Post by Tillian Panthesis on Mar 31, 2015 14:31:32 GMT 1
27th March 2015
“Alright, this is the place. Hopefully,” Rumarin mumbled to himself, while incoherently rotating his map around, his left eye squints in frustration.
It was the next day. There was a nip in the air, unusual for the warmer part of Eastmarch, where that particular region was well known for it’s hot springs and scantly clad dwellers dipping themselves into the steamy waters. But then again, it was a cloudy day, there was tension in the air, as the skies above him threaten to start a massive rainfall. The distant sounds of thunder did not help. It reminded him of that one girl he first dated. A bit unstable if you ask him.
But wasn’t just the shoddy weather that bothers him. It’s the town of Kynesgrove he’s standing in.
----
28 March 2015
Rumarin walk into the inn, the door shuts behind with a massive thud. The noise was loud enough to make the innkeep across the room to jump in fright.
“Note to myself: Shut the door quietly,” Rumarin whispered to himself.
Unfortunately, that won’t be the last time he’ll make a racket every time he steps into a room. The gods are aware of what’s in store for Rumarin. And quiet introduction is not one of them in the very long list of events that is yet to come.
“Welcome, I hope you’ll stay for a while,” The innkeeper shutter as she spoke, desperately trying to convince him.
“Inkeeper, what sort of mead do you have?” Rumarin asked.
----
29th March 2015
“We only have the Black-Briar brand in stock at the moment.” The innkeeper replied.
Black-Briar, that didn’t sound like a delicious drink, he thought. Still, it’s mead, what can be possibly go wrong?
“Alright, I take one,” Rumarin requested.
The innkeeper opened the cork and served him. Rumarin peered into the bottle, the contents seemed to be cloudier than the dreary weather outside and darker than an Ayleid ruin he once accidentally stumbled in as a child. He shut his eyes and drank.
Then he spat it out in disgust.
“By the gods, it taste like darkness and hate!” He yelped.
----
30th March 2015
“I’m sorry, but we’ve just ran out of Honningbrew mead,” The innkeeper apologised.
“It’s not your fault, innkeep. It’s the fault of the maker. It seems like whoever made this, never experience sunshine and happiness,” Rumarin replied.
Then, there was another thud from the entrance. A brooding Altmer, clad in head to toe in some worn robe, steps in. He was approaching towards the innkeeper, ignoring Rumarin.
“I need a meal and a place to stay for the night,” the mysterious High Elf replied, as he toss a few coins on the counter.
The innkeeper count it, before stashing them away into the lock box, “Sure, right this way.”
----
31th March 2015
Rumarin’s nose twitched. That faintly scent from him. The roses, with a small touch of blackberry and Shimerene tobacco; indicated the guest is a Thalmor Justicar.
It’s pretty hard to forget about their scent. After all, he was dragged into darkest parts of the the Imperial City dungeon by them once, straight after his offensive performance.
That will be the last time he’ll perform comedy for the whole world. Who cares if the Empire is drowning themselves in tears, they had it coming for signing that damn paper, he thought.
He quickly pushed that dark part of his memory out of the way, before he dwells on it any further. He hates recalling that time, it made him feel abnormally terrible, very unhealthy on his part.
Rumarin then focus himself with his task. How in the Oblivion he could snatch that chest?
“Alright, this is the place. Hopefully,” Rumarin mumbled to himself, while incoherently rotating his map around, his left eye squints in frustration.
It was the next day. There was a nip in the air, unusual for the warmer part of Eastmarch, where that particular region was well known for it’s hot springs and scantly clad dwellers dipping themselves into the steamy waters. But then again, it was a cloudy day, there was tension in the air, as the skies above him threaten to start a massive rainfall. The distant sounds of thunder did not help. It reminded him of that one girl he first dated. A bit unstable if you ask him.
But wasn’t just the shoddy weather that bothers him. It’s the town of Kynesgrove he’s standing in.
----
28 March 2015
Rumarin walk into the inn, the door shuts behind with a massive thud. The noise was loud enough to make the innkeep across the room to jump in fright.
“Note to myself: Shut the door quietly,” Rumarin whispered to himself.
Unfortunately, that won’t be the last time he’ll make a racket every time he steps into a room. The gods are aware of what’s in store for Rumarin. And quiet introduction is not one of them in the very long list of events that is yet to come.
“Welcome, I hope you’ll stay for a while,” The innkeeper shutter as she spoke, desperately trying to convince him.
“Inkeeper, what sort of mead do you have?” Rumarin asked.
----
29th March 2015
“We only have the Black-Briar brand in stock at the moment.” The innkeeper replied.
Black-Briar, that didn’t sound like a delicious drink, he thought. Still, it’s mead, what can be possibly go wrong?
“Alright, I take one,” Rumarin requested.
The innkeeper opened the cork and served him. Rumarin peered into the bottle, the contents seemed to be cloudier than the dreary weather outside and darker than an Ayleid ruin he once accidentally stumbled in as a child. He shut his eyes and drank.
Then he spat it out in disgust.
“By the gods, it taste like darkness and hate!” He yelped.
----
30th March 2015
“I’m sorry, but we’ve just ran out of Honningbrew mead,” The innkeeper apologised.
“It’s not your fault, innkeep. It’s the fault of the maker. It seems like whoever made this, never experience sunshine and happiness,” Rumarin replied.
Then, there was another thud from the entrance. A brooding Altmer, clad in head to toe in some worn robe, steps in. He was approaching towards the innkeeper, ignoring Rumarin.
“I need a meal and a place to stay for the night,” the mysterious High Elf replied, as he toss a few coins on the counter.
The innkeeper count it, before stashing them away into the lock box, “Sure, right this way.”
----
31th March 2015
Rumarin’s nose twitched. That faintly scent from him. The roses, with a small touch of blackberry and Shimerene tobacco; indicated the guest is a Thalmor Justicar.
It’s pretty hard to forget about their scent. After all, he was dragged into darkest parts of the the Imperial City dungeon by them once, straight after his offensive performance.
That will be the last time he’ll perform comedy for the whole world. Who cares if the Empire is drowning themselves in tears, they had it coming for signing that damn paper, he thought.
He quickly pushed that dark part of his memory out of the way, before he dwells on it any further. He hates recalling that time, it made him feel abnormally terrible, very unhealthy on his part.
Rumarin then focus himself with his task. How in the Oblivion he could snatch that chest?