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Post by Niitari on Jan 4, 2015 21:31:52 GMT -6
Serving as Whiterun's most popular gathering place, The Bannered Mare functions as a tavern and inn that offers mead, food and a warm, welcoming fire. Almost anyone can be found in the tavern after the shops and stalls close. Its sign is that of a horse carrying a banner. OWNER: Iirefire
STEWARD: Evelona - Female - Bosmer |
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Post by Psycho on Jan 4, 2015 21:39:20 GMT -6
Mitva sniffed at the air. A sweet tang hit the nostrils of the woman, and she followed it, shoving some folk aside who were too slow. Heaving open the door, and kicking back by the fire, sliding her axe free from her hand where the loop was around her wrist. Glancing over, "Oi, wench." She waved her hand, "Go get somethin' spicy and get the meat cookin." Mitva commented without any particular care if the person was actually listening.
Sitting up, she looked to the bard trying to be affectionate. Unable to hide her laughter behind the neon pink hair, Mitva sat up from her spot on the floor to watch this amusement. Scratching at her face where the long scars ran down above her right eye, digging the long nails in some, Mitva looked around, before content to resting her arms on her knees, hands by the fire.
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Post by Niitari on Jan 4, 2015 22:20:17 GMT -6
Maloch gro-Mozzorach entered the Bannered Mare. He was rather an uncommon sight in Whiterun, but at least in the inn they were used to strangers stopping by in their travels. He was not a typical orc by any stretch. He was lean rather than built, and their was no brutal look in his eyes or snarl in his face. He had no visible tusks or underbite as most seemed to have. He looked sort of elvish, save the green skin and that he was tall. He was dressed in a heavy, black fur cloak made of the furs of cavebears. He regarded the patrons with the barest of glances, then made his way to the bar, brushing past Mitva as he weaved through a small cluster of drunks. He slapped some septims on the counter top. "Got a room?"
"Yup. Ten septims a night. That one." The barkeep pointed at a room off to the side. "It's yours for a day."
Maloch nodded. "And I'll have some meat and drink." He exchanged some more coin, was handed a bottle of Argonian Ale, and he turned in his seat to watch the crowd while he drank.
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Post by Psycho on Jan 4, 2015 22:32:16 GMT -6
Mitva let out a small growl at being bumped into. Sitting up, sneering her filed teeth around. Grabbing her axe while she did, but luckily to Maloch he had already sat down by the time she looked around. Sitting up to keep her eyes around her now, turning the attention to the plate of meat bring brought over, with her bottles of honey mead. Biting the cork out and spitting it into the fire, Mitva dropped the axe beside her, the nails greedily digging off strips. Picking them off while she gulped at the liquids.
Periodically hiccuping on the second bottle, mainly from the rate she was going. Mitva threw what bones she got into the fire, sometimes she just ate them too. Dropping the several sacks of coins beside her, Mitva waved her hand in a 'Shoo' manner, setting the plate between her legs.
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Post by Niitari on Jan 4, 2015 22:37:11 GMT -6
Maloch ate in a more civilized manner than her, but he drank down enough mead for the three of them. Though he could only afford the one pint of the good ale stuff. He slated his thirst on Nord stock after that, taking about six bottles worth. The bartender kept shooting him looks every now and again. When the bartender came over, Maloch waved away a seventh bottle. "Know of any work around here?" he asked.
"You a mercenary?" the bartender asked. Even for an orc, Maloch did not look the type.
"I guess I am," Maloch replied gruffly.
"Well, not that I have heard. But stick around. Maybe someone could use an extra sword arm."
Maloch flashed a slight grin. "Yah, right... sword arm." His smile was cold iron and sarcasm. He stopped after a minute and picked at the remained of horker steak on his plate.
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Post by Psycho on Jan 4, 2015 22:47:12 GMT -6
"Seem a bit soft for a sell sword." Mitva muttered to herself, setting the plate aside. Glancing at the others giving rude glances, she rolled her eyes again. Sitting up, she scratched at her side. Looking to the cloth wrapped around her forearms, Mitva went to work retying down the cloth on the arms.
"Might make two of us though. It's been a while since I got a chance to try and kill somebody," Mitva finally spoke up. The money was nice, but really wasn't her primary concern. It was gettin' a good fight. Turning her attention over again, "Good Gods above, you sure your a man?" Mitva blurted at the Bard, irritated by his, what she deemed to be, annoying voice. "Just strum, kid... Better at that anyways."
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Post by Niitari on Jan 4, 2015 23:09:38 GMT -6
Maloch bit back a laugh at her words. He had to agree, the bard was no singer. Well, maybe he was, but it was too pretty for a proper man's voice. He looked back at the crowd, chewing his horker meat slowly, watching the patrons. But it was really the girl that drew his eye. She was so strange, stranger than him, but still, two oddities in one place. Coincidence or fate or a bit of both, he wondered if there was any significance to it. He was not about to try anything though. Let her be. Something smelled foul about her, though he doubted it had to do with hygiene.
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Post by Psycho on Jan 4, 2015 23:21:43 GMT -6
Mitva took note of the Orc. His stench hit her nostrils the first moment he came in. Looking over, "Let the Greenskin do it," Mitva declared for some amusement, throwing a coin with her thumb at the bard, "Go on. Don't be shy."
Sliding the serrated axe closer to her side to keep it around, Mitva watched the event unravel, whether it'd be worth while. If not? Then at least some arguments would get the blood boiling and laugh at them. Standing up, she stretched out an arm, digging her nails into the lean but bulky arm. Spitting into the fire, she declared silently to herself that she was toasty enough, taking a chair. Pulling her boot off, she scratched her foot briefly before pulling it back on. She'd find the group she caught wind of earlier. She still had a duty to Mehrunes Dagon to kill that group who wronged his shrine after all. She'd deal with them later.
"Speaking of which... I heard rumors of a group who came in with an amulet. Anybody heard that?" She hummed, the bright gold colors fell upon the Greenskin, just because he felt out of place among the Nords around here.
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Post by Niitari on Jan 4, 2015 23:28:52 GMT -6
Maloch caught the coin with perfect accuracy despite having downed seven bottles of alcohol. He flipped the septim between his fingers. "What sort of skills do you believe I could possibly possess?" he asked, a flicker of amusement in his voice. "Orsimer are not known for their pleasurable voices."
His eyes glittered slightly in the reflected firelight within those tawny, dulled depths. But beyond that there was not much life in his face or voice. Just the flickers here and there. He lacked spirit, nevermind song.
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Post by Psycho on Jan 5, 2015 5:11:58 GMT -6
She turned her attention entirely to him at this point, "Your point? It's a little awkward trying to hear a song on battle from... That. It's just weird." She jabbed a nail towards the other one with the Lyre. She scratched at her stomach again, debating whether to order more food or not.
Reaching up, Mitva brushed her bright pink hair aside out of her face, with a slight huff at the tint on her fingers, rubbing it together. It was fairly annoying that the redying would be so soon. Fiddling with her large skull ring on the middle finger of the left hand, Mitva watched the fire now.
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Post by Niitari on Jan 13, 2015 10:23:36 GMT -6
The aforementioned bard had stopped his song, looking quite put out. But he had stopped singing and looked expectantly at Maloch all the same. The woman with the bright hair looked proper set to bite all their heads off if so much as the mood took her fancy, so he was not about to contest that. If Maloch was disturbed by her, he did not look it. He merely played around with the septim for a few seconds, flipping it between his fingers. When the serving girl in the revealing arraignment came to the bar, he dropped it down the front of her bodice and gave her a wink.
Then he turned towards the rather quiet audience, and belted out in a not-so-bad-after-all voice, a very powerful and stirring rendition of one of the ballads of the Battle of Dragon Wall, the great battle between the orcs and the nords in time forgotten. The listeners seemed rather pleased to hear how the Nords won, but Maloch was not finished just yet. He continued the last of the song, singing of how in their defeat, their chief Mauloch, enraged at the carnage wrought and the fates of his men, sundered the very heavens with his rage, and his time was sure to come again when he would rise once more and slaughter all of Skyrim.
So finished, Maloch looked oddly amused, and he sat back in his seat. There was some disgruntled applause, but he hardly cared. He was more interested in the woman's reaction. She had paid him after all.
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Post by Psycho on Jan 13, 2015 13:48:42 GMT -6
Mitva nodded slowly as she listened, "A little racist..." She started, running a thumb across her lip, "But heyyy, not too shabby kid." She sat up some, rubbing the fluids that were on her hands till it fell off in thin strings, leaving a streak of brown in her normally pink hair. "Might have to take you along with me, hear some praises about me n' stuff. Nothing makes Ol' Mitva happier then having an ego." She gave a snaggle toothed grin. Few teeth were crooked, which probably came from being hit in the face many times in the past.
Of course some folks had heard of Mitva, 'The Barbaric', she was called. Not much of a name was made for the woman, but it didn't matter much. Her violence was known more then her name was, as ironic as that can be.
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Post by Niitari on Jan 13, 2015 23:03:53 GMT -6
Maloch raised a single eyebrow. "Racist?" he queried, pondering the lyrics of the song for a moment. "A tad, I suppose. Though it praises the nordic victory, so I could not claim racism on my part. Though, you can agree that there is a difference between racism and pride in one's people, could you not?" He was merely posing the question. Though rather resentful of the Nords from experience, he himself was not a racist, definitely not to the extremes that Nords and Altmer were at. He would not kill blindly over such differences.
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Post by Psycho on Jan 14, 2015 16:59:24 GMT -6
"There's quite the difference. Racism often follows in tail behind blind patriotism." She carried her things over to kick back in the chair next to him, "But politics are such a bore." She rolled her wrist around lazily, "Not like them poncy elves who fancy themselves King Shit of the world. Now there is some blind racism," She waved a finger at him, flailing the nails around.
"But hey, you ain't too bad. Might just take you along with me," Mitva teased in a more serious manner, batting at his arm with her fists light enough to ruffle the fabrics, "I wouldn't mind takin' a poncy young lad along. Keeps the others away," She didn't have to gesture to know who Mitva was referring to, as if it was that hard to notice to begin with.
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Post by Niitari on Jan 31, 2015 11:27:26 GMT -6
Maloch knew well enough about the High Elves and their prejudices. Did not everyone? Damn golden bastards often were the bane of everyone's existence, even their rocky alliance with the Imperials was subjected to strife. It was hard to really say who served whom between those two.
He gave her a wary glance when she spoke of 'taking him along'. A wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "A soft sword arm like me, hmm?" he asked. "Sure you would take such a risk?"
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