desidenius-blog

[desidenius-blog]

"Yes, I can see that," he says after a moment of silence. A stranger. He doesn't look like he's from Skyrim. Perhaps Cyrodiil? It's obvious Gallus is studying for some hint of who he is, or where he's from, but he's drawing blanks. "Lost in the Falkreath wilderness, I take it." Shifting from foot to foot, his hands prop up on his hips. "How did you get here?" Honestly, the Nightingale is surprised a bear or a pack of wolves didn't get him first. 

“A stranger’s my best bet,” he automatically replies, blinking at the top of the threshold. “I’m still drawing lots on who you are, though. Mind giving me some pointers on where I am?”

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twinmoon-amulet

Ah. For once in a week of travelling, here is a face he is not entirely unfamiliar with. Gallus is no stranger to the Khajiit caravans and all the faces, save for one or two. The plated armor and the color of his fur is something he remembers, however, despite the fact that the Khajiit might not remember him. No matter; in all honesty, the Imperial is just happy to see a friendly face, not belonging to lowlifes such as bandits or hired thugs out to get him (even the professional thieves get caught, or maybe he had just knocked something over in a general store on accident). 

Wasting no time looking over each Khajiit in the caravan, Gallus approaches, searching for a question to ask so he isn't awkwardly standing there in the cold.

"You guard the caravans, I take it?" Just about every one of them fit in armor does, but it's better than asking about the weather. 

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Pull the bowstring back. Take in a deep breath. Re-- no, no, his posture is all wrong. Irritably, Gallus lowers the bow. He can't seem to quite remember all that Karliah told him about techniques, and he can't exactly go all the way back to Riften, back to the guild, and ask her now, can he? No. He's hiding in the bushes right outside of a camp, attempting to get the upper hand by offing the nearest bandit with an arrow. It's not a secret that he's never been the best shot, that he's always favored the blade instead of the bow, but Karliah had insisted he try it out. At least once. And who is he to deny her? He can't say no to that woman, he swears.

Bow slung over his shoulder and arrow sheathed already, he frowns. Perhaps it would be better to off them all and say he did it with the bow-- maybe. Probably. The only reason he's even out here is because he's here to take back a stolen family heirloom and return it to somebody in Windhelm. It's incredibly tedious; he's already had to fight his way through a pack of Ice Wolves, and he's already had to run from a Frost Troll, which left him arguably winded and unprepared for the camp of bandits outside of the cave where the supposed amulet is. 

He won't dare give up, but that doesn't mean he enjoys doing this.

A muffled step is taken forward, boots soundlessly pressing into the snow, and he stops. Something doesn't seem right. The feeling of being watched looms over him, his eyebrows furrow, and he looks over his shoulder. Oh. A stranger. Well, this is inconvenient.

His hand automatically moves to his side, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his Nightingale blade as he draws it forth; a subtle warning to the stranger standing a few feet away from him. Perhaps they're lost, the better side of him muses. Though, any thief knows that a stranger could be a threat.

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I apologize for the absence. I've been pretty busy lately, and I'm going to start trying to get to replies here more often. Thank you for the patience.

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He's been told that before, is the thing. It's been mentioned that he has that sort of smile-- which, of course, did nothing to deter him in the least. The quill is taken back once it's offered, and he stashes it away somewhere in his bag. No doubt he won't find that for a while, now. His eyes drift back towards the map, and one digit points at where he is, and drags along to his destination. At least now he won't get lost.

He nods at her words, still listening despite the serious expression that's now situated itself over his face. He does, however, look up at the mention of Falmer, and arches his eyebrows at the mention of Irkngthand. Ah. Yes. The location of his pet project. The Eyes.. "Yes, I'm aware." For a moment he looks uneasy, but you can hardly blame him. Not many can talk about the Falmer without a ghost of a frown on their faces. It doesn't help that the last time he faced them in hordes, somebody he.. cares about quite dearly nearly got killed. That wasn't a good day. They're much easier to pick off one by one. "Easier to deal with at least two at a time, yes.. Irkngthand was especially difficult."

He rolls up his map after giving it another good look over. "You're welcome to join me, if you wish." The offer is rather subtle, but there's still a warning there. If his set destination is overrun by Falmer, that is.

Incanus couldn’t help but let a laugh past her bright lips at the display of such boundless enthusiasm. The smile looked like it might simply stretch past the edges of his cheeks and consume him entirely. Without another word, she took the quill, touching it carefully to his map and curling a clean flag where he was headed, then lowering her head and whispering a tiny word, the ink drying more quickly with a little arcane influence. Once she was satisfied her work was done the instrument was offered back his way, and she paid her mention to his words. “Have you? I’ve done little research myself— though I do have word it’s run full of Falmer. Hence my interest in it. See, if you get in a pack of them, it’s a battle you won’t soon forget. I remember every second from my jaunt in Irkngthand… Completely blind, they are, but fierce.” It was her turn to ramble then, apparently. But she merely shrugged it away without much notice.

The pride and fondness of memory in her voice marked that her hunger for treasure and seeking of the world’s beauty was rivaled by a challenging, combative nature. But she was just as romantic about scenery as the next wanderlustful adventurer, don’t be mistaken. “For the time, I’ven’t any destination set in stone, but I’m bound in the way of Solitude. I figure I may pick up a bounty or two therein.”

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Like it was said: more than half of the Rift (or more, he'd wager) knows who he is, whether it's from the telltale smile on his face or the smooth tone of his voice. The Thieves Guild is still in its heyday, so nobody in it seems to be unknown to at least Riften-- although there are occasional travelers or merchants who don't have a clue of what they're getting into. Everything still runs exactly as it should, even with those things, or faces, rather, known.

But yes, he does know what he's doing. That's exactly why everything is going so well. It hasn't been better in years, and Gallus is completely confident in what he's doing, but perhaps that's already obvious.

He does recognize her too, but he hadn't called her out on it. That usually doesn't give anybody the best.. feeling in the world. Probably would've unnerved her. It's not surprising that he knows, though, since he pays attention to everybody that goes in and everything that goes on in the guild. It's his job, after all.

The Guildmaster shakes his head with a bit of a sigh. "I've tried before, but to no avail. Occasionally somebody like you doesn't recognize me, but that isn't the case with the guards.." He trails off, musing to himself. Guards still aren't a problem, no, but the claims of knowing him get old. He shakes his head, snapping his attention back to the Altmer. "Ah, yes, I've seen you before. Not one for sticking around, I'd guess." She still appears to be good at what she does. So that's good. She should be thinking of doing higher up jobs, but no pressure.

Oh. She blinked at the abruptness of his introduction. Taervyn hadn’t realized she’d been speaking to a guildmate. 

She refused to even give friends her last name, yet here was this man going around telling strangers on the street that he was the godsdamned Guildmaster. Well, if he really is the Guildmaster, she reasoned, he must know what he’s doing. 

At least, she hoped so.

After a few moments of scrutiny, she realized that she did indeed recognize his face. It wasn’t surprising, really, that she hadn’t figured this out before. She barely spent any time actually interacting with her Guildmates - she preferred to simply run into the Ragged Flagon, get an assignment (and maybe a drink), then get back on the road before sundown. 

“You, too,” she says with a laugh and a smirk as she reaches out to firmly shake his hand. “Just Taervyn. Good with directions, and thief who can’t even recognize her own Guildmaster. You aren’t one for keeping a secret identity, are you?”

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"Aside from that, how is everybody?"

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"It's always a little funny when anybody tries to pickpocket me."

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The few cuts Gallus has scored across his face is enough of a hint that he had just spent the past while booking it out of the nearest cave or ruin. You can't really blame him for being lost, if that's the case. This has happened before, and it doesn't help that he doesn't even know where he is. He could re-trace his steps, but asking seems easier.

The looks he gives the mer is downright incredulous, and he looks over his shoulder at the hills in question. "Really?" With an exasperated sigh, he rubs at his forehead. "Can't believe I missed that!" There's a light hearted chuckle despite his annoyance for not knowing sooner.

At the mention of the Thieves' Guild, a nigh devious grin suddenly stations itself upon his face, and he looks back at the stranger. "I've heard. Believe me." The Imperial is only a little surprised she hasn't heard more of them. Perhaps a bigger reputation is needed. He holds a hand out to her. "Gallus Desidenius. Pleased to meet you, thankful for the help, and Guildmaster of the Thieves' Guild." It's not like it's a secret anywas. More than half of the Rift knows who he is.

The womer spun around, surprised, when she felt the pressure on her shoulder. Her eyes swept over the stranger, and her stance relaxed to her usual easy slouch when she decided he was no immediate threat. 

“Of course.” Her brow furrowed in thought momentarily in thought, but it did not take her long to formulate a response - she liked to think she knew the Rift like the back of her hand. “A while south of here, over that hill is a road that leads right to the Hold. You can’t miss it,” she said as she pointed a finger to the hill behind her. 

With a bemused smile, she added, “And watch your coin purse while you visit. The Thieves’ Guild is stationed there - or so I hear.”

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What's something unexpected you've discovered about yourself lately?

Sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not very good at climbing.” That counts, right?

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Gallus is rarely ever bothered by much of anything. He's one of the most patient adventurers you could ever hope to cross, kind in the things he does along with very thorough. He has a tendency to ramble and get.. a little excited over his expeditions. He likes to call it getting 'inspired' or being a 'go-getter'.  How could he not be so enthusiastic about most of everything, though? Life is amazing. Adventurous. So many things.

The Imperial's face practically lights up when the Nord claims she has it logged, his smile growing, if it was possible at this rate. The ambitious look in his eyes is more than just a little obvious, and he reaches back to his bag for a quick moment before holding out a quill. It barely has any ink left on it, but Gallus is fairly sure there's enough. "Indeed I do."

"Thank you. I've heard that place is truly a sight to see, and if that's the case, I'd figure I should go there to scrounge up what I can. And if there isn't anything, just sight-seeing is nice. Lovely, even," he proclaims, rambling on another seven seconds until he realizes that he is indeed rambling; he clears his throat. "So, where are you heading?"

He was busy with himself, so perhaps she might’ve left him to his business out of courtesy. However, she valued more the chance of conversation than perhaps the luxury of a kind first impression— and He didn’t seem thoroughly upset by being bothered, marked by his broad smile in return to her words. His eyes passed away from her to the map in his hands for a second, before the paces between them were made, and he presented the map for her eyes as well. The Chillwind Depths, he asks, and she pauses for a moment, considering, before drawing a small leather bound journal from the satchel at her side, flipping through it’s pages.

They appeared disorganized as they were stuffed with small artifacts or scraps which had been gathered, however it was actually a fairly documented log she maintained through her ventures, in order of when she had visited, and separated into sections by their hold. “A pleasure, Gallus. Incanus Pierrelle, at your service.” She remembered to reply, taking his hand steadily and shaking with a firmness to match her full and hearty, albeit still feminine tone,  ”Now you say that you’re bound for the Chillwind Depths…” She mumbled, returning to her index, and flipping for another moment, before laying her fingers on a certain page, tracing it’s words carefully.

“Ah, fortune finds us, I have it’s location logged. Though I haven’t been in it yet, m’self.” She closes the journal and drops it into her bag once more, taking a look again at his map, taking the free side in her own hand and tracing the surface with her other, “We’re not far past the Talking Stone camp, so… ‘right, there’ll be a fork not long up the road from where we are, and ye’ll want to take the path right. It’ll be off your left flank from then, about halfway to Dragon Bridge. If you reach the Overlook, you’ve gone too far— Would y’maybe have something I could mark it with?”

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                                             "..Pardon?"

The Imperial blinks, rearing back some. Had this been another time, a different day in his life in a different multiverse, he would've recognized her. But alas, this is not that time, and the brown-eyed, brown-haired thief only gives her a look of growing confusion.

                           "Forgive me, but I don't know who you are."

“Gallus…what? How…I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

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Unfazed, he gestures to the cave-like area around him-- which was, yes, in the middle of a forest. Quite an odd place to get lost. Even odder to have a spirit inquire about it.

           "I assume you are. Unless you happen to be one of us, you have no other business being here."

Hands set on his hips, he shifts to the side, giving her a steady glance (not that she could see it). Though he knows she's already reluctant to admit that she is indeed lost, he continues, as turning down any help, a willing source of information, would be most unwise.

             "Do you require any direction?"

“I’m pretty sure that’s no business of yours,” Aria remarked, her tone more brusquely concise than usual. Not that she ever was known to be warm-hearted but being placed smack dab in the middle of an unrecognizable forest definitely served in putting her in a less agreeable mood. 

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                           "Gallus Desidenius."

“What’s your name, fellow?” she asked, drawing back her hood.

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His eyebrows knit together in confusion for a short moment before a small smile finds its way on his face.

                        "And you, my friend."

That armour…

The Nightingale approached the figure, wondering.

“Shadow hide you.”

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                                           "Er.."

Awkwardly shift from foot to foot, that's a good reaction. A hand props up on his hip, a tattered map grasped in the other. He normally isn't used to so many travelers in such large numbers, but don't misunderstand; he's used to crowds. Despite this, he managers to clear his throat and tap one of the strangers upon the shoulder, his Nightingale hood stashed away in case somebody found it.. intimidating or offsetting, as many usually do.

                "Could you direct me to Riften, perchance? Or are you lost too?"

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welcome-to-whiterun

              "Am I in Whiterun? Last time I checked I was in The Rift. Day sure goes by when you're exploring, hm?"