vaelwynde, the first place giveaway pic delivered with love from attheborderofoblivion.

It was becoming more and more difficult to stem guilt at Vaelwynde’s words. Sympathy - sympathy she didn’t need, or deserve, and from a Dawnguard agent of all places. Still, she swallowed the growing lump in her throat, offering a smile and turning back to the hounds. One approached, braver than the rest, and was rewarded with her sinking to her knees to give him a thorough ear-scratching.

"… I’m very lucky." She spoke softly, as though her lies would have less impact that way. "But I thank you for your kindness. And moreso, for your friends." A soft chuckle as one hound gingerly licked her cheek - evidently they were well-trained, not the type to jump on and bring down civilians. Not like her Luke had been, regularly tackling her to the floor with loving, sloppy kisses. Even her stoic Doht greeted her with a nuzzle of her hand.

"Do they all have names? However do you keep them all straight, know who is who? Do you breed them yourself, at Fort Dawnguard?" A flurry of questions, both out of genuine curiosity and a wish to distract him. 

Vaelwynde nodded silently in response to Dust's gratitude, unable to formulate even the lightest of responses on a tongue weighty with guilt. He had already asked too much; it would only grieve both of them to speak of the subject any further. Time to let it go, to resume a stern facade -- a lie, of course. "Indeed, we do breed them," he quickly answered, relishing the change of subject. "By breeding ourselves, we know for certain of the favourable traits they will pass down. It is also a considerable expense less to train them ourselves than it is to buy the dogs in from elsewhere. I--" The Altmer abruptly stopped, turning his head sharply to the side with a cold hiss. The sable female rummaging in his knapsack stopped dead, ears pricked and eyes wide, before backing away. "As I was about to say... I look after these hounds, assign them to suitable patrolmen, and take charge of their training." His gaze was firmly fixed upon the rebellious husky, whom had rolled onto her back in submissive display. "Given that I see them daily, I know well of which dog is which. In fact, as it happens..." He took pause to stoop, gently scratching behind the cradled puppy's ears. "The one you are holding is mine."

Afternoon Off [Open RP]

Now that the bruises had faded to an unpleasant yellow-green, walking through the city was not quite so nerve-racking. It seemed people were far less likely to gawk at half healed bruises than fresh ones. And so, with the little bit of money she’d earned so far, Halldis set out to check prices at the shops. A brief stop at Warmaiden’s had left her feeling utterly discouraged. So far she’d been able to buy herself some arrows, so she could hunt at the very least. But everything else was so terribly expensive.

New armor would eventually be manageable, as would a dagger, and a few potions, but Trygve’s bow was the most troubling. A good one would cost her over a thousand septims. Her wages at the stables were fair, she could not complain on that count, but at this rate, it seemed she would be in Whiterun forever. There were worse places to be of course, but staying put for so long was making her antsy.

Halldis now sat beneath the Gildergreen, scowling down at the list she’d made in her journal. She sighed, and rubbed at her eyes, paying little attention to what was going around her as she fought against the urge to cry.

Vaelwynde almost strode past the crumpled form of the grieved human, not particularly caring to take pause. Whiterun was far from a city he favoured -- The faster he could leave the wretched mess of a place, the better. Amid the earsplitting combination of Heimskr's preaching rants and the gods-awful bards in the taverns, even the crime-ridden streets of Riften looked to be a heavenly place to be based of an eve. Alas, he was not so fortunate as that. Though he cared not for personal trifles, there was no denying that such trifles potentially held threads of substance -- threads that could repair, that could create information anew. It would not do to leave a potential lead unchecked. "Might something be... troubling you?" It was a wilted olive branch -- stiffly held out and altogether rather unconvincing in its stern delivery -- but an olive branch it was. Vaelwynde had never been one for consolation and compassion when he had far greater matters of importance to dwell upon. Still, it would do, for now.

"Yuvon," she murmured quietly to the hound, a slow beam widening her lips, eyes coming alight. Her expression remained until Vaelwynde’s question registered, when she turned and blinks. "… Ah. Well…" Hopefully, he would think hesitation was from nervousness, not from trying to create a lie. "… I’m lucky that it is - relatively far back. My grandfather, you see. I don’t remember much about him.  I was sensitive to sunlight, however."

She was relieved at the change of subject and smiled once more. “I’d love to meet the rest.”

Vaelwynde gave a curt not in response, words not immediately forthcoming. He opened the stable door fully, allowing the entire pack to gradually file out - some slowly, others with far more vigor. A few of the more confident dogs bounded off into the distance, racing and rolling around with each other in play. The more submissive members stuck far more closely to the mer's heel, peering at the human newcomer with curiosity and interest. Of course, what the dogs were doing was far from the forefront of his mind. "You are lucky if that is your only grievance, though I suspect it does not end there." He spoke without turning around, a shaken softness creeping into his words that betrayed his hidden wince. It hurt to know there were more like him. "To be unable to walk among the height of day, nor forge glowing steel, or even to sit by an open fire and enjoy its warmth... They are simple pleasures, yes, but ones many take for granted. You have my utmost sympathy." And there he went, again. Time to focus on happier things. Or try to, at least. "... Go ahead. Say hello to them."

For every ∯ I get I will say/confess something without specifying for whom it is meant

eg:

Yours is a mind that I can appreciate, for your sense of logic is roughly aligned to my own. Time will be the thread from which the web of certainty is woven. 

[A small smile is inspired in his otherwise grim features; his gaze alights to the expression in the advisor’s own.]

One’s knowing disdain is necessary in the face of caution. I do not find your previous disposition a transgression in any way, and so an apology is not necessary.

I have been stationed here as acting Invigilator to the Dominion’s regional affairs. If you must know, I find the station insufferable as I am not of the mind to dwell in matters abroad. The Tathvir remain on the Isles, yes. I only hope that I am to return soon as there are pressing matters to attend to.

[ An Invigilator. Casual, pleasant conversation with an Invigilator. Holy shit, pigs must be flying at some obscure location in Tamriel. ] Needless to say, I felt an apology was warranted. So few one might meet turn out to be personable; assumption provides protection where one cannot be sure. That said, I am... pleasantly relieved, for such understanding as yours. You are not like others I have met. [ He almost asks what the pressing issues are, but stills his tongue; that was too personal, surely. Best not to trust too freely, too soon. ] Should your personal preoccupations be time sensitive, I would not keep you longer than necessary -- unless it is a matter the Dawnguard can assist. I would hope the Isles were less dire than Skyrim, in that regard.

She felt more than a twinge of guilt, at lying. He seemed so affected by it, truly - sympathetic to her pretended plight. But she couldn’t afford to share the truth. A soft smile and a nod of assurance was offered before she followed his movements, peeking into the dimness of the stable and beaming as a hound was brought forth.

She stared for a long moment at the large male, biting her lip. He had said full-blooded vampires, and nothing else. 

Gingerly, she extended her hand, and beamed when he stoically sniffed.

"… He reminds me of my own hound."

"Does he, now...?" Vaelwynde watched Yuvon carefully, prepared to yank him back at the first sign of aggression. Observing none, he relaxed slightly, releasing his grip on the large dog's collar and allowing him to draw closer to Dust. The fact that there might be nothing at all for the dog to respond to in the first place did not even cross the normally distrustful advisor's mind; surely no-one would lie about that particular subject. "... What was it like, for you? Growing up, I mean." He wasn't sure if it was a question that was appropriate to ask; nonetheless, it had fallen from his lips before he could stop himself asking it. So few people shared his nigh-on unique mixed blood... Something he was undoubtedly pleased for. At the same time? There was a an undeniably strange solace to be found, in finding one all too much like himself. "You... do not have to answer that. Apologies." He turned away to face the stable door once again, head bowed. "Would you like to meet the rest of the pack, now?"

At first, she feared she’s earned his wrath - the stiffening, the staring made her back away, already prepared to flee. Surely they weren’t that fanatical? When he calmed so did she, giving a slow sigh. He was understanding of her lie - surprisingly so.

Subdued. 

A tight swallow. Further lies would arose further suspicion, surely. And he had said only full-blooded vampires, yes? It was a risk she’d have to take. She nodded slowly, offering a polite, tight smile.

"… In that case, it would be fine, then." She continued to idly cuddle the puppy in her arms, letting him nip and lick at her chin. "… Thank you."

Dust's pauses spoke volumes far greater than the words that might have filled them, and Vaelwynde did not miss a beat. He assumed that she must surely be nervous, and rightly so... What vampire-blooded individual would trust the reassurance of one that would just as soon drive a sliver of silver into their back? He wanted to say something. Anything, to reassure her. But what? And how? "... Here." Vaelwynde elected to ease Dust into the fray carefully, opening the stable door just enough to release only one husky. A broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired male trotted out, standing sternly by the Altmer's heel. "This is Yuvon," he said, cautiously hooking a restraining finger through the dog's collar. "He is one of our dominant males, and tends to be more aloof than affectionate -- but he is docile enough, once you establish yourself as leader."

Brethyn turns to face his patient once more, taking in his words, posture and — Well. That…is another abnormality. Were this mer’s eyes glowing? They certainly hadn’t been doing that when he first came in! He pauses, trying to parse the situation. His next words would have to be very careful.

"Ignoring this may be comforting in the short-term, but there’s a very real possibility that your organization will pay the price in your stead. Senior officials do not crop up overnight, so I imagine your sudden loss would leave the Dawnguard in a bind." He brushes stray strands of hair behind a notched ear, disliking the combative direction things were taking. He had a personal interest in seeing the Volkihar punished, he reminded himself. It wouldn’t do to become impatient with the ones trying to murder them.

"Please consider that if you tell me the cause of this - because I know you know it - then there is also a real possibility that I can do something to help you." He seats himself in the hope that the act of placing himself lower than the other mer would placate him some. "And even if I can’t, I might still be able to refer you to colleagues who can. The goal here is to help you continue fighting your battle for as long as possible. Isn’t that an attractive enough end goal to put up with me for awhile?"

Shit. In his blind anger, Vaelwynde had completely failed to see the possibility of such consequence to his faction. In his mind, he had always been disposable, worth less than whom he served -- after all, was he not technically part of the problem at large? But it was true; without him, the Dawnguard would be in quite the predicament indeed. That said... If this physician had yet to be informed of -- or worse still, had yet to notice -- his vampiric heritage, then it was entirely questionable that he would be able to help at all. Only two people had shown any kind of extensive knowledge of his condition, and he'd never exactly been terribly quick to turn to either of them. Perhaps he would do so to placate Isran, after this pointless waste of time had concluded... "Vampire Lord," he gruffly conceded, looking towards the floor. "My father was one, though I assume that part to be obvious." He snarled to himself; good Gods, he utterly despised the mer. "If Isran did not deem it fit to pass that particularly crucial fact with you prior, then I would vouch that you cannot possibly help me. Medical knowledge of half-vampires is sparse enough, without the additional pureblood factor added in.  I repeat -- you are wasting your time."

It is far from that. Rather quiet and uneventful, actually. [ She motions with her head in the direction of the market before starting off. ] This way.

I recognize that armor. Dawnguard? What brings you to Whiterun?

A most agreeable place, then. [ He gives a curt nod, following. ] Thank you. Hmmm? [ Finally -- Someone that needed no introduction. ] Ah... Yes, I am of the Dawnguard. We are here to assess the public knowledge of the current vampiric crisis and to recruit promising new fighters. However, I must stress that there is no imminent threat to the city, despite the numbers of my men in the region. We have things well under control.