The Ne'er-do-wells

Criminal Scum Never Looked So Good

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fp40VH6bu7o&list=PLdkdVfR70Mpi3urlVx5CZBD4d9o_XYoO6&index=48

Dear Brother,

I hope this letter finds you well. As usual, I cannot give too many specifics, but I suspect you can forgive my discretion.

I don’t presume to know Our Lady’s mind, but She appears to have chosen some new favorites as of late. These recent acquisitions have had quite the run of good luck, so much so that Our Lady does appear to dote on them. Well, as much as she ever does. They haven’t been made to serve in Her gardens when they error, at the very least.

You-know-who is having a hard time accepting this change to the status quo, and is raising a bit of a stink; he always has been a jealous one. I hope that he and his shadows don’t do anything rash; the newcomers may be mere instruments, but he does have an uncanny talent for cultivating grudges. Whatever the case, Our Lady is unlikely to take a side so long as no one interferes with Her hobbies.

On a more positive note, the most recent additions that you had brought for the gardens were well-received. For future deliveries, pay special attention to any potential specimens from High Rock or the Summerset Isles, as they tend to be a bit more magically attuned than the others, and you know how much She enjoys subjects with those properties.

Regards

- D

A Message From Our Lovely Group

Welcome to The Ne’er-do-wells, a little RP between friends. For those that are curious, we aren’t exactly looking for new members, nor will we be posting frequently. This is just a casual thing for the three of us that we’re doing up for fun. Great if you read on, fine if you don’t; We only hope those who take the time to read our RP, find it half as entertaining as we do. Now on to business.

Character Sheets

Rulion

Osweyh

Erahdel

Rulion - Slums of Bravil - Late Afternoon

He came to on the hard packed floor of a basemant. The only light coming from a small window, too small and awkwardly angled to get any real sense of location. It was either morning or evening, he wasn’t sure, the aftermath of the preceding night being mostly a blur. He was thankful that he was still alive, if not for anything else. The way things had turned sideways he could very easily have ended up face down in a gutter somewhere, rather than simply a captive. He put a hand to his head and found the welt, he didn’t feel nauseous or dizzy so he assumed the injury wouldn’t kill him. He was still wearing his chain shirt; he'd more been expecting a dagger in the dark than a club to the head in a crowded pub.

The expedition to the Ayleid ruin was supposed to have been so simple! He hadn’t been expecting betrayal from that pair of morons he had hired as mercenaries, at least not before they got paid.Their hunger at the prospect of receiving a few trinkets seemed like it would be more than enough to keep them in line. It’s not like they could traverse the ruin without him, anyway, so what was their game? Did Laerwyn from the guild approach them behind his back? Unlikely. That idiot wouldn’t have the stones to orchestrate this sort of betrayal, even if he himself had stolen the details about the ruin from him in the first place. Was it one of the other junior mages? One of the senior mages? He quickly started making a mental list of those he thought had the capability of setting him up, but cast the thought aside as the sound of footsteps reached his cell.

“Ahh, welcome to Bravil my friend. Rulion, was it? I trust your trip was pleasant.” An Imperial of middling height stood in the doorway wearing simple merchant’s attire, dark hair slicked back, with eyes and nose red from an apparent fondness for drink. “My brothers and I found your notes quite insightful! We commend your thoroughness! Sorry about the hasty accommodations, there has been a run of... complications as of late, hopefully they will work in our favour though." The Imperial glanced out of the room where the two former bodyguards stood, no longer playing their roles as hard-up sellswords, and looking like competent killers. "That ruin looks like quite the little puzzle," he began absently, "if we're going to make any progress we'll need more than an arrogant little mage. Regardless of how pretty his handwriting may be." The lead imperial nodded to his brothers. "Bring him!"

He didn't fight back as they picked him up and lead him out the door. He didn't have the energy and even if he did, better chance to get out of this by playing along. He was satisfied that they wouldn't kill him until they'd gotten what they were after, but would they kill him if they realized that he wasn't the scholar they assumed? He had, after all, borrowed the very notebook that they were referring to. Best to play along.

He knew enough about the ruin from listening to Laerwyn and reading the notes to understand that it involved a daedric shrine of sorts. He also knew that, for whatever reason, it wasn't a one man job, or he would have simply gone alone to begin with. How much of this did they know? The notes were very thorough, a compilation from multiple sources, with some additional hands-on research from a brief expedition last winter, but there were deliberate omissions made to obscure the daedric nature of the place. Did those three know anything about that? Or were they simply treasure hunters looking for an easy score and someone else to do the real work for them? Regardless, he figured it better to play the role of amiable scholar than get a knife through the back. As they hauled him through a series of tunnels, he tried to learn a bit about the situation.

"Look, we got off to a bad start," he began, slowly, "there's no reason we can't work as partners on this, there's sure to be plenty of wealth to be had."

The lead Imperial surprised him with a small smile and a reply, "Quite right you are, Rulion, quite right you are. There's just a couple matters that need to be attended to." They stopped at a small alcove, a steel grate affixed to the opening, creating a small cell. "We will be working together, you can count on that. Best wait here until the time comes, though, these tunnels can be unkind to the uninitiated." Without another word the Imperials closed the cell door, engaged the lock, and continued down the tunnel with purpose.

He hadn't expected his offer to be taken at face value. Worse still, he wasn't sure what to make of the Imperial's confidence in the matter. He put his face to the grate and looked down the tunnel, where he could make out additional alcoves further on. More cells, perhaps? The thought of escape was appealing, but he had no idea how far it was to the nearest entrance and whether there would be many guards in between. His journey here had been quiet, but they had passed half a dozen tunnels along the way, and with little by way of reference points he'd probably be lost instantly. His best bet would be to gather his strength for when an opportunity presented itself. That in mind, he made himself as comfortable as possible and laid down for a rest.

Erahdel -- A Graverobber’s Cellar, Bravil -- Night

This was a mistake. The torc hadn’t been worth stealing, wasn’t worth the price that it exacted from its new owner, i.e. the thief who’s neck it now called home. But what was she to do? Not like she could go back in time, otherwise she never would’ve trailed the corpse-thief back to his hideout, or broken into his fetid shack. She wouldn’t have crept into the hidden cellar, past the piles of recently exhumed bodies, towards the trove of valuables neatly arranged on a silk-dressed table. Most of all, she never would have touched that twisted metal collar, let alone place the damned thing ‘round her neck. Not that any of it mattered at present. She had to try to live with her choices now; emphasis on the ‘try’ part.

Get it off me! Get it off me! GET IT OFF!

Yes! But how? Had Erahdel known, maybe she would have opted for a different action, a smarter one. Instead, she pulled and clawed desperately at the thing as it slowly tightened upon her throat. The torc only responded to her meddling by bearing down more aggressively, not allowing her to draw even the faintest of breaths. It wasn’t long before blooms of grey and white burst and faded before Erahdel’s vision, overtaking it, her strength and energy draining into Oblivion with all the colour of the world. After seconds of futile struggle, she collapsed onto the dirt-floor of the cellar, catching the blurred image of a stranger by the stairs just as her eyes fluttered shut. This would be the last time she’d steal from a graverobber… Or anyone, it seemed.

Oh, but the dying can be so melodramatic, same as those convinced that they’re dying. No, she would continue her thieving ways; however, as with most everything in life, at a cost. The first of Erahdel’s installments being what felt like the mother of all hangovers.

Ugh, my heaaad… Where am I?

She sat up slowly, vision blurry, mouth dry, throat burning, and head throbbing with every beat of her heart; the beginnings of a fine transaction indeed. The darkness of the space she was in, coupled with her compromised sight, made it so Erahdel could barely see two feet in front of her, though she could tell by the feel of cool, polished stone under hand that she wasn’t in the graverobber’s shack any longer. For a moment, she thought she may be in the Great Chapel of Mara as she could hear faint chanting and the air was heavily perfumed with incense, but that hope died when she noted an unpleasant scent underneath; the metallic edge of blood mixed with something else that, although she couldn’t place, invoked a mild, nagging anxiety. If this actually was a chapel, it wasn’t devoted to a deity of love, or at least any love she wanted to be acquainted with.

Don’t like this. I need to get outta here. If only I could friggin’ see.

She rubbed at her eyes, acutely aware of the torc’s weight shifting around her neck.

Please, not now. Not again.

Panic began to well within Erahdel, she had to force herself to remain calm, taking deep breaths and slowly counting backwards from thirty, all the while fighting the urge to rip the infernal thing from her throat; she needed time to think and she couldn’t do that half mad with fear. It was due to this desperate meditation that Erahdel hadn’t noticed a robe-clad figure approach from the shadows, which resulted in the ever-loving-sin being scared out of her when its hushed voice slithered into her ear from behind,

“Welcome to the house of Our Lady, you pitiful wretch.”