Insert bad dragon pun [Here]
(Because Tamriel is F**ed)
Ralof was grateful for the breeze blowing off the mountain.
Because Helgen wasn't just on fire, it was being actively razed down to the bedrock.
the town sprawled out a little awkwardly through the valley that continued past the road, and the imperial base was a sprawling, rectangular town of its own, atop a promontory, organized in the mode of a third-era military camp, which it had been.
Ralof only knew what had been where because he was passingly familiar with the place from various attack plans.
It barely looked like a village. Everything was on fire, rubble piling in the streets, and the screaming was clearly audible all the way out here.
Ralof wouldn't often find it in himself to feel pity for the empire, but as the immense winged beast circled above the town, firing jets of flame so hot it burned the eye merely to look at, landing on occasion to give personal attention to one of the tiny humans who had managed to draw its ire personally, he felt dread saunter in uninvited and make itself at home, pulling out the fine Cyrodillic porcelain and getting into the good mead.
he wasn't going to be sleeping at night.
He felt vindicated in his assessment of the strange argonian girl as a complete novice in the art of living through horrible things, because she was retching, having vacated her stomach over the fate of the imperial cart driver half an hour ago.
"Alduin's back." she said, getting control of her gorge. she pointed at the dragon.
"He's going around, dragging his buddies back from the dead to set fire to everything. and y'all are locked in a civil war. and the empire's focused on a goddamn attempted deicide." she leaned back.
"I can't decide whether to stick around, or try and head back to cyrodil and see if I can find whats left of, say, the knights of the nine."
"Now there's a name from the past." Ulfric said quietly.
"Long past?" she asked.
"Very much so I'm afraid." Ulfric said.
"Eugh. ok, first things first, I need to go west." she said.
"What's west?" the horse thief asked.
"A Daedra holy site. gonna go have a chat with Sheggy."
Ralof's jaw dropped. Was this woman mad? then again, one would have to be half in his court already to refer to Sheogorath as 'Sheggy'.
"You expect to get a straight answer?" Ulfric asked, evincing merely mild surprise.
Ralof wasn't sure he could take more crazy things happening today.
She shrugged. "Well, I know a thing or two about uh... this incarnation of 'im." she said, eyes narrowed. "Might be able to drag something useful outta him. then... well. depends on what he says I guess. either I get my answers, or its time to poke at the Nine." she said. "Maybe Talos wouldn't mind getting directly involved, use a few cheat codes fer us."
Ralof shook his head. "The gods can't fight all our battles for us." he said quietly.
she gestured at the dragon. "If the Nine weren't interventionist, then that must just be a giant bird that's improbably on fire. But hey, maybe I'll achieve CHIM and do it myself. anything's possible."
Ralof frowned. more babbling? but Ulfric, already clearly fascinated by this enigma of an argonian (especially given that while Ralof now remembered her having been one the entire time, he also still remembered not being able to remember her face or anything about her, and he was still reeling from that), Ulfric was now studying her almost... nervously.
Ralof decided he would ask Stormcloak what the deal was. tomorrow. after getting some rest. and maybe a tankard or three of good ale.
One way or another, he hoped today was done throwing surprise upsets at him.
He was beginning to worry Merunes Dagon might decide for a round two.
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For short rests, Ronan will usually write in his journal as the daylight makes this easier, but if the day has been incredibly taxing or if they had a fight that was rather draining, he will instead bandage what he needs to, check on his companions, smash something edible into his maw, and then have a power nap. Just finds a place to lay down or a rock or a tree to rest against, and closes his damn eyes.
So they're in the swamp, fresh out of fight with woads that went anywhere between bad to worse, and the want to journal is somewhere in the nine hells. Ronan gets his team patched up (save for a certain vampire who performance was lacking at best), eats an apple he found, and put his back against a rock for a time. The others are close by, chatting, catching their breath, and no doubt Ronan will be up and ready to move before they are, so he's confident in getting a solid twenty minutes.
Until he feels a presence standing over him.
"Yes?" He rumbles, the predictable scuffle of boots stumbling back pulling an eye open to see Astarion, both anxious and annoyed.
Astarion stutters out that he was just checking on him, the cleric being so far and alone from everyone else while sleeping of all things. Ronan makes it clear he doesn't believe that with a rumbling hum, stating he's still aware of his surroundings, which gets a prissy little rebuttal about how, yes, he seems to be very aware, all of the time. The cleric lets him stew in that, keeping an eye on him as he's clearly got something on the tip of his tongue that will work itself out eventually.
"I was thinking, considering the morning so far, it is in everyone's best interest they get a bite to eat, wouldn't you agree?"
Ronan doesn't say anything for a moment, noting the desperation of last night is no where to be found. Instead, Astarion is fine, uninjured, clean save for his boots, standing over a muddied, bruised, and bloodied Ronan. Asking for too much.
"Your bite is in the mud over there." He tells him, jerking his head in the general direction before settling back into his spot against the rock and closing his eye. "Fish it up, or wait till tonight."
He doesn't get to see exactly what that statement does to that pretty face, but the snide remark about how 'generous' he is works wonders for him and he's finally left alone for his shortened nap.
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