"I'll take this rack of ribs here" A man said motioning to a hanging slab of meat, the hook stained with the dark blotches from previous animals blood. The butchers hands reached up to the choice cut and lifted it from its hook, the metal sliding back through it was a satisfying noise followed by the weighted thump of the meat onto the wrapping paper. Crinkling filled the stand as the gloved hands of the butcher worked the paper around the rack of ribs, the lingering blood leaking from the cut and sliding off the paper and onto the worn wooden counter that was covered with old cleaver marks. The red liquid filled the older marks, following them down the grain of the wood and to the counter before sliding off the counter top and onto the street stones below. It met with water, the red swirling briefly on top of the waters surface, its colors distinct from the clear fluid before blending and diluting until only the water remained.
The waters journey was interrupted briefly by a child's feet slamming into its surface, droplets littered the surrounding ground as well as wetting the edges of the young ones pants. It was only a small disruption, the water carried on its path around the intruders feet that now sat within itself. The child squealed in delight at the water, hands reaching down and smacking at the small creek that ran though the market of the city. A passerby scowled at the splattering of water onto their clothing, their attention turning to scold the small child in the creek. Their confrontation was halted as the child's father laid down his position between his daughter and the passerby, after all it was merely water and nothing to be upset about. The passerby grunted in response, reluctant to start an altercation over this situation now. He turned on his heels and stalked away, the spots where the water had splattered on his white shirt were already beginning to dry, the faintest hint of dried crimson reminding one of the truth that laid in their cities.
Blood and silver ran this place, and far to often would blood run in their waters.
Oren stopped and looked at the approaching walls of the stone city, the mountains hunching slightly over the city like a protective parent. Light glimmers came from the copper sections that laid in the stone walls, the sun catching slightly, but not enough to be glaringly obnoxious. The city was more than safe in case of battle, at least as long as the enemies could be kept out, if they were to break the main gates the city would practically be cornered. It was a risk most seemed to take though, believing in the stone walls to keep all harm out. After all the quaking earth seemed not to touch it, their homes would not burn to the ground, water posed no harm to the solid structures, it was a haven as long as the danger stayed outside.
The male walked the stone path, following the winding way it moved up towards the entrance to the city. The pommel of his sword moved with his walking, the height of it reaching just over his head, the wolves face carved into the design had its maw open wide screaming for battle. He had first gotten the weapon here, or more so he had gotten it fixed up. He had found it within a ruins not far from her, its blade worn and dull, yet it had been the only thing that had gotten him through in the end. So in turn he had brought the blade to the closest city, Markarth, in hopes someone would be able to fix the weapon up. They were able for the right price of course, the blade did not stay dull, its face was shined and it's edges were ground until the blade could almost cut through a training dummy with a single slice. It had not failed him since then, some claimed that a weapon and its master could form a bond, as long as they took good care of each other. Of course others said this was a silly notion, an inanimate object like a weapon would hold no such ability, it was luck that the blade had held out without failure, or simply it was a expertly craft blade that was meant to last a millennia. Oren hadn't thrown his hat into either ring, he took good care of his weapon and knew for certain that he and the blade were the ones who cut down the enemies, regardless of what forces might have been around.
The blade clunked against his armor, his attention lifting from the path and up towards the large doors a ways ahead still. Ylva stopped walking and reached to her pack, sliding the grey toned strap off her left shoulder and letting the bag drop to the ground behind her. Her hire turned his head briefly to the sound, his brow raised in question. It was strange for his expressions to show through clearly, his helm had always obscured most of his facial expressions, leaving Ylva to typically have to listen to his voice to figure out the situation
"What are you doing?" he finally asked, his arms folding over his chest as he turned his body, back to the walls of the city. She opened the top of the bag and pushed the empty potion bottles aside with gentle clinking, digging around inside till she found some things near the bottom and pulling them out. Black gloves were grasped between her fingers, the craftsmanship on them looking quite nice.
"well I figured the city might not be keen on walking skeletons.. or the possibility of us being unwanted necromancers" she started looking down at the gloves in her hands and then back to Oren, the fabric felt soft, but sturdy in her hands. They were not the type of gloves that one would usually had along for travel in adventure circumstances, they would have been seen more often worn by the nobles in Solitude, of by people of title. They would have cost a good number of coin at the least to get her hands on them. She turned to the newest companion and looked up at him, her hand still grasping the gloves as she extended them out to him. "The rest of you is covered fine, but these should fix the part that's missing."
Vyron's purple gaze flicked down to the gloves briefly, his hands moving in response to her offer. Though he would not have cared about the judgment as to him being a skeleton, it could be problematic if it halted their journey as Ylva had hinted around. He took the gloves, Ylva's hand releasing before he had even grabbed a hold of them, causing a brief drop in the air. The black gloves would blend perfectly with his current state of outfit, the fabric slid over the bones the indents from some sections more apparent than others, but not enough to be noticed without being up close. Vyron moved his hand, fingers closing tightly to his palm before releasing.
"Feels like I have skin again, oddly more restricting than I remember. Does having a structure covered in skin feel as cramped is I'm imagining it does?" the skeleton asked his mask showing nothing, but his tone sounding oddly amused at the prospect. Oren gave him a silent stare, his face looking quite the opposite, unamused with the strange quip. "I will take that as a no and that you enjoy your skin prisons, well on we go then" Vyron said waving a now gloved hand at the leader of their party, his scholarly attitude still gave an air of professionalism even when he was being strangely humorous.
Resuming his trek up to the doors, Vyron fell in step behind him with Ylva bringing up the rear. The guards stood silently from the positions near the door, their darkened metal helms watching the approaching visitors. Their swords hung at their side, the sheaths tapping slightly against the wall behind them as the wind knocked into them just enough to move the weapons holders just a touch. Oren barely cast a look a them as he approached the door, hand stretching out to the handle of the door and pushing it. The low hum of the door moving open vibrated through the ground under the groups feet, the guards seemed hardly phased, used to the traffic that passed through the city on a regular basis.
Chatter from the market drifted out from the moment the door was opened, the light tinkle of jewelry being moved around, banter from customers vying to get the best price for the good, a butcher scolding a nearby mutt for stealing for of his meats. Vyron silently observed the city as they walked past a few of the stalls, one of the merchants looked up expression scrunching up into a bit of confused distaste. Ylva already knew where Oren would be heading as she stepped off to the side to speak to a woman working a stall. She had made a promise to her trusted lute and she planned on taking care of the errands this time before Oren could bustle them out of the city.
"Do you have any dyes in? For lute wood" she said moving her shoulder as her pack shifted slightly, her lute thinking lightly in response. The instruments wood was not like the kind that would be used to build a home or carts, that wood was raw and rough with too many knots in its grain. Her instrument along with others she had seen, were made with a soft delicately grained wood, formed carefully to shape with as little impurities as possible in its structure to lessen the chances of cracking.
"Yes, I do actually. Were you looking for certain shades?" The woman asked, blonde hair framing her face where strands of it fell on either side of her cheek while the rest was held up in a bun. Her hands rested on the counter as she waited for an answer, the chatter of the crowd dying down briefly only to pick back up again.
"goldens, red, and blues if you have them" Ylva responded with a calm polite tone, she did not consider herself a great adventurer by any means, but she liked to think she had better people skills than her hire, even if he wouldn't believe that social skills were really that important. The merchant moved her hands off the stall and took a step back from the counter, eyeing the shelves behind the stall. Bending her figure she retrieved the colors, setting them up onto the counter with gentle clacks of glass on wood. Ylva smiled, relieved to see she wouldn't have to try and find any of the colors in a different city.
"Why not simply buy a new lute" the raspy low voice asked from behind Ylva, her body stiffened as she reached to her small pouch on her hip to grab the gold. The undead presence seemed invisible until he made himself known, when he did it sent a cold shiver down the elf's back. She felt the question was silly in itself and so she didn't answer, simply handing over the gold coins to the merchant. The merchant thanked her for the business before turning to rearrange some of her stock. Ylva reached up with a hand to pull down the strap of her bag so she could place the paints into her bag, her movement was stopped by a black gloved hand. Her breath stopped, out of annoyance mostly, she didn't have time to dilly dally in case they had limited time here. "It's not polite to ignore a question"
"The answer wouldn't quite affect you either way so I figured it didn't matter" She said moving her hand to brushing the others away so she could continue with putting the dyes away. The bag lowered to the ground behind her once the strap was off, her hand now holding onto the glass jars of paints. Her eyes moved down to the grey fabric travel pack, the absence of something catching her attention. She had heard it moving against her bag not to long ago, right before she had bought the paints, her grip tightened on the glass jars as she quickly jammed them down into the bag and stood up abruptly. Ylva was soft spoken in the norm, reserved for the most part, but her expression was none to pleased as she stood looking at the skeleton handling her lute. She didn't have problem when someone looked at it, and they could hold it as well, but they typically asked before doing so. She was more frustrated at the fact he had simply taking from her pack with asking or ever saying anything, especially after just saying she should get a new one.
"Please return my lute" Ylva said placing her hand up towards the other, waiting for the instrument to be placed in her waiting hand. Seconds ticked by as Vyron kept his grip on the instrument, glancing down at her and shaking his head.
"It's a useless item, it serves no useful purpose in defense at all. Unless perhaps you were to swing it at an enemy.." He said lowering it and giving it a side eye through the eye holes of his mask. Ylva felt the hairs on her body bristle slightly, the undead idiot was suggesting she swing her lute at enemies, how dare he.
"What if I take your arm and swing it at an enemy" She responded reaching up and snatching the lute from his grasp, the string twanging slightly as they were pulled in the grasp. The frustrated elf walked off towards the market stall lined with various alchemy ingredients, her bag still sitting down by Vyron's feet. There was a brief but silent return as the elf realize she had left her bag behind, grabbing it and shuffling back away without a word to the skeleton. The woman behind the counter of the stall that she had bought the paint from was simply staring at Vyron. He couldn't quite blink as he looked at her and then back at the elf halfway across the market now, he took a second to compose himself before giving her a polite farewell motion with his hand and striding off.