18+ Unpleasant Memories

[Rextoret]

Garrus stepped out of his dilapidated boat, and onto the wooden dock of Gellir's Rest. His long black hair, now tied into a ponytail, bounced as he stepped up. Tiny droplets of moisture and snow from the cold Skyrim air pelted lightly onto his armor which was torn, sliced and burned from years of harsh battle. No longer were there any signs of the Morrowind's Thieves Guild upon the rough black leather. Many heavy weapons clanked together as he walked. A Ebony longsword was in a scabbard upon his hip and multiple iron daggers covered his body, with one in each boot and more hidden away inside his armor. A large steel greatsword went diagonally across his back, then his pack went on, with a Ebony shield tied onto it. Over this was a basic wooden bow, along with it's arrows. The man had abandoned stealth a long while ago. Garrus reached up to his face and ran his callused hand across his chin, feeling the stubble that adorned it. Under his hand, he also felt numerous scars. His eyes were no longer bright, they now drooped and showed no emotion in the pits they were.

Garrus walked down the dock, his boots pounding upon the soft wood. He reached his hand down toward his belt, in a movement obviously well-practiced. He pulled his hip flask off his belt, then opened it and put it to his lips. Tipping his head back, a few drops if whiskey fell down into his throat. Annoyed by the fact that it was now empty, he put it away and began his walk to the local tavern. Many weary eyes seemed to follow him through the town, mystified and slightly scared of the man who seemed like a walking armory. A few people cowered back, afraid that this man of battle would approach them.

Garrus swung the doors of the tavern open, marching loudly over to the bar. Taking a seat at one of the stools, he looked over at the Nord who was serving the counter. "Whiskey. Now." The Nord shot a glare toward Garrus, obviously disapproving of the Imperial's behavior. Garrus shot one back. "I said whiskey. Now. Or are you too stupid to get those small words through your thick skull?" The Nord scowled. "Fine." He slammed down the bottle of whiskey in front of Garrus. "18 septims." Garrus dropped the necessary septims into the Nord's hand. Turning away, Garrus filled up his hip flask with the whiskey. Once the hip flask was filled, he put it away and gulped down the rest of the whiskey straight from the bottle. The alcohol no longer seemed to have much effect on Garrus, or maybe he was just drunk all the time now. It was hard to tell.

Laughter erupted from a nearby table. Garrus sent a look toward the table. A scrawny Breton who sat surrounded by Nords, seemed to be making jokes. "See that guy over there? In the black. He has a ponytail, what a little girl!" The Nords began their laughter, although one remained quiet, obviously aware of the danger Garrus provided. Garrus quickly stood and walked over to the Breton. His weapons loudly banged together as he approached. The man looked slightly horrified. In one quick movement, he grabbed the Breton by his shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. The tavern quieted, many eyes aimed toward the one-sided fight. The man cowered, trying to escape Garrus' grip. He didn't let him. He tightened his grip and began slamming his gloved fist into the Breton's face. He felt the man's nose break under the force of his hits. Blood began to splatter after each of Garrus' hits, sending small droplets onto Garrus' left cheek. He dropped the man, who began to hold his broken nose in a attempt to stop the bleeding. Garrus walked away casually, returning to his stool at the counter. A few of the Nords ran over to the Breton, picking him up and rushing him out. Many of them cast a sour glance toward Garrus. Garrus continued to sit and watch them, not even bothering to wipe the blood off his cheek.

 

[Mesmerize]

"Really, Faridel? Getting into fights again?" The young Jadier reached his hand down to assist his now bloodied comrade. "He started it!" The bloodied Breton accepted his hand, then rose slowly to his feet. "Yeah, he finished it too you little puss." Faridel shot Jadier a look and made his way back to his table where he sat quietly. Jadier stood tall, observing the banged-up Imperial who had assaulted his friend. The Breton didn't care. If his friend can't defend himself, then that's his problem. He walked towards the Imperial, just wanting an introduction.

Jadier felt like he would be able to defend himself against this man if he tried anything. Though he is in armor, while Jadier is wearing only his belted tunic and boots. The Breton left all of his combat gear locked in the chest in his room. He likes being comfortable when with friends. Jadier made his way across the bar. His short hair sticking up, just how he likes it. His green eyes shining bright with youth, and his slightly gapped teeth showing with his smirk. Jadier sat on the stool by the Imperial. "Hey Dagnir, gimme a bottle of whiskey, will ya?" The Nord nodded and made his way to grab a bottle. Jadier glanced at the pissed-off Imperial beside him. "Get another one for the Imperial too. My treat."

Dagnir placed the two bottles of whiskey on the counter. "36 septims, Jadier." The Breton slid the septims across the counter towards the bartender, who nodded in thanks. Jadier turned to the Imperial. "You know, that guy you beat the plops out of was a friend of mine. Don't be surprised if he comes gunning for ya later." Jadier took a sip of whiskey and set it back down on the counter, coughing. "Dammit I keep forgetting I hate whiskey." He spits on the ground then returns his attention to the man beside him. "Name's Jadier. And you are..?"

 

[Rextoret]

"Name's Jadier. And you are..?" Garrus looked with a bored gaze at the boy. He reached over and grabbed the bottle of whiskey that the boy had bought for him. Taking a chug, he turned and stared down the boy. Garrus was now 29 and in the best shape of his life. He knew without a doubt he could pummel this boy to a mush if he wished. But perhaps he'd give the boy a chance to retreat before he truly angered Garrus. "Piss off. I'm not here to make friends. Stay here any longer and I'll add a lot more gaps to your teeth. "

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

Relyn Telvayn was nearly dead. As he had suspected, the curse which removed his magic had also made him age rapidly. In the two years that had passed since he had been cursed, his body had slowly deteriorated. The Dunmer who was once young and strong was now bedridden and barely able to speak. He was lucky he had found a good apprentice to take care of him.

The boy had potential, and Relyn regretted that he was unable to teach him much. Still, Eldric had kept him alive these past few weeks, and for that, he was eternally grateful. Relyn leaned over and pressed a button on the side of his bed. A bell chime rang through the lab, and within a few moments Eldric was there.

"Yes, Master Telvayn? What is it you need?" Relyn gave a weak smile. "Just an update, my dear boy. I wish to know how long I have left." The Nord boy consulted a scroll, and gave his master a grim look. "An hour or so. Just long enough for you to meet the guests."

"Good, I'll get to see them one last time." He nodded at boy. "That is all I required. Go and prepare for their arrival." Eldric bowed, and scurried downstairs. The Nord had enthusiasm for his job, even if it was simply that of a butler these days. Relyn felt sad for him. He knew Eldric had searched far and wide for a wizard who was willing to apprentice him. After Relyn was gone, there might not be anyone in Skyrim willing to teach the lad.

The Dunmer's thoughts wandered, until eventually they ended up where they always did: his old companions. He had sent out a letter to the majority of them, intentionally excluding Garrus. He was eager to see the rest of them again, but he carried a heavy disdain for the Imperial thief after he had broken Elsa's heart.

Before Relyn could continue to reminisce, however, there was a knock at the door.

 

[Mesmerize]

"Piss off. I'm not here to make friends. Stay here any longer and I'll add a lot more gaps to your teeth." Jadier looked at the Imperial with a surprised look then licked his teeth. "Hmm. Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of their mother this morning." The Breton snatched the whiskey bottle the Imperial had sipped out of. "You can have this back when you behave." His southern accent mixed with his deep voice was usually a big signal to back off to most people. But not the Imperial. Jadier then turned and faced forward, occasionally glancing at the Imperial. This was a man suited in heavy armor and older, which means more experience. A fight would probably end with Jadier losing, but he had his friends at the tavern. The Imperial didn't. The Breton looked back at his comrades. They nodded their heads at him, signaling they were ready to go. Jadier returned a nod then faced forward once again.

 

[Rextoret]

Garrus had used the moment that Jadier looked away to seize control. Quickly taking a dagger from his boot, he whipped it up and pressed the tip against the boy's neck. With his left hand, he took the bottle back and took another gulp. Placing it down on the counter, out of reach of the boy, he turned back to him. "How about you walk away, and maybe you won't have a gap in your neck." Keeping the knife pressed against the boy's skin, he rested his other hand on his sword's hilt. "You'd better go back to your friends, boy. I'd really hate to bloody my sword on you and your buddies." Garrus was unafraid of breaking the law. He no longer had any connection to anything but himself, and a prison stay would result in some free time to exercise.

 

[Aerin]

The bread tasted about as stale as the air that surrounded her. The man sat beside her continued to drone on but Elsa had stopped paying attention a long time ago. She'd only wanted to stop briefly in order to find something to eat and drink but it seemed her hopes of a quiet afternoon were dashed. Tapping her fingers impatiently against the wood of the table the thief eventually lost all patience and levelled her unwanted drinking buddy with a cool glare.

"That's nice and all but best to save your stories for a girl who actually cares. If you'll excuse me." Standing up quickly she pushed past the people who didn't have the sense to move out of her way. A few years before she may have been more friendly towards the drunk but these days she was a lot less forgiving. Freckles dotted her skin from days of travelling under the harsh sun, her scars standing out against the soft tan.

"You'd better go back to your friends, boy. I'd really hate to bloody my sword on you and your buddies."

Reaching the bar to order herself another drink Elsa's words caught in her throat. Gripping onto the counter Elsa looked over her shoulder and saw an imperial man, tired and drunk by the looks of it. Something about him seemed familiar, but she swore she must have been mistaken. As it was he seemed to be busy threatening some breton who looked like he'd never seen a proper fight. The imperial held himself like he had once commanded power and respect, he was reckless, still dangerous, and looking increasingly ready to sink his dagger into the young would-be knight.

Sighing Elsa was sorely tempted to let the kid defend himself but something about the conflict called to her sense of mercy, or what little she seemed to have left. Stepping forward she folded her arms irritably and looked both men square in the eyes. "Is this going to be a problem?, because some people are just trying to have a quiet drink and we can't do that while you two compare sizes." Turning from the breton to the imperial Elsa's ire shuddered to a halt. Something about him was far too familiar. Memories of Tear clawed at her mind and Elsa felt her breathing speed up, her jaw clenching as she tried to stay calm.

Of all the taverns, in all the holds. She just had to find him here.

 

[Rextoret]

"Is this going to be a problem? Because some people are just trying to have a quiet drink and we can't do that while you two compare sizes." Garrus looked the Nord woman in the eyes whilst making sure the blade remained pressed to the boy's throat. "Elsa! Surprise, surprise! I was nearly positive the next time I saw you would be in a local brothel. I suppose I should be glad that's not the case." He looked Elsa up and down. "You've... matured."

 

[Farthlion]

Have a drink for the fallen,
Go fill your cup with mead to the brim.
Raise that drink in your hand to those who have changed,
The results vary, but differences all the same.
If there is still enough mead left, here is to the heartbroken,
If love be so great, why does it hurt?
Empty or not, raise your pint to those we remember,
For they are gone but not forgotten.

Poetry kept the bard rooted in place. Without it, he probably would have become lost long ago. When he had returned to Solitude, the feeling of being stationary felt completely and utterly wrong. The temptation and knowledge that so much was out there struck him within the first week of his return. The nights Farth spent meeting friendly strangers, the great sights he set his eyes upon, and the memories - the good, bad, and just plain confusing drove him to begin his wandering.

He still wasn't much of a warrior. Although he had been traveling alone most of the time since he left the docks of Tear, he had a knack for avoiding trouble, and it definitely helped him out. Or at least the thieves and bandits were too intimidated by his muscular appearance, worn armor, and confident look upon his face when he strode down a main road.

The nights filled with rounds of mead clouded his memory. He wasn't exactly sure how long ago that Relyn's message had been delivered to him via courier. The fact that the man had found him was beyond him; he never cared to share his name to strangers, nor was he ever in the same place. It was a calm afternoon, at an inn in Markarth that the man found Farth, drunk beyond comprehension. When he had awoken, he remembered subtle memories of the man handing him the letter while the bard just laughed loudly. He remembered staring at the words on the paper, but they seemed like some strange and foreign script. It was in the morning that he finally read it. For once, he had a destination in his wandering.

The bard was nearing the place - he had now entered Gellir's Rest. Originally he had planned to head to the lab right away, but upon taking a sip from his flask, he realized it was empty. The thought of being without supplemental alcohol was a terrible idea to the bard, so he immediately headed to the nearest tavern.

He entered and immediately went to the bar, his swords and armor making their trademark clanking. The Nord who was the host of the fine establishment gave him an annoyed look. Like he had already dealt with his fair share of drunks. Farth just smiled, "Can you fill... this up?" he stumbled through the simple sentence as he held out his flask, "Just a bit of mead - I sure gotta be sure I get drunk today - I mean not get drunk today, so only this!"

The man obliged, and while he was filling the flask, Farth turned his lazy eyes to look upon the tavern. An angry man was drawing quite a bit of attention - his words directed at a young Breton. Not taking the time to think, he drunkenly sauntered over to the man. As he slowly made his way over, a woman - a very, very familiar looking one - seemed to have summed up the courage to interrupt the scene.

The cogs in the bard's mind turned slowly. He knew her. He did. He had to have. Then it dawned upon him - the woman was Elsa! Excitement overtook his thoughts and the bard immediately came to a conclusion. The man she was arguing with must have her boyfriend! Of course! It was the only logical answer (in Farth's mind). The way the man seemed to be looking at her, and the way she seemed to be so angry. Obviously he had gotten a tad drunk, and she was not very happy. But, he proudly thought, I will lighten the moment!

Barely containing himself, he extended each of his long arms and grasped both of them on the shoulder. "Congrats to the happy couple!"

 

[Aerin]

"Elsa! Surprise, surprise! I was nearly positive the next time I saw you would be in a local brothel. I suppose I should be glad that's not the case. You've... matured."

Biting her tongue Elsa could hardly believe Garrus had fallen so far. The man she had known, the man she had loved was nothing like the shadow sat before her. She was torn between slapping him or stabbing him, though both options would bring her endless satisfaction, both would also get her kicked out of the tavern and she still had unfinished business. "Garrus. I'd say it's nice to see you again but, well, look at you." Sneering at Garrus Elsa could hardly believe it. The charming and enigmatic thief she had known was no more than a drunk and a thug. It was a pathetic sight, though it did make the thief feel better about how her own life had panned out.

Any further remarks died in her mouth as she felt a large hand land on her shoulder, her instincts taking over as she quickly unsheathed her dagger and rested it against the strangers stomach. Looking up she was surprised to see Farth of all people beaming down at her with glazed eyes. Oh no Farth, not you as well.

"Congrats to the happy couple!"

"Couple? I'd rather die. Farth...I didn't expect to see you here as well. I take it Relyn invited you as well?" There is was, the real reason Elsa was in this stinking pit. Another dying friend, only this time it was Relyn, grumpy, crotchety Relyn. Elsa still had the dragon tucked away safely with her things. She had spent hours on the journey back to Cyrodiil tinkering away at the gift. It had been her distraction from the mess she'd left back in Tear. And now age was finally catching up with him. The summons to say their final goodbyes had caught Elsa off guard, but she'd left to travel to his home as soon as she'd put the letter down. But now here she was, faced with two ghosts from her past, both drunk and able to cause her heartache even after so much time had passed.

 

[Farthlion]

"Elsa!" Farth loomed over her, unsteady on his feet. He was overjoyed to see her, and it was quite obvious that he was unaware of her not feeling the same say. He turned to the man.... who his old friend identified as Garrus. "Garrus?" he narrowed his eyes and took a drunk step toward his former friend.

The Nord behind the bar had finished his request and rushed over, handing the large Redguard his flask. Farth smiled gratefully and took a swig of the contents before continuing. "I don't know who you think you are... but... why the hell did Relyn invite you?" he prodded the man's chest with a large finger. It wasn't like him to meddle in others' affairs, but he was drunk, not thinking clearly, and felt as if the two had some unfinished business. Drunk Farth was impulsive and did not think before speaking.

 

[Ponder]

"Let's get you home, before you embarrass her."

Bright lights danced joyously in Jesper's vision, swimming through a sea of smiling faces. Laughter and praise washed through the air, individual voices flowing together in an unintelligible roar that crashed against his hearing. He tripped forward as a congratulatory hand slammed into his back, nearly dropping his precious drink before a giant arm caught him mid-fall.

Falbjorn looked down at him. "You're drunk," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Far too drunk for a night like this."

"M'not drunk," Jesper protested as he was effortlessly carried through the tavern doors, but Falbjorn's grip was steel. "S'everyone else. They're drunk. The world's drunk." He paused, and Falbjorn set him down. Light spilled into the dark square, casting long shadows. Falbjorn kindly guided the swaying Jesper past the Great Oak, away from the raucous tavern. "An' they should be. She said yes!" Jesper smiled blissfully.

Falbjorn laughed. "And we're all proud of you for asking. But you've a ceremony to plan and a dowry to pay. Marriage is no easy thing." The towering man stroked his beard. Their irregular footsteps echoed through the night. Finally, he spoke. "Have you told Father yet?"

"Tha I'm marryin' 'n Elf?" Jesper scoffed. "He wou' murder me."

"Linyra's a good girl. Father would be proud."

"Hah!"

"Just... think about it." Jesper felt his feet scrape against wooden flooring, stumbling as his brother dragged him into their home. He was manhandled up stairs and through doors before being unceremoniously dropped into bed. "You wouldn't want Father finding out from someone else." Falbjorn shut the door, leaving Jesper in merciful silence. Shortly, he began to snore.

After several quiet minutes, a window creaked open. Moonlight streamed through the opening, bouncing off walls and bed, lending pale illumination to the small room. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the light disappeared, blocked by the shrouded figure that had pulled itself through the window and perched precariously on the stone sill. Its head turned slowly, carefully scanning the room for any sign of danger. Then, it elegantly stepped down. Or, attempted to. About halfway down, it lost its footing, and flailed desperately before tumbling to the floor. A muffled curse emanated from the shroud.

The figure lay still for a moment, and then pushed itself up. After brushing itself off, it snuck towards Jesper's recumbent form, not with the inconspicuous movements of a practiced thief but with the large, exaggerated steps of someone who only thinks they know how thieves move. Standing menacingly over the sleeping man, it rose an arm.

Jesper stirred, and his eyes snapped open. "Wha-"

Whump.

-----------------------------------------​

​

People were turning out to be surprisingly complicated.​

​

Pilus hadn't bothered with the enigma of immortality. What was the point? Inevitable death was, well... inevitable. What concerned him far more was the race to the finish, as it were. If he had one life, one brief moment of true existence in eternity, why should he have to spend it as him?​

​

Pilus grunted as he pushed open the door to Grandmother's cottage. Morning light filled the the crowded interior, illuminating the jars that lined the wall, containing various organs which bobbed in miscellaneous liquids. Papers were strewn across the floor; two years of research that had brought him no closer to his ultimate goal.​

​

The weight of his unconscious subject bore down on him, but two years of spiriting away unwary bodies had given Pilus a meager strength he'd never before had, and he managed to carry the snoring man to the wooden operating table. Clearing the table of the precise instruments of torture he'd used to map focal points of pain, he began to tie the man down with leather straps. It was then that he noticed the tidy, unassuming envelop sitting on his desk. Dropping the straps, he cautiously grabbed the envelop between two fingers, holding it away from his face in case of nefarious intent.​

​

Nothing happened.​

​

His curiosity overwhelmed him. Using his surgical knife, he cut the envelop open, and peered at the letter inside, reading its contents with growing suspicion.​

​

Relyn was sick. Dying even, as Pilus knew he eventually would. Pilus was hesitant to abandon his research, but if anyone could appreciate how far he'd come, it would be Relyn. Gathering his notes, Pilus began to pack for the long journey. Several hours later, with a fresh face and a carefully trimmed beard, Pilus set out. He'd debated whether or not to let the captured man go, but eventually decided leaving him strapped to the table was the safest course of action. For Pilus, at least.​

​

As the sun beat against his face, he had a nagging suspicion he knew who else would answer Relyn's call.​

​

​

 

[Mesmerize]

Jadier was just about to signal for his pals to take the Imperial out, but he stopped when a Nord woman approached them. "Well well well. We having a bit of a reunion here?" Jadier just watched as the Imperial and Nord talked to each other. Clearly they are old friends. An old couple maybe?

Then came a third. A drunk Redguard. He made things much more awkward for the two. "I don't know who you think you are... but... why the hell did Relyn invite you?" Jadier, not knowing what in Oblivion is happening, just decided it wouldn't hurt to be nosey. "Don't mind me, I'm just a teenage Breton. But is this 'Relyn' throwing a party or something?" Jadier took a sip of his whiskey and started gagging again. "Dammit I need to stop drinking this trash." He slid the bottle to the Imperial. "Enjoy." Then turned his attention to the barkeeper. "Dagnir, how about some beer?" The Nord nodded his head and gave Jadier his drink. He took a sip of it, then set it on the counter, much more satisfied.

 

[Rextoret]

"Couple? I'd rather die." "I don't know who you think you are... but... why the hell did Relyn invite you?" Garrus felt the Redguard's finger poke his chest. "Elsa, screw you. We'll talk later." He stood and turned to the Redguard. "And I've got more than a few words for you, friend. Your annoying bullplops pisses me off!" He grabbed the Redguard's finger and bent it harshly to the side.

Taking advantage of the momentary pause, he tackled Farth. The two fell to the floor, with Garrus taking lead of the fight. He hoped that the surprise might give him a advantage, even though he knew he didn't need one. The Redguard might have been naturally larger, but Garrus doubted he had spent the last 2 years fighting and training. Garrus aimed a strong punch to Farth's left side, which was exposed. Assuming the punch connected, he would scramble up and make use of a nearby table and it's coverings to aid him in the fight.

 

[Farthlion]

The pain in his finger didn't register until seconds later, and unfortunately it was too late for the Redguard - Garrus had tackled Farth to the ground. A large thud was heard throughout the tavern as he hit the ground. By now Farth had realized the man was picking a fight with him, but his intoxicated state seemed to give him an even tougher time than usual to figure out how to defend himself.

A swift punch connected with his side, the thick scales in his armor helping to absorb some of the impact. Farth clutched his side in response to the attack. Garrus had hit him very hard - this would easily bruise. It took him several moments to realize the Imperial was no longer attacking him, and was now standing near a table. Farth stood up, straining at the pain. He clenched his jaw and stared at Garrus before blindly throwing a strong punch at the man.

He paid no mind to the panicking Nord behind the counter. The Redguard was hellbent and determined to fight Garrus... for reasons that only seemed logical in his drunken head. It didn't occur to him that Garrus was a much, much better fighter than he. As he blindly threw his punch, all that ran through his head was pure instinct.

 

[Aerin]

"And I've got more than a few words for you, friend. Your annoying bullpl*** pisses me off!"

As Garrus fell forward to land a punch Elsa was forced to take a step back and she resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands. Of course she would be reunited with these two like this, and of course it would dissolve into a fight. While it took Farth a little longer to respond to what was happening he seemed to eventually register the hit and began to retaliate.

As the pair continued to brawl Elsa rested an elbow against the counter, shooting a friendly smile to the nord behind the counter in a bid to help calm him down.

"Are these two with you?"

Laughing Elsa looked over to the pair once more. "I think so. Say, could you get me some local mead? I'll get these two out of your tavern but a drink would be lovely." Giving the keeper something to do Elsa remained quite relaxed while she waited for her drink. She looked over to the breton who had been at the pointy end of Garrus' dagger earlier and struck up a conversation. "To answer your question kid, this Relyn is not throwing a party, and frankly if he was I don't think you'd be welcome. So what did you do exactly to piss off Garrus. Not that I expect it would take much mind you." Dagnir returned with her mead and slipping a few coins over to him she returned her gaze to Garrus and Farth. "You know, we do have places to be so if you could wrap it up that'd be fantastic." She hardly expected to garner any kind of reaction but se felt bad for Dagnir. At least if she made some effort it might tide her over until she'd finished her drink.

 

[Mesmerize]

"To answer your question kid, this Relyn is not throwing a party, and frankly if he was I don't think you'd be welcome. So what did you do exactly to piss off Garrus. Not that I expect it would take much mind you."

Jadier gave a little chuckle and sort of shrugged his shoulders. "I had figured as much. Your group doesn't seem like the partying type." He looked at the two fighters. Both drunk. Both clumsy. "And as for pissing off the Imperial. Well, he assaulted my friend, so I bought him a drink. I know, I know, it's a little unorthodox to buy a drink for someone who beat up your friend. Well, he was rude, so I took the drink back."

Jadier, without looking, grabbed the first bottle his hands could find and took a sip. "Dammit! This always happens!" The Breton spit the bitter liquid out and onto the ground, then threw the bottle, shattering it against the nearest wall. He looked at the confused Nord. "Sorry. I don't like whiskey."

"So how does a pretty woman such as yourself come across two drunks? Old friends maybe?" Jadier observed the woman head to toe. She was a good five, maybe six, years older than he was, the scar on her left cheek showed that she wasn't someone who should be taken lightly, and she had long brown hair which sat oh-so elegantly on her shoulders. "By the way. I'm a sucker for green eyes." He gave a playful little wink, sipped his beer, then returned his attention to the fighters.

 

[Aerin]

"By the way. I'm a sucker for green eyes."

Really? Rolling her eyes Elsa smiled into her drink. "You and everyone else kid. Oh come on you idiots! We need to go soon or he'll be dead before we get there." Placing down her tankard the thief shook her head at the sloppy fight. "Well, the big guy there, we met years and years ago back in Falkreath. In those days he was an innocent bard and I was a wide-eyed vagrant. He was like a brother to me but...times change I guess. Garrus, the one who was going to slit your throat, we met through the death of a mutual friend. He's...complicated."

Downing the rest of her mead Elsa sighed and folded her arms across her stomach, tapping her foot impatiently as Farth and Garrus continued. Really there was nothing stopping her from leaving them behind and going to Relyn's mysterious lab by herself. It was only a fading sense of obligation to old friends that had her hanging around talking to some cocksure teenager of all things. Laughing a little bitterly to herself Elsa stood up and turned to the breton. "Well, it was lovely talking with you but I've got somewhere to be. Dagnir, if they break anything of yours let me know and I'll pay for damages." Grinning at the pair Elsa calmly stepped over a fallen chair and walked past Farth and Garrus. The right thing to do would be to break up the fight, but Elsa was beyond caring right now. She hadn't parted on good terms with either man and frankly she didn't have the time or the effort to pick them up and dust them off right now. At the moment, Relyn was her priority.

Checking the letter once more Elsa found herself in front of a rather impressive looking building. She grinned despite herself, Relyn always did have a sense of style and grandeur about him, and of course his laboratory would meet his lofty requirements. "Only the best for a Telvanni Master my dear." Okay, so her Relyn impression was a tad rusty, but it had been quite some time since she'd spoken with him. Walking over to the main doors Elsa rapped her knuckles against the wood and waited for a response, hoping that she had made it in time to say goodbye.

 

[Ponder]

Following Relyn's vague directions, Pilus had found himself at the cramped entrance of an unassuming shack. It lacked the extravagance he associated with the Telvanni lord, but Pilus found the humbleness of the abode pleasantly surprising. He'd been even more surprised when he discovered that the shack was not, in fact, Relyn's.

His eye still hurt where the fist had connected with his face.

This building fit Relyn's arrogant style. It loomed, not with size but with it's sheer presence. Pillars lined the facade, covered with bas-relief carvings which stood out against the stone. The art, like its master, had faded with time, but Pilus could discern the once elegant work of a practiced craftsman.

A figure stood between the two massive pillars which flanked the entrance. There was something achingly familiar in the way opulent brown air tumbled down it's back; something familiar in the way it stood with cocked hips, its foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the cobbled entrance.

Pilus nervously approached from behind. "Er... hello. I'm Pilus. Are you here to see Relyn too?" Pilus paused, considering the apparent stupidity of his question. "I mean, of course you are. Because this is his lab. I hope. This is his lab, right? Only, the last one wasn't, and I already healed my eye once today."

 

[Aerin]

If he hadn't announced himself Elsa doubted she would have recognised Pilus. He'd bulked out over the years, only slightly but it was enough that the change was noticeable. There was also a new beard but Elsa wasn't entirely sure about that particular change. Regardless, it was good to see the bizarre healer again, even if it was under such upsetting circumstances.

"Pilus! Divines it's good to see you again." Kicking off the pillar she had been leaning against Elsa wrapped her arms around Pilus in a warm hug, hoping to Talos he was as well as he looked. If she had to find out another friend had lost their way she wasn't sure she'd be able to hold it together. Stepping back Elsa smiled, her hands resting on the imperial's shoulders. "How have you been? You look well."