Elfinchilde

That was a lot of fun, and I will definitely come out for pvp nights in the future! Thanks @Aeoden for letting me borrow your trebuchet when I couldn't figure out how to get mine to work, lol. 

It was the gasp of surprise and pain and the loud thump that shook the rickety bar stool she was perched on that finally woke her. Raising her head from her folded arms, Dove blinked blurrily and swiped at the thin line of saliva that had crept down her chin from her deep, drunken sleep. She stared, dazedly contemplating the tastes in her mouth. She had begun with a perfectly tasteful Dunmer vintage, but there were sickly sweet notes of honey and juniper and ... marshweed? Really? With a groan, she straightened her back and attempted a modicum of dignity as she looked around for the commotion that had interrupted her slumber. 

The Khajiit on the floor was writhing in pain, cradling to his chest a furred hand that was beginning to blacken and swell. A wood elf woman was hovering nearby, her wide eyes darting between her stricken friend and Dove, who despite her best efforts was swaying unsteadily on her stool. The dark elf's pale violet eyes, glazed as they were, finally focused on the groaning Khajiit, and from there noticed the way her purse was dangling from her hip, the strap neatly cut but not yet pulled completely free from 'round her waist. "Ahhh,"  she breathed, nodding as if a great mystery had been solved. (It took a lot of effort to remain seated with her head bobbing back and forth, but she had grown fairly accomplished at this.) With a careful movement, she slid off the stool, trying to retain her balance while avoiding the twitching limbs of the fallen cat. "Tried to pick my pocket, hm?"  With her arms held out to the sides to steady herself, she maneuvered herself to the side of the would-be thief, looking between him and the Bosmer. "Jokes on you, really."  She grasped the purse that was still barely hanging at her waist and jiggled it. It made the right sounds, as if coins indeed abound within the thin leather pocket, but when she upended it into her hand, a few tiny dwemer gears, flat river stones, and bits of discarded metal shavings fell into her palm. Turning with that same exaggerated care, she dumped the detritus on the bar top. 

"B..but what did you do to Dahenji?"  The wood elf asked as she took a sliding step back, her eyes shooting between Dove, the other bar patrons, and the door.  Dove blinked slowly, her brow knitted in confusion. "Who? What?"  The Khajiit cried out then, his tail swishing violently as he curled around his injured arm. "Oh, him. I didn't do anything."  She shrugged disinterestedly and began to turn back to the bar, looking down its length to where the proprietress stood glowering in her direction. 

"But he's hurt!"  The other woman cried out, then dropping her voice leaned forward. "Please miss, I can pay. He's my only friend."  She glanced again toward the door, then resolutely stepped closer once again and put herself between Dove and Dahenji. 

Dove sighed and turned back to the pair. A vicious headache was starting behind her eyes. "Fine. Not that I have to help, you understand. You did just try to rob me." Tugging at her tunic, she produced a second, well hidden pouch. Slithering along with it was a tiny sep adder, its scales glistening in the tavern's light. It rubbed its snout along Dove's hand, then raised itself in a strike pose, little fangs exposed. The Bosmer recoiled in surprise, almost tripping over her prone friend as she backed away from the serpent. Its tongue flicked rapidly, following her movement. She saw its eyes were pure white; the little creature was blind. 

"Go back to sleep," Dove cooed to the adder, petting under its chin with a forefinger. Seeming reluctant, the serpent relaxed its fringe and disappeared back into the woman's clothing. Satisfied, she fumbled with the pouch's strings until it was unknotted. Retrieving a small vial, she handed it over to the wood elf. 

"The antidote to the poison." She said, dropping into the other's palm. "You should hurry, he doesn't look well."  Turning away then, she drunkenly climbed atop her stool and reached over the bar to grab a beautiful, well-made lute. She had just turned and settled back on her seat to run her fingers down the strings, when another thump sounded behind her. Plastering a bright, fake smile to her face she half-turned to eye the tavern owner who had just slammed her fists down on the bar top.  "Good evening, Darla."  She chirped, only slurring the words slightly. "What can I do for you?"

The woman stared, red-faced. Breath hissed from between her teeth as she struggled to maintain her composure. "Enough, Veladorn. I know I made a promise to your mother, but this is really just too much." With a broad sweep of her arm, she indicated the messy bar top where still stood evidence of Dove's most recent indulgences, the wood elf sobbing quietly as she administered the vial to her now-spasming companion, and the disgruntled staring faces of the other tavern patrons. "Get out,"  She said, "Pay your tab and just get out. I've had enough of your constant disruptions! The disreputable company you keep! And now this, theft and murder!" 

"Murder?!"  Dove exclaimed, "No way, he's fine," she turned to look back at the Khajiit. The Bosmer had begun dragging him out the door, the cat man still moaning and thrashing in pain. "He'll... uhh, be fine. The antidote takes a minute to kick in."  She said, though she wasn't entirely certain. "Didn't even say goodbye, that's gratitude for you."  With a nod, she looked down and strummed the lute, smiling at the sound.

"And the music! Your wretched music!" 

Dove's eyebrows shot up and she frowned, stumbling from the stool. Hugging the lute to her chest, she stared indignantly at Darla. "Well if that's the way you're going to be, then I think I should go." 

The other woman's response was to toss the rest of Dove's things over the bar. A well-worn traveling pack, a scuffed staff topped with a dull blue stone, and a leather booklet in which she wrote her rhymes and songs and observations of her travels. This last, Darla let sail over her head so that it landed hard and skidded across the dirty tavern floor.

With as much grace as the inebriated dark elf could muster she collected her belongings, ignoring the stares and mutterings of the other patrons. Grumbling under her breath she stumbled out the tavern door into a night already misty with rain. Taking a moment to get her bearings and settling her pack on her shoulder, she looked up and down the dark street. 

"Now where did I park my horse?" 

I should be able to attend this.  Yay!