Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Tread Lightly (CLOSED Oblivion RP)

(OOC: It would be sad if this RP was nothing else than a damp squib. I personally would like to continue it, maybe with one of Ethelle's ideas? I especially like the "target looking a bit like Astarill" one - poor Rill being tracked down by revengeful DB assassins makes me giggle. But it will depend of what the other players want to do, I guess. Or we could start a new RP, maybe? If someone has an idea for a scenario? I could have one or two, but first we need to decide what to do with this one.)

I like Ethelle's idea xD Ath mistkaing him for a Theives guild brings him to Astarill, then DB hunting him down, that could be interesting.

(Dak taking over Miwahdu's role is a possibility, yes - it would give her the possibility to actually act like a true member of the DB. Not that she would care if the sanctuary was destroyed and all its members (except here) were killed though... But if her own life was threatened, she would look for the thief, yes. And pay him a glass of shein for his achievment. :p)

Ath would blink slightly as he listend to the other elfs problem, and who she was looking for. A smile still played on his lips giving away nothing that said he knew this other person. Though in his mind he was thinking to himself "Why would she be looking for Lorundil Gladro" That was an altmer very few ever looked for, and even fewer knew the name of. He shook his head. "Im sorry lass, i wish i could help but i can't." He would bow his head to her then watches as Miwadhu walked away.

Once MIwadhu was out of the sight the wood elf frowned and trailed a finger down his jawline then turned and walked away from a fighting chance and made his way to the waterfront district. He wanted to find Lorundil and speak to the other thieves guild member to see why someone was looking for him. After a bit, he would arive in the waterfront and spy the bloated float, one of the places that the altmer visited and so Ath entered it.

Eyes would quickly adjust to the light in the bloated float and his eyes would scan the area when they fell upon Astarill, whom he mistook for Lorundil as the other looked just like him. Silently the wood elf walked up and sat down in a seat behind the altmer, since it seemed he was in the company of another. Ath moved the chair back just enough so he could speak with Astarill. "May shadow hide you my friend." His voice was low enough that others would not over hear, and the saying was one you spoke to other thieves guild members.

It was a good way to announce you were part of the guild to other guildmembers. "You are a popular person today Lorundill, i just had the most curious elf come asking for you...............and im curious as to why?" He glanced to Astarill and flashed a smile as he waited for answers.

((OOC:Hope that works!))

It took some time for the innkeeper – his name was Ormil, Dak finaly remembered – to come back with the bowl of soup and the precious beverage. The bottle of shein looked quite old and dusty, and Ormil smiled sheepishly. “Shein isn’t an alcohol my customer often ask,” he explained, “but a traveler once sold me this bottle. I had totally forgotten it until today, haha!” The Altmer chuckled and examined Dak’s (greenish) face. Dak glanced back until he looked away with an uneasy expression. Only a few peoples were able to look somebody who barely blinked in the face. “You don’t sound like a person from Morrowind…”

“…I don’t,” she admitted, “but I have to travel to Cheydinhal from time to time for…professional opportunities. I’m a painter.” The Altmer smiled again, nodded and put the bowl, the bottle and a mug in front of her before walking to other patrons. Dak looked at her soup with an inner sigh. Lying to everybody was something she had got used to, though this time it was only a little lie. The poor guy didn’t need to know she had to go to Cheydinhal because she was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Not even her own father knew it.

It hadn’t been her choice. At all. She hated the Dark Brotherhood, hated her so-called Brothers and Sisters, hated the stinking hole they called their Sanctuary, hated the Tenets, hated Sithis and the Mother of the Night, and, above all, she hated Lucien Lachance. The man was responsible of the death of her family, and she had sworn she would kill him one day. But before this blessed day came, she was forced to pretend she had a minimum of concern over what happened in the Brotherhood, like that theft. Not that she cared if a petty thief had stolen Valtieri’s favorite book or Antoinetta Marie’s already missing brains, but she didn’t want to draw the general attention to herself.

Nodding to herself, Dak took her spoon and swallowed some soup before having a sip of shein. The alcohol was old indeed, and stronger than what she was used to. Her stomach rebelled and she closed her eyes for preventing herself to spit everything out.

It was definitely a bloody day.

“Neither,” Astarill grumbled in reply to Dust’s persistent inquiry about his reasons for being here, although he realized his reason likely did fall under the definition of ‘business’ from the Breton’s perspective. Yet he simply had a swig of his ale and seemed for all intents and purposes to not care to discuss it further. His expression temporarily took on the unfocused quality of someone who did not wish to know anything about getting dresses fitted, after which he nodded at the mention of The Main Ingredient. “I see,” he said, while his eyes followed the bottle that the innkeeper brought to the Imperial woman who had entered earlier.

Lamenting the fact that he had never known Ormil possessed a bottle of shein until it was too late, it took a while for him to register that someone else had said something to him. He turned just enough on his barstool to be able to see behind him, and his eyes were met with a smile and the Bosmer whose face it was plastered upon.

Astarill had been occupied with dividing his attention between his ale, Dust’s chatter and a cobwebbed bottle of shein, and hadn’t even noticed the man enter or take a seat. He lowered his eyebrows into a confused frown, while he studied the man’s face and committed his features to memory. He was convinced he didn’t know him, but that in itself didn’t mean anything. What had the Bosmer called him again? Something-dil? He must have misheard.

He deepened his frown, and spoke at a normal conversational volume, taking no care at all to keep his voice down like the Bosmer had, “I beg your pardon?”

(((OOC: To avoid confusion, the posting order now is: Gabriel Dust, Ath’Vesu, Dakari Sohadin, and then Astarill again.)))

"Oh, alright." Dust nodded at the Altmer's silence. He didn't seem much in the mood to talk, and she'd learned not to try and force things out of him. She followed his gaze to the woman being served the bottle of Shein, and for a moment made a game of figuring out what year it would have been from before a new voice drew her out of her thoughts.

Huh? Dust frowned, brow crooked as someone - a Wood Elf, it seemed - spoke quietly to Astarill over his shoulder. His voice was low, too low for her to catch anything but scraps of words and the strange whispered tone. Her frown grew deeper as Astarill replied, though she felt some relief that he didn't whisper like the Bosmer had. Maybe someone he was supposed to meet here?

Her gaze wandered around the tavern as she scooped another large spoonful of stew, starting to feel the broth warming her from the inside out. Maybe travelling here just to get a stupid dress done was a bad idea. But then nothing would have fit... She sighed, gaze settling for a moment on the Imperial woman who'd ordered Shein. How odd. And she looked vaguely familiar, though not enough for Dust to place. Dust shook her head and focused on her food again.

Ath raised an eyebrow to the mans apparent confusion. Which had Ath somewhat confused now as well. The male looked just like his thief friend did......which could end up bad for several people, not to mention his guild! Eyes flicked to the man's companion before back to him. "Are you not Lorundil Gladro the altmer?" He asked and this time his voice would not be kept down, it would be loud enough for the other to hear him speak. He was already thinking that the man was indeed not his friend but he had to make sure, maby he was playing a game? Who really knew.

Ath's next actions would be dependent upon the males answer of course and in his mind he was already thinking of differnt things to say, among things to do. First he would have to warn this man of curious people after the other high elf.

The nausea finally withdrew and Dakari opened her eyes again, her face greener than. That damn inn-boat was going to kill her, but the rain was still fallen outside, drumming heavily against the portholes. Groaning a little louder, she took a new, more careful sip of shein. She was filling her mug again when she feels looks on the back of her head. Turning her head slightly, her eyes met briefly with those belonging to an Altmer. Though “meeting” wasn’t exactly correct, because the Altmer was apparently more interested in the shein bottle she was holding. It instantly made him friendly to Dakari – it was the power of shein, she thought ironically, to bring people together. His Breton companion was however looking directly at her, until she decided whatever was into her plate was more interesting. This time, Dak frowned. The woman felt familiar, and it wasn’t a good feeling. The urge of leaving was becoming stronger, yet her curiosity found itself aroused by the sudden change of expression on the man’s face

Curiosity usually killed the cat, but since there was nothing Khajiiti into Dakari except for her first name, she decided to bring her soup and her shein to a table closer of this newly-found center of attention, leaving her place to an another patron, an Orc built like a rock. Trying (and epically failing) to ignore the unsettled floor under her feet, she walked to a table just beside the one the Altmer and the Breton were sitting at. There was also a Bosmer, she noticed, and he and the Altmer apparently knew each other. Or did they…?

Sitting a bit less graciously that she intended in the first place because of a sneaky roller, Dakari took her bowl of soup, brought it to her mouth and, in the same time, opened her ears wide to grasp what was going on.

(((OOC: Astarill was sitting at the bar, last time I checked, in my third post. But a table it is if everyone thinks that’s easier. *will try to keep the exact location vague* )))

Astarill’s expression of confusion made way for one of annoyance. He clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes to slits and looked the Bosmer over from top to toe. The man looked friendly enough, but that was more often a bad thing than a good thing, in Astarill’s opinion. Granted, that opinion was coloured by the years he spent in Vvardenfell. The Dunmer of Vvardenfell treated non-natives with undisguised contempt, and Astarill had first learned to cope with it, and had then grown to appreciate it. At least it was straight-forward and consistent, unlike the fake, forced politeness people seemed to submit themselves to here.

Astarill repeated what the Bosmer had said in his head. Lorundil Gladro the Altmer. Why the emphasis on the person’s race? As if the name itself wasn’t indication enough. As if it was important at all. As if he should be happy to be associated with the other Altmer. He scoffed, and pulled his left mouth corner back, baring teeth in a silent one-sided snarl.

“I should hope I look enough like an Altmer to not need to confirm that I am one,” he snapped, “But I am not Lorundil Gladro. I do apologize for the disappointment.”

Dust frowned deeply as the Bosmer spoke - Lorundil? She'd never heard the name, and she certainly knew it wasn't Astarill. Astarill suddenly seemed rather annoyed, snarling in response. She bit her lip, uncertain of how to approach this.

It's not my business, I guess. She did dislike seeing her friend so annoyed, though. Maybe she could cheer him up later? But that might just make things worse. She scooped up the bowl to sip at the last remnants of lukewarm broth and frowned, catching something out of the corner of her eye. The woman with the shein had moved, and a large orc had taken her place. She'd moved near them, in fact. And she looked so familiar, just on the edge of memory…

Dust shook her head uncomfortably and turned her focus back to her food, finishing the stew and picking up her mead, scanning an abandoned copy of the Black Horse Courier nearby.

The Bridge of Death!

Dust shuddered as she read, suddenly regretting the meal she'd scarfed so eagerly. Ugh. It was Dark Brotherhood work, it had to be. One of the other Sanctuaries, I suppose. Antoinetta often shared the latest 'news' eagerly with her, and she hadn't heard about any contracts like this one from members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary.

It's so eerie. Dust took a deep drink from her mug. I could walk past whoever killed this man and never even know it.

Ath raised an eyebrow as he studied the man before him. Seemed the use of his words had somewhat upset the male.......no matter. The bosmer dipped his head for a breif moment. "No no, i am the one that is sorry." He murmmers. "I did not mean to offend if i did.....but you look just like him." He frowned slightly and tapped fingers on the table. "So now i will warn you. You may get visitors soon enough as a curious elf was asking about my friend." The bosmer murmmered.

"Which leads me to another point........if you do run into this person, or another that asks for this altmer, then please, let me know as i will be staying at Merchants Inn in the Market district of this fine city." He then would motion over someone to take there orders. "Now, to make amends i shall buy you, and your company with you, a round on me." He would give a friendly smile to the man. Hey nothing said the Bosmer could not be nice right?

Dak swallowed a long sip of tomato soup. A strange elf, eh? Actually, many Elves looked strange, with their usual “I’m going to outlive you and your heirs, deal with it!” expression. But some looked stranger than others, surely – like that Bosmer, actually. He was all smiling and charming, but there was something in his behavior…

“…if you want to prevent this Mer from troubles, maybe you should tell him exactly what that “curious” elf looked like,” she said without looking at neither of the elves, her voice cold and dull - but also a little shaky. “…Cyrod is filled with strange Mers – like that Thamriel woman, who pretends she can hear and see the souls of every person who ever died into the city’s walls since its building; you could as well tell him “Be careful, there is a sparrow between thousand of other sparrows you have to look for – and please keep me aware of the results of your researches.” Not that I care...“

Dakari got up carefully, took the half-filled bottle of shein and brought it to the Altmer, putting the bottle in front of him. “…you’re going to need it more than I do,” she concluded, the tone of her voice distant and monotonous, her fixed eyes staring at the man’s face for memorizing it.

Astarill started to believe the Bosmer was an incurable optimist. The Imperial City, a fine city? Hah… Not to mention that many would have been deterred by his gruff demeanour and would have walked off or turned away, either with a mumbled apology or an insult. Yet the Bosmer was still here, and seemed to be annoyingly calm and polite about it too, offering to buy a drink, no less. He seemed a lot like Dust, in that respect. She was an incurable optimist too, or such was Astarill’s opinion at least.

But this all seemed irrelevant in the light of what the man had just told him. He ground his teeth, shifting his jaw from left to right once while he let things sink in. He did not reply to the man’s offer to buy them a drink. He had no need for another drink, especially not from a stranger, but flat out refusing the man’s offer could limit his chances to get some much required answers from him. And so he neither refused nor accepted. He cast a brief glance at the Breton beside him, checking to see if she caught all this, when suddenly someone else interfered.

He looked toward the woman who spoke, who upon closer inspection seemed to be the one who had ordered the bottle of shein. Astarill hadn’t noticed her previous move from the bar to a nearby table, and he now wondered if she had done this on purpose. He narrowed his eyes and looked her over as she approached, much like he had done with the Bosmer before. His face went rigid as stone when she put the bottle of shein down before him.

“You’re incorrect in your assumption,” he spoke through gritted teeth, and shoved the bottle away from him. He still had no need for drinks from strangers, and in fact he thought the woman looked like she needed the alcohol more than he did. There were corpses who were more lively than she seemed. Although undead generally displayed the decency not to interfere with other people’s conversations.

“This ‘friend’ of yours,” he started, turning his gaze back on the Bosmer, making an attempt to ignore the Imperial woman, “You’re not very well acquainted with him, are you?” He had to ask, to extrapolate just how much this other Altmer was supposed to look like him, and if the people looking for him could make the same mistake. He continued, “And I don’t suppose you know exactly who was asking for him?”

Dust looked up from the paper when the Bosmer spoke again, frowning as he apologized and offered a drink. And what he said sounded like a warning. She bit her lip, lowering both brows.

A new voice - Dust watched as the Imperial woman who had the shein spoke, then approached. A thousand sparrows, interesting comparison -

Ohhh…

The voice did it. The colour drained from Dust's face as she remembered - that dull, emotionless tone. From the Sanctuary. The woman - she couldn't remember her name, and she wasn't there often, but she was one of them. And Antoinetta had complained once, about a woman who kept saying she was 'some kind of bird'…

I'm sure of it! What's she doing here? And why bother interfering? Dust bit her lip, watching as the woman offered Astarill her bottle of shein. She didn't know what was going on, but one way or another it gave her a bad feeling. She'd have to speak to Astarill privately, as soon as possible.

But for the moment… Dust looked carefully between the Bosmer, Astarill and the woman, lips pressed into a tight line. I'll just have to watch carefully.

Ath raised an eyebrow to the one who spoke to him. "Interesting enough, she wore leather armor, and had cloth wrapped around her eyes as if the sun hurt her to see." He sits back. "Very little else i can tell you as she never did give up her name." Ath then looked to Astarill. "Quite the opposite in fact my good man. Which is why it is so strange to see you looking just like him..........enough to fool even me." He murmmers and rubs his chin as if that thought disturbed him.

Ath sipped his drink quietly in thought for a few seconds. "As to anyone else she may be with.......if anyone, i cannot tell you that ether as she left as quickly as coming up to me." He frowned again in thought. "Though i dare say, my friend is an elf who very rarely has strangers asking for him who don't know where to find him." The male spoke softly as eyes flicked between the people. What to do, what to do.......he was curious to know more about all this....maby he would follow this look alike altmer to see if any other person comes around mistaking him for Lorundil.

Dakari tilted her head at the Altmer. “…I am never wrong,” she answered flatly, her expression never changing. Almost never wrong, actually, but the Mer didn’t have to know it. Neither he did to know that he surely would have an another member of the Brotherhood (Dak vaguely remembered a Sister who could fit the description, an another of Lachance’s exotic pets) tracking him down soon – or more exactly, tracking that Lorundil Gladro, but if even his so-called friend could mistake the two men, others would do the same. No mention her Brothers and Sisters weren’t exactly the brightest tools in the shed…

“…I am never wrong,” she repeated, “and you should watch your back from now.” She was going to add something else when her seasickness, combined with a now soup-filled stomach and a very strong alcohol, struck back.

The next time she knew, she was on her knees, her hand pressed against her mouth, attempting desperately to hold back her nausea.