"Brown clay? BROWN CLAY?! DOST MINE EYES DECIEVEITH ME?! Where I hail from, clay ist blue, as it should be!" Rayya rolled her eyes. The Redguard was used to such verbal abuse from her boss. In front of her stood a rather tall, young-looking dark green Argonian, his face covered in red tatoos, his eyes glowing the same color. He was thin and muscely, though much of his body was covered by a deep black armor. Two long fangs jutted from his upper lips, quite blatantly revealing his vampirism. Around his neck hung a pendant. Hanging from the black twine was an avian skull with purple markings. One of his hands was not slipped into a gauntlet. The fingernails of that hand were long and painted deep red. Upon his slender ring finger was a black band with a deep red insignia. It read something or another in the ancient Dovah language.
Rayya sighed as her boss finished his rant, then said, "Foes, clay from this part of the world is brown. A lot of clay just happens to be brown. I was not around a thousand years ago, nor have I ever lived in Cyrodill, so I wouldn't know what the clay from that era, or even location, looked like. Can we please just get to talking about the foundation for the trophy room?" The Argonian stared at her, his beady eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth wide and bared his fangs. The look would've killed a lesser woman. The Argonian's Redguard mistress simply stared back at him, looking impatient. The man threw his hands up in the air and let out a breath of air, exasperated.
"Fine! I shalt doeth it in thine own way! But I shan't enjoy it!", exclaimed the Argonian. He turned around and stared up at a large manor. "Look on the bright side, Foes. The house is comign along rather nicely. And we got your horse out here!", said Reyya, trying to lighten the mood. Conquers-Many-Foes, the vampire, glanced over at a nearby stable. A golden stallion had his head stuck in a water trough, happily slurping up the liquid. "I do loveth Frost's company, Reyya. Maybe thou ist right... I should looketh at the brightest side.", said the Argonian. He forced a smile (not that he was unhappy, it's just that Argonians don't naturally smile) and turned back to the house.
"I think I shalt headeth towards yon Falkreath steading, my dear. Thou shalt stayeth and looketh after Lakeview Manor.", added Conquers. He craned his head back towards Frost and decided he would rather ride than walk. He may have been one of the fastest runners on Nirn, but he still enjoyed his horse's company. The vampire fingered his glass blade, his other hand wandering towards the scabbard of his ebony blade. It was instinct by now. The Argonian had owned those two swords for seven hundred years, so he knew their ins-and-outs like the palm of his hand. And he had memorized the layout of the palm of his hand. When one can live forever, one tends to do some boring pl*ps.
Rayya walked into the house, glad she could finally have some peace and quiet. The bard hadn't arrived yet, nor had any of her lovers guests for the upcoming celebration. It'll be quite the engagement party... thought Reyya. Foes sure does know how to celebrate... I hope Octieve can come... He makes the best wine! Meanwhile, Conquers was mounting Frost. The horse knew exactly where it was headed. Conquers had spent three months training his horse to understand the names of every important location in northern Tamriel, from Falkreath to Fort Dawnguard to Reachwind Bastion. As soon as the vampire was snug in Frost's saddle the horse took off.
The forests of Falkreath were a blur beside the racing Frost and his rider, Conquers. The Argonian spurred his horse onward, his head bent down over the stallions' neck. With a whinny, Frost picke dup the pace. He deftly jumped a fallen tree, then rounded a corner and raced past an old house. Conquers glanced at the broken door and the dead man slumped in it. He laughed at his handiwork, then turned back forward. Frost hit the road at a breakneck pace, then abruptly turned and ran across the cobblestone towards Falkreath. A guard appeared on the horizon. Conquers grabbed his ebony sword and cleanly sliced the man's head off.
Frost skidded to a halt, his feet digging into the dirt roads of Falkreath. If it weren't for his orichalcum horseshoes, his hooves would be bloody stumps by now. Moonlight shone on Conquers, who had his usual scowl planted on his face once more. He didn't want the mortals to stop fearing the creepy lizard in the woods, now, did he? Conquers surveyed the small town, then spotted his favorite tavern. "Ah, Dead Man's Drink! I remember the founding of yon establishment!" He hopped off his horse, who trotted up to a hitching post, and walked off towards the tavern. No one appeared to be out and about at this time of night, though Conquers could hear some voices and rustling from the trees. Falkreath was packed with supernatural creatures, and moreso than usual. Conquers could feel them. The Argonian pushed open the doors to the tavern and stepped inside, the warm air of the fire washing over his cold scales.
Conquers immediately scanned the room for assassin's. The Morag Tong had supposedly spread to Skyrim, and even ex-Dark Brotherhood members were on their lists. Finding no suspicious activity, the Argonian continued inwards. He noticed quite a few of his kind in the tavern, as well as some furbacks. He heard a Redguard ask for another drink, his lycanthropy obvious in his vocie, then sigh as he thumbed through his coin purse. The man walked up to a card table, one which seated multiple supernatural creatures, and asked if he could join in. Oddly enough, Mr. Foes did not recognize the game, and he was a sort of gambling addict. The Argonian sidled on up to the table, pulling a satchel of a few hundred Septims out of his pocket. He was feeling generous today, and he could easily give out some of his innumerable riches. These coins were meant for the Redguard, though Conquers had many more saved for his own vices that night.
"Hey, my compatriots, mind if an ancient vampire sits at yon table? I wisheth to learn thine game, and socialization will be good for mine old bones, especially with my own kind." Conquers adressed the whole table while syaing this, though he eyed a particular female lycanthrope the whole time. He winked flirtaciously at her, though he never meant to actually seduce the woman in any way. Conquers was not an adulterer. His love belonged to Rayya and only Rayya. The Argonian pulled up a chair and threw a satchel of Septims onto the table. "Now, may I asketh of thou, how ist thine game played? Oh, and I almost forgot. Here, boy. This ist for thou. I heard thou hast money troubles, and I am feeling quite generous.", said the Argonian. He tossed the smaller satchel at the Redguard and turned back to the others. The female werewolf, another female werewolf, a male vampire and a female vampire. All were man or mer, though Conquers had long ago stopped distinguishing between the two. In his eyes, there were only prey, lycanthropes, lesser vampires, vampire lords, higher creatures and the undead.
