(OPEN)- Reaching Horizons

[Geel-Kajin]

-----Reaching Horizons-------


A shadow has swept across the lands, plaguing Tamriel with it's withering presence. Be you man, mer, beast or other, you have felt this crippling disease, this great malady. A disease that has swept across the cold tundras of Skyrim, the humid bogs of the Black marsh and the ashen wastelands of Morrowind.

The disease of war.

The time to carry arms has come, to rally together under the call of war drums. For if we must succumb to this disease, let it be for a noble cause of protecting our homeland. However, as the flag of the Ebonheart Pact rises to the skies, so does two other equally ambitious rivals. This is a time of peril and strife, a spiraling descent to a dystopian world.

There is no place for weakness in a realm of fear and desperation, where any slip is a mistake leading to destruction. The Ebonheart Pact's true weakness is not in this war of factions and daedra. It is in itself. Brother plots against brother, and wide is this gap between our races. As a soon-to-be member of the Striders, your job is to remove this weakness, joining your fellow Guild mates in combating this mutiny. Together, we work for the greater good- Unified strength behind the belief we all share.

So let us rise as one under our Guild and Pact, to work towards what none dare work for.
Prominent is our Fire.

[Geel-Kajin]

The streets wound like a serpent in the ruined town of Thorn, their coils twisting and turning, weaving and crossing in an endless maze of the black and damp. It was only under the glow of Itan's torch that the wet paving stones were bathed a dirty amber, revealing the unthinkable filth and grime they concealed. Other than the guidance of his torch, there was no other source of light or heat, warmth nor security here. This was one of the border towns between the Pact's individual territories, of which had held host to countless uprisings, intrusions and invasions.

Times were hard for everyone in Thorn. There was no respite in war, merely suffering, death and decay. As Itan wandered the streets, he caught sight of sickly thin men, begging for cash. He saw mutts lying in the sidewalks, their dying voice merely a thin growl. He saw young children, staring blank-faced through the windows. Then he thought back, and wondered how many of these men he had met long ago, only as workers, bakers or shopkeepers? How many of these dogs had he met upon his first visit, only as the family's treasured pet? And how many of these children had he seen before, but as babies cradled in their mother's gentle care? The further he thought, the sadder he became; The sadder he became, the deeper he thought. Then came the point where he could withstand no more of his worry and fear, and forced himself back to the shallows. Back to the positives of the situation.

For it was in this town that Itan would find them. The salvation of the Pact. As grindstones scraped their rusted blades and bricks grew new layers of gray or green, new lights had appeared for the Pact in this town. So Itan, his service to the movement, was sent to scour the city and sniff them out like a bloodhound. None could afford these last lights to vanish once again.

Who were these people, he wondered. He could not help but contemplate about these individuals as he picked his way gingerly through the street muck. Were they brave and bold, knights in shining armor? Were they the promising individuals the Pact leaders had made them to be? Sidestepping a particularly foul and unrecognizable pool of water, Itan found himself doubtful once again.

The flames began to dim in the terrible fog, sputtering and spitting like an old man in his death throes. Fortunately, a quick glance at the sign ahead told Itan he had reached his destination. He put the torch out of it's misery, snubbing the flame on the street paving. Letting it wheeze away the last smoke of it's existence, the argonian took a moment to appreciate that he had finally reached the rendezvous- the town inn. He had tracked these men, day and night, til at last he had caught up. The time had come to at last meet them, these people shrouded by rumor or mere sighting. Itan opened the door.

[Darth Meeb]

It was a cool and foggy night in the port city of Thorn as a lone Dunmer man, wearing crude netch leather armor and a black cloak, made his way through the streets of the border city.  As Drayle walked, his black hood pulled over his head to shield his face from the wind, he looked around at the poverty all around him and sighed.  The East of Tamriel had fallen on hard times in the past few years, mostly from the constant Waring between the Nords, Argonians, and his own people.  He hoped this Ebonheart Pack would help the three provinces sort out their differences and regain what had been lost in the times of strife.  For now all they could do was hope, and trust in the wisdom of the Tribunal.

As he passed down a particularly filthy alleyway he thought of the drastic contrast between this city and his home, Sadrith Mora.  The Architectural styles were very different, then again the Telvanni's towers were some of the most unique buildings in all of Nirn!  It wasn't just the buildings though, Sadrith Mora was always bustling with people, commoners and apprentices doing chores for the elder wizards.  The city of Thorn was just... dead.  All the people seemed to be shut up in their houses, afraid to come out.  Drayle hoped he could provide some aid for the people of this city, although he would have to be careful as it was technically in Argonia.  

Finally, after walking through the dark for many minutes, he spotted a small patch of light before him.  It was an inn, the only building around that seemed to still have some life in it.  "Everyones looking to drown their sorrows it seems,"  Drayle murmured to himself, giving a humorless chuckle.  He hoisted his iron shield up over his shoulder and made sure his sword was still at his side before opening the door to the Inn's common room.

It was indeed a very crowded place, dominated mostly by Argonians, although he did see a few Humans and Dunmer mixed among the lizardfolk.  Moving his way through the crowd he took a seat at the bar as he pulled back his hood to reveal a dark skinned face and gleaming red eyes.  Smiling to the Bartender, a Older looking Argonian, he said, "I'll have a glass of Sujamma please."  The man wordlessly slapped down a mug of the strong Dunmer drink before him, and he passed a few coins over the counter.  As he drank, he looked about the Inn for something remotely interesting.

[Google]

Cold, yet warm. Like the final goodbye from a close friend, only drinkable. As I relaxed in a rotten chair in the corner of this hellhole of a tavern, partially camouflaged in the shadows by my black robes, I remembered the numerous times I had to hear goodbye from someone close as I drowned myself in alcohol. I had hoped the drinks would have made me forget them, but seven bottles in and I remember them more clearly than ever. I sighed as I consumed the last of the beer in my hands and tossed it aside.

Much has changed since I last heard those goodbyes, yet I still feel the guilt of being unable to prevent those goodbyes. If I could have done something to prevent them, I would have. But I didn't, and now they are gone. My parents. My friends. My comrades. My love...

A single tear manifested in my eyes. I lost so much, I've endured so much, and have gained nothing but sorrow and pain.

The bartender, a old Nord with thinning hair and blind in his left eye, came up to my corner and offered me another drink. I waved him away. "I think I've had my last drink for the day, my friend."

The bartender gave me a worried look, as he noted the saddened tone in my voice, but nodded in understanding as he walked away.

In my left pocket, I pulled out a picture and held it up to my face just close enough so that my drunken sight could make it out clearly. The picture was put together by a friend of mine in the Dark Rangers. It had me in my Ranger uniform in the middle, with my left arm resting my father's shoulders, and my right arm resting lovingly on the shoulders of the argonian girl of my dreams. Both of them are dead now. Both of them could have been saved if I had done something, but I didn't. How could I? How was I to know that they would die, how and when they would be killed. It was as unavoidable as my mother dying in childbirth.

And yet... i feel that if I accepted that truth, I would descend into madness. Like the pain and sadness that comes from my guilt over those who I have lost is the only thing driving me to do good. Or maybe by thinking like this I drive myself into self-inflicted misery that has only lead me to taverns and beer bottles.

I smiled as tears poured slowly down my face and put the picture back into my pocket. I promised her that we would one day, after we where finished fighting, start a small farm in one of those nice open patches of land in Skyrim. My father gave me the idea, as he had been a farmers hand in one of the farms near Whiterun. It sounded so perfect...

A hand touched my shoulder, which shocked me out of my saddened state of mind and made me return to reality. I quickly looked up, gazing at the robed, and hooded, stranger before me. "You should prepare. The guild master should arrive shortly."

I nodded to him to confirm that I understood. "I see. Do not fear, I am prepared. Just... remembering old times. It is not going to affect my behavior."

The hooded figure, without saying anything or even confirming that he heard me, walked out of the tavern. I brushed aside the remains of the tears from my face and kept an eye out for the guild master and the gathering that would undoubtedly follow.

[OnlyAhaark]

A cold damp breeze passed through the trees. A lone argonian sat on one of the larger branches, near the top shrouded only by the cloak he wore, and the darkness of the. The tree held memories, just blurs for Ahaark was but a hatchling when it had happend, but this was the farthest thing from his mind as he dropped from branch to branch soon landing gracefully in the ground. It was time

As he landed, he took the messenger bag from his waist and took out his favorite food, chaurus abdomen, he'd fought hard for it, but he didnt intend to eat it, it was his favorite because of his uncle, as he stared at the substance it made him sad. His uncle the Kajiit chaurus owner, who had saved his life from sacrifice by a nord cultist group. Given they weren't related, Ahaark loved him as a son loves his father.

Father....the word went trough Ahaark's mind as a frown came upon his face. "my father,the one who sold me to an imperial for skookma and women". Ahaark reached back into the bag and took out some chaurus scale arrows his uncle had made for hunting. "If only the cat could have hit that charus before it dug into him" the arrows had value to Ahaark, but they had to go, Ahaark needed to eat, he planned to sell them as they were of great rarity.

Ahaark pushed the arrow through the chaurus meat, as he did so he felt no better than when he'd killed it to avenge his uncle. He took the kabobed meat and stabbed it into the tree, Ahaark smiled. "A suiting tribute to the old furry ba*****" he mutterd. He sprinkled some chopped death bell in a circle around the tree. He looked at his work, satisfied , as he treaded back to his home, a small hut by a pond just outside of Gideon, as he neared his home, he saw his practice targets, the heads of the Nordic cultists that tried to kill him, sewn to conventional human shaped targets.

He enterd his home and threw his bag in the corner, he intended to get some target practice in before the sun rose, he walked towards the table he had his bow on, as he removed the hood he'd gotten from Suran, his red guard friend from the hold of skyrim, Ahaark heard the doors of his wardrobe creak open He'd turned to find a shadowy figure, wearing a set of fancy black robes and a cowl that left his face completly dark, Ahaark met the strangers gaze by reaching for his daggers suspended at his waist, the figure spoke in a voice that made him sound argonian,the figure lowerd his cowl and Ahaark saw a sad scaly face, "the guild calls to you." He threw a note in Ahaark's direction and walked twards the door, Ahaark snatched his bow,drew a single arrow and aimed for the argonians head, "I'm sorry egg brother" Ahaark whisperd as he let the arrow fly....

[Geel-Kajin]

The tavern door opened, issuing Itan the foul smell and humidity of within. It was a mess indeed- Beneath the rat-bitten animal heads that lined the walls, the fireplace choked upon the twice-burnt coal and the windows wept cold trails of condensation that streaked down the windowpanes. The people inside were no better than the furniture. They even seemed more lifeless than the room itself, not stirring even to the presence of coal nor the gust of chilly wind. The men, back from their day of work and worry, lay slumped like unruly sacks of Wickwheat.

Resisting the urge to cover his nose at the overall scene, he braved the stench of rotting Kwama eggs and the heat from the dozen warm bodies that resided within to get to his goal. It was unbearable and horrid, but he would have to appear dignified for the sake of his mission.

However, as he walked in, he felt it; the subtle movement, the shifting of the eyes. A fraction of a second later, Itan felt the piercing knives of predatory eyes upon his back, the rise in tension among the tavern dwellers as they bore their scowls to turn to his direction. The cold daggers, the heated glowers, they tore at him with a certain viciousness. It was the aggression of a beast that had awakened to opportunity- A beast that had sensed the weakness of foreign prey.

Shaken by the sudden motion, he knew what it was that they, these animals turned men, had sensed. The utter vulnerability of the foreigner. The fear he felt. While others like him disguised their nature with shrouded robes and covering helms, he stood out among the gathering, and would be treated with nothing but the contempt given to an alien. Like the dogs turned wolf in their hunger, these once-citizens had now transformed in the desperation to rogue. They would seek any opportunity to gain from the lone men- Lawful or not. It was best to avoid attention, lest the mission end before it began.

Adjusting the collar of his shirt, he caught sight of what was undoubtedly one of the men- An Argonian, sitting quietly in solitude at one side of the bar, face half-shrouded by consuming shadow. The Pact leaders had told him of certain individuals beforehand, men who had responded to the call by courier or word of mouth. Itan looked at the figure, dark and desolate, the empty glass before him so symbolic in it's hollowness. Watching the man stir at his approach, Itan was certain that this was one of them.

So Itan made his way over, the slow methodical steps he took calming him. The glaring eyes, the pressuring hiss, they were lost to him, drowned by the required composure of formality. Watching the other Argonian, he saw the notable gaunt and glazed stare that the man returned- That certain bitterness lost within. Then the shadows disappeared, and Itan was greeted by a face steeled by determination and purpose.

He took a seat by the Argonian, naturally, deftly, as if he had been there all along but for a brief respite. His eyes flicked up to the glass between them, the empty glass that was drained of all the joy it held. Cast away and abandoned. Disturbed at it's presence, Itan quietly pushed the hollow shell away.


"I hope this is you, Vistha-Kai.
Tell me- What do you know of the Striders?"

[OnlyAhaark]

As the Arrow flew the older argonian casually stepped to the side and let the arrow dig deeply into Ahaark's wooden door. unimpressed with the attempt, the now hooded argonian whispered, "Thorn" and stepped out into the rising sun of black marsh. Ahaark, tired from the events of the day, sat in an old desk chair in the far end of his hut. observing the ray of light drifting in from the otherwise, sealed off window. Ahaark looked at the ray of light and the dust particles that floated within it, he ran his hand through the beam, disturbing the dust, his scales burned and a small hiss escaped his mouth. "His gift", as the cultists had phrased it... "a gift...who the great lord molag bal had betowed upon you,himself"....Ahaark Pushed this thought to the back of his mind as it was too painful. "Not now" he whispered to himself in the dark of his hut "now i must find out who this "Guild" is...

Ahaark reached into his messenger bag and removed a dark green cloak.Once, the fabric was the softest silk Ahaark had ever felt, When it was new, now the old thing was rough and coarse to the touch. Still Ahaark kept it, His plan was to ask around Gideon...and to see if anyone knew directions to thorn, or anything about the damned place. He walked over to the door where his arrow had been stuck and simply Broke the end of the arrow off in disgust, a new ray of sunlight streamed in through the hole. He put on his redguard hood with the cloak over it and the meesenger bag over that, he then attached his bow and a few arrows to his back and stepped out into the sunlight flinching only a little.

Ahaark looked around at the winding swamp before him. He felt his argonian blood run through him yet the marsh never felt very inviting to him, or maybe it was the light of day that got under his skin. Either way he had to move, before the sun rose too high and ate through his thin cloak, like the arrow and the door.It had been long since he'd subject himself to even being among the civilized, that kind of life was not for him. The unspoken hate that lived in every corner of cities big or small had never appealed to him. He set course for gideon. He figred one of the bartenders in town knew of thorn and its whereabouts. Ahaark felt a sense of urgency fill him over as his stride turned to a jog, and his jog into a full sprint. He knew time wasn't on his side in so many aspects. he neared the top of a hill as he saw the walls of gideon in the horizon. "These cities and their walls" he muttered below his breath,and continued doen the hill. As he grew near the city he could smell the filth that lie within. It didn't surprise him to see the gates heavily guarded, he slowed his sprint to a jog just before the guard could get out a witty comment about argonians and running from things. the only thing remotely interesting about gideon is how out of place a nord guard looks there, but he knew that the ebonheart pact intended to defended his homeland as well as skyrim and morrowwind. This gave him a feel of security, he hoped that this meant his people wouldn't be so discriminated against, but he never trusted anyone, even his own people. But all war drama aside Ahaark had a job to do, he tossed the guard a bag of coin that he had hanging from his belt, looking pleased the guard opened the door for Ahaark, And they both stepped inside.

Looking around at the city he felt like a fish out of water,Flinching as the sun rose he stepped into the inn on his right. He instantly felt safer, looking around the otherwise full building, there was a seat at the bar available. he silently stepped to it starring at his boots the entire way. He felt eyes pierce through his heart, they knew what he was. He approached the bar, more exhausted than he had realized. The bartender, A beautiful young argonian approached him, Ahaark observed her vibrant face as she spoke "If your not here for drink or bed, get out." her words hurt him in way he was not accustomed to. Ahaark stared into the eyes of the girl toying with her when he spoke in return "actually, I'm here for information" he paused and reached over the counter, graabbing a bottle of wine and continued speaking "last night, i was visited by an old mer...he spoke of some kind of guild in a place called thorn" The woman spoke in an almost trans-like state saying few words, " head east of here to the border of morrowwind, you'll see the town, promise" Ahaark broke their eye contact, grinned and asked innocently "may i rent a room?" The woman, having no memory of their conversation,chaged him the price for one night and lead Ahaark to his room. He smiled and suspended the old dusty wine bottle from his belt. Arriving at the room The Argonians Spoke not a word to each other, as Ahaark was finished with the woman, he intended to sleep until The night and get to Thorn as quick as poossible when dawn came....

[FellowKnight]

Desperation. Tiiinngg! Anger. Tiiinngg! Death. Tiiinngg! All of these were clearly visible traits in the port town of Thorn. A dying town. A town at near-death. It wouldn't be long now before it reached rock bottom. Then, everything would fall apart. People would lose jobs. People would die. Live on the streets. Riots would break out. People would run. In fear. In desperation. People would fight. In anger. And while he was Nord, Baroth cared and took pity on the argonians of Thorn. Ever since leaving the underground sanctuary of the Dwemer, Baroth had looked for purpose cause. Well, he found it. It was Thorn. While the heartless thugs of Thorn take advantage of the weak and broken, Baroth has always been that wall. That wall between good and corrupt. He had to be. He felt it as his purpose. His cause. He was the protector of Thorn. 'Was' being the main word there.

Two days earlier, he had been going on his usual patrol; Running along roof tops, beating up thugs and muggers, saving 'innocent' lives. The usual scrap.  Untile he came upon a situation in which he was cornered. One moment he was on a roof, watching an Argonian walk into with six others trailing him. The next, he was cornered, protecting the lizard with all his might. All his skill. Long fight short, he took a few punches to some bad spots and was knocked out, robbed blind. When he awoke, the Argonian was dead and also robed of his coin. He had failed. He had failed to protect a citizen of Thorn. Inevitable in the eyes of anybody else, but not Baroth. After a few minutes of sitting in the muck and waste of the alley, Baroth realized something else. He didn't have it anymore. That...thing. That fighting power. Motivation. He lost his fighting spark. Hope. He lost hope. He eventually decided he would move on to Skyrim where he could, unlikely, be able to settle down. But first....

He spun the coin again on his dimly lit table in the corner of the inn. He sat back with his feet on the table. He was waiting. Waiting for something....exciting, to happen. But in this town, it was unlikely. People stayed in their houses. Blowed out the torches. People hid. Hid from the corruption of the town. Baroth didn't. He didn't fear death. He welcomed it happily. He always had, and always will. He heard rumor of a Guild  within the Pact. The Ebonheart Pact he had joined. The guild was named, Striders. Again, he had only hear rumors, nothing more. They were a guild with purpose unclear to Baroth. He waited. Waited for the leader of the guild to arrive. He knew he would. He heard rumor of his arrival. He was looking for something, but the rest was unclear. Baroth heard hollow thuds as boots approached his dark, musty corner. The bartender was coming. Baroth raised his head. "Excuse me sir, would you like another drink?" The bartender asked politely. Manners. Manners were good. But they would get no one anywhere in this town. Then again, he was just doing his job, trying to feed his kids. Keep a roof over their heads. Baroth shook his head. "No thanks. But here."  He tossed the septim up towards the aged Argonian, whom fumbled it in his hands for a moment before pocketing it. He nodded a thanks and was off to the counter again. The doors of the tavern slid open, leaking the putrid stench of the outside. People were coming. Maybe this is what he was waiting for. Only time would tell.

(OOC: Sorry about changing the dialogue color to black, white is REALLY hard to see.)

[Darth Meeb]

Drayle was more than surprised to see a Nord enter the Bar, a man of Skyrim here?  Sure a few Dunmer may venture over the border into Thorn, but he doubted there were many Nords traveling through Argonia.  Perhaps the Ebonheart Pact was helping the three Provinces join together.  After a second the Dunmer man decided to join the Nord, he seemed a bit lonely.  Drayle stood up, taking the clay mug of sujamma with him.  When he reached the Corner where the Nord was sitting he smiled, "Greetings friend, your a long way from home, as am I.  Mind if I sit with you?  I am Drayle by the way, of house Telvanni."

As he spoke Drayle slipped into the chair opposite the man, looking at his eyes with some curiosity.  They were a strange color, but what he noticed most was the sadness that seemed to emanate from them.  He supposed that was commonplace in times like these, dark times indeed...

[OnlyAhaark]

Ahaark awoke to his stomach growling, could he control himself until he got to thorn? the race was on. Hearing nothing but his feet dragging on the ground came as a pleasure to him, as compared to the hours before, when the tavern was alive with the sounds of merriment and ale. Sitting on the bed as he fastened the buckles on his boots he enjoyed the quiet, as he knew when the war finally broke out, there wouldn't be much more of it. Reaching into his bag he found the empty bottle of wine and grinned, "Ah too much of my fathers blood runs in me" he thought to himself, not speaking as to not ruin the beauty of the silence, he approached the door to his room and gently pushed it open. the door made a slight creak as expected and ahaark stepped out into the inn main room.

Seeing men and mer alike sprawled on the floor drunk made ahaark let out a small quiet chuckle. "Quite a party you missed" a small female voice said from across the bar. Ahaark tuned already knowing who had spoken to him .The bartender, looking tired from a long night of dealing with drunks, Spoke again "I thought for you'd died in that room, no sounds whatsoever. Except the drunks carrying on." "Yes one tends to remain remarkably  silent when sleeping" Ahaark said as he approached the counter and reached over the counter grabbing another bottle of wine, he then strode out saying nothing, as he had no time for games. he felt a sense of urgency in the pit of his stomach while walking to one of the carriages just outside the city. Without making eye contact with the cab driver Ahaark tossed him a bag of coin, climbed in back and while staring at his boots muttered "Morrowwind". The cart took off without warning, Knowing there was a long journey ahead Ahaark kept himself busy by thoughtlessly sipping on his wine and rolling an older looking coin down his knuckles.

"End of the line!" the carriage diver shouted, jolting Ahaark awake. "what would the time be sir?" Ahaark asked the carriage driver, knowing he'd slept five hours at the least. "I'm no sun dial boy!" assuming the man would be no more help Ahaark looked at the sky and was met with a vast ashy grey wasteland. removing his hood came as a pleasure to him, as long as he was near morrowind the sun would have very little effect on him. Ahaark continued forward to the border and was met by a patrolman. Ahaark looked deep into the dunmer's eyes. "I'm looking for a place called thorn?". The man chuckled at Ahaarks gaze and pointed to his right "thorough those woods should bring you to the wall, heh, hope you can climb lizard". Ahaark resisted the urge to put an arrow through the stocky elf's stomach and started for the woods.

Ahaark arrived at a wall that stood about seven or eight feet.Scaling  the wall proved no challenge. Ahaark leaped from the top of the old stone onto a nearby rooftop in order to get a better view of the place he was summoned. Anyone could tell that the town of thorn had taken a beating. No doubt the war was involved, the Once bright stones that made the walkways were now covered in grime and filth, the once lush and green shrubbery were dead from the lack of watering. a light drizzle had turned into a hard rain and forced ahaark to pull his hood over his head once again, Thinking for a while he figured a tavern would be a good place to start looking for this guild. Landing on the ground with almost no sound at he took out the note the argonian gave him back at his hut, the note was unreadable due to the rain making the ink run but he made out the last letters of the word "iders" . frustrated he started his search for a tavern. the streets of Thorn seemed unending. moss and mold were on buildings and foodstands all around. Broken windows gave the streets a depressing, abandoned feel... Ahaark felt eyes on him as he walked the empty streets of thorn, finally approaching a tavern with windows glowing bight as th sun. Ahaark worried that his information would get him no where all he knew is that he was looking for a guild. in an abandoned city. Hundreds of miles from home. with the ruined note of a man in his wardrobe.
What could go wrong....

[Sir Flint]

In one of the back rooms of the Tavern a group of fellow travelers sat around a table playing cards. At the table was a female dark elf Captain by the name of Aduri. She ran supply shipments between the three realms of the ebonheart pack, though the more valuable shipments she transported had a tendency to "disappear". Next to her sat her first mate, a male Argonian by the name of Red-tooth. He got his name from his tendency to bite people while in bar fights. Beside him were two male Nord brothers, Jyrik and Bjord Northwind. These two had recently arrived in morrowind and where looking to join one of the local guilds. And last but not least was the Dark elf "Ser" Flint, The self styled knight and rouge. The group had been playing cards for nearly an hour. Doing the best was Red-tooth.who had a large pile of gold now, followed by Aduri who also had a sizable amount. next was Flint who had about what he started with. Doing worst were the two Nords who were down to their last few pieces. Flint dealt out the cards and the bets were  placed. however, when Red-tooth showed his four emperor's Bjord leaped from his chair "I knew you were cheating scaly b**tard!" Bjord threw his cards down on the table and revealed  he had an emperor. "you can only have four emperors in a deck, your adding cards!" Red-Tooth rose to his feet "your the one cheating! adding cards to make it look like i'm cheating. take that back or i'll-" Red-tooths speech was cut short by Bjords fist hitting his face. Before Red-tooth could recover Bjord was on him landing blows. He would have beaten him to death but Red-Tooth sunk his teeth into Bjords right arm, Bringing his blows to a halt. Jyrik and Aduri ran for their swords, eager to help their comrade. the two of them reached their swords at the same time and a sword fight ensued. with a brawl to his right and a sword fight to his left, Flint slowly rose from his seat and quickly put all of the gold on the table into his pouch and slipped out of the room. 

Flint entered the main bar and sat by the counter, placing the bag on the counter. The barman approached him. "I'll take an ale." The barman eyed the bag enviously "thats a large bag, you win big back there?" a sly smile appeared on Flints face. "yeah, i guess you could say that." with that the barman went to fecth the ale. In truth it had been Flint who had been cheating at the cards, however he had only made Red-tooth win, not himself. He had made it so that the nord would find out on the last hand. Relying on the notorious temper of the Nords, Flint had planned for the fight to happen. That would give him a large enough distraction to make away with the money. His plan had come off without a hitch. He could only hope that they ended up killing each other. The barman handed Flint his ale and Flint moved to one of the vacant corner seats. Hmmm.....what will my next job be?......maybe i could steal an elder scroll or something. Flint chuckled to himself, knowing that not even he was crazy enough to try that.

[OnlyAhaark]

With a dry laugh, ahaark walked inside the tavern. It hadn't been his first wild goose chase, not by a long shot, and he knew it wouldn't be his last. He walked up to the bar and hoped over it. looking under it he found his favorite, drink a nice hearty bottle of Argonian brandy, after safely back across the counter ahaark poured the brandy into a larger mug and sat at the bar stool. Streams of light flowed in through the borded up windows and Ahaark remembered his hut in the swamps.He thought for a while and eventually came to the subject of his family. He thought of his mother, and how his father tore apart everything. he felt a wave of heat hit him in the gut like a hammer. A sigh of pain escaped his lips. He fixed his cloak over his face and unsheathed a dagger from his belt. Laying his hand flat on the table and spreading out his fingers he jabbed at the spaces between them.

Growing tired of the game he decided to listen in on conversations. listening intently he picked up swords clashing in the next room and what had sounded like a fight over a game of poker. before ahaark could form another thought, a nord had sent an argonian hurling down the bar, spilling drinks and shattering glass. frowning at his spilled drink he quietly put his bow on the bar I'll KILL YE YOU SCALY CHEAT"  the attacker was a brute of a nord who had looked like he knew his way around a blade. But he was badly injured, there was a deep open bite mark on his arm, blood flowed freely but the Brute didn't seem to notice. He met the argonian on the other end of the bar, picking the lizard up by the throat he slammed him repeatedly on the bar and held him there with one hand. Ahaark didn't like the argnonian's odds in the fight but watched out of intrest. the nord reached for the Axe  at his belt. "Any last words you lying Little Lizard?" the sound of the nords voice echoed throughout the now dead silent tavern, the argonian , with eyes now red from lack of air said nothing and simply Spat blood into the nords face, enraged the man raised the axe and aimed for the Mer's neck.  The nord brought his axe down and ahaark drew  an arrow as fast as he could and let it fly at the nord's chest.

(sorry about the other version of this as it was still a draft and was not supposed to be posted)

[OnlyAhaark]

(Sorry Ahaark, waiting for Google)(stir)

[FellowKnight]

Baroth raised his head from his small nap when a mild, Dunmeric voice sounded in front of him. "Greetings friend, your a long way from home, as am I. Mind if I sit with you? I am Drayle by the way, of house Telvanni." He raised his head to see a Dunmer, tankard in hand, sitting in a seat opposite of Baroth. He nodded, seeing as how the man had already sat down, and sat up from his laid back position in his chair. The man looked somewhat concerned for him, as he stared into Baroth's eyes, awaiting a response. "Not at all. Yes, i am indeed very far from my homeland. Merely on the rumor of a 'Guild Master' meant to make an appearance here. But, where are my manners? My name is Baroth Hermingfel. I am a knight of Tamriel, bound to no king nor kingdom. I travel at will and slay evil when need be. Though i have been, busy, of late. But no matter. Nice to meet you, Drayle."  Baroth finished, extending an armored hand towards the lone dunmer.

[Darth Meeb]

Drayle nodded, taking the proffered hand.  The man certainly seemed to be a knight of some sort, his armor was well crafted and in good condition.  "A knight eh?  I can claim no such title for myself for I am nothing but a wanderer and explorer."  He gave a small chuckle, taking a drink from his tankard.  The Dunmer man thought back about what the Nord had said.  Looking up he asked, "A guild master you say?  Interesting, I had not heard of such news.  Do you know of the guild he represents?"  Drayle knew guilds provided a steady stream of good work, if it was the right work for him he may consider joining up.

[FellowKnight]

"A knight eh? I can claim no such title for myself for I am nothing but a wanderer and explorer." He gave a small chuckle, taking a drink from his tankard. Looking up he asked, "A guild master you say? Interesting, I had not heard of such news. Do you know of the guild he represents?" Baroth gave a small nod and leaned forward, intending that only the Dunmer hear his words. "I'm not quite sure but rumor's spread that they're called the Striders. Again, i can't be sure, but my gut tells me i'm right. He should be here by now. If not, he'll be here shortly, if i'm not mistaken." Baroth reached up and grabbed his tankard off the wooden table, gulping down most of the mead within in a few swallows.

[Google]

((Sorry if I'm late on posting. College books came in yesterday and they are taking my time away. Writer's Block hasn't helped any.))
Google haha crap why do you write so well even with writer's block?

The figure of a ragtag argonian stepped into the tavern, letting the cold wind from the outside rush into the bar for the briefest of moments before the tavern door slammed shut. This didn't seem to spook the strange traveler like it did most visitors. No, what did seem to unnerve him was the people who dwelt inside. Drunk, sad, and angry at the world, the people of this place spoke the silent words of personal sorrow. Much like myself, but more drunk and less contemplation.

As the argonian looked around the tavern, I could tell that he was on the lookout for someone in particular. I've nested in too many bars in my time to let the searching eye's of a stranger go unnoticed. By the looks of this stranger, and the fact that I was told to expect the arrival of the guild master very soon, I could only assume that he was, in fact, the guild master. As his eye's moved over to my location, I shifted in my chair to gesture of my notice of him. Thankfully, he took the bait and began to walk towards my location. He quickly took a chair next to me and began eyeing my empty beer glass with a look of understanding and disgust before sweeping it aside. I payed little notice.

The words the stranger spoke held the sound of wisdom and experience, which betrayed his ragged appearance. "I hope this is you, Vistha-Kai."

I nodded as a way to express acknowledgment of the name.

"Tell me- What do you know of the Striders?"

Underneath my hood, which only my glowing white eyes could be seen visibly, I let a grin escape my maw alongside the deep, unnerving chuckle of an experienced killer. This truly was the guild master I was told about.

"I know that you are the guild master, and that I am but a humble servant of you and the Ebonheart. I must say, you are not what I expected. You look like a shameless beggar I would find in the streets of Winterhold."

I turned my gaze to the nord bartender. "I've had a change of heart. I'm going to need another beer if I'm going to be able to tolerate this stranger's appearance!"

I turned my gaze back to the argonain that sat next to me, not caring about the his reaction.

"Sorry, it's true. But it is finally good to see you in person. Truly an honor. Now, shall we speak of guild matters or is this just a checkup?"

The old bartender gained again my attention as he walked up to hand me a cold beer glass, which I grabbed with my left hand while using my right to grab a few gold coins from my pockets as payment.

"Thank you, my friend."

I turned my attention once more to the argonain beside me as I popped open the beer bottle and took a swing of the fine ale held within.

[Geel-Kajin]

"-I must say, you are not what I expected. You look like a shameless beggar I would find in the streets of Winterhold."

Itan sniffed, a tinge of self consciousness erasing his previous stoic nature. Sub-consciously brushing the bandages that wrapped around his maw, he subtly gave thanks that they hid from view his reddening face. It had been a taxing month and despite his every effort, his appearance had taken the toll.

Vistha-Kai had made move for another drink, allowing Itan a brief moment to collect himself. He scanned the room once again, this time noticing the two men by the bar. They were a Nord and a Dunmer, sitting with their backs to them. Inaudible murmurs of conversation were being passed with them, so quiet were the whispers that the two became queer not merely for being foreign. Guild Applicants from the other countries? Perhaps.

-Now, shall we speak of guild matters or is this just a checkup?" Vistha-Kai had his drink now, and the focus once more turned to their conversation. Itan gave a shallow grimace; This gathering, the formation of this Guild, was so much more than the exchange of pleasantry or men gallivanting around in search of glory. Yet it was so far in the other end of the spectrum that....Itan could find nothing but bleakness in what he was about to say.

"There is much to- Itan began, slowly, the explanation difficult beyond measure

However, he was cut short then and there. A loud crashing, of splintering wood and cracking timber, followed by a scream of hysterical terror, interrupted his speech. Swiveling his head in alarm, the source of the noise became clear. 3 Nords, their faces obscured by great gray helmets, their skin the black of chain and their arms swords, had made a threatening entrance into the inn. The first had his blade buried deep in the wood of the nearest table, the crushing blow sending the rest of the inn plunging into a tense, harsh silence.

Taking advantage of the silence, the first slowly drew his sword screeching out of the wood, both the sound and his action lasting a torturous eternity that his captivated audience underwent. It was only after the blade was by his side that from beneath the big twisted helm, a rasping voice did speak.

"Thane Soldin has sent us...The Pact must be no more."
With that, he drew his blade, and rushed forward in a charge.

[Darth Meeb]

"Hmmmm the Striders huh?  Sounds mysterious."  Drayle said, leaning back and thinking about what the Nord man had said.  As he sat there the doors to the inn were smashed open and three large Nordic men stepped in, wearing iron masks and wielding heavy broadswords.  As one of the men smashed in the nearest table another cried something about 'the pact' and charged forward, swinging his blade at everyone within reach.

Drayle was as surprised as anybody else in the room at the sudden attack, but the screams of the people as they ran from the angry Nords snapped him into action.  Standing up from his table in the corner he set down his mug and drew his sword, pulling his shield onto his arm.  He wasn't sure who these men were, but they were obviously not people of peace, and he wasn't going to let them slaughter an entire inn full of innocent people.  

"Vivec damn your souls to oblivion!"  Drayle shouted as he jumped up onto a table and ran across the room towards the leading Nord.  As he jumped from table to table he called upon his magical abilities, charging his sword with electricity.  He met the first man with a flying slash directed at his head.  The Nord man had plenty of time to parry the attack, but when he did the lightning coursing through Drayle's sword transferred to his own, and he stumbled back from the jolt.  The Dunmer smashed down across another table, scattering a meal of stew on the floor as he fell back into a combat stance.  The Nord man growled at him, directing his full attention to the Dunmer instead of the fleeing argonian commoners which populated the majority of the establishment.  

[OnlyAhaark]

Ahaark stared into his empty glass, He found comfort in knowing he wasn't the only thing that was empty "Damn this city" He muttered below his breath as to not interrupt the hushed whispers taking place behind. Tossing out more than what he wanted to spend on his drinks wasn't what he expected of looking for a guild. "All in good time I suppose" He silently mouthed to himself, and stepped out of the bar to treat himself to a bowl of moon sugar, drenched in purified skooma. 

As Ahaark walked outside he locked gazes with some burly looking nords stepping in, He felt trouble in the man's gazes but he minded his business and let his hood rest on his head, as the door went to slam when ahaark exited he caught it with the tip of his tail and listened intently at the trouble he and a few others in the tavern felt coming.