Group One:

Sinclaire stood gazing out from atop the silt strider platform. This place was much different than Khuul. Large strangely constructed dwellings were in view, shaped like some sort of odd combination of bug and beast. The howling of a distant wind filled the air, reminding Sinclaire of what his caravan driver said to him. "Count yourself lucky you chose to visit at a time devoid of the ashen winds."

Altogether unsure of what it was the Dunmer meant, the Breton continued down the curved stair leading up to the silt strider. Within sight happened to be the Guild of Mages, marked by a large sign bearing the sigil of an eye. Convinced this was where he was meant to go, Sinclaire continued forward, forcing himself to ignore the unique architecture that surrounded him. Just as he passed the aged Breton standing watch at the door, he spied a large cloud of brown coming toward the city on the horizon.

"This must be the ashen wind," he thought to himself, nodding to the guard and passing through the door, into the guild. Inside the structure, a few Dunmer turned their heads to greet him shortly before they returned to their studies. Silently acknowledging them, Sinclaire approached what appeared to be the main receiving desk. The Altmer behind the desk appeared to turn slightly paler as he walked forward. Without pause, the golden skinned mer stood up and motioned for the young lord to follow.

Sinclaire obeyed the mage, walking at the same brisk pace the mer kept. Following close behind, he admired the surrounding view; low hanging blue sources of light dominated the hallways of the guild, casting out a cool glow that gave the area an icy sort of feeling. Only after a brief period of silence did the pair reach a small room with a raised platform in the center. The robed figure next to the platform gave Sinclaire a slight incline of the head, if only to state that he was recognized.

Before the young lord could ask, "What next?", the Dunmer near the platform grabbed his arm, almost throwing him down into the circle. The next moment, a bright flash of light filled the air around him, gradually consuming him until the surrounding area seemed less and less familiar.

A moment passed before he realized that he was already in an entirely new environment altogether...

Group Two: Another joint post between me and Shadow666

Avarys waited for a temple acolyte, a female child of his own race, to finish examining him for signs of the blight. He observed the surroundings. All around him are travelers, some refugees from the blight and the foulness plaguing the faithful, some pilgrims, and others simple travelers. All are being held and processed at the bridge, with some of Molag Mar's garrison, Ordinators from the Order of the Watch, keeping order. The child examining him must be inexperienced, as the outlander taking care of Velron finished way before she did. Avarys did not care, it was the least of his worries. But what caught him off guard was Velron complimenting the outlander. It's odd, he did not expect that.

Soon the Acolyte finished. And the Ordinator head for the town, he managed to catch up with Velron at the gates of Molag Mar.

Hearing the weighted footsteps of Indoril armour slowly closing the gap between then, Verlon move his head slightly to see the soldier at his side. "Now that we are cleansed in the eyes of ALMSIVI, let us go speak to the High Priest.. there is much we need to discuss with him before the other.. help arrives" He said plainly, whatever softness he has shown previously to the Nord woman had dissipated when speaking to the fellow ordinator, the veil of the Inquisitor returned.

As they walked through the camp where healers were tending the other members of the caravan, Verlon spied a larger tent where he had seen a dunmer in Bonemold follow what could only be a Telvani mage. An odd combination to be sure in desperate times the Inquisitor said silently as he motioned to Avarys.

"Had i not witnessed this with my own eyes, i would have though that the request was nothing more than the usual.. Now though I am glad that the three have blessed us with this opportunity to aid those who need it most. To remove dissent and to restore the faithless or remove.. whatever is necessary. Tell me Avarys.. if what is beholden to us here is anything to indicate, what are your thoughts?" They stopped as Verlon motioned for an Acolyte to fetch the Temple Master. "we have time before the Master will have time to speak to us, so be frank with me brother"

Avarys contemplated what he will say to the Inquisitor. It is wise to be careful with your tongue around the Inquisition if you have different thoughts than them. Especially one like Verlon.

"Our mission as Ordinators are simple Sera, we are the protectors of the faithful. And the people Molag Mar needs our protection more than ever."

Velron nodded at the fellow Ordinator's words, but noticed the obvious word choices of one not wanting to insult a superior. At that his eye's narrowed. "It is good that you know when to hold your tongue Avarys, but I had asked you to be frank with me. Ever since you realised you were to be under my command once more, you have been acting.. cautious, maybe even feeling that you shouldn't be here?" He turned towards the younger mer and his piercing eyes met the soldier's.

"The report says that your unit had been all but destroyed by an attack in the Blight Storm.. Only a few survivors and yourself made it back" He continued. "Do you feel that your place here with me is inferior to taking revenge on your brothers? I said to speak frank with me, so do so. If it is fear that i would find it insulting or Heretical, don't as i am asking for your opinion not what you think will please me.." he continued to look at Avarys awaiting a response.

Avarys sighed. The Inquisitor had caught on to him. Trying to hide his disdain for him would be futile at this point. He had no choice but to tell him the truth.

"Sera, if you wish, then I will confess. I disagree with your methods. When I first served under you, I will not forget what you have done to the Ashlanders. I do not sympathize with their blasphemous views, but I felt they should be given a chance to join the ranks of the Faithful. They have been fed lies by their forefathers. And that was all they knew Perhaps if given the proper teachings of the Temple, at least some of them could have learn the error of their ways."

Despite the feeling of anger and dissent growing, he managed to remained stoic.

"I am sure some would stubbornly resist, and so they must be slain, but I believe all Dunmer are worthy of the chance to learn the teaching of our lords. I felt you did not give them that chance."

He reflected back on the memories of the day he lost his men... His expression grew bitter.

"I have lost my band of men. All but few of the hundred and eighty of them. And I have no clue what happened to the rest other than they are at the Ghost Gate. I would of prefered to be with my brothers in my order, preparing to storm the Red Mountain, where the source of this foulness plaguing our people surely lies. I feel my service is being wasted here. I may be protecting the Faithful here from foul heretics, but I will protect many more, and Molag Mar at the Ghost Gate."

He looked at the Inquisitor.

"That is all Sera." He said stoically but with a very slight and repressed tone of bitterness.

Velron studied the soldier as he began to speak his mind, eyes piercing through as if to discern truth from lie. When the ordinator finished with his words, the Inquistor nodded. "The difference of opinion.. You have battled the evil of red mountain since your post with myself and you believe to see the world for as it is. Perhaps the Ashlanders could have been shown the one true faith.. but perhaps they could attack from within. Once i gave a man such a chance.." He replied and looked past Avarys, eyes distant.

"He had been a loyal servant of ALMSIVI for many years until one day I return to see the small temple i had helped create desecrated, lies of our gods being false filled the library. They turned their backs on our faith.. and when faith falters that is when the blight grows.. That was the moment i realised that those touched by the dissident cannot change their ways." His eyes returned to the soldier, anger edging at the sides.

"We are the bastion that stands between the faithful and the faithless. We all join the ranks knowing that one day our lives may be sacrificed so that ALMSIVI's might bring our victory. Never forget that our faith is stronger than any armour. But those who cannot see the true faith must be cut down.. that is no mistake." Looking away for a moment to see the Temple Master was on the way, and walked towards him.

Avarys sighed briefly. This man would condemned the deaths of many because of one treacherous heretic. Avarys still believed people can be redeemed, even heretic. Velron's words did little, if anything, to sway Avarys; it only made him more resentful to the Inquisitor. There is nothing he could do however. He followed the Inquisitor to the Temple Master.

Group One

Nevena was rooted to the spot. She tried to get her thoughts into order, to work through what she was seeing. A drunkard had threatened the woman at the foot of the platform. He was unsteady on his feet, looked gaunt and unhealthy, and his clothes were tattered, but nonetheless he held a knife up to the Imperial.

But the Imperial ...

Magic glittered around her hands and stirred the air around her. Frost rimed the ground at her feet. Magic, powerful magic, though crudely used. Nevena had always been disgusted by people who used magic to threaten and intimidate. Even worse was how clearly this woman outclassed her 'attacker'. She was fit and strong and expensively outfitted, and could surely disarm the drunkard without killing him, but there was a sick madness in her eyes, a delight in the terror and fear of others, even as the drunkard's friend begged her to stop.

Nobody was doing anything. But what could Nevena do? All her instincts were wrong. Spells ran through her head, spells to confuse and disarm, spells to calm and relax. In her mind's eye, she reached out with a tiny tendril of magic -- not powerful, for she had never been powerful, but honed to a perfection of skill, and wrapped it around the Imperial's frost summoning, choking it like a weed.

But she didn't raise her hands to do that. Her instincts were wrong.

The Imperial would probably kill the man now whether he attacked or not. She could see that she enjoyed it.

Her hands tightened on her staff.

Move, Nevena thought. Just move!

But she was vulnerable, and the woman was mad, and she said she'd kill anyone who tried to stop her.

Then stop the drunk.

Okay ... all right ... I can do this.

Nevena scurried down the steps, looking as if she were going to slink away, but at the last second, as she passed behind the drunkard, she flicked back and up with her staff, ripping the knife free from his hand to clatter on the floor. She scooped it up, thrust it into the hands of the concerned friend, and pressed into the crowd without meeting anyone's eyes. From here, she could see the sign of the Mage's Guild, a desperately familiar sight. Once she was free of the debacle, she rushed in and closed the door behind her, stopping with her back against the door and her heart pounding. Her chest was tight with fear and her thoughts wild with everything that could have gone wrong, everything that might still go wrong.

Just keep moving, she told herself. Once I meet this Caius Cosades, I'll have some kind of protection in this place.

It had been a long time since she had been safe.

Group: One
Character Sheet: Larry Wall

Balmora - South Side - Drowned Rat Rooftop Bar

N'chow Larry cursed as he looked at the dice infront of him; their pale ivory sides were tinted red by the rising of the sun. "Cold are we Larry?" The Khajiit infront of him asked, his thick black fur was dotted with carved bits of wood in all shapes and sizes. "Tell me about Jezebelle, why can't she be warming you up on this delightful morning?" The Khajiit smiled and licked his lips as Larry rolled his eyes and opened one of his winnings - A pouch of moon sugar. It wasn't uncommon to gamble for moon sugar, but Larry was the only Imperial Ragjiir knew who was capable of holding his own at dice.

"Kaoc', eh?" Larry pleaded as he took another line of the drug - He had been at it all day and now his eyes were as wild as a guar. He ran a hand through his hair and covered himself in one of the rugs that surrounded him. With light arriving, a worker of the bar came and blew out the candles that surrounded them. Larry looked towards the sun and inspected the city from his rooftop terrace view. Mist and ash streamed through and hid most of the city but the sounds of morning helped him fill the gaps.

Larry rubbed his nose and threw the dice again, scoring two sixes and a five. "I'll stick." He stated as soon as the dice had landed and leaned over to the nearby table where they sat, surrounded by cushions, and ripped a chunk of soft flat bread from a loaf. Ragjiir grabbed the dice between his claws and rolled against the hard floor. Larry didn't need to look to know he had scored a good roll for the Khajiit would always purr - It's why he never played cards, the damned lice riddled man would always purr with a good hand. "Ragjiir hears of footsteps heading towards Balmora - What do we know of this?"

Larry felt a pang of irritation hit him - He had wanted to relax with his friend rather than work. He had been scheming to get closer to Ragjiirs gang for months and ended up enjoying his company so much that working was beginning to feel like betraying their friendship. It was one of the blurred lines that all spies come across eventually. "Sure, it's almost holiday season." Ragjiir smiled at his answer and began to chuckle while rolling the dice again, taking the gamble that scoring dice would roll.

"Come Sera, remember the Gah'Julan." The Khajiir toyed with Larry by flicking another small pouch of sugar his way, knowing his addiction but Larry had also worked hard to force this illusion of manipulation.

"Okay, listen nammu - There's an expedition to find a cure for the blight." Ragjiir seemed disappointed, "See? Told you there's nothing interesting going on. The temple though, that's where a lot of noise is being made."

Ragjiir rolled his dice again and cursed inwardly, "Hah!" Larry exclaimed as the Khajiit had rolled six ones and therefore forfeited the game. The Khajiit pocketed the six dice and stood up before producing two pouches of moon sugar and chucked them at Larry.

"Look after yourself Larry Wall, Ragjiir is leaving the continent for a while, things are becoming strange - You should leave too, go back to your home in Bravil." With those words Larry was left alone. Slowly and clumsily, he placed the sugar inside his satchel and leant back against the cushions stacked around him. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt the energy from the sugar escape him as his body caught up with the weight of the last few nights - He was getting older now and couldn't quite hit the bottle like he used to and before he could protest, sleep finally caught up with him.

Group 2

As the Temple Master approached the Ordinators, Verlon bowed respectfully before speaking. "Muthsera Rotheloth I am humbled at the opportunity to serve in our most troubling of times" Hearing these words Tharer Rotheloth beamed at the Inquisitor.

"As I am pleased to have one of the Ministy of Truth's finest Inquisitors to come to our aid, to bring faith back to those who have had trouble finding it, please" The Master motioned for the two ordinators to sit before Verlon motioned to Avarys.

"This is Avarys Tenirar a Captain from the Order of War, here to share with us his expertise of fighting against the Sixth House and a comrade from a long time past.." The Inquisitor said and the Temple Master bowed his head slightly. "Now to the matter at hand, I would ask for more details on the reason behind this request for an Inquisition, however I would assume to believe that you are awaiting the final members that wish to join before explaining the situation?" Verlon asked and the Master nodded.

"That is correct Sera, As it stands both you and Avarys know more about what has been happening of late than what we have stated thus far on the requests we have sent out.. It is true that we have suffered much dismay recently.. which is why summoning the most faithful to bolster our spirits is simply the start. Those who are worthy of joining you both on this Holy Quest will be told everything when we have all convened in the Temple. Until then please relax, you have had a long journey and deserve to rest.. as once we begin there may not be another chance to." The master looked at the Inquisitor as he noticed the Outlander woman who had healed him working with the acolytes.

"Muthsera forgive my indiscretion but the outlander healer who examined me.. Is our situation that desperate that we need help from outlanders and heathens?" Verlon spoke and the Temple Master held up a hand in reassurance.

"In trying times such as these, if there are those who wish to do service to the temple, we cannot simply ignore the aid." He motioned at the Nord healer "Eyra there came to us a few weeks back, being one who had knowledge of the local plants and beasts, she was able to help fill a void that has increased recently.. she is a skilled alchemist and healer as you have no doubt experienced first hand.. she has brought back one of our hunters from a wound many acolytes feared was fatal, and despite her age, she is no weaker than our own kind her age maybe stronger than some mer the same age.. she is not one to be underestimated dear Inquisitor.." At this the Master stood up.

"Now if there is nothing else, i best return to the Temple to prepare you all for the briefing at hand. May ALMSIVI preserve us" Tharer said as the two ordinators stood up as well and bowed to the priest before he started walking back.

Gazing over at the Nord woman, the answers he had been given about her only raised more questions in his mind. I will find out more about what your intentions are.. he thought as he looked to see others beginning to gather, and wondering just who else the fliers have brought.

Following her cursory inspection of the hall and door, Rikki leapt back to her feet, padding carefully forward down the corridor while taking great care to crouch and check each section of floor before setting foot on it. A grimace set on her face as she stepped over the dried blood. There was, however, no corpse. Unsure if this should be reassuring or troubling, Ja'Ri found herself before the door.


Massive, the inset cog towered over her. A rotating hand-lever, recessed into the adjacent wall presented itself as an obvious method of operation. Grasping it, she pulled it out, but it refused to turn with reasonable effort. Releasing it and lowering her ears with a huff, she inspected the door further.


While the cause of its malfunction was no readily evident, it became instantly apparent how the thing functioned; large toothed tracks inset in the ground before the door suggested that a mechanism somewhere was to push it toward her and roll it aside. Rikki marveled at the design of the thing.

'What could possibly warrant a door like this? I've never seen one like this before. Question is, is it meant to keep me out.. or something in?'


Carefully, Rikki slipped her fingers into the switch's internals, feeling for obstruction. When none became apparent, she sidled partway into one of the recesses in the wall where the tracks led. Reaching an arm back, she groped in the dark, unable to twist herself around to physically see. Her fingers brushed something smooth, very unlike the metal of the gearing and steam pipes. Running her hand up the anomalous material, she felt something rough, almost leathery attached to it in a smaller crevice where the gearing got smaller. Grabbing it, she pulled. It refused her.


Flattening her ears in annoyance she yanked harder, grunting. After two pulls, it dislodged suddenly to send her tumbling onto her backside on the cool floor. In her lap lay her prize: a severed bony arm with a mangled leather gauntlet on it. Rikki jumped and skittered backwards to the other wall.


"Kakka jaj kethi kehja?" she yelped, kicking the arm off of her. Rikki's chest heaved as she tried to calm herself.


"Language! I thought I taught you better than that.." Mia scolded, a hand on her hip, her eyes narrowed, "Just as bad as your mother."


"Sorry. I.. I think I fixed it," she breathed and began to laugh nervously, "Scared me out of my Cyrodiilic, though. I wonder where the rest is? I.. I hope it's not in there still."


Mia retrieved the severed arm bones to inspect.


"It appears whoever was here before us activated the mechanism incorrectly, but does not explain why the rest of the body isn't nearby.."


Moving close to the mechanism herself, Mia whispered a few words, causing a small globe of light to appear. Looking inside, she examined what was left.


"Seems you have removed the obstruction, but be careful; I do not want to have to explain to Karst how I allowed you to dismember your arm." Mia spoke with concern, then turned to Rikki, "And I do not want anything to happen to you, either."


Stepping back from the mechanism, Mia offered her hand to the startled Khajiit. Rikki gripped it and hauled herself from the ground, a nervous grin upon her.


"I'd rather you didn't have to explain that, either. I like my arms!" her head shot up at a thought, nervousness leaving her face for a moment so mischief could fill her smile, "You might actually say I'm rather attached to them! Hehe.."


A moment passed between them and Rikki meekly cleared her throat to break the silence. She gripped the turn-crank once again and exhaled as though to steady herself.


"Well, here goes dike-all." she stated in defiance of Mia's chastisemant moments ago. With a flick of the wrist, the handle turned and gave a whirring click. The sound of a weight dropping into place preceded a rhythmic chugging, venting of steam and the roaring grinding of massive gearing.


Stepping back so as not to befall the same fate as the arm's owner, Rikki clasped her arms behind her back, her feline eyes glittering with anticipation and wonder. A stop swung from the ceiling, the monolithic cog pushing forward to meet it. Upon contact, another weight could be heard shifting. Rikki began to bounce with excitement in place.


The door rolled sideways into the mechanical area she'd fished the arm from, stopping three-quarters of the way open. Another scraqe-and-thunk accompanied a final internal shift as the gearing ceased turning. The only remaining sound after the brief cacophony was the hiss of valves equalizing pressure and components creaking as they cooled. Before her lay a room, the entirety of which was occupied by a far larger machine with ramps and catwalks spider-webbing around it.


The massive round device illuminated itself from the inside as it raised from the ground, bluish-white light lancing in beams through the dark from a series of lenses in its shifting, multi-layered casing as it unfurled. A multitude of concentric rings rose from the ground with it as it lifted up on its lower spindle, themselves covered in sliding refractive lenses and mirrors, whirling around to intersect with the beams and redirect them to other lenses and mirrors in the array. It spun quickly through several different configurations of sphere and rings, the web of interlacing beams shifting each time, before settling on one.


A single purple crystal descended from the ceiling in a clamp at the end of a rod, stopping at the peak of a ramp above the orb. The rings shifted once more, causing every shaft of light to intersect on the gem, which then turned the many into one and fired it back into the orb through a tiny hole in its shell.


The room momentarily exploded with blinding light. Rikki shrieked and threw an arm over her eyes.


When it dimmed enough to look again, there was a small opening in the great ball about six feet high by four feet wide. Unnerving, wavering light poured from the gap, seeming to be unsure if it was a color or not. Looking at the unearthly light somehow made Rikki feel tiny and insignificant.


"It's.. it's gorgeous." Rikki whispered through the low hum of the sphere.


"Interesting," Mia noted with interest, "Seems like a portal of sorts. Doesn't feel like a connection to any Daedric realm that I can detect.." Mia said, feeling for any other magical energies. Whatever this was, caution would be something they would need to take.


"The amount of energy being emitted from this device, even after all of this time.. It could be unstable.." Mia cautioned the younger woman.


Rikki stood, agape at what lay before her, the workings of her mind whirring at a frightening pace. Her gaze darted around as she took a slow, tentative step beyond the door's threshold. A few moments later, her eyes widened suddenly and she shook her head in disbelief as a theory came to her.


"No.." she muttered, thoughts aflutter, "It can't be, could it? Some texts spoke of Outer-Realms that the Dwemer visited with regularity, but were never specific as to what they were or how they were accessed."


Turning to Mia, she grinned toothily. "Do you have any idea what this might be? This could end up being the single greatest discovery in modern history! A working transport to the Outer-Realms! There might even be living Dwemer in there!"


Canting her head down, she turned her eyes away. "I mean, I don't know. No one does. The last living Dwemer died in the Red Year before I was born or I'd go ask him. But that tiny chance is marvelous!"


Hearing the fascination in Rikki's voice, Mia raised an eyebrow. "Yes, and do you know what became of the Dwemer when they tinkered with things beyond their imagining?" she added to the Khajiit's thoughts with a warning tone.


It made sense, Mia thought, that the Dwemer had indeed built transports to the Outer-Realms. As she did so, Mia noticed something down on the ground nearby. Kneeling down, she picked up a bag that held some notes inside.


"It appears we were not the first ones to stumble upon this. Whoever was here before has not come back from whatever is on the other side. However, I cannot sense anything coming from it without getting closer." she warned, a feeling of wrongness about the energy of the device troubling her. With it came a sense that she should remember something on this subject, but the memory felt oddly out of reach.


"Just be careful.. I know you have an undying interest in Dwemer technology, but something like this, something with so many unknowns.. Is it worth the risk? For all we know it could kill you instantly. Or be one way. It needs further examination before coming to conclusions. The magical energy signatures are unknown, even to me." Mia almost sounded slightly afraid of that fact.


"Well, then," reaching into a pouch at her hip, she removed a septim, turning it this way and that in her fingers.


"For science!" exclaimed Rikki, whinging the coin across the room at the light. It bounced off of the opening, repelled by something invisible. The Khajiit's ears fell.


"I.. suppose that kinda proves nothing."


Diverting her eyes from the unsettling glow, Rikki edged closer a few feet. Halfway across the room, she undid her hair tie, allowing the full length of her red-orange locks to fall over her back and pulled a short knife from her belt. Reaching back, she cut a couple inches of hair and used one half to bind the other half into a ball.


"Live material test, now. Maybe it just hates mundane objects."


Her arm cocked back and she threw the tight ball of hair across the room. It bounced off an unseen wall, but was not allowed to hit the ground as the coin had. A tendril of light shot out to grasp it.


"Aha! Result!"


Her elation, however, was short lived. The ball of hair pulsed and a thread of energy briefly flashed between herself and it as though asking, 'Is this yours?' Rikki spun on one paw and sprinted back towards the vault door.


"Oh, bugger that!" she shouted. The damage was done, however. Energy shot out of the breach in the sphere and hit her in the back. Ja'Rikki glowed like Magnus itself. The device's crystal immediately exploded in its mounting.


In one final fraction of an instant, Rikki's last thoughts were thus: 'If I live, Mia's going to murder me.'


Then the world forgot how to exist. Or perhaps it finally remembered, Rikki wasn't sure. For one brief and shining moment that she would never be allowed to recall, Ja'Rikki saw the entirety of Time as it lay before her. Everything that was, would be, could have been and never could have been. She tried to cry, but found that she wasn't there to do it. This annoyed her immensely.

__________________________

First of Frostfall, 3E 427

Island of Vvardenfell, Somewhere near Balmora..

__________________________

The skin of reality split ever so briefly above a winding river, coughing out a furry form. The last thing it was aware of was a blinding light, a screaming headache and the feeling of being torn apart completely. Before the Khajiit had time to ruminate on this, however, a rock came up to meet her.


Unconscious, the girl flopped gracelessly into the waters.

Group One:

A brief moment passed in which Sinclaire could not discern the details of the new space he had found himself in. Such was his surprise at the abrupt effects of the teleportation spell. The rough and jolting feeling of being thrust through space was soon to release its grip on him, however, and he found he could walk from the platform. Stepping off the bronze circle, his gaze followed the pattern of warmly colored tapestries and decorations that lined the small back room of the guild. This manner of interior design was entirely foreign to the Breton, having spent all his days within the confines of his home province of High Rock. Before him, a busy looking Khajiiti alchemist was grinding up an herb of some sort into a fine power. Taking this chance to exit without explanation, Sinclaire nodded at her and left the small confines of the back room.

The next area appeared to be the living quarters of the mages that spent their time here, day after day, studying the mysteries of their craft. The young lord wanted nothing more but to leave this place without giving a single one of them an explanation of why he, a non-member, was allowed to use the guild transport system. He passed by a few mages on his way upstairs, and if they had any questions for him they thought better of asking him for the answers. Ascending the staircase, the noble couldn't help thinking that at last he may be safe. Any spies or would-be assassins would have caught up with him by now, and due to the nature of his arrival here, he doubted any pursuers knew where he was.

A gentle smile touched Sinclaire's lips as he passed through a wide hall, leading up to the entrance. However, as he looked up ahead of him, he found an obstruction between him and the door. A young Dunmer, a traveling mage by her appearance, stood with her back to the door, seemingly out of breath. Her expression was austere and severe, almost as if she had just narrowly avoided a stressful situation of some kind. Concerned, Sinclaire decided to say a few words to her.

"...Are you okay..?" he asked cautiously, approaching the young elf. Her robe was a lovely shade of green, he noticed, yet would be much prettier had it been less travel-worn.

Group One

Balmora

Alan arrived in Balmora by the south gate. He'd been following the Odai river up from Hla Oad for some time, until finally reaching Balmora. It seemed to be bustling with activity in the late afternoon. More so than the last time he was here. Then again, the last time he'd been here he'd barely been into the town, just quickly dropping off some Ceramic bowls he'd got from a trader in Pelagiad to this Ra-Virr-fellow.

Nevertheless, Alan had his work cut out for him this time. Caius Cosades. Who could this man be, and what would he want from a former lumberjack from northern Skyrim?

Whatever the bugger wants, I hope it's somewhere else than Morrowind Alan thought, a slight smirk on his face. He'd been staying on this island for too long now, and he had quite a dislike the native inhabitants' rudeness.

The south gate of Balmora was guarded by two Hlaalu town guards. Their yellowish scale armour made them easy to spot in the late sun. With a nod Alan entered. He'd have to find a place to stay, maybe an inn somewhere. The Lucky Lockup had been... Well, welcoming would be too grand but cheap at least, the last time he'd come here.

Get a bed, a few drinks, and maybe find out who this Caius Cosades-fellow is Alan thought, stretching his legs for the last few strides. If he just wasn't so darn inquisitive, he'd told this Caius fellow to go [censored] himself a long time ago.

-

The patron inside was Benunius, an imperial. These imperial names could be a tongue twister sometimes, so Alan decided to call him "innkeep" or maybe even "you there" for the length of his stay. A quick nod to the man behind the counter made for enough greeting in the dim light.

"I'd like a room for the night, and I'd like a drink. Perhaps you'd help me with this, Imperial?" Alan asked the innkeep, putting five sovereigns up on the table. "Price is ten for a room nowadays. Hard times." the innkeep replied, with a quick look up at Alan's sword strapped to his back. Maybe he's imagining I'll try and rob him, like some kind of barbarian. Alan mused, tossing seven more of the golden coins onto the counter. Money was no issue right now for Alan, even though he was a drifter. He'd got well paid for his last job.

-

A quick trip to the room with his gear, and Alan was back downstairs, a bottle of Shein already halfway empty and eyes like narrow slits. He'd been on the road for too long this time.

Group One

Balmora - South Side - Drowned Rat Rooftop Bar

Larry woke up to the smell of salt, his dream broken and fractured as he woke up to the sorry face of a dunmer porter. "Sorry Larry - You can't sleep here." The teenager insisted with a face that stated he was both amused and concerned. Groggily, Larry lifted his head and regretted it instantly, his entire body ached and jarred. As he had done a thousand times, Larry navigated his hand to his satchel and took out a pouch of moon sugar. He noted the porters apprehension at Larry taking the moon sugar right infront of him but Larry would damn the boy to Oblivion if he was spending another moment sober.

"Open downstairs?" Larry grumbled, he had sat up and his head was beginning to clear. The boy nodded and headed awkwardly away, wanting no part in Larry's downward spiral. "N'chow."

After a second or two, Larry took a deep breath, looked around him and stood up - A motion that required he hold onto the table beside him. He stumbled towards the stairs and smiled at the patrons he passed, most of them he knew; the others he recognised. The rooftop bar was for special guests only, guests the bar could trust - Or patrons that knew how to spend their money. The light from the morning invaded his privacy as he left the covered roof and he almost burst into the lower bar door in order to get away.

The lower bar was where the regular trade happened, travellers from off the street and locals would congregate at their own tables and attempt to forget the outside world, or perhaps that was just Larry? He couldn't remember anymore, he'd been here for eight years and since then had forgotten what it was like to live a normal life, what it was like to wake up in the morning in your own room. He stumbled into the bar and stood for a moment, his face miserable as he felt his body force itself to the ground.

"F'lah sera! Usual breakfast." Larry called out to the barkeep, a friend of four years and slumped into a seat. His unconscious reflexes kicked in as he scanned the room, one eye open while the other drooped to the left. He noted the waitress, she was new by about three weeks and Breton by all accounts; then there was the ranger, or something like that - A man who looked very out of sorts and unusual, especially in a dirty place like Balmora - But hey, there was an Imperial garrison nearby.

"Here you go Larry, bread with dips and flin." Larry nodded drunkenly and shoved a few gold septims onto the table before digging in ravenously. His stomach protested at the food but he had to meet Caius soon. Oh you T'obra Larry, how could you forget about Caius?

Group One

Balmora - Some bar

Alan had managed to consume quite a few of those small bottles of Shein, but boy had time flown. He had woken up a bit by the liquor, but was now getting somewhat cross-eyed. His thoughts were a bit swirly, but this Caius Cosades-fellow was still lingering there. Now was the time to get his detective game on Alan thought, and spied around for someone he could interregate. He felt at the top of his game now, and his eyes found his target walking around the tables, collecting empty bottles. The target in question was, by Alan's reckoning, a very shapely breton woman. Alan was persuaded that she would find his story enthralling, and would be very likely to help him find this Cosades. He hardly noticed the anonymous imperial on the next table, eating breakfast.

Sitting back casually in his chair (with a bit of an unsteady sway), Alan signaled the breton to come over to his table. "Well hello there" said Alan, following up with a huge grin. "Hello" the breton replied, with very little enthusiasm and a somewhat pained expression on her face. Alan did not let this bother him in any way. As a matter of fact, he did not even notice.

"I'm on a quest, love, to find an imperial top guy. A Caius Cosades. Some kind of commander. Actually a mate of mine." Alan said, in that loud kind of whisper that only drunk people master. "Only problem is, I lost his information, where he lives, you know, so I was wondering if you knew where he lives. And... Maybe you could show me...?"

The breton lady, name still unknown to Alan, sighed loudly and shook her head, before turning on her heel and marched off. Maybe to the backroom? Maybe she's going to get her friend who knows. Or just to get her coat. Probably the latter Alan thought, feeling pleased with his covert operations.

Group One

Balmora - South Side - Drowned Rat Bar

Larry was busy picking the dust off his flin when he heard the Nord mention Caius. Without showing any signs, Larry perked up and cast a glance over to the man. He seemed to be drunkenly flirting wit the waitress and Larry smiled, another man that likes his drink. He stood up and headed towards the man, a bottle of flin in one hand and his satchel in the other. "Hey, my friend." He greeted the nord as he sat down next to him. "Are we hungry?", Larry didn't wait for a reply from the nord and turned to face the bar, " Hey Reynvis! Bring out some more bread eh? And another bottle of flin and whatever, well, whatever my new friend is having."

"I'm Larry, tell me your name stranger or else we'll toast to the gods and I'm not a god fearing man." He took a large gulp of flin and held the bottle in the air waiting for the nord to clink his bottle.

Alan clinked his bottle into his newfound friend's bottle, taking care not to break anything. Breaking a bottle and spilling drink over people was not something you were thanked for doing.

"Hello Larry, I'm Alan." Alan said, a bit stumped at Larry's apparent joy of meeting him. It had to be his good natured smile that'd brought the imperial over, Alan concluded. Also, Alan was hungry. The hunger often seemed to come over him after drinking heavily, so this was like a gift from the gods.

The barkeep, who'd changed from the one Alan had dealt with earlier, put a plate of bread on the table, along with two new bottles. Alan quickly finished his old one and put it on the table, before putting some bread in his mouth. Maybe this fellow knows this Caius fellow Alan thought, and decided to ask.

"Say, friend, you wouldn't happen to know a man named Caius Cosades here in Balmora? I'm looking for the man. Business." Alan said. Or well, this was what he meant to say. Between the bread in his mouth, and the drink dulling his tongue, not all the words came out as he planned.

OOC: I'm getting the popcorn out, you two together are comedy gold.



Group 2:


Eyra continued with her duties. The mood was lighter now, with the ash storm subsiding and the day's work almost done. Eyra even overheard some of the novices engaging in their favourite pastime: gossiping.


"Weren't they handsome?" She heard one of them say.

"Who?"

"The Ordinators, S'wit. So strong and brave to come here to protect our Temple."

"Such a shame that they will leave in a few days, when the Grand Inquisition is called. But they will come back as heroes."

Or corpses Eyra thought, but she did not say it out loud. Let the girls keep their innocence in the way the world worked for a little longer. So many experienced its brutality too early...


The girl was only a few years younger than her. Thirteen, maybe fourteen, to her seventeen. Her pale skin was almost transparent in the moonlight, ethereal even, like a creature from a distant plain of Oblivion by their chanting. Or maybe it Was just blue from the cold. She was not a Nord, and being bound in chains to an altar of ice did not provide her with much warmth. Where did they find an Imperial in this wilderness?


Eyra shivered as well, but it wasn't from the cold.


"You never told me the ritual required a human sacrifice."


"What did you expect when I said you will slay an innocent creature? A Horker pup?"


A rabbit perhaps, or a deer. She had killed animals before, both in hunts and for rituals. The women standing in a circle around her had shown her how to do the latter. But not this. Never this.


"I'm not sure if I can..."


"You said you were ready, Eyra. Now get on with it."


The girl on the alter whimpered softly, her head slowly moving from side to side. Whatever they had drugged her with was wearing off. Soon she would scream. Eyra felt like screaming with her.


"Make it stop." She whispered.


"You started this rite, child. Only death can end it now. Now do it, or else it will be your death that ends it."


There was no way out. Someone would die, their warm blood steaming in the frozen air.

Someone had to die.

It didn't matter who.


With shaking hands, Eyra grabbed the dagger lying by the altar...

The frost on the ground near Vyktoria's feet receded once the man with the knife had been disarmed, then wrestled into submission by his companion and some others. Instead, her attention was drawn to the ashlander girl with feathers caught up in her black hair, the one who had just saved the life of that witless Dunmer oaf. Without so much as a word or glance to anybody, however, the girl lost herself in the crowd. Well, what have we here? A nomad playing the part of local heroine? Curious. Vyktoria felt her interest piquing, then followed after the girl, pressing forward through the crowd. She was pleased to see that most had enough sense to clear her a path.

She stepped into an intersection, scanned the area for any trace of the girl. There were a few destitute looking shops nearby, and a pair of guild halls further down the street, but no obvious signs of where the woman might have slipped into. Looking at the lifelessly brown buildings flanking either side of the street, Vyktoria was struck by just how unfamiliar a land this Morrowind really was. And without a squad of Legionnaires at her back, or a band of fellow mages, such unfamiliarity made her vulnerable.

That was unacceptable.

Scanning the rooftops to one side of the street, she was pleased to see that they were devoid of any inconvenient onlookers. Vyktoria flicked her wrist, and one of the rooftops was briefly embroiled in a dark purple light. A moment later she heard talons scraping across the stone above her, followed by a soft bark and a series of clicks.

'Quiet,' she ordered, and the clanfear's head came into view over the building's ledge. It watched her with keen, dark red eyes, light gleaming along its obsidian beak. Smaller than most of its brethren, with scales nearly as dark as its beak covering its elongated body, it was a prowler amongst its kind; a natural assassin. 'Stay hidden and quiet, and follow me as best you can. You'll know if I need you.'

The clanfear barked softly at her, then retreated from view.

Vyktoria smiled softly, then continued down the street. She passed by the Mage's and Fighter's Guilds, watching a shadow bound silently between the buildings. If she turned down the avenue just ahead, it would afford her a fairly direct path to Cosades' safehouse. As much as she would have liked to indulge her personal curiosity regarding the ashlander, Imperial business took precedent.

Group 1

Larry Wall - Balmora - Drowned Rat Bar

Larry smiled as Alan chinked bottles with him and downed his old drink. Larry finished his as well and sipped at his fresh bottle of flin. He tucked into the bread as the nord, once again and to Larry's amusemant, asked him for Caius Cosades. "Business with Caius?" Larry asked, sounding impressed, "Well Alan, my friend, you must be quite important huh? I've heard about people with business for Caius, they're usually well armed, big time adventurers, no wonder you scared off the waitress - She's only used to us commoners like me." He raised his bottle and took another sip, "It's an honour to be sitting at the table with the likes of you." He tried sounding sincere, but the moon sugar, alcohol and the lack of sleep over the last two days was taking it's toll.

"Good bread huh?" He added genuinely, stuffing his face with another portion of the food. "I hate to be the bringer of bad news though, but Caius is out of town on business as well - Got called out this morning from what I hear. What was it you wanted to talk to him about? Are you a big time adventurer or a lord or something?"

Alan gave a glance to the table at the mention of scaring off the waitress. "You think I scared her off?" he mumbled, before having himself another swing of his drink, getting his spirits high again.

"I don't think I'm that big of an adventurer like the ones you speak of. I just do small chores from time to time. I'm good at finding people though, when they want to hide. Maybe he'll want me to find some old lover of his" Alan said, a grin had returned to his face, and he exclaimed a loud "HA!", pieces of bread quenched in spirits flew all over the table. Truth be told, Drunk Alan liked this Larry-fellow. He seemed like a really good guy, and honest as well. Alan decided to spill the beans.

"'tis actually a strange tale, this Caius Cosades-business. I got approached by a redguard woman in a storehouse in Seyda Neen. Elone, I think the name was. She told me to get to Caius Cosades in Balmora. Alan said, and suddenly got a troubled expression "They've got some leverage, but that's a tale for another time"

Alan looked inquisitive at Larry, or well, as inquisitive as one can possibly look with one's face full of bread, beard full of booze and a sleepy sway in the seat. "I actually don't know what Caius wanted me for. Apparently some task for the empire, and some mention of the blight. I dunno, I don't know nothing about no blight."

Group One

'Are you okay?'

Nevena started and glanced to her left, where some kind of rich lord was standing. He looked as out of place as she felt, with his refined accent and his expensive, foreign-style clothing.

He also looked concerned about her.

B'vek! Did she really look that pathetic? She'd been trying to keep a handle on her emotions ...

I've just been spat out of a prison ship with only the clothes they captured me in and a pocketful of septims, and since have narrowly avoided watching some idiot fetcher murderered by a battlemage. That probably goes some way to explaining it.

That ... and her magic.

All this flashed through her mind and she made a decision. She gave the breton what she hoped was a smile. 'I'm fine, sera. If you'll excuse me ...' she hurried past him and toward the guild steward, hoping to take some advice -- and to leave her inconvenient lapse behind her.

Group One:


A brief moment passed in which the mer he had just questioned appeared to be thinking. Before Sinclaire could go on to say anything else, she gave him a pained smile and excused herself from his presence. As she turned to walk away down the guild hall, he wondered whether or not she was truthful to him. "She said she was fine," he told himself, returning his focus to the closed door in front of him. "You're in no position to be talking to somebody who may get you in trouble, anyhow." Satisfied with his reasoning, he smirked and grasped the door handle, seeing himself out.


Outside, the air felt thick and foreign. A light, humid breeze met him in the almost dirty looking street he had found himself in. Looking around, Sinclaire thought once again on how different everything looked. If this was the Dunmer equivalent of a city, he surely was not impressed. The architecture was brown and dull in appearance, and the few figures that were in his view did not seem the friendly type. The air was warm and moist, almost thick enough to inspire him to remove his jacket where he stood. The lord thought better of it, yet still wondered how it was the streets here could appear dirty without actually being so. "Do the ash storms happen this far away from Red Mountain?" he mused, moving from his spot as another mage entered the guild behind him.


Without an answer, Sinclaire continued on down the street, taking the first opportunity he saw to move out into the open, away from the unfamiliar side streets. What he saw ahead of him was a wide river, running down through what appeared to be the middle of the city. Sizable brown bridges provided passage across the water. The busy bodies of man and mer alike passed him by going to and fro, to whatever daily duties required of them. The Breton lord quickly moved through them to one of the bridges, where he could have a good look at both sides of the city as well as a glance at how deep the water was here.


Once on the bridge, Sinclaire stood still, looking to the east and west. The eastern side of town looked more residential, with a few more decrepit looking dwellings in the back. The western side, from which he just came from, appeared to be filled of more shops, guild halls, and important looking buildings which may have been the Dunmer equivalent of a manor. Too distant to be judged fairly, the Breton looked away from the manors and looked down below him into the water.


Disappointingly, Sinclaire could not see to the bottom of the river. It was understandable, though, seeing as how it was filled with ash and dirt, flowing through the middle of a busy city. Finding himself a little homesick already, his gaze began to trail off when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye...



A large, furry mass began to float by directly below his position on the bridge. For a moment it appeared to be some sort of dead animal. The next moment it was obvious that instead of a dead animal, the creature was humanoid, with bright orange fur. Sinclaire quickly realized that the mass of fur was a Khajiit woman; she appeared to be unconscious. "By the Gods! Is she okay? Is she still alive?!" he found himself thinking, darting his eyes about in distress. Before he could answer this, his next move was already decided.


Sinclaire threw off his coat, and jumped directly into the unknown waters below him. Ignoring the smell and texture of the liquid, he swam through his slight disgust. All that mattered was saving the perfect stranger ahead of him in the water. As he caught up to her, the Breton immediately grabbed her unconscious body, which had made some sort of murmuring at his touch. "So she is alive..." he thought excitedly, hoisting her over his shoulder as his arm grabbed the left side of the canol, grasping for a way back up onto the city street. Finding instead an incline to exit the water, he took the path and crawled out from the river waters, the Khajiit's unresponsive body rolling off of him, face up on the earth.


Taking a breath, Sinclaire stood up and shook up the dirt that clung to his wet clothes in vain. He then knelt beside the brilliantly colored mass of wet fur. "You there! Can you hear me? Hello?" he asked the girl loudly, in an attempt to awaken her...

Terrified thoughts swirled in a resting mind in the depths of unconsciousness, a tiny internal voice desperately looking for something certain to attach itself to.

'What happened? I don't know where I am.'

'Is this what death feels like? Oh, Gods, am I dead? I'm not ready..'

'Who am I? I.. I can't remember who I am..'

'..am I? I don't even know that.'

'Aren't things supposed to have a body? Where's mine? What does it look like?'

'..I am afraid.'

Certainty. Something the voice could finally identify. It was afraid.

'Why am I afraid?'

'Because I am lost.'

'Where were you lost?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you know?'

'I know that.. my name is Ja'Rikki.'

'I exist and I am Ja'Rikki.'

"..ere!" a distant voice drifted down through a featureless abyss.

'What? Who..?'

"..you hear me? Hello?"

'Someone's talking to me.'

All at once, the world returned. Dull sound filled her ears, the taste of dirt and water assailed her tongue. The reverberating, rhythmic thudding of her heart seemed like a long lost friend. She cracked one of her blue eyes and light lanced in.

It hurt like all hell. Come to think of it, everything hurt. She found her hands. Hands! How novel a thing to have! She used them to prop herself up and vomit river water.

"I exist and I am Ja'Rikki," the feline croaked weakly and coughed.

Group One:


A wave of relief passed over Sinclaire as the feline awakened before him, if only to vomit water. Quietly, she stated: "I exist and I am Ja'Rikki." Immediately after this short sentence, she continued to cough unhealthily.


"For a moment there," he began calmly, "I thought that you were dead, or close to it." Sinclaire looked her over a little more closely for any sign of injury. There didn't appear to be any external wounds other than a bit of dried blood about her temple. Cautious, he placed a firm hand on her upper back as she coughed.


"Your name is Ja'Rikki, you say? It is a pleasure to meet you, even if under strange circumstances. What do you mean, 'you exist'?" He asked her curiously, in a soft voice.


"I also would like to know why exactly you were floating face down in this river here. This is where I saw you." He continued, motioning toward the canol and the bridge he stood on moments ago.

Group 2



Days Prior:

"You are going to have to explain to me why letting you leave for an extended trip to serve the Tribunal Temple is in my best interests, Gerald," Eydis Fire-Eye declared, sitting at her desk and folding her arms in rapt anticipation. "Otherwise I cannot authorize my second-steward's absence for what could be a very long time."



"I understand your concern Eydis," Gerald replied, placing his palms on the rough wood surface of her desk and leaning slightly towards her. His gaze was firm and resolute; his mind set. But her worry was valid; Vvardenfell was more dangerous now than any time in his entire life, and as the second highest ranking member of the Balmora Fighter's Guild -with the third highest being merely a Journeyman- his loss would difficult for guild operations and income. "But I have seen the pamphlet and I've heard the stories. And let's not forget what happened in the ashlands three weeks ago."



"Yes, I read your report," Eydis laxly affirmed, "a small Sixth House cult in a cavern causing trouble for travelers."



"So I'm guessing you glossed over the part about one of them having a hole for a face?"



"No I did not, I am merely choosing not to believe it. Maybe their incense causes hallucinations, or maybe you were tired," Eydis responded with a barely contained disdain.



"And the increase in Blighted creatures our clients are having us slay," Gerald continued. "This is only getting worse. The blight could make this island unlivable if something isn't done, and the Temple is putting out the call to do something."



"Yes, to the general public. Not to us."



"N'chow!" Gerald snapped and slammed the table. "I will not stand idly by while my homeland is ruined by this damn disease or these sixth house cultists! I will not leave such a land to my son! We are supposed to provide our skills to those who have need of them, and the people of Vvardenfell have need." He closed his eyes and stood straight, running a hand through his hair. Eydis sat back with her arms folded and one ginger eyebrow raised. "Plus, are you not often bemoaning the difficulties of working in Vvardenfell with the Tribunal having such a mistrusting and rocky relationship with us? Wouldn't improving relations with them open doors for more work for the guild?"



"They have their own soldiers and guardsmen to handle issues they face," Eydis coolly pointed out.



"Yes, and the Bouyant Armigers and Ordinators are quite tied up with Ashlander revolts and the Ghost Gate defenses, I've been hearing. It sounds to me like their numbers are running thin and they might be willing to hire some outside help. Are we not a better option than mercenaries off the street? They need people to handle the little stuff, and they will never come to us for those jobs without trust." Eydis cracked a small smile, then stood and leaned over her desk towards Gerald.



"You have a big heart, Gerald, and a silver tongue to accompany it," she complimented. "I will authorize your acceptance of the mercenary contract with the Tribunal Temple. But for you alone; I cannot spare another for this risky venture." They clasped hands before Gerald thanked her and left.

-------------------------

It wasn't long after that conversation that Gerald said his goodbyes to his wife and son, gearing up for the trip east. She sent him off with the blessing of the ALMSIVI, but he stopped nonetheless at the Moonmoth Legion fort to pray at the Altar of the Nine Divines. In his heart he felt this was the right thing to do, he only hoped his gods would agree and bless his efforts.



The travel on foot took a good deal of time, and he'd had to defend himself from many a cliffracer once he entered the Molag Amur region. But for Gerald it wasn't too difficult; despite spending his young advlthood up in the relatively hospitable Ascadian Isles his job had him regularly traveling within a day's walk from Balmora and into the Ashlands. That changed when the Ash storm arrived. Gerald had not been this deep into the Molag Amur region before, as Balmoran Fighter's Guild work didn't normally extend this far. He had thought a heavy cloak would be sufficient; it had been when he'd been caught in the ash storm that greeted him on a past visit to Ald'Ruhn. But this was so much more fierce. He could barely see for all the ash billowing into his eyes and the burning in his throat was becoming unbearable.



Fortunately he came across a cliff racer corpse, probably too young to properly handle the storm. Cutting off a piece of wing membrane he fashioned a barely transparent face guard by stretching it as thin as he could. He could still barely see, but at least his mouth was protected.



When the storm finally died and the sun arose again, he was relieved to see the canton of Molag Mar in the distance.

----------------------

Gerald crossed the bridge onto the floating canton and threw his makeshift storm mask into the water with a grimace. He reeked of rotting cliffracer now, and Kynareth only knew how long it would take to get that smell outta his skull cap. He took off his chain coif and let it hang behind his neck, removing the skull cap to sniff it. "Ruined," he muttered with disgust, tossing it was well. "I'm going to have to find a better way to handle these storms."



Looking around, Gerald's expression did not improve. Injured travelers abounded, filling the lower floor of the Canton with makeshift healing tents and sick beds. There was blood, there was puss, there was the stench of death and excrement in the air. All of this, because of the blight, he thought sullenly. Any day now, my family could become one of these people.



"Outlander," an Ordinator approached him, condescension thick in his Dunmeri voice. "You must submit yourself to examination by our healers before you may proceed."



"A wise policy, sera," Gerald responded, bowing. "Thank you." He took no insult at being labeled an outlander; despite being born in Mournhold and never knowing another land but Morrowind, his Imperial race made him ever the outcast. After 35 years, it was just something a man gets used to.

Group One:

There in the mud, smelling an unholy combination of filthy water and her own internal fluids, Rikki felt..

'..What was that feeling where you aren't really happy, but you're happy to be it? Ah! Relieved.'


Rikki felt relieved. An odd, tingly elation swept over her and, through her coughing, she quietly began to chuckle. She wasn't sure why she was laughing, but it felt wonderful even if it caused her further pain. This stranger's voice was soothing as well.

The human gestured towards the river as he told her he'd found her on her face in there. She supposed this explained why she was cold, wet and full of horrid water. A passing thought occurred to her that water was a thing that was supposed to kill you if it was in you instead of air, but another part of her suggested that perhaps the water was defective and that was why it smelled horrid. Turning her head achingly slowly, she beheld the river she'd come from.

"I.. I don't know what I meant," she admitted shakily, "But yes, I'm.. I'm Ja'Rikki. I, uh.. I think I somewhat suspected I was dead for a moment there as well."

The Khajiit flopped over in the muck onto her back and stared upward. This sky above her felt wrong, however she could not quite place what made this so. She lay there a few seconds, listening to her own breathing.

"I wish I could tell you why I was in there. I don't exactly remember.. well, t'be honest, much of anything. You seem nice though, rescuing people in rivers. What's your name?"

As his eyes wandered around at all of the pain and misery that the constant blight and ashstorms have been creating for the region, he had become so lost in contemplation that Velron did not notice the Acolyte standing in front of him for a moment. "U-Uh Muthsera?" The acolyte started nervously and the Inquisitor's eyes focused on the young dunmer priest.

"Mmm? Yes Acolyte? Is it time?" He asked, curious about what the briefing was truly about.

"A-ah yes Muthsera Inquisitor" The Acolyte said as he held out the orders he had been given. "Those that the Temple Master has deemed fit to hear the plight he has requested the Inquisiton to resolve, will be sent to the Temple on the top of the city canton.. which you do know the way i am sure.. I have other's to inform so excuse me Muthsera" And with that the Acolyte moved on, heading towards the tent where Verlon spied the Armiger and Telvani discussing.

Glancing about once more before ensuring he was presentable and placing his helmet back on, he nodded to Avarys to do the same as he began the journey to begin the briefing.

---

The acolyte approached the two dunmer conversing and bowed deeply. "Apologies Muthseras.. The Master of the Temple has requested you both travel to our Temple for the briefing, Inquistor Sevryn and Hornalacor Tenirar are already making their way there if you do not know the way and with to catch up" The Acolyte interrupted before withdrawing to allow the two to finish the conversation, as he continued to find the other names that were on the list he had been given by the Temple Master.

---

After the Imperial Fighters Guild Defender had his examination the Acolyte came up to him. "Outlander, forgive my interruption, but the Temple Master has requested those who are here for the flier to head up to our temple on top of the city's canton. If you do not know the way an Inquisitor is already heading in that direction if you wish to follow him. My master thanks the Fighters Guild for coming to our aid.." With that said he bowed to the Imperial and continued on his way.

---

Finally after much searching the Acolyte found Eyra with some of the novices chatting about the Ordinators that they had attended to earlier. "Eyra, the Temple Master has requested your presence at the briefing in the Temple, the others who have come at the Temple's request are heading there now, some may need some aid in finding it so the Master has requested you help them find their way in a timely manner" With that said he bowed briefly before rushing off to tell the Master that the group was now converging on the Temple.

Zelric has said to gather everybody in Group 2, so hopefully this makes sense.

Group 1

Larry Wall - Balmora - Drowned Rat Bar


"Well, my friend - Today is your lucky day." Larry smiled and took a large gulp of his flin, wiping his mouth with his forearm wrap, "I sadly lied to you earlier, to make sure you were genuine but Caius is in town and I'm seeing him today as well." Larry took a large portion of bread and ungraciously stuffed his face, "So, if you want, I can take you to him?"


Larry leaned back and took another gulp of his flin to wash down the bread, his stomach grumbling in protest. His finger scratched nervously against his satchel as he felt a tingling sensation in his tongue, Cravings are coming back. He thought and ran a hand through his hair, Larry noticed he was fidgeting and cleared his throat, "If you want to, I'll need to pop by the local apothecary, been burning the candle pretty low lately; need to get myself some fatigue potions."

Group One:

Just as Ja'Rikki began to move around and speak a bit more, Sinclaire began to realize that he recognized her manner of dress. Inwardly, an alarm sounded. "You're dressed as if you hailed from Hammerfell," he began slowly, inquisitively. "Is that where you are from? Do you remember why you're here in Morrowind?" Looking about him, the Breton shivered as he spied his coat a short distance away. Before he would make a move to grab his garment, however, he needed to know for sure whether or not he could yet turn his back on this woman.

"A mercenary from Hammerfell, perhaps. If so, this may not be an accident...then again, the chances are astounding. How could she have found me here, in this way? I've never known a Khajiit to drown themselves on purpose." A torrent of thoughts swirled around fruitlessly in Sinclaire's mind, proving to do little but confound him a tad.

"Walk with me, Ja'Rikki." he stated simply, before she could answer his previous questions. Standing himself up straight, the lord began to walk toward his coat, making a small motion for the feline to follow him. "My name is Sinclaire Lettreux. I am a businessman from my home province of High Rock." he told her in answer to her own query, distracted by his previous thoughts.

"There's no need to let anybody know who you really are, so try and not be a fool just yet."