Robert
"No need, stranger. I still have a fair bit left of mine, and I am not opposed to sharing. Please, come and sit."

*The stranger spoke up to the Altmer, smiling and gesturing to another seat at his table.*
Michael
"You wouldn't happen to be drinking an Arenthia Red, would you? Damned bartender is holding out on me." He says, sitting down at the Breton's table, "What brings you to the Reach, Breton? You don't look like a Reachman, don't smell bad enough, either."
Robert
"Unfortunately not, it's a jazbay grape wine from Eastmarch. Alto, I believe. I find it a passable wine when others are not available, but you are a mer of good taste. I have come from Northpoint through Solitude seeking assistance with a private matter. Alexandre Beaumont, son of Duke Gregoire Beaumont of Northpoint, at your service. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, sir?"
Michael
"Palomir Direnni, at your service." He says, "Nobility. Long way from the duchy, aren't you?" He pours himself a glass of wine, taking a cautious sip, "Passable indeed."
Robert
"Ah, a member of Clan Direnni? I see you too are familiar with the workings of prosperity and commerce. And yes, desperate times call for desperate measures, I'm sure you know. And my situation is a very complicated one. To put it short, I have developed a very harmful condition. It isn't contagious, no need to worry, but I should warn you: it does cause oftentimes violent mood swings and memory problems. To avoid endangering my family, I came to this frigid land following rumors of individuals who may know a way to cure it, or at least lessen the symptoms. I'm staying here for a night or two so my Duchess can rest up while I visit the Hag's Cure. But even then, I had to leave my home with haste, and so my sources are improvised. I haven't had a good night's sleep in... Several days, which I believe to be both a symptom of my condition and a direct result of my extensive travel."
Michael
"Lycanthropy, I presume?" He says in a hushed tone, "Loss of sleep, mood swings, memory loss. Quite easy to put the pieces together."
Robert
*Alexandre was visibly taken aback by how quickly Palomir recognized what he was saying, and he sighed deeply. His voice became quieter, more mournful.*

"...I spoke too much, didn't I. Yes... I still remember it. The fishing trip to the east of Northpoint. The sounds that *Thing* Made. The way it just... Grabbed my friend Edgar in a blur. A horrible creature, an abomination. A boar twisted into the shape of a man. It spread its curse to me, and now I must live knowing that whenever I go to sleep at night, there is a chance someone will die. A chance I won't ever wake up. And if I am unlucky enough to see the morning, I'll remember what I did. I can't live like that near those I love. I can't live like that at all."
Michael
"So you're part pig?" He says, swirling the wine in his glass, "Some would say that's fitting for a member of the aristocracy." He laughs, taking a sip, "So instead of being a bloodthirsty monster on the homefront you decide to be one in an active warzone rife with refugees? An odd choice. I do hope you find that cure you're looking for, I'll keep my ear to the ground on any cures. Few are easy, and the ones that are easy aren't pretty."
Robert
"Skyrim wasn't my first choice either. But the best lead I was able to discover spoke of men that fight as beasts. And better in a warzone than near the people who know me, and who I don't want to endanger. I've already contemplated death as a cure once, and it was a very dark time for me to endure. I don't plan to give up easily. Not Alexandre Beaumont. I feel like a fool asking a stranger such an inquiry, but would you know of any groups that fight with a bestial spirit?"
Michael
"Only rumors. A few former members of the Companions were discovered to be werewolves. I'd wager something's going on within the Companions, but you'll have a hard time getting any straight answers. They're a well respected group, cultural ties dating back to when the Nords first arrived."
Robert
"Then perhaps they are my greatest and, at this point, only chance to get answers. My only company for this journey is wishful thinking, hoping I won't wake up covered in blood that isn't mine. You can't know the feeling of that. To wake one day, remembering screams and crunching sounds. To remember being a monster."
Michael
"I can do some research in the mean time, talk to contacts and the like, see if I can't dig anything up. I remember word of a cure made a long time ago, during the second era, but I'm unsure if it would work on your strain. The lycan back then was a werewolf, and you're, well, a boar. Outside of that I only know of the Glenmoril Wyrd. We're a long way from Glenmoril, and they don't give up their secrets easily."
Robert
"I didn't even bother looking into them for those very reasons. Secrecy. And I don't suppose witches have any interest in gold or fine estates, so I have nothing to offer them. I'm a merchant, not a mage. Although I am a fine swordsman, but more to the point. I greatly appreciate that you, a stranger with no obligation, would entertain my attempts to seek help. I can only dream, with what little sleep I get, that one day I can look back on these times with relief. Bittersweet relief."
Michael
"Oh I have my reasons." He says, "The only currency worth more than gold is a favor." He has a cocky grin on his face, "I might be able to work something out with the Wyrd on your behalf. I too am a merchant, I deal in many things, including things that the Wyrd might be interested in."