Beyond the Pale

An Oblivious Encounter

What now? Castorius thought.

Probably he should head back to the Stormcloak camp to report. Maybe go punch Roggie in the face, just for the sheer satisfaction of it. But the weather out there did not call to him at all. Heavy raindrops were now pounding hard on the windows, and water had started to leak through some cracks in the sealing, received by strategically placed buckets underneath. Thunder rolled in the distance

On the other hand, the mood inside had not suffered a bit from the worsened weather, but even seemed to have picked up a little. Several people were standing around the front, waving their tankards, and singing together with the bard. The cacophony didn't really do much to improve the overall sonic quality of the performance, if not exactly lowering it either. One man was even dancing. Sort of.

The bard struck the last chords of Ragnar the Red, and stopped to tune her lute. It was really too bad she couldn't do it to her throat, too. But, by gods, did she start to look appealing in Castorius' eyes! Maybe it was the aesthetic challengedness of his earlier company, or perhaps the still present sense of being about to put himself in danger, but he was feeling that warm glow about his abdomen just looking at that form of hers.

He felt a sudden urge to approach. There was even a chance she'd still remember him, had perhaps wondered where he'd been. Maybe this would even be the night. And if it were, he might even take it as a sign of sorts. Reassurance, even.

His eye then caught a man dressed in dark robes, leaning on the innkeep's counter, and leering at the Bard. It was an Altmer man, tall and lanky as they usually were, with thin flaxen hair hanging unkempt down to his shoulders, and an unhealthy gleam in his filmy, yellow eyes.

The elf made to move towards the woman, and Castorius took that as his cue. No doubt this creepy bastard was going to harass the fair minstrel—an approach less then welcome in her book. This was likely a common occurrence too, given the sorts of places she worked in, and the usual clientele. A sober and handsome young man such as Castorius hurrying to a maiden's aid was sure to be noticed as a reward-worthy act of heroism!

He let the weirdo get to the woman first and spew out his opening line before springing forward to save the day. To his immense satisfaction, the expression on the Bard's face was every bit as displeased by the visitation as Castorius had hoped. This is going to be so good!

But, as he'd barely reached the edge of the fireplace, someone grabbed his arm. Castorius turned, irritated, to whoever it was, ready to tell them off. Some other fellow in dark robes, it seemed. "I'm sorry," he said. "could you—"

A familiar face grinned at him. "Well, look who it is! Fancy meeting you here."

"Sam!" said Castorius. "What are—" But of course; the man had mentioned coming this way in the midst of his lecherous tirades. Then again, he'd also mentioned visiting a strumpet, and to Castorius' knowledge there were none in town.

"Come to join me for a drink after all?" Sam asked.

"Well, no," replied Castorius. He then remembered where he'd been heading. The Altmer was still talking to the Bard, with no warmer a welcome. There was no time to waste. "Sorry, Sam. I'd like to chat," Oh, yes! You have no idea how much that would please me! "but I'm sort of in the middle of—"

Sam laughed. "Don't worry. Karita can well take of herself. And she's not really your type, doesn't really go for the self-appointed hero sorts."

Karita—apparently—looked to be replying now. The irritation in her eyes, and the hard set of her mouth gave some indication as to the nature of her words.