Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies

[Matea Antriius]

It had taken some negotiating to convince the Whiterun guards to let a stranger into town so close to dark the sun just starting to set. She'd argued about travel time and even attempted to bribe one of them to no avail. In the end it had been a story about hunting vampires in the area, and what a good idea it would be to have a member of the Dawnguard in town for a day or so to stave off potential attacks.

One of these days her former friends in that order were actually going to hunt her down for her misuse of their name - though they'd have to actually catch her first, and she was careful not to stay in one place too long. She'd have to negotiate the early morning, a fact she dreaded, in order to purchase any actual supplies, but she could at least see if the local blacksmith was awake enough for her to ask permission to use their forge. Her warhammer had taken damage in her last skirmish with a saber cat, the handle bent just enough to make its swing ungainly and lopsided.

Entering the hamlet she noticed immediately that the blacksmith's shop was the first thing she encountered, a good stroke of luck for once, a female caretaker busy striking away on the workbench, refining a longsword. She turned her head down to look at the big, brown eyes of her traveling companion and scratched behind the dog's ear, his tail thumping the ground in appreciation. "Good fortune today, Tiberius. Let's deal with this trivial matter and see if we can't find you a piece of Horker to chew on, maybe even a mammoth steak, eh? Better than that Skeever I keep feeding you." She sighed a bit at that, feeling guilty for feeding the dog the meat from such a vermin, even if it was the only thing she could often find for him. She approached the woman, and after a few words, an exchanged septim and a thank you, found herself burying her warhammer into the burning forge to heat it up for the repair process.

[Akasha]

"A member of the Dawnguard? Here?"

"That's the word from the gate guards. Says she's on watch for potential vampire attacks."

The moment she heard those words, Akasha's ears flipped up, and she straightened up in her cot in the junior barracks below Jorrvaskr hall. She'd been reading a book on fencing techniques that Vilkas had recommended to her when she'd heard Farkas and Aela the Huntress speaking in the hallway just outside.

Aela scoffed. "When has there ever been a vampire attack in Whiterun? All we need is one of those zealots getting in the way of our business."

"Someone's going to have to keep an eye on her. I'll tell you one thing, it's not going to be me."

Akasha dropped her book on the mattress beside her and rolled nimbly to her feet. She quickly padded to the doorway and leaned out to see Aela in her hunting leathers and Farkas in his full plate armor - did he ever take it off? - and looking to be in a very foul mood. Of course, he always looked like that, as far as the Khajiit could tell. She still found the two of them more than a bit intimidating.

"Apologies," she said, and she coughed as the two senior Companions turned toward her, a small slip of a Khajiit girl in a loose linen shirt and a homespun shift. "This one could not help overhearing. Who is the Dawnguard?"

Aela and Farkas exchanged glances, and it was Aela who spoke first. "An extremist sect of the Vigilants of Stendarr,and they're already pretty extreme. The Vigilants hunt creatures they consider to be Daedric abominations. Dawnguard primarily hunt vampires."

"Like the Silver Hand?" Akasha asked, and her ears dipped at the memory of the desperate battle on the fields of Whiterun Hold when she was in the throes of Sanguinare Vampiris herself.

"Even the Dawnguard's better than the Silver Hand," Farkas growled. "But not by much, in my book. I don't trust anyone who claims they're on a mission from the gods."

"You said she needs watching," Akasha said carefully. "Perhaps this one could watch her for you? This one could make sure the Dawnguard does not interfere with the Companions."

Again, Farkas and Aela looked at each other. Something like amusement sparkled in Aela's eyes. "Not a bad assignment for a whelp," she said. "If you think you're up to it."

"Of course!" Akasha replied, baring her teeth in a grin. "This one will not disappoint you!"

"Fine," Farkas said with a shrug. "Check with the gate guards to see where she went. You can report back when you find out what her plans are."

The Khajiit beamed, then dashed back into the barracks to fetch her armor and sword. Once she was out of sight, Aela slugged Farkas in the arm. "I told you we wouldn't have to ask. Five septims."

Akasha didn't even notice the coin changing hands as she hurried out through the corridor for the stairs, then through Jorrvaskr proper and into the streets of Whiterun. It still felt strange to call such a place home, with its cobblestone streets and thatched northern architecture, so different from the dusty alleys and square adobe block houses of Elinhir, but the strangeness was exhilarating. No longer was she Akasha ja Khanai, peasant girl and farmer's youngest daughter. She was Akasha ja Khanai of the Companions of Whiterun, a warrior-maiden of Hammerfell and a hero-in-training, whose deeds would be sung in great halls all over Skyrim.

She passed by the market stalls, most of which were closing for the night, and her stomach rumbled as she smelled something delicious cooking in the Bannered Mare. She was walking by Warmaiden's when she heard the ringing of a mallet on steel - strange for Adrianne to be working the forge at this hour - and when she turned to look she saw a stranger there in unfamiliar armor hunched over a warhammer.

Curious, Akasha left the road and headed toward the forge. "Good evening!" she said. "This one does not mean to disturb you, but she is looking for--"

No sooner had she begun speaking than a large dog heaved up from its haunches by the forge and came trotting toward her with its tongue wagging. Akasha took in a sharp breath and backpedaled into a wooden post with a hollow clunk.

[Matea Antriius]

She hadn't even heard the interruption over the ringing tone of metal on metal, but when Tiberius suddenly took an interest in something, and left her side she stopped to see what was so exciting. A Khajiit had approached them and... wait. A Khajiit? In town? She crooked her head curiously at the cat, who seemed to be very much living up to the nickname with how she reacted to the mutt. She rested her tools against the edge of the forge, careful not to let the Warhammer remain in the fire, lest it warp further, and walked over, patting the dog's head as he looked at the Khajiit curiously, tongue darting in and out of his mouth with the lapping of saliva.

"He won't hurt you." She said softly, scratching his favorite place behind his ears and watching his tail go mad as a result. "I don't think he has a mean bone in his body, in all truth." She bent down and tussled his ears, grabbing them and pulling his face towards her own, helmeted, face. "You're a big dummy aren't you? Yes, you are. Don't even know what you're supposed to bark at." She pushed him away with a gentle laugh and stood back up, even as the dog yawned and circled around a few times to plop down and rest his hands on his paws, watching the pair from a comfortable reclining position.

"Matea Antriius." She extended her hand, knowing it was best to make good impressions in town, even if she had no intention of staying more than a night. It left less suspicion for people to recollect. "And the big oaf there is Tiberius. How can I help you, Ms...?" she said fishing for a name.

[Akasha]

If Akasha was cowed by the dog, she was utterly bewildered by its master - who wore a metal mask and visor in a town, in this light? She stared at the woman, motionless and open-mouthed, before she recovered her wits. Of course, how else would an eccentric vampire hunter dress? Perhaps she hid her face for fear of being recognized by a minion of the foul creatures she pursued. Or perhaps she had been horribly disfigured in battle with vampire who could spew poison like the spitting snakes that prowled the sands of the Alik'r. And only then did the Khajiit realize what a fool she must have looked standing with her back to a post, her tail puffed up, and her mouth hanging open like a barn door.

"Akasha ja Khanai," she said, and she recognized the extended glove in time to clasp it firmly in her paw. "This one is a Companion of Jorrvaskr. Sorry, your dog simply startled this one. Are you... are you the Dawnguard?"

[Matea Antriius]

Her grip on the handshake almost fell apart at the mention of the Companions, a wince rolling through her body subconsciously. Oh she'd known someone who'd called himself a Companion in the past, she had no idea if that had also been a lie, but he'd said it all the same. The mention of their name here caused a visceral reaction that she had to fight to keep down. Worse yet, it meant word was already spreading of her arrival, if she was being greeted by the local hold's own band of mercenaries and so-called heroes.

"That I am. There was a nest in Shimmermist Cave I was tasked with clearing out, and I'm happy to report there are no longer any vampires there. However where there is one nest, sometimes there are more. I thought it would be best to stay in town a night or two and be certain there were no retaliatory attacks, you understand?" She pulled her hand away and returned to the forge, she was almost done with repairs after all, and needed to continue before the hot metal set and she had to start over. The ring of tools on metal as she bent it into its proper shape rang out.

"I won't be in town long, though, a night or two to watch for signs of more activity and restock on my necessary provisions, then I'll be on my way." The ringing of the repairs echoed again off the walls of the city's defenses. "No need to worry, I won't be in the Companion's hair for long."

[Akasha]

The voice sounded human - what was more, it sounded Imperial from the cultured cadence and sculpted vowels, as pristine as if they had been carved in marble. There weren't many Imperials in Hammerfell, and the Empire was not held in high regard there, either in the Thalmor-occupied South or in the wild and sovereign North where Akasha had called home. But she had a new home now, and old prejudices were more likely than not a liability in Skyrim, where even a man you met in the woods, naked and covered in blood, could become a stalwart ally.

Akasha gave another wary glance at the dog panting at Matea's feet and followed the vampire hunter toward the forge. "It is good to know you are hunting," the Khajiit said cheerfully, her tail swaying high behind her. "This one had her own run-in with vampires not long ago, and she does not much care for them. She would be more than pleased to assist you if she can."

[Matea Antriius]

That was the last thing she needed, a hanger-on with a taste for vampire hunting. She finished her work and buried her hammer into the well to cool and set the metal, pulling it out with a hiss of steam and checking the handle, which now gleamed bright and shiny, and more importantly was once again straight, she turned it, holding it effortlessly with one outstretched hand, a feat which should have been impressive for someone her size and pointed it towards Akasha.

"Your offer is appreciated, but I don't believe it should be necessary. With luck we won't have to worry about any more vampires in this area. You should keep a potion of cure disease on you, though, just in case. You don't want yourself catching Sanguinare Vampiris, do you?"

[Akasha]

Akasha followed the steaming hammerhead with wide, green eyes. Another reason to wear such concealing clothing, she supposed - to look at the vampire hunter Akasha would never have guessed she was strong enough to wield a warhammer like a child's toy.

"Right," the Khajiit said, eyes darting from the hammer to the unreadable eye slots in Matea's mask. She faltered, unsure whether she should reveal how close a thing it had been - less because she was afraid Matea would turn on her as the Silver Hand had, and more because she didn't want to look like a clumsy fool. "Actually, this one did catch it," she said, bracing herself. "On the way to Whiterun. She was fortunate to have friends who saw her safely to the Temple of Khenarthi - er, sorry, Kynareth - so she could be cured. It was a most unpleasant experience."

[Matea Antriius]

So, that explained her desire to hunt. She'd been a victim of a vampire herself, and came close to turning. This entire conversation, had it occurred, would have been very different under that scenario. She gave a curt nod and strapped the hammer against her back where it would normally be slung.

"The Divines smiled upon you, that you had such good friends and allies to see you to recovery. Sanguinare Vampiris is not a kind illness." She crossed her arms, trying to read the Khajiit's expression, and saw an opening to put the situation at more ease. "I know that from experience. There's no shame in having fallen victim to disease, Akasha. Perhaps it gives you better insight into the mind of such creatures, if you'd like to find a positive in such horror."

She patted her side and Tiberius rose, stretching his haunches and sitting at her side. "Do you know where I can find bedding for the evening? I need to visit the shopkeeper as early as they open."

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears pricked in surprise - Matea had suffered the disease herself? And then she realized it made perfect sense. True, Matea was a vampire hunter, a mysterious masked warrior who cleared out whole dens of vampires single-handed, but she hadn't always been. Once she had been a novice, just as Akasha was now, and had needed the help of greater warriors to discover her own strength. Perhaps - and Akasha felt a horrified thrill at the thought - becoming infected with Sanguinare Vampiris was a rite of passage for the Dawnguard, an extreme way of learning the mind of one's enemy while proving one's dedication to the cause. That seemed like precisely the sort of thing fanatical zealots did.

Pleased with her own cleverness, Akasha smiled like a sphinx. "The only inn in town is the Bannered Mare," she said. "Just up the street beyond the market square. This one can show you. And she would be honored to buy you a meal, in return for stories."

At the mention of a meal, Tiberius perked up and swung his head toward Aksaha, smacking his chops. Akasha's tail jerked, then continued swaying as usual.

[Matea Antriius]

She frowned behind the helmet. She'd been hoping just to find someplace simple to bed down, away from people and their temptations. A barn, or some straw - and just as she'd been about to politely refuse, the offer of a meal was thrown in, and she could already hear her four-legged friend salivate and drool all over himself. Her guilt at having fed him nothing but skeever resurfaced, and despite the warnings her mind threw at her, she knew she was bound to relent.

"I'm afraid I must decline, for myself, my diet is rather specific and I need to be sure I do not deviate from it, its a tenant of my kind, you understand." Let the Khajiit assume she meant the Dawnguard. She knew the kinds of stories that circulated about their order, strange zealots with odd rites and requirements. "However the mongrel, here, hasn't had a decent meal this entire time I've been traveling. If I can take you up on your offer on his behalf, I will gladly pay with stories." She had to laugh to herself, the strange circle her life had taken. Once upon a time she'd been the one wide-eyed and begging stories from traveling strangers - and as luck would have it, that one had called himself a Companion as well. Though she'd come to doubt the validity of that claim.

"Lead on, my friend, lead on."

[Akasha]

The Bannered Mare was full and roaring this time of evening. Most of the other shops had closed for the night, even the Drunken Huntsman, which was the only real competition for food and drink in Whiterun. The dreadful Nordic bard had taken up his lute again and was introducing an original composition, which he said was dedicated to his delicate Imperial flower, whoever that was, largely ignored by the large group of patrons who had gathered around the far corner of the bar to sample the newest shipment from the Honningbrew Meadery. A roar of laughter went up from a table full of Battle-Borns, which drew sharp and suspicious looks from the table full of Gray-Manes at the opposite end of the tavern, but by and large, fortunes were good and spirits were high.

Akasha was getting used to the startled glances that followed her everywhere in Whiterun, and, gradually, the people of Whiterun were getting used to seeing a Khajiit roaming freely through their streets. But Matea and Tiberius were another sort of curiosity. More than one man tapped his neighbor's shoulder and pointed, or muttered behind their hands. Akasha simply fell back on her old strategy of pretending not to notice.

The Khajiit marched up to the bar, where a careworn Nordic woman with streaks of gray in her auburn hair scrubbed at a tenacious stain on the woodwork. "Bright moons, Hulda!" Akasha said cheerfully. "This one has brought a friend who is looking for shelter."

"Oh?" Hulda said, and she regarded Matea's mask with suspicion. "I can offer you a room, but your dog will have to sleep elsewhere."

"But the dog is a paying customer," Akasha replied, undeterred. "He will be eating on this one's tab."

"Then he'll be eating outside," Hulda said flatly. "Can I help you, Miss...?"

[Matea Antriius]

She crossed her arms and scowled behind the mask. "Matea Antriius, of the Dawnguard." She announced, at least a few conversations dying on the lips of the patrons at the mention of the Dawnguard. "And this is my tracking dog, Tiberius. I must insist he be allowed to stay in the Inn, as he is ever vigilant to potential vampire assaults. Surely you do not want to risk the safety of your patrons by removing a creature that could alert them to danger?" She said this loud enough to cause a few heads to turn, certainly causing at least a small level of embarrassment to the shopkeep, which was precisely her intention. She'd learned that individuals would rather relent than see all eyes on them, especially business people looking to keep customers happy.

"I assure you, my stay will only be for the night, and I will pay for any damages you may claim he causes." She was careful to put emphasis on the word claim, establishing now that if anything were to happen it wouldn't be the dog's fault. Again, the intention of potentially shaming her into the course she wanted. If she were to claim damages now, there would be lingering suspicion - had the dog actually done anything, or was the woman simply trying to take more than what was fair.

[Akasha]

Hulda folded her arms. "What does he do, piss holy water?"

Akasha laughed, then looked toward Matea's inscrutable mask and suddenly acquired a cough.

Somewhere behind them, the bard Mikael struck an unfortunately high note his voice was not designed to accommodate. The inn's proprietress jerked her head toward the performer and said, "Tell you what. Get that ass to stop mewling for the night without drawing a weapon, breaking the law, or starting a fight. Do that, and you'll have paid your dog's lodging."

[Matea Antriius]

Strong-willed woman, it seemed. She could respect that. Still she needed to have this situation resolved, and if that meant dealing with some miserably awful bard, then so be it. Though the offer did hinge upon her using no weapons, starting no fights, and breaking no laws. A little more difficult then, but doable. What had the musically-disinclined Nord said earlier? He was dedicating the song to a 'delicate, Imperial flower'? So the man was a lover, then? That she could work with.

"Agreed." She said to the barkeep, Hulda as Akasha had called her. She approached the man, finding a seat next to him, and listening to his tone-deaf lute playing and attempted singing. When he completed the song she applauded loudly, raising a finger to beckon him over. "What talent!" She exclaimed with a purr, "Your 'delicate, Imperial flower' must be a very lucky woman." She crooned and patted the bench beside her, inviting him to sit.

[Akasha]

The tow-haired bard blinked in surprise at Matea, trying to reconcile the allure of a beautiful woman with the implicit danger of a stranger in a mask. Not that he could say for sure whether Matea was fantastically beautiful or tragically ugly, but the voice - ah, the voice was something to write a song about. Clear as a bell, but light as a summer rain, now what rhymed with rain? Gain, main, feign, chain, pain, insane - well, this song had taken a dark turn. Must have been all the black she was wearing.

Without giving it another thought, Mikael dropped into the proffered seat, smiling brightly. "Why, thank you, milady!" he said. "And I like to think I'm a lucky man. Or I will be, once I've expressed to her the fullest extent of my affections. You're an Imperial, aren't you? Which do you think would best win the heart of a stalwart daughter of the Empire: a lively reel, to express the joy of two hearts in union at last?" His fingers danced over the lute, plucking out a rapid and lilting jig. "Or something solemn and tragic, to express the depths of my anguish for each night we must spend separate and alone?"

He then played exactly the same tune, but at the pace of a funeral dirge.

[Matea Antriius]

She fought the urge to wince and cringe at the plucking of the strings, and worse yet the same accursed song. He truly was a talentless cur, wasn't he? Instead she forced a brighter smile, even if it wouldn't be seen behind her helmet, and let out a soft 'ooooh' of appreciation to the different paces of his music. "Well, I am in fact - as you guessed, an Imperial, and if it were MY affections you were trying to win, sir bard, I much prefer the lively tune. There's enough sadness in this world without adding more." She all but purred at implying it was her affections the bard could win, and continued, Tiberius haven taken a corner to sulk in and watch this absolute madness from afar at.

"What is your lady love's name, if I may be so bold? I must know the name of the woman I must loathe for taking such a man away from us yearning, single daughters of the Empire." She wanted to vomit at expressing such absolute troll-dung, but it was necessary. To gain her and the mutt's bedding she'd need to woo this foolish lyricist and then convince him to retire for the evening, ALONE. Perhaps an oath of seeing each other promptly upon the morrow, therefore they shan't dally longer into the evening? Whatever. Anything to quiet his tongue for a night.

[Akasha]

The smile suddenly tightened on the man's face as he considered the implications of jilted affections from a woman who wore armor and carried a warhammer, and particularly one who wore a mask and would not be readily identifiable at the scene of a hypothetical murder.

"Wouldn't you rather learn my name?" he said with a nervous laugh. "I know I'd certainly like to learn yours, O lady of the black cowl and iron mask. I'm sure a woman such as yourself must have a story or two worthy of immortalizing in song."

He extended a callused hand. "I'm Mikael. Graduate of the Bard's College in Solitude."

[Matea Antriius]

She suspected, strongly she may add, that there was no woman who he sang of. At least not one who returned his affections. He was a little too quick to flirt, for a taken man. She extended her own hand, taking his warmly and careful with her grip. She was attempting to play the role of a 'delicate Imperial flower' after all.

"Matea, of the Dawnguard, and natively of Solitude as it would happen. And I have a few stories of my own, yes, perhaps you'd like to hear them?" She proffered and tried to coo a bit at him. "Perhaps we could share a meal at some point, and I could share my tale."

[Akasha]

A meal. The crazy masked hammer-murdering stalker lady wanted a meal. For possibly the first time ever, Mikael was cursing his boyish good looks and devil-may-care charm. Why couldn't it have been Carlotta who had walked in tonight instead of some lascivious vampire hunter?

"Why, a meal would be grand!" his traitorous tongue went on. "But not here. I mean, it's far too noisy. Too many witnesses. I mean people."

The bard slipped a finger under his starched collar, which was suddenly feeling uncommonly restrictive. "Perhaps the Drunken Huntsman? It's dead this time of night. I have to finish my set, of course, but if you head there now, I'll meet you there."

From the bar, Akasha watched the theater with mounting fascination. One could smell the fear rolling off the hapless Nord.

[Matea Antriius]

Akasha was certainly correct in that, you could smell the fear coming off of Mikhael, assuming you had the senses for it. Matea could almost feel her stomach swim in reaction to the scent. Every urge in her body tuning to the instinct, prey - though, she admitted it also put her in a foul mood. Had she really been out of society and strapped into this armor for so long that she couldn't come off as desirable?

It would certainly set her temper on edge for the rest of the night, but there were other opportunities to alleviate such stress after this obnoxious bard was gone, and she was sleeping comfortably. So, a change of plans then, away from flirtatious and into forward and distressing.

"That sounds positively lovely, dear bard, but I don't know if I could stand to part from you, at least while you are enchanting me with your riveting music. I'd much rather stay right here, and wait for you to finish." She smiled coyly behind the helmet, and for not the first time that evening wished that her expression wasn't so completely masked.

[Akasha]

Mikael bolted up from the bench and out of grasping range of Matea's gauntlets. Then he considered the reach of a warhammer and took another two steps back.

"Well, then!" he said brightly, with a smile that could not have appeared more forced if it were cast in an ancient Dwemer steam press, and he snatched his lute with such desperation that he nearly threw it into a table full of Battle-Borns. "Far be it from me to deprive a patron of the arts! I'm sure you'll appreciate this next song. It's a tribute to the Imperial protectors of Skyrim. It's called The Age of Obsession. Er, Aggression!"

He struck a pose that he might have described as heroically poetic, or poetically heroic, or something along those lines, and strummed a minor chord. But when he struck the smallest string of his lute, his thumb stuck there, then strained against it as sweat beaded on his brow. Mikael tugged on the string once, twice, three times, before it finally snapped with a pathetic plink.

"Oh, no!" he cried, holding the injured instrument aloft in dismay. "Why, that string! That string is quite possibly the most important string to the entire song! Alas, fair Matea, without it, I simply can't continue! I'll have to go home and repair it, but that could take all night. Curse my improbable Nordic strength!"

[Matea Antriius]

"Oh dear, what a terrible accident! Yes, of course, I understand! You must repair it at once, it is your livelyhood and your art, afterall. Until we meet again, sweet Mikhael." She waved to him, absolutely smug behind her helmet as she watched the bard all but flee from the building as if skeevers had taken nest in his trousers. She waited until the door slammed shut behind him to release the falsetto chipperness to her voice, and said loud enough for the rest of the patrons to hear, "I feel pity for whatever plant or animal gives its existence to string that vile instrument." She stood and stretched, returning to the bar counter and leaned against it.

"There, you are rid one especially obnoxious bard." She drummed her fingertips against the countertop, "I trust that settles us, as we discussed?"

[Akasha]

Akasha wore a crescent-moon grin as Matea returned to the bar. Hulda was more reserved in her appreciation.

"Aye, that'll do," the Nordic proprietress said as she wiped down another glass. "For your dog, anyway. If you want to stay, that'll be ten septims."

"And the dog will have a haunch of venison," Akasha interrupted. "And this one will have apple and cabbage stew, and a cup of spiced wine. Are you certain you don't want anything, Matea?"

[Matea Antriius]

She wanted to snap at the woman, both figuratively and literally, but it was probably best not to push her luck, or cause a scene. She grumbled, loudly, but fished out 10 septim and lay it on the counter before Akasha began their orders. Her stomach rolled again, still anxious from the earlier encounter with the bard, but shook her head. "I'm afraid I simply can't. Dietary restrictions, as I said before. Though I thank you, once again, for the offer of kindness." She watched the Khajiit with fascination, the oddity of seeing one her kind within city walls absolutely playing tricks with her Imperial mind. Though, to be fair, her kind wasn't one you'd find in city walls either - though that was deception on her part.

"Tell me, Akasha, how you've come to be a member of this community, and a companion, no less. I understand its no small feat to be accepted in such a fashion."

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears slipped back, abashed, despite what Matea had said earlier about feeling no shame for falling ill. Her arrival into Writerun had hardly been the stuff of legends - more like the sort of cautionary tale her mother used to tell about the dangers of not saying your prayers or respecting your elders.

"This one told you she caught Sanguinare Vampiris on her way to Whiterun," she said. "But she did not know what it was at the time. This one met two other travelers on the road, one who wanted to join the Companions, and one who was already a shield-brother. But this one did not know that at the time, either."

Hulda returned with a flagon of spiced wine and a pewter cup, which she filled, and then disappeared into the kitchen. Akasha took the cup in her paws and made to throw it back in one pull, then thought better of it with a vampire hunter around. She sipped her wine carefully and laid it back on the counter.

"We meant to make the Temple of Kynareth by nightfall so this one could be cured. But on the way we were met by members of the Silver Hand hunting for werewolves. They were friendly enough until they realized this one was infected. Then they tried to kill her."

[Matea Antriius]

"I'm not surprised that your condition went un-noticed at first, its a tricky little illness." She visibly winced at mention of the Silver Hand, though her helmet covered it from being noticed, and twisted her head one way, then the other cracking her neck loudly in nervous habit. She'd met a recruit at the Dawnguard who had previously belonged to their order. Excessively violent, and unreasoning in her brief experience with them. That one had been especially foul, taking every opportunity to make himself a nuisance to her. She assumed he had feelings for her, though most likely they were the sort that only went as far as the man's britches.

"I wish I could say the Silver Hand's reaction shocked me." She admitted, letting out a sigh that she didn't need to make, but seemed appropriate to the situation. "They're a rather aggressive lot, even by the standards of my order - thankfully you were not killed. Your condition won you passage into the city for remedy, then? You must have been under the right divine's favor, Akasha."

The thought of personal fortunes and luck left an uncomfortable chill in her spine and she drew silent, watching the patrons as Tiberius kept turning his head at every sound from the kitchen, sniffing madly at the air at the scent of cooking food. It made her own stomach rumble a bit, as the spices did indeed smell delicious. She'd need to excuse herself before the end of the night to attend to her own needs. She was almost out of her rations, and it was fortunate that she had made it into town to find a general store before she had.

[Akasha]

"This one was very fortunate," Akasha agreed in a quiet voice. "If not for her friends... this one does not know what would have become of her."

The Khajiit had a fertile imagination, and several equally unappealing options occurred to her. Slaughtered like a rabid beast by a band of roving hunters. Captured and enthralled by more powerful vampires, and made to guard a crypt with other foul creatures. She didn't even know if she would keep her own mind and be overwhelmed by bloodlust, or if her mind would be replaced by something else entirely. Surely any vampire, given its faculties, would welcome the release that thugs like the Silver Hand might provide.

Akasha tossed her head as if to shake away those dark thoughts. "But after this one was cured, she went with her friends to Jorrvaskr hall and was tested by the inner Circle of the Companions. Happily the Companions do not care about fur or scales or shade of skin. Merely about one's heart and hand. This one was born to be a warrior. And perhaps the Divines agree."

She tipped back her wine again and wiped her whiskers with the back of her other paw. "And you, Matea? Were you born to hunt vampires?"

[Matea Antriius]

The question caught her off guard more than she would have expected, and she considered how much she should be willing to share with Akasha. Lying had become her trade, or at least half-truths, and as friendly as this Khajiit had been with her, she almost felt bad for lying. Almost.

"No, I am actually from Solitude originally. I'll spare you the boring, and rather gruesome details of how I came to wear this armor and helmet, and just let you know that I have not had... quite the same level of fortune you have, and found myself rescued by the Dawnguard after said misfortunes had taken everything from me. Honestly joining their order felt like my only escape. They did promise me friendship, family - of a sorts, and adventure..."

And how had all of that turned out? Other than a mangy mutt, who was more interested in the cooking meat being prepared to sate his hunger than anything else occurring around him she had no one. No friends, no alliances. The whole situation just further depressed her. "My story isn't a happy one, lets leave it at that." She all but snapped to end the line of conversation that was weighing her down. Though, hadn't she promised the Khajiit a story earlier? She bristled a bit beneath her armor and turned.

"Let me tell you, instead, about the time me and the mutt came face to face with a burning cave troll..."

[Akasha]

Akasha sat enraptured as Matea wove her tale of a desperate and hungry Nord orphan, a column of imperial legionnaires, and, tying everything together like the main course of a choice banquet, an angry, incendiary frost troll that came stumbling into their midst in a flurry of singed fur, swiping paws, and smoke. Now, this was a story - perhaps not the sort that was sung in ancient halls in the company of kings, but the kind you shared with a shield-sister over a round of mead and a roaring fire, seasoned with some exaggeration and one-upsmanship, perhaps, though if Matea was embellishing, Akasha couldn't tell. The vampire hunter was a skilled storyteller, certainly far beyond the young Khajiit's own halting efforts. It was just one more talent she meant to perfect on her way to becoming the warrior she dreamed of being.

By the time Matea had finished, Akasha's wine was spent, and there was a warm buzz singing in her ears. She fancied ordering another, but Matea had not yet ordered anything - possibly some ascetic religious vow - and it would be poor hospitality to leave her behind. Besides, Akasha reminded herself, she was supposed to be keeping an eye on Matea. Not that she quite knew why; Matea hadn't done anything remotely suspicious so far. Other than frightening away an obnoxious bard. And refusing food and drink. And wearing an iron mask in doors. Which, come to think of it, really was odd, wasn't it? She would have to probe at this mystery, carefully, so as not to arouse suspicion.

"A fine adventure!" Akasha said, raising her empty flagon in salute. "This one would like to have seen it. This one also would like to know what is the deal with your mask."

She blinked, replayed that last sentence in her head, and blushed violently red across her ears.

"Ah... she means... this one has never seen anything like it. It is very striking. And a little frightening. No, wait, this one did not mean to say that out loud."

[Matea Antriius]

Akasha was... enjoyable company, and that surprised her, was it just that she'd been without another person to really talk and share with for so long, or was there some sort of budding friendship here? It wouldn't matter in the long run, she supposed, she'd have to leave as soon as she was able to anyway. At the mention of her helmet she felt a lump jump into her throat, she was aware that it was... intimidating, that fact had worked wonders on getting rid of the annoying bard earlier.

Everyone else would come to a place like this, relax with friends, kick off their helmets and shake off the road for a while. And here she sat, face masked by a helmet and looking as out of place as one could possibly look. She was certain at least one more set of eyes was on her now as well, drawn by the Khajiit's question. She forced a small sigh to escape her lips, and slumped forward, the weight of her existence seeming like an almost unfathomable burden on her in that moment.

"It was a gift, when I completed my training with the Dawnguard." This was true, though the armor was given to all who had been through their preparations to fight back Oblivion in their name. "I'm certain you've also noticed I'm very hesitant to remove it." She'd rather alleviate the threat she seemed to cast by being masked inside the way she was. "Vampire's a vicious creatures, Akasha, brutal and wicked. My encounters with them have not left me the same - and I bear an appearance I would rather not share with everyone else from those experiences." All true, though half-truths at best. Quarter truths, maybe.

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears splayed back in sympathy. Though she was too young to remember the war in Hammerfell, she had seen the marks it had left on its victims - missing limbs, missing eyes, faces torn and twisted and mutilated beyond recognition. Even Uncle S'thay had his scars, some of which he bore with pride, others with regret, and there was the old wound in his back that would, without warning, transform him from a hale and hearty warrior to a gasping, limping elder who needed his nieces' help to cross a room.

There was nothing in Matea's voice or her bearing that suggested any such infirmity. But Akasha was used to the wounds caused by swords and axes and arrows, and occasionally by harrowing blasts of magicka. Who knew what a vampire could do to a body?

"Apologies," she said quietly. "This one did not mean any disrespect. The scars of battle are an honor. But they may be a difficult honor to bear."

Akasha stirred the last of her apple and cabbage stew as she tried to collect her wine-addled thoughts into something more productive. "Are you staying long in Whiterun?"

[Matea Antriius]

"No offense taken, my friend." Matea offered in kindness to the Khajiit, certain now that she had taken a shine to her new comrade. She let her eyes linger over the fire, positively itching to be free of this armor for the evening, despite knowing that even in sleep it was unlikely she would be safe to remove it. When this was all over, she'd have to find a secluded stream or underground river to clean herself in and let these concerns wash away with the tide of.

"Hmmm?" She quizzed, lost in her own thought and nearly missing the next question, but pieced it together a moment later, shaking her head. "A night or two, most likely. I need to resupply myself, and be certain there is no lingering danger, and then I will continue on my travels. You understand, of course, what the adventuring life is like. Not much time to settle down, as it is."

[Akasha]

"This one is beginning to understand," Akasha replied, taking care now that her tongue did not run off without her again. "Her uncle led a life of adventure. He spoke often of the danger, and the glory. But not often of the loneliness."

Akasha looked at the winecup in her paw, twice empty now. Sangiin's bile! When had she become depressing drunk? This wouldn't do, no, this wouldn't do at all!

The Khajiit's eyes flickered back to the Dawnguard's impassive mask with a manic glint. "But glory is best when if is shared with friends, yes? This is why this one has joined the Companions. Maybe you should join, too! Your scars would hardly be noticed in Jorrvaskr."

She tipped back the last dregs of her wine and added, "Or perhaps this one could join you! Perhaps give vampires a taste of her steel instead of her blood!"

[Matea Antriius]

Oh by the Divines, she was an anxious one, wasn't she? So quick to try and recruit Matea to the companions, or tag-along on an adventure. Matea hardly sought adventure, she just rather stumbled into it. She let a light chuckle escape her lips, friendly and warm and was about to admonish her that there simply would not be time, nor need when one of the locals, spurred on by what must have been Oblivion itself tore into the hall, panting and wide, scared eyes searching.

"Vampires!" He exlaimed loudly, with little concern for the terror that the word could incite. Instantly Matea's attention had snapped to him, and she almost hissed in defiance as if he accused her directly of being such a thing. Instead, after a moment's heartbeat and hesitation with all eyes upon him, he found composure. "Vampires." he repeated, catching his wind and doubling over slightly, "In Broken Fang Cave. I'm sure of it, strange movements in the previous nights, I... I heard there was a vampire hunter in town, came to tell them."

Oh. OH. Broken Fang. She'd made camp there no more than 2 or 3 days prior. Always at night, always quietly without alerting anyone of her presence and. Ah. Of course, he had seen her movements and mistaken them for something else. That was all. She considered for a moment, remembering the Khajiit's interest in an adventure and saw a wonderful compromise begin to form. "Well, then as a sworn protector of the Dawnguard it is my task to see to this claim of vampiric infestation, is it not? I graciously accept this task on behalf of the good people of Whiterun."

Perhaps she could shore up some goodwill, or better prices by acting the part of the hero for a while. This seemed to steady the nerves of not only the man who had made the proclamation, but the growing murmurs of the crowd. She turned back to Akasha and leaned in. "Still up for an adventure then, friend?"