The OP3RaT0R
Call me Op. Or Smooth.
Six inches high, four in diameter. Forged from ebony and the blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour, adorned with jagged jewels and ornamentation, a blood red ruby embedded in the bottom of the cup. When filled with the blood of ancients and drunk from, the user gains immense dark power.
Cup at a rich man's table,
Jewel in a proud woman's crown,
Stem sprouted from the soil of ancients,
Drink from the vein of northern blood,
Relic of old sought by death's kiss,
In hands of evil whose deeds be remiss,
Men of light answer Sovngarde's call,
When in hands of undeath the Bloodstone Chalice should fall
Beneath the cryptic text there was scrawled a picture of a chalice, as described in the note. Thor looked up at the thin Breton who leaned on the bar, who kept the corner of the paper between his thumb and forefinger. "Four hundred Septims," the man hissed, "and it's yours. This is pretty important to you, huh? You'd be getting your money's worth." The man smirked as if he were offering a tasty morsel to a hungry dog. The two hooded men were in a packed tavern on the Nordic side of Dragonstar.
"One hundred Septims, and you get to go on living your life and peddling information without fear of becoming the human cattle for a bloodthirsty vampire," Thor growled in his best intimidating voice. He was no expert on the nuances of speech, but he had seen Isran get angry and impassioned before, and that was what he aspired to imitate for this sleazy little man. It would not be hard, given his disgust towards lowlifes like this. "Hey, hey, if things are as bad as you suggest, I can hide," the man cooed, "but you don't have the connections I do... If you fail, will you be able to run for cover?"
Thor pulled the man close by the collar. "One hundred Septims and I make sure that you don't have to hide from me."
"Wait, now..." The man sighed. "One hundred Septims, and you give me a ten-minute head start leaving here."
"Pleasure doing business with you," the strong Nord muttered, snatching the paper up and shoving the Breton a short distance away. He dropped the coin on the bar and watched as the man slithered off. "Gods, how I hate that." Thor was a generally friendly man, though that was not quite the persona suggested by his black, trench coat-like Dawnguard light armor and black hood. But he was not in Dragonstar to make friends. When the threat of Clan Volkihar was gone, there would be time for that.