Cyrodiil, a province of Tamriel

Meer-mah’s lifeless corpse laid waste on the ground beneath Og`mir’s towering stature. The battle was won, and the Argonian slavers where no more. The orc knelt down to check of any valuables or belongings of the slaves that the Argonian overseer might have on his possessions. As Og`mir was riffling through the belongings he paused, it was as though a knife had pierced his heart. His head began to throb as he lifted an old insignia, The Timber Wolves of Bruma’s old insignia. The orc began to regret his decision on hastily killing the Argonian, he wanted answers and he wanted them now. Og`mir continued his searching, but it was more like a vulture scavenging the meat off a carcass. He ripped the clothes off the lizard and began to shake the cloth impatiently waiting for a sign to drop out of its pockets. Suddenly, a rolled up piece of parchment dropped to the ground. With haste, Og`mir picked up the scroll and tore the leather binding. His eyes began to scan across the paper, it was a contract. But to the orc, it looked more like the start of an army. The parchment was an agreement to which the Timber Wolves would swear allegiance to someone, or something. At the bottom of the paper was a purple and black seal, Og`mir had never seen a tattoo of this kind, and it irritated him further.

Abruptly, the orc heard a calm voice behind him. When he turned to face the voice his eyes were narrow with rage and his brow was furrowed. He took the insignia and placed it beneath his armor, concealing it from any lingering eyes that might find it for look for it. Og`mir stood up from his kneeling position, still holding the contract only now it was crumpled between his grasp. “I was doing what I was paid to do, you’re safety was on the bottom of my list.” He said irritably. It wasn't that he had a grudge against dark elves, it was more of the fact he killed the cold blooded beast before questioning him further. He noted the Dunmer’s offer to help him in whatever cause and with the recent events, Og`mir and his Bosmer companions would need all the help he could get. Carelessly, he dropped the parchment near the Dunmer. The orc eyed the scene and began to question why Ordami and Milora weren’t here yet, he saw the Breton caster and the Altmer ranger, but the two Bosmers were not around. Og`mir looked down at the dark elf, he didn’t want to leave the fatigued man unattended, however he was concerned of his companion’s fates. He stretched out his giant green hand towards the dark elf, offering to assisting him from off the ground and somewhere much more sanitary, like the side of the cage he was held in for hours.

Sweating profusely and breathing deeply, Azoth clawed his way around the cart, trying to make his way to where Belas was. Suddenly the Dunmer sat up, apparently recovered. He tried to stand then, though he couldn't manage it and fell back to his butt. Azoth would have rushed over to help him, but if he let go of the cage right now, he could probably just be joining Belas on the ground without the ability to get back up. Luckily he wasn't alone in his thoughts though, because Fayth showed up offering him a mana potion and the Orc that had showed up also came over to offer him some help up. That left Azoth with a chance to rest, which he desperately needed.

He leaned his back up against the cage, trying to get it to support as much of his body weight as he could, even though it dug uncomfortably into his back. He slumped down a little, but didn't let himself drop into a sitting position. Throwing his head back to gasp for air more effectively, something a little off behind the caravans caught Azoth's eye. He stared curiously for a minute before figuring out what it was, though it didn't make much sense. He tried racking his brain for some kind of recollection, but he had no idea why they would be there. Letting his head flop to the side, he looked over at the other three.

"H-hey! Any of you guys kill any... Bosmer?" Azoth asked, pointing back to where he saw them.

Sarkham sat calmly as the guard fed them and left, and sat annoyed as his cell mate and the Ashlander down the hall argued. He gritted his teeth to keep from telling them both to shut up, and unlike the Ashlander, he was in the same cell. He took a deep breath before he spoke in a calm voice to his singing friend.

"Now is not the time to be arguing among ourselves, friend." he spoke quietly before lifting the bread the guard had left. He ate it wholeheartedly, folding his legs beneath him and waiting. He thought quietly to himself of the possibilities of where he could go once he got out. He knew several safehouses that had been active for Blades members during his service, but he was unsure if they were still running. There was also his cabin in the Jerall mountains, the old retreat he had owned. When he left Cyrodiil, he told no one its location and it should still be intact. He sighed frustratedly as he pondered if he'd make it out at all.

"Ah, thank you milady," Belas said grateful towards the Altmer. If he was in any other position, he would refuse and let Fayth have it. Considering the circumstances though, he had to or he would be sitting there for the rest of the day. Belas drank the potion and then felt the fire return to his bones as the edge of his fatigue was dulled. He was content and was about to stand on his own when a green hand came into his view.

Belas then remembered what the Orc said about his reason for helping them. "Either way, you did manage to turn the tide friend, and for that I thank you." He said taking the hand and rising to his feet. He was a bit unsteady at first, but soon he was standing surely, if a bit tired at the recent events. Indeed, he is just lucky to be alive, much less free. Belas patted the Orc arm to show his appreciation and then began to make his way to the cart Fayth had just unlocked. It was time to get his things.

"It's unlocked right?" He asked Fayth although it was rhetoric. If it wasn't, then she wouldn't have gotten the potion. He raised a hand in greeting toward Azoth as the breton leaned against the cart. Apparently, his magic had taken a lot out of him as well. He turned a corner and then began to shuffle through the bags in the cart. After a while, he came to a large burlap sack attached to a quiver and an oaken shortbow. The bow was Belas's. He picked the bag up and felt the familiar weight of his armor in the sack. He brought it around the back of the cart and opened it, taking quick inventory. He found his blue extravagant pants and shirt, surely they were to be sold if they hadn't had escaped.

Belas checked around to make sure Fayth wasn't in eyesight and quickly changed from his tattered rough pants to his personal pants. He chucked the rough cloth into the woods and followed up by putting on his shirt and bonemold boots. He then slid into his quiver, keeping the rest of his armor in the bag. He brought the bag back around front of the cart and sat it there while he leaned against the cart, and waited for his companions to properly rearm.

As he waited, he heard Azoth's comment about the Bosmer. "Bosmer? No, they weren't with the Slavers. I believe they arrived at the same time as the... Oh.." Belas said with sudden realization. They had arrived with the Orc into the fray. Belas then bowed deeply to express his condolences to the Orc. "I am very sorry for your loss." He said to the Orc.

"Shadow hide me...", whispered Ballista in a panicked voice. This scene was too familiar to her. People glaring at the strangers, not wanting them, hating them for their newness. Her eyes darted back and forth between the assembled people, searching for weapons or sharp objects. She yelped in surprise as a small rat darted over her feet. She was glad of the hood, for her face was a deep scarlet as people looked at her questioningly. She sidled up to Othan and whispered in his ear. "We need to find directions to a bigger city and leave here...fast. I am in fear for my life." Her gravelly voice was a little hard to hear, but she couldn't speak any louder.

Ballista moved to a quiet, dark corner of the village and cast a chameleon glamour on herself, mostly to make her more comfortable in this public place. She began chanting to calm herself.

"Shadow hide me,
Make me unseen.
Shadow conceal me,
Make me unheard.
Shadows come and take me,
Make me not here.
Shadows come and stop this pain,
Hide away the light."

Surprisingly, for an assassin, Ballista scared easily and needed many chants and rituals to comfort herself. Lucien tried to toughen her up during her training, but accepted the flaw and used it to his advantage. He taught her some old chants and gained her trust, making her loyal to him, no matter the cost. When the Dark Brotherhood chapel was cleansed by one of his disciples, the higher ups decided that he was a traitor and murdered him, brutally. This devastated Ballista, causing her to distrust any form of authority due to the inherent power it possesses.

Ballista watched from under her veil as Othan and the others dealt with the villagers. When it was time to move, she would make her way through the village and follow them, or find a hidey hole if they needed to stay for some reason.

Sai looked up from under his hood at the people of the village. A place out here being weary of new arrivals was to be expected. Add that to the fact they entered it with the kids. Othan approached a woman and seemed to be talking to her about something, Sai wasn't paying much attention. The aura of the town unsettled him. He had been to many small villages and the like numerous times, but one time made him weary of them forever. He had traveled to a small town known as Hackdirt a year or so ago, finding a disturbing truth hidden within the town. Since then he has always been cautious when entering them. Sure the city has its crime, but in the middle of the forest, no one will come if you scream. Sai heard the woman mention tavern which caught his attention. He could really use something to drink after today.

After their conversation finished the woman seemed to whisper something to Othan then took her leave. Sai was curious about it, but let it go for the sake of not starting a situation. "Alright, I guess we should check this place out."

Jolgeim watched as the only woman in their group slide right next to the dark elf, whisper something barely audible in it's ear only to almost disappear next through some magic he had rarely seen.

From the looks they were given, he knew that the locals might be distrustful of them but to react so drastically, the woman was suspicious if not downright unstable. In addition, he had smelled blood on her where none of them had bled.



"Alright, I guess we should check this place out." One of the group said, distracting him for a moment, Jolgeim lightly swayed his head left and right in a 'Nothing better to do' manner and proceeded right next to Snow and Pilpen, making sure his back was turned to the group.


"Thanks for the help." He said softly with a slight curve of the lips, holding up Pilpen's hand and placing a few of his own copper coins into them. A seemingly kind gesture but Jolgeim was hoping that seeing this, the boys would elevate some of the tension they had with the townspeople. Even if they had lost most of their belongings and the others were scrapping for gold, in the long run it would be worth, his instincts were sure of it.


"We will be heading to Anvil on the morrow, then?" Truth be told, he was wary of the whole lot of them, even if they could not tell. None of them had introduced themselves yet and the white haired man seemed the sanest and even he looked like he had something to hide. Nords like him, no matter they came from, shared a same dislike of treachery and shifty characters.

Jolgeim clutched his sternum where the scimitar had struck*. Looks like he won't be getting any rest tonight ...

---

*OOC: Refer to Beach Scene, injury was mentioned to have been sustained upon the Serpent's Wake.

"Your welcome big guy," Fayth replied. Now that that was done it was time to change out of these rags. She turned and made her way back to cart where their equipment lay. Fayth retrieved the sack of her items; her bow, Heartseeker; and her quiver, Frostbane. "Well then, I'm going into the woods over here to change!" Fayth announced loud enough for everyone to hear. "No peeking!" she warned and trotted off into the woods. Once she found a suitable clearing not far from her companions, she retrieved her clothes from her bag and began changing. Her outfit consisted of a pair of green elven boots, brown thigh length socks with a belt at the top holding her dagger, a pair of shorts with a green skirt hanging over it, a pair of brown arm sleeves, a white armored bustier with matching bracers with a blue enchanted gem in each, a matching white choker, and a moon crested locket. She retrieved her equipment belt from the bag and buckled it around her waist. Onto that she tied her bag of gold and stashed her map of Cyrodiil. Having equipped all of her gear she emerged from the woods. "Now that's better. How do I look?" she asked approaching her companions.

"Shadowhidemeshadowhidemeshadowhid-" Ballista stopped mid panic attack when she noticed a young woman looking at her very oddly. For about a second, they both just stared at each other, but the other woman looked away first. Feeling a bit reassured, Ballista stood and dusted herself off. Her chameleon spell had worn off about ten minutes ago and she had just hoped that no-one would come and bother her. The other woman cleared her throat awkwardly a couple times and remained silent, her eyes searching around for something.

"I would appreciate it if you just told me whatever it is you wanted to tell me. I dislike awkward silences," rumbled Ballista. The other woman jumped slightly at the surprising sound of Ballista's voice, but appeared unshaken. She extended her hand and smiled widely, waiting for a few seconds. When the offer wasn't accepted, she let her arm go limp and dropped the smile a few notches. Maybe she was just trying to get to know an outsider.

"I heard you were traveling and I was wondering....well...Could I come with you?"

Maybe not. Ballista chuckled a bit, which evolved into a snicker, which mutated into a laugh. The sheer oddity of the situation, to her, was too great to keep it in. After a minute or so, she was on her knees trying not to pass out from lack of oxygen.

"Ahhh...I haven't laughed like that in....many years. It's funny to me, because no one ever talks to me. At least, not for conversation. Mostly they berate me or some such. If you want to know who to travel with, talk to one of those guys. I'm just a tag-along." Ballista wiped a tear from under her hood and leaned against the house behind her. Laughing had put Ballista in such a good mood that her paranoia died down a bit and she could actually look at the surroundings and enjoy them. The woman left, casting her odd glances but following her advice and moving over to the group of travelers.

"Excuse me? Excuse me?" she called out as she approached the group. "Hello? Yes, my name is Lainy and I want to accompany you." A collective groan arose from the assembled villagers.

"Lainy! Leave the travelers alone. They don't want any of your damn pestering!" A mid-size plump man turned to Othan and said quietly, "She's the town crazy. She thinks up all these weird ideas and brews the most awful potions. She doesn't have anyone to inflict her torture on but us, so she does. I once drank one of her potions. It tasted alright, but my feet smelled of cooked cabbage for at least a week! Don't accept any food items she gives you, and don't let her tag along. She'll just give you trouble." The man nodded sagely, backed up by a few elderly folk.

Sai crossed his arms and let out a heavy yawn. He had stopped paying attention to the ramblings around him, an empty stomach and lack of sleep taking its toll. "Let's just head to the tavern for now." He walked close to the rest of the group so no one else could here. "I suggest we lay low until this whole mess blows over. Once they stop looking for survivors we can get to Anvil without having to be annoyingly questioned." Sai didn't know if they were even looking for survivors, but taking a chance then calmly waiting inside a dungeon until they decide to release you, isn't worth taking. "Plus i think we can all agree that we all need supplies. I doubt Anvil will be a short trip." He had completely ignored the Lainy woman and assumed the other survivor was perfectly content with staying at a distance from the rest of them. He rarely asked others about their problems or why they do things, he'd simply accept it and move forward, much like he was doing now. He looked at the kids and bent down, so he was at eye level to Snowe. "Once we get our things together at the Tavern, we'll follow you to your dad's, alright?" Snowe nodded, Sai standing up. He turned back the way they were heading and pressed forward, intent on getting one wink of sleep even if it kills him. As he walked The Dancing Mare came into view, a wood sign of a horse outside of it. "Alright, so who's paying?"

"Work for a day, stay for two. That's the common policy." He said bluntly to Sai who was too eager to step into the building without anything, Jolgeim was definitely not going to be generous to a bunch of people who had been so far nothing but strangers.


Jolgeim looked at the woman who had come running, her request was totally unexpected. He hoped that the other shipwrecked fellow would answer the question and save them a headache, but it turned out that Jolgeim had been wrong about that person's usefulness as he just continued walking to the Inn.

"As much as we would love to have you, missus."

He said, he had considered that she would have money to pay for any lodging but on a personal stand it was unmasculine to ask a woman of such thing.

"Your villagemen need your potions, as much as they hate to admit it."

Then he was about to pat her on the shoulder but realized it might not have been appropriate, they might not have been open minded people. So he simply smiled condescendingly, hoping this bizzare incident quickly passes over.

Ballista chuckled quietly at the scene being made, but made herself scarce just incase that nutbag girl decided to take another crack at her. She slipped into the Dancing Mare and ordered a tankard of mead. It reminded her of the time she used mead as a poison. She grinned at the memory, still surprised at how strongly allergic that Nord was to the stuff. One sip and he was down for the count.

She nursed the tankard in a corner, but the only table without people sitting at it had room for some. She hunkered down and tried to look menacing.

"Hey! Hey you!" Ballista's head whipped around, almost throwing off her hood. "What the hell is this girls problem?" growled Ballista. Lainy sat down heavily right next to her and started telling some sob story about how everyone hates her and blah blah blah. She mentioned something about how one of her group members thinks she's better off here and what does she think about that. That's when she realized that Lainy had stopped talking and looked expectantly at her. For some reason, Ballista didn't want to offend her, so she shrugged and took a drink. Lainy accepted that as a sign of acceptance and started talking about some potion she brewed and how it went wrong.

Without thinking, Ballista muttered, "You used too much Ladies tresses and not enough ginseng." Lainy blinked in surprise and got excited.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. Without any other comments, she scrambled out of the inn. Ballista chuckled. The kid reminded her of herself when she was younger. She did have a bi if a soft spot for plucky young people with something to prove.

All conversation was cut short at once, and as the door swung heavily on its hinges, Ashur retreated away from the cell door once more, just as he had done when Aela had been taken away. The food, however meagre and dirty it was, was welcome. How many hours had it been since his last meal, back on the Serpent's Wake ? How long had they all floated in the water before washing up on the Anvil shores, mistaken for smugglers and imprisoned ? Was it yesterday, the day before ? As Ashur quickly downed all his food, he pondered over this, trying to piece together scraps of memory from that eventful night; it led to no conclusion.

The sounds of eating died down: mouths stopped chewing, bowls were set back down onto the stone ground by the cell doors, quiet reigned once again. When the Dunmer had judged that enough time had passed, that that final guard was now out of the castle grounds and attending the public execution of the Dremora that had been next to him minutes earlier, he got up on feet, brushing off dust, stretching muscles, testing his link to the magicka around him with the smallest of fireballs in the palm of his hand.

He was ready.

"Leon; he called out in a hushed tone; it's now or never. Freedom is but a lock away ..." Shuffling, mumbling. Leon's voice was muttering, to himself or his cell mate Randolph no doubt, and the sound of metal against metal, a faint scraping and clicking, could be heard lightly echoing throughout the jail. A smile lit up Ashur's face as soon as the old door of Leon's cell screeched open, though the wait for that sound to reach his ears felt like forever to the Ashlander. The old man; he could properly see him now: gritty, bearded, a mad glint in eyes crowned with heavy, bushy eyebrows; made his way at once towards his cell, and with a confident nod Ashur gripped the dirtied silver instrument that was handed to him. Its slim, toothed end was inserted into the rusty lock, and with an ear pressed against the metal, the Dunmer manoeuvred the pick about, lifting up one tumbler after another quicker than he'd expected. Leon looked impatient, edgy. The taste of freedom was proving too strong it seemed, and that mad glimmer that Ashur had noticed before seemed to grow, like the stars of an early night sky.

As for a second time screeching hinges echoed throughout the jail, Leon seemed to grow even more agitated. He was whispering to himself, pacing, clenching and unclenching his bony fists. "We'll soon be out, old man. Keep calm while I free the others, aye ?" No answer greeted the Dunmer, yet with determination, he moved towards the next cell, the one on his right: eyeing the Imperial, Cassius, as he scraped his pick against the tumblers of his cell door, Ashur noted thankfully that his singing had died down. The other man in his cell, he too an Imperial, seemed in meditation of some kind: he definitely had a better head atop his shoulders than any of the others. That would prove useful.

"Come on you two, get out and get ready !" he hissed as the third door opened. All that was left now was that final Dunmer, Eryaron. Before busying himself about the lock, Ashur stared at the convict long enough to make him understand that the words that came next were serious: "You're staying shackled until we get out of here, Dark Elf. I'm not trusting you any more than the Cyrodiil pigs, but if you prove your worth, I'll make sure I don't accidentally lose the warden's key once we're out, yes ?" Again, the pick worked its magic and the door was opened, the lock proving tougher this time, but the pick more than making up for it with its excellent craftsmanship despite years of disuse.

Motioning for everyone to stay quiet, he headed up the corridor, the others in tow most likely. He didn't want to be the leader of this breakout and have to face the warden first, but there remained a final door to unlock, and by the blessing granted to him by Mephala, he guessed he was the most apt with magic at this given time. Resting against the coarse wood of the door leading to the jailer's office (or so he hoped, in any case), the Ashlander crouched to peer out of the lock. He could see nothing through the opening other than cruddy furniture and low torchlight. Focusing on the few of them he could see, Ashur extended his reach towards them, feeling the natural fires, and quenching them by engulfing them in a sphere of magicka so as to cut off the air. At once, the room dimmed, a few candles at most giving off light now, and the gruff voice of an Imperial letting out a "What the ..." as his chair was pushed back and he got up, reached the Dunmer's ears.

All that was left was the door to unlock, before they tested the man's mettle. Ashur worked on it as silently as possible, noting how much harder this one was to free open. With a quiet snarl, he felt a tumbler fall down on the silver lockpick, the others promptly following suite, though he noted in relief that it did not however break it. Starting over, he finally freed the lock, which clicked open far too loudly for the man's taste. Finally, tying his hair up in a bun, Ashur used the pick to keep his knot of hair in place, having nowhere else to put the pick until they got their kit back. Looking back to the people behind him, he gave a nod bearing the grave realisation that they all faced a deadly situation. The grave look he gave them was honest, no theatricals or drama intended. One last time, he felt the magicka about him, and tensing his muscles, led the ambush, knowing that for the time being the warden had not drawn his sword.

What came next was nowhere near what he had hoped for.

Leon charged up the corridor, pushing the others aside. Ashur was knocked against the stone wall, and shouting in a murderous rage, the madman kicked the door open, something along the lines of "This is for ol' Dolphy !" escaping his lips, which Ashur would recall being almost frothy. A punch landed on the warden's helmet, the chain coif taking most of the brunt of the hit. Leon yelped at the pain that surged through his fist, and with a curse, the jailer drew his blade. Another thing that Ashur would recall was the distinctly similar sound that the sword had made upon both exiting its sheath and entering Leon's frail body. Dark blood coated the blade up to the hilt, flowing freely from the man's open wound as his dying body slumped down to the ground.

All of this had happened so fast: Ashur was still on the ground, slowly trying to get up, though the shock of their wholly failed plan kept him on his ass. Realising that they were still in a corridor, in a doorway even, the Ashlander barked one last command as the fight started: "Bloody get in there, you !"

Belas looked at the horizon and noticed the sun setting. A he sighed and sat the bag he carried in his hand on the ground and retrieved what armor remained in it out and donned it. Now Belas had his full set of bonemold equipped. He sighed, becoming a bit restless and took a step forward from the cart he was leaning against. He looked at his new companions and shrugged.

"Shall we move this party to a city with an inn? I would prefer a nice soft bed to the unforgiving hard rocks. Besides, Anvil can't be that far off right? I doubt these bandits would have had time to move us that far away from the coast." Belas said pinching the bridge of his nose. He really wanted to get to a town of some sort. He lived in the wilderness for a while in his time in Morrowind. It was not an experience he would like to do again.

"I suggest we backtrack towards the coast and then follow it to Anvil. Who knows? Maybe we will find a road to Anvil? Only one way to find out." He said with a point in the opposite direction they were going.

*Glances around...*

Since this is deader than a door nail, I shall be using this for IC tests. Such as positioning and pictures and such. So the first is Position on both the left and right!

Belas looked at the horizon and noticed the sun setting. A he sighed and sat the bag he carried in his hand on the ground and retrieved what armor remained in it out and donned it. Now Belas had his full set of bonemold equipped. He sighed, becoming a bit restless and took a step forward from the cart he was leaning against. He looked at his new companions and shrugged.

"Shall we move this party to a city with an inn? I would prefer a nice soft bed to the unforgiving hard rocks. Besides, Anvil can't be that far off right? I doubt these bandits would have had time to move us that far away from the coast." Belas said pinching the bridge of his nose. He really wanted to get to a town of some sort. He lived in the wilderness for a while in his time in Morrowind. It was not an experience he would like to do again.

"I suggest we backtrack towards the coast and then follow it to Anvil. Who knows? Maybe we will find a road to Anvil? Only one way to find out." He said with a point in the opposite direction they were going.
Sai crossed his arms and let out a heavy yawn. He had stopped paying attention to the ramblings around him, an empty stomach and lack of sleep taking its toll. "Let's just head to the tavern for now." He walked close to the rest of the group so no one else could here. "I suggest we lay low until this whole mess blows over. Once they stop looking for survivors we can get to Anvil without having to be annoyingly questioned." Sai didn't know if they were even looking for survivors, but taking a chance then calmly waiting inside a dungeon until they decide to release you, isn't worth taking. "Plus i think we can all agree that we all need supplies. I doubt Anvil will be a short trip." He had completely ignored the Lainy woman and assumed the other survivor was perfectly content with staying at a distance from the rest of them. He rarely asked others about their problems or why they do things, he'd simply accept it and move forward, much like he was doing now. He looked at the kids and bent down, so he was at eye level to Snowe. "Once we get our things together at the Tavern, we'll follow you to your dad's, alright?" Snowe nodded, Sai standing up. He turned back the way they were heading and pressed forward, intent on getting one wink of sleep even if it kills him. As he walked The Dancing Mare came into view, a wood sign of a horse outside of it. "Alright, so who's paying?"


Epic fail...