Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20151005194811/@comment-29559990-20151010033150

Duraak still sat stone-faced in the inn, unsure of what to make of that whole scene. Clearly, the Khajiit wasn't as stupid as she appeared. Had it been a facade? He wouldn't be surprised, as that seemed characteristic of Nocturnal-kin.

"I think I like the new Nocturnal-kin better," he chuckled, before downing more of his ale.

It was then that a lone creature entered the mostly-empty inn; a small dog of an unknown breed. It seemed to simply be a stray looking for it's next meal. The dog trotted across the wooden floors and up to Duraak, plopping down in front of him and looking at him with a pair of sad, innocent eyes.

Duraak didn't acknowledge the presence of the dog, shrugging it off as a begging mutt to which he could give nothing. The dog didn't respond to well to being ignored, as it lept up and put it's two front paws at the table. His eyes now seemed far more ferocious than innocent. But most peculiar, was the fact that it lashed out against the Orc, bellowing "Are you out of your god damned MIND?!"

The sudden startle forced Duraak to spew out the ale he had just drank, and slowly turn his head towards the mutt. His lips were in the form of a snarl, and he bared a long line of nasty teeth. The orc looked back to his ale with a worried expression, and he proceeded to dump out the rest of his contents onto the floor.

"Bad ale..." He spat.

"It ain't the ale, you cross eyed twit!" The dog barked (see, cuz he's a dog...)

Duraak swallowed, not sure of what the hell was going on. "Can I... Can I ask your name?" The orcish warrior sputtered.

"Names Barbas! And you, are screwed beyond your wildest dreams!"

Barbas...

"Oh no.." The orc rolled his eyes before placing his face into his palms.

"Oh no's right, big boy!" Barbas snapped. "You have fucked up! F-U-C-K-E-D Up!"

"Dunno what'ja mean," The orc shrugged, picking out another bottle from the counter.

"You know damn well what this is about! I wanted to relax today, you know? Take a break from checking up on all of Clavicus's bastard sons and daughters! And why, was my vacation, interrupted, with Clavicus hopping and screaming about some hop-head orc in Dawnstar beating the ever-loving shit out of his favorite!"

Duraak erupted into a long stretch of laughter. "I'm sorry, but the Khajiit is his favorite? How could he possibly be the best at anything!"

"Well, it's like this; Where all the other nimrods like to use their ill-gotten skills for world domination or world peice or what not, Ja'Keil just screws people over. Not too evil, not too good, and all gain. Like Clav. A regulah' chip off the ol'block."

"Then that is one nasty, cracked, fucked up block..." Duraak muttered.

"Let's get back on the topic," Barbas suggested. "I'm here to give you a warning; stop 'training' Ja'Keil. Alright?"

"And why would I do that? Clavicus doesn't like his son taking a punch?"

"Oh, to oblivion want that. Clavicus thinks this training and what not's gonna break his will and he's gonna go goody-goody two-shoes. Clavicus don't want him to go all heroic and crap! You understand?"

"Not really..."

"Alright, then how about this: If you try this training crap out on him and he goes good, Clavicus is gonna turn you into a torchbug. We on the same page now?"

Duraak mulled over his next response. Breaking the Khajiit was something he would love to do... but he also didn't like the idea of living the rest of his life as an insect.

"Fair enough."

"Good," Barbas nodded, hopping off the table and trotting back out the door. "If I gotta come back here, I'm gonna bite!" He warned.

Duraak sighed and took another drink, relaxing in his chair once more.