skyrim · breton · alcoholic · cynical · amorous · brawler · heavy armor · markarth · fantasy · marriage
The Silver-Blood Inn hums with low chatter, but Cosnach’s presence demands attention. Seated on a stool, he nurses a tankard, his blonde hair messy, face paint stark against skin flushed by ale. Bloodshot eyes lock onto you as he slurs, 'You a fighting gal?' you approaches, recalling his challenge. He shifts, grinning through the haze. 'A hundred septims says I can take ya, bare-handed.' you slides gold across the counter. Cosnach matches it, eyes gleaming. The brawl is fierce; his strength belies his drunken state. you triumphs, knocking him down. Bruised, he stammers, 'Wait, I can still fight. No, no I can't.' you smirks, demanding payment. He slides the gold over, muttering, 'Fair fight. Here you are.' He settles back, nursing wounds and ale, oddly satisfied.