Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Return of The World-Eater (semi-open group RP)

Dmitri winced and looked queezy but stood, "Ugh... If you'll excuse me.. I need to go... Er, clean myself," he shivered in disgust and went into the room he had rented.

The tavern owner descended the stairs, a hand pressed against the wall for support. Brows furrowed in confusion when she saw the mess, and her mouth turned down into a worried frown when she noticed the gazes of the others. "What is it?" she asked, moving towards the bar. "Is that... By the Divines, Saadia!" A hand was dragged down her face. "Help me clean this mess. And can someone take this woman back to her room?"

"Miss..." Brienne cleared her throat, speaking louder. "Miss, I don't think we should do that. She might wake if someone touches her and," she glanced at the mess,"worse things could happen."

"She won't wake up for at least another hour, I assure you." Ilfhild replied. "My magic is strong enough to sustain her for long enough. She slung her violin back over her shoulder for now and put the bow back in the assigned quiver. She then turned to the owner of the tavern. "Do you need some help cleaning all this up?" she inquired.

Dmitri walked out a few minutes later with a fresh pair of well made but simple red clothes, "Can I borrow a rag from someone please?" he asked, "And possibly some other cleaning supplies?"

“Don’t worry yourself over this,” the tavern owner answered, pulling out a rag from behind the counter. “Saadia and I have cleaned worse. You just go sit down and try to make yourself comfortable. And will someone take this Khajiit back to her room? Or at least move her to a corner? I’ll not have my customers tripping over her.”

Brienne took a step to the side when a steel armor clad Nord approached, bending down to scoop up the Khajiit and then heading for the stairs. A few tense seconds of silence filled the room, lifting only when the others began to converse in whispers. “I have never seen magic casted in such a way before.” Brienne’s eyes flicked to the bard’s instrument. “Where did you learn to do it? Nothing like that was ever taught at the College.”

Hearing the warrior’s question the tavern owner lifted her head. “There are more rags behind the counter. As for other cleaning supplies, I’m not sure. But you’re welcome to use whatever you find.”

Ilfhild looked up at Brienne as she asked the question, and smiled. I learned to play my instrument at the bard's college in Solitude, and I learned magic in the mage's college of winterhold. I find that if you can master both seperately, why not combine them? So I started experimenting to fit tunes with magic, and here's the result!" she explained, pointing at the kahjiit addict - who was now fast asleep.

The steel clad Nord, "Aye, I'll carry her back up." Walking around the counter top and kneeling beside the sleeping khajiit, he scoops his farmer tanned arms under her legs and back, hoisting the unconscious feline over his shoulder. Once he had her balanced, he ascended the stairs, soon depositing the feline in a mess of bottles, which gives the Nord some concern. But he soon shrugs and walks down the stairs to continue his mingling with the other customers.

One of the other customers, his red cheeks and nose a sign that's he had a bit too much, lifts up his ale mug in a joyous manner, "Ha, you can always use the stuff they clean the floors with. But I wouldn't recommend it, gahahahah~" Surely the warrior could make another daedric armor breastplate, as most of the local warriors could. One of the female Nords approaches the warrior feline with a bar of soap in her hand, "It isn't much, but it's the last that I have. I think you'll need it more than I will."

"Thank you," Dmitri gratefully took the bar of soap and entered his room.
As for people who could make daedric armor, Dmitri couldn't and certainly nobody else here could fashion daedric armor or weapons so replacing the armor simply because of some vomit wasn't even considerable.
Dmitri came back out about ten minutes later still wearing normal clothes,and handed the rest of the bar of soap to the Nord woman, "Thank you comrade," he gave her a nod and placed a large gentle hand on her shoulder then turned to Ilfhild and smiled warmly at her, "Thank you for your magic," he gave her a light pay on the back, "But now I'm going to check on our addict."
Dmitri turned and started walking up the stairs then into Crow's room. He started cleaning up all the bottles of skooma and then sat down in a chair and waited for her to wake up.

Brienne listened to the woman's explanation with crossed arms and knitted brows. How would one begin to weave magic and music together? That is a question to ponder another time. She returned the Nord's smile with her own timid one. "That is an ingenious idea. You said that you've studied at the College? Have you shown this technique to the instructors? I'm sure that they would find it interesting."

The loud, drink enforced voice made Brienne turn. Her smile fell at the sight and sound of the drunk, and she took a step back, getting closer to the wall. That is why I don't drink, she thought, wrinkling her nose. A curious gaze settled on the warrior Khajiit. He certainly seemed concerned about the other feline. She wondered if she should follow, to check on the skooma-loving Khajiit herself and take her mind off of the world outside the tavern.

"I wonder if the fog has lifted," she muttered, shifting uneasily.

"I haven't shown this magic to the bards, no. I didn't get the cance to revisit them after my graduation there." she explained to the question about her magic. She rubbed an unknown stain from her violin and looked back up when Brienne asked about the fog.
"If it's any natural fog, no. I've seen these in the north when I was in Winterhold. They often dominate the Frozen ice fields covering the sea for several days. I suppose they can happen down here as well, even though it's quite the coïncidence that this has to happen at this very moment."

The women accepted what was left of her soap, with a slight look of disgust. "Oh, no, you can keep it." The lady tries to give the soap back to the fellow. Soon after, the kind lady walks back to her seat, not too sure if the touching was necessary. It was just a bar of soap, not an amulet of Mara.

The bottles weren't small, like the skooma bottles found in Skyrim, but more like small milk bottles, likely imported from Cyrodiil. The large khajiit could pile them all up in the middle of the room, as there wasn't a waste bin in the room to put them in. The black and white feline was face down upon her bed, a blanket half-way up her back. Eventually, the black and white khajiit flinches, as if chilled, and her yellow eyes slowly flutter open. The large warrior, sitting in his chair, was the first thing she saw. "Wha...what are you doing in my room?" The furred hands pushed upwards, the khajiit not exactly happy with this situation, and her body propped up on her side, the yellow eyes peering at the male.

"You had too much Skooma and went into a rage," Dmitri said calmly, "I came in simply to check on you," he shifted in his seat.

An absent minded nod was the only sign that Brienne had heard Ilfhild’s answer. Her gaze slid from the Nord’s face to the door, Brienne worrying her lip as she leaned back against the wall. “I’ve seen them as well,” she said, eyes still locked on the door. There were many times when she had woken at the College and stepped outside, hoping to glimpse the ice fields in the early morning, only to find them covered in a thick fog. “It’s a very… eerie coincidence.” She was finally able to tear her gaze away from the door, and once again settled on Ilfhild. “Do you believe what the others do? About the Dragonborn, I mean.”

Ilfhild smiled. "I try not to worry about it too much." she replied. "Want to get another mead?" she asked instead, hoping to lighten things up again.

If only it were that easy. Once a fear has taken root in her mind it was difficult to shove it away. The best that Brienne could do at the moment was to give an uneasy smile. “I’m no lover of alcohol,” she said, pushing away from the wall. “… But I’ll gladly sit with you.”

In a few minutes a fresh mug of warm honeyed milk was clasped in her hands, Brienne taking tentative sips, her eyes glued to the wall. Conversation was not her area of expertise. “What brought you to Whiterun?”

"Song, dance, and the promise of fine company, same as any bard, I'd think." She replied with a smile on her face. "Unfortunately, those are things not often found these days, or so it would seem."

Crow's black and white hand snatched the blanket and threw it off of her, her hands moving to readjust her clothes, "Well, now that you did that, and I am fine, why are you still here?" Making sure the brown, furred vest that she wore was still intact, the black and white khajiit's yellow eyes looked at the male, "Hmm? Go on, go downstairs and have fun with the drunks. There's nothing here for you, so go on." Crow's right hand made shooing motions towards the male.

Dmitri rolled his eyes, "You're very rude you know. You at least owe me an apology if not an introduction for vomiting all over my armor, which mind you is daedric and therefore very expensive. I am Dmitri Yashklov," he stood and gave a bow.

The black and white khajiit stopped her shooing and looked at the male as he spoke, "I'm glad you caught on so quickly. It saves me the time spent on trying to explain myself." The smaller feline pushes off of the bed with her hands and lands her feet upon the floor. Soon enough, she was moving towards the desk, fitting her fingers around the handle and pulling the wide, top drawer out. A small crystal glowed faintly, having a leather strap that was fitted around a hole near the top of the crystal. Next to it, was a dagger, a leather pouch, and few broken pieces of what once was a dwemer gyro, its core removed. The first few items were grabbed and the khajiit's free hand shut the drawer. "Is that what I owe you? Very well, my name is Crow. C, r, o, w. Now you know." The male's introduction was waved away, the yellow eyes more interested in the pack that was beneath her bed. Bending upon her knees, the feline's right hand made a few swipes at the bag and dragged it closer to her, opening up the top flap to drop the pouch inside it, soon standing up and sticking her hands through the leather loops of the backpack. "Is that all you want? Because I'm in a hurry."

"Oh really? You're in a hurry?" he jeered, "Because you didn't just spend the past two hours high on Skooma and then passed out from overdose," he rolled his eyes, "But I will leave as you wish," he bowed again, "Good bye Miss Crow," he turned to leave.