Trog's Tavern CLV

[Vahnavoi]

"Thank you", the swordsman replies to Selekahael, "I'd like a room for one night. I'll pay my tab at earliest opportunity."

[bc56]

"It'll be, uh [reasonable amount]." Selekhael gets out a different thick book, containing all the bar tabs. "Uh, what should I put down for your name?"

[5a Violista]

[Weird Bathroom]

Ugh, gross.
June turns her head away to do her best at ensuring no robo-bug-guts get in her mouth or nose or anything.

She then completes the cartwheel away from the mess.

June looks down and starts brushing bugputer parts off her chest and stomach.
"That was a psychic cockroach, I guess. Turns out they're real." The real psychic centipedal god-complex ghost thing probably wouldn't have a notable weakness to cartwheels, right? Seems more probable that was one of those psychic cockroaches pretending to be a psychic millipede. Actually, putting it that way, June supposed it could have been anything, like maybe even a psychic wasp or slug.

She pauses. What if Invisible Chemist was actually asking about what that cartwheel was instead of asking what the bug machine thing was?
"And, um, what I did was a cartwheel. Um..." June runs her hand through her hair, also searching for bug guts. "I'm not sure how many kinds of cartwheels you know but some kinds are surprisingly useful."

But, as everyone knows, the one-liner was also crucial. Sadly, someone who doesn't have enough experience with cartwheels will never understand the significance of saying a good one-liner at the right moment.

[Vahnavoi]

"It'll be, uh [reasonable amount]." Selekhael gets out a different thick book, containing all the bar tabs. "Uh, what should I put down for your name?"

"Star of Hope Shine...", the man begins almost on reflex, but stops midway and thinks. "You know what? Put down "Senshi Hoshiki". That's title, then given name, in case it matters."

[Ironsmith]

[Weird Bathroom]

Ugh, gross.
June turns her head away to do her best at ensuring no robo-bug-guts get in her mouth or nose or anything.

She then completes the cartwheel away from the mess.

June looks down and starts brushing bugputer parts off her chest and stomach.
"That was a psychic cockroach, I guess. Turns out they're real." The real psychic centipedal god-complex ghost thing probably wouldn't have a notable weakness to cartwheels, right? Seems more probable that was one of those psychic cockroaches pretending to be a psychic millipede. Actually, putting it that way, June supposed it could have been anything, like maybe even a psychic wasp or slug.

She pauses. What if Invisible Chemist was actually asking about what that cartwheel was instead of asking what the bug machine thing was?
"And, um, what I did was a cartwheel. Um..." June runs her hand through her hair, also searching for bug guts. "I'm not sure how many kinds of cartwheels you know but some kinds are surprisingly useful."

But, as everyone knows, the one-liner was also crucial. Sadly, someone who doesn't have enough experience with cartwheels will never understand the significance of saying a good one-liner at the right moment.

[Weird Bathroom]

"Yes I know what a cartwheel is thank you!" The lady replies shrilly. The fact that June was responding to this so nonchalantly was all the more reason to be worried. "Oh, what's that, a psychic cockroach impersonating an interdimensional emperor with a god complex? I wonder how far I can kick it."

Not exactly the most normality-affirming event she'd witnessed today.

She takes a moment to calm herself down, closing her eye (sockets) and taking a deep breath. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm fine, I'm fine..." she mumbles to herself, taking a little comfort in the impromptu mantra.

If June continues down the hall from here, she'll stumble on a scene that plays to a psychological weakness of some sort in her, to convince her not to progress further. Pride seems a likely candidate.

[bc56]

Uh, "Uh, Senshi Hoshiki..." Selekhael writes the name down. She spells it "Senshee Hosheekee" but hopefully Star of Hope doesn't notice or doesn't care. "Uh, enjoy your stay."

[Vahnavoi]

"I'll try", the swordsman says in a resigned voice. One look at the droids made him doubt if he came to the right place to, ah, take a break from the weirdness. He does not comment on Selekhael's mangling his pseudonym - it's close enough, a correct version would have to be written in a different script entirely. He accepts his room key or whatever Trog's might use, then retreats to rest.

[5a Violista]

[Weird Bathroom]

You can't be too careful! Not everyone knows what a cartwheel is.

"The kid who was with me was worried there'd be psychic cockroaches around and that one had the misfortune of pretending to be someone who. . ." June pauses, and tries to find the words to describe how he made her feel. "Someone who really pissed me off." She waves her bloodstained shirt. "And is the reason why I need a new one of these. I worked really hard to afford it all, but some people just have no respect for what waitresses have to go through."

With that feeling off her chest, June breathes deeper.

Having given up on the trail of toiletpapercrumbs she was leaving behind, June takes a deep breath and continues onward. "Don't worry, we're definitely going to find a way out." Completely confident. Even if they don't, all they have to do is wait long enough for her 'sister' to be safe (and no longer drugged up and trapped in a magic circle or whatever), and then she'll find a way to come around to Trog's in disguise or something, and will inform Zee what's going on. June isn't really sure how Zee does it, but this definitely seems like something she could handle if she were asked.

So, she goes forward, down the hall. Sure, Pride does seem like a likely candidate because of how universal pride is, but Envy specifically would be a lot more poetic for her in particular.

[bc56]

"Arniel? You there?" A man clad entirely in black materializes in the tavern. Black hood, black cape, black leathers emblazoned with a black nightingale icon across the chest, black boots, black gloves, and a black mask with black glass lenses for eyes. "Arniel? ... Where the hell am I?"

[Rebonack]

Fenris Gray-Mane exits the bathroom, shaking off her hands.

Running water. Hot running water.

She had encountered it a few times in Dwemer ruins before, though it was largely a novelty. One couldn't exactly transport the entire water-supply system of an ancient civilization elsewhere with anything approaching ease. Fenris had pestered a few people about how it actually worked and most of them had no idea. Running water was just a thing. It took a while before she finally found someone who explained the trick. A water tower that looms above the city connected by pipes to everything else. The water pressure does the rest of the work.

Honestly it's quite brilliant in its simplicity.

She arrives back in the common room just in time to see a man appear out of thin air.

Not the usual 'was invisible' sort of materializes out of thin air.

Not even the conjuration sort of appearing.

No, he was simply not there one moment and then there the next.

It was, she had been informed an hour or so previously when some sort of odd frogman did exactly the same thing, a relatively regular occurrence.

"In a tavern called 'Trog's'," Fenris says in a subdued nordic accent. "I don't suppose you're looking for a conjurer by the name of Arniel Gane?"

If he was then this was a rather fantastical coincidence.

Fenris is, for the record, wearing a suit of Dwemer plate of her own make. A rich purple tabard covers the breastplate and the brigandine she wears under the plates is easily seen. It affords greater mobility and a comparable level of protection, which has proven helpful on more than a few occasions. She isn't wearing her helmet at the moment, which is sitting on a table nearby, leaving her face to be seen. A young nord woman with the striking gray hair of her clan. Oddly golden-yellow eyes and black lips.

[bc56]

A confused silence for a few moments is then followed by a nod. "You know him? He disappeared trying to replicate the disappearance of the dwarves." The black-clad man has a bow of twisted bone slung across his back and a heaping quiver of arrows. This woman reminds him of a family he met once and worked alongside for quite a while. They're good people, mostly.

[Rebonack]

"I do. I applied some of the principles of his work to the modifications I was making to a snow elf wayshrine. That ended... well, maybe not unexpectedly. You should probably sit down as this is a rather odd story you've found yourself thrust into," Fenris says, motioning to her table before flagging down one of the waiters. "Two bee's knees meads, please. There may be more yet before the night is done."

With a sigh she takes her seat.

This couldn't be a coincidence.

Surely not.

Was this man another like herself?

He must be.

She can feel that same pull. That contest of wills.

Was there some reason they were being gathered here?

If there was then that certainly bodes ill.

"My name is Fenris Gray-Mane. Master Restorationist, Alterationist, Enchanter, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and supposedly the last Dragonborn."

[bc56]

"Orathius. Harbinger of the Companions of Ysgramor, Arch-mage of the College of Winterhold, and... The last Dragonborn. Master marksman, blacksmith, enchanter, and conjurer." He's not going to openly mention his... Less legal pursuits, of which he has many. Even though he's openly wearing his Nightingale armor, it's technically a secret.

[Rebonack]

Technically Fenris is pretty great at several other things as well, but the magical arts are the things she's most proud of. Sure, she could mention that her handling of a shield is peerless but 'Master Shield Bonker' just doesn't have quite the same ring to it, now does it?

"Ah, I thought as much. It's that tug. Can you feel it? Did you ever meet Miraak? The ancient Dragonborn servant of Hermaus Mora? That's where I first felt it. And I've encountered the same feeling from a few others here, as well," Fenris says. "If you're a fair hand in conjuration then I don't doubt you're aware of its principles. Oblivion is a vast sea of which Nirn is but a single island in the midst of. You've found yourself washed up on the shore of a different island. One which has a penchant for attracting castaways."

Many castaways.

Often very odd ones.

Sometimes very powerful ones.

And other times...

Not so powerful.

Just unfortunate and clueless.

"They call it the Nexus, I've been told. A rather evocative name if I do say so myself."

[bc56]

"Met him, killed him, saved the island, yes." Orathius considers Miraak to have been a more difficult fight than Alduin, mostly because he wasn't as prepared going in.
"Makes sense" Orathius is a skilled conjurer, but more importantly he's been to other worlds before; the Soul Cairn, Apocrypha, and Sovngarde, primarily. "So, Grey-Mane. A relative of the Whiterun Grey-Manes, I suppose?" She has the family look. Except those eyes. He knows what that means, but he won't mention it. She, of course, hasn't seen his face, or anything about him. She can guess from his name that he's an Imperial, probably, and that's about it.

[Rebonack]

"Yes, actually. I'm the youngest daughter of Eorlund Gray-Mane. I returned to Skyrim from Cyrodil after receiving a letter from my mother regarding the disappearance of my older brother. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in an ambush sprung upon Jarl Ulfric. Since my family are well known Stormcloak sympathizers the Imperials assumed the worst of me," Fenris replies. "Not unreasonable, but still unfounded. If not for the timely intervention of the World Eater I would have been relieved of my head."

And Fenris is quite fond of her head.

It's where she does all her thinking!

"You know, I've thought about it since then. Why would Alduin attack that particular town? Then of all times? I suspect he didn't want the war to end, vulture that he was. His supply of souls to Sovngarde would have been diminished."

What a terrible creature.

His own greed and pride ended up being his undoing.

She studies the featureless mask in silence for a few moments.

"You know, I met another fellow with a similar mask recently. He was rather unpleasant."

[bc56]

"I know your family. Good people, but they never mentioned you. I trained under your father for a while." The discussion of beheadings is interesting to Orathius, "They we're going to take mine too. No idea why, I'm an imperial citizen, but the garrison commander at Helgen apparently wanted to just kill all the trespassers. As for Alduin, do his motives even matter anymore? I killed him, and I presume you did as well." He was a bit of a pushover.

[Rebonack]

The man appears to be tight lipped about his rather striking outfit.

Interesting.

It's make isn't readily known to Fenris.

Though dissecting the other man's outfit to investigate its enchantments had been informative.

"If the majority of your contact was with my father then that's not surprising. We weren't on speaking terms after I refused to continue apprenticing under him and instead left for Cyrodil to study magic," she explains.

And what an explanation it is! Given the man's love of the forge that's an understandable reaction to his quite talented daughter spurning his legacy for something widely considered un-nordlike.

"Even after I returned home he wouldn't speak to me. At least not until I had made a name for myself. I believe he's still disappointed that I work primarily in Dwemer alloy rather than steel."

He's a difficult one to please. Fenris understands it's because her father saw so much potential in her. Easy to feel cheated when it doesn't blossom the way he expected.

"And I did, yes. Dragon-Rend crippled him, as it was meant to," she gives a snort. "Zu'u unlaad. Zu'u nis oblaad. He screamed it as he perished, refusing to except the end that Dragon-Rend forced him to know."

A beat.

"Ah, I'm making an assumption that may be unfounded. Dreh hin nmindoraan faal rotmulaag se dov?"

The room rumbles as she speaks the dragon tongue, as of distant thunder.

[bc56]

Your father, your uncle, and I helped your mother and brother with a bit of a problem." Orathius answers circumspectly.
"Well, I would hope so. It would be difficult to dragonrend Alduin if I didn't, though I prefer to use a weapon than rely on my Thu'um. Orathius reaches up and pats his bow appreciatively. "Fos has proven invaluable to me. Orathius doesn't put any power into the word, but there's a tremor in the air anyway.

[Rebonack]

"Interesting," Fenris muses. "The other Last Dragonborn I met confided the same in me. And he's a former Thalmor agent. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised how many people are opposed to innocent men being tortured to death. And I'll admit that it brings me no small comfort that even across the echoes of Nirn others were willing to save him."

It makes her wonder if all those other Fenris' simply refused to return home and so someone else needed to heed her mother's desperate plea for aid.

"Such a fascinating thing. To think there are so many other echoes of Nirn, like an infinite reflection in a hall of mirrors. So much the same, yet so much hinging on who the Last Dragonborn is. Ah, I wonder... Is that the Divines loading the dice to ensure that the Dragonborn doesn't fail in their singular task?"

It would hard to save the world from Alduin if the Dragonborn got crushed by an irritated giant.

All possible pasts and all possible futures...

Fenris' glimpse of the Elder Scrolls is beginning to make a little more sense than it did before.

"It's heartening to know others have decided to dig into the dragon language. The Words that I've, ah, apprehended via the souls of dragons have made a strong backbone, but most of my work in learning the dragon tongue has been of the old fashioned sort. The word walls have made for interesting reading as a result. They're nearly all monuments, usually to heroes or lost loved ones. But this has also lead me to realize that every word in the dragon tongue is a Word. One merely needs to grasp it well enough. As a result, it is possible to transform any thematically connected triad into a Shout."

[bc56]

"I was inspired by a historian I met on Solstheim. Not a follower of the Way, but he could read the language. Given the amount of ruins I spend time in related to the old dragon priests, it seemed a wise pursuit." Also it was annoying that Paarthurnax, Durnehviir and Odahviing kept repeating themselves in two different languages. "I also noticed the dragons I met used several shouts not inscribed on the walls. I did what I could to memorize them." Some are more useful than others. "I haven't mastered Miirak's soul stealing shout yet. That one is quite something. Four words is a different beast."

[Rebonack]

"I've actually tried my hand at developing new shouts. It's taxing work, to say the least But I've had some degree of success. The most useful showing incinerates undead. I found that vampires were deeply adverse to it," Fenris reports with a small chuckle. "Though I'll admit that I cheated somewhat with that shout. It utilizes shul which I already learned in the more traditional fashion. Or, hah, traditional for Dragonborn at least. I built the rest of the shout upon my understanding of that Word."

Being able to just utterly obliterate undead when the need arises is quite useful.

Especially large numbers of them.

At the mention of Miraak, Fenris wrinkles her nose.

"Ah, yes. 'Your soul is mine to devour'. Roughly. A four-word shout is unheard of. I inquired with Paarthurnax regarding it. He knew of Miraak's stand against the dragons when he betrayed them, but he didn't know of the Shout. I suspect that secret was known to Miraak and old Herma Mora alone. And with Miraak dead it's a prized possession of the Prince of Secrets."

Fenris scowls.

"I don't know what price Mora would demand for that knowledge, but I doubt it's anything wholesome."

She still feels shame and rage over how she was used to rip the secrets of the Skaal.

[bc56]

"Old Herma-Mora can rot for all I care. Miraak was evidently weaker than myself, so it should be possible for me, or another Dovahkiin, to do it." Despite having fastidiously gathered and read all the Black Books, Orathius has a distinct dislike for the Prince of Secrets. His loyalties lie elsewhere. In all this time, the black-clad dragonborn has not at all touched his mead, probably because he'd have to take his mask off to drink.

[Rebonack]

"I don't doubt that learning the technique is possible, but if it's a secret known only to Herma Mora then I doubt he would part with it easily. And without his consent I suspect he would consider the acquisition of that secret theft," Fenris explains. "Granted, I wouldn't be adverse to spitting in the eye of the Wretched Abyss. But by the same token I'm not sure if a Shout that violently rips the soul from a still-living being is something that ought to be known."

Fenris is pretty leery of black soul gems.

Won't even touch the things.

That Shout, though?

It's just as bad.

Possibly worse.

She knows that not everyone shares her ethical concerns but she wouldn't be a nord if she didn't give voice to what she thought was a dishonorable path.

"I see you're unwilling to remove your cowl to enjoy a drink?" Fenris comments. "Given that we're the only two people here from Nirn, and we aren't even from the same Nirn, I believe the secret of your mysterious identity would be safe."

[bc56]

"Why not? You already eat the souls of dragons when they die. It would just expedite the process." Orathius' grin at the mention of thievery is hidden by the mask. "It's actually the opposite. I'm used to everyone knowing who I am regardless of what I wear." He lowers his hood and removes the mask, setting it on the table. He's a grizzled man with dark brown hair, somewhat long and done in a Nordic style with a pair of braids running down the side of his head, as well as a mustache and neat beard. His eyes are a distinctive silver color, one Fenris might recognize as strangely common to members of the Companions' inner circle. "There. Better?

[Rebonack]

Fenris didn't need to see the man's eyes to know what he is.

She could smell it on him.

And the admission that he had tumbled headlong up the ranks of the Companions spilled the secret outright. Fenris always knew what they were. She's been a werewolf since she was a child. The beast has always been part of her. For years she had suspected that one of them had been the source of her beastblood. How else would a werewolf suddenly just turn up in the middle of Whiterun?

Aside from the usual reason, of course.

"Better," Fenris agrees, pouring a tankard of mead for the Imperial. "Now we can share drink while we share our stories. A proud Nord tradition."

Fenris isn't a stickler for proud Nord traditions, but this isn't one that she minds.

"It's funny, I think, the way the world is pulled into our orbit. Leader of the Companions? Leader of the Mage's College? Leader of the most anything we get our hands into. As if the Divines are expecting us to wield authority. I wonder how far that extends?" Fenris says, shaking her head ruefully. "I'll admit, I've avoided it wherever I can. But it keeps falling into my lap. At least no one has tried to crown me the Dragonblooded Empresses after the Dark Brotherhood killed the Emperor."

[bc56]

"They did WHAT!? I knew I was right to kill them all." Orathius responds in shock, slamming his fist into the table. "Well, the parallel strands thing is good then. Not every emperor is murdered by those idiots." He regains his composure.

[Rebonack]

Fenris arches and eyebrow at that.

"Ah, I take it that didn't happen in your reflection, then," she says before taking a long pull from her tankard. "Ah. Not Honningbrew, but certainly not bad. So you slew the Dark Brotherhood cell in Skyrim? A worthy feat, to be sure. I never had any particular contact with them. Aside from one of their assassins meeting me on the road and charging me with a pair of daggers drawn."

She wrinkles her nose at that memory.

Fenris is well known as an alterationist of some skill. How did they seriously expect that confrontation to resolve?

"I paralyzed her, of course. And had a nice chat with the khajiit about the wisdom of dashing toward a wizard across open ground. I offered to allow her to take her leave once the spell wore off. Quite magnanimous of me, I believe. But as soon as she stood up she was at it again, whirling around with her knives like a fool. Frankly I haven't the faintest idea how the Brotherhood manages to kill anyone with 'assassins' like that."

She decapitated the assassin with a Dwemer gear.

Mostly because she hadn't smithed her aetherial disc yet.

"How did you find their hideout, anyway? I understand they're rather secretive."

[bc56]

"It all started when they tried to recruit me. Their leader, a Nord named Astrid, abducted me and wanted me to kill one of their prisoners. Giving me back my weapons and armor to do so was a bad idea on her part. I took the information I got from her corpse to the Penitus Oculatus, and they directed me to the location of the brotherhood sanctuary. Then it was a simple matter." Orathius explains, finally taking a sip of his mead. "Summoned atronachs did most of the work for me." Back then he wasn't so confident in his ability to take down a large number of skilled enemies.

[Rebonack]

"Asking you to murder strangers doesn't seem like the best way to make a first impression on someone. But then again, given that they kill people for coin and little else I suppose I shouldn't expect lofty morals from them," Fenris reasons.

Lofty morals.

Nords and their high principles.

But not all of them.

Oh no.

Not in the least.

Nords are like any other Men, with the dividing line between good and evil running through their heart. To imagine all Nords as noble headstrong warrior-types would be absurd.

Certainly it wouldn't describe Fenris.

In spite of her skill with heavy armor and shield. Also in spite of the fact that she is, in fact, headstrong.

Alright, she must admit to herself, she probably does count as a headstrong noble warrior. If not the prototypical sort cracking skulls with a two handed axe. She just uses a magically propelled Dwarven artifact instead.

"Clearly you walked a different path than I did. What lead to meeting the Brotherhood properly?"