Two Tigers from Hammerfell

[Akasha]

Two shadows slid effortlessly down the loose mountain slopes from Knifepoint Ridge into Falkreath Hold. The sky above was full of small, patchy clouds in rows like slaughterfish scales, and ahead lay a sprawling, marshy forest of black pines full of dank and unfamiliar smells.

Akasha ja Khanai had always heard that Skyrim was a cold place, but here in its southernmost reaches what she noticed most of all was the damp. The earth beneath her feet went from slick stone covered in pine needles to soft peat and finally to mud that squelched under her boots with every step. Morning in Falkreath would wreath the forest in cold, wet mists, but now it was afternoon, with the sun high in the sky, and Akasha felt herself sweltering in her steel cuirass (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y115/stormfyre/Akasha-sneak_zps3ccb8ad6.jpg), thickly padded across her shoulders with wolfskin to dampen the noise. She was not used to wearing it so long. But she'd never admit that to her older sister, who moved tirelessly ahead of her on long, graceful legs as if driven by the winds of Khenarthi herself.

"These trees blot out the entire sky," she complained. "How does one find one's direction in this place?"

[Ashira]

"Nature is as nature does."

Spoken quietly, the words were meant less as a call for quiet as they were for a hurried explanation.

Ashira sa Khanai paused for only a moment, sensing as her younger sister did the same, and scenting the air, the Khajiit started forward once more at a now cautious pace. An arrow was brought from the quiver at her back, and she let her body hunch down and forward ever-so-slightly. It was instinct, and she had come to trust her instincts. In her left hand, the bow that her uncle had gifted to her was held in a loose yet sure grip; ready for action yet in no way tiring to her arm and hand. It was an expectant grip, and as she notched the arrow, Ashira continued down the slope, feeling the ground change as she kept onward. Unlike her sister, she was clad in lighter leathers, with only a few steel trappings dotting her wardrobe. For their journey, it had seemed the prudent thing, and now moreso than ever she was thankful for the ease with which her clothing allowed her to move.

"My books tell me that not all of Skyrim is as such," she went on, her silky voice hushed, yellow eyes set straight ahead.

There.

A flash of dusty brown pelt in the distance, and the sound of a snapping twig was enough to tell her where they needed to go. Further down the two Khajiit moved, quietly intent on their hunted prize. If Ashira's arrow sang true, they would eat well this day, and for many other days to follow.

A small clearing, and the elk slowly stepped into the rays of light that filtered through the trees, spilling onto the ground. It tested the air, found nothing alarming, and lowered its' head to take a clump of grass between its' teeth.

Ashira smiled as she stopped, and silently drew the bow. The fletching tickled her cheek; it always did. It was like a telltale sign of things to come. Sighting along the length of the arrow, her eye focused first on the tip, then her prey. She held only a moment longer before loosing the bolt. It flew straight and true, the steel tip almost singing in the air as it passed by tree and shrub alike. It traveled along its' intended path almost as if in slow motion. And then, the arrow thudded into the neck of the elk with sudden finality. The beast jerked up for a split second before trying to run, and yet with its' lifeblood spilling out, it merely succeeded in stumbling for but a few steps before crashing down to the forest floor.

[Akasha]

Akasha held her breath as her older sister drew her bowstring and, as always, flinched when the arrow hissed away toward its target. Ashira had attempted to teach her the bow before, but the younger Khajiit had never had the patience for sighting in a target more than about twenty yards away. It lacked the feral immediacy of a sword and shield, the bone-jarring impacts of steel on steel, the heat and the smell of your enemy slavering inches from your face. But you couldn't feed yourself with a sword without getting a contract first, and with many miles of hard climbing behind her and a gnawing pit growing in her stomach, she'd never admired her sister's skill more.

"Azurah's fangs, nice shot!" she beamed. "We won't even have to trail it."

Forgetting her weariness, the charcoal-furred Khajiit bounded down the slope toward the gasping animal, unaware that something else was moving through the forest as well.

[Ashira]

A ghostly grin pulled at Ashira's lips, and she watched as Akasha passed by her on her way downward. Moving slowly, she began to follow. Yes, they would eat well this day. Such a prize certainly meant that their luck was holding, though for how long she couldn't guess. Not quite so quick to invoke the names of the gods as her sister, Ashira simply settled for a general sense of thankfulness that her arrow had flown straight and true, attributing it to her own training and the guidance she'd received from her teachers.

Replacing her bow in its' holder along her back, the Khajiit continued on. She opened her mouth to speak out, but just as quickly clamped it shut once more as a sound caught her attention. It was off to the side, and coming closer. One ear switched back as she turned her head in the direction of the sound.

And then she heard the unmistakable whurrfle that held the undertones of a distinctly large creature.

A creature that was decidedly deadly.

And even though the animal had not yet come into sight, Ashira was backing away hastily, turning her head toward her sister.

"Akasha!!"

[Akasha]

Akasha was nearly halfway to the fallen elk when she heard her sister's voice, and also something huge thundering through the forest before her. She dropped to a crouch and scrambled between the branches of two closely growing pines just as an enormous, shaggy bear burst onto the path, its pelt mottled gray and brown and covered in scars, close enough that she could have reached out and touched it. But the beast ignored the hiding Khajiit and loped on toward the dying elk. Once there, it slapped its massive paw onto the wounded beast's neck with a sickening crunch of bone, and Ashira's severed arrow went spinning off into the wilderness.

Akasha watched, frozen, as the bear prodded the kill with a snuffling wet nose, then reared up on its hind legs, easily nine feet high, and looked up and down the path for any sign of pursuit. Satisfied, it lifted the elk's broken neck in its jaws, as if it weighed no more than a skeever, and began dragging it away.

Akasha crept out of her hiding place, slack-jawed, and looked back up the path, where her sister was finally catching up. "Well, come on, then!" Akasha said. "It's getting away!"

[Ashira]

This one thinks you are touched in the head.

It was on the tip of her tongue, but passed no further than her teeth. Rather, she gave her sister an incredulous look but trailed after her regardless.

"This is a bad idea," she finally decided on.

Still though, the bow was once more in hand, and an arrow soon followed suit. Ashira knew that a single arrow would never fell such a beast, but it was better than nothing, no doubt.

"And how do you propose we defeat a bear," she hissed out in question cautious and ever-mindful that her voice not carry too far.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"With a bear trap."

The owner of the voice sounded aristocratic and learned, but when the two Khajit turned to see the source they would no-doubt be fully underwhelmed. A dwarf of a man sat precariously on the back of a rather-small donkey that was overburdened with sacks and rucks and haphazard bric-a-brac. The donkey further insulted the timely majesty of good advice with a skreeching HAAAAW.

Wulthgar expected his simple solution to be a welcome epiphany. When it appeared less than such, he glanced off in the direction of the bear, and away from the huntresses.

"Obviously..." he mumbled.

[Akasha]

Akasha whirled about and stared uncomprehendingly at the Nord who'd intruded on their hunt. There were many questions she could have asked - who he was, where he'd come from, whether he meant them harm, how he'd appeared on the path just moments after a bear had nearly run her down. But with her blood still high and her instincts hovering precariously somewhere among fight, flight, and pursuit, all she managed was a few moments of soundless gawping at the man (who, mounted though he was, still sat barely eye-level with her). When she finally found her tongue, the results were disappointing.

"What?"

[Ashira]

Ashira blinked in surprise, just as dumbstruck as her sister at the appearance of the stranger. Her body twisted about so that she could send one last look to the bear as it ambled further away, the elk still held firmly in its' powerful jaws. With an air of disappointment mixed with annoyance, she looked to the man and his donkey.

The tip of her arrow, having been notched to bowstring, lowered; but only slightly. Strangers were not always harmless travelers, after all.

Yellow eyes narrowed, and she moved to stand beside Akasha, poised to draw at the slightest inkling of danger.

"Speak your business, stranger."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"Business, of course. Of the pecuniary sort, you will not be disappointed, if you are credits to your people which you must be. Further, you should know you have the distinct honour and privilege of making none other than Wulthgar Milk-Drinker's acquaintance."

A confident smile as he rubbed his hands together. When it appeared that the mere mention of his own name bought him no favors, his smile faded somewhat. Wulthgar made the best of dismounting his steed, which was as graceless as possible whilst still allowing the diminuitive Nord to keep his feet. Wobbling slightly as he touched terra firma, Wulthgar drew loose one of the bindings that carried a particularly large rucksack, which tumbled to the ground.

"In addition to being renowned throughout Tamriel for bardic arts and wordsmithing..."

Still nothing. Not a flicker of recollection. Damn. The dwarf frowned.

"...I also bear practical sundries when my other skills are not in demand. You have chosen well of your holds to hunt within, as Falkreath game is both plentiful and in majestic quality."

He loosed the rucksack open, and began to rifle through the contents, his head disappearing from view within burlap as he did so.

"I happen to keep a reasonably modest assortment of accoutrements that a huntsman...huntsmaiden, might fancy."

Finding what he needed, Wulthgar at last emerged from the burlap holding a cumbersome contraption made of iron.

"Including...bear traps."

[Akasha]

Akasha followed her sister's lead and laid a paw on the hilt of her curved sword, just in case the miniature man planned to pull something more nefarious than sporting goods out of his rucksack. She couldn't yet decide whether Wulthgar's small frame contained an ounce of guile, or perhaps many tons of it.

"This one admires your resourcefulness," she said cautiously, "but what are we supposed to do with that? Throw it at him?"

She nodded toward the still-swaying branches where the bear had disappeared from sight. "We just want our elk back."

[Ashira]

With a rather grumped hrmph, Ashira remained ever-vigilante should the half-man go down the path of treachery. It wasn't unheard of, and it was also something that she had read about many times over in her multitude of books back home. Uncle S'thay had always told her that Skyrim was a wonderful place, yet fraught with danger - from the wildlife and natives alike. Her nostrils flared, a sign that she was testing the air and this little newcomer.

"I have read about bear traps," she began slowly, her voice smooth and level.

The Khajiit was mindful to reign in her own natural speaking habits.

"What good will it do us now."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Alas, the hook was not set and the bait nearly spat out.

"Perhaps...the bear has a refined taste, and would pair honey with his pilfered kill to offset it's gamey character."

No. No sale. Wulthgar shrugged.

"No, perhaps not. However..."

Returning to his pack, the Nord replaced the bear trap and returned with a padded roll of cloth bound by leather strips, which he lay on the ground to unfasten the twinings. As he unrolled the cloth, it became apparent that it was a rolled kit full of many pouches of what appeared to be flasks and vials.

"...if you insist on a more proactive retrieval of your stolen bounty, I hope you are not so stupid as to do so on equitable terms. You have arrows and a sword in between you and a most-gruesome demise. It would be a pity to introduce you to Falkreath's second-most popular attraction."

Wulthgar's face turned grim.

"The graveyard."

Shaking his head, he continued.

"No, that won't do. You two are both...beautiful...young...ladies..."

Not that he'd know what passed for that sort of thing among Khajit.

"...I'm sure, at least. And you shan't want to die, and for something as ignoble as lunch. Therefore, I present to you a counter-offer."

Carefully, Wulthgar retrieved a dark green vial from its assigned pocket, and rose to his feet, holding the small receptacle between himself and his two potential customers. He carefully removed the cork, and demonstrated his earnestness by passing the rim of the vial beneath his nose.

"You will detect a distinct note of juniper within this elixir. I implore you for the sake of your families to smell only and not sip."

[Akasha]

Akasha's nose could read the juniper from where she stood, as well as something else faintly acidic underneath. She had no desire to get closer.

"At this point, Khajiit may as well just buy lunch," she groused, laying her ears back. "Poison simply ruins good meat. And who says we couldn't take the bear on our own? My sister and I, we are the finest warriors in our village."

Which was more or less true, considering most of their kin were more comfortable with a hoe than with a weapon of any kind, and the only proper warrior among them had died just weeks ago after suffering brutal torture at the hands of the Thalmor. But damned to Oblivion if she would let this dwarf make a mockery of them.

[Ashira]

Ashira gave a quick sideways glance to Akasha, letting out a short breath from between pointed teeth.

She regarded the Nord once more, allowing her body to further relax a small bit. Her bow remained at the ready however, as her next words mirrored her sister's.

"Why should we buy your poison when we can simply purchase a meal instead?"

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"Crawl back to town, with your tails betwixt your legs, and pay an innskeep for what you can do yourself?!"

Wulthgar played it up, looking well and truly taken aback, capping the flask indignantly.

"Well, you could, I'm sure. But think of what would be said of it!"

The dwarf looked back to Akasha, addressing her point.

"And unless you plan on eating the bear, what of it? I'm sure your sister's aim is as true as you say. In which case, you shouldn't tarry. The more we banter, the more the bear simply gorges itself on what is rightly yours. All I simply offer is the means of rectifying an unfortunate situation."

[Akasha]

Akasha opened her mouth to protest, but the dwarf had chosen his target well - hit her right in the pride. And any rhetorical leverage she had left vanished when her stomach began to growl like a sabercat at the thought of all that fresh venison disappearing down a mangy bear's gullet.

Guile, she thought. Think, then speak. Rahjin keep my wits sharp.

"A sample, then?" she asked. "Enough for one arrow, to prove that it works? You can hang around and sell us the whole bottle afterwards."

[Ashira]

Angling her head, Ashira fixed him with a pointed stare to punctuate Akasha's words. After all, it only seemed a fitting proposal.

"It is a sensible arrangement," she agreed, nodding.

She flexed the fingers of her hand, the leather of her fingerless gloves creaking against the ebony bow she held, and the Khajiit pulled in a long breath through her nose. There really wasn't all that much more to say that wasn't an echo of her sister's own words.

"..and a fair one, I would wager."

Still though, she felt it only right to make some sort of offer of her own.

"If your potion does indeed work, you may have a measure of elk for your own self."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

In a gesture of kind deference, Wulthgar smiled.

"While I am loathe to decline a fine meal under nearly any circumstance, I find that septims are both more portable than elk and also spend more agreeably. Fifty septims, precisely. And not one good Tiber shy of the mark, I'm afraid."

He would be surprised and a little wary if they didn't try and talk him down, so this was part of the song and dance.

"It is quality essence, of the most mortal sort. Oh, not by my own alchemical prowess, By The Eight, I'd be wretched if I dared try. But I have a writ of the recipe on my person, penned by the hand of a Hagraven - in human blood - so they say."

The dwarf shook his head with a most grim expression.

"Dreadful stuff. And I'm afraid not the sort that sells in half measure. Would do no good to sell by the dropper-full. Would take a horde of accountants whipped by Sheogorath's flails to keep up with that tedium."

Wulthgar could tell that the Khajit were cautious over this, and rightfully so.

"My offer, ladies, is fifty septims. If I am a charlatan, then you will find me where I stand - here. Very much out of range of hungry and murderous bears, yet blessed without violent temperament and cursed with legs much shorter than your own. I freely admit my cowardice and yet you will find that I am a poor runner. Therefore I shall not retreat. Neither from you nor from my asking price."

[Akasha]

A look of desperation crossed Akasha's face before she had the presence of mind to tamp it down. Fifty septims was all they had between them, enough, they'd hoped, for a night's stay in Falkreath and a few meals while they scouted for work. It would be mad to spend even half that on poison - and yet, even as she thought that, she couldn't help but wonder how many bandit bounties she could claim with poison on her blade. Skyrim was absolutely lousy with bandits, or so she'd heard.

"For that price, it should poison your enemies and heal your friends," she said haughtily. "This one would not pay a septim over twenty."

Certainly not, since all she had in her coinpurse was sixteen, plus a pawful of Hammerfell coppers that were probably worthless here.

[Ashira]

Ashira made an almost disgusted face, giving a snort in the process as she rolled her eyes. They would most certainly not pay fifty septims for a single potion. And not even because that was all they had; it was the principle of the matter, and try as she might, the Khajiit could not fathom paying such a sum for a simple poison. Perhaps if that poison caused their prey's innards to transform into gold pieces then yes, she would consider it. But such magics were rare, and what books she had read on the matter of arcane sorcery said little to nothing of any ritual or spell that would in any way transform even a small wildflower into a shining bit of gold.

As such, the Khajiit gave a frown and a growled answer.

"I've no interest in overpriced potions, Half-man."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"Half-man?"

A pained grimace as he clutched his precious poison, Wulthgar could see that the desire to haggle still outweighed the Khajits' desire to eat.

"A graceless pejorative if ever there there was. Simply because I am the last to know if it rains speaks no less of my Nordic virtus, which I can assure you is, ahem, not diminished. But enough vulgarity. We have yet to reach concord, but I still retain hope."

Sizing up his feline negotiators, the dwarf made a point of letting his gaze fall equally upon each in a most studious way.

"As fifty septims seems to be a price leading you to destitution and ruination, and as I am unwilling to accept payment in meat, we shall endeavour to find a suitable break-even. You, swordswoman, unsheath your blade so I might see your sword arm."

[Akasha]

Akasha swatted Ashira's tail with her own, willing her sister to work with her here. It wasn't about the bear anymore, who, as far as she could tell, was long gone with their kill. This poison could make them both the bane of all the bandits in the Hold. Or even better... well, she'd have to ask if it worked against the undead first...

She caught herself blinking back to reality to find the small Nord looking her way and mentally replayed the last few moments of the conversation. "My sword?"

Her paw still lay on the long, lacquered hilt, which hung in an unassuming wooden scabbard meant for a Hammerfell scimitar. It was meant to disguise the blade, which, once drawn, was unmistakably rare. Its value would likely buy everything on the donkey's back, the donkey itself, and a team of hunters to take down that godsforsaken bear. But then, Ashira's bow was worth nearly twice as much and hadn't raised a comment. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Akasha reached with her right paw and slid her uncle's sword free from its scabbard. It did not glint so much as shimmer like oil, jet black and edged in silver, etched with swirls of ivory along its delicately curved spine. The sword itself was far more impressive than her arm, which was still wiry with youth, but it moved freely and fluidly in her paw like a living thing.

[Ashira]

Ashira was mindful of any treachery that the dwarf might deliver, and her eyes remained sharp and focused. She shifted her weight to her other leg, allowing the motion to pull her back a half-step so that she had more room to fully draw should it come to that. She was overly cautious perhaps, but she had read enough stories and heard enough tales of strangers who sought to hoodwink the unsuspecting.

And yet, there was still a nagging notion, something that pulled at her awareness, and the Khajiit answered that call by sending a single ear swiveling back.

Something was off, and she wasn't so sure that it was the man they were speaking to.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Like a curator of a museum, Wulthgar leaned close to examine the beautiful ebony sword and the hand that held it. The craftsmanship was certainly exquisite, though the dwarf hardly considered himself any authority in the matters of smithing. The cat may well have been holding a rusty dinner knife for all he cared, but he watched the blade tip suspended in air and it did not waver a speck. The Khajit carried the thing as an extension of her own arm, with a sense of confidence that only experience merited. Still, he continued to inspect the blade, pausing a curious finger an inch from the cutting edge before thinking the better of a physical inspection. He could smell the oil on the weapon, and knew she kept it in loving condition.

"There are no shortage of sell-swords and bandits of middling quality in these woods, my Khajit friends. You will pardon the pun, but I believe you to both be a cut above."

A jovial expression as he stood tall and backed away.

"So then, a counter-offer that may yet be amenable. I offer the poison for the ludicrously generous price of fifteen septims. You, in turn, avenge yourselves upon that accursed ursine abomination and fill your bellies to burst. And once sated, all that I ask is that you travel with me to Falkreath, and be my guests for half a fortnight. All reasonable expenses paid. Lodging, ale, and a more reliable source of roast beast. All I ask in return is to keep your exotic company, and your beautiful instruments well-visible."

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears flipped up in surprise as she slid her uncle's sword home again. Everything in her wanted to say let's do it - it was a good deal, a place to stay, hot meals, and adventure all rolled up in one. But there was such a thing as too good to be true, and she - with great reluctance - glanced toward her sister, unconsciously licking her fangs.

[Ashira]

That nagging feeling was still there, but the words that had been spoken gave Ashira enough pause so that her mind began to work through the ins and outs of the offer now laid out by... Wulthgar, did he say his name was? No matter.

"It is tempting," she started, her words measured and careful.

And then that feeling burst into the forefront, as both ears hitched back and her eyes seemed to go wide. Her entire body twisted even as the thunderous sound of angrygrunts, growls, and an indistinguishable roar filled each of her senses. She brought her bow around, lifting the arrow tip up and drawing in a smooth motion.

And crashing through the underbrush like an unstoppable storm, the bear burst out into the open, rearing up to stand on its' hind legs and delivering a mighty roar that rattled the bones of even the dead.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"Nooo!!"

The sudden and very real threat of horrible bear attack made itself plain in an instant, and Wulthgar pumped on tiny legs to flee, which failed him as he stumbled on the path. His next course of action was to lamely seek refuge under his donkey, which also saw the nascent danger and very wisely began to trot away, leaving its master to his own fate.

"Curse you, you foul-smelling turncoat! May Hircine make a hat out of you!"

With no practical hiding place within easy reach and no practical means of defense, Wulthgar simply curled into a ball and played dead.

[Akasha]

Akasha's sword found its way back into her paws even as she stumbled away from the rearing monster. Her eyes darted from side to side, spotting her sister with an arrow nocked behind her, Wulthgar lying in an unnatural heap a stonesthrow away. Suddenly her mind's eye called up an image of the bear crushing the little Nord under an enormous paw as easily as it had crushed the elk's neck.

By the time her mind's eye considered what she would look like with a broken neck, she'd already leapt.

"Where's our ELK?"

The ebony blade flashed, opening a bloody ribbon across the bear's abdomen, but it was slowed down by thick rolls of fat and muscle and rebounded off the beast's iron-hard ribcage. Howling, the bear twisted and caught Akasha in the chestplate with the back of its paw, sending her tumbling backwards through the air.

[Ashira]

A single step back, and Ashira loosed her drawn arrow. It flew straight and true, burying itself into the heavily furred pelt over the animal's shoulder. It was a solid shot, but still woefully short of the power that they would need in order to lay the beast to the ground. A snarl, and the Khajiit had another arrow drawn even as she continued to back away.

"This one is not happy!"

It was more of a rumbling hiss, but the words were still present even as she let fly another bolt, this one finding home in the bear's exposed chest. It gave an ear-splitting roar to let all around know of its' pain and anger, and tumbled down to all-fours once more with intent to charge.

By now she was standing beside the curled form of the dwarf, and as she pulled back the bowstring with a third arrow, Ashira bared her teeth. She pulled in a long breath, holding it as she sighted the arrowhead's tip at one of the bear's eyes.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

It was at awkward times such as these that Wulthgar had what might be considered a crisis of faith. Had he said enough prayers? Had he sacrificed enough goats or rabbits or whatever was economically viable when he had the capacity to remember to do so? Had he chosen the right deity? Oh, Sanguine was well and truly a sporting chap when the times were bawdy. When the drink is full, and your purse is full, and your barmaid's blouse even moreso, there's neither daedra nor aedra that deserves higher praise. Of course, when the ale is dry and your purse full of moths and the barmaid's sporting fried eggs nailed to a wall, you chalk that up to a healthy amount of daedric capriciousness. Even when times are bad, they're not about-to-be-eaten-by-a-bear bad.

Should've said a prayer for Akatosh in there somewhere. So with glum fatalism on his face upon seeing Ashira stand right next to him and noting that he was about to be trampled alongside her in a gruesome end, he did what anyone might well do without a more glorious end to their story in mind. He stood up, flicked the V's at the bear, and hurled the bottle of poison in his hand at the creature in a futile display of defiance.

And that was when the bear snatched the vial out of the air, chomped it, and swallowed.

Wulthgar stood alongside the Khajit archer, ready as he would ever be for what might come next, a tell-tale wet darkening appearing at the front of his trousers.

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears rang, her lungs burned, and her eyes saw the forest through a tunnel, but somehow she managed to roll onto her feet facing the general direction of the bear, her sister, and the Nord. Nirn seemed to tilt beneath her boots as she rose, but she'd kept her grip on her sword, and she sucked in large breaths of scalding air and surged after the beast with a hoarse cry.

But before she reached her mark, the bear tripped, made a horrible gurgling noise, and slouched to the ground in front of the dwarf. Its tongue lolled from its mouth, and foam poured out onto the forest floor as its limbs began twitching.

Akasha stumbled to an unsteady halt, her sword still raised to strike, and watched in horror as the creature swiftly finished its death throes. Then she looked down to see the discarded bear trap, still undeployed, lying skewed at the bear's feet.

"Alkosh's beard," she murmured. "It worked."

[Ashira]

The spectacle of the bear's death, and of course the knowledge that the poison had indeed worked, was enough to bring a perplexed look to Ashira's features. She unclenched her jaw, gave a bit of a long, slow exhale, and the arrow was lowered as she continued to stare down at the bear. It was not a particularly agreeable sight; of course she supposed that any death was not agreeable, but still. Even in death, the creature's muscles seemed to twitch, tendons and ligaments pulling in lagging fashion so that even despite the glassy-eyed stare, the bear twitched as though still alive. It was... disconcerting.

Ashira hrmphed, and slowly pulled the arrow from the bowstring to replace it in the quiver at her back.

She gave a sideways look down, to Wulthgar, then lifted her gaze back up to Akasha. There was relief in her eyes at the sight. Standing a small bit straighter, she let a toothy smile pull back the corners of her lips.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

It vaguely occurred to Wulthgar in what he imagined to be the final second of his life that he was making a stupid face. Hardly an exception to the annals of slaughtered poor fools, he thought. There must be no shortage of stupid faces made just before death claimed its share. Of course, when he didn't die...

"Ha. Ha! Haaaa!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

The joy of life triumphed over the destruction of vanity and the desecration of dignity. No weepy faces nor urine-sopped pantaloons would deny the Nord the pleasure of breathing in the sweetest air he'd ever tasted, or hearing the most beautiful song of a bird in the distance. Were his smile given wings, he would soar higher than the mythical World-Eater himself. Indeed, Wulthgar bounded circles around the nearby Khajit archer, a giddy laugh not leaving him as he paused at last only to catch his exhausted breath.

"What joy...that I might see hear smell feel and taste the riches of Nirn sweeter than ever before..."

Falling to his knees with a look of contentment, he gazed up at Ashira, and Akasha too as she neared.

"I spoke true, friends. I am no charlatan. And we are all of us richer than we dared count not a moment before."

[Akasha]

Akasha followed Wulthgar's circuit with wide eyes, then glanced to her sister to see if she was any less perplexed by the dwarf's antics.

"Um... no. This one does not think she is any richer than before."

She wiped her blade clean on a sash hanging from her belt as she crossed toward Ashira. "Sister, are you injured?"

[Ashira]

"I am unharmed," came the amused if slightly perplexed reply as she continued to stare down at Wulthgar. His small dance around her had been met with an odd look and a measure of silence, but her thoughts on the matter were soon enough brushed aside as Akasha moved toward her.

Pulling a face, she gave a tsk to the dwarf.

"And I too, am no richer than before."

A last gaze to the bear, ideas forming in her mind before Ashira let here eyes finally fall on her sister. The swipe that she'd taken was not any blow from a feather duster, that was for certain.

"And you? I've not seen you sent off your feet in a long while."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"I disagree!" Wulthgar countered to the Khajiti appraisal of wealth, shaking one leg of his damp pantaloons as he began the task of coaxing his donkey back on the road. Fortunately the traitorous beast of burden hadn't wandered terribly far, but it was nevertheless a stubborn ass every bit as the idiom suggested, and Wulthgar found himself putting his back into tugging at the reins.

"Perhaps your purse is no heavier but...ngh...you will find...ggh...an appreciation of quality...hnnk...in things once seen mundane."

Panting after finally getting the donkey back on the road, Wulthgar raised a hand to smack the stubborn beast, but took solace in his own life affirmation, and instead kissed it eagerly on the forehead, which was repaid with another HAAAW.

"Does not life feel that much sweeter, now that it remains securely in your own hands?"

[Akasha]

"This one has not been struck by a bear in a long while," Akasha grunted as she prodded her chestplate where the beast's paw had landed. Her armor had done an admirable job of distributing the blow, but come sundown she knew she'd be wearing large, blackened bruises beneath the fur of her shoulders and abdomen. She took a deep breath, and, satisfied that she had broken no ribs, let it out again with relief.

"Fine," she said, and then she stepped forward again, stumbled, and was caught in her sister's arms before she overbalanced.

She turned her dark-furred face up toward Ashira's and grinned as though she'd drunk a barrel full of skooma. "We fought a bear."

Then the same giddy intoxication that had beset Wulthgar overtook her, and she laughed uproariously and pounded Ashira on the back.

"If Father could see us now, ai?"

[Ashira]

All told, it was infectious, and Ashira couldn't help the smile breaking her stern expression. She returned the hearty back-slap with a little bit of a jovial shake. Even as she helped to right her sister on her feet, the taller Khajiit let out a laugh of her own.

"Aye, a bear," she grinned. "He would say that we are touched in our heads!"

Yellow eyes narrowed in a conspiratorial fashion even as her grin turned sly.

"He would also say that this bear... though his meat is poisoned, is still useful for his pelt and claws."

Ashira let a single claw out to taktak against the chestplate that Akasha wore.

"Fur would be far more comfortable beneath this thing rather than the cloth-linen you have now, I'd wager."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"I also carry an assortment of cures and dyes for the tanning trade." Wulthgar piped up, getting a strange look from the two felines, which he countered with a reassuring gesture.

"Gratis, naturally. My brush with Oblivion has made me somewhat more generous than otherwise. That, and the heat of a curing fire might put right the sins of a weak bladder, if you will permit. I would very much like to dry my garment, and to imbibe a few skins of wine to ease my overburdened nerves."

[Akasha]

The bear was far too heavy to move it more than a few yards downhill from where it had fallen, but that was enough to get it off the path and into the shelter of an ancient, naked fir tree while they began dressing the kill. Ashira crouched down with a hunting knife and bled the beast out from the throat while Akasha gathered wood for a fire and a curing frame. On the way she found a bloody haunch of the elk Ashira had shot - hardly the bounty they'd been celebrating, but better than nothing. They set the meat roasting under Wulthgar's care while the two Khajiit sisters attacked the bear pelt, painstakingly carving the hide away from fat and muscle and tendon, then scraping off the ichor that remained.

While flies gathered over the carcass, Akasha peeled off her armor to reveal a bony frame in a gray, knee-length, sweat-stained shift that was slit up the back to accommodate her tail. A life of agrarian labor and five years' training with a sword had wrapped her in a sleek sheath of muscle, but she was still gangly and awkward like an adolescent wolf, all limbs and ribs and coarse fur that hadn't quite come into full coat. She stooped into a cold brook that tumbled down the mountain nearby and scrubbed furiously at the spikes of blood on her hands and arms, then dipped her muzzle in to drink deeply. Then she returned to the fire and sat down cross-legged, relishing the waves of dry heat, which reminded her of the winds that blew out of the Alik'r Desert in her homeland.

"This one could eat a whole sand buffalo and then sleep for a week," she said, closing her eyes. "How far is it to Falkreath? This one has lost track."

[Ashira]

Having allowed herself a moment of rest from the grisly work of skinning, Ashira leaned back against the trunk of a smaller tree. Her bow and quiver had been placed at her side, and amusing herself with the bearclaws that they had removed from the kill, she sent a look from over the tops of her eyes to Wulthgar. If any of their small party were to know, then it was him.

As it was, the scent of the elk as it cooked was something that tugged at her stomach with a fierce vengeance.

A moment later and she had set the claws down, and leaning forward, the Khajiit used the motion to roll herself into a crouch while gesturing to Wulthgar.

"That one would know the answer to that, I would wager," she spoke, lifting an hand up to pull at the straps and buckles holding her own leather armor on her frame.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"Indeed I do."

Upon hanging his dampened pantaloons across a branch nearest the open fire, Wulthgar walked bare-arsed to his pack donkey, retrieving a fresh pair from his wardrobe duffel, and spending a moment to fasten the buttons and draws with his back facing the sisters, offering some modicum of decency.

"It is but a small distance down through the valley to the southeast. Follow the gentle slope through the forest, and it is unmissable. But, curious..."

Returning with fresh pants and a pair of wineskins, the diminuitive Nord sat at the fire, offering one of the rations of libation to his Khajit companions.

"Did you not travel through Falkreath? It is the most efficient means to make the journey from Elseweyr, by means of Cyrodiil."

[Akasha]

A glob of fat dripped off the elk haunch and into the fire with a hiss and a plume of smoke. Akasha's eyes opened, and her belly groaned. She reached for her pile of armor and supplies, drew an iron dagger, sliced off a strip of fibrous meat from the bone, not caring that it was still red, and juggled the smoking venison in her claws until it was cool enough to eat.

"But these ones did not come from Elsweyr," Akasha replied. "Our home is in Hammerfell, near Elinhir. We crossed the pass at Knifepoint Ridge just hours ago. This one has never seen Elsweyr. Or even Cyrodiil. Or anything but Hammerfell, really."

Only then did she see notice the light of warning in Ashira's eyes, and she remembered her sister's warnings about being too free with strangers concerning their business in Skyrim.

[Ashira]

The glance had been sent in caution, and no words were needed. As her outer layers of leather armor were stripped off, Ashira was meticulous as she placed each piece upon the ground, folding along joint rivets and making sure that nothing was out of place. A tan under-linen clung to her own frame, and stepping past the fire, she paused only long enough to grasp a small bit of still-sizzling meat between two claws.

She crouched at the bank of the small creek, popping the elk into her mouth before sending both hands into the water. It was cool and invigorating, A few moments later she cupped a handful, bringing it up to drink eagerly. Three times this process was repeated, until she was satisfied. The Khajiit shifted then, angling herself so that she could look back at her sister and the Nord.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"Ah."

A dawning understanding filled Wulthgar's eyes as he gestured across at Akasha casually.

"It would explain the mismatched scabbard, then. A curved curiosity quite native to the lands of the Redguard."

He watched Ashira with bemusement, noting she took no offered wine, but rather drank directly from the creek.

"You do not take wine? You have the admirable temperance of a Vigilant, please excuse my debasement. The recent and most intimate reminder of my own mortality has made me doubly fond of excess."

With a rose-cheeked smirk, the Nord quaffed from his skin, and occasional dribble of purple dropping down his chin before he lowered the skin, and wiped his chin clean with the back of a hand.

"Have you traveled to Skyrim seeking fortune and glory?"

[Akasha]

The wine tempted Akasha, and her eyes lingered on the skin that Wulthgar offered. But if her sister was abstaining, perhaps it was best that she did as well. The Nord had offered no offense, but he was a man who dealt in poison, after all. She turned the leg of elk on its spit and set about slicing more portions from the side that was properly cooked.

"Yes," she said, not trusting herself to say more without saying too much.

[Ashira]

Ashira rose from her crouch, and moved back to the fire once more.

"Fortune and glory," she started, lowering herself to sit cross-legged beside Akasha, "is certainly one way to look at it."

Reaching over to take the second wineskin, she hesitated for a few moments, then uncorked it with ease and turned it up for a quick sip before handing it to her sister.

"For now we simply travel."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Wulthgar was not accomplished at reading the tells of a Khajit's mood, though his imagination might interpret their stiff postures and jerking puffed tails to be a symptom of minds ill at ease.

"If my questions bring offense, I apologize. As I mentioned, my true trade is that of a bard and a wordsmith. It is my nature to ask such things. Litter Maidens of Hammerfell of Ebony Sword and Bow, already the seeds of a song I imagine some may wish to hear. Though I, like my audience, do not yet know your names."

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears went up like signal flags at the mention of a song. She'd expected there would be songs, of course, but she'd never dared to imagine it happen within hours of crossing the Dragontail Mountains - already the small Nord's silver tongue was weaving a verse about them, and she found herself wanting desperately to hear more.

She only just noticed Ashira passing her the wineskin, and when she took it, there was a glint of mischief in her topaz eyes. She threw back her head and let the wine flow freely down her throat - three large gulps, and she lowered the skin and wiped off her whiskers with the back of her arm, grinning like a crescent moon.

"It is only polite," she said. "This one is called Akasha. That one is Ashira. Our family name would mean nothing to you or your audience, as we have done nothing of any real note. Yet."

She inclined her head meaningfully toward the dwarf and held out the wineskin, asking implicitly whether he wanted it back.

[Ashira]

Leaning back so that she was propped up on her elbows, Ashira let her head fall back and her eyes close, breathing in deeply of the air. The scents of nature and the cooking elk, the sounds of birds and foliage rustling all around, it was all still so new and very nearly intoxicating. This northern land was lush and fresh, crisp and airy.

That Wulthgar professed to being a bard was enough to cause one ear to tick in his direction, and the Khajiit let out a long breath from between pointed teeth.

"Share these song seeds," she spoke easily, lips pulled back in a sly grin as her eyes remained closed.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Wulthgar politely deferred receiving the wine skin, indicating to another full one for his own enjoyment. At Ashira's beckoning a gleam seemed to sparkle in his eye as he retrieved his lute from his pack, giving a few tuning strums as he considered the request.

"And that is what these words shall be, Ashira. But seeds, are they. Given freely, I only ask they are well-watered and nourished with tales to make them grow. That, my good ladies, I leave to your capable hands. But if your deeds are true, and by the mercy of the Divines, what a wonderful creation shall spring forth from this humble seed. Now..."

The Nord cleared his throat, and began to put together an opening melody.

"O lovers of heroes, gather forth from the cold
Come hear of two Khajit so beguiling and bold
From far Hammerfell did our shield-maidens hail
Both stout of courage, and nimble of tail
Akasha and Ashira, much laud do I bring
May your arrows fly true and your swords always sing
To Skyrim you answer the adventurers call
And fore long shall this song play in ev'ry mead hall"

[Akasha]

The fur on Akaha's neck stood up as Wulthgar began to sing. She had no talent for words herself - certainly not like her older sister, who had been reading since she could hold a book, and who could speak like a man or mer when the mood took her. But this was something else entirely. It was nothing like the low, crooning mantras their mother had sung over the cookfire in the evening, or the rhythmic, lilting chants their father and brothers and cousins used to keep time while swinging a scythe or a rake or a mattock in the fields. It was a little closer to the raucous songs raised by the Redguard warriors in the guild halls in Elinhir, but their voices were coarse and off-key, and they struck all the notes like a warhammer crushing skulls, to the point that the tune not so much carried as gang-tackled.

But Wultghar's voice was clear and bold like a hunting horn, rich like wine and sweet like honey, and the melody was heroic and haunting all at once. A real bardic song, and they were in it. And he'd even put her name ahead of her sister's!

Ahem. That was inconsequential, of course. One of them had to be first.

"These ones will make it a song worth sharing," Akasha said with confidence. "And as you have spent your precious poison, this one would be honored to accept the other terms of your bargain. Lodging in Falkreath for our company and our arms. What do you say, sister?"

[Ashira]

Eyes still closed and her head angled up to the sky, Ashira let a silence hang in the air as she considered the deal. It was much more palatable than the original fifty septims, and as neither had been to Falkreath yet, it seemed the most prudent course of action. Finally, the Khajiit leaned up and forward, deep yellow eyes coming open as her head dipped back down to look first at Akasha. A small nod in agreement to her sister.

"That is agreeable to me, yes."

She turned to regard the dwarf, and taking up the second wineskin, took a healthy measure from it. She swallowed.

"We shall go to Falkreath then."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Wulthgar's eyebrows bobbed conspiratorially as he glanced from one Khajit to the other, and his grin could not be contained.

"Are we well sated, then? Bellies full, and both skins and pantaloons suitably dried? The travel should be agreeable, so long as we stay fast to the road. There are threats that loom larger than wildlife in the deep wood, so staying thy adventurous souls may be prudent."

The little Nord stood, hoisting his wineskin on high to quaff down the remnants until it was depleted. Finished with the wine, he stowed the empty skin and proceeded to inspect the state of his previous pair of pants. Suitably dried, though no-doubt they would require a fuller's attention once in town.

"Then let us sojourn on. I fear my trusty steed only carries so much liquid merriment, and we shall wish to continue our good cheer in a more suitably enclosed venue."

With a grunt and a heave, Wulthgar once more saddled upon the ill-tempered ass, and goaded it along towards the roadway. The Khajiti bundled their haul and doused their fire, following the bard's lead along the road. Through the sloping wooded hills they traveled as the sun moved past it's zenith and headed down toward the horizon. What little good sunlight they enjoyed on their travels was soon hidden behind a thickening soup of mist as they continued to traverse the foothills.

"Across the distance there, that great body of water is Lake Ilinalta. I imagine the Khajit appetite for fish eclipses even the Nordic affinity, and you shall find no shortage. Be mindful of the ruined keep at the northeastern shore, if you take to water. It has become an abode for those with a taste for fell magics."

Wulthgar tsked, shaking his head.

"And towards the north, further through the mountain passes, you shall find Helgen. An agreeable enough hamlet well provisioned with mead made of juniper berries. Even better provisioned with comely Nordic girls with hair of straw and bosoms of mountainous proportion."

He cast Ashira a wink as they continued.

[Akasha]

Akasha wasn't sure why Wulthgar thought they'd be interested in the distribution of Nordic girls or the proportions of their bosoms, but she made note of all the places he mentioned and compared them to her memories of the faded map of Skyrim that Ashira had packed among her supplies. It was another of their uncle's possessions, but it had been old when he'd acquired it, and she didn't doubt it needed updating.

However, the places the sisters were chiefly interested in were older still.

"This one has heard that Skyrim is littered with ancient ruins and burial halls," she said. "And that great treasures may be found in such places. Is this true? Or is it an embellishment made for songs and tales?"

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

The bard gave Akasha a look of mock injury.

"You grieve me, my hirsute adventuress. To suggest the tales passed down from my forefathers - some as old as the warrior poets of Ysgramor's fabled band - are anything less than truth? Well..."

Unable to keep his feigned offense up for long, Wulthgar merely shrugged.

"The best song and stories alike are built upon truth. That isn't to say they are true throughout. No, then we wordsmiths would be consigned to the dustbin of historians."

The bard made a dour expression at the thought, then his expression brightened somewhat.

"If I may use a culinary metaphor. Consider the truth of a thing as the meat and potatoes in your pot. Filling and nutritious no doubt, but in and of themselves and the flavor is rather dull. To be a worthy meal, one requires a dash of spice and salt. If such a dash is a storyteller's own artistic invention, then the tales we hear and pass on are a prosaic banquet befitting both the hunger for knowledge and the taste of the fantastic."

Rather pleased with his explanation, Wulthgar's self-satisfied smile evaporated somewhat as his expression turned thoughtful.

"Ah, but I haven't quite answered your question, friend. To that, I can only say perhaps so. If you're asking if I've seen the spot where the traitor king Olaf was lain, and where his plunder was hoarded, you will forgive me if I am light on first-hand account. If such crypts are not ridden with draugr or fell enchantments, then I suspect they are thick with bandits and cutthroats. I am ill equipped to combat either, sadly."

[Ashira]

Listening intently, Ashira chose to remain silent for now. While his words were roundabout and flowered with great care, she both admired his knack for speech yet couldn't help but be annoyed at it. He could've simply said one sentence and been done rather than filling their ears to the brim. Either way, his answer - though long-winded - was still one that at least gave her some heart. The stories that they had been told weren't completely false, and the chance of ancient places to be found was marginally high. It lifted her spirits well enough, and the Khajiit rocked her shoulders back as the small group continued on.

She could smell smoke in the distance, carried with the gentle breezes that shook the foliage on either side of the well-traveled road. It was a mix of woodsmoke and something else - something with a hint of metallic that seemed to travel down the back of her nostrils and settle on her tongue. And while it was still a very faint sensation, it was still unpleasant. It also told her that there was a smith in Falkreath.

A sideways look to Akasha.

"Soft beds this night, yes?"

[Akasha]

"That will be glorious," Akasha said with a lopsided smile. The wine she had drunk so freely earlier was now sloshing warmly in her veins, and her steps were a little less even than usual, but she kept pace easily with her sister and the donkey. As the evening sky deepened overhead, she could make out clusters of flickering lights through the trees, which soon resolved into torches and watchfires at the edges of an ancient town of stone and wood, of sharply angled eaves that stretched to the sky, of crowded buildings that pinched the alleys in between into blind corners and secretive cul-de-sacs.

It was, as they drew closer, a good deal less grand than Akasha had pictured. The wooden walls appeared to lean just slightly out of plumb, and where they weren't pocked with knotholes they had been patched by planks that had weathered a different color from the rest, and the foundations of all the buildings were slathered in the same dismal gray mud that seemed to mire the entire Hold. No, grand was not the right word at all. Dismal, perhaps, unsavory, or rakish at a pinch. But to Akasha, it was first and foremost somewhere new, a town full of unknown quantities promising discovery and adventure in every crooked street.

She almost missed the guards approaching with their stag-emblazoned shields. "Hold there, Khajiit. Where do you think you ladies are going?"

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

A small hand brushed Akasha's shoulder as Wulthgar wordlessly asked her to defer to him. Pulling his donkey up a few steps, the little Nord cast what could almost be a stoic image if he wasn't a dwarf and laughably sat upon a donkey. He raised a hand before him in greeting to the guardsmen.

"Well met, kinsmen. Be at ease. The sisters Khajit are my friends and guests. We seek respite from the road at the Dead Man's drink. A warm hearthfire. A spot of hearty supper. An indecent quantity of mead, and lodging sufficient to sleep it off."

The Falkreath guards were inscrutable behind their pointed helms, only glancing occasionally to each other and then back to Wulthgar.

"Wait...I know you."

At last, a flicker of recognition! The bard's expression turned smug.

"I'm sure you do. There's not a mead hall in the province that hasn't been held enraptured by my lyrical virtuosity. The clarion call of my flute. The aetherial quality of my lute hand. The..."

"You're that cherry-faced milk drinker what nicked the septims off Rolgeir Broad-Axe."

The smug expression evaporated on Wulthgar's face, replaced by a blank look, and then suddenly a face of bewildered recollection.

"Oh, that."

The guard who remembered Wulthgar promptly reached for the bard, plucking him from his donkey unceremoniously.

"We don't suffer no sneakthiefs in this hold, little man. Lucky for you, the jail is rent free."

Mind working fast, Wulthgar looked at his feet as he muttered.

"Weren't any measure of sneakthievery that sung Rolgeir's woe. Twas a fair game of chance that he lost. If this is how he should seek his recompense, then he's lower than worms, I say."

The guards weren't having anything of it, and began to haul Wulthgar away. The bard suddenly looked to his bewildered companions, a tinge of desperation rising in his voice.

"My good ladies...would you please find my purse well-hidden beneath my pack mule's saddle?"

[Ashira]

Moving quickly, Ashira stepped forward with a swiftness as her hands went out to the donkey, fingers grazing over the tooled leather saddle on their way to the edges. While she moved with purpose, the confusion in her eyes was plain for all to see. At first rather stunned at this new turn of events, the Khajiit did her best to concentrate even as the dwarf continued to argue with the city guards.

Deft hands moved fast, feeling along the undersides of the saddle as they traveled over and under the myriad of bags and packs tied along the sides. The donkey craned its neck around to give her side a sniff, even as she rifled through the contents of each bag. Her brow furrowed as her search continued to yield no coinpurse, and as she sent her search into the bedroll that'd been fastened along the back, her eyes lit up and she let out a triumphant heh as her fingers closed around the soft, tanned hide of what could only be that which Wulthgar had asked for.

Pulling it free, Ashira held it aloft.

[Akasha]

The guard who was not holding Wulthgar like a struggling haversack snatched the coinpurse out of Ashira's outstretched paw and began rifling through the contents. "And what business do two Khajiit sellswords have with this miscreant?"

"Sellswords?" Akasha repeated, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Watch your tongue, Nordman. Khajiit come to Skyrim seeking adventure and glory."

"Oh, adventure and glory," the other guard replied. "That makes it so much better."

"This one is pleased you agree," Akasha said, lifting her chin. "Khajiit were hunting for food when they met Wulthgar. The three of us slew a bear together. Now these ones have pelts and claws to sell. This is legal in Falkreath Hold, yes?"

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

The guards didn't merit the Khajiti women with responses. The one holding the coinpurse merely weighted it in his hands, and measured out a half share roughly, and removed an arbitrary amount of wealth from Wulthgar's person. The bard made a pained expression as he saw the volume of gold the guards were deciding would purchase his free passage.

"That quantum of septims is beyond the scope of my perceived infraction! Beyond punitive means as well!"

The guard merely booted Wulthgar on the ground as he pocketed another handful of coins, pausing to pluck a ruby from the pack as well.

"Keeping miscreants like you out of prison is...expensive."

Wulthgar certainly couldn't see the man's expression behind his helm, but he was certain it carried a smirk on it. At last, the guard finished with his pilfering, and returned Wulthgar's coinpurse by tossing it at his head. Well, at least there were enough septims within to still cause it to hurt. Rubbing his smarting noggin, the bard scrambled to snatch the coinpurse from the ground before the guards could have a change of heart and take the entire thing.

"Falkreath hold is indebted to you trusted protectors, no doubt. Should some evil conjurer befall the city with the power to raise atronachs out of riches, I have no doubt you will triumph over them."

"On your way, you lot."

The guards stepped aside, allowing Wulthgar to rise to his feet and shake some of the dirt from his clothing. The little nord glanced back darkly at his two guests as they entered the city.

"Daedra take them. Were we to meet at eye level, they would not be so brazen."

Letting his ill humor ease a bit, Wulthgar sighed and shook his head.

"No matter. Always travel with enough gold to be able to afford to lose some to simple robbery. We shan't be destitute, my friends. Come. The aforepromised mead calls even more strongly. Strain your ears and you'll hear it as well."

[Ashira]

Ears switching back as the passed into Falkreath, Ashira let a scowl darken her features.

"I hear nothing but the constant hammering of the blacksmith," she grumbled out softly. A look to Wulthgar's donkey and she reached out for one of the two wineskins still tied to the saddle; Akasha had thankfully not finished the entirety of its' contents, and Ashira reached over, deftly undoing the leather cord holding it in place and pulling it away. The stopper was removed, and the Khajiit took a generous swallow, lowering the skin as they passed another of the city's guards. From her peripheral vision, she watched as the people around them paused momentarily in their daily activities to look at the newcomers.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, she sent a sidelong glance to her sister.

"They are staring," she whispered darkly.

[Akasha]

Akasha slowly moved her paw away from her sword when the guards dropped Wulthgar - he had hired them as bodyguards, after all - and drew closer to Ashira as they moved into the muddy streets of the strange Nordic town.The people were staring - hunters burdened with their kills, a farmer pushing a cart full of sickly-looking produce, and several more guards, inscrutable under their visored helms. Who would ever choose to wear such a thing, to hide one's face and fill one's nose with the smell of iron all day? Alkosh's mane, she couldn't even tell the men from the women.

The young Khajiit grinned and clapped an arm around her sister's shoulder. "Of course they are staring," she whispered back. "We are shieldmaidens of Hammerfell, like the bard sang. You did not think Khajiit would blend in, did you?"

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Walking with something of a swagger in his diminuitive gait, Wulthgar paused at the threshold of the Dead Man's Drink, his confident poise diminished only when he had to put his back into the motion of opening the heavy oaken door, which parted with a wailing creak to herald their arrival. Within the lodge, a dozen faces illuminated by a handful of flickering candles and the fire pit that dominated the common area turned in unison at the din. Some met the appearance of the visitors with indifference, but some held a far darker countenance. Pretending not to notice, the bard glanced back to his shieldmaidens and flashed a conspiratorial smile.

"A warm hearth fire as promised. Let's make ourselves comfortable."

Finding a nearby table empty, Wulthgar made for a seat, catching the eye of Narri, one of the tavern wenches. Setting aside her broom at the bar, she approached the table and teased at a ringlet of her hair with a twirling finger.

"Shor's bones, I didn't think I'd soon see Wulthgar Milk-Drinker in this mead hall any time soon."

Narri's green eyes turned to Ashira and Akasha, the curiosity evident in their expression.

"And with the most interesting of company."

The two felines didn't look like whores. Or if they were, she'd never seen whores so well-armed. Wulthgar, for his part, maintained a reserved smile, doing his best to look stately when seated in a chair that barely brought the table up to casual height.

"You have the quality of my company exact, for they are the most interesting sort indeed. Might I introduce to you Akasha and Ashira, shieldmaidens and sister adventurers from Hammerfell."

The two pair of Khajiti ears seemed to perk at the introduction. Perhaps Wulthgar was becoming accustomed to detecting their otherwise-inscrutable moods. Ah, but his introductions were half complete. He again returned his attention to the bar wench, who offered a most interesting view from chair height.

"And sisters Khajit, I shall make your acquaintance with Narri, a, ahem, very talented woman."

The sisters exchanged glances, and Wulthgar plied them with an explanation.

"Talented bar maiden, I should say."

Narri leaned over, whispering something into Wulthgar's ear that had the effect of bringing a smile to his face.

"She has never spilled a drop..."

More whispering, and the diminuitive Nord ran a tongue between his parched lips.

"...of ale."

Narri parted from earshot, but not before nipping a near miss at Wulthgar's earlobe before standing up fully.

"And speaking of ale, I'm absolutely parched. And you, ladies?"

[Ashira]

The thought of distracting hersdelf from the stares of those that they'd passed on their way through the street, Ashira gave a slow nod in answer.

"Ale sounds... good."

She watched the barmaid move away, her mind beginning to put together the myriad of scattered puzzle pieces that seemed to make up the dwarven bard. He was clever with word, and had a way of saying with twenty words what could easily enough be said with two. Not really perplexing, and the Khajiit could honestly say that it did not bother her, but it was an interesting conundrum regardless. The city guards saw him in one light, and the woman who'd just left saw him in another.

"Drink and women," she rumbled good-naturedly, and half-turned to her sister to give Akasha a sideways look and a knowing upturn of the corners of her lips.

"We have certainly found ourselves a catch, Sister."

[Akasha]

Akasha watched the exchange between the diminutive bard and the amply endowed barmaid with flickering eyes and ears. Much of Wulthgar's oratory ornamentation was over her head, and she had little more than an inkling of the carnal undertones, but she didn't wish to advertise her ignorance. Especially not in front of Ashira.

"No doubt," she replied. "We must only hope there is not too much competition for his attention."