auspex_caelo | Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass

Entry tags:

Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass_captain)

Organizing a proper wedding is no small affair even on Earth. In Tamriel, without the benefit of instant communications, instant transport and year-round amenities, it requires a good deal more planning. Particularly when it comes to guests who live any distance away. Roads and seaways alike are dangerous. Bandits prowl the land routes. Inclement weather closes mountain passes and keeps ships in their berths. Everything, above all, takes time.

With spring in full flight, snows melting and roads well and truly open, the excuses for delays in invitation replies and guest arrivals are both running out. Mostly this hasn’t been an issue. The arcane side of their guest list have their own ways of sending word, and the military side have first call on the Imperial courier network. Everyone who matters is accounted for. Except, that is, for one…

In the library of the Bruma house, Stratos leans on a desk covered in papers and rubs his eyes. Another day, another absence of word. Marcella did warn him that her mother would be nigh-impossible to contact. She was almost too resigned to the fact to be grumpy about it. But Stratos had thought his connections would get him where his cousin had been unable to reach. The trouble, he sees now, is that he really can’t be sure where that is.

One guest. Perhaps it’s not a disaster if she can’t be there. But this is his mother’s sister, and they have so few near relatives left, since the War….

And he’s getting worried.

Stratos rises then, and tidies away his writing implements. He heads downstairs to his room and changes into better gear for travelling- not too warm, he doubts he’s going to end up in Skyrim – and then he goes to knock on Felix’s – well, his and Jim’s – door. Nereus is out visiting with Terentius, so there’s nothing else to distract the youngest two, nothing else that ought to be occupying them. And if they’re still resting on the Enterprise - well, he’ll just have to go there and fetch one of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Frost is Felix's specialty when it comes to destruction magic. That's an important tidbit of information because it means Jim's expecting the spell Stratos unleashes. He doesn't flinch away from the magic or scream or throw himself away into the mud further from the mage like he might have if the battlemage startled him with another kind of magic Jim wasn't used to.

The temperature around them plummets and Jim, soaking wet that he is, feels his tunic go stiff from the frost. His skin stings everywhere the ice is touching but that's such a small price to pay for getting out of here alive.

Stratos will feel the captain's arms lock around his middle and send them tumbling to the--

Oof.

The floor of Felix's bedroom in the Caelus family home. Hope no one else is at home. Jim's half on top of Stratos, somewhere between shivering and shaking from the adrenaline still in his system. It's cozy and warm back here, though the room's quickly going to start smelling like thawing marsh mud.

"Th'fuck....was...that?"

Edited 2019-08-26 21:16 (UTC)

“Were-crocodile,” Stratos gasps. It’s half a guess: he’s only seen pictures of ordinary crocodiles and wamasu to compare, but it’s the only thing that matches what he’s seen. A daedroth, perhaps, would be close, but aside from the minuscule likelihood of finding one loose, those are mindless beasts. He remembers the cold assessment in the creature’s eyes before it reached to pull them down and shudders.

There’s a thump-thump of slightly uneven footsteps outside, a knock on the door before Terentius calls in, “Jim? Is Felix in there with you?”

“No, uncle, it’s all right.” Stratos props himself up hurriedly as his uncle pokes his head around the door in concern. “We’re just looking for Aunt Lartia.”

“You’re…” Terentius looks at him, at Jim, at the slushy mud spattering both of them and dripping off onto the floorboards. The old soldier’s brow crinkles with questions that promptly get shoved down again. “Carry on, then. And good luck trying.”

"We're really sorry for scaring you." Jim's got both hands up quickly, though they shake somewhat from the cold that still lingers in them. "I'll clean up the mess when we've finished--"

Really, it's a wonder Terentius hasn't been startled into a heart attack by now with how often the Caelus sons and Jim tend to quite literally drop in here like this. So inconsiderate of the man who lives here, it is.

"Sorry. I just grabbed the first coordinates I had pulled up." He's glancing at Stratos now, bringing his arms round himself to try and get feeling back into his stinging fingers.

Terentius stifles a snort. "Lad," he tells Jim, "you might want to be careful of saying things like that if you do find my sister. She's got a way of taking things wrong on purpose."

He shakes his head at the pair of them before he goes back to his work. "If you come back in need of anything, just shout for me."

Stratos catches Jim's eye as the younger man apologizes, and shakes his head. He gets up, brushing himself off before he heads to the desk, pulling his map out. "It's a safe place to retreat. Did I catch you with that spell?"

For a second Jim doesn't seem to have caught on to what Terentius is implying. He looks back at Stratos for help, then back at their uncle, and only then does it start to dawn on him what he's being teased about. Jim ducks his head and bites back a laugh.

"I really will have to be careful. Stratos would take far more embarrassment out of it than I would, but the last thing I need is anyone giving Felix a reason to be jealous. I'm not sure I'd survive it." He nods after Terentius before sighing much more heavily once the door's been shut again.

"What? Oh, yeah a bit. My clothes are thawing out now though. Give it a few minutes and I'm sure my hands will come round, too." He doesn't think he's gotten frostbite but with how muddy they are it's hard to tell immediately.

While Terentius chuckles at Jim before he shuts the door, Stratos looks like he’s doing his best to unhear his uncle’s teasing. Or perhaps he’s just entirely preoccupied: he’s wiping his hands on a cloth by the wash stand before he spreads the map flat on the desk, pulls a slide rule from a drawer. The mage’s focus is intent as he measures starting points and angles and traces thin charcoal lines out across the inked lines of bays and lakes and mountain ranges.

“Ah,” he says, distracted, “tell me if you need help with them.” Scribble, scribble. East, and north.. He passes a hand over the map, and constellations of bright points flicker above it for a minute before he’s sure.

“We can take a few minutes to… collect ourselves. But then we need to go. Even if I take us to the closest co-ordinates I have, we’ll need to walk a long way.” He rubs at his temples: he has much more stamina than Felix, but he’s starting to feel the effects of so many strong – worse, unfamiliar - spells in so short a time. It takes a moment before he thinks to add, “Oh, and best look for a scarf to tie over your mouth. Our next stop is Morrowind, and the ash will not be kind to our lungs.”

Jim's going to wait patiently for his turn before he starts cleaning up at the wash stand. Where Stratos only cared for wiping off his hands Jim's going to take a lot more care in giving himself a once over from top to bottom. It gives him an excuse to let his hands soak a bit in the room temperature water to check on them as well. They're a bit dry and a little bit pink but they'll be fine.

"Just how big is Tamriel, anyway?" It's a question that's been needling at the captain for quite some time. Given the diversity of the landscapes they've been travelling between he'd assume the planet must be at least the size of Earth or possibly much larger. It's impossible to get the scale of on his short visits, especially since he's never had the opportunity to see it from orbit nor even from a high altitude well within the atmosphere.

"Hang on, I'll find us some scarves and we can go."

"Two or three thousand leagues across, depending on the direction you measure and which map you consult." Unfortunately, the disparity in units means even Stratos's knowledge is unlikely to give Jim a clearer picture.

"Fortunately we won't need to travel that far, but we may find ourselves hiking for the next few days." Stratos folds up his map and checks the state of their packs. Jim knows where to find the clean clothes in this household, and once they both have a couple of scarves around their necks and ready to pull over their lower faces, they'll be off once more.

...This time they're indoors. Around them is something like a dining hall in a long-neglected manor house that must have been quite handsome just a century ago. Elegant windows gape empty, and the roof is partly open. In the corners are small drifts of dark grey ash. Stratos takes a cautious look around, then passes a hand over his face and repeats it, this time with a thin pink glow overlaying his eyes. Satisfied that this time there are no lurking surprises, he steps over to a crumbling fireplace and checks behind some of the bricks, then nods.

"We prepared this place as a more secure waypoint," he explains to Jim. "Most of the others are just points on a map, so far. We can go out through the gardens and find the main road. And if anyone asks, remember, I'm an up-and-coming trader looking to make business connections around Mournhold, and you're along as my escort."

"Hiking through ash clouds for days. Remind me not to tell Bones where I've been. He'll kill us both." Jim ties the scarf around his nose and mouth, wishing honestly that Stratos' people believed in protective eye wear as well. A set of goggles apiece for them wouldn't go amiss. But seeing as how that's not acceptable Tamriellic fashion, Jim says nothing before he reshoulders their pack and they're off into the unknown.

"Your escort. Really." Terentius' warning clearly isn't rubbing off on Stratos any. Though with a cloth over half his face it's not as though anyone would be able to tell by looking at him very easily what kind of an escort he'd serve best. "That's simple enough to remember. What exactly are we supposed to be trading in?"

"Provided we don't have to go further north, it shouldn't be so bad as that. I'm told the ash falls in this part of the province vary with the winds." Jim might be put out when they pass their first Dunmer on the road: carrying goggles is not uncommon for locals or experienced travelers, particularly soldiers who can't just go inside if the fall is bad.

"You have the bow," Stratos explains as they head out, clearly oblivious for a second to Jim's emphasis. He does shoot a Look back over his shoulder, when it sinks in. "I was thinking Colovian steel and Nibenese glassware, from the Imperial province. No selling, just yet, since I'm only scouting to see if there's a market."

The sun is high yet, here, but it's perceptibly further west than when they started: the shadows they cast stretch longer onto the garden walls, and the light seems dimmer, the sky a hazy, dusky blue above them. They have to clamber between some ornamental mushrooms taller than they are to find the gap in the walls that leads onto the top of a hill. They come out on the north side. From somewhere out of sight comes the dull roar of a waterfall; around them stretch pleasant fields and woodlands of trees mixed with mushrooms the size of trees, all dotted with farms and small buildings. But beyond...

There's a smudge of blue: the faintest suggestion of water. But it's almost lost in the dull grey haze that blurs the northern landscape, the muddy billowing that dominates the sky, pouring out from a low, vast pucker on the horizon, like the sides of a jagged cauldron. Even from here, it seethes.

"That must be Red Mountain," Stratos says softly, staring at it in horrified wonder. The wind is from the north, and the first delicate flakes of ash are brushing here and there against their faces.

Oh, the squinting that will be had! If they find any real merchants along the way he's going to be tempted to ask how much it would cost to get a pair for the both of them. A seasoned soldier Stratos may be but Jim's visited dozens of planets across the galaxy and knows a thing or two about preparing for Away Missions (even if his department heads like to imply otherwise on occasion).

The captain very nearly makes a smart remark back about what kind of escorts Stratos has been interacting with but the Look the elder Caelus gives him shuts him up on the spot. It is important to pay attention, in any case. The details may not come up but if they do nothing will look worse than fumbling for a half remembered lie.

It takes Jim several moments to catch up to Stratos once they've made their ways outside. Dozens of planets he may have seen but redwood sized fungi are definitely a new one on him. He has so many questions but almost no language skills on where to start. Not to mention an awareness that they need to get a move on. Even still, when he turns to Stratos the man is stunned to silence himself.

Given the care about ash in the air Jim's not at all surprised to see a volcano off in the distance. Indeed he's almost more interested in the ocean and the strange lands that lie beyond that not a damn soul seems to know hardly anything about if the vague maps he's seen are any indication of the Tamriellic knowledge of their own globe.

Jim doesn't know the Cyrodillic term for a volcano though.

"Never seen one before?" Pointing upward. "A volcano. Spitting fire mountain. Whatever the word is."

Edited 2019-09-03 22:34 (UTC)

This is where the disparity in their experience becomes apparent. Stratos may be an experienced mage and well-used to soldiering in the mountains and forests of Skyrim and High Rock, but he's never been to deserts of dust or dune, nor here to Morrowind where ash storms are a real concern. When it comes to dealing with foreign environments, Jim has far more practice and training.

"A volcano, you mean." Stratos can't tear his eyes away just yet. "I've never seen one, no... but that's not just a volcano. That's... the volcano. The Red Mountain. That's nearly two hundred leagues from here, you realize. It used to be the tallest mountain in the world. And the heart of Morrowind. It's just, I... I've always seen the scale of it on maps, but I've never seen it before."

He shakes his head, and forces himself to turn away, cupping his hands for the clairvoyance spell. Thankfully it points east, away from the distant caldera. Not that he expected Aunt Lartia to be practicing amateur vulcanology, but he'd rather not have to spend the trek facing that smoking catastrophe every time he looks up. Down the hill he'll lead them, following a winding path of overgrown cobblestones, and tucking the scarf more securely over his mouth and nose.

Edited 2019-09-05 19:20 (UTC)

"THE volcano? Because it's the biggest, or...?" Not to say that it's not damned impressive. It's a huge mountain spewing and smoldering however far two hundred leagues is in Galactic Standard. But Jim's seen volcanoes before of quite a number of sizes. "What do you call the uh...giant fungi over there? Do they have names too or is 'Kynareth be kind that's the biggest mushroom I've ever gods damned seen' the shortest way to talk about them?"

Red Mountain. Sounds vaguely ominous to Kirk's ears. Maybe it's just how the words sound in the mouth. It doesn't appear like they're venturing any closer to the phenomena, at least. That's probably for the best knowing his luck. Were-crocodiles are bad enough but natural disasters are on a whole other level.

"So. Morrowwind. Home of the Dunmer if I'm remembering right? Anything I should know?"

"It made up most of the former island of Vvardenfell, the heartland of the province. Its eruption - and the loss of the isle - was probably the single greatest catastrophe to befall Tamriel in thousands of years. It's the reason Skyrim and Cyrodiil have so many Dunmeri refugees these days." A problem Jim might not have seen much of, admittedly: traipsing around with Felix, he generally only sees the western side of the provinces.

The mushrooms are impressive. Stratos has never had the privilege of seeing them before, either, and he peers up at the smaller ones they pass on the way down the hill. There seems to be a kind of moss growing on the undersides. "They're called Emperor's Parasols, as I recall. They don't grow outside of Morrowind- something to do with the properties of the ash soil. Remind me to take some samples - they'd make a good peace offering for Felix if he sulks that we didn't bring him."

The road they come to isn't in the best of repair, to the Imperial's eye, but it's a damn sight better than the path to the house. Clearly it's in regular use. Stratos sights ahead through the ash haze before leading the way on. "The main thing is to be prepared for a lukewarm welcome, I think. Morrowind was under Imperial rule until fairly recently, and that may be something of a sore spot. And if there are any Argonians in the area, keep in mind that they have a tense relationship with the Dunmer, to say the least."

"I didn't realize it was so populated, before." But it's not as though plenty of other species have built their civilizations far too close to natural disasters waiting to happen before. Humans are guilty of that too. Especially back before anyone knew any better. But they're walking away from the area. Jim's all too aware that humanitarian aid isn't why they're out here today. Presumably if anyone could stop it or temper the damn thing they would have already.

Besides, Stratos is remarking on Felix not being brought along. It drags Jim out of his reveries and makes him wince. He's more aware than he probably should be of the tempestuous relationship between the two brothers. "Let's. Please. It feels wrong to be out here without him as is."

"Of course it was." This world feels like everyone is occupying everyone else at some point or another. His jaw ticks slightly but it's hardly Stratos' doing. He keeps his mouth shut on the matter. "Hope they want steel and glassware more than they want to mug us then."

Stratos gives him a sympathetic look. It's hard not to look at Jim and Felix sometimes and wonder what it's like to be so very much in love. Something to hope for, one day. But he's thankful his little brother found this captain from the stars. It's made a better man of him, troubled as his road has been.

"He may sulk, but he'll get over it. Especially for you." He reaches back to clap Jim's shoulder. "You shouldn't worry. Besides, it's not long now before the two of you will be confined on a ship in the middle of oblivion together."

He brushes ash off the other man's shoulder and adjusts his own pack. "As for us, this is a civilized land. If we encounter that kind of trouble, I expect it to have more to do with my aunt's choice of drinking spots."

"I try to keep in mind that he wandered off first, if he does try to sulk. I didn't exactly get invited out with him, either." But it doesn't really matter whether Jim is here or not. It likely matters more that Stratos took someone that wasn't his baby brother out on this adventure. He'll have to make it up to Felix as best he can later. Or at least work to frame it in a good light for Stratos's case later.

"It's not so bad, that." Stratos has seen a glimpse of it for himself, even.

It's not going to be terribly long before both of their eyes are stinging with discomfort from the ash, even heading away from the towering blight on the horizon as they are. They're protected from the worst affects by the scarves round their mouth and noses but it's not going to be the easiest trek. Jim hasn't bothered to wipe at his face any either.

"Best not to rub at your eyes, even to dry them. They'll only water again and you'll be rubbing the irritant into them further."

Stratos is clearly trying to do his stoic, nothing-gets-to-a-tribune act, but Jim is family and he gets to catch the muttered curse beneath Stratos's scarf as the Imperial tugs a hood around his face.

"This is maddening. How do the Dunmer tolerate it?" No wonder their eyes are red, he thinks. There must be something a mage can do- perhaps an oakflesh spell would ward it off, but then he'd need to conceal it to maintain the ordinary merchant act...

It's a problem he's pondering as they make their way down between woodland and mushrooms, tramping over the wooden bridges that cover over small waterways. They're alone for a little while, before low, croaking grunts herald the approach of a small merchant caravan. At the head pace a couple of Dunmeri soldiers, totally concealed beneath chitin armor - complete with goggles.

Behind them come an assortment of squat, brown, bipedal creatures with leathery scaled skin, something like little dinosaurs with oversized tadpole heads and tiny eyes. Each is loaded up with a harness bearing bundles and sacks, and they waddle along docilely under the watchful eye of an Argonian herdmaster... although one can only tell his race by the tail poking out from his clothes. A couple of the bigger specimens have Dunmer merchants astride them instead, and though he steps aside Stratos lifts a hand to greet them politely.

Edited 2019-09-08 11:54 (UTC)

"Protective eye wear, from what I can see of the travelers we've passed by. It's possible to get used to it a bit too, but we aren't going to be out here long enough for that I'd wager."

Jim's honestly less bothered by it than Stratos is. It stings and its uncomfortable but it's temporary and he's been in much worse hospitable terrain than this over his years. For a little while at least he can tough it out. It stings like a motherfucker but he was ready for this the moment Stratos mentioned needing protection from ash.

In fact, the biggest pity about not having anything over their eyes is that Jim has to remember to school his gaze. When the caravan approaches the man from the Void has to actively stop himself from gaping like a fish. Instead he shuffles to move off of the road for them to pass by. It's a chance to rest and catch his breath a little. To rearrange the scarf around his nose and mouth, and to carefully wipe the tears off of his exposed cheeks without rubbing anything more into his eyes.

"Well met." Jim murmurs politely. He has to squint through the wetness in his eyes a bit to see if any of them will give the pair of humans any attention whatsoever. If they will he's going to nudge Stratos slightly. Drop his voice to a whisper beneath the scarf. "Think they'd sell to us?"

"It's surely worth trying," Stratos murmurs back. Sounds like Jim's mind is focused on much the same thing as his. The Imperial steps forward as the merchants draw near, and the better-dressed of the two calls out to the rest of the caravan to halt while they stop and speak.

He return's Stratos's greeting with a polite enough, "Well met, serah," though the Dunmer's expression is all the harder to read behind his mask; admittedly, as they speak there's a tinge of impatience to his voice. It softens on the realization that Stratos is willing to give him some coin for the trouble, and in short enough order the Argonian is being ordered to get a couple of spare goggles out of a guar's burden. Stratos is damned sure that he's paying an excessive amount, but no amount of Imperial charm can hide how red the humans' eyes are. He wasn't thinking ahead, or he might have cast an illusion. Still, it matters little, and it's gratifying to find that Imperial septims are still good here.

He asks about the nearest settlement along this road before wishing the merchants a swift and safe journey. As they move off, he passes Jim a pair of the goggles: two circles of glass set in a leather band. The glass won't be as clear as the Terran man is used to, and the leather won't be comfortable, but they're clean and new and seal fairly well around the eyes. Getting them on is going to be one hell of a relief for both men.

"It's another four hours on foot to the town of Selfora," he says. "I think that places it close to my estimate of our destination, but if Lartia isn't there, we'll at least be able to find an inn for the night." Travelling east has cost them a significant portion of daylight: the sun's not low yet, but it's definitely descending.

While Stratos is internally summing up just how overpriced their purchase is, Jim's obliviously murmuring a polite thanks to both the Argonian and the Dunmer merchant. They're both incredibly lucky that they've run into a merchant at all out here on these sparsely populated roads. One that's willing to trade at that and who has the gear they sorely would like. His farewell is probably more earnest than it should be before they're going their separate ways once more.

The sting won't leave their eyes for a while but it will gradually lessen the longer they're on the road properly equipped. They're both going to be nursing headaches by the time they stop to make camp but those at least can be more easily treated.

"Whew. That's a hell of a hike. I'm up for it though." Especially now that they're well and away from any giant beasts that would try to chomp either man in half. The last time Stratos had his brother-in-law to be along with him for a trek it wasn't for nearly so lighthearted a journey. This time Jim fills the air while they walk with stories about his ship, things he's seen across his version of Oblivion. Does his best to describe his seemingly impossible cosmos to the well educated Nirnish battlemage.

It helps to pass the time as they crest one hill that turns into a dozen, picking their way across an uneven path. Jim asks Stratos things too. About his time spent in High Rock (another place he's only vaguely heard of). Other people they pass by on the roads spread rumor about ghouls stacking chairs out in the ash wastes and other nonsensical stories that leave Jim wondering if he's missing some kind of explanation for a Nirnish idiom or another.

As the sun's setting, however, even the outdoorsy Kirk is breathing heavily. He's stifling with his mouth and nose covered. Head aching for the hindered vision and stiff leather of the goggles they wear. Body yearning for a meal, drink, and most importantly: rest. Conversation's dried up in favor of deep long breaths. Slower steps. They're nearly to the top of the most recent hill their winding road has lead them down.

Stratos has plenty of stories to tell, about the customs of Breton chivalry, the festivals of the small kingdoms, of the people he's met from Hammerfell delegations to privateers to rarely-seen monks. For every question Jim asks, Stratos has one of his own about the worlds and people the space captain has met; tales the Imperial tribune has slowly gained context for over the years, until he's able to follow along with words like transporter and warp anomaly and planetary ionosphere. Well, mostly follow along.

The fall has eased off slowly over the last hour, so when they crest the hill and see lights below them through the ash-specked glass, Stratos pushes his goggles up from his eyes. There's a downhill walk through some low woodland, by the look of it, but beyond the mushroom stands are the walls of a small township, street lanterns glowing through the evening mist.

Stratos takes a moment to appreciate the sigh, sighing in relief. "Not far, now. We should purchase a meal and shelter before we explore further."

With a downhill road and newfound motivation, it won't take them long to reach the open gates (there is a guard, though he merely nods at them and Stratos doesn't find the defenses very impressive). The buildings of Selfora are mostly small, single-storey houses with roofs curved like the upturned hull of a boat. Dunmer architecture, at least here, seems to favor sharp peaks that sweep down and outward into curving points. It looks almost like a cross between Gothic and classical Japanese architecture, quite unlike either the smooth outlines of Cyrodiil or the twining patterns of Skyrim. A few people are out sweeping the ash from their doorsteps: nearly all are Dunmer, aside from one Argonian and a couple of people who look human.

Edited 2019-09-14 20:41 (UTC)

Next to the Imperial, Jim is bent over with his hands on his own thighs, breathing heavily. The cloth around his face sticks to him at every in hale before puffing back out with his exhales. "Yeah--yeah. I mean if you're needing to stop then we should..." Give him a second to catch his breath again, "We should definitely stop for the night."

What Jim means is that he needs the rest too. Admitting such things isn't very easy for him even on his own ship. Out here where Jim's all too aware of how little of a help he is the man's determined not to be a burden to anyone.

Thankfully it's a downhill walk from here. Not even the alien beauty of this place can slow Jim's steps for long when he's got to keep up with Stratos. (The promise of a warm meal and a place to sleep drives him forward too). Security seems a bit more lax than Jim's seen around other towns but perhaps with the volcano disrupting much of the land people are needed for more important work.

Not even Jim's aching feet nor grumbling stomach will keep him from admiring the architecture at least a little bit. With the sky stained with color these strange designs feel just familiar enough form Earth history books to draw his eye even if he knows this place is nothing at all like his home world. His fatigue works somewhat in the captain's favor as it keeps him from turning on the spot to gape at every new sight as they round a corner.

"Is Cyrodillic known here? If not I'm...not going to be much use seeing to supplies or our needs."

With the goggles pushed up, it might just be possible to spot the way Stratos's eyes crinkle when he looks back at Jim. But the light is low, and they both want to hurry on down into the low-lying town.

There's so much Stratos doesn't understand about this place. The strange architecture, yes, he can guess it keeps the ash off. But why is the town built down so low and not on a good defensive hill? For that matter, the defenses aren't much to look at. Even if the Dunmer do have ancestral ghosts to fight at their side, the simple walls are half stone. How stable is this region, then? The capital is all the way over on the other side of the provi- of Morrowind.

"Most people should speak it," he answers Jim. "It's still the main language of trade among kingdoms. I do know some Dunmeris, but if we encounter difficulty I won't rely on it." Of all the places he's planned for visiting, Morrowind never really featured on the list.

This town seems... comfortably appointed, at least. And people don't stop to stare at them, so it's clear that foreign traders are an ordinary sight. Stratos looks around until he spots a larger-than-average building; one with two storeys and a wooden sign painted with a cup. A couple of Dunmeri women are sitting out with bottles of something, chatting in their native tongue, and they glance over the strangers with interest. Stratos gives them a slight bow before they head inside toward the buzz of chatter

Within the inn there is, of course, the smell of smoke. Jim's learned by now that even in the heat of summer, a lit hearth in the kitchens is not optional for anyone who wants a hot meal. The fireplace in the main room is cold though, and the window shutters are all flung open, encouraging the smell from the kitchens to waft out among the guests. There's a musky herbal scent in the air too, perhaps coming from the lamps around the room and on the tables. Stratos sweeps a glance around the room, but there's no sign nor sound of a middle-aged Imperial woman with a raucous laugh. Catching Jim's eye, he nods and heads over to greet the innkeeper.

"Greetings, outlander, and welcome to Selfora Inn. If you're looking for a good meal and a soft bed for the night, you've come to the right place." The man's giving them a shrewd once-over as he speaks, clearly appraising the importance (i.e., wealth) of these customers.

"That's just what my companion and I were hoping to hear..."

With their ash streaked hair and covered faces they both look like any other pair of human travelers making their way across the Morrowind countryside. Perhaps their only interesting feature is the fact that they are in fact human, although their well made and patch-free clothing certainly probably draws eyes a little bit as well.

Jim's bow is more of an afterthought than Stratos' purposeful one is. He clearly doesn't know his way around. Or maybe he's just that enthralled in the atmosphere and smell of the inn they're walking into. A huge sigh of relief escapes the man as he reaches up to pull his goggles off his head completely. It pulls his hair slightly to the side but it hardly matters when they remove their cloth masks. Underneath Stratos is every inch a fine Bruma man and very obviously Imperial. Jim's not nearly so strong jawed as his companion and though he carries the bow on his back there's not a fairer face for a hundred leagues in any direction.

They've clearly not been raised doing hard labor, even if neither man looks to be dressed like a nobleman. Neither carries any sort of accessory save for the goggles they walked in with and their packs are nowhere near full but they're of good quality like everything else about them.

"Like music to my ears." Stratos' companion agrees, his accent just a touch strange. "Any chance to wash up and I'll be beside myself."

Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass_captain)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I catch myself using Discord markups so often doing these

It's usually the reverse for me, trying to use HTML tags in Discord

I do that, too. Perpetually have the wrong change in every program

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject