18+ Sands Of Silence

[Rextoret]

Dar'Raska-Ji pushed his way through the raging sandstorm that engulfed him. His face was covered with cloth, but he could still painfully feel the tiny grains of sand stick into his fur. His Budi protected his body from as much sand as it could. His hand extended in front of his face, he pushed ahead. He knew he had to get to his destination soon, lest he perish in this brutal sandstorm. He could feel the tiny pellets of sand fly into his hand, embedding themselves there. Far ahead, he could faintly see the town of Dune through the swaths of sand in the air. He had not had water in a whole day, and his throat felt ready to split open. He sped up as much as he could, defiant to reach the town before the storm buried him. Underneath the cloth his mouth was in a frown, his lips bloody, chapped and dry.

A few minutes of this constant struggle passed, and Raska felt the ground getting progressively more solid. Within seconds, he found himself at the gates of Dune. Canopies were set above the gate and Raska nearly dove under them, just to get out of the whipping sand. The Suthay-raht guards greeted Raska as he approached the gates. "Smart move, getting out of that sandstorm. A few more minutes of that and you would have been dead." Raska went right past him, giving a small wave as he entered the city. "Huh. Rude one, I guess." Raska ignored this remark and continued walking. The meager walls of the city provided little protection to the devastating sandstorm. No one wandered the streets, no doubt in the Khajiiti equivalent of a tavern. Raska rushed across the street, eager to get some water to quell his immense thirst.

Pushing open the door, he entered the 'tavern'. Many Khajiit were all sitting and eating, mostly sweets. As was the Khajiiti custom. It seemed that the bartender was a large Nord, who had mead and other alcoholic beverages in stock. Raska knew that alcohol would only increase his thirst, and approached the counter. "Can I get you anything, Khajiit? You look like you have had rough day." Raska nodded and pointed to a bucket of water behind the man. The Nord turned and saw the bucket. Muttering a few words, the Nord poured water into Raska's mug. Raska dropped a few coins on the counter and walked over to a nearby booth. Pulling down the cloth covering his mouth, he chugged the water. A few drops fell into Raska's black fur, and mixed with the sand there. He sat down at the booth and relaxed. Drinking more water, he savored the feeling of his throat being hydrated. He looked around the tavern and saw mostly Khajiit, with a few odd other races sitting around. 'Perhaps I will stay the night here. Brave the sands again tomorrow.' Raska thought. He pulled the cloths that surrounded his head off, leaning back into the booth.

 

[Farthlion]

Faolin was going stir-crazy to say the least. The lack of plants around here was unnerving, not to mention the insane temperatures. It didn't help that a sudden rush of wind had kicked up the sand, causing it to claw against her skin. Faolin immediately searched for some type of cover as she had done countless times while encountering horrible storms in the forests of Valenwood, but this place was no forest. There was no comforting tree to shield Faolin from the elements this time.

Her sharp eyes spotted a strange looking formation in the distance, nestled along a mountain of sand. She couldn't make it out very well due to the raging storm, but from the distance she was at, it had to be big enough to act as a shelter. The Bosmer began to sprint toward the shelter as quickly as she could. She cringed at the burning sand, her eyes watering in pain. After many minutes - which seemed like hours - Faolin finally could make out that what she saw was really a village. If her memory was correct, she was nearing the Valenwood border - so this was most likely Dune. Though how this wasteland could be so close to the lush forests of her homeland, she couldn't ever understand.

As the Bosmer entered Dune, a wave of relief fell over her. She hadn't realized how exhausted she felt - her body working twice as hard to move through the storm. Her bare arms were red, as well as the places on her lower legs which had been exposed to the coarse grains raking against her skin. Faolin definitely would need to invest in some type of hooded cloak in order to protect herself from Elsweyr's infamous sandstorms.

Quietly following a pair of Khajiits who looked like merchants, Faolin was led to what seemed to be the local tavern. Apparently these two were not heading to the market to sell their goods. How stupid could she be? Most Khajiits looked like merchants! Nervously, she cast a weary glance around the room. Many merchant-looking beings belonging to the cat race sat casually around the room. This was the Bosmer's first interaction with a living creature who did not have a stem or leaves in a very long time. She wasn't sure how to act - perhaps customs had changed in the time she had been staying with the plants? Hell, she wasn't very good with those customs to begin with. There wasn't much to lose.

She nervously approached a lone, silent looking Khajiit, pointing at him for several moments before awkwardly bursting out a line of speech, "Hello Khajiit - sir - Mr. Cat? I was wondering where you got your clothing. I mean the thing you use to cover your head. I have clothing already. There was a horrible storm with sand raging out there and I need one to continue my journey. Well, you probably know there was a storm already. You have sand everywhere and look like plops."

Faolin gave a slightly forced smile after realizing her hand was still pointing at the Khajiit even after she had stopped speaking. Act normal! So far so good - he hasn't run away. She told herself, suddenly wishing she had a plant - even a blade of grass to speak to.

 

[Rextoret]

"Hello Khajiit - sir - Mr. Cat? I was wondering where you got your clothing. I mean the thing you use to cover your head. I have clothing already. There was a horrible storm with sand raging out there and I need one to continue my journey. Well, you probably know there was a storm already. You have sand everywhere and look like pl***." Raska remained ever silent at the Bosmer's odd question. However, being the kind soul he is, he felt obliged to help the girl. Raska pulled out a piece of paper as well as a well-used piece of charcoal. He wrote something on the paper and showed it to the girl.

On the paper was written, 'Head out the door and across the street, you will see a building with tapestries draped out front. The merchant inside will be able to help you. Ask him for a Budi. This.' As she read, he pulled on the hem of his outfit. It was a dark grey cloth, wrapped around his head as well a robe to go along with it. He flipped the paper over and began to write again. Showing the paper to her, it read 'It will protect you from the harsh sandstorms of this region.' After it was clear she was finished reading, he folded the paper up and stored it in his pack, along with many others. He leaned back and relaxed.

A thought flashed in Raska's mind. 'Perhaps she can help me find the potion I'm looking for...' He thought, before waving to catch the elf's attention again. He pulled out another piece of paper and began to write again. He showed her the paper once he was done. 'Have you heard of the potion made by the Dwemer that will un-mute someone? I'm looking for it, and I could use your help getting it. I know this is a odd request, but there may be gold in it for you.'

 

[Leseras]

Alsedil was watching. He was always watching. Watching for mages...and watching for that man! The thought of that necromancer caused him to snarl unconsciously. He felt a burst of magicka flow into through his entire body and into his hand, causing it to ignite in flames. Before anyone could notice, he forcefully slammed his hand against the wall. Alsedil winced in pain, but felt relieved as the flames went out just as soon as they came on. He chanted his mantra to himself, over and over again. I must not lose control. I must not lose control...

He glanced at the patrons in the tavern once again, searching for his next prospect. Most of them were Khajiit, and Khajiit are not very good at magic. He would know, he was one himself! However, despite the seemingly normal situation in the tavern he spotted one oddity with his feline eyes. A solitary Khajiit, well covered yet dirtied with sand, was acting quite strangely. Alsedil narrowed his eyes in suspicion as that Khajiit gulped down his cup of water like he hadn't drank in days. Though, that is probably true, considering where we are. He told himself.

Then it happened. Something that caused his patient nature to be overwritten with rage and paranoia once more. Elf! His mind screamed. An elf! It would repeat. All elves are associated with magic in some way or another. She was definitely up to something wrong and magical!

And Alsedil watched. He watched as that elf strolled up to that suspicious Khajiit he saw earlier. He watched as she ranted and gestured strangely. "Why is she so nervous?" He muttered silently to himself. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but he was sure it was some sort of secret code. The furs on his tail stood up as the Khajiit replied to her with a written note, hastily scribbled with charcoal. The notes continued one after another.

They are definitely hiding something. Why else would they speak in code and written notes? Curiosity and suspicion overwhelmed him, causing the magicka in his body to flare out once more. This time a shower of sparks flickered in his hands. Hissing in disdain, Alsedil slammed his hand against the wall again. That's it! He thought to himself. No more hiding in corners! I better get closer to see if I can find out more. Grimacing in pain as he pushed himself of the wall, Alsedil ambled towards the bar and pulled out a stool near the strange Khajiit. He sat down just in time to hear a small snippet of their conversation. "if you could get me a plant that I can carry around I would forever be in your debt." The wood elf said to the Khajiit.

A plant? Is that a code word for extremely dangerous Daedric artifact?

 

[Farthlion]

Faolin blinked as the Khajiit began writing. What the hell? Dune wasn't big enough to have to draw a map. Couldn't this guy just tell her to go left or right after she reached the big pile of sand in the middle of town? She wasn't even certain Dune had a big pile of sand in the middle of the town, but any place called Dune was bound to have a pile of sand lying around.

The Bosmer read the words after he finished, and looked back at him with a blank expression. So he was a silent one? Two could play that game! Without any words, Faolin turned to leave. Stealing a nervous glance at the Khajiit, she saw he was waving her back. Her curiousness overwhelmed her, and she returned to see what he had to say... or do. The cat-man had once again began scribbling on another page.

'Have you heard of the potion made by the Dwemer that will un-mute someone? I'm looking for it, and I could use your help getting it. I know this is a odd request, but there may be gold in it for you.'

It was a strange request? No one ever asked anything of Faolin - unless it was to leave or stop being so strange. Faolin thought for a moment giving the Khajiit a strange look for several moments before replying, "Oh! That's why you can't talk!" she exclaimed, "I personally have no idea why you would want to talk. People say that they would rather have me not talk than talk at all. Besides, I think they are right. I already like you and you haven't said a word! If I could, all I would do is talk to plants. By the way, I don't like gold - if you could get me a plant that I can carry around I would forever be in your debt. I have yet to find one that can survive harsh weather conditions. I travel a lot and need someone to talk to."

After realizing she had probably said too much, Faolin took the time to look around, twiddle her thumbs, and then say, "Oh, I'll help you. No idea where it is though."

 

[Aerin]

Pulling her grey hood about her face Sionna soldiered through the weather. A sand storm had picked up on her way into Elsweyr, but she was unable to stop for shelter. Growing up beside the Alik'r Desert, Sionna was well-accustomed to sand storms, and though the grains bit at her skin she paid it no mind. She had been travelling for days, having most recently stayed in Skingrad and Arenthia. She had considered staying longer in Valenwood, but the forest did not agree with her, and though she respected the bosmers, she did not feel comfortable in their presence. Instead she had pushed forward to Dune, which according to her map, should have been coming into view very soon.

Shielding her eyes with her hand she squinted through the sand, barely making out the outline of a town. With renewed energy she carried on, her legs aching from the effort of walking against the wind. By the time she reached the city gates she was in dire need of a place to sit and something to drink so she wasted no time in tracking down the local tavern.

Upon entering the tavern Sionna sighed, removing her hood and tucking it under her arm. Walking over to the innkeeper she asked for some water, smiling warmly as she handed over her coins. There was little place to sit, most of those who had been outside having sought shelter from the storm inside. Sighing with thinly veiled vexation she searched for somewhere to rest her feet and found only a number of stools beside the bar. Taking her drink with her she pulled up a stool and wearily sat down, a flicker of relief flashing across her face as she drank heavily. She was lost in thought until her ears picked up on a slamming noise. Looking up she frowned as she spotted a khajiit push from the opposing wall, a scorch mark left behind where his hand must have been. Had he been using destruction magic in a tavern? Disbelieving that someone could act so recklessly around innocent people she followed him with her eyes, her face contorting into pained expression as the khajiit chose to sit on a stool beside her.

His attention seemed to be unwaveringly focussed on a bosmer and khajiit who were conversing nearby. Their conversation sounded pleasant enough and neither individual appeared to pose a threat to anyone in the immediate vicinity, unlike the mage sat beside her. Wiping a bad of water from the corner of her mouth Sionna thought on what she should do. She was averse to use of magicka, and the khajiit next to her seemed to either have no care for the safety of others, or he was just a reckless mage. Both possibilities infuriated the redguard, and she felt an obligation to stop him from causing a scene. If she had the power to prevent people from being hurt then it was her duty to do so. Knowing she would need to tread carefully Sionna gently cleared her throat, shifting her stool closer to the mages. "Excuse me for interrupting, but I sense some hostility between you and those two talking over there. Might I suggest you try to keep a cool head? I doubt the innkeeper will appreciate you attacking his patrons."

 

[Leseras]

"Excuse me for interrupting, but I sense some hostility between you and those two talking over there. Might I suggest you try to keep a cool head? I doubt the innkeeper will appreciate you attacking his patrons."

These words snapped Alsedil out of his trance. Slowly he turned towards the source of the voice he heard, craning his neck slightly. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a beautiful brunette glaring at him balefully. Okay so she wasn't really outright glaring...but years of method acting had taught Alsedil much. Inwardly he scoffed at her poor effort of thinly veiled civility. However, he soon processed her words and came to a startling realization. She's with them! His mental self blazed with suspicion. She must be some sort of watch dog for those two! That's why she's trying to ward me off!

For a moment, a flash of fury overtook his facial features. His face contorted into an ugly snarl as he felt his poor grasp on magicka slipping again. For a moment, it seemed that he was losing control once more. I must not lose control! He repeated his mantra once more with finality. Relief soon welled up in him however, as he felt the tumultuous magicka within him recede back into storage. Just as soon as it had come, the rage on his face had been replaced by the facade of a cool gentleman, smiling politely at the woman. Raising an eyebrow in feigned interest, he smiled benignly at the watchdog. Slowly, he raised both hands upwards in the universal gesture of surrender and spoke playfully.

"Woah there young lady. Why all the hostility? I'm a priest of Arkay..." He raised his amulet till it was level with her eyes. "I only bury the dead, not cause it. Here, have another on me to cool down." Alsedil gestured to the barkeep and made a pouring motion. The man grunted in response, setting down another cup filled to the brim with ale almost instantaneously. Alsedil pushed the cup towards the brunette, smiling benignly once more.

Your move...watchdog.

 

[Aerin]

Sionna watched with trepidation as a multitude of emotions flitted across the khajiit's face. Tensing she felt her body poised to react, an instinct from years of fighting. Eventually the cat seemed to settle into a friendly smile, his demeanour one of a man dealing with a difficult woman. Smiling to herself she supposed she was exactly that as far as he was concerned. She didn't let it stop her however, her hand ready to rest on the hilt of her swords if need be.

"Woah there young lady. Why all the hostility? I'm a priest of Arkay...I only bury the dead, not cause it. Here, have another on me to cool down."

Clenching her jaw she looked down at his amulet. She was unfamiliar enough with the Aedra to be unsure whether his amulet was true. Watching as he ordered her a second drink she ran her tongue over her teeth as she thought. He seemed to be eager to dissolve the tension that had built up between them, but she wasn't convinced that he had abandoned his aggression towards the pair talking near them.

She glanced down at the drink he offered her but she made no move to drink it. Instead she adjusted her clothing, brushing away at the sand that had collected in the folds of cloth. "You seem to need cooling down as much as I do." Looking over at the bosmer and khajiit she tried to understand why the man beside her seemed so intent on watching them. "So are you from Dune or are you a fellow traveller? Not many priests of Arkay in Elsweyr."

 

[Leseras]

Alsedil fought to keep the smile on his face when the woman ignored his kind gesture completely. He took his time to lower his amulet back into his robes. As he did so, his other hand grasped at the side of his robes. At least, that was what he pretended to do. In actuality, he readjusted the iron dagger at his waist slightly in case things went awry. Mentally, he cursed to himself for leaving his bow in such a hard to reach place. His attention snapped back as the woman spoke again.

"You seem to need cooling down as much as I do." She paused and took a long hard look at the conspirators she was working for. "So are you from Dune or are you a fellow traveler? Not many priests of Arkay in Elsweyr."

Alsedil took a moment to study the woman. Silently, he wondered how gullible she was? Should I play the humble mage or the zealous priest this time? His eyes flickered upwards and stared into hers. He raised his two hands upwards in an inviting gesture and spoke loudly. "Many of my kind do not believe in the one who has brought them into this world. He who commends their arrival and departure does not even have a place of worship! Where is the hall of the dead? Where are the shrines! These heathens twist the nine divines to their own whims and fancy! I seek to change that..." Near the end, his voice lowered to a whisper. His eyes had a sad glint in them as he studied the floor intently. "It was my father's last wish..." Out of the corner of his eye, Alsedil noticed most of the patrons were staring at them intently, some even glaring at the brunette as if she was the one who caused his outburst. With his head bowed slightly, a hidden smirk graced his features.

Now if she tries to kill me...it won't be so easy will it, watchdog?

 

[Aerin]

Raising an eyebrow Sionna listened to the khajiit's story. He could have been taken for any of the other zealous priests she had come across during her travels, but she couldn't deny that she had seen him lose control over his magicka, if only for a brief moment. Her worries only elevated when she noticed the slight adjustment of his robes. Years of training had taught her a lot, and though she was tired from her journey, she could swear he was adjusting a weapon. This man was hiding something, he was more dangerous than he first seemed. Perhaps an assassin?

Looking around she noticed that many of the patrons around them were looking at her with disdain. All she had done was try to protect them, and now the mage had managed to manipulate the crowd against her. Shaking her head she smiled ruefully and grabbed the drink he had bought her, tipping it in cheers at those who were staring her down. "Well...I suppose I'll join these apparent heathens in saying that I wish you luck in fulfilling your father's last wish. Although I don't expect them to appreciate you talking about them like that so I'd be a bit more careful about that in the future." She knew engaging with his any further would likely incite him to put her in a worse situation, so she resolved to keep her words short. All she wanted was to rest until the sand storm passed, and then she would be on her way.

Shifting slightly on her chair she toyed with one of the feathers in her hair. "I apologise if I've caused you trouble. But you have to admit, you haven't exactly been subtle in your frustrations." Tipping her head in the direction of the scorch mark left by his hand on the wall she looked away, allowing him to make his move. They seemed to be caught in a battle of wits, and couldn't help but wish it would end. She was not gifted in conversation, she spoke far better with a blade in her hand.

 

[Ponder]

Thyben Garian was having a bad week. Sitting in his drab study, hunched over the bound ledger open across his desk, Thyben examined his margins in the vain hope that a mistake would present itself. But he trusted in the sanctity of numbers, and with their stark honesty these numbers delivered bleak news. Thyben had settled in Elsweyr with his wife several long years ago, and they had opened a money lending business, seeking to draw a new market. But the Khajiit simply weren't interested. All those who had money needed no help earning more, and all those who didn't resorted to less honorable methods of acquisition. The Garians were losing money fast, and their native High Rock beckoned.

Thyben, lost in his calculations, didn't hear the creak of the shop door opening. He didn't hear his wife's greeting, nor the faint sounds of conversation emitting from the next room. Only when muffled laughter broke through the oppressive silence did his ears perk up.

Leaving his ledger open, Thyben quietly entered the forward hall, where the exuberant laughter had come from. His wife leaned comfortably against the far wall, amiably chatting with a swarthy, graying Breton. Hearing Thyben's approach, Mrs. Garian turned and gleefully offered him the good news. The aging man, Alistair Gaerhart, was a merchant seeking a loan and his fortune in Elsweyr. But upon hearing of their troubles and their desires to return to their beautiful homeland, he'd offered to sell them his unoccupied property in Wayrest for only half the value! Shocked, Thyben remained mute. He numbly took the proffered deed and examined it, searching for any incongruities. But Mrs. Garian begged and pleaded, and finally Thyben relented. He paid Gaerhart the meager sum of 25,000 septims, shook his hand, and thanked him gratefully for his generosity.



It was actually quite tragic, Robbin thought to himself as he sat in Dune's tavern several days later and watched the sandstorm pass. The Garians wanted to believe he was an honest man offering an honest deal so badly that they had imprinted their hopes upon him. He'd hardly had to say a word. Only when they returned to Wayrest would they find the deed invalid--a stolen property signed under a false name.

Robbin let out a contented sigh and gazed out the tavern's window. Sand swirled over the town, dancing a furious jig through empty streets and narrow alleys. He would have to leave soon. No doubt the nobles of Wayrest had sent out agents to capture him in their petty quest for revenge. Robbin pitied them. They were so vain, so absorbed in ancient traditions and hollow statuses, that they hadn't noticed the world passing them by. It was that blissful incompetency which had allowed Robbin to whisk away their wealth from beneath their feet. And they blamed him. The world was truly unjust.

Sipping his milk, he lost himself in the intricacies of the blowing sand. Robbin would have preferred mead, or any alcoholic drink for that matter, but Alistair was a distinguished gentleman who wouldn't be caught dead near the stuff. And Robbin found that if he let his cover slip even the smallest amount it all fell apart. So he remained Alistair, the teatotaling trader.

A sound caught his attention. A Khajiit and a Redguard, occupying adjacent seats at the bar, were glaring each other. The Khajiit had declared something or other about Arkay, causing a commotion which attracted the acute attention of the patrons around them. Robbin had trouble distinguishing Khajiit expressions, but the offending cat seemed rather anxious. The Redguard, however, worried him. She looked both smart and wary, and he had little doubt she would see right through his disguise.

He turned away, vowing to steer clear of the difficulties she could so easily cause for him.

 

[Netherworld]

With every passing minute, the Mer was beginning to regret his decision more and more. You fool! This is indubitably another of those setups that the offspring of Lorkhan find ever so amusing, he scolded himself as he plowed on through the ever increasing howling of the winds. About two weeks ago he'd been contacted by one of the Thalmor spies in Elsweyr, the message appearing authentic and holding all the appropriate seals. Apparently, the Mer had been mistaken in his appraisal of the scroll he had found slid beneath his door on a starless eve. Thinking back, he realized the description of the situation had been much too vague, evasive even, to have been written by a true agent of the Thalmor. You disgrace the Aedra, you fool. Now see how you end up, his inner voice continued ranting as its owner took step after arduous step toward his destination.

Whoever had really written the message must've been well acquainted with the regions of Elsweyr, especially the nature of its climate, to have predicted when such storms would arise and take the foolish Mer with them to Oblivion. A quarter of millennia in this world and still you have learned nothing, was the only prevalent thought inside the Mer's head as he tried to reach the faint structure in the distance before the raging golden grain ground all flesh from his bone.

Not only was his skin constantly assaulted by the eroding sand, the thirst he felt deep in his throat was making it harder and harder to think by the second. How anyone, let alone a fur-covered species could live here, was beyond the Mer. The sun was scorching even through the clouds of dust raised by the winds, and the arid air made his tongue stick to the palate of his mouth, dry and heavy without the liquid his body so desperately craved.

Aedra had apparently not forgotten him completely and he sent a silent prayer to them when he finally stumbled through the doors of Dune. Dune. The city where the supposed traitor of the true faith lies in wait, the Mer thought, making his way cross the deserted streets of the Khajiiti town. He needed water and he needed rest; and despite his apprehension, he pushed open the doors to the first tavern his eyes fell upon. As soon as they closed behind him, the incessant howling in his ears ceased, only to be replaced by the lull of tavern talk. With a few long strides, he was at the counter, eying the bartender with the reserved countenance worth of the Altmeri. "A pitcher of water, if you please," he addressed the child of Lorkhan with a voice far hoarser than he would've liked. When the desired water was placed on the wooden surface, the Mer offered the shiny septims in return and took hold of his treasure.

His eyes roamed about the packed room, searching for a table, when he finally realized how quiet the tavern had become. First he thought people were staring at him – a Mer would be a sight most unusual in Dune of all places – but as the pregnant pause in conversation lengthened and nobody stood up shouting all sorts of insults at him, he was forced to relinquish that theory. After all, he was dressed only in his heavy armor and not wearing any insignia of the Thalmor whom the children of Lorkhan despised so. In its stead, a new hypothesis appeared, forming clear in his head; it was easy to notice that the source of the sudden tension was the curious pair seated at the other end of the counter. One was of the Khajiiti, the other a Redguard, yet both looked like they were ready to pounce. He knew the Redguards were a warrior kin, but a priest of Arkay of all people, should not rile up the living. Deciding that his supposed mission in Dune was likely a hoax, he chose to shed his disguise in favor of resolving a potentially devastating dispute. No-one would like to be forced out of this tavern in weather like today just because of an idiotic brawl, the Mer justified his course of action.

He strode up to the two and asked, in that calm tone of his: "Is there a problem here, good people of Tamriel?" No expression was voiced in his features, no indication of his feelings in his tone of voice. If Eliytres had mastered anything in his long life, it was the mask of complete indifference.

 

[Deadpool.]

A weird dark, Hooded man approched the sandy Village, He had an arrow in then knee and was de-hydrated. He was shouting and screaming for help, He fell to the floor and layed there, His vision blurred and was thinking how am i supposed to complete the contract in this state? he hoped he would be approached, but then in seconds he passed out. (OCC: dont worry this is just me entering, i will write more when i actually get involved in the storyline)

 

[Farthlion]

Faolin tucked away the information about getting a budi, and then turned to watch the rest of the room. Among the many Khajiit merchants (or perhaps just regular Khajiits) were an odd pair, a Redguard and a non-merchant looking cat, being confronted by an Altmer.

Nervous by the tension this standout Khajiit was giving out, she turned away. Not before staring straight at it for a minute or two of course. Faolin was so used to being around nothing but plants. Plants thrived on eye contact (or at least your staring at them), and the Bosmer had adopted the habit of staring blanking. After all, to not stare at a plant's beauty may have insulted it - Faolin would never stoop so low! It was only natural her good manners carried over to more humanoid creatures.

Hopefully I stared long enough to give it a sense of respect, she thought with a nervous glance around the room. Thoughts raced through her head: Her mute friend was still at his table. The three behind her were strange. There were quite a few merchants in this room. Faolin set toward a nearby merchant, initiated eye contacted for several moments, and then began to speak, "I realize you may require me to pay for this information..." she lowered her voice and brought her head in close to whisper in the Khajiit's ear, "Where is the place you cats go to use the bathroom? How does one get there?"

After receiving a strange look, the Bosmer added, "I believe it to be the most plausible place for a plant to have taken up roots," as if it explained everything.

The Khajiit looked at her blankly, "There are no plants here."

A horrified look crossed Faolin's face. Her worse fears were confirmed - no plants until she neared the tropical paradise in the southern part of the province. Without thinking, she sulked toward the bar. Taking up a stool next to the three the she had spotted earlier, the Bosmer leaned her head on the counter in silence. It was as if the world had ended.

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

Relyn Telvayn walked, slowly, through the sandstorm. His hands were held out in front of him, maintaining a barrier around his body to protect himself. Come to Elsweyr, It'll be nice and relaxing. What a joke. The elf thought to himself as he trudged along. Last time I ever take advice from one of those so-called 'professors' from Winterhold. He looked ahead, and thought he could make out the outline of a city. Finally, Dune. It won't be much longer now.

The Dunmer soon reached the city gate, and dispersed his barrier. Two Khajiit guards greeted him. "Hello, traveler mage. Welcome to Dune. If you seek shelter for the evening, I recommend you-" Relyn cut him off. "Let's skip the pleasantries today, cat. Open the damned gates. A master of House Telvanni does not like to be kept waiting." The guard gave him a dirty look, then slowly opened the gates.

As the elf began to walk into the city, he tripped over something and fell face first into the sand. Relyn picked himself up off the ground just in time to see the guard moving his leg away. "Blasted furball. To Oblivion with you!" Now covered with sand, the Dunmer made his way into Dune.

Soon finding his way to the local tavern, Relyn shook most of the sand off before heading inside. Khajiiti taverns were far different from those found in other provinces, but Relyn didn't mind. As long as their bar had some fine wine available, he was set. Brushing his way past a massive Nord, Relyn ordered a glass of wine from the man behind the counter, and surveyed the room.

Besides the giant he had just passed, he spied an Altmer, most likely a Thalmor agent, conversing with a Khajiit and a Redguard. Ignoring them, he looked over at another Khajiit talking with a Bosmer. It seemed they had just finalized a deal of some sort.

After they finished talking, the Bosmer woman got up and left the tavern. His curiosity getting the better of him, Relyn walked over to the table where the Khajiit sat. "Might I ask what you were doing with that Bosmer a few moments ago?"

 

[Leseras]

"Well...I suppose I'll join these apparent heathens in saying that I wish you luck in fulfilling your father's last wish. Although I don't expect them to appreciate you talking about them like that so I'd be a bit more careful about that in the future."

Inwardly, Alsedil crowed victoriously. It seemed that this blasted woman who had been trying to distract him from his objective had finally conceded defeat. He had a gift for that it seemed, detracting pursuers from hunting him down simply by wagging his tongue. Of course his main gift was assassination, but in time he had to come up with a means to get away with said assassinations. His eyes followed the cup, watching as the liquid within trailed off the side and into the mouth of the brunette. Blast! She's taking her time. When will this infernal woman leave? Instead of standing up like he expected her to, she instead leaned further into her chair and started to fiddle with her hair. Suddenly her demeanor changed. It happened so suddenly that even Alsedil was slightly stunned. Previously, it seemed like she had lost, but all of a sudden her body posture indicated victory.

His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her even more. Wha- "I apologize if I've caused you trouble. But you have to admit, you haven't exactly been subtle in your frustrations." The woman tilted her head slightly, gesturing to the place he was resting on. More importantly, the place he had inadvertently burnt up without even noticing! Alsedil's eyes widened in horror. This was not going the way he had planned. The magicka in him flared angrily, coursing through his entire body and threatening to burst out at any second. I NEED A DISTRACTION! He mentally panicked. Not now! Don't lose control now!

His prayers were answered when a hooded figure, decked out in heavy armor, ambled to them calmly. Dramatically, his hand reached up and tore the hood of, revealing the well-groomed face of an Altmer. Alsedil's panic only increased. ANOTHER BLOODY ELF! But wait...the Thalmor are way too snooty to associate with any other races. And while they don't disapprove of necromancy they don't practice it. This man could be of use to me... "Is there a problem here, good people of Tamriel?" His sensitive years perked up at hearing those words. Quick as a flash, he whirled around and stared into the Altmer's eyes pleadingly.

"An Altmer!" He crowed. "An Altmer here of all places! Thank Arkay! I was beginning to think that I would not find a fellow believer in this place. Are you perhaps a fellow mage as well?" Alsedil finished his tirade by pointing his palm upwards. In it, a ball of fire materialized for a second before fading away. Sweeping his hand towards the woman, his face scrunched into a grimace. "This woman seems intent on discriminating against us mages."

 

[Sqeagy]

((I'll use red text for IC dialogue if no one minds))
A strong wind began to stir as Ashley made her way across the harsh desert, causing her hair to flow backwards as she walked. Visiting Elsweyr was the next stop on her travels across Tamriel. She did not expect it to be as hot as it was. "Man this place is amazing. I just wish I brought more water with me. This is the last glass." Ash said, her voice somewhat muffled from the scarf around her face.She lowered the scarf to take a sip of the cold water. Her normal attire, consisting of Tavern Clothes and a pair of leather boots was changed due to the heat. Some kind Khajiit merchants had sold her some robes that would help keep cool during the day, warm during the night, as well as a scarf to protect her face. The merchants lacked a hood that would protect her eyes and hair, so Ash had to get used to the occasional sand being blown in her eyes and hair. "I just wish Isa was here with me. At least I get to have some of my own adventures."

The winds picked up, causing a sand storm to appear. Ashley sighed as she pulled up her scarf and continued, having to shield her eyes as she walked. The desert was a dangerous place during a sandstorm. Ashley tripped on more then her fair share of sand dunes trying to walk straight. Divines help me. Ashley thought as she stood up. Hours passed, feeling like days to the traveling Breton. Beginning to lose hope of finding another village, her prayers were finally answered as she came across a town. Canopies were set up outside the gates, probably to shield the guards from sandstorms. Ashley jogged forward towards the guards. "Hello my friends. May I ask what the name of this town is?" Ashley said, panting due to fatigue. "Welcome. The name of this place is Dune. You best get inside, before the storm gets worse.

Ashley entered the town, not seeing any Khajiit, or anyone else for that matter. "Of course they wouldn't be outside." Ashley said to herself. "There's a bloody sandstorm going on. Maybe I can find a tavern somewhere." The young Breton wandered around for a few minutes, finally finding a tavern. She stepped inside, taking off the scarf around her face and stuffing it in her bag. Ashley walked towards the bartender, a Nord man, and ordered a water. She sat down at nearby table and drank the water, quenching her thirst. Only after she finished the drink did Ash notice the strange assortment of people in the tavern.

 

[Netherworld]

The moment the last syllable left the Mer's lips, the priest of Arkay almost tumbled off his chair in his haste to speak with him. At the verbal assault, the Mer's only response was one thin eyebrow making its way up his forehead slowly, but with a determined certainty. He took a guarded step back when the begging Khajiit pushed his flaming palm a little too close to his fine face for his tastes, and looked at the squirming child of Lorkhan with well concealed disdain. "Us?" he responded dryly, his gaze now shifting to the Redguard in question. "You and I have little in common, Khajiit," his voice was barely above a whisper, but could be heard just as well due to the hushed atmosphere in the crowded room. "And you would do well to remember that before you try to lure me into taking your side in this argument again," still there was no hostility evident in the Mer, save for the warning glint that had appeared in his dark eyes.

Turning his attention to the other culprit, he spoke again: "Is there any truth to his words, Redguard?" he inquired, hoping to tread more carefully with the woman. Her kin were the well-renowned warriors and the only children of Lorkhan that the Mer felt somehow obliged to show deference to. They were the only ones that had the will and the power to drive the Aldmeri from their territories, and while Eliytres resented them for it, they had earned his respect in that war. In any case, he was quite certain that the feeling of mutual contempt was strong in them both, and if he didn't proceed warily, there was a distinct chance of a brawl breaking out anyway; only this time with the Mer to blame. "You seem like a reasonable woman," the dark haired elf continued, his eyes never flinching away from the Redguard's. "Let us settle this dispute with peace in our minds, and we will all leave this aedraforsaken inn content and appeased. More importantly, we will leave it without a scratch," his words were calm, serene even, but his eyes were now projecting the slightest of threats; after the sandstorm earlier that day, the Mer was in no mood for fighting fairly, and that wouldn't bode well for the other two, should they fail to cooperate.

 

[Aerin]

"Let us settle this dispute with peace in our minds, and we will all leave this aedraforsaken inn content and appeased. More importantly, we will leave it without a scratch,"

Looking up at the altmer that addressed them Sionna urged herself to relax. In all truth she, like him, wished to leave this tavern without coming to blows. However she could not have sat idly by while there was a threat nearby, her mother would have been ashamed if she had simply turned her back. "I assure you I was not discriminating against the mage, whilst I do not share a talent for magic I can respect its use, provided it is done so in a controlled way. I only noticed that this gentleman here had nearly set fire to the tavern over by that wall and I was scared he was going to direct his anger towards the couple speaking over there." She placed her tankard down and pointed in the direction of the table that had previously been occupied by the bosmer and khajiit. Standing to her full, and rather unassuming height she smiled and looked up at the altmer. "I was only trying help but as you can see, my meddling has caused its own trouble. I think I shall finish my drink elsewhere so as not to cause any further problems." Lifting her cup the redguard bobbed her head a both men, "Gentlemen."

Without further ado Sionna briskly walked over to a seat which had just been vacated. the threat in the altmer's eyes had struck a chord in the young redguard and she knew that if she stayed any longer she would have risked putting herself into a situation she would be left outmatched in. Taking a long drink she closed her eyes, realising she would need to find a room for the night. The storm still raged on outside and from experience she could tell that it would not settle until the dark of night had fallen.

 

[Netherworld]

He was pleasantly surprised by the Redguard's reaction. Not only was there no hostility or anger whatsoever, she even spoke like a civilized being! Needless to say, Eliytres was more than shocked. In his past encounters with her kin, there wasn't much need for words, but the Altmer simply presumed that savages who go into battle bathed in warpaint and screaming obscenities don't have the capacity to act and speak with composure and grace. What interested the Mer more, however, was the actual content of her words.

"Curious," he turned back to the Khajiit who seemed more strange by the minute. First the barely contained pour of words, than the scorch marks that the Redguard pointed out…The Thalmor, now feeling even more obliged to resolve the persisting issue, addressed the priest. "It is not becoming of a faithful man to go around trying to set taverns afire," he pointed out, his elegant face marred by a slight frown. He was unpleasantly confused by this child of Lorkhan, and he didn't like it when he couldn't understand things. Especially people. Mortals were supposed to be simple beings with basic motives and barbaric drives, not unnecessarily complicated by aedra knew what. "You are a priest of Arkay, Khajiit. You're supposed to tend to the dead, not make more of them. There's enough people already who are doing just that," he smiled wryly and nodded. "But tell me, what brings you here? Belief here is scarce at best and I doubt that Dune has its Hall of the Dead," his voice was kind, but his eyes were searching.

Is it possible that there was some truth to the message? he mused while observing the Khajiit before him. It would be unusual of a heathen to hide in such plain sight. Unusual, but ingenious. The Mer narrowed his eyes, as if trying to bore in the mind of the man before him.