Alright everyone, this RP is actually a Spin off Rp on an old RP I did with a lot of fiction behind it. It was called Life in Tamreil and it was a successful RP (until it died). So, this RP is basically picking off right where this RP left when it ended, which was a pretty high climix if you ask me. Quick background of what happened before I begin

After the Oblivion Crisis, Tamreil was left in ruins, and all the provinces were in disrepair. The summerset Isles, who had survived the Crisis with very few marks of war on their lands, became extremely strong and influential. Rumor also had it that Summerset isle was forming their own nation in secret.

It was true. The king-elect, King Heratas was going to form their own nation of summerset and then form an alliance with akavir. But there was a hitch. The princess needed to be there for the inauguration ceremony, but she escaped, afraid of her father's cruelty. Her name was Liamistacia, but most people called her Lia. She escaped to Morrowind, where for a while she disappeared there. But spies found her, and she had found shelter with a group of men who were riding around in an airship. Eventually, and alliance was struck with an orc to track down the princess. The orc, who had been betrayed by those on the airship, promised to lead an army to the airship if he could personally kill them all.
They marched the army straight through Cyrodill, which started a national outcry and eventually a war with the altmer. The army was crushed by a far superior imperial force, and the war began?

One year later
It is now 4E6. The war between the empire and Altmer is proving bloodier than any could imagine, surpassing the Daedric invasion only years earlier. The altmer quickly captured western Tamreil, including Hammerfell, Valenwood, high rock, and western Cyrodill. The line that separates the empire and Altmer, the blood line as it has become known has become a hotspot of heavy fighting, especially in the cities of Skingrad and Chorroll. An end is far away for both sides.
Meanwhile, the princess left the airship crew, although a few still follow her, and begun a rebellion group. She has trained and become one of Cyrodill most formidable warriors. Her resistance groups, simply known as the rebels, use the old Airship as headquarters, and fly behind the blood line and strike at Altmeri camps, and also liberate the Altmer death camps the empire has set up. For both sides, the airship has become hated, and their only refuge is in neutral Morrowind, a province to devastated by the oblivion crisis that they could not participate in the war. They secretly shelter the rebels from both sides, knowing these rebels may be the only hope for a quick end to the fighting.


Name: Gold-Heart
Gender: Male
Race: Argonian
Age: 38
Appearance: A blue and light green Argonian (like most are) with small spines on the back of his head. He has 2 horns at the tip of his snout, and he has a slight twinkle in his eyes. He stands at 6'4'' and weighs 164 lbs.
Class:Mercenary
Lifestyle: Wandering Adventurer
Equipment: Ebony Spear, Druegh Helm, Royal guard Cuirass, Red gloves and Black pants.
Starting location: Northern Cyrodill
Background: Gold-Heart has seen a lot. His parents were slaves in Morrowind, and he managed to eventually break free and learn how to fight. He has seen a lot. He was in Morrowind when the Nerevarine defeated Dagoth Ur. He aided king Helesth for a while in Mournhold, where he got his armor and spear as a gift from him. He moved to Cyrodill, because, quite frankly, he got bored of Morrowind. He settled in Kvatch, and lived quietly for a while. Then at the Oblivion Crisis, when Kvatch burnt down (he was in the Imperial city at the time) He picked up his spear and fought Daedra. He met the Hero of Kvatch, and when asked about it later, he said "He ain't as good as people say he is. I could do better." After the crisis, he became a wandering adventurer, like he was in Morrowind, traveling the land of Tamreil in search of adventure.

And then, one day on his travels, he found the oddest thing: an airship. after fighting off some bandits with his comrade, Swift-Blade, he entered the ship and found that the people on there were sheltering the princess of summerset isles. He followed them for a while efore realizing the scope of the matter. realizing the depth of the situation, he decided to stay with them to see the matter eesolved. He is the princesses most trusted officers, and his decisions hold alot of weight with the crew. Despite this, he still keeps up his light personality and keeps a joke always ready.

Personality: Gold Heart is a wise-Cracking, Carefree, and even arrogant individual. His heart tells him to explore, giving him a curios and mischievous spirit. He doesn't like bad things or bad people, saying that "It's no fun being evil. Always get the guts beaten out of you." He will do odd jobs for money, and enjoys the spirit of fighting off a group of bandits with his Ebony spear.
Other : none


***

8:00, Vivec Sewers

Gold-Heart walked through the sewers of the foreign quarter with a note in his hand for the princess. They had gotten word of an altmer camp in skyrim perfect for raiding. If they can capture someone, they would be able to get some information from him, which was badly needed now. The last raid went teribly, and they needed to find out exactly how much the altmer knew about them. Because, as Gold-heart had learned in his travels, preparation and knowing the enemy is the most important thing to victory. besides a good spear arm, of course.

He walked up to a door and searched his pack for something. "Now where did i put that... ah here it is!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a worn out key. he inserted it into the lock and slowly opened the door. The corridors insde where the secret hideout of the Rebels. the whole hideout wasnt too terribly big, but it had several rooms for space, and all senior officers like himself got their own room. Lia got the biggest and most decorated room, but it was also the most defendable in case of emergency. It was also the only one with a secret escape route.

He walked up to the princesses door and knocked 9 times, which ment it was urgent. A tall orc in orcish armour opened the door for him.

"Thanks, Gramug" he said to the orc.

"No Problem, Goldie" He said in a gruff, but kind way. he looked up and saw Lia was sitting at her desk, head buried in her arms. Lia had grown from when he had first met her. Most noticable was the fact she was wearing ebony armour. But, other small things like her cutting her hair and being a little taller were noticeable too. but the biggest difference to Gold-heart was in Liamastacia's eyes. They now showed a sense of duty, purpose, and courage, instead of a somewhat confused and shy look before. It was kind of inspiring, actually.

"Hey, Lia. Got some news for you." He said. He was one of the few people who ever talked casually to the princess.

Lia raised her head slowly and turned around and smiled "Hello Gold-heart. Do you bear news of the war?"

"Yes, but in other news, have you been crying princess?" He asked inquisitivly

Lia seemed suprised ny this, but let her defenses down for her trusted friend, "Yes. Its the one year aniversary from when I ran away. Just remembering what it was like, before this whole mess started..."

"Oh... well, I guess you probably would not like to see this then. You know, more war crap. Stabbity stab and burning stuff to the ground." Gold-Heart said, trying to cheer up the princess.

"No, let me see it. It is my Duty." Lia got up and took the note from gold-Heart with a forceful grasp and read it. "Ahhh... this is a grand opporitunity. officers and everything. And no daedra to accompany them" She looked up, "Go show this to Yakel. Ortho is busy working on the airship. Ask Yakel what our best course of action is here."

Gold-Heart took the note back and nooded, "Alright, no problem. Any idea where Yakel is?"

"Swift-Blade may know" She said.

Gold-Heart nhodded and went to go find his good friend Swift-Blade.

Name: Glanidor
Age: 56 (My first "young character in forever")
Race: Bosmer
Class: Ranger
General Appearance: Glanidor is average height for a Bosmer. He is also leaner than many other Bosmer. He has green eyes and blond hair
Mentality: Glanidor is very loudmouthed and arrogant. He is also a little bit impersonal and often fails to see peoples true motives. Hes also a tad bit of a xenophobe but not a whole lot.
Bio: Glanidor was born deep within the forests of Valenwood. He rarely saw any other race there and to this day is a little cautious around them. His parents were farmers and had a long history of it. When the Altmer war started he began practicing with the bow. Hes still not a master at it but he has a nature with it. When the Altmer began to take Valenwood he evacuated with his family, sending them off to Bravil he joined up with an auxiliary force of refugee Bosmer.

7:00 The Golden Coast, 40 miles from Kvatch

"You're nothing but an obnoxious, coward Mer!" the imperial legionarre spat in his face. Glanidor didn't flinch and punched the fat man in the face with all his might. The man stood back, jarred but still awake. "Aaaaah!" he screamed as he charged at Glanidor his fist held high. Glanidor prepared himself and right as the man came within range he ducked and punched him twice as hard in the gut. This unfortunately didn't stop his charging, the legionarre tripped over and fell on Glanidor. He got up to find that he had crushed Glanidor under his weight. He smirked and turned around patting his hands together to face the crowd that had gathered. Glanidor was smiling to. The fat bastard's too stupid to get the job done Glanidor thought to himself smirking. He almost instinctively jumped up onto the goliath and pounded at his head, chest and neck. He clawed, groped, pulled and beat until finally the man fell to the ground in agony. Glanidor continued until finally one of his fellow Bosmer pulled him off the poor man. The man had been enjoying his rations of lamb and beer talking loudly about how the Imperials were the best when Glanidor had confronted him. Glanidor was still angry but it slowly cooled in his core. Finally the Bosmer, Frethior, let go of him. He jerked away and stood up facing his victim. The man had a black eye and had been bloodied in various places. He scowled at Glanidor. All the other Imperials showed the same resentment towards him. I'm starting to regret signing with these humans.

Reposting for the sake of simplicity.

Name: SalumandusAge: 619Gender: MaleRace: AltmerBirthsign: The ApprenticeEye Color: GoldHair Color: BrownAppearance: Outside of his attire, Salumandus's appearance is quite mundane. His skin is mostly unblemished, as though painfully cared for, but his hair is unkept and appears shoddily cut, as though with a knife rather than a pair of shears. His smile, however, is the kind of smile that makes you shiver, and the twinkle in his bright eyes is terrifying. He walks with an odd gait, with a shuffling limp and a swagger all at the same time. He also possesses an thick cough, developed over the centuries of smoking a hookah.Personality: Once a man of vice, Salumandus traded in drugs for a more useful pursuit: power. He is quite vocal, however, a contrast to the brooding sorcerors that once surrounded him. As such, he is prone to long monologues, aired even to a nonexistant crowd.Profession: Sorceror/EnchanterSkills: Destruction, Alteration, Mysticism, Unarmored, Enchant, Mysticism, Long BladeEquipment: Form fitting tunic and breeches, a pair of leather boots. He wears a large amount of jewelry, covering most, if not all, of his lower arms. Some of these rings, bracelets, and chains are enchanted with varying effects, from feather to spell absorbtion. Outside of his jewelry, he carries a very ornate sword. Its use in combat is very little, as it is made of softer metals and encrusted with many gems, yet it serves as a powerful focus for spellcrafting, however, if he is given the time to focus, it can quickly become a weapon of great potency, amplified by many temporary enchantments. His boots are enchanted with a light levitation spell.Short History: A long time member of Alinor's Guild of Mages, Salumandus showed great potential in the arcane arts from a very young age. His potential, however, was quickly surpassed by his many vices. Lost in a daze for the many years of his youth, he was finall kicked out of the Mages Guild. One day, however, he walked from the city in a stupor, wandering out into the wilderness until he came upon ruin crafted of pure coral. There, he discovered a newly erected shrine to Hermaeus Mora, along with a small band of worshippers. At their and his new God's tutelage, his skills in the arcane amplified to newfound heights. He would, for a short time, journey into the Apocrypha and read from the dark library there, finally expanding his power to meet his potential. Stumped for a time in his pursuit of power, he returned to civilization, working his power as an enchanter to produce several items of great value. When the hunt for the princess began, he offered his services to the king, bargaining for several powerful artifacts upon the completion of his mission. The Altmeri King readily agreed, and Salumandus began his search in secret. He tracked them to Morrowind, where he now begins preparing for the materstroke of the rebels' destruction.Alignment: Alinor

IC:
Frost congealed around the smoke, joining with his breath in a beautiful blend of roses and cold. Floating in the wind, the smoke billowed across the camp. He smiled as he watched it, removing the steel tip of the hose from his lips. Another breath joined the smoke, forming into a billowing chimney. His smile faded as he put the hose to his lips once more, drawing in the sweet taste of roses, the bubbling of the water a sweet music to his ears. The smoke in his lungs thickened, forcing him to stop in a fit of hacking, smoke pouring from his mouth.

"Salumandus. We revealed our location, as you requested. I can only hope that your plan works," said an Altmer, approaching him from behind.

Coiling the hose around the base of his pipe, Salumandus smiled and then stood, turning to face his comrade. "Don't worry. They will come. And like the vermin they are, we shall trap them in our jaws and take our princess home where she belongs. The king needn't be bothered by such trifle things anymore. And their work against our efforts has truly been a thorn, hasn't it?"

"Yes, well..."

"You doubt the plan? Then you overestimate their abilities. A rag-tag group of rebels does not bother me. Not even if several of our own have defected to their cause." He wrapped his hand around the sheath of his blade, letting a trickle of magicka flow into the focus. "Besides, they attack from the sky, do they not? Just take their pinfeathers, and watch them plummet to their death." A buffeting wind enveloped him, lifting him from the ground to rest a meter from the earth.

A quick flick of his wrist obliterated the coal resting atop the hookah, casting a shower of sparks and smoke .

"Have the men ready at dawn. And remember, we can't let them think we're waiting for them. Have the bulk of your forces wait just inside the forest. I'll wait for them here, of course; to tie them down for your fell swoop."

IC: The Aldmeri Empire wasn't low in the way of gold, so Imperials didn't need to be executed all the time, however, Elindrin usually tortured one to death every day, y'know, for [censored] and giggles.

So that's why Elindrin stood next to an Imperial tied to a chair. The man's dead family hanging by thier feet at the other end of the room. It was smelly, but Elindrin had an enchantment to protect himself from that. With a swift move of Elindrin hand, the corpse feel from the wall and started walking slowly towards the Imperial. With that Elindrin stood back to watch the now crying imperial be mauled to death by his own undead family. It was entertaining.

Once the screams stopped, Elindrin left the room and surveyed the camp. It was surrounded by palisades with magical barriers. It was about 2 sqaure miles in length, and held about 500 prisioners and facilities for all of them. Along with a barracks for Elindrin's elite strike force of 20 men, armed to the teeth.

Elindrin's quarters were also luxourious.

OOC: OP coming later.

Name: Maceus
Gender: Male
Race: WoodElf (Bosmer)
Age: 17
Class: Mage
Class Focus: Destruction & Restoration Magic
Weapon: Conjured Mace (Normal Steal)

Height: 5'9
Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Style: Natural (long)
Hair Colour: Blonde

Guild: Mage's Guild
Rank: Journeyman

Main Major Skills: Destruction, Restoration, Conjuration and Blunt Weapon (mace's)
Minor Skills: Other magic skills ect.

General Apperance: Young, kind and midley intellegent

Spells:

Destruction:
Basic Fireball (8-10 Dmg)
Avarage Fireball (12-15 Dmg)
Basic Shock (9-10 Dmg)
Avarage Shock (13-16 Dmg)
The Fire Of Talos (20-30 Dmg) Damages user's health by 50

Restoration:
Minor Cure Self (Cure 10Hlth)
Major Cure Self (Cure 30Hlth)
Minor Cure Other (Cure 12Hlth)
Major Cure Other (Cure 30 Hlth)

Special Race Ability:
Control any animal for 60 secounds

Mental Description:
Calm, Laid Back, Lazy, Nice, helpfull, brave, Strong Will, Midley Intelligent and empathetic. (Maybe he is to nice?)

Star Born Under:
The Mage (50pnts of magic added to magic points)

Brief History:
Born in Valenwood but raised in Cyrodiil, Maceus had a moderatly normal childhood and loved to explore the surrounding caves around his small home on the Silver road near Bruma. Whilst exploring a cave he was confrunted with a horde of Goblins he had tryed to fight them off but to no aviel He was beaten badley and had to escape when a Mage's Guild Wizard rank burst in to the cave and distroyed the Goblins withen seconds.
The mage had saved Maceus.
This is a small edit due to the fact of the RP's Story of Cyrodiil (Maceus was taken to Cyrodiil in 4E1 just after SPOILER Martin had stoped the deadric dude - Maceus parents thought that Cyrodiil would now be safer then ever and moved)

This inspierd Maceus to become a Mage himself and kill any evil that stood in his or his friends way.
Maceus soon joined the Mages Guild at the age of 15, Being one of the youngest Mage's in the guild he did not fit in as well but he managed to rise up to the rank of Journeyman and is still contining his journey to become a great mage.

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

Intro to Maceus:
Maceus walked down silver road in Cyrodiil, aching to get home and rest (He had been at the front line of battle for a month or so)

Maceus: *sigh* "Almost there..."

The Mages guild of Cyrodiil had sent out many Mages to counter the Altmer's in battle but it was decided that 'Lesser' mages would be sent back to Cyrodiil and trained more before being seen as useful in battle, Maceus arived at the front of his house and stopped he gazed at the door with a look of sorrow and pain on his face. Good memories were overwhelmed by bad and recent troubles his parents death haunted over him he wasent there... He wasent there to protect them and he will never forgive himself for it...
He slowly walked to the door and opened it once inside he sat on his bed and slept.

OOC: Second Character.

Name: Kaleb RosierRace: ImperialGender: MaleAge: Mid-ThirtiesProfession: Imperial AgentSkills: Long Blade, Medium Armor, Speechcraft, Parry, Dodge, AthleticsNon-Game Skills: Etiquette, Secrecy, CookingEquipment:Silver longsword, clothingEye Color: EmeraldHair Color: AuburnAppearance: Just edging out of his prime, Kaleb still bears a youthful visage. His body is toned from his years of service with the Imperial Legion, but he has done his best to avoid resembling an Imperial Trooper by allowing his hair to grow back, tying it into a ponytail much as his father once had. He has also grown a goatee similar to those worn by Breton pirates. His etiquette, however, still resembles that of the proper nobility of the Cyrodiilan Heart.Brief History: Where his father had been brash, headstrong, and rebellious, Kaleb grew up much as any parents would have ever wished, his sister instead inheriting their father's spirit. His father, however, had been working for the Legion since Kaleb had been born, and so, wishing to work alongside him, Kaleb joined the Legion when he turned of age. It was not destiny's will that he would work with his father, as a few short years later his father and mother were murdered and his sister disappeared. His sister eventually reappeared, having tracked down and killed their father's murderer with the help of her lover, a magically inept Altmer woman. With the war against the Altmer in full swing, even they (for being and Altmer and an Altmer lover) are being targeted for Imperial war camps, and Kaleb has no desire for that fate to befall them. As such, he has undergone several secret meetings with his superiors just short of the Elder Council itself, and has volunteered for a very dangerous double agent operation.

IC:
8:00, Vivec, Redoran Canton

It had been a difficult task for him to track down the rebel airship, but he wasn't a fool, either. They were too quick in their strikes to have been far, and some calculations done in their supposed approach vectors and a general triangulation of their strkes had proved fruitless. It was actually by pure dumb luck that he managed to track them down; he had caught a glimpse of the ship smoking--they must have failed in a raid or something--flying east. To Morrowind. While it had taken him a month to reach the province, he had a second sighting of the great airship high in the sky above him, proving his suspicions. They were based in Morrowind. In Vvardenfell, specifically, but that was beside the point. He had suspected that joining their ranks would prove an equally difficult task, but surprisingly, it had not been. Infiltrating to their deeper ranks, however, was nigh on impossible, but he had confirmed one thing: their leader was Princess Liamistacia of Summerset. She was his goal, of course, and the key to ending this pointlessly bloody war.

He pondered the situation a moment, leaning over the railing of canton, staring into his reflection far below. I'm not a kidnapper He sighed, turning away from his reflection and closing his eyes. Yet I must be. Emilia is depending upon me. He looked back, spitting down into the sea, watching as it impacted into the water, shattering his reflection in a series of ripples. A slaughterfish, thinking it might be something tasty, broke his reflection even more. This is impossible... He frowned and turned from the railing, walking away from the sun into the heart of the canton, looking for a stiff drink.

[OOC : approved]

First Name: Elissandre
Last Name: of Cadra - she never uses that name
What you would prefer people call you: Elissandre
Race: breton
Gender: female
Age: 24
Birthsign:the Lady
Alignment : Reformed Temple, the rebels
Class: exiled aristocrat and make-do healer (cadger for those who don't like her)
Skills: Intelligence, personality - Illusion, restoration, blade, speechcraft, alchemy, alteration, light armor
Spells
Restoration : assorted healing spells (self and others), fortify stats spells, absorb health, absorb fatigue
Alteration : Ondusis's open door, water breathing, water walking, Timur's hoptoad, lock, burden, first to third barriers spells
Illusion : night eye, calm humano?d, calm creature, demoralize, invisibilty, silence, paralyse, elissandre's also skilled with creating illusions
Mysticism : soultrap, soul vision, minor dispelling
Destruction : enough to cool a drink, light a campfire, exterminate bugs in her bed or electrocute a stray dog away. Handy, fun but useless in combat except as a distraction.

Appearance:
Hair: red
Eye color: green
Height: 5'5"
Other appearance factors: about 110 lbs, rather good looking
Psyche: calm and friendly
Weapon: dwemer vampiric blade (cast on strike absorb health and fatigue, not very powerfull nor many charges)
Armor: mithril cuirass and greaves
Clothing: Temple blue and yellow robe
Inventory: Several restoration potion (fatigue, health and magicka, 3 of each), one fire shield potion
Some basic alchemy equipment (journeyman mortar and petle)
two petty, lesser and common soulgems (empty)

Quick Bio: Elissandre is the daughter of the now-defunct baron of Cadra, a minor breton domain and therefore the proud heiress to a burned-out ruin, since the domain was invaded by a neighboring baron.
She ran as far away as possible, going into hiding among the dregs of society. She finally drifted to Morrowind, were the change brought by the Nerevarine and the Oblivion crisis made things easier for strangers to fit in.
Being on the recieving end of the Temple's charities, she decided to cast her lot with them to repay the favor, even if the death of two of their living gods and the absence of the last one have thrown them somewhat out of balance. A freshly departed living god and the renewed ancestral worship are more appealing to her than the somewhat distant Nines or the unpredictable daedra lords. Especially with Mehrunes Dagon's recent depredations.

Quite appaled by the destruction spread in what she views as pointless and absurdly destructive war, she's firmly with the rebels and willing to help in any way she can - and at least she's a healer able to care for her own neck in case of trouble. She's leaning slightly more toward the Empire, considering the Altmers started the whole mess and were the first to perform atrocities, but her first loyalty is toward Morrowind. Being breton and able to watch for her own neck, she's been picked up first when it cames to helping the rebels.

Elissandre 8:00 Vivec's foreign quarter

Elissandre made her way through the crowd fillling the foreign Quarter's halls. Sixyears after the Oblivion Crisis had ended the place was almost as crowded as when the city's massive Cantons had been turned into impromptu fortresses against Mehrune's minions. Even if dunmers were a distinct minority in this part of the city, her Temple dress still drew enough respect to spare her the worst of the press. They remember how the Temple shielded and healed them to the best of their possibilities. The god-Kings maybe be gone, but the Temple remains. And still seems eager to test my dedication. Oh well that's not so the whole pciture. I volunteered for this lunacy. In hindisght, I've had better ideas.

She made her way toward the lowest levels, heading for the tombs located within, the alleged reason for her presence here being to bless the ancient tombs, making sure the dead therein would rest peacefully. Which she did as she crossed the dusty passages, leaving small offerings and ritual blessings, her oath to the Temple keeping the spectral defenders at rest.

Having fulfilled this duty, she didn't come back but instead picked one side passage, descending in the deepest bowels of the massive structure, reaching the sewers and heading toward the rebel's hideout. Let's hope their sentinels are informed. Unlocking the doors by force of magic after having paralyzed the guards wouldn't exactly be a good display of friendship.

Upon reaching the dark and smelly passages, she called forth a thread of magic, summoning a ball of light to both see where she was headed and to let the guards know of her arrival.

Elindrin and some of the men gathered around the gallows in the middle of camp. They were playing a game that Elindrin invented, he called it "Hangman". It worked in the way that a man stood on a 5-legged stool with a rope around his neck. The mer would think up a word and the Imperial would try to guess. Whenever he choose a wrong word, one of the legs was broken. If all of the legs came off, the man's neck would be broken as well. Elindrin loved coming up with new torture forms.

Elindrin stood next to the chair. The man was finding it hard to concentrate since he was trying to balance himself on the chair legs. Some words were written on a wall next to him.

A _ I _ _ R

The audience was tense. The man whispered out weakly... "k...?".

"No!" said Elindrin and ripped off the second last leg of the chair. The Imperial was now in an active struggle to stop himself from falling off the one leg chair.

The man quickly said "O!".

"Lucky you," Elindrin commented, drawing another letter on the wall.


A _ i _ O R the wall now stated.

The imperial looked worried, he didn't seem to be able to figure it out. "Stupid Imperial!" Someone from the crowd called out. "Even a child could figure that out.!"

The man took a deep breath and continued..."m?".


"And you're gone!" Laughed Elindrin as he ripped of the last stool leg. The man fell and there was a sickly crack.

(OOC: Elindrin is so creative isn't he? And I'm so bored.)

7:30 The Golden Coast, 40 miles from Kvatch

Glanidor hiked his way through the darkned fields following the bright torch hovering in front of him. He scowled at all the inquisitive human faces he passed. He continued his trek until he got to the top of a small hill. Resting on the crest of the hill was a tent, the tent was a bit bigger than his own but still looked as if it had been put up in haste. Glanidor groaned, who the hell are they taking me to he thought to himself. The emotionless imperial who he had been following appeared and opened up the folds to the tent. Inside was a tall man with black, balding hair and decorative looking armor. The man examined Glanidor, squinting. "So you bosmer scum decided it would be a good idea to tear up one of my men? Why don't you go back with you cousins over across that valley" he said pointing out from the tent. Glanidor knew better than to correct him about why he was on the imperial side. He stood there staring into the void. "Not gonna answer me, eh?" he said slapping Glanidor's face limply. Glanidor continued to stand there and stare. The man smirked, "I know exactly what I'm going to do with you".

9:00

Glanidor ran, pausing in the shadows, and kept running. The Altmer camp quickly came within view. Scouting duties arn't quite as bad as they say he thought to himself. As he drew closer he switched directions and went to the top of a nearby hill to get a good view on them. He was about even with the camp but he could see the basic structure of the camp. Torches set up a line that curved along the side of a hill. A rampart was set up in front of the camp Why do I do this he entertained in his mind, a smirk on his face.

Maceus woke with haste and was uneasy, His dreams were filled with images of the battle's he had fought...

Maceus: "Why do my these memories torture me!?, I've done no wrong!"

He got up and walked to the window to look out on the dark road that he had lived on for many years, He collected his gear and continued on to the Imperial City to get his orders from The Arcane University.

--A couple hours later--

Maceus arived at the Arcane University,

Raminus Polus: "Ah! Maceus I see you've returned and with no harm, thank Talos."

Maceus: "Yes I would say I've been lucky so far but..."

Raminus Polus: "But what?"

Maceus: "I fear my luck is coming to an end.. - On a lighter note what are my new orders?"

Raminus Polus: "You are being sent to Morrowind, Well Vvardenfell to be percise aparently its more safe to train there and there are still experianced Mages there to."

Maceus: "Vvardenfell you say?" *sigh* "Well if thats the case I should leave today, Is my horse still stabled outside the city?"

Raminus Polus: "It should be, good luck Maceus"

Maceus: "Thanks, Untill we meet again Raminus"

Raminus Polus: "Yes... Indeed that is IF we meet again.."

Maceus: "What? don't tell me there sending you to the front!?"

Raminus Polus: "Im sorry Maceus but I must go... there is no one but us left here... everyone elas is at war."

Maceus: "Then good luck to you too Raminus..."

Raminus Polus: "Thank you."

Raminus left the University, Maceus then made his way to the Chestnut Handy Stables to pick up his horse and make his way to Cheydinhal.

Name: Marcus Mansaro
Nickname: Basher
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: 20
Appearance: Tall, muscular, 200 pounds, 6'1
Class: Shadow Soldier
Lifestyle: Wanderer
Equipment: Orcish armor, Akiviri katana, alchemy potions, lockpicks, some healing potions
Starting location: Cloud Ruler Temple
Background: Never new his Father, his mother died in childbirth. He was born in Whiterun, Skyrim. His adoptive father was a blade, and took him to Solitude to live with him there. He trained him in the arts of stealth, alchemy, and combat. After the oblivion crisis, he moved to Cloud Ruler Temple and trained to become a new type of elite blade, the shadow soldier. He got his wealthy armor from the temple, for the shadow soldiers used orcish armor, but the blades faded at the end of the Septim bloodline and after the Great Imperial/Altmeri war started, each of the blades left, 1 by 1, and eventually, 5 years after the oblivion crisis was over, he is now the only one staying at a deserted Cloud Ruler Temple.
Personality: Feels that he always has something to prove. Is humble, but does not hesitate to kill anything, doesn't trust a lot of people, goes with his gut.


The year was 4E6, and Marcus woke up that morning, put on his armor, and walked outside. He looked over the horizon as the sun making its way up slowly but surely. He had been alone for so long, except maybe the traveler that came through every month or so. He came upon the head tower above the gate of the temple wall, "What the..." High elves, hundreds of high elves fighting the same number of Imperials. They were getting closer to the fortress, as the Altmeri flanked the Imperials out from the south. It had only seemed like hundreds before, but there were thousands on each side, with the Imperial numbers reducing every second, another legion of high elves could be seen coming toward the temple from the west. I have to get out of here! Be Marcus thought. He started running east towards the woods, the "Altmeri are invading the north region of the empire," Marcus thought, "They are going to try to flank the imperial city!"

He had to get into Morrowind, away from the war, "surely someone will kill me" he thought.

Have you PMed the sheet to the RP leader?

OOC: Yea, i have.

IC: Marcus stopped and thought for a minute, he figured he wouldn't be able to survive in the cold mountains with nothing while he was running from an Entire army with calvary! He went back to the temple and stayed there. several hours later, some soldiers walked up into his temple.
"Who are you?" the soldier said
"I am an independent, a wilderness dweller, I stay here, live here."
"So, your not an imperial, ha, your a Nord. We won't take you prisoner, but, we could use your services, how about you come back to our camp?"
Marcus needed an ally, and he made his decision.
"Sure," he said, "I'll go back with you, but where is your camp?"
"Anvil, near Anvil" the soldier answered, "are you trained?"
Marcus answered "I am not just trained, I am an elite."
They took him, not as a prisoner, but as a potential recruit, to the camp near anvil, after he got there, the soldiers sent him to speak with the leader.
He went up to the high elf, who was the leader, the soldier had a quick conversation with the leader and then left
Marcus looked at the Mer for a minute, and asked, "hello sir, what is your name? The soldier told me you may be hiring.....services

Maceus was riding his horse to Cheydinhal and within a few hours he had already made it to The Blue Road, By now it was light outside.

Why Vvardenfell? Surley there are better places to train or they could just send me to the battle field but for longer... this is all very strange and these other orders Raminus gave me.. Its all very suspicous. Maceus Thought to himself.

Maceus was now just outside of Cheydinhal, He jumped of his horse

Maceus: "Stay well my horse."

Horse Stabler: "No worries we will keep your horse well."

Maceus walked over to his Cart

Maceus: "So - off to Riften I sappose"

8:00, Vivec Sewers

Yakel hated the smell of ink. It always made him feel like the air around him was heavy, and the smell lingered in his senses even after he would get away from the source. And yet he was forced to endure the pungent scent as he craned over a large piece of parchment and finished a report on their last unsuccessful raid, noting the good and bad that was done during the fight.

The sorcerer's room, a corridor and a half away from that of Lia, was a very compact niche that had probably once served as a storage room sometime in the past. It was now dominated by two large rectangular tables and a bed; the tables formed and L shape, directly to the right of whoever was standing in the doorway facing the interior, and the bed would be straight ahead of said person. The tables were covered, to put it mildly, with a wide assortment of scrolls, lists, notes on local government officials, maps of all tracts of Tamriel's landmass, strategic schematics, spy reports on the movements of both Altmer and Imperial armies, and even a dossier of local trade routes. A few soul gems lay on the tables as well, some empty, others glowing softly with a faint aura of life.

An old short sword of Dwemer design lay under the mattress of the bed, unused for quite some time, thankfully. Under one of the tables in the room was a chest, and in it was a vast sum of gold, payed him by old contacts many months ago. He had been payed much more than he now held in the chest, but he had pooled half of the original amount with the rebellion's fund.

The last raid had been a disaster. A single oversight - they had underestimated the speed of the enemy's movements - had cost them dearly. The only positive thing about the battle was that one of the officers of the enemy had been killed, but their own casualties had counterbalanced that. The tired Altmer laid his quill in the ink bottle and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, then reviewing the report. True, it could have been worse, he figured. None of their own officers had been killed. But a defeat was a defeat; it hurt the spirit of their forces. We need a victory, or a morale booster of some sort. Yakel stretched his arms before resting his chin on his fist, staring at the report. We need an ally.

Elissandre 8:10 Foreign Quarter sewers

As she walked through the darkened sewers, Elissandre hiked her dress a bit, as sewer water stains would probably raise some eyebrows once back in the inhabited parts of the canton. Mentally reviewing the map she had been shown she finally sighted what she was looking for. A recess, looking like an ancient conduit had been walled off. Before moving farther, she paused to cast one of the few mysticism spells she could handle, showing her what sould-bearing creatures were nearby. Which amounted to no more than a few rats.
Here we are, and no unwanted witnesses. Now the mechanism. Step on that reddish stone in the floor, press dark one on the wall. There..

In front of her the 'wall' oebdiently pivoted on it's freshly oiled hinges, opening into a small hallway ending in a strong ironshod door. Entering and closing the secret door behind her elissandre moved straight to the door, moving her magical light up and slighty to her front to make sure whoever was on sentry duty would see her. A crosbow bolt in the face would be another poor start.

As a small port in the door slid open, she smiled at the guard, preempting his questions ??Hi. I'd like to come in and meet your superiors. Yes they're expecting me. Yes I'm from the Temple. No I'm not a dunmer ? the Temple has changed a lot in the recent years.??. As she spoke she opened her belt, presenting her sword and it's sheat at the port. ??And yes I don't mind checking weapons at the door.??

After the guard had picked up the weapon he opened the door, letting her in, closing it behind her before doing a quick and reasonably expert patting down. Finding nothing suspiscious he sent her to meet whoever in the small organisation would be available. Nonetheless sending one man along, staying at her back and ready to interrupt any attempt at magic. They've a decent security and they don't take it lightly. That's to be expected, a bunch of amateurs wouldn't have lived long. They could be taken down even with this, but it would take some serious power. More than is easily sneaked in. As she walked in she caused plenty of curious stares and whispered questions, her Temple garb being probably the first of the kind to grace the rebel's hideout since they had settled in.

8:15, Redoran Canton Bar

There are a couple things looking at the world through the bottom of a bottle can teach you. One, that it's a bad idea, because you can't really see much at all. Two, that you might as well buy another. And three, that you're probably an alcoholic. Especially if you're looking for that last drop with your eyes and not your tongue. Of course, that didn't stop Kaleb from doing it anyways, tiliting the bottle back at first to his mouth, letting his tongue scope the lip of the bottle for that errant final dose of medicine, and then he pulled it up, looking into the bottle. The last drop, unfortunately, was found by his nose, dripping from the bottle to splatter his skin.

"Buggery," he said, setting the bottle to the side and wiping the wine from his nose with the back of his hand.

His head, inappropriately heavier than it should have been, wobbled to the side, as though it hadn't been placed quite right on his neck, which in turn hadn't been placed correctly on his shoulders, but he thought nothing of it, instead standing, complaining aloud to the nearest, well, anyone that he had to "bleed a lizard," and made his way to the basemant of the bar. He must have given a funny look to one of the Dunmer, because suddenly a trio of them were looking quite adamant. Irate, even. A knife, probably magically, appeared in their leader's hand, while less magically, Kaleb stole a bottle from a nearby table. It was empty--unfortunate-- but would serve his purposes nicely. The first dunmer--the one with the knife--swung first, but a stagger from Kaleb and the blow was a clear miss. He suspected the other pair would join in soon, or at least, they would have had his bottle not mysteriously found its way into the face of his attacker. It made a dull thudding sound, like a steel pipe striking a bag of wet sand, and the Dunmer crumpled onto the floor, a trickle of blood leaking from his head.

"I think I had a bit much to drink," Kaleb said, dropping the bottle as the other two quickly left the scene, and he proceded into a nearby storage closet, mistaking it for a washcloset. A few of the owner's crates properly vandalized, and he returned to the bar, if only to give a serving girl a pinch on her firm buttocks. This time, of course, he was the one who found a bottle crashing into the side of his head, and he dropped to the floor, allowing several of the occupants to "tenderly" lift him by all four extremities and hurl him out the door.

OOC:


Didn't you read my Bio?


Elindrin is chillin' in his Death Camp a bit north of Anvil.

OOC: i didn't see it, but I've known it, read my post

Elindrin Was sitting outside his quarters, smoking his pipe with an old rebel buddy. "Remember that time the imperial thought he was a gecko after 5 weeks of solitary confinement" Mused Elindrin.
"Oh yes," said Ren, his friend, chuckleing. "That was hilarious. Remember when he bit off your finger?"
"That wasn't as funny. Lucky that i knew enough restoration to reattach it." Elindrin replied.

Ren and Elindrin's reminiscing was cut short by a Nord approaching them.

The Nord looked at the Elindrin for a minute, and asked, "hello sir, what is your name? The soldier told me you may be hiring.....services

Hrmph! What's a stupid Nord doing roaming around the camp! Note to Self: Have gate guard executed. He thought

Standing up and grabbing his sword, he said "I think it's going to be me whos going to ask questions Nord. How did you get in here? Who let you in here? Why are you here? Explain yourself before you're hanging from the Gallows with the fool who didn't know how to spell Alinor."

"I lived at a deserted cloud ruler temple, and soldiers came by, saying they could use my help as a mercenary, i am a trained elite soldier, a Shadow soldier I was training for the blades just after the oblivion crisis, but then, the blades diminished, and everyone left the temple. The soldiers got me through the gate and told me to speak to you, that I, may be able to be hired, for the army. Just because I was a blade, doesn't mean I am an empire loyalist, I was adopted, and trained from a young age. I grew up in Skyrim."

Marcus was nervous, the high elf seemed to be angry, but, it seemed as if they could be friends. He was seriously thinking, Is this elf gonna execute me or something? But, Marcus figured the elf would hire him, because he was, after all an elite shadowsoldier.

Gold-Heart strolled along, looking for his friend Swift-Blade in the rebel's headquarters. He walked into the meeting room to see Swift-Blade sitting in a chair, head down with a half full bottle of flinn next to him on a round table. Not something that was usual for Swift-Blade, since he didn't like drinking.

"Swift, I thought you hated Flinn." Gold-Heart said to his friend. Swift-Blade slowly rose his head, and looked at Gold-heart. deep bags under his orange eyes showed he obviously wasnt sleeping very much. Not that Swift Really ever slept very much in his life. Usually, swift could be found excersising in the training room, punching the punching bag deep into the night. One man who was watching Swift-Blade saw that Swift-Blade had once fallen asleep mid punch. But Swift-Blade usually went to sleep eventually. So Seeing Him like this suprised Gold-Heart.

"Oh, Hey Gold-Heart." Swift-Blade said in a tired fashion. He turned around again and put his head down.

"Whats wrong with you, Swiftie? Haven't seen you like this since, well..." Gold-Heart trailed off, knowing that what he was about to say was walking on a tender subject.

"Since my wife died? Yes..." Swift Stopped for a moment and got up slowlyout of his seat. "I think I have been away from home too long. Ignoring my duties to myself, the fighters guild, and most of all, to Saka. I have to find who killed her, Gold-Heart! You found the slaver who drove your parents to death, but I still cant find the.. monster who killed Saka! And, thats not all." Swift-Blade sat down again, and buried his face in his hands.

"If I don't report to the guildmaster in Chorroll within 30 days, I will be kicked out of the fighters guild on account of desertion! What must they think of me! dissappearing like I did..." Swift-Blade looked up to see Gold-Heart staring to his left, looking for something within the room.

Swift-Blade sat up, "Gold-Heart, what are you doing?"

Gold-Heart looked at Swift-Blade, "Oh, I was just looking for where the fighters guild are right now. Do you know where, Swiftie?"

Swift-Blade frowned, not in the mood for Gold-hearts humor, "Gold-Heart, they are many miles away, in Chorroll"

Gold-Heart smiled and patted Swift-Blade on the back, "Then why should you care what they think? Anyways, i need to ask you, do you know where Yakel is, I have a briefing for him so he can make a strategy for it or something like that."

Swift-Blade looked looked at Gold-Heart, amazed at the odd sort of wisdom he just presented to him, "Yakel? He's in the sorcerers room. Writing a report on the last raid. Which I almost got killed in. Have you seen what that one deadroth did to my armor? Look" Swift-Blade pointed to a large scratch, extending from his sholder to his leg, on his ebon armor, "It'll take me a week to fix that!"

"Oh stop bieng such a worry tail, Swift. Anyways, thanks Lizard Brother" and Gold-heart turned out the door to head to the sorcerers cahmber.

"No, Gold-Heart. Thank you." Swift-Blade said with a smile as Gold-Heart left the room.

Gold-Heart twisted dwon the corridors of the base, which sometimes confused him because of its sheer complexity. But, as Lia once said, it makes the base more defensible if it was confusing. Gold-Heart just laughed at her and asked how they would fit an army in the viviec forign quarter basemant. Eventually, he reached the sorcerers room. without even knocking, Gold-Heart opened the door and walked in. Yakel was sitting there, writing his repot by the light of a candle.

"Hey, Yakel, I got a breifing on a altmer base up in Skyrim. No Deadra support either, and no close rienforcements! Ah, you'll love this stuff after our last raid." He said as he got out the parchment.

Elindrin stared at the Nord of a minute and then said "Hmmmm...Elite shadowsoldier, eh? Well, i have no proof you're a blade, or that you're not working for the empire. And anyway, Nords and elves are hated enemies, why would a Nord want to work for me? Hmm...My brain tells me to have you executed on this spot....but my gut tells me you might come of use. Well, welcome to the Aldmeri Dominion's army, Private. You're not going to even be considered for a promotion to shocktrooper unless you prove yourself. Which we might as well get out of the way now. There will be battles to come. Once i see you in action. Then i will decide wheter or not you really are an 'Elite Shadowsoldier."

Elindrin turned around a told ren "Go get some Imperial Captives, 2 women and some children."

Elindrin turned back to the Nord and said..."Well time to prove yourself, i expect you to butcher those innocent Imperials". Elindrin grinned.

Ren returned with a small family, all of them filthy and in rags. A mother and her sister, 2 children, one a girl and one a boy. The girl held a baby. Ren herded them up to the Nord. "You know what to do" Said Elindrin to the nord, sitting back on his seat.