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Arellius, dressed head to toe in boiled leather armour and with both a steel tanto and ebony shortsword hanging at his waist, stood hunched over the ships railings, looking out upon the sea. He hated the sea, it was why he preferred to work in Cyridiil if he could. No sea to traverse there.
His head shot up at the call of his name, Gudrun he guessed by the accent and general tone of voice. The Nord both looked and sounded sweet, nice athletic build, blonde hair. 'Yeah I'd hit that,' is what he had thought when he had first set eyes on her and he'd intended to too. That was until he'd seen her in action.
The woman scared him.
Really, really scared him. He'd met some people in the merc game that were cold and maybe a tad psycho. He himself had been called such things numerous times before by a number of different people from all walks of life from merchants he'd terrorised to other mercenary's he had worked with. But Gudrun was different, she took it to a whole new level.
At this stage he was sure that she was at the very least borderline sociopathic. Sick in the head. Completely gaga.
However she did pay well, or whoever paid her paid well, well enough for him to forget about how [&@%!] in the head he assumed her to be and to just get on with the job. Coin was coin at the end of the day and he was earning lots of it. Enough for a holiday at the end of all this if he played his cards right.
And that was why, without even the slightest grumble of discontent he turned and strode over to her.
"Yeah?" He called back to the young Nord as he appoached, one hand coming up to push his long, greasy curls out of his eyes and back under his helmet.
