Black Gold : The Elder Scrolls Series Discussion

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 6:55 pm

3E431: The Raven Rock mine on Solstheim runs dry. The East Empire Company is unable to find another source of ebony East of Cyrodiil, and their revenue stream is cut in half. The East Empire Company begins to decline.

4E16: A Huge Ebony Deposit is found deep underground, east of the Red Mountain; it is believed to be huge, and such an aquisition could bring the East Empire Company back to its feet. The Zainab lay claim to the ebony, as it was found in ther territory. The East Empire Company hears of the discovery, and immediately apply to the Elder Council for the deeds to the land. They are reffered to Duke Vedam Dren, who refuses their claim.

4E17: Duke Vedam Dren is assassinated, his killer never caught. His successor, Duke Reydin Zareth, takes his position. The East Empire Company requests the deeds once again, and the new Duke tells them "As long as the Zainab reside on that land, you will never see an ounce of that ebony."

Later that year, the East Empire Company employs a large Mercenary outfit, and their forces gather covertly around Zainab territory. Unbenknownst to any outside the Company, their forces prepare for war...

You are to take part in this struggle for ebony, as either an officer of the East Empire Company, a Zainab Ashlander (or clanfriend), part of the comany's mercenary outfit, or of Duke Reydin Zareth's forces. Fight for honor, money, and peace, or die trying.

Here is the Map: http://www.uesp.net/w/images/images.new/2/24/MW-map-Great_House_Influence.jpg

Character sheet format

Name:
Race:
Gender:
Apparent Age: (Elves Only)
Actual Age: (How old you really are)
Birthsign:

Skills: (Not necessarily those in the games, just whatever you're character is good at)
Armor/apparel: (No Ebony or Daedric, excluding the Zainab who can have lower quality Ebony Shields and Chestpates)
Unique apparel: (Jewlery, etc.)

Weapons: (No Daedric. Ebony reserved for high level mercenaries and lower quality Ebony in the Zainab's speartips and axe blades)
Equipment: (money, food, etc. If you have a horse put it here)

Faction:
Rank: (Include Rank Description)

Physical Appearance:
Unique Appearance: (Scars, Tattoos, etc.)
Mental Description/Personality:
Short Bio:

Faction Sheet (for Military Factions only)

Troop Total:

Troop Description: (Break Down Troops into Subcategories, including number of each. For Example: Light Infantry (700) Armed with leather armor and steel broadswords)

Rules
1. No Ubering/Character controlling.
2. No one- or two- liners.
3. Keep OOC to a minimum.
4. Be realistic in timeframe. Messengers may take days to reach their destination and return; armies cannot cross the continent in a week.
5. My word is LAW. Disobey and your mutilated body will be tossed into the Red Mountain.
6. Any new sheets must be PMed to me for approval.
7. Some characters may ranks higher than you in your faction. Listen to them, or they may puish you for insubordination.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 6:35 pm

forrest gump951

Name: Markus Crass
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Actual Age: 49
Birthsign: The Ritual

Skills: Markus is an exeptional Diplomat and Negotiator, but what led to his promotion so high in the Company is his ability to manipulate and scheme for the interests of the Company. He has also been trained in the craft of swordplay, which he has used on occasion in honorable duels.
Armor/apparel: Fine Linen shirt and pants, and a nice Burgundy coat he wears on occasion.
Unique apparel: He wears an exquisite jeweled belt with a sheath for his sword.

Weapons: Markus carries a fine, polished silver longsword with a jeweled hilt. He wears it mostly as a fashion item, although he knows how to use it well.
Equipment: Carries around a hundred Drakes with him, and has a White Horse name Amwil.

Faction: East Empire Company
Rank: Vvardenfell Regional Director; he directs all major aquisitions and other Company interests in Vvardenfell.

Physical Appearance: Markus stands 6' 2", with ligh skin and a decent amount of muscle mass. He has long brownish-black hair and a goatee. He looks a bit like http://www3.telus.net/st_simons/Count%20of%20Monte%20Cristo.bmp, but his hair's a bit shorter and not as well kept.
Unique Appearance: One scar across the right side of his chest, from an honorable duel with a Redoran Noble.

Mental Description/Personality: Markus is a businessman, an deviates little from that mindset. He has few friends, no close family, and the only person he confides in is his butler, a middle-aged Redguard named Flint.

Short Bio: Markus Crass was not born into high society. He was the son of a ship captain, and began his work for the Company at age 22, working on a shipping route from Morrowind into Cyrodiil. At age 34, he tracked and eliminated a band of Nordic Pirates who had taken a few of their ships, and was given command of the shipping route.

Markus now works in the Vvardenfell division, and as Regional Director is in charge of all Company interests in the area.

Zalphon

Name - Zalphon Broodikus
Race - Dunmer
six - Male
Faction/Rank - Clan Zainab; Ashkhan
Age: 23

Eye Color - Red
Skin Color - Gray
Hair Color - Black
Hair Length - Down to his shoulders

Armor - Bonemold Armor (Nah-julan Helm)
Weapon - Ebony Longsword, Ebony Shield
Misc.: 500 gold, ten healing potions

Biography: Son of the Ashkhan, Zandros Broodikus, he quickly rose through the ranks. When he became Ashkhan he decided it would be best to use the ebony for his own clan. As an Ashkhan he is a brave warrior, yet he is young and somewhat naive. He views the words of the wise woman as the words of his ancestor, as he views the wise woman as ancestors who have come to assist the ashlanders...

VyingApprentice

Name: Karrul
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: 30
Actual Age: 60
Birthsign: The Steed

Skills: Marksmanship, Tanning, Short Swords, Light Armor, Athletics, Fletching, Alchemy
Armor/apparel: Self-Made Netch Armor. Glass Gauntlets.
Unique apparel: A ring enchanted to heal, with 10 charges.

Weapons: Bonemold Longbow. Chitin Throwing Knives (10). Steel Wakizashi.
Equipment: 50 Chitin Arrows. 10 Bonemold Arrows. Two Potions of Healing. 100 Gold Pieces.

Faction: Zainab Tribe
Rank: Hunter/ Soldier, and also trains others who want to learn marksmanship.

Physical Appearance: Exactly six feet tall. He's growing a gruff beard, and has his hair done into a ponytail. His body's lean, and his face is craggy and rough.
Unique Appearance: He has a tattoo of a cliffracer on his back, in memory of the fierce predators.

Mental Description/Personality: Karrul is a jovial person, and quick to laugh. However when he is angered, or feel he has been wronged.

Short Bio: From the day he could use a bow, Karrul has been hunting. Using his
spoils to make more supplies for him to hunt with has made him very
self-reliant. When he was 10 he killed his first Cliff Racer, and used it's skin to create his first set of leather armor. His parents died while on a trip too Tel Vos, and he was raised by an Imperial who hunted around the Zainab camp area. The hunter taught him all about the creatures of Morrwind, and the art of alchemy. The hunter still, however, emphasized that life is about living and happiness. So he's free with his money, and will buy a round of Ale at a tavern on him and is quick to laugh.

Scatmang Cornlioni

Name: Tarick Vespasian
Race: Half Imperial Half Nord
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: (Elves Only)
Actual Age:46
Birthsign: The Mage

Skills: Speechcraft, Illusion, Blade, Martial Fighting, Reading
Armor/apparel: Usually wears a dark brown linen outfit, but dons heavy leather with a light sheet of iron over it when he goes into battle.
Unique apparel: A large fang hangs from his neck on a silver-lined gold chain, and he claims it to be a dragon's.

Weapons: Long walking stick, and a sturdy steel hand-and-a-half sword.
Equipment: (money, food, etc. If you have a horse put it here)Three flasks, two with water and one with rum. Wide-bladed dagger he uses for back up if separated from his sword. A pouch hanging from his belt filled with two loaves of bread, a tomato, and three apples.

Faction: Neutral
Rank: (Include Rank Description)

Physical Appearance: Tarick appears to be an old man of seventy or eighty, but this is because he walks hunched over, and bears a large gray beard. Age lines and scars mark his face, and his eyes are a steely blue-gray, his hair short curly and gray.
Unique Appearance: (Scars, Tattoos, etc.)
Mental Description/Personality: Tarick is a very interested person, and he traveled the land far and wide just to meet the different peoples and cultures. He is forgiving, and he hates raw evil and war.
Short Bio: Vespasian was raised in Hammerfel by his foster parents, both Redguards. At the age of twenty, he went off into unknown lands to fend for himself. When he was thirty, and living in Skyrim, he heard news of his foster mother's death. Heartbroken, he left his life in Skyrim and began to travel the lands. After exploring Black Marsh, he went into Morrowind to discover an entirely different and strange variety of cultures and customs, and his troubled mind was lifted into a brief time of relief.

He met Zalphon Broodikus, and his father Zandros, the ashkhan, two years ago. He made great friends with the both of them, and made plans to spend the rest of his days wandering with the Ashlanders.

Faldom

Name: Drolbash "Bash" Gro-Malice
Race: Orsimer
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: N/A
Actual Age: 33
Birth sign: The Steed

Skills: Though he usually fights on a mount nowadays, he is initially a heavy melee combat tank.
Armor/apparel: Massive Adamantium suit of armor crafted in Orcish design, off the battlefield, he wears a tan vest, brown cloth pants, and black leather boots.
Unique apparel: A white medallion carved from the bones of a minotaur lord he claims to have killed by himself.

Weapons: A large Ebony broadsword, almost a cleaver in thickness. While mounted he uses a long ebony war spear.
Equipment: He carries a decent amount of Gold, carries several luxuries including cigars and whiskey, and rides a large black armored war horse.

Faction: Mercenaries
Rank: Leader of the hired Mercenaries

Physical Appearance: Bash towers over most standing a little more than two meters tall. He is built like a true warrior should be, broad and bursting with muscles.
Unique Appearance: His body is tattered with scars and random tattoos and most of them he can't remember getting.

Mental Description/Personality: A quick tempered violent Orc that used to be fairly heavy drinker. Also, he hates the East Empire company and their officer's involvement. Most of his leadership skills are based on intimidation

Short Bio: Bash was scooped up from his home at a young age and placed into the Imperial Legion, after a lifestyle of hard training and hating his superiors, he was placed on the frontlines, almost every mission he went on was a suicide one, and he dealt with his stress by abusing alcohol. One day it became too much and he deserted.

He spent a few years solo free lancing as a mercenary until he decided to start his own company. After his company gained renown they began getting hired by the Empire, eventually becoming an almost permanent part of the Imperial Legion, doing the dirty jobs the Imperial Legion refused to touch.

Faction Sheet

Troop Total: 1000

Troop Description: The first nine hundred men are a merely a group of rough men with probably questionable backgrounds, they all have a decent amount of experience other than a few new recruits, they're arms are low grade, iron and leather mostly.

The last hundred men are Bash's hand picked best men. They are armed with mid level equipment and are skilled, experienced, hardened soldiers.

Lord Dren

Name: Iakan Yorec
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: 32
Actual Age: 89
Birthsign: The Shadow

Skills: spear, short blade, medium armor, destruction, marksman, conjuration
Armor/apparel: Gah-Julan Bonemold Cuirass, Gah-Julan Bonemold pauldrons, bonemold greaves, bonemold gauntlets, bonemold boots, boiled netch leather helm
Unique apparel: Ring of Shadows(Invisibility for 2 minutes)

Weapons: silver spear, steel crossbow, throwing stars,
Equipment: a bag of drakes, and some sun-dried basil in a pouch

Faction: Merc for the Eastwood Company
Rank: Mercenary(Basically anyone of clerk rank or higher can command him.)

Physical Appearance: Iakan is rather nimble, largely built Dunmer. Having spent most of his life amongst the ashlander outcast tribes, he is well conditioned for the harsh terrain and sketchy situations where food is scarce and one most fast for weeks at a time. Dark blue greyish skin, ruby red eyes, and a bald head
Unique Appearance: tribal tattoo's running over his scalp and face. The symbol of a man who's endured plenty amongst the ashland wise women.
Mental Description/Short Bio: Iakan can be cold at times. A life of poverty and despair can do this to a young Dunmer boy. However, having moved away from the ashlands at 22, he's found life more enjoyable with each passing year. He's worked as a mercenary for most of his life - finding his skills with a spear and bow useful in the real world of well-paying nobles and diplomats. This has made Iakan a bit greedy and with greed comes paranoia. It doesn't take much to find his dagger held firmly against the lump in your throat. But he has weakness. Perhaps it's better to be safe than sorry all the time...

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 2:26 pm

"Markus," the man said, handing Markus a letter. "The Stewards on the mainland are getting impatient with the Vvardenfell division. You guys aren't bringing in enough money."

"And what would they have me do about it?" he asked hastily.

"Just read the letter. It'll explain everything."

"Tell the Stewards," Markus said as he began opening the letter. "That I have discovered a new aquisition that will nearly double our revenue stream. I just need a bit of time." Markus sat down at his large desk; near the front of it was a polished marble slab which bore the inscription: "Markus Crass, Vvardenfell Regional Director." He pulled out the letter and began reading:

Director Crass,

The Board of Stewards writes to notify you of your division's declining rate of income, and the possible consequences thereof. For the last two fiscal years, the East Empire Company has recieved less-than-acceptable revenue from our Vvardenfell division. We do not doubt your knowledge of this, but we wish to inform you of the possible consequences should this downward trend continue.

In accordance with the East Empire Company Tenet no. 32-E, any division with income rates of less than 50% of the accepted rate are subject to closure by the Board of Stewards. This previous fiscal year, the Vvardenfell division returned 48% of our accepted rates. The Board has, unfortunately, voted that unless the Vvardenfell division returns at least 125% of our accepted rates by the en of the year, it will be closed, and its employees' contracts terminated. The Board has also decided that should such a closure take place, you will not be offered a place in our corporate headquarters, nor any of our regional offices.

You have seven months to return the aforementioned amount, or your division will be closed.

Chairman Augustus Fey,
Board of Stewards.

Markus put the letter down on his desk, his eyes staring out into the wall in front of him. He had always done his best for the Company, and now he could lose everything. This new aquisition, the ebony deposit in the Zainab territory, was his last hope for redemption. He needed this now, and Markus had no qualms about displacing the Zainab.

"Sir?" a smallish voice came from his doorway as a young, limber man stepped in. "You called for a messenger?"

"Yes, yes I did," Markus smiled now; he knew that his plans would work. "You are to go to the Zainab Camp, East of the Red Mountain and some ways south of Vos. You are to find their Ashkhan, and read this," he handed the messenger a letter. "Aloud with everyone listening. Afterward, you are to find Drolbash Gro-Malice to the west of the camp, and tell him the Ashkhan's response. He will know what to do."

"Yes, sir." The messenger took the letter and left; Markus was still smiling behind him.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 3:51 am

Fear was the first feeling that hit me when I was told the East Empire Company was looking to get at the ebony mines in Zainab land. I knew very well the reputation of the E.C.C., and the Empire in general. Why couldn't they just leave us alone?

I hoped to the Nine Divines they didn't do anything drastic, like assault Zainab territories. There was nothing I could do now but wait, and ready myself for war if the need arises. I already had a feeling something would happen, and the E.C.C. would probably come out on top, with superior numbers and funds.

I opened my eyes, and looked at my surroundings. Scrolls, books, parchments, inks, pens, clothes, and all other kinds of items were strewn about my tent. Dark splotches marked spots I spilled drinks, mostly alcohol. A desk stood a foot away from my knees, from my position in my bedroll. A half eaten scrib jerky sandwich was what looked like fused to a dusty book.

Smiling at my cluttered and messy area, I stood to my feet and exited the tent into the hot sun. Blinking furiously, I tried to stop the explosion of pain that ripped into my eyes, and I finally realized how dark it was inside my tent. My pupils must have been the size of my fist.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 9:16 am

Bash's eye open slowly and grudgingly. The sunlight strains his eyes as a hangover pounds his head like a hammer. I haven't been drunk like that for years. Bash couldn't help but feel guilty for drinking, but the money his company would be bringing in from the East Empire Company was well worth all the celebration of last night. Bash rolled out of his hammock and slipped into his clothes. After popping a cigar into his mouth, grabbed his broadsword, and stepped out of his tent;walked through his mens encampment.

As Bash strolled through the camp, men inferior to Bash stood on their feet in honor. Conversations stopped and attention was turned to him. Several high ranking officers approached him asking questions about everyday things. Mostly questions of approval to follow through with simple management. Bash hollow mindedly answered yes to all matters, as his mind was not focused on such trivial matters. He was focused on the greater task at hand.

Bash kept walking until he got outside the camp. From their he walked up the hill directly east of the camp. When he reached the top he took a big puff from his cigar and threw the butt on the ground and smothered with his foot. With the same movement he put another cigar in his mouth and lit it up. As Bash took another deep puff from his cigar he looked over the horizon and saw his goal of destuction. The Zaniab camp.

As Bash mentally prepared himself for Genocide, he knew all he had to do was wait for the messenger.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:23 am

OOC: This aint dead is it? I rlly liked my char :[

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 3:56 pm

Lets give Zalphon time

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 3:39 am

OOC: Zalphon is currently... unavailiable. So he is PMing me his posts.

IC: The Ashkhan sat in his yurt, with the wisewoman saying to him politely, "Zalphon, you must be aware of the Imperial Traders, I warn you about them, because I fear for our land."

He replied kindly, "Do not worry, Wise One, if it comes to violence, I shall lead our men to victory, I shall serve as our general, my Gulakhans shall serve as my captains."

The elderly ashlander woman sighed, "Zalphon, you are a great ashkhan, but you still have much to learn, one day you will be as great as your father."

Yes, my father was the greatest Ashkhan to ever serve Zainab.

He walked out of his yurt and shouted, "Clanfriends, Hearthfriends, all of my ashlander brethern, heed my call, get your weapons, get your armor, be prepared, Brothers, my Gulakhans shall serve as my captains, and we shall defend our land if we must from the Imperial Kwama!"

The Wisewoman put her palm to her face and walked to her yurt. The ashlanders spoke amongst themselves, nervous, and yet ready.

"Our men shall fight bravely, our women will mend our wounds, we shall have the spirits on our side against the treacherous house dunmer and the bloodthirsty imperials," barked Zalphon.

The ashlanders cheered. Zalphon returned to his Yurt and sat meditating, praying the ancestors would help.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 1:36 pm

OOC: I'll edit this into a post, but to zalphon/forrest, aren't the House Dunmer trying to help the Zainab? That was my first impression, my apologies if I'm wrong.

I didn't even have to change into my armor; I had slept all night with it on. Zalphon exited his yurt and charismatically spoke, "Clanfriends, Hearthfriends, all of my ashlander brethern, heed my call, get your weapons, get your armor, be prepared, Brothers, my Gulakhans shall serve as my captains, and we shall defend our land if we must from the Imperial Kwama!" A good, short, and to the point speech. Perhaps lacking in depth, but we didn't have time for depth, I supposed.

A very disappointed looking Wisewoman sighed and walked away, probably back to her yurt. I chuckled; Zalphon was doing well as an Ashkhan after all.

"Our men shall fight bravely, our women will mend our wounds, we shall have the spirits on our side against the treacherous house dunmer and the bloodthirsty imperials," added the Ashkhan, who turned and walked back to his yurt.

I followed him in, and remained silent as I saw he was meditating.

I would wait as long as it took, I knew the Ashlanders valued patience above most things. I sat in a chair five feet from the meditating Dunmer, and twiddled my thumbs, waiting for him to reenter the real world.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 9:51 am

OOC: Zalphon's post. And the Map is now up in the OP. @Scatmang: House Dunmer are rather neutral, but they'll do the Duke's bidding because he's a high-ranking member of the house. The Zainab are just Xenophobic.

IC: Zalphon exited his yurt and said to the half-nord, half-imperial, "Come in my yurt, Tarick."

He walked back into his yurt, and opened a chest. He pulled out a suit of bonemold, with chitin legplates instead of bonemold. He stared down at it for a second, preparing to award it to his soon-to-be Gulakhan.

Tarick has traveled with us for many years, he shall be made a gulakhan, especially since we one a month ago.

Zalphon stood, waiting for Tarick.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 2:49 pm

Following the Dunmer into the yurt, I saw him pull a bonemold and chitin suit out of a chest. I approached him.

"How might I be of use, Ashkhan?" I said in my most respectful voice, in reverence of Zalphon.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 9:11 am

OOC: Zalphon's post. If this here is going to be a long meeting, I suggest you guys work it out over PM first, then put it up in one big post, rather than taking up space with a bunch of dialogue posts.

IC: Zalphon gave the nord-imperial hybrid the bonemold/chitin hybrid armor. He said politely, "Tarick, you have served me for many a year; now you shall be rewarded for said actions."

My newest gulakhan shall be very valuable, as he has a great heart, and a great spirit.

Zalphon took off helmet and held it at his side as he told him, "You shall be my gulakhan, Tarick, if you refuse that is acceptable, but if you take it, then may the ancestors guide you."

The wisewoman's voice burned in his skull, "The nords fought our ancestors... Why do you trust this one?"

He handed the human, a bonemold helmet and nodded with a grin...

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 3:21 pm

At first, I didn't know what to expect; I had come to discuss the apparent situation, but it seemed Zalphon had something else in store. He handed me the hybrid armor set, and said softly, "Tarick, you have served me for many a year; now you shall be rewarded for said actions."

"Sire, I don't deserve a reward! If anything I should be rewarding you, for providing me with a home.. I don't know where I would've gone," I replied, and was about to add that I had only been around for a couple years, but decided to shut up.

Zalphon took off helmet and held it at his side as he told him, "You shall be my gulakhan, Tarick, if you refuse that is acceptable, but if you take it, then may the ancestors guide you," and for one second, Zalphon looked very concerned, but then he seemed to shake it off.

When he said the words, "You shall be my gulakhan, Tarick", my heart leaped in my throat. "G-gulakhan? But.. Only Dunmer have ever been Gulakhan! I... I don't know what to say except of course I'll be your gulakhan, my lord!" I said proudly, going onto one knee, and accepted the bonemold helmet.

I realized just then the responsibility my friend had just placed on me, especially with the upcoming war. I wouldn't twist this around and be mad at Zalphon, though. I might as well be happy with it, for now I commanded much respect from the Dunmer, and outsiders would be bewildered to hear my tale. "Ashkhan Zalphon, nothing would please me more than to serve you on the battle field as a commanding officer," I added, eyes held downward in respect to the Ashkhan.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 2:05 pm

Messenger, Zainab Camp

The messenger was tired. They had given him a horse, but a day of hard riding in the harsh sun of Vvardenfell could take its toll on anyone. The messenger could keep himself up, though, and he believed that it would not be much longer until he reached his destination. The Imperial slowed his horse down so he could consult hs map. It was rather old and cracked, and contrasted darkly to the bright, white parchment placed next to it; that parchment was his quarry, and it was his job to make sure the message was given clearly.

His eyes skimming across the map, the messenger found a small red dot in Northeastern Vvardenfell marked "Zainab Camp." He had passed Tel Aruhn some time ago and had since headed in the correct direction; and thus the messenger deduced that the Zainab Camp should not be too far off. The man looked around for a decent viewpoint of the surrounding area.

As he looked uphill from his position, the messenger's eyes spotted a bluff. He made his way to it, dismounted his horse, and stepped out onto the bluff. Scanning the area, he could make out a large amount of movement not too far to the West; he reached into his pack and pulled out his spyglass for a closer look. As he had thought, a large cluster of tents could be seen, and none but native Dunmer inhabited the camp. The messenger had found his destination, and it would not take too long to get there; ten minutes, maybe fifteen.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:04 am

Zalphon said to his new Gulakhan, "I hear horsebeats in the distance, find out their source, if it is an imperial kwama, butcher him and hide his remains."

I will have no imperial fools in my territory.

Zalphon added, "If it is a House Dunmer, bring him to me."

He dismissed the Gulakhan, as he sat and heard the wise-woman's words whisper in his skull, "Do not attack the imperials, Zalphon, be patient, and they will come to their senses."

He sat down and continued in prayer, but then changed his mind, "Actually if it is an imperial kwama, bring him to me, and make sure you bring me a kwama forager in a bag... I have plans to show the clan what we do the the nix-hounds called imperials..."

He sat down again and continued prayer.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 3:45 am

OOC: Sorry about basically bringing the RP to a halt, but I finally found twenty minutes. Here goes...

I still had that feeling in your stomach that you get when everything is going all right, but war and death are soon to come. Shrugging, I went to carry out the Ashkhan's orders immediately, not wanting to disappoint my new master with the first task.

"Actually if it is an imperial kwama, bring him to me, and make sure you bring me a kwama forager in a bag... I have plans to show the clan what we do the the nix-hounds called imperials..."

I shuddered at the horrors Zalphon would rend the Imperial's body to with a kwama forager. Pushing the images out of my head, I took my leave.

Out into the bright, still-morning sun. Looking to southwest of the camp, I saw what looked like a messenger galloping towards the camp. Unsheathing my sword halfway, I stepped out in front of the man's path. After half a minute, he arrived, pulling on his reins to slow down the horse.

"I am Gulakhan Vespasian, of the Zainab tribe. What is it that you require of me, or the Zainab?" I asked, trying not to sound too hostile.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 2:29 pm

OOC: Sorry I took so long, I've been away this weekend. Let's finish the rest of this exchange over PM so we don't clutter up the thread.

Messenger, Zainab Camp

The messenger pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to a stop as a man appeared in front of him. He appeared harmless, until he saw that the man had partially unsheathed his sword. The man was not a Zainab, or at least he did not appear to be; he seemed quite old, and either Imperial or Nord. Thus the messenger was surprised when he was asked what business he had with the Zainab. A bit nervous, he placed one hand on the shortsword at his side and answered the man's question.

"I am carrying an urgent message from the East Empire Company," The messenger said as he dismounted the horse. "I've been told to find your Ashkhan. Could you lead me to him?"

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 7:21 am

OOC: Joint post between me and Scatmang.

Messenger, Zainab Camp

The messenger pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to a stop as a man appeared in front of him. He appeared harmless, until he saw that the man had partially unsheathed his sword. The man was not a Zainab, or at least he did not appear to be; he seemed quite old, and either Imperial or Nord. Thus the messenger was surprised when he was asked what business he had with the Zainab. A bit nervous, he placed one hand on the shortsword at his side and answered the man's question.

"I am carrying an urgent message from the East Empire Company," The messenger said as he dismounted the horse. "I've been told to find your Ashkhan. Could you lead me to him?"

Tarick noticed the messenger place his hand on a shortsword at the man's side. He squinted into the man's eyes, looking for any telltale sign of lying or if there was something else he had come to do. Seeing nothing, Tarick shrugged, "He gave me an order to bring you to him; so follow me..." The man seemed innocent enough; Tarick hoped Zalphon didn't do anything too drastic to him. "The Ashkhan requested an item to be delivered along with you, so we have to take a little 'detour'."

The messenger didn't mind at all that the man had to make a detour first. After tying his horse to a post, he followed him to wherever they were going.

Tarick had no doubt that he'd find a kwama forager around the camp, they're common little devils. Walking not ten feet from the camp, he spotted one. "Little bastard," he murmured, lunging for the worm-like creature, and grabbed it by the tail. It tried to twist around and bite him, but it didn't have enough space. Tarick opened his fruit pouch, and stuffed the beast into it.

Tarick sighed, realizing it'll probably eat all his produce. Ah well, he did what had to be done... "You, messenger... Follow me."

He walked the rest of the way to Zalphon's yurt, waving the messenger on, who tied his horse to a post.

The messenger approached, and Tarick nudged him from behind on the shoulder with his hand. "Keep movin'." The man entered the yute, and he followed. "Ashkhan, I have brought the messenger. Know this, messenger: if you have come to threaten our people, you will receive pain more excruciating than anything your Empire could administer unto you," he paused, "Zalphon, should I remain here or shall I take my leave of you?"

A bit scared by the man's statement, the messenger walked into the yurt. The Ashkhan's appearance surprised him. He had pictured the Zainab's leader as an old, wise warrior, not this young elf that stood before him. Taking a big gulp, he spoke up. "I carry a message from the East Empire Company. I was told to read it aloud, to all of the Zainab if possible. I'd like to read it in front of everyone, if I can." The Ashkhan looked like a violent man, and the messenger had a feeling his response might not be so accomodating.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 4:44 am

I don't think this gonna live. If you still want in, post in the next 24 hours.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 4:03 am

Standing outside the tent, Karrul knew this business between the East Empire Company wouldn't end well. And that the messenger would probably give up his job after Zainab was done with him if he carried news of war. And if it carried news of war, then he had an excuse to buy some Cyrodiilic Brandy. Because, after all, fighting's a lot easier when you're bodies numbed. And life's a lot more fun with a bit of alchohol in you.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:02 am

Zalphon hasn't been on since the 7th, let's give him time

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 6:23 am

Zalphon barked, "Watch what I do to this messenger, men..."

Zalphon added, "Restrain him!"

He cut open the messenger's belly and opened the bag and put the hole up to the hole in the stomach. He wriggled the kwama in, and whispered a healing spell. He added, "This is what we will do to all imperial scum on Zainab lands, this kwama will eat his way out of this man."

Death to the imperials...

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 12:31 pm

Scout, outside the Zaniab Camp

A young Breton scout, Louis, concealed himself within shouting of the Zaniab camp. He gazed upon the camp, watching each nomad try to carry on their normal lives with the unrest before a war. The tribe seemed to be rallying behind a new, young leader. When the messenger arrived at the camp, Louis watched intently, as he was greeted. The same man who greeted him scooped up a kwama forager and led the messenger to an enclosed tent. That can't be good.

ooc: Assuming that the messenger is still alive, it's Gumps post next

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 10:10 am

OOC: That's...quite creative Zalphon.

IC: "Restrain Him!"

Oh, [censored]. "Wait, wait!" He cried out, but his pleas were not answered. Each of his arms were held by a large dunmer, and the Ashkhan drew a knife. "No... No, wait N-"

The Askhkan sliced open the messenger's belly. Villiagers outside could stopped to hear the screams of pain from inside the yurt. The Dunmer brought a small sack up to the messenger's exposed innards; he could feel something squirm in around his intestines. Still screaming, the open wound was suddenly closed as the Ashkhan uttered a healing spell.

The messenger broke free from his captors, his hands feeling around his lower abdomen. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" he yelled at the Ashkhan; he could still feel something wriggling inside him. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?" His voice began to falter as the thing inside him grew into a huge, throbbing pain.

"What-" he could no longer speak; trying brought only more pain. He stumbled out of the yurt and into the villiage.

A strange but familiar taste filled the messenger's mouth; he recognized it immediately as his own blood. The pain grew intensely, and as he opened his mouth to scream, the bitter red liquid spurted from his lips. He tried to draw breath, but none could be found. His vision began to blur, his thoughts became clouded.

The messenger fell on the earthen ground, dying as the kwama forager feasted on his lungs.

» Wed Nov 10, 2010 5:03 am

OOC: but I am creative

The Ashkhan wiped the blood off his armor and said to the spectators, "Burn his body..."

Maybe now they will learn their place.

The Ashkhan sat back down, awaiting further news.