The Elder Scrolls

The atmosphere was muggy and a fog of smoke hung in the air close to the ceiling. Despite the cold, bitter winds that plagued the world outside, in Windhelm, the room inside had a warmth to it that the Dunmer could truly appreciate. The fires were kept stoked, even though the place was in ruins and had missing holes in the floor, and although the cold crept in, they did a fine job of heating it all the same.

At the filthy bar that bitter night, in the grey quarter, was only two dunmer men. A stocky, balding man who sat at the far end near the wall and down the other end was the rough, roguish form of Draathir. The man had his black hair tied into a high ponytail and his jaw and upper lip sported a thin but unkempt carpet of beard. His armor was fairly basic leather gear, brown with metal buckles.

Draathir's blood red eyes occasionally flicked up to Ambarys, the bar owner, but only to flick back down to his seedy drink and drink idly from it, grunting irritably at the silence in the room before looking away to the fireplace, stroking his thumb across the width of his beautiful ebony bow where it sat on the counter.

Windhelm was not the most welcoming of cities, least of all the to the bizarre strangers in the land of Skyrim. Baadargo was among the oddest, where most Khajiit would prefer to defend against the cold outside the walls of the city, he was willing to venture within. The Dunmer being so popularly hated in the city made it an instant target for the beastman, truding through the gray district until he came across the lonely bar.

The cat paused at the door to take in the few lonely patrons and worker on shift. He stalked through the room quietly, refusing to look up at anyone who gazed on him; a light-colored tabby coat occasionally mixed up with spots. His armor was scale metal and black leather, it didn't downgrade his suspicious level any less to be carrying a few satchels alongside himself.

The Khajiit sighed in relief as the burden was unloaded near his feet, settling into one of the chairs before the bar. "Whatever is good," he ordered in a typical gruff voice, dropping a few septims onto the counter. When whatever the man decided was best arrived, he choked the whole thing down and ordered another, gasping and wiping at the wet fur of his muzzle before flicking his gaze up to examine the two dunmer he'd been forced to sit between.

Draathir's attention averted from the fireplace to the Khajiit as the door creaked open and then shut again, letting in a gust of biting winds. He narrowed his eyes and followed the beast-man's progress to the bar, finding himself increasingly interested in the satchels.

After watching the Khajiit down his first brew he snorted is distaste loudly so that the man would hear, taking a swig of his drink before announcing "You lost, Khajiit?" he growled in a gruff, gravely voice that almost ghosted a time when Dunmer had rasping voices as a result of the endless ash storms on Morrowind, hundreds of years ago. "You ain't a nord, sure, but you ain't a Dunmer either. Maybe you should move on." he growled with a nasty sneer.

Ambarys shot Draathir a glare and huffed "Coin is coin. Ain't a Nord, and i need the gold. Let 'im be, Draathir."

Draathir glanced over to the man and scowled nigh on murderously before snapping his blood red eyes back to Baadargo as if he still expected the cats reply.

Baadargo wasn't bothered in the least by the unpleasant attitude of his fellow barmate, shrugging off the unpleasant reply with another slurp of his drink. Elves were so pompous across all of Cyrodiil, the khajiit didn't bat an eye at the comment. Pitiful bastards were even more out of place here than he was, without a coat to help keep them warm the dunmer were outcast and doubtlessly freezing.

"I'm only here to warm my fur, too," he purred contemptuously at Draathir in the corner, meeting his blood red eyes sharply. Firey orange with feline slit pupils, they had their own share of intimidating edge, not that he took the dunmer here to be impressed by it. "Thankyou," he added to the bartender, "Gold is gold."

Tail swishing as he assessed Draathir, Baadargo wasn't sure whether to expect an attack or not. He doubted any guards would come rushing to this part of the town for anyone but that would hardly be a problem - assuming none of the other dark elves felt the need to jump in for their fellow.

Draathir narrowed his eyes at the returned arrogance of the Khajiit and the corners of his lips quirked downwards into a not-so-subtle sneer. "Hmph." he grunted and looked away, finishing his drink and giving the bar tender a look that clearly asked for another, as the man went about refilling his mug once more.

"Strange place to warm your fur, friend" he started without looking at Baadargo again, watching Ambarys go about getting his beverage. "What is your business here in Windhelm?" he asked, a suspicion in a voice that spoke of expectations for Khajiit stereotypical lifestyles and trade.

The number of beasts in the Cornerclub doubled as the door opened and a large argonian walked in. He seemed not of these parts and had the look of a mercenary about him, dressed in a sturdy suit of fur and hide armour with a steel sword the size of a bosmer strapped to his back. His expression was neutral as he looked upon the various patrons, although argonian faces were notoriously hard to read for those not used to them.

"A bottle of flin." The argonian hissed to the bartender, pressing a few septims down on the bartop. The bartender sneered at the argonian and made a face that questioned the lizard’s presence in this bar better than any words might have. “Flin is twice that amount.” He finally snarled in response

With a discontent hiss the argonian added the necessary septims which the bartender quickly snatched from the top and, still glaring knives at his patron, deposited in his lockbox. He then went to take the flin, which took him longer than usual as he looked for the absolute worst-quality flin he had in the house at the moment.

Baardargo took a long swig of his drink, flattening his ears against his head while he swallowed. The dunmer received a yellow-eyed glare for his consideration, purring dangerously, "My business is none of yours to worry about." More might have been said but for the entrance of another unusual patron. The suspicious might worry of a conspiracy to see two beast races in the same bar so far from their southern homes.

The khajiit turned into himself a little more, downing the rest of his beverage while the bartender left to retrieve the flin. The keen eye would catch an interested sparkle at that order, glancing sideways at the Argonian with the deep pockets. How deep did they run? The dark elves present certainly kept him on his toes, keen not to draw any charges of criminally suspicious behavior - it certainly made it hard to actually carry out his duties.

The winds were getting colder by the second. It felt as if it cut through Rougart's armor like knives. He had just come from the Palace Of The Kings, but his kind was not welcome there, not even those who pledged their lives to hunting vampires. This civil war truly did affect everyone in Skyrim.

Instead of heading for the market, Rougart went straight into the Gray Quarter. He figured he'd be as unwelcome in Candlehearth Hall as he was back in the Palace. The Gray Quarters would be more hospitable he had hoped.

Rougart entered the New Gnisis Cornerclub, holding his copper heavy plate helmet under his arm. His face revealed that of a battle worn Orc. Small scars covered his dark green skin. Most of this ugly face was covered by an impressive thick beard, though, as black as the shaggy long hair on his head.

His armor was standard Dawnguard boiled leather and copper colored, covered in snowflakes, with bandoleers strapped around the chestplate and a bedroll strapped to the back of his wide belt, together with a quiver of crossbow bolts.

On the Orc's back was a crossbow with an oak wooden handle and green ore, most likely Orichalcum. Sharing Rougart's back was a gigantic two handed axe, made out of steel.

The imposing Orsimer took a few steps inside."A honeyed ale, if you will." He spoke in a heavy voice."The wind's ravaging out there." He added as he took a seat near the others.

Draathir scowled darkly "It's my business, this is Dunmer territory." he growled possessively as if it really bothered him that the Khajiit had come into their otherwise quiet club this evening. Though the tender, Ambarys, was unhappy with the business the man could hardly complain about having triple the usual business that night and was gradually easing up due to the promise of extra coin (as much as he could).

The thief's eyes flicked towards the door as another entered, expecting to see a familiar local but instead found an Argonian and clenched his teeth with a furious growl. He eyed the lizard's pockets just the same as Baadargo but abandoned such activities to watch the damned pigman come in and sit nearby.

He was quick to size the Orc's coin purse up and check that none were looking as the large fellow sat down to order his drink and with a swift and snake-like motion he tried to untie and retrieve the coin-purse and sweep it into his satchel in one smooth motion.

With flin in hand Syvere sought out a little table away from others and sat down to enjoy the bottle. He watched the others with lazy eyes as he set the liquor to his lips and drank. How fortunate it was that flin did not decrease in taste much with the addition of dunmer spit, and if the tender had done a little nightshade in it the argonian was lucky for his natural resistance to such things. With scabbard and all he set his large blade next to him, leaning it against the chair so he could sit better.

Draathir was successful. Rougart had not been paying attention, expecting no hostility. The Dark Elf would find Rougart's pouch to be filled with 30 septims. Enough for a carriage ride to a city and a few (cheap) meads to warm the soul.

However, Draathir's timing was off. Rougart had not paid for his drink yet. Once his mug arrived and the Orc took a big chug from it, he reached for the missing pouch that should have been right next to his quiver of crossbow bolts. The man came in for a quick drink after all, and didn't want to open a tab.

After double checking his belt and looking around him to make sure he didn't drop it when he sat down, a fit of rage took a hold of him. He stood back up, glaring into the room as the chair he sat upon fell down with a loud thud on the wooden floor."Which one of you forsaken bastards took my gold!?" He yelled through the tavern as to get everyone's attention."I am going to give you one chance my fellow brethren would not give." He said in an icy cool voice as he reached for the handle of his waraxe."Give me back my coin, and no one will get hurt. If you're a coward and pretend you're innocent, I promise that someone in here is not leaving this place alive!"

Eyeing the room, Rougart realized some of these people carried weapons. The Argonian being especially noted in that regard, but the Orc's eyes lingered upon Baadargo. A khajjit on the scene of a theft? That was just too much of a coincidence, though Rougart didn't rule out anyone else could have taken his pouch as well.

Baadargo turned once more inward, attempting to ignore the other patrons even when another entered. A hulking orc this time, the sort he particularly didn't like to mix with - they could be even more short-tempered the dunmer here. He was deep enough into his drinks to have a buzz started, but not stupid enough to try starting anything more with his fellow patrons.

Rougart's sudden racket did take his attention, as it likely did everyone elses'. He was certainly amused to see the man in such a state now, not even in the Cornerclub for more than a few minutes before he was lost. "Stupid pigman," he hissed in an amused tone when their eyes met, "Maybe you dropped it before you came in? Looking for a free drink?" He sat his empty mug down fiercely, tail swishing. Best not to tease too much, it was an intimidating axe and he really had no reason to fight with the warrior.

Eyes flicking over the other patrons to glare suspiciously at the particularly aggressive dunmer he'd first been harassed by on entering. The Argonian at his own table seemed less likely, but he knew he'd be on the suspect list assuming there actually had been a theft.

Draathir feigned shock as the Orc was suddenly up in arms, eyebrows lifting before his eyes flicked towards the Khajiit. A suspicious squint overcame his expression and he sneered "Why don't you just admit you did it? You're all the same...thieving fur balls. You're not welcome here as is" he snarled and picked up his drink, chugging at it and eyeing the orc "How about i buy your drink, friend?"

Syvere had not seen what'd happened either, if anything even did happen and just kept on drinking his flin. Only when the orc stood up and drew his axe the argonian snatched the hilt of his own greatsword with one hand, while continuing to hold his bottle of flin with the other.

The argonian didn’t seem rearing for a fight, but neither did he seem afraid of it should the orc start something. Although he didn’t show any sign of it the marsh-born did begin looking around for a likely suspect, eying the khajiit, but also the other patrons including the generous dunmer. How fortunate for any thief it would be that an easy-to-blame khajiit was nearby.

Pigman? Even if Baadargo didn't swipe Rougart's septims, that was enough reason for the Orc to beat the rude Khajjit bloody."Do you take me for a fool, cat?" He spat."I secure my pouch well enough. It doesn't simply drop!"

The 'generous' behavior of Draathir seemed to work. His silver tongue convinced the Orc he was most likely innocent, now now his attention was turned to Baadargo. Rougart nodded at the Dunmer."Sure, once I have my coin back we'll share an ale." He spoke as he walked closer to Baadargo, with his waraxe resting over his shoulder. He made sure to stay away from Syvere. That sword of his was not something Rougart wanted to mess with. He wasn't planning on actually killing the Khajjit. No large amount of gold was stolen, but a beating was in order."One last chance, cat." He spoke in his heavy voice as he rested the head of the axe on the floor."Give me my coin back, or I'll turn that pretty coat of yours into a rug." He attempted to sound vicious to intimidate him.

Baadargo sneered at the 'generous' dunmer, an agitated growl passing his sharp teeth for the fellow. There was something plenty threatening about that axe, unsettling the slightly intoxicated khajiit's stomach in a way he didn't like. Swallowing carefully, he glared back at the orc, "My pockets are plenty full without your petty coin."

He was on edge now, claws flexing on the edge of the bar. "Baadargo does not want to fight you," he hissed, "But he will not go easy if you insist. Look for your thief elsewhere." His yellow eyes flickered to the silent Argonian, "You're very quiet! Don't have anything to say?" Surely that was suspicious in itself, the lizard must have seen something - or perhaps he was the real culprit here?

Draathir gave the Orc a friendly nod before slowly pushing himself to his feet and resting his hand on hilt of the small glass dagger at his hip "Don't try to divert the blame from yourself Khajiit" he sneered rather ironically and ran his thumb across the hilt of the blade eagerly "I knew you were trouble the moment you walked in, and now you're harassing our customers! As if business wasn't hard enough for Ambarys here already!" he scowled.

Ambarys was watching from behind the bar, a tankard and a cloth static in his hands as he squinted at the group. "I don't want any trouble in my bar." he said lowly, he knew there was a good chance the guards wouldn't bat an eyelid if something happened in the grey district. "Either deal with it here quietly or take it outside." he added with a little more assertiveness.

When the khajiit tried to shift the blame unto Syvere he sighed in a soft prolonged hiss, not aggressive but weary. He took another swig of flin as he looked at the orc and then the dark elf. The elf seemed as probable a culprit as anyone here, although the way he'd spoken just now had made him seem so very honest, still the argonian had his doubts.

"Tsssk." he began then. "This one thinks it is very convenient, that a khajiit is there when something is stolen." The argonian said in the croaky hiss-like voice that belonged to many argonians.

Everyone was suspicious at this point. Though the Khajjit made a good point that Syvere was indeed quiet and might know more than he's saying, but Draathir's silver tongue had stopped the Orc from even considering the Dunmer could have been the thief."Enough!" Rougart yelled, beside himself with anger and confusion.

He attempted to grab Baadargo by his shoulders and throw the cat to the floor in a fit of pure Orcish rage. Rougart was determined to get his coin back, one way or another.

Baadargo, losing his temper, bared his teeth at Draathir with a crackling hiss. The whole situation was infinitely more frustrating than he'd been prepared for this evening. Any chance of response to the dunmer was stopped by the orc's bellow, and then his large hand flinging him to the ground.

The Khajiit hit the ground with a grunt and a thud, bouncing off the floor and back down again. The power of the brute was enough to bruise - if not crack - some of his bones, too drunk to catch himself properly. Things certainly didn't look good for the feline, and his innate response was of hissing rage, "Fucking pigman!" Tail lashing, he rolled backwards and staggered to his feet, a right rage in response to the attack. It was quite stupid, then, to spring forward, claws extended to try and take a chunk out of the orismer's face.