Crunzugr’s senses were all awake. He quickly assessed his environment. His fists were clenched as he looked around to see warriors of all shapes -- all armed. The way of escape -- door is closest -- left. He could get out if he needed to -- barely. He realized he was not wearing his furs. He would not survive in the cold -- not with furs and his weapons.

He was bandaged… He felt the cloth in various places on his aching body. They were already ruined, but they did what they were intended for. Crunzugr’s sighed as as his shoulders relaxed and he drooped his head and closed his eyes. The hunting party, the betrayal, the wolves…

“Zu’u .. diir. Hi .. mey wah drun zu’u het!” Crunzugr spat out, grunting from the effort it took to speak and move his body.

After the figure disappeared, Kaldmit went upstairs to retreive his arrows and came back down. He then gave Ralund 10 gold "Fah aan room." he told the innkeeper. Then he took a plate of food to a room near the back of the Inn and took off the top part of his armor, revealing a glowing red symbol in between his shoulder blades and stood near the doorway with his back towards it. He then blew a small stream of fire to reheat the meat and started eating. After he was done eating, Kaldmit sat down on the floor with his back still towards the open doorway and sat quietly. Nocturnal, who was that figure that tried to kill this Innkeeper and why?

Yenkry's attention was mostly focused on the Argonian. For whatever reason, he looked familiar. She dismissed it as nothing, as many Argonians look alike. She usually sees their scales to be a metallic green, or a deep red. For whatever reason, the deep red color bothers her. But, this Argonian, Yenkry could tell there was something about him that peaked her interest. She would keep an eye on him. When the Orismer spoke his short sentence - something about himself and what happened, maybe - Yenkry saw him relax himself. Perhaps he wasn't as big a threat as she originally thought. She decided to talk to him. Her words came out sloppily and slow, but she nonetheless tried to converse. "D-drem yol lok, ogiim.... Los hi pruzah? Kaaz los...los...." She didn't know how to say that she was wanting to know how he got his wounds, but she decided against it.    "N-nid. Pruzah sul." Her embarrasment got the better of her, and she walked quikly away from him, towards the innkeep. She heard what the Argonian had said to him and saw the exchange. She figured he got a room for the night. So, she decided to do something similar. She held out a handful of coin to him and pointed in the direction of the rooms, hoping he would understand.

Crunzugr looked up as he heard a voice. He was annoyed at the timidity.

He blurted out, "Dreh hi ni koraav?" 

"Dii ahtiid .. qah .. kolos?" Crunzugr followed, gritting his teeth.

Ralund fingered the gold the Argonian left behind and decided he would return itwhen he had the chance. The siigonis had saved his life, after all, and Ralund figured his life was worth at least 10 gold.  He extended an invitation to all the others inhabiting his hall. "Fahdonne, huzrah. Un grind los goraan, nuz zu'u bolaav hi daar hofkah wah praan. Niid sov."

Besides, they seemed like a capable, if disparate lot, and if the Dragon Cult was after him, having this many swords (and axes and bows) would give his enemies a few things to reconsider.

He spent the afternoon cleaning the bar and dusting the cellar to try and occupy his thoughts, but his thoughts had other plans. Memories intruded his chores—those nights spent drinking beneath the Atmoran spirit-lights, his forbidden rendezvous in the woods, that night beneath the moons when he had first met the love of his life, the elf with hair as white as snow....

As Ralund made a habit of cleaning the dust, the Dragon Cult had made a habit of cleansing heresy, such as his love. He had not just shared his heart, but words of terrible power, words only the Cult was meant to know. The dust always returned, though, and in his thoughts the past piled on.

When everyone had found their accomodations and fallen asleep, or seemingly so, Ralund checked the attic to ensure his keepsake was still there. Buried beneath mundane cloth, he uncovered the mask that was once his, the mask of a Dragon Priest. Its bronze visage glowed even in the dark. Gahrot, he had stolen this garish thing before he fled. Why he kept it, he didn't know. A dragon had granted it to him once, but now he held onto it with draconic stubborness. Golah med dovah.

The Dragon Cult wouldn't stop until they retrieved their prize, that was for sure. Ralund could never have guessed how long it would be before they found him, but as with most things concerning the Dovah, it was only a matter of time. He had no choice but to return this mask to its rightful owner, and hopefully not be eaten in the process. For that, he'd need help.

The next morning, delirious with sleep, he found his company warming themselves by the fire downstairs. Carrying the mask wrapped in cloth, he approached them and cleared his throat.

"Zu'u draal hi drey siiv praan," he said. "Zu'u piraak...laan. Lot laan tol nis kos ro. Lahvraan, ahrk hon." He gathered his courage and his thoughts. What was he to say to these strangers? Why should he risk their lives alongside his?

He told them that the man who had attempted to take his life the previous night had been a member of the Dragon Cult of Atmora, a cult he had formerly been a part of. He unveiled the dragon priest mask and held it to the fireflight. "Daar luft lost ont dii. Zu'u lost ont mindok ol Midrot, sonaaksedovah."

Even now remembered the ceremony where he was annointed, high on the peaks of Atmora with drums and dragon wings beating. Midrot, they had called him—"loyalty" in the dragon tongue—but he had since come to betray that word.

"Mu fent daal daar luft, uv zu'u fen dir. Dovah ahrk sonaak nir nii. Wo fen wundun Keizaal? Wo fen yah moro?"

He explained the mask was forged by the Breath of the golden dragon, Shulagruth, and not until he found the dragon and returned the mask would the Dragon Cult rest. The dragon laired somewhere along the border of Keizaal and the ash-blasted lands of Resdayn, but Ralund did not know exactly where.

One thing was for certain, however. Wherever he went, he would be a long way from the mead.

Eyes close again and another shadow on the wall holds a knife to the throat.  Eyes open and there’s nothing.  Eyes stare, unblinking, at the ceiling, listening in the dark for something deadly to show itself.

The elf stood up and walked back to the main room, all was quiet.  The others were not here, somehow they slept, somehow they could find a way to rest easily here.  But Veabris could not.

Every creek of the wood was a man in the shadows, every gust of wind the Nede with the knife, the tightly wrapped cloak the Nede’s hands on Veabris’s throat.

Man is a savage thing.  At one time a Falmer had come to Cyrod wounded and dying, with her last breathes she told of how the Atmorans rounded up any Mer they found and burned them while they yet breathed.

As they heard of what has been happening in Merith, the Ayleid kings started looking at their Nedes with a glint of worry in their eyes, a worry that was not unfounded.

Veabris woke in the early hours of the morning, having waking before the rest did.  By the time they all lounged around the firepit, the Mer’s scarf and hood had loosened significantly.  A soft face that a man who hadn’t seen many elves would call “youthful” was framed by hair beads and a single bead piercing on the cheekbone.

The Atmoran returned with a mask, being more than he seemed at first glance.  After careful thinking, Veabris was the first to respond to him.

“Mu bo gein.”  The Ayleid said.  “Mu vokrii luftsedov.”

Returning to Cyrod without the letter would never be acceptable.  And if anything, this Cult would know Veabris’s face, and seek to kill the elf if given the chance.  This may yet be beneficial, for now there would also be time to learn more of the mysterious Orc.

Nelithuun slept like a restless draugr that night. The events of the previous evening mixed with the events of his past. Numerous times he would wake up from a dream of the figure in the main room or his past nemesis. That was something he didn’t talk about. His past. It is the reason he is doing this, but he still isn’t grateful for what happened. His past killed his friends, his love, and himself.

He woke in the early hours, before the shul had risen, and stayed in his room. He stared out of the frost covered window and watched the snow blowing in the wind. He sat there until he heard a creak outside. He got up from his chair and went to the main door. The others now sat around a fire, and he joined them. Not much later, Ralund came back with a mask unfamiliar to Nelithuun. He explained his story and Nelithuun thought he needed to help him. “Zu’u fen aak, Ralund.” He replied.

It was clear that there was no immediate danger here. He had been deceived before. The elf that brought him here also brought his dagger and bow. He still wouldn't expose his neck and belly like a subordinate wolf. grohiik.

A demand to stay outside in a shed apart was ignored, but he was too exhausted and starving to keep his distance. This corner would be good enough. He tore into the horse flesh greedily, nodding his thanks briefly to the man who owned this place of gathering. Sleep then gripped him and he gave no resistance...

Crunzugr's eyes shot open with adrenaline pumping into his veins. He sat up quickly, then groaned at the soreness of his muscles. The hunters and warriors were gathering at the call of the owner. Crunzugr stood up, stretched, and put on his furs which were still crusted with the wolf blood and his own. He wouldn't forget those scents.

He listened intently to the man's request. He was a Dragon Priest -- didn't look like it, though. That cursed mask was no lie, but when he heard the owner's request, the Orc spat on the wooden floor.

"Sizaan hin hahdrim?? Hi laan .. daal? Fen nirlaan ... bo bonaar kotin jot do ah?"

Kaldmit woke up and put the top part of his armor on his body. As he stretched, his tail felt heavier. He looked and his tail had its armor on, once again the symbol wanted to protect his tail for some reason. Grabbing his bow and arrows along with his two swords on the way out of the room. Kaldmit saw the others near the fireplace and decided to join them. Ralund started talking and Kaldmit zoned out, but when he heard about a quest to find a dragon, he perked up and his tail clinked. "Fod dreh mu kiin?" Kaldmit asked. The symbol on his back glowed a dark blue color.

Yenkry, tired as she was from the previous night, stayed sleeping while everyone else was awake. She was reliving the death of the person dearest to her in her dreams. Tossing and turning, and crying slightly at the memories. She woke up moments later to feel the tears coming out of her eyes. The dream again... why must that moment be revealed so many times? She cleaned her face up, and instead of leaving the room fully armored, she peeked out the door to see what was going on. The Argonian was talking to the innkeep, and other conversations were happening between others. She closed the door and went through her items. Her armor and weapons, her marriage ring, and the wickiedly curved blade that inflicted the biggest wound on her heart. Whe held it next to her breast and murmured a prayer. May you watch over me Lady Mara, and protect my family, wherever they are. She hoped that wherever her daughter was, she was safe, happy, and living out a meaningful life. Though the letter she kept in her satchel said that she had most likely died, Yenkry knew that her daughter was stronger than that. She wouldn't die without a fight. Yenkry dressed in her armor, slung her bow and arrows around herself, plaved her sword and dagger in position, and hit the curved dagger. She kept her hood down, and the hair that she had kept short for so many years, had begun to grow back. The dark brown almost black hairs that she never liked very much, she has grown to enjoy their presence when her lover was alive. She had kept the hairs off of her head as much as possible after the incident, but had stopped cutting them as much when she took adventuring back up. The hair has now grown to her shoulders. She pulled it behind her ears, and made sure it would stay there. Upon this confirmation, she left the room and went up to the Argonian. She tapped his shoulder to get his attention. "Krosis vulon." She hoped he would understand the short apology about the previous night.

   Thurin awoke early upon his sleeping bag. The fire that he sparked the previous night had been reduced to ashes. He stared forward into the never ceasing landscape, and far off he could barely make out what looked to be a cottage of sorts. He rounded up his equipment and donned his armour. Cynching every strap, he felt ready to take on the day. In a few short minutes, his encampment was disassembled and gathered, and his pack hoisted upon his shoulders. Onward he marched toward the building, marking it upon his map.

   The road seemed to stretch forever, his destination not wanting to draw any nearer to him, then it struck him. He hadn't eaten before the trek, and his rations had dwindled to a few pieces of dried meat and a small square of bread. He sat on a nearby stone and consumed these slowly, wanting to enjoy what little he had on his person. He streched after his meal and picked back up on his course. The building seemed much closer now that he wasn't running on an empty stomach.

   The sun approached the tops of the trees as he stepped upon the doorstep of the inn. He looked at the sign above the door. The Lonely Luft. Zu'u hind fen siiv yah, he thought. He cracked open the door and felt the warmth from inside wash over him. He further pushed the door open and placed a travel-weary boot inside the inn.

   Several characters he had never seen sat around the fire, seemingly in the middle of a conversation. Another look led him to see the barkeep, who was holding a peculiar mask. Something made him smile inside at seeing the Atmoran in front of him. It had been a while since he had seen one of his kin since he had started roaming the lands. He took an empty seat near the roaring flames and warmed himself.

The elves responded eagerly to Ralund's request—too eagerly, perhaps—but the most violent reaction came from the wounded Orsimer. How could anyone contemplate seeking a dragon out when its very ruth was bent to his destruction? Yet after an apparent wolf attack, Ralund needed to explain the Dragon Cult would hound him and anyone associated with him even more fiercely.

"Gein dreh ni ru nol dovah," he said, tracing his thumb over the bronze mask. "Zu'u fent grind mulaag voth mulaag, ahrkin voth ahkrin. Daar sahsun nok ko vokunsebah, ahrk zu'u fent yah nii us nii yah dovah."

He began to pack—furs, meats, anything that would keep in the wilderness. These folk seemed capable warriors and hunters, especially the Argonian and the Atmoran man who had only just entered. Ralund didn't have time to give him the customary greeting in the name of Kyne.

As he stuffed his saddlebags, he announced that The Lonely Luft would closed. Whether this lot came with him or not, they would need to find other beds, and with the Dragon Cult on his tail, the wilderness would serve better than somewhere in town.

He let his guests eat and rest awhile longer before ushering them outside. He gazed to the east, where frozen, pine forests gave way to steep and barren slopes. It seemed like as good a place as any for a dovah to lair. But first, he would need to know the way; out there lay the frontier, and more dangers than wolves.

"Wo lost wundun daar strunmahhe se jer?" he asked the strangers, though if they were travelling together now they wouldn't be strangers for long. "Zu'u mindok ni daar golt."

The group was preparing to leave. Nelithuun wasn’t all that keen on conversation, but he still wanted to know more about the other adventurers. He looked around the small, diverse group, and set his gaze on the other mer. Nelithuun wondered what the cloak was for, obviously hiding something. But what? That’s a good question, though Nelithuun wouldn’t ask it. He also thought about their first encounter, their exchange in the inn about the letter. Nelithuun was still worried there was more to this mer than met the eye.

Then his attention turned to Ralund, the innkeeper and former priest of dragons. He was a mystery in a mystery, seeming like the famous Nordic puzzles Nelithuun heard so much about. Nelithuun originally took him for a harmless, old innkeeper, but now, his opinion changed greatly.

And last but not least, the Argonian. Nelithuun was sure he would go, though he didn’t know about the Orsimer or the Nord who just entered. This Argonian was strange, despite that fact that the beast-races were strange to him, but something seemed different about this one. Nelithuun sensed a spell over him. A dark spell. He also wondered about his weapons and armor. They seemed unusual for an Argonian to just be walking around with, or anyone for that matter. Why enter an inn openly with this sort of weaponry? Was it part of some larger mission or goal? Nelithuun didn’t want to think on it any longer.

“Zu’u los pruzah wah bo, nuz zu'u ni fin miiraad.” He said to Ralund.