Tears Of The Nine

Upon the creation of the plane which we now know as Nirn the god Lorkhan sacrificed his body to create the living world and several portions of his existence were left behind as a result of this sacrifice. Most famously his heart, which was used by Morrowind's Triumvirate to endow the powers of the gods upon themselves. Less known though was the remnant of this god's soul; a small, perfectly smooth and absolutely translucent piece of spherical crystal, discovered at the core of a mountain by a long forgotten race of Ayleids, upon the creation of their great marble city, hidden deep within the darkest part of the Dragontail mountains. They found this power and upon first sight lust filled their hearts and the individual who discovered it went crazy with power. He was killed and at the decision of a council of their wisest elders it was hidden, locked away for the ages in a fortress designed for the soul purpose of keeping it hidden from a world of greed, and there it sat, in isolation for the ages.

Centuries later, at the dawn of the fourth era, a group of Imperial scholars and archaeologists discovered this fortress. They worked for years, slowly pealing apart it's defenses, disarming traps and taking down seemingly impenetrable fortifications. Finally they found their bounty, a gold chest of Daedric engineering, which still held the power of Aedra Tear from the world.

They presented their discovery to the new Emperor of Tamriel who put his chief Battlemage to the task of opening this mysterious chest. Several months later he finally cracked it and saw the power that lie within. He lost all control upon the sight of this power and struck down the new emperor, usurping his position and gaining control of the entire Tamriellic empire.

Driven mad with his new found power the former Battlemage made emperor, Lucas Fareen, declared war on anyone who opposed him and used his new found power to lay fear into the hearts of Tamriel's inhabitants and declare martial law on the land. The leaders of Tamriel's other sovereign nations declared war and they descended upon the capital in a reign of fire, killing the new emperor and discovering the source of his insanity.

Ignoring the better judgement of the Altmer commander the other leaders fought over their new found power, all driven mad at it's sight, the Altmer general being the only exception to this insanity. He realized what this item was doing to the nation's leaders and decided to take it himself under cover of night, but he was found out and executed. This execution spurred the war for this new found power and each general called their armies to fight their former allies, all hell broke loose and the forces of Tamriel engaged in a massive war for this mysterious artifact, which was left for the victor at the core of White Gold Tower, the only sane concession made by the leaders.

About a year after the war for Aedra Tear began a legendary thief snuck into White Gold Tower and took the artifact from it's hiding spot. He travelled north and ultimately ended up in a small village north of Cyrodil's border at the tail end of the Dragontain mountains, in Skyrim. After stealing from one the village's inhabitants he got caught by a wary father and was killed, the artifact still in his possession. The son of this man, a young warrior by the name of Areth Semniil discovered it. Upon the realization of what it was he still remained sane in it's possession and went to his village elder with news of his discovery. The elder spoke of a prophecy, passed down by his ancestors, about their people's future place in the destiny of Tamriel, that a youth from their village would end the chaos caused by the stone's existence. Areth is given a crystal blade which is said channel the power of the stone and told that him and his younger sister are to set out on a journey to rid the world of this power and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity.

With this new knowledge in hand Areth and his younger sister set out on a journey to rid the world of this evil and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity.

Where do we start?

Your character will start however you want them to, but must ultimately end up in a position where they can interact with Areth and company. The ultimate goal of this RP is to get a group together who will begin a quest to rid the world of Aedra tear.

What are the rules of this RP?

? You MUST PM me your character sheet before posting and get a confirmation from me granting you permission to post.
? No ubering
? No character controlling unless certain circumstances require it, which includes the killing of other characters unless prearranged by the member who controls that character.
? Wereanimals and vampires allowed, but must be played properly and fairly.
? Make sure your posting quality stays up, I don't want people posting without thinking about what they are doing.
??Multiple characters are allowed and preferential, multiple characters makes interactions more interesting and forces the member controlling them to think about their posts more thoroughly.
? Remember this is my RP, anything I say goes, so unless I go senile between now and the end of the RP my word is law.

Anything else I should know before posting?

Yes, Tamriel isn't as it is portrayed in the games, it is thousands of miles across, the distance between cities probably measures in the hundreds so be wary about in RP travel.

I'm going to wait till I have a few takers to start posting IC. Hopefully this one lasts and I can stay focused enough to keep it going.

Also as a note, some may think this is based on LoTR, but it's not, the idea came to me several years ago when I made another RP by the same name which I had to shut down with how hectic RL was becoming at that point. The thing which spawned this idea was the story of Kamahl, a barbarian from Magic the Gathering's Odyssey series forward and his connection to an ancient artifact known as the Mirari.

Where is the character sheet?

It's right here, remember that this is just a template, you can use your own CS if you wish, as long as it contains all vital character information.

Name:
Preferred Name:
six:
Race:
Age:
Birthsign:

Character Focus:
Skills and Abilities:
Powers, Magick and Otherwise:
Class:

General Physical Appearance:
Facial Appearance:
Hair:
Eyes:
Weight:
Height:
Tatoos/Scars+Any Other Distinguishing Features:

Weapon/s:
Clothing/Armor:
Inventory:
Miscellaneous:

[b]Psyche:

[b]Short Bio:

This is my first time RPing a female character so be gentle, and tell me if I do something stupid.

Name: Arthus Raemulos
Preferred Name: Arthus
six: Male
Race: Imperial (with a large dose of Dunmer blood)
Age: 26
Birthsign: The Lord

Character Focus: Magick
Skills and Abilities: Destruction, Restoration, and Unarmed Combat
Powers, Magick and Otherwise: Arthus is a skilled destruction mage, although due to his Dunmer heritage his skills are limited to fire magic. He enjoys experimenting with it, and generally tends to use it for everyday things. On his recent journeys, he's been forced to learn a fair bit of restoration as well; a school of magick that always comes in handy when travelling, alone or otherwise.
Class: Mage

General Physical Appearance: Arthus looks slightly different from the other Imperials, owing to his birth in Vvardenfell. While he's not the frail, weak kind of mage, and has a well-toned body, he's definitely at a disadvantage in close quarters against a warrior and prefers to rely on his magic instead of physical strength. His skin tone is darker than that of a Cyrodiilian, bordering on Ra Gada tan.
Facial Appearance: His face is not that unusual, if you forget his eyes and skin tone. Nose is small and quite flat; below it are his thin lips. Usually Arthus is cleanly shaved.
Hair: Long, nearly shoulder-length, quite curly, greasy black hair
Eyes: Arthus' large, blue eyes display his Dunmer heritage further, being slightly sideward and deeper in his skull than usual for an Imperial.
Weight: 186
Height: Five foot nine inches
Tatoos/Scars+Any Other Distinguishing Features: N/A

Weapon/s: None, asides from his limbs and magick
Clothing/Armor: Arthus wears a mixture of clothing and armor, made for ease of travel and quick movement while still offering some protection. He wears nearly knee-high leather boots, with plates of leather attached to the front for protection. Most of the time they're half covered by flowing, slightly puffed white pants that remind both of Ra Gada and Dunmeri styles. They're held by a rather wide black leather belt, which has a noticeable silver clasp, the only really expensive thing on Arthus asides from his money and locket. Usually, he makes sure to cover the clasp with his light blue shirt so as not to attract attention from thieves and the like. The shirt itself seems a bit too large for him, given that he often has to shake back the sleeves, however he finds this more comfortable and warmer, as the shirt can also act as a scarf and gloves, also a hat, seeing as there's a hood attached too. When he shakes back the sleeves, his black leather gloves show, reaching almost to his elbows. Like with the shoes, the upper part is covered by a steel plate. For casting purposes, the gloves cover only half of each finger.
Inventory: In a pouch tied to his belt are some 200 septims. Arthus also has a travel backpack, which includes all the things one may want when setting camp (save perhaps a tent) ? a bedroll, some rocks for making fireplaces, also a pot for making food (Arthus has a knack for cooking, often doing it just for enjoyment and occasionally to earn some cash).
Miscellaneous: A small golden locket, inside which is a small painted picture of his mother and father, their gift when Arthus left Vvardenfell.

Psyche: Arthus' character is a mixture of Dunmer and Imperial qualities, seeing as his grandfather from mother's side was a Dunmer. Usually he's very polite and helpful, being able to act slightly diplomatic if pressed. He enjoys simple conversations greatly, and finds it quite easy to make friends, often ending up with several new ones after spending a night in a tavern. When he's dubbed someone as his friend, he'll care for that person and provide help; sometimes being so quick to aid he makes the wrong presumption and instead inflicts harm.

However, he's inherited several qualities of his grandfather as well, including a great love and passion for magic, particularly destruction. When staying with him for a long time, one can easily notice that Arthus tends to be rather bossy, trying to make everyone act how he does, deciding when to wake up, when to eat, when to bathe and so on. He tends to be rather fierce (and loud) when arguing, and has strong moral views, sometimes ending up trying to force them unto others. He can hold grudges for a very long time against people whom he dubs enemies, unlike with friends and strangers, with whom he can't bear to conflict for a long time.

Short Bio: Arthus' family can trace their history back as far as the first waves of Imperial settlers coming to Morrowind. Much time has passed since then, and both Arthus and his mother, Ionnia, have earned a certain degree of respect from the native Dunmer, to the point they're not called 'outlanders' anymore.

Arthus himself was born in Vivec, his father being a centurion in the Imperial Legion, Actius Raemulos, who had settled down and hung his shield on the wall since marrying Ionnia. Despite Actius being fiercely patriotic, Arthus had a largely Dunmer childhood, receiving his education from the Dunmer Temple in Vivec. After reaching the age of 16, though, he joined the Imperial Legion as per his father's wish.

Life in an army wasn't for Arthus, however. He resigned, and, after being blessed by his parents, has committed himself to traveling Skyrim in an attempt to learn more about his human roots, deciding to begin this journey of discovery in the birthplace of the First Empire of Man. Since then, he has been travelling the vast plains and mountains, doing his best not to get involved in the entire mess that was taking place.

can i join, that last rp i joined was the Malicious Souls: the fatal journey,

OOC: If you want to apply send me your character sheet and I'll get back to you.

Let's get this baby started, I think we have enough to get going.

IC: The gritty feeling of snow covering his face was the feeling which woke Areth from his otherwise enjoyable slumber. "Wake up brother, it's light out" a feminine voice stated several feet away from him as he felt another snowball hit him, this time on his arm. "We've got to get to Bruma, we're not far now, I can see the smoke from here." Areth finally opened his eyes to see the face of his smiling sister a couple of feet from him, holding another packed ball of the powdery stuff.

"Alright alright, that's enough Len', I think I get the point" Areth said while standing up, which apparently didn't stop his sister from tossing the newly packed snowball at him. He caught it, now finally able to comprehend the world around him, it was cold, though not as cold as their home he could still feel it, and it still damn near made him shiver. Snow covered the ground in a layer several inches thick and it weighed down the branches of the pine trees so they appeared to be almost sagging, sad about the current state of affairs which now consumed the continent. Areth stretched his arms over his head, snowball still in hand, and as he brought his arms down he swung his right arm forward and flung the cold ball of packed snow at his sister, hitting her square in the forehead. Areth laughed, "see what happens when you attack someone incapable of defending themselves? Payback always feels good" he said, a new smile crossing over his lips.

"You can't hit a girl" Len' said, wiping the snow from her forehead, revealing a newly formed splotch of red skin where the ball impacted, "I'm more defenseless than you."

"What in the world are you talking about? You've got that shiny new dagger, I certainly wouldn't call you defenseless," Areth bent over, picking up his sword and spear, quickly tying the sheath onto his back, and holding the spear in his left hand. "Now let's go, I'm hungry and I heard the food in Bruma is delicious" he said. And with that, the pair were on their way to Bruma to begin their adventure.

If one had been travelling from Skyrim to Bruma via the road Whiterun-Bruma, the traveller(s) may have made note of an unusual sight. A single man who stuck out like a guar amongst wolves in all the snow was happily making his way down the road, glancing over his shoulder occasionaly. This man called himself Arthus, and technically speaking he was an Imperial, although his life and partially his heritage suggested otherwise. Although his unusual appearance was not the strangest thing about him - no, many would have considered the fact he seemed very cheerful weird. In a time such as this, it wasn't often for one to encounter a single traveller, without a mount even, who had the bounce to his step, as if this was the best day of his life, and his face with a confident smile.

Arthus, on the other hand, saw nothing to despair about. Having made little contact with the rest of the civilized world for the past couple of years, he had only a brief idea about the horrors of the war; even though during his service in the Legion he found out that soldiers can be violent even during peace, the young man didn't let that niggling worry about his family and all the other families in the world get to his head so much that he would've started despairing. Arthus was the kind of person who just couldn't be sad or depressed for a longer amount of time; some might've called him egoistical, thinking nothing of the troubles of the world, but it was just impossible for him, especially when on a journey through a land that was the opposite of his homeland. The places he saw, the people he met, the things he experienced left no place for worry, at least so long as he was moving.

Now, however, heading towards Bruma, Arthus was forced to put at least some thought into the war that was raging around him. As a person who liked to think everything through before doing, he just couldn't stop thinking how would his entrance to Bruma go - would the sieging forces attack him on sight? Would the city guards let him in? Were there even any sieging forces, perhaps Bruma had fallen while he was making his way to it, or repulsed the besiegers for the time being?

All this is awfully complicated... Why do they make war upon each other anyway? Do they remember themselves, or is this one of those cases of feuding to the point you don't remember where did it all start? I seem to recall something about storming the Imperial City... But then they just started throwing forces about, I never even found out why. Whatever it is, it can't be good, or fair for the people not on the thrones. At least the Legion maintained order to a degree, these provincial armies seem to focus entirely on carrying the war elsewhere, and leave the commoners to fend for themselves... I wonder how will they react when they turn back and find nothing there. I'd almost wish for that to happen, if it wasn't for the fact that-

"By the Sermons-!" Was the only thing Arthus managed to yelp before diving face-first into the big heap of snow at the side of the road. Deep in thought, he didn't notice the fact the road made a turn as it headed down the mountainside. Thanks to an incovenient bump on the road and some ice, the mage found himself no longer on the road.

Yelling out curses, Arthus tried to get out of the snow heap. However, as another one of his inherited bursts of anger died down, he stopped cursing, and instead began laughing, thinking about how ridiculous he looked; first it was only a silent chuckle, but soon he was laughing so hard his attempts at getting out of the snow ceased. He just couldn't stop laughing: when the thought of a cursing Imperial in a large snow pile stopped being funny, it was changed with that of the same Imperial, lying in the same snow heap and laughing loudly.

IC:

Lives-In-Risk

The snow chilled the Argonian's blood more than he could stand. But his level of discipline was more than a match for his level of discomfort. He lay their in wait, ready to strike at any moment, the scent of his prey grew stronger, it was getting closer now, the snow helped when tracking prey. Not because of any tracks left, they actually made it easier for a hunter to lose its prey, as the tracks would usually be covered by a fresh lining of powder.

He had been tracking this particular creature for days, it had been terrorising a small farm to the south, feeding on important live stock and almost ruining an old mans lively hood. Ba'Gannan offered his services for free, he only needed money for food. He rarely travelled by the roads and he was more than happy to live in the wilderness as was his custom. His offer of help was met with hostility at first, the old man was suspicious of strangers, especially Argonian or Khajiit strangers. He lived by the stereotype that they are all thieves and brigands. Not far from the truth.

Eventually he relented and accepted the help wearily, his guard still up in case of any funny business. With that, Ba'Gannan covered himself in moss and dirt, trying as best as he could to mask his scales from sight. Nothing stands out more in a lush green environment than a bright red and orange Argonian.

For hours and hours he waited, lying on his stomach in the dirt, until the scent of the mountain lion reached him. A formidable beast at the best of times, but now Ba'Gannan felt naked and unprotected in the new lands he'd found himself in. He was used to great swamps of Argonia.

Luckily his weak scent was masked, his cold blood giving of a fraction of the scent compared to that of the warm blooded live stock. He was ignored in favour of the lambs around him. He pounced at the creature but was to far away, it managed to make its escape toward the snow covered slopes to the north.



He was still in the same situation, lying half submerged in the snow with a few pine branches covering his back, strangely enough the provided a strange warmth in the frozen climate. The lion was closer now, The Argonian opened his eye a fraction, it was feet away from him, sniffing about in the snow. It had evidently picked up his scent and was now digging through the snow with its nose in search for a morsel of food in the desolate snow.

Its warm breath tickled the back of the Argonian's neck. It was definitely close enough now. He waited a few agonisingly long seconds, waiting and waiting for the creatures head to turn. When it did, he pounced. Springing upward from his hiding place and grappling with the beast, wrapping his legs and tail around its body and squeezing down on its rib cage with his elbows, his hands on its front legs trying to force them downward. It trashed and growled, moving every limb simultaneously in random directions, trying its best to shake the Argonian from its back, He was now biting down on the back of the creatures neck, squeezing as hard as possible with his reptilian jaws.

It wasn't a battle between sentient man and mythical beast like the ones you come to hear about from dusty old tomes and children's stories. It was a mountain lion being attacked by an Argonian, a battle of wills and endurance. Nothing more, anybody looking for a thrilling battle to watch would be sorely disappointed as they watched the large cat thrash around with an oversized lizard on its back, Rolling over in the snow as if trying to clean some undesirable lump of soil from its fur.

Slowly the beasts growls where replaced with panting, its movements grew sluggish and half hearted. Warm blood trickled down its coat from the neck wound between Ba'Gannan's unrelenting jaws. Slowly but surely he was winning this battle of endurance, this battle of will.

The beast slumped to its side, ribcage heaving, head lulling up and down as it tried to regain some composure for attack. The Argonian didn't allow that. He untangled himself from the cats body, licking it over a little before kneeling over it, both knees pressing against either side of its body. A sickening almost cannon like crack resounded through the woodlands around him as he twisted the lions head to an angle not intended by nature.

For the first time in days he was able to survey his surroundings in the daylight, he had been travelling at night and remaining hidden near his target by day. The view he was rewarded with for defeating the farmers menace was truly a thing of undisputable beauty. The way the snow covered slopes converged with the foothills then the great sweeping plains bellow, before meeting with dense reign forests and woodland. Cyrodil truly was a strange spectacle. Nothing like Argonia of course. But it was a welcome change of scene after the barren Ashlands of Vvardenfell.


After a few more moments where stolen looking at the great landscape bellow him the Argonian crouched and began trying the lions paw's together, before lifting it onto his shoulders. He would carry it to Bruma, where he would hopefully find a warm room and perhaps a place he could removed the hide of the animal, maybe he'd even have the head mounted as a trophy for the old man.

He eventually found the road to Bruma, walking upon its stone cobbles was a strange sensation after spending countless hours in the snow, he didn't much like it. But he didn't quite trust himself to find his way to Bruma when all he could see up the slopes towards the mountains was a vast canvas of untouched white snow.

As he walked a strange sound met his ears, a sound he was not accustomed to hearing in the wilderness. The sound of jovial if not hysterical laughter, ringing through the air around him. Curiosity got the better of him, Ba'Ganna sped up, almost slipping on ice as he reached a turn point in the road. He looked around dazed and confused, the source of all the noise was close yet he couldn't see anybody.

Then he noticed, a little futher off the road, almost completely submerged in snow. An Imperial man with a huge smile on his face. A truly strange thing to laugh at but Ba'Ganna couldn't fault him for it, he after all got a rush from nearly dying every day. That would be considered more perculiar in certain social circles.


"Hello?" He called down, his voice strained and gravely after days of silence. "Do you need any help imperial?"

Arthus' head fell on the snow as he heard someone yell. Wiping a tear from his eye and still chuckling, he saw a strange Argonian a slight bit up, standing on the road. The beast-man seemed straight out of the swamps in Black Marsh - unlike Arthus, who was always very protective about his clothes and clean most of the times even during his journey through Skyrim, he was a mess. The Argonian seemed roughed up, too, and Arthus presumed he was straight out of a fight, although you didn't have to be Vehk to figure that out - the Argonian carried what seemed to be a mountain lion on his back, at least from what Arthus could see from his snow heap.

"No... Heh. I'm fine, completely fine..." Arthus waved, before frowning slightly and stuffing both his hands back into the snow heap. This was one of the times being a mage with a focus on fire came in handy, as he told himself watching the snow around him melt. He was generating miniature fireballs, having no wish to spend ten minutes trying to get out of the snow. This method was indeed effective, and soon the mage could rise up, with a wet back but still chuckling slightly.

A bit of work, a few slips, and he was back on the road.

"Heh heh... Guess you learn a new thing every day. I should've known better than to start considering important matters while travelling a mountain road... Heh. At least that made my day." He rufled his hair (also wet), chuckling in between pants.

Fedave hated Skyrim. He hated Cyrodiil too. As far as he was concerned, both were horrible lands that his Grandmaster made him travel through out of spite. He knew there were other agents just as good at tracking down stuff like what he was after. This stone that had everyone up in arms was going to be a horrible waste. What would the Grandmaster do when it got back to him? He would kill Fedave; he wouldn't need Hlaalu's best agent with that power. Then he would smite everyone else and take Tamriel for himself. Yet he said he was going to hold it for ransom, and give it to the highest bidder.

Thoughts ran through Fedave's head. Thoughts of betraying the House. That was another almost certain death. It was also about his only other option, other than just returning and saying that he couldn't find it. He might live through that one. He just had to come to terms with living in a small cell, being starved to death. So he would die, but would go through the pangs of starvation. A fresh gust of the cold mountain wind quickly snapped him out his thoughts. Still, he had made up his mind, the stone would not make it back to Hlaalu.

He wrapped his cloak around him tight. All of his clothes were not very thick at all as he felt that he needed to be in complete control of all his movements. He wished that he could just quit. In the world of the Great Houses, though, one never just quit. You stayed loyal, or you died. That was how his entire life had been, and he was going to try and prove that wrong. He was still going to find this stone, though. He was going to profit off of it in some way. His sources had told him to head towards Bruma, and that's where he almost was. He was on the road to Bruma when he saw two beings talking to one another. One was an Imperial, another was an Argonian. The Imperial looked soaked.

Fedave approached the two and said, "Good day, would you guys happen to be on the way to Bruma as well?"

"Dammit, you never let me go to Olav's by myself. You know I don't cause any trouble."

Qualo dragged his feet in the snow of the Bruma streets, as his friend Lucius slowed his pace to keep the same speed as the youngster.

"You remember what happened the one time you snuck out without me knowing? Bloody farce, that was, by Azura," scolded Lucius. The ex-soldier's greying hair blew into his face, scarred from the many battles he had been a veteran of, both during the Oblivion crisis and the early years of the war of Aedra Tear. Qualo's face brightened up as he remembered.

"Oh, the time Olav sold me that magickal carrot!"

"Yeah, right magickal that was. You paid a hundred septims for something you coulda dug out of the ground. Olav fleeced you, just like everyone fleeces you when I'm not around to hold your hand." Though his words were disapproving, there was a tone of affection in his voice. Lucius had never had children.

"It must've been enchanted. Why would he lie to me about that?" Qualo seemed confused.

"Simple. He wants your money. You drop outta the sky with the bloody bounty of Zenithar in your back pocket, and expect that people won't want a piece of it?"

Qualo blinked. "All this money's ever given me is trouble. I don't know why anyone would want money."

"Ah, that's the way of the world," Lucius chuckled. "Those that ain't got money want it, and those that do have it only get trouble from it." He turned the corner, and shivered against the cold as he walked down the familiar stone-paved street to Olav's Tap and Tack, the tavern he frequented every Loredas morning, when it was quiet, for a flagon of warm mead, breakfast, and a chin-wag with Olav, the elderly Nord proprietor. The smell of cooking meat wafted from the wooden building.

"Delicious," noted Qualo.

"It always is," added Lucius as he pushed open the door. "Olav! Good friend! I can smell the boar cooking! You recovered from last night?"

Olav appeared from behind the bar. "Just about, Lucius," he laughed. "Sit down, the boar's nearly ready."

Areth and Liienna slowly made their way down a hillside toward a road which they knew lead to Bruma. They made camp several hundred yards from the path for the sole purpose of their own well being, afterall, the land was engaged in a war and it would be a wonder if bandits and marauders weren't terrorizing the countryside now that the legion was in shambles. They neared the road through an artificial path Areth had somewhat cleared out the night before, using it as practice for his swordsmanship as well as controlling the power of the Aedra Tear. Some branches looked sloppily sliced asunder while other trees bore burn marks or frostbite stemming from an unnatural source of energy.

Finally they reached the path, it was mostly dirt and snow with solid pieces of cobblestone set about so as to keep the road level during avalanches and the like. They were relieved to have found the path, as made apparent by Len' letting out a loud sigh, "so, I guess we make out way to Bruma from here then." Len' began walking, taking leisurely high steps as she went, Areth trailing several yards behind her toying with his spear. "What are we going to do after this is over?" asked Len' as she slowed down so as to come into pace next to her brother.

"I haven't really thought about that yet, I guess we'll just go on with our lives after we've finished this, though I can't say for certain," they continued on keeping in focus by reminiscing about times past, about the years spent in their small northern village, until they came upon a group of curious individuals standing about. Areth was wary given the fact that the whole land wanted what he had, he decided that they would just walk by and ignore them, and hoped his sister would be as cautious as he was.

But alas she wasn't as Areth heard her voice behind him, which caused him to stop dead in his tracks, "hey there, I take it you're on your way to Bruma as well, care for some company." He turned and faced the group now being spoken to by his young, often quite naive sister, with a look of embarrassment and worry on his face. He could only hope that the sword he now carried possessed the ability to hide the power of Aedra tear, afterall, only a select few individuals truly knew what it looked like, so it's corrupting nature would be it's only giveaway unless the blade served it's purpose and suppressed that very nature.

"The more the merrier! If we're all heading to Bruma, I see no reason why not to stick together." Arthus smiled happily. He didn't enjoy travelling alone, even though it wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Company was always preffered, though, and it reflected on his face more than just in the smile. His eyes gleamed slightly, as they always did when he felt happy; however, intentionally or not, he distinguished this by peeking over his shoulder. Another small fireball in hand, Arthus was trying to dry his back out, but he had to be careful about that, so as not to set his clothes on fire - destruction was a wild thing, and it was certainly easier to generate a large flame than to generate a very small one that could be used for such business.

"I'm Arthus, by the way." He held out his free hand to the Nord that approached after the girl spoke out to them all. The man seemed worried, and Arthus didn't blame him - the mage himself was slightly worried about getting into Bruma, but was quite succesful in pushing that to the corner of his mind, like he often did with more unpleasant matters when conversing with someone. It wasn't in his nature to concern strangers with his troubles, even if they'd soon share this problem, most likely.

The Imperial, Arthus apparently, seemed to be very cheerful. He also seemed to be somewhat skilled with magick. Fedave thought that this guy might be useful for getting into the besieged city of Bruma. He also took careful note of the two Nords that showed up. The man carried a spear, and had a sword sheathed across his back. He appeared to be a warrior of some sorts. The girl looked as if she didn't have much to offer in combat. The Argonia seemed to have taken out a mountain lion which was enough to impress him. Fedave was worried about the possibility of being attacked on the way in to Bruma. It was pretty likely to happen.

The land was not very forgiving, and with armies massed at where he was going, Fedave didn't like the idea of going anywhere near it. Yet, to capitalize off of this stone he had to go to Bruma. He needed to know what it looked like for one. He also needed to know where it was and who was hiding it. He usually worked alone, but it seemed that he would need the help of these people to get into Bruma. He might also try to gain some information from these travelers.

Fedave also extended his hand and said, "I am Fedave Andrethi."

"I bet you are" Areth said with an aire of caution about him, "don't feel offended if I'm not in a trustworthy mood right now." He looked at his sister disapprovingly and reached out to shake both men's hands, "Areth Semniil, and you've already met my sister Lienna."

"Name's Len" she corrected with a harumph, "you know I hate it when you call me that, sounds too... formal, for my tastes." She reached out her hand as well, so as to go with the flow as it were. "Sorry about my brother, he's just worried about my safety is all."

"Damn right I am. Now I suggest we get going, you never know what kind of trouble you can get in if you stay in one place for too long" he began to walk, hoping the others would follow suit.

IC: Watching the flames of the camp fire burn out, the grizzled Imperial rose to his feet. How long had he travelled now, days? Weeks? Months? It did not matter to him. Not much did actually. The empire had fallen apart, the provinces were at war with each other and themselves over some kind of "tear," or something. Whatever it was, Thengil had no interest in it. Rumours said it drove people mad with power, and he's already had enough of such trinkets. The whole incident with the cultists, Thoth, Orion, the islands... All just because of a crystal. No, power did not interest him much any more. For now all he wanted to do was to find a new purpose. He could not possibly return to the Imperial City, there was nothing left for him there, except bad memories.

Packing his stuff and extinguishing the flickering embers that once were a camp fire, Thengil left the makeshift camp. He was running low on supplies, and the nearest place to get them was Bruma. From what he'd heard, the city is supposedly besieged. Seemed like he'd have to be prepared for war if he wanted to make it into the city.

As he walked down the cobblestone road, he spotted a group of people up ahead. They seemed to be headed for Bruma, but they could just as well be a gang of bandits preying on travelers. One could not be too sure these days, so he grasped the hilt of his scimitar and walked slowly towards them, his ebony boots clicking against the narrow road. When he got closer he could make out quite a few figures; two Nords - a man and a woman, apparently siblings, a Dunmer, an Imperial and an Argonian. Now that's a colourful bunch... He let go of his sword, not seeing them as anything particularly dangerous, most of them not even being properly equipped.

"Hey, over there! You people don't happen to be headed for Bruma, are you? If you are, mind if I tag along?" he spoke as he got close enough for them to hear.

Lives-in-Risk

Ba'Gannan's mind reeled as more and more travellers began to show up. It seemed Bruma was a hub of activity as of late. He ignored the Dunmer who greeted him however, he never did trust the ash skins of Morrowind, though a few had lightened his opinion of the Dunmeri folk, but not by much.

He carried on watching the social display with quiet curiosity, the mage he found in the snow seemed as if he was high on moon sugar. Ba'Gannan wasn't even sure moon sugar was readily available in Cyrodil. Perhaps it wasn't, perhaps it was just the magicians general demeanour. Either way, it made him feel strangely uneasy.

He began walking up the road with the Nord named Areth. He found his presence foreboding, something about him made his scales taught, he couldn't quite place it. It wasn't a matter of not trusting him, he seemed like a decent enough person being protective of his family, something every man worth his salt should be in Ba'Gannan's opinion. But never the less, He was weary of him.

With that in mind however, he did agree with him, he didn't trust strangers to put a knife in his back no more than the mountain lion would trust Ba'Gannan to cuddle it if it where still breathing.

"I am Ba'Gannan." He said, his voice still strained from the cold and days of silence. "Most call me Lives-in-Risk, though that is not my real name. Is it true that the city of Bruma is besieged? I had hoped I could rest in the walls away from the cold."

"Lives-In-Risk it is then, seems a pleasant name" Areth replied with a smirk. "Though something about it hints that you have some history of... risk taking, I bet it's origins have quite the vibrant history." He lifted his spear up and rested it on his shoulders, letting his arms hang over it as a makeshift armrest of sorts.

Areth eyed the Argonian out of the corner of his eye, and he noticed that he lacked weaponry of any sort, which left it an utter mystery as to how he managed to take down the bloodied beast which he now bore upon his back. "Curious, how did you manage to slay that creature, I spy no sort of hunting gear, no bow, not even a small dagger; and I know for a fact that mountain lions can be quite dangerous, yet you seem to lack any kind of injury whatsoever."

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

Len trailed near the back of the rag-tag group of companions, whistling as she walked, imagining the sort of dishes she'd indulge in once she arrived in Bruma. She kept on whistling until she heard a voice yell out from behind her.

"Hey, over there! You people don't happen to be headed for Bruma, are you? If you are, mind if I tag along?" it yelled, the sound of heavy boots clanging on the cobblestone path.

Len' turned around and waved at the oddly well-dressed Imperial "that's where we're headed, I'm sure no one would mind another tagging along, though we all seem to be getting a bit clustered now don't we." She turned back to the path in front of her and noticed Areth speaking to the Argonian, I wonder what they're talking about she thought to herself as they continued on.

Ba'Gannan grinned as the Nord commented on his name. It was actually a Nord who had bestowed it upon him in Morrowind after a job hunting Bull Netch's together. Ga'Gannan had got into quite a lot of trouble when he managed to grab hold of the side of the Netch but didn't anticipate that it would merely fly upwards. He was stuck on the side of the creature for almost an hour before it hovered over a body of water deep enough for the Argonian to safely drop in.

"My name relates to my past doings, it was given to me by an old drunken friend I would work with from time to time. He used to refer to me as a specialist for risky jobs, the truth is, the riskier the job the better for me." he spoke animatedly to the Nord beside him, thoughts of his old friend lightening his mood a little.

"And I assure you, if I was using a weapon this beast would have had me. I trust my own body, I know my limitations in combat. I never know when a blades will break or when a bow string will snap, I prefer not to risk my life on such things, every weapon made can be broken." He carried on, voicing his opinion on armed combat as he always did when the subject came around, he admired those skilled in the art of sword play and other such armed combat styles, but he just didn't feel comfortable using them for himself. "Besides, the lion was old. All I did was get on its back where I couldn't be hit then kept hold of it until it was tiered out, then I just broke its neck. Not like wolves, mountain lions are like kittens in comparison to a pack of wolves."

OOC: You would attract all the scary players, Nord.
IC:

Evvereen

The Chapel of Talos... she thought, gazing up at the building. There was a slight wariness in her eyes. She walked up to the door, brushing the massive wooden planks that made them up with one scaly hand. The Chapel of Talos was not as magnificent as the Chapel of Akatosh, nor did it have the nobility of the chapel in anvil, but Evvereen liked it just fine.

It, like all of Bruma, held a special appeal to her. The Nordic architecture simply brought light to her eyes, and warmth to her heart. It reminded her of Skyrim, of meadhalls and nords themselves, and the snow that thickly blanketed the ground was so welcome it made her heart swell.

She did not miss the irony of her love of snow. Argonians were cold-blooded creatures... in times of war, they always retreated for the winter months, finding themselves sluggish and tired. For Evvereen, it was the opposite. The summer made her feel tired and weary, bogged down by the humidity and heat, but in winter she felt fresh, alive, envigoured.

Perhaps it was merely a reaction to her upbringing in Skyrim, but she suspected that was not so. She had always felt that this was the Gods one and only gift to her. For how else could she alone be a wiwnter argonian?

It's not like you marked my birth, as you do for so many... she found herself thinking. It's not like you ever did anything to make my life easier. I just- She broke off that line of thought. Being angry at the Gods would only make this trip even worse.

Hesitantly, she exterted pressure on the great door, and it gradually moved away from her.

But then something caught her eye. A nord was walking past her, shaking his head. But he had a strange glimmer around his edges, so that he seemed somehow separate from the world around him. "Chilly scales, I'd walk the other way." And then he disappeared.

Evvereen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She remembered that Nord from her village, but he most certainly wasn't popping into Bruma to check up on her. Ignore it... she told herself. Just go on in, it'll all be fine- this time.

She eased the door open, and then stepped carefully inside. Her footsteps were nearly silent, this just naturally the way she did things, and she picked her way carefully across the floor. Finally, she stood before the altar.

She dropped a few coins into the offering bowl. "My humble sacrifice..." she murmured, but her head was lowered and her body tensed into a half-crouch. Nothing happened. With a slightly lifting heart, she turned to leave. Maybe it wasn't what she thought it was... maybe it wasn't that bad...

But then there was a sound like a clap of thunder, and Evvy screamed, racing out of the Chapel as sharp pain riocheted around her body and sparks danced over her scales. The door slammed shut behind her.

"So that's it then..." she whispered. "The Gods all hate me."

Two birds, one gold and one black, perched on the lower branches of a nearby tree. The golden one laughed while the black one pointed with it's feathered wing, cawing profanities at her.

"Just shut up, okay? I don't need to take this crap from a talking bird!"

People stopped and stared, gazing at her uneasily at her outburst. It wouldn't have been so bad if she had not been on her own. She lowered her head and strode as swiftly as she could to the inn, tail thrashing in aggravation and embarassment.

Why do you hate me? she asked in her mind. All I ever wanted was to serve you!

But as ever, there was no answer for Evvereen, shunned by the Gods.

"Indeed we are." Arthus chuckled, reaching behind his back with another hand. "Quite the day for me. I go years without meeting anyone, and now suddenly a bunch of people shows up. And right when I slip into a snow heap, too." He enjoyed this moment; simple conversations was a luxury he couldn't allow himself during the past two or so years, and he was glad to be able to talk about things of relatively little importance again. This was like back in the Legion days, where he'd spend most of his time when he was supposed to be policing about speaking with the commoners... Of course, that was fun only until someone walked up on me. The mage smiled to himself, remembering the amount of lectures he'd get from whatever commander he was stationed under. Those times made him confident that he inherited at least one Imperial quality - he rarely got tired of talking.

Taking a closer look at the man who seemed to be the most recent addition to their group, Arthus couldn't help but feel surprised. Who travels in a suit of armor worth its weight in gold? To him it seemed madness, but then he always had bad feelings about armor and wearing it. The heaviest piece of armor he ever wore was the Imperial Legion chainmail shirt, and all that did was slow him down and scare people. Frequently when chases would ensue he'd just dump the armor as fast as possible (a practice that paid off, though, since thanks to the fact the rest of his armor was almost non-existant he'd outrace most the Legionnaires, except perhaps those Orcs in Gnisis). To each his own, I guess. Heck, I don't even use weapons, and many would think me an idiot for that. Guess it just offers me an advantage of surprise. At least against people who never read that incredibly boring little book we got for free... Manual of something... Just the thought of the dreaded book made him want to yawn.

"You think we'll make it through this one, Olav?" Lucius rested his flagon on the table and sighed. "I bet half these power-crazed generals have forgotten what the bloody war's even about."

"Ah, we survived the Great Gate, we can survive this. An army outside is nothing compared to having Dagon's slavering hordes battering at the city walls."

Olav, like most of the citizens of Bruma, had the Battle of Bruma still fresh in their minds from the last year of the Third Era. Those scars had been slow to heal.

Qualo took a hesitant bite from his plate of boar. He wondered why people strove so hard to get this Aedra Tear or whatever it was. It seemed, once you got it, you went crazy, and then you were promptly killed by someone else who wanted the Tear more. All that happened was that more people died.

"Why doesn't someone just destroy the Tear?" stated Qualo quite suddenly.

Lucius laughed. "Ain't a bad idea, if you could find someone crazy enough to have every army in Tamriel after them." He drained the last of the mead from his tankard. "Power does strange things to people, too. They'd go as crazy as those mad generals on our doorstep."

"Hey, Lucius," called Olav as the old man stood up to leave. "I heard they're gonna start conscripting any men who can pick up a sword soon. Try and break the siege. Young Qualo here's been overlooked after his... unusual arrival, but he'd probably be one of the first to get called up. And you afterwards, you can still wield a blade better than most."

Qualo was worried at this prospect. He'd never fought properly before. Well, not that he could remember, but since he'd been in Bruma all he'd ever done was spar with Lucius occasionally. A slight chill went through him at the prospect of having to go into battle - though mixed in with the fear was some kind of odd excitement, dug up from somewhere in his fractured memory. He got up from his chair measuredly, and moved towards the door as Lucius replied.

"Hmph. They must be kidding if they think I'm going to go into battle again. I've been into battle four times to defend this city I live in, and we won every one, each time against the odds. I've done my service now, and I'm sick of fighting. Oh, and especially sick of this war. Just like everyone here."

"I hear you, Lucius," Olav said, as the ex-soldier walked to the door and pushed it open, and Lucius and Qualo walked out into the streets.

"Lucius."

"What is it, youngster?"

"What if I have to go into battle?"

He shrugged. "Then you must go into battle. And defend this city. After all, it's all you can remember, and it's your home now."

They walked for a few more minutes in silence, as Qualo gazed at the smoke from the fires of the force camped outside the city walls. They meandered past the Chapel, and passed an Argonian woman who appeared to be berating a pair of birds. He glanced at her curiously as she realised her embarrassment and quickly made her way towards the nearby inn. His attention turned back to the fires.

"What's it like... outside of Bruma?"

Lucius sighed. "You ask too many questions," he said, turning back into the road where their homes stood next to each other. "Furthest I've been from Bruma is... Bravil. What a bloody dump that place is. But I knew a couple of guys who've travelled all across the continent, from High Rock to Black Marsh. They say Tamriel is beautiful and brutal in equal measure."

"I want to see it sometime."

"I'm sure you will."

Qualo opened the door to his house, made of carved logs in the Nordic style, as Lucius went further down the road to his own abode. I want to get out of Bruma before I have to fight. There's got to be some way.

Name: Luthor Frauz
Preferred Name: laru
six: male
Race: Nordic
Age: 37
Birthsign: The ritual

Class: Master of Arkay (high ranking warrior preist of Arkay)
Focus: Carrying out of the will of Arkay, fighting in and leading groups of the "Knights of the Circle" (military branch of the Order of Arkay, more info here: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Daggerfall:Order_of_Arkay
Skills & Talents: Heavy Armour*, blunt*, speechcraft* conjuration, athletics, restoration, (* denotes most powerful skills)
Class Description:
A master in the order of Arkay is a formidable warrior, orator, and healer. Master's will have amassed many skills, depending on their sub-branch in the order. A Master such as Luthor will have spent many years in many of the differnt branches of the order, but has gravitated to that of combat against the foes of Arkay.

General Appearance: Average height and grith, he has the appearance of being worn away at by nature, leaving only skin, bone and muscle.
Hair: Closely cropped dark brown hair, no facial hair
Eyes: brown eyes
Notes: the symbol of the order of Arkay tattooed onto his right arm. It is a black box, with a diagnol blue box interweaving, and a gold ankh. On his left arm the phrase "memento mori" is tattoed in highly ornate black lettering. He has one scar going from his right ear to his chin.

General clothing: full Dwarven armour with no Helmet. He will only wear the helmet in combat The armour is enchanted to turn the undead.
Additional clothing black robes with the symbol of Arkay embrodied on it. for when not wearing his Armour.
Weapons: A finely crafted Ebony war axe, with a steel enforced wooden handle.
Misc. Items:
Luthor does not travel light. He carries various kinds of dried meat and bread with him, along with three canteens of Water. Besides that, he carries with him a leather canvas for a tent, a woodaxe, a blade sharpener, a map of cyrodil, a book of Arkay, and a pouch of septims.
Personality: Luthor is, despite his "old" age, still energetic. He is infused with a unquenchable thrist for Knowledge and excitement. He belives only in right or wrong, and is fanatical in his belief in Arkay, so much as to spend months investigating the slightest rumor of Necromancy so as to quash it out.

Brief History: Raised in a small home near the town of Falkreath by two average nordic parents, his father teaching him the skills of hunting and combat, his mother a supportive figure. At the age of 5 his Father was killed, yet at the time his death was unknown, his body never recovered in the snows of Skyrim by the local search partys. His mother was emotionally sccared, becoming a nervous wreak that could barely stand by herself, spending her last remaining months emotinaly disturbed, oblivious to her son, and the care her son gave her. Finally, after the second month with her husband, and Luthors father dead, she died. The local healer attributed it to a lack of the will to live.

Almost exaclty a month latter, when Luthor was fending for himself, several Knights from the Knights of the circle happened upon the house Luthor lived in. Taking pitty on him, the group of Knights took him to the nearby order sanctuary. There, along with several other orphan childern, he was inducted into the Order of the Arkay and learned the secrets of Life and death. There, Luthor developed, dedicating himself to the worship of Arkay. At the age of fifteen, he learned what had caused his fathers death. Necromancy, a necromancer had killed his father when his father had wandered too far into the wilds of Skyrim.

Along with several Knights of the circle, they traveled to the location of the evil necromancer, and slew it, but without suffering severe loss's. The Necromancer had been practicing the dark art for years, and raised what was considered a small army in the crypts. For four months, Luthor and the Knights fought the Necromancers abominations in gurellia tactics and small engagements, burning the remains of all the dead, both friend and foe, depriving the Necromancer of fresh minons. Finally, on the second day of the fourth month, the Knights confronteted the necromancer, slaying him in a epic battle, leaving all dead or dying except for Luthor.

The master that had led the expedition promoted Luthor to the rank Brother, and giving him the name of Laru, along with his own ebony battle axe, blessed by the Patriarch of the Order of Arkay. Returning to the order sanctuary bearing the head of the Necromancer, and the battle axe of a master, he rested, before delving even further into the studies of Arkay, and the arts of combat. After fiffteen years of serving in the order of Arkay, he was granted the Title of Master, second only to the Patriarch.

Now, with the news that the Aedra tear has been stolen and is going to be destroyed, Laru has devoted his time to find those that wish to destory it and join them, to destroy an artifact that violated Arkays cycle, almost equallling the atroctities of Necromancy.

Magick: turn undead, bound axe, restore health, restore fatigue, fire damage* (*weak spell)

-----

A man armoured in dwemer armour that shined sliglty in the mid-morning sun. he slowly walked through the wilderness, his face hiden behind a imposing Dwemer helmet, his eyes scanning the ground and surrounding area for any signs of his prey. To some, it would appear as if a bandit was stalking a large group of moderatly armed travellers, but to those that where involved in Laru's world, they would recongize him as one of the Master's of the Order of Arkay, and one of the commanders of the Knights of the Circle, the elite fighting branch of Arkay, only the best of both of combat and the most devoted to Arkay would be even granted the honor of attempting to join his Knights. In the past year, only ten had been selected, and only four actually became members of the elite warriors.

Laru stopped momentarily in his hunt and examined the group intenstely, igoring their idle pvssyr and studying their appreances, their equipment, even their walk. Anyone of them could be a Necromancer,but his prey was not hiding with them. At least, he did not see Anaril mamarco in their group. His newest prey had fled towards the city of Bruma, and Laru was intent upon slaying it before it could desecrate the resting dead. Even his reference to Necromancer's as "it" instead of the proper "he" or "she" showed how much his hatred for Necromancy burned in his heart.

In the sanctuary of Arkay in the Dragontail moutains, was a scoreboard of sorts, with the names of every member of the Order of Arkay, and next to their name, was a tally of how many necromancers they had slain. Laru was the second highest scoring member currently and the thrid highest in the history of the Order of Arkay, with thirty confirmied kills and ten uncomfirend kills. For the thirty confirmed kills, he had brought back a part of the dead Necromancer, be it a ring, their staff or even their head.

He thought back to his first kill, rembering the darkness of the cavern, the four gueling months in there, slowly destroying the Necromancer's minons, even the emotional trauma of finding the massivlely rotted face of his father in the mass of walking dead, before slaying them. And the feeling of the greatest satisfaction in the world when he and Master Zanuck had slew the Necromancer.

Lost in his thoughts, he stepped on a branch, snapping it in half, the sound shocking him out of his rembering, it sounded like a gun shot, and he knew it would immediatly alert the group of travellers.