OOC Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=130619.0)<br/><br/>Another night, another trip to the bar, and yet another attempted mugging by racist drunkards.  Such a series of events was more than typical in Windhelm for anybody who wasn't a Nord.  Though M'Ravirr managed to be the one standing after the conflict with his money still in hand, he had received his fair share of bruising.  For the umpteenth time the Khajiit made a vow to himself to leave the city of bigots at the very first opportunity to do so.  Of course this had been going on for years now and he was struggling just to make ends meet.  At least there he had a house... or more accurately a shanty to provide some shelter from the biting cold of Skyrim.  And sure, he could technically leave whenever he wanted, but as it stood he had a paltry sum to his name and it would only be through uncharacteristically good luck that he manages to find a dwelling before his funds run dry.  The rundown home may not be much, but he was thankful for not being among the less fortunate who literally freeze to death from exposure during the especially cold nights.<br/><br/>A strong breeze of super chilled air scooped down into the clearing before Candlehearth Hall, forcing the Khajiit to grip his robes to minimize the number of places the biting wind could penetrate his attire.  As is passed, his triangular feline ears twitched in response to hearing the flapping of parchment.  Turing his head under his hood to follow the source of the noise, he noticed a flier pinned on the Hall's door.  With his curiosity piqued, he approached and read the announcement.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>Adventurers of Skyrim,                                                                           <br/><br/>An expedition comprised of freelance mercenaries is being assembled<br/>to investigate the odd phenomena happening on the western expanses<br/>of our land.  If you seek gold or glory and wish to offer your hand in aid<br/>to the High King and your homeland, convene in the Cloud District of<br/>Whiterun by noon on 21st of Mid Year.<br/><br/>Engar Gogrek, steward of the High King                                                        </em></div><br/>M'Raviir's eyes opened wide as he read that notice.  Though doubt ruled his mind, there was finally an opportunity to leave this retched city for good.  He may be an adventurer by the loosest of terms, but by Fadomai's grace, this was his one opportunity and he was not going to let it pass him by!<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Though internally M'Raviir shook with uncertainty and anxiety, he somehow managed to keep those weak emotions from reflecting to his outward composure as he stood surrounded by adventurers worthy the title in Whiterun's Cloud District.  During the entire ride to Whiterun his mind was haunted by the fact that he had uprooted himself; everything he owned was now carried upon his person and everything that couldn't be was sold for whatever coin he could get.  It was official.  He was homeless and with enough money to sustain him for a short time, but he had a purpose.  An opportunity to prove himself and hopefully make himself a fair amount of wealth in the process.<br/><br/>There had to be more than two score people in the courtyard who were boasting their accomplishments to one another, scoffing at those who they deemed inferior, or assumed a stoic posture.  M'Raviir did his best to stay firmly planted in the latter category.  A man with an unusually small frame for a Nord, but dressed in the finest clothes this Khajiit had ever laid eyes on waited patiently for the sun to rise to its apex in the clear sky above.