Hope OP doesn't mind another fill two years late, but this clung to my brain and refused to let go. Beware dubious characterisation, lack of description and overuse of italics.
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Felyse hated Windhelm. It smelled vile when the wind blew in the wrong direction, it snowed all the time, and of course being a Dunmer in a notoriously intolerant hellhole wasn't fun either. And it was cold. Still, that was nothing a cup of sujamma wouldn't fix, particularly if she had somebody to brag to at the same time. She shouldered her way into the warmth of the cornerclub, exchanging nods with a would-be bard plinking out Cliffracer's Bane with somewhat more enthusiasm than skill. And oh, that was a new face...
Ambarys didn't have much to say, for once. “Relynan? I think he's a mercenary. Shows up for a week or so every few months, then he's off again. But he keeps to himself and pays his tab, so I don't pry. Anyway, what can I get you?” Felyse paid for her drink and wandered through the trickle of patrons to where the singer had moved on to appreciating a bottle of flin. He didn't look like a sellsword, but the good ones tended not to when they weren't soliciting.
“You want company?” He looked up in surprise for a moment before a faint smile crossed his face.
“That depends on the company. And who am I speaking to, given I saw you winkling information from Ambarys?”
Mmm. If that wasn't a pure Morrowind voice, she'd eat the next dragon she ran into. Unless it was Paarthurnax.
“Name's Felyse, and I'm guessing you're Relynan. Just thought you'd want someone to compare scars with. Maybe you know about a ruin I haven't cleared yet.” There. That should make it clear what she wanted for the next hour, and maybe the night would take care of itself.
“Unfortunately, I clear out most of the ruins I go through. The barrows should still be teeming, though – I never want to see another draugr if I can help it.”
Felyse grinned and folded herself into the table's other seat. “The last barrow I went through had four wights all trying to Shout me through the walls at once. That was not fun. Then again, I picked up some fantastic loot, so,” she shrugged and took a sip, “it all evens out.”
The other elf raised his cup and looked at her steadily over the rim. “True enough. The best set of armour I've ever owned was found through dungeon crawling. Swords, too.” His other hand dipped to where a curved blade wrapped in oilskin hung on his belt. “It's just a shame the woman who sent me after them then tried to kill me.” Something dark and grieving flickered across his expression.
“I know how that feels,” Felyse volunteered. “There's always someone who thinks they can kill you instead of paying, never mind you just killed a dragon in front of them.” She reconsidered.”Actually, make that one dragon every few hours. It gets tedious. Like killing cliff racers used to be.” That was what her mother had told her, anyway.
Relynan huffed in amusement. “In some ways, cliff racers were worse than dragons. You'd take a step outside, say, Balmora, and the sky would be black with the s'wit from horizon to horizon. At least dragons don't flock.” Wait. How did he know how dragons fought? And he didn't look old enough to remember when cliff racers had been a real problem, either.
“Usually.” He looked sceptical. “No, really. I was sent after one lairing out Riften way and it called in friends. I was lucky - there was an old mine nearby, so I hid there and stabbed them every time they landed to burn me out.” He laughed quietly and mirthlessly, in a way that set her bristling. “What?”
“Ten years ago, I thought Alduin was a metaphor. Now I know he isn't – and the dragons he brought with him aren't the mortal ones of the last eras. Metaphors aren't supposed to flap around killing things!” Now he was beginning to tick Felyse off.
“What do you mean, metaphor?” When had her cup emptied? He leant across the table to fill her cup from his bottle, pausing for a moment to drum his fingers in thought.
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timeasmymeasure
Hunter and Moon [1/?]
Date: 2014-09-18 10:43 pm (UTC)-----
Felyse hated Windhelm. It smelled vile when the wind blew in the wrong direction, it snowed all the time, and of course being a Dunmer in a notoriously intolerant hellhole wasn't fun either. And it was cold. Still, that was nothing a cup of sujamma wouldn't fix, particularly if she had somebody to brag to at the same time. She shouldered her way into the warmth of the cornerclub, exchanging nods with a would-be bard plinking out Cliffracer's Bane with somewhat more enthusiasm than skill. And oh, that was a new face...
Ambarys didn't have much to say, for once. “Relynan? I think he's a mercenary. Shows up for a week or so every few months, then he's off again. But he keeps to himself and pays his tab, so I don't pry. Anyway, what can I get you?” Felyse paid for her drink and wandered through the trickle of patrons to where the singer had moved on to appreciating a bottle of flin. He didn't look like a sellsword, but the good ones tended not to when they weren't soliciting.
“You want company?” He looked up in surprise for a moment before a faint smile crossed his face.
“That depends on the company. And who am I speaking to, given I saw you winkling information from Ambarys?”
Mmm. If that wasn't a pure Morrowind voice, she'd eat the next dragon she ran into. Unless it was Paarthurnax.
“Name's Felyse, and I'm guessing you're Relynan. Just thought you'd want someone to compare scars with. Maybe you know about a ruin I haven't cleared yet.” There. That should make it clear what she wanted for the next hour, and maybe the night would take care of itself.
“Unfortunately, I clear out most of the ruins I go through. The barrows should still be teeming, though – I never want to see another draugr if I can help it.”
Felyse grinned and folded herself into the table's other seat. “The last barrow I went through had four wights all trying to Shout me through the walls at once. That was not fun. Then again, I picked up some fantastic loot, so,” she shrugged and took a sip, “it all evens out.”
The other elf raised his cup and looked at her steadily over the rim. “True enough. The best set of armour I've ever owned was found through dungeon crawling. Swords, too.” His other hand dipped to where a curved blade wrapped in oilskin hung on his belt. “It's just a shame the woman who sent me after them then tried to kill me.” Something dark and grieving flickered across his expression.
“I know how that feels,” Felyse volunteered. “There's always someone who thinks they can kill you instead of paying, never mind you just killed a dragon in front of them.” She reconsidered.”Actually, make that one dragon every few hours. It gets tedious. Like killing cliff racers used to be.” That was what her mother had told her, anyway.
Relynan huffed in amusement. “In some ways, cliff racers were worse than dragons. You'd take a step outside, say, Balmora, and the sky would be black with the s'wit from horizon to horizon. At least dragons don't flock.” Wait. How did he know how dragons fought? And he didn't look old enough to remember when cliff racers had been a real problem, either.
“Usually.” He looked sceptical. “No, really. I was sent after one lairing out Riften way and it called in friends. I was lucky - there was an old mine nearby, so I hid there and stabbed them every time they landed to burn me out.” He laughed quietly and mirthlessly, in a way that set her bristling. “What?”
“Ten years ago, I thought Alduin was a metaphor. Now I know he isn't – and the dragons he brought with him aren't the mortal ones of the last eras. Metaphors aren't supposed to flap around killing things!” Now he was beginning to tick Felyse off.
“What do you mean, metaphor?” When had her cup emptied? He leant across the table to fill her cup from his bottle, pausing for a moment to drum his fingers in thought.