<strong>Name:</strong>Ilya Evermore<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Riften, in front of Mistveil Keep<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Kreios, Nar'Rystlyn<br/><br/>Apparently the people of Riften were not as used to the courtesies common in Solitude. Everything was so Nord these days, it all lacked a certain flair that he was used to. Even his beloved Solitude had become more... barbaric over the years. What was a bard if he couldn't take a woman's hand in a courtly manner? At least in the Empire they knew to appreciate that sort of thing. Perhaps he had just lost one too many teeth in one go. Perhaps it was the fact that he looked like a clubbed horker-cub. Or perhaps she was just a challenge to his otherwise undefeated bardic charm. Which was just as good. He enjoyed challenges.<br/><br/>He stiffened up a bit as he felt the tingle up his spine and his eyes narrowed in a pained expression as his lighter wounds started to knit together. It wasn't that it was that painful, he was just uncomfortable with the sensation. He looked over at the Nord who was suddenly very eloquent and steady in his manners, giving him an expression equal measures gratitude and ungratefulness. Only a few could pull it off but Ilya was a master after all. He was not one to appreciate sudden healing spells put on him. He'd rather be highly intoxicated. "M-my thanks, Mister. I appreciate i-it." He managed to wheeze it out between his clenched teeth before he stepped back to let him pass. Despite the uncomfortable distraction Mother Evermore never raised no fools and he noticed the very tense atmosphere between the two strangers. He had no time to contemplate it before a pouch of gold was pushed into the hand that Ryla had withdrawn from. He looked down at the pouch, a bit of a frown surfacing on his face. It was true he had no coin, he had used the last of it to by secret passage out of Markarth. He had lived on whatever food and drink he had brought with him in Luggage until now. Even so, he could not accept it. Had he been young he would have quickly pocketed the money. He knew real hunger from those days. But he had promised himself to not stoop to that level anymore. Which was why he smiled brightly and turned to his Luggage.<br/><br/>"In that case I'll make it worth your while, Milady..." He opened up the heavy lid on the contraption, which had sounded a wild series of mechanical clicking noises as soon as he touched it. Half-diving into it he started rummaging around. "If you bite me now, I will never forgive you, Luggage..." The walking chest didn't answer. It was far too professional to acknowledge such a try at slandering its good name and nature. Ilya searched on, he was quite sure he had one or two here. He always kept some at hand in case he ran into a Khajiit caravan. Finally he gave a triumphant shout and emerged once more, blowing dusty and wiping grime of some sort of small box made of bronze. "Usually I sell these for at least a few hundred, but I'll make an exception for you." He held up the box for Ryla to see and opened it. It revealed a tiny cogwork, whirring to life as the lid opened and spinning a small cylinder with delicately inscribed patterns, which in turned flicked the harp-like prongs laid against it. It was playing a melody, intricate and solemn, perhaps of little significance to anyone but Ilya and this supposed Khajiit. It was the melody of a centuries old traditional lullaby from Elsweyr.<br/><br/>"Take it, and I'll accept your little gift as payment, yes?" He placed it in her palm, but his fingers lingered on it and for a moment his eyes became a solemn as the lullaby. It was incredibly hard for him to give away any of his little contraptions, no matter what the price. The countless hours spent working on them gave them a soul to him. Not to mention the Soulgem fragments that gave it a spark. He finally let go of the device and began to distract himself so that he would not become tear-eyed. "If the Companions have been hired for the task of rooting out this Draugr menace I am sure we will not suffer much longer. I have a feeling they will relish a good fight with some undead dragon-botherers. One could say that I am waiting for them to do so." At least in that regard Ilya was completely oblivious of the previously drunken Nord's nature and the precarious position he had just put himself in. At most he suspected him of trying to lure him into some sort of trap and robbing him of his goods. If that was the case he would rather be robbed by a lovely Khajiit thief. After all he had a soft spot for the nomadic tricksters. Speaking of which...<br/><br/>"Perhaps you would like to accompany me to the inn and indulge my curiosities about the town?" He smiled widely, and it was not as bloodied now as before. He glanced at the Nord. He was staring at him. Indeed, this must be a robber intent on cracking his skull and stealing his whatever it was that he had of value. He shifted his focus back to the Nightingale. He could not imagine a better bodyguard at the moment. "I could not imagine a better tutor on the subject at the moment."