Linda
The Wizard held his hands behind his back while he stared at the tall pine tree towering before him. From his suite in the Winking Skeever, he had chosen the moments before the first light of dawn to venture out of the city and inspect the wilderness. Some may have seen him and expected that he did so to clear his thoughts, perhaps ponder the wondrous spectacle that was the natural world... But none of these would be correct. 

Varis stood with a makeshift clipboard and notebook in hand, a refilling quil-pen in the other. The scholar mauled his thoughts as he mapped out the region he stood in. The tree was large, and as he inspected the soil with one knee to the ground, he nodded as he jotted down some numbers and notes about the mycological suitability of the area. Using his knowledge of the mycelium, he attempted to divine a greater understanding of the forest, to pin point weak points in the shrubbery and canopy, where his building projects could best be avoided, lest he run into unstable ground. 

The Dunmer finally stood up and wrote down a few more notes. He was alone, in naught but his robes and jewerly. He was a medium height man with purplish-grey skin, and even brigther purple eyes. His hair was raven black and the beard he had seemed carefully groomed. Despite these aspects, his appearance was scarred and almost shamanistic, to the unenlightened, as his skin was covered in Daedric Script and runes and glyphs, inked into it with a purple that complimented the cadbury depths that were the slceras of his eyes. 

To someone who had not met many Telvanni, he would definitely be an odd sort to find anywhere in Tamriel, let alone the woods of Haafingar. His hands moved quickly across his papers, as he scribed and sketched more and more. Though, despite his focus, a scouting familiar was never far from a Conjuration Wizard.
Jerry
Sondaale walked. 
She liked the wilderness. It was quiet, and alone; here the cloying sense of *Filth* Was warded off by the biting chill and the stirring branches. It took her out of her mind. 

Things were simple out here, as well. She would walk, aimlessly, until something tried to kill her, kill *It*, roast it (sometimes) with destruction magic, and eat it. Not pleasant, but simple. 

She too was a strange sight. An Altmer, mage's robes bedraggled, hair filthy, bloodstains on her face. Her left eye was covered by a patch, but the skin around it was visibly scabbed. A zombified bear, missing most of its side, followed behind her. Occasionally, she looked upwards, to where the towers of Solitude shadowed the horizon. It helped to have a destination. 

Sondaale blinked. She wasn't alone. Another mer was standing against a tree, scribbling on a notebook. His skin was grey- a Dunmer, then. *A cruel and cunning race that worship gods of betrayal and ambition,* Noted a voice in her mind, which she ignored. 

She tugged at the dead bear, bringing it to hand, but she didn't move. Only examined the strange Mer with her one good eye.
Kelvin
A scamp clicked its claws against the branches of the pine tree where Varis stood at the foot of. It cocked its head side to side as it looked from side to side, chittering its fangs up and down as it shivered in the cold. The creature was not used to the frigid cold, as it savored its memories of Oblivion, even if it had been there only a few hours ago.

Then, something caught the hairy-legged Scamp's gaze. A long eared yellow elf! Just like Master! Except, this was *Not* Master. And, it was yellow. A yellow mortal with, what was this?! An undead bear?! OH! Now that's rich. The scamp chuckled to itself as it offered a few chitters toward its Master. A gargled communication that helped get his attention.
Linda
The Sorcerer glanced up to the Scamp high in the tree, furrowed his brow unappreciatively, until the Scamp gestured toward Sondaale. 

The purple eyes of the Conjurer landed on the woman, and he raised an eyebrow. He glanced toward the bear next to her, and nodded to himself. An impressive reanimation. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the beast, wondering if the ligaments and joints had been properly reanimated, so to allow the broadest range of motion. His studies in the anatomy of bodies aided in this, as he was no expert in Necromancy. In fact, he found it rather *Filthy* And distasteful, versus enslaving the forces of Oblivion and chaining them to one's will. It was a far more...*Fun*, practice, than reanimating mindless corpses. 

Though, he had to admit, perhaps a resurrected, zombified bear provides more of a fearful response than a Clannfear. Something so familiar made so alien, versus something simply alien. 

Whatever the case may be, Varis closed his notebook and raised his chin a little. "I would be glad to see a fellow elf, in these parts of Tamriel. Though, my excitement is stalled," He glanced toward the bear, and then back to her. He focused on her one good eye, attempting to restrain his eyes from crossing as he said, "At least, until I know your intentions, fellow mage."
Kelvin
By now, the Scamp had crept down from the heights of the tree and sat down on the snowy grass near Varis, clinging to the sorcerer's robes as it watched with a slight grin. It wanted to bite and gnaw at the woman's neck, but whatever profane force the Master had over him restrained him to a docile, *Waiting* Stasis.
Jerry
His voice startled her. She blinked again, unsure of what to say. She put her hand on the bear's head, to steady herself. 

It seemed as though she was detached from her flesh, hearing this conversation from a long way away. Focusing on his words was difficult. Her eye drifted towards the Daedra... A Scamp, she thought, vaguely, that he had probably summoned. She watched its claws fix into the Dunmer's robe, sinking in between the threads, leaving small tears in the fabric. 

The silence stretched onwards. 
"I'm Sondaale," She said at last.
Linda
The Wizard raised his hand holding the pen up to his chin, pressing the back of the quil-pen to his chin as he narrowed his gaze. The woman was easily startled, and she needed to steady herself on the bear's head. Either she had been wandering for some time, an obvious thing due to her attire and entirety, and perhaps she had not gotten much sleep. Though, Varis mauled over it for a moment, as she inspected the Daedra at his side. 

So she was not completely mindless. That much was proven by her words, finally uttered after an eerie silence. 

Varis, despite all these things, grinned a little. If all else failed, she might make a good meal for Jaher. Though, she could speak, and could perform magic. Thus, perhaps she had some intellect that would save her from his bemusement. 

"Varis, a pleasure. Not often one sees an Altmer in Skyrim without a set of Justiciar robes or armor. Should I expect a coven at your back, or, are we alone? Figuratively, speaking." He gestured to the bear and the scamp.
Jerry
Sondaale forced herself to pay attention to the Mer's words. 
He was smiling now. She wondered why. Perhaps he was nervous. She was probably an unnerving sight, covered in filth with a zombie at her side. 

"Varis."
She nodded. 
"I'm alone. And I'm not Thalmor."
She scratched the skin near her eye.
"What about you? What are you doing here?"

He was, she thought, pretty. Hair a light-absorbing black, the sigils on his skin a rich purple. She traced them with her eye, as best she could. She could make out a few familiar words, but putting the foreign sigils together was too much. She focused on the color and the shape, instead. Twisting, jagged, splitting the greyness of his skin.
Linda
"Hm. Alone, and not Thalmor. Then, well met. Loneliness often the byproduct of a gifted mind, or so my mentor taught me." His eyes narrowed as he watched her scratch at the skin near her eye. His grin started to fall as he tilted his head a little. The area seemed irritated, as if it had never gotten the chance to properly close up and heal. Where some might see her as grotesque, he saw her as a specimen. A thing to be studied. 

In Morrowind, he had heard tales of the Blight from the days of the Nerrevarine. He knew of the ghouls, lepers, and beasts spawned of that crisis. His father had told him a hundred different tales of how his ancestors had faught such things in the wastes of Northern Vvardenfell. 

Then, in his lifetime, he had seen the effects of disease, and how it was attributed to Peryite. Though, he was also taught of Namira. The way her worshippers *Loved* Disease and infection, parading it as some sort of wondrous blessing, and that the carrying of these sicknesses were making them closer to their goddess. Varis mauled over that thought, as he watched her, and wondered if she was one such worshipper, or merely a leper, forgotten and abandoned by society, waiting for some glimmer of repreive from some dark corner with a whisper dangling within. 

He let himself have a soft chuckle, pleased with the poetic nature he had designed within his head for her. 

But, he would answer. 

"I am inspecting the land," He looked toward the tree. "I intend to...*Build* Here. Or at least, somewhere around here. I intend to establish a few residential areas, out here. A project of mine, which will turn this, relatively useless clump of wilderness, into a sprawling area of shops and homes." He looked toward her. "And, your eye? I imagine it is beyond healing, but, does it, *Hurt*?" He seemed genuinely curious, because he was. He was already writing notes down about her.