Wanted: A Skilled Cook

Azi'khatar was nervous. She might even have gone so far as to say she was terrified, if her pride wasn't a factor. In the alley created by two buildings she paced back and forth, her tail brushing the wall as she turned and turned, while her breath came in short snorts. The cacophony in the street nearby was muffled by the stone on either side of her, but the stench of elf and horse and creature was inescapable. Slumped against the wall lay a brown leather backpack, well worn with age and use. As her boots thumped past it her eyes bore into the leather. She knew exactly what was inside. And it terrified her.

Azi is crazy. This idea is not good. Azi will regret this.

She snorted loudly and kept walking past the backpack, walk and turn, walk and turn, trying vainly to burn off the ball of fear that roiled around her gut. Almost her entire stock of moon sugar, painstakingly bought, fought for, and stolen, all turned into vials upon vials of skooma. Five crates, hidden away. Her backpack lovingly cradled four vials, hopefully enough to whet Ri'sari's appetite and ensure her a place as new cook within Blue Skooma. Definitely enough to have her arrested and forfeit her freedom.

As a cart rolled past, the wood cracked loudly and caused her to jump out of her fur. The alley fell silent as her boots halted their relentless pace. This was necessary, this was the next step. Her experimentation was hitting a wall that she could not climb over. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Azi bent and scooped up the bag, swinging it over her shoulder where it settled with a heavy thud. As she stepped out of the shadow of the buildings, the sun fell bright upon her face. For a moment she closed her eyes, felt warm sand beneath her feet and warm air across her muzzle. The clamor of Vulkhel Guard rushed back to her ears, and she strode purposefully across the courtyard to the pub across the way, dodging dogs and horses like a dancer dodges the notes of the song. She breathed deep and pushed her shoulder against the heavy wood door.

It was dark inside, a stark contrast to the bright day outdoors, and as such the establishment was nearly empty. Blinking to clear her vision, she spotted the barmaid, a put-upon looking orc collapsed across the bar in a puddle of what looked like drool, and two elves deep into a game of dice. Only the barmaid looked up at the light briefly flooding inside. Holding up one furred finger, she nodded and slid around the tables to settle in a far corner. It was cool and quiet in here, and as her breathing sped up in anticipation she forced herself to consciously relax. One boot pushed her backpack further under the table beneath her as an ale glided down in front of her. Azi slid two gold coins across the table, darkened by many coats of beer and other substances, and settled back to wait.

All she needed was for Asks-for-Seconds to not show up with a meat cleaver, and all would be well.

(( Note: This is happening following Asks-For-Seconds "A Wrath of Sithis", and during his murderous killing spree ))

Excellent read. Your writing had me visualize what was happening all the way through! Really looking forward to our RP and more stories. :D

The hard leather cup slammed with gusto upon the ale-stained table near the center of the bar, at least, as much gusto as altmer sensibilities would allow. "I've seen her silken dance, and the maiden bears three cups, and her staff is charged to make them count five in all." the playful tone hid the great measure of years in her voice well.

Across from her, another altmer gave a shrug, elbows in hand, as he watched her elaborate display, a twist of a grin in his mouth, though his eyes clearly shone that the game was something beneath him. "I would think you had five cups yourself, but to call you maiden would suggest I have had the same."

Inianil's eyes widened, but she couldn't help a small, crisp smirk. She always loved the way Eandril could make his words so biting. She had no doubts to make her think he had forgotten the reason of her hair being let down as it was in this tavern, and she was not about to give him the satisfaction of breaking the mask she wore. "So? Which is it? Does the lady keep her reign conservative then? Or is she a thirsty, thirsty girl?"

Eandril raised a brow, taking a hand to the cheap flute that had been brought to him. A quick look of disdain at it's craftsmanship was the herald of his next breath. "I say she drank less, but at the biased folly of my own hoping she does, for her reign of course..." He watched Inianil shuffle her shoulders a bit in excitement before lifting the cup, revealing a pair of simple dice. One displayed two marks on opposite ends, with a finely etched pair of lines connected the marks, forming "the staff". The second had five marks that formed a "V" with the iconic Aldmeri Eagle etched around them in upwright wingspan along the marks. "Auri-el preserve, did the lady instead use her staff to make the whole of the dominion as drunk as she..." He half-hearted mused the traditional lingo that was supposed to serve a poetic element to the otherwise painfully simple dice game.

Inianil smiled and shook her head, but whatever words were to come from her had vanished as her attention turned to another's entry to the establishment. As quick as the distraction came, however, it had left, with her plopping the dice back into the leather cup, one at a time. "If I didn't know better, my dear, I would say you enjoy this game less than you did when we were children."

A haughty burst of mirthful breath puffed out of Eandril's pompous smirk. "An astute observation, would you like to assess my possible attitudes I might have towards other behaviors you've subjected me to over sixty years ago? You might be surprised on how I feel about being chased into grottoes with you swinging a wooden sword like a sidhe." He took a reluctant sip from his flute.

"Oh come now, you know why we're here." She said, hiding her embarrassment with a steel wall of resolve that one day turned that 'sidhe' to grow up to be a Justicar one day.

"Indeed I do, I only hope I am not alone in it. Sometimes I wonder if you take a little more enjoyment than is necessary for this sort of work. Is your office really that small, for you to have to throw your wings out so unashamedly once you've found reason to be free of your gilded cage?"

Inianil pursed her lips, and for a moment glared at how dangerously close Eandril came to being too open about their true intentions of playing this seemingly innocent game of dice. Her words soft and low, she looked with her golden eyes to her right. "Of course not... see that Khajiit girl who came in a moment ago?"

"Better than I can see your children's dice anyway."

"I've never seen a Khajiit look so nervous, at least, not while out of my uniform..."

"Then I suppose I shall be alone after all, but for better reasons."

"As it is... Oh, and you owe me three amethysts, by the way."

"Surely you're joking." It was not the amount he owed for losing the rounds of dice Eandril referenced, but that she would call in to collect from a gamble at all. In any case, he had unceremoniously removed himself from the table, and left the tavern.


It was just after the bartender had provided Azi'khatar her drink, did Inianil saunter over with decades of thalmor grace and presence to the Khajiit's table. She was not in her uniform, in fact she was dressed quite plainly, in altmer respects though, and yet there was no hiding the air of charisma that saturated her office in the northern reaches of the island. She sat herself down across from Azi'khatar without for even a hint of invitation, and set her flute down delicately, a bright smile that could only convey the warmth of a frost atronach lost in High Hrothgar, but the attempt was made nontheless. "Now I've seen many Khajiit come and go from the ports this last season, but I think I would remember seeing you if I have ever... Mind if I join you?" She reached out a gentle hand. "Inianil, Inianil Aedire. And you are...?"