Hello Nirn [for prototypezeus ]

[conjuredskies]

After the strange non-place of the Nexus, the first taste of Skyrim air is like a cold slap to the face. They've appeared beside a standing stone, no taller than a man, with a large circular hole near the top and carved with a pattern like an ornate eye. The Ritual Stone. It's a small thing, to look at. Yet Felix can feel the pulse and ebb of ancient power from it. He gives the curved surface a respectful pat and steps away, toward the stone arch that marks the path up here.

The stones sit upon a raised circle of rocky ground. To their left, there's a steep drop into the rush of a fast-flowing mountain river; to the right, a road curls about the base of a mountain whose sheer sides rear into a white haze of ice and cloud. Around them rise its lesser sisters, craggy and interlocked, hemming the road and river ahead into a narrow pass; behind them, the mountains fall away on one side and open up to a wide plain.

"Well, here we are." Felix draws a deep breath of the crisp air. He grabs a satchel from the base of one stone and stores his book safely inside, slinging it over his body. Then he turns to Alex and spreads his hands at the landscape around them. "Welcome to the realm of Tamriel."

Comments

[prototypezeus]

Stay close? Alex doesn't see why a bunch of... cat people... would be particularly dangerous. But he's the tourist here, so he does as he's told, watching the caravan warily. Assessing them too. Claws, fangs... both very small, compared to what he's used to dealing with.

And apparently known to Felix by name. Allies? Rivals? Business associates? It's hard to tell just yet.

His fingers twitch absently, readying to form his own claws if he needs to. It's more a habit than any real preparation for combat.

[conjuredskies]

Felix isn't concerned for their own safety, per se. Quick eyes have already taken surreptitious stock of them as they step up to the fire, making note of likely skills, hiding places for coin and blades alike. Stereotypes aside, there's fair reason for this. The guard in her steel plate armour is, perhaps, the quickest to size them up.

"Slow, too slow for such a cold day." The caravan leader's voice is low and well-spoken, despite the feline growl beneath them. He takes in the both of them as he looks up, tail giving a gentle twitch. "So, the Imperial mage returns. Have you come to sell, or to buy? Or to share some news of the roads, perhaps?"

Felix shakes his head. "It's quiet out there today, but we weren't on the Markarth road." He gestures to Alex. "And I've gold for you this time, not steel. My friend here could use some clothes for a pilgrimage. Perhaps you have something to suit him."

[prototypezeus]

Alex tries not to look too uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but usually when someone looks at him that way they're getting ready to holler for reinforcements and come after him with thermobaric tanks, so it isn't easy.

He looks at the tents instead, noting for the first time the items set out on display. A merchant caravan, then. Must be the guys he was talking about. They look like they move around a lot. Guess we're lucky they're here now. He doesn't have a clue what he's looking at for a lot of this stuff, but the things made out of cloth are probably clothes. Brilliant deduction.

[conjuredskies]

"Ah, yes. One must be properly equipped for a strange land." Ri'saad is more than capable of reading between lines - and around and beneath them. He cocks an ear at a female Khajiit, one hand keeping her skirt out of the way as she adds another log to the fire. "Atahbah, see if we have any robes to fit this one."

"Hmm." Atahbah looks back at Alex, taking mental measurements, then goes and rummages through one of the stacks of cloth under a tent. "We have black robes for a mage, or green and almost new. Brown for the humble traveller."

Felix looks to Alex as she brings them over to show. "Whatever pleases you, my friend."

[prototypezeus]

Alex doesn't want to stand out, or be mistaken for a mage. Not that mages are bad, he just doesn't want to set up expectations that he can do magic. "Brown," he says. He'd probably prefer black, but brown looks like it'll blend in better.

It occurs to him that since Felix is paying, he should probably ask the price. It seems... polite. "How much?"

[conjuredskies]

"Ah, a wise choice," Ri'saad seems to purr lazily. "And for you, friends, merely eight septims."

"Don't be ridiculous," Felix says promptly, clearly waiting to say it. His tone is light, cheerfully scolding. "Six is fair, you fluffy-maned scoundrel."

"I have told you before, our wares come with guarantees you will not find elsewhere." The Khajiit blinks up at him. "Guarantees for which you also pay."

"Of course. They wouldn't be worth six on their own, whatever you tell the provincials."

[prototypezeus]

Alex is kind of bewildered by the exchange going on right now. He doesn't know what a septim is, nor how much it's worth, and to his eye they're arguing but there doesn't seem to be any bite to it. Which is... weird, to say the least.

He looks back and forth between Felix and Ri'saad, not sure who's in the right and not really sure why it matters to him. He crosses his arms over his chest, mostly to keep his fidgeting hands from itching to turn into claws so they can just take what they need.

[conjuredskies]

The hillside wind whips up for a moment, catches at clothes and makes fur bristle along the back of the Khajiits' necks and tails. Probably an effect of the chill. Ri'saad's head half turns, eyes considering Alex sidelong for a moment.

"Is our service worth so little to you?" he asks Felix then.

"Don't oversell yours- oh, come off it. Six and a half, and I know you're leaving tomorrow. Leave me some goodwill for next time, won't you?"

"Done." And Atahbah offers the robes to Alex, while Felix digs a small pouch of coins out of his tunic. (Sadly, appearing to pull that from nowhere is not a standard conjuration skill.)

[prototypezeus]

Alex takes the robes from Atahbah, and looks at them for a few moments. He's never had to actually put on real clothes before, and certainly nothing similar to this, so it takes him a minute to figure it out.

Good thing he doesn't really get embarrassed.

He manages to get the robes on overtop of his copied clothes, and while he still looks a bit odd - mostly because his sneakers are not covered, and he's wearing two hoods - the look mostly works. Much better from a distance than up close, certainly.

[conjuredskies]

Atahbah's ears flatten for a moment in surprise, but she's too discreet to question him. The caravan sees more than its share of odd customers. Quite a bit more.

Felix looks back at him once his remaining coin is safely stowed once more. It's a curious sight, but given the weather he doesn't see how anyone could object to a foreigner overdressing a little.

"Not a bad fit," Atahbah offers.

"That'll do it," Felix agrees. He flashes a smile to the Khajiit and bows slightly. "Thank you. And good evening."

"A warm night to you, friends," Ri'saad returns. As Felix steps away he adds, in the softest purring mumur, "I am certain you will find it."

[prototypezeus]

Alex gives Ri'saad another look, wondering if there's some kind of hidden message in that. But Felix doesn't seem to think it's a threat, so whatever it is must not be important.

He follows the mage away from the Khajiit caravan, trying to get used to the robes. Wearing clothes is weird and restrictive, and he flexes his arms a little to test how easy they are to stretch or break. He concludes that if he needs to, it won't stop him from shifting, which is a reassuring thought.

[conjuredskies]

"How does it feel?" Felix asks over his shoulder, as they pass beneath the shadow of Whiterun's first gatehouse and the gaze of her defenders.

The road winds upward in a long, fortified ramp obviously designed for defence. Enemy troops who make it this far are at the mercy of archers from all sides. Even the smattering of guards out now could hold the gates long enough to summon reinforcements. Felix rather approves of that - of course, he also appreciates that there's a lot more shelter from the wind in here. Some of the sentries lean over to inspect the incoming pair; a few muffled chuckles issue from under helms, but nobody stops them.

[prototypezeus]

"Strange. Like I'm being... trapped, but it's a really stupid trap." He doesn't feel threatened, but it isn't exactly comfortable to someone who's only ever mimicked clothes from his own biomass.

He ignores the laughing noises from up above them. Being laughed at isn't something he's used to either - usually it's people screaming in terror, or shouting out orders to fire at him. Laughing isn't threatening either, especially when he's sitting on the knowledge that he could be up there popping heads off in a second if he wanted.

"Are all the roads here so... not straightforward?" Alex wants to know. He's used to the rigid grid of streets in Manhattan, predictable directions that nearly always go in a straight line, not this winding snake of path.

[conjuredskies]

"Robes aren't that restrictive, you know. For clothing." Felix is heedless of the odd chuckle himself. He knows well enough that after a few hours watching the road, a guardsman takes any scrap of amusement or oddity that comes his way. Quirky pilgrims are probably as good as it gets on most days.

He has to think about Alex's question to understand it. "Well, this one's meant to be hard to attack. Plenty of corners to get trapped in and vantage points they can shoot from, you see? But most roads wind a bit. Especially in provinces like this."

...Not that there are many official provinces left now. But he wasn't raised to think like that.

[prototypezeus]

Okay, so this one makes sense, Alex supposes. For people who are stuck walking on only one plane, anyway. But he keeps frowning as he thinks about the other roads. "Why not go in a straight line between, uh, towns?"

[conjuredskies]

"The ground won't let you. You want a road that's fairly even and doesn't wash away in the winter, so the good routes have to wind through passes and around mountains, hills, marshes... even when you've got good engineers working on them. Some of the roads round here are ancient. The Legion builds better ones, and they actually are pretty straight in my province. It takes trained craftsmen, though, and a lot of labour."

Knowing the bare bones about this stuff is just one odd side-effect of his upbringing.

[prototypezeus]

Alex doesn't know much about road-building, so he takes Felix at his word. It's still weird to him though, especially given the lack of asphalt.

They have to cross over the stream coming from the settlement more than once on the way in, and Alex has to fight the urge to simply leap the gap to clear it. He hurries across though, eager to avoid getting wet if he can.

[conjuredskies]

Felix can hear his steps speed up and down, but deliberately doesn't look round, not to draw attention.

"Lucky it's not raining," he remarks as they approach the last and largest gate, with its great oak and steel doors.

[prototypezeus]

Alex makes a disgusted face. "Does that happen a lot?" It rains often on Manhattan, but there are plenty of buildings he can duck into for shelter, or subway tunnels where he can travel without risk of getting wet. He doesn't see anything resembling an underground subway here, nor are the buildings close together or easily accessible.

[conjuredskies]

"Almost as often as the snow," Felix replies. Whatever happens, he makes a note, no calling on Alex when it's wet. Good to know ahead of time.

The distance between buildings is good, Alex. It cuts the stink down dramatically. This is clearly important when they step through the doors. The forge at Warmaiden's is close by on the right, the curing hides pungent on the tanning racks. The smith herself is bent over the forge, adjusting the temperature with a hiss of bellows and a keen instinct.

Ahead of them the cobbled streets branch and interlace their way up the hill, townspeople milling among them. On the left comes a burst of noise as a patron full of ale emerges from the Drunken Huntsman, door swinging shut behind him. Voices and bootsteps and the clink of steel fill the air.

At least the stream mostly stays on the edge of the streets.

[prototypezeus]

Alex doesn't mind the stink much, simply regarding it as additional sensory output, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. They are, however, smells that he doesn't recognize, and he rubbernecks a little bit as he looks around at the various businesses and other buildings. It's a lot noisier than he's used to, certainly closer to the tavern at least.

"This place is so... busy."

[conjuredskies]

"People are like that, when they're alive and well," Felix says cheerfully. He enjoys this: the sense of bustle and activity after hours - or weeks - alone in the wild.

He steps back smartly as a couple of children run past, the Redguard girl laughing as she tears after the boy, jeering, "Don't be such a baby, Battle-born!"

Felix makes an absent note at that name but doesn't pay much heed. He's got something else on his mind, waving at the tavern sign. "Let's start with the Huntsman here."

There seemed like far too much of that inter-clan stuff at the Bannered Mare. Not a problem for Felix, but given his company he'd like to keep the game simple.

[prototypezeus]

For Alex, it's kind of strange. While he has had occasion to mingle with the crowds in the 'healthier' part of the island, he spends most of his time in the Red Zone, where the only uninfected humans are Blackwatch and a handful of unlucky civilians.

"What are we starting?" Alex asks as he follows Felix, eyeing the building suspiciously.

[conjuredskies]

Felix shoots a grin over his shoulder as he strides up to the door. "Revelry. Merriment. Possibly havoc."

With a shove of his hand, the door opens into a small tavern, heavy wooden beams arching above them into a high, smoke-stained roof. Even this early, it's starting to fill with people, seated in nooks and around the walls. Although the windows let in shafts of sunlight, it's weak compared to the illumination of the glowing torches and the blazing fire in the central pit. Beside it stand a few cooking pots, and over it a spit laden with roasting rabbit and venison. As they come in, it's being adjusted by the tavern owner, a Bosmer with braided red hair.

He looks up and swiftly moves behind the counter, wiping his hands. "Hello, friends. Can I offer you some hunting supplies or a drink?"

[prototypezeus]

The only word out of that that Alex gets is havoc. He's good at that, although he isn't really sure that's what Felix means unless he has a desire to see everyone in this room dead. So he follows, and keeps his mouth shut, taking stock of the room and its occupants.

The environment is so different from post-apocalyptic Manhattan that he can't help staring at bit, not so much at the people as at the architecture, and the fact that people actually cook things over fire instead of using a stove. Having fire inside a building without people panicking is new on him, too, and he looks at the torches and fire pit cautiously.

The tavern owner gets his attention though. "Hunting supplies?" he repeats, not having expected that. Alex thought this was just like a restaurant, a place to eat instead of buying weapons.