A Holy Rest (Open)

Alaric had both his and Dar'savi's bags over his shoulder as he returned to the group. He had paused and changed into a more... fitting attire while he was at the farm house and was now dressed in belted black robes which fortified his magicka and regeneration rate, his hooded cloak, which was also enchanted, and some Muffled black boots. The wind picking up caused the cloak to billow around him, negating nearly all the warmth it provided as he seemingly materialized next to Dar'savi. "You would do well, Joy-Killer, not to underestimate the challenge that a lycan presents. Courage is one thing, but arrogance is another entirely. Save for not having resistance to magic, this will be even more challenging than the Xivilai..." Alaric's voice was level and admonishing in tone. It was all he needed for some hot-blooded half-Nord to get him or his night-siblings killed or injured.

He handed Dar'savi her bag while setting his own on the ground. A low, melancholy tone floated on the air as he whistled into the night. A loud whinny sounded from the south as the horses began coming toward the group, their hoofbeats quietened by the wrappings on their feet. "I'm afraid that unless you two have mounts, we'll be doubling up for the journey in order to save time. Those infected with lycanthropy can move swiftly, sometimes faster than horses, so walking or even running is out of the question."

The two black draft horses would be with the group in a matter of moments and they would be on their way. He felt like he should warn them not to ride with Malice unless they wanted a... less-than-pleasant trip, but he decided otherwise as he didn't want to seem to eager to be alone and in the dark with someone just yet. "Just remember... sometimes defense... is your greatest offense..."

"None that know of " Dar'savi answered Nistac's question "I have trained my eyes to the bow, with both normal and night vision." Then Alaric showed up with the bags, hers making the sound of jars clanging together as it held her potions and poisons along with the ingredients to make them.

Once the horse came to Alaric's call she got on hers and waited for the twe red-nordss to ride with them

((Did we move?))

(I'm waiting on Mesa, who's waiting on Dreamweaver to catch up. :B)
(Anyway, my laptop's kicked the bucket [dis be Mesa's], so sorry if I'm slow when things do get moving.)

He hoped Rithle would take the Altmer's advice seriously. He had to patch her up too many times not to know that she was reckless and when she wasn't killing his ideas with brute pragmatism, she was killing for the joy of it. Scars, apparently, were fun too. She had them like badges underneath her armor and could probably tell each of their stories with a little liquor. She had a warrior's heart, alright, and though they were twins, his disposition was not matched with hers.

He felt somewhat intimidated by the horses that had come from nowhere. Were they in the general vicinity the entire time? Furthermore, who should he ride with?

Would it be too much to get their own horse? Rithle, at least, was content to sit in the back and let him hold the reigns, but... he would just feel awkward holding anyone else's sides. The Dunmer who had just arrived had a look that could strangle him where he stood - if that was possible. He was almost inclined to believe looks could really kill if he had not suffered under Rithle's hard gaze for most of his life.

Then there was the Altmer; he seemed friendly enough when he wasn't calling on a whole host of Destruction magic. It was odd - he seemed younger than the Red-Nord, but there was an obvious difference in skill level. He chalked it up to Altmeri blood. Their general, haughty nature was for a reason, after all. Maybe it was just another facet in their claim on superiority?

The Khajiit was amiable enough, but he wasn't too sure if she wanted some random stranger she had only met moments ago hugging her tightly on what would prove to be a rough ride. That would just be unmanly of him. Rithle would disapprove, and she already made fun of him as it is. He didn't need another reason to be ridiculed.

Between the two elves present, he thought he'd go with Alucard or Alaric or whatever it is he went by. It'd be a lot more comfortable riding with a person in robes than someone in cold, hard steel. That is to say, he would ask the Altmer if he could not get a horse to him and his sister.

"Is it possible for me and Rithle to share a mount?" he asked out loud - the question going out to all the vigilants present. "I think it would be less awkward than riding with strangers."

(Shorry. ._.)

Alaric tapped his foot in the darkness, their indecision driving him more mad than he already was, if that were even possible. The male red-nord finally spoke up, and his question was so preposterous that Alaric couldn't hold back a snort. "No, you may not have a mount to yourselves. I am no fool, you will ride with us. You have given me no reason to mistrust you, but neither have you shown me that I can trust you. Until that changes, you will ride with one of us."

The leather saddle creaked quietly as Alaric swung his leg over and settled in, making sure to get comfortable for the long ride. His horse shuffled nervously, the burning ozone from the lightning magicks still lingering in the air and making him skittish. He grabbed the reigns, guided the beast over to Nistac, and grabbed his hand, pulling him up behind him with one arm. "You don't have to like it, but this is how it's going to be for a while, so you might as well conserve your energy by getting comfortable.

He clucked his tongue and the horse walked a few paces around the group, re-arranging how things sat before they could go into a run. He felt the apprehension rolling off of the boy and whispered "I don't bite..." before turning his attention to the boy's sister. "Heed my words, Joy-Killer... You'll live a lot longer, that much I can assure you..." He smiled at his own little inside joke. He was, after all, the best source to go to for finding out how to live longer...

"Hyahhh!" His shout carried over the hills as he spurred the horse, using the reigns to direct it toward Morthal and giving a gentle kick every now and then to encourage it not to slow too much. He had paid top dollar for these animals, too much in his opinion, but then again... you get what you pay for...