Introduction
Link to OOC
Link to the Interest Check
Morrowind Information!
Odai River
Interactive Morrowind Map
Map of Vvardenfell
Map of Morrowind and all Tamriel
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Greg Keyes, author of 'The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal City' for some of the circumstances of Morrowind and the rest of the credit for plot and setting goes to Duchessa and Gasmask, two of the finest brain-stormers I've ever seen.
- Current Posting Order -
XavierDantius32
Duchessa
Gasmasque
Sibrand
Imehal
Plot Overview
Morrowind lies in ruins, devastated not only by the eruption of Red Mountain but also by the division of its factions more than ever. Wars, both hidden and public, rage around the ruins of a once proud and whole nation, with the people growing more divided and tense in their interactions by the day. There are glimmers of hope here and there for peace such as the combined patrols around the more ruined areas of Morrowind but they are often swallowed by the levels of animosity between the factions and Empire.
Intervention with the aim of salvaging Morrowind came in the form of dreams to those chosen by Azura herself, just like the time she had contacted the Nerevarine in times gone by. These dreams were unique to each recipient, offering them something they heartily desired in return for their aid towards the restoration of the Dunmer homeland, but this need not be their only motivation for accepting. If willing, each 'chosen' wakes aware of distinctive markings that will allow them to identify their future party members.
Of course, with the intervention of immortal beings comes the opposition of them as well, with other of the Daedric Princes seeing fit to complicate the task bestowed on the group; some for amusement and others out of a twisted desire to see misery and devastation reign supreme. Anyone outside their appointed allies cannot be trusted, for they might be subject to the sway of the Daedra, whether it be by intention or not.
The tale officially starts in the town of Balmora, haven for those not allied with any faction of Vvardenfell, with an execution to take place that very morning of a Telvanni faction member, but there is much more to be done and seen on an average day in this town, even if it turns out by its end that it is anything but ordinary.
Progress Report
Link to the Interest Check
Morrowind Information!
Odai River
Interactive Morrowind Map
Map of Vvardenfell
Map of Morrowind and all Tamriel
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Greg Keyes, author of 'The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal City' for some of the circumstances of Morrowind and the rest of the credit for plot and setting goes to Duchessa and Gasmask, two of the finest brain-stormers I've ever seen.
- Current Posting Order -
XavierDantius32
Duchessa
Gasmasque
Sibrand
Imehal
Plot Overview
Morrowind lies in ruins, devastated not only by the eruption of Red Mountain but also by the division of its factions more than ever. Wars, both hidden and public, rage around the ruins of a once proud and whole nation, with the people growing more divided and tense in their interactions by the day. There are glimmers of hope here and there for peace such as the combined patrols around the more ruined areas of Morrowind but they are often swallowed by the levels of animosity between the factions and Empire.
Intervention with the aim of salvaging Morrowind came in the form of dreams to those chosen by Azura herself, just like the time she had contacted the Nerevarine in times gone by. These dreams were unique to each recipient, offering them something they heartily desired in return for their aid towards the restoration of the Dunmer homeland, but this need not be their only motivation for accepting. If willing, each 'chosen' wakes aware of distinctive markings that will allow them to identify their future party members.
Of course, with the intervention of immortal beings comes the opposition of them as well, with other of the Daedric Princes seeing fit to complicate the task bestowed on the group; some for amusement and others out of a twisted desire to see misery and devastation reign supreme. Anyone outside their appointed allies cannot be trusted, for they might be subject to the sway of the Daedra, whether it be by intention or not.
The tale officially starts in the town of Balmora, haven for those not allied with any faction of Vvardenfell, with an execution to take place that very morning of a Telvanni faction member, but there is much more to be done and seen on an average day in this town, even if it turns out by its end that it is anything but ordinary.
Progress Report
- 17 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors
Setting
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Marcelle stormed out of the Balmora temple, a look of abject fury on his face. He cursed loudly and dropped down onto the ground, his back cool against the outer wall. He tilted his head back, staring up into the inky blackness of the firmament. The stars flashed in the night, and the two moons cast a pale ethereal light over the town. Marcelle's eyes picked out the constellation of his birth, the warrior, in the stars above him. He brushed away a tear from the corner of his left eye, cursing again as the motion irritated the crescent shaped burn scar on his cheek.
He picked himself up, and padded down the stairs, his leather boots creaking softly as the battered old leather moved. He wandered through the town centre, pushing past a dunmer house-wife weeping over a body in the street. Another victim of the invisible war. Marcelle picked his way past the corpse, darting backwards as a contingent of Hlaalu guardsmen, their bonemould flickering in the moonlight.
After a short walk, the cold air began to chill Marcelle to the bone. He shivered, instantly regretting not bringing the heavy bear-pelt coat that was tucked away in his tent. He passed through the second row of houses and crossed the river, watching the black water shimmer like a serpent in the moonlight. As he crossed the river, he passed through the space between more houses, turning away from the sounds of glass smashing and wood splintering as what had started as an argument spilled out onto the street. Cries of “Fetcher” and “Outlander scum” echoed off the walls, filling the alleyway down which Marcelle walked.
Finally, he reached the sorrowful collection of tents that had spread out on this side of town. The tents were mostly just blankets or sheets thrown up over staves or spears, to provide pitiful shelter. Marcelle passed the pale, starvation stricken faces of Ashlanders, driven from their homes by the eruption of Red Mountain. He passed the family of Imperials, driven from Gnisis by the Redoran takeover. The piercing wail of a hungry child cut from their tent, prickling the hairs on the back of Marcelle's neck. Finally, he reached his own tent. It was a large cape, purchased with the last of his gold, slung over a pair of spears bedded firmly in the ground, with a vine tide between them.
The night wind whistled through the tents, causing Marcelle to shiver again. He clambered into the tent and settled on the bed roll, pulling his coat over him like a makeshift duvet. He knew it was a regret to try to sleep, but it was better than wandering the streets of Balmora after dark. He pulled a sweet roll from his battered pack and gulped it down, before placing his head on the lumpy pillow, and drifting off to sleep...
He picked himself up, and padded down the stairs, his leather boots creaking softly as the battered old leather moved. He wandered through the town centre, pushing past a dunmer house-wife weeping over a body in the street. Another victim of the invisible war. Marcelle picked his way past the corpse, darting backwards as a contingent of Hlaalu guardsmen, their bonemould flickering in the moonlight.
After a short walk, the cold air began to chill Marcelle to the bone. He shivered, instantly regretting not bringing the heavy bear-pelt coat that was tucked away in his tent. He passed through the second row of houses and crossed the river, watching the black water shimmer like a serpent in the moonlight. As he crossed the river, he passed through the space between more houses, turning away from the sounds of glass smashing and wood splintering as what had started as an argument spilled out onto the street. Cries of “Fetcher” and “Outlander scum” echoed off the walls, filling the alleyway down which Marcelle walked.
Finally, he reached the sorrowful collection of tents that had spread out on this side of town. The tents were mostly just blankets or sheets thrown up over staves or spears, to provide pitiful shelter. Marcelle passed the pale, starvation stricken faces of Ashlanders, driven from their homes by the eruption of Red Mountain. He passed the family of Imperials, driven from Gnisis by the Redoran takeover. The piercing wail of a hungry child cut from their tent, prickling the hairs on the back of Marcelle's neck. Finally, he reached his own tent. It was a large cape, purchased with the last of his gold, slung over a pair of spears bedded firmly in the ground, with a vine tide between them.
The night wind whistled through the tents, causing Marcelle to shiver again. He clambered into the tent and settled on the bed roll, pulling his coat over him like a makeshift duvet. He knew it was a regret to try to sleep, but it was better than wandering the streets of Balmora after dark. He pulled a sweet roll from his battered pack and gulped it down, before placing his head on the lumpy pillow, and drifting off to sleep...
Setting
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This time of year the nights were bitterly cold and without hope of some sort of shelter however basic, chances of surviving a night without protection were slim to none. For there were many dangers both natural and unnatural and it took a great deal of luck or skill to avoid all without harm out there in the damaged lands that made up Morrowind these days. Those that inhabited the mass make-shift tent areas that were making up a sort of slum inside Balmora's boundaries were the lucky ones, even though it would be hard to believe looking at their semblance of a life that had been carved out against the overwhelming circumstances stacked against them.
The refugees were made up of all kinds and for the majority were left to their own devices as long as they did not thieve or cause trouble. Of course those of questionable race – anyone in the Dunmeri eyes – or who did not seem to keep the peace... Well things could get difficult and unlike Marcelle, many other refugees driven from their homes and livelihoods had chosen to risk the cold that came from Balmora's streets at night, creating crowded streets that could only lead to disaster once alcohol had an effect on people's tempers.
In general though, danger was oddly absent from the town unless you were discovered to be guilded or the victim of drunken prejudice. Its quirky buildings offered a haven of sorts for everyone who had fled from the terrors that plagued Vvardenfell, gates open to all those who sought shelter there even if they had not the room to house or protect them all. This was not to say that Balmora was idyllic. It suffered from the machinations of drunks, racists and even the guilds trying to covertly obtain power in a town where it has been lost for sometime in favour of neutrality and protection for who wished not to suffer under the hands of desperate Houses.
After the long and dark hours of the night finally broke in favour of early dawn, orange and red dowsing the entire town in a deceivingly warm light, as there was no such comfort in the crisp cool air of mid-fall Balmora. Even the atmosphere was tense for last night the collective mob had found a target for their anger and rage; a Telvanni sorceress.
Her punishment for merely being of a House was one that had become almost routine of late; hanging though the area always changed, perhaps to prevent allies of said poor soul from planning an escape. They were obviously eager to get started erecting a crude sort of scaffolding in the large paved space that was in front of the pawnbrokers.
In the shorts hours it took them to complete this process, a large crowd had begun to gather. Some were aware of what was to take place and others, new to the town and its adapted ways, waited out of curiosity. It was disturbing at the amount of children in the crowds, some of them jeering alongside the adults with some decidedly crude insults. Did any of them know the stranger who was about to be violently executed in front of them this day? No and she hadn't wronged them in any manner. She was Telvanni and that apparently was crime enough for death.
Today was special however – the beginning of change some might say – even if only six drawn to this town by one way or another knew it.
The refugees were made up of all kinds and for the majority were left to their own devices as long as they did not thieve or cause trouble. Of course those of questionable race – anyone in the Dunmeri eyes – or who did not seem to keep the peace... Well things could get difficult and unlike Marcelle, many other refugees driven from their homes and livelihoods had chosen to risk the cold that came from Balmora's streets at night, creating crowded streets that could only lead to disaster once alcohol had an effect on people's tempers.
In general though, danger was oddly absent from the town unless you were discovered to be guilded or the victim of drunken prejudice. Its quirky buildings offered a haven of sorts for everyone who had fled from the terrors that plagued Vvardenfell, gates open to all those who sought shelter there even if they had not the room to house or protect them all. This was not to say that Balmora was idyllic. It suffered from the machinations of drunks, racists and even the guilds trying to covertly obtain power in a town where it has been lost for sometime in favour of neutrality and protection for who wished not to suffer under the hands of desperate Houses.
After the long and dark hours of the night finally broke in favour of early dawn, orange and red dowsing the entire town in a deceivingly warm light, as there was no such comfort in the crisp cool air of mid-fall Balmora. Even the atmosphere was tense for last night the collective mob had found a target for their anger and rage; a Telvanni sorceress.
Her punishment for merely being of a House was one that had become almost routine of late; hanging though the area always changed, perhaps to prevent allies of said poor soul from planning an escape. They were obviously eager to get started erecting a crude sort of scaffolding in the large paved space that was in front of the pawnbrokers.
In the shorts hours it took them to complete this process, a large crowd had begun to gather. Some were aware of what was to take place and others, new to the town and its adapted ways, waited out of curiosity. It was disturbing at the amount of children in the crowds, some of them jeering alongside the adults with some decidedly crude insults. Did any of them know the stranger who was about to be violently executed in front of them this day? No and she hadn't wronged them in any manner. She was Telvanni and that apparently was crime enough for death.
Today was special however – the beginning of change some might say – even if only six drawn to this town by one way or another knew it.
Setting
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Venira seethed inwardly and glared up at the sky, full of fat, leaden-gray clouds, heavily-cargoed with snow. So much for Azura.
Fleeing the destruction wrought by Red Mountain – the vast volcano had exploded into cataclysmic violence with no warning - Azura had spoken to her.
Venira remembered with a crawling shudder the fury the volcano had called down on Morrowind and the Telvanni Isles; the entirety of Tel Thenim shaking and tearing itself loose from the liquefying soil even as enormous waves and the ash cloud from Red Mountain raced closer, that arrogant fool Rilvin Dral babbling about how the city could withstand anything mundane or magickal thrown against it, her own gabbled summons-spells, the leap of faith from the top of Tel Thenim and the inexpressibly-welcome clawed grasp of the Winged Twilights, bearing her far away from the destruction.
Cradled in their claws, carried tirelessly for days, she’d slept fitfully, oddly, waking to a world gray and red with falling ash, battered by the beats of her carriers’ wings. Visions had pressed on all sides, most of them inchoate and chaotic, fragmented and useless.
Azura, though, had spoken clearly, her voice booming and echoing in the vaults of her mind, a powerful, surging presence heavy with the scents of roses and rain and momentary visions of obscured Moonshadow.
“My messengers have borne you through ash and fire, far from fallen Tel Thenim and crumbling House Telvanni. Favoured wizard-lord, the old order has fallen with the profane Tribunal and Morrowind shattered by enemies within and without. The sad remains of the Dunmer people fight in the ash, scrabbling for old glories. You will be My anchor, and the very rock upon which I shall forge Resdayn anew. For your service, you will be raised above all others in knowledge and mastery, a new and better-fated Mystery of Morrowind. When the Red Year ends, and snow rather than ashy fire tumbles from the sky, take wing to half-ruined Balmora, on the flanks of Red Mountain. Fear not, for I am watchful...”
Watchful, indeed! Service to the Daedric Princes was often rewarding – to Azura more reliably than most – but even she, it seemed, was capricious. A small, irritated sigh escaped Venira’s purple-painted lips, attracting a glare from the spike-shouldered, close-helmed Hlaalu guards surrounding her. One of them impatiently shook the falling snow from his gauntlets, shaped the sigils and barked the incantations for another silencing spell, the others in close array around her, keeping her magick far away and inaccessible. For her, a Telvanni wizard of centuries, it was as though she’d had a limb cut off.
Normally, Balmora struck her as plain, but homely, with its undecorated, simple houses and streets and the vast blue bowl of the sky overhead, unfettered by curling mushroom shoots of a comforting Telvanni tower. Now, though, it was hostile, and the arches frowned over emerald eyes of glass. Hlaalu guards sneered in bonemould plate, the backs and shoulders viciously spiked, the citizenry glared as though she’d done some great wrong – a mob of them had assaulted her last night, fire and knives in the dark, and led to this current sorry state of affairs.
Apparently, the ‘crime’ of which she stood accused was nothing more or less than simply being Telvanni.
Things had certainly changed in Balmora, and in House Hlaalu, since she’d last been. The place had once been a bustling cosmopolitan town, now, half-ruined, it seemed to have reverted to a darker, earlier age, where war was the norm and anything different was executed.
Speculatively, Venira turned her bright eyes on the escorting guards - escorting to where, she didn't know, but guessed it would be nowhere remotely pleasant. A single Golden Saint would have ripped through them in an instant, a shock spell would have leapt from man to man and fried them alive in blue lightning, frost would have shattered their bodies, she could have scattered them like ninepins and escaped in the confusion – but one of the mob, less-inebriated or more malicious than the others had hurled silencing spells until her reflective wards failed and the citizens fell upon her.
Bruises were like flowers under her Telvanni robes, and her undercoat was sticky with blood from the cuts their makeshift knives had left.
Venira clenched her fists. All she needed was one chance, just one, and then all Balmora would know just how bad an idea it was to assault a Telvanni, Red Year or no Red Year.
A heavy spiked gauntlet crashed into her back, making her gasp and stumble from the impact. “Keep moving, Telvanni,” the guard snarled; a poisonous glare that, had she been at the height of her power would have withered him where he stood, did nothing, as it hadn’t for the rest. They’d been free with their fists – and some their hands, too. In her head, Venira railed to anything and anyone that was listening, her diatribe bouncing off the vaults of her mind.
‘By the Sun, Moon and Stars, how in the name of Azura am I supposed to get myself out of this?’ she thought furiously. ‘I’m a sorceress, for all’s sake, not a soldier, and they’ve taken my magick!’
Fleeing the destruction wrought by Red Mountain – the vast volcano had exploded into cataclysmic violence with no warning - Azura had spoken to her.
Venira remembered with a crawling shudder the fury the volcano had called down on Morrowind and the Telvanni Isles; the entirety of Tel Thenim shaking and tearing itself loose from the liquefying soil even as enormous waves and the ash cloud from Red Mountain raced closer, that arrogant fool Rilvin Dral babbling about how the city could withstand anything mundane or magickal thrown against it, her own gabbled summons-spells, the leap of faith from the top of Tel Thenim and the inexpressibly-welcome clawed grasp of the Winged Twilights, bearing her far away from the destruction.
Cradled in their claws, carried tirelessly for days, she’d slept fitfully, oddly, waking to a world gray and red with falling ash, battered by the beats of her carriers’ wings. Visions had pressed on all sides, most of them inchoate and chaotic, fragmented and useless.
Azura, though, had spoken clearly, her voice booming and echoing in the vaults of her mind, a powerful, surging presence heavy with the scents of roses and rain and momentary visions of obscured Moonshadow.
“My messengers have borne you through ash and fire, far from fallen Tel Thenim and crumbling House Telvanni. Favoured wizard-lord, the old order has fallen with the profane Tribunal and Morrowind shattered by enemies within and without. The sad remains of the Dunmer people fight in the ash, scrabbling for old glories. You will be My anchor, and the very rock upon which I shall forge Resdayn anew. For your service, you will be raised above all others in knowledge and mastery, a new and better-fated Mystery of Morrowind. When the Red Year ends, and snow rather than ashy fire tumbles from the sky, take wing to half-ruined Balmora, on the flanks of Red Mountain. Fear not, for I am watchful...”
Watchful, indeed! Service to the Daedric Princes was often rewarding – to Azura more reliably than most – but even she, it seemed, was capricious. A small, irritated sigh escaped Venira’s purple-painted lips, attracting a glare from the spike-shouldered, close-helmed Hlaalu guards surrounding her. One of them impatiently shook the falling snow from his gauntlets, shaped the sigils and barked the incantations for another silencing spell, the others in close array around her, keeping her magick far away and inaccessible. For her, a Telvanni wizard of centuries, it was as though she’d had a limb cut off.
Normally, Balmora struck her as plain, but homely, with its undecorated, simple houses and streets and the vast blue bowl of the sky overhead, unfettered by curling mushroom shoots of a comforting Telvanni tower. Now, though, it was hostile, and the arches frowned over emerald eyes of glass. Hlaalu guards sneered in bonemould plate, the backs and shoulders viciously spiked, the citizenry glared as though she’d done some great wrong – a mob of them had assaulted her last night, fire and knives in the dark, and led to this current sorry state of affairs.
Apparently, the ‘crime’ of which she stood accused was nothing more or less than simply being Telvanni.
Things had certainly changed in Balmora, and in House Hlaalu, since she’d last been. The place had once been a bustling cosmopolitan town, now, half-ruined, it seemed to have reverted to a darker, earlier age, where war was the norm and anything different was executed.
Speculatively, Venira turned her bright eyes on the escorting guards - escorting to where, she didn't know, but guessed it would be nowhere remotely pleasant. A single Golden Saint would have ripped through them in an instant, a shock spell would have leapt from man to man and fried them alive in blue lightning, frost would have shattered their bodies, she could have scattered them like ninepins and escaped in the confusion – but one of the mob, less-inebriated or more malicious than the others had hurled silencing spells until her reflective wards failed and the citizens fell upon her.
Bruises were like flowers under her Telvanni robes, and her undercoat was sticky with blood from the cuts their makeshift knives had left.
Venira clenched her fists. All she needed was one chance, just one, and then all Balmora would know just how bad an idea it was to assault a Telvanni, Red Year or no Red Year.
A heavy spiked gauntlet crashed into her back, making her gasp and stumble from the impact. “Keep moving, Telvanni,” the guard snarled; a poisonous glare that, had she been at the height of her power would have withered him where he stood, did nothing, as it hadn’t for the rest. They’d been free with their fists – and some their hands, too. In her head, Venira railed to anything and anyone that was listening, her diatribe bouncing off the vaults of her mind.
‘By the Sun, Moon and Stars, how in the name of Azura am I supposed to get myself out of this?’ she thought furiously. ‘I’m a sorceress, for all’s sake, not a soldier, and they’ve taken my magick!’
Setting
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Abandoned child of the Redguards, your time and tribulations with training and education have come to an end. Free your ties from your traditions and those merciful enough to raise you in secret from their own people by escaping the tribe you love and making thyself go beyond the boundaries of safety and security. For you have been called fourth by the Rising Sun and Setting Moon, head towards the cripple and broken streets of Balmora mine Ashlander Snake. There you will find kin for you and others are children of Azura..
Of course nearly a month of travel on foot was not as...oh so wonderful of what she expected to be. Actually she expected it to be difficult to get from one place to another due to the rarity of stilt striders and the abundance of more monsters and creatures about. She didn't remember exactly what day she had left, but she remembered what her tribes kin had told her.
"You must leave! If the Goddess demands it! Then it must me done!"
"Do not place fear upon your heart and mind, child! For she is forever watchful!"
"She will guide and protect you, this is a test! Do not question the wills of the Goddess!"
"Yes because that's what Azura is doing now! Watching over me!" she snarled under her breath.
Divindre`s breathing was heavy as her chest heaved deeply with the acts of running starting to wear her out. She could feel her legs burning and screaming for her to stop, her heart beating in her throat, and her blood boiling with strain as she jumped and bound like a deer over the cragginess of rocks and easy cliffs that seemed to make out a clumsy trail.
Two days ago she had found an abandoned Kwama Egg Mine, of course it technically wasn't "abandoned" there were a few travelers, maybe even bandits, from an earlier time that had managed to sneak in as well from the god's know what and had been ambushed by Kwama Warriors and Workers. When she entered the mine itself stank of corpses and blood, yet most of the Kwama swarm had been taken down a notch or two and most of them were now sleeping. She rested there for a day and a half before making her way out, yet having no idea where she was, she simply turned around and went back, hoping to find some sort of sight of a city or even a safer place to rest...
----The Night Before----
Divindre` rested upon a rather steep and surprisingly well supported cliff that overlooked the Kwama mine she had emerged from just merely moments ago. Sweat dripped from her chest as she crouched like a Scamp to gaze around her current locations, she couldn't see a damn thing anyways due to the cloudy skies above and the mist of either smoke or fog clouding her vision, yet she saw the dimming flickers of firelight and that gave her a level of hope. Even if it was a camp of bandits or just a few traveling people, she could easily kill the bandits off or request locations and directions from the travelers. A win-win situation!
Divindre` turned slightly, attempting to stand up, yet was quick to let out a scream of fear and confusion, which was quickly cut off by the wailing and screeching sounds of flying things above. One was only a good five or so feet above her head, a long curving tail ending with a bone spiked tip trying its hardest to pierce flesh. She ducked and bent back slightly, avoiding the spiked tail-tip as she looked up to see four more of these damnable beasts circling over head with their demeaning cries mocking her for her obvious mistake of coming to close to their nesting area.
"Great...Cliff Racers..."
----Now----
She jumped and ducked just in time to avoid another parry of Cliff Racer tails attempting to stab at her. Hell, the only armor she fully had wasn't even a complete set! Just grieves, cuirass, and helmet of her light armor! That and it could only last for so long due to her lack of knowing how to smith as well? She was doing all she could not to get it damaged. Yet, now she was also doing her best not to fall off this dangerous cliff! With two of the Cliff Racers now dead, three lay in their wake, hungry, angry, territorial, and just full on bloodthirsty for the Redguard now, but Divindre` wouldn't allow herself to be killed off now, not now when she could sense Balmora in the distance! So close!
She stumbled somewhat, leaning slightly to gain balance as she was quick to stretch her left leg out and slide down the craggy hill itself with dirt, rocks, and roots being upturned from the earth to hopefully slow her down so she could turn and fight. Yet she kept on skidding down the hill with the lack of even slowing down nor stopping as she came closer and closer towards the dim fire lights below, she could see the structures of buildings, even the dim lights of candles within the buildings and the shadows of people moving about..and...some sort of stage? Then...flocks of people? Great, now she was going to drag attention to herself, this is the last thing she wanted to happen with her first arrival into a city...
The Cliff Racers screeched in anger, their pursuer not giving up and gaining speed as they came closer and closer towards Balmora, the beasts had no care or caution of the town guards coming after them, they simply wished to see the intruder of their nests dead and gone from their sights!
Divindre` had to take a chance in simply doing her next action, and with the audience of people watching the process of the hanging of a mage was commencing, it was about to be rudely interrupted..
--------
The people below were heavily distracted with their current entertainment, not many seemed to notice the being skidding down a hill and jumping off a building to hopefully land in a proper location. Like a ripple effect of the Cliff Racers screaming, people looking up, and Divindre damn near flying through the air with style, many onlookers gazed with open slack-jawed mouths or screamed to pick up their children and scatter. The guards were quick to charge forwards, forcing two of the Cliff Racers to pause and lash their anger out at them, yet one flew onwards after the Redguard.
Divindre` landed, obviously not gracefully, upon the stage where the Telvanni Mage was about to be hung. She paid little attention to the crowd screaming and cursing at her interruptions, her gray blue eyes glaring at the Cliff Racer that seemed to descend lower and lower with its curved tail pointing in her direction. The Cliff Racer descended more now, this time she raced forwards, bare feet cracked and sore with blood dripping from the ankles, knees scraped up as her body forced the last bit of energy to lash out at the beast.
Divindre` bent her body backwards, her stomach going flat and her neck bending her head back to where she seemed to lay flat on the stage while the Cliff Racer screeched with anger at missing its attack and attempting to slow down in hopes of not crashing into nearby buildings. Yet the Redguard was faster, she sat back up quickly, removing her spear from her back and standing up to throw the weapon with ease. The spear whizzed through the air like a hot knife through butter, the painful sounds of sharp spear tip meeting with Cliff Racer rung the chimes of bone breaking, flesh ripping, and the twang of the spear embedding itself and the beast against the wall of a nearby building. She blinked lazily, her head pounding and sweat dripping from her body. Scratches, bruises, and cuts were all over her arms and legs as part of her helmet was torn to only reveal her gray blue eyes to the onlookers whom were gawking at her actions.
"HALT! Stay where you are, Outlander!" the guards nearby ordered.
The Redguard was rather livid as she glared at the guards, yet she moved once more, having to flee again as she jumped off stage to bob and weave her way through the crowd. She felt hands trying to grab her, nails of Dunmer beings attempting to grab them as she shoved them away, she felt her elbow come in contact with someone's face, her leg shoving itself into a man's groin as she barreled past many a being with the two city guards on her tail. With another split few seconds, she stopped to grab her spear and quickly dart off between the alleyways and buildings of Balmora.
----Later----
Divindre` sat upon the rooftops of an abandoned building, of course with the current state of Balmora, there were plenty of so called abandoned buildings off and on now a days that were often taken up by refugees and the drunken sorts seeking refuge. Apparently she had gotten lucky some way or another again, actually she did not call it luck, more or less just a chance and coincidence.
The house itself was infested with rats and a ghost of sorts, so not too many were willing to actually put up with that, and the tents that just so happened to be left behind upon the rooftop? Another coincidence since it seemed to be once owned by a few bandits whom managed to escape the guards of Balmora by jumping upon the wall and fleeing for their lives. Of course from what Divindre could tell, that had to be weeks ago. Most of the food had gone bad or stale, the tents were not in the greatest condition due to the workings of most torn or broken, and the sounds of the moaning ghost within the small building and the rats within it made it a pain to go down and fully explore the house itself in hopes of finding proper food and whatnot. Yet like there would be food within anyways? Rats, remember?
So now, she rested upon the rooftop, a small fire set up with a few of the broken rods used as firewood and a simple use of a bit of flint to light the flames up with the tip of her spear. There, Divindre` sat, the carcass of a rat from below torn and picked open with most of the meat taken to be hung over the bright open flames upon a spit. The scent of rat meat roasting and the warmth of the fire was welcoming to the Redguard, it brought back the welcoming memories of home.
Home...
She wish she could know what was happening there. She knew that most of the Ashlander Tribes had packed up and moved on, so had the Urshilaku Tribe, they were the first, along with Zainab Tribe to simply pack up and leave the areas that they had called home. Living near Red Mountain was simply too dangerous and risky for such current situations. By via trade of scouts and messengers, both tribes managed to communicate their situations to one another. Even though the four main tribes were often against each other, keeping a disgruntled peace, when it came to the survival of their people and kin, they were forced to band together in the hopes of finding a new home.
The Urshilaku Tribe managed to find solstice near Ald Velothi upon one of the many archipelago of small islands that border their shores. It is unknown the results of the Zaninab tribe sadly, yet during their final destination of the Tribe, Divindre` was forced to leave and go towards Balmora.
Now she was here, cold, sore, and with little word from Azura. She had been hunted down by bandits many a time on her way here, Nix Hounds howling and gnawing at her feet when she rested, and being chased down by hordes of Cliff Racers and god knows what else that she couldn't even think of right now! Now?...Now...she was in Balmora.
She made it.
Now what?
Of course nearly a month of travel on foot was not as...oh so wonderful of what she expected to be. Actually she expected it to be difficult to get from one place to another due to the rarity of stilt striders and the abundance of more monsters and creatures about. She didn't remember exactly what day she had left, but she remembered what her tribes kin had told her.
"You must leave! If the Goddess demands it! Then it must me done!"
"Do not place fear upon your heart and mind, child! For she is forever watchful!"
"She will guide and protect you, this is a test! Do not question the wills of the Goddess!"
"Yes because that's what Azura is doing now! Watching over me!" she snarled under her breath.
Divindre`s breathing was heavy as her chest heaved deeply with the acts of running starting to wear her out. She could feel her legs burning and screaming for her to stop, her heart beating in her throat, and her blood boiling with strain as she jumped and bound like a deer over the cragginess of rocks and easy cliffs that seemed to make out a clumsy trail.
Two days ago she had found an abandoned Kwama Egg Mine, of course it technically wasn't "abandoned" there were a few travelers, maybe even bandits, from an earlier time that had managed to sneak in as well from the god's know what and had been ambushed by Kwama Warriors and Workers. When she entered the mine itself stank of corpses and blood, yet most of the Kwama swarm had been taken down a notch or two and most of them were now sleeping. She rested there for a day and a half before making her way out, yet having no idea where she was, she simply turned around and went back, hoping to find some sort of sight of a city or even a safer place to rest...
----The Night Before----
Divindre` rested upon a rather steep and surprisingly well supported cliff that overlooked the Kwama mine she had emerged from just merely moments ago. Sweat dripped from her chest as she crouched like a Scamp to gaze around her current locations, she couldn't see a damn thing anyways due to the cloudy skies above and the mist of either smoke or fog clouding her vision, yet she saw the dimming flickers of firelight and that gave her a level of hope. Even if it was a camp of bandits or just a few traveling people, she could easily kill the bandits off or request locations and directions from the travelers. A win-win situation!
Divindre` turned slightly, attempting to stand up, yet was quick to let out a scream of fear and confusion, which was quickly cut off by the wailing and screeching sounds of flying things above. One was only a good five or so feet above her head, a long curving tail ending with a bone spiked tip trying its hardest to pierce flesh. She ducked and bent back slightly, avoiding the spiked tail-tip as she looked up to see four more of these damnable beasts circling over head with their demeaning cries mocking her for her obvious mistake of coming to close to their nesting area.
"Great...Cliff Racers..."
----Now----
She jumped and ducked just in time to avoid another parry of Cliff Racer tails attempting to stab at her. Hell, the only armor she fully had wasn't even a complete set! Just grieves, cuirass, and helmet of her light armor! That and it could only last for so long due to her lack of knowing how to smith as well? She was doing all she could not to get it damaged. Yet, now she was also doing her best not to fall off this dangerous cliff! With two of the Cliff Racers now dead, three lay in their wake, hungry, angry, territorial, and just full on bloodthirsty for the Redguard now, but Divindre` wouldn't allow herself to be killed off now, not now when she could sense Balmora in the distance! So close!
She stumbled somewhat, leaning slightly to gain balance as she was quick to stretch her left leg out and slide down the craggy hill itself with dirt, rocks, and roots being upturned from the earth to hopefully slow her down so she could turn and fight. Yet she kept on skidding down the hill with the lack of even slowing down nor stopping as she came closer and closer towards the dim fire lights below, she could see the structures of buildings, even the dim lights of candles within the buildings and the shadows of people moving about..and...some sort of stage? Then...flocks of people? Great, now she was going to drag attention to herself, this is the last thing she wanted to happen with her first arrival into a city...
The Cliff Racers screeched in anger, their pursuer not giving up and gaining speed as they came closer and closer towards Balmora, the beasts had no care or caution of the town guards coming after them, they simply wished to see the intruder of their nests dead and gone from their sights!
Divindre` had to take a chance in simply doing her next action, and with the audience of people watching the process of the hanging of a mage was commencing, it was about to be rudely interrupted..
--------
The people below were heavily distracted with their current entertainment, not many seemed to notice the being skidding down a hill and jumping off a building to hopefully land in a proper location. Like a ripple effect of the Cliff Racers screaming, people looking up, and Divindre damn near flying through the air with style, many onlookers gazed with open slack-jawed mouths or screamed to pick up their children and scatter. The guards were quick to charge forwards, forcing two of the Cliff Racers to pause and lash their anger out at them, yet one flew onwards after the Redguard.
Divindre` landed, obviously not gracefully, upon the stage where the Telvanni Mage was about to be hung. She paid little attention to the crowd screaming and cursing at her interruptions, her gray blue eyes glaring at the Cliff Racer that seemed to descend lower and lower with its curved tail pointing in her direction. The Cliff Racer descended more now, this time she raced forwards, bare feet cracked and sore with blood dripping from the ankles, knees scraped up as her body forced the last bit of energy to lash out at the beast.
Divindre` bent her body backwards, her stomach going flat and her neck bending her head back to where she seemed to lay flat on the stage while the Cliff Racer screeched with anger at missing its attack and attempting to slow down in hopes of not crashing into nearby buildings. Yet the Redguard was faster, she sat back up quickly, removing her spear from her back and standing up to throw the weapon with ease. The spear whizzed through the air like a hot knife through butter, the painful sounds of sharp spear tip meeting with Cliff Racer rung the chimes of bone breaking, flesh ripping, and the twang of the spear embedding itself and the beast against the wall of a nearby building. She blinked lazily, her head pounding and sweat dripping from her body. Scratches, bruises, and cuts were all over her arms and legs as part of her helmet was torn to only reveal her gray blue eyes to the onlookers whom were gawking at her actions.
"HALT! Stay where you are, Outlander!" the guards nearby ordered.
The Redguard was rather livid as she glared at the guards, yet she moved once more, having to flee again as she jumped off stage to bob and weave her way through the crowd. She felt hands trying to grab her, nails of Dunmer beings attempting to grab them as she shoved them away, she felt her elbow come in contact with someone's face, her leg shoving itself into a man's groin as she barreled past many a being with the two city guards on her tail. With another split few seconds, she stopped to grab her spear and quickly dart off between the alleyways and buildings of Balmora.
----Later----
Divindre` sat upon the rooftops of an abandoned building, of course with the current state of Balmora, there were plenty of so called abandoned buildings off and on now a days that were often taken up by refugees and the drunken sorts seeking refuge. Apparently she had gotten lucky some way or another again, actually she did not call it luck, more or less just a chance and coincidence.
The house itself was infested with rats and a ghost of sorts, so not too many were willing to actually put up with that, and the tents that just so happened to be left behind upon the rooftop? Another coincidence since it seemed to be once owned by a few bandits whom managed to escape the guards of Balmora by jumping upon the wall and fleeing for their lives. Of course from what Divindre could tell, that had to be weeks ago. Most of the food had gone bad or stale, the tents were not in the greatest condition due to the workings of most torn or broken, and the sounds of the moaning ghost within the small building and the rats within it made it a pain to go down and fully explore the house itself in hopes of finding proper food and whatnot. Yet like there would be food within anyways? Rats, remember?
So now, she rested upon the rooftop, a small fire set up with a few of the broken rods used as firewood and a simple use of a bit of flint to light the flames up with the tip of her spear. There, Divindre` sat, the carcass of a rat from below torn and picked open with most of the meat taken to be hung over the bright open flames upon a spit. The scent of rat meat roasting and the warmth of the fire was welcoming to the Redguard, it brought back the welcoming memories of home.
Home...
She wish she could know what was happening there. She knew that most of the Ashlander Tribes had packed up and moved on, so had the Urshilaku Tribe, they were the first, along with Zainab Tribe to simply pack up and leave the areas that they had called home. Living near Red Mountain was simply too dangerous and risky for such current situations. By via trade of scouts and messengers, both tribes managed to communicate their situations to one another. Even though the four main tribes were often against each other, keeping a disgruntled peace, when it came to the survival of their people and kin, they were forced to band together in the hopes of finding a new home.
The Urshilaku Tribe managed to find solstice near Ald Velothi upon one of the many archipelago of small islands that border their shores. It is unknown the results of the Zaninab tribe sadly, yet during their final destination of the Tribe, Divindre` was forced to leave and go towards Balmora.
Now she was here, cold, sore, and with little word from Azura. She had been hunted down by bandits many a time on her way here, Nix Hounds howling and gnawing at her feet when she rested, and being chased down by hordes of Cliff Racers and god knows what else that she couldn't even think of right now! Now?...Now...she was in Balmora.
She made it.
Now what?
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There was a loud flutter of wings, the call of a bird and then at Venira's shoulder landed a large Crow, it's beady and dark eyes staring flatly at her face, then it turned towards the guard behind her, his malevolent actions being examined by the animal. To see a lone bird such as this was a strange sight, usually birds were hunted and killed by the carnivorous Cliff-racers.
The Crow fluttered it's wings, cawing gloatingly and making a general loud noise, it's master had told it too and it did what it was told, make a scene which would allow for the 'rescue' of the Telvanni Witch. The crow kept it's almost evil eyes upon the Guard, almost challenging to land a blow on the Witch once more.
Then out of the crowd, a figure with a bandage wrapped around his mouth and forehead, a hood stretching across the back of his head and a tall and proud walk broke from the crowd, pushing a guard out of his way, a courageous but foolish move. The guard gave a vicious glare, he couldn't see past the bandages but he had no reason to arrest the man, he wasn't hurt after all.
The hooded Breton stepped in-front of the Guard pushing Venira. The Crow responded by switching shoulders and affectionately nudging at the Breton's neck. The Breton tilted his head at the guard, turning around once-more and he kept strangely silent. Crow was saving this woman for the sole reason of having a magician indebted to him, which would help him in the wilderness.
He seized her wrists, looking over them before encircling them with what seemed to be...
Slave Bracers.
"This woman is my slave now! This is a punishment worse than death, to be indebted to a stranger!" He roared out to the crowd, his accent was as proud as his walk. In reply to it's master roaring, the Crow made a long 'caw' of agreement. However, something was wrong with the Breton's actions, there was a key hidden beneath the bracers, it seemed to be an elaborate trick.
Crow lowered his hand towards the heavy Iron mace hanging off his back, instinctively preparing for the large outrage that may occur.
The Crow fluttered it's wings, cawing gloatingly and making a general loud noise, it's master had told it too and it did what it was told, make a scene which would allow for the 'rescue' of the Telvanni Witch. The crow kept it's almost evil eyes upon the Guard, almost challenging to land a blow on the Witch once more.
Then out of the crowd, a figure with a bandage wrapped around his mouth and forehead, a hood stretching across the back of his head and a tall and proud walk broke from the crowd, pushing a guard out of his way, a courageous but foolish move. The guard gave a vicious glare, he couldn't see past the bandages but he had no reason to arrest the man, he wasn't hurt after all.
The hooded Breton stepped in-front of the Guard pushing Venira. The Crow responded by switching shoulders and affectionately nudging at the Breton's neck. The Breton tilted his head at the guard, turning around once-more and he kept strangely silent. Crow was saving this woman for the sole reason of having a magician indebted to him, which would help him in the wilderness.
He seized her wrists, looking over them before encircling them with what seemed to be...
Slave Bracers.
"This woman is my slave now! This is a punishment worse than death, to be indebted to a stranger!" He roared out to the crowd, his accent was as proud as his walk. In reply to it's master roaring, the Crow made a long 'caw' of agreement. However, something was wrong with the Breton's actions, there was a key hidden beneath the bracers, it seemed to be an elaborate trick.
Crow lowered his hand towards the heavy Iron mace hanging off his back, instinctively preparing for the large outrage that may occur.
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Marcelle had been awake since dawn's first light stole over the hills that backed the refugee camp. The nightmares had come again. The horrible smell of roasting flesh and the crackle of the all consuming fire. He had awoken drenched in foul smelling sweat, that soaked through his clothes, giving him the reek of a oblivion spawned daemon. He had wandered through the cool morning air, down to the banks of the Odai, where, removing the majority of his clothing, he had dived into the murky depths. After a quick swim, he dressed, rubbing soothing ointment onto the worst of his burns and returned to his tent.
He was now standing aloof, on the fringes of the crowd gathered around the gallows. He scratched at the angry redness of the crescent shaped scar on his face and flicked his eyes towards the battered and bruised Telvanni witch that was being hauled to her doom. He was leaning against the cool stone wall of one of the houses, the blissful kiss of the stone soft against his burns. He watched the crowd. They were angry. They wanted revenge at the Hlaalu's old enemy, the Telvanni. The rancour between the two houses that had built to fever pitch was about to burst. His eyes widened with surprise as he saw the Breton pounce on the Witch, slapping slave bracers down on her wrists.
As he focussed on the scene, time seemed to slow, and the distant cawing of a crow filled his ears. Marcelle slumped against the wall, the blade of his sabre chiming of the stone like a death bell. A soft sibilant voice filled his ears, as the cries of the crow grew louder. “With that man, travels the caw of a crow. I have chosen him, just as I have chosen you.” The scar on Marcelle's cheek burned like a firebrand, shaking him into wakefulness. Although it had seemed like an age when the voice began to speak, it had been only a few moments. A spike of adrenaline ripped through Marcelle's system, blocking the pain of his burns. His mind was taken over by the all consuming desire to aid this man in what ever plan he had.
Before diving into the melee, he assessed the situation from his elevated position. The man was now standing in the midst of a sea of angry citizens, who were baying for blood like hounds. Hlaalu guards, faceless sentinels in gold tinged bonemould, pushed their way in from the edges of the crowd, shouldering their way through with shields and drawn swords. The guards on either side of the prisoner had drawn their weapons, and looked ready to murder the Breton on the spot.
Marcelle shook out his stiff muscles, and eased the sabre in its scabbard. He hoped to bring this incident to a close with his guile and charm, but he wanted to be ready if things did go south. With a jaunty step, that clashed horribly with the palpable feeling of tension that was oozing from the crowd, he merged with the writhing, amorphous mass of the crowd. As he shouldered his way past a burly Orc, he administered a clinical jab to the back of the brute's knee. The Orc toppled like a falling tree, slamming into a group of Dumner, all marked with Ashlander tattoos. The Ashlanders reacted predictably, lashing out at the Orc with chitin knives and well placed kicks. The Orc reared up like a wounded bull, and hurled one of the Ashlanders into the crowd. Marcelle ducked away from the confusion, smiling as the fight spread through the packed crowd like ripples in a pond.
He arrived at the front, as the guards planning to grab the interloper accosting the prisoner were caught up in the squall of fighting. He drew his sabre with an elegance born of practice, targeting the guard standing behind the Telvanni witch. He slid the tip of his blade through the back of the Guards bonemould armour, severing his spinal cord. He tapped the mace-wielding warrior on the shoulder. “I'd start running if I were you.”
He was now standing aloof, on the fringes of the crowd gathered around the gallows. He scratched at the angry redness of the crescent shaped scar on his face and flicked his eyes towards the battered and bruised Telvanni witch that was being hauled to her doom. He was leaning against the cool stone wall of one of the houses, the blissful kiss of the stone soft against his burns. He watched the crowd. They were angry. They wanted revenge at the Hlaalu's old enemy, the Telvanni. The rancour between the two houses that had built to fever pitch was about to burst. His eyes widened with surprise as he saw the Breton pounce on the Witch, slapping slave bracers down on her wrists.
As he focussed on the scene, time seemed to slow, and the distant cawing of a crow filled his ears. Marcelle slumped against the wall, the blade of his sabre chiming of the stone like a death bell. A soft sibilant voice filled his ears, as the cries of the crow grew louder. “With that man, travels the caw of a crow. I have chosen him, just as I have chosen you.” The scar on Marcelle's cheek burned like a firebrand, shaking him into wakefulness. Although it had seemed like an age when the voice began to speak, it had been only a few moments. A spike of adrenaline ripped through Marcelle's system, blocking the pain of his burns. His mind was taken over by the all consuming desire to aid this man in what ever plan he had.
Before diving into the melee, he assessed the situation from his elevated position. The man was now standing in the midst of a sea of angry citizens, who were baying for blood like hounds. Hlaalu guards, faceless sentinels in gold tinged bonemould, pushed their way in from the edges of the crowd, shouldering their way through with shields and drawn swords. The guards on either side of the prisoner had drawn their weapons, and looked ready to murder the Breton on the spot.
Marcelle shook out his stiff muscles, and eased the sabre in its scabbard. He hoped to bring this incident to a close with his guile and charm, but he wanted to be ready if things did go south. With a jaunty step, that clashed horribly with the palpable feeling of tension that was oozing from the crowd, he merged with the writhing, amorphous mass of the crowd. As he shouldered his way past a burly Orc, he administered a clinical jab to the back of the brute's knee. The Orc toppled like a falling tree, slamming into a group of Dumner, all marked with Ashlander tattoos. The Ashlanders reacted predictably, lashing out at the Orc with chitin knives and well placed kicks. The Orc reared up like a wounded bull, and hurled one of the Ashlanders into the crowd. Marcelle ducked away from the confusion, smiling as the fight spread through the packed crowd like ripples in a pond.
He arrived at the front, as the guards planning to grab the interloper accosting the prisoner were caught up in the squall of fighting. He drew his sabre with an elegance born of practice, targeting the guard standing behind the Telvanni witch. He slid the tip of his blade through the back of the Guards bonemould armour, severing his spinal cord. He tapped the mace-wielding warrior on the shoulder. “I'd start running if I were you.”
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Of all the things that the pretty – if she did say so herself – thief was, a sadist did certainly not rank up there. So when her guild mates declared that morning that instead of spending the day resting for another night's exploration under the cloak of shadows and silence, Por opted to rest in the rooms they had been renting out a little while before venturing out a little after mid-morning. It was her sincerest wish that the unpleasantness had been completed and that she wouldn't have to...
The jeers and shouts for blood, though faint, hit her well-trained ears moments after closing the tavern's door which thankfully obscured her view from the worst of the chaos that was surely about to break out soon. It chilled her that people could be so against someone living merely because of their race or faction, suppressing a little shiver until a strange but overwhelmingly familiar sound touched to her ears.
A crow's call followed the loud yet indistinguishable sounds of a man's voice.
The call of a crow will signify the man that you must seek.
Normally Por didn't place stock in Fate, coincidences and all that rot. In fact when she first received the visions she had spent the next night drinking herself into a stupor so that she could dodge it. So it had quite unnerved her when they had come again, clear as if she was cold sober.
'Your travels to the ruined lands of Morrowind hold more in their sway than you know for you have been chosen, likewise have five others, to bring an end to the torment wrought throughout this broken expanse. There will be no denial on your part; this message bears only what you need to know and have to accept. In return, child of suffering, you shall find purpose to life. It has been a lonely and meandering road for you and I can offer correction from this day forward. Heed the signs when they come to you, I implore you...'
Afterwards had followed, as said, signs of how to recognise her fellow 'chosen' and one had been that animal call. Ignore it, Por told herself sternly as she made her way down the stairs to wander away from town for a few hours. Herb collecting, bird watching... anything to get away from the...
'They need you, child.'
The voice had come piercing through her own thoughts and indeed, the clamouring din of the rabble, censoring all else. They? Then she heard and her heart sank. The sounds of combat rose something within her and all at once Porithia clambered atop the railing to gain access to the roof via a few window ledges and some damned good luck. Grunting, she hoisted herself up so that she had a clear bird's eye view of the scene as it unfolded and it was a decidedly strange one.
A hooded man had seized the Telvanni's wrists and clamped them in irons, Por noting drily that a crow sat on the prisoner's shoulders. Sorry Azura... she apologised, waving a hand to the situation as if discarding it. That's a fight that no fool can win with two.
It was almost as if the Daedric Prince had heard her thoughts as a fight broke out within the angry mob. It took not any time at all to note the Orc and Dunmeri that had started the ruckus but what had drawn her attention made her scowl. “Oh very funny,” she muttered as the man with the burnt crescent across his cheek. He looked entirely pleased with himself, dodging through the crowd to slide up onto the stage. Por was trying so hard not to smirk with glee. So far, despite her best efforts, she was rather impressed.
“Alright,” she said aloud as Marcelle callously executed the guard behind Crow, obviously saying something to the stranger. Before any of them could react, a dagger came sailing from atop the inn to the south, landing at Crow's feet with a thud. If the man had the common sense to glance up at the rooftop, Por would wave cheerily before pointing right towards the river.
Then she backed up a few paces to disappear from view, before taking a running leap off the roof itself, crying out in delight as she landed atop a guard who was preparing to take an arching swing at Marcelle's ankles from the ground. Daggers were unsheathed mid-air and her feet planted firmly against the fellow's chest, the momentum sending the man to the floor as she crouched to slash fatally at the man's throat before the fog of surprise could clear.
She straightened and beamed up at them all before realising that there were a few more guards already incoming. “I don't suppose you're fond of terrible odds, strangers?” she said lightly, grinning as she side-stepped off the corpse to avoid a rather hefty sword blow to her left shoulder.
Por on the other hand loved them and maybe, as she ducked another swing from the guard with a laugh of joy, maybe she'd forgive Azura for this after all.
The jeers and shouts for blood, though faint, hit her well-trained ears moments after closing the tavern's door which thankfully obscured her view from the worst of the chaos that was surely about to break out soon. It chilled her that people could be so against someone living merely because of their race or faction, suppressing a little shiver until a strange but overwhelmingly familiar sound touched to her ears.
A crow's call followed the loud yet indistinguishable sounds of a man's voice.
The call of a crow will signify the man that you must seek.
Normally Por didn't place stock in Fate, coincidences and all that rot. In fact when she first received the visions she had spent the next night drinking herself into a stupor so that she could dodge it. So it had quite unnerved her when they had come again, clear as if she was cold sober.
'Your travels to the ruined lands of Morrowind hold more in their sway than you know for you have been chosen, likewise have five others, to bring an end to the torment wrought throughout this broken expanse. There will be no denial on your part; this message bears only what you need to know and have to accept. In return, child of suffering, you shall find purpose to life. It has been a lonely and meandering road for you and I can offer correction from this day forward. Heed the signs when they come to you, I implore you...'
Afterwards had followed, as said, signs of how to recognise her fellow 'chosen' and one had been that animal call. Ignore it, Por told herself sternly as she made her way down the stairs to wander away from town for a few hours. Herb collecting, bird watching... anything to get away from the...
'They need you, child.'
The voice had come piercing through her own thoughts and indeed, the clamouring din of the rabble, censoring all else. They? Then she heard and her heart sank. The sounds of combat rose something within her and all at once Porithia clambered atop the railing to gain access to the roof via a few window ledges and some damned good luck. Grunting, she hoisted herself up so that she had a clear bird's eye view of the scene as it unfolded and it was a decidedly strange one.
A hooded man had seized the Telvanni's wrists and clamped them in irons, Por noting drily that a crow sat on the prisoner's shoulders. Sorry Azura... she apologised, waving a hand to the situation as if discarding it. That's a fight that no fool can win with two.
It was almost as if the Daedric Prince had heard her thoughts as a fight broke out within the angry mob. It took not any time at all to note the Orc and Dunmeri that had started the ruckus but what had drawn her attention made her scowl. “Oh very funny,” she muttered as the man with the burnt crescent across his cheek. He looked entirely pleased with himself, dodging through the crowd to slide up onto the stage. Por was trying so hard not to smirk with glee. So far, despite her best efforts, she was rather impressed.
“Alright,” she said aloud as Marcelle callously executed the guard behind Crow, obviously saying something to the stranger. Before any of them could react, a dagger came sailing from atop the inn to the south, landing at Crow's feet with a thud. If the man had the common sense to glance up at the rooftop, Por would wave cheerily before pointing right towards the river.
Then she backed up a few paces to disappear from view, before taking a running leap off the roof itself, crying out in delight as she landed atop a guard who was preparing to take an arching swing at Marcelle's ankles from the ground. Daggers were unsheathed mid-air and her feet planted firmly against the fellow's chest, the momentum sending the man to the floor as she crouched to slash fatally at the man's throat before the fog of surprise could clear.
She straightened and beamed up at them all before realising that there were a few more guards already incoming. “I don't suppose you're fond of terrible odds, strangers?” she said lightly, grinning as she side-stepped off the corpse to avoid a rather hefty sword blow to her left shoulder.
Por on the other hand loved them and maybe, as she ducked another swing from the guard with a laugh of joy, maybe she'd forgive Azura for this after all.
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Crow:
Crow heaved the fainted Drow Magician onto his shoulders, pulling her arms across his chest and making sure her arms were tangled with the straps and other such things underneath his cloak, keeping his hands free for fighting whoever blocked his way. He did not have time to thank the Imperial for saving him for a blow that would've crippled him. He swung his curved mace in a swathing path infront of him, scaring off the public while the Guards gave a wide birth from the heavy weapon.
Crow was confident in the Imperial's skills to guard his back, he had given the Guard behind him a death adequate of a sneak. He was about to step forward when a knife thudded down at his feet, he barely noticed the daring of a rushing Hlaau guard, Crow quickly kicked the Knife forward, thought it had missed it gave Crow a few brief seconds to side-step and rush past the Guard and heave his way away from the fighting crowd.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he felt the sense of adventure and adrenaline fill his mind with its strangeness.
It felt good too.
Crow heaved the fainted Drow Magician onto his shoulders, pulling her arms across his chest and making sure her arms were tangled with the straps and other such things underneath his cloak, keeping his hands free for fighting whoever blocked his way. He did not have time to thank the Imperial for saving him for a blow that would've crippled him. He swung his curved mace in a swathing path infront of him, scaring off the public while the Guards gave a wide birth from the heavy weapon.
Crow was confident in the Imperial's skills to guard his back, he had given the Guard behind him a death adequate of a sneak. He was about to step forward when a knife thudded down at his feet, he barely noticed the daring of a rushing Hlaau guard, Crow quickly kicked the Knife forward, thought it had missed it gave Crow a few brief seconds to side-step and rush past the Guard and heave his way away from the fighting crowd.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he felt the sense of adventure and adrenaline fill his mind with its strangeness.
It felt good too.
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Marcelle hid his surprise at the appearance of the Altmer thief rather well, at least he thought so. He struck a dashing figure, the ornate wire-work on the sabre-hilt catching the morning sunlight as he brought the weapon up into a guard position, defending his torso and lower legs. A guard lurched from the brawl, his helmet knocked askew by a well aimed strike. Despite this, the guard lashed out, the shimmering blade of the long sword tracing a lazy arc towards Marcelle's neck. With speed born of hours of practice, Marcelle beat the strike aside, driving the heavy blade through the guards armour and into his gut. The guards eyes widened as the blade sunk through his viscera. He coughed, aspirating blood into Marcelle's face.
He slammed his booted foot onto the corpse, tugging the sword free with a wet tearing sound, and the spine-tingling grate of blade on bone. He hopped backwards, narrowly avoiding the battleaxe that hammered down in a wide arc. The second guard smiled wickedly, his white teeth visible through the helmet. Clearly he thought he had the advantage. He had made the biggest, and last mistake of his life.
Marcelle lunged forward, like a snake striking, his right foot stamping on the wide axehead, forcing it to the ground. The axe slipped from the guards grasp as Marcelle's left knee hammered forward, colliding heavily with stooped guards jaw. There was a loud crack as the guard's head jerked back, lolling unnaturally.
Taking a step forward, Marcelle finished the paralysed guard with a quick downward slash to the throat. He risked a glance over his shoulder, taking in the thief finishing the guard pinned under her supple body, and the hurrying figures of the Warrior and Mage. He backed up, keeping the bloody sword point trained on another group of guards approaching from the western tower. His footwork was impeccable, as he moved swiftly to a level position with the Thief. He spoke slowly and clearly, his rasping voice carrying easily over the roar of the riot. “Wait for them to charge, take the leaders then run for the river like Mehrunes Dagon is on your heels.” He hoped she would follow this plan as it was the only way he could see of getting out alive. There was no more time for thought now however, as the three front runners reached the pair.
Marcelle held his sabre held out in front of him, the point lowered so the recurved edge of the blade could be thrust through the joints in the armour, and up into lungs and hearts. He met the first guards wild strike with an overhead block, the impact of the two blades running roughly down his arm. Twisting inside his opponents guard, he slammed his free hand down on the inside of the soldier's elbow, forcing his sword hand to open, letting the weapon fall to the ground. Wasting no time, Marcelle extended his sword arm, then lashed it brutally back across his body, slicing the tip through the guards throat.
The warm caress of arterial spray brushed across Marcelle's face, as the blood pumped from the man's severed jugular. With a quick thrust of his right knee, he sent the corpse sprawling, tripping up his comrade who was a few paces behind him. Marcelle took this opportunity to spring away from the fight like a hare from a trap. His legs pumped as he hurtled down the side alley by the town wall, hearing the hiss-thump of arrows impacting around him.
Making a split-second adjustment, he lowered his shoulder, hitting the guard blocking the other exit square on in the sternum. The impact robbed Marcelle of his momentum and balance, sending him toppling to the paving stones, along with the winded guard. As he fell, his wrist jarred awkwardly, sending the sabre skittering out of his grasp and into the river. The guard, who had regained some of his energy, reached up, and locked his gauntleted hands around Marcelle's neck. As the grip tightened, Marcelle chopped both hands down on his attackers elbows, sending his hands into spasm, releasing his neck in the process. The guard cried out, slamming his helmeted head into the bridge of Marcelle's nose. Stunned, Marcelle rolled off the guard, who seized the advantage and began to throttle him again.
Opting for a different tactic, as the oxygen was starved from his lungs, Marcelle kicked up between the guard's legs, combining it with an eel like wriggle. The guard let out a yelp of pain, as the blow crushed his soft organs. Continuing the kick, Marcelle lifted the Dunmer over his head and pitched him, like a fish escaping from a boat, into the Odai. Executing a graceless roll, Marcelle dropped into the murky water, his impact making considerably less splash than the heavily armoured guard.
He watched his assailant sink, the weight of his armour dragging him to the bottom. With a lazy breast stroke, Marcelle swam forward, hooking a dagger from the guard's belt, and slashed his throat. The blood welled up into a red cloud, like the ash from a volcano, swirling hypnotically in the current.
This same current swept Marcelle out of the town, and away from trouble. It was only when he was lying on a riverbank, gasping for breath that he thought of the others. He hoped they had made it. No-one deserved to die in a pit like Balmora.
He slammed his booted foot onto the corpse, tugging the sword free with a wet tearing sound, and the spine-tingling grate of blade on bone. He hopped backwards, narrowly avoiding the battleaxe that hammered down in a wide arc. The second guard smiled wickedly, his white teeth visible through the helmet. Clearly he thought he had the advantage. He had made the biggest, and last mistake of his life.
Marcelle lunged forward, like a snake striking, his right foot stamping on the wide axehead, forcing it to the ground. The axe slipped from the guards grasp as Marcelle's left knee hammered forward, colliding heavily with stooped guards jaw. There was a loud crack as the guard's head jerked back, lolling unnaturally.
Taking a step forward, Marcelle finished the paralysed guard with a quick downward slash to the throat. He risked a glance over his shoulder, taking in the thief finishing the guard pinned under her supple body, and the hurrying figures of the Warrior and Mage. He backed up, keeping the bloody sword point trained on another group of guards approaching from the western tower. His footwork was impeccable, as he moved swiftly to a level position with the Thief. He spoke slowly and clearly, his rasping voice carrying easily over the roar of the riot. “Wait for them to charge, take the leaders then run for the river like Mehrunes Dagon is on your heels.” He hoped she would follow this plan as it was the only way he could see of getting out alive. There was no more time for thought now however, as the three front runners reached the pair.
Marcelle held his sabre held out in front of him, the point lowered so the recurved edge of the blade could be thrust through the joints in the armour, and up into lungs and hearts. He met the first guards wild strike with an overhead block, the impact of the two blades running roughly down his arm. Twisting inside his opponents guard, he slammed his free hand down on the inside of the soldier's elbow, forcing his sword hand to open, letting the weapon fall to the ground. Wasting no time, Marcelle extended his sword arm, then lashed it brutally back across his body, slicing the tip through the guards throat.
The warm caress of arterial spray brushed across Marcelle's face, as the blood pumped from the man's severed jugular. With a quick thrust of his right knee, he sent the corpse sprawling, tripping up his comrade who was a few paces behind him. Marcelle took this opportunity to spring away from the fight like a hare from a trap. His legs pumped as he hurtled down the side alley by the town wall, hearing the hiss-thump of arrows impacting around him.
Making a split-second adjustment, he lowered his shoulder, hitting the guard blocking the other exit square on in the sternum. The impact robbed Marcelle of his momentum and balance, sending him toppling to the paving stones, along with the winded guard. As he fell, his wrist jarred awkwardly, sending the sabre skittering out of his grasp and into the river. The guard, who had regained some of his energy, reached up, and locked his gauntleted hands around Marcelle's neck. As the grip tightened, Marcelle chopped both hands down on his attackers elbows, sending his hands into spasm, releasing his neck in the process. The guard cried out, slamming his helmeted head into the bridge of Marcelle's nose. Stunned, Marcelle rolled off the guard, who seized the advantage and began to throttle him again.
Opting for a different tactic, as the oxygen was starved from his lungs, Marcelle kicked up between the guard's legs, combining it with an eel like wriggle. The guard let out a yelp of pain, as the blow crushed his soft organs. Continuing the kick, Marcelle lifted the Dunmer over his head and pitched him, like a fish escaping from a boat, into the Odai. Executing a graceless roll, Marcelle dropped into the murky water, his impact making considerably less splash than the heavily armoured guard.
He watched his assailant sink, the weight of his armour dragging him to the bottom. With a lazy breast stroke, Marcelle swam forward, hooking a dagger from the guard's belt, and slashed his throat. The blood welled up into a red cloud, like the ash from a volcano, swirling hypnotically in the current.
This same current swept Marcelle out of the town, and away from trouble. It was only when he was lying on a riverbank, gasping for breath that he thought of the others. He hoped they had made it. No-one deserved to die in a pit like Balmora.
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The lull in activity had given the mage encumbered warrior and his accursed bird time to flee the scene, which left the Altmer thief and Imperial swordsman to cover them. He was brutally efficient with occasionally graceless but precise style, once more leaving Por impressed. There was no love within her for those who choose to focus on theatrics over practicality; flashy entrances were acceptable but afterwards, all business. Azura, with all her damnable persistence, at least had the decency to choose helpful allies: a group of mages would have filled the thief with considerable dread. All they ever did was want to show off! Sensible as well she realised when sound advice came forth, audible due to the proximity over the chaos of the uncontrolled brawling.
Cut your losses and retreat were the tactics of a man who preferred survival over glory. Again Por was fleetingly approving, surveying what was to come. Everything could be gleaned from a careless person's body language and if there was one thing these guards were, it was painfully easy to read.
There was only time for an energetic nod before the front line was upon them. Grinning, she almost felt sorry for them as Marcelle moved to block the initial strike, shifting around the guard she had already felled to avoid a great-axe’s swing bearing down on her original position. The reverberating thunk made her wince despite her safety but that was hardly foremost, glancing upon the Hlaau guard with passing apprehension. Bonemould armour did not tend to have many openings for her slim daggers to take advantage of and thus Por improvised, crudely using the corpse as a stepping stone, tutting deprecatingly at the mindless swing towards her legs that followed the first. Her jump was timed so that she could use the shaft of the impressive weapon like a spring board, applying her own weight to throw him off-balance. It was just enough; her arm stretched upwards and slashed cruelly at the man's eyes, finding her mark with guiltless precision.
Predictably the axe fell from the man's grip as the shock mellowed out into agony and wet blindness but Por had been prepared for this, dropping backwards from the descent into a backwards roll that landed her on her feet once more. There would be scarcely seconds before the screaming began and she had absolutely no intention of being around when it started, breathing deeply as attention turned towards the alleyway where Marcelle had just disappeared.
The third front runner came in to her peripheral vision at just the wrong moment for him as a groan of frustration passed the thief's lips, hopping awkwardly away from his assault with a rather hefty round shield. Por's stare of bewilderment only lasted a moment before a dagger was flying towards the man's crotch, praying that the realisation that the man was in full metal armour would not come. It did not, the distraction coaxing him into lowering his shield to deflect the thrown weapon. By the time he looked up again Por was gone down the narrow passageway, summoning all her energy reserves to sprint towards the Odai, eyes reflecting fleeting concern as the Imperial rolled awkwardly into the river itself.
Her focus returned to the combat faded as the realisation that she was not quite out of harm's way came upon Por, hearing rather than seeing the arrows splinter and shatter against the pavement all around her. Launching a rescue attempt of a Telvanni wizard in Balmora screamed batshit insane, as did fleeing under a thick rain of arrows. Maybe that was the criteria that Azura had pinned to make up her chosen; willing to do anything for what they desired most. Wily minx.
Her thoughts were broken as searing pain erupted from her left shoulder blade, prompting a long string of colourful curses to escape her lips; most of them towards the Daedric Prince unsurprisingly. Her steps did not falter despite the agony that made Por grit her teeth, the arrows still falling and metallic footsteps catching up on her at an alarmingly rate. Her pace must had slowed. Curses! The river... the river. “Get to the river girl,” she hissed under her breath, half-leaping over the lipped edge of the embankment to land in the water feet first.
Crimson stained the waters but there was little time to dwell on that as the currents pulled her defiantly south and away from the pursing guards. It was all Por could do not to slip under the water, flinching every time a strong tug came at the embedded arrow. Safe though.
Some time later, Por washed up face down on the shore a little further down from Marcelle quite unconscious with a strange pallor to her skin that did not seem entirely healthy. The shaft had snapped en route, just leaving a few inches of it and the arrowhead in her back. It took scarcely a few moments for the spluttering that was her lungs attempt to expel the water, coughing and retching violently.
“Never... helping... anyone again!”
Not only was she separated from her associates, but the guard of Balmora wanted her head and Azura had done nothing to make their task easier. Some deity she was. Intertwined fates her arse; as soon as she was fit to travel Por was making her way back towards Cyrodiil's borders. She presumed she was alone, not having glanced up to notice Marcelle or indeed, even if her surroundings were unoccupied. The fluid in her lungs was first priority.
Cut your losses and retreat were the tactics of a man who preferred survival over glory. Again Por was fleetingly approving, surveying what was to come. Everything could be gleaned from a careless person's body language and if there was one thing these guards were, it was painfully easy to read.
There was only time for an energetic nod before the front line was upon them. Grinning, she almost felt sorry for them as Marcelle moved to block the initial strike, shifting around the guard she had already felled to avoid a great-axe’s swing bearing down on her original position. The reverberating thunk made her wince despite her safety but that was hardly foremost, glancing upon the Hlaau guard with passing apprehension. Bonemould armour did not tend to have many openings for her slim daggers to take advantage of and thus Por improvised, crudely using the corpse as a stepping stone, tutting deprecatingly at the mindless swing towards her legs that followed the first. Her jump was timed so that she could use the shaft of the impressive weapon like a spring board, applying her own weight to throw him off-balance. It was just enough; her arm stretched upwards and slashed cruelly at the man's eyes, finding her mark with guiltless precision.
Predictably the axe fell from the man's grip as the shock mellowed out into agony and wet blindness but Por had been prepared for this, dropping backwards from the descent into a backwards roll that landed her on her feet once more. There would be scarcely seconds before the screaming began and she had absolutely no intention of being around when it started, breathing deeply as attention turned towards the alleyway where Marcelle had just disappeared.
The third front runner came in to her peripheral vision at just the wrong moment for him as a groan of frustration passed the thief's lips, hopping awkwardly away from his assault with a rather hefty round shield. Por's stare of bewilderment only lasted a moment before a dagger was flying towards the man's crotch, praying that the realisation that the man was in full metal armour would not come. It did not, the distraction coaxing him into lowering his shield to deflect the thrown weapon. By the time he looked up again Por was gone down the narrow passageway, summoning all her energy reserves to sprint towards the Odai, eyes reflecting fleeting concern as the Imperial rolled awkwardly into the river itself.
Her focus returned to the combat faded as the realisation that she was not quite out of harm's way came upon Por, hearing rather than seeing the arrows splinter and shatter against the pavement all around her. Launching a rescue attempt of a Telvanni wizard in Balmora screamed batshit insane, as did fleeing under a thick rain of arrows. Maybe that was the criteria that Azura had pinned to make up her chosen; willing to do anything for what they desired most. Wily minx.
Her thoughts were broken as searing pain erupted from her left shoulder blade, prompting a long string of colourful curses to escape her lips; most of them towards the Daedric Prince unsurprisingly. Her steps did not falter despite the agony that made Por grit her teeth, the arrows still falling and metallic footsteps catching up on her at an alarmingly rate. Her pace must had slowed. Curses! The river... the river. “Get to the river girl,” she hissed under her breath, half-leaping over the lipped edge of the embankment to land in the water feet first.
Crimson stained the waters but there was little time to dwell on that as the currents pulled her defiantly south and away from the pursing guards. It was all Por could do not to slip under the water, flinching every time a strong tug came at the embedded arrow. Safe though.
Some time later, Por washed up face down on the shore a little further down from Marcelle quite unconscious with a strange pallor to her skin that did not seem entirely healthy. The shaft had snapped en route, just leaving a few inches of it and the arrowhead in her back. It took scarcely a few moments for the spluttering that was her lungs attempt to expel the water, coughing and retching violently.
“Never... helping... anyone again!”
Not only was she separated from her associates, but the guard of Balmora wanted her head and Azura had done nothing to make their task easier. Some deity she was. Intertwined fates her arse; as soon as she was fit to travel Por was making her way back towards Cyrodiil's borders. She presumed she was alone, not having glanced up to notice Marcelle or indeed, even if her surroundings were unoccupied. The fluid in her lungs was first priority.
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Crow ignored the fighting around him, silently thanking the gods for their help as he dashed forward; he could hear Azura speak inside his mind. “It was not me, but them.” She said in her godly voice, he could hardly believe his own thoughts, he had doubted the vision inside his dream was truth, he'd been a realist and a doubter since the death of his family.
Marcelle was a brutal man, though refined like any other gentleman. Por the elven thief was graceful yet... had an unpredictable style that Crow could not yet place. Crow was simply a farmer turned loose. He did not hold the same merciless like others, he valued life like any other farmer with their cattle, he simply viewed the guards as confused sheep without a Shepard.
Crow took to sprinting towards the exit, clutching his mace with a tight grip as he spun it around suddenly as well as himself, the hairs on the back of his neck had told him of an advancing guard. The only one to survive the violent escape of his two 'colleagues'
The mace's head slammed into the guard's side, spiraling a spider-web crack up the armour and leaving the guard screaming in pain as the blow had been just enough to break a few ribs and the constriction of broken armour was a torture itself, to add to the humiliation of being downed in a single blow, the sword was sent flying and landed inches away from the guards crotch, clanging to the floor.
Crow wasted no more time, he dived into the river and hit the water with a loud splash and made sure to keep the magician out of the water, fainted people could not even control their own breath, let alone in the water, but his clutch was broken by his weapon sinking into the depths as he dived down, letting go of the Telvannni witch to save his endeared weapon and leaving her to drift placidly towards the other bank.
He surfaced shortly afterward, dragging himself upwards and onto the bank, his traveling cloak and face dripping with water and his mace thudded onto the sand as it was tossed forwards onto the bank, landing short of the advancing Crow.
A flutter and a long caw was heard in the air, his pet was keeping watch for any trouble ahead and behind.
“Azura be damned.” He shouted, pointing his finger at the sky, furious at the loss of the cause of trouble.
“You hear me!?” He roared, a challenge to her.
Marcelle was a brutal man, though refined like any other gentleman. Por the elven thief was graceful yet... had an unpredictable style that Crow could not yet place. Crow was simply a farmer turned loose. He did not hold the same merciless like others, he valued life like any other farmer with their cattle, he simply viewed the guards as confused sheep without a Shepard.
Crow took to sprinting towards the exit, clutching his mace with a tight grip as he spun it around suddenly as well as himself, the hairs on the back of his neck had told him of an advancing guard. The only one to survive the violent escape of his two 'colleagues'
The mace's head slammed into the guard's side, spiraling a spider-web crack up the armour and leaving the guard screaming in pain as the blow had been just enough to break a few ribs and the constriction of broken armour was a torture itself, to add to the humiliation of being downed in a single blow, the sword was sent flying and landed inches away from the guards crotch, clanging to the floor.
Crow wasted no more time, he dived into the river and hit the water with a loud splash and made sure to keep the magician out of the water, fainted people could not even control their own breath, let alone in the water, but his clutch was broken by his weapon sinking into the depths as he dived down, letting go of the Telvannni witch to save his endeared weapon and leaving her to drift placidly towards the other bank.
He surfaced shortly afterward, dragging himself upwards and onto the bank, his traveling cloak and face dripping with water and his mace thudded onto the sand as it was tossed forwards onto the bank, landing short of the advancing Crow.
A flutter and a long caw was heard in the air, his pet was keeping watch for any trouble ahead and behind.
“Azura be damned.” He shouted, pointing his finger at the sky, furious at the loss of the cause of trouble.
“You hear me!?” He roared, a challenge to her.
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By the time the others had drifted up onto the bank, like flotsam on a beach, Marcelle had made a small, smokeless fire and was drying his soaking clothes over a tree limb. He sat on a stump, whittling down a long elm branch into a point with his dagger, the blade of which flickered in the firelight. His wet clothes steamed in the evening air, plumes of water vapour rising upwards into the canopy. Marcelle got to his feet, clad only in a loincloth and slipped into his boots. Softly, he padded down to the water’s edge, past the prone form of Por, carrying the elm branch in his left hand. He approached the shimmering water and splashed up to his knees in the shallows. The boots gave him a firm grip on the shale bed of the river as the water lapped around his scarred body.
He transferred his makeshift spear to his right hand, wincing as the knots of scar tissue that covered his back wrenched with the movements of his shoulder. He fixed his pale eyes on the waterline, watching the undulating motions of the fish. He lunged downwards, like a spring uncoiling, hammering the spear point through the tough scales of a medium-sized slaughterfish. The fish thrashed wildly, dislodging Marcelle’s footing, sending him careening into the water.
Marcelle surfaced, coughing and spluttering, using the spear to support him. When he regained his elegant posture, he hauled the spear from the river, inspecting his catch. The fishes dark green scales rippled in the sunlight, its massive fanged jaws opening and shutting as the last shocks ran down its severed jaws. With a distasteful frown plastered across his scarred features, Marcelle yanked the fish from the spear point, leaving behind a few shreds of translucent flesh. Without really looking, he tossed the fish in the direction of his campfire, not registering the wet slap as it caught the thief across the cheek.
He flicked his gaze back to the water, and plunged his spear in and out, catching two decent sized fish in rapid succession. Just as he was about to deposit his catch at the fire, he noticed the glint of gold in the murky water. He bent down, slipping his hand into the ice cold water. His hand closed around the grip of his sabre, and his face curled into an uncharacteristic smile. Although, with the scarring that marred his cheek, it looked more like an angry grimace. He raised the weapon from the water, droplets slipping from the blade. The subtle curve shone in the sunlight, as Marcelle raised it up.
Marcelle straightened up in time to see Crow hauling himself out of the water, and to hear the angry curses flowing from his mouth. “Looks like you made it..” Marcelle’s voice rasped from his throat like the strangled cry of a dying man. “Think she took an arrow. Might want to help her.” He indicated Por with the point of his sabre and stumped up the beach, carrying his fish in his left hand.
He transferred his makeshift spear to his right hand, wincing as the knots of scar tissue that covered his back wrenched with the movements of his shoulder. He fixed his pale eyes on the waterline, watching the undulating motions of the fish. He lunged downwards, like a spring uncoiling, hammering the spear point through the tough scales of a medium-sized slaughterfish. The fish thrashed wildly, dislodging Marcelle’s footing, sending him careening into the water.
Marcelle surfaced, coughing and spluttering, using the spear to support him. When he regained his elegant posture, he hauled the spear from the river, inspecting his catch. The fishes dark green scales rippled in the sunlight, its massive fanged jaws opening and shutting as the last shocks ran down its severed jaws. With a distasteful frown plastered across his scarred features, Marcelle yanked the fish from the spear point, leaving behind a few shreds of translucent flesh. Without really looking, he tossed the fish in the direction of his campfire, not registering the wet slap as it caught the thief across the cheek.
He flicked his gaze back to the water, and plunged his spear in and out, catching two decent sized fish in rapid succession. Just as he was about to deposit his catch at the fire, he noticed the glint of gold in the murky water. He bent down, slipping his hand into the ice cold water. His hand closed around the grip of his sabre, and his face curled into an uncharacteristic smile. Although, with the scarring that marred his cheek, it looked more like an angry grimace. He raised the weapon from the water, droplets slipping from the blade. The subtle curve shone in the sunlight, as Marcelle raised it up.
Marcelle straightened up in time to see Crow hauling himself out of the water, and to hear the angry curses flowing from his mouth. “Looks like you made it..” Marcelle’s voice rasped from his throat like the strangled cry of a dying man. “Think she took an arrow. Might want to help her.” He indicated Por with the point of his sabre and stumped up the beach, carrying his fish in his left hand.
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Por really had no patience for fools, rising to stand with an agitated growl to see that yes, Crow had indeed joined them on the riverbank. Shame; she had been hoping that he had merely been an annoying hallucination.
“Speaking of people being damned,” she quipped back at his cursing, stalwartly ignoring the sweaty clamour that would not let her forget the piercing pain in her shoulder, although both were beginning to make her temper exceedingly short-fused. “Where's the mage?”
Por turned to face Crow then, the grin on her lips decidedly wicked. The mage's well-being was of no consequence to the thief as long as the self-styled slaver and the fencer were alive and healthy. Azura would not have a fit at her for some insignificant mage getting lost upstream... well... she hoped not anyway.
Then she was literally slapped out of her thoughts... by a dead fish. Water and blood wet her cheek and Por growled again in frustration, this time directed towards Marcelle at the jar the contact had reverberated down her shoulder. If Crow decided to help her, she would be grateful but never would she stoop so low to ask, examining finally what the swordsman had done with the environment around them. Really? He'd set up a camp? How long had he been there conscious?
“Regardless, we cannot stay out in the open. If the guards here are anything like those back home, they'll be scouring the countryside around Balmora for us right now after a stunt like that. So first things fast, the name's Por and we need to find somewhere to hide out and think of a game plan. After all, Azura clearly isn't game for getting us out of all life threatening situations.”
Then she wasted no time in looking around, trying to gain her bearings in a place that she had absolutely no idea about, frowning deeply. “So do either of you know where we are and by some miracle, know of a safe place to rest that isn't out in the open?”
“Speaking of people being damned,” she quipped back at his cursing, stalwartly ignoring the sweaty clamour that would not let her forget the piercing pain in her shoulder, although both were beginning to make her temper exceedingly short-fused. “Where's the mage?”
Por turned to face Crow then, the grin on her lips decidedly wicked. The mage's well-being was of no consequence to the thief as long as the self-styled slaver and the fencer were alive and healthy. Azura would not have a fit at her for some insignificant mage getting lost upstream... well... she hoped not anyway.
Then she was literally slapped out of her thoughts... by a dead fish. Water and blood wet her cheek and Por growled again in frustration, this time directed towards Marcelle at the jar the contact had reverberated down her shoulder. If Crow decided to help her, she would be grateful but never would she stoop so low to ask, examining finally what the swordsman had done with the environment around them. Really? He'd set up a camp? How long had he been there conscious?
“Regardless, we cannot stay out in the open. If the guards here are anything like those back home, they'll be scouring the countryside around Balmora for us right now after a stunt like that. So first things fast, the name's Por and we need to find somewhere to hide out and think of a game plan. After all, Azura clearly isn't game for getting us out of all life threatening situations.”
Then she wasted no time in looking around, trying to gain her bearings in a place that she had absolutely no idea about, frowning deeply. “So do either of you know where we are and by some miracle, know of a safe place to rest that isn't out in the open?”
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Crow was still irritated by the water which had waterlogged his ears, he tilted his head to the side to allow the water to trickle out of his left one. "She was taken by the current, she'll probably surface somewhere along, but she was still out of it when it took her." Crow replied to Por, his tone containing vestiges of anger.
He looked towards the other bank, but couldn't see anybody over there. He fumed quietly, his mind rolling over insults that would most insult the gods if they ever glimpsed into Crow's mind once more.
Crow held out his wet right arm, shaking it and then he placed a finger between his lip and made a sharp whistling sound. A few seconds later a large black bird would perch upon his arm. He leaned forward to whisper into the crow's ear. The Crow seemed to nod its beak in response.
Hard to decide if Crow was a mad-man or one in touch with nature.
The unshaven man then kicked at the dirt, hauling a hand over to Marcelle. "Stranger! I am thankful for your help." He said loudly, turning to Por as he looked her over, eying the wound warily.
"Yes, and if you retain that arrow, you're going to be the death of us." Crow said, his tone reluctant. He then moved towards her, stopping short behind her.
"I take it you two did not do this as a random act of kindness? For I am no slaver." Crow said laid his hands gently upon her back if an action like that was allowed. If so, Crow would then attempt to gently and smoothly tug the arrow out.
He looked towards the other bank, but couldn't see anybody over there. He fumed quietly, his mind rolling over insults that would most insult the gods if they ever glimpsed into Crow's mind once more.
Crow held out his wet right arm, shaking it and then he placed a finger between his lip and made a sharp whistling sound. A few seconds later a large black bird would perch upon his arm. He leaned forward to whisper into the crow's ear. The Crow seemed to nod its beak in response.
Hard to decide if Crow was a mad-man or one in touch with nature.
The unshaven man then kicked at the dirt, hauling a hand over to Marcelle. "Stranger! I am thankful for your help." He said loudly, turning to Por as he looked her over, eying the wound warily.
"Yes, and if you retain that arrow, you're going to be the death of us." Crow said, his tone reluctant. He then moved towards her, stopping short behind her.
"I take it you two did not do this as a random act of kindness? For I am no slaver." Crow said laid his hands gently upon her back if an action like that was allowed. If so, Crow would then attempt to gently and smoothly tug the arrow out.
Setting
0.00 INK
With a sullen yawn, Marcelle stretched his fatigued muscles, leaning against the roots of the cavernous mushroom tree that towered over the small group. The Altmer and Warrior had devolved to bickering now, stood in the open for all to see, voices raised above the soft lapping of the river, and the calls of various birds. The sun gleamed bright orange in the evening air, as its wayward tracking across the sky took it down below the hills that framed the riverbank. The soft shadows began to spread like oozing treacle, creating gloomy pools of blackness under the tree, almost swallowing the glow from Marcelle’s fire entirely.
He turned his head to the three sizeable fish propped at his feet, ignoring the others entirely. Extending his scarred arm, Marcelle yanked the largest fish from the pile, dropping it onto a gnarled tree-stump beside him. Hopping to his booted feet, the ring around his neck catching the fire-light, he grabbed the slight curve of his sabre, and used it to neatly lop the head off the fish. The blade came down with a soft thump-squeltch, a noise sure to attract the attention of his partners-in-crime. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the toothed maw of the fish into the black waters of the river with the flat of his blade, turning his attention to the carcass itself. He slid his dagger along the spine, opening the fish like a butterfly’s wings. Using the point of the weapon, he scraped away most of the offal, and cut a trio of good sized fillets from the bone.
Carrying the fillets in one hand, he padded over to the fire, dropping the strips onto a flat rock which was glowing an angry volcanic red in the heart of the flames. There was a rush of sizzling, as the fish settled on the rock, the white flesh creasing and shrinking in the heat. Wisps of aromatic smoke rose from the fire, carried by the wind out towards the river.
And now for the incredibly distasteful task Marcelle had been putting off for several minutes now. He pulled the thick canvas shirt over his torso, examining a rip down the side, caused by the barbed point of an arrow in flight. He slipped the blade of the sabre into its sheath and slipped over to join Por and Crow. He hadn’t had much time to fully take in the barbaric appearance of the warrior before, but in the evening gloom, it was clear that this man was no noble. Marcelle did not fight to repress the status-related prejudice that reared its ugly head within his fatigued form. He yawned again, scratching the red-raw surface of the crescent shaped burn on his cheek.
“We don’t have time for introductions. I suggest we wait-.” Marcelle paused for dramatic emphasis “-quietly till nightfall, and then continue down the river.” The Imperial’s extensive knowledge of the area came as a result of the crippling insomnia he suffered every night, forcing him to take long walks down the Odai, staring into the cool waters, in the hope that the nightmares of fire and destruction would be purged from his form. He turned to Por, passing a cursory glance over the arrow wound. “I’d go and eat before we leave. Regain your strength.” As he spoke, he nodded in the direction of the fish, still sizzling and spitting in the fire.
As it would seem, this gesture was incredibly out of character for the deranged, fire-haunted Imperial slaver, but it was clear that it was in his best interests to keep these people alive, and the innate sense of survival present within his ravaged for would extend to the group for as long as they were useful.
He flicked his scarred face around to Crow, injecting a note of scorn into his hoarse voice. “Clear the ground. Make it as if no-one was here.” At this, he turned and stumped off in the direction of the fire, and the smell of cooked fish.
He turned his head to the three sizeable fish propped at his feet, ignoring the others entirely. Extending his scarred arm, Marcelle yanked the largest fish from the pile, dropping it onto a gnarled tree-stump beside him. Hopping to his booted feet, the ring around his neck catching the fire-light, he grabbed the slight curve of his sabre, and used it to neatly lop the head off the fish. The blade came down with a soft thump-squeltch, a noise sure to attract the attention of his partners-in-crime. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the toothed maw of the fish into the black waters of the river with the flat of his blade, turning his attention to the carcass itself. He slid his dagger along the spine, opening the fish like a butterfly’s wings. Using the point of the weapon, he scraped away most of the offal, and cut a trio of good sized fillets from the bone.
Carrying the fillets in one hand, he padded over to the fire, dropping the strips onto a flat rock which was glowing an angry volcanic red in the heart of the flames. There was a rush of sizzling, as the fish settled on the rock, the white flesh creasing and shrinking in the heat. Wisps of aromatic smoke rose from the fire, carried by the wind out towards the river.
And now for the incredibly distasteful task Marcelle had been putting off for several minutes now. He pulled the thick canvas shirt over his torso, examining a rip down the side, caused by the barbed point of an arrow in flight. He slipped the blade of the sabre into its sheath and slipped over to join Por and Crow. He hadn’t had much time to fully take in the barbaric appearance of the warrior before, but in the evening gloom, it was clear that this man was no noble. Marcelle did not fight to repress the status-related prejudice that reared its ugly head within his fatigued form. He yawned again, scratching the red-raw surface of the crescent shaped burn on his cheek.
“We don’t have time for introductions. I suggest we wait-.” Marcelle paused for dramatic emphasis “-quietly till nightfall, and then continue down the river.” The Imperial’s extensive knowledge of the area came as a result of the crippling insomnia he suffered every night, forcing him to take long walks down the Odai, staring into the cool waters, in the hope that the nightmares of fire and destruction would be purged from his form. He turned to Por, passing a cursory glance over the arrow wound. “I’d go and eat before we leave. Regain your strength.” As he spoke, he nodded in the direction of the fish, still sizzling and spitting in the fire.
As it would seem, this gesture was incredibly out of character for the deranged, fire-haunted Imperial slaver, but it was clear that it was in his best interests to keep these people alive, and the innate sense of survival present within his ravaged for would extend to the group for as long as they were useful.
He flicked his scarred face around to Crow, injecting a note of scorn into his hoarse voice. “Clear the ground. Make it as if no-one was here.” At this, he turned and stumped off in the direction of the fire, and the smell of cooked fish.
Setting
0.00 INK
There was simply no adequate description for the stunned look across Por's face at Crow's actions at first, though she certainly seemed to find herself when he approached her to take care of the arrow, initially taking a step back out of instinct. He was a stranger but the constant, agonising throbbing that indicated wood and steel deep within her shoulder made her stop, surveying with careful, distrustful eyes before giving a nod.
Instead of following the man disappearing behind her to remove the arrow, Por found distraction in the methods that Marcelle was using to prepare the fish for cooking, the almost-silence that took over in absence of words; anything. She was not ignorant to arrow inflicted wounds. They stung, tore at the flesh if the head was jagged and it was with significant willpower that Por did not take Crow's hand off with a knife when he laid a hand flat around the wound to brace himself.
There was a butterfly landing a few feet away on a browning leaf, discarded by its tree so very late and looking quite lost in the frost that signified winter setting in proper. The Altmer smiled crookedly for a split second before pain blossomed in her shoulder, curses escaping her lips in whispers, reaching out to brace herself against a tree. Thoroughly unbalanced, no more words came from her even at Marcelle's approach, slipping down into a crouch beside the tree, pale as the snow itself.
The thief, despite the spinning her world insisted on doing, slowly looked up at Crow with gratitude and begrudging respect. He had not botched the removal – she could feel that – and for that, she was thankful.
Marcelle had a damned good point, bemusing theatrics aside. Por completely blamed her injury for her lack of tact when it had come to the current situation, feeling a little chastened. Rightly so, she mused, nodding absently towards Marcelle generally. Not even she really knew if this was an agreement to his words or simply an acknowledgement that something had been said, though the rise to stand and take a few shaky footsteps towards where the fire and food rested suggested the former.
Regaining her strength seemed like a very good idea, although Por did not entirely trust her hand-eye coordination to not sear her fingers on the disturbingly molten-looking rocks, so she waited a few moments to let the dizziness fade.
By the time that the crescent scarred man had returned to the fireside after delivering the sharp order to Crow, Por had mustered the co-ordination to pick up one of the sticks without searing her fingers, laying it across her lap on her leathers until the fish cooled enough to eat. Looking for something to keep her hands busy in the meantime, the omni-present backpack slid from her shoulders. It had been a long shot to hope that everything in there would not need to be laid out and dried but one section remained bone dry.
There was a blessing muttered to the gods, ironic considering it was technically Azura's fault everything else she owned was ruined. Still, when it was her thief's tools that were dry... small mercies. Without a care for company, Por slipped free the fastenings for her upper leathers, sliding it off her shoulders to reveal a sweat and blood stained undershirt, slipping her arms out of the sleeves before retrieving a now sodden cloth from her pack, squeezing the excess water free.
It took a few moments to manage to reach where the arrow had pierced skin and no small amount of gritting teeth to ignore discomfort that twisting so brought, but eventually Por had managed to do her best to clear the wound. Modesty eventually gave way to common sense and she discarded the undershirt almost immediately afterwards on account of how filthy it was, covering her bare skin with the leather quickly to stave off the cold.
Getting sick atop tiredness and injury was surprisingly not on her things to do list, refastening the leather loosely before picking up the fish to take a few chunks out of it carefully despite her apparent ravenous hunger that had accumulated on account of the mere smell of food. If she was at all embarrassed by her brief disrobing, there was no evidence in it.
Eyes shifted to look upon Marcelle briefly but no words were exchanged at first, the thief chewing thoughtfully. “Thanks. Mostly for the perspective on the situation but the food's welcome as well.” The smile was fleeting but honest, directed towards Crow as well if he was within her eyesight.
Instead of following the man disappearing behind her to remove the arrow, Por found distraction in the methods that Marcelle was using to prepare the fish for cooking, the almost-silence that took over in absence of words; anything. She was not ignorant to arrow inflicted wounds. They stung, tore at the flesh if the head was jagged and it was with significant willpower that Por did not take Crow's hand off with a knife when he laid a hand flat around the wound to brace himself.
There was a butterfly landing a few feet away on a browning leaf, discarded by its tree so very late and looking quite lost in the frost that signified winter setting in proper. The Altmer smiled crookedly for a split second before pain blossomed in her shoulder, curses escaping her lips in whispers, reaching out to brace herself against a tree. Thoroughly unbalanced, no more words came from her even at Marcelle's approach, slipping down into a crouch beside the tree, pale as the snow itself.
The thief, despite the spinning her world insisted on doing, slowly looked up at Crow with gratitude and begrudging respect. He had not botched the removal – she could feel that – and for that, she was thankful.
Marcelle had a damned good point, bemusing theatrics aside. Por completely blamed her injury for her lack of tact when it had come to the current situation, feeling a little chastened. Rightly so, she mused, nodding absently towards Marcelle generally. Not even she really knew if this was an agreement to his words or simply an acknowledgement that something had been said, though the rise to stand and take a few shaky footsteps towards where the fire and food rested suggested the former.
Regaining her strength seemed like a very good idea, although Por did not entirely trust her hand-eye coordination to not sear her fingers on the disturbingly molten-looking rocks, so she waited a few moments to let the dizziness fade.
By the time that the crescent scarred man had returned to the fireside after delivering the sharp order to Crow, Por had mustered the co-ordination to pick up one of the sticks without searing her fingers, laying it across her lap on her leathers until the fish cooled enough to eat. Looking for something to keep her hands busy in the meantime, the omni-present backpack slid from her shoulders. It had been a long shot to hope that everything in there would not need to be laid out and dried but one section remained bone dry.
There was a blessing muttered to the gods, ironic considering it was technically Azura's fault everything else she owned was ruined. Still, when it was her thief's tools that were dry... small mercies. Without a care for company, Por slipped free the fastenings for her upper leathers, sliding it off her shoulders to reveal a sweat and blood stained undershirt, slipping her arms out of the sleeves before retrieving a now sodden cloth from her pack, squeezing the excess water free.
It took a few moments to manage to reach where the arrow had pierced skin and no small amount of gritting teeth to ignore discomfort that twisting so brought, but eventually Por had managed to do her best to clear the wound. Modesty eventually gave way to common sense and she discarded the undershirt almost immediately afterwards on account of how filthy it was, covering her bare skin with the leather quickly to stave off the cold.
Getting sick atop tiredness and injury was surprisingly not on her things to do list, refastening the leather loosely before picking up the fish to take a few chunks out of it carefully despite her apparent ravenous hunger that had accumulated on account of the mere smell of food. If she was at all embarrassed by her brief disrobing, there was no evidence in it.
Eyes shifted to look upon Marcelle briefly but no words were exchanged at first, the thief chewing thoughtfully. “Thanks. Mostly for the perspective on the situation but the food's welcome as well.” The smile was fleeting but honest, directed towards Crow as well if he was within her eyesight.
Setting
0.00 INK
Crow nodded slowly towards Por. The commanding aura and voice of the Imperial gave Crow a slight respect for the man. Crow assumed Marcelle was a trooper or at-least an ex-trooper(There is a difference.)
The has-been farmer stroked the bird resting upon his shoulder. "Hunt." He whispered plainly as he shook his shoulder to shake the 'pet off. Crow then deviated his attention between both Por and Marcelle, gauging and observing before reaching forward to take the fish off the fire. "You should know then, we should not leave the fire to blaze tonight nor tomorrow. They might have scouts, which will bring the Guards down upon us without the tracks." He said back, mocking derision sounding freely in his voice.
He took off his wet cloak and threw it upon the fire to douse it. "Don't be so infernally ignorant on how hunters track, or Hircine take you into his great hunt as prey." he whispered under his breath. Underneath the wet-cloak that was abruptly removed revealed the crude armour beneath that only covered the chest which in turn leaving the shoulders and arms without guard.
The arms were covered in blue tattoos and scars, commonly known throughout the land as the signs of a man who followed Hircine. This would give them a reason to be wary, usually a follower of Hircine had the curse of Were-Beast, but that had a rumor, no?
The farmer then pulled his weapon from the snow and laid it upon the cloak resting on the doused fire. "I'll keep first watch, that is of course, you think I'm going to turn into a wolf and rip your throats out." He said with a wolfish smirk.
Crow snatched up the fish and started to eat it, much like a bear.
The has-been farmer stroked the bird resting upon his shoulder. "Hunt." He whispered plainly as he shook his shoulder to shake the 'pet off. Crow then deviated his attention between both Por and Marcelle, gauging and observing before reaching forward to take the fish off the fire. "You should know then, we should not leave the fire to blaze tonight nor tomorrow. They might have scouts, which will bring the Guards down upon us without the tracks." He said back, mocking derision sounding freely in his voice.
He took off his wet cloak and threw it upon the fire to douse it. "Don't be so infernally ignorant on how hunters track, or Hircine take you into his great hunt as prey." he whispered under his breath. Underneath the wet-cloak that was abruptly removed revealed the crude armour beneath that only covered the chest which in turn leaving the shoulders and arms without guard.
The arms were covered in blue tattoos and scars, commonly known throughout the land as the signs of a man who followed Hircine. This would give them a reason to be wary, usually a follower of Hircine had the curse of Were-Beast, but that had a rumor, no?
The farmer then pulled his weapon from the snow and laid it upon the cloak resting on the doused fire. "I'll keep first watch, that is of course, you think I'm going to turn into a wolf and rip your throats out." He said with a wolfish smirk.
Crow snatched up the fish and started to eat it, much like a bear.
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Alexander Azshar
"Sir Alex, the shining pillar of Azura's Dawn."
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A fledging member of the Thieves' Guild, full of both energy and conviction.
Venira Sul Teles
An arrogant Telvanni wizard, hungry for knowledge - at any price.
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Marcelle Ubir
The youngest son of an Imperial slave trader
Venira Sul Teles
An arrogant Telvanni wizard, hungry for knowledge - at any price.
Alexander Azshar
"Sir Alex, the shining pillar of Azura's Dawn."
Porithia
A fledging member of the Thieves' Guild, full of both energy and conviction.
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Alexander Azshar
"Sir Alex, the shining pillar of Azura's Dawn."
Marcelle Ubir
The youngest son of an Imperial slave trader
Venira Sul Teles
An arrogant Telvanni wizard, hungry for knowledge - at any price.
Porithia
A fledging member of the Thieves' Guild, full of both energy and conviction.
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Morrowind's Salvation
1, 2by Imehal on Wed Dec 08, 2010 8:26 pm
- 21 Replies
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- Last post by XavierDantius32
on Sun Apr 10, 2011 9:32 am
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Morrowind's Salvation
Most recent OOC posts in Morrowind's Salvation
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Ohai People
Sorry for the extended period of inactivity. I've had an unbelivable amount of school shit to sort out, hence why you've had no Marcelle related goodness :D
Anyway. Back now. Posting now.
Xav x
Sorry for the extended period of inactivity. I've had an unbelivable amount of school shit to sort out, hence why you've had no Marcelle related goodness :D
Anyway. Back now. Posting now.
Xav x
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
I have sent Duchessa two PMs and other than the contact we had after she came back from the snow inflicted hiatus, I have heard nothing from her. So, Gasmask I give you full permission to post and unless notified otherwise, we shall assume that Venira makes it to the river but ends up on the opposite shore from us and the later guards. This means we're not doing too much control and also allows her and her character a way in at a later date.
Sorry to keep you all waiting so long; let us keep this going!
Imehal x
Sorry to keep you all waiting so long; let us keep this going!
Imehal x
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Huzzah and welcome back!
You have awesome timing; I was about to PM you today to find out what was up as you'd been so active and gung-ho earlier on. Good to know things have cleared up for you. =)
You have awesome timing; I was about to PM you today to find out what was up as you'd been so active and gung-ho earlier on. Good to know things have cleared up for you. =)
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Just thought I'd record that I've not vanished or given up - the snow's killed my internet for the last few days and so I haven't been able to do anything. I'll post either later today or tomorrow - I have it mostly written :)
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Just to note: Progress report will go on the tab seeing as I can't edit my first post. Another copy of the posting order shall exist there too.
FaeFire, I'm just about coping with the level of members I've got so I'm sorry. Sibrand, I checked over Thald and he's still got a few errors but otherwise right as rain. I can't wait to see him get his moment!
I'm glad the posting order seems to be not a problem, though I note I've taken out my plot post from the order. I'll just let people know if I need an extra post for Azura or plot. Also we seem to have lost Omni as a member for Divindre' has been abandoned. I'm not sure of the reasons and hope that they'll come to me and explain if they had a mind to return.
Right; to business.
Firstly, I've added a few links to the tab for ease of access when it comes to maps and information checking.
Now... Plot!
Currently we have (hopefully) Crow, Marcelle, Por and Venira making an escape from the latter's execution towards the Odai per the thief's direction. The intention is for the group to escape – with or without injury – down river to the abandoned Hlaalu mansion on the left bank south of Balmora. From there, we aim to gather up the discarded group – by luck or having them help each other to the shore. They come across the mansion and from there they can have a few hours respite and as the guards check throughout the town and river for the fugitive and her accomplices.
Whilst they are resting a vision comes upon them jointly, save for Thald whom gets a slightly different one. It is to travel west to Hla Oad for their actions, whilst brave, have made them wanted in this area. Hopefully they'll set out to do just that and get ambushed on the way by the searching guards, vastly outnumbered. That is until our trusty ranger starts raining down arrows, per his marking!
And then we have a full group making their way to their destination under the assumption that their task will be presented to them there. Of course, they'll be getting a boat elsewhere before Azura reveals her master plan for them but... they don't know that.
It is a little sketchy but I don't want to plan anything too too much just in case the characters change the flow of the tale and I'm ready for that occurrence. I'm aware the group isn't going to get along swimmingly and I've allowed for that. I do plans for the roleplay's overarching plot and if people would like to see them for giving input I'd be happy!
I cannot emphasise enough that if someone is having a problem to PM me and if you have ideas, however small or unformed, please please post them here so we can talk them out a bit. I've never denied that this is a group project in plotting and posting so everyone has a right to a say on what happens here!
FaeFire, I'm just about coping with the level of members I've got so I'm sorry. Sibrand, I checked over Thald and he's still got a few errors but otherwise right as rain. I can't wait to see him get his moment!
I'm glad the posting order seems to be not a problem, though I note I've taken out my plot post from the order. I'll just let people know if I need an extra post for Azura or plot. Also we seem to have lost Omni as a member for Divindre' has been abandoned. I'm not sure of the reasons and hope that they'll come to me and explain if they had a mind to return.
Right; to business.
Firstly, I've added a few links to the tab for ease of access when it comes to maps and information checking.
Now... Plot!
Currently we have (hopefully) Crow, Marcelle, Por and Venira making an escape from the latter's execution towards the Odai per the thief's direction. The intention is for the group to escape – with or without injury – down river to the abandoned Hlaalu mansion on the left bank south of Balmora. From there, we aim to gather up the discarded group – by luck or having them help each other to the shore. They come across the mansion and from there they can have a few hours respite and as the guards check throughout the town and river for the fugitive and her accomplices.
Whilst they are resting a vision comes upon them jointly, save for Thald whom gets a slightly different one. It is to travel west to Hla Oad for their actions, whilst brave, have made them wanted in this area. Hopefully they'll set out to do just that and get ambushed on the way by the searching guards, vastly outnumbered. That is until our trusty ranger starts raining down arrows, per his marking!
And then we have a full group making their way to their destination under the assumption that their task will be presented to them there. Of course, they'll be getting a boat elsewhere before Azura reveals her master plan for them but... they don't know that.
It is a little sketchy but I don't want to plan anything too too much just in case the characters change the flow of the tale and I'm ready for that occurrence. I'm aware the group isn't going to get along swimmingly and I've allowed for that. I do plans for the roleplay's overarching plot and if people would like to see them for giving input I'd be happy!
I cannot emphasise enough that if someone is having a problem to PM me and if you have ideas, however small or unformed, please please post them here so we can talk them out a bit. I've never denied that this is a group project in plotting and posting so everyone has a right to a say on what happens here!
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Alright, noticed the post order ^^ Once my moment comes I'll post and then I'll follow the post order ;)
Oh and I've also updated Thald's profile, or at least tried to. I was in a hurry when I did it and I haven't had the time to do anything until today so now almost every spell problem and things alike should be gone.
Oh and I've also updated Thald's profile, or at least tried to. I was in a hurry when I did it and I haven't had the time to do anything until today so now almost every spell problem and things alike should be gone.
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Aww.. I missed the sign up period, OH well I wanna see where this goes, I'm a massive TES Nerdlette, Good luck and happy new years
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Pfft the wait is fine. You still to post on the meeting thread though!
As for a post order, I am inclined to agree as I haven't had a chance to post as Porithia and nor has Sibrand as his character before a second round seems to have been instigated. I'll be tending to make two posts; one to support scenarios/play NPCs and one for Porithia herself unless the two posts can meld into one. Good order would be:
XavierDantius32
Duchessa
Omnichromiogasm
GasMasque
Sibrand (when the character is entered)
Imehal
Is this agreeable?
Obviously, this will be subject to change when circumstances affect grouping.
I'll slot Porithia in on the plot post this time and take her away from the action a bit.
As for a post order, I am inclined to agree as I haven't had a chance to post as Porithia and nor has Sibrand as his character before a second round seems to have been instigated. I'll be tending to make two posts; one to support scenarios/play NPCs and one for Porithia herself unless the two posts can meld into one. Good order would be:
XavierDantius32
Duchessa
Omnichromiogasm
GasMasque
Sibrand (when the character is entered)
Imehal
Is this agreeable?
Obviously, this will be subject to change when circumstances affect grouping.
I'll slot Porithia in on the plot post this time and take her away from the action a bit.
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Sorry about the wait for my post. +_+. Also me not making any contact, my bad.
Anyway, we need a post order.
Anyway, we need a post order.
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Xavier, I expect it's going to have to be fine seeing as how you've already posted!
This'll all be taking place in the 'Posting' section of the tab so you're all aware.
In truth it is fine as it sets off the posting nicely. My opener will cover the scene in Balmora in the morning after the night set by Marcelle where Venira is being set to be hanged for being Telvanni as well as introducing Porithia herself elsewhere. That scene will allow entry for Crow if I remember correctly.
Thald, Marcelle and Divendre's players please let me know if you're struggling to think of entry ideas so we can figure out possible ones though I figure the execution will be a pretty big crowd gatherer.
I've one niggle before we get going. I appreciate that we're all using the talents/flaws for the races from the games but realistically, the 'points' and time limits do not correlate well. I would suggest that skills that last a minute can last a combat on the forums whereas things like 'Voice of the Emperor' try and make it not seem like a power is being used. These are natural talents that the races possess. Try and make it look so, alright?
Be sensible with resists as well. It doesn't make you immune, just less likely to catch/get hurt by something. You will frequently see Por running behind things when a mage flings a spell in her direction. They make wonderful roleplays points, so don't waste them!
Now, a post!
This'll all be taking place in the 'Posting' section of the tab so you're all aware.
In truth it is fine as it sets off the posting nicely. My opener will cover the scene in Balmora in the morning after the night set by Marcelle where Venira is being set to be hanged for being Telvanni as well as introducing Porithia herself elsewhere. That scene will allow entry for Crow if I remember correctly.
Thald, Marcelle and Divendre's players please let me know if you're struggling to think of entry ideas so we can figure out possible ones though I figure the execution will be a pretty big crowd gatherer.
I've one niggle before we get going. I appreciate that we're all using the talents/flaws for the races from the games but realistically, the 'points' and time limits do not correlate well. I would suggest that skills that last a minute can last a combat on the forums whereas things like 'Voice of the Emperor' try and make it not seem like a power is being used. These are natural talents that the races possess. Try and make it look so, alright?
Be sensible with resists as well. It doesn't make you immune, just less likely to catch/get hurt by something. You will frequently see Por running behind things when a mage flings a spell in her direction. They make wonderful roleplays points, so don't waste them!
Now, a post!
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
I'm going to be away for two nights tomorrow, so if its alright with you Imehal, I'll post tonight :)
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
I approved your profile Xavier and sent you a PM regarding it. I'm just awaiting replies from the other three people interested. All the PMs have been sent, so if I do not hear by the end of tomorrow I'll begin regardless.
It's been a long time coming but we will get this started! =)
So date to start is late on 29th of December.
It's been a long time coming but we will get this started! =)
So date to start is late on 29th of December.
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
I'm terribly late, I know. Christmas is a dreadful time of year for me. Lots of travelling, planning and shopping.
My thief is coming within the next week but yes, once I have her up and submitted I'll be looking to start sharpish after that. I do apologise for the wait in this coming and appreciate everyone's patience.
My thief is coming within the next week but yes, once I have her up and submitted I'll be looking to start sharpish after that. I do apologise for the wait in this coming and appreciate everyone's patience.
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
I'm just waiting for Imehal's rogue! I think that'll be the generally-acknowleged start date, unless we get a massive upsurge in interest and characters suddenly appearing :p
Re: [OOC] Morrowind's Salvation
Also, Crow and Thrald approved now too though I do want to have words with Gasmask. I'm halfway through my rogue and hopefully will her her finished before the end of the week. ^)^