knife edge [coyote, nak, open]

[FAOLÁN]

Nature took care of him even more thoroughly and carefully than his jailers had by far. Nigh on nine months had passed since his grand escape and Faolán had settled quite comfortably into his role of wanderer-slash-hunter-slash-pillager. Though the viciously feral cast to his expression hadn't softened any, his health had improved. He was no longer as gaunt as he had been with the circus - he cringed at the word - and his propensity toward hunting had kept him well-fed. In fact, if something hadn't seemed to be pulling his very soul in the direction of his homeland, Markarth.

And yet... It had been years since he'd been there, close to a decade, he was sure, and he was not afraid to admit that he was terrified of what would lie there. The thought of being the last of his kind, as absurd as it sounded, was a heavy burden to carry.

Faolán made a rather lonely shadow on a hillock outside of the small village of Rorikstead, his expression pinched as he pondered whether or not to make his way in. The thought of actually being able to sleep on a cot rather than cold, hard ground was a tempting one, and he'd be well able to afford it. There had been a fair few of bandits who mistakenly considered him easy prey. They'd had heavy purses and Faolán had yet to feel guilty for pillaging their corpses.

Cold wind tugged at the lonely figure's cloak and the Breton gave a mild shiver, stomach rumbling loudly. He clutched at his midsection absentmindedly, still struck with indecision. He wasn't enough of an idiot to believe that he wouldn't be watched all night. His armor wasn't exactly clean, and as much as he'd tried to clear it of the blood that had gathered, the dark spots still remained.

His shoulders slumped as, finally, he made up his mind to at least try to get a warm room, oscillating visions of sitting in a comfortable chair with a nice book spurring him on. The wooden door of the Frostfruit inn creaked loudly and Faolán was almost hesitant in entering the warm building. The Reachman's breath left him a soft sigh, the comfortable interior almost foreign to him. Fifteen septims and a wary nod to the innkeeper later, the Forsworn man was settled rather comfortably on a wooden chair in front of the fire, eyes hooded. In fact, the only thing that was off about the picture was how his eyes jumped suspiciously from one corner of the establishment to the other.

As suspected, the glares from the barkeep set him on edge and Faolán could not fully relax, his expression twisted in a grimace as he leaned further back into the seat. He had never gone through life worry about finding a knife in his back, yet now more than ever, especially after finding himself free, he could not stop. The Breton was sure that guards would find it suspicious that the whole circus had been slaughtered with the exception of one act.

And now with that book on him floating about...

Faolán grumbled cantankerously, his heavy cloak hiding at least half his face as he sank down into it, sipping at the mead.

[VULCAN]

When the frighteningly manly figure of muscle walked into the inn, Vulcan nearly spat the drink out of his mouth all over his trousers - he couldn't be that lucky, could he?

Now, assuming Vulcan's hearing was in check and his eyesight hadn't failed him sometime in the last two minutes, he was pretty damn sure that this bulky fellow with the less-than-friendly looking weaponry on him matched a physical description he heard not too long ago; and in the sentence the description was stated, so were the words "a reward of a highly generous amount of gold". Of course, such a request for a target was not commonly thrown around in any part of Skyrim...but only the corners of which welcomed such tasks. One of those shady corners would be the Dark Brotherhood - a place you would never want to find yourself in unless you had anti-assassin spray! Or unless you were a member, as that works too.

Taking a look at the man for a moment, Vulcan had a sip of his drink then stuffed his other hand into his pocket. Silver hair? Check. Scary weapons? Check. Large tattoo? Check. Muscles? Check. Is it him? I'd hope so, or this could end awkwardly. The Imperial thought to himself, slowly tilting his half-empty cup side to side as plans swirled inside his head, almost as if he was cooking up a scheme of some sort.

Although, even by appearance alone the mage could tell that this would not be an easy target - as a matter of fact, the client made the contract open to all Dark Brotherhood members to fulfill! An open challenge of a sort, or you could even call it a race between the assassins that made up the heartless faction; a race that fate had seemingly placed Vulcan in first position for! Truthfully, at the time Vulcan had little interest and was probably going to pass up the task...though it was not often that a target revealed itself in plain sight, how could he reject such a rare opportunity? Whatever the reasons the client had for wanting this muscular fellow dealt with were irrelevant - the keywords in Vulcan's mind right now were "gold" and "bragging rights".

Vulcan was a confident fellow, believing both in his abilities and his people skills, though he knew that rushing into a fight against a mysterious opponent could prove fatal. He wouldn't know if this Forsworn was a master with those weapons on his side or if his favorite hobby was perfecting the mystical arts - there was also the fact that they were in an inn, which wasn't exactly the best place to settle such business simply because it would attract too much attention to the Dark Brotherhood member, the type of attention that wasn't wanted. For now, the mage would simply observe.

[AMANI]

The bandit groans, his dirty fingers clutching the gaping wound in his hip. The Redguard woman looms over his comrades, unaffected by his moans and wails of pain as he dies. She methodically goes through the dead man's things, slipping fingers into pockets, satchels, belt bags. She pulls out a few pieces of gold and slips them into one of her belt bags along with the lockpicks she had lifted from another bandit. With fire coursing through her veins and smug defiance in her eyes did the Redguard loom over the fallen Nord. "You're giving me a headache." The bandit kindly, through breaths, tells her to fuck off. Amani smirks and almost looks downright sultry as she pulls out her dagger. "To Sovngarde with you then." Her shadow overtakes him.

Amani tosses the bandit's coin purse casually as she strode through the plains. Rorikstead was within her sight, but from what she had heard of the city it wouldn't have a place for her to sell the sapphire she had found on the Nord bandit. Oh well. What she wanted now was a warm bed and a hot meal, nothing more, nothing less. Her loot could wait, for now. Amani slipped the gold into her belt bag and began to fiddle with her dagger's hilt. The Reach was her next destination, though she would have preferred to sidle into Whiterun...there was still some nasty business involving a merchant's Mammoth Tusk that Amani wanted to avoid. Still...how could Amani say no to such a pretty face? The Redguard smiled, contemplating whether or not to make a surprise visit to the woman as a few goats grazed about her.

There were worse inns than Frostfruit, Amani supposed, but regardless she nearly scowled at the sight of it. There weren't many others in the inn, just a few me-oh my. What do we have here? Her eyebrows curve up in surprise, eyes focused on the burly , silver-haired man near the fire. She glanced back to the barkeep, setting her coin purse on the table. "A meal and a room for the night." The barkeep grunted and watched her count out fifteen septims, gesturing to a small room to her right. She nodded and moved back to place herself across the fire from the silver-haired man. Amani looked toward the one other man in the inn. The guards of Whiterun had spoken...highly [in her opinion] of the man before her, calling him a slaughterer and a few other names that Amani did not care enough to remember. What she did remember was how many zeros were in the reward for him.

Her eyes flicker up at the wanted man. If a fight broke out, she really should keep her distance. If she was forced into a one on one fight....he'd break her neck as if it were a twig. If only she made a point of carrying poisons, then there wouldn't be much of a fight. Just a quick paralyzing potion and...Amani let out a mental sigh. Hindsight was not her favorite thing. "You don't look like you are from around here." She stated simply.

[FAOLÁN]

To be dreadfully honest, Faolán hadn't paid any attention to the other inhabitants of the small inn, figuring to himself that because of the village's incredibly small size, there was less of chance that there would be any of the more... shadier characters of Skyrim. While the reachman had the confidence that he would be able to deal with any people of more rotten caliber, he honestly just... Didn't feel like it. All things considered, however, he exactly on the in-abundance spectrum of the luck scale. Naturally, it wasn't long before the fine hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle and though he didn't act upon the unpleasant sensation, the silver-haired man let his eyes slide around to guardedly find out just who was watching him.

His dark eyes glinted as he caught sight of a swarthy figure in the more shadowy side of the building, turning his head fully to blatantly stare at what he thought was the source of his discomfort. There was a peculiar red gleam that put him on edge, and, uncertain as to whether or not the arcane arts were at work, he turned away, keeping a wary watch on the shady presence. Tension in his shoulders made him even more uncomfortable than he had been in the wilderness and, briefly, Faolán pondered just leaving the inn.

But, then again, he would be a coward from running away from the thought of a threat. The man scowled to himself, shadows from the fire beside him making the weary lines on his face stand out. Cloak rustling as he moved, Faolán glanced dispassionately at the door as another customer entered, instinctively assessing the woman before turning to stare quietly at the fire again, beginning to feel the effects of his traveling.

Faolán jerked in surprise as a voice suddenly cut into his drowsy thoughts, blinking at the newcomer in surprise for a moment before his expression quickly sharpened into a glare. He had thought her harmless when she first arrived, but there was something about the dark-skinned lady that set him on edge. The reachman tensed, straightening, considering not giving a response for a moment: but, then again, he didn't like to think of himself as being impolite.

"I am not in the habit of giving out information to strangers," He rumbled, tucking his chin down slightly, his glower withering. Faolán started at her distrustfully, completely out of his comfort zone now and bitter at his daydreaming being interrupted.

"Now if you don't mind, I'll just get back to peacefully minding my own business."

And with that, the Forsworn tuned her out with ease, staring back into the fire.

[VULCAN]

The mage didn't think to pay much attention to the Redguard who had advanced into the inn - from what the corner of his eye could gather, she was simply here to grab a bite to eat then rest for the night; a common enough series of actions to take place in an inn. Well, as common as seeing drunk people stagger out of the inn anyway. Although, when she made her way to the Forsworn pillager, that became an action that the member of the Dark Brotherhood did not expect at all. This...made things different, perhaps even more difficult. Unless she was a secret member of the Brotherhood that he did not know about and had plans of helping Vulcan then had no problem allowing him to take all the bounty for himself - then that made things much easier!

However, he had a slight suspicion that wasn't going to happen.

"Well, doesn't this make things a tad bit more interesting than it had to be." Vulcan mumbled under his breath quietly, loud enough for only him to hear. He needed more luck on his side lately, perhaps he would reconsider looking into an amulet of luck...considering it was less than twenty gold and was proven to work - the amount of times he had gotten conned on similar items was actually embarrassing. It wasn't too long ago when he purchased a potion of hulking strength from a red-headed merchant located in Riften; two days later and he lost thirty pieces of gold in an arm-wrestling match against a seven-foot Nord. As you can imagine, that was quite surprising to the dark-haired mage.

Though, this was a more serious issue at hand as the target looked like he could do more than just beat Vulcan in an arm-wrestling contest if given the opportunity - being Forsworn and all, Vulcan imagined he was probably better at making fur armor look more fashionable too. And a better pillager.

Finding Faolán's response to the Redguard quite amusing by nature, Vulcan kept the smirk to himself in his mind and attempted to remain irrelevant to the pair of beings near the fire. He could imagine that a strange man smiling at them would not be good attention. At all.

With Faolán, at least he knew some information. However, this woman on the other hand was a new story - who was she and what factor did she add to this situation? For all Vulcan knew, she could turn around and help out the Dark Brotherhood just as much as she could help the Forsworn. The tactician inside of him told him to wait it out some more, so for now the mage planned to continue his observation and remain as unnoticed as possible. Now that was a plan that shouldn't go wrong.

[AMANI]

If Amani were a more sentimental woman, she would have noted how his eyes could speak and weave together irascible and impassioned prose as if it were nothing. A tortured soul with suffering in his soul and, more importantly, a score to settle with some intimidating figure, forever looming in the distance - just out of his reach. Then again glowers generally made the giver look more pissed than Molag Bal on a good day, and who knows? Maybe a giant ate his sheep, could very well possibly happen. Except...this man did not look like he herded sheep for a living. Oh no, never. This man before her looked like he bashed people's heads in for a living...looked like he enjoyed what he did too. Of course, all Amani had to work with were baseless assumptions. She hadn't had all the time in the world to listen to the guards rabble on unless she had wanted to get caught and thrown into the Dragonreach Dungeon. All she managed to hear were 'circus slaughtered' and 'silver-haired man as big as a giant'. Of course...the giant bit was an obvious exaggeration, although Amani would admit that the man's stature was impressive.

The Redguard woman leaned forward. She didn't stand a chance with this man in close-combat. Not a snowball's chance in The Deadlands. Cautiously, she crossed out dragging him to the guard post. That would never work, he'd break free from her and have her in Oblivion all in one, fluid movement. Amani smirked mentally. There could be a way to avoid that entirely. It wasn't as if she wanted him put away...she just wanted his reward money. If she turned him in, scurried away, and he broke out on his own accord....well, wouldn't that be convenient for all parties involved. The lockpicks she lifted from the stiff on her way here might be put to 'good' use soon enough. Amani mentally scolded herself. He hadn't agreed to anything yet.

"I am not in the habit of giving out information to strangers, now if you don't mind, I'll just get back to peacefully minding my own business."

Amani nearly laughed, but settled for an amused chuckle instead. "Peaceful? Sir, you look anything but." The Redguard woman stood and came around to the wanted man's side, pulling a chair up close to him before perching herself in it. Amani cast a sideways glance toward the man in the corner before returning her attention to Mr. Sunshine. "If you wanted to keep a low profile, you should have stayed in the wilds." She continued briskly, voice husky as she leaned in close. "Do you know how much gold is on your head in this hold? I could just walk outside, tip them off...then I'd have dinner and a show./b]" Amani let that sink in before shifting her weight in her seat. "Or...you could go to jail and then mysteriously....'break out', kill a few guards, and be on your merry way, couldn't you?" Amani's brow rose, as if daring him to follow along. Inwardly; however, she was still afraid that he might just reach over and throttle her for even making such an offer.

[FAOLÁN]

More than anything, Faolán was meditating, because as easy as he made it seem, tuning out the world around him was difficult when that incessant prickling on the back of his neck wouldn't cease. The woman continued to stifle his personal space bubble and it took quite an effort not to glare at her once again after he spoke, content to stare into the fire and let the warmth lull him into thought. He had often done this before: daydreaming generally helped him to digest a book after finishing it, or figure out a problem. They often came to him in eureka moments.

Though his biggest problem by far was trying to make it back to Markarth, Faolán found himself forced into taking his now overly-complicated life step by step or he would find himself quickly overwhelmed. Though being a Forsworn hadn't exactly been a simply life, it had been a good life. Now he was a mockery, a man with more gold for his head than what he'd earned in his lifetime (barring the pillaging).

Slowly, so slowly, the reachman turned his head to regard the woman while she chuckled, the sound grating and too-familiar to his ears, his expression turning dark.

"On the contrary, my definition of feeling peaceful is not wanting to harm someone." He all but growled, looking mightily indignant as the tawny lady pulled up a chair, easy-as-you-please. He caught the flicker to her gaze and followed her line of sight, glaring daggers at the gawking shadow. Considering she continued to look at him, Faolán immediately believed these two pests to be in cahoots.

As the woman spoke, his anger and indignation quickly began to rise to boiling point, not appreciating the painful reminder of how much the general public wanted him dead for something he had no choice over. This... This strumpet thought she could benefit from his lamentable position in life!

"You think you can intimidate me?" Faolán snarled, standing up so quickly and so suddenly that his chair toppled backwards, throwing his hand towards the woman's throat. Before he even touched her, however, he stopped, fingers curled, looming over her with a fierce expression on his face.

"I warned you and I will not do so again! I don't particularly enjoy when my reputation is used to let some foolheaded woman gain a few extra coin." Viciously, he pulled his hand away, expression still twisted into a grimace as he stared her down.

"It should be noted that I don't pamper people based on their gender." Faolán warned, glowering at her for a moment more before turning to quickly pick the chair back up. He was about to sit down again before he paused for thought, suddenly turning to the corner where the shadow sat.

"Is there something you want from me or are you just taken aback by how handsome I am?" He snapped sarcastically.

[VULCAN]

So far so good; it had seemed that the Redguard woman was keeping him busy and the presence of one Dark Brotherhood eliminator was ignored. His only objective at the current moment was to observe the pair and bring together some sort of plan to give him the upper hand - whether it be against the Redguard, the Forsworn...or both. No one said this was going to be an easy task, but Vulcan was hoping it would be, however it was fully clear to him that it would be far from effortless.

Listening in, Vulcan was quite impressed with the bravery this woman had, it was not often that you saw a smaller individual approach and then somewhat threaten a larger being. Perhaps she had bumped her head on the way here or simply had nothing to lose? Either way, a slight smirk became visible on the mage's face as he saw her as something of a temporary ally - if she was here for the bounty, then she had more reason to side with Vulcan rather than the said pillager, no?

Well, he hoped so. It had seemed that her words brought out a rage inside the muscular man that could not of been very healthy for the lady. That would be the first guess anyway; when angry Forsworn members with weapons get threatened, the outcome is usually the same: violence. Although, this one appeared to be different from the rest. While many other Forsworn would probably curse once or twice then go for a brutal kill, this one was able to restrain himself and even offered merciful advice to the Redguard. Odd. Vulcan had no idea that there were Forsworn like that...but it made no difference, Forsworn were Forsworn and this one just happened to be worth quite an attractive sum of gold!

However, it had seemed that Vulcan was not being as sly as he thought he was. When Faolán called him out and gave quite the sarcastic question, the mage couldn't help but smirk. "Who, me? Oh, definitely the latter. You know, I've tried long hair before but I just couldn't pull it off; do you get exclusive hair treatment in the Forsworn?" Vulcan snapped back half-seriously, eyes focused on the Breton as well as the woman near him. "Though, I will tell you what else I find rather handsome: The bounty on your head." He stated coldly, the smirk still sat upon his face, before his eyes shifted over to the Redguard, "And I understand you have the same interest, I believe? We could work something out, unless you have a soft spot for men with silver hair." Vulcan finished, remaining in his seat with confidence. Placing the cup onto the table, his right hand was ready to reach for his staff while his left was more than capable of preparing malicious magic if needed.

The tension was slowly rising in the building, and what people were inside could feel the increase. Vulcan was ready for a showdown at any moment; he could only imagine the others were too.

[AMANI]

Heat swelled from her chest, rushing up her neck, and finally crashing and splattering across her face, like an angry, bitter wave slamming against a boat docked in Stros M'kai. It ran through her like a stampeding mammoth, unforgiving and unwavering. This wasn't the feeling of fear. This was the feeling of imprecision. The feeling of being wrong, erroneous, inaccurate. If that had been an arrow shot from the nook in her bow, it wouldn't have hit the broad side of a barn. This man had no interest in killing, gold, or any of her attempts at persuasion and bribery. There was something else, an aspect to him that she would never understand. If Amani had possessed a pallor complexion, she knew her misjudgment would be strewn across her face like parchment flung carelessly about a room. Only her eyes divulged her revelations as the fugitive towered over her, chair, shaken from its place from the sheer force of his rising, strewn across the floor behind him.

She had been wrong about him. He was no barbarian, happy to maim and torture anyone he pleased. If he was, she would be on the floor, neck being encaged by two thick hands. There was something to this criminal, something that Amani could not put her finger on. Undoubtedly, on the subject of conscience he resided levels above her, but he had left the woman's pride bruised. The feeling of being wrong made her stomach twist and contort into near nausea. Amani's eyebrows rose in surprise at the silver-haired man as he continued to bellow, voice bouncing off the walls. This wasn't your average barbari- no, he was no savage at all. She had misjudged him completely, assuming him to be a dull, greedy savage who would be easy to manipulate and con. Amani's fingertips pressed into the hard wood of her chair. She had made a foolish mistake. It was almost enough to make her feel….spiteful.

Almost.

It didn't matter how gentle or how kind this criminal may be. He may have committed a just crime, or an unjust one. It didn't matter. He may have killed to save another, to save himself, it didn't matter. All that did matter was the bountiful sum of gold on his head. Money was all that mattered to Amani. Septims, ores seeping with lines of gold or silver, winking jewels of blues, reds, and purples. Wealth. Wealth was what mattered to the Redguard. If that made her selfish, then so be it. If it made her cruel and cold, then that was just fine with her. She trusted no one and didn't need to suggest otherwise. This criminal wasn't like her. Whatever he had done….well let's not make the mistake of assuming again, Amani. The Redguard coveted the reward, so much that this outburst did nothing to repel her. That gold would be hers, no matter what.

His comment on her gender pulled out Amani's spitefulness, regardless of how hard she had tried to push it down and deny it. The Redguard stood and grabbed her bow in her left hand, quickly and noiselessly, brow furrowed in anger. "Do not think that I need your," She made doubly sure to sound as condescending and scornful as possible, "pampering for a second, you worm." Her eyes were ablaze with defiance, glaring down, without fear, the outraged criminal. No one insulted her for being born without something dangling between her legs. No one. She had never used her gender to get what she wanted. She had barely commented on her gender. She did not choose to be born a woman. He had no right to insult her for such a thing.

He turned his attention to the shadowy figure in the corner, sarcastic remarks were now what was filling the stagnant, tension-filled air. Amani's eyes were unwavering, focused solely on her furious prey, even when she was addressed her eyes did not so much as flicker back. "I think I just got over it. I'll split the gold with you." Amani reached behind her, fishing an arrow out of her quiver, taking a few steps back as she nocked the arrow. She pulled the string back, holding it taut as she saw the innkeeper flee to the basement out of her peripheral vision. Surprisingly, now the gold was coming second. This man had succeeded in pissing Amani off, embarrassing her through her own mistakes, insulting her for being a woman… one day maybe she would make a list, but right now she wanted to see him with an arrow through his knee forehead.

[FAOLÁN]

Safe to say he hadn't expected the shadowy man from the land of corner-tables to actually respond, talking right back to him with a tone just as sarcastic as his own. Faolán got over his surprise in a matter of seconds, having completely expected the guy to look away and apologize, before bristling indignantly, especially when the other man shifted the topic to the price on his silver head. The reachman was completely dismissed as if it was socially acceptable to discuss another person's freedom so casually, all for the sake of some gold.

It sent a legitimate shiver up his spine and Faolán was quickly beginning to regret coming into the little inn at all. Only he had the abominable luck to run into not only one but two damned bounty hunters, and both seemed to have no problem with dangling the reminder of his (justifiable) crimes above his head. He could not pay off that bounty himself with well-earned gold, because even the rumor of affiliation with the Forsworn these days was enough to condemn a person. He would not spent the rest of his life in Cidhna Mine, slaving away to give some well-bred fools their pay and enjoyment. The thought alone made him snarl at the woman when she spoke, obviously offended by his earlier comment.

"Be that as it may, I would prefer a fight rather than honeyed words to gain my favor," The silver-haired man snapped, scowling at the memory of her not-so-enticing offer. Gods knew she would probably leave him to rot as soon as she got her damn gold, anyway. Though he couldn't help but admit to himself that he was regretting his hasty anger at the time. Uncertain, and looking as such, he took a few slow steps back, gritting his teeth and glaring as she nonchalantly drew an arrow and aimed it at him.

By the Gods, they were actually serious. Faolán trembled minutely, and though his face showed absolutely no sign of the sudden, daunting apprehension, the thought of being caught and cooped again was unbearable. He had pushed his already terrible luck and now he was paying for it. It was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed, because while he had fought off hordes of bandits and guards before, these two were obviously trained, and far more intelligent. The reachman remained ominously silent, his eyes locked onto the arrow pointed at him, knowing it would be difficult - if not impossible - to get out of the way of such a close shot. His eyes snaked over to the man in the corner.

The gears were churning in Faolán's mind as he tried desperately to think of a way he could get out of the suddenly messy situation. And to think, all he'd wanted was a nice place to sleep and a cheerful read in front of the fire. He'd wanted to suggest that they take it outside, because he didn't want to wreck the place - obviously a well-tended to lifestyle - but now that the innkeeper himself had run off, doing so would not help.

Hissing in frustration, the forsworn abruptly reached behind and took out his two trusted weapons, flinging the axe at the tawny woman without warning. At the very least, he hoped it would distract her enough to stop the arrow aiming at his face, though getting shot at would probably still be in the equation. With a fierce roar, Faolán lunged, swinging the sword with a deadly intent and always keeping an eye on the man in the corner, who was quite obviously (now that he thought about it) a threat.

He knew he could be caught, and he knew that running would eventually be his only option, as much as he hated being a coward. But he did want to teach these callous savages a lesson for daring to barter with his freedom.

[VULCAN]

Perhaps he didn't need that amulet of luck after all? Ha! It had seemed that the situation just kept on getting better and better for the sarcastic mage - a two on one situation was truly a blessing right now. Sure, Vulcan may of been able to take the silver-haired warrior on his own, but at the same time, the Forsworn pillager may have been able to place Vulcan in a coffin too. Fighting was always a gamble, but when there's the numbers advantage there's always better odds. Well, except in the outnumbered person's case.

Now that he had aligned himself with the less-than-happy Redguard, Vulcan was rather confident that the inevitable battle would turn in their favor; although at times, his confidence has ruined opportunities and allowed others to take advantage simply because of the cockiness that was present in his attitude. It was something the mage couldn't help - he enjoyed victory and had a habit of letting it be known. However, he knew that one wrong move from his temporary buddy could allow the Forsworn to even the odds, which would once again bring the situation down to less desirable circumstances for Vulcan. Even with the advantage, it seemed that he would still need to take this confrontation seriously. Death might await him if he didn't.

Vulcan was rather impressed with the pillager, it was not often that he met a man in Skyrim who was willing to take on two skilled, ruthless opponents at once. Many would of simply surrendered in order to survive; this one on the other hand would rather take his chances!

Taking notice of the fact that the two individuals had already started the fight without Vulcan even making a move, he remained in his seat which was several meters away from the pair and began forming magical energy in his free hand. As the purple glow finished its process, the spell was complete and with that, Vulcan's first move had happened. A short but intimidating howl came from the ghostly-looking wolf that had appeared before him - Vulcan had summoned a familiar via conjuration. The creature had no scale of alignment or morality like him, the Redguard or the Forsworn...just a sense of loyalty to the master who summoned it.

As a matter of fact, the familiar already knew what it had to do.

Without a second to waste, the creature sprinted towards the Breton and leaped into the air, its goal to eliminate the enemy without hesitation. While not a grandmaster of conjuration, Vulcan rather enjoyed using such spells on occasion when he wasn't looking to get blood all over his outfit and wanted to take a rest while enemies fought for their lives against creatures under his magical influence. However, more skilled fighters usually seemed to overcome his creatures in the end - though it left them a tad bit tired which made life easier for Vulcan.

Remaining in his seat for the time being, a slight smirk was present on Vulcan's bearded-face...he could just smell the gold already!

[AMANI]

Her beating heart pumped adrenaline through her body. Amani's muscles were aching to move, her arm already tense and her eyes almost afraid to blink. Her tongue wetted her lips as she waited for the pillager to move, the anticipation making her antsy. The Redguard saw out of her peripheral that the shadowy figure in the corner had not made a move to call himself to arms, despite having just made an alliance with her. Amani nearly cursed him as well, immediately jumping to the conclusion that she would be doing the work here. This arrow had to count, he may very well be able to easily deflect it with those weapons he had dra- or not. Amani quickly let her arms go lax as she gracefully dodged the flung axe, letting it dig into the wall behind her. She drew her arm back and let the arrow fly, aiming for his chest.

Unlike Vulcan, Amani was not quick to grant this pillager any form of credit - no matter how brave it was to take on two warriors at once. Her face contorted into a snarl, rivaling her opponent's, as she pulled out one of her daggers, using it to narrowly avoid having a sword thrust through her gullet. She did admit; however, that he was most lik- no, most definitely stronger than her and this meager line of defense would not suit her well in the long run. With that in mind, she swung her bow trying to hit him in the head as the snarl of a wolf ripped through the air and burrowed into her ears. Amani stiffened, a little taken aback by the sudden summon, but relaxed just a little as it went for the pillager. There had been too many times that they had gone after her and she hadn't exactly gotten out all in one piece.

Amani tried to escape her own parry by leaping back, which would have left the pillager with the wolf. She sheathed her dagger and finally looked at the conjurer in the corner. "Lazy mage, you aren't even going to stand?" She spat angrily, reaching back for another arrow. Still, the wolf might be a better fighter than the mage, especially indoors. Destruction magic could….go wrong easily - she had seen that first hand in Winterhold once. A novice from the college had come in bragging, and, too make a long story short, when she challenged the novice, he nearly set the entire inn on fire. Amani may not necessarily hate mages, she definitely didn't trust them. Actually, she didn't trust anyone of any creed to be honest, so perhaps that wasn't worth pointing out.

The Redguard maneuvered herself so she had the fireplace between her and her opponent as she readied another arrow, waiting for a good opening to plunge an arrow into the man's shoulder…

[FAOLÁN]

It would have been incredibly convenient for his axe to hit the woman and make her drop dead, but alas, she wasn't stupid, and her drive to live (luxuriously) was just as strong as his own. Faolán growled, not missing the distinct whoosh and twang of an arrow being let fly and barely managed to lurch backwards. Hissing as the arrow grazed his upper arm, fury continued to bubble under his skin but he remained calm, calculating, using his own smarts to keep the upper hand. So far, his other opponent didn't seem to be making any move - but he was fine with that.

The screeching whine of metal on metal made his ears hurt and set his teeth on edge. He was taken aback by this woman's astuteness and with another snarl, he dragged his sword downwards, trying to overwhelm her with brute strength. What he was expecting was for her to drop the daggers. What he wasn't expecting was the sudden movement in the corner of his eye as the woman sought to strike him with the bow itself. Too shocked to do anything about it, the breath left Faolán's lungs in a pained grunt, stars exploding behind his eyes as a result of a direct hit to the head.

He stumbled backwards, not particularly caring that the Redguard woman used it as an opportunity to make some distance, trying to calm the now raging headache that was making his head pound. Alas, just as his hand was beginning to grow golden in the beginnings of a healing spell, he was thrown forward as something throttled into him, sending him right to the floor.

The wild snarls were way too familiar (if you'll excuse the pun) to him and the reachman didn't pause and let the shock and fear register before he was writhing on the floor, managing to deftly twist himself around, reach up, and snap the ghostly creature's surprisingly corporeal neck without breaking a sweat - a habit borne from years of practise. Later, Faolán would find that he couldn't even remember doing so.

Beyond angry now, and more than a little shaken, he got to his feet with a grunt and spun to glare witheringly at the man, barely taking a second to register the overconfident smirk before grinding out a sentence. He hadn't even heard the Redguard's comment but this seemed like a direct follow-up.

"Impudence is unbecoming of you. Let me fix that." The magic sparked in his palms easily and he barely let the fireballs cultivate before flinging them at him. If he had been concerned for the welfare of the inn before, he certainly wasn't now. No longer considering the woman the bigger threat, he was ignorant to her deadly aim - his anger was beginning to affect his logical thinking.

[VULCAN]

The Forsworn seemed to be on even grounds with the female Redguard - it surprised him that a smaller opponent could bring such challenge to one of a much larger stature in close combat, although he was sure that if the woman remained in that spot the odds would soon favor the target of the duo. However, she seemed to use her bow as a melee weapon in order to create some room between them, which was quite a smart and skillful maneuver to perform. Though, Vulcan's job at the moment was not to evaluate fighting styles, but to fight! He had a good feeling about the wolf familiar; the way it just raged on towards the foe as well as the impressive leap...

Oh, that's not good. Vulcan thought to himself, as the promising sight of the wolf taking down the muscular fellow soon turned into a slightly disappointing moment when the familiar was vanquished rather swiftly. Whilst the familiar faded away out of existence, the mage knew that it was probably time to get up - after the pillager noticed that he had done that, Vulcan was sure that he was going to focus on him.

But there was something that the Dark Brotherhood member did not expect - was that healing magic the brute just used? Vulcan would of thought that all of this man's time went into physical training; just one look at his arms and shoulders could tell you that he took push-ups very seriously! Although maybe this man had more than enough time on his hands to train in the ways of magic...what else could he know?

Vulcan's questions were about to be answered as the eyes of the pillager set upon the mage. He could tell by the way the Forsworn looked at him as well as the words that came out of his mouth implied that something dangerous was about to head Vulcan's way.

And he was right. The mage's eyes widened as he saw the presence of fire forming in the Breton's hands; now that was something he did not expect Faolán to do! The fireball that charged towards him took him by surprise and Vulcan tried to move but ended up swinging back on his chair before falling quite awkwardly and rolling off his upper back. Looking up while holding the back of his neck, he noticed that he had uniquely dodged the fireball during the embarrassing moment of falling off his chair.

"Yeah...I meant to do that." Vulcan stated slowly, standing up and brushing the dust off his clothing before taking out his bladed staff. Reaching for his half-empty cup, Vulcan grunted then launched it towards Faolán and aimed his staff towards the cup; firing a thin bolt of magic at the cup once it got close enough so it would shatter and send sharp pieces of the object flying in the vicinity of the Breton's personal space.

[AMANI]

It wasn't going to end well, not when you add two important facts. One, they were in an inn - a closed inn space littered with obstacles not suited for open combat. It was much too easy for one of them - hopefully the pillager would - to fall and stumble over a chair, table, or into the open fire. Amani's body was throbbing with feeling, well actually with adrenaline. Her muscles were aching, only adding to the closed-in feeling their current battleground was inflicting on her. Her ebony skin shrank back into gooseflesh, the cold air coming from the door making her hypersensitive body shiver. The hair on her nape rose to attention, her entire body revved and ready to fight with everything she had. Amani wanted to run, to move, but the Redguard was waiting, watching, plotting her next move. She exhaled, drawing back the arrow.

Amani gritted her teeth, watching the pillager, as if he had done the act thousands of times, adroitly grappled with the conjured beast and snapped its neck, sending it back to whatever plains of Oblivion it came from. She made it a point not to get near those dreadful hands of his, starting now. Besides, she had barely got out of her last face to face encounter with him with her body intact, if she attempted again there was no doubt in her mind that she would be so lucky - the Redguard would be found with a sword in her sternum. Not too long ago, she had seen in after she had stolen a look during her skillful retreat, a golden light had swelled up from the pillager's hands, encasing them for a brief moment before the wolf had attacked. This made her inwardly groan. This fight just became much more technical.

The second element in this equation was the fire beginning to spark into existence in the pillager's hands. Unless it was a campfire, built for warmth and light, Amani hated fire [she apparently hated a lot of things]. It was a volatile element and if wielded in the wrong hands could easily do unintended collateral damage to their surroundings. While perhaps the pillager thought that setting the inn on fire was a good idea, Amani did not. She didn't want burning wood falling on her today, or to be guilted for abandoning her new 'comrade' or the innkeeper if she chose to flee the scene. She had fought in a fire before, the smoke was poison and flooded her lungs until she couldn't breathe, the Redguard had barely gotten out alive that day. All over a worthless vase too…Anyway.

The Breton's fireball hurtled through the air, threatening to badly burn the mage, who….fell out of his chair rather gauchely. Amani nearly snorted at the sight. He didn't look like he was going to be much he- Oh here we go again. The mage had thrown his cup at the pillager before detonating it with magic, sending shards of it toward the Breton. Amani waited for the pillager to move, adjusting her aim for his hands so she could ruin his offensive, before letting the arrow fly, hoping her aim rang true.