#yngram

The days grew increasingly more occupied. The travel from Weyrest to Markarth was frequent when the matters of Adelein’s partner switched to-and-from the provinces. The adjustment from the breton’s reclusive behavior was not swift, as she constantly sought reasons to disappear during times of leisure. 

Yngram gave the mer a long, sideways glance before reaching into his cloak and producing a few septims. He placed them on the plate with a clink, taking note of the other’s blindness. “Don’t got any ale,” He murmured, leaning back against a fence post. He’d come down to the stables to feed the horses. None of them were his, but there was a mare who was particularly keen on him, especially once he had started slipping her an extra sugar cube. The stable keeps didn’t seem to mind, and he’d been coming long enough that they’d finally learned to stop asking him if he was looking to buy.

He waited another moment to start speaking again. “I’ve heard you before. Few nights back, in the market square. You’re talented.”

His mouth pursed into a neutral, somewhat frowning position. Damn. Perhaps he should’ve stashed some in his pack when he was still in Markarth. The pursed limps soon retracted back into a more closed grin, one where only a sliver of the front set of his teeth were shown.

“Thank you. Y’know, no one ever notices that. I feel like dead weight when playing in an inn, it’s nice to know that my talents are recognized.”

He smirked, scoffing.

“Well, maybe through coin, but nothing verbal.”

Hazred plucked the 12 strings with his fingers, as he sat on a stool outside the Markarth stables. The patrons of the local inn had him kicked out for a bit, citing that the music had been “too distracting” and “loud”.

Of course, the drunken halfmer’s ire was directed at one of the bodyguards, and the last place he woke up was in a pile of hay and horse shit, head pounding and hungover. Perhaps he’d gotten a little too heavy on the ale.

At least the stable workers didn’t seem to mind. Hell, they’d even given him a septim for luck.

“Well I, woke up this morning,

this morning, I woke up, I did.

The, great bay was on fire,

So I went back to sleep instead.

King’s men told me to leave,

I did what I was told,

When a roaring noise met my ears,

Curs’d, ghostly and cold.

The, Usurper—”

He stopped for a moment, bent down, and felt around the tin plate for coins, finding only 5, before sensing the Nord’s approach.