PLEASE LOCK

[Kveykva]

Nicholas Storm - Male - 31 - Breton - College of Winterhold - Tagged: Altavia
"You and me both, Cherie." His accent added a quiet, songbird-like whistle to the end of the word. "Maybe he'll teach me something useful." Nicholas returned his gaze to the stone, tossing it into the air and catching it on his fingertips. I wonder how he plans to unlock its secrets... The Breton mused to himself, almost entranced by the swirling clouds of otherworldly energy held within. Nick read about Dwarven Lexicons during his time studying in Cyrodiil, but the Sigil Stone didn't make sense. There was no logic pertaining to how it did anything. It just simply did. A shift of furs on the bed drew his attention from the swirling red and black rock. "Anyways, about this dragon thing..." Nick set the stone back in its pewter pedestal and sat up to face Altavia. The younger Breton set a leather bound journal on the corner of the bed for him to see, describing how recently she'd been plagued by visions of dragons and masks (though unfortunately not dragon masks), pointing out rough sketches of runes etched in stone. Nicholas picked up the book curiously, flipping gingerly through its pages. "How long have you had these visions for? When did they start?" He moved his finger along the runes, biting his cheek thoughtfully. "You're not going crazy, that's for sure." He answered, attempting to reassure her. "While I don't get the masks, these runes are the written form of Dovahzul. Now, I'm fluent in eight different languages, but unfortunately dragon tongue is not aming those, so bear with me. I'm guestimating here." Nicholas only recognized about half the runes, and was only capable of translating even less. "'Upon the...' I think that says 'fallen snow,' something something 'Sovngarde...devour...' Okay I have absolutely no idea." He dropped the book in defeat, the journal landing in his lap.

[Kveykva]

Akadar Strong-Blade - Male - 26 - Nord - Whiterun - Tagged: Faolan
"Have you?" The Nord snapped in return. Akadar and Faolan always bickered and harbored ill resentment for each other, even with the ten years between them. The tension only grew after their sister married into some noble family in Solitude, and then their mother passed. Even as an adult, it seemed Akadar found his way back into their age old fued. "It seems you have only wasted the life you were given." Akadar shook his head, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "When will you learn? I was only the better son because I minded the rules, but I was never who our father wanted me to be. You were always the one he believed would follow in his path, but you were too blinded by your selfishness to see how much faith he was putting into you." Their father was a blacksmith, as were most of their ancestors. The Stong-Blade family managed Whiterun's forge for generations, and their father wanted to pass on their family tradition. "You have the gift I never had, Faolan, and you've done nothing but waste it. He sent you to Riverwood in hopes that you would become Alvor's apprentice, but it seems that was lost on you as well. Adrianne Avenicci was never meant to become Whiterun's smithy, but you refused to learn! He was forced to take on another apprentice once you left." Akadar sighed, burying his face in his hands. "When will you learn?"

[Durnehviir]

Durak \\ M \\ 24 \\ Orc \\ Tags: open
The large muscular orc thought for a moment before a grotesque grin formed on his face. "What kind of payment will I receive in return? And where will I be able to find you, once when I complete my task?" Durak asked while he placed his hands on his hips as if summing up the creature thats in front of him.

sorry for the short ressponce. Im a bit unsure of what to have Durak say at the moment.))

Dar'Zarina Javahaan \\ F \\ 30 \\ Khajiit \\ Tags: Malamar
The khajiit looked up from the ground and looked to the man that sat in the wooden seat. A slight smile curved at the ends of her lips as he offered a joke. "Yeah, I suppose that does help you forget things." She said in a calm tone before she shrugged at his next statement. "The past is the past and that is where it should stay. Im normally okay, but today this stupid bird had the nerve on bringing up my past and speaking about it as if it were her own business." Dar'Zarina spoke as she began to squeeze her fists again.

I have such horrid WB right now its not even funny. Also, sorry for the late reply, I thought I had posted DX))

[Kveykva]

Apocrypha - Firebird - Orc Stronghold - Tagged: Durak
Relief. The pure feeling of relief filled her feathers with flush, easing her nerves. "Whatever sort of payment your heart desires," The firebird answered, her voice rejuvenated. "Gold, precious stones, the knowledge of any skill, mates, anything is a possibility. Perhaps you wish prosperity for the members of your clan as well?" Apocrypha knew not what his reward would end up being, but knowing Hermaeus Mora, it could be anything. Seeing as the Orc accepted the pact, the sickly green avian moved to answer his next inquiry. "I will accompany you during your noble quest." There was a bite of sarcasm in her tone, which soon melted away. "Calcemo's research is not lain in plain sight. I will guide you where you need to be and make certain the task is done correctly, as is my task. Though, I can see you dislike my speech, so I shall prom to only speak when necessary."

[vega.]

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seventeen - breton - location: Winterhold, College - tags: Nicholas

As Nick went through her journal, Altavia was surprised he seemed intrigued. As if she were being diagnosed by an apothecary, she answered his questions, "After an incident crossing the Skyrim borders. My brother and I were separated. Two dragons attacked our caravan..." She struggled to explain, the memory being vivid in some parts yet blurry in the rest. She was almost sure that behind her father's shouting the dragons were speaking. To whom? Each other? The memory worsened as she thought about it more, it made her angry, vengeful, and she'd rather not think about it and instead she blotted it out with more present and persisting problems.
"You are not going crazy, that's for sure." He commented. "What a relief." Altavia did not seem as excited about it. Everything in that journal seemed like something that would be going through a crazy person's mind, unless they knew for a fact it was all true, which the mage seemed to be providing evidence for. "Now i'm fluent in eight different languages," (to this Altavia rolled her eyes) "but unfortunately dragon tongue is not among those..."

She cocked her head to the side as he tried to decipher the ancient language into common tongue. She had no clue she was writing in this dovahzul; she didn't even understand it herself. Snow and Soverngaurd didn't click in her head, and she let loose a sigh, "Guess we'll need your dragon friend. I know stories about dragon priest masks in Skyrim, but the design of these aren't of this province, though maybe they serve a similar role?" She suggested. The girl shuffled off the bed and to her feet, "I think that's enough for one day. You can hold on to the journal for now, in case you find anything. Show it to Durnehviir when you can. There's just not enough information." Altavia walked over to his and pulled the clock off her shoulders, trying not to drag it upon the floor as she bundled it up in her arms and held it out for him to take back. "You might want this back?"

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sixteen - nord - location: Whiterun - tags: Akadar

The boy flinched as his brother snapped at him, glancing down at the sheathed pair of blades he folded and tempered himself. He had a knack for it, sure, practiced for hours with the ones he made to perfect balance. Perhaps he did have a chance at it, but forging didn't mean anything until the metal was put to the test. He picked up one of the swords and pulled it out of it's leather sheath, letting it dance in his fingers before point at Akadar, "I've wasted nothing," He interrupted, "Maybe I never used my talent like everyone wanted, but I haven't idled either." He tilted the blade downward so that the family crest could be seen embedded in the hilt, the same one he left Whiterun with.

"I'll admit that I have my regrets, and I know I keep repeating my mistakes but..." He was hesitant to turn the argument into a negotiation, 'I've come back for another chance, brother, if it could be so. Between us, not the forge. Perhaps there is still some way I could make up for it all." He had lowered his voice, as well as his sword, and sheathed it again. "And if not," He added, "Then I suppose I have no reason to stay then, do I?" He gave a tight smile, trying to seem genuine but unable to fight off the foul taste. He was raised with tradition, and he rejected it like a heathen to his widely accepted religion. Maybe it would've worked out somehow if only he weren't so good at making mistakes.

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twenty nine - breton - location: Whiterun - tags: open

still wip, hehe, he's open as well once he's done with jarl business

[Durnehviir]

Durak \\ M \\ 24 \\ Orc \\ Tags: open
The orc nodded. "I accept the noble deed." Durak said with a sly grin before putting his hands to his side. "I will be ready by noon tomorrow. I will be speaking with my entire clan so I don't want you in sight until I walk out of my stronghold. They don't need to know every detail of what I'm doing and who I'm working for." Durak said in a low town before waving his hand in a dismissive manner before walking back into his house and going to sleep.
~~~ The next morning.
Durak awoke. He was slightly more tired than he wanted to be but he couldn't complain. He agreed to this job and he would keep his word. The large orc chieftain called for a meeting in the center of his stronghold. There were about 13 orcs of all shades sizes and colors that joined at the center and had their attentions set on Durak. "I will be leaving here today on a mission that I've been summoned to complete. I am promised a high reward for payment. When I return from where I go, I will be returning with riches of some kind. I will share with you- my people and we shall no longer starve during harsh winters, or drought summers. I do not know how long I will be gone, so I am putting my closest adviser in charge. She is wise and strong and I trust her with my life as you should as well. As soon as step out of those gates she will take my spot until I return. You are to listen to her and respect her as you would me. My people. I shall return to you!" After Durak finished speaking with his people it was already noon and he sun was high in the sky. He had everything he needed; coin, his dagger and his warhammer. He loaded up his beast of a horse with food and water. Durak finally left the safety of his stronghold and kicked his horse into a quick gallop as he kept his eyes peeled for the bird that would be accompanying him.

[Kveykva]

Nicholas Storm - Male - 31 - Breton - College of Winterhold - Tagged: Altavia
No wonder she doesn't like dragons very much, Nicholas chose not to pry into her feelings, and although the visions could be explained by trauma, it wouldn't explain the strange dragon priests or the Dovahzul writing, which only backed the necromancer's claim. "I don't know about that," Nick replied. "Not the dragon priest mask thing, that makes sense, but asking Durnehviir. I'm not going to call him again without doing some of my own research to see if I can decipher this, so I'll take it with. I agree though," The Breton stood up and stretched, feeling his back pop from the sudden movement. "It's late and I'm sure you're tired, so you ought to get some sleep and rest that wound of yours." When Altavia offered to return his mage cloak, Nicholas took it from her but instead draped it back over her shoulders. "You keep it, for now at least. If there's a blizzard tonight, you'll need all the warmth you can get." He gave her a kind smile. "If you need anything, I'll just be in the other room. Teid matriil." The necromancer gave the younger Breton a casual salute before leaving her to her own devices, moving over to the other room next door.

He found a place to set his Sigil Stone and dropped his bag in a chair, rummaging around inside for the rest of his potion ingredients. Altavia's notebook joined the swirling rock on the table, but Nick put both out of his mind as he started concocting a second mixture. He took off his tunic so he could apply the poultice to the injury given to him by the troll earlier that day. The gooey mix stung, but the gashes on his belly were hardly cat scratches when compared to the scar he already had just above it. The ugly stretch of flesh began near the pit of his right arm and angled sharply to his left side, stopping just below his ribcage where it curved around his torso and presumably continued up his back. Thankfully, it no longer caused Nicholas any pain, but it did limit his physical ability, which added to the list of reasons why he preferred words and magic to force.

With the poultice in place, the Breton retrieved a battered lute from his knapsack, one of his few possessions the necromancers at Castle Kastaav didn't rob him of. With a slight tuning adjustment and the addition of a bottle of mead, Nicholas strummed the strings to a light hearted rhythm. He always wanted to be a bard, but right now Solitude felt very out-of-reach, especially without his horse. Nick kept his volume to a minimum as he sang and drank, but every once in a while a chorus of song pierced through the stone walls. "'Cuz baby it's cold outsiiiide~"

(Don't hate me please)

[vega.]

(*internal screaming* sorry this one is so long btw to sum it up Altavia falls asleep in the Arcanaeum)

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seventeen - breton - location: Winterhold, College - tags: Nicholas

Altavia could almost hear the sound of the mage's back cracking as he stood and stretched. She could already tell he wasn't the most physically inclined, but considering his ability, he didn't have to be. It made her want to question why he didn't use his magic on the troll before they arrived in Winterhold. Nevertheless, she simply returned a grin and accepted the cloak and it was given back to her, and despite the challenging issues they had, it didn't seem so bad in that moment. At least they were in the right place to do some research, and if they could nor find answers they may be led to them. "Thank you, good night." She replied to his rather unique farewell. Afterwards she sat on her bed, staring blankly at shelves that held a couple rolls of parchment. A lonesome quill caught her interest. She rose from the bed and picked it up, running the long black feather through her hand. Only there was no ink no matter where she looked. That could be fixed.

Turning to her wardrobe and changing into the novice robes they were given, which fit more comfortably than her light armor, she prepared to leave the Hall of Attainment and enter the college itself. The robes wouldn't stop a sword, but it gave her the flexibility to cast spells, and keep warm. Over it Altavia wore Nick's cloak, and slung her bag over her shoulder, nearly dropping it shortly after. "Gah, wrong shoulder," She hissed to herself. Ditching the flimsy food wraps for her real boots, she tip-toed out of her room. There were bottles of win and even cups sitting on the rim of some magic-well in the center of the Hall. She paused to approach it, pondering the blue beam as it illuminated her features. It was brighter than any sconce. A rising voice made her jump, and she turned towards the source. She wasn't the only one who had noticed, it seems, as a familiar khajiit edged in beside her and gave her a questioning look. Altavia shrugged in response, and both looked around the doorway of a room to see Nicholas strumming on a lute, cheeks flush as he sang.
"This one is definitely not sober." J'zargo mused, stroking his muzzle in thought.
"Not at all." Altavia agreed. She shuffled in place, feeling it was wrong to be watching the man in his own time, but the khajiit seemed to have different ideas. "Do you think he'd notice if we replaced his mead with one of Brelyna's potions?" He purred, whiskers twitching as he smirked. Altavia gave him a sharp look. "Don't you dare.", she warned, and he lumbered off, saying something about how great he was and how boring she was. The girl herself chuckled quietly at the mage and pulled away from the singing breton, his voice fading as she traveled down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

Outside the wind was howling, tossing up freshly fallen snow and ice. She hugged the cloak around her and strode to the entrance to the Hall of Elements, the door shutting with an echo through the empty hall. There were few scholars up this late, but they did't seem to mind as she turned right and up the stairs in the Arcanaeum. The sight of so many books fascinated her, and she walked in with a dreamer's gaze.
"Hey, don't you think about doing anything stupid." A deep voice called to her from behind a counter. Drag gro-shub was the book-keeper, and as Altavia heard it, he was quite adamant about late dues. "Don't worry about me." She assured. The orsimer only grunted and returned to his documents. The girl searched through numbers of volumes, keeping "The Dragon War" under her arm. Soon she had six books stack on top of one another, which she placed with a huff on one of the tables and winced as she sat down, her sore muscles beginning to ache already. Staring at the stack of books in front of her she pulled The Dragon War from it and began from the beginning, reading through the history of the War and how dragons were worshipped in their glory days. That Altavia knew. What interested her was the point where a cult formed to worship these 'gods', which were rewarded with enchanted masks and became priests that ruled like foul kings in Skyrim. They didn't stop there, but moved throughout Tamriel. It's said they were all killed in the rebellion, and haven't been seen since 1E, but being so wide spread perhaps there still are followers conceiving their practices in secluded hideouts and welcoming the return of dragons. They may be in other provinces, but surely if this were the case they would return to Skyrim for the rise of dragons again. Would the priest's masks then look different, then? A peculiar thought. Altavia thirst to know more, but having intently studied the first entire title her energy dwindled until she fell asleep on top of it. Urag only ventured over to remove the book from underneath her head in case she was a drooler, then let her be.

[Kveykva]

Akadar Strong-Blade - Male - 26 - Nord - Whiterun - Tagged: Faolan
"Then I would assume you found yourself in the dungeons just to see me? How kind." His words were harsh, but his expression softened. "If you wish to have a second chance, I will give it to you. You are my brother, and no matter how blind and asinine you can be, I still love you, and nothing will ever change that." Akadar embraced him, the near Skyrim atmosphere inside the Nord home warming tremendously. "I just want something better for you, Faolan.." He stepped back, still resting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I want a better life for you than the one you've given yourself. You have a brilliant mind in that skull of yours, and you are beyond a life of petty crime." It seemed Faolan's six years had done something, and Akadar was more than ready to try and make amends with his younger sibling, knowing the challenges such a task may pose. Both Nords were stubborn as boars and prideful as dragons, but beyond that they were complete opposites. And with Faolan here, perhaps Akadar's house and his life wouldn't feel so empty.

(So, this reply's a little late and a little short, I think I'm coming down with something gross. This'll be my last one for tonight, so I'll get Nick's and Apocrypha's up tomorrow)

[Captain Plucky]

Raavi Kinair/ Khajiit/ Nightingale/ Mood: *Soft, internal screeching*/ Female/ 22/ Tags; Conavin

Bersi's eyes lightened up at the gem was presented to him, a sparkle of greed in them. "Of course, sir! Let me get everything wrapped up for you." the shop owner exclaimed, handing Conavin the largest potion and bandages. After he was, he eyes the gem for a moment before setting it under the desk. "Have a good day." Bersi smiled, glad with the deal. Raavi's eye twitched as the pain flared up, causing her fur to stand on end. At this point, it was more annoying than painful. Her tail lashed from left to right, trying to be patient.

Slick/ Brenton/ Thief/ Mood: Happy/ Male/ 19/ Tags; Runa.

Slick's expression softened unexpectedly at Runa's encouraging words, his green eyes brightening. "You...you think so?" he questioned, his voice unsure for the first time in forever. Slick had been scolded for trying to pursue art in the past, and was actually afraid to try again. What would his mother think? She seemed to hate everything he did, so...what was he supposed to do? Go against her past wishes? Somehow, he imaged her tracking him down, tearing his drawing books in pieces and shouting at him. While it was not masculine, he shivered at the thought of hearing her harsh tone once again. Even now, his ears rang at the memories. Oh, and how loud they rang...Slick straightened his posture, looking back at Runa. "I'm not sure. Do you really think I should try again?" he asked once more, indecisive.

Malamar the Sharper/ Redguard/ Assassin/ Mood: Rushing/ Male/ 27/ Tags; Dar'Zarina

"Granted, if some pest brought up my past.." Malamar paused, clicking his tongue. "I'm quite the pest control. I wonder how you managed to refrain from clipping it's wings and throwing it in a lake." he commented blankly. The assassin looked out of the window, noticing the time of night. It seemed like it was time. "Ah, by Hermaeus." he remarked calmly, standing up. An inexplicable expression was being worn by him, one that he always wore before he did his job. "My apologies, but it seems like my time is up. I have to leave now." he stated, beginning to walk out of the door. But, something prevented him from just walking straight out. A strange feeling dimly submerged in his chest, one he did not recognize. He turned back to Dar'Zarina because of this, pausing for a moment. He took a breath in, unsure of why he had stopped. How strange. "Ah, perhaps I should put him on the list. Oh, well. Perhaps, in the future, we will cross paths once again." Malamar looked down at the floor, "...I suppose?" he added, not sure what to feel. With a nod of his head, he left the room, his eyes shining bright with blood lust.