Introduction
12 years ago, the Imperial province of Cyrodiil, the center of Tamriel, was on the verge of destruction due to the efforts of the Daedra-worshiping cult, the Mythic Dawn, to bring the powerful Daedric prince Mehrunes Dagon into Tamriel. Portals to Dagon's plane of Oblivion opened up all across Cyrodiil after the Mythic Dawn orchestrated the assassination of then-Emperor Uriel Septim VII and his sons. It was only from the efforts of the last remaining heir to the Septim line, Martin Septim, that Mehrunes Dagon was banished back to the realm of Oblivion.
Since then, Cyrodiil has not changed much. There is no less crime in most cities, though the security of the Imperial City has been drastically increased. The city itself is now controlled by Chancellor Ocato and the Senate. The Fighters Guild has seen more business of late partly because of the huge influx of people coming in from the various provinces, and the increase of recruits due to this. The Mages Guild, on the other hand, has not fared as well. After the rise of the new Archmage four years ago, he has unbanned Necromancy, resulting in the grim practice being more popular than it ever was. The Thieves Guild is now extremely prosperous and significantly more powerful since stealing an Elder Scroll, so much so that members regularly boast about being part of the guild and that they are untouchable by the Law. Owing to it's prosperity, the Thieves Guild has expanded and branched into three chapters, each run by seperate and extremely skilled Master Thieves. The Dark Brotherhood, weakened by the near total annihilation of it's entire Cyrodiil chapter, is threatened by another guild of assassins, a newly arriving Morag Tong. The Morag Tong have recently been government-sanctioned by Chancellor Ocato, amidst major controversy. Now the existence of the illegal Dark Brotherhood is in trouble, as they now get fewer contracts, with their members being regularly eliminated by the Morag Tong. Kvatch has been rebuilt using the resources from anonymous donations, while Skingrad is in a state of deep political turmoil. The Count has been discovered as a vampire and struggles to maintain his position. This has led to other vampires revealing themselves to the public and moving to Skingrad, thinking it to be a safe haven for them. The racist Count of Leyawiin has been replaced by an Argonian chancellor, as a result, Argonians and Khajiits moved to Leyawiin enmasse, causing the town to look much more like a swamp.
Map of Tamriel: http://images.uesp.net//c/c3/TamrielMap.jpg
Races of Tamriel:
Altmer (aka High Elves): The High Elves consider themselves the most civilized culture of Tamriel; the common tongue of the Empire, Tamrielic, is based on Altmer speech and writing, and most of the Empire's arts, crafts, and sciences derive from High Elven traditions. Deft, intelligent, and strong-willed, High Elves are often gifted in the arcane arts, and High Elves boast that their sublime physical natures make them far more resistant to disease than the "lesser races."
Argonians: At home in water and on land, the Argonians of Black Marsh are well-suited to the treacherous swamps of their homeland, with natural immunities protecting them from disease and poison. The female life-phase is highly intelligent, and gifted in the magical arts. The more aggressive male phase has the traits of the hunter: stealth, speed, and agility. Argonians are reserved with strangers, yet fiercely loyal to those they accept as friends.
Bosmer (aka Wood Elves): The Wood Elves are the various barbarian Elven clanfolk of the Western Valenwood forests. These country cousins of the High Elves and Dark Elves are nimble and quick in body and wit, and because of their curious natures and natural agility, Wood Elves are especially suitable as scouts, agents, and thieves. But most of all, the Wood Elves are known for their skills with bows; there are no finer archers in all of Tamriel.
Bretons: Passionate and eccentric, poetic and flamboyant, intelligent and willful, the Bretons feel an inborn, instinctive bond with the mercurial forces of magic and the supernatural. Many great sorcerers have come out of their home province of High Rock, and in addition to their quick and perceptive grasp of spellcraft, enchantment, and alchemy, even the humblest of Bretons can boast a high resistance to destructive and dominating magical energies.
Dunmer (aka Dark Elves): In the Empire, "Dark Elves" is the common usage, but in their Morrowind homeland, they call themselves the "Dunmer". The dark-skinned, red-eyed Dark Elves combine powerful intellect with strong and agile physiques, producing superior warriors and sorcerers. On the battlefield, Dark Elves are noted for their skilled and balanced integration of swordsmen, marksmen, and war wizards. In character, they are grim, distrusting, and disdainful of other races.
Imperials: The well-educated and well-spoken natives of Cyrodiil are known for the discipline and training of their citizen armies. Though physically less imposing than the other races, Imperials are shrewd diplomats and traders, and these traits, along with their remarkable skill and training as light infantry, have enabled them to subdue all the other nations and races, and to have erected the monument to peace and prosperity that comprises the Glorious Empire.
Khajiit: The Khajiit of Elsweyr can vary in appearance from nearly Elven to the cathay-raht "jaguar men" to the great Senche-Tiger. The most common breed found in Morrowind, the suthay-raht, is intelligent, quick, and agile. Khajiit of all breeds have a weakness for sweets, especially the drug known as skooma. Many Khajiit disdain weapons in favor of their natural claws. They make excellent thieves due to their natural agility and unmatched acrobatics ability.
Nords: The citizens of Skyrim are aggressive and fearless in war, industrious and enterprising in trade and exploration. Strong, stubborn, and hardy, Nords are famous for their resistance to cold, even magical frost. Violence is an accepted and comfortable aspect of Nord culture; Nords of all classes are skilled with a variety of weapon and armor styles, and they cheerfully face battle with an ecstatic ferocity that shocks and appalls their enemies.
Orsimer (aka Orcs): These sophisticated barbarian beast peoples of the Wrothgarian and Dragontail Mountains are noted for their unshakeable courage in war and their unflinching endurance of hardships. Orc warriors in heavy armor are among the finest front-line troops in the Empire. Most Imperial citizens regard Orc society as rough and cruel, but there is much to admire in their fierce tribal loyalties and generous equality of rank and respect among the sexes.
Redguards: The most naturally talented warriors in Tamriel, the dark-skinned, wiry-haired Redguards of Hammerfell seem born to battle, though their pride and fierce independence of spirit makes them more suitable as scouts or skirmishers, or as free-ranging heroes and adventurers, than as rank-and-file soldiers. In addition to their cultural affinities for many weapon and armor styles, Redguards are also physically blessed with hardy constitutions and quickness of foot.
Character Sheet:
Name:
Race:
Gender:
Age:
Appearance:
Gear (Anything that you can carry on your person that makes sense with your profession, you may also have one bag that washes up alongside you):
Profession/Class (You can think up your own, as long as it makes sense, or choose from a list: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Classes):
Background:
Personality:
Birthsign (This is purely for roleplaying purposes, no special bonuses: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Birthsigns):
PM me with any questions you have.
Since then, Cyrodiil has not changed much. There is no less crime in most cities, though the security of the Imperial City has been drastically increased. The city itself is now controlled by Chancellor Ocato and the Senate. The Fighters Guild has seen more business of late partly because of the huge influx of people coming in from the various provinces, and the increase of recruits due to this. The Mages Guild, on the other hand, has not fared as well. After the rise of the new Archmage four years ago, he has unbanned Necromancy, resulting in the grim practice being more popular than it ever was. The Thieves Guild is now extremely prosperous and significantly more powerful since stealing an Elder Scroll, so much so that members regularly boast about being part of the guild and that they are untouchable by the Law. Owing to it's prosperity, the Thieves Guild has expanded and branched into three chapters, each run by seperate and extremely skilled Master Thieves. The Dark Brotherhood, weakened by the near total annihilation of it's entire Cyrodiil chapter, is threatened by another guild of assassins, a newly arriving Morag Tong. The Morag Tong have recently been government-sanctioned by Chancellor Ocato, amidst major controversy. Now the existence of the illegal Dark Brotherhood is in trouble, as they now get fewer contracts, with their members being regularly eliminated by the Morag Tong. Kvatch has been rebuilt using the resources from anonymous donations, while Skingrad is in a state of deep political turmoil. The Count has been discovered as a vampire and struggles to maintain his position. This has led to other vampires revealing themselves to the public and moving to Skingrad, thinking it to be a safe haven for them. The racist Count of Leyawiin has been replaced by an Argonian chancellor, as a result, Argonians and Khajiits moved to Leyawiin enmasse, causing the town to look much more like a swamp.
Map of Tamriel: http://images.uesp.net//c/c3/TamrielMap.jpg
Races of Tamriel:
Altmer (aka High Elves): The High Elves consider themselves the most civilized culture of Tamriel; the common tongue of the Empire, Tamrielic, is based on Altmer speech and writing, and most of the Empire's arts, crafts, and sciences derive from High Elven traditions. Deft, intelligent, and strong-willed, High Elves are often gifted in the arcane arts, and High Elves boast that their sublime physical natures make them far more resistant to disease than the "lesser races."
Argonians: At home in water and on land, the Argonians of Black Marsh are well-suited to the treacherous swamps of their homeland, with natural immunities protecting them from disease and poison. The female life-phase is highly intelligent, and gifted in the magical arts. The more aggressive male phase has the traits of the hunter: stealth, speed, and agility. Argonians are reserved with strangers, yet fiercely loyal to those they accept as friends.
Bosmer (aka Wood Elves): The Wood Elves are the various barbarian Elven clanfolk of the Western Valenwood forests. These country cousins of the High Elves and Dark Elves are nimble and quick in body and wit, and because of their curious natures and natural agility, Wood Elves are especially suitable as scouts, agents, and thieves. But most of all, the Wood Elves are known for their skills with bows; there are no finer archers in all of Tamriel.
Bretons: Passionate and eccentric, poetic and flamboyant, intelligent and willful, the Bretons feel an inborn, instinctive bond with the mercurial forces of magic and the supernatural. Many great sorcerers have come out of their home province of High Rock, and in addition to their quick and perceptive grasp of spellcraft, enchantment, and alchemy, even the humblest of Bretons can boast a high resistance to destructive and dominating magical energies.
Dunmer (aka Dark Elves): In the Empire, "Dark Elves" is the common usage, but in their Morrowind homeland, they call themselves the "Dunmer". The dark-skinned, red-eyed Dark Elves combine powerful intellect with strong and agile physiques, producing superior warriors and sorcerers. On the battlefield, Dark Elves are noted for their skilled and balanced integration of swordsmen, marksmen, and war wizards. In character, they are grim, distrusting, and disdainful of other races.
Imperials: The well-educated and well-spoken natives of Cyrodiil are known for the discipline and training of their citizen armies. Though physically less imposing than the other races, Imperials are shrewd diplomats and traders, and these traits, along with their remarkable skill and training as light infantry, have enabled them to subdue all the other nations and races, and to have erected the monument to peace and prosperity that comprises the Glorious Empire.
Khajiit: The Khajiit of Elsweyr can vary in appearance from nearly Elven to the cathay-raht "jaguar men" to the great Senche-Tiger. The most common breed found in Morrowind, the suthay-raht, is intelligent, quick, and agile. Khajiit of all breeds have a weakness for sweets, especially the drug known as skooma. Many Khajiit disdain weapons in favor of their natural claws. They make excellent thieves due to their natural agility and unmatched acrobatics ability.
Nords: The citizens of Skyrim are aggressive and fearless in war, industrious and enterprising in trade and exploration. Strong, stubborn, and hardy, Nords are famous for their resistance to cold, even magical frost. Violence is an accepted and comfortable aspect of Nord culture; Nords of all classes are skilled with a variety of weapon and armor styles, and they cheerfully face battle with an ecstatic ferocity that shocks and appalls their enemies.
Orsimer (aka Orcs): These sophisticated barbarian beast peoples of the Wrothgarian and Dragontail Mountains are noted for their unshakeable courage in war and their unflinching endurance of hardships. Orc warriors in heavy armor are among the finest front-line troops in the Empire. Most Imperial citizens regard Orc society as rough and cruel, but there is much to admire in their fierce tribal loyalties and generous equality of rank and respect among the sexes.
Redguards: The most naturally talented warriors in Tamriel, the dark-skinned, wiry-haired Redguards of Hammerfell seem born to battle, though their pride and fierce independence of spirit makes them more suitable as scouts or skirmishers, or as free-ranging heroes and adventurers, than as rank-and-file soldiers. In addition to their cultural affinities for many weapon and armor styles, Redguards are also physically blessed with hardy constitutions and quickness of foot.
Character Sheet:
Name:
Race:
Gender:
Age:
Appearance:
Gear (Anything that you can carry on your person that makes sense with your profession, you may also have one bag that washes up alongside you):
Profession/Class (You can think up your own, as long as it makes sense, or choose from a list: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Classes):
Background:
Personality:
Birthsign (This is purely for roleplaying purposes, no special bonuses: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Birthsigns):
PM me with any questions you have.
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 17 authors
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In a lonely corner of a remote cell in the Anvil prison, a young, scruffy, scrawny, half-starved Imperial man lay on the cold, dirty stone floor. His cell faced the dark side of the day, and it was consumed with shadow. Streaks of light from the cell across the hall crept between the bars sealing him in, but as they drew nearer and nearer as the sun sunk towards the horizon, he retreated further and further back, as though the dim, orange light might hurt him.
Day was turning into night, but for Leonidas Talanian time passed so slowly the sun may as well stand still. How many days had it been now? One hundred? Two hundred, or three? A thousand? He did not know any more, nor did he care. They started to blur together long, long ago.
A short while ago, commotion down the hall had awoken him. Prisoners came and went all the time, and Talanian usually paid them no mind. This time was no different, except that their subsequent chatter occupied the entirety of the prison, preventing him from obtaining any measure of sleep. Then again, what did he care? All he ever did was sleep. There was little else for a prisoner to do, especially now that Randolph had stopped playing Stones with him.
He looked to the other side of the small cell and saw Randolph propped up against the wall. Randolph was looking a little worse for wear these days, and had been for... how long now? A year, maybe? There was little flesh left on his bones, probably because he did not eat much anymore. Sometimes the rats tried to eat him, but Leon drove them away. Randolph must be depressed, because he never tried to stop them himself.
"We've a bit of company, looks like," whispered Leon to Randolph, below earshot of the new prisoners. He stretched out his sandal-clad foot and prodded his cell-mate. Randolph's head lolled to the side. "Nah, didn't think you'd care. You never care anymore."
Leon grunted a bit as he turned onto his back and used his elbows to crawl back against the chilly wall. He stared through the darkness at Randolph. "You've been awefully quiet lately," he said, this time a little louder. "Something on your mind, mate?" He sat, staring silently for a time, until he was satisfied with the silence which was returned. Suddenly, he placed a finger on his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I should."
On all fours he crawled out towards the thick, rusty iron bars and poked as much of his face through them as possible. He looked up the hall. All he saw were more cells, of course, and it was difficult to pick out which ones were occupied. He did his best to follow the sounds of the others' voices and directed his that way. "Hey. Hey!" His voice was a whispered shout. He didn't want the guards to hear, but it was difficult to throw a whisper all that distance. "Randolph tells me you're looking for a way out. Maybe I can help."
Day was turning into night, but for Leonidas Talanian time passed so slowly the sun may as well stand still. How many days had it been now? One hundred? Two hundred, or three? A thousand? He did not know any more, nor did he care. They started to blur together long, long ago.
A short while ago, commotion down the hall had awoken him. Prisoners came and went all the time, and Talanian usually paid them no mind. This time was no different, except that their subsequent chatter occupied the entirety of the prison, preventing him from obtaining any measure of sleep. Then again, what did he care? All he ever did was sleep. There was little else for a prisoner to do, especially now that Randolph had stopped playing Stones with him.
He looked to the other side of the small cell and saw Randolph propped up against the wall. Randolph was looking a little worse for wear these days, and had been for... how long now? A year, maybe? There was little flesh left on his bones, probably because he did not eat much anymore. Sometimes the rats tried to eat him, but Leon drove them away. Randolph must be depressed, because he never tried to stop them himself.
"We've a bit of company, looks like," whispered Leon to Randolph, below earshot of the new prisoners. He stretched out his sandal-clad foot and prodded his cell-mate. Randolph's head lolled to the side. "Nah, didn't think you'd care. You never care anymore."
Leon grunted a bit as he turned onto his back and used his elbows to crawl back against the chilly wall. He stared through the darkness at Randolph. "You've been awefully quiet lately," he said, this time a little louder. "Something on your mind, mate?" He sat, staring silently for a time, until he was satisfied with the silence which was returned. Suddenly, he placed a finger on his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I should."
On all fours he crawled out towards the thick, rusty iron bars and poked as much of his face through them as possible. He looked up the hall. All he saw were more cells, of course, and it was difficult to pick out which ones were occupied. He did his best to follow the sounds of the others' voices and directed his that way. "Hey. Hey!" His voice was a whispered shout. He didn't want the guards to hear, but it was difficult to throw a whisper all that distance. "Randolph tells me you're looking for a way out. Maybe I can help."
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Belas felt relief from the blind spell as the entity it was meant to blind fled from the mortal coil. He also felt the relief from one of the Argonians afflicted from the sound spell as he met an untimely end with a fireball. He could see a bit clearer now as his magic was now only focused on a couple of Argonians. With his vision cleared he now realized that an Orc and his companions had arrived to aid them. At what end was still a mystery, but one shouldn't be so quick to wave off assistance. He lightened the sound spell from the Argonians so that it was still a hindrance, but allowed Belas a bit of maneuverability.
Belas thought it was his turn to aid his companions in more than support. He eyed the bow dropped by the previously blind Argonian, however he would have to get past another to get to it. It was worth the risk, he could be a lot more useful with a bow of some sort. He then slid off of the top of the cart in the direction and made with all haste towards the bow. Thanks to his Dunmer heritage, he avoided the orc and his companions and as well as the Argonian. As he approached the bow, he went into a slide and slid into the bow picking it up with a hand. As he slid to a stop he retrieved an arrow from the archers quiver and shot it into the leg of the nearest Argonian, immediately lifting the sound spell from the stuck creature. For what reason would he need to hold it when the creature had an arrow in it's leg.
Although sweating beads and huffing from his exertion, he kept up his nonlethal assault on the slaver. He relied on the others to finish off the creatures.
No doubt after all was said and done, he would collapse from exertion, but he couldn't right now. The battle has yet to be won.
Belas thought it was his turn to aid his companions in more than support. He eyed the bow dropped by the previously blind Argonian, however he would have to get past another to get to it. It was worth the risk, he could be a lot more useful with a bow of some sort. He then slid off of the top of the cart in the direction and made with all haste towards the bow. Thanks to his Dunmer heritage, he avoided the orc and his companions and as well as the Argonian. As he approached the bow, he went into a slide and slid into the bow picking it up with a hand. As he slid to a stop he retrieved an arrow from the archers quiver and shot it into the leg of the nearest Argonian, immediately lifting the sound spell from the stuck creature. For what reason would he need to hold it when the creature had an arrow in it's leg.
Although sweating beads and huffing from his exertion, he kept up his nonlethal assault on the slaver. He relied on the others to finish off the creatures.
No doubt after all was said and done, he would collapse from exertion, but he couldn't right now. The battle has yet to be won.
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Pacing inside his cage, Ashur was already formulating ways to get out, ignoring the world around him as he delved into his own world of thought, sizing up the guards' strength and experience as they passed the cells during regular patrols, and indeed, sizing up his own pool of magicka, as well as what he sense around him. Aela's presence disrupted this, which was to be expected from a creature of Oblivion, but he made do with the slight hindrance nonetheless. The final conclusion was that this place wasn't rich in much save dust and whispers. Any plan would involve the Dunmer magically unlocking the cell door, a task he knew little of, having always relied on his enchanted amulet to do the job; and besides, wouldn't the lock be a hard one to pick, to deter any skilled thieves from escaping thanks to a makeshift pick ?
From there, there was only one way out: up the corridor, into the Warden's office, hell, maybe even the guard's barracks, and into the castle. Were he alone, stealth might be possible, but with so many of them; he counted mentally in his head, reaching five from the shipwreck: he didn't care about the other prisoners here to be honest. Or so he thought. Whoever Randolph was didn't matter, this man, his voice hoarse and harsh, obviously a prison old-timer, piqued the ashlander's interest. How he'd heard them whisper about getting out was beyond him, he seemed in a rather far-off cell, but it didn't matter.
"What's it to you, whoever you are ?" he retorted cautiously. Ashur tried to whisper, but his deep, gravely voice carried far farther than he thought, and at any time he expected a guard to open the door and shout at them to shut up, probably calling them "Maggots" while he was at it. There was one of them patrolling today who liked that term a lot. "I'm open to any ideas, Cyrodiil, tell me what you know." The man's voice betrayed his heritage, but the Dunmer knew nothing else of this man's identity, and thus stayed wary.
From there, there was only one way out: up the corridor, into the Warden's office, hell, maybe even the guard's barracks, and into the castle. Were he alone, stealth might be possible, but with so many of them; he counted mentally in his head, reaching five from the shipwreck: he didn't care about the other prisoners here to be honest. Or so he thought. Whoever Randolph was didn't matter, this man, his voice hoarse and harsh, obviously a prison old-timer, piqued the ashlander's interest. How he'd heard them whisper about getting out was beyond him, he seemed in a rather far-off cell, but it didn't matter.
"What's it to you, whoever you are ?" he retorted cautiously. Ashur tried to whisper, but his deep, gravely voice carried far farther than he thought, and at any time he expected a guard to open the door and shout at them to shut up, probably calling them "Maggots" while he was at it. There was one of them patrolling today who liked that term a lot. "I'm open to any ideas, Cyrodiil, tell me what you know." The man's voice betrayed his heritage, but the Dunmer knew nothing else of this man's identity, and thus stayed wary.
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Sarkhan turned to the man he shared a cell with, looking at him as he spoke the ravings of a mad man. Deep down, Sarkhan knew he spoke from experience. He winced as the man admitted to murder, and Sarkhan wearily bent down to face the man.
"It is unwise to speak of the Empire that way. While there is much tyranny here, there is always a little good in all of us." he said smiling. He was interrupted by the yelling of a man, a dunmer based on accent.
"What's it to you, whoever you are? I'm open to any ideas, Cyrodiil, tell me what you know." the man said. Sarkhan stood up and strained to see beyond his cell, searching for the man who spoke. At the same time he heard who the man was speaking to. Two whispers carried to him, speaking of escape. Sarkhan smiled. It had been a long time since he'd ever had to escape anything, but now was as good a time as any to begin again.
Sarkhan smiled wryly and spoke softly, making sure the guards would take little notice to his words, "Whoever is there, if your plan is to make it out of here, you may need my help making sure you don't come back." Sarkhan thought of his statement, chuckling a little. The cunning in his words seemed even a little too good for him, but he knew it was somewhat true. He had connections here in Cyrodiil, the remnants and friends from his days with the Blades. He wasn't wanted and he could hide their presence, at least for a short while.
"It is unwise to speak of the Empire that way. While there is much tyranny here, there is always a little good in all of us." he said smiling. He was interrupted by the yelling of a man, a dunmer based on accent.
"What's it to you, whoever you are? I'm open to any ideas, Cyrodiil, tell me what you know." the man said. Sarkhan stood up and strained to see beyond his cell, searching for the man who spoke. At the same time he heard who the man was speaking to. Two whispers carried to him, speaking of escape. Sarkhan smiled. It had been a long time since he'd ever had to escape anything, but now was as good a time as any to begin again.
Sarkhan smiled wryly and spoke softly, making sure the guards would take little notice to his words, "Whoever is there, if your plan is to make it out of here, you may need my help making sure you don't come back." Sarkhan thought of his statement, chuckling a little. The cunning in his words seemed even a little too good for him, but he knew it was somewhat true. He had connections here in Cyrodiil, the remnants and friends from his days with the Blades. He wasn't wanted and he could hide their presence, at least for a short while.
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The dunmer laughed "The empire has some good, but not enough to matter.... Its a joke, Imperial city is a joke... but Im up for an escape....your going to help a man who deserves to be in here, most interesting... there are only few peoples I know of that can do that..." the dunmers voice almost excited to escape. He then said his voice sent out the spell charm amongst it "I suggest waiting for the warden.... to...well... come down here to check on us, at which point we can jump him... and I will indeed ensure he is dead....He is unaware of my skills in illusion... he would have put in the necessary precautions.....they dont care if you get out of these cells, so the locks are not very hard... youll never make it passed the pigs upstairs otherwise...we are doomed.... unless our Imperial friend has another plan, but if we take out that Warden it will make life easier because he has many things which hamper escape....especially for spellcasters and thieves " Cassius paused and took in his environment, the same environment he had been in for far too long.
Cassius stepped back from the cells bars, and turned around to face Sarkhan "Let us get out of this rancid place" his lips were softened by the very small amount of water which was allotted, as he grabbed a cup from a corner in the cell. The bard quickly turned around to look out of his cage, and started whistling a toon.
Cassius stepped back from the cells bars, and turned around to face Sarkhan "Let us get out of this rancid place" his lips were softened by the very small amount of water which was allotted, as he grabbed a cup from a corner in the cell. The bard quickly turned around to look out of his cage, and started whistling a toon.
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Sarkhan turned towards the Dunmer hiding the distrust in his eyes as he looked at him. The man was clearly...touched in the head. Sarkhan knew he would have trouble coping with the violent urges if he helped the man to escape.
Sarkhan paused for a few minutes to choose his words before speaking, "Whether the Empire is villainous or not, every living thing is intertwined in fate. You may deserve to be here, but you and I have as much chance to get out of here as anyone else, but the chances are better should we stick together. The warden here, though, does not deserve to die. I will take care of him, but I am no murderer."
Sarkhan thought for a second of the possibilities. The changing of the guard occured at dusk and dawn, and the patrols happened at scattered intervals every so often. He smiled as he turned to the man sharing his cell, "While it is uncomon to find someone willing to help a murderer escape, you find yourself in a lucky situation. I am a former member of the Blades, and I know a thing or two about this castle. There are safe paths out in case of emergency. Or wishing to stay undetected." With that Sarkhan turned to face the door, focussing his mind. The rusted iron bars of the door were heavy and thick, but the pins holding them in place were thin and weak as any nail. Sarkhan scanned the hinges for a second, then walked over to the bed, tearing the sack-cloth from it and wrapping it in a thick wad close to the top of the door. He smiled then unwrapped it and tossed it into the corner.
"Your plan was as good as any. I can break these hinges with any luck. If the pins are as rusted as the door, they should snap under a heavy blow, and then we can deal with the warden. We aren't the last cell in the row, so if we move quickly we can get to him before he can raise the alarm. I'm not much of a magicka user, but..." Sarkhan smiled wryly "Let me handle any guards. Illusionist right? Charm him or slumber him, but DON'T kill him for the sake of Talos. All we need are his keys and we can get everyone out of here."
Sarkhan paused for a few minutes to choose his words before speaking, "Whether the Empire is villainous or not, every living thing is intertwined in fate. You may deserve to be here, but you and I have as much chance to get out of here as anyone else, but the chances are better should we stick together. The warden here, though, does not deserve to die. I will take care of him, but I am no murderer."
Sarkhan thought for a second of the possibilities. The changing of the guard occured at dusk and dawn, and the patrols happened at scattered intervals every so often. He smiled as he turned to the man sharing his cell, "While it is uncomon to find someone willing to help a murderer escape, you find yourself in a lucky situation. I am a former member of the Blades, and I know a thing or two about this castle. There are safe paths out in case of emergency. Or wishing to stay undetected." With that Sarkhan turned to face the door, focussing his mind. The rusted iron bars of the door were heavy and thick, but the pins holding them in place were thin and weak as any nail. Sarkhan scanned the hinges for a second, then walked over to the bed, tearing the sack-cloth from it and wrapping it in a thick wad close to the top of the door. He smiled then unwrapped it and tossed it into the corner.
"Your plan was as good as any. I can break these hinges with any luck. If the pins are as rusted as the door, they should snap under a heavy blow, and then we can deal with the warden. We aren't the last cell in the row, so if we move quickly we can get to him before he can raise the alarm. I'm not much of a magicka user, but..." Sarkhan smiled wryly "Let me handle any guards. Illusionist right? Charm him or slumber him, but DON'T kill him for the sake of Talos. All we need are his keys and we can get everyone out of here."
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Fayth was relieved when she felt the feel of the Bound Daedric Bow in her hands. A useful spell. I'll need to learn this one when I get some time, she thought to herself as she loaded three arrows into the bow's arc. She drew back her arms with the skill of years of practice and trained patience, taking aim at her target; an Argonian sneaking up on one of the orcs. She released her volley and had already to reloaded before the arrows found their mark; the Argonian's face, chest, and stomach. As her target dropped she quickly found another target and another. Around her the sounds of metal on metal and exploding fireball rang out into the air as the battle raged on.
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(once again Im rusty with Rping posting style...)
Cassius could get passed the hidden distrust, there was all the reason in the world to distrust him, he was but a prisoner, a murderer, and a man of illusion, an entertainer. Cassius turned, after listening to this mans approval of his plan Cassius nodded. The dunmer spoke "I.... cant make any ....promises" he spoke, but he knew if he got the warden paralyzed or a sleep, he would stab him with his own sword if Cassius got the chance. There was no doubt about it.
Cassius got prepared with a ranged paralysis spell, the same one he had used on the redoran he killed, as well as a charm spell which he remembered the words, taking a sip of water to wet his wicked tongue. He would be able to cast at the guards if he got a chance. Cassius nodded, as the prison wained on his physical abilities, he still could use a saber if he got his hands on one... he also erged to get his flute from the warden which the warden so often taunted me with. His hand to hand skills were actually pretty good, but he wasnt in the shape for it.
The other things he could gather on his own, after they got out... he wondered what buisness he would be doing after he got out of here. House Hiallu would be surprised to see him back in action, they did send him on a suicide mission, but lying low would probably be his first course of action.
Cassius could get passed the hidden distrust, there was all the reason in the world to distrust him, he was but a prisoner, a murderer, and a man of illusion, an entertainer. Cassius turned, after listening to this mans approval of his plan Cassius nodded. The dunmer spoke "I.... cant make any ....promises" he spoke, but he knew if he got the warden paralyzed or a sleep, he would stab him with his own sword if Cassius got the chance. There was no doubt about it.
Cassius got prepared with a ranged paralysis spell, the same one he had used on the redoran he killed, as well as a charm spell which he remembered the words, taking a sip of water to wet his wicked tongue. He would be able to cast at the guards if he got a chance. Cassius nodded, as the prison wained on his physical abilities, he still could use a saber if he got his hands on one... he also erged to get his flute from the warden which the warden so often taunted me with. His hand to hand skills were actually pretty good, but he wasnt in the shape for it.
The other things he could gather on his own, after they got out... he wondered what buisness he would be doing after he got out of here. House Hiallu would be surprised to see him back in action, they did send him on a suicide mission, but lying low would probably be his first course of action.
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(its quite alright)
Sarkhan spoke solemnly, "I'm not asking for any." He turned away and faced the wall, sitting down with his legs folded. He pressed his fingertips together, resting his wrists on his bent knees as he began to take deep, slow breath. He spoke without turning to the man.
"By the way, my name is Sarkhan. Now that we have a plan, I am going to meditate while we wait. It won't be long until the warden comes along, and when he does, be ready." Pleased with his statement, Sarkhan began to clear his mind, searching through his memory to single out the true reason he was here. Yes, he had wanted to return to his homeland, but something else had called him from the monastery. Not a physical call, or even a divine call, but something...spiritual. Like a whisper just at the edge of hearing, too faint to understand, but noticably there. He fell into the trance like state he had become so accustomed to, sorting through the confines of his mind.
"Susitatio"
The whisper came to him, breaking his focus. He was unsure of where or from what it came, but it sounded like. . .no it couldn't be. Sarkhan shook his head as he heard footsteps on the stone floor from the hall. He stood, readying himself. He looked at his cell partner.
"Looks like our passage is on its approach." he whispered quietly. He reached down and snatched the rags he had hidden on the floor, holding them behind his back, waiting for the warden to pass by.
Sarkhan spoke solemnly, "I'm not asking for any." He turned away and faced the wall, sitting down with his legs folded. He pressed his fingertips together, resting his wrists on his bent knees as he began to take deep, slow breath. He spoke without turning to the man.
"By the way, my name is Sarkhan. Now that we have a plan, I am going to meditate while we wait. It won't be long until the warden comes along, and when he does, be ready." Pleased with his statement, Sarkhan began to clear his mind, searching through his memory to single out the true reason he was here. Yes, he had wanted to return to his homeland, but something else had called him from the monastery. Not a physical call, or even a divine call, but something...spiritual. Like a whisper just at the edge of hearing, too faint to understand, but noticably there. He fell into the trance like state he had become so accustomed to, sorting through the confines of his mind.
"Susitatio"
The whisper came to him, breaking his focus. He was unsure of where or from what it came, but it sounded like. . .no it couldn't be. Sarkhan shook his head as he heard footsteps on the stone floor from the hall. He stood, readying himself. He looked at his cell partner.
"Looks like our passage is on its approach." he whispered quietly. He reached down and snatched the rags he had hidden on the floor, holding them behind his back, waiting for the warden to pass by.
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Taking stock of the replies to his offer as they drifted down the hall in low whispers, Leon turned his head and looked back at Randolph. "Hear that? Don't think they know what they're talking about." He pressed up against the bars more fully, as though the more of his face he forced through, the better the others might hear him. "These bars are more sturdy than they let on... Randolph tried to break out last year. Cracked his skull. Didn't try again, let me tell you."
Leon retreated back into the darkness. "But don't worry." His words came as a distant echo from the depths of the cell. He returned a moment later, holding an arm through the bars, a small object clutched firmly in his spindly fingers. "I just happen to have a lock pick here." The tool in his hand was no makeshift probe, but a finely crafted instrument of tarnished silver. It looked old, but sturdy. "Swallowed it when they first took me." Leon grinned childishly. "It has since... come back into my possession."
After so long in the Anvil prison, Leon's mind was perhaps as rusty as the bars keeping him locked away, but some measure of sense still existed there, and he knew a violent approach was the wrong answer. Just two span ago he had seen the warden beat an unruly inmate. The man had spent half an hour spouting threats against keeping him here, and when a guard came to shut him up, he made a grab for the guard's sword. Over the following six minutes, the prisoner was beaten within an inch of his life.
Leon looked towards the other end of the hall and spied the brownish stain that told the tale all too well. Was that prisoner still there? Leon had not noticed any food being brought down that way recently. Suddenly he was hungry. He was lucky to be fed once a day, and today's meal was still an hour or two away. Before they stopped feeding Randolph, Leon had relished two meals a day, but he had not expected such a treat to last for long. He licked his lips in anticipation of the night's gruel. At first it had tasted foul, and for the first few days he refused to eat it, but after a while he grew to like the stuff. Knowing it was gruel or starvation was probably a factor in the equation.
Food was not the subject to think about now. Escape. He needed to focus on escape.
The bars pressed uncomfortably into Leon's cheeks as he looked up the hall. "You, Gravelly One," he whispered, referring to Ashur. "You know how to use one? A lock pick."
Again, he suddenly disappeared from the periphery of his cell, and his noisy whispers echoed down the hall as he spoke. "Are you crazy? I can't just get up and let them out! What if he comes in? Use some common sense, Dolphy."
Footsteps approaching from the hall's entrance shut the Imperial up quickly, and he waited with bated breath, unmoving, in the darkness of his corner of the cell. A second set of steps reached his ears soon after the first, and then a third set. Carefully and quietly, Leon crept back to the rusty bars and peered down the hall as best he could. Three fully armed and armored guards stood before the cell containing Ashur and Aela.
The three guardsmen stared daggers at the dremora. "That the one?" one of them grumbled. Another nodded. The third retrieved a key from his belt. The clack of the lock sliding out of place echoed noisily through the prison hall, and it was followed by a high-pitched squeal as the guard drew open the gate.
The other two filed into the small cell and pushed past Ashur. "Out of the way, elf."
Aela looked up at the imposing figures with horror as they reached out and took hold of her arms. Roughly, they hauled her to her feet. "What is going on?" she complained, glancing frantically about, looking for something, any means of salvation. There was nothing.
They dragged her forcefully from the cell, which was shut and locked the instant she was free of it. Aela screamed and struggled as the three guards manhandled her down the hall and out of the prison. The door closed and cut her off; the silence that followed was heavy and ominous.
Leon retreated back into the darkness. "But don't worry." His words came as a distant echo from the depths of the cell. He returned a moment later, holding an arm through the bars, a small object clutched firmly in his spindly fingers. "I just happen to have a lock pick here." The tool in his hand was no makeshift probe, but a finely crafted instrument of tarnished silver. It looked old, but sturdy. "Swallowed it when they first took me." Leon grinned childishly. "It has since... come back into my possession."
After so long in the Anvil prison, Leon's mind was perhaps as rusty as the bars keeping him locked away, but some measure of sense still existed there, and he knew a violent approach was the wrong answer. Just two span ago he had seen the warden beat an unruly inmate. The man had spent half an hour spouting threats against keeping him here, and when a guard came to shut him up, he made a grab for the guard's sword. Over the following six minutes, the prisoner was beaten within an inch of his life.
Leon looked towards the other end of the hall and spied the brownish stain that told the tale all too well. Was that prisoner still there? Leon had not noticed any food being brought down that way recently. Suddenly he was hungry. He was lucky to be fed once a day, and today's meal was still an hour or two away. Before they stopped feeding Randolph, Leon had relished two meals a day, but he had not expected such a treat to last for long. He licked his lips in anticipation of the night's gruel. At first it had tasted foul, and for the first few days he refused to eat it, but after a while he grew to like the stuff. Knowing it was gruel or starvation was probably a factor in the equation.
Food was not the subject to think about now. Escape. He needed to focus on escape.
The bars pressed uncomfortably into Leon's cheeks as he looked up the hall. "You, Gravelly One," he whispered, referring to Ashur. "You know how to use one? A lock pick."
Again, he suddenly disappeared from the periphery of his cell, and his noisy whispers echoed down the hall as he spoke. "Are you crazy? I can't just get up and let them out! What if he comes in? Use some common sense, Dolphy."
Footsteps approaching from the hall's entrance shut the Imperial up quickly, and he waited with bated breath, unmoving, in the darkness of his corner of the cell. A second set of steps reached his ears soon after the first, and then a third set. Carefully and quietly, Leon crept back to the rusty bars and peered down the hall as best he could. Three fully armed and armored guards stood before the cell containing Ashur and Aela.
The three guardsmen stared daggers at the dremora. "That the one?" one of them grumbled. Another nodded. The third retrieved a key from his belt. The clack of the lock sliding out of place echoed noisily through the prison hall, and it was followed by a high-pitched squeal as the guard drew open the gate.
The other two filed into the small cell and pushed past Ashur. "Out of the way, elf."
Aela looked up at the imposing figures with horror as they reached out and took hold of her arms. Roughly, they hauled her to her feet. "What is going on?" she complained, glancing frantically about, looking for something, any means of salvation. There was nothing.
They dragged her forcefully from the cell, which was shut and locked the instant she was free of it. Aela screamed and struggled as the three guards manhandled her down the hall and out of the prison. The door closed and cut her off; the silence that followed was heavy and ominous.
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Much to Og`mir’s surprise, the slaves were quite proficient in battle. The Breton mage could conjure magic efficiently enough to transform an Argonian into nothing but ashes. The Altmer’s skill with the bow was astounding compared to Ordami’s wood elven talent. And lastly, the Dunmer’s illusionary magic had won him the time to pick off the fallen Argonian archer’s bow allowing him to pierce through the ranks. The make-shift rebellion had the advantage.
Without disrupting the rhythm of the battle, Og`rim continued his relentless charge towards the caravan leader, Meer-mah. The Argonian glared at the barbaric Orsimer, one much similar to how a predator would give to its prey. Without warning, Meer-mah conjured electricity between the palms of his hands, his snake like enchanting echoing through-out the battlefield. The Argonian then released the compressed energy towards Og`rim without warning. The bolts of lightning and plasmid energies streamed through the air faster than any arrow and deadlier than any blade towards its target. Og`rim dived out of the way instinctively, dodging the deadly magicks that Meer-mah had conjured. The orc’s shoulder made impact to the ground while his body slid across the dirt creating clouds of dust around him. Gasping for air and gathering the strength to press his attack against the Argonian wizard, Og`rim lifted up to his feet and continued his assault. The distance between the two was slowly closing. The orc gripped the handle of his great axe tightly and with the remnants of what strength he had left, unleashed a powerful swing that aimed for the lizard’s head.
Og`rim’s fury had connected. Meer-mah’s head dropped to the ground and rolled off collecting the dirt and weeds along with it. His body stood lifeless for a few seconds, and then abruptly dropped to the cold lifeless floor. Meer-mah was no more, and the Argonian slavers were soon to follow.
However, little did the orc know, Meer-mah’s target wasn’t Og`rim, but his two Bosmer companions in the distance of the battle. As the raging bolts of plasmid neared, Milora’s life shortened. With an act of bravery, Ordami shuffled in front of his love. The lightning bolt connected and the screams of agony left the male elf’s mouth. His muscles began to tense uncontrollably and eventually ceased, what was left of his heart and other bodily organs simply shattered. The screams of despair followed soon after, Milora’s began to plea and cry controllably. The one thing she was meant to love began to disappear before her eyes and without reasoning, she wrapped her arms around the waist of her companion. She did not weep and she did not cry. The elf ranger simply closed her eyes and let the touch of death take over her body. The aftermath left their bodies charred and scarred. The only thing that did not shatter was their love with one another, and the touch they shared before death.
Without disrupting the rhythm of the battle, Og`rim continued his relentless charge towards the caravan leader, Meer-mah. The Argonian glared at the barbaric Orsimer, one much similar to how a predator would give to its prey. Without warning, Meer-mah conjured electricity between the palms of his hands, his snake like enchanting echoing through-out the battlefield. The Argonian then released the compressed energy towards Og`rim without warning. The bolts of lightning and plasmid energies streamed through the air faster than any arrow and deadlier than any blade towards its target. Og`rim dived out of the way instinctively, dodging the deadly magicks that Meer-mah had conjured. The orc’s shoulder made impact to the ground while his body slid across the dirt creating clouds of dust around him. Gasping for air and gathering the strength to press his attack against the Argonian wizard, Og`rim lifted up to his feet and continued his assault. The distance between the two was slowly closing. The orc gripped the handle of his great axe tightly and with the remnants of what strength he had left, unleashed a powerful swing that aimed for the lizard’s head.
Og`rim’s fury had connected. Meer-mah’s head dropped to the ground and rolled off collecting the dirt and weeds along with it. His body stood lifeless for a few seconds, and then abruptly dropped to the cold lifeless floor. Meer-mah was no more, and the Argonian slavers were soon to follow.
However, little did the orc know, Meer-mah’s target wasn’t Og`rim, but his two Bosmer companions in the distance of the battle. As the raging bolts of plasmid neared, Milora’s life shortened. With an act of bravery, Ordami shuffled in front of his love. The lightning bolt connected and the screams of agony left the male elf’s mouth. His muscles began to tense uncontrollably and eventually ceased, what was left of his heart and other bodily organs simply shattered. The screams of despair followed soon after, Milora’s began to plea and cry controllably. The one thing she was meant to love began to disappear before her eyes and without reasoning, she wrapped her arms around the waist of her companion. She did not weep and she did not cry. The elf ranger simply closed her eyes and let the touch of death take over her body. The aftermath left their bodies charred and scarred. The only thing that did not shatter was their love with one another, and the touch they shared before death.
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What the hell, why hadn't the old fool used the pick beforehand ?! Of course, the Imperial sounded a little, unstable. It was quite possible the man was imagining it all, or it was a bit of gnawed bone, a wooden fork perhaps. Nonetheless, Ashur clung to any hope of escape, and this just so happened to be one. Doing his best to peer out of the cell towards the Cyrodiil's, face pressed against the rusted bars like a child playing a game, the smell of the tarnished metal filling his nostrils, he saw the man's long, thin arm, stretched out of his cell, as if grabbing at the air of the corridor. Squinting, his ruby eyes noted the slim object in his skeletal hand, the slightly toothed tip. By the Three, it was a lockpick.
Now, they had a sure means of escape, if they could do this properly of course. At Leon's question, Ashur could only sigh "I'm not good at it, but I know the basics of picking a lock, and these rusty tumblers might be easy enough for me, Imperial. Why have you kept the damn thing for so long ? It's not like ..." Footsteps. Many. The door at the end of the corridor unlocked, creaking as it swung on its hinges. The Dunmer peeled his face off the rusty bars, retreating back inside the cell immediately, standing next to his bedroll, the shadow granted from the wall partially veiling him. Like a caged animal ... he remarked.
Three men, from the sound of the echoing footsteps. Heavy boots, the rattle of chainmail, guards definitely. They were getting closer. Ashur's heart beat faster, pumping the blood through his body as if he was going to need it for a fight, or a flight, both of which were impossible. The two inmates, Aela and himself, eyed each other, a mixture of curiosity and worry in their eyes as the loud footsteps, louder and louder, never stopped, until ...
*Click*
The cell door shrieked open, two of the guards filtering in while the other stayed in the corridor. As the guards exchanged words, even before opening their door, Ashur knew what it was about. He gave one last long stare at the doomed Dremora, steely eyes conveying little emotion, not even empathy. It was almost a "Tough luck ..." situation. Wrong place, wrong time, he knew it was bound to happen. Her protests were met with the professional silence of the guards as they lay their clutches on her, gloved hands gripping tightly at her bare arms. The ashlander's teeth clenched ever so slightly, wincing as the door was shut again, the rusty shriek mingling with Aela's cries as she was dragged along the corridor. Ashur noticed the third guard, the one who'd not entered the cell, had stayed there and was about to leave: "Execution ?" he questioned, the single word bearing the meaning of a full sentence.
The guard, surprised at the Dunmer, eyed him quickly, head to toes, before walking away, as only answer: "What do you think ?" His solitary footsteps, masking Aela's final cries for help, the last thing the Dunmer would hear from her mouth, filled the deep silence left in the girl's wake. For a long while, Ashur stood there, motionless, teeth clenched and arms crossed, gazing at that spot she'd been sat at. The stone would still probably be warm, he mused, not bothering to check. There was little emotion, he'd not "bonded" much with the girl, and he'd expected such an event from the moment he'd learnt where they were. Still, this was a life, gone before his eyes. He was used to the sight, but in such circumstances, it still irked him.
Letting out a heavy sign which expelled along with it the remaining thoughts about the girl, Ashur walked back up to the cell door: "Public execution I'll wager." he whispered to the other inmates. "They'll have a lot of the guard watching over it, so you can bet there aren't many left in the castle. Old man, time to finally put that pick to good use, I'd say ..."
Now, they had a sure means of escape, if they could do this properly of course. At Leon's question, Ashur could only sigh "I'm not good at it, but I know the basics of picking a lock, and these rusty tumblers might be easy enough for me, Imperial. Why have you kept the damn thing for so long ? It's not like ..." Footsteps. Many. The door at the end of the corridor unlocked, creaking as it swung on its hinges. The Dunmer peeled his face off the rusty bars, retreating back inside the cell immediately, standing next to his bedroll, the shadow granted from the wall partially veiling him. Like a caged animal ... he remarked.
Three men, from the sound of the echoing footsteps. Heavy boots, the rattle of chainmail, guards definitely. They were getting closer. Ashur's heart beat faster, pumping the blood through his body as if he was going to need it for a fight, or a flight, both of which were impossible. The two inmates, Aela and himself, eyed each other, a mixture of curiosity and worry in their eyes as the loud footsteps, louder and louder, never stopped, until ...
*Click*
The cell door shrieked open, two of the guards filtering in while the other stayed in the corridor. As the guards exchanged words, even before opening their door, Ashur knew what it was about. He gave one last long stare at the doomed Dremora, steely eyes conveying little emotion, not even empathy. It was almost a "Tough luck ..." situation. Wrong place, wrong time, he knew it was bound to happen. Her protests were met with the professional silence of the guards as they lay their clutches on her, gloved hands gripping tightly at her bare arms. The ashlander's teeth clenched ever so slightly, wincing as the door was shut again, the rusty shriek mingling with Aela's cries as she was dragged along the corridor. Ashur noticed the third guard, the one who'd not entered the cell, had stayed there and was about to leave: "Execution ?" he questioned, the single word bearing the meaning of a full sentence.
The guard, surprised at the Dunmer, eyed him quickly, head to toes, before walking away, as only answer: "What do you think ?" His solitary footsteps, masking Aela's final cries for help, the last thing the Dunmer would hear from her mouth, filled the deep silence left in the girl's wake. For a long while, Ashur stood there, motionless, teeth clenched and arms crossed, gazing at that spot she'd been sat at. The stone would still probably be warm, he mused, not bothering to check. There was little emotion, he'd not "bonded" much with the girl, and he'd expected such an event from the moment he'd learnt where they were. Still, this was a life, gone before his eyes. He was used to the sight, but in such circumstances, it still irked him.
Letting out a heavy sign which expelled along with it the remaining thoughts about the girl, Ashur walked back up to the cell door: "Public execution I'll wager." he whispered to the other inmates. "They'll have a lot of the guard watching over it, so you can bet there aren't many left in the castle. Old man, time to finally put that pick to good use, I'd say ..."
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Things were going well, it seemed. Fayth was using her bow with refined precision, Belas' support was keeping the Argonian's from putting up a good fight, and the reinforcements had started to lend their support in the battle. Azoth was dangerously low on Magicka at this point, but with another little push, they would win the day.
Suddenly the few remaining Argonian's changed, seemingly surprised at something. It seemed they were no longer affected by some spell, because they had stopped showing signs of suffering. Belas' had finally let go, and Azoth turned to see the Dunmer waver uncertainly before collapsing to the ground. No one was near him and there was no sign of any kind of attack against him, so he must have just over exerted himself. Azoth was to close to doing the same thing, and he didn't want to leave Fayth alone with whoever had shown up, so he needed to end this quickly and efficiently.
A skeleton kamikaze attack and a huge fireball later, the battle appeared to be over. The smell of burning Argonian carcasses hung in the air, and the only sound was the labored breathing of the survivors, and the howl of the wind. Azoth could also hear the sound of his knee's wobbling and clanking together, but he gritted his teeth and pushed his way through it. He put on a small smile as he turned back to smile up at Fayth. "Well that's that. We make a pretty good team."
Suddenly the few remaining Argonian's changed, seemingly surprised at something. It seemed they were no longer affected by some spell, because they had stopped showing signs of suffering. Belas' had finally let go, and Azoth turned to see the Dunmer waver uncertainly before collapsing to the ground. No one was near him and there was no sign of any kind of attack against him, so he must have just over exerted himself. Azoth was to close to doing the same thing, and he didn't want to leave Fayth alone with whoever had shown up, so he needed to end this quickly and efficiently.
A skeleton kamikaze attack and a huge fireball later, the battle appeared to be over. The smell of burning Argonian carcasses hung in the air, and the only sound was the labored breathing of the survivors, and the howl of the wind. Azoth could also hear the sound of his knee's wobbling and clanking together, but he gritted his teeth and pushed his way through it. He put on a small smile as he turned back to smile up at Fayth. "Well that's that. We make a pretty good team."
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Sarkhan let himself untense as three guards walked by him in place of the warden, snatching a woman from her cell and dragging her from the dungeon. He watched as they dragged her away, screaming, but then the heavy door slammed shut and they were stifled. Sarkhan's stomach grew sick, inwardly knowing the most probable reason she had been taken. He eased himself to the bars and listened in on the conversation between two men, one an apparent ashlander from Morrowind, the other he couldn't see.
"They'll have a lot of the guard watching over it, so you can bet there aren't many left in the castle. Old man, time to finally put that pick to good use, I'd say ..." spoke the Ashlander. Sarkhan smiled wryly to himself. A lockpick here? He spoke down the hall, directing his attention to the Dunmer.
"You there, Ashlander. I recognize you from the Wake. I don't know your business here in Cyrodiil but...I think I may be able to help with whatever you might happen to need. My name is Sarkhan Bretus, former Blade, we didn't have the pleasure aboard the ship." spoke Sarkhan, wrapping his hands around the bars of the gate. "I am a monk, but I can old my own against many a soldier such as the likes of these town guards. Allow me to accompany you out of this castle sir." Sarkhan smiled as warmly as he could, though the cold and damp of the dungeon crept about him. That lockpick was one of two ways out of here and he preferred not to intertwine himself with the murderer in his cell. . .
"They'll have a lot of the guard watching over it, so you can bet there aren't many left in the castle. Old man, time to finally put that pick to good use, I'd say ..." spoke the Ashlander. Sarkhan smiled wryly to himself. A lockpick here? He spoke down the hall, directing his attention to the Dunmer.
"You there, Ashlander. I recognize you from the Wake. I don't know your business here in Cyrodiil but...I think I may be able to help with whatever you might happen to need. My name is Sarkhan Bretus, former Blade, we didn't have the pleasure aboard the ship." spoke Sarkhan, wrapping his hands around the bars of the gate. "I am a monk, but I can old my own against many a soldier such as the likes of these town guards. Allow me to accompany you out of this castle sir." Sarkhan smiled as warmly as he could, though the cold and damp of the dungeon crept about him. That lockpick was one of two ways out of here and he preferred not to intertwine himself with the murderer in his cell. . .
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The young Altmer let loose another volley into the body of a last Argonian. Then as quickly as the battle had started it was over. The sound of metal on metal ceased; leaving only the smell of burned flesh and the wailing of a widowed elf. The unfairness of it all brought a tear to Fayth's eyes and as the bow vanished from her hands, the spell having run its course, she sank to her knees. "Why must I have my fathers luck? First the boat sinks, then I nearly drown, I wake up in a slave caravan in the middle of Azura knows where in filthy cloths, and now I'm covered in the smell of blood and death. Ahhh, I want a bath!" she complained.
Fayth climbed down from the cart and set out search the surrounding carts for her equipment. If she could her potions she would be able to restore one of her friends magicka. Friends, I hardly know them. I wonder why I already think of them that way, Fayth pondered to herself.
Fayth climbed down from the cart and set out search the surrounding carts for her equipment. If she could her potions she would be able to restore one of her friends magicka. Friends, I hardly know them. I wonder why I already think of them that way, Fayth pondered to herself.
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Eryaron had sat silently the entire time, observing the events occuring with little emotion displaying on his face. Well, if the half-dremora was about to be executed, that probably meant that his execution, and the execution of the other Dunmer, would be soon to follow...at least, if all went as their captors hoped and planned.
He turned to look at the other Dunmer in the other cell, and the people he was talking to, other inmates, but for the moment said nothing. Of course he planned to escape as well, whether he would do so along with the other inmates, or on his own, was yet to be decided. Even without a weapon--and he could probably get a blade of some kind soon after escaping--he could prove more than a challenge for these guards.
He turned to look at the other Dunmer in the other cell, and the people he was talking to, other inmates, but for the moment said nothing. Of course he planned to escape as well, whether he would do so along with the other inmates, or on his own, was yet to be decided. Even without a weapon--and he could probably get a blade of some kind soon after escaping--he could prove more than a challenge for these guards.
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Cassius nodded and replied "Im Cassius Mercson, A hiaalu brother", and got ready, as he waited for the warden, if and when he entered, Cassius would wait for the door of the prison to come down, and Cassius's voice would propel through and extended hand a 30 second paralysis spell would fling out with a 2 foot area effect if he had his usual escorts. Cassius would follow up, by trying to run to the limp corpse of the warden and grab his sword on his side, and stab him in the gut, as well as stab his escorts if they were there... Cassius's Plan A at least, a plan that also would be doomed to fail after a little thought as he sung... Cassius decided that he would probably die, and it wasnt his time yet. . He sat there out of all things... he started singing a war song, to magically motivate his friends. The words were of fighting, and dying fighting, it was a deep voice which cracked with need of water at times.... The song helped both himself, and would motivate those that allied with him.
He felt so compelled to stop those men taking the maiden, but that would only keep them in this hole.
The dunmer looked at the other dunmers, it seemed that they were the majority in the prison. Cassius noticed his roommate trying to avoid him. His singing continued... as he hoped that man would come through that door, so Cassius could feel the blood ooze out of his armor when he stabbed him. However if he got another escape route.. he would gladly take it. The prisoner continued singing... infusing illusion magic into his playing... to both cloud the mind he wanted as well as charm those that he didn't. He was hopping to cast a Command Spell if he could, but it had been such a long time.. the song would bring his spirits up, and he would prepare it... He wondered amongst what his purpose was here after he had killed the redoran... he was not given an assignment, but Cassius didnt really want to go home yet.
He continued to sing... waiting for his cue when it happened. Cassius casted a light spell out of his hand... lighting up the cell, just to make sure he could do some magic in the cell. He was just prepared to help some sort of escape...
He felt so compelled to stop those men taking the maiden, but that would only keep them in this hole.
The dunmer looked at the other dunmers, it seemed that they were the majority in the prison. Cassius noticed his roommate trying to avoid him. His singing continued... as he hoped that man would come through that door, so Cassius could feel the blood ooze out of his armor when he stabbed him. However if he got another escape route.. he would gladly take it. The prisoner continued singing... infusing illusion magic into his playing... to both cloud the mind he wanted as well as charm those that he didn't. He was hopping to cast a Command Spell if he could, but it had been such a long time.. the song would bring his spirits up, and he would prepare it... He wondered amongst what his purpose was here after he had killed the redoran... he was not given an assignment, but Cassius didnt really want to go home yet.
He continued to sing... waiting for his cue when it happened. Cassius casted a light spell out of his hand... lighting up the cell, just to make sure he could do some magic in the cell. He was just prepared to help some sort of escape...
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The heavy atmosphere in the wake of Aela's removal was broken by Cassius' nonchalant singing. The Dunmer sang as though he had not a care in the world, completely oblivious to his situation, the situations of the other inmates, and, most importantly, the situation of the Dremora girl. Leon thought he was used to the prisoner's shrill song by now, having endured it day after day for the longest time, but now, with the possibility of escape within his grasp, he would have none of it.
"Hush!" Leon commanded harshly. "Now is not the time, Singing One!"
He focused on Ashur's final words to him. He thought about them intently for a few moments. The Gravelly-One was correct, of course. Leon had sat idly in his cell during many executions since he had first been placed here, and there was little activity in the prison, or in the castle, when someone was about to be hanged or beheaded.
He wondered which fate would befall the girl. Dremora were magical by nature; perhaps a simple hanging would not even kill her. And inhabitants of the Imperial province bore a sincere hatred for all things connected to Oblivion or the Daedra, especially after the events of... how many years ago was that? It seemed an awfully long time ago, but how many years Leon could not truthfully say. Most likely they would behead her. It was the safest method of execution, as few creatures Leon knew of are able to function sans a head.
Well, there was that time with the imp.... Leon visibly shuddered at the thought. How long ago was that? He was amazed he still remembered the incident. It seemed so far off.
Leon shook his head, clearing it of all the irrelevant thoughts. "Right. Sorry, Dolphy. Got distracted for a second." He pressed his face against the cell bars again, looking up the hall, searching for Ashur. "Sorry 'bout your friend... but she just might be the distraction we need. Won't be anyone left to watch us, 'cept maybe the warden."
Leon stood and moved to the back of his cell. The Anvil dungeon was deep underground, completely shut off from the city above. There was no way to see the outside, or even hear it. Sometimes faint bangs and clashes of an especially loud celebration above would leak down into the prison corridors, but those came from inside the castle, at least. The city was cut off from the castle by a fifty foot stone wall, meaning no interaction at all with Anvil proper.
They would have to judge their time with no help or indications. Not a perfect situation for Leon, as time had virtually no concept for him anymore. Days were sometimes minutes, minutes were sometimes days. Weeks blurred into months into years, and back again.
He returned to the front of the cell, stepping back into the meager candlelight from down the hall. "We wait a while. An hour, maybe? What would you say, Randolph? An hour, maybe that and a half...." Leon crossed his arms and scrunched his brow, deep in thought. "Someone will be coming with dinner soon... not the warden. This guard won't want to miss the show, will he? So it should be soon. After that, I'll unlock our cells. We wait. Once we're sure the guards have left, we run." He paused a moment. "Dolphy's right. We'll have to hold off the warden; he won't let us leave. Plus he has the keys to the castle. We can't get out without them."
The trek to the small, quaint village was long, but not arduous. Something of a pleasant hike through the woods. Snow and Pilpin moved through the dry grass as though on a clear, marked trail. Othan guessed they passed through this way often, returning to the beach day after day to fish and play as boys did. Something about that notion struck a particular cord of Othan's heart, remembering that his childhood consisted of nothing so pleasant. His life had been all work and no play, and for it Othan was a dull boy.
The more he walked, the less his wound pained him. Endorphins from the moderate exercise helped, but it was mostly the fact that he refused to dwell on it, instead taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of this new place. It was foreign to him, but something about it had a certain sense of familiarity. It was not that sense one gets when coming home again, but more like a feeling of belonging. There was also a bit of foreboding, but it was faint and Othan tried to ignore it.
The others on the beach had ignored his request for information about their whereabouts, either because they did not know, or they did not care, but Othan had to assume he was in Cyrodiil. He supposed the landscape might have lent itself to a southern part of Hammerfell, but the remnants of the Serpant's Wake would had to have drifted a far distance off course. Othan's knowledge of geography was limited, but anyone knew this dry, yellow landscape was not found in Valenwood.
If he was in Hammerfell, it might not be so bad. He'd stick out like a sore thumb amongst the majorly-Redguard population, but as far as he knew the Dark Brotherhood had little presence there. Hammerfell would likely be safe. But Cyrodiil, more specifically the Imperial City, was the best place to get lost, become unknown. Start anew.
As they traveled through the sparse trees, the outskirts of the boys' home village came into view. It was small, housing no more than forty people by the looks of it, and that was a generous estimate. Many milled around, going about the drab daily tasks of village life. When the party was close enough, Snowe and Pilpin turned their heads over their shoulders and smiled at the travelers. They then took off running, off once again to enjoy the simple lives of children.
Othan continued to lead the three others into the village. Its composure told of perhaps a small hut that had slowly developed, building by building, into a community. Most of the dwellings were inexpensive, some of them even ramshackle. But the villagers looked content, like this was as perfect a place as could be.
Unfortunately, there was no warmth to greet the beach party. As they closed in on the village proper, they were met with ominous looks, dirty looks, a couple frightened looks, but mostly looks of contempt. They had not spoken a word, nor had a word been spoken to them, and already Othan could tell they were unwanted here.
He turned around to face his companions, unsure how to proceed, but returned to looking back at the villagers. He approached the nearest one, a young woman clipping laundry to a line strung between trees, and cleared his throat, preparing for some kind of introduction. "Um... my companions and I," he began, sweeping one arm back to refer to the others, careful in his choice of descriptor of them, "seem to be stranded here. Who might we trouble for food and shelter until we can get things sorted out? We can pay... I think." He said the last two words under his breath. His own coins were lost to the sea, and he knew not the financial status of the others.
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The woman was aware of the party's presence even as they approached her from behind. As the Elf started to speak, she seemed aloof, continuing to walk back and forth between her basket and the tree, clipping her family's wet clothes to the line. She had heard the Elf, but did not acknowledge him.
While the stranger stopped speaking, she continued to work. After a moment, and with a sigh, she began to speak softly and in a rather hushed, but concise voice. "They don't have much here, but what is grown is enough. I'm sure you'll find what you and your friends need in the tavern. Take the dirt path that you're standing on, then turn left. It should be the first building you see. The Dancing Mare, it's called. They have two rooms upstairs, I believe, with bed mats for you and your companions. The owner's name is Arenar. Tell him Ms. Mero sent you all, and he'll take care of you."
After finishing her duties and putting down her basket she turned to the party. Slowly, she raised her hand and placed it gently on the Dunmer's shoulder. The woman looked into the Elf's eyes as a friend would, perhaps a lover, as though she knew him for years. Her demeanor had changed, somehow. She had changed. Gradually, it was almost as if warmth radiated from her being, with a sense of calm resulting from her gentle touch. Words escaped her lips, words barely audible to anyone but the Elf.
"Be safe, Othan. I hope you find what you're looking for."
With that, her expression again suddenly changed. Nodding to the others, she turned, hefted up her now-empty basket and calmly retreated into her home.
While the stranger stopped speaking, she continued to work. After a moment, and with a sigh, she began to speak softly and in a rather hushed, but concise voice. "They don't have much here, but what is grown is enough. I'm sure you'll find what you and your friends need in the tavern. Take the dirt path that you're standing on, then turn left. It should be the first building you see. The Dancing Mare, it's called. They have two rooms upstairs, I believe, with bed mats for you and your companions. The owner's name is Arenar. Tell him Ms. Mero sent you all, and he'll take care of you."
After finishing her duties and putting down her basket she turned to the party. Slowly, she raised her hand and placed it gently on the Dunmer's shoulder. The woman looked into the Elf's eyes as a friend would, perhaps a lover, as though she knew him for years. Her demeanor had changed, somehow. She had changed. Gradually, it was almost as if warmth radiated from her being, with a sense of calm resulting from her gentle touch. Words escaped her lips, words barely audible to anyone but the Elf.
"Be safe, Othan. I hope you find what you're looking for."
With that, her expression again suddenly changed. Nodding to the others, she turned, hefted up her now-empty basket and calmly retreated into her home.
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Belas felt his magick seep the rest of his strength away, but luckily, it seemed the battle was soon to be won at any rate. Belas let go of his illusions and the sudden shock of the cutoff of the flow of magicka left him on quaky knees. Next thing, there was darkness and a falling sensation. Belas had let the darkness embrace him and he was out. Unconscious.
What were minutes seemed like hours to Belas, but a nagging feeling was eating away in the pit of his stomach. He awakened staring straight up towards the cloudless skys. He had a throbbing headache and his entire body was exhausted. A thief usually doesn't burn that much magicka in such a sort time span, and there were... effects. Belas groggily rose to a sitting position before trying to stand. Much to no avail however as his legs would not hold his weight and he fell back to his sitting position. He grumbled disapprovingly. A gentleman should not sit around when there were still errands to be done. What was he to do?
Belas rubbed his closed eyes and scratched at his rough beard. The slave and fight had roughened his visage from the regal gentleman he was on the boat. He needed his shirt.. and pants. Those he had on were beginning to chaff.
He looked up in time to see Fayth searching through the carts. "Oi!" He called with a raspy voice (More raspy considering the Dunmer's voice) "I am willing to bet..." Belas paused for a minute to catch his breath. "That the cart with our possessions... Is locked." Belas finished, wiping the sweat from his brow. This was not fun... "If it is... Then you will have to help me over there... I can pick it." Belas said finally before waving uneasily from his sitting position.
He then turned toward the Orc who had helped him. He hailed him with a raised hand. "I thank you Orsimer... for you assistance during our... escape. I will repay my debt in any... way I can, just tell me what I can do." Belas said in a gentlemanly manner. He really did plan on helping the Orc in anyway that he can. He could not say the same about his companions, but Belas planned on square his debts away.
What were minutes seemed like hours to Belas, but a nagging feeling was eating away in the pit of his stomach. He awakened staring straight up towards the cloudless skys. He had a throbbing headache and his entire body was exhausted. A thief usually doesn't burn that much magicka in such a sort time span, and there were... effects. Belas groggily rose to a sitting position before trying to stand. Much to no avail however as his legs would not hold his weight and he fell back to his sitting position. He grumbled disapprovingly. A gentleman should not sit around when there were still errands to be done. What was he to do?
Belas rubbed his closed eyes and scratched at his rough beard. The slave and fight had roughened his visage from the regal gentleman he was on the boat. He needed his shirt.. and pants. Those he had on were beginning to chaff.
He looked up in time to see Fayth searching through the carts. "Oi!" He called with a raspy voice (More raspy considering the Dunmer's voice) "I am willing to bet..." Belas paused for a minute to catch his breath. "That the cart with our possessions... Is locked." Belas finished, wiping the sweat from his brow. This was not fun... "If it is... Then you will have to help me over there... I can pick it." Belas said finally before waving uneasily from his sitting position.
He then turned toward the Orc who had helped him. He hailed him with a raised hand. "I thank you Orsimer... for you assistance during our... escape. I will repay my debt in any... way I can, just tell me what I can do." Belas said in a gentlemanly manner. He really did plan on helping the Orc in anyway that he can. He could not say the same about his companions, but Belas planned on square his debts away.
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Fayth continued searching through carts to no avail. Well, there's only one left. That has to be it, the Altmer reasoned. She proceeded to a cart towards the rear of the caravan. "Oi!" Belas called with a raspy voice, emphasizing his fatigued state. "I am willing to bet..." Belas paused for a minute to catch his breath. "That the cart with our possessions... Is locked." Belas finished, wiping the sweat from his brow. He didn't look to good. He shouldn't push himself so much, Fayth thought to herself. "If it is... Then you will have to help me over there... I can pick it." Belas said finally before waving uneasily from his sitting position. Fayth pulled on the doors to the cart, and just as Belas predicted, it was locked with a rather flimsy, rusted padlock. "I think you should stay where you are big guy!" Fayth called. "I can handle a lock this cheap. Besides," Fayth giggled a bit. "I don't think you'd make it over here even with my help. Don't worry though, I should have something in her to help with that." That is if those retched lizards didn't take it, she thought to herself.
"Now, how did that spell go again?" Fayth asked herself, sifting through her memory for the proper words. "Let's see, Obidai, zubora, zesma," the Altmer chanted, pointing her index finger at the lock. A spark of lightning shot out of her finger, reflected off the metal, and ricocheted in her direction. "EEP!" Fayth cried, ducking just as the bolt flew over her head. "Okay, that's definitely not it," she said. Fayth rose once more and started to think again. "Oh, I think I've got it!" she said happily. "Dra, cist, law ," Fayth chanted, tapping the lock. There was a small click and the lock dropped to the ground. "Yay!" the elf exclaimed, jumping up and down in triumph. "Haha, I knew I'd get it."
Fayth began rummaging through sacks for her things. Come on, where is it? "Aha! There it is!" she yelled as she opened a sack with her things in it. She retrieved a bottle with a dark blue liquid in it and rushed over to the dark elf. "Here," the Altmer said, putting her hand out. "This should help with the magic fatigue. It's a mana potion. I was going to save it for myself, but it looks like you need it more."
"Now, how did that spell go again?" Fayth asked herself, sifting through her memory for the proper words. "Let's see, Obidai, zubora, zesma," the Altmer chanted, pointing her index finger at the lock. A spark of lightning shot out of her finger, reflected off the metal, and ricocheted in her direction. "EEP!" Fayth cried, ducking just as the bolt flew over her head. "Okay, that's definitely not it," she said. Fayth rose once more and started to think again. "Oh, I think I've got it!" she said happily. "Dra, cist, law ," Fayth chanted, tapping the lock. There was a small click and the lock dropped to the ground. "Yay!" the elf exclaimed, jumping up and down in triumph. "Haha, I knew I'd get it."
Fayth began rummaging through sacks for her things. Come on, where is it? "Aha! There it is!" she yelled as she opened a sack with her things in it. She retrieved a bottle with a dark blue liquid in it and rushed over to the dark elf. "Here," the Altmer said, putting her hand out. "This should help with the magic fatigue. It's a mana potion. I was going to save it for myself, but it looks like you need it more."
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What in Vehk's ... What the hell is he singing ? The Dunmer in the other cell had picked up an old warsong, nothing more than a relic hailing from the times of the Velothi, of Resdayn. Back when Ashur had still been but a child, the Wise Woman of the Urshilaku had taught him and all the other children the ancient songs and chants of their ancestors, forced them to remember them by heart. It was the way of the Ashlands, nothing was written down and word of mouth was the one way of keeping knowledge. It was thus said that when a Wise Woman, the true keepers of all this knowledge, died, it was as if a library burned. The song Cassius was humming, and badly at that, given the man's dry throat, was one of the common ones, Ghulakhans and Ashkhans still chanted them before battles or duels, and the words spoke to Ashur's youth, to his intimate tie with his tribe, despite having left it, and with the very earth they trod, the Ashlands.
But this was no time for nostalgic reverie, and almost in unison with Leon, Ashur told the Dunmer to shut it. Walking up to the cell door, he noticed Leon pressed against his, ready to tell them more. The way they now considered Aela as nothing more than a convenient distraction felt strange to Ashur, but ... It was true, wasn't it ? And the hospitality of the Imperials did not extend to denizens of Oblivion; why she'd chosen to come here was beyond him. Leon's plan was to wait before unlocking the cells, something which while sensible, did grind on Ashur's nerves. He didn't want to stay here a minute longer, and would feel far better with his weapons of choice back on his person. Still, if Leon thought it was feeding time (though who this Randolph was, he knew not. A cell mate ? Why hadn't he spoken up then ? It mattered little though ...) then a bit of gruel and one guard less would not do any harm.
The prospect of having to deal with the Warden did not please him though. Despite outnumbering him greatly, it was entirely possible for another guard to be there, and besides, this man would be clad in good armor, and experienced through years of dutiful service. It was entirely possible that some of them would be killed if they didn't manage to use the element of surprise, and seeing as none of them, save perhaps Leon, knew the layout of what was at the end of that corridor, that element would be hard to gain. "Do you know anything about the warden, and his office ? We're unarmed and clad in rags, meanwhile the s'wit will be decked in armor and with a blade at his stead. We'll be run through if we can't get the jump on him, unless ..." He raised his voice, so as to speak not only to Leon, but all the inmates: "Unless somebody is intimate with magics to take him down. I specialise in Destruction myself, but we'd really need Illusion to get this done right ..."
But this was no time for nostalgic reverie, and almost in unison with Leon, Ashur told the Dunmer to shut it. Walking up to the cell door, he noticed Leon pressed against his, ready to tell them more. The way they now considered Aela as nothing more than a convenient distraction felt strange to Ashur, but ... It was true, wasn't it ? And the hospitality of the Imperials did not extend to denizens of Oblivion; why she'd chosen to come here was beyond him. Leon's plan was to wait before unlocking the cells, something which while sensible, did grind on Ashur's nerves. He didn't want to stay here a minute longer, and would feel far better with his weapons of choice back on his person. Still, if Leon thought it was feeding time (though who this Randolph was, he knew not. A cell mate ? Why hadn't he spoken up then ? It mattered little though ...) then a bit of gruel and one guard less would not do any harm.
The prospect of having to deal with the Warden did not please him though. Despite outnumbering him greatly, it was entirely possible for another guard to be there, and besides, this man would be clad in good armor, and experienced through years of dutiful service. It was entirely possible that some of them would be killed if they didn't manage to use the element of surprise, and seeing as none of them, save perhaps Leon, knew the layout of what was at the end of that corridor, that element would be hard to gain. "Do you know anything about the warden, and his office ? We're unarmed and clad in rags, meanwhile the s'wit will be decked in armor and with a blade at his stead. We'll be run through if we can't get the jump on him, unless ..." He raised his voice, so as to speak not only to Leon, but all the inmates: "Unless somebody is intimate with magics to take him down. I specialise in Destruction myself, but we'd really need Illusion to get this done right ..."
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Just as the inmates were speaking, heavy footsteps that were quickly followed by jangling keys were heard behind the prison door. Seconds later, it was flung open by an obviously frustrated guard who was balancing multiple bowls of soup on a tray. Naturally, any chatter between inmates ceased immediately, as if the air was sucked out of the room in an instant. He walked forwards and set the tray down on a table in the middle of the room. From first glance, the soup seemed to be mostly composed of lettuce leaves, pieces of leak, potato chunks, and dirty water.
Wiping his brow, the guard chuckled slightly and sat down at the table for a breather. "It's feedin' time, ladies! Get ready to take your damn bowl because, by Julianos, I'm not staying here long." He looked around and one cell caught his eye. The inmate was standing much closer to the bars than he usually was. "You have somethin' interesting to tell these boys, Leon? Tsk tsk, you know we don't like it when you spread gossip. By the way, how's Randolph there, Leon?" He snickered to himself as he finally stood up and grabbed the bowls one by one, handing them out with wooden spoons and small halves of a bread loaf also on the tray. The guard mostly placed the bowls on the ground and slid them over to the prisoner. When he came upon Leon's cell, he paused. "I have a special surprise for you today, Leon." He held the prisoner's bowl in front of him, and dramatically spat in it, before placing it on the ground in the cell. With a sinister smile, he remarked, "Enjoy, friend."
The guard walked back to the table. "Now then, now that that nasty business is over with, I'm not going to miss that disgusting monster's execution, so all your water will have to wait. Have a nice day." Finished speaking, he grabbed the tray and promptly left the room, making sure to lock the door behind him.
Wiping his brow, the guard chuckled slightly and sat down at the table for a breather. "It's feedin' time, ladies! Get ready to take your damn bowl because, by Julianos, I'm not staying here long." He looked around and one cell caught his eye. The inmate was standing much closer to the bars than he usually was. "You have somethin' interesting to tell these boys, Leon? Tsk tsk, you know we don't like it when you spread gossip. By the way, how's Randolph there, Leon?" He snickered to himself as he finally stood up and grabbed the bowls one by one, handing them out with wooden spoons and small halves of a bread loaf also on the tray. The guard mostly placed the bowls on the ground and slid them over to the prisoner. When he came upon Leon's cell, he paused. "I have a special surprise for you today, Leon." He held the prisoner's bowl in front of him, and dramatically spat in it, before placing it on the ground in the cell. With a sinister smile, he remarked, "Enjoy, friend."
The guard walked back to the table. "Now then, now that that nasty business is over with, I'm not going to miss that disgusting monster's execution, so all your water will have to wait. Have a nice day." Finished speaking, he grabbed the tray and promptly left the room, making sure to lock the door behind him.
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Cassius was not going to let that one stop him from singing. Nor was anyone else going to stop him by telling him to stop. Cassius's mind was about as stubborn as a mule.
Cassius exclaimed towards Ashur " Your going to come here in this cell, and then your going to tell me not to sing, unless you have a good reason I shouldnt be singing if I were you I'd shut up and stop telling me what I should or shouldnt do"
Cassius laughed for about a half second, and then continued to sing changing to a calmer note, much more softer, and now about Balmora and his home.... Cassius's singing got quiet as the guard got in, it ceased his cares whittled away by time in this place. If he was going to get stuck in this hole, he mine as well sing, his voice soon infused with illusion magic. He knew this wouldnt work, but Cassius was tired of this place... hell he was ready do die fighten. Cassius concealed his abilities with magic, otherwise they would have put the proper bindings on him, one would think.
Cassius laughed hysterically for a bit, and as the guard started to shut the door, Cassius would exclaim "Does your mother know your a gutless Imperial pig" and then paused to grab his meal. And poured the dirty water down his throat amongst some of the chunks, allowing him to sing much more beautifully, the soup easing his throat, and then he continued singing... None of these people would stop him. He was done and either ready to get out of here, or die trying. He looked about his inmates, it was much more calmer and easing of as song. Cassius's hands missed his flute. He looked at the Ashlander... He was one of the few hiaalu members that didnt mind the tribes, he actually respected them, although if they got in the way of business he wouldn't hesistate.
Cassius paused after hearing someone asking for help... Cassius spoke in his singing voice "I am talented in illusion, I wish for the final blow on the warden..." Cassius was tempted to cast invisibility to prove it..but decided not to.. he stopped singing after that... noticing the severity of the situation.
Cassius exclaimed towards Ashur " Your going to come here in this cell, and then your going to tell me not to sing, unless you have a good reason I shouldnt be singing if I were you I'd shut up and stop telling me what I should or shouldnt do"
Cassius laughed for about a half second, and then continued to sing changing to a calmer note, much more softer, and now about Balmora and his home.... Cassius's singing got quiet as the guard got in, it ceased his cares whittled away by time in this place. If he was going to get stuck in this hole, he mine as well sing, his voice soon infused with illusion magic. He knew this wouldnt work, but Cassius was tired of this place... hell he was ready do die fighten. Cassius concealed his abilities with magic, otherwise they would have put the proper bindings on him, one would think.
Cassius laughed hysterically for a bit, and as the guard started to shut the door, Cassius would exclaim "Does your mother know your a gutless Imperial pig" and then paused to grab his meal. And poured the dirty water down his throat amongst some of the chunks, allowing him to sing much more beautifully, the soup easing his throat, and then he continued singing... None of these people would stop him. He was done and either ready to get out of here, or die trying. He looked about his inmates, it was much more calmer and easing of as song. Cassius's hands missed his flute. He looked at the Ashlander... He was one of the few hiaalu members that didnt mind the tribes, he actually respected them, although if they got in the way of business he wouldn't hesistate.
Cassius paused after hearing someone asking for help... Cassius spoke in his singing voice "I am talented in illusion, I wish for the final blow on the warden..." Cassius was tempted to cast invisibility to prove it..but decided not to.. he stopped singing after that... noticing the severity of the situation.
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View All » Add Character » 23 Characters to follow in this universe
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Controls NPCs, quests, drives story arc
Fayt Celor
The runaway daughter of a Telvanni Diplomat trying to find a decent life in Cyrodil
Aela Kirshiik
Aela is a half-dremora battlemage hoping for a better life in Cyrodiil
Ashur Ilabael
From simple Ashlander to Morag Tong assassin, he's now been sent to Cyrodiil against his will to exact Mephala's wishes.
Azoth Arlius
An ex necromancer Breton
Sarkhan Bretus
Ex-Blade member that failed to protect the Emperor, and changed his lifestyle to that of the martial artist monks of the mountains.
Othan Arenim
A wiry Dunmer with a hardened heart and a grim past.
Trending
Fayt Celor
The runaway daughter of a Telvanni Diplomat trying to find a decent life in Cyrodil
Othan Arenim
A wiry Dunmer with a hardened heart and a grim past.
Azoth Arlius
An ex necromancer Breton
Ashur Ilabael
From simple Ashlander to Morag Tong assassin, he's now been sent to Cyrodiil against his will to exact Mephala's wishes.
Game Master
Controls NPCs, quests, drives story arc
Aela Kirshiik
Aela is a half-dremora battlemage hoping for a better life in Cyrodiil
Sarkhan Bretus
Ex-Blade member that failed to protect the Emperor, and changed his lifestyle to that of the martial artist monks of the mountains.
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Aela Kirshiik
Aela is a half-dremora battlemage hoping for a better life in Cyrodiil
Ashur Ilabael
From simple Ashlander to Morag Tong assassin, he's now been sent to Cyrodiil against his will to exact Mephala's wishes.
Fayt Celor
The runaway daughter of a Telvanni Diplomat trying to find a decent life in Cyrodil
Azoth Arlius
An ex necromancer Breton
Othan Arenim
A wiry Dunmer with a hardened heart and a grim past.
Sarkhan Bretus
Ex-Blade member that failed to protect the Emperor, and changed his lifestyle to that of the martial artist monks of the mountains.
Game Master
Controls NPCs, quests, drives story arc
View All » Places
165 posts · 21 characters present · last post 2011-02-16 05:38:47 »
Home to the Imperials, center of Tamriel
0 posts · 2 characters present · last post 1970-01-01 00:00:00 »
Cyrodiil, a province of Tamriel ↪ Anvil Owner: RolePlayGateway
The harbor city of Anvil
Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine: Out of Character
Discussions
Most recent OOC posts in The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Okay, listen up lads and lasses, like I said earlier on in this OOC (for the little amount of people reading it :P) I'm off tomorrow for a bit more than two weeks to Britannia without much Internet access, definitely non the first anyway.
So I've started the fight with the warden, I'll let anybody who wants NPC him, but don't kill him off or anything FFS, okay ? :P I'll see where this thing has been left when I come back. Hopefully very much alive and not dying in a gutter.
So I've started the fight with the warden, I'll let anybody who wants NPC him, but don't kill him off or anything FFS, okay ? :P I'll see where this thing has been left when I come back. Hopefully very much alive and not dying in a gutter.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
*Scratches chin*
Lets see if this isn't completely dead...
Lets see if this isn't completely dead...
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Just figured I'd post up on here and let everyone know that I'm back, though I see Rob still hasn't posted so I take it I should be waiting for him before trying to pick up again?
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
I would welcome him into the Slaver's party with open arms... Considering I am waiting on anything to happen. I just hope this long hiatus hasn't made Cynoc or Vain drop...
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
If you really want to, you can leave the party, yeah. Could go to the Slaver party, if you want.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
I have, though I also have yet to see any reply in my inbox.
However, I do know the GM's plan for our party and even if I left it will be after the event has taken place (and through reasonable means, not just disappearing).
However, I do know the GM's plan for our party and even if I left it will be after the event has taken place (and through reasonable means, not just disappearing).
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
I trust you've already taken this to PMs with skulblaka ? And if you haven't, starting there would probably be the best bet.
If you do end up leaving the beach party, along with Standard/Othan's departure, that would leave ... Skulblaka and Lycos, no ? Which is fairly small, and kinda ruins any ideas the GM had about your party. That said, all in all, if it's the choice between losing you or having you have more fun somewhere else in the RP, I personally would chose the second option. Don't want to lose any more players.
Let's see what Dante has to say, and like I pointed out, if you haven't already, take it to PMs with the person at hand.
If you do end up leaving the beach party, along with Standard/Othan's departure, that would leave ... Skulblaka and Lycos, no ? Which is fairly small, and kinda ruins any ideas the GM had about your party. That said, all in all, if it's the choice between losing you or having you have more fun somewhere else in the RP, I personally would chose the second option. Don't want to lose any more players.
Let's see what Dante has to say, and like I pointed out, if you haven't already, take it to PMs with the person at hand.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
I read the other parties' posts and mine is just, well let's say they are all roleplay masturbating at this point with no reaction whatsoever to anyone else's post.
Take for example skulbaka's last post, nope, I talked to her NPC which she literally threw at us (out of the blue and it made no sense, given the village's background which you had given us, nothing of such would have happened, but I closed one eye)and later she didn't even bother to make a reaction, like all the rest of her posts such as ignoring the one about the orc not being anywhere near them.
To be honest, this is rather demoralizing, it's abit sad really since you've put so much effort into this roleplay.
Dante, I don't want to sound like I'm ranting but I would like to leave this party, perhaps I will create a new character somewhere?
Take for example skulbaka's last post, nope, I talked to her NPC which she literally threw at us (out of the blue and it made no sense, given the village's background which you had given us, nothing of such would have happened, but I closed one eye)and later she didn't even bother to make a reaction, like all the rest of her posts such as ignoring the one about the orc not being anywhere near them.
To be honest, this is rather demoralizing, it's abit sad really since you've put so much effort into this roleplay.
Dante, I don't want to sound like I'm ranting but I would like to leave this party, perhaps I will create a new character somewhere?
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Ok...im back, I wanted to know if I can still jump in the roleplay even after all that has started. Can the leader send me a messages telling me so and if you can, give me a breef summary of whats going on. If not its fine
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
You make it sound like I'm a sadistic homicidal maniac ! :3
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
You can just take control of him and kill him off in the escape, if you want.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Sorry lads and lasses, got a rather pleasant hangover right now, makes typing a rather interesting activity, so I'll have to post tomorrow, or late tonight if I've sobered up (as in, finally lost all the effects of the ethanol in my body) by then.
And I don't think Rob dropped. Four days isn't that long a time if you have a life elsewhere to take care of unlike most of us :P And yeah, damn shame to be losing you Standard, as you know, but like I said, real life is the best thing around.
So Dante, will you RP Leon for what little use we have left for him, or should I check with Standard and see if I should do or what ? Have you sorted this out at all ?
And I don't think Rob dropped. Four days isn't that long a time if you have a life elsewhere to take care of unlike most of us :P And yeah, damn shame to be losing you Standard, as you know, but like I said, real life is the best thing around.
So Dante, will you RP Leon for what little use we have left for him, or should I check with Standard and see if I should do or what ? Have you sorted this out at all ?
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
I don't think Rob has dropped, probably should give him a little more time. But yeah, since it's just you two, you can just carry them along and head to Anvil for now, no problem.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Well... Seeing as Rob hasn't posted in four days.. What shall we do? (Me and Vain, considering Cynoc is on leave for now.) I suppose We could drag them both to Anvil and if Rob does come back then no harm done, we just continue from Anvil. Even if he doesn't come back, we could just bid adieu to the Og'mir in anvil and continue on our marry way.
I honestly like this RP and would hate to see it go down in flames because of a couple of people dropped. ((Perhaps time for a roll-call?))
I honestly like this RP and would hate to see it go down in flames because of a couple of people dropped. ((Perhaps time for a roll-call?))
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
The Beach party will just continue, shouldn't be much of a problem. For Leon, I'm thinking he'll die during the Escape. Hate to see such an interesting character go, but it would be a burden to bring him along, We'll need to wait for Selothi to post now. Caravan's still waiting for Rob, not sure where he is, but hopefully he'll get on soon-ish.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Did you just call us scrub? >:(
Which town?
Alrite, take care of yourself but don't EVER stop roleplaying. It's going to help improve your english, your social skills, your sex life ...you know it. :]
Which town?
Alrite, take care of yourself but don't EVER stop roleplaying. It's going to help improve your english, your social skills, your sex life ...you know it. :]
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Hey everyone. Well, those of you who look here, anyway. I'm moving out of town and starting at a new university next month, and my schedule is going to be pretty intense. Unfortunately, I'm having to quit this RP because I simply will not be able to keep up. School has to come first, obviously.
I don't know what Dante is going to do with Leon, but Othan is most likely going to die in order to drop him from the story.
With many of you, it's been a fun couple weeks. I'd like to say I hope to see you again in the future, but realistically that is not going to happen, as I will not be starting or joining any more RPs for... well, forever.
Take care, all. Tschüß.
I don't know what Dante is going to do with Leon, but Othan is most likely going to die in order to drop him from the story.
With many of you, it's been a fun couple weeks. I'd like to say I hope to see you again in the future, but realistically that is not going to happen, as I will not be starting or joining any more RPs for... well, forever.
Take care, all. Tschüß.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Hey everyone, something suddenly came up and I wont be able to reply for a couple days. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause, and I'll come back and try to make up for anything I missed!
I would try to throw up a post now, but I kind of need to wait for Rob to make a reply before I go for another one, so I'll just have to wait until I get back. Feel free to drag me along if need be.
I would try to throw up a post now, but I kind of need to wait for Rob to make a reply before I go for another one, so I'll just have to wait until I get back. Feel free to drag me along if need be.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Yep, mostly due to waiting for others to post so the rest can move on. On that note, Standard's gonna have to drop due to time issues, he'll post about it here later.
Re: [OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fall of the Divine
Aye captain, You be right. Good to know we aren't entirely abandoned. Things seemed to slow down like it hit a wall.
Hard.
Hard.