The Elder Scrolls

It was late into the third era, still years before the Oblivion Gates opened and chaos would forever change the face of Tamriel. The Septim Dynasty still sat on their ruby throne and the fires of the Temple of the One burned as they always did.

There on the long road between Kvatch and Anvil a small caravan of merchants travelled, their guide, a young bosmer lad who had called himself an expert of the area had led them along a surprisingly wide hunting trail down a road and across the gold grasslands that lended the region it's name.

After half a day of walking with Anvil nor even see appearing on the horizon the idea that the small caravan might be lost began dawning upon nearly everyone, only making the young bosmer all the more nervous as he kept assuring the group that they'd be close if they just crossed that next hill.

The caravan itself was that of the merchant Pennus Spurius, a wealthy trader operating out of Skingrad who might not have actually travelled the roads himself for years, had enough influence to get a wide variety of guards to keep his stock safe. Among these guards was an unassuming argonian.

With his green scaled body, leather armor and large sword the argonian seemed very plain, perhaps a member of the Fighters Guild or any of the thousands of sellswords like him. He kept to himself for the most part but the boredom was getting to him, he looked around to see what other guards and interesting caravanfolk were around.

A very dark skinned, middle-aged Dunmer man had joined the group on their journey. He had a rough, ashlandic accent when he did speak, but it was very rare that he did. He wore a simple pair of pants and a loose shirt with a fur cloak to keep him warm. It didn't seem like much, but he had gotten the job by proving his worth, conjuring armor and weapons into his hands upon demand for their employer to see.

His skin was almost charcoal, dark even by Dunmer standards and his eyes were a bright shade of red. Unlike some of his kind, he was beefy and muscular enough to rival even a Nord, which was both confusing and intimidating for some. His expression was often hardened as if he were concentrating or deep in thought but at the same time he seemed alert to his surroundings, eyes flickered back and fourth over the terrain as if he were scouting the area for signs of trouble.

"S'wit" he growled impatiently within earshot of the Argonian and maybe some others "Doesn't have a god forsaken clue where we are" he rasped roughly and let out a long sigh to calm himself, keeping his eyes down as they traveled. He feared they would have to make camp soon, it was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to get there and get his coin. He busied himself with first adjusting his satchel and then stroking idly at an old looking amulet, ancient Morrowindian in nature, set in bone and metal and a central tiny garnet.

"I hope he isn't getting paid by the hour", came an exasperated female voice a little ways behind the Dunmer [& slightly off to the side, towards the Argonian], her tongue eloquently delivering each pronunciation with a heavy accent from the heart of Skyrim. "Perhaps he's trying to keep us lost!" Kildra War-Mane, like her fellow sellswords, had spoken little during the trip. When she had it was often a positive remark, so this was her first expression of agitation. The Nord was encased in full steel plate armor to include a shield & war axe. A sigh of relief was emitted as she removed her helm, revealing dark brown hair matted with sweat, emerald eyes narrowed some. The fact that her fair skin was flushed suggested she was still adjusting to Cyrodil's temperatures. Should the Argonian's gaze meet hers as he looked around, Kildra would offer a reassuring nod despite her former tone.
The young warrior managed to maintain a relative sense of optimism as she admired the unfamiliar countryside. An almost naive excitement was concealed behind an expression of stoic bemusement, a common mask for her breed.

"I'm getting tired of this!" Another member of the guards spoke in a much less subtle tone, as was expected of an Orc. He walked towards the rest of the people, clearly frustrated."What kind of caravan gets LOST!?" His dark green skin hid his tiny same colored eyes, giving the Orc a very odd look, especially since his mouth was small, but his fangs were very large and crooked. Malgar, this one was called. Malgar 'The Exiled' Bo'rrador.

Malgar's beard was an impressive one. The black facial hair reached his chest, while his head remains bald like an egg. He wore a light mail and leather armor. On his back he wore a cloak, though. Malgar wore the skin of a gigantic buck, and wore his head, including the antlers, as a helmet, while on his hips hung two steel axes. This creature was very large and looked intimidating, at least until one would look upon those tiny eyes of his.

If anyone had asked where he came from, or his last name, Malgar would have awfully avoided the question by answering "I am exiled. I will not dishonor my people any more by telling where I came from." The Orc never hid from the fact he had been banished, but never would say why. Figuring he's a moody Orc, it wouldn't be difficult to figure out why exactly he could have been cast away.

The sky was already turning a deep orange, announcing the sunset and as the sellsword's remarks and unease was shared by the multiple merchants the bosmer only got more nervous. Of course when they crossed the 'next hill', there was still no Anvil to be seen, not even the sea, in fact those blessed with sharper senses of smell couldn't even pick up the smell of the sea, not even when the wind blew in from the west.

"This one agrees." Syvere hissed in answer to the dunmer, he was also getting visibly annoyed by the long trek. The argonian looked up at the twilight sky with a sigh, he hoped that if they drew straws or played whatever game to decide the night watch he got out, he was exhausted.

The Dunmer was starting to realize how very far in the wrong direction they probably were by now if Anvil nor the sea were even close. His patience was lost with the guide as they passed another hill and nothing was to be seen.

Picking up his pace, the Dunmer took broad steps until he was caught up to the Bosmer and reached out to grip at his shoulder with sharp nailed fingers. "Look." he growled and then let go "We're lost, boy. And by the looks of things we aren't reaching our target today, either." he glanced back at the sellswords behind them and huffed "We've got strong hands to protect us all, but none of us are going to be any good to you if we're exhausted, and dragging this cart across unknown territory in the dark doesn't seem like a sensible plan" he growled naturally, rasping in that thick ashlandic accent.

The impatient complaints of her companions were as voices in her own mind, ebbing away her attempts of optimism & aggravating her own underlying irritation. "Aye," Kildra would agree gruffly with the Dunmer. "Weary feet & hungry bellies won't do any good for our tempers, either. I feel it's in our best interest that we make camp for the night."

The Nord would catch up to their jackleg guide, adding at a murmur, "Perhaps you'd do better taking the first shift of guard duty while we rest, eh? I should think you're a better listener than you are a navigator. I was hoping this mission wouldn't be dragged out through the night, but our daylight has already been wasted... I'll join you in first watch, but we all need a rest."

Malgar nodded as he walked closer to the group and having heard the Dunmer's suggestion."At least someone here has sense." He scoffed angrily. Angry Orcs weren't the greatest company, especially not those with short fuses like Malgar."We can try to find our way to the bloody city once we're rested." He'd repeat after his companions."I'm willing to take second watch after some shut-eye."

Malgar didn't hold much hope in him when it came to finding their way. He had no idea where they were, but it wasn't anywhere near Anvil by the looks of it.

The bosmer seemed ready to just run off, having earned the anger of half the group for arguably fair reasons made him feel like he was about to be killed, he was happy to agree to standing first watch. When the group found themselves a flat clearing looking out over the golden hills that gave this coast it's name they began to realise a new problem.

"This is going to be a hungry night." One trader piped up, looking for the wood elf only so he could glare at him. "We were supposed to get there in a day. We didn't pack nearly enough supplies to feed everyone."

Syvere grumbled in himself, this was looking worse every second. Still he reached for his bow and an arrow. "Then we must hunt." He looked around. "Who will join this one?"

The dunmer glanced at the bosmer and then towards Syvere, motioning to the group with them "If no one else will join you, Argonian, i would be glad to hunt with you" anything to get away from the bosmer before he lost his temper and stuck his head up one of the horses arses.

Eyeing the two thoughtfully, Kildra juggled the thought of accompanying them. She was tempted to stay near the caravan, but it was hard to resist the good sport of hunting, & more hunters meant a greater meal. "I will join you as well," she replied finally. "I brought no bow & I know little magic, but I have a strong pair of shoulders to offer & a silent step. I'll do what I can to help." The Nord greeted each of them with a curt nod as she approached.

Malgar thought about this suggestion. There were other guards to protect the caravan, and his axes might just come in handy in this hunt. Besides, killing something might just call this Orc down."I'll join in. Perhaps I can help track or at least chop our kill in carry-able pieces." He offered.

(sorry I hadn't noticed there were new posts)

Syvere gave a slow nod in response and then took his bow and a single arrow. They'd need quite a lot for the entire caravan, in fact the argonian had high doubts that the hunt would prove enough. Still he snuck through the darkening grassland towards a ridge, once up there he halted and got up again with a concerned look in his eyes.

"These eyes see a fire." He hissed to the others, and indeed. If Rougart, Tarik and Kildra joined him they too saw a campfire and some tents in the small valley below, they were hide tents of the kind that the Khajiti used, and indeed, the large cats that could easily be seen besides the carts in the distance suggested as much. "A caravan."

The dunmer climbed the ridge and stood at Syvere's side, peering down at the fire. "Either a trading convoy or some wayside bandits." he grumbled and started down the ridge slowly towards the camp without much hesitation "We'll soon find out. They're probably better prepared for a stop and start journey than we are. No reason they can't provide some minor charity if they're willing. Or some major charity if they attack us, then we're left with a free campsite." he grumbled, looking fairly moody. He'd been traveling all day and was fairly done with it.

Kildra matched their pace, keeping besides them with a murmur of concern. "I haven't known any Khajiit willing to give without asking for something in return..." she'd keep her waraxe sheathed at her hip as they neared the caravan, just in case it proved to be no threat. The Nord hoped their gaggle of guards wouldn't appear to be bandits & arouse unnecessary panic. Her demeanor lit up with a cocky grin as she added quietly, "I hope for the latter. I could use a little excitement!"

The Orc kept his axes sheathed as well for the time being."Keep yer eyes on 'em." He whispered to the group."Even if they seem hospitable. There might still be one sneaking around to catch us off guard." The Orc wouldn't admit it, but he would hope for some killing as well. Of course he realized that it was preferable they were peaceful. Someone could get badly hurt, and with no town around, it was hard to tell how the victim could end up. Malgar tried to stay quiet as he walked, keeping up with his fellow guards.

As they neared the caravan they'd soon find out that a direct confrontation might end badly for them, the caravan existed out of quite a number of khajiiti, including their fabled senche which were also the first to spot the group. By the time they arrived the khajiiti were obviously prepared, their lightly armored guards stood at the side with the caravan leader, an older khajiiti with long facial hair in the middle, backed by other traders.

"Mah'jidiri welcomes you." He spoke when they stepped into the light. "You come as friends yes, Mah'jidiri hopes." At that he looked at his guards who scowled with some even baring their fangs a little.

As an argonian Syvere waited to see if others would talk before he'd have a go at it himself. He wasn't quite too fond of khajiit and they weren't quite too fond of him either he'd reckon.

As the Khajiit spoke to them, Tarik's eyes seemed to glaze over as if a fleeting memory had crossed his mind. The dark skin paled momentarily but he regained himself and grunted "Aye, we come as friends. We're caravan escorts with a blubbering idiot with no sense of direction for a guide." he growled, unusually his teeth were sharp enough to rival the sneering Khajiit guard's.

"Perhaps you can offer us some small charity in our time of need, Mah'jidiri?" he asked shamelessly and seemed to pronounce the name with a near perfect Khajiti accent.

The Nord's fingertips instinctively brushed the hilt of her axe as one of the Khajiit guards met her gaze with a scowl. Kildra returned the look with narrowed eyes, & although Mah'jidiri's friendly tone was a relief, she wouldn't let her guard down just yet. She was further relieved when the Dunmer decided to speak up in her stead. She didn't consider herself particularly diplomatic, shamelessly considering she may be no match for a race renown for their silver tongues.

The hand that had briefly touched her weapon transitioned to her hip fluidly, an attempt to suggest the defensive action had been unintentional. Their apparent leader was given a polite albeit hesitant smile.

Malgar stayed strangely calm as the Khajjit looked his way. He gave them a neutral look back and remained quiet. Their Dark Elf friend seemed have perfect control over his words. Something Malgar could never hope to achieve. Perhaps these Khajjit proved to be honest traders. Perhaps they even knew the way back.

The Orc crossed his arms as he stood near the group, seemingly inconspicuous. His eyes examined one end of the camp to the next, just to make sure no one was pulling any weapons on them from the shadows.