Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20140925102931/@comment-24696651-20141006213208

(bye)

"Oh," Ynsgar called out, "before you bathe, you might want to take a potion and mix it with the bathwater, to help heal your wounds." _______________________________________________________________________________________ Dande reckoned it had been an hour, maybe an hour and a half, since he "passed out". Nadira, the Breton girl, had gone to sleep, and Sebastian was standing there, looking and listening for signs of danger, occasionally glancing down at Dande to check his condition. The effects of the flower had completely worn off, it seemed, as his mind, though distracted by the savage wound in his leg, was as sharp as it had been for the last several hours. The question he asked himself, mulling over in his head again and again, was how would he explain his situation to the Bretons?

They had noticed his armour, and his weapons. The bow could pass as a high quality hunting bow, but no wandering merchant had an ebony sword and elven armour, and even if they did, they would sell it as quickly as they could. Similarly, although it might be expected a merchant had learned to defend himself, they would not be as skilled as Dande. Maybe a soldier? No, no ordinary soldier was taught how to fight individualy as Dande had - they were taught rank and file fighting. Penitus Oculatus? No, if he was Penitus Oculatus, he wouldn't be wandering around here, and he'd have Penitus Oculatus armour and weapons. His armour, though not exclusive to the Thalmor, was elven, and elven was standard issue for the Thalmor. Being a Thalmor was probably the most credible explanation for his fighting skill and equipment, as it was true, but how did he go from Thalmor to this?

Actually, come to think of it, how did he go from Thalmor to this? A few days ago, he was in the service of one of the most powerful families in Summerset, Tamriel, even, and here he was, brutally wounded on a job for the Fighters' Guild. Nevermind. That was irrelevant. He already had a smidgeon of truth in his lie to make it more palatable. He supposed that the best way to ameliorate the suspicions the Bretons was to say he'd objected, but why? Dande had been a significant force in the War, being the 1st Commander of the Firsthold Battlemages, but he sincerely doubted he was important enough to be mentioned in the history books. That was good. They wouldn't know that Dande hadn't objected to the Thalmor's brutal methods. Perhaps Dande could have been a Justiciar, but then left the Thalmor when he was ordered to kill the Blades, objecting to the brutal torture he had been ordered to commit to extract information (and Dande had done his fair share of torturing). Then, he could have joined the Imperial cause, determined to stop this evil. ''Yes. ''He didn't show it, but inside he was smiling. His mind still worked.

But by the Gods, the pain was awful. Dande wasn't sure how much longer he could bear it, how much longer his mind could cope. He'd just have to press on with this story. Where was he? Oh yes, defecting from the Thalmor. He could have kept the equipment due to it's quality. Then, realising the suffering war caused, he could have become a travelling merchant, occasionally doing odd jobs for the Fighters' Guild to round off his living. He could have come from Cyrodiil due to the stiltering economy (and Cyrodiil's economy was stiltering), on a job for the Guild. Dande relaxed his mind, letting himself sleep for the first time in what seemed like an age, waiting for when he could get out of this hellhole.