Circlet Ignited

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 7:11 pm

The Molag Mar Region.

Corpses. Humans, Elves and Deadra corpses laid scattered through out the area. The road was drenched with blood and ash, and the scent of rotting flesh haunted the air. Although she did not show it, Theloria could feel her stomach about to turn. It was a grotesque sight, and she felt pity for the families who had lost their husbands, father and kin.

Following her was three curates. Adaren, Nelos and Nadena. They were stll young, and never had they witnessed anything like this. The young healer, Nadena, stopped in her tracks, vomiting furiously as she caught a wiff of the ill scent. The Dunmer girl could not understand how Theloria could keep on going like that, as if there was nothing wrong. It made her feel weak. Here she was vomitting all over her boots...she was certain Theloria was dissapointed at her now. Maybe she would force her back to Ald-Ruhn?

"Nadena." Theloria called out without turning around to face the group. "If you want to run back to the Temple, then do so now. You won't have the opportunity when we arrive at Ghostgate."

Nadena's cheeks turned into a bright lilac color as she stared up at the priestess. Adaren and Nelos nodded at each other. They both knew that Theloria meant the girl was far too young for this task, yet it was Nadena who had insisted on coming along. But, the girl did not run back. Instead, she stood up straight, and apologized.

"No, sera. I will come along to Ghostgate, and stay there to the end... even if it is my own."

With that, Theloria kept on walking, leading the Curates towards Ghostgate. However, her eyes were not concentrating on the road up a head, they were heavily fixated on the corpses. She could feel a shiver run down her spine, and a sense of anxeity swell up inside her stomach. Thaden had been sent to help eliminate the surrounding Deadra. What if...

No. I would know if Thaden had not made it back. He wouldn't die out here either. But all those faces...what if he is out here? No! I am not to show fear nor worry. Those children are scared enough as it is, it won't help if I start panicing.. But still...where are you Thaden? Why did you not return to me?

Tel Naga, Sadrith Mora.

Sitting in front of the mirror, Katsaniah stared at her reflection. Her eyes were filled with dissapointment, seeing as her plans had been ruined. Before even doing so much as step a foot on the ship, two of the Telvanni guards had stopped her. Once again...her father had managed to isolate her further from the situation at hand. But why? That was the question that echoed in her mind. And yet...she did not feel like all hope was lost. As she had expected, the Telvanni councillors had summoned a meeting, and they would more than likely arriving in Sadrith Mora any time now. But what had really caught her attention, was the wizard courier, who had given her a message from Master Aryon himself.

But why would Master Aryon wish to speak with me? Perhaps he believes father will refuse to meet with the others? No...whatever could it be....?

Sliding a hand down her thigh, she evened out the wrinkles on her gown as she turned to Varion. "Well then. What say you, my minion? Do I look presentable for our lords?" Katsaniah cooed at her flame atronach. The enslaved Deadra seemed to eye her up and down, before nodding sagely at her, causing his mistress's lips to curl into a smug smile.

A knock was heard at the door. Katsaniah already knew who it was. It was almost...funny, how regonizeble his knock was to her. Waving her hand towards the door, she motioned for Varion to open it, which he did. The soft sound of slippers walking against the finely woven rug stopped half way in the room.

"Do not sulk like that, Katsaniah. A true Telavanni does not do such lowly things. I want you looking decent for this...meeting." Neloth's words spat out like pure venom at the end. He was never fond of social activites, not even with his own kin, nor did he like having to leave his studies like this. But...this time, there was something in it for him.

It was not easy to tell the two Dunmer were related. Whilst Katsaniah carried herself with grace, Master Neloth was arrogant to anyone but himself. It had caused many whispers in the halls when it was announced he had become a father. Indeed, it was no mystery as to why a man like Neloth would want a child, and it was well known what his intentions behind it was. However, he took pride in Katsaniah, seeing as she was the prime meal for his ego.

"You are after all to take my place, and I will not have some mongrel come into the picture and ruin everything I have done over the years. You are of my flesh, my blood and of my mind. It is your duty to see to that you present yourself as such." The magister continued as he walked closer towards his daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder when he approached. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes father." Katsaniah replied nonchalantly.

"Very well then. Do not take long, I will be waiting downstairs in the Great Hall."


Redoran Council Hall, Ald-Ruhn.

Thaden released a much strained breath of air as he leaned his back towards the wall. The throbbing sensation of his recently closed wounds made it difficult for him to stand properly. Funny how sensitive the body was after healing. Letting his gaze wonder, Thaden peered at the other warriors inside the bedroom quarters. The surving had been brought to their respective families, and the dead...the dead had been burried. Just thinking about it caused Thaden to see red, it made him furious to the point where he did not even notice his hands were clutched tightly together.

Cursing quielty under his breath, Thaden stormed out of the quarters, and made his way to the Arenim Manor. Ferther Mano would want to hear of the outcome from the battle, and of the casualities. The western area around Ald-Ruhn was for now, secured. But how long would that last anyways. Only time could tell. Perhaps that is what agonized him mostly, the fact that all they could do was wait and then act. Surely the Deadra were having a laugh.

Upon entering the Arenim Manor, Thaden nodded his head with respect at one of the Redoran guards. "I'm here to ask for an audience with Ferther Mano. It regards the group of warriors who left to the west to take care of the deadra who spawned there."
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Lil Miss
 
Posts: 3373
Joined: Thu Nov 23, 2006 12:57 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:29 am

Tel Vos
Aryon's Chambers

The Arch-Magister paced back and forth in the middle of the room holding a letter in either hand. One was from the Duke, while the other from a fellow Telvanni. Both had called for a meeting but Aryon wasn't sure either would be of much use. He didnt put it beyond the Hlaalu or fellow Telvanni to try to take advantage of his absense or the absense of any other. It was disapointing but not surprising to consider such things and that House Telvanni was as likley to work together as it was for the three Houses in Vvardenfell. Enemies amongst enemies. If there was ever a chance at some sort of House unity, it would be now. He had decided.

The doors to his chambers opened and quickly the Telvanni guards seemed more at attention. "Turedus..." The Imperial turned to hear his name being called. "...you are in charge until I return. Be attentive."

"Serjo." His reply came with a nod.

"Rimintil, you will accompany me." The Dwemer armored Altmer Crusader fell in step with Aryon as he made his way through the tower. The mixture of Imperial and Telvanni architecture was one of a kind. Aryon, for a moment considered having a tower grow through Ebonhart. The Legion wold have no patience for that he was sure but it was still interesting to consider, the manners in which the tower roots would unwind.

Not a moment later, Aryon raised his hand casting mark and then Divine Intervention, a spell he had learned just for this sort of situation. He and Rimintil were at once at the Wolverine Hall just south of Sadith Mora. The westerner majority just outside the fort were rather at awe with the sight of the Dunmer appearing right before them along with Rimintil in full Dwemer attire. The legion seemed busy moving supplies and preparing and stopped only for a moment before returning to their work. A trench net work or some sort of digging was going about and stakes were being implanted.

Aryon payed no mind to the Legion's issues and all together did not care if the fort would be wiped off the map completely. Instead the Arch-Magister and his bodyguard walked into the 'Dirty Muriel's Corner Club.' It was filled with people but almost void of any Dunmer. It was quite a shadey setting where thieves, killers and prosttutes would converge. He could tell however that there were also some guild members. None of them interested him, only the Guars outside which he intended to buy.

"Well to what honor do we owe this occassion Arch-Magister?" Aryon heard a voice behind him, one of a Dunmer. He expected to see a fellow Telvanni but instead it was Erer Darothril, a capable mage all on his own with no affilication. The green robe seemed used but neat on the Dunmer, the top knot on Erer was a bit more un kept.

"Serjo Erer, what a pleasure. I'm on my way to Sadith Mora." Aryon's face had a calm expression as he found his way to Erer's table and sitting beside him. Rimintil only stood, his eyes darting from side to side keeping a close watch on those around.

"Have a drink with me before you go. So tell me how are things at Vos? I've heard the boats aren't coming into port anymore and those who leave don't return. And this business with the Daedra, I havn't seen such a thing before. Maybe Vvardenfell was too peaceful without Ur and this is simply our curse on his island to always have an impeding doom loom over." Erer spoke as he poured Aryon a glass of flin who took it in his hand and drank. The club seemed rather full of others drinking away their problems, buying and selling things and services that should not be. The smell was thick with drinks and a certain dinge.

"Vos is fine, I've hired some scouts to keep watch over the area. If anything comes our way we'll see it before it gets to us. But I need to get to Sadith Mora and..." Aryon was cut off a sharp nasal voice of a Breton accent. "I recognized your stench before you even as much as stepped in here Aryon." Rimintil turned around to face a Breton female, her hands on her hips and two other Mages Guild members flanking either side. Aryon recognized her face, but did not remember her name.

"And you are...?" Aryon turned around in his seat eyeing the three with a rather arrogantly bent eye brow. His left arm lay against the back rest of the chair while his hand held his glass of flin. The casual reaction to the Breton Mage infuriated her.

"I'm challenging you!" She exploded. The others in he club turned around in their seats and things became a bit more quiet.

"I don't have time to instruct little school girls in basic spell casting today. If you'd like let's make arrangements and you can come visit me in Tel vos. Unless you have a couple of guars to sell, leave me be." Aryon expected the Breton to go on. Her face looked familiar but she couldn't quite come to his memory until he saw the necklace around her neck. Now he remembered, she was a Mages Guild Conjuror that he had 'swept aside' within one of the Dwemer ruins while doing his research.

"You'll be the one that needs a lesson ashborn! If you win you may have my Guars, if I win, all of Tel Vos is mine!" The Mages Guild members to either side of her flank stepped away althought Aryon's bodyguard stood completely still.

"My dear if you had my Tel Vos, you would be dead within two days. One day for one of the councilors to learn of the situation, and another day for an assassin to be sent." He waved his hand at her as if she were merely a confused servant.

"Stand up or i'll strike you down sitting!" The air became filled with weaving magicka, she had potential there was no question about it but she lacked control. Aryon stood pushing aside the chair, his Dwemer clad bodyguard stepped back.

"I will due this only to save you from a much worse fate at having a short lived residence at Tel Vos." He taunted her further. Soon she would lose control and not be capable of anything much. Her body shifted summoning her power to cast a spell. She breathed heavily as her arms moved around, sparks of lightning followed her finger tips in the pattern she was creating. Truley this was a powerful spell.

Aryon gazed upon her with a look of amusemant as with a simple move he cast a levitation spell on her and sending her head first into the ceiling. She fell back down to the floor like a rag doll. "Thank you for the drink Erer but I need to get going." He smiled briefly and walked out. Off to the side he found the Guars, several items were strapped onto the creatures which Aryon and Rimintil mounted heading north.
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James Shaw
 
Posts: 3399
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2007 11:23 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 5:34 pm

NPC: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind%3a%44ram_Bero - Great House Hlaalu - Councillor

PC:

Faction and Rank: Great House Hlaalu ? House Cousin

Name: Baryn Addamnel

Race: Dunmer

Gender: Male

Age: 77

Birthsign: The Thief

Physical description: Baryn is a thickly built man, bearing both the muscles and weathered skin born out of years of hard labor, and the prominent gut of a man who has experienced the finer side of life. The blue-black hair that reaches his shoulders is often frayed and tangled, and he usually wears a black headband to keep it out of his eyes. He also has a ragged and untrimmed beard, giving him a rough and unkempt appearance. His skin is ashen gray, and even more devoid of color than his Dunmer brethren. He seems to be perpetually coated in dust, grime, dirt, and the gods-only-know what else.

Short History: Baryn's early years were not particularly awe-inspiring. He was born a slave, put to work in the mines almost as soon as he could grasp a pickaxe. Baryn was not resigned to a life of servitude, however. He had greater plans for himself. A determined and cunning sort, Baryn worked, fought, finagled and weaseled his way out of the mines, and out of slavery, buying his own freedom.

His drive and craftiness, combined with his intimate knowledge of the mining trade, made Baryn an attractive target for many organizations, and he worked with several during the next few years of his life. Eventually, he found his way to House Hlaalu, wear he began to flourish. Although not as diplomatic as some of his higher-ranking comrades, Baryn isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. In fact, he enjoys the darker side of business, preferring to oversee first-hand the mines under Hlaalu control, and the negotiations with the shadier clientele.

With the coming of the Daedra, and the disarray amongst the factions on Vvardenfell, the security of House Hlaalu's assets is more important than ever. Baryn is just the man for the job.

About the character: Although no one ever accused Baryn of being a likeable fellow, the fact of the matter is he gets the job done. A straight-shooter and rather blunt (sometimes to a fault), he dislikes bureaucracy and prefers to barrel right through the red-tape, rather than work around it. A ruthless negotiator, he almost always gets his price, regardless if it's as small as the purchase of a pair of shoes, or as large as a shipment of ebony. Has a wicked temper, and is not the most patient man in the world. If he goes off the hook, is known to spew such disgusting obscenities, it's a wonder the gods haven't struck him down. He knows the mines like the back of his hand, the intricacies and inner-workings of what it takes to keep them running smoothly and efficiently. Baryn, while by no means a warrior, is capable of handling himself in a scuffle, although he would be easily overwhelmed in a large scale battle, or if attacked by multiple assailants. But that's what Rek is there for.

Weapons: Keeps a silver dagger hidden on his person at all times, in case things go bad.

Armor/Clothing:
Baryn's apparel might have, at one point in time, been nice. But after years of wear and tear, clambering around in mines and travelling all over Vvardenfell, his clothes are now on par with his physique: rough and worn out. His favored clothing is a dark blue long-sleeved shirt (which he usually wears with the sleeves rolled up) with large silver buttons (several of which are missing), that hugs him a little too tightly, showing off his impressive midsection; a pair of tan pants, worn almost white at the knees and the rear; a pair of sturdy Guar-skin boots, dyed black. Baryn does not wear any armor. Again, that's what Rek is there for.

Misc. Items: Keeps a small notebook with him, full of contacts, notes, numbers and information about his business dealings. Also carries writing utensils, a small jeweler's loupe for inspecting ebony, glass or other materials, and a few hundred Septims (mostly used for bribes or the purchase of alcohol).

Faction and Rank: Freelance - Bodyguard

Name: Rek (Given name is Garek gro-Argnum)

Race: Orc

Gender: Male

Age: 44

Birthsign: The Lord

Physical description: Has the physique of a bodyguard, tall, muscular and intimidating. He is also, unfortunately, quite ugly, even by Orc standards. An enormous nose with flaring nostrils, framed by sickeningly hollow cheeks and a chin that looks like it could cut a diamond give him a face that not even a mother could love. His black hair (which he wears in short dreadlocks) is matte and seems to absorb all light, having no sheen at all. Overall, is not exactly the type of person you would want to strike up a conversation with.

Short History: Rek's life is rather bland and uneventful. An orphan, Rek really only had himself to rely on as he grew up. Constantly walking the line between right and wrong, Rek figured if he was going to continue on his road of fighting and wandering, he might as well get paid for it. Thus, he became a bodyguard. Unfortunately for Rek, his clients kept dying on him. A run of bad luck that lasted for many years, Rek was broke and ready to give up and turn to a life of crime, when he met Baryn Addamnel. At the time a low-ranking House Hlaalu member, Baryn was just starting to get his feet wet in the world of politics. By this point, however, he was already up to his waist in trouble, having garnered the negative attention of several shady figures, both from rival factions and inside the crime world. Not paying much heed to Rek's bad fortune, he hired the Orc on as his personal bodyguard. The two have been together for almost 20 years, and both are still very much alive.

Although Baryn often treats Rek with the typical disdain a high-class noble might have for a servant, the two have in fact grown to be good friends.

About the character: Rek has all the physical skills required from a bodyguard. Adept at combat, both unarmed and with weapons. Also has some skill in repairing both armor and weapons, although his abilities are no match for a true blacksmith. He is in excellent physical condition, and despite his great size, is surprisingly agile and athletic. Despite his appearance and line of work, Rek is actually a humble and well-spoken sort. He is more subdued and cordial than his employer, and can in fact be quite eloquent in his speech. He does, however, share his friend Baryn's nasty temper when provoked, although he has far more patience than Baryn.

Weapons: Rek's main weapon is a large, fearsome ebony mace, cruelly spiked and bearing the care and craftsmanship of an expert weaponmaker. It was a gift from Baryn when the two first started working together. Of course, Baryn had more his own personal protection in mind than providing Rek with a present. Rek also carries a simple steel sword.

Armor/Clothing: Wears an Orcish cuirass, greaves and boots. Also wears a pair of leather gloves with metal studded knuckles, useful for tipping hand-to-hand combat in his favor. Under his armor, Rek wears simple, sturdy clothing, a plain, close-fitting white shirt with long sleeves and brown leather pants. Practically lives in his armor.

Misc. Items:
Carries some basic survival equipment (water, rations, etc), enough for both him and Baryn to survive a few days on the road. Also has some simple tools for making field repairs on his weapons and armor.

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Josee Leach
 
Posts: 3371
Joined: Tue Dec 26, 2006 10:50 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 8:11 am

OOC: Well, I was going to wait for Story to post first but I guess I will while I wait :shrug:

IC: Ebonheart. Katja the Determined

As the golden sun warmed her leatherclad back, Katja cast her eyes heavenward as the smell of smoke drifted towards her from the East. She stood from her sitting position outside the Ebonheart Legion Garrison as she waited impatiently for her master to come and collect her; if there was one thing in the world she hated most, was not doing something when something needed to be done. Pacing back and forth in frustration, Katja brought her hands together and cracked her knuckles and let out a pent up breathe she didn't know she was holding. It wasn't that she didn't like working for the Great House Redoran, she'd been doing so for several years now, it was the fact she was being dragged to Ebonheart as a Retainer when she could be out doing something useful.

Being a foreigner, Katja didn't quite understand the way the Great Houses worked despite living in Morrowind for more than a decade. She was still getting used to the Dunmer culture and social caste and still trying to fit in among both her Dunmer and male colleagues. Katja decided it wasn't so much that she was looking for friends, but she liked the idea of having someone at her back for support if she needed it. But among all the various Dunmer associations and groups she had encountered over her time in Morrowind, she felt at home with the Redoran; Determined, defiant, proud and aggressive. There was just something about them that Kat found ringing true to her own personality. A strange, wary look from a passing Dunmer brought Kat from her reverie as he looked her up and down. The mer gave a slight look of distaste for the looming, muscular woman before walking on, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse.

Kat snorted in contempt of the man and turned away, adjusting the leather harness holding her sword and bow on her back. It wasn't that Katja couldn't be described as pretty, or even as far as strangely beautiful but her prickly demeanor, strong, sharp features and the fact that she was probably stronger than alot of males often wiped any thought of pursuing Kat out of many a man's mind. Kat didn't really care what men thought of her appearance, after all she wasn't looking for a lover or companion. She knew how to have some fun if she wanted to. Besides, she'd met some men who liked nothing short of being dominated by her in the bedroom.

Pushing such thoughts aside, she looked around and studied her surroundings as she often found herself doing. Ebonheart was probably Vvardenfell's largest and best protected Imperial fort, but Kat wondered if it was larger than say, Fort Moonmoth. The Imperials had several forts scattered around the mainland of Morrowind as well as the central island of Vvardenfell, but it was the Redoran who proclaimed themselves to be sole protectors of the country. The way Katja saw it was that being a soldier in the Imperial Legion was a career, but being Redoran was a way of life. It would be the Redoran who would be cutting bloody swathes through the ranks of the Daedra and who would stand victorious in the end, not the Imperial Legion. After another minute or two of meaningless wonderings, Katja sat once more, legs tucked beneath her as she waited.
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Suzie Dalziel
 
Posts: 3443
Joined: Thu Jun 15, 2006 8:19 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 9:03 am

Ebonheart

Sadie looked the Nord up and down with a grin, this was their last hope for civilised planning and effective action they where doomed, he looked more likely to club a daedra with a bat then drag it back to his cave for lunch. But then, he was well dressed, for a Nord of the empire.

"Yes, I am his on of his, Although I am no more a kid than you are well washed my dear friend." she replied in a sugar coated voice, just hiding the subtle lacing of malice inlaid into her words, She had always despised Nords, contrary to her houses open attitude on races. "If you would like to follow me to the chambers."

She set off through the castle hallways, her stride long and powerful. Her entire demeanour reeked of impatience. Most people who encountered her in this mood tried to avoid her and swore they could roast a silt strider with the heat from her glare.

"I'm afraid you wont be catching the grandmaster in the best of moods, He is some what.. Well, furious, that you didn't contact him before placing imperial marshal law into effect. He is the Duke of Vvardenfell after all." Sadie spoke quietly to the Nord as approached the double doors to the council chambers and threw them wide, Dren was sat at the head of the table in a high backed chair, silhouetted against the sunlight shining through the windows behind him.

"Lord Dren, The Imperial admiral, judging by his attire. But that would be for him to confirm as he didn't introduce himself." Sadie said, bowing the Nord into the room. "I shall fetch wine."

She left both the men to do their political bargaining, as much as she bet the Nord hated it, while he was in Vvardenfell he would have no choice but to endure it.

---

"As you know, Daedra have flooded the Isle, I want to know why and how this is possible. I want to know how my house and others will be effected." Dren spoke slowly and quietly over the tips of his fingers, He almost looked as if he was whispering to his gods in prayer. "I have invited the heads of the other great houses present on this Island for a grand council meeting, they will arrive shortly. In that time I suggest you think seriously about what you are going to do to halt this invasion. As you may know, Vvardenfell is full of rich resources which provide profitable exports to both Morrowind and the empire, If it where to be lost. Well, I think you can imagine the blow it would sustain to both sides."

Sadie placed a glass before both men and began pouring generous amounts of wine into both. Leaving the bottle between them she turned to leave but Dren placed a hand on her wrist to stop her.

"I want to speak with the temple after this meeting, alone. Contact them." Dren whispered into her ear as she bent over to listen, His warm breath felt uncomfortable on her skin.

---


Sadie pushed the stolen Redoran seal into the melted wax of the letter before attaching it to a messenger bird. She would usually send a house member to make contact but desperate times called for desperate measures. She was not contacting the Temple like Dren thought she would, if her house was to survive she would have to guide it on the right path through the shadows. The order would be deniable, and would not lead back to house Hlaalu. But it was still a risky one.

The bird raised a leg obediently waiting for Sadie to push the letter into a small leather pouch and tie it shut. As an extra precaution she began to whisper a song to the bird. She watched as it seemed to fade before her, its feathers turning the same colour s anything placed beside it. The chameleon spell would wear off as soon as the bird landed, as long as it landed in the right place she would be fine.


Once finished she fished out a few letters of correspondence from the temple she had stolen from Dren's office, she surveyed each on in turn, studying the intricate handwriting, the graceful curves and flowing style of some writers, to the untidy scrawl of others.

She immediately turned back to her forgery equipment and began writing a letter of ownership, using ink and parchment typically used by the temple. It was a minor and usually missed detail, but it would prove vital if some body actually picked up on it. She sat in silence humming a cheery light hearted tune. She felt a slight tingle course through her body as the soul gem in her left hand vibrated, realeasing its energy and infusing with the ink on the parchment to create a strong charm enchantment. Anybody who read this letter would be hit by a charm spell so strong they could not deny its legitimacy.

Once it was signed with a signature which was not her own, she studied the wax on the broken seals of the temple letters, they where all the same wax and the same colour. She felt the texture and bent and snapped it to check how brittle it was once dry. Satisfied that they where all the same she returned again to her forgery kit, picking up several candles and dripping molten wax onto several leafs of parchment.

Spending a painfully long time studying each in turn, checking them all for different qualities. She picked one she was positive was the same type used by the temple and sealed the letter, using a temple seal.

With one finished she started on another, changing some minor details and switching one word for another. Satisfied that the forgeries would fool even the Almsivi them selves she set off, taking her time to walk through the castle to kill time until she had to meet the mercenary captain.

She carried on humming as she walked through the hallway, the light around her seemed stronger as she walked, a golden aura or sorts. But this was only her good mood seeping out through her illusion enhanced music, nothing more. Though it did earn her a few gawping looks by some male dunmer, who must have thought they where hallucinating to see such a creature of awe-inspiring beauty walk before them.

"Ah he's home then?" Sadie said, smiling widely at the huge Orc body guard as she opened the door without invitation to find Baryn in his office chambers. "I have a job for you if you're interested." she said the large mottled looking dunmer in front of her, winking and smiling.


Vivec


The sun felt quite pleasant now, now that fresh blood coursed through the dry veins of the vampire, although it was a pleasant feeling, it was also a strange one. When he moved his fingers they felt as if they had pins and needles, Almerion put it down to a lack of circulation from lack of feeding and ignored it.

The day was a fine one, the breeze was gentle enough to be comfortable and strong enough to cool him some what, the sun beamed down and reflected off the water before him, its glassy surface acting as a some what distorted mirror image of the city. He had always love Vivec, and took time to wander the streets of the city whenever he was here. It reminded him of the imperial city some what, the canols flowing through, separating the bodies of land in a similar way to the islands of the imperial city.

But the architecture was a thing to behold, no matter where he stepped in the city there was a new sight to behold, ever changing and growing. Unlike the imperial city which was all very clean and ordered looking. Vivec had a sense of chaotic beauty in its own order.

"Is that you? Almerion?" an anxious voice tore the vampire from his musings, he turned to see a cloaked and hooded bosmer behind him, looking more nervous than a man walking to his execution. But of course, if the information was unsatisfactory, he would be walking to his execution.

"It is I." he replies, turning to greet the man. The grasped hands briefly as Almerion watched the crowd for any signs of a tail. "Walk with me, talk with me."

The began walking through the crowded streets, pausing on the bridge to watch a gondela pass by bellow them before setting off again. The bosmer was jumpy at best, one fast movement and he would probably attempt to fly.

"I have the inforation, he's in balmorals. Though I do not know where, I would risk blowing my cover if I tried to find out. I was lucky to talk my way out of it as it is." he spoke quickly, hardly pausing for a breath, possibly because he was scared that some one would actually understand him.

"Balmora.. Very well, you have done well. I leave immediately, stay low and keep activities to a minimum until the heat dies down." Almerion replies, leaving the shivering sweat covered nervous wreck alone in the streets where for all he could care, the Tong would assassinate him, and made his way to catch the nearset silt strider to Balmora, only sithis could know how long that would take. He had to move fast.
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Albert Wesker
 
Posts: 3499
Joined: Fri May 11, 2007 11:17 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 9:15 am

OOC: Heeey... who you calling "mottled" bub? <_< ... :D

IC:

Ebonheart

Baryn sat at his desk, surrounded by the disarray of his office. Stacks of papers, both official and otherwise, teetered perilously in every corner of the too-small room. Empty bottles of various alcoholic beverages lay about amongst the other paraphernalia and detritus of Baryn Addamnel's office. A half-dead plant of unknown origin was the only sign of an attempt at bringing some life to the hectic, drab setting. One tiny window was stuck awkwardly in the middle of the wall on the right, and only offered a view of the bland gray stone wall of the castle Ebonheart that was adjacent to his office. The Dunmer was hunched over several scrolls, with his journal on top of them, making notations here and there, calculating in his head, occasionally cursing and only pausing to take large, obscenely loud gulps from the unmarked green bottle sitting on the edge of his desk. His massive Orc bodyguard, Rek, was in his usual position beside the door, sitting in a wooden chair that would seem more like a throne to an average-sized person, whittling away at a stick with one of Baryn's multitude of letter-openers.

"Ah he's home then?" Sadie said, smiling widely at the huge Orc body guard as she opened the door without invitation to find Baryn in his office chambers. "I have a job for you if you're interested." she said the large mottled looking dunmer in front of her, winking and smiling.


Rek looked up as Sadie barged into the office, but Baryn did not even seem to notice. The Orc looked over at his employer, who did not break his attention from his work, then back to Sadie. He shrugged, and went back to whittling.

Baryn had heard her, he had just chosen to ignore her. Normally, he would have had Rek "escort" her out for not knocking, but when she mentioned a job, he decided against it. Making her wait for a few more moments, he finally looked up at her and snorted.

"A job? I'm up to my ears in work, and you come waltzing in here with a job? Unbelievable..."

Truth be told, Baryn wasn't up to his ears in work... in fact, he had NO work whatsoever. The past few weeks had been so dull, so uneventful, that Baryn was forced to do something he never did, just to stop from going crazy: Go over previous work and check for mistakes. Of course, he had found none, and was now on the brink of insanity from boredom. He would have jumped at any chance at a job, but there was no way he would give this girl the satisfaction of seeing him in a time of weakness.

Grunting and standing up, he tipped over a stack of papers sitting next to his chair, but paid them no heed. He came around the desk, then sat down on the front edge of it, arms folded.

"Well then, out with it, Missy. I'd like to know the nature of the job before I dedicate what little time I have to it."
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Music Show
 
Posts: 3512
Joined: Sun Sep 09, 2007 10:53 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:08 am

Esib-Nummu

Where did I put that damn book?

Esib-Nummu angrily slapped his hand against his face and rubbed his aching temples. He had not had much to do recently, so the House made him focus on paperwork. Esib-Nummu hated paperwork. Still, he was loyal to his house, so he still did all of it. However, his desk was now completely covered with stray papers, all of them dealing with Ebony trade, Egg Mines, trade relations... etc...

Esib-Nummu had almost finished, when he lost the Balmora Import/Export Charter that was a vital part of the process. He decided to turn in what was finished and just hope his mistake would go unnoticed. Besides this incident, he was usually very reliable. Esib-Nummu sighed then stuffed all of the papers into a messenger bag. He warily left the Razor Hole without eating. He was simply to tired to worry about hunger.

His sandals hit the ground quickly as Esib-Nummu walked up the stone stairs to the Hlaalu building nearby. He looked around, making sure no one was paying attention to him, then quickly stepped inside. Esib-Nummu wasn't a xenophobe like the ancestors he came from, but he was just as paranoid.

The hall was a refreshing change from the Razor Hole. Especially his cramped little room. He politely stood still for a moment, as Nileno Dorvayn was talking with some East Empire Trade Company goon. He obviously wasn't high ranking, because he, frankly, was an idiot. He babbled on as Nileno continued to nod politely.

About ten minutes later, he left the building. Finally free of that imbecile, Nileno turned to him, and he timidly handed in the papers. She smiled, and he sat down at one of the tables. She walked away, and began to talk with someone upstairs.

She suddenly returned, carrying a small envelope. He stood up and curiously turned to her. "What is that letter?" She shrugged. "I don't know, all I know is that it's meant to be given to a trusted agent. Here you go."

Esib-Nummu smiled, than took the letter. He left the building, went back to the Razor Hole, and sat down at the desk. He opened the letter, expecting a boring piece of paperwork. Paperwork...

But instead, he was greeted with something... else. Something that was important. He quickly poured over it's contents, reaching for his mission backpack as he read.
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Rik Douglas
 
Posts: 3385
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Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 10:09 pm

Faction and Rank: Tribunal Temple Ordinator

Name: Darsan Dredas

Race: Dumner

Gender: Male

Age: 20s

Birthsign: The Serpent

Physical description: Darsan is a dashing young elf. As a member of the Order of War he is physically peaked while not immersing himself in conditioning as many servants of ALMSIVI seek. He has a faint scar on his cheek from a Scamp's claw which serves as his membership badge.
Short History: Darsan came from a noble family but never really took to his responsibilities. He attended the most scandalous parties and consorted with women of the night. His parents saw his corruption and hastily bundled him up and committed to the Order of the War, perhaps hoping for an early death so he would not be his father's heir. He at first questioned a few Temple doctrines but his instructors beat such heretical thoughts from his conscious mind. But they linger. He soon was sent with an experienced squad to clear out a small cult of worshiper's where he was able to kill a few mad cultists with the bite of his twin ebony blades. But he did receive a small cut from an unlucky scamp strike which he bears. Recently the Temple is in disarray and his rebellious attitude is slowly leaking out in the confusion. The Ghostfence is down, the gods are silent, and terrors unheard of are at the gates. Darsan isn't quite sure what to make of it.
About the character: Darsan is charismatic and wins friends easily, but lacks strong responsibility to hold anything together. He quickly took to the Twin bladed fighting style and naturally took to it's form-like dance. He also has a small fortune his parents signed off to him as a going away gift, perhaps a final goodbye to a shameful son.

Weapons: Two Ornate Ebony blades, standard issue of the Temple Armory, and then delicately enchanted with twin enchants, fire which boils the blood and ice that chills the veins.
Armor/Clothing: His own set of Indoril armor is relatively new with a few marks from his recent scraqe.

Misc. Items: A signet ring which identifies him as his father's heir and a supposed healing scroll his parents gave him to protect him if he was ever mortally wounded (In actuality it drains his remaining life away)


Faction and Rank: Great House Hlaalu Kinsman

Name: Sirjere

Race: Argonian

Gender:

Age: late 30's

Birthsign: The Lady

Physical description: Sirjere stands at a full 6'2", quite impressive for a Man of the Root. At first glance his scales seem covered in dirt but in actuality they have been magically scorched permanently. He has a few odd Dumner proverbs tattooed on his arms meaning this and that to him. Sirjere keeps his 3 horns in fine condition, he prides himself they have barely chipped since he was a hatchling

Short History: Sirjere was born to common slaves on the Dren plantation. Maturing quickly, he was sent out into the fields and after pausing in exhaustion an overseer used him as practice for a particularly nasty flame spell he recently acquired. This left him horribly scarred for the rest of his lifetime. But he kept quiet about it in fear of further retribution. A few years later he was sold as property to a caravan as a servant. The leader took a fancy to him as a pet and taught him many of his trading secrets. But he listened intently and when he saw his chance ran swam away from his owners down the Odai. When he reached Balmora he found sympathizers in the heavily Imperial chapter of House Hlaalu whom offered him a job opportunity. He found his knack as an economic advisor at first but after distinguished service was given a low priority caravan of his own which was responsible for a nasty stint to Hla Oad overland to maximize efficiency. Sirjere gratefully accepted.

About the character: Sirjere is all business, not anything of a fighter he shies away from fights in favor of guards whom he seduces into working for miniscule wages. He seems very submissive to his bosses demands but just relishes a job well done, and the new responsibilities he is entitled to.

Weapons: A few weak restoration spells he picked up to heal bruises and cuts along with a strong iron sickle he keeps at his belt

Armor/Clothing: A reliable old blue robe that has seen many years judging from its tears, but Sirjere has managed to afford a weak enchant which can bolster his resolve and charm.

Misc. Items: Pouch of coins, ledger of goods, a piece of Hist sap from Argonia suspended on a strong chain from his neck


OOC:Sorry for the late posting, after finals shindig at a friends
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Ruben Bernal
 
Posts: 3364
Joined: Sun Nov 18, 2007 5:58 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 9:20 pm

Ald-Ruhn
Barvon Valno


Barvon grunted as he wrapped his left arm, freed from it's armor, with a strip of light cloth. The skin still exposed still had a red tinge to it, an artifact from his earlier wound. He replayed the taxing battle over in his head, feeling tired just by recalling it. How long were they out there fighting? An hour or more? Whatever it was, it felt like an eternity, escpecially towards the final wave of Daedra. It was then he received the wound in his arm: several broken bones by way of a Dremora mace directly onto his shield. The wound was taken care of as soon as he and the others returned, but it still felt too soft for his liking.

Pushing himself to his feet, Barvon rose with a groan. He looked down both halls, unsurprised to see many people, Redoran warriors, and refugees who felt it unwise to stay out in the main city, and instead took refuge in the manors of Ald Skar. Dotting the walls upwards and downwards stood various weapons of steel and iron, left for the possibly unarmed incase of a sudden attack.

He bent down, scooping up his left gauntlet and helmet, the only pieces of armor he dared to remove in this rare moment of respite. He carefully placed the glove back onto his wrapped wrist, careful not to disturb the cloth strip. Instead of immediately putting his helmet back on, he looked down at it's marred surface. Three large gouges swept across it's surface. He had not been wearing the helmet at the time, that strike would have blinded him. Even with the helmet on, if that mage hadn't stopped the second clannfear from making it's strike, he'd have been among the many dead from the attack.

But he was better now, his weariness magically willed away. He carried his helmet in his arm as he strode through the hallways, nodding to his Brothers, Sisters, and Cousins. He would be ready for the next attack.

Grazelands, Near Vos
Sakin Eser-Ran


Grass crunched softly underfoot, as a small band of people slunk across the plains. Each of them kept their eyes open, searching the wide grasslands for the slightest hint of movement. They had all seen and fought Daedra before, but they were merely scouts for the moment, not soldiers. The Telvanni wizards that employed the small group would be able to summon armies of the daemons, though their leader, Sakin Eser-Ran, an aged Ashlander, saw that as an inherently bad idea. Perhaps this entire crisis was a revolt of oft abused conjurations, tired of feeling pain and competing in what must surely feel like bloodsports to the otherworldly beings.

For the most part, things were surprisingly quiet on the eastern front, escpecially compared to rumors of what the Redoran city, Ald-Ruhn, was receiving. They occasionally spotted a lone scamp or clannfear, always waiting to see if more appeared, or attacking if they truly were alone. If they were, a quick arrow or spell was all it took.

Sakin climbed to the top of an outcrop of stones, and scanned the horizon. The only notable things were the hybrid tower of Tel Vos in one direction, and the looming Red Mountain in the other. "Let's head north, leaned towards the east." He said simply, then supplied, "Remember to keep the route check on your maps." Each of the group had identical maps, and scrolls of recall, each leading back to Vos. On each map, each member was to make every skirmish, every larger gathering of Daedra, and take note of every one of the so-called Gates.

With little more said, the group headed north, spread out far enough to avoid drawing attention to them, but close enough to help one another.
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naome duncan
 
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Joined: Tue Feb 06, 2007 12:36 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 9:25 am

Tyr chose not to offer much reply to the majority of the young Dunmer woman's comments and opinions, replying to the majority with simple huffs and grunts of acknowledgement. Frankly, he didn't much care what the Duke's petty little servant wench thought of him, so long as she served her purpose and stayed the hell out of the way. If she didn't, he'd have her arrested; he had bigger problems that demanded his attention.

The two of them quickly made their way into the council chambers, where the woman took her leave to grab the wine. Duke Dren, on the other hand, began a short speech, outlining how the heads of the other Great Houses would shortly be arriving, and how they would most likely be wanting assurances on his efforts to halt the Daedric invasion, and, not surprisingly, how it would affect each of the houses.

"Well, I can only assume that you're Duke Dren," Tyr began, straightening his uniform as the girl returned, and began pouring the wine. "I'm Lord Admiral Tyr, Imperial Legion," he introduced. "And as for how these Daedric bastards are pouring outta those damn hell gates, I'd wager that you know just about as much as I do at this point." The Nord stepped forward, taking a goblet of wine and suspiscously smelling the drink before setting it back down, a slightly dejected look on his face; where was a good bottle of brandy when you needed it?

"As for what I'm going to tell those undoubtedly delightful heads of the other houses," Tyr began again, sarcasm thinly veiled in his voice. "I'm going to tell them the same thing I'm about to tell you: that until we can figure out just what the hell those portals are, you'd best get everyone you can back to the major cities, near the forts, where we can protect them. I ain't real keen on losing the mines on the island myself, but I'm sure as hell not gonna leave the cities unprotected while I send men out to the middle of nowhere to protect some gods damned egg mine, either!"

Of course, Tyr knew full well there were far more valuable things in Vvardenfell's mines than Kwama eggs; ebony, glass, things that they might actually be able to use in this fight. But until they had a better grasp of what was going on out there, what was he supposed to do? Send his men out by themselves to get picked off by Daedra and gods knew what else, straining their already limited military resources? No, until they knew how to stop the gates, they'd have to go on the defensive.

"I'm also gonna need lists from you and the others when they get here, listing what kind of materiel you have available. Weapons, armour, the whole damn bag," Tyr added, nodding his head at the Duke. "Now's no time to hold back the big guns; we're gonna need the best you got if we're gonna keep these bastards back."
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Lauren Denman
 
Posts: 3382
Joined: Fri Jun 16, 2006 10:29 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 5:08 pm

NPC: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Garisa_Llethri


Faction and Rank: Redoran - Kinsman

Name: Beniamus Revas

Race: Breton (with Dunmeri blood on his father's side.)

Gender: Male

Age: Mid-20s

Birthsign: The Warrior.

Physical description: At a hair over 5'10 and coming in at just over 150 lbs, he tends to weigh in on the lighter side. Ben tends to stand out some due to his red hair and beard and his sharp, angular facial features; all traits passed on from his Dunmer father. Coupling that with the reddish tinge in his otherwise deep brown eyes, he isn't your run-of-the-mill Breton.

Short History: Born on Vvardenfell to his Dunmer father and Breton mother, his family moved to Leyawiin, the home of his mother in Cyrodiil, when he and his brother were quite young. His father was a smith and jack-of-all-trades in service of House Redoran before moving his family from Vvardenfell in the face of Dagoth Ur's increasing menace. When Beniamus turned 18, his father sent him back to Vvardenfell to learn the values of House Redoran and gain some life experience that could only be found in his ancestral home. He has found a home with his father's family, the Drevan's ? his father's sister ? and was recently made a Kinsman of Redoran and aide to Councilor Garisa Llethri.

About the character: Beniamus is an aspiring spellsword. He's improving in his soldierly skills and already a proficient spellcaster. He found able trainers in both of his parents and they schooled him accordingly, his father a mer of Redoran and his mother a woman of Breton heritage. He is a concise orator and is often found in deep thought.

Weapons: Silver longsword of his father's making.

Armor/Clothing: A complete set of Gah-Julan bonemold, though he is most commonly found in only the boots, greaves, and cuirass as he wears them at all times, still getting accustomed to the weight and trying to master the armor as a second skin. He is usually wearing his armor over a light cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a loose pair of pants.
Misc. Items: A simple water canteen strapped to the back of his belt, as well as a pouch containing whatever number of coins he has at the time. He also has a pouch for storing various herbs and ingredients.


Faction and Rank: Redoran - Lawman

Name: Breves Drevan

Race: Dunmer

Gender: Male

Age: Mid-30s

Birthsign: The Steed.

Physical description: Born under the sign of the Steed, Breves emulates the stars with his penchant for rapid movement. He is fit, of average height and weight for a Dunmer. His crimson hair is cut in the towering mohawk fashion common to Redoran warriors and his face bears the tattoo markings of his house and his body, the scars that every warrior bears.

Short History: Born to a Redoran family, Breves was raised in the Redoran way. His training with the sword was supplemented by basic spellcraft from the local temple. At the age of 16, he entered the House of his own accord, serving in basic duties fitting a youth of Redoran. Now in his mid-30's, he has fought in a number of battles. He is currently stationed in Maar Gan.

About the character: Breves is a crusader by definition, pious and brave, able to wield both sword and spell at need. Trained in both heavy and medium armors, he is most at comfort on the battlefield, with over a decade of combat experience under his belt. He is a vocal proponent of swift action, preferring swords to words when it comes to honour. However, he will follow every order and not falter in service to his house.

Weapons: A steel claymore

Armor/Clothing: A complete set of steel armor, preferring it to the lighter bonemold common to Redoran, as well as the Redoran tower shield, usually slung across his back.

Misc. Items: A simple water canteen strapped to the back of his belt.


IC to follow
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Blaine
 
Posts: 3456
Joined: Wed May 16, 2007 4:24 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 4:52 pm

Ald-Ruhn


"Serjo Savasi Samori. Serjo, please wake." A messenger had just entered the Savasi Samori's private sleeping quarters.

Slowly Savasi turned over, eyeing the messenger. "What is it that you want?" Savasi barely managed to mumble out.

"Serjo, Daedra are attacking the city..."

"The city," these few words were enough to jar Savasi out of bed. Within the next two minutes Savasi was strapping the quiver full of arrows to his back, and slinging both bow and shield over his shoulders. Grabbing his sword, and attaching it to his hip on the way out the door, Savasi began making his way to the battle. He reached the battlefield a little late, missing the action. It seems that his Brothers had fought brave and hard to protect Ald'ruhn.

Being known to many of the Redoran, Savasi found a nearby crate, "Brothers and Sisters, You have fought bravely to protect our city. It seems that you have this place secured. May Almsivi continue to protect us." After his extremely short speech, Savasi stepped off of the crate. He walked around the area talking to some warriors, praying with others. He would be the calm for them in what was a hectic situation.
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Bones47
 
Posts: 3399
Joined: Fri Nov 09, 2007 11:15 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:01 am

Balmora, Hall of the Great House Hlaalu

Flin is particularly suited to quench one's thirst. A toxic pick me up for the highest of nobles. Sirjere was kind enough to tip a lowly errand boy with a quick shot to warm him on the return journey he had to make after his successful delivery to Sirjere. Although a little damp from the dizzle patting against the ash saturated earth, it was in a respectable condition.

The Hall was experiencing a busy day and the kin there were shoulder to shoulder still trying to get business down in the middle of the apocalypse. Somehow Sirjere found a quiet conference room a floor above him which satisfied his immediate need for solitude, the damn chairs required him to reposition his tail a bit though.

A bright golden mark sealed the orders but the stamp was growing old, several parts of the insignia were missing. The Argonian used his sharp claw to slash open the letter and squinted to read the message in the dim light of blue candles recently shipped from Seyda Neen.

Serjo Sirjere listen carefully:

Your House has need of you beyond your usual posting, apologies kinsmen. As a trader of our distinct goods we feel you would be best suited for a survey of local mines to ask about their specific needs in regards to the unprecedented threats the island has discovered. If there is any danger please feel free to cower behind one of the Imperial Legionnaires we have graciously persuaded to join you in the pursuit of continued free Imperial Commerce, but we have been informed this accompaniment will comprise of a lone veteran knight. Meet him post haste at Moonmoth. After your swift evaluation return to Balmora and complete a report discussing issues dealing with our trading routes and possible detours around dangerous areas.

In close,
Baren Alen


The Argonian finished his flin.

Gnisis

Darsan stood at the ready, but fear visibly shook him. His proud blades seemed to vibrate in their sheethes and the mer's ash skin broke into a cold sweat at the dreaded sight of the portal to The demon's realm. His worship was forbidden for a reason. His eyes strained to locate something in the distance at which to prepare for but smoke emanating from the portal shrouded it from the prying eyes of its would be conquerors.

He had been chosen to accompany Commander Arnas on this expedition but didn't have much of a clue why. His combat record was miniscule. Perhaps he was to be used to lure out a Daedroth so they could pelt his thick hide with arrows from a distance as it devoured his supple innards. Or more likely Arnas just wanted him to confront the horrible citadel in front of them before he charged. There is nothing worse than a frightened amateur after all.

Either way it reminded him to ask the High Ordinator if they could take a guar path up the cliff next time. A man can't beat murderous and immortal Dremora after having his foot crushed by a wayward slide of the terrain. He also remembered to stay off that foot for a few minutes.
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R.I.P
 
Posts: 3370
Joined: Sat Dec 01, 2007 8:11 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:59 am

Fort Moonmoth

The new centurion, Tiberius, walked along the stone walls of Fort Moonmoth, staring out at the landscape beyond in thought. The past week had not gone completely according to plan. He was supposed to be at home by now, spending a short time with his family, before being relocated at his new position as a Centurion. Then the Daedra came seemingly out of nowhere, and all those plans had been dashed, leaving him stranded on the island as vague news from the rest of the provinces filtered in.

He had made a rather perilous journey from Balmora to the Imperial fort, looking for a centurion named Proximo. The man was apparently the highest ranking Legionnaire for quite a distance, and Tiberius wanted to check in with him, to recieve some duties to help the efforts of the Legion.

He was walking along the walls, having been told the fellow centurion had been seen there last, apparently waiting for a patrol party to return. Tiberius walked a little further, hand resting on his gladius, as the sun shone off of his higjly polished new set of armor. He wore his centurions helmet with a sense of pride, knowing the responsibilty of his new position and he desperately wanted something to do in this newfound crisis.

A few shouts of warning brought his mind back to the moment at hand, and looking down at the gates, he saw a group of men marching in, as another figure approached them from the stairs, recveiving salutes and wearing the armor of the centurions.

That must be Proximo. the centurion thought logically, though he couldn't be sure. He made his way across the walls swiftly, eyeing a nearby guard, and heading towards him. The man noticed the centurion, though a look of confusion showed Tiberius how unknown he was.

The man straightened up however, and saluted his officer with respect.

"At ease." Tiberius commanded. The man dropped his hand, but remained upright. "How goes the watch?" he asked.

"Fine sir. A little nerve-wracking to be honest though." the man said with a grimace. "Never know when those foul beasts could show up." he told Tiberius solemly, looking out at the land beyond the relatively safe walls.

"Tell me soldier, I am looking for Centurion Proximo. Might that be him down there?" he asked, nodding to the man at the gates who had begun talking to the returning troops.

"Aye, that would be the Centurion you seek." he told him.

"Thank you soldier. Back to your duties then, eh?" he asked with a smile and a nod, as he saluted the man, receiveing one back, before heading to the stairs to the ground. He watched as the men continued talking, keeping his distance respectively, before approaching his superior.

Eventually the last man hurried away, leaving the Centurion alone, and Tiberius approached him, stopping the proper distance away, and giving him a salute. "Centurion Proximo?" he asked. "I am Centurion Tiberius Belisarius. Newly appointed, and left stranded on this god-forskaen island for the time being. I am wondering what I can do to help as a fellow officer, and was told to find you." he finished.


OCC: That'd be you Crazyjoker.

Just in case you forgot ya know. ;)
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Lyndsey Bird
 
Posts: 3539
Joined: Sun Oct 22, 2006 2:57 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 5:10 pm

Faction and Rank:House Redoran:Retainer

Name:Aengoth the Red-Hand

Race:Bosmer

Gender:Male

Age:27

Birthsign:Steed

Physical description:5'4 and around 160 lbs a heavy build, his tanned skin is very fair, and his long black hair is only parted by his ears, very attractive and barely scared Aengoth is quite built for a bosmer. His eyes are a clear emerald green

Short History:Aengoth was raised in southern skyrim, teased for being weak Aengoth decided to change his name to the Norse's way, and to train and become one of the best melee fighters the world has ever seen, after extensive training with Heavy armor and Axes,Aengoth decided to head to Vvardenfell where it was said he could be trained in blade and other skills.After training for a short time with a few Dunmer drillmasters Aengoth found himself short on coin, the Drillmasters told him he was good enough to join redoran, which he decided to do,for glory and training

About the character:Aengoth usualy wears platemail, abosrbing blows,and treusting the heavy armor to abosrb it Aengoth is a great fighter, now wielding a pair of finely crafted Falchions Aengoth would rush in and hack at the stomachs of his foes,with axes he chops towards their chests trusting the strength of his arm to carry it through.Aengoth is beginning to train with light and medium armor, using his natural reflexes and spead to close in and then flurry his blades at his enimies, enjoying this mode of combat Aengoth trains this way alot,With a Bow Aengoth is a natural,prefering a blade in his hand, and feeling the warm blood of his foe on his arm Aengoth would only used a range weapon if he had to.

Weapons:Two well crafted steel Falchions that hang at his waist in good leather sheaths

Armor/Clothing:A hard leather cuirass,boots and greaves engraved with depictions of combat

Misc. Items: potions of heal health,and restore fatigue,a small bag containing gold.
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Nicola
 
Posts: 3365
Joined: Wed Jul 19, 2006 7:57 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 8:58 am

Ald'ruhn - Llethri Manor

Llethri stood, his eyes fixed on the map for what seemed like an eternity. The northern ashlands were his responsibility and reports were leaking in that Daedra were roaming free in the wastes. By ALMSIVI, what do they want in the ashlands! He had already sent a contingent to the Ahanibi-Maimus Egg Mine to check on his workers. He would need to assemble his retainers to converge on the other reported locations.

His door swung open and one of his personal guards stepped in. "Councilor, Daedra are approaching the city. The city guard and the house warriors are assembling."

Pounding his fist into the desk, his crimson eyes burned with the fire of his ancestors. Redoran would face these demons and send them back to the Void.

"Bring me my sword."

Ahanibi-Maimus Egg Mine - Northern Ashlands

Crossing the Foyada Bani-Dad had gone better than expected. Breves and his retainers had encountered a single party of Daedra and left none alive. He smiled grimly as he glanced down at the blood of his foes still lingering on the edge of his claymore. Hopefully the miners had hid themselves appropriately and barred the entrance.
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Love iz not
 
Posts: 3377
Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2007 8:55 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 1:05 pm

Upon entering the Arenim Manor, Thaden nodded his head with respect at one of the Redoran guards. "I'm here to ask for an audience with Ferther Mano. It regards the group of warriors who left to the west to take care of the deadra who spawned there."

Arenim Manor
How cruel the Crimson the molests are skies
The abominations and monstrosities that pour through Hell's gate leave all to tremble
And all Tremble
All but the Redoran


Ferther Mano, a lion of a man. A true Redoran.

He washed his hands in vermilion water spilling out of its basin. His blade's edge had been chipped, the bastards had strong heads.

Whatever it was he had seen, it was no ordinary Daedric demon. He had never seen its kind before. He had to finish it off with his club.

Hearing the voice and words of a Redoran soldier in the hall leading to the chamber, the one eyed Dark Elf turned around and shouted out to the guards.

"Ease'em in Llendas."

-------------------------
The guard upon hearing words of his Clan superior, returned Thaden's nod. The guard wished he were out there...fighting. Every Redoran wished to be there, when others would pray they'd never see war, the Redoran prayed to be in its thickest concentration.

His shield covering the entire of his left arm and side, he led Thaden to the main chambers. Nodding to the man out of respect for a blooded warrior.
--------------------------
Ferther looked Thaden over, the man looked tired, and dirty. No doubt he had killed his fair share of devils this day. The bonemold boots he wore belched in deep knocks across the Crab skeleton floor as he approached the young warrior, his braided mohawk flapping against his cuirass, a Gah Julan helmet in the crook of his arm.

"What is it you have to report warrior?"

Ebonheart, Vvardenfell district, Morrowind

"Katja, its time." spoke a Dark Elf in set of complete Bonemold minus the helmet, a crimson cape flailing in the warm breeze from Ebonhearts sea sweeping over the pair.

"As much as you hate it, do not look lax. We must remain ever vigilant, especially during the Grand Council." the oathman announced, he was Miles Lundren. A Redoran born in the Imperial city itself.

He held a ceremonial spear, peace bound in leather, behind him scaling the stairs towards Castle Ebonheart, was a Redoran scribe...a man of little relevance or rank within the House, and Arch Master Arenim.

Dressed in the traditional Redoran robes, a silk scarf hanging over his shoulders, and his Ancient blade at his side, suspended solely by his death grip on its sheath, he was the proper image of a Redoran warrior. The very stereotype that defined them.

He stroked his mustache before looking to the others. Signaling for them to come.

He was a man who chose his words carefully, never speaking needlessly.

At 110, most Elves would retire to peaceful applications in life, unlike those...he dedicated his entire life to war. And perfecting it.

The man was in perfect condition as a soldier, he could run for miles, and march until his feet were roast beef.

The sun beaming behind him, he examined his retinue.

At his Ferther's suggestion, the Nord woman was inducted to the Arenim family as a retainer.

A fierce one, with an appetite for adventure, she was a bit less disciplined and more flamboyant then his other more conservative Retainers. But there was potential for the flame that would refuse to conform, it burn all in its path, and that path need only be directed at what he needed burned. First however, he'd have to dry the wet behind her ears.

--------------------------------------------------------------
Ebonheart castle was everything people imagined it to be, stone, adorned with high end tapestry and carpets, and politicians.

Candlebras and chandeliers crackled with flame and wax, the lights just bright enough to see things clearly, still casting eerie shadows which danced around wildly.

Sathryn couldn't help but feel excitement in his veins. No matter how controlled and disciplined he was, he couldn't fight the excitement at being involved, directly with the fate of a nation. It was a double bladed sword capable of cutting you with guilt, or thrusting you into glory.

The smell of Black Anther, and fresh Golden Kanet hit his nose. Imperial buildings had a way of smelling like a garden, put people at ease.

Llerar Mandas, the usual representative for Redoran of the Grand Council caught sight of the Crimson wearing Redoran who had just entered the building. He bowed his head in respect.

"Arch Master, the others await you upstairs, within the Council chambers."

"Very well, lead on."

"Of course my Lord."
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Kim Bradley
 
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Joined: Sat Aug 18, 2007 6:00 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:35 pm

Wakening on a small Cot Aengoth awoke, standing up and stretching he strapped his leather armor to himself and belted the two Falchions, after stretching for a bit he walked out into a hallway, heading down it and turning left he entered a large room,walking by he asked people where he could find his commander.
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Dezzeh
 
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Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:16 am

OOC: Check the OP edit section.

Vivec
Morag Tong HQ

Serosi leaned against the wall, his arms folded as the dark robe was wrapped around his lithe body hiding an armory of destructive potential. Across the training room ontop of a straw mat stood Anrel in her typical training attire surrounded by several other Morag Tong members that were sitting, and http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Serul_Dathren, a Dunmer monk quite capable in hand to hand. The two squared off of each other, both in striking contrasts. Anrel was a light creamy golden color, wearing a thin garmet on her bottom and a loose tank top while Serul was dark skinned and covered in a red robe. Not only were their physical features contrasting but also their stances. Anrel faced him straight on, her legs somewhat bent with her exposed toes slightly pointing inward, her wrapped hands were open and vertical forming a triangle with her shoulders if seen from above. Meanwhile Serul had his left side pointing toward her, his feet making a 90 degree angle while his hands were balled into fists and horizontal.

Everything and everyone was quiet. Serosi's keen senses could pick up the heart beat of everyone in the room but he recognized Anrel's only. Just like de ja vu Serosi recognized Serul's first move as he pushed off with his kind leg sending a jab with his forward fist. Anrel intercepted with her forward hand but instead of being content with just blocking her hand followed Serul's as he pulled it back and also took a step forward toward him. Her left hand slid by her right using it as a path way and struck Serul square in the nose.

Serul in surprise took another few steps back and smiled. "Impressive." And before the word was well spoken his rear leg came as a thrusting kick toward her exposed lower torso. Serosi tensed for a moment as he watched it, but only to see Anrel lift up her left leg and letting Serul's slide back behind her as she pulled her own leg back. Serul had to fall in his stance which was far to wide for mobility. Anrel quickly stepped forward sending a flurry of quick centerline interceptive punches over whelming Serul he was only saved by a lucky knee to the inside of Anrel's thigh. The muscle tensed for a moment in pain and Anrel instinctivly took a step back.

Thinking he had found a weakness in Anrel's prowess, Serul sent another jab, this time a fake, and threw a quick forward low kick. Anrel shifted to the side and advanced letting the kick's momentum unbalance Serul slightly and once again a flurry of punches over ran Serul's defense. He did his best to lift up his arms and stay back, and for a moment he had thought he had escaped, only to feel a firm kick to his stomach sending him on his back.

Next http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Rogdul_gro-Bularz stood up. The green skin's pure ivory tusks were the object of Anrel's attention for a moment before Rogdul bowed respectfully and took his stance. The Orc was much more muscular as most of the race were. He wasted no time and charged head on in a low tackle, his hands firmly around her waist. But before she could be taken down she rotated toward the left, while grabbing the Orc by his ears and twisting sending him to the ground. Rogdul quickly rolled onto his feet using the momentum of the fall. He had better balance than most Orcs it seemed. Next he swung and elbow for her head which missed but followed through with a shoulder barge. It left him open however for a strike to the temple which disoriented the Orc.

Anrel quickly jumped forward wrapping her hands around the back of his head and pulled herself up sending knee after knee into Rogdul's forehead careful of the orcish tusks. After four strikes, he grabbed the elvish female by the hips and threw her up over his head. He did it in such a manner, quick and awkward that she had no way to land with her center of weight under her feet. Instead she fell at an angle leaning back toward the orc, and used her heels to break her fall before the rest of her body continued to roll back. In that same moment she pulled her legs toward herself rolling back toward the Orc and at the right moment in the roll extended them sending two firm kicks under the Orc's jaw line.

The dozen or so watchers seemed impressed conjuring a bit of light applause. Anrel couldn't help but smile as she panted, her eyes looking beyond those watching to Serosi further back in the background. As she stepped off the mat, the others continued their training or went about other business. She walked coyly toward her Serosi stopping just infront of him. "Well do you think you can do better?" She stepped closer and closer, her feet ontop of his and her fingers grasping onto the fabric of his clothes pulling herself against him.

"I'm going to go in a couple of hours or so." Serosi gently pushed her off and slid away back to their room. Anrel followed behind him. He opened the door to their room and Anrel closed it behind her. Serosi already had the writ of execution in his hand gazing over the name. Anrel knew who it was and she wasn't surprised that Eno had picked him for this target. She couldn't help but feel worried. Serosi sat at the edge of the bed after removing is robe and his throwing weapons, with Anrel gazing at him as she began unwrapping the straps of material from around her hands.

"Come here." Serosi spoke softly, his eyes lowered. Anrel neared him smiling, and once close enough his hands quickly embraced her from his sitting position and pulled her to stand against him, his cheek against her stomach. Anrel quickly gasped and pushed at his shoulder. "Don't i'm a sweaty mess!" Something Serosi didn't seem concerned with. With one quick fluid motion she was on her back with Serosi on his side to her left. An arm was wrapped tightly around her as his face was hidden aganst the side of her head in her hair. His left leg lay over her's as if making sure she wouldn't leave.

And for a while, they were just quiet together. Anrel's hand carressed the side of Serosi's face as she always did since he had been an infant. And just as always his body seemed to melt into relaxation, his eyes drifting closed. Soon he fell asleep completely under control of the bliss enducing strokes of Anrel's hand against his face.


. . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq4KwXro9fU&feature=related (Optional if you want to listen.)

The few minutes of sleep felt like hours as Serosi lifted his head slowly looking down at Anrel smiling. A quick kiss greeted him, something to savor. He slowly pulled away, this time on all fours above Anrel just, seeing her. Both realized the gravity of this writ, and how dangerous it would be. Neither one of them spoke, he simply stood up placing his three blades on the dresser. Anrel watched for a moment as Serosi lifted the black shirt off of himself. She then sat up taking a few steps to their things and removing several strips of boiled netch leather. Often Serosi went into his missions unarmored but once in a while a composition of light armor would be used just in case.

Anrel turned around toward her undressed lover with the straps of leather. He had a light and graceful frame pleasing to her eyes and perfect for this line of work. Her soft hands wrapped around his narrow waste wrapping the leather around and around. Serosi lightly protested. "I can do this, it's fine." Anrel stopped for a moment pressing her forehead against the back of his neck. "I know, but I want to." A smile krept on Serosi's face, his reply soft. "Alright..."

After she was done with his waste, Serosi turned around and had a soft kiss carress his long neck. After which another leather strap was wraqed around him, this time to guard his throat. This one was quick and as such she moved to his fore arms. She studied his hands, they were of nobility, soft, not of someone that had ever worked. Her own hands pressed against his chest making him sit on the bed as she began the same process around his ankles. She had half a mind to simply bounce on him and nibble his ears as she would sometimes to tease him but before she could he stood up, slipping on a pair of greyish pants and matching shirt. He kept the same shoes, a type he was used to. Then lifting a scarf Serosi was about to begin to wrap it around his neck and head but was interuppted by a stolen kiss.

Anrel then took the scarf and herself wrapped it around his neck, and in layers around his mouth and over his head leaving only his piercing eyes uncovered. One by one she handed him his glass dagger, something he had had from a young age, his first contracts were completed with it in his youth. It would go against his lower back with the handle pointing downward. The curved glass dagger could used to quickly strike with the draw. On his back along his spine was the ebony blade he was given as a present for his 16th birtday and carried a silence enchantment. Pressed against his waist by his deep violet sash was his Sica, a fearsome adamantium blade of Dres style. The forward curve proved effective even against armor. Around his thighs and on the backs of his shoulders were assortments of throwing weapons while around his wrists and ankles were needles and string. Each tool had been carefully inspected and taken care of with the upmost interest. The final piece were the circular lense resin goggles that Anrel slipped over Serosi's head. With his long hair tied in a tail under his scarf and his face covered, aside from his body that Anrel was familiar with, no one else would have a possibility to recognize him.

"Peace with you..." Anrel whispered, hearing Serosi echo "...and with you." soon after.


. . .

"These were all the pieces I could find. If they discover who you are, you'll be hunted by every branch from here to Tear." Eno Hlaalu gazed at Serosi now deeper in disquise and a few inches taller. He wore different pieces of modified Indoril armor. He wore the Pauldrons with an extending cape from them covering Serosi from all sides. He wore the Indoril boots that had been modified to allow another shoe to enter within and were also elevated matching the width of the pauldrons and cape with better height. Of course he also wore an Ordinator's helmet making the appearence complete.

"Once the act is complete, the armor can easily come off making escape much easier." Eno was rather proud of himself. Even after all these years he had some brilliant ideas on how to get close to the target.


. . .

Vivec City
Temple Canton

By the time Serosi had left the Arena Canton, he had gotten a hold of walking more normally in his disquise. He was naturally graceful with a great sense of balance. The Temple Canton in the afternoon had an assortment of pilgrims, faithful, and feaful especially due to the recent turn of events as well as various other Ordinators as well. He could have blended in with the crowd but he would eventually reach a limit of how close he would have been able to get. This was prefered and all together needed for this target. His disquise provided him with a radius of free movement as none of the civilians wished to get too close. The Temple structure was rather imposing and seemed to be the main mark of any Indoril influence upon Vvardenfell. Growing ever weaker one would think that at least the Ordinator guards would be somewhat more polite.
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Alexis Estrada
 
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Joined: Tue Aug 29, 2006 6:22 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 3:10 pm

Ebonheart Castle


The Redorans demanded respect, although they did not voice it. Nor did they need to as they followed a Dunmer servant through the castle halls. Their presence alone was enough to earn it, intimidating yet some what inspiring to look at, if the houses petty squabbles and rivalries weren't so bad, The great house Hlaalu would be honoured to call the Redorans brothers. But no such compromise would ever come, at least not soon in such troubled times, But it was good to know that the people of Morrowind could produce such keen warriors, embodied in Redoran. But the land also produced some of the finest, if not selfish, mages in the Telvanni. And some of the most shrewd cunning diplomats the world had ever seen in the Noble house of Hlaalu.

She felt at ease however, Ebonheart was not the place for a Redoran to openly attack the duke nor his kinsmen, it was deep in Imperial territory, such an act of treason would be suicide. But she still resented Sadie for passing this order to her, she had much more pressing matters to attend to, and the servants in this castle where to busy to be showing celebrities around.

They grew level with the council chambers, opening the door the dunmer bowed slightly and held her arm out gesturing for them to enter, a piece of her black hair coming loose from the bun, framing her face on either side.

Dren watched as the Redorans entered, the Retainers standing sentinel around their master, who was now seated opposite the duke, beside his scribe.

"Ah- I thank you for joining us here today Arch master, I admit I am surprised that you showed up at all." He spoke openly and politely, eager to have the meeting run smoothly. "Although I am less than surprised that the Telvanni remained holed up in their towers. I was just speaking to the good admiral here about the crisis we face before you arrived."

He paused a moment as the dunmer servant returned with a silver tray in her arms, heavily laden with fruits imported from cyrodil. Graqes from colovia if Dren remembered correctly. With it was a large bottle of port and a bottle of brandy, beside that was a flask of mulled mead.

She must have seen the Nord Dren thought to himself as he eyes the mead, taking the bottle of brandy and pouring himself a generous helping before replacing it on the platter and raising his hand to the Redoran and Nord , suggesting they do the same. At least they would be well fed and watered even if the meeting deteriorated.

"Now, I was about to tell the admiral what house Hlaalu intends to contribute to the efforts against the Daedra, you might as well hear it and you're scribe can record it, I dare say many will be sceptical about my generosity." He said, raising his hand to the servant, a silent gesture of dismissal. "I will personally hire mercenaries to protect the Silt striders so that travel will still be possible. Any refugees will be welcome in Ebonheart, I will take measures to ensure they are comfortable and safe here. I will supply the legion with perishables, no more, not until needed. For now you will make do with arrows and rations. Anything else will be provided when and only when absolutely necessary, although I plan on helping as much as possible, I wont be of much use if I drain every resource I have straight away, we do not know how long this will last."

Pausing for a minute to let the words sink in, and allow the scribe to catch up, he surveyed the others in the room briefly, anolyzing their body language while sipping on the bitter sweet brandy in his glass.

----

Ebonheart, Sadene

"Oh, you're busy?" Sadie asked teasingly, perching herself on his desk, toppling a stack of papers off the top as she did. "You see, I thought you might be interested in getting back into the mining business."

Her fingers played about on the strings of the viola at her hip absent minded as she watched the Orc whittle away in the corner, smiling to herself at the sight of such a simple minded creature creating a crude form of art.

"You leave immediately, Here is the charter for you're new workers, and a map of the mines location." She said, handing him the letters "You will notice a third letter, that is for the nearest legion encampment, which I believe is just west, check you're map, it shouldn't be too hard to find. You will have no trouble with getting the workers settled in right away, I dare say it should be a breeze."

Without a simple acknowledgement of the task, she stood and left the office. She had to leave now if she was to make the rendezvous. Her light hearted demeanour on display for all to show, she was a creature of passion when it boiled down to it, action on her emotions without a moments notice. But she was also calculating and sly, a good grouping of qualities to have if she was to succeed in this most noble of houses.

"Lie down, my dear, and in your ear,
To help you close your eye,
I'll sing a song, a slumber song,
A miner's lullaby.

There's darkness down the mine my darling,
Darkness, dust and damp,
But we must have oor heat, oor light,
Oor fire and our lamp.

Your daddy carries down, my darling,
Doon in a three foot seam,
So you can carry down my darling,
Carry down and dream"

She carried on singing the lullaby as she walked toward the Redoran party, winking and smiling at what was undoubtedly their Arch master, earning a look of utmost reprisal from the servant she sent to fetch them. If only Dren knew of her audacity. For some reason she didn't think he would mind to much.

The sunlight matched her mood perfectly, dancing off the water in the distant harbour around the imperial boats, mocking the dark days they where living in. She did not mind however, even the darkest of days could grow to be the greatest, and Sadene would be remembered as the hero of Hlaalu, the guiding hand behind its victories.

He was stood exactly where she had told him, looking out onto the same water which mocked them, he was tall and some what handsome, he didn't look like a mercenary captain, Sadie had pictured a mottled one eyed peg leg, but this was better.

"Greetings, I am Sadene Radoran, house cousin and for today, I am you're friend and employer." She said, holding out her hand as if waiting for him to kiss it, he looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her exposed collar bones for a few seconds to long before brushing his dark lips against the soft skin of her hand.

"You don't feel like a warrior." He replied, referring to the softness of her skin. He was good, she had to give him that.

"I'm in administration, as you would know if you knew of the inner workings and ranking of the houses." She replies off handily, mockingly chastising him for his narrow view of her 'house.'

"Why does Redoran need mercenaries, I thought you had enough warriors of your own to deal with such trivial matters."

"We do, but unfortunately we are understaffed, we can only spare a few hands here and their, the rest is focused on defending our cities from the daedra. We have opted to request outside help. And we would sooner turn to a Dunmer mercenary group than the ivory skinned imperials. Blood loyalties and all."

He seemed to like that, he ate every word she said to him, or at least pretended to as he watched her fingers playing about with a small locket, brushing the collar bones he had mistakingly drawn interest to.

"Makes sense, where is the place?" He asked, holding a map and a quill out for her to mark.

"There are two locations, one is to the north, the other to the east on the coast. Do you have enough men to take both at once?" She asked, lacing her voice with sugar as she marked the two locations on his map. The map itself was dog eared and falling apart, printed on leather but she doubted it would survive the journey to his pocket let alone the mercenaries destination.

"I have enough men, how will you know when we have succeeded?"

"I will be sending some house brothers with you to both locations, they will handle things after you're finished, you will be paid ten percent extra per day if you opt to stay on and protect them from any more attempts."

His eyes widened in greed, he tried to hide it but he was not as adept as many of the people Sadie was used to dealing with throughout her career with Hlaalu. Even if he was, she would have picked up on it regardless.

"Ten percent?" He tried milking her, svcking air through his teeth like an architect trying to earn a bigger grant so he can skim off the top, he didn't fool her before, he wouldn't do it now. "That's not much, my men are in serious danger here."

"Ten percent, no more. We both know this job is as comfortable as the coffers of the Hlaalu, you're men arent in danger. But, I could just hire another mercenary group, lord know many would jump at the opportunity considering such dark times are upon us." she replied, turning to walk away before he could reply.

"Ten percent will do fine." He replied, knowing his attempt would not work but trying any way, he still looked pleased with what he was receiving. "when do I leave?"

"Right away, you will need to move fast. I expect results."

"Very well ma'am, it's been a pleasure." With his final words and a quick nod, he left, leaving Sadie to gaze wistfully upon the glistening waters beyond her.
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GLOW...
 
Posts: 3472
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2006 10:40 am

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 9:20 am

Ald'ruhn

Dan'Remas ran at the head of two-score Sarethi retainers. Two heavily-armoured warriors in ebony briastplates forced themselves upon to the barricades, waving the twin banners in the air. To the left, in the hands of http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Morrowind:Mondros_Balur, the scarab of Great House Redoran whipped in the hot wind that spewed forth from the gate of hell. To the right, in the hands of some equally skilled warrior, a great red "s" in Daedric script flicked hither and thither.

With a burst of adrenaline, Mondros Balur swung his mace over the brink, quickly followed by Dan'Remas' club. Mondros brought his arm back as the head of a scamp dangled from its neck on thin tendrils of muscle. The mutilated corpse tumbled down into the throng of Daedra.

Varvur Sarethi balanced himself atop a barrel held still by great slabs of cork bulb wood. Topless, his knotted torso twisted with ease as he drew an ebony arrow from his hip quiver, fitted it to a finely-worked short bow, and released it into the bare eye of a Dremora. Flailing, the Dremora lashed out at the closer Dan'Remas. In an instant, Dan'Remas responded: smashed his glass-spiked club into the Daedroth's weak underarm, then up into its neck. The beast crumpled, and Varvur hooted.

Though late to the battle, the Sarethi men were a welcome addition. They were fresh and well-armed. "Forward! Forward! Drive the Daedra back into hell!" A voice sang out, harsh but authoritative and distinctively musical. Mondros and Varvur watched Dan'Remas fall from the top of the barricades, only to return with a crossbow. "Up, Redoran! Forth Redoran! Up!" He fired a single bolt at a Dremora, only to drop it and jump forward to kick the beast in the side of the head. Somewhere down the line, Varvur predicted that the exact same thing was happening amidst the dust, heat and blood.

Then things turned.

Dan'Remas took a slight cut to the arm and fell back to the ground. He found his crossbow and leaned against a crate to load it. That man, that man is a hero. Mondros Balur dropped the Redoran standard but regained it. He swiftly tore the flag from the standard and fought a Dremora with it, quarter-staff style. Redoran men were falling. More men needed to come. In the distance, the gate of hell smoldered and whipped the air with long tongues of fire. He watched it with wonder, an island of calm in the sea of battle. A Dremora lashed out. Varvur jumped back and put an arrow through its throat. The battle continued.
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Mylizards Dot com
 
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Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 11:09 am

Ald'Ruhn

Gritting his teeth, Arsayn let loose an arrow from his composite bow. It hit a Dremora in the throat; the spawn of hell gurgled, falling over and off the barricades. 'Up, Redoran! Forth Redoran! Up!' a distinct voice yelled out nearby; even through the chaos of battle, Arsayn could recognize Dan'Remas. The young Redoran noble reached out for another arrow, only to find none; cursing loudly, he stuffed his bow back into the quiver and drew his shashka, ramming its handle into the head of a scamp that appeared on the other side of the barricade. Dizzy, the daedroth almost let go, however Arsayn did not wait for that to happen - with a loud roar, his sword bore down on the foul creature, the extremely sharp edge digging deeper into its skull as the shashka was pulled back. Hitting its jaw with the handle again, Arsayn watched as the scamp went down the same path the Dremora had journeyed moments ago. He was forced to duck behind the barricades before he could see the small daedroth reach the ground, as an arrow whizzed past the same spot where his head was moments ago.

Another Dremora jumped on top of the barricade, only to be met with the shashka's blade digging into its vulnerable neck. Otherworldly blood was spilt all over Arsayn's front as he pulled his blade back again, leaving a deep, fatal wound in the hellish invader; the creature crumbled to the ground, allowing the young Dunmer a moment's respite.

The fighting had turned the usually finely-clothed Arsayn into a bloody mess. The sleeves of his shirt were gone, leaving only bloody shreds sticking from beneath his cuirass. His bare, muscular arms were ravaged with numerous scratches of varying deep; thankfully, none were deep enough to stop him. His legs were also bloodied and scratched in a few places, however not nearly as badly as his arms. His cuirass was dented in numerous spots, with even a small hole near his shoulder. Blood was splattered all over his face and chest, not to mention his boots that were covered with both Daedra and Redoran blood nearly to the ankles. Usually tidy, his hair had turned into a crimson-red dab.

"ALMSIVI! Redoran! Nerevar!" With this battle roar, Arsayn leaped at yet another Dremora that had scaled the barricades, breaking its nose with the handle of his shashka before jumping back to place some distance between himself and his foe. As the daedroth tried to recover from this onslaught, the single-edged blade cut into its jaw.

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Zosia Cetnar
 
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Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 5:58 pm

Ghostgate.

The Archanon was right. Ghostgate did need reinforcements. Despite the many carcasses and fresh corpses of the deadra, the sounds of clanfears and deadroth screeching loudly proved that the battle at Ghostgate was yet not over with. A good handful of Buoyant Armigers were stationed there, most of them having been at Ghostgate from before. What luck that was...the people within Ghostgate would surely stand no chance, and even more deadra would have scurried off to Ald-Ruhn or Maar Gan.

The Buoyant Armigers had already done more than just well. They had slain far more daedra than being slain by the foul creatures, but still, their fatigue was reaching a limit, and many had been too wounded to fight properly. Standing in a safe posistion a top of the slopes and at the back, were a couple, perhaps 5 or so, healers. Dressed in nothing but robes from the Temple, they were trying their best to protect the Armigers, but much of their focus was lost when they had to retreat from deadra who spotted them.

It was then that Adaren suddenly shouted out, "My lady! Look!" He exclaimed frantically as he pointed towards a healer who was being cornered by a daedroth. The Buoyants could not hear the woman's cries for help as she despreatly tried defending herself against the deadra. The woman had spent hours of her own energy to heal wounds, her mind was too weary to cast more spells.

Pulling out a newly sharpened arrow, Theloria took her bow and aimed towards the daedroth. The priestess stood completely still as her eyes saw nothing else but the back of the daedroth's neck. Drawing her arm back, the elven stylen arrow was ready to be fired, and with a quick, steady motion, the arrow flew off towards its target. Elven arrows were not as strong as ones made from glass or ebony, however they were light and when fired correctly, they had a far better precision and above all, speed.

The daedroth let off a howl of pain as the arrow pierced through its rough hide. One more arrow hit it. The deadroth now turned its attention away from the healer as it turned around. But...it did not make any sound this time, except for the loud thud when it hit the ground. The healer stared at the arrow sticking out from the deadroth's forehead, and upon turning around to see its shooter, the Dunmer woman's face lit up with gratefulness as she rushed towards Theloria and the curates.

"Praised be Almsivi, I knew more would come to aid us! Priestess, I thank you for ridding of that abomination. I...I would have stood more of a chance had I not been so tired. I can see by your clothing that you are of the temple. Have you been sent to help?" The healer spoke with gratitude as she bowed to the group.

Tucking an arrow into her quiver, Theloria turned her attention back at the healer and replied, "Yes, I am Theloria Baren, and these are the three fine curates I have brought with me from the temple of Ald-Ruhn; Adaren, Nelos and Nadena." The curates bowed gracefully as their names were spoken.

Looking out towards the Buoyant Armigers, Theloria noticed the daedra were becoming thinner in numbers. But she was not sure whether or not it was over with. "The Archcanon wished for us to travel out here. Tell me...how long has this battle lasted? Not all these corpses are newly slain."

The healer sighed as her face turned into a grim expression, "Days. Perhaps a week even. It seems more just keep showing up! But...the numbers are beginning to decrease, and we are glad. The only problem that remains now is the Buoyant Armigers do not have any oppurtunity to rest, or be fully healed. Some scream with pain as they lift their weapons, and so bravely charge at the enemy. We fear they might not have the strength to keep this up for much longer."

Theloria nodded, she had feared the same thing. "Do not let this trouble you any further. We are here to assist you in any way we can. Nadena, Adaren. I wish for you to see to the wounded, heal them, but stay out of the way for the others. Nelos, you will accompany me in fighting off the deadra."

Taking a deep breath in, Theloria gripped her bow as she and Nelos made their way closer to the battle ground.

Arenim Manor, Ald-Ruhn.

"Serjo Ferther Mano." Thaden bowed his head with respect at the Redoran champion. Great words had been spoken of this man, of his deeds and of his true Redoran strength. It was hard to think of any reason not to respect this man, and he was perhaps one of the few Thaden did not have any wrong to say about. And that...was very rare when it came to the spellsword.

Clearing his throat, Thaden spoke up, "The group of Redoran warriors have returned from the west. We have dispatched of any deadra who were closing in too close on Ald-Ruhn grounds. The battle was not an easy one, serjo. We have lost over ten good men there...they fought hard, and they fought bravely, but the deadra came in hordes, and it was a long battle, that took its toll on both mind and body. Even more so...we do not think that this means the western area is safe, they could easily respawn there again, and the Redoran must be ready for this."

Thaden's eyes were filled with grief, he had seen so many fall. So many of his comrades, his friends...his own kin. He wondered what would happen now, would they be trapped by daedra for all eternity? The roads were not safe travel by any longer, not alone at least. There had been travellers who had fallen into the hands of praying dedra, their flesh being eaten away at the cruel creatures.

"I also request that I be permitted to travel out to Ghostgate, I have heard that the Buoyant Armigers are having a hard time keeping up their defenses there, and if they were too fail...then Ald-Ruhn and the towns close to Ghostgate will face an ill outcome. Particually the smaller towns, such as Maar Gan. I would like to go there and assist them, unless you wish me to do other wise."
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Charles Mckinna
 
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Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 6:53 pm

Katja the Determined, Ebonheart.

Katja scoffed at the man's words. "Lax, sir? I would never dream of it. Besides, I prefer the term...casual," she replied cooly with a rare smile. She stood and followed the Redoran retinue up the stairs and into foyer of the Council chambers, never more than a few feet behind the proud stride of her master. As the small retinue entered the Council Chambers, Kat took her appointed position silently. As a Retainer, Katja was allowed access into the Council chambers, however nothing but silent vigilance was expected of her. That and to show off the might of the Redoran. She straightened her back and held her head high as the first few pleasantries were exchanged, looking around the room with her sharp almond shaped eyes, never dropping eye contact with anyone.

News of the Daedra made her anxious for her colleagues and few friends in the various Redoran holdings across Vvardenfell, namely Ald' Ruhn, Ald Velothi, Maar Gan and Molag Mar. She could see it now, hordes of the fiendish Daedra overrunning Redoran holdings, the sand thick with blood and gore as razed building belched thick black oily smoke. Clenching her jaw slightly, she pushed such images and thoughts from her mind and focused on the meeting. As Miles had put it, one had must remain ever vigilant. Especially within the games played by the Great Houses with one another. Kat leant her head to one side and with a satisfied sigh, felt the popping of her vertebrae. She looked over at the retinue before putting her hands behind her back and stood sentry.

OOC: I think it's time I brought in another character. Possibly a Legionnaire. I'll make one and send it in to whoever' necessary when I'm done; I think we need to even the odds for the other factions a little :P
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Kortniie Dumont
 
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Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 7:50 pm

Post » Sat Aug 28, 2010 11:18 am

Laurenne, Balmora Mages Guild

"You jest."
Laurenne stared into the placid eyes of the Dunmer in front of her, he didn't look like he was joking. Her brow creased as the anger bubbled up,
"This is ridiculous, I have no ties with house!"
The man was well dressed and, aside from the two hulking bodyguards which had been standing at a respectful distance by the door into the small room showed no sign of the 'imminent conflict' that he spoke of. As the Breton girl's voice rose however, the soldiers advanced, wary of what the angry mage might do to their boss.

"You live in Balmora and have done so for several years, you are a naturalised citizen-"

Laurenne exploded and the guards moved right up behind their leader;
"Second Class!"
she yelled, finishing the man's sentence for him before stabbing him in the chest with her finger
"You purple freaks don't care what happens to any of us non Dunmer 'citizens'"
she laced the final word with sarcasm, showing her absolute contempt for the system into which she'd been exiled.

"-of house Hlaalu, and as such are eligible for conscription"
The dunmeri recruitment officer remained unaffected by Laurenne, he dealt with this daily,
Outlander scum! She should be grateful for an opportunity to repay her debt to our house
He noticed how close his guards had come and he quickly waved them back, it wouldn't do to arrest someone with such useful skills.
"Miss Biele, I would like to remind you that you have no choice in this matter, if you do not comply, we will be forced to arrest and press gang you. Now I suggest you cooperate before we decide that your contribution to the war effort would be greatest, shackled in one of our many mines."

Laurenne sagged slightly at the comment, now that the threat had been openly made she realised that she wasn't getting out of this. Briefly she considered as spell of divine intervention, it would take her as far as legion garrison and hopefully out of Hlaalu's reach. However she was certain that the legion would hand her straight back, now more than ever they needed the cooperation of the Great Houses of Morrowind.

The Dunmer smiled as the Breton sagged,
At least the magi are vaguely reasonable, I half expected her to attack me, like that idiot Nord...
"Through your silence I can assume that you have seen reason? Yes?"

Laurenne nodded regretfully, the rage drained by the hopelessness of her situation. The hatred was still there and she could imagine the smug smile of that self satisfied bastard as she avoided his gaze.

"Good"
The tone was deliberately mocking and falsely cheerful as the recruitment officer gazed down at the beaten Breton, enjoying his moment
"Well then, sign this which makes you an official retainer of house Hlaalu and report to the Council building."
She signed and, the Dunmer with a quick look at his guards took leave, heading off to find his next unfortunate victim.

Laurenne remained in place for several minutes after he left the Mage's guild building, feeling slightly sick at the prospect of serving these dishonourable Dunmer. Eventually though she stirred, grabbed her worn staff and began her journey to the Council building.
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Justin
 
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