The Nord grabs the drink he just ordered and the one from his friends table downing two at once.
"Ya finnsd yet impreial?"
"Well, ssince you know sso much about the Bee and Barb, do you by chance know the proprietor of the inn? An Argonian female, half a head fin missing, beautiful sscales, young, maybe an eye misssing, anyone like that?I have some asssetsss I can perhapss offer if you have any informatsion." Swims'Faster suddenly whispered, sans slurred voice, hoping to maybe catch the Khajiit off-guard to get the most out of his sudden shift in tone and sobriety.
The Nord reached for another ale at the bar, lent slightly too far and fell flat on his face.
Looks like Jarek won after all.
The drinking contest wasn't completely unexpected, Zavier had to admit. Nords drank for almost anything, and they drank twice as much when they weren't the ones paying. Still, the legionnaire, or whoever he really was, seemed to have the situation well in hand. 'Good.' Zavier thought, so long as tempers remained cool, every non-Nord in the bar might just walk out without his head in a bag or a bounty on his head. Swims-Faster seemed to be engaging the khajiit in the corner.
The khajiit looked like he wanted to remain unnoticed and was warily eying everyone who entered the bar. It was even odds he was a member of the Thieves' Guild or the Dark Brotherhood or just some loner trying to make a quick septim off some poor mark. In any case it was worth investigating. He got up made his way to the corner table. "I've been thinking on your deal, Swims-Faster." Zavier said, addressing the Argonian, "I'd like to talk about it a bit more, though that can wait if you have business to conclude with your associate here." Zavier turned to greet the khajiit, "And you might be?"
"I havn't seen anyone by that description in town" Raksada responded, somewhat surprised that the argonian had felt it necessary to decieve him like that. "However, I can have my contacts search for her, for a price." He figured he may as well start off on the right foot in this new inn. Who knows, maybe this night would prove profitable after all.
Just then, the mage walked up and mentioned a deal to the argonian. Raksada listened, curious, until the mage asked his name. Seeing no reason to conceal it at the moment, he responded "Raksada at your service. And you are?"
Jarek couldn't shake the feeling that he should have lost the contest, the Nord had been doing fine up until the last moment, maybe the barmaid had been filling the Nord's mug to the brim, a couple of Jarek's had felt a little light. Either way he had achieved victory and now there was one less Nord to butt into the business that seemed to be beginning towards the back of the room. The other Nord looked very surprised though didn't seem inclined to challenge Jarek in any way, so Jarek would leave him be.
Getting to his feet as steadily as he could manage, Jarek looked over at the barmaid and said "I told you that you would regret getting me drinking."
"Well, Khajiit, I'll have to thing about that offer."
Swims'Faster then turned to Zavier as he introduced himself to the cat and whispered, "Ahh, Zsavier, how nice to see you again." He bared his teeth in what he hoped would be construed as a smile, but the smoothskins were notorious at misinterpreting signals,"I believe that my business with this Khajiit is done for the moment. Join me back at the fire will you." Swims'Faster then wobbly stood, and playing the drunk Argonian as much as he could, stumbled back to his seat and fell over purposely pulling his chair back into it's upright position and sat back down, attempting to master his little bleary-eyed look while still taking notice of as much of the inn as possible. He decided that he'd wait a few more minutes before retiring to a room for the night. Maybe take the Khajiit up on his offer to find Quickkills. Of course, he'd still have to honor his beginning of an agreement with Zavier.
Faulgor finished his hearty stew and set the bowl aside, showing that he was done with it should the barmaid decide to take care of it soon. He was halfway through his tankard of Jagga when the Nord challenged the Imperial to a drinking match. This should be interesting, Faulgor thought to himself as he gulped down some more of his drink. By the time the Orc reached the bottom of his tankard, the two drinkers had already gone through a handful of them. If it were any other time, he would've placed his bet on the Nord, though the man had already gone through a couple drinks during his stay here and the Orc had to maintain his professionalism on the job. Still, it came as a bit of a surprise when it ended with the Nord falling flat on his face, drunk as a skunk in a meadery. He lightly rapped his knuckle against the bar, yet managed to make a loud knock as he signaled the barmaid over. "If you'd kindly, refill my mug, it'd be much appreciated," Faulgor said in a low, gruff voice that contained a trace of sincerity. He stood and made his way over to the heap of Nord that currently occupied the center of the inn's floor, then grabbed the man's collar and began dragging him over to his friend. Raising his arm, the Orc lifted the Nord and brought him down onto the table at which the conscious Nord sat with a thud and clatter of the dishes already upon the table. "Here," Faulgor said, almost growling at the seated Nord as he leaned forward and over him, forcing the man to look up at the towering Orc before him. "Don't forget this on your way out; any trash left behind is either burned or fed to the dogs." Without hesitation, the Orc turned and stepped back to the bar where his drink awaited him, seating himself down on the stool (creak) and taking a sip of the fresh tankard-full.
Sten now stood were the Orc previously was, taking somewhat center stage of the inn.
"Please, before anybody is to leave and go their own ways. Listen to what i have got to say."
Sten had a very deep and profound voice, one that could hold your attention very well.
"If you had not already guessed, this is my inn.. and i believe i have done you all a favor to be here tonight with free ale and my generosity does not end there, i will offer you all a bed for the night at no cost. Unfortunately i only have two spare"
Sten makes his way over to the top of the stairs.
He slowly descends..
"I would be highly appreciative if well... if you returned a favor to me"
He takes a step down.
"Your generosity will be rewarded of course"
"I am a fair collector of unique artifacts and i would be grateful of any assistance on my next adventure."
Sten pauses for a second on the step.. looking around at what the contents of the inn has to offer.
Remembering "Oh and it's legal work.. for the little of you in here that care"
Sten proceeds down the last of the stairs.
"Two carriages will be waiting just across the road at Riften stables around 8am tomorrow morning. We will be traveling to a ruin near Dawnstar and stopping at Whiterun along the way"
Sten pauses for thought...
"That is all i can tell you for now... ah, each of you will be rewarded will 500gold upon reaching Whiterun to gather supplies, your pay however will hopefully be significantly more."
Sten walks across the inn floor towards the bar, upon passing the table with the two Nords the sober Nord takes a swing at Sten hitting him square on the Jaw. The Nord ripped a coin purse tied to the Redguards waist.
As the Nord ran for the door Sten knew Anoke was perfectly capable of stopping the theif..
However Sten now felt somewhat embarrassed, he is a expert in block and the attack was of very poor form and all of this in front of potential employees. Feeling like he needed to redeem himself Sten telekinetically flung a stool into the back of the thieves right knee, the stool exploded into wooden splinters and by the sounds of it so did the thieves leg. Now on all fours the dirty Nord reached up to grab the inn door handle. The door being quite well built ideally required a man to be on his feet to heave it open.
Sten gentally placed his hand on the thieves shoulder and with a blinding flash of green light the Nord lay there motionless.
Sten somewhat still embarrassed made his way back up the stairs, he turns his neck
"Faulgor, would you please escort the Drunk (Nord) to a bed, he can repay me for the actions of his friend with his service tomorrow.. as for the thief, he doesn't look much use to anybody. Just get him out of here."
Before Zavier could introduce himself, Swims-Faster got up and repositioned himself by the fire. The khajiit, Raksada, seemed to be considering him. It was a look Zavier knew, sizing up a target. This one was definitely dangerous, not that he really thought otherwise. "Zavier, pleased to meet you."
The hulking orc, at that moment, grabbed the now quite drunk Nord and slammed him into a table. The bar went silent for a moment before the patrons slowly began resuming their conversations. He turned back to his companion. It was time to see if this khajiit was a member of the Thieves' Guild. "I was thinking about setting up some business contacts here in Riften." Zavier began, "I haven't spent much time in the area though. Do you know of anyone who could help me with that, Raksada?" If he had half a brain Raksada would put him in contact with someone who was affiliated with Thieves' Guild.
The redguard had descended the stairs and made an interesting offer. He wanted hands to help him retrieve an artifact, and deep pockets to pay for the help. Thoughts of the Thieves' Guild were pushed aside by a new curiosity about this new man, and this quest he was offering. It could be well worth joining...
Swims'Faster heard what the Redguard had said, and was somewhat impressed by his magical ability, though the fact that an obviously seasoned warrior was able to have his purse stolen so easily ruined the effect. He'd seen countless pickpockets in his few years out of Black Marsh, he'd seen few with the blunt cunning of the ones here in Skyrim. A short while after the Nord was taken to a bed by the Orc, he chose to leave the establishment and make his way into Riften. He hoped that his search could end, otherwise he might have to take the Redguard up on his offer, it was expensive traveling here in Skyrim, all manner of beasts and charlatans lived here, some more dangerous than others. Walking towards Riften brought a single thought to his mind, with any luck Quickkills will be here an- He stopped as he heard a branch break in the darkness. He immediately pulled his spear and readied his stance, and saw a tree to place his back against. After a few moments however, he felt himself at ease. It wasn't long before he was back on the road and in Riften. The first thing he smelled was the stale air full of fish and bile. Though it was somewhat familiar to him now, and headed towards the inn, the Bee and Barb, hoping, just hoping, that Quickkils was inside, so that tracking her down was over, and he could return home. His hopes failed him though as he stepped into the bar, the innkeep was gray, not green, and she was of the spines, not fins. With a sigh he walked to the bar and ordered another brandy and a room. After another three or four glasses, he walked up the stairs, and collapsed in his bed to sleep that night away, weapons propped beside the door, a chair blocking it. The next morning he made his way back to the inn outside to talk to both Khajiit and Zavier, as well as take the job offered by the Redguard, suspicious though he was of the pickpocket the night before.
Faulgor, hearing his orders from Sten, quickly chugged the remainder of his Jagga and stood, once again, from the stool. He grabbed his helm and tied it to his belt as he began heading towards the drunken Nord. Lifting the limp figure with ease, he threw him over his shoulder and carried him up the stairs towards one of the inn's rooms. The Orc dropped the drunkard onto the cot and made a swift exit, closing the door behind him. The next task on his list was to take care of the would-be theif who was now in a broken heap, nearly in the same fashion as the Drunk though this one was conveniently placed by the door. He picked up the Nord, just as he had the other, and stepped out into darkness. He walked far enough into the woods that he heard the running water of the river. Without hesitation, he dropped the body onto the ground and turned to head back for the inn. With any luck, the wolves will take care of him before dawn, he thought as he walked away, smiling a bit as he heard a wolf howl in the distance, almost as if on cue. In no time, he stepped back into the inn and sat at the bar, silently watching over the inn.
Raksada watched the argonian get up and walk over to the fireplace. "What kind of business were you thinking?" he asked Zavier, deciding that this was probably a test of some kind. "If I can't help you with it, I'm sure I have a contact that can."
He listened intently as the redguard, Sten, made his proposition, and decided that he would go on this venture. It appeared that the would-be thief didn't share his sense of caution, however. And so, another thief meets an early end. This one is definitely not one to be trifled with He was somewhat surprised that Sten was the owner of the inn, but stranger things have happened.
Raksada finished his drink, tipped the barmaid, and headed to The Ragged Flagon for the night. He arrived at the stables before the scheduled meeting time, as he usually had something going on in the morning and was used to early hours.
Jarek listened to Sten, he wasn't sure if it was just because he was drunk or if Sten really was this interesting of a person to listen to, as he weaved his speech together he was attacked by the sober Nord, as embarrassing as it was Sten took the punch to the jaw as if it was a tap. Jarek felt somewhat responsible, this Nord may have been making a show because of the embarrassment his friend suffered, when the Nord snatched the coin purse, Jarek lost all respect for him, I've fought many noble Stormcloaks, Nords like you give them a bad name. Jarek never had a personal vendetta against Stormcloaks, they merely had a different belief than him, no reason they couldn't find mutual respect on or off the battlefield. Sten handled the Nord quickly and impressively.
When the speech was wrapped up Jarek already knew he'd be joining in on the adventure but he was drunk right now and didn't feel like making a fool of himself with any conversation with his fellow travelers, he was also getting tired but not willing to negotiate for the final bed.
"...hmm I wonder where I'll sleep" he said just loud enough for the barmaid to hear. She offered him her bed saying she would meet him there when business in the bar was finished. Jarek smiled brightly as if it wasn't his plan all along, "well, that would just be wonderful!"
And with that Jarek retired to her quarters.
Zavier looked over the inn. He'd heard the Bee and Barb was the primary inn in the city proper, it would be worth at least seeing the inside of the city itself before he left for this new quest. He packed up his things and made it to the city inn.
The Bee and Barb was an inn of modest quality filled with a motley collection of Nords, Dunmer, and even a few Argonians. He approached the Argonian behind the counter. She looked him over for a moment, "You want a room?"
"Yes." Zavier replied, "And any news of the rest of Skyrim if you have it." She gave a quick glance of the room, more out of habit it seemed, than any fear that she might be caught doing something illegal. The Argonian reached under the counter and passed him a few sheets of paper. The North Wind was an imperial newspaper published in Skyrim. It was part up-to-date fact sheet, providing typically accurate information of most of the country, and part propaganda campaign, talking about great imperial victories and impending victories. The thing was illegal in every Stormcloak territory. It was still far better than the Stormcloak newspaper, the Skyrim Independent. It was clear from the writing that it only existed to combat imperial control of the information flow. The thing was almost completely propaganda. Few, even among the Stormcloaks, bothered to read the thing.
News was fairly typical, all things considered, Zavier thought as he set his things aside in his room. The Dragon Crisis was finally starting to subside, hinting that the war will soon begin to heat up. Ulfric had commissioned the construction of a Skyrim Naval Fleet based out of Windhelm. A Stormcloak raid struck near Solitude, though aside from scaring the locals, nothing seemed to be accomplished. Whiterun was supposedly about to capitulate and throw in with the Empire. That was a laugh. Whiterun had been neutral since the start of the war and the skill, guile, and reckless courage of Jarl Whiterun, his steward, and his thanes was keeping it that way. The one story about the war that seemed to be somewhat true was the impending imperial siege of Dawnstar. Zavier had heard that the Empire was closing in on the city, though the Stormcloaks weren't giving in easily.
Finishing with the paper, Zavier locked his room and went to sleep, preparing for the next day when he'd depart, after some easy money.
Anoke chuckled as the Nord who tried to steal from Sten was crushed by him employer. The drunk one waited, and then made a mad dash to the door. He was drunk, too drunk to pose a threat, and made a blind run for the door. Anoke arched his eyebrows and curled his hands around his spear, his muscles relaxed and his focus sharp. He had no intention of killing the man, and sized his target up.
The Nord was typical, large and heavy, with a barrel for a torso and tree trunks for legs. His drunken stupor made him sway as he ran, looking as if he might smash into the wall instead of out the door. He roared at the argonian as he got closer, breath reeking of Ale. Anoke quickly stepped to the side of the man and swung his spear full circle, catching the back of his head. His follow through pushed the Nord of balance, and he slammed into the doorframe, his nose bursting open, as he crumpled to the ground.
Placing a boot on the mans head, he smiled and called out to Sten.
"And he nearly got away..."
Anoke walked up, laid a hand on Stens shoulder, and grabbed a meal that was waiting for him. A heaped plate of venison and vegetables, topped off with a pitcher of wine. He carried these upstairs and onto the second level, where he ate in mild comfort, a grin splayed across his face.
The sun lye low in the sky casting a golden glow over Riften.
It is the 16th of Sun's Dawn and while the weather looks welcoming of a journey, it is bitterly cold and it can only get worse as you travel north. There is a long journey ahead, but with luck it will be a smooth one.. the Dragons pose little threat now, unlike before.. However that is not to say they can't cause trouble.
Sten can be seen talking talking to the Kahjiit traders.
Looking for more rare items- You think to yourself.. however the only item you see being traded is a Black soul gem which was bought, Sten only offered gold and not items in return.
As the Redguard promised there were two horse-drawn wagons waiting, both had room for six and a chest for item storage. There was one 'Whip' per carriage and both were relatively old Nords.
Beside the two carriages is a grey and white horse already loaded with Stens gear.
As you approach you are greeted by Sten:
"Its nice you could make it, please get yourself comfortable there is a long way to go yet. Faulgor will be in one carriage while Anoke is in the other, both are very capable of keeping you safe. I however will be riding alone, us Redguards prefer solitude and by that i don't mean the hold."
You find it quite strange for a man to pay so much for guards and yet not be with them..
"You may find it helpful to take a low profile.. or if you are ready for trouble, maybe it's best to be equipped.. i'll leave you with that in mind."
"Upon reaching Whiterun, do as you please.. i have business to attend to and an old friend to see. However please do meet me at the gate for your pocket money... "
And with that Sten climbs upon his horse and sets off along his path, you'd better get going.
Swims'Faster arrived with the dawn, and after hearing what Sten had to say, he chose to keep his weapons. He then went to the caravan and bought a heavy coat, cloak, boots, and a new spear, a wicked thing, with a barbed head and slightly curved. a good weapon to replace my own with he thought to himself. The black soul gem was a matter of caution however, as he knew what they used for and how they were filled. He'd only filled two himself since his capture in Morrowind, the first during an experiment with his Dunmer master and the second for safe passage across the border into Skyrim. The drunk Nord from last night in the carriage heightened his suspicion even more, as who in their right mind takes along someone that attempted to rob them the night before halfway across the continent? When Zavier arrived, Swims'Faster threw him the older spear and said, "Zsavier, when we get to Whiterun, we will begin your training with the sspear and dagger."
Anoke decided to keep his spear nearby, passing the traders with no more than a nod. Taking the second carriage, he clambered in and quickly checked for any traps. Under the seats, in the supports, everywhere. Making sure it was safe, he settled down into the back-facing seat, his spear leaning beside him. It was still quite early, and he was accustomed to rising late, making for one tired Argonian. The trip would provide a chance for him to talk to his new companions, and perhaps lay down a few...ground rules.
Removing his throwing knife belt, he pulled out an oiled rag from his lapel pocket. By carefully removing each knife, he wiped down both the blade and the inside sheathe. The last thing Anoke wanted was a stuck knife. Flicking his tongue between his teeth, he systematically and precisely cleaned each and every knife.
Zavier decided to heed Sten's advice. He disappeared into the inn for a moment, and returned in his business attire. It was a blue coat over a white shirt. Simple and nonthreatening, that was the idea. His black robes were folded in his bag, just under his staff. That he always kept nearby. Destruction magic had never been his strong suit. He much preferred to keep his enemies disoriented and keep as little blood on his hands as possible. Just next to the staff were a few soul gems, several already filled, just in case.
Swimms-Faster had already taken his seat in one of the carriages. "And perhaps I'll start to teach you some conjuration as well." Teaching was better than learning, one of his instructors had said once, it forces you to engage a deeper understanding of the material so you can impart it to your own student. If that were true, this might be more beneficial than he had initially anticipated. He pushed his bag underneath his own seat across from Swims-Faster. There was no reason to make himself more of a target, should they be stopped for any reason.
That morning, Faulgor woke from his light slumber nearly an hour before dawn and slowly rose from the cot in his room. The room was nothing extravagant, housing a cot, at the foot which sat a wooden chest, as well as a wooden table with two chairs, and lastly the wooden dresser resting against the wall. All seemed to be still that morning, save for the occasional footsteps in the bar below. The most prominent sounds in the room were the pops of the Orc's back and shoulders as he stretched in his usual morning fashion. He walked over to the door and opened it enough for him to see the covered pot of freshly-boiled water the barmaid had left on the serving table by his room in the hallway, just as he had requested. The handles of the cast-iron pot were wrapped in cloth for convenience and Faulgor grasped them and pulled the pot into the room, setting it atop the small table, before immediately closing the door. Upon removing the lid, which lightly seared the callused tips of the Orc's fingers, Faulgor felt the warmth of the steam that brushed against his face and left a thin layer of moisture behind. He inhaled through his nose and noticed the aroma of scented oils that the barmaid decided to add for a personal touch. Honey. Honey with a hint of...lavender, he suspected and confirmed with another whiff, smiling a bit at the kind gesture. He removed the cloth rag from one of the handles and dipped it into the hot, scented water and proceeded to bathe himself with it.
After the thorough cleansing, Faulgor gathered his gear and armor and began preparing for the journey he knew was ahead of him and whomever decided to show up. Once he was fully dressed and geared, leaving only his helm which he once again tied to his belt, he went to the chest and removed the travelling pack he had stored, and stored within the pack were basic survival items. He'd have to remember to bring provisions from the kitchen, already prepared and packed most likely; the barmaid Sten had hired to manage the inn was very reliable, a quality of hers, among many others, that Faulgor had valued greatly.
It was about a quarter of an hour before dawn when the Orc exited his own room and entered that of the Nord drunkard from the night before. The Nord was snoring loudly and clearly still deep in sleep, though Faulgor needed him wide awake and stepped over to the far side of the cot. Reaching down, he grabbed the wooden frame and raised it, sending the Nord rolling and tumbling onto the floor. There was a loud thud as the man's head hit the hard wood followed by a low groan of pain coming from the fleshed bundle aside the cot. The Orc set the cot back down gently and walked over to the man on the floor. "You've got five minutes to be downstairs and ready to depart, and for every minute you go over I'll break one of your limbs. In short: be swift," he said sharply before exiting and making his way downstairs. As expected, there was a bag of provisions neatly packed and resting on the bar top which soon found itself nestled in the Orc's pack. Not long after, his ears perked up a bit as he heard the Nord slowly trudging down the steps. Without looking at the man, Faulgor greeted him quite unkindly. "Ah, so I see you decided against arriving late. How unfortunate," he added with foreboding tone. "C'mon, out the door. Can't keep the carriages waiting."
The Nord sighed heavily and headed out of the inn's doors, trying to keep out of arm's reach of the Orc. Faulgor donned and fastened his helm, adjusted it comfortably, then followed the Nord to the carriages, nodding to the Kahjiit traders along the road as they passed by. Once the pair reached their destination, Faulgor greeted the two Nord carriage drivers and opened one of the buggy's doors, gesturing for the drunkard to enter and the man didn't hesitate to comply. He stood and watched the road and thought quietly to himself, Now, to await the others...
The sturdy wooden floor of the wagon still creaked under the enormity of the Orc.
Feeling extremely hesitant he stuttered the words
"The names Drahff by the way"
He makes eye contact but instantly looks back to the floor.
"Mind telling me what happened last night Orc? Y..You keeping me Prisoner or what?"
Raksada woke well before first light, the more time to remember anything he may have forgotten. He filled his pack with supplies from the Ragged Flagon, and also grabbed a quiver of freshly fletched arrows, as well as a spare bowstring. He belted his sword and dagger on over his armor, then donned a forest green hooded cloak, figuring that it would be better to be discreet than openly armed.
After double checking to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything, he informed Brynjolf that he was being hired onto an expedition to a ruin near Dawnstar, but was unsure how long he would be gone. Soon after, Raksada exited the Ragged Flagon through the cistern, hoping to attract less attention out the back entrance, and headed for the stables.
Raksada was surprised that he was not the first to arrive there, seeing several of the people from the inn the previous evening. I must not be the only one getting bored with my current situation... he thought to himself. He nodded a greeting to everyone, before climbing into the lead wagon, and stashing his bow under the seat, concealed but easy to retrieve in the event of trouble. He left his dagger belted on, but hid the sword under the seat as well, as it would be obvious he was wearing it when he was seated.
At seeing the Khajiit from the previous night get into the same carriage as himself, Swims'Faster figured it was time to negotiate with him over the information for Quickkills.
"Khajiit, what is your pricce for finding someone? Provided they are in Sskyrim, of course. I am prepared to offer a hundred gold up front, with another two if you find them, if you have the contacts you claim to have, that is.You may call me Swims'Faster, Khajiit...," He said, waiting for a name and counter offer.
Turning his attention from the road, he looked at the Nord sternly. "Well, after you fell unconscious to the demon drink, your 'friend' saw fit to make an attempt at assaulting and robbing my employer. He didn't make it out of the door. At least not alive..." He paused a moment to scan the roads once more, he continued. "You're now paying for your the man's actions with some decent, honest labor. The name's Faulgor by the way, though if you still prefer to call me 'Orc' I'll see to it that your tongue is ripped from your miserable head. You decide to make a run for it and I'll break your legs, you decide to fight back and I'll shatter your arms, you crack wise and I'll pull your head off - you do so much as look at me wrong, I'll burn your eyes out with hot iron. Understood?" He turned away towards the road again before speaking up again as if he forgot something, "Oh yeah, nice to meet ya."
"Raksada. Pleased to make your acquaintance." he said. "100 gold is fine up front, but the final cost will depend on how hard she is to find. Skyrim is a large area after all, with many places to hide. I cannot guarantee success, however, but if I am unable to locate her, there will be no additional charge beyond the up-front cost."
Raksada studied the Swims'Faster's face for a reaction, while waiting for his counter-offer.
Drahff whilst being intimidated by the monster before him still wasn't paralyzed by his fear for he had been in these situations all too often, and nearly always it was due to the drink getting better of him.
"I knew it wouldn't be long before he met his end... we had a plan once me and him you know, we were going to hit it big."
Drahff pulled out a handful of coins.
"S'all i got now, made it nowhere. I don't mind coming with you if am honest.. nothing to go back for, nobody waiting for me. Lets see where the road takes me, yeah i'll just do that. It's what Hewnon would have wanted right? Yeah.. yeah it is."
Not taking in the hint of his fellow passangers and their dis-interest in his life, he continued.. there's nothing worse than a now sober Nord regretting his past.
"He was a good guy y'know? Like he was.. just he didn't show it, or act it.. but he was y'know? Shame that is what it is, you kill him? You kill him Or..Faulgor?"
Faulgor sympathized with the man, almost felt bad for him, though he and his friend both made their choices and had to accept the repercussions. "No. I didn't kill him. Though I would've, had someone else not done him in. There's no excuse for what he did, he met the consequences of his actions, though not willingly. Now you must meet yours."
"W..wait what your going to kill me!?"
Drahff almost curled up into a ball expecting a savage attack.
"O..oh no you mean working rite? Yeah i'll work."
Calming and returning back to his up-rite sitting position he looked Faulgor in the eyes
"You got any drink?"
"What about if sshe is found in a city I give you five? If she's hidden particularly well, it's open to negotiation, starting at six?" Swims'Faster said to Raksada,and awaiting an answer he turned to Zavier and said, "I'm feeling that our employer issn't telling uss everything, few enough people know exactly how a black ssoul gem workss, let alone goes out of their way to buy one. Iss anyone elsse susspicious of thiss?"
"Everyone has their secrets, and their hobbies." Zavier said. In his own bag there was a black soul gem, but that he was keeping to himself. Necromancy might not be technically illegal, but no one liked anyone who trafficked in death so directly. "If Sten wants to keep his secrets, we can discover them at Whiterun." And Zavier fully planned to.
"Very well" Raksada said, after considering for a minute. Swims'Faster was offering far more than he had originally anticipated. "I'll have my contacts start looking immediately. Do you happen to have a sketch of the target? A description will suffice, but an accurate picture dramatically increases the odds of success."
After the word 'drink' escaped Drahff's mouth, Faulgor shot him a piercing glare that was cold as ice and sharp as a razor. With lightning speed, he sprung forward, withdrew on of his daggers and held it up to the man's face. "One drop of any drink that isn't water passes through those lips, I'll fillet them right off your mug and feed them to you."