WhoGuru

We like trouble. Trouble is fun.

And we're on the road. Short, but got us moving again. With plenty of possibilities for trouble along the way or new faces to join in.

Red ducked her head and tugged her hood down further against the steady drizzle of rain. She felt P’urza give herself a shake behind her and chuckled as water droplets went flying. “You’re going to be a puff ball by the time we reach Balmora if you keep doing that. I offered you a cloak.” P’urza growled and shifted her grip around Red’s waist, careful to keep her claws in with Savior's swaying gait. “This one does not mind the rain, only that it is so wet.” Fin chuckled at P’urza’s observation from where he rode alongside them. “How long will it take us to reach Balmora?” “A half-day’s ride.” Red nudged her hood back and looked over to the wood elf. “Unless we cut through the Foyada Mamaea. We could be there in three, perhaps four hours.” She looked up as the drizzle became a true rainfall and sighed. “We’ll pass Pelagiad on the way. We could stay the night if this gets worse.” Fin quirked a brow at her. “You want to cut across a lava river?” Red laughed, letting her hood slip back on her head. “It’s long hardened.” She shrugged. “It does stay uncomfortably warm in the foyadas though.” “And?” Fin asked, catching the expression that flitted across her face before she could hide it. “And there’s a daedric ruin not far off from where this trail intersects with it.” Red smiled. “It’s probably empty.” P’urza caught the top of Red’s hood in her claws and slipped it back over the thief’s head and into her face. “P’urza thinks you are hoping the ruin is not so empty.” Red snorted a laugh and pushed the khajiit’s hand from her head. “Knock it off. I don’t think…” her voice trailed off as the howling of animals sounded on the air, muffled by the rainfall and the light mist that had sprung up. “Nix hounds,” she said softly. “We’re definitely going through the foyada now. The hounds won’t follow there.” Fin peered through the mist into the heavy growth of the marshlands. “How many?” “They travel in packs.” Red nudged Savior right at a crossroads. “There may only be a few.” “Or thirty.” Fin nodded and followed the painted gelding up a gentle slope. “The foyada it is.”

Absolutely! As long as your own character is there as well, you're more than welcome to write the characters of other players. That's why we put up the character sheets; for the other players who'll be writing our characters. Makes it much easier for everyone!

Nicely done! Ok, not a lot happened in my add but... well there it is. Anyone want to go play tourist in Balmora? Lol

Red stared around her in surprise, her eyes wide, letting her pack fall to the floor with a thump. “But this…” Her voice trailed off when a familiar khajiiti female came down the stairs into the taproom. “P’urza?” P’urza’s muzzle split in a wide grin. She went to the thief and bobbed her head, wrapping her tail around Red’s left wrist in a show of affection. “Thank you for telling P’urza of this place. It is most comfortable.” “But…” Red shook her head. “What is it?” Fin asked and rested a hand on Red’s shoulder as she seemed to sway for a moment. “This is…” Red gently unwrapped P’urza’s tail from her arm and strode across the taproom to another set of doors. She flicked a glance to the orc woman behind the bar and away before she reached the them. “You’re tracking snow over my floors, you know.” Fiska said in a long-suffering tone. Red ignored her for the moment and pulled the doors open. The comforting, damp heat of the Bitter Coast salt marshes met her as she stepped outside and felt her knees threaten to go out from under her. There was the same stable where she had just left her horse, tucked beneath the massive fronds of a great, weeping tree while the deep, bass trumpet of a silt strider carried on the air. She saw the gentle, blue glow of a betty netch bobbing up in the trees beyond the stable, heard the rhythmic huffing of her mate somewhere close by, the lapping of water at the dock she could just spy off to her left, and Savior’s whinny from inside the stable. Red staggered back inside letting the doors fall closed behind her. Fiska chuckled at the expression on the red-headed woman’s face and slid a mug onto the bar, filled with the dark ale she had the sudden knowledge the woman would prefer. “You’ll be wanting rooms then?” Fin was but a few feet behind Red and still staring at the closed doors as if they would somehow explain opening half a world away from where they had come in. “That… was Vvardenfel. Yes?” Red nodded numbly. “Yes.” She went to the bar and picked up the mug Fiska had left her. She took a long drink, set it back down, and began to laugh. “I spent a week on that thrice-blasted supply ship and heaved my guts through that storm, for nothing!” She dropped onto a bar stool and scrubbed a hand over her face. “And all I had to do was cross the damn bar two weeks ago and open the door to get to Solstheim. By the gods…” Fin took the stool beside hers while his mind reeled with the impossibility. “I don’t understand.” “Here, Bosmer.” Fiska slid a mug of warm, honeyed meade to him. “Drink before you fall off your stool.” “Does it go other places?” Fin asked abruptly though his hands curled around the mug, warmth seeping into his fingers from it. Fiska gave a growling chuckle and shook her head. “Not at the moment.” She gestured vaguely toward the back of the tavern. “There’s other doors back there but they don’t work. I don’t think they’re safe right now.” She shrugged. “Don’t ask me how I know.” P’urza’s tail curled up so she could catch the tip in her hand. She fluffed it with her claws while she looked at Red. “This one does not understand. You told P’urza to seek this place. Why is Red surprised at it?” Red chuckled. She took her mug and swallowed the rest of the ale in a rush, letting it warm its way down her throat before she thumped it back onto the bar. “I suppose I shouldn’t be.” She pushed her bright hair out of her face with another laugh and pushed her mug toward Fiska for a refill. “She’s never been exactly normal, this tavern with no name.” Fin sipped his meade and smiled at the pleasant taste while he took in the warm interior. “This is most interesting.” He took another sip and met Fiska’s steady gaze. “That this place should appear in our moment of need.” “Don’t look at me.” Fiska harrumphed and rolled her eyes while she slid Red a fresh mug. “I’m going to find the cooks. You’ll be wanting food.” She waved a green hand toward the wide stairs to the upper floor. “You can find your own rooms, I’m sure.” Red turned on her stool and leaned back against the bar, sipping her ale. “Getting back to Balmora just got a whole lot easier.” “Your stolen merchandise?” Fin asked and quirked an elegant brow when Red laughed at him. “Borrowed. I’m returning it after all.” Red took another long drink of the ale, savoring the rich flavor. “Just not to the same person I borrowed it from.” Fin let out an amused snort at that and Red smiled. “So, Bosmer ranger who chases thieves but does not bring them in,” she said with a smirk. “Care to visit rebuilt Balmora with me? It’s worth seeing.”

And you thought you wouldn't have to write that bit. MWAHAHAHA

Red leaned forward in her saddle while her shout echoed up the narrow path. Part of her wanted to turn Savior and use the distraction. She could escape cleanly with no one the wiser for where she had gone. Yet, as the icy Solstheim winds bit into her leathers, she knew she wasn't going to leave the ranger to the ice troll's mercies. "Sithis take me. I'm a fool." Red kicked her heels into Savior's sides, goading him back up the trail. "Come on, boy." She watched the ranger coming torward her at a full gallop, though his head was angled back to look at the troll even then bearing down on him. The beast was fast. "Faster. Ride faster damn you." she muttered. She turned her head, letting the wind blow her crimson hair from her face and pulled Savior to a dancing stop in the center of the trail. "Keep going!" Red shouted to the ranger as he neared. "Don't stop!" Red drew the Dread Blade from the sheath along her spine. The odd, black metal glinted in the muted daylight as she turned Savior to the side. She pulled her left hand into a loose fist and a flame flickered to life behind her fingers, slowly growing as she concentrated. Ice trolls feared little but fire was always useful; she only hoped she would have enough time to make it strong enough to do any good. Fin and Rabbit drew abreast of the lady thief and he saw flames flickering in her off hand. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Ride!" "We'll never make it!" Red shook her head, focusing on the magic. "Stop talking now." At that moment, the ice troll let out a mighty roar with its prey so close to its claws. The sound echoed, building in volume in the narrow pass and was soon joined by a rumble that quickly grew to a roar. Red extended her left hand toward the troll as it drew closer, ready to release the magic into its chest. Savior suddenly danced sideways beneath her and nearly unseated her. "Hey!" She looked down at him and then jerked her head up, hearing the new sound, and saw a wall of white coming down from the hill above them. "Avalanche!" She flung her left hand out toward the troll and let the magic go. Flames roared out in a ball the size of her head. It flew the few, short feet to the beast before hitting its body and spreading along its fur in a rush, making the beast scream. She pulled Savior around, heading after the ranger but they had run out of time. Fin's eyes widened as he saw the mountain of snow coming for them. He swallowed his panic and drew hard on Rabbit's reins; drawing her toward the side of the pass and the only cover there was. "Thief! Here!" He shouted. He looked and saw the bright flash of the woman's hair atop her dappled horse as they followed. The sound became deafening as he forced Rabbit in against the rocky wall and slid from her back. The thief was there a moment later and Fin frowned as she all but fell from her saddle to crumple into the snow. Red panted, trying to catch her breath. She had felt her strength leave her along with the magic and while she had expected it, she had hoped to be racing to safety on Savior's back afterward. "Not good," she gasped. Fin grabbed hold of the thief's shoulders and dragged her into the lee of the wall and hunched above her as the snow slammed into the trail. "Stay down!" He yelled but he couldn't hear his voice over the roaring of the snow. He risked a glance up and saw the thief's horse drop to his knees and lean into the wall with his muzzle resting against her bowed head. He ducked back down, feeling something hard glance off his temple and threw an arm up to protect himself. The sound seemed to go on forever but finally it dwindled into uneasy silence. Red coughed and raised her head cautiously, bumping it against the chest of her ranger pursuer. "We lived?" Fin let out a raspy laugh and settled back on his knees to take stock. "So it seems. Rabbit?" He smiled, finding his horse trembling against the wall of the trail but whole. "Where's our troll?" Red straightened with effort, resting a hand on Savior's head when he huffed at her. "Hopefully, burned and buried." She ran a hand through her hair, dislodging snow as she tried to stand and her legs wobbled. "Here." Fin caught her arm and braced her against the wall. "Are you well?" "That spell takes a toll." Red gave him a crooked grin and brushed more snow from Savior's hide when he scrambled back to stand beside her. He blew out a heavy breath into her face before butting her in the chest hard enough to knock her back a step. "Well it was hardly my fault! Talk to the troll!" Fin let out a soft laugh, in spite of the situation, and stepped away from her. The trail had been blocked on either side of them. The snow piled across the gulley twenty feet deep and he knew he would have to find another way back to the legion, assuming they could manage to dig themselves out. He debated whether he could subdue the thief right then and recover the stolen merchandise when a large hump of snow at the base of the near end of the avalanche moved. "Oh, no. Thief?" "Red," she said and rescued her long knife from the snow. Red gave it a swing to clear the blade and moved up beside him. "Call me Red. That's Savior," she said, nodding to her horse. "I truly hoped we could get away without a fight." Fin nodded. He pulled his bow off his shoulder and knocked an arrow quickly while the troll emerged from the snow with another roar. The hair on the front of its body had been singed clean off in a long, black swath and the wind carried the smell of burning flesh to them. "I'll try to hobble him from back here." "Try not to hit me." Red sighed, moving closer to the beast before it could get its bearings. "Bloody snow put my flames out before they could do any real damage." She looked over her shoulder to Savior and flicked her fingers at him. "Get the mare and stay back, boy." Fin's eyes widened in surprise when the gelding obediently caught Rabbit's reins in his teeth and pulled her with him as far away as the avalanche would allow. He turned back, sighting his arrow at the troll and felt a smile crease his face. "Danger makes strange bed-fellows, thief." Red laughed as the troll lumbered toward her with blood in its eyes.

I have a couple videos bookmarked of ambient sounds from Morrowind. Yes, I'm that nerd. I like to listen to them depending on what I'm trying to write. This one is a thunderstorm with the in-game ambient music playing periodically in the background: Grazelands Thunderstorm and Music And this one is the ambient sounds of Seyda Neen. No music. I can sleep to this one. Rainy Day in Seyda Neen

Can't wait to write with you! You'll pick it up fast, I'm sure. This sort of round-robin writing is a great mental exercise.

I'd totally expect to find the odd dragon vacationing on the island; nice volcano to sauna in and all.

Red Type: Secondary Player Character -- Name: Unknown -- Age: Appears to be in her late twenties to early thirties. -- Race: Imperial -- Sign: The Shadow -- Alias: Red -- Profession: Unaligned Assassin/Master Thief -- Mount: Savior, a gelded Appaloosa warhorse with impeccable direction and camp finding skills, attitude, and a sugar cube fetish. -- Weapons: An ancient Welkynd Bow, several throwing knives hidden in her clothes, a special spring-loaded dagger of Dwemer make in her left bracer, and a long-knife that rides in a sheathe down her spine. The knife is made of a blackened steel with unknown runes inscribed on its blade; it never dulls and those who touch the hilt sometimes hear a voice whisper to them as though from a distance. -- Equipment: She wears dark brown leather pants, sturdy boots, a comfortable shirt, bracers, and a leather jerkin spelled to repel small amounts of damage from normal weapons. Her Thief's tool belt is equipped with a length of rope, picks and probes, and various small pouches with other usefuls in them, and a pair of Dwemer Goggles around her neck enchanted with a limited form of Detect Life and Night Eye for dungeon diving. -- Appearance: Red is slight of build, though tall. Her burgundy-red hair is wild and often tied back to keep it out of her eyes, an odd shade of green like forest moss in a fog. Her most unique feature is her crooked chin. It tilts just slightly up to the left, giving her an ever-present smirk that has flustered many trying to discern her thoughts. She carries several knives stashed around her person but her prize possession, the Dread Blade, who's blade never dulls and that she can sometimes be heard whispering to, rides in the sheathe along her spine. -- Background: Red has little to say about her past. When well plied with mead, she will sometimes make reference to an orphanage in Black Marsh and once, in an unusually giving mood, mentioned being given to the Dark Brotherhood as a child; A common practice among those born to the Shadow in the Black Marsh, as she was. There are many stories of how she left the brotherhood, and some stories that say she never has. -- Personality: She's smart, with a sassy mouth given to facetious comments and bad puns. She has a mercurial temper that can turn on a dime. One moment the slight, pretty thief and the next, someone you would wonder about turning your back on. Red is steadfast in her loyalties. Once a friend, she will gladly risk death for you and likewise seek yours should you betray her or hers. Those that are her friends are not to be meddled with. She is strong of will and can endure a great deal where others would surely give up. If she has one fault, it is an irrational and crippling fear of spiders. She once hinted it had something to do with an event in her childhood but when pressed, drew a dagger and left the room. She has been a thief all her life, so she says. She can't pass up a bit of shine and being told something is impossible is like dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. -- Hobbies & Habits: Red can often be found in an out of the way little tavern singing songs and poems of her own design. She says the gift of song is a thief's best friend for it teaches patience, timing, and creativity. -- Special Powers/Weaknesses: -A weak healing spell for herself or others. -Limited Invisibility once per day. Lasts for just under two minutes. -A fire spell that gains strength the longer she has to concentrate before releasing it. It can go from starting a campfire to turning a forest glade into glass if you leave her be long enough. However, the stronger she makes the spell, the more it will drain her until it leaves her unconscious and helpless. She avoids its use as a weapon wherever possible. Additional Images:

The tavern door banged open in a wash of wind and rain. Fiska leaned on the polished wood of the bar for a better look as a dark figure staggered quickly inside and threw the door closed again. The newcomer was a lithe khajiit female dressed in leathers and some sort of fur at her shoulders, a bow slung across the quiver on her back, and a heavy pack she thumped to the floor by the door and left. Fiska scowled at the sopping footprints the khajiit woman trailed across her clean floor and she raised a hand. “No. No. Dry off by the door first or I’ll be mopping up after you for a week!” She stared down the khajiit female’s cool, blue eyes, noting the wide scar across her nose, and leaned back when one feline brow clearly quirked up at her. “Khajiit is wet and annoyed and must be dry.” Fiska’s own brows rose. “I’m Fiska and this is my tavern. Do you have a name, cat?” “This one is P’urza.” P’urza gave the orc a toothy smile. She set her bow and quiver on the bar and crouched. “No. Oh, no.” Fiska waved her hands. “Don’t you da…” Fiska’s voice trailed off as P’urza vigorously shook her entire body. Water droplets flew in a rain around her. When she finally stopped, the Khajiit’s fur stood up all over her body as though she had been struck by lightning. Fiska wiped her hands over her face, taking the water with them, and smoothed them back through her dark hair while she took a deep breath, calming herself. “Was that necessary?” P’urza let out a rolling chuckle and began smoothing her fur back down fastidiously. “If you have mop, P’urza will gladly clean for you.” She looked carefully around the taproom, taking in the spacious area, the dark wood, worn tables, and homey fire in the hearth. She stared a moment at the rather large Nord and his sparkling eyes before he looked away with a smile. P’urza ran her claws deftly up her ears, flicking the white tufts at their tips into place, and sat gracefully on one of the tall stools. “The red one told P’urza of this place. She said it is good place of hiding for those who do not want to be found.” “The red one?” Fiska asked. She went to the back of the bar and pulled out a mop, stalking around to the front and the khajiit. “What’s a red one?” “Red is her hair.” P’urza frowned. “Or maybe her skin. Bah. You shaveskins all seem the same to Khajiit.” P’urza shrugged. “Could have been her name. P’urza needs place to not be seen; red one says this is place of not-seeing so P’urza comes.” She stood back up and plucked the mop from Fiska’s hands with another smile. “Do you have… something sweet to drink? Sugary perhaps?” Fiska shook her head distastefully, knowing the khajiit meant moonsugar. “I’ll have none of that in this tavern.” She left P’urza to clean up her own mess and went back behind the bar. “I have a sweet, mulled cider.” She poured a mug from the cask and set it on the bar in front of her. “It’s alcoholic but should be sugary enough for you.” P’urza finished mopping the water from the floor, set the mop aside, and took her seat again. She picked up the mug with a nod of thanks and took a long drink. She closed her eyes and savored the sweet flavor on her tongue before the bite of the alcohol warmed her throat. She opened her eyes and flicked her claws at Fiska with a smile. “Blessings of the moons upon you for this! It is perfect. Thank you, short tail.” “Fiska.” Fiska sniffed, though she appreciated the khajiit’s pleasure in the cider. “Not ‘short tail’.” “This one meant no offense.” P’urza smiled and sipped her cider, looking around the tavern again. “P’urza has been this way through the Bitter Coast but never does she recall this place. How is it Khajiit is not seeing this tavern before?” Fiska gave a shrug of her own and a smile. “Only just found it myself.” She wiped the last few droplets of water from the bar. “It just sort of appeared here.” She gave a wondering shake of her head. “And it seems to like me.” “Hmm.” P’urza turned on her stool to look more closely at the interior. “Curious.” She lifted her nose, sniffing the air and tasted many scents; dog and nord, orc, the acrid tang of the murmuring fire, and another, crisper scent underneath it all that both gave her pause and made her feel safe. “Powerful magicks in this place, P’urza thinks.” She turned back to Fiska, ignoring the huffed laugh she heard from the Nord man behind her. “This one would like a room, please.”