a sigh.
"Shhhnk"
Unkmarog thrusted his sword unceremoniously into the bandit's chest. The nord drew his last breath as the life started to fade away from his eyes. Unk pulled out his sword, swung it to shake off the blood before sheathing it on his back. He picked up his orcish bow and quiver.
"Anyway," the orc snorted. "As I said, I was heading to Karthwasten. Need to stop by the inn and-- Wait. That mining village has an inn, right? I hope so, otherwise this complicates things..."
Unk murmured and nervously scratched his tusk. His eyes locked on his dirty boots, trying to think for a solution. He raised his eyebrows, as if he came up with something. Unk pointed at both Solun and the group behind the imperial.
"Hey, you are not here for a picnic, are you?" asked the orc. "Are you here to deal with this mysterious plague, too? I was thinking I could find the root of the problem right at the shrine of Peryite. Y'know, the 'Daedric Prince of Pestilence'? I can feel it in my bones that he has something to do with this..."

 

[FelidaePrime]

Tavir's ears twitched, the only outward sign of surprise at the breton woman's outburst. It seemed there was much more wrong with her than a bad attitude. Their self-appointed leader approached, telling them to save their animosity for the enemy. An enemy, Tavir noted, that had yet to make an appearance. "As you wish, oh grand and glorious leader," she snarked, stepping away from both him and the priest. They continued on, until an ungodly belch split the early afternoon silence. Ahead, Tavir spied an orc male, menacing a bruised looking human.

Their leader motioned for them to stay where they were, before walking ahead. The pair spoke too quietly for Tavir to hear without getting closer, but it didn't seem as though the orc was hostile to them. Which could not be said for the unfortunate man, who he ran through without a second glance. The khajiit shrugged at his demise. As far as she could tell, the man had been trouble, likely a bandit going after what he thought was an easy meal. One less of him in the wilds would not weigh on her conscience.