Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-67.86.204.15-20140624222418/@comment-29458028-20140704143323

Sorin Steelfang noticed his fellow Breton leave. He finished his 5th bottle of mead and slid more septims over the counter, satisfied that his mouth tasted normal again. Of course, he would have liked to find out more about his assignment besides "Kill any fellow Breton that has a reachman sounding name", but that would have to do. He continued sitting at the stool, ogling a wench in tavern clothes, listening as the bard belted another bland tune. Really, the city seemed quiet, besides how the town crier talked about the Fosworn, maybe he would use his vampire's seduction on the girl today. Talking to Thonar Silver Blood, who was the one who wrote the letter to him could wait, the Fosworn issue could wait.

Sorin Steelfang, however, felt unease, no matter how he tried to rationalize the matter. Maybe the quiet was the lull before the storm. After all, the one who turned him into a vampire looked like a decent, friendly girl, until he drew his sword and attacked her, knowing her true identity. Deciding it would be better to focus on the task at hand, he would get sleep. He handed over ten septims to the innkeeper, saying "Get me a room, it does not have to be the best. Oh, by the way, who's that lass in those clothes?"