.DARK APOTHEOSIS.

+------------+

It should be said of most mortal entities that a common desire for power exists. No matter the caliber of their honor.

The souls of mortals are black, after all...

~~

Resdayn, 1E 668:

The War of the First Council is waged by the Chimer as a result of the events following the discovery of The Heart of Lorkhan by the mysterious and prodigal Dwemer. In a surge of inspiration, the Dwemer artificer Kagrenac conceives of a design-a means to harness the divine powers of the Heart and create an unstoppable god of their own creation. Powers not meant to be within mortal grasp.

For years now, both races enjoyed a relative peace alongside each other after Lord Indoril Nerevar of the Chimer and Dumac Dwarfking of the Dwemer used their personal friendship and influence to set differences aside and unite their people against the tyranny of Nordic invaders. Now it seems that a bid for power will tear everything they have created apart.

Lord Voryn Dagoth, of the Chimer Great House Dagoth, learned of this plot and reported his findings to Nerevar. The events that follow force Nerevar to take action in order to prevent the then unknown consequences the Dwemer would bring upon the world.

The First Council is no more. For a long period, blood is shed. After 32 years of conflict, the forces meet at the base of Red Mountain for a final bloodbath in 1E 700.

The Chimer, led by the charismatic and influential Indoril Nerevar, marched against the Dwemer. Curiously, most of the details of the battle are obscured by uncertainty. Conflicting accounts of the battle exist, but one thing is certain. The consequences of the Dwemer's hubris will be change Resdayn forever. By the end of the battle, the entire Dwemer race disappears seemingly without a trace. Red Mountain violently erupts, causing widespread destruction and changing the lay of the land itself. Resdayn, almost entirely changed by this catastrophe, would now later on be known by a new name...Morrowind.

Left to decide the fate of the Heart and Kagrenac's infernal tools, Nerevar leaves Lord Dagoth to guard the artifact while a discussion is held between Nerevar and his council, composed of his closest friends Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil. It is decided among them that the heart should be preserved but never used...

...Only to discover that in their absence, Lord Dagoth used the opportunity to steal divine energy from the Heart, twisting himself into a new being wrought with unholy godlike power. Nerevar and his councilors engage in a fierce struggle with Dagoth, now calling himself the inhuman Dagoth Ur. By the end, Indoril Nerevar is left dead, and Dagoth Ur presumably defeated. Left without their leader, and their land now damaged beyond repair, Nerevar's council assumes leadership of the Chimer and names themselves The Tribunal.

This new leadership kept the powers of the Heart untapped in honor of the late Nerevar, but only for a short time. As the sole keepers of the artifact in a new world, the desire and lust of mortals once again leads to shortsightedness. The Tribunal bathes in the divinity of the Heart, ignorant of the consequences to themselves and their people. Their sin transforms the entire Chimer race into the dark-skinned, red-eyed Dunmer. And from then on, Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil harness their divine power to become more than heroes, but deities to their cursed people.

This continues until, on a trip to restore their divine power, the Tribunal encounters another within the chamber of the Heart; an adversary long thought to have faded into little more than dried ink written in the texts of history...

27th of Last Seed, 3E 427: Present Day Morrowind

The Great Houses of Morrowind are increasingly pressured with the growing threat of the largest outbreak of the fatal Blight Disease yet. In addition, murders, kidnappings, and a range of other violent and blasphemous crimes are committed by the will of a mysterious cult. They claim to be the 6th Great House of Morrowind, risen from the ashes of Red Mountain. Lord Voryn Dagoth of the once destroyed House Dagoth of the Chimer of old has returned, as a divine tyrant. The Tribunal Temple, worshippers of the demi God heroes Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil is targeted regularly by the cult, suffering alongside the Great Houses. Strange people, calling themselves Sleepers, are seemingly influenced by a strange force. The highly contagious and life threatening Corprus Disease has become a sister threat alongside the Blight, killing many and tormenting even more.

The powers that be in Morrowind are losing control at an accelerating rate, and both the Empire and the Trbunal Temple decide that decisive action must be taken.

The Empire's Gambit: A Gathering of Heroes

Caius Cosades, Grand Spymaster of the Blades receives an order to assemble a group of uniquely talented individuals in order to determine where these afflictions came from and subsequently find a way to stop them, or at least, contain them. Dagoth Ur and his influence must also be investigated, and if possible, dealt with.

With eyes and ears everywhere, Caius sends a set of specific encoded instructions to his spies. They approach various people of skill, some of them to be promised favors or rewards too good to pass up, and others blackmailed or threatened in order to ensure their devotion to the empire's interests.

By letter, or by mouth, the chosen few are told to report to Caius Cosades in Balmora, the bustling council seat of Great House Hlaalu. They are to meet on the 1st of Frostfall, at one of his many safehouses, located beneath a tree in the North-East corner of Balmora before noon.

[Group 1: Elgen, Darknova50, Uglius Maximus, Illusionary Nothing(Vicorva), DeVagrant("Not a Display Name"), KoRRoDEAD, Aulakauss, ArgonianMageZelric]

The Temple's Bid for Salvation: A Holy Inquisition

Meanwhile, the Temple branch in Molag Mar, increasingly suffers violence at the hands of the 6th House, enduring disease, the unexpected appearance of ash storms, and the faltering faith of the populace. Worse still, heresy is spread by those previously faithful, crying words of prophecy. They speak of a savior, the vessel of Lord Indoril Nerevar, who will return to reunite the clans and Great Houses, and tell the story of those who betrayed him.

The Tribunal Temple, seeking to retain their power and sway over the people, calls for an Inquisition to form. Aid is requested from the High Fane, but due to the need to maintain the defense of each temple, few men were spared. Unsatisfied, the priests of Molag Mar decided to call to the public for both believers and mercenaries alike to clense the countryside, uncovering and eradicating threats to the Temple, and it's leadership.

Rewards are promised, fanatics are drawn. Those who wish to answer the call are told to meet in Molag Mar on the 1st of Frostfall, atop the upper plaza, in order to be judged. Incentive is to be discussed upon approval.

[Group 2: Verlox2, FC4, Shadow666, Adeth, Shadow_of_Eternity(S_o_E), Epic Scroll 97, Half Tooth]

These two groups of brave individuals may very well hold the key to the survival of Morrowind...and perhaps even, Tamriel. It is yet to be seen whether or not mortal kind will be able to accept that only the Gods decide the fate of man and mer...

Rules for RP:

1. Please wait for Character Sheet approval before posting. Message your sheets to me, ArgonianMageZelric, and I will get back with you ASAP. NOTE: Currently, this RP is full. We have 14 current members, with a few more possibly on the way. This will likely change once the RP begins to take off. So if you're interested, keep checking in!

2. Fighting between characters is allowed, but please make sure you properly arrange this with the player(s) involved, especially before any lasting damage is intended. Please, no senseless killing. NO UBERING. Be reasonable.

3. Romance is allowed as well, as long as no intensely pormographic scenes are detailed. I believe this is also Forum Policy. Also, try and make it realistic.

4. Currently, the use of multiple characters is strongly discouraged. The multitude of players and splitting of groups dictates a need for simplicity at the outset. This will likely change as well as the RP goes on.

5. The scaling of the cities and structures in Morrowind will be more immense than rendered in the original game. Balmora is a large, busy city. Molag Mar is a haven for refugees, pilgrims, and priests.

6. Please try and begin your post with your group number, to make the threads easier to navigate. Any chat directed toward players should be noted by "OOC:". Any character pvssyr thereafter within the same post should be marked "IC:".

7. Overall, the focus is to have fun and flesh out an amazing story for our characters.

An ash storm blew with great strength through the rocky clefts and passes of the desolation that was the Molag Amur. With no great haste, a caravan of sorts made its way along the coastal road - if one could call the rough path that led from Suran - that went to the lonely redoubt that was Molag Mar, the Pilgrim's rest at the feet of Mounts Kand and Ashurnbibi.


Yea, the little caravan traveled slowly through heavy storm, and its members were counted but few. One among them sat atop a ruddy guar, and was clad altogether in the native bonemold armor of Morrowind. In his hand he carried a sturdy spear with a tip of silver that shone like a beacon even in the storm, and at his hip hung a heavy sword in its scabbard. His face one could not glimpse, hidden as it was behind the helm and cloak to block out at least some of the dust and ash.


Through the storm, at last the visage of a great Velothi canton, akin to those from the Holy City of Vivec, loomed up in front of the little troupe and the mounted warrior. Motioning to a heavily cloaked aid to help him, the warrior dismounted from off his guar, and handing the reins thence to the attendant, strode over the bridge into Molag Mar.


He had been called. And to his gods and his temple he would not fail.

The faint flickering of a flame danced in the darkness in the middle of the cargo hold of a small trade ship. Beneath the flame lay a bundle of furs and silks intermingled, rank with the smell of mildew. Surrounding the bundle is a dark stain upon the wood of the floorboards, residual moisture saturating the area. Sinclaire knew not the time of day, nor the ship's location, but knew of one truth: the ship had stopped. The young Breton knew this as he gazed out over the now stationary boxes, filled with tools and sundry for the people of Morrowind. The entire trip, the hold had been a noisy zone of sliding boxes, and now, silence prevailed. Returning his attention to the mass of wet clothing, he began to once again mull over the events leading up to this escape.

However, before being left to memory and despair, the door to the hold swung open. Light seized the darkness within, banishing the mustiness and the dark thoughts of the passenger within. In a jolt, Sinclaire turned his attention to the doorway, the familiar figure he expected making its way down the wooden stair. A stout man of average height came before him, appraising the Breton as well as the surrounding cargo. Briefly, the man looked behind his shoulder and back at Sinclaire; then, as if by instinct, he knelt before him.

"Mi'lord," he breathed, brown eyes peering up at his passenger. "We have arrived at your destination. I must remind you, lord, that your mother herself instructed me to let you off here, and no sooner."

"I understand, ser," Sinclaire replied, motioning upward with a gloved hand. "You may rise. Please refrain from observing your courtesies when concerned with me; I already look the part of the outlander all too well."

The captain nodded, now once again standing at full height. Silently, he motioned for Sinclaire to follow him as he made for the exit. The young lord followed him cautiously, right hand gently resting on the silver hilt of his ornately decorated straight sword, the only heirloom left to him. This journey had been without accident so far, yet Sinclaire could not let himself lower his guard. An assassin could have very easily been planted here before the night of departure. The entire affair still felt strongly like a glorious accident, rather than a predetermined plan. Even as he entered the light of the outside world, a void inside him threatened to grow ever larger, reminding him of what was lost, and what little else there is to hold onto.

Group Two: Joint post between me and Shadow 666

Group Two:

Avarys is still in shock by recent events. He commanded a garrison of Ordinators's, the Tribunal's most faithful, around Red Mountain. His presence there was a secret, known only by the highest in his order. But a blighted storm swarmed the camp. And foul forces had came and raided his fort. All but few of Avarys men managed to survived, and only so from pure determination, and perhaps because the gods were watching them. Avarys made the long journey back to Vivec to report his failures to the High Fane. And so they had reassigned the rest of his men to other postings held by the Order of War. The High Fane however, have different plans for Avarys. the foul heretics of the Sixth House, the ones that killed nearly all of his men, are becoming a threat to the Temple and it's faithful. Avarys has the proper experience for a special assignment. He is to assist an Inquisitor dealing with the Sixth House. They gave vague details, and said the Inquisitor will give more.

As Avary left the High Fane, an Inquisitor was waiting for him, this must be him. As Avarys approaches the mer, his face became all too familiar. "Sevryn" he grimaced. "It's been a long time."

The Inquisitor turned as Avarys approached, recognising him as one of those he commanded some time ago. "Ah Avarys, still among the living I see and it appears you have climbed the ranks since the last time we met" Velron replied as he gripped Avarys' arm in greeting.

Releasing the grip the older Ordinator glanced at the younger mer. "I believe the High Fane has briefed you on the request our brothers at Molag Mar have asked for?" He ased as he motioned for the soldier to walk with him.

Avarys walked along with the Inquisitor along the streets of Vivec. He cannot help but remember when they previously met. He was in his second year as an Ordinator when he learned how vicious Velron Sevryn can be. He'd rather not be anywhere near him.

"Yes Sera." He said, making an easy effort to hide the disdain he had for Sevryn. "But I was not given details. I was told our brothers in Molag Mar did request help to deal with the growing threat of the Sixth House. And I am to escort you there, as the road is dangerous. Why they do not send more of our brothers there besides us I do not know. I pray to all of ALMSIVI the High Fane does not underestimate this threat. Surely they informed you better than I was.."

"The sixth house is merely only the start of the problems my dear Avarys" Velron responded looking at the soldier with cool and calculating eyes, the same way he had looked upon Avarys at the Ashlander village. "Have you heard about the false prophecies? The ones that speak of the rebirth of Serjo Indoril Nerevar Mora, as the Nerevarine?" the inquisitor spat at the name they have given to degrade one of the greatest men on their house. "They speak lies that our gods are false and betrayed him.. that this.. Nerevarine will oust them and save us all from the blight. Heretics the lot of them.. that is why we are being sent to Molag Mar.. with the increasing difficulty of the ash storms, and no doubt the increase of Sixth House activity given from your report.. We are to bolster the faith that is wavering, and to return the wavered to the three, or remove them." He looked at the soldier with hard eyes.

Avarys looked blankly at Velron. Dismissing the Sixth House has angered him even more.

"Yes Sera, I have heard about these false prophecies. And I am sure anyone who claims to be this 'Neverarine" is fraudulent. And said heretic will pay for such slander against our lords. But I must warn you. The Sixth House is no jester. I know from experience. I... I..." He hesitated. Memories of what happened are too recent... Too vivid... "I've seen very recently what they are capable off."

"I have heard your.. troubling report, and i do realise that they are a threat to be taken seriously, which is why only we can be spared for this task. After the incident all members in your order are being sent to fortify the ghost gate."

However, your task lies with aiding me in finding out the cause of this increase in activity." Velron looked at the soldier. "For you to have lived so long, against such an adversary will come in handy brother, do not think I take the threat lightly." Stopping for a moment to check his belongings he noticed the look Avarys was giving him.

"Is there a reason you are looking at me like a Alit does at a carcass?" the Inquisitor remarked, an eyebrow raised.

Avarys slightly tensed up. Perhaps he did not hide his emotions as well as he thought. He relaxed slightly and became more composed like a proper soldier.

"It's nothing Sera." He lied. "It's just the past few weeks has been testing. Do not worry. Our Lords will give me strength to overcome this adversity."

If the Inquisitor caught the lie he did not show it, instead he simply placed his hand on Avarys' shoulder. "Three Gods, One True Faith" He simply said as he glanced at the exit of the grand city that was Vivec. "Come, the boat will take us to Suran and then we shall take the caravan to our destination. It is a long Journey but ALMSIVI will guide us" With that Velron walked towards the waiting boat.

Avarys just stood there for a brief moment. Everything had been going so fast he never time to just... think. While his fellow brothers of his order await at the Ghost Gate, possibly preparing for war, he was stuck here with the person he did not want to see again. And the memories, the screams, the agony of his fallen brothers. He looked at the ship. When he steps foot on it, he will go on a journey that will test his limits, his faith, and perhaps everything in his core. This will be a journey he may not even come back from. But if this must be what is necessary to protect ALMSIVI's faithful, then that is what must be done. He stepped onto the deck of the ship and went to find a cabin. His greatest trial awaits.

'Just don't let your guard down, alright Vyk?' She could feel Leoric watching her as they walked the walls of the fort, his gentle green eyes tracking the sway of her hips. 'I thought maybe being stationed in the Summerset Isle back in four-twelve would help me deal with these Dunmer, but this place...'

Vyktoria sighed, rolling her eyes as the wind picked up and tugged at the wool cloak clasped around her shoulders. 'Your ancestors must be proud, Leoric. Only a true son of Skyrim would think to compare these Dunmer brutes to real elves.' She cast a look behind her, smirked when she saw the man's eyes race back up to hers. 'From what I've seen, they've all the arrogance and misplaced pride of the Altmer, but without any of the culture, civility or good manners to justify them.' She looked out at the horizon, where the dun grey sky met the blasted wastes surrounding Moonmoth. 'Granted, I've been here less than a week, but so far I've seen nothing they should be proud of.' The two of them stopped above the fort's main gate, looked out over the training yard as Legionnaires continued their drills in spite of the drizzling rain.

The burn covering the right side of the man's face had never healed correctly, and the hair growing there was visibly coarser and darker than the rest. Leoric cocked his head at her, folding his arms over his chest. 'Any idea why the Blades called for you? Called you out to my charming little corner of the world?'

'The agents I spoke with were all very cloak and dagger about the entire thing. Typical.' She plucked a loose strand of hair away from her face and pulled it back behind her ear. 'But if I had to wager a guess? Probably something to do with those Dissident Priests I've been hearing rumours of, or else that Sixth House nonsense the Temple has worked itself up over.' She crossed her arms over her briasts, blue eyes narrowing. 'For all the complaints these Dunmer level at the Empire, they certainly do a poor job of keeping the peace on their own.'

'You may want to keep those opinions to yourself, Vyk.' Leoric's eyes went to the band of ebony around her arm. 'Amongst other things.'

'Yes, we certainly wouldn't want a lone necromancer mingling with all the fine, ancestor worshipping folk here. My gods, Leoric, could you imagine the scandal?' Their gazes met from the corners of their eyes, and the sarcasm bled away from her voice. 'The years have cooled your blood. Time was you were eager to tell every Elf in Tamriel just what you thought of them.'

'Somebody once told me that insulting an Elf only puffs up their ego, and makes them even more insufferable than before.' Leoric smiled. 'Arrogant woman, too much like an Elf herself. Gods only know how I survived being stationed with her for two years.'

'She must have had a great deal of patience, to tolerate being around a man like you.'

'Not as much as she liked to think. But aye, she did.'

She took the man's hand in hers. 'I've some time, before I'm to meet with this Caius Cosades.' Her look softened. 'And I don't know when I'll get the chance to see you again.'

He smiled back at her, cast a glance at the training soldiers as he let himself be led towards the fort's barracks. 'Looks as though we might have the place to ourselves. And I suppose I can make the time.'

'You were always so good at following orders, Leoric.'

Group 1

It was the homeland, but it wasn't home. Nevena brushed cobwebs from her robes, raising clouds of dust, as she approached the great, keening flea that loomed out of the river on stilted legs.

'If you're headed to Balmora, just follow the signs north and you'll be there in no time,' The shopkeeper had told her. 'Once you hit the river Odai, you're there. Best take a few potions of cure disease with you. And watch out for nix hounds, though you look like you can handle that.'

'Is there not a faster or safer way?' Nevena had asked, her voice tight.

'The silt strider is safest, but it's pricey. A mage like you can surely handle a few nix hounds.'

Nevena leaned out from the river to reach for one long brown leg. It moved; she flinched, then placed her palm flat against it. It was coarse, covered in fine brown hairs, but solid underneath as if it were made of wood. Chitin, she reminded herself. Mother had always told her that the homeland ran on bugs and their by-products.

Not so scary, she told herself, pushing away from the river and dusting her hands.

She walked up the steep path to the caravaner. 'Darvame Hleran?' she asked, running a hand through her short brush of black hair, her fingers catching on the feathers.

The caravaner inclined her head. 'The very one. How can I help you, outlander?'

Nevena blinked. 'Am I that obvious?'

Darvame gestured to her clothes. 'We do not wear our robes in that fashion. Imperial, are you?'

Nevena didn't say anything. She scrunched the front of her robes in one hand -- a worn-out green, split at the knee, with brown top, trousers and skirt beneath, and leaned heavily on her staff.

Darvame started to look impatient; Nevena got a grip on herself. 'Balmora,' she said. 'I have to go to Balmora, please.'

She made the transaction, counting out the last gold pieces she had been given on release.

Later, she rode the great swaying flea, sitting in the hollow in its back. Later, she watched the countryside roll by -- mountains and rivers, yes, but also distant plumes of smoke and livid lava patches, also mushrooms as large as houses and enormous, levitating bugs with armoured hides.

So this is Morrowind, she thought, holding her staff close within her pack. Welcome home, outlander.

She thought of all that had been taken from her, and all that she had left behind, and her lungs were suddenly too shallow to draw breath from. If the caravaner heard her struggling for breath or noticed the tears in her eyes, she said nothing.

Group One:

Initially blinded by the light after so many days spent confined in the darkness of the cargo hold, Sinclaire struggled to regain vision. A few moments passed before he was able to see correctly, but all the while he felt his legs walking, following. The captain led him off of the ship, onto solid, yet moist terrain. "Now, I recommend you get yourself on that Silt Strider immediately. Tell the caravan operator that you seek a ride to Ald'ruhn." The chestnut eyed man then produced a sealed letter, marked with a familiar insignia.

"I was to give this to you on your arrival here in Morrowind. You are currently in the fishing village of Khuul, and your type definitely does not belong here. Do not stop and read this letter until safely on the strider. Understand?" Sinclaire took the envelope from the captain, quickly placing the document within his coat in an inside pocket.

"I understand. I imagine it will contain the whereabouts of my expected living quarters." Sinclaire mused, although something within him didn't believe that at all. That stamp was an obvious giveaway that the document came straight from the empire. Unable to take the time to process this, he bid farewell to his savior; an unlikely ally at best, but one sorely needed.

Sinclaire strode through the village at a brisk pace, ignoring the eyes that followed his movements. The local Dunmer eyed him suspiciously, some with wonder. His manner of dress was completely foreign, as well as expensive. The young man could see hatred already brewing in the eyes of a few who met his gaze. Nevertheless, he made it to the enormous creature overlooking the river that fed into the sea. Approaching the sun worn caravaner, he stated: "I would like a ride to Ald'ruhn."

The Dunmer looked at the speaker before him, eyeing him with curiosity. "Of course, sera. 40 septims for you I would say." He replied gruffly, accent thick as the man's hide. Sinclaire nodded in agreement, wondering if the price would be different had he been dressed differently. He wasn't able to bring much, but still, 40 septims wouldn't threaten him too badly. He paid the man in full, and climbed aboard. The hard surface of the creature felt strange under his climbing grip.

As he settled inside the hollow point, Sinclaire looked about him. He could see the soil and water beneath him, ashes swirling in the current. Blackened parts of the soil smelt strongly of wet ash that could be sensed a distance away. "What sort of land is Morrowind really?" He asked himself, trying to recall. In his studies, he had been forced to overlook the more distant provinces in favor of those surrounding High Rock; most importantly, the history and politics of High Rock itself.

Sinclaire was so deep in thought he hardly noticed the large creature began to move across the land, gliding across water and rock alike...

Group 2. This will be fun given the amount of Ordinators around...



Name: Eyra Ravenswife

Race: Nord

Class: Shaman

Age: appears around 45

Height: 5'11"

Hair: pale blond, slowly greying, long and flowing relatively free. Held back from her face with a narrow silver band carved with runes.

Eyes: greyish blue, like thin ice, and just as piercing

Skin: pale and thin, the first lines showing around her eyes.

Clothes: Grey wollen dress, the hem reaching just above her ankles. Sturdy leather boots. Fur-trimmed blue cloak

Weapon: Yew staff, carved with runes. A(very human looking) skull with rubies for eyes is fastened at the top. Various feathers, teeth and beads are dangling from it.




_________________________________________________________________________________


The gods of her own people had long forsaken her. The dark mysteries of those who called her sister had sickened her. The Deadra Lords frightened her and the servants of the Nine were frightened of her. It seemed that wherever Eyra turned, even those claiming to serve the many gods of Tamriel either could not or would not help her.


When the pamphlet distributed by the Temple reached her, shortly after her arrival in Molag Mar, Eyra finally saw where she had gone wrong; the priests and witches she had spoken to were nothing but mere mortals, their gods hiding out in some dark corners of Oblivion, occasionally touching their servants with the tips of their fingers. The Temple was different. The Tribunal were living, breathing gods, the very pulse of life in Morrowind, as real as the people they served. A living God could help her. A living God like Vivec would have to help her, if she offered her knowledge of curing illnesses to his Temple and discovered how to cure the pestilence that was plaguing the land. It was a simple deal; She would cure Corprus and then Vivec would cure her.


After just a few weeks in Molag Mar, Eyra realised that Corprus was the least of the problems plaguing the people of Morrowind. Frequent ash storms polluted the air and every day a constant throng of injured or sick pilgrims stumbled across the bridge into the floating stronghold. The Temple had set up a makeshift infirmity by the bridge, treating those worst affected before they could enter the floating fortress. At first, they had simply used restoration spells, but as the numbers swelled, they had to turn to potions and conventional healing methods, something even some of the most experienced priests seemed uncomfortable with.


It had taken Eyra several days to convince them that she should join their ranks. After all, she was an outlander and a Nord. Worse - a Nord woman skilled in magicks. She had heard the word "witch" thrown around more than once, whispered behind her back, though none dared to say it in her face. But her potions worked exceptionally against even resistant cases of the blight, and she was not squeamish when it came to setting a bone or cleaning infected wounds oozing with puss and blood. And even though she frequently complained about the lack of a mystical substance called "snow", the priests had begrudgingly admitted that Eyra's skills were too valuable not to be utilised.


She was tending to a young man with a nasty gash inflicted by a cliffracer on his back, when the Ordinators raised the cry that a caravan was approaching.


"Healers, step forward!" He shouted. "Test everyone for blight and Corprus once they cross the bridge!"


Eyra stood up, using her staff as support. Her bag chimed with vials containing various potions and poltuces, as well as a variety of liquors to clean wounds and give courage to those in pain. A few young Dunmer girls stood by the walls, ready to be called forward should a healer need bandages or clean water.


This was her part of the deal. Her calling. She just hoped that somewhere out there, the Tribunal was watching.

Group 2

Slowly the caravan crossed over the bridge, where the healers were awaiting to receive them. It had been slow going when the two Ordinators had boarded the vessel to Suran, where they had joined a caravan more than eager to accept two of the Tribunal's finest. The intensity of the ash storm that had seemed to follow them in had prevented a majority of conversation with the caravan's leader but rumours of refugees from nearby villagers going missing or ending up dead in the most horrific ways confirmed Velron's suspicions that the situation was becoming more dire with each passing day.

Through the holes of the Indoril Helm, Velron's eye could be seen narrowing when he spied one of the Temple healers was not Dunmeri. Taking great care to clasp back on the sash of the Order of Inquisition, The Ordinator approached the Nord woman who had just finished checking a pilgrim for signs of blight or Coprus. Removing his helm and holding it at his side he looked at the aging woman with a calculating, yet condescending look in his eyes.

"The Temple has come under harder times than I thought to have outlander Healers doing ALMSIVI's will, especially a Nord healer.. It is quite the puzzle to figure out, but if you have been entrusted to treat symptoms of blight, then at least you know what you are doing" The inquisitor said looking at the woman, trying to discern any other oddities about the situation, Nord's who could use magicka weren't common on Morrowind, and those who were.. there were reasons why outlanders were not to be trusted.

The one true way to test this woman is for her to understand who she was to be examining. One of the priests spied the Inquisitor and rushed over. "Inquisior Sevryn! we have been expecting you ever since the High Fane gave word of your departure. Please, if you need a healer to have a look at you we have Temple Acolytes who would take great honour in examining one such as yourself, there is no need to have the out-" Before the priest finished speaking Velron held up his hand.

"Am i unable to choose who is to examine me?" The Inquisitor asked his eyes piercing through the priest.

"Ah n-no Muthsera, If it is your wish" The priest responded. "Welcome to Molag Mar muthsera, thank you again for coming to our aid.." and with that the priest returned to his duties as the Inquisitor returned his gaze to the Nord woman. "You may proceed." he said simply and awaited for the woman to begin.

Group 2


Suren submitted with patience to the healer that had come thence unto him to minister to him. He removed the heavy Redoran helm from his head, revealing his aged, grizzled face. The young healer motioned for Suren to sit on a nearby stool, and the Redoran knight did so gladly, happy to take his rest after so long a journey.


As the healer ministered to him, Suren took the chance to truly look at who his traveling companions were. Two such notables that the caravan master had been only too happy to have travel with them were two ordinators. Suren had drowned behind the mask of his helm when they had joined. No love was lost between ordinators and Armigers, and though Suren had failed to join that illustrious order, he had carried their prejudices with him for decades. But he was not surprised to see some of their number coming thence to the garrison at Molag Mar. Though he thought the ordinators nothing but thugs, he would deny not their prowess at arms....or, he would admit grudgingly, their dedication to the Tribunal.


The healer who ministered to him, having found no cause to hold him hither, gave him leave to rise. His armor creaked and groaned as he stood from the stool. As he was going, then, to go into the canton his eyes spotted a dunmer man clothed in robe covered in the arcane symbols of House Telvanni.


Revulsion entered into the heart of the Redoran, as well as indignation that a Telvanni, whom any good Redoran would tell you were little better than heretics or practitioners of necromancy, would show his face at a Temple compound .


"Hail, Telvanni," spoke the Redoran knight, bowing mockingly to the wizard, " Come to spread thou thy curses amongst this already cursed land? Or perhaps, like your brethren, you have come to claim more territory that belongs not to you?"


Suren leaned on his spear, and gave the Telvanni an evil-eye. "This place is not meant for the likes of thee, wizard, what good can your spells and hexes ever wrought for the afflicted, or serve the whim of the Three?"

Group Two

Northern Vvardenfell, East of Maar Gan, North of Red Mountain

Avarys men had just set up camp along the barren ashlands. It would be a temporary encampment however as the captain and his band of ALMSIVI's protectors have been on the move. Their mission was simple; Word of heresy has been spreading along the region. A tribe of Ashlanders were said to have been spreading the filth of the Neveraine prophecy. Avary was in his tent, looking at a map of the region. His band had earlier engaged in combat with the Ashlanders, and the heretics were easily overwhelmed while the Ordinators suffered few losses. However, many Ashlanders escaped and so the Ordinators had been chasing them for a few pays. That was until an ash storm came and the Ordinators lost track of the Ashlanders. And so when they set up camp, Avarys recently ordered ten of his men on a patrol, hoping they can find any clues to where the Ashlanders gone.

Avarys sensed someone entering his tent. He stopped looking at the map and turned around to see it was the Inquisitor assigned to his band on his mission. His name was Adrendos. He stood abnormally tall for a Dunmer, his head entirely shaven and his face littered with markings with various symbols of the Temple

"Ju'rohn Hornalacor." Said the Inquisitor in a deep raspy voice.

"Ju'rohn Inquisitor" Avarys replied stoically. He was often wary of Inquisitors.

Adrendos merely eyed Avarys for a moment. "I have heard you dispatched a patrol?"

Avarys nodded. "Yes Sera. And is of great importance. We must find a trace of where the Ashlanders went, and soon. If their trail goes cold, we may have lost the heretics for good."

The Inquisitor stoically nodded. "Arenshad." He said, with a nod of approval. "I am confident they will be found. They could not have strayed too far from us. The ash storm slowed them as much as it slowed us."

Adrendos then walked closer to Avarys, looking down at him with his fiery red eyes. "And they and their heathen brothers will pay for their slander against the Three."

Something sunk in Avarys gut. What Adrendos said reminded him of another Inquisitor. Adrendos was too similar to that man of the day that still haunts him. Ashlanders may be heretics, but they have been misguided by their fathers. All they have know their lives are the false slander against ALMSIVI. They ought to be given a chance to learn the error of their ways and join the ranks of the faithful.

Avarys was about to suggest that, but an Ordinator bursted to the Tent. Avarys recognizes him as a young recruit fresh off of training. "Hornalacor!" He shouted. "The patrol came back. They found the Ashlanders.... What's left of them." Avarys and Adrendos both raised an eyebrow. "Where are they?" he asked...

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

Suddenly Avarys woke up. He was still in the caravan he and Velron had been in. Their journey to Molag Mar has been long. The ship they left from Vivec took them to Suran. From there, they found a Caravan heading to Molag Mar. The driver let them in for free. After all, the Ordinators protect the faithful. there is no better price than that; not even gold. Most of their journey from Suran has been testing. For days an ash storm besieged the landscape. No one could leave the Caravam and so they all had to share the same space almost the entire time there. Luckily for Avarys, they were only an hour Molag Mar when he awoke.

When they finally arrived to the holy city, the caravan was greeted by the temple priests outside the city. Oddly enough, among them was a female Nord. It is odd seeing an Outlander carrying ALMSIVI's will. The situation at Molag Mar must be bad. He watched as Velron questioned the outlander, before being greeted by one of the temple priests. Avarys stood next to the Inquisitor, listening to what they were saying. From what he understood, they must be examined by healers before being allowed in. And so he awaits for an Acolyte of the Temple to come and examine him.

Group 2

Zethan saw the Redoran approach. He had met some from house Redoran before, a few years back. Not many visited Tel Fyr but an occasional Telvanni wizard seeking approval and being quickly dismissed.

It was obvious to Zethan how prejudiced the man was, but like your average student following a master's teachings, he held his tongue. 'Hail Redoran.' Zethan said a bit forcedly. He wasn't a diplomat but knew how things were supposed to go. 'I am here because of my knowledge on diseases caused by blight and my studies into Corprus.' He explained briefly and tried his best to stay friendly with a hint of sharpness.

'Everything I own I wear. The rest belong to my master.' He pointed at his tent's insides. 'And I am more than capable of protecting myself, thank you. Besides most of the potions, cures and elixirs you see here are done after my instructions. No necromancy or heresy is involved I assure you.'

(Group One)

Vyktoria skirted the edge of the road leading towards Balmora, leaving a hanging cloud of ash and dust in her wake. The traders crowding the way looked at her with expressions ranging from curious to malicious, but none spoke as she passed them by. She rode the monstrous guar provided to her at the fort with both her legs swung over the animal's left side, wondering if one of Skyrim's hardy breeds of horse might have been able to survive Vvardenfell's blasted wastes. When she reached the city's main gate she eagerly dismounted, retrieving her bag and securing it over one shoulder.

A young Dunmer woman approached her, wearing the common clothing of a labourer and smelling strongly of guano. 'Greetings, Sera. Shall I take your guar for you? For only five drakes we can shelter and feed him.'

'Please do,' Vyktoria said, retrieving a handful of coins from her purse and laying them in the girl's outstretched hand. She peered through the archway at the city's entrance, heard the clamouring of trade taking place just inside.

'A beautiful creature,' the Dunmer girl said, running her hands gently over the spiraling patterns of black scales that ran along the guar's sides. 'I'm certain he will serve you well, Sedura.'

'I'm sure I wouldn't know.' She turned her frosty eyes onto the Dunmer, saw the young woman pull back slightly beneath her gaze. 'Please see that my mount is made ready to leave as soon as possible. I don't plan on staying here long.'

'Of...of course, Sera.'

Vyktoria made her way into the city without incident, weaving through the crowded avenues and ignoring the street-side shops and the calls for attention from their owners. More than once she noticed heavily armoured guardsmen wearing that peculiar bonemold plate following behind her, but they were quick to break away when the human made no signs of causing trouble.

She was within sight of one of the bridges crossing over the river Odai when something like a howl cut through the air outside the wall, hung suspended for a moment before fading. Vyk turned to see a flight of steps leading up to some sort of platform near the top of the city wall, and something like a colossal insect lumbering towards it.

'Looking for a silt strider?' asked a Dark Elf standing near the steps when he noticed Vyk staring. 'Next one should be ready in just a few minutes. Safest, fastest way to travel the island, Sera.'

'No. Thank you.' Vyk continued to watch the creature in silence, shaking her head.

Group One

'Not much farther,' said the caravaner, pointing at a bend. 'Just beyond those hills.'

Nevena said nothing, but scrambled to return her herb pouches to her pack. Her heart pounded, wondering what awaited her. The little coastal village she had docked in had been small indeed, even compared to the many she had travelled, but this was one of the cities of Vvardenfell -- the seat of one of the Great Houses, or so Darvame had told her.

She held her breath as the walls came into view, and then ...

'This?' she said, her voice breathy. 'This is Balmora?'

'The very same, sera.'

It wasn't a city, such as Nevena would call it. Small and dull, with grey houses and dusty streets. Was this truly the home of one of the great Houses of her people?

Appearances mean little, Nevena reminded herself. I should know this by now.

But she had always been attracted by light and beauty and colour. She might be a small, dull creature, but magic, but daedra, but the mysteries of Aetherius ...

She thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that she could feel answering stir in her soul. But there was nothing.

Don't think about that.

She thanked Darvame and dismounted from the silt strider, bracing herself with her staff and using it to swing herself out. She turned and bowed. 'Many thanks, sera.'

The caravaner looked amused and bowed in the Morrowind style -- demonstratively, Nevena thought. She would have to remember that for later.

So this was Balmora. She pulled her instructions from her pocket. 'Meet beneath the tree in the North-east corner of Balmora at noon.'

She looked up to scan the city from the vantage of the platform, but her eyes caught on an Imperial staring impassively -- at her or at the silt strider, Nevena couldn't say. She was striking, with red hair, bright eyes, and a confident stance. Nevena carefully looked away. The North-east corner of Balmora ...

Group 2


Eyra silently thanked the priest for the hint. She was still getting to grips with the insignia of the various religious orders and noble families that passed through Molag Mar on pilgrimage, and every now and again, if she was facing someone of particular significance, the priest would come to her aid and loudly fuss over whomever she was treating at the time. It was probably out of concern that she might disgrace herself - and his temple by association - than any genuine goodwill, but Eyra was grateful nontheless.


Eyra ignored the insults the Ordinator had barraged her with, when knew nothing about her or her skills. She had been here long enough to not be phased by them. Besides, one word from an Ordinator could mean the end of her life. If what she had heard was true, one word from an Inquisitor could mean the rest of her life in chains, howling in pain.


"Times have been dire, Muthsera," she confirmed as she stepped forward to feel the glands on his neck for inflammation. The formal address sounded clumsy and heavily accented, but he should at least appreciate the effort. Then again, Dunmeri did not seem to appreciate much done by her.


"More and more pilgrims return from their journey either injured or ill, if they return at all." She checked the Ordinator's eyes, forcing herself not to shrink away from the obvious contempt reflected in them, but to meet his gaze calmly, professionally.

"A dangerous man," she thought. "Ellya had eyes like this, something flickering just around the corners, as if they might turn on you in an instant."


"The priests have been working relentlessly to aid those that return, but many are exhausted and some have succumbed to the blight themselves."


She made him go through several exercises as she talked, asking him to follow her finger with his eyes or touching his own nose. What he thought of it she could not tell for sure.


"Magick is reserved to the most severe injuries that can still be healed. The alchemy stores are running low as well, few dare to venture out to gather more. We rely on the most basic methods of healing that will have an effect. When your roof is leaking, a crude tool is better than no tool at all."


She stepped back, once again meeting the Ordinator's eyes.


"Your eye movements and reflexes are a little slow and your pulse a little high. It is most likely weariness from the journey, but it might be early signs of Chanthrax. I would normally ask you to stay in quarantine until we can be sure." Eyra's tone was matter of fact now, a healer talking to a sick person. This was after all what she was best at.


"But I know you have been called here for a reason. So..."


She deftly cupped the Ordinator's face between her hands and for a moment a blue light surrounded them both. Just for an instant, Eyra felt something beyond mere travel weariness in the Dunmer, before it was consumed by her powers. Not that he would thank her for it. She would count herself lucky if she didn't end the day in the local dungeon.


"It was Chanthrax after all. Very early stage, you probably wouldn't have noticed it for days."


She bowed slightly, in an attempt to restore the formality she had forgotten about once she had stopped focussing on his position and started treating him like a normal patient.


"Welcome Molag Mar, Inquisitor."

Group 2

As the Nord woman began her examination, Verlon admitted that the woman knew at least what she was doing in terms of testing for disease or injury, but never spoke of this aloud. While she was speaking, he noticed that when her eyes met his, there was a moment of hesitancy before she met his gaze calmly.

One who knows when to show respect as well as to not show fear even in the presence of an Inquisitor.. she may be useful to ALMSIVI after all. The Inquisitor noted as the woman continued to explain the situation at hand and put him through the exercises and tests required. It was obvious to Verlon that the situation was as dire if not worse than the High Fane had told him, but he continued to stay silent throughout the procedure.

His eyes widened slightly when she placed her hands upon either side of his face before the warm healing energies of a cure disease spell ran throughout his veins and muscles.. relieving him of any tiredness and stiffness he had felt. If he had shown any hint of being impressed of the outlander, it was quickly hidden as he stood up to move his arms about.

As she bowed her head in front of him to show that her examination was finished, the Inquisitor bowed his head slightly. "I.. may have given you the wrong impression at the start outlander, when you deal with what one such as myself on a day to day basis, you begin to consider every man woman or child something more sinister than what they truly are." He said as he looked up to Avarys before turning back to the woman.

"However that is how one must be in times such as these. I can see why the Temple deemed your skills.. competent to heal those that come here. Continue to do this work, and i may have to reconsider that not all outlanders, even one of your descent can at least be tolerated. Until that time i will be watching you.. Carry on" He said simply as his eyes hardened once more and turned on his heel to find one of the senior priests to find out more of the request for aid.

Group 2


Suren guffawed, almost doubling over. Now here was quite a strange Telvanni, for he spoke more like a courtier than one of the mageling rats from Sadrth Mora.


"Were thou of but a more noble house, perhaps then thy would serve no master, but be a master of thyself. Come, Telvanni, speak sooth!" Suren relaxed somewhat, and the grip on his spear loosened, but his voice still held a mocking edge. "Come thou at the desire for to do some just work for once in the name of your house? For hither have I come into this desolation at the behest of the Temple, and unto Tharer Rotheloth, the chief priest, I go."


"If to aid against the blight you do indeed come, then my companion I would make you. Come, friend Telvanni," Suren said with mirthful sarcasm, "Tell me your name and together we shall enter hence. A dusty tent is no place for a houseman, even if he be a Telvanni. If you come in good, then a Redoran you are at heart, and to our stronghold hither I would have you stay."

Group 2

did that really just happen?


Eyra stood shellshocked for a few moments. It had come reluctantly and veiled, but the Ordinator had actually complimented her. She was not entirely sure what is was, but she had done something right. Finally receiving some recognition made her feel almost giddy with happiness. She had to resist the urge to call after him and tell him that her name was Eyra, not "outlander". A younger woman might have got away with that, but not her, not anymore.

a younger woman... if any of them knew the irony of my own thoughts, I would definitely end the day in chains


Eyra quickly glanced at the skull on her staff, the constantly mocking reminder of why she had come to Molag Mar. Then, with a deep sigh to clear her head and recall her mind back to the task at hand, she turned to approach the next traveller.


OOC: off to bed, don't want to lock anyone.

Group One:

No longer able to put the deed off any longer, Sinclaire opened up the letter that was given to him. The wax seal of the emperor broke easily at the pressure. Slowly he began to unfold the parchment within, unsure of what knowledge would be written across its surface.

[To the young heir who has lost all: Fear not, for what is lost can often be regained. However, the price you may pay for such a chance may prove to be enormous. There are many here within my company who would ask "What else is there to lose?"

Despite what you may be thinking of your current situation and how you'll be living the rest of your life, there are options to consider, Sinclaire Dorell. Just when you believe everything to be torn away from you in an instant, do the gods above present you with a new beginning. There are eyes and ears in Northpoint that tell me of the occurrences there, and we know more than you realize. Your mother has trusted us with your safe passage to Morrowind, and if you are reading this letter, then we must not have faltered.

There is much to do with little time, and if a return to the way of life you once knew interests you, I'm afraid a long journey lies ahead. Be aware that new beginnings ARE possible, Dorell. Yet, it takes much greater strength of will to heal, than to destroy.

I trust that you understand the implications of this document. If you are interested in restoring your lost honor, speak to the receptionist of the Guild of Mages located just inside the city of Ald'ruhn. He will know you by sight. Allow him to lead you to the wizard deeper within the Guild, but be wary. From here on out, nobody is responsible for your actions but yourself.

You are to be teleported from Ald'ruhn to the Guild of Mages within Balmora, the council seat of Great House Hlaalu. Once in Balmora, you will report to Caius Cosades in his safehouse located in the Northeastern area of the city, underneath a large tree.

Divines smile upon you. Perhaps one day soon, you'll find yourself strong enough to change the course of your fate.

-A friend]

Just as Sinclaire read the last lines of the note, a gruff voice broke into his thoughts. "We have arrived in Ald'ruhn, outlander. Watch your step when exiting, and count yourself lucky that you've come to visit at a time devoid of the ashen winds."

Absentmindedly, the Breton replied with a soft "thank you" and made his way off of the large creature, planning to immediately destroy the document which he had just read. If anybody were to realize who he was, even here in Morrowind, he knew just how much shorter his life span would be cut.

ooc: I am at war with the post formatting. It hates me using pasted text. Do excuse any spacing oddities, please.

Also, long post is long and has been broken up into two. Second half will be bigger than this, but I wanted to get the intro out of the way quickish. Special thanks to Shadow666 for doing the impromptu roleplaying session with me via PM that became these two posts.

___________

Seventh of Last Seed, 4E 39

Somewhere underground in Hammerfell..

A Khajiiti woman padded through an ancient sandstone-and-metal hallway, her large eyes flicking rapidly to take in everything. The path emptied into a large chamber with four stone pillars and a latticework of bronze-hued support arches overhead. Doors in three different directions offered exits from the room to deeper parts of the facility. Her eyes sparkled as she stood enraptured by the room and a tiny, excited gasp escaping her.


Closing her eyes and stilling her body, she inhaled deeply and slowly. Stale, musty air, mold, stone dust and old machine oil. The ever-present clinking and grinding of impossibly functioning ancient machinery. Cold stone under her paws. This was Ja'Rikki's favorite kind of music; the melody of sensory input these old places provided.

"Just imagine what it all would've looked like all those years ago," Rikki's small, soft voice mused reverently, eyes still shut, "It's such a shame none of them are around to tell us what these places would've looked like when they were alive."

Rikki flicked her eyelids back up, turning slowly in place to address the other woman with her. "Thank you so much for coming with me. I've always loved sharing this with people."

A woman of Bretonic appearance smiled back at her, dressed in a lovely, if somewhat revealing, version of an upscale Redguard dress. Deep red and shimmering gold cloth made up the garment that flowed around the woman, a few strands of her long black hair hanging down over her shining silver eyes. Rikki briefly wondered how she could stand having her cleavage and midriff exposed like that, but quickly dismissed the thought.

"There is no need to thank me; there is so much of the world I have yet to see through these eyes. Besides, your mother was quite.. insistent on making sure I kept you safe, little one," the Breton replied, flicking an errant lock from her eyes to gaze upon the ruins of the once proud and industrious Dwemeri people's work.

"I feel a slight disturbance in this place. What was it that the locals warned us about? They seemed quite.. hesitant to tell us where this particular set of ruins were."

The Khajiit gave a whimsical shrug in reply and began hopping slowly between her paws in place.

"Superstitious silliness, no doubt. You still have the invisibility tonic I gave you, yes? Should cover our asses fine if there's some mega-centurion or something down here." Rikki trilled, but glanced down guiltily immediately. A stilling of her feet accompanied a pause and a sigh afterwards.

"I suppose we should proceed with all due caution with that in mind, though. I know mom learned to trust your instincts on your ventures together, Auntie Mia, so I'd be remiss to ignore them. However, I seriously doubt this place is dangerous. We've seen all of, what, three of the little spiders? Not a sphere or golem in sight. Not even wreckage."


"Superstition still comes from truth, no matter how twisted it has become," Mia replied, retrieving the potion from her traveling bag to examine.

"It should suffice, but my Illusion skills could prove to be needed if we have more company than expected." Placing the potion back inside gently, she glanced about trying to discern where the disturbance was coming from.

"Even the most innocent of things can proved to be quite deadly if you underestimate it, like myself. The lack of wreckage could mean there is a surprise waiting for us, or scavengers have picked the place and it is nothing but a feeling.." Slowly taking a step forward towards the nearest corner, Mia peeked around and spied what appeared to be a security mechanism at the end of a corridor.


"A vault? It appears to be untouched, but whatever I am feeling is coming from behind that door. Whatever it is that the Redguards were afraid of, it could be that we are near to the source."

The door looked like a large cog, made of the same solid metal of much of the Dwemer architecture. Flanking either side of the door on the walls were metal shutters or trapdoors. A dark splotch marred the floor directly in front of the door.

Rikki moved to share Mia's point of view and emitted small giggle at seeing the cog door down the hallway. The hopping resumed.

"Ooh! That looks foreboding," she chirped.


Moving closer, Rikki scanned the door, then adjusted her gaze to the metal shutters flanking it.

"Also undisturbed. Well, relatively. Something dried on the floor. Could mean.." she dropped to her belly on the floor, closing an eye and 'hmm'-ing.

"A couple of the flooring tiles are off-kilter. I can't tell if they're switches or just broken. Best avoid them, just in case. Let me see if I can coax that big, beautiful door open. Follow my feet."

A young woman disembarked from inside the hollowed-out shell of the great insect outside the city's wall, with feathers decorating her hair and dangling from the staff she carried. From her appearance, Vyktoria wondered if the girl was a member of one of the Ashlander tribes she'd had described to her by Imperial scribes. But the Ashlanders were supposedly reclusive nomads, religious pariahs that shied away from the island's larger settlements. So then why would one of them venture to Balmora?

Maybe some sort of hedge witch, then. Or whatever the Dunmer equivalent might be. The Dunmer's gaze settled on Vyktoria briefly before withdrawing, and the Imperial paid it little mind. Instead, she directed her attention back to the river cutting through the centre of the city, and the instructions she'd received on how to find Caius Cosades.

'You! N'wah!'

Vyktoria felt the muscles in her neck tensing. Damn. I suppose things were going too smoothly, were they? She turned in place to see a Dunmer man stumbling towards her, his eyes unfocused and his face set into a scowl.

'Shall I assume you're addressing me?' she sighed, crossing her arms.

'That's right, outlander,' the man slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol, even from that distance. 'Damned Imperial bootlickers. We don't want you here in Morrowind, fetcher.'

'How charming.' Vyktoria noticed a small handful of spectators gathering nearby. 'As much as I'd like to continue this little exchange, I'm afraid I have some important business to attend to.' She started turning, made to leave in the opposite direction. 'So, if you'll excuse me...'

When she heard a knife being drawn from its sheathe, magic instinctively began to crackle between her fingertips.

'I'm not finished talking to you, woman!' She looked back to see the man holding a steel dagger in one hand, struggling to keep upright. 'You'll leave when I tell you, s'wit!'

Another Dunmer, wide-eyed and desperate looking, rounded the corner of the nearby street. He stopped beside the drunkard, eyes flashing to the knife in his hand. 'Galos, what are you doing?'

'Go away, Balis!' the man yelled, swaying on his feet. 'I'm going to teach this outlander wench some respect!'

'What?' The newcomer looked pleadingly at Vyktoria. 'Please, sera! My friend, he isn't a violent man! He's only drunk, grieving because he lost his wife to the Blight!'

'That's very unfortunate,' Vyk replied flatly, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. 'Tell your friend to disarm now, or I'll kill him. And if anybody tries to stop me, I'll kill them too.' The magic at her fingertips began to brighten, and the air grew cold in a ring around her feet, frost quickly creeping across the dusty ground. A few of the spectators noticed and drew back with alarm on their faces.

The sober of the pair, Balis, looked at some of the others nearby, but they quickly hid their faces from his. They're afraid, Vyktoria thought, magic radiating outwards from her. Her dark red lips curved into a faint smile. Good.

'Please,' Balis begged, looking around. 'Somebody, stop this!'

OOC: Perhaps not the most original way to spark an interaction, but why deviate from the classics? Feel free to take control of the Dunmer duo as necessary, IN.

Yuu’Ko wakes in the middle of the road. Her ears are ringing and her head spins as she gets to her feet. ‘Urgh,’ she mutters in affirmation to herself, ‘Yuu’Ko probably should not have gone to that tavern.’ She wipes down her snout and tries to clear her eyes. Dust seems to have also made its way into her ears. If she is honest, everything is irritating to her right now. The surrounding landscape is dark and she has no idea how long she has been passed out on the road.

Yuu’Ko dusts off her trousers and checks for the quiver on her back. She finds her bow and arrows are still present, her coin purse however seems to have been pilfered. ‘Dirty rotten thieves,’ Yuu’Ko curses. She looks to the horizon. Red mountain graces the skyline. ‘Halfway to somewhere then,’ Yuu’Ko assures herself. She rubs her temples and tries to steady her feet. She yawns. A rather lithe feline she stretches out her spine and flicks her tail in an almost triumphant manner before slumping her shoulders back down and resuming the dreaded pace of a lady who has a very bad hangover. ‘We find the new road soon,’ Yuu’Ko tells herself, ‘good food and water and less mistakes.’

The life of a slave is a cruel one, shackled into servitude and bound to the whims of their master whether they be just or sadistic, an unpurchased slave has no choice but to wait behind the veil and hope their next owner treats them with even a scrap of dignity.

These thoughts go through the minds of every slave awaiting auction. Many lose hope the moment they are captured, others seek freedom but very few escape with their lives. The slavers are a merciless crew of thugs and would never allow their merchandise to slip away. By the time their wrists are bound with irons; their spirits are crushed and acceptance is all they have left.

But there has been word lately of a vigilante of sorts who has been sweeping through slave encampments bestowing freedom upon these hopeless souls and vengeance upon their captors. No-one knows his name or where he came from but those who have been rescued have given him the name Pale-Heart, the shadow of mercy.

“Don’t delude yourself. You’re just giving them false hope.” Calls a Nord from the back of the pen. “There’s no-one coming to rescue us, if we want out we'll have to do it ourselves.”

“That’s suicide! You'll get us all killed if you talk like that. How are we supposed to get past all of those bandits without any weapons?” replies a nearby Imperial. “You don't even know the way out! Or have you forgotten they blindfolded us when they carted us in here.”

“All I need is a clear shot at the next milk drinker that comes to do a head count.” The Nord cracks his knuckles.

“Shh! Someone’s coming!”

The slaves back away from the cell door; all except for the Nord who readies himself as the footsteps draw closer. Fist raised he waits patiently, the guard’s keys jangle as they are lifted from his belt. Then a wet thump comes from behind the door.

The captives look at each other confused, then the door swings open to reveal the bandit’s bloodied corpse slumped against the wall. The Nord charges out, he picks up the fallen weapon and grabs torch from the wall. Without a single thought for his fellow prisoners he continues on down the tunnel. Some of the more confident slaves follow in his footsteps, unware of what lays ahead.

“They’re all dead!” Calls the Nord.

One by one the slaves barrel out of the cell and toward freedom until only one remains. The Imperial steps out into the corridor and looks around. He spies a pair of azure eyes glowing in the shadows; watching carefully as the slaves escape.

“You there. Pale-Heart, come out where I can see you.”

A Khajiit steps forth into the flickering torchlight and chuckles. “Is freedom not enough for you? It does not run with the others and it knows my name. You are here by choice. What does it want from the infamous Pale-Heart?”

“Hah!” The imperial laughs, “It’s good to see your mind is as quick as your blade. Yes I put myself here in order to meet with you, I figured it wouldn’t be long before you showed up. You’ve been clearing out slaver dens from Seyda Neen to Hla Oad over the past month, or so the rumors go. You made a name for yourself in such a short space of time I figured it was worth the risk to find you.”

“Such a gamble to meet humble Pale-Heart, it must be important.”

“It is. My organization has need of someone with your skillset…” Before the imperial can finish his sentence, the Khajiit interrupts.

“It has no need for your coin, you have wasted your time.” Pale-heart turns to walk away.

“Wait! If not coin then perhaps we can help you find your sister?” The imperial asks; then before he can blink the cat spins to face him and extends his blade.

“What do you know? Tell me where she is!” The Khajiit demands.

The Imperial raises his hands as a sign of mercy. “We don’t know where she is but we can help you find her. Our organization is spread all over Tamriel. If you agree to help us; we will do whatever we can to track her down.”

There is a tense moment of silence. The Khajiit stares down the edge of his blade. Sweat drips down the imperial’s face.

“Deal.” Pale-Heart states and withdraws his sword. “It was resourceful enough to find this one. What are its conditions?”

The imperial sighs a breath of relief and wipes his brow. “Go to the tree in the north-east corner of Balmora at noon, on the 1st of Frost-fall. There you will meet with our Grandmaster and others like yourself. You will be debriefed then.”

Pale-Heart scowls “Pah… a meeting amid Dark Elves!” He spits “Very well. This one will be there.”

Without another word Pale-heart turns and disappears down the tunnel.

“He’s going to be a tough one to work with.” The Imperial jokes. “Good luck Caius.”