# A Smuggler's Tale (Action Thread)



## Farseer Ulthris (Sep 6, 2008)

The Flowing Bowl inn of Anvil was quiet that night; Dreyva cared not, for it suited his purpose for being here. Besides, it meant more ale for him and his beloved Arvena…as well as their potential employees. With boredom setting in, the Dunmer‘s hands began to be wreathed in flame as he twaddled his fingers, playing with them as a child would a toy. Dreyva sighed and spoke to Arvena “two more Altmeri wines my dear?” She didn’t need to answer; Dreyva had already paid the Inn Keeper the 50 gold coins for the rare wines…a little discount from their last job. Such was the state of trade within Cyrodiil after the onset of the War with the Aldmeri Dominion; what signalled the death of legitimate trade became the Golden Age for smugglers, and Dreyva and Arvena will be there to exploit it.

The night had dragged on; still no-one had come. “Well my sweet, this may have been a merry waste of time. Azura only knows, I’d thought that there would be plenty of people desperate for a quick Septim these days.” Just as the Mage finished speaking, a ragtag group entered the Flowing Bowl, each asking about the job in the advertisement, “speak of the Daedra” he whispered to his beloved and spoke to the newcomer’s; "come for the job eh? So here's what we have then, tell me
your names and your skills”. Dreyva finished his mead, enjoying its sweet taste, "so let’s get to the introductions then, I have no doubt you know who I am, but what about everyone else? Arvena what do you make of them?"

Note: It's a bit brief but sometiimes that's all you need...plus I was in a rush.


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## son of azurman (Sep 19, 2010)

DarFurtim had been wandering through anvil roughly for half an hour trying to find the inn, the buildings he passed were all the same the only difference were the faces that watched him through the windows. the night carried on and the only sign of his progression was the occasional drunk puking on the side of the road with mead in hand.there was one male sat at the side of a road with his back up against the wall of a house, he was an argonian with curled hors from the back of his head and a patchwork cloak covering his body to keep him warm.

approaching the homeless reptilian with caution DarFurtim knelt down on his right knee and placing his left hand on the argonian’s shoulder to wake him up he started to ask him of the inns location.

“greetings,do you by any chance know were i can find the inn?”

“excuse me I'm trying to sleep here,”snapped the argonian upon being woken.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience, how about i make it worth you’re wile.”

“well what you got in mind,”asked the argonian seeming interested suddenly with the idea.

“if you show me the way ill buy you a drink when we get there,”smiled DarFurtim standing back up.

“you sure know a man’s heart,follow me ill lead the way.” laughed the argonian leaping to his feet and rolling up his blanket.

The argonian and Dar walked along the street winding down alleyways until the came at the inn door,the sign out front read “the flowing bowl” and entering through the door walked a group of adventurous souls a strange sight in this town and most likely here for the job to. as the pair entered last DarFurtim walked over to the bartender and ordered the argonian a drink.

“one bottle of cyrodillic brandy for my friend here,keep the change.”said DarFurtim throwing the barman a bag of 100 septims before walking over to the center of the room.

Over in the corner sat two dark elves observing the group approaching them and DarFurtim decided to join in without to much attention.

“Come for the job eh? so heres what we have then, tell me your name and you’re skills.” said the dark elf standing up who Dar could only assume was Dreyva the leader of this band of smugglers.

as the group one by one said they’re names and skills it finally came to DarFurtim being last in the line.

“Dar Furtim of Elseweyre, ex gladiator of the imperial city arena. veteran of blade mastery,stealth and follower of Arkay.” introduced Furtim bowing with his hands clasping the hilts of his twin scimitars.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Gelebros stalked down the main street of Anvil, walking through the main gates of the city nervously - he didn’t like staying in cities as a matter of course, having grown up deep in the forests of Valenwood. However, needs must, and he needed septims. The last of what he had taken as a guerilla fighting the Dominion had long since vanished, and he lived only by his own capabilities - but he knew he couldn’t live like that forever, day to day with no direction or purpose beyond surviving. He must have looked suspicious, because a guard accosted him - with his armour covered with a deep, hooded cloak, he could have been anyone.

“Oi, what’re you doing skulking about? We don’t want anymore riff-raff on our streets!”

Turning towards him, the Bosmer gracefully pulled his hood down to reveal his tanned skin, high cheekbones and emerald eyes, and his chocolate coloured hair spilled from beneath the material of his cloak. *“I am not ‘skulking’, my good sir,”* he replied with a mocking smile on his face, *“I am actually looking for work here in this ... Charming city.”* The last two words were pointed, and apparently made the guard a bit uncomfortable, because he looked away briefly, and couldn’t seem to meet the elves’ eyes again. 

_‘Clearly he thought I was an Imperial beggar,’_ he told himself with a smile, shaking his head.

“Well, yes, then, a-hem, carry on. Welcome to Anvil ...” But Gelebros had already started walking away, looking around with interest; it still seemed incredible to him how all of the cities of Cyrodiil were so completely different - Leyawin and Bruma, Bravil and Chorrol, Skingrad and Anvil. The streets had more people than he was used to, and whilst nervous he attempted to try and fit in, moving easily around the crowds. His eyes alighted upon a specific building and he smiled. *‘The Fighter’s Guild,’* he muttered, smiling, *‘Surely they’ll have work?’* he asked himself quietly.

He was, however, to be disappointed. As soon as he entered the building, he was confronted by a gruff man, who was talking to a slender, powerful looking woman. They turned at the sound of the door opening, and looked at him with hard faces. “Work?” the man asked bluntly, at which Gelebros only nodded mutely.

“There is none. Try the Flowing Bowl. On the docks. Barkeep usually has a few leads.” With that, he turned back to his conversation, only stopping when the woman gestured at the Bosmer who had failed to move. She turned to face him front on, frowning slightly. 

“You can go now, Elf. There is no work!” The sound of her voice caused Gelebros to start, and she smirked. “Maybe you aren’t looking for the right kind of work, now I look at you.”

Then it was the elf’s turn to frown, marring his handsome face. *“I was just wondering what such a beautiful woman was doing with a troll - it took me a second to recognise the Nordic heritage. I do sincerely apologise.” The man growled, and the Bosmer’s frown turned into a smile as he spun on his heel. Slowly, he made his way down the short street to the Dock Gate’s of Anvil and took a breath of the sea air, chocking slightly on the sudden onslaught of unexpectedly salty air. As he grew accustomed to it, he started to look around the ships bobbing further out in the sea, awaiting their chance to dock. He grimaced. So far, his time in Anvil hadn’t been the most fortuitous, but he decided that the Flowing Bowl was as good as anywhere - at least he could have a drink there, and maybe rent a room. ‘Although the ground might be more comfortable,’ he thought, thinking back to past experiences in inns. ‘Not that the bed was the main attraction!’ A grin crossed his face, and with that delicious thought in mind he walked down the docks to the door of the inn; not the fanciest he’d ever seen, but serviceable enough. Pushing on the door, he grimaced again, before shrugging and walking to the bar. The man serving looked at him pointedly. “Drink?”

“Why yes, I’d love one. Wine, I think.” The innkeep turned to grab a grimy bottle. “But ... Not swill! I refuse to drink human wines; they make me feel ill. A bosmer wine, if you have it. Brandy if not, I think ...”

With a snort, the innkeep turned further and grabbed another bottle from further back, and passed it over the bar. Gelebros started to turn and walk away when a hand grabbed the back of his cloak. “You owe me. It costs ten drakes.”

“But you offered me a drink ...” the elf protested, smiling. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin bag, and took a handful. Sliding nine septims over the bar, he flicked the last up into the close air, taking the opportunity to move back slightly when the man let go of his cape. “Oh, and I was ... Referred here, by some Nordic brute at the Guild. Said you could point me to work?”

“Yeah, I can,” was the reply, and a pointed look at the purse still held in his hand. Three more coins passed over the worn wooden surface, and a nod was given in the direction of Dreyva. Gesturing for the elf to come closer, the barkeep muttered, “That’s Dreyva. Smuggler. Looking for a crew. Best going, from what I hear.” And that was that. The man turned and wiped glasses, serving other customers. ‘So much for courtesy,’ he smiled to himself, shaking his head. Uncorking the bottle, he took a swig and looked at the Dunmer and his drinking companion. He waited for some others to gather and then joined them. 

"Come for the job, eh? So here's what we have then, tell me your names and your skills. So, let’s get to the introductions then, I have no doubt you know who I am, but what about everyone else? Arvena what do you make of them?" One of Gelebros’ eyebrows raised at this point; the Dunmer was far too arrogant for his own good. ‘That will be the death of him,’ he thought wryly, and shook his head, a miniature smile pulling at his lips. He stepped forward and answered first. 

“My name is Gelebros, called ‘Greenwood’. I am skilled in stealth and archery - I’d best any of the others present, I have no doubt. I can hit a sparrow at five hundred yards, using just my ears to guide me. I can become invisible to those I wish not to see me; if I so wanted, I could be less than a foot away, aiming an arrow at your eyes and you wouldn’t even know I was there. And that is who I am. I am also pretty deft with my hands; picking pockets is second nature. A ... Natural gift, say.”*


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## JAMOB (Dec 30, 2010)

Jenna walked silently through the streets of Anvil, completely unnoticed by those she preyed upon. First, a wealthy merchant lost a diamond bracelet. Next came a small sack of gold from a local tax collector. She was about to take the gold from a young soldier, a general by the looks of him, but she saw that he was entering local tavern and decided to have a little fun with this one.

She entered the Flowing bowl inn confidently, like she owned the place. She sat next to the soldier and ordered a drink, turned and smiled at him sweetly. The bartender returned with the drink and she reached for her purse, but this soldier was faster. He pulled out two septims and forked them over, giving her a rather smug grin. She smiled back, thanking him very politely. She got a good look at him, seeing that he was an Imperial of about fourty years, clearly experienced, and she noticed that he was married but clearly wasn’t particularly faithful. The two made polite conversation, ranging from, *"How long've you lived here?"* "Oh, about five years now." to *"What's it like, killing a man?"* "It was hard at first, but as I got used to it I came to enjoy it, fighting on the front lines." *"You're so brave."* With this last she snuggled into him, seemingly looking for comfort from this big, strong, self-important man. He whispered softly, "I have to go back, I'm on duty for the next couple of hours - Meet me at this address at around midnight." She laughed to herself at his horrible lie (he was clearly off to visit his wife and get her out of the house), and she whisked away his purse as she pulled away, at this point pretending to be completely in his power.* "Ill see you then."* With that, he left, and she sighed, put up her hood, and enjoyed her beer.

She noticed a dark elf sitting with another, clearly a girl but the race was undistinguishable due to her hood. She considered going over, but they were clearly waiting for someone and she might not be welcome. She sat for a while, mulling over her haul for that day - it felt to be around 600 septims, and the bracelet was probably at least that much on its own. The door opened, and an elf walked in confidently, ordered a drink, and asked for information. She was very interested in this part, as she was getting rather bored just picking pockets all day. She couldn't here the bartenders response, but didn’t miss the discreet nod he shot towards the dark elf. She saw the elf walk over, and followed him. She saw a rather fine knife and decided to take it just to see what would happen.

Apparently nothing.

She watched as he blustered about, talking about archery, stealth, and pickpocketing - well, he was obviously good at archery, he was a bosmer - but in stealth, and definitely in pickpocketing, she was more than his equal.  She pushed her way past him, laughing loudly. *"A Pickpocket? You? Are you quite sure?"* With that she pulled out his dagger and flipped it over to him, laughing at the astounded look on his face. *"My name's Jenna. I grew up in the streets and survived on my own from the age of seven. I stole to survive, but at this point it's just play. You need something done quietly let me know, it'll be done. Anyone bothering you, my knife is ready."*


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Eyeing the newcomer appraisingly, and his right eyebrow was raised. _'This will be interesting ...'_ he told himself. Despite the fact that she had just stolen his knife, Gelebros smiled brightly after recovering himself. He managed to catch the blade easily, and put it back on his belt, hidden by his cloak. 

*"Ahha, thank your for that ... Jenna. I might have to repay the favour later,"* was his reply, with an amused glint in his eye, and a quick wink, whilst trying to figure out how the Nordic woman had managed to liberate his knife so easily. *"But yes, I can assure you that my skills at picking pockets are un ... Well, were unmatched by any I'd come across. I shall be happy to pit my skills against your own ... When we have the time?"* After a quick glance at Dreyva, he refocused on the woman. *"Actually, the septims would be welcome ... After so long surviving off my own skills in the heart of Cyrodiil, I could use some money. I'm afraid the wine nearly wiped me out - I haven't been near a semblance of civilisation for nearly a year, and money has little value against the creatures we share the land with, I'm afraid! 
"Oh, and I would ask - politely this time - that my knife stays where it is. I won't be so polite next time!"*

With that, the Bosmer pulled up a chair from the next table and sank into it, placing his feet on another, and drank deeply from the bottle of wine he still held in his hand, and with his left he stroked Aetwar gently, the feel of his bow comforting. Without a word, he offered the drink to the Nord, wondering whether she would have the palette for wines - _'Fine is not quite the right word,'_ - and shook his head. _'She is clearly more a mead and beer kind of girl.'_


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## JAMOB (Dec 30, 2010)

She saw the interested peaking in the bosmer's face, though his facial control was impressive, to say the least. He thanked her with a wink and a smile, which she then returned in kind. She laughed at his little challenge, knowing that he would be an impressive foe - still though, he couldn't match her. Not in that.

*"You've got it, big boy. It's a date. Oh, and I'm sorry about your precious little knife, I just couldn't help myself. I'll try to, well, restrain myself in the future."* He sat down, outwardly calm but inwardly seething. She watched him stroke his bow with delight, realizing that she wasn't the only one who wasn't entirely at home in the company of others. She very well might make a friend here. It had been far too long since she'd had one of those...

Jenna was startled by his offer of wine. She accepted it without a word, mulling over the taste in her mouth. *"Not bad. This is from your people, correct? I'd heard good things, but I still prefer a good Nordic Ale to this any day."* At his obvious confusion, she explained, *"I was born to a merchant family originally - they made sure I knew my wines."*

She settled in comfortably, daring to believe that at last she just might have found someone truly... nice, at least.


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## Septok (Jan 21, 2012)

_“Anvil is a disgusting place. Full of truths, full of thieves. How I hate thieves.”_

Tullahvul was standing in a corner of the Flowing Bowl, wreathed in shadows. He subtly manipulated the light sources around the room to miss him completely, leaving his corner black as night and invisible unless looked for. He had been standing there for hours, having arrived the previous day, listening to the conversations and sizing up the various people. The innkeeper was an honest man, quite subservient to his clients. The Dunmer male and female were talking, as they had been for hours, some plot between them. The female appeared attracted to the male, but there was a lesser affection returning. An interesting pair. Worth watching. 

A Nordic female and a Bosmer male were making conversation as well, some level of distrust anchoring the conversation, flirtatious and suspicious throughout. The Bosmer was utterly surprised when the Nord presented his weapon to him, relieved and confused emotions flickering across his face. 
A pair of pirates milled about, drinking rum as they do. Not much could be discerned abnormal from them – pirates are always similar. Two Cathay-Raht were present also, one a rebellious thief and the other a more protctive soul, one with a good merchant background. One of them was doggedly searching for some work; the barkeep directed him to the two Dunmer. This may be the lead he was searching for. 

Eventually, he had found enough out about the party. Their personalities were known to him while they didn’t even know he existed. He could feel his master smiling on his efforts. He had travelled here by his command, to seek what others would see only as opportunity for coin. He didn’t see it like that. He knew the plan, he knew what he was going to do. 

He stepped out of his corner, yet still none noticed him. Casting invisibility is always a useful skill. He crept purposefully towards the Dunmer couple and began to speak. “You do not see me, correct? How useful would it be to have one who could simply-” He clicked fire to his right index to dispel his invisibility. “Disappear? I am Altmeri, I am powerful, and you need me. You need not know my name, and I already know yours. Pleased to meet you.”


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## Yru0 (May 9, 2011)

The settlement of Anvil sat near the edge of the ever shrinking Imperial border, and a number of different peoples could be seen within its walls without a batted eyelid from the inhabitants. As such, Jo’Ravar earned little in the way of acknowledgment or interest from those whom he passed as he walked through the town. He could remember the last time he had set foot within its walls, a memory somewhat faded by time but still recognisable – a young Khajiit trying to make sense of a strange and alien world which he found himself thrown into. Many would argue that it was not the same man who now made his way through the twisting streets. Jo’Ravar had grown since those days, both physically as well as mentally: some would say he had become bitter, but he would say that he had simply become experienced; others might add that he has become detached; he would say that he is now more professional, when once Jo’Ravar walked the streets of Cyrodil with caution and ignorance, he now strode with the confidence and purpose of one who has lived in the land for longer than many of the Imperials themselves. The Khajiit carried all he owned over his shoulder and liked it that way, it suited how he worked and allowed him some of his own personal freedom, something that not even the Thalmor can take away from him. Admittedly, he’d seen better days; Jo’Ravar was running low on both coin and supplies, the last of his painkillers used up weeks ago and his supply of liquor running on fumes. Of course that was the reason why now found himself where he was- Anvil was a place where those with the right qualifications can always find employment, and it had helped get Jo’Ravar on his feet before. 

The Flowing Bowl inn hadn’t changed much over the years, the establishment had catered to the shadowy types and backroom deals for many years before Jo’Ravar had even set foot in Cyrodil and undoubtedly would continue to do so after he eventually leaves it.
“I’ll take a glass of Ale.” The bartender simply nodded and provided the requested beverage, which Jo’Ravar quickly took in hand. “That’ll be 5 Septims.” The Khajiit grunted at the extortionate rate, but placed the coin on the bar – there was a war going on. The hours slipped by as Jo’Ravar bided his time, going through enough ale to stop the inn keeper from throwing him out, until he caught his lucky break. The unmistakeable thud of a heavy bag of coin striking wood caught Jo’Ravar’s attention, and he was taken aback to see a Cathay-Raht throwing aside 100 Septims like it was so much dead weight. He turned back to his ale, but Jo’Ravar’s interest was piqued and his eyebrow rose when he saw the Raht walk straight for a pair of Dunmer sitting to the side of the room. 

“…you could point me to work?” the Bosmer had approached unnoticed by the Khajiit, who had been fixated on the events occurring behind him, “That’s Dreyva. Smuggler. Looking for a crew. Best going from what I hear.” _Smuggler_. Well, that explained that mystery. The declaration of war must’ve been a god-send for those on the wrong side of the law, and this Dunmer seemed to be keen to take advantage of the fact. Jo’Ravar was not surprised when the Bosmer went to join the Cathay-Raht and the two Dunmer, it seemed as if things were getting more and more interesting; the appearance of the Nordic girl, and her arrogant display of her abilities was evidence enough that this was to be no amateur group. The Khajiit paid his dues to the server and got up from his seat, his mind made up; the Nord and the Bosmer seemed to be simultaneously flirting and hurling veiled threats at one another. "Not bad. This is from your people, correct? I'd heard good things, but I still prefer a good Nordic Ale to this any day." Jo’ravar rolled his eyes, the girl was arrogant _and_ overconfident, fantastic, “ I was born to a merchant family originally - they made sure I knew my wines." 

“ Knowledge of liquor is not exactly the kind of skills I believe our friend is looking for girl.” Jo’Ravar pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “I am Jo’Ravar of Torval. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation; I’m a Doctor.”

OOC: I treated it as if Tullahvul hadn't arrived yet. If it's an issue I can change the post round a bit.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

At Jenna’s response, the Bosmer’s eyes glinted in amusement; _‘This one will be fun to work with,’_ he thought happily. 

*“Aye, a wine of my people. Not as good as those of the Altmer ... But serviceable in a place like this. The true Aldmeri wines would out my ... Limited funds. And yes ... Restrain yourself, before someone else has to!”* Gelebros returned, not surprised the woman had hidden depths. It was with a mocking smile he turned to face the Khajiit - he actually had huge respect for the race, and had thoroughly enjoyed the company of all he’d met.

*“I think you will find, Jo’Ravar of Torval, that a knowledge of liquors and drinks can be especially useful ... Be it for smuggling the best - knowing when you can overcharge - or just to get drunk on, and have some fun.”* He said this while throwing a quick wink in Jenna’s direction, smiling widely. He casually leant forwards and retrieved the bottle from the Nord’s hands, and took a deep draught. Savouring the taste for only a second, he swallowed it and felt it slide into his stomach comfortably. The warm feeling of the alcohol was spreading throughout his limbs, and a slight smile had alighted upon his face. 

*“Now, Dreyva, if you don’t mind ...”* he began again, and then continued without waiting for an answer, *“When you say doctor ... I’m assuming you mean accomplished in the School of Restoration? Or a doctor of more ... Mundane means?”*


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## son of azurman (Sep 19, 2010)

the group was amusing he would give them that,two thieves flirting and a fellow khajiit sat at a table exchanging pleasantries. DarFurtim after introducing himself to the two dark elves ordered himself a mead from the bar with the change from the brandy,as the bottle was laid on the counter Furtim picked it up and sat at the table with the others pulling a chair over.

"so a fellow khajit,a bosmer and a nord not a common sight to see walking through the door of the flowing bowl i assume. your stories if you would be willing and whoever just nicked that bag of coins from my pocket if you would be so kind as to return it"


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## Yru0 (May 9, 2011)

Leaning back in his chair Jo'Ravar looked over the Bosmer, "A doctor is a lot of things my friend, but he is very much _not_ mundane. It is one thing to kill a foe from afar, or even slay him from where you can see the white's of his eyes; but, it is very different battle when you must fight not only those who seek your life, but the cold hands of death itself as it tries to take your comrade." The Khajiit paused to let his words sink in, "Tell me Bosmer, have you ever tried to stitch a man's wound? It's buggered hard at the best of times, one wrong slip and you can end up piercing his artery and having him bleed to death on the table before your eyes. Now picture the same scene with the patient screaming in agony, begging you to end the pain, imagine performing surgery with no anaesthetic and with war raging around you. No, I would never call a Doctor's work mundane Bosmer. True, one skilled in restoration can fix you up good as new in half the time and with half the difficulty of a tradesman, but the more grievous wounds, most can do little less they drain their own magicka, without which they are powerless to beat back death." Jo'Ravar began to grin at the elf and slapped him on the shoulder, "Of course, if you wish to know which I am, I'd be glad to demonstrate if you would be kind enough to bash your face repeatedly on this here table." 

Jo'Ravar took a mouthful of his ale before replying to the Raht, "Refugee." The large mug clunked as it hit the table, "I left in 4E 118 before I could witness the Thalmor completely destroy my home. And what of you?" The khajiit had to admit he was curious of the Raht's own tale, it was true few of their countrymen chose to inhabit the empire, and even fewer were actually welcomed. "A khajiit does not simply become an imperial gladiator?" Jo'Ravar's voice became somewhat more grim, he'd heard tales in his travels and feared he already knew of the Raht's answer.


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## son of azurman (Sep 19, 2010)

"refugee,i left in 4E 118 before i could witness the thalmor completely destroy my home.and what of you,a khajiit does not simply become an imperial gladiator?”

the kinsman was as he assumed. he showed he was smart,skilled,experienced and could notice things that were sometimes missed all shown by simple observation.

“i originate from the docks of Fenchal in the south of our fare province.my family were merchants who wondered the plains and for many a year i thought life would never change,when bandits raided our caravan an imperial patrol found the burning wreckage and me inside of it.they took me back to cyrrodil were they gave me to the arena grand champion for adoption and training.it was here that i learned the arts of war and combat and for years and years i simply trained and trained.when i finally agreed to fight i cut down all who stood in front of me,almost who fell by my blade were the very same men and women who took me in and looked after me.i refused to do it any longer and left,wondered the land as a thief and burglar raiding the homes of the worthy to survive.when a trip took the turn for the worst i was contacted by a brotherhood of killers.i hated their way of life and left again.after many years as a bandit i find myself here.arkay is my lord and i his follower,i prefer to keep killing to a last resort and would on few occasions leave a fallen soul without his final rights.” after the long explanation Dar took a swig of ale from his bottle and and rose to his feet.

“One second please this ale tastes worse than imperial excuses," and dar walked back over to the bar and handed back the ale and buying a bottle of nord mead.


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## Tarvitz210300 (Jan 27, 2011)

(Farseer said my characters fine so i'm going to post. Really hope this is not the wrong thing to do)

Abryick's head was in agony. He remembered almost nothing about what had happened last night. But he was pretty sure he had been in Cheydinhal. Yet here he was stumbling around the Anvil's docks. All he remembered from last night was playing some sort of game involving a knife and increasing sums of septims. He had lost big, his coin purse had disappeared entirely and almost all of his loot as well. How much mead had he drunk? The pounding in his skull told him it had been far too much.

His noble adventuring had died long ago. Temptation had taken its clawed hands and pulled him into a life of crime. He understood fully that he needed to get out quickly but whenever he got close something, like what happened last night, put him back to square one. He swore to himself for the thousandth time that when he gained the next pay he would buy himself a small farm and work a honest days work. It was a hopeless dream his own flaws where now compounded with the threat of the Thalmor.

He staggered forward, making a vain attempt to clean himself. He needed work and the inn was by far the best place to find it. He knew almost nothing about Anvil so decided he must find a guard. He had found through his travels that the guards in Cyrodiil where far more helpful than their Skyrim counterparts. However with the ongoing war the population of guards was noticeably sparse. Luckily he found one standing beside the dock gate. The guard was clearly in an agitated state and responded harshly to his questions. Yet as fortune would have it he found out it was by first dock. 

Abyrick found it quickly. He took a breath to calm himself and strode into the bar. He must have been a sight to behold! Striding forward in mud stained armour that had clearly seen better days, despite his calming of himself he look dishevelled. Abyrick realised he had no money and as such could not afford a bed he desperately needed. Some meat would be nice as well he thought. If he had anything he would buy a roast leg of venison, he could imagine biting into it savouring the flavour and cup mead.... No! He screamed in his thoughts he couldn't drink liquor in a long time.

He was relieved to find out that someone in this very pub wished to employ smugglers a job he was fine with. The inn keeper said of a Dumner by the name of Dreyva he searched and found a pair surrounded by what seemed likely to be smugglers. He tapped the male on the shoulder and stated ‘I heard you got a way of making me some septims.”


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## son of azurman (Sep 19, 2010)

The newcomer had clearly seen better days,he came in looking like he had been dragged through mammoth pat and the smell wasn't much better either.after he was pointed to the dark elves and introduced himself dar furtive turned to the bar tender.

"The change from that brandy, how much left."

"15 septims but I thought u said keep em?"

" ye well I think he could use them more than you.here can I get 1 venison chop, 1 bread roll and some butter."

The barman slid over a plate carrying the contents to DarFurtim as well as a pair of cutlery.

"Here sit."DarFurtim placed the plate on a table as well as a bag of 30 septims and directed the hungover male to the seat.

"Eat up,now who might you be and why do you look worse than an ork after a brawl with a couple of giants." Said the khajiit taking a seat by the man.


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## Tarvitz210300 (Jan 27, 2011)

Abryick was shocked by the kahjit's generosity, his run in with them last night had slightly coloured his opinion of them and he scolded himself for it. He accepted his offer of a seat and eagerly awaited the food. It was given to him by a rather bitter looking man, who most probably tampered with his his food, Abyrick did not care one bit. With out a thought he began to devour it before raising his head up and asking this kahjit a question.

* “ I have never known a smuggler, let alone a kahjit, be so generous. I thank you greatly for it as my purse non existent but I ask why.” 
*
While he waited for the kahjit to answer he continued to rip chunks out to his food. The flavour was flooding his mouth and he felt life return to him. He did not realise just how hungry he must have been. Yet he was not sure if he had eaten for 16 hours.


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## son of azurman (Sep 19, 2010)

“ I have never known a smuggler, let alone a kahjit, be so generous. I thank you greatly for it as my purse non existent but I ask why.”

as the man ripped great chunks out of his food Dar leaned back in to his chair and readied an answer.

"its a long story,lets just say that you need it much more than i."


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## Tarvitz210300 (Jan 27, 2011)

"its a long story, lets just say you need it far more than I ," 

Abyrick sensed that he would not get anymore a reply than that. It did not matter to him, everyone has their secrets and it was not his business to pry this friendly kahjit open. 

" It is a good man indeed that helps a stranger in these times. I wont forget it," He stopped feeling that he had no more to add and began to think that this smuggling operation could not be as bad as he thought.


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## Farseer Ulthris (Sep 6, 2008)

Dreyva gazed at the group gathered before him: The Altmer Wizard who just appeared out of nowhere would be useful; the Dunmer giggled a little “so can I”, vanishing and reappearing as he said the words, “but more powerful mages will be appreciated, so welcome aboard then”. The smuggler then focussed his attention on the others, “an intriguing collection of all who answered my call, don’t you think my sweet?” 
Dreyva then stroked his chin and glugged another glassful of Nord mead, “tell me then, all who have gathered, tell me the depths you would go to succeed…bar child murder or selling others out to the blasted Aldmeri Dominion?” This would surely help him determine furthermore of his potential employees, it helps to know what they are capable of.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Gelebros looked the Mer leader of this ragtag band in the eye, testing his mettle against Dreyva's. He spoke quietly, but firmly. *"If it came to the worst - to my survival - I would give my family Skooma; make them habits and feed the addiction myself. 
"If it came to it, I would sell any of you to keep my interests - and this would be one of them - a possibility. I would sail Topal Bay, up The Lower River, across the Niben and up to Lake Rumare and sit myself in the Ruby Throne of the White Gold Tower.
"And I would stick myself with an arrow, straight through my heart, before I allowed the Dominion to take me alive."*

He stood and ran a hand through his hair, before taking another swig of his bottle. With a delicate movement, he removed the amulet from around his neck and sighed as the magical outline of all around him faded to nothingness, rubbing his eyes.

*"Anyone who would do less should be ... Removed ... Now."*


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## Septok (Jan 21, 2012)

Following Tullahvul’s ultimatum, the Dunmer giggled. “So can I,” The Dunmer said, disappearing then reappearing. “But more powerful mages will be appreciated, so welcome aboard then.”

Tullahvul nodded his head in some semblance of respect and slipped away again, leaving the Dunmer to the crowd. He could easily perform this task in the time he had. As he slipped out the door, he cast a speech familiar rune on the side of the Dunmer’s drink, obviously too engaged to notice. Tullahvul left the room unnoticed. 

Into the night and (light) rain, Tullahvul strode purposefully towards Castle Anvil. He snuck past the guards like a shadow, leaving them feel watched and flighty but completely unaware. Inside the castle, he had a job to do. He would have expected some kind of holdup with the tavern group by now, and was happy he would be back in time.

Walking in plain sight towards the Count and Countess’ chairs, Tullahvul gave up all his invisibility. Guards stared at him, but did not suspect much from one already inside the castle. Yet. He walked through several doors down to the kitchen, and left a package in a spice cupboard. The chef’s delivery had been made. Cloaking himself with shadows, he left the castle in plenty of time for the next stage of selection. Maybe there was time for the other task? Maybe not.


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## Yru0 (May 9, 2011)

Jo'Ravar stared at the Bosmer, an almost unnoticeable frown etched onto his face. He'd heard that kind of talk far too often, men wanting to go to war thinking that their deaths could make some kind of a difference rather than make the pile just that little bit higher. The Khajiit had to admit that he had no love for the Dominion, but his war was already lost when Elsweyr fell; there was nothing he could do for his people. He would not throw his life away needlessly, which would be difficult if the elf tried to satiate his bloodlust and Jo'Ravar had to pull him out of the pits. As for the disappearing Altmer, he was suspicious and would treat that one with caution; there was no doubt his skills would be an asset to the endeavor, but such powers often came with strings attached. 
"You ask for what depths I would go to in order to succeed?" Jo'Ravar turned his attention to Dreyva, "You ask for what I would do in order to accomplish a task which I do not yet know? I would not kill without cause nor needlessly throw my life away in order to suit your whims. I'd look after myself and expect my fair share - nothing less." The doctor paused momentarily, gauging the dark elf's reaction, "I would give you access to potions and poisons that can succeed where magic will not, hold any secrets which need not be heard to myself, and I will save your lives." Jo'Ravar didn't know if it was the answer the smuggler was expecting or looking for, but the Dunmer could go to Oblivion before he'd change Jo'Ravar. "Oh, and I'm not too bad a shot neither."


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

_The Flowing Bowl Inn, Anvil
4E 172, 28th Sun’s Height
We have been here for several days now, waiting for someone to come to us. I wonder if this is just a waste of time, but Dreyva is convinced we will find new talent in this turgid hell hole. I am not so sure
The personal journal of Arvena, the Shade_​
I sat in the inn, slowly sipping the wine Dreyva had bought for me with some of our hard earned Septims. But I couldn’t begrudge the man. I loved him after all. The wine was very fine, very expensive Altmeri wine. I could feel a warmth in my chest but knew it wasn’t from love. I looked down at my finger, seeing _Soul Guardian_ glowing faintly as it rested on my finger. The weapon rested in its scabbard at my waist, docile for now. I doubted that it would remain the same for long. The blade was cursed, had been since time immemorial. The _Liche Blade_ it was called and by the divines it deserved that name. Everyone cut with the sword died soon afterwards without magical help. Should an unprotected man or woman touch even the hilt of the sword then their mind would be gone permanently and they would be turned in an instant into a gibbering wreck.

_Soul Guardian_ protected me from the curse and the scabbard had been woven with magics to keep the weapon’s dark effects contained. I had my hood up, being more cautious about hiding my identity than Dreyva. After all I cannot remember who I offended while the curse was infecting me. “Well my sweet, this may have been a merry waste of time. Azura only knows, I’d thought that there would be plenty of people desperate for a quick Septim these days,” Dreyva said as he turned his head to look me in the eye. However just as he had finished speaking a Wood Elf walked up, followed quickly by 2 Khajiit, another Dunmer and 2 humans. Dreyva stood to address them but not before whispering to me. “Speak of the Daedra” he whispered with a grin.

"Come for the job eh? So here's what we have then, tell me your names and your skills. So let’s get to the introductions then, I have no doubt you know who I am, but what about everyone else? Arvena what do you make of them?"

I watched them, feeling detached from the events around me. Gelebros, the Bosmer, was far too confident in his own abilities. It was a pleasure to watch the human girl, Jenna was her name, take his weapon even while he spoke of being an excellent thief and archer. She herself was my kind of person. She knew what she was capable of but didn’t exaggerate. I watched the two of them converse, the girl handing back the Bosmer’s knife. I felt a faint smile tug at my lips.

The first Khajiit was more of a mystery than either of those who came before him. A doctor he claimed to be, but whether magical or herbal I was not sure. At a rough guess, I’d say he was a practitioner of the school of Restoration. The second Khajiit was simpler. He was a warrior, a brute it seemed. Good for a fight if not much else.

The High Elf was very interesting. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was also insane. I knew on the spot that I would have to keep him away from the _Liche Blade_. It was an instinct that told me that if such a being came into contact with the _Liche Blade _he would wreak untold destruction. A Breton was also there. He looked like a battle mage, with his plate armour and shard of sword that I had no doubt was the summoning totem for a sword.

With everyone there Dreyva settled into enticing them with tales of riches and I sat, my face still covered by a hood. With Dreyva finished I decided it was time to show them that it wasn’t all going to be fun and games. I stood and drew the _Liche Blade_, slamming it down onto the table. “Time for some ground rules, now that everyone is nice and cosy,” I said very calmly. Several of them recoiled from the sword and I was not surprised for the blade emitted an aura of menace and death that could make brave men turn tail and run.

“You’ve joined a smuggling crew ladies and gentlemen. We break the law on a regular basis. I don’t want any shit about morals when we’re on the job. Feel free to let your conscience eat at you all you want, but I don’t want to hear about it. We work together, no double-crosses. This team operates on trust, otherwise we wouldn’t be the best,” I said that last sentence with complete seriousness. I’d had enough of being betrayed. “One other thing. I don’t want to hear about unnecessary deaths. Not only is it senseless, it also draws attention. We have an unblemished record people; I’d like it to stay that way.”

As the _Liche Blade _slid back into its sheath I saw the room brighten. Another person might have been shocked. I thought it was normal. What does that say about me?


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## Tarvitz210300 (Jan 27, 2011)

Abyrick heard the reply of the the Bosmer and his heart began to sink. Just how callous it was, shocked him to the core. He thought of his own family his kind father and his stern yet loving mother, he could never reduce his own family to slavering lunatics no matter the cost. Abyrick's negative opinion of the Bosmer was only cemented by his eagerness to betray them for personal gain was not only insulting but very worrying. But it was the final sentence that stuck with Abyrick most this Bosmer was a fanatic. From this speech alone Abyrick did not have a good impression of this Bosmer. Suddenly he stopped he realised that he fell into the easy trap of judging someone from early impressions. Many of his greatest companions he thought he would have hated and tonight already the impossible had happened a Kahjiit had helped him. Abyrick swore to himself that he would make an attempt to understand this Bosmer. 

Abyrick began to ponder how he would reply to this impossible question that had been thrown at him. It had always been his greatest flaw or strength (depending on who you asked) his hatred of performing morally wrong actions when there was an alternative. It had always halted his opportunities drastically, he would probably not be in this inn right now if he had hurt a few people to get out of this business. He would have to reply diplomatically, he cursed himself for his lack of charisma this would be so much easier with that, every word would have to be perfect so that he could state wish not to do wrong but still show how he could be a valuable member of this party. He began to plan: (this is all in Abyrick’s head this speech just to be sure) “ I will slay Bandits and those that seek to harm us without a shadow of remorse” Good intro Abyrick thought now just need to continue with positives “I will fight our foes without hesitation and will burn the homes of our enemies if it helps our cause,” Abyrick realised there was no pulling the wool over the Dummer’s eyes he would have to speak brashly and perhaps gain respect “ However I will not hurt innocents for monetary gain I will not torture a man if he has not harmed us and I will never hurt a child in anyway.”

Before Abyrick could begin to speak his planned speech there was a loud thud, he turned to see a blade that was not natural. It seemed to permeate hopelessness, death and despair and Abyrick almost flung himself away from it. Around it the air seemed cold and Abyrick for the first time in his life since he was attacked by bandits and left for dead felt a cold terror. The blade was bewitching and though Abyrick understood what the female Dummer was saying he was not concentrating on it. He mind desperately tried to figure out where this dammed sword came from he could only think of the daedra yet that seemed slightly wrong. Abyrick seemed to recover first from the shock of the speech, he pulled out his sword, activated it and summoned a daedric thrall to his side. His voice was not calm when he said *“What is that weapon! Its the most pure evil I have ever seen, Where did you get.”*


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## Farseer Ulthris (Sep 6, 2008)

A tang of electricity fluttered through the air, it's source from his tankard. Dreyva smiled, _an eavesdropping enchantment, this one is good, should add a bit more flavour_. Of course, the Dunmer realised, that the High Elf would need watching...but needs outweigh the risks. Turning around, Dreyva addressed the other smugglers, "Indeed my sweet, those are the core principles on which our band is founded...without them we'd be just another rabble of bandits nipping at waste society leaves behind. I am sure you are aware of the risks this job will entail. The Dominion and the Empire will not be our only concern..." Dreyva's mind wandered to places he wished not to return to, those...creatures of the night. 

As he was about to carry on with his briefing, the Breton was kicking up a fuss. Judging by his talk of evil he speaks of the blighted sword she carries. The Dark Elf approached the two "did they not tell you about biting the hand that feeds you...especially if it is my sweet to whom you address."


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## JAMOB (Dec 30, 2010)

(sorry for the delay, I had little-no internet. I actually had this written a couple days ago but couldn't post it)

Some of the answers simply shocked Jenna. Not because she didn't believe that people were capable of some of the cruelties mentioned (though some of them were almost unspeakable), but more because they were foolish enough to speak them aloud. Although, as she remembered her uncle, some of these atrocities began to seem a little less… atrocious. If she could just get her hands on him… Some of the others had more cautious answers, and some spoke honestly, or seemed to at least.

Jenna attempted to frame her own response in her mind. _"How much truth should I give? Well, let's think. What would I do? If anyone gets in our way I could take them down no problem. What about innocents? Well, I have no qualms about stealing, that’s for sure, but I'm not so sure about taking their lives for no cause. I guess I'm willing to do what I've always done - kill those that need to be killed but otherwise try to avoid it, sticking to the shadows. What should I tell them though? It seems that being heartless and bloodthirsty is the way to go here… I don't know if I can do that. Should I tell them the truth? Or should I tell them what I think they want to hear? And what happens if I choose wrong?"_

Suddenly things got a bit out of hand. Weapons were drawn, and darkness seemed to fill the room. Jenna felt cold - colder than she had ever been, even growing up in the slums of Skyrim as she did. So this was what evil felt like. She barely heard the words being spoken until about halfway through, but she got the general idea. No betraying, no backstabbing, and no pointless killing. Any who went against this would feel the wrath of this terrible magic, and one thing was for sure - Jenna had no intention of ever being on the receiving end of such power. The sword was put away and things were back to normal again, and oddly enough it was Dreyva's companion - what was it? Arvena? Either way, Jenna was glad of the display, however frightened she had been, as it ensured (for the most part) that the crew would be one she could not only survive in, but also thrive in: she wouldn't have to choose between truth and what they wanted to hear, because they were one in the same.

She stepped forward boldly, having recovered from her shock for the most part. *"Maybe drawn weapons, especially ones like that, aren't the best way to start a good business relationship. Might I suggest keeping that thing away while we discuss? It might ease the tension a bit. Anyway, I'm with you on this: killing innocents is just stupid, and inviting backstabbing is suicidal."* Jenna looked around the room boldly, silently daring that Bosmer to challenge her.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Gelebros turned to look levelly at the Nord woman as she spoke, and grinned at her lasciviously. *"We stand - and sit - here a group of people, happy to break laws we have grown up under. Any who thinks those we stand with are not capable of treachery are sorely mistaken, and fools on top of it. 
"I was asked a question, and I answered honestly. And yet you condemn me with your eyes. Would you rather I lied, and stabbed you in the back later? At least you know to watch yourself around me."* And then his face changed completely, breaking into a warm, open smile. He stood, waved his arm in a nonchalant attempt at a bow that he didn't care to truly make, and then made his way to the bar, stopping in a darkened corner first, weaving between other patrols of the dingy pub as he went

Swishing his cloak, the Bosmer drew the magika to himself and used the spell he had perfected over the years - becoming invisble. With light steps, and with consumate ease, he wove between drunkards and sailors until he stood behind the bar. Ensuring that no-one was looking, the wood elf took a pitcher and rolled it off the bar. The landlord cursed and berated a confused looking sailor who stunk of booze and wore a happy smile on his face. With the landlord distracted, Gelebros reached down and picked a bottle of brandy which had caught his eye earlier - expensive, more than he could have afforded - and emptied it into a mug he caught up. Replacing the bottle, he left the bar and returned to the table where the other smugglers sat, retaking his place and stretching luxuriously. 

*"Did I miss anything on my ... Sojourn?"* The question was asked whilst he still had the magic wrapped around him, before he let it dissolve and darkened into view, a smirk on his face.


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## Septok (Jan 21, 2012)

He had noticed several hours ago that the Dunmer had caught onto his game, and that they were now both competitors. However, he was still one step ahead. And, despite the time he had taken to take care of the chef, the boisterous group still hadn’t finished, and nor did they appear to be near to a resolution. There was time.

Cloaking himself and deepening the darkness in the middle of the street, he lifted a cover to the sewer and climbed down into the darkness below. This was no trouble to him at all, given that the water itself was afraid of his feet, let alone the other muck and skeevers. He soon reached a turnaway, and ran his finger in a strange pattern on the door. It disintegrated, and he entered. A young beggar had been following where the water made strange shapes, thinking them to be dropped coins. When the door had opened, he went for it. As he made to cross the threshold, the door reappeared, with him inside it. His spine was replaced by rock, and he was no more than skeever food. Tullahvul looked back at the arm and head across the threshold, and began its burning by magic, then moved on. 

Deep through these corridors, free of the stench and muck of the sewers, lay an altar. Another stink entirely was wafting through the corridors, that of burnt flesh and hair. As it was night, the altar’s resident cult was present to worship. 

“We worship you today, Lord Dagon, with the sacrifice of this man.” Spoke the leader. “He is a man who has defied you with worship of the so-called ‘Divines’, and has actively sought to destroy your worship in Tamriel. So today, we give his soul to you, to do as you please, as a token of our devotion.”

“Devotion to you, Lord Dagon.” Chanted the other cultists. 

“But I disagree with your plan of action.” Tullahvul interjected from a corner. “I think this man has done only that which is right.”

“State your name, blasphemer! None shall defy Lord Dagon and live!” The leader barked, drawing a Daedric dagger. Fear was in his tone, and Tullahvul liked it.

“Why, my good friend, I am here,” The Elf replied, standing behind the man. “But also here,” Standing in front of him. “And also here.” He revealed himself, in front of the altar. He felt magical charge building throughout the room, and drew it to himself. Laughing at the room’s fear, he did not even have time to comment on their childish lack of power. In a storm of magic, he fired lightning into the leader and the crowd, which bounced around the room, frying the cultists. For a cult of the Prince of Destruction, they were pitifully weak. When the lightning had nothing left to fry, he drew it into the leader’s dagger, now lying on the floor. This last jolt was enough to finish him.

Turning to the priest on the altar, he began to chant a powerful hex. When it had finished, he magically lifted the man, and made their way to the chapel’s sewer entrance. When he had deposited the man and taken what he needed, he left by the sewers and returned to the Flowing Bowl, just in time for the next chapter of the smugglers’ tale.


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