"Good morning sirs, and may the blessings of Almsvi be with you."

Rasster twisted to the side when he heard the voice, and noticed a young breton woman clothed in temple garb had said it. Damn, hope I havent getten in trouble with the temple once again. It seems that they get more strict with limitations on magical entertainment every day. Stealing a way of life from those of us living off our talents, it is. The elegant illusionist quickly ducked into a sweeping bow, his silvery cloak swirling about his frame and reflecting the sunlight.

"And what does the temple want with me today, fair acolyte of the trubunal? Surely the simple parlor tricks of one such as I can be of no concern to you and your esteemed pantheon of all-powerful gods? I hope that you meet me only as a sanctioned member of our great...and approved by the tribunal, guild of magical entertainers and bards. Perhaps you require assistance with a spell, or desire an enchanted trinket or alchemic salve of sorts to assist with your healings?"

Every compliment was accompanied with a graceful sweep that caused his cape to shimmer and his various rings, pendants, and bands to rattle. Most of these were passively enchanted, with simple spells of relaxation, the sort to diffuse tempers and make one supceptible to suggestion, but not to outright charm, those who hear their chimes. Alone the enchantments would be worthless, but together their sound exuded tranquility.

Beneath his breath, he also activated a theives enchantment upon one of his earrings, allowing him to spot the auras of enchanted items around him. Looking beyong the almagalm of his own passively magical trinkets, and his brightly glowing rapier, he checked the two others. The man he had ben arguing with was clean, the aged dunmers body not containing even a spark of natural magika. A lame, one without any magical talent within him. He surmised at first glance, then looked harder and noticed the man had NO aura whatsoever. He should have picked up traces of magika from the magical influences around him, even if he wasnt a magic-user himself. Perhaps some sort of powerful natural resistance?

The woman, on the other hand, was glowing with the grenish-blue hue of healing magic, some from her own magical aura, but most brightly from the single ring upon her finger. A constant rest and convalesence enchantment, to slowly heal and rejuvinate the wearer. Most likely a graduation present of sorts for entering the temples ranks. Not a lot of nchanters can do that kind of work, so i would bet on it being crafted by a high preistess. Besides the ring, around her wrist was an inactive "Tempurature Chain", the sort that can be bought at any mystics shop to keep things cool or warm.

Rasster was prepared to dismiss the spell, when another item shone from beneath her robes, and with an amount of focus and a whispered incantation added to his spell, he was able to bypass the visible obstruction to see a gracefully crafted shortsword. It was of dwemer make, he could tell, though a very foreign style of design, and was wreathed in a dark orange aura. The priestess is packing. It looks like a thirsting blade, the sort that steals the health and vitality of those who feel its bite. That kind of weapon is particularly rare, especially given its abnormal aura. It was no doubt enchanted that way since the dwemer crafted it.

The flamboyant illusionist knew that she would be watching him with the same sort of magical detection, but hopefully the shimmer of his trinkets would mask most of the magic. He had covered his ass with that seeing spell that viewed her sword through her robes, as the burst of magika, centered around his eyes, would easily be noticed, and be assumed as merely an attempt to catch a less-clothed look at this charming young priestess. Rasster would rather be known as an amoral skirt-chaser than a thief, and the distraction would keep her eyes off of the less-than-legal magical trinkets he had left passive, that were intersparsed among his jewelry and pockets.

His cape was his biggest worry, for invisibility is a borderline-restricted enchantment, and the shimmering garment was self-enchanted. He had no license or papers for the concealing cloak, and knew damn well he wasnt letting it be confiscated.

Folven felt the cold, rejuvenating sensation of magic rushing into him, and realized with a fury that the young elf had cast a spell at him. Fortunately his natural star sign made him nearly immune to the invisible wall before him, and he tore through it like a spider web. His large lips curled into a snarl when the illusionist took him by the shoulder, and he felt close to blows when he shrugged him off.

'Does he want me to clock him?'

"I...apologize, I'm not the morning sort, 'ye see. And from what I notice, you're not one for the morning chill either. Why don't we find a place to relax and share a glass of some real drink, I'll pay, and not the watered down stuff they make around here. And I can work out a spell to help with that leg of yours, eh?"

If the elf was trying to make amends, Folven would have none of it, "Piss off, ya little runt. I've got more important things to worry about than butting heads with you."

Before the elf could formulate a response, a third voice chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the current atmosphere, "Good morning sirs, and may the blessings of Almsvi be with you."

Folven took this chance to get as far away from the annoying youngster as possible, and limped off as fast as his leg would allow.

'Now for some real sleep.'



OOC: Please don't do that again, Sannes. And please take the time to capitalize your Is and fix the obvious spelling errors. I don't want to be the grammar police, but it is beginning to bug me, and I have the feeling you know how to correct it. Thanks, this little conversation has been fun

Elissandre frowned slightly as the old dunmer barged away as soon as she spoke. It seems he doesn't care much for anyone not of true dunmer blood. It's not as if he was the first one to react that way, if not worse... She gathered her will to dismiss unpleasant memories before they could fully emerge.
But as soon as the bard started speaking Elissandre thought of another reason for the old timer to get away in such a discourteous hurry. Ouch, he's not laying flattery with a mere trowel, he pulling out the trowel to heap it by the cartload. Feels sort of nice though... With both the breton's resistance to magic and her own training with illusion magic, Elissandre noticed her emotions felt slightly skewed. An effect she hadn't noticed when she had observed from her corner of the Eight Plate's room. Either it's a spell or it's his pile of enchanted trinkets. But no matter which, he's playing tricks with my mind. That's skirting quite close to outright charm.

Now on her guard, Elissandre also noticed his minor spellcasting. What she could pick sounded odd compared to her Highrock training, but she thought it was some mysticism effect. But she couldn't tell for sure which. I'd bet on some detection. Probably sizing me up one way or another. Definitively a slippery one.

She answered his flattery in an amicable voice "I was on my way to Worktown when I noticed you and that older mer engaged in what might en up in a fight. I hoped my mere presence would calm things down. And it worked of sort. Which leaves me free to return to my duties. If you're willing to help,, I'd suggest you to present yourself to the Temple." Her tone turned slightly chilly. "Though I'd advise you to be careful about what magic you're using. Playing tricks with eyes and ears during your shows is just fine. But both Temple and imperial law aren't fond of tampering with thoughts and emotions without informed consent. You're still on the good side of the law, but you'd better watch your steps and keep short of the wrong corner."

"I was on my way to Worktown when I noticed you and that older mer engaged in what might en up in a fight. I hoped my mere presence would calm things down. And it worked of sort, which leaves me free to return to my duties. If you're willing to help, I'd suggest you to present yourself to the Temple." Rasster smiled inwardly thinking his discretion to be a success. Then again…she’s a Breton and some sort of mage. She should have noticed something. His suspicions were confirmed with her next curt response.

"Though I'd advise you to be careful about what magic you're using. Playing tricks with eyes and ears during your shows is just fine. But both Temple and imperial law aren't fond of tampering with thoughts and emotions without informed consent. You're still on the good side of the law, but you'd better watch your steps and keep short of the wrong corner." Ouch...she’s good. Only showing his surprise for a split second, Rasster then put his silver tongue to work.

"But you see, my various rings and pendants cause nothing more than a minor calming effect, as you can tell from my…irregular appearance." To convey his point he swept a hand over his deep violet eyes, indicating that they were nowhere near the standard dunmer crimson. "...such spells help the crowd to accept me around these uneducated areas, were those of us that are not perfect specimens of mer are commonly scorned or tossed out to the streets." He stopped to regain his breath then, and to let her process the meaning of his words. For she, being a Breton, probably received as many crimson-eyed glares as Rasster himself. After a few seconds, he resumed.

"As far as charming goes, I wish you no malice, nor am I attempting to subdue your free thought. If anything, I would be allowing you to think more clearly, free from the considerable stresses of your temple duties. Perhaps you are truly charmed by my words, and magical coercion is not a factor?"

In the short time that she had known him, Shilleka had grown to extremely dislike this bearded man. He understood nothing she told him, "what is the kind and tolerant? Do you mean the lady? What do you mean by connection with nature? So you're a mage?" He continued to question her, and finally giving up, he filled out the forms with what he thought was correct information. According to the papers, she was a cleric of sorts under the sign of the lady.

"Finally? Now? ouch!" As Shilleka quickly turned and began to walk, she paid little attention and tripped over something, or someone?

((In other words leaving it open ended at the moment in case one of you want to butt in, or I can create something))

Noticing the charmer's reaction to her words, Elissandre felt a pang of satisfaction. You didn't think I could figure out your trick he ? But with the pile of enchanted crap he's carrying, I'd better watch my steps. She barely listened to the man's words, focusing her mind into a somewhat trance-like state learned from her Illusion trainer far back in Wayrest. It wouldn't do much good to her ability to spot troubles, but it made it easier to feel and neutralize alterations of one's thoughts. Which let her spot the undertone of gullibility mixed with the calm induced by Rasster's enchanted jewelry. She used this knowledge to deliberately fuel distrust in her mind, keeping the influence at bay.

"As far as charming goes, I wish you no malice, nor am I attempting to subdue your free thought. If anything, I would be allowing you to think more clearly, free from the considerable stresses of your temple duties. Perhaps you are truly charmed by my words?"

Elissandre answered in a soft voice, unlike her words "I grant you that a gentle invitation to a byroad convenient to your aims isn't subduing. But it's still heading in the same neighborhood. I don't doubt you're feeling perfectly right, thinking that you're only bringing some fun into drab and dull lives and harming no one, or keeping prejudice at bay. But that's a slippery road, especially when you move on and don't look back at the consequences." Her tone hardened, an edge of contempt creeping in. "I've sometimes picked up the pieces after some careless use of Illusion, and they weren't pretty. Souls don't heal as easily as bodies."

She continued, softening her voice "I'm not accusing you of abusing magic and words that way. But it's my duty to remind you that with Illusion, the line between fair and foul is dangerously thin."

In a soft tone, the breton cleric parried his comment. "I grant you that a gentle invitation to a byroad convenient to your aims isn't subduing. But it's still heading in the same neighborhood. I don't doubt you're feeling perfectly right, thinking that you're only bringing some fun into drab and dull lives and harming no one, or keeping prejudice at bay. But that's a slippery road, especially when you move on and don't look back at the consequences." Then she steeled her voice, attempting at intemidation. "I've sometimes picked up the pieces after some careless use of Illusion, and they weren't pretty. Souls don't heal as easily as bodies." she snarled. Damn...theres a fire in this one. in his mind, Rasster started making connections. It can be assumed that at some point she had been scarred by a wrongful use of magic, and that even left her distrusting, which explains why she apperars immune to my charms. Quickly, the illusionist prepared a counter. Battles of words were the Rassters forte, he hadled the spoken letter almost as well as he handled his rapier, and just as elegantly.

But before he got his chance, she suddenly softhened her tone. "I'm not accusing you of abusing magic and words that way. But it's my duty to remind you that with Illusion, the line between fair and foul is dangerously thin." Ah...she relises that within the bounds of the law, in not doing anything illegal. Deciding to let this challenge to slide at a draw, he merely changed the subject, not wanting to give her reason to search him and find something truly illegal.

"So, the temple of the tribunal, eh? How exactly does such and apparent hakf-mer choose to follow a group of gods that only openly favor the dunmer? According to their teachings, their only charge is to protect morrowind and the dark elves. Beyond that, the rest of us can go to hell." It was a strange comment, and an open questioning of her gods would easily shift the arguments direction. Muttering a self-set enchantment, all of his trinkets and baubles fell silent, breaking the sphere of calm surrounding him. The change in atmosphere would at least shake her off balance, and it could also be read as a gesture of parley. He truly wanted her refined answer, outside of any magic-induced calm, for Rasster himself denied the tribunal, just as the tribunals preists and preistesses had denied him food and healing as a houseless teenager merely because of his appearence. As far as they care, im a worthless genetic failure and a sad excuse for a Mer of any kind.

Elissandre was surprised when the bard shifted the conversation to questioning on how someone not a dunmer could join a cult where he (or she) would hardly be welcome. And even more surprised when he dropped the magic surrounding him. It seems like he's willing to play straight, at least for now... She sat down on a nearby barrel, using the few seconds to gather he thoughts and dismiss the mental stance she had used to fend off the magic.

"How I came to join the Temple ? For the most part it was a matter of chance. I found myself on the receiving end of the Temple's charities, thanks to a mix of poor luck and dubious decisions. At first I was merely repaying the favor, but I've found in the Tribunal something I've never felt for the distant Divines or the fickle daedra lords. And even if the Tribunal favors the dunmers, there's more wriggle room in that regard than you'd expect. The Temple's most fundamental creed ? help the poor, protect the weak, instruct the ignorant ? don't consider race."

Elissandre shrugged "Of course not every temple agree on that regard, some consider refusing such help to the non dunmer as implicit, other are more open-minded. Though I sometimes have the impression many would prefer an obvious outlander to a dunmer from another clan. An outlander at least isn't likely to be involved in a feud against you."

Elissandre shrugged "It's a side of Vvardenfell that feels almost like High Rock. In both a feud isn't washed in blood at first opportunity as in Skyrim or Hammerfell. Why spent a perfectly good grudge so soon ? It deserve to be porperly fed until it reaches an imposing enough stature. Then rather than letting it die of old age, you get it stuffed and mounted on the wall so the generations to come can enjoy it too."

"But back to the Temple. What I mean is that even with the Tribunal to keep things straight, the Temple is more than three thousand years old. It means more than enough scripture to pick proper scriptures for any sort of doctrine you care to preach. Including the sort of harsh and haughty 'dunmers only, and don't even dare trying to think on your own' attitude that seems to have caught the Ordinator's fancy. But it also make it a treasure trove for the scholarly inclined and the curious.". Elissandre ended her phrase in a rather enthusiastic tone, obviously counting herself one of those blesssed 'scholarly inclined and curious'.

Ald'ruhn's morning air wasn't refreshing and crisp, instead a red gloom hung over the city. The slight wind carried no scent of either ice or saltwater, and Sonja found it not to her liking. In the morning light the town looked squalid and dirty, with houses like dead crustaceans in the process of being buried by a rising layer of mud.
Wishing to leave for Caldera quickly, Sonja approached the caravaner, only to be told he didn't go there. Seing her disappointed, he explained the way to her, and even remembered the mages guild could transport her.

Sonja thought for a moment and decided to walk, as mages tended to overcharge their customers, in her mind.
Thus, she set out for her first bit of exploring the country by herself.

[a small little intro.]

"They have taken you from the Imperial City's Prison. First by carriage..and now by boat..to the east, to Morrowind. Fear not, for I am watching. You have been chosen."
M A N Y FALL BUT ONE R E M A I N S

Everything around her was cold. Her skin formed a ridge of goose bumps along her whole body. The world around her was shut out by the back of her eyelids; the light pouring into her eyes upon opening them hurt her too much. Her barely clad body lay rested upon the stone path. She finally mustered up the courage to open her eyes just the teeniest bit ? it got easier for her as her eyes adjusted to the sun that was just setting over the horizon. Her shaky hands pushed onto the earth, lifting her upper body off of the ground. With the collaboration of her legs, she stood up completely to her full height ? five feet, seven inches off of the ground. Darkness was setting upon the land, the stars and their signs began to twinkle, and the moon began to glow an unearthly red.

Her mind was blank. There was no familiar faces, familiar places that she could reckon. The only thing that came to her was a name ? Dibella. She figured it was her own, and even if it wasn't, it's what she would use now. A gentle breeze caressed her skin, and lifted up those chocolate locks from her shoulders. Even though the world, even for a second, was calm, everything to her was confusing and chaotic. Where was she, and how did she get there? She ceased all those thoughts then. She then focused on trying to find her way to a town, a village, anything.

Her finger moved to her lip, her eyes darted in different directions. The only problem about getting started was which way she would go. Golden eyes fell onto a particular stone path that led through the mountains ? the sign there said "Balmora" with a wooden plank pointing in that direction. Her head tilted, and with a stoic expression, she walked blindly onto the path while a thick fog began to sweep through.

-FOR REFERENCE, Dibella looks like this.-
[http://i34.tinypic.com/3h1lk.png]

As expected, she took in a breath and started up a speech.

"How I came to join the Temple ? For the most part it was a matter of chance. I found myself on the receiving end of the Temple's charities, thanks to a mix of poor luck and dubious decisions. At first I was merely repaying the favor, but I've found in the Tribunal something I've never felt for the distant Divines or the fickle daedra lords. And even if the Tribunal favors the dunmers, there's more wriggle room in that regard than you'd expect. The Temple's most fundamental creed ? help the poor, protect the weak, instruct the ignorant ? don't consider race."

Temple-taught guarsh!t, all of it. I was poor, yet I was denied charity, I was weak, yet was forced to fight for a day-to-day survival. i was never ignorant though, I was taught all I needed by someone truly charitable. Giving an audiable sight, he continued listening anyway.

"Of course not every temple agrees on that regard, some consider refusing such help to the non dunmer as implicit, while others are more open-minded. Though I sometimes have the impression many would prefer an obvious outlander to a dunmer from another clan. An outlander at least isn't likely to be involved in a feud against you."

Sure, I suppose she comes from some high rock noble household, and entered the temple as a symbol of peace. The houses are allways doing such trades in order to keep wealth flowing in from high rock, and muscle flowing out from morrowind.

Elissandre noticed the bard's sigh, making it obvious it didn't share her opinion of Temple doctrine. Which to be fair wasn't shared much even in the Temple itself.
"What I'm meaning about the Temple's creed not paying attention to race is just that. In all the fundamental texts, there's not a word on race. Of course most - inside as well as outside of the Temple - thinks it's because it has never been needed to precise it. But there's a minority who don't share that prejudice and try to make their opinion felt. What would be the point of having three Living Gods if their Temple couldn't live and change too ?

And I think that sort of changes may help turning the tide of Dagoth Ur's power, looking outside for new strength rather than freezing what exists. I haven't read them, but there's supposed to be some prophetic texts floating around that hints at some sort of necesary changes to overcome the threat from the Red Moutain."

[whoop. wrong rp.]

Noticing his discontent with her story, the young breton acolyte reiterated her point.

"What I'm meaning about the Temple's creed not paying attention to race is just that. In all the fundamental texts, there's not a word on race. Of course most ? inside as well as outside of the Temple ? thinks it's because it has never been needed to precise it. But there's a minority who don't share that prejudice and try to make their opinion felt. What would be the point of having three Living Gods if their Temple couldn't live and change too ?"

She seems to sincerely belive what she says, which leads to two theories, either temple branwashing, which i wouldnt put past them, or she was truly, at some point, merely a waif in need.

"And I think that sort of changes may help turning the tide of Dagoth Ur's power, looking outside for new strength rather than freezing what exists. I haven't read them, but there's supposed to be some prophetic texts folating around that hints at some sort on necesary cahnge to overcome the threat from the Red Moutain."

Now that was interesting information. Perhaps in the thirty or so years since he had met the sage who had become his tutor in the arcane arts, the temple preists had truly softened their creed. At the time that he had been but houseless runaway, Rasster had been scorned by all. The priests and preistesses gave him shifty glances, the innkeepers thought him as theif, and even the other housless rogues scorned him. As a boy no older than fourteen, He could hardly understand their reasoning.

Still, the illusionist noted one of her earlier comments, referring to herself as one of the "Curious and scholarly inclined." This breton was no novice with magic, and could most likely stay even with him in a battle of arcana. If she had truly joined the temple to discern secrets of the mysterious art, then he couldne blame her.

"Well, I cant really argue with you. I havent kept contact with the timple since my days as an apprentace to the sage Aersaul." The illusionisht spoke the name with reverence, for the kindly old enchanter had given him a home, and more importantly, given him his magic. Suddenly, the illusionist decided to risk getting to know this young breton. Generally, the wanderer made no friends, as his appearence dissuaded most from him, but she was different, more...accepting.

"Hmm, I wopuld like top know more of this young acolyte of the tribunal that seems to see the world through eyes so far beyond her years. May I join you on the walk to youir destination, I am of no small skill with healing charms, and at the least I may ply my trade to the illed masses. For this enchanted jewelry that you so believe carries a malicious intent is also a device to calm the world weary and numb the ills of the pained."

" At the least, if your road is long, my skill with this slender blade..." at that, Rasster drew his thin, elegant silver rapier and twisted it about, his intense lavender eyes reflecting off of the metals many barely percieved facets. "..will dissuade those rogues and beasts that would dare attempt to assail you." He knew that the spirited young woman could do perfectly fine with the Dwemer-crafted short sword at her hip against any opponent, but from his tone she could hopefully tell that the flair was merely his nature, not any belief that she was a defenseless woman.

"That is, of course, if you will accept my company. I assure you I will act as the true gentleman that I am beneath the veil of my bravado! A reveler in the pleasures of the flesh I may be, but I know the form of restraint and patience only known by we willing to devote ourselves to the study of the arcane."

OOC:you can call me impatient if you want, and I'd agree... but did the other two dissapear? It's been nearly a week...

Also, to keep this post from being completely unnecesary, I drew a rough copy of Shilleka with my poor artist skills in study hall a couple days back, just as a general idea of what she may be considered to look like.

Here's a Link to the http://s736.photobucket.com/albums/xx3/Stickwarsgat/?action=view¤t=a31e61c9.pbw

OOC:i'm still here, but I'm waiting for something to happen that involves Anirya.

Elissandre felt a bit of amusemant's at the rogue's assault of charm. He might be rather poorly endowed with the qualities commonly associated with 'good citizens', but at least he didn't seem to have the sort of mean-spirited cruelty found amongst the like of the Camona Tong. "I'm not going that far, only over the river to wortktown. But Whatever healing you can bring to bear will be welcome. Every minor wound or sickness you cure leaves more time and resources if there's something serious." She frowned slightly "Which will probably the case. There's not much golf flowing there, and many worsen their ills by staying at work for fear of losing their job."

When he displayed his sword, Elissandre sighed "I'd prefer you to keep that rapier in it's sheath. Whatever trouble we might run into can probably as easily be calmed or scared away with some magic. My oath to the Temple let me call some ancestral spirits, and with some illusions and demoralization thrown in the mix it should give pause to even a small crowd."

As he concluded his offer of service with a somewhat grandiloquent proclamation of self control, Elissandre replied "I accept your company. And I'm not worried about your restraint and patience. Should they ever falter, I have an extremely effective spell to restore them." With a mischievous grin she whispered a very short incantation, calling forth the power if destruction and gathering it's baleful energies into her right hand. Small lightnings started jumping back and forth between her fingers, crackling with the promise of pain. "It's not much of spell, but applied in the right place at the right times it makes wonder on lecherousness. But I've mostly used it to keep stray dogs at bay."

Seyda Neen

Valluk winced as the other prisoner, who seemed to have been a bit too hasty, turned around and procced to tripped over his foot. He haphazardly unfolded his arms from his chest to catch the Bosmer by the shoulder. He forced a smirk as he tried to steady her so she wouldn't hit the wooden floor. She was a peculiar one who had been arguing with the census officer quite soundly. Valluk had on a whole hoped to avoid any contact with this seemingly strange woman. Judging by her attire, a hooded dress and a peculiar stick, she could've been familiar with magics; and Valluk was weary of any unknown spellcasters. Especially ones that got into arguments over release papers.

He paused hesistantly after he had helped her regain her balance. Unsure whether he wanted to start a conversation with this outlander. He peered at her before simply stating, "Careful Bosmer."

Maggot was still unfortunately filling out his excise forms, the Census officer seemed to be paying careful attention to him. Not wanting to wait any longer in a room with servants of the Empire, Valluk showed his completed papers to the Captain and was granted a release fee in the form of a small bag of septims. He quickly pocketed it and proceeded out the door into the hallway after, sorting his priorities in his head.

Get out of this building. Buy a sujamma. Enjoy dry land. Then get to work...

OOC: I'm not sure if some are still taking part. I was waiting for Faldom(Maggot) to post. But if not, we'll adapt and continue.

OOC: I'm guessing he's out.

OOC: Sorry, didn't see that post or would've posted earlier, reserving this for my post, will edit when I'm done and include it...

EDIT OOC: This is kinda short, but it's late... I'll go over it tommorrow and see if I can make it any longer...


EDIT IC: “Thanks…” She mumbled as she took a few moments to calm down. Calm down… You’re off that boat, and soon you’ll be outside… She made sure she still had all her papers, then headed towards the guard, receiving her own small bag of septims.


I should probably figure out what these small metal things are for… Then I can put them to better use…