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Altmer Warriors
» Wed May 02, 2012 1:46 pm
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Sophie Louise Edge - Posts: 3461
- Joined: Sat Oct 21, 2006 7:09 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 11:57 am
Yes, it is absolutely possible. The races are not confined by their natural abilities, even if there were not individual variation in those abilities.
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He got the - Posts: 3399
- Joined: Sat Nov 17, 2007 12:19 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 12:42 pm
lol fail.
No [censored].
No [censored].
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mollypop - Posts: 3420
- Joined: Fri Jan 05, 2007 1:47 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 8:44 pm
No, it's not bloody possible. They're too tall, and scientifically speaking if they run too fast, they will get knocked over by the wind. Also they have perfect hair, and no one with perfect hair would risk ruining it in battle. And battle makes you sweat. Need I mention the Altmer's perfect skin?
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CORY - Posts: 3335
- Joined: Sat Oct 13, 2007 9:54 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 8:05 pm
No, it's not bloody possible. They're too tall, and scientifically speaking if they run too fast, they will get knocked over by the wind. Also they have perfect hair, and no one with perfect hair would risk ruining it in battle. And battle makes you sweat. Need I mention the Altmer's perfect skin?
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XPidgex Jefferson - Posts: 3398
- Joined: Fri Sep 08, 2006 4:39 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 6:19 pm
Is it possible? Totally.
Is it likely? No, pure warrior without any magic support would be rare within the Altmer since they all carry and innate ability to preform magic.
Is it likely? No, pure warrior without any magic support would be rare within the Altmer since they all carry and innate ability to preform magic.
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Kelly Tomlinson - Posts: 3503
- Joined: Sat Jul 08, 2006 11:57 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 6:01 pm
What's with the the insult-the-OP? Not kind. Yeah, the Altmer can and have always been great warriors, if weird ones. Especially at sea, including the seas of Oblivion.
Just look:
***
“How did I get here?”
“The guards, Cyrus, you don’t remember? You left plenty on the stairwells, in my hall here, and all over the courtyard. And then there’s the matter of a Battlespire stuck into the southern side of the moon, as if Masser were about to play the flute. But that’s not the real question, Redguard. The question is: why are you here in the first place?”
“Oh, it’s you. Took long enough.”
“You made sure it was loud enough again. And this time you didn’t run.”
“No, I ran. You just have too many guards.”
“Can I really have too many? Get back to the question, please.”
“You know the answer. You got pretty loud yourself.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. I am. Tell me that’s not why you’re really here. He hated you, he said.”
“He did. Things got bad. Doesn’t change anything.”
“Ah. Your famous honor. And here I figured you were going to steal something.”
“Yeah, that’s still part of the plan. Now unlock me. And a sword would be nice.”
“Maybe in a little while, just let me have a word. The way you handled the Altmer was impressive. I could always use a good general these days. Or an admiral, even, if you’re better at sea. According to this, you know all about my admirals.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not. I would give your honor a better place and this I swear. Mine is the Voice of the Emperor.”
“That’s exactly what I came to steal.”
***
Tiber Septim’s Sword-Meeting with Cyrus the Restless
***
Phynayesteryear 4558 SIY, 3E_____ CIY, all reckonings/refractions in sorted order, en masse obliged in hope, re: the Incident of the Sura-hoon Maneuver in the Masser, and of the treaties broken there and the treaties thereafter having needs to be reinstated with new addenda, namely: the Get Out of His Way lash-tag v.2.4245, recognized now both in ThirdEmpireMen (hereafter TEM) and ThalmorEmissariesMasser (hereafter TEM), unless should there be Opportunity by One or the Other Power to capture/ kill/ interrogate-from-crew (presently, the “Carrick”) without breaking those measures now writ in the aforementioned reworked accords, on threat of annulment from the TEM, and taken from that first voidship present at Incident, these the annals-at-panel of the Alinor Sunbird SMIS Longbow, may they not rest in peace, 187 souls aboard in sum.
The mirror-make of the SMIS Longbow started up, spinning in glass collectors set to catch the sun’s warnings of threat. Its bridge unfolded, and the high elves of its helm folded out from their collective to panel stations, lathered in micro-seconds by their protocolinachs in the filaments of emergency varliance to protect their skins and uniforms from immediate death by aetherfire.
The First of First Mates slotted into his harvester and barked the obvious. “Lower the sun song fifty, or we’ll feel the singe. Rotate our prayers and bring her up. What have we got?”
The Master of Lillandrils-at-Void went to rote, his teeth a cricket quick-click sound, “Helm crew unfolded none have perished give utmost thanks to the filaments solar wings sectored out and pulling towards starboard their ‘ractals math’d and working the bridge is stage set safe for the Aldmerality talk-box if need with the mirror-make uncracked keeping luck where it should be our sunbird is a go.”
“All hands, all hands, this is the First of First Mates, Terror Thought, and we are now at full sail. Salute me and begin. Turn the Mirror and show us.”
The mirror-make’s nymic was pronounced by the helm in unison, going Logician. The Mirror, nautical once more, became pleased with itself, purring. It zoom shunted monocles on to the fifty-plus bridge crew members with its blowgun-like pneumatic brass-glass branches. Those that weren’t ready or properly trained fell screaming or in silence from shards to face or mouth. Terror Thought shook his head. “I will have to fill out forms for that! Ancestry for the fallen, though it does us no favor! Mirror on the deck.”
The Mirror blurred, warbling the Longbow for a moment. A few more were lost to nausea and the filaments ate their glands for restoration. Sectoring out further toward the upper and outer bulkheads, the Mirror made windows. “We are awake and knowing. Void-eyes on. Stare between Oblivion and Aetherius with a purpose. An unknown vessel is detected on the changewinds of our charter.”
“That’s not possible,” typed the Scribe, young by Alinor standards, never-year’d now in this, her first protector ticket across the moons. “Septim promised us no tricks.”
“It’s not Septim. Let the Lillandris bring it up on Mirror.”
Another warbling and it was spotted, the vessel that woke the sun threats at the start. Terror Thought looked, thought, and then said aloud: “What the hell is that? It looks like... Scribe, describe it for the record and then suggest.”
“Permission to talk without sense for the moment, but the vessel is mundrial, sir, wood with canvas sails, no void stones to engine it out here at all. It’s only seaworthy by every account and yet their course seems set for Masser.”
The Mirror shunted again, retracting off the monocles of those that needed to say a prayer to keep their belief-of-self intact. “What should really trouble you, Terror Thought, is that they are waving at us.”
“Explain.”
The Scribe lightly coughed for effect and cocked her head. “I don’t understand how they’re doing it, sir, but they’re sailing through the void and flying their colors on a wind that they seem to have brought from Mundus. And by waving at us, the Mirror means their flag. It bears a strange mark, seemingly scribbled in a language I can’t translate, but I infer it’s intended for Longbow. In short, they want to be seen by us, sir.”
The First of First Mates then cocked his own head, his eyes flitting bird-like from one window to another, scanning them, moving inside his own known senses.
“Hold! I see its reflection now. Give me another salute, for we are about to make history.”
“That’s a wonderful thought, sir,” the Scribe typed. “I never thought I would live to see a chapter mark. Priming the cannon; our sunbeam is already up. I will footnote now my request: your consideration for breeding with me after our triumph.”
The bridge moved across plates so that all still alive could witness the answer to the engagement. The talk-box erupted with excited pvssyr and the placement of bets in the engine room. Terror Thought sighed and pressed his heel, moving the plates back to their proper panels. Monocles socketed back in.
“I recognize the language of their rags, everyone. It’s a Yoku dare: ‘May the Devil Take the Hindmost.’ Very well, all other Thalmoric prism mandates go into crystal for the moment. Hit the solar twelvewind and give chase. We have ourselves some pirates!”
***
“That wasn’t funny, Coyle,” Cyrus said, folding his telescope. The rest of the Carrickers were at their stations, ready to scramble at moment’s notice. The young Yokudan glanced over at his captain, smiling.
“Fornower’s idea, really,” he said. “And we had spare paint. I wonder if they notice that our flag is an Imga cape.”
Cyrus stared at him hard. “You see their sunbeam? You can’t miss it, Coyle, spyglass or not. I’m still seeing double. That thing can--”
“Good. Then you won’t know which Coyle to punch. C’mon, cap, it’s Old Mary. They’re no better at catching us here than they were in the Divide.”
Cyrus grabbed his vest from the rail, shaking his head while buttoning it. He laughed a little.
“You’re an idiot, boy” he said. “But you’re probably right. And it was smart to have them follow us.”
“I know.”
“Don’t get cocky. Go on and have the men beat the sloadbags. We need the speed. You’ve given me an idea.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Coyle made motion and joined the scramble himself, taking up the cattle-prods that Gar had reworked with enchantments. The crew carefully speared the fleshy spores attached to the sides of the Carrick and hissing sounds followed.
Thras gas steered them into a new wake, and Cyrus watched his men with something akin to pride on his face. It lasted but a moment, when the sunbeam of Longbow fired, a length of fire splitting the void behind him. Thorpe moved to look for scorches.
“M’sorry, Cy, the lads were just having their fun. It’s your own fault, you know, getting them all riled up and fearless, their eyes on a prize you challenged them to be impossible.”
There’s a fine line between madhouse and mutiny, Cyrus thought, but this isn’t one of them. The old scrub was right. I wonder if I’ve been with them too long now, changing their heads like this over and over again.
“Tobias,” he said. Thorpe heard him, thinking it a call for order, realizing it wasn’t. The captain was acting right weird these days, but some might just argue it was the void. It had a tendency to drive men to questioning.
***
Ach, get out from there, laddie. You’re under the cat’s clamdesk again. Thorpe’s just near the same out in the alley. Chamberpotted him to wake up, so I’ve got none for you. We need to move. Dunmereth’s a long way from here and I’ve decided not to use the Pass. We’re going through it up the gut instead. I’m not taking any chances, even if it means lizards.
***
“I remember Tobias when he made a mistake in front of all of us,” Cyrus said to Thorpe, “I left him then, thinking him old, and, worse, over. What am I talking about?”
“Nothing, sir, you was just askin’ if the timbers were blackened and none are so no worry.”
“Right. Thank you, Thorpe.”
Cyrus then undid the buttons again, noting how most of his vest’s velvet filigree had long gone into the way of leathered smudge.
“Cy, find your head. Look at them, the apes you’ve made that love you. Now, look at that beast that follows, its crew o’ wrong-eyed alien murderthirst that we’ll never understand.”
Cyrus looked up, tongued the tooth that was still moveable since he and Borden disagreed on this journey and its end heist. “Nord had knuckles, I’ll give him that,” he said.
Thorpe tossed his sponge and Cyrus caught it without thinking. The scrub was angry. “Lookee now, I remember Tobias, too, but which set of knuckles are ye talkin’ yer teeth about here?”
“My whole life is a fight--”
“Some of them didn’t stay, some of ‘em looked on ya like ye were gone too mad, but yet-so get over it. If ye start to forget why we’re here, beatin’ mast to make the moon, we’ll shipwreck on a whim of yours made under blue an’ proper skies.”
***
All right, people, some of them didn’t stay. It’s Morrowind, after all. But eyes to the sand. Look. Best as I can make, this is their layout. It’s a bug-camp, though, so expect it to be wrong when we get in. Timbalt, you and your boys are shoot duty. Itu, Naddock, Mal, Thorpe? You’re with me. Frigar, you’re watching those hornet-riders; memorize their patterns if they got one, shout ‘em down if you figure we’re in there fighting, it’ll be obvious. Cyrus, the cats are held captive here, here, there, and most likely there, too. They look thin, but they’re jits, so they’ll come out fighting if this all comes to trouble. And that would be a mistake.
***
“I’m sorry, Thorpe, you mistake me. We’re not being chased like you think. I was trying to say--”
“Hell we’re not, and now yer actin’ nostalgic, an’ getting’ yer brawls past and present all mixed up. Making peace with your old captain is yer own lug-weight, Cy, and now’s not really the proper clock.”
“Shut up, Thorpe, that’s not you talking. It’s this sail. And call it a whim one more time and I’ll have you. Now watch if you won’t listen. See our chaser’s cannon all moved out and forward? They’re about to fire and I haven’t set to order our move to change course.”
***
I told you, Frigar had the hornets! Ach, look, cat, I appreciate the help but I’ve got this. Cyrus, stop staring at the sky and look at me. At which point did you decide to change course? Change course? That hornet had you pinned. Is that your view from the top, now, laddie? I was staying my head down and waiting for our shooters. No, this was a fight and I just won it for you. When I’m down, you get to make that call. Looked plenty down to me. That jaw just won’t stop now, will it? We’ll collect our drake and be done with it. I’m through protecting you. You never did, Tobias. You just had the boat and a face I remembered.
***
Cyrus looked to Thorpe. “Wait for it.”
***
And the cricket-click went: “Sunbeam charge reroute to main engine move to intercept the remains of our prey they are glass’d for cannon fire what was that eruption report”
***
The Carrickers hit the deck when the SMIS Longbow exploded, a small warp of the Lords of Misrule clamoring for the creatia they might claim for their own. Daedric servitorslips blinked into view around the Alinor Sunbird’s last moment. A small Oblivion war happened in the space that was not.
Cyrus looked at Thorpe, who was on the floor in brave panic. “There. Is everyone’s head on straight yet? Should be, because look at that.”
A massive shape moved across the silver disc of Masser on the fore. Gar started to shake some magic from his hands, but Fornower put them down. “It won’t help. That’s the Imperials.”
Cyrus heard this from high up and nodded. “Yes,” he called to the crew. “Yes, it is. Now I’ve only seen these on blueprints and in books, but it’s one of their void-castles. It’s them that fired. That’s why we’re still sailing. Stay good.”
Thorpe, eyeing the shape, a collection of towers on a upturned crag of rock, immense in its entire, red loops shining like earrings along its flanks, cooling from the blast they sent towards the Altmer ‘bird, and said, “A Battlespire. Godsblood, Cy, I see now why Borden set to knock you on yer head.”
Cyrus was smiling. “Borden was short-sighted. So are you. The prize we seek is just behind that beast, on those lunar breaks you can make out just there. See?”
“You just started a war, dummy. That’s all I see.”
“No, I just made sure the elves chased us too far. There’s a treaty out here on the edge of nothing between men and mer, just like back home. The Carrick, she’s a Wayrest boat, easy on their eyes and less threatening to boot. We were just the bait. And now we switched.”
Thorpe made a sound through his lips. “We’ve got bleedin’ sload bumps for gas and a sphere o’ anti-madness that’s barely held, cap. What exactly did we switch up to?”
“Offense.”
***
To Provisional Governor of the Reach, Contested High Rock, Titus Alorius, Knight-Commander of the Estates, Duke of Esteem in unified Colovia, Blade-Seneschal of the Emperor Tiber Septim, etc., etc., etc.
Whereas the Master of the TEM Battlespire Honor Before Glory, Celeus Fallbright, Knight-Commander of the Ruby Armada, Admiral of the Dragon Banner at Void and Commander in Chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels employed and to be employed in the Lanes Aetherial & Mnemolic, etc., etc., etc.,
--is now dead without recourse to doctrined revivication, set out by the Elder Council, the Congress of the Eight, and the Chamberlains of the College of Imperial Magic--
You are now appointed as the new commander of the TEM Battlespire Utmost Triumph to secure in irons real and unreal, the vagrant Redguard terror Sura-do-Hega, 'Cyrus' in the Cyrodilic, 'The Maverick King of the Alk'r' in quarters vulgar, base, and tavern-fanciful--
--and all hands of his vessel the Carrick, for questioning by an appointed emissary of White-Gold, and to do so without delay.
Be advised, if reports are true, the Carrick and its captain have destroyed both the TEM Honor Before Glory and TEM Longbow, Sunbird of Alinor. While vox-enabled memospores seem to indicate that the TEM Longbow was taken unawares and easily bested, defeat of the TEM Honor Before Glory appears to have been the work of subterfuge. Proof-transmission follows:
Archimandrite-at-Ready: “Hailing the captain of the vessel flying the Imga cape. We can’t hear you. We see you cupping your hands. Please try to yell louder.”
Cyrus: “Get out of my way!”
Archimandrite-at-Ready: “Halt and present yourselves for inspection. We apologize for the Altmeri transgression. This is friendly void.”
Cyrus: “Last chance!”
Archimandrite-at-Ready: “Lanes to Imperial Masser are closed to the citizenry. Turn back or we will fire upon you in majestic ways.”
Cyrus (muffled): “Coyle, pull her up and over eight degrees moon-by-moon-north. Haekele, cut the lashes and launch our slug. Thorpe? On my mark, full spin to stop, and drop cargo. This is why I paid a ransom in salt.”
Visuals can verify that the Carrick was somehow sailing via sload-clusters, barnacled to its sides, but this is common for Abecean liners at mundrial sea. What is most asuredly not common is a fully-grown specimen of Thras held by ropes beneath the beam, and launched like some ad-hoc torpedo.
With the application of salt, the crew initiated hitherto unforeseen peristaltic vibrations within said specimen, propelling it forwards and into a landing bay of the TEM Honor Before Glory. Considerable Thrassian flatulence resulted, sending the incapacitated vessel spiraling towards the side of the moon.
Its impact into the Colony proper was ameliorated by orbital moth-mirage and screening flak, yet its bulk cratered itself nearby, no souls surviving.
P-G Titus Alorius, report to the nearest Weir Gate, show arms, take teleport, and make haste for Masser.
Given on board the TEM Warspore Tiberia,
at aetherial anchor, 26th Last Seed, 3E____
Praeceptor Superior Erramanwe
***
Fornower was in the ropes, using a trumpet from Pyandonea to sound the moonfall.
“Prepare for landing! Everyone in their suits and everyone watching the others. If one of us can’t remember how, another of us grabs their straps and buckles ‘em tight. We’re the Carrickers and none forget.”
Dust washed across the eyelets of their helmets and the keel made a sound that Cyrus frowned at, but his ship set even well enough, its crew pushing the sloadbags down by pole-struts to serve as landing bladders. Haekele grabbed at the glimmerwelts that rose up, and the captain had no heart to tell him that these things were a compost of a sort and nothing to make one rich.
“On my lead,” Cyrus said, jumping over the side, “I’ve been here before.”
***
Just look:
***
“How did I get here?”
“The guards, Cyrus, you don’t remember? You left plenty on the stairwells, in my hall here, and all over the courtyard. And then there’s the matter of a Battlespire stuck into the southern side of the moon, as if Masser were about to play the flute. But that’s not the real question, Redguard. The question is: why are you here in the first place?”
“Oh, it’s you. Took long enough.”
“You made sure it was loud enough again. And this time you didn’t run.”
“No, I ran. You just have too many guards.”
“Can I really have too many? Get back to the question, please.”
“You know the answer. You got pretty loud yourself.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. I am. Tell me that’s not why you’re really here. He hated you, he said.”
“He did. Things got bad. Doesn’t change anything.”
“Ah. Your famous honor. And here I figured you were going to steal something.”
“Yeah, that’s still part of the plan. Now unlock me. And a sword would be nice.”
“Maybe in a little while, just let me have a word. The way you handled the Altmer was impressive. I could always use a good general these days. Or an admiral, even, if you’re better at sea. According to this, you know all about my admirals.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not. I would give your honor a better place and this I swear. Mine is the Voice of the Emperor.”
“That’s exactly what I came to steal.”
***
Tiber Septim’s Sword-Meeting with Cyrus the Restless
***
Phynayesteryear 4558 SIY, 3E_____ CIY, all reckonings/refractions in sorted order, en masse obliged in hope, re: the Incident of the Sura-hoon Maneuver in the Masser, and of the treaties broken there and the treaties thereafter having needs to be reinstated with new addenda, namely: the Get Out of His Way lash-tag v.2.4245, recognized now both in ThirdEmpireMen (hereafter TEM) and ThalmorEmissariesMasser (hereafter TEM), unless should there be Opportunity by One or the Other Power to capture/ kill/ interrogate-from-crew (presently, the “Carrick”) without breaking those measures now writ in the aforementioned reworked accords, on threat of annulment from the TEM, and taken from that first voidship present at Incident, these the annals-at-panel of the Alinor Sunbird SMIS Longbow, may they not rest in peace, 187 souls aboard in sum.
The mirror-make of the SMIS Longbow started up, spinning in glass collectors set to catch the sun’s warnings of threat. Its bridge unfolded, and the high elves of its helm folded out from their collective to panel stations, lathered in micro-seconds by their protocolinachs in the filaments of emergency varliance to protect their skins and uniforms from immediate death by aetherfire.
The First of First Mates slotted into his harvester and barked the obvious. “Lower the sun song fifty, or we’ll feel the singe. Rotate our prayers and bring her up. What have we got?”
The Master of Lillandrils-at-Void went to rote, his teeth a cricket quick-click sound, “Helm crew unfolded none have perished give utmost thanks to the filaments solar wings sectored out and pulling towards starboard their ‘ractals math’d and working the bridge is stage set safe for the Aldmerality talk-box if need with the mirror-make uncracked keeping luck where it should be our sunbird is a go.”
“All hands, all hands, this is the First of First Mates, Terror Thought, and we are now at full sail. Salute me and begin. Turn the Mirror and show us.”
The mirror-make’s nymic was pronounced by the helm in unison, going Logician. The Mirror, nautical once more, became pleased with itself, purring. It zoom shunted monocles on to the fifty-plus bridge crew members with its blowgun-like pneumatic brass-glass branches. Those that weren’t ready or properly trained fell screaming or in silence from shards to face or mouth. Terror Thought shook his head. “I will have to fill out forms for that! Ancestry for the fallen, though it does us no favor! Mirror on the deck.”
The Mirror blurred, warbling the Longbow for a moment. A few more were lost to nausea and the filaments ate their glands for restoration. Sectoring out further toward the upper and outer bulkheads, the Mirror made windows. “We are awake and knowing. Void-eyes on. Stare between Oblivion and Aetherius with a purpose. An unknown vessel is detected on the changewinds of our charter.”
“That’s not possible,” typed the Scribe, young by Alinor standards, never-year’d now in this, her first protector ticket across the moons. “Septim promised us no tricks.”
“It’s not Septim. Let the Lillandris bring it up on Mirror.”
Another warbling and it was spotted, the vessel that woke the sun threats at the start. Terror Thought looked, thought, and then said aloud: “What the hell is that? It looks like... Scribe, describe it for the record and then suggest.”
“Permission to talk without sense for the moment, but the vessel is mundrial, sir, wood with canvas sails, no void stones to engine it out here at all. It’s only seaworthy by every account and yet their course seems set for Masser.”
The Mirror shunted again, retracting off the monocles of those that needed to say a prayer to keep their belief-of-self intact. “What should really trouble you, Terror Thought, is that they are waving at us.”
“Explain.”
The Scribe lightly coughed for effect and cocked her head. “I don’t understand how they’re doing it, sir, but they’re sailing through the void and flying their colors on a wind that they seem to have brought from Mundus. And by waving at us, the Mirror means their flag. It bears a strange mark, seemingly scribbled in a language I can’t translate, but I infer it’s intended for Longbow. In short, they want to be seen by us, sir.”
The First of First Mates then cocked his own head, his eyes flitting bird-like from one window to another, scanning them, moving inside his own known senses.
“Hold! I see its reflection now. Give me another salute, for we are about to make history.”
“That’s a wonderful thought, sir,” the Scribe typed. “I never thought I would live to see a chapter mark. Priming the cannon; our sunbeam is already up. I will footnote now my request: your consideration for breeding with me after our triumph.”
The bridge moved across plates so that all still alive could witness the answer to the engagement. The talk-box erupted with excited pvssyr and the placement of bets in the engine room. Terror Thought sighed and pressed his heel, moving the plates back to their proper panels. Monocles socketed back in.
“I recognize the language of their rags, everyone. It’s a Yoku dare: ‘May the Devil Take the Hindmost.’ Very well, all other Thalmoric prism mandates go into crystal for the moment. Hit the solar twelvewind and give chase. We have ourselves some pirates!”
***
“That wasn’t funny, Coyle,” Cyrus said, folding his telescope. The rest of the Carrickers were at their stations, ready to scramble at moment’s notice. The young Yokudan glanced over at his captain, smiling.
“Fornower’s idea, really,” he said. “And we had spare paint. I wonder if they notice that our flag is an Imga cape.”
Cyrus stared at him hard. “You see their sunbeam? You can’t miss it, Coyle, spyglass or not. I’m still seeing double. That thing can--”
“Good. Then you won’t know which Coyle to punch. C’mon, cap, it’s Old Mary. They’re no better at catching us here than they were in the Divide.”
Cyrus grabbed his vest from the rail, shaking his head while buttoning it. He laughed a little.
“You’re an idiot, boy” he said. “But you’re probably right. And it was smart to have them follow us.”
“I know.”
“Don’t get cocky. Go on and have the men beat the sloadbags. We need the speed. You’ve given me an idea.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Coyle made motion and joined the scramble himself, taking up the cattle-prods that Gar had reworked with enchantments. The crew carefully speared the fleshy spores attached to the sides of the Carrick and hissing sounds followed.
Thras gas steered them into a new wake, and Cyrus watched his men with something akin to pride on his face. It lasted but a moment, when the sunbeam of Longbow fired, a length of fire splitting the void behind him. Thorpe moved to look for scorches.
“M’sorry, Cy, the lads were just having their fun. It’s your own fault, you know, getting them all riled up and fearless, their eyes on a prize you challenged them to be impossible.”
There’s a fine line between madhouse and mutiny, Cyrus thought, but this isn’t one of them. The old scrub was right. I wonder if I’ve been with them too long now, changing their heads like this over and over again.
“Tobias,” he said. Thorpe heard him, thinking it a call for order, realizing it wasn’t. The captain was acting right weird these days, but some might just argue it was the void. It had a tendency to drive men to questioning.
***
Ach, get out from there, laddie. You’re under the cat’s clamdesk again. Thorpe’s just near the same out in the alley. Chamberpotted him to wake up, so I’ve got none for you. We need to move. Dunmereth’s a long way from here and I’ve decided not to use the Pass. We’re going through it up the gut instead. I’m not taking any chances, even if it means lizards.
***
“I remember Tobias when he made a mistake in front of all of us,” Cyrus said to Thorpe, “I left him then, thinking him old, and, worse, over. What am I talking about?”
“Nothing, sir, you was just askin’ if the timbers were blackened and none are so no worry.”
“Right. Thank you, Thorpe.”
Cyrus then undid the buttons again, noting how most of his vest’s velvet filigree had long gone into the way of leathered smudge.
“Cy, find your head. Look at them, the apes you’ve made that love you. Now, look at that beast that follows, its crew o’ wrong-eyed alien murderthirst that we’ll never understand.”
Cyrus looked up, tongued the tooth that was still moveable since he and Borden disagreed on this journey and its end heist. “Nord had knuckles, I’ll give him that,” he said.
Thorpe tossed his sponge and Cyrus caught it without thinking. The scrub was angry. “Lookee now, I remember Tobias, too, but which set of knuckles are ye talkin’ yer teeth about here?”
“My whole life is a fight--”
“Some of them didn’t stay, some of ‘em looked on ya like ye were gone too mad, but yet-so get over it. If ye start to forget why we’re here, beatin’ mast to make the moon, we’ll shipwreck on a whim of yours made under blue an’ proper skies.”
***
All right, people, some of them didn’t stay. It’s Morrowind, after all. But eyes to the sand. Look. Best as I can make, this is their layout. It’s a bug-camp, though, so expect it to be wrong when we get in. Timbalt, you and your boys are shoot duty. Itu, Naddock, Mal, Thorpe? You’re with me. Frigar, you’re watching those hornet-riders; memorize their patterns if they got one, shout ‘em down if you figure we’re in there fighting, it’ll be obvious. Cyrus, the cats are held captive here, here, there, and most likely there, too. They look thin, but they’re jits, so they’ll come out fighting if this all comes to trouble. And that would be a mistake.
***
“I’m sorry, Thorpe, you mistake me. We’re not being chased like you think. I was trying to say--”
“Hell we’re not, and now yer actin’ nostalgic, an’ getting’ yer brawls past and present all mixed up. Making peace with your old captain is yer own lug-weight, Cy, and now’s not really the proper clock.”
“Shut up, Thorpe, that’s not you talking. It’s this sail. And call it a whim one more time and I’ll have you. Now watch if you won’t listen. See our chaser’s cannon all moved out and forward? They’re about to fire and I haven’t set to order our move to change course.”
***
I told you, Frigar had the hornets! Ach, look, cat, I appreciate the help but I’ve got this. Cyrus, stop staring at the sky and look at me. At which point did you decide to change course? Change course? That hornet had you pinned. Is that your view from the top, now, laddie? I was staying my head down and waiting for our shooters. No, this was a fight and I just won it for you. When I’m down, you get to make that call. Looked plenty down to me. That jaw just won’t stop now, will it? We’ll collect our drake and be done with it. I’m through protecting you. You never did, Tobias. You just had the boat and a face I remembered.
***
Cyrus looked to Thorpe. “Wait for it.”
***
And the cricket-click went: “Sunbeam charge reroute to main engine move to intercept the remains of our prey they are glass’d for cannon fire what was that eruption report”
***
The Carrickers hit the deck when the SMIS Longbow exploded, a small warp of the Lords of Misrule clamoring for the creatia they might claim for their own. Daedric servitorslips blinked into view around the Alinor Sunbird’s last moment. A small Oblivion war happened in the space that was not.
Cyrus looked at Thorpe, who was on the floor in brave panic. “There. Is everyone’s head on straight yet? Should be, because look at that.”
A massive shape moved across the silver disc of Masser on the fore. Gar started to shake some magic from his hands, but Fornower put them down. “It won’t help. That’s the Imperials.”
Cyrus heard this from high up and nodded. “Yes,” he called to the crew. “Yes, it is. Now I’ve only seen these on blueprints and in books, but it’s one of their void-castles. It’s them that fired. That’s why we’re still sailing. Stay good.”
Thorpe, eyeing the shape, a collection of towers on a upturned crag of rock, immense in its entire, red loops shining like earrings along its flanks, cooling from the blast they sent towards the Altmer ‘bird, and said, “A Battlespire. Godsblood, Cy, I see now why Borden set to knock you on yer head.”
Cyrus was smiling. “Borden was short-sighted. So are you. The prize we seek is just behind that beast, on those lunar breaks you can make out just there. See?”
“You just started a war, dummy. That’s all I see.”
“No, I just made sure the elves chased us too far. There’s a treaty out here on the edge of nothing between men and mer, just like back home. The Carrick, she’s a Wayrest boat, easy on their eyes and less threatening to boot. We were just the bait. And now we switched.”
Thorpe made a sound through his lips. “We’ve got bleedin’ sload bumps for gas and a sphere o’ anti-madness that’s barely held, cap. What exactly did we switch up to?”
“Offense.”
***
To Provisional Governor of the Reach, Contested High Rock, Titus Alorius, Knight-Commander of the Estates, Duke of Esteem in unified Colovia, Blade-Seneschal of the Emperor Tiber Septim, etc., etc., etc.
Whereas the Master of the TEM Battlespire Honor Before Glory, Celeus Fallbright, Knight-Commander of the Ruby Armada, Admiral of the Dragon Banner at Void and Commander in Chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels employed and to be employed in the Lanes Aetherial & Mnemolic, etc., etc., etc.,
--is now dead without recourse to doctrined revivication, set out by the Elder Council, the Congress of the Eight, and the Chamberlains of the College of Imperial Magic--
You are now appointed as the new commander of the TEM Battlespire Utmost Triumph to secure in irons real and unreal, the vagrant Redguard terror Sura-do-Hega, 'Cyrus' in the Cyrodilic, 'The Maverick King of the Alk'r' in quarters vulgar, base, and tavern-fanciful--
--and all hands of his vessel the Carrick, for questioning by an appointed emissary of White-Gold, and to do so without delay.
Be advised, if reports are true, the Carrick and its captain have destroyed both the TEM Honor Before Glory and TEM Longbow, Sunbird of Alinor. While vox-enabled memospores seem to indicate that the TEM Longbow was taken unawares and easily bested, defeat of the TEM Honor Before Glory appears to have been the work of subterfuge. Proof-transmission follows:
Archimandrite-at-Ready: “Hailing the captain of the vessel flying the Imga cape. We can’t hear you. We see you cupping your hands. Please try to yell louder.”
Cyrus: “Get out of my way!”
Archimandrite-at-Ready: “Halt and present yourselves for inspection. We apologize for the Altmeri transgression. This is friendly void.”
Cyrus: “Last chance!”
Archimandrite-at-Ready: “Lanes to Imperial Masser are closed to the citizenry. Turn back or we will fire upon you in majestic ways.”
Cyrus (muffled): “Coyle, pull her up and over eight degrees moon-by-moon-north. Haekele, cut the lashes and launch our slug. Thorpe? On my mark, full spin to stop, and drop cargo. This is why I paid a ransom in salt.”
Visuals can verify that the Carrick was somehow sailing via sload-clusters, barnacled to its sides, but this is common for Abecean liners at mundrial sea. What is most asuredly not common is a fully-grown specimen of Thras held by ropes beneath the beam, and launched like some ad-hoc torpedo.
With the application of salt, the crew initiated hitherto unforeseen peristaltic vibrations within said specimen, propelling it forwards and into a landing bay of the TEM Honor Before Glory. Considerable Thrassian flatulence resulted, sending the incapacitated vessel spiraling towards the side of the moon.
Its impact into the Colony proper was ameliorated by orbital moth-mirage and screening flak, yet its bulk cratered itself nearby, no souls surviving.
P-G Titus Alorius, report to the nearest Weir Gate, show arms, take teleport, and make haste for Masser.
Given on board the TEM Warspore Tiberia,
at aetherial anchor, 26th Last Seed, 3E____
Praeceptor Superior Erramanwe
***
Fornower was in the ropes, using a trumpet from Pyandonea to sound the moonfall.
“Prepare for landing! Everyone in their suits and everyone watching the others. If one of us can’t remember how, another of us grabs their straps and buckles ‘em tight. We’re the Carrickers and none forget.”
Dust washed across the eyelets of their helmets and the keel made a sound that Cyrus frowned at, but his ship set even well enough, its crew pushing the sloadbags down by pole-struts to serve as landing bladders. Haekele grabbed at the glimmerwelts that rose up, and the captain had no heart to tell him that these things were a compost of a sort and nothing to make one rich.
“On my lead,” Cyrus said, jumping over the side, “I’ve been here before.”
***
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Samantha Jane Adams - Posts: 3433
- Joined: Mon Dec 04, 2006 4:00 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 11:36 am
Love the world building in this one. An Altmer, with character, who'da thought.
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Katie Pollard - Posts: 3460
- Joined: Thu Nov 09, 2006 11:23 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 12:07 pm
Old Mary... IN SPACE!
If anyone can wipe the smug grins off the Altmer it's the Redguards. I had thought they were Nords to begin with, but the Redguards are plenty win enough to fly in space in wooden ships.
If anyone can wipe the smug grins off the Altmer it's the Redguards. I had thought they were Nords to begin with, but the Redguards are plenty win enough to fly in space in wooden ships.
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Joanne Crump - Posts: 3457
- Joined: Sat Jul 22, 2006 9:44 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 3:45 pm
“That’s a wonderful thought, sir,” the Scribe typed. “I never thought I would live to see a chapter mark. Priming the cannon; our sunbeam is already up. I will footnote now my request: your consideration for breeding with me after our triumph.”
Of course, those redguards will turn their altmer foes into a fine scoria, so not much will come of it.
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Robert DeLarosa - Posts: 3415
- Joined: Tue Sep 04, 2007 3:43 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 8:41 am
I'd imagine Altmer metanautical warfare to just a slightly more aggressive form of bureaucracy.
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Dalia - Posts: 3488
- Joined: Mon Oct 23, 2006 12:29 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 7:16 am
I'd imagine Altmer metanautical warfare to just a slightly more aggressive form of bureaucracy.
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Marnesia Steele - Posts: 3398
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2007 10:11 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 2:26 pm
That thing their shooting at you? It's a 1040. That torpedo they fired? It's a ten page formal subpoena issued to a piece of your hull.
Oh... just wait for the torpedo.
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OJY - Posts: 3462
- Joined: Wed May 30, 2007 3:11 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 1:29 pm
Oh... just wait for the torpedo.
Well, the torpedo is cool and all, but I'm personally more excited for the return to Morrowind. I guess Masser was also pretty nifty, and Tiber is always a treat. Anything our favorite pirate undertakes seems to turn to awesome (or rubble. It's 50/50)
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cassy - Posts: 3368
- Joined: Mon Mar 05, 2007 12:57 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 5:27 pm
Well, the torpedo is cool and all, but I'm personally more excited for the return to Morrowind. I guess Masser was also pretty nifty, and Tiber is always a treat. Anything our favorite pirate undertakes seems to turn to awesome (or rubble. It's 50/50)
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Gaelle Courant - Posts: 3465
- Joined: Fri Apr 06, 2007 11:06 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 7:16 pm
Tiber's in this one?
More like, who isn't in this one?
"Fight, Cyrus! Fight!"
EDIT: Lady N, you're suggesting things I'm already writing before I write it. Stop dreamsleevin'.
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Charlotte Henderson - Posts: 3337
- Joined: Wed Oct 11, 2006 12:37 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 8:59 am
A battle royale in space with Altmer, Cyrus, and Tiber Septim on the Moon? Whee! I wanted to see the moon battle.
Never did see the fight from the original thread.
Never did see the fight from the original thread.
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maya papps - Posts: 3468
- Joined: Mon Aug 07, 2006 3:44 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 2:40 pm
[img]http://images.uesp.net/6/6d/Lore-race-Altmer.png[/img]
Looks like he is holding a sword to me.
Looks like he is holding a sword to me.
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Stacyia - Posts: 3361
- Joined: Mon Jul 24, 2006 12:48 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 4:57 pm
EDIT: Lady N, you're suggesting things I'm already writing before I write it. Stop dreamsleevin'.
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QuinDINGDONGcey - Posts: 3369
- Joined: Mon Jul 23, 2007 4:11 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 2:03 pm
I don't see you writing nothing. I don't mind if you steal use my ideas, but now you're just sitting on them.
...
Challenge Accepted.
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Trevor Bostwick - Posts: 3393
- Joined: Tue Sep 25, 2007 10:51 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 7:14 pm
Ooo, a lore joust.
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Johanna Van Drunick - Posts: 3437
- Joined: Tue Jun 20, 2006 11:40 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 6:37 pm
I don't see you writing nothing. I don't mind if you steal use my ideas, but now you're just sitting on them.
Tiber up in it now, as God intended. Scroll up, infidel.
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Marlo Stanfield - Posts: 3432
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2007 11:00 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 12:56 pm
Tiber up in it now, as God intended. Scroll up, infidel.
***
Ach, get out from there, laddie. You’re under the cat’s clamdesk again. Thorpe’s just near the same out in the alley. Chamberpotted him to wake up, so I’ve got none for you. We need to move. Dunmereth’s a long way from here and I’ve decided not to use the Pass. We’re going through it up the gut instead. I’m not taking any chances, even if it means lizards.
***
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Louise Dennis - Posts: 3489
- Joined: Fri Mar 02, 2007 9:23 pm
» Wed May 02, 2012 9:39 pm
***
Ach, get out from there, laddie. You’re under the cat’s clamdesk again. Thorpe’s just near the same out in the alley. Chamberpotted him to wake up, so I’ve got none for you. We need to move. Dunmereth’s a long way from here and I’ve decided not to use the Pass. We’re going through it up the gut instead. I’m not taking any chances, even if it means lizards.
***
Ach, get out from there, laddie. You’re under the cat’s clamdesk again. Thorpe’s just near the same out in the alley. Chamberpotted him to wake up, so I’ve got none for you. We need to move. Dunmereth’s a long way from here and I’ve decided not to use the Pass. We’re going through it up the gut instead. I’m not taking any chances, even if it means lizards.
***
...
...woman.
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Dan Wright - Posts: 3308
- Joined: Mon Jul 16, 2007 8:40 am
» Wed May 02, 2012 2:38 pm
...
...woman.
...woman.
Can't stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen.
(Your sandwich will be ready in just a minute)
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Adrian Morales - Posts: 3474
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2007 3:19 am
81 posts
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