It was all supposed to get better after the Oblivion Crisis?

One Year after Martin Septim saved Tamreil from the pending Daedric doom; the elder council declared that the fourth era had begun. Celebration swarmed the streets; hope filled the air like the smell of honey on a warm summer's day. Unity, perseverance, and faith held the empire together as it began to rebuild. But, the economies of the provinces had been worn thin by the crisis, and the Elder Council couldn't make effective decisions because of mixed interests. Reconstruction was slow, agonizing, and setback after setback prevented there from ever being a full recovery.

About ten years after the beginning of the fourth era, it was decided that the elder council could not rule Tamriel effectively, and it was decided a new emperor needed to be coronated. High Chancellor Ocato was the obvious first choice, but in a surprising move he turned it down and retired from political life. The Champion of Cyrodill was also quick to turn down the throne, also retiring to a life of peace.

After about 2 years of searching, 2 candidates for the throne were put up: Xavier Rex, A skilled Imperial councilman who had a fought at the battle of Bruma and took Ocato's place as high Chancellor, and Terimas Servan, a Dunmer lord who had been a political figurehead in all of Tamrielic affairs for nearly one hundred years and had become a living political legend.

What had become quite apparent to the people of Tamriel, though, was that whoever they chose as their new emperor was going to show bias to their race in where the scarce funds for rebuilding would mainly go, despite the leaders saying of "Equality and fairness in reconstruction funds". So the election came to a split: Cyrodill, Hammerfall, and Skyrim supporting Rex and Valenwood, Morrowind, and Summerset supporting Servan. High Rock had become so split politically over the election the Orsimer actually seceded and formed the province of Orsimium. With Blackwood and Elswyer showing a neutral vote, the election came to a standstill.

Then the day that would change it all came. Hearth Fire 14, 4E 13. Everyone knows where they were when they heard the news Servan had been murdered, and since Rex was the only candidate left, he was emperor. The elves were enraged, claiming it was a setup by the imperials to get their man in the throne. Riots and violence began to break out amongst the elves and the men. The newly crowned emperor renounced the elves violent behavior and insisted that they would be treated fairly.

To no ones surprise, Cyrodill got most of the promised gold for reconstructing, with a badly beaten Morrowind getting the least. Morrowind, which had experienced a devastating riot in Vivec from a mysterious cult, was furious from the lack of support. They demanded help or they would secede. The emperor did not grant the help. Morrowind seceded from the empire in 4E 15.

Tension grew even higher between man and mer, with the beast races becoming more reclusive as tension grew. Elswyer closed off its borders to immigration to stop the massive inflow of people into the province to avoid what was obviously the beginning of conflict. Black Marsh began to attempt to get rid of imperial missionaries so it would not appear as though they were supporting them. Black marsh also became a haven for argonian refugees who did not want to be caught up in the current events.

The powder keg exploded between man and mer in 4E 21. In order to streamline decision making, the emperor disbanded the elder council and made himself the only decision making man in the empire. The Altmer, Bosmer, and Orcs joined with Morrowind in secession and created the Empire of Mer, with the remaining provinces held under the emperor's flag. The empire threatened the mer with war if they did not rejoin the empire in 1 week. In this week, both sides amassed a large army, both knowing how this was going to turn out. Both sides expected a quick, decisive conflict.

The mer struck first, going straight for the heart of the beast: the Imperial City. The empire, expecting this, had amassed their army at the city and met the mer forces at the gate. What was expected to be a quick, decisive battle lasted 10 long years. The war itself would last 150.

One hundred and fifty years of brutal war. Entire generations were wiped out in the conflict. Cities were reduced to rubble in the battles wake. It was terrifying. While at first, the war helped the weak economies of both sides, eventually the prolonged conflict put them into even further debt. Both sides had reached a bloody stalemate, and neither side was showing any signs of surrender.
The Empire soon began to show a deep mistrust of the mer, and created the "Loyalty Clause". This document was given to any elf who was still a member of the empire, and stated that "They would renounce their elven heritage and become a full standing member of the empire." It would force them to change their elven name to a more common imperial name and, in a sign to show they were allied with the empire, snip the tips of the loyal elves ears, making them appear more humanlike and rounded.
Most elves refused this, and were sent to "loyalty camps", which were intensive labor camps that built weapons and armor for the imperial war machine. The elves were forced to live with very little food, intense working conditions, and were often subject to the local guarding camp garrison's brutality. Many elves died before they spirits finally broke and the signed the loyalty clause. As soon as they signed the loyalty clause, any prisoner of these camps was set free. But many refused, holding on to their elven heritage. The mer army knew about these camps though, and would oftentimes raid the camps to free their elf brethren trapped inside.

Then, the last ten years of the war became the bloodiest. Morrowind launched a surprise assault on Skyrim and forced it to surrender. They then tried to launch an attack south on Cyrodill from Skyrim, but the badly outnumbered blades at Cloud Ruler temple were able to hold off for over a year against the superior force before they were finally rooted out. This gave the emperor time to move out from the imperial city in secret and into the Hammerfall capital of Sentinel. The elves had gathered a massively large force of most off all four armies to stack the imperial city. At first it seemed like an easy victory for the elves, but what they didn't know was that the imperial city was a trap, and that the real army was waiting to surround them. The army of the empire pulled off their trap without a hitch, and had surrounded the elven army and after a massively bloody battle, the elven army surrendered and was sent to prisoner of war camps. The next 8 years of conflict the now very superior army of the empire rooted out the elves one province at a time, until they finally surrendered and joined the empire again.

Even after this, nothing got better. Almost every major city had been ravaged by the war. Then the great winter came, and most of Tamriel's crop was killed in the bitter cold that lasted almost all year. The economy was totaled by the war, and reconstruction came to a standstill. Hundreds of soldiers were left unemployed by the war's end, so many turned to banditry.
The Major Cities of Tamreil were left in ruin, much like Kvatch was during the oblivion crisis. Only a few of the very large cities, such as the imperial city, were still recognizable. Even the imperial city, though, is a shadow of its former self. The walls are collapsed, much of the city is in ruin, and only the Statue of Akatosh and the white gold tower remain recognizable in the city. Small towns with only a few tents for houses have become common in the empire, since staying in one place is oftentimes the most dangerous thing you can do.
The Elven states were left in even further disrepair. The empire, because of the fact the mer had been their enemies for 150 years, decided it was best to punish the elves for, according to the emperor, "Starting the war". The elves were outraged, but had not choice to accept. Now, almost every elven city is a giant ruin, infested by monsters. And the Elven provinces have become a burnt, war-torn landscape. Many elves have become wandering nomads, or have tried to rebuild the ruins of some cities. Many elves are forced to, much like mankind; live in sewers to avoid the bandits and monsters.
Black marsh and Elsweyr were not exempt from this doom because of their neutrality. Oftentimes fires started in the warring provinces would creep into the Beasts country and continue to grow there. Now, even Black Marsh and Elsweyr have become a charred, bleak landscape, with many cities burnt down. The Kajiits panicked at this, and many abandoned their homeland. Mostly only tribal Kajiits remain, fericly loyal to their home. The Argonians, on the other hand, quickly adapted to their condition, and many of the tribal Argonians are just as efficient hunters in the burnt forest as they were in the swmap. In fact, some of these Tribal warriors have become some of the best fighters in all of Tamreil, and have become quite popular as guards for caravans to Hammerfall.
Only 1 province was able to stay intact after the war, and that was hammerfall, where the emperor, Octavious Rex, now resides. The cities have become overpopulated, with the poor refugees living in extreme poverty and the rich living in extreme wealth. Sentinel, the now capital of the empire, has expanded 3 fold the size of what it once was in order to accommodate the rapid population growth. People from almost every province will attempt to make the perilous journey to hammerfall, often guarded by fighter's guild members. Still, few rarely make it there because of constant bandit attacks and ambushes by ferocious monsters.

Soon hundreds of bandits scoured the landscape, raiding small settlements and stripping them of food and gold. It became a huge issue, to the point the empire attempted to put the legion in charge to stop it. But this didn't work. The bandits had the legionaries outnumbered in numbers, and soon the legion was at the brink of destruction. The once beautiful Cyrodill had become a burnt, bleak landscape. The other provinces were left in a similar manner, even neutral Blackmarsh and Elswyer. The imperial city's white gold tower stood tall above the cities broken walls and rubble. Many citizens of the imperial city had resorted to living in the sewers to avoid the dangers of life above ground. Still, life in the sewers was hard. Monsters had become more common, and every day the populace is fighting disease, monsters, and even sometimes each other.

It is ten years after the end of the Great Civil War, and Civilization as we know it seems on the brink of anarchy and destruction. From bandits, monsters, and harsh conditions, civilization barely clings on. So, in secret, a group was formed. They were known as the Guardians. Guarding what is left of society from threats, they are the best warriors in all the land. They are few in number, and extremely reclusive, but they are among the best warriors in all of Tamriel. Guarding over society as a whole, they eliminate threats to society using their skills as assassins, warriors, or mages. Then, once the threat is eliminated, they disappear. As some say, they are Tamriel's "Guardian Angels" As more and more things threaten Tamriel's doom, these warriors' numbers seem to dwindle. Now, they are out recruiting new men and women into the fold, for they fear something else, something menacing, is on the horizon of a bitter new dawn.


*****************************

RULES
1. NO UBERING
2. PM ME ALL CHARACTER SHEETS!
3. ROMANCE IS ALLOWED, NOTHING GRAPHIC THOUGH
4. NO CHARACTER CONTROLLING WITHOUT OTHER PLAYERS PERMISSION
5. HAVE FUN!

CHARACTER SHEET TEMPLATE (Not a mandatory Character sheet, but its a template I'll provide if you want to use it) PM ME ALL CHARACTER SHEETS FOR MY APPROVAL. ONCE I HAVE APPROVED THEM THEY CAN BE POSTED ON THIS THREAD.

Name:
Race:
Gender:
Age:
Class:
Class Skills: (Morrowind or Oblivion style, either will do)

Physical Description:
Eye Color:
Hair Description:
Hair Color:

Current Clothing/Armour:
Current Weapon:
Other Posesions:

Bio:

Personality:

Current Location:

Other:

Start sending those character sheets if your interested! Have Fun Evewryone! I'll post my character later today, along with an opening post.

EDIT: Character posted

Name: Varus Indoril
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 72 (Equivalent to 35 in human years)
Class: Warrior
Class Skills: Long Blade, Medium Armor, Armorer, Block, Athletics

Description: Varus is a tall, thin Dunmer, standing at 6'2 and weighing only 160 pounds. His skin is an ash-blue color, much like the native Dunmer of Morrowind where he was born. He has short, black hair and sharp, thin facial features. His eyes are small, transfixed usually in an "1000 yard stare".
Equipment: Traditional bonemold armor (Excluding the helmet) With an ebon long sword given to him by his parents, bearing Dunmer architecture and his name written In Daedric on the blade.

Bio: Varus was born in Ald-Ruhn with an older brother and two loving parents. His brother, Haven, was 10 years older than him, and became quite close to Varus. It was no secret that there was a war going on in Tamreil, so being an Indoril family, their father trained Haven and Varus to be warriors so that they could fight to liberate the mer from the oppressive empire. Haven took to combat quite well, but Varus didn't want to fight. He couldn't see why the man and mer hated each other so. In Varus's eyes, man and mer were more similar then they were different. But, nonetheless, Varus learned how to be a warrior in the Dunmeri style, and was sent off to war.
Varus went to war with his father and brother at his side. They were part of the invasion force that attacked the imperial city in the second battle of the imperial city. The battle went off without a hitch, and soon the city belonged to the dunmer. But they didn't know it was a trap, and soon they were surrounded by the imperial army. The battle that ensue was very bloody. Varus, his father and brother were in the market district when the imperial army attacked. Varus remembered the screams of war tha filled the air, the smell of death haunting his every move, and the fires in the city illuminating the bleak night. Varus fought t the best of his ability, but was greviously wounded by a Redgaurd who left a large gash in Varus's chest. Before losing consciousness, Varus watched helplessly as his brother and father were killed.
Varus awoke later to find the city deserted, his wounds mysteriously healed, leaving a large scar on his chest. The imperial army was gone, and Varus painfully buried his brother and father outside the city gates. He then went back to Vvardenfell to find Ald-Ruhn burnt to the ground and his mother dead also. The empire had taken everything he knew away from him. The surrender of the Dunmer was another blow to Varus's pride.
For the next 10 years, Varus became a broken shell of a man. He wandered Tamriel in an attempt to find some way to avenge his family, his people, and his honor.

Personality: Once a happy, cheerful man, Varus is now a bitter man. He wanders in loneliness with his horse, Valour, across the continent. Although the empire killed his family, he does not hate them. He realized long ago he was the weapon of destruction to the men that that redguard was to the mer. He, rather hates ignorance and hatred toward the dunmer, and any man who blindly hates his people without reason is worth nothing in his eyes. Sometimes he helps small villages, but rarely stays long and almost never makes any friends in the settlement. Varus is determined, as long as he breathes and a blade in his hand, to find some sort of peace of mind.

Wow. This is a really, really good storyline!
Going edit this post later (write in character sheet)

Swift-Blade, I added a couple pre-made potions to Ceglai's inventory, because I realized I hadn't before. If this is gives him a bit too much, tell me and I will edit them out.

Name: Ceglai
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
Age: 34 (looks 19)

Class: Bandit Medic
Class Description: With all that raiding and pillaging, a group of bandits can get pretty roughed up. Every good band has a medic to patch them up afterwards. The healer's ability to keep the band healthy gives him a special position among the band; few want to cross him, and everyone will protect him when things boil over. Ceglai, in particular, relies heavily on his expert skill with alchemy, both for healing his comrades and hurting his enemies.
Class Skills: Alchemy, First Aid, Marksmanship, Sneak, Light Armor, Tracking, Some Armorer

Physical Description: Ceglai wears his Bosmeri blood loudly and proudly; the best word to describe his appearance is "wild." He is small, quick, and agile, with sharp facial features and a slightly wild cast about the eyes. His skin is heavily tanned, and he usually smears mud, ash, and alchemic pastes on himself for camouflage.
Eye Color: Hazel, almost yellow
Hair Description: Dark brown, and just long enough to look wild, reaching just past his chin. He keeps hair out of his eyes with a strip of leather.

Current Clothing/Armour: His current apparel consists of whatever armor he could find on raids. He has a leather cuirass, rough leather boots, a fur left glove and mithril right, one steel right pauldron, and a pair of greaves that look to have been stitched together out of chainmail and wool. A leather band keeps his hair out of his eyes.
Current Weapon: A wicked bone longbow and a quiver of 25 arrows. He also has a steel knife at his belt that he uses for cutting up his kills.
Other Possessions: He wears a waterskin on his belt next to his knife, and a pouch on the other side that carries flint, steel, maps, and 341 gold. Tied next to that is a beaten repair hammer and a vial of Restore Health potion. He keeps his alchemy equipment in a leather shoulderbag that is lined with expensive Frost charms to keep his animal-based ingredients cold. He has a small stone version of each of the four apparatuses, and various ingredients, including a couple rare Daedric ones, dearly bought. He also has a couple ready-made potions in his bag (3 of each): Restore Health, Damage Health, Burden, Resist Disease, Light, Chameleon, Water Breathing, and one poison that both Paralyzes and Damages Health.

Bio: Ceglai's family was part of one of many rebelling against Imperial rule in the Colovian region. When Ceglai was little more than a toddler, his family was captured and sent to the nearest "loyalty camp." There, the young boy was put to work cleaning chimneys and sewers with other small, nimble children. From a young age, he experienced abuse and maltreatment at their hands. As he grew older, he was taught the armor- and weapon-making skills that were expected of him, but showed little aptitude or enthusiasm for it. His parents continued to resist the 'Loyalty Clause', and instilled a similar cultural pride in their son.

As Ceglai grew into adolescence, his mother caught one of the plagues that regularly decimated the elven camps. Determined to help her, he snuck into the officers' wing and stole food and potions for her. He was later caught and flogged for being a suspected thief, but nonetheless saved his mother's life (for the moment; she later died of injuries sustained). In defiance toward his overseers, Ceglai grew determined to learn medicine himself. He used any free time he could to teach himself alchemical and first aid skills with anything he could gather together... including human parts. By the time he was 20 (equivalent to about 13) the injured and ill of his compound regularly came to him for help, preferring his unskilled but honest hand to the Empire's camp healers.

When the Empire of Mer finally surrendered at the end of the Civil War, Ceglai refused to bow to those who had negligently killed his family and friends. He broke out of his compound and fled into the wild with a handful of other escapees. There, they met up with other rogue mer, and formed a band. Ceglai raids with them still, wreaking his revenge upon the Humans for the life he'd endured in the loyalty camp.

Personality: There is no doubt that Ceglai's youth in the loyalty camp left its mark on him. He is an angry young mer, often to the point of brutality. He does not respond well to authority, and generally detests anyone with round ears. However, beneath the rough, slightly unstable exterior, he is violently loyal and dislikes needless suffering. He is far from the caring, nurturing kind of healer, but nonetheless will volunteer his services if they are necessary, even if it's to an enemy or only to give someone a quick death.

Current Location: Along the road from the Imperial City to Hammerfell, intercepting caravans with his band.

Other: Ceglai adheres strictly to the Green Pact, even outside Valenwood. For him, it's a matter of cultural pride. He even refuses to use plant ingredients in his potions, much to his teammates' frustration.

VERY great plot, I say! I really want to see where this will be going (and try influencing, too )

Name: Fedris Gils
Race: Wood Elf
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Class: Acrobatic
Attributes: Agility, Endurance
Class Skills:Acrobatics, Blade, Block, Marksman, Security, Sneak, Speechcraft

Physical Description: Looks quite skinny, average height.
Eye Color: Dark blue night eyes. A glint in them.
Hair Description: Tied in a rogue knot. Flies about wildly when running or fighting.
Hair Color: Black hair

Current Clothing/Armour: Huntsman Vest, Huntsman Leather Pants.
Current Weapon: Elven Bow, 25 Silver arrows, steel dagger.
Other Posesions: Water skin, leather belt for dagger. Boar meat and locket.

Bio: Fedris was one of the very few Elves who managed to escape from the Imperials grasp. His parents had already died in The Civil War. Strangely he was not affected by his loss, he just accepted it. After escaping he lived in the forest for a while, hunting and living a rather peaceful life. There were some instances when the Imperials would come, but Fedris easily hid from them.

Some time later the Imperials were searching the woods once again. But then they were attacked by such deadly force. After the Imperial soldiers were slaughtered Fedris came out of cover and warned them not to attack. The raiders turned out to be a group called the Guardians. Fedris did not know this, probably because he had stayed away from Civilisation for so long. They asked if he wanted to join. Fedris thought about it and then agreed. He was excited to help return Civilisation back to Cyrrodil.
Fedris got packed and said goodbye to his old life and welcomed his new life as a Guardian. Although the group of Guardians left him to make the journey himself. To test hi,.

Personality: Cheerful fellow, enjoys to keep busy and good at following orders. Very social but can often daydream at some points. Also loves to train with his bow.

Current Location: Travelling to meet the rest of the Guardians. (sorry didn't know what else to put there)

Other: Loves wildlife, adapts to the forest and can survive for years in one.

Admitted! YEAH :woot:

Name: Apoc Dres

Race: Dunmer (Dark Elf)

Gender: Male

Age: 200 (Appears to be 30 to 40 years old)

Birthsign: The Atronach

Class: Warmage

Class Skills: Destruction, Alchemy, Heavy Armor, Block, Longsword, Tactics, Speechcraft

Class Description:
The warmage is the lesser brother of the battlemage. Although the title sounds intimidating, warmages are not more powerful than battlemages, they are just different. Warmages combine the endurance of the warrior with the destructive strength of the mage.

Profession:
Mercenary, former member of the Imperial Legion (Trooper) , former member of the Great House Redoran (Lawman).

General Appearance:
Apoc is what he actually looks like: a battle-hardened mercenary. He is build like a soldier should be built: strong and tough, and although his strength is surpassed by the brute strength of an Ork or a Nord, he looks like he can take a few blows, if they are not critical hits…
As both of his parents were pure dunmer, he is no exception to their appearance. He has the typical grey-blue tone of his skin and has red eyes. There are several ritual tattoos on his face, and he tends to have a grim expression. He also has lots of scars which on his chest, which he’s not proud to show.

Hair: Grey

Eyes: Dunmer Red

Height: 1 m 79 cm (about 5.8 feet)

Weight: 80 kg (about 177 pounds)

Psychological Profile:
Apoc is an open minded and serious person that supports rational thought over instinct. He a very social person considering the circumstance that he is a dunmer. It takes a lot of time and effort for gaining his total confidence and friendship, though.
Apoc prevailed in every battle he ever fought (he didn’t WIN actually every battle), while his friends and comrades died by his side. That made him brave man that has seen a lot in life, more the average soldier could withstand psychically.
The dunmer is not particularly aggressive, but sees violence as an alternative and sometimes even more effective way of finding or creating solutions to problems. This doesn’t mean he would approve a suicidal mission. When it comes to missions, he proved to be very loyal to his “customers”.

Weapon:
Just a steel longsword he grew very fond of, since it accompanied him the last 5 years. It was passed by a good friend of his, who died in Battle.

Clothing / Armour:
Apoc wears dark blue Pants and a common shirt under his grey robe, which is slightly more expensive than his other clothes and has a hood. He wears two brass Rings on each Hand (middle-finger) and an enchanted Necklace with a healing spell on it.
Apoc always wears a pair of fine steel Boots and a steel gauntlet on his right hand. He wears a fine steel towershield on his back, giving him the possibility of defending himself in a more effective way if there is a surprise attack. If there is enough time to prepare himself for a proximate battle (not surprise attacks nor imminent fights), he puts an iron cuirass an a left ebony pauldron on.

Other Gear:
Apoc has an advanced Kit of Alchemy, 2 healing, 2 magicka and 2 fatigue potions. He also has 1 enchanted scroll with a strong fireball attack and 1 fortify Endurance potion. Apoc has 50 septims in his goldpurse.

Biography:
Apoc was born in Silgrad Tower. What made him so open-minded was mainly his education. Being raised by their parents (both Dunmer and exiles form the great house Dres), who where high members of the Imperial Legion, he learned the way of the warrior and his high curiosity for destruction magic and alchemy made him a respectable Battlemage.
He enrolled in the Imperial Legion, but after receiving the letter of the “Loyalty Clause” (his parents accepted these ridiculous conditions) he refused to take orders from the imperial legion. That made him a deserter, and Apoc was forced to hide for a few years in Ald`ruhn, where he joined the great house Redoran. Ald’ruhn’s destruction didn’t intimidate him enough to stop serving in his faction, in which he stayed for more than 150 years. The dunmer proved to be a loyal and formidable battlemage with a great sense of leadership. During the years he was entrusted more risky and big missions. He ended his relations with the great house Redoran when, in a big fight, he lost his best friends in the same mission.
By now he considered himself as a Warmage, more specialized in prolonged and massive fights than on skirmishing. 5 years ago he took advantage of the dire situation Tamriel is now and offered his service as a mercenary or bodyguard.

Abilities:
Having served under various lesser Kings and Landlords as Captain of their armies, Apoc developed an instinctive sense of preservation and survival skill on the battlefield. He was a former Battlemage, but the responsibility of keeping his subordinates alive taught him to act more defensively and precautious towards their enemy. He grew stronger with his ability of holding lines against a massive amount of enemies, inspiring his own troops and intimidating his foes. He is also always perceptive of his environment, knowing what would serve for him and his allies’ advantage or disadvantage. Since he cannot just stand by seeing his comrades falling in Battle, Apoc often aids them with his own made potions, which he also uses to enforce his own destructive magic skills, given the handicap of his Birthsign.

Extra Notes:
Apoc can make explosive potions, but now he has none and also no means to make them.
His birthsigns favor is also flawed. Unlike others born under the sign of the Atronach, he doesn’t have that much more power than he should have. He tries balancing it out with his potions.
Apoc has a great believe in justice and loyalty. He will always try to do things the “right” way.
He has also proven to be a natural leader with a great sense of responsibility and leaderhip, not only in battle, but also in the process of making difficult decisions. With his tactical skills, he showed more than once that fighting foes and surviving while outnumbered or overpowered is possible.

Current Location:
In a road somewhere between Skyrim and High Rock, on his way to the remains of Evermor, trying to find the next step to Hammerfall.

Varus, 7 AM

Varus woke up to a bleak, yet cloudless morning in the hills north of the imperial city. He got up off of the burnt grass that he had gathered to make a bedroll and stretched. He had become accustomed to sleep in his armor, since he had very few other possesions that his armour and sword. Most of his belongings and clothes were burnt in the fire that consumed Ald-Ruhn. he shuddered to think about the painful site of his home gone. He picked up his sword from underneath his pillow and put it in its sheath. the, Varus took the pillow and put in his pack, which wieghed about 20 punds and had 4 days rations, a pillow, potions, and a flute. He had always loved playing that flute, even from a young age. But while in his youth he used to play happy songs, not they are mostly sad, reflecting the burden he still carries.

After gathering his things, Varrus turned southward to see his destination: The imperial city. The once beautiful white gold tower stood bleak burnt in the dawn, as the emerging rays of light illuminated the City's ruined walls, burnt homes, and broken buildings. Now all that was recognizable was the tower and the Dragon statue of Martin Septim, which had somehow recieved no damagein the cities 2 seiges. Maybe it was out of respectt for Martins sacrifice, maybe it was out of fear of if the statue fell, the daedra would return. Or maybe it was something magical about the statue itself. Varus did not know what it was, and frankly didn't really care at the moment.

Varus turned around and saw his horse, slim from lack of food, sleeping nearby his makeshift bed. He walked toward the horse and gently shook the horse to wake him up. It awoke slowly and stood up, neighing as it did so. Varus didn't even bother to take the saddle off the horse, and realized that the horse would probably die soon also. but, that didn't faze Varus. He was no stranger to death.

Varus mounted the horse and rode toward the city, which seemed like for many a last hope of survival in a bitter new dawn.

Apoc, 6:30 AM

Wether Apoc was in Skyrim or in High Rock, id did not really matter anymore. The past century changed the warmages idea about regions and races. Everything was now blurred, there were no real borders now, except of the natural ones, which seemed to have changed a bit too, he thought. The atmosphere reminded him of his homeland, Morrowind, speciffically about Vvanderfels volcanic and dry land.

The Dunmer was escorting a rather large group of people looking for shelter in the next big city, Evermor, with the help of other mercenaries. He counted like 150 people, men and mer in equal numbers. They seemed so vunerable and helpless that Apoc could just not refuse their poor offer of 300 septims for escorting them all the way to the next city. He knew there would be trouble and that the number of casualties would be quite disturbing, for they were advancing at a too slow pace and, as an adittion to all their problems, the numbers of blight infections were increasing too quickly. It was a race against time.

Not only that, but the hostile enviroment seemed to have surprises of its own. Just like a natural reaction as a skilled tactitian, Apoc skanned his surroundings to see where beasts could be or, even worse, smugglers and raiders could hide for an ambush...

The only good thing about this issue was the fact that thanks to this nearly suicidal mission, he survived. The townspeople traveling with them had enough food to spare for him, and guars and horses helped him carry his guear, although he preferred having his cuirras permanently equipped, witch was hiding under his robe, just in case situations worsened. Life shure is not easy these days, this anonymous letter I got telling me to join "The Guardians"...this is somewhat disturbing, but I think I'll play along. I wanted to travel to Sentinel anyway...he thought, while taking a large gulp of the cheap wine he found somewher he cannot remeber.

Ceglai, 6:30 am

It was dawn on the Black Road. The sunlight landed over the bleak expanse of ash and kindling that had once been the Great Forest, where only a smattering of the hardiest trees clung to life among their dead and broken brethren. The tumbled ruins that had once been Chorrol lay somewhere to the north-west. The Black Road itself bore signs of wear and poor upkeep, but had nonetheless survived better than other roads in Cyrodiil. All routes to Hammerfell had survived better than others.

Huddled in a clearing just off the road was a refugee camp. Four white tents huddled together in a circle, its inhabitants beginning to stir with the morning light. Six horses grazed nearby, tied to what had once been a broad tree trunk. A firepit had been thrown together the night before, now grown cold.

There were two kinds of people on the Black Road. The first: those who sought to escape the ravaged ruin of Cyrodiil for the more prosperous land of Hammerfell... the kind who weren't quite sharp enough to wake at first light. The second: those who woke well before dawn to take advantage of the first.

If any of the refugees had been awake, they might have seen movement among the blackened trees around them. But none of them were awake, so the fourteen mer closing around the camp like a noose went unnoticed. No one heard the soft creaks of leather armor, or the shuffle of quivers. No one smelled the tang of poison being applied to blades and arrows with spare bits of cloth.

Ceglai hunkered low on a dead limb, his eyes and bow trained on the quiet camp below him. His face was smeared with ash and mud to help him blend in; his mismatched armor was similarly smeared. Below him, he could see his long-time comrade, Gendil, pocketing a vial of the poison Ceglai had made. Every member of the band had been provided with one; the materials--venison and fish scales--were easy enough to acquire, so he was able to mix enough to bring down an entire camp of hapless refugees in seconds.

The Bosmer nocked a poison-tipped arrow, then waited for the signal.

There was a cry of "Long live the Mer!" (that would be Ferdinand, an Altmer who took Mer supremacy a bit too seriously), and the dawn air was filled with the twangs of bowstrings. Arrows flew through tent flaps and tore through canvas. A moment later, nine of the bandits burst out of the scarce brush, throwing their bows aside and drawing their weapons even as they ran.

Ceglai loosed another arrow into a tent and then jumped out of the tree to get closer, wanting a bit of the fun for himself. But even as he landed and crept closer to the camp, he felt that something was wrong.

Usually, when they performed these early morning raids, the victim camp would be alive with startled cries and screams of pain right now. But this camp was distinctly lacking such sounds. A moment later, he saw why.

Instead of seeing sleepy refugees bursting out of the tents, armored forms stepped out, their weapons drawn and shields already decorated with the bandits' arrows. Even as Ceglai drew a bead on one of them, more armored forms emerged from the forest around them. It did not much matter whether these were Fighters' Guild, Legionnaires, mercenaries, or something else entirely... they were armed, armored, organized, and outnumbered the bandits two-to-one.

"It's a trap!" one of the bandits cried, and Ceglai had to agree.

The Bosmer alchemist whirled as the nearest one--a hefty Nord wearing steel amor--bore down on him with a mace. Ceglai curled his lip in a snarl, and released the arrow right into the vital point at the man's throat (at point-blank range, it was difficult to miss). The man gurgled a cry and jerked back, probably feeling the burn of the poison as much as the suffocation.

Hopefully, it would kill the dirty round-ear quickly.

Ceglai pulled another poison-treated arrow from his quiver and looked around. His comrades were being routed; Gendil's corpse lay mere paces away, cleaved nearly in two. All remaining bandits had forgotten any plans about raiding and turned to thoughts of escape.

Ceglai winced as more of his comrades cried out, loosing another arrow into the fray, and then another. But then, the fighters began noticing him. Ceglai was suddenly aware of just how small and outnumbered he was. As much as he hated to see the men and mer-traitors prevail, he knew when to call it a loss and run.

He loosed a final arrow and didn't draw another. Instead, he jumped into the foliage and snuck around to where the horses were still tied, yanking his knife from his belt as he went. He could hear pounding footsteps around him, looking for the last of his band. Ceglai managed to reach the horses without incident and swiftly cut their ties. As the spooked animals bolted in a thunder of hooves, Ceglai hopped onto the back of one of them and clung tightly to its mane.

He had his alchemy equipment and his bow with him--returning to the empty bandit camp would do nothing but get him gutted. Instead, he clung to the horse and rode, escaping the carnage behind him. In the distance ahead of him, he could see the blackened spire of the White Gold Tower.

Woot, approved. I edited the sheet a little Swift-Blade, nothing major.

Sheet

Name: Nathaniel Durgoh (Pronounced Durgo)
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Class: None
Class Skills: Speechcraft, athletics, blade, sneak, security.
(Do you want out of game? If so.) Lying. Yeah, lying. biggrin.gif
Physical Description: An average height and a fit build. Thin eyebrows and a light stubble.
Eye Color: Dark Green
Hair Description: Black, messy and cut halfway down his neck.
Hair Color: Black.

Current Clothing/Armour: Knee length leather boots, loose white shirt, black vest, breeches.
Current Weapon: Steel Shortsword
Other Possessions: A few gold coins, a small bird shaped wooden doll.

Bio: Nathaniel was born and raised on a small island in the Abecean sea. It was a dank, dreary place and Nathaniel soon got bored of it. While he did live on the island he had many friends and his family treated him well. But Nathaniel was a liar, a born conman. He could convince almost anyone to follow his lead or do something for him, this soon got Nathaniel in trouble, and his parents, the political leaders of the island threw him to the streets like a mouldy sack of potatoes. Unwanted and un-liked.
Nathaniel soon found himself aboard a fishing boat that had stopped at the island for supplies before heading back to Hammerfell. Nathaniel enjoyed his time at sea onboard the boat, feeling the gentle breeze on his skin and being beneath the perfect blue skies was a nice change for him, and he loved it. When he and the small crew arrived back at Hammerfell, Nathaniel rented a room at an inn by the sea. His ears slowly filled with the news of what had happened in Tamriel of the past few years. He was shocked and stunned by this news, over at his island home none of this news had ever reached him. Over the course of the next few years Nathaniel stayed in the inn and eventually got a job there. He has lived there ever since.

Personality:Although years of lying and deceiving have made Nathaniel quite the untrusting fellow, years of working at the Oceanside Inn have made him quite calm and he has developed quite an uncanny sense of humour. (I hope I siad that right)
Current Location: An inn in a small ocean-side town in Hammerfell.
Other: None

As Kilan finally awoke to the loud croaking of the floor, the tapping of feet below, Kilan gets up and gets his pack ready. After his small breakfast, He starts to take a stroll outside.
As he was pacing along the fence of the aleswell fence borderhe notices a wounded imperial guard slowly trotting along. on a weary horse. Looking like he was going to die Kilan rushed up to te soldier with his healing potion in hand feeds half to the Guard and starts bandaging the wound. after a hefty sum of 150 gold for service, he goes on his way.(current gold 160 Septims)

Now sitting on the fence of Aleswell close to the road, He starts to once again daydream of travel with a caravan.

Name:Guillaume de Bergerac
Nickname: Guy
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 21

Talents:
Despite all his faults, Guy has received a classical education and is a well read and sometimes intelligent individual. Most of his skills however are physical. Guy is potentially a talented swordsman though his lack of experience holds him back greatly, he can also ride and, to a certain extent shoot a crossbow.

Appearance:
At 5,9' Guy isn't unusually tall, nor is he very bulky instead rather thin and wiry though surprisingly fit and healthy thanks to a passion for hiking in the hills around his father's manor. Classically pale and blue eyed, Guy is a model Breton and it's was quite obvious that he once lived comfortably. Now though, the once finely dressed young man is looking decidedly ragged as the stresses and strains of his new life are introduced to him.

Personality:
Guy, was raised from a young age on tales of great heroes and evil villains. This has stuck with him through to advlthood and he holds very strong ideals about life and chivalry and his place as the son of a noble. Unfortunately, Guy doesn't fit into his own vision of the world. An untested soldier, behind his bravado and delusions of nobility Guy is a bit of a hothead, the only time he has ever gotten into a fight was in a bar where he nearly killed a drunken farmer. Not quite the flawless hero of the fiction then. Guy hides from this reality by lying, (according to him the farmer was actually abusing one of the barmaids although nobody else backs up his claim.)

History:
(Would prefer not to give away the actual history so is this alright? Also this is by no means an intro post... more of a prologue)

“Well?”
The voice was nervous, hesitant to disturb.

Guillaume turned slowly in the direction of the merchant; a short, fresh faced Imperial, barely older than Guy himself. The man's face openly displayed the same mixture of fear and impatience that could be found on merchants all across the world when they first hired a new guard. That wariness that comes from not being exactly sure whether the person in front of you is going to rob you or save your life. Guy smiled warmly at the Imperial who started slightly before trying to smile back. He had him! All he had to do was name his price.

Guy folded his arms, glanced back at the caravan to try to conceal his elation at his first contract in weeks and made thoughtful grunt. It was cheesy he knew and the merchant before him was probably fairly sure that the Breton mercenary was putting on a show but that didn't mean that it wouldn't help and it certainly couldn't hurt his pay.

“It's a fine stock you have there, I should think it'll sell for several thousand once we reach Sentinel...”

“So..?”

Guy, still half turned from the merchant fixed a poker face before facing the Imperial, the man was very slightly taller than Guy, more heavily built too, although wasn't hard. What the Breton lacked in height and weight however, he made up thanks to the absolute confidence with which he carried himself, a certain posture and fluidity of movement that suggested to any potential client that he knew far more about his job than the hefty Nords and Orcs that seemed to dominate his chosen profession.

“How about we say a tenth for the journey there and the same if you want my services on the way back.”

“No deal.” The words came out strongly, Guy sighed inwardly, you could always trust a merchant to grow a backbone as soon as his profits were at stake. “I don't do percentages, I'll give you 150 each way”

“500”

“... 200”

Guy repeated his offer, knowing just as well as the merchant that standard mercenary fare for the journey was 400 septims... on the other hand, he couldn't afford to waste his first opportunity for a job in months.

The merchant narrowed his eyes, it was clear he was really in his element here.
“350”

Guy hesitated for a second, genuinely considering taking the man's offer. The imperial picked up on this, now a long way away from the nervous, overawed client from mere minutes before, now he was the Employer.
“Paid on arrival, my final offer.”

Guy nodded slowly, careful not to let the other man gain too much dominance. They shook hands.

Weapons:
Guy still carries his trusty steel sabre which he has had since his time in Daggerfall.

Armour/Clothing:
Guy is currently dressed in a leather vest, worn over the top of a coat of chainmail and black trousers. On his feet he wears a worn pair of leather boots, they appear to be quite old although seem to be holding up quite well.

Misc. Items:
A signed contract from one of the caravan merchants, promising him a selection of goods and or money equal in value to 350 septims for his work as a bodyguard. (Redeemable at the end of the journey.) Also a pack that contains week's worth of emergency rations, some simple care and maintenance equipment for his weapons and armour, a bedroll and a couple of flints.

Current Location:
On the road to Hammerfell, escorting a Merchant Caravan

OOC Bsparrow hope you don't mind if I make your mystery men into Legionaires?

Guillaume, 6:30am

All around him the caravans were getting ready to leave, there must have been 20 different merchants as well as a small army of escorts, to a man armed to the teeth, and a gaggle of poorer traders and refugees who, unable to afford a proper cart, carried what they could in the saddle bags of their horses or just on their backs. From where he stood, leaning against his client's cart which was one of the few ready to leave on time, Guy took in the entire jumbled mess. This was a true trade caravan, nowhere else could you experience such a confusion of organisation and efficiency. He noticed his client angrily shoving people aside as he made his way back to the caravan. Attilus Trupto, that was his name, Guy felt he needed to remember it. The more informal their relationship remained, the less likely it was that Attilus would decide to treat Guy like some of the other helpless attendants who now scurried around, making last minute additions to the cart's load.

“Ridiculous!”
Attilus seemed even angrier than he looked as he brushed past Guy, making no effort at a greeting as he leapt up into the back of the cart. Guy vaguely remembered the Imperial going off to speak to the caravan master about a leaving, apparently it hadn't gone well.
“We won't be leaving for a while, apparently we're still waiting for the Legion contingent to arrive from Hammerfell, Talos only knows why. Bastards are probably installing toll points, knowing the way they operate, and then I'll be put out of business. They'll be charging at least twice what I paid you for my safety.”

Guy remained silent, smirking at the merchant's fury, which was only increased when, a short distance from the cart one of the workers that Attilus must have been paying to load up his caravan dropped a crateful of what, judging from the smell that was coming from the shattered bottles, could only be local Cyrodillic Brandy.

ooc- Evil_Pigeon: I was hoping someone would make use of them. And I hope you don't mind if I impose myself on you, as you're in my path, as far as I can tell.

ic-

Ceglai, 6:50 am

The Bosmer let out a Dunmer curse as the chestnut horse he'd liberated turned onto the old stone bridge that led to the Imperial City. He'd always liked the Dunmeri curses best; they all sounded so contemptuous.

He had always disliked riding horses on principle (his ancestors had never had need of horses!), and this ride had thus far done nothing to change his mind. He was sore from all the bouncing, a little queasy, and had no idea how to steer it or make it stop. The horse was without saddle, reins, and whatever else horses usually had, and instead only had a single rope around its neck--the one Ceglai had cut to free it. He wouldn't have had any idea how to drive it, even if it had been properly equipped.

And so, the Bosmer was left bouncing along at the horse's whim as it galloped surely toward the island in the distance. Apparently, it was well acquainted with the path, and knew where shelter and food was most likely to be found.

Of course, the ruins of the Imperial City were also crawling with people who had much anger to take out on a lone bandit. A lot of people with a lot of anger. There was a reason Ceglai's band tried to go after small, less defensible caravans.

"Nchow!"

The horse crossed the bridge, and Ceglai caught sight of a large caravan in the process of packing. As he spotted the many, many armed guards, he gave a panicked yank of the rope. The horse swerved and kicked, throwing him clean off, and continued on without him.

He tumbled onto the cobbles, rolling to keep bruising to a minimum. His bow clattered across the road ten paces away, and his alchemy shoulderbag overturned, spilling vials, bottles, apperatuses, and ingredients all around him. One of his Light potions dashed against a rock and burst open, filling his immediate vicinity with a bright flash. He was momentarily blinded, but nonetheless scrambled to stuff his alchemy supplies back in his bag.

He was alone, crouched on the road with nothing but a belt knife, and looking very much like a bandit in front of a well-protected merchant caravan.

Suddenly, Dunmer curses just didn't seem like enough.

Varus, 7:10 AM, A Tavern nearby the Imperial City

Varus stood outisde a tavern placed a bit outside the imperial city. The tavern was called, apparently, "The Travellers Rest", or at least at one point. Now, the sign was burnt and beaten, only "T.e Tra..ller..R.st" was legible now. the outside of the tavern seemed in a similar condition: parts of the tavern seemed like they were put back together in a hurry. It was sloppily reconstructed too, with simple boards of wood crudly covering holes in the wall. Varus began to even wonder if the door itself would open. But, Varus was presented with and opporitunity with this tavern: he could restock on supplies here. He checked how much gold he had, and counted 15 pieces. That could get him 2 days of food, a drink, and leave him... 8 gold to spare? After quickly doing the math he nodded, knowing that was probably the right amoung of leftover gold.

Varus hearda sound to his right of what sounded like faintly a man yelling at something. Turning to his right, he could see a large caravan far down the road, apparently trying to clean up some sort of mess made by one of the mercenaries while the imperial man continued to yell. With the large guard around the caravan, Varus was guessing they were probably carrying something important. They may even make it all the way to Sentinel. Of course, he could guess they would lose quite a few men in the process from consistent bandit raids.

Varus turned his attention back to the tavern and walked inside. The inside was as patchy as the outside, with small rays of sunshine penetrating the building through small holes in the rotted wood of the place. The patrons were almost as bad as the bar, ranging from beat down, rag wearing civillians to armoured, boisterious, and strong warriors, probably bandits. A legionare wouldn't be caught dead eating in here.

Varus approched the bar and slammed his palm against the bar, landing with a loud crack. the bartender turned to reveal a poor imperial man, dirty from weeks without a shower and clothes reeking of alchohol. He looked at Varus with a bit of suprise, and then disgust.

"What would you want in here?" He said coldly, putting emphasis on you to show his distaste for the elven people. He couldn't really blame him for it though. He was probably raised with that hatred. As his kind had been raised with a hatred for men. Some of the racism of the war had diminished, but there was still a considerible riff between elves and men most places you would go.

"2 days rations and a drink." Varus said, placing 7 gold coins on the bar. The man looked at them and then looked back at Varus, the disdain still in his eyes.

"For your kind, It's gonna be 10 gold." The man said. Varus sighed, not wanting a fight, gave the extra three gold. the man turned around and gave him 2 rations and what looked like the worst tasting drink he had. "Now get out." The bartender said.

Varus got up, and as he was walking out the door, one of the muscular bandits got up and snatched his drink out of Varus's hands. the bandit threw it against the wall and spat on Varus. "All this is the elves fault! All that grass was once green and now its black, because your kind burnt it all!" Varus, still not facing the man, stopped. He herd the sound of a sword getting pulled out of its sheath. Varus slowly turned around, seeing ashort, yet muscular imperial man holding a dwarven made longsword. His ead was bald, yet he couldn't be older than 30 from the looks of him. Hie eyes burned with hate for the elf, and his wide mouth was downturned in a scowl. His leather armour was worn by what looked like alot of use by the man's banditry.

Varus looked at the man, not intimidated by his agressiveness, "and you don't think your people did the same thing to Morrowind? the empire burnt down my house, killed my family, and took evrything I knew away." Varus said coldly and calmly, "With that in mind, you can try and justify the empires actions towards me, but I know you cant." Varus turned around to walk away when the man grasped Varus's shoulder and spun him around to face the man again, then shoved him away.

"Your kind don't even deserve to exist!" The man yelled. Varus looked at the man mencaingly, "I could say the same about your ignorance."

The man snapped, yelling and rushing towards Varus with his blade. The bandits technique was crude and untrained, making it easy to tell what he was going to do. Varus Quickly sidestepped the clumsy blow by the bandit, then grasped the bandits neck and sword arm. Twisting the arm with all of Varus's strength, the man howled in pain and dropped the sword. Then, Varus Ran threw the bandit at the door, the weak door collapsing from the force of the blow. The bandit staggered outside, disoriented by Varus's throw. Varus drew his sword and strode towards the man. As the man turned around and looked in terror at varus, Varus lifted his blade and quickly brought the hilt down on the mans forehead, and the man crumpled to the ground nconcious. It was better he learn a lesson about the elves then actually kill him.

Name: Dhar Al-Ghazi
Race:Redguard
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Class: Knight
Class Skills: Blade, Block, Blunt, H2h, Heavy Armor, Illusion, Speechcraft

Physical Description: A little taller than the normal Redguard. Long legs make him tall, and he is a fast runner and jumper when he is unarmored.
Eye Color: Pale orange
Hair Description: Straight and short, but not bald. His hair is just long enough to move it into different postitions.
Hair Color: Dark brown.

Current Clothing/Armour: Mithril plate full armor in battle and in raids, and a quilted doublet with green felt linens and sandals when he is not in battle.
Current Weapon: Mithil longsword.
Other Posesions: His horse, named Zarik, clad in full barding just like Dhar (Mithril).

Bio: Growing up in the outskirts of Sentinel, Dhar hated all mer. He was told to hate them, tought that everything they did was unjust. Dhar had to live with elves in his childhood, and always fought with elven children. He even killed an elf one day,when Dhar was pinned on the ground and surrounded by three elves. He found a dagger lying on the round behind his head, he reached for it, grabbed it, and stabbed an elf in the chest. It wasn't long at all until the body fell limp to the floor, and the other two elves ran. From there on, Dhar hated mer and all owned by them. Not because he was tought to hate, but because he swore that he would one day rid the mer that trouble the earth. Even the good elves deserve to die, he does not show mercy to any elf, but is loving and compassionate to all men,women, and childeren of the Empire.
Another day, when Dhar was 22 and was gathering berries for his tribe and family, he met a man named Belanus. Belanus described himself as "the leader of the best horseman in Tamriel". Dhar had never ridden a horse except three or four times, but Belanus offered him excellent chainmail armor ,a horse, a place to stay, and to be accepted into the Hammerfell Raider Clan. Dhar abondoned his family (He later regretted the decision) and joined the Raiders. Within two years, Dhar became one of the best horseman and raiders of the Clan. He now is one of the better horseman out of 800 men, and now leads a group of 30 heavily armed and armored horseman, and 10 cataphract horse archers. How can the clan afford this armor and weaponry, you ask? Pillaging. Looting. Terrorizing. Everyone of those, Dhar has taken place in.

Personality: Although Dhar is pretty good on his own, he is always very cautious of people, things, and even himself. He doesn't see what he does as "evil", or "bad", he recognizes it as "good for the clan and community".

Current Location: Just south of Sentinel.

Other:

Dhar, 11:00 AM

Dhar looped the pale green thread around his finger and tugged it off his pant leg. He threw it into the fire pit, it's coals still glowing hot. So was he, he was glowing red hot with anger, seeing men die and mer live all over. Four clanmates had been killed in the previous raid yesterday evening, a raid on a tiny camp southwest of Sentinel. The clan (The Hammerfell Raiders, that is) had moved a little east since then, and hadn't encountered any resistence. Most of the raiders were clad in chainmail with steel longswords and black, dark purple, or white cloth turbans, each man having his own horse. His section of the clan was better, though. Dhar was leader of a group of 30 heavy cataphracts armed head to tow with mithril (same for the bardings on the men's horses) and silver longswords. 10 other men in his group owned bows instead of silver longswords, but had the same armor and barding.

Dhar got up out of his crouch to go talk to a clanmate, Varen, over near the tent with the armor and weapons. He was one of Dhar's better friends, and second in command of Dhar's battalion. Dhar almost spoke, when suddenly he and Varen both saw something move through the stream to their left. Then, Dhar noticed movement above the stream, in a bank of trees.

Then, they heard a familiar sound, one that could either save their live or end it. One that would better the clan or batter it. And one, they were not fond of at all yesterday evening.....


OOC- Just a quick start, give another thing later. Just to grab the reader into the story.

Apoc, 17:30

It was quiet, almost too quiet. Apoc told his second in command to stop the caravan immediately. He felt something was terribly wrong about the ruins of Evermore. They were still quite far away, but the city, or at least what was left of it, seemed to be…dead. What was it that caused Apoc so much worry? There! He thought, not a SINGLE light, not a SINGLE smoke column. No fireplaces in Evermor? He started to think the worst.

“What keeps us waiting for so long? You better have a damn good reason for this, Elf!” Apoc turned around and looked up to an imperial merchant on a horse. Expensive clothing, golden ring, arrogant look and sarcastic smile; yes, this one is that has given him this disgusting job of escorting the refugees to Evermor. The middle aged man looked at him with anger and dismounted from the horse. “We have been travelling for more than ten long days in which I had to suffer back sores and the smell of Elves and their disgusting blight! I want to know WHY we are stopping now, only 3 miles away from Evermor, and I want to know it NOW!” His face went red with fury, he was shaking and his voice went from a menacing scream to a shrilling noise.

Apoc wanted to answer calmly, only to be interrupted by his second in command, Gauras, a strong built Breton. “Captain, I did the inspection you ordered me: five people died from the blight, two of them were our men.” Apoc turned to him, trying to ignore the panic attack the imperial was about to have: “The other three?” “One altmer and two imperials.”Apoc could smell the fear and anger emanating out of the merchant. “The rumors about the elves being responsible for the blight are growing sir, there is an obvious tension between both groups”, the Breton proceeded. Apoc could hear the shouts of hatred and despise behind him. Gaulras report was rather optimistic. “Curse those elves! Why did you even bother letting this pack of blight-bearers travel with us?! This is going to cost you half the money we accorded to give you! You Elves are all the same! More disgusting than filthy rats!” The screams of the imperial merchant were getting incomprehensible, he was literally punching Apoc on the chest, like a spoiled brat.

Suddenly a deep, menacing howl suspended all the shouts and the merchants yelling, which was followed by an aggressive silence. This was too much for Apoc to take. He turned with a sudden and quick movement to the merchant, who had shrunk to a miserable pose, and grabbed him firmly by the shirt. “Listen carefully, N’wah!” he hissed to him, while looking with a dead serious face at his eyes, which showed nothing but utter fear.” That is the sound of slow and painful death! Do you want to land as food of beasts? Because I warn you, if a hear a SINGLE more complaint of what and how I am doing things, I will, and let me get this clear, I WILL use you as a decoy for those beats!” Apoc was glaring at him. The Breton and some other mercenaries and refugees heard what he said, and twitched as the warmage turned towards the caravan.

“The next person, I don’t care if Elf or Man, that starts a fight and puts the rest in danger will follow this big-headed coward” he shouted in a rude voice, pointing at the merchant. “I want all men capable of fighting on the outside of the caravan! Women, elder and sick people and children have to enter chariots or at least be in the center of the caravan. We continue our march, twice as fast this time! We are moving to Hammerfell! If there is ANYONE that does not agree with those terms, leave now and rot!” His voice was strong, rude, but not brutal. It inspired utter loyalty to his decision, and the caravan started moving with renewed energy.

Let’s hope that fear keeps them strong enough.

OOC: Sry for bad english...

Forgot about this sorry!

Fedris was hiding in the woods when he noticed a merchant cursing at a man. He watched to see if a fight broke out. Not normal people...
After the soldiers threat Fedris carefully walked out of the woods and held his hands up.
He bellowed, "Soldiers! I mean no harm, my name if Fedris Gils. I am a wood elf, and I am one of the few who managed to escape the Imperial scum."
The soldiers looked at Fedris startled.
Fedris then added, "I am here to help you cause! I am very skilled with a bow and quite agile. Please let me help!"
He waited for an answer. Please say ok...

OOC: Albo it's your people by the way. I'd rather go together with some one sooner, rather than later

"Please let me help!"

This surprised Apoc, a lot. How did this young Bosmer survive in such a hostile environment? He reacted quickly in his mind. Either it’s a trap to lure us out and attack us off guard, or this fellow is speaking the truth, he thought. He could be of use, seems like the most adequate scout, compared to the regiment that my command. I don’t know if I should play along. Better be careful with him. He should get to know him better by watching his reactions..

“Come closer. I want to see you right in front of me. I see you have no bad intentions, you can put your hands down.” Apoc himself took a few firm steps towards his direction, but before that, he whispered to Gaulras, his second in command:”Stay alert, I don’t like this, but I might also be wrong…”

He smiled politely: “Help is always welcome, and you might come handy. What is your name, young man?” After that he made a slight change in his
look, which said:

You better not trick me, or else you won’t have time to regret it.

OOC: Thank you for your first step and sry for delay. I smell great roleplay now

Fedris sighed in relief and said, "My name is Fedris Gils, I have lived in the forest for years now. I adapted to the conditions but I feel that the world should be at peace again. So if you give me any order, I will obey it."
He walked over to the men, I hope they are nice.
Fedris then explained, "The Imperial are searching everywhere now, they strike down what resistant remains. We should team up together and strike back. Maybe people will help us. Oh and I almost forgot, what's your name?"
Seems like a nice guy.

OOC: Going to make longer posts when there is less speech

What in Azuras name is this elf saying?

Fedris attitude unnerved Apoc a bit; he really did not know how to react to his question. I AM impressed by his surviving skills, if he says the truth. He seems to be really naive. However, the warmages face did not twitch a bit. But what unnerved him most is what this Bosmer said. Imperials hunting refugees? Was he referring to the legion? Or did he mean imperials like the whiny merchant?

"My name is Apoc Dres" he finally said, in a calm and serious tone, "but, what's more important, what are you talking about?" Without even letting his look out of Fedris go, he spoke out loud:

"Gaulras, tell our men to wait for some time." The Breton turned around and gave the orders.

He seems pretty harmless, but I want to be 100% sure what he is really planning?

Fedris noticed the Nords suspicion.
"Ok this is what happened to me: I was going for my daily jog in the forest when I noticed Legion soldiers chasing a Nord. The Legions eventually caught up with the Nord and knocked him out. They took him back to the city, I don't know why. I've seen a few other instances like this before, but different races are being caught now, so it's not just one race in particular. When I was captive by the Legion before I escaped, I saw different races being dragged by the Imperials into a chamber. I don't really know what happened to them. But once I'm sure I saw an Argonian get dragged into the chamber and then a few days later I saw it wearing armor and serving the Legion. I really don't understand it, but I don't plan on finding out."

He's telling the truth. Still, I think he's missing the point of something?

"Gaulras!" He shouted. As the Breton turned around, Apoc gave his back to Fedris, intentionally, just to see how he would react. He had his second in command and trusted him enough. He will see if this Elf is trying something shady."Tell our men that we will move on shortly, I have to tell this young fellow something."

He paused for a second, and then, proceeded, with an inquiring voice: "What do you see in front of you?"

He nodded towards the caravan, a large snake built of charts, horses, guars, the pack animals of morrowind, and people, lots of them. There were imperials, nords, Bretons, dark elves (also known as the dunmer), wood elves, known as bosmer, high elves, which are also called altmer, redguards, argonians , khajids and orcs. All of them in the same shape: Hungry, tired, ill and demoralized.

"What do you see?"

OOC: @ Iain Mc: be careful! the Dunmer race is the race of the Dark elves! My char is a Dark elf! I wrote the other names so that you wont get confused. I am sorry but I started my TES expirience with TES III: Morrowind, where elves where actually called that way (Dunmer, Bosmer, Altmer). Oh and btw: dwarves were called Dwener. Sry again for not telling. I edited my char sheet so everbody knows