RP by Adeth.

This RP is about the Oblivion Main Quest, though some things may be done differently from the game. One quest usually lasts one or two threads. You can come in when you get the chance to meet the group or my char, and some may come through subplots such as in an Oblivion gate. All the gates to Oblivion will have a Subplot and if you have ideas feel free to pm me.

We use http://z.about.com/d/vgstrategies/1/0/Q/1/OblivionMapAGM_v1.1.jpg, spoilers for those who want to search some places themselves.

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"I was born 87 years ago. For 65 years I've ruled as Tamriel's Emperor. But for all these years I've never been the ruler of my own dreams. I have seen the gates of Oblivion, beyond which no waking eye may see. Behold! In darkness a doom sweeps the land. This is the 27th of Last Seed, the year of Akatosh 433. These are the closing days of the Third Era... and the final hours... of my life." - Emperor Uriel Septim VII

The killing of the emperor's sons caused the emperor to flee, he and his blades went through a prison cell and there was a prisoner the emperor recognized as the man in his dreams. They fled and left the prisoner after a fight with the assassins. The prisoner departed from the emperor and his guards after that he continued through the caves until he found the emperor again. They moved on until they came to a dead end, where the emperor was killed. Before his death the emperor trusted the prisoner with the amulet of kings. The prisoner escaped further in to the sewers and found his way out. He had a purpose now, he liked it or not. He was to take the amulet to the grandmaster of the blades named Jauffre.

Rules for the RP:
1) No character control
2) No mind reading
3) No all knowing characters
4) Be Realistic
5) No werewolves or special chars
6) Normal rp rules
7) Romances are welcome, keep it clean for the children
8) Max 2 chars, if the other one of them is from the game, tell me
9) I am lord and master of this RP if i say that martin became a running pig because you ate a sandwich then he will...
10) Please PM the sheets to Adeth before posting. (now joining comes with recommendations from the other rpers. or adeth's choice.)
11) Have fun

use the sheets provided here

Name:
Gender:
Race:
Age:

Height:
Eye Color:
Hair Style:
Skin Color:

Class:
Class Focus:

Major Skills:

General Appearance:
Tattoos/Scars:
Apparel Worn Most Often:
Apparel worn least often:
Weapons:

Spells:

Mental Description:

Brief History:

Adeth's char:
Name: Adeth
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Age: mid twenties

Height: 6ft
Eye Color: dark blue
Hair Style: black medium length rogue knot
Skin Color: lightly tanned

Class: Thief
Class Focus: Stealth

Major Skills:
security
sneak
acrobatics
lightarmour
blade
mercantile
hand to hand
General Appearance: http://nwvault.ign.com/fms/Image.php?id=25744 or http://i33.photobucket.com/albums/d76/Adeth/ScreenShot63bmp.jpg muscular in a way an acrobat would be.
Tattoos/Scars: none
Apparel Worn Most Often: dark hood with a cape, dark shirt, matching pants and boots
Apparel worn least often: prisoner clothing
Weapons: steel dagger

Spells: moonshadow, open easy lock

Mental Description: kind to the poor and his friends, a bit paranoid towards strangers

optional Brief History: adeth has been a petty thief for most of his life, he once got caught and put to prison.

Recent Events:


As part of my 'improving the crap I wrote when I was a noob' program, I've finally gotten off my ass and revamped my sheets, bringing Zant and Karst's profiles up to standard with the rest of my work. As my oldest and most beloved furballs, I think they deserved it. Still working on Zant, but here's Karst in the meantime. Also, a warm welcome to Melanarde, my replacement wench while Karst deals with her crazy.

Name: Karstine Maranay Zeterra
Gender: Female
Race: Dunmer/White Khajiit [Heavy on the Khajiit]
Age: 23
Birthsign: The Thief
Birthdate: 17th of Evening Star, 3E 409

Class: Vagabond
Class Focus: Stealth
Major Skills: Sneak, Light Armor, Security, Marksman, Short Blade
Minor Skills: Alchemy, Acrobatics, Restoration, Unarmored, Athletics

Eyes: Emerald Green
Hair: Blood colored, comes to just below shoulders. Ends are singed.
Skin Color: Snow white with quarter inch long white fur. Fur has black striping on her sides and the outsides of her arms and legs. Also, the tip of her tail is black.
Height: 5' 6"
Build: Slender, with stringy muscles.

General Description: Karstine is, in a sentence, a small but pretty young Khajiiti woman. She has stark white skin and similarly colored fur with black striping on her sides, arms and legs, alongside a pair of sparkling emerald colored eyes, all attributes from her mother. From her father's elven lineage, Karst has blood colored hair and a soft elven face, as apposed to the usual feline snout that her mother bore.

In body, she is somewhat curvy, though what beauty she has is a warrior's beauty rather than a maiden's; her arms, legs and stomach have stringy-yet-strong muscles under them and there's not an ounce of fat on her body. Her hands are scarred but otherwise delicate looking, her fingers oddly long for the size of the rest of her, and her toes, while human in appearance, bear little claws on the ends of them.

Karst's soft face often bears a look of determination, making her otherwise cute features look somewhat sinister. Like her hair, her eyebrows are a deep crimson, a drastic contrast to the snowy fur, and her eyes themselves are slightly slanted inwards, almond shaped with long eyelashes and highly expressive. Like most Khajiit, her ears and tail are easily noticeable indicators of her mood at most times and her movements are graceful and smooth. Unlike most Khajiit, though, her voice is that of an elven woman, with only traces of her Khajiiti blood audible when she speaks.

Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Many small whip scars along her back from mistreatment in the Imperial prisons, a scar from a stab wound just under her collar bone, a gold, jeweled ring (the type you wear on your finger) in the base of her left ear (which is hidden under her hair normally), and a small tattoo of her name in Daedric between her shoulder blades.

Clothes: Corset style red and black shirt [slightly revealing], loose brown pants, long black leather strapped boots when unarmored, long form-fitting black trenchcoat [worn unbuttoned and open].
Armor: Black Adamantium boots, Dark Brotherhood gauntlets, pauldrons and greaves, fitted mithril cuirass.

Pack [main pocket]: Various assorted types of arrows (ten or less arrows total), spare steel short blade, 2 healing potions from Odeen, sack with 2263 gold from the Arena, her spare armor parts.

Pack [secondary pocket]: 2 Standard Restore Health potions, and 2 empty flin bottles, 2 loaves of bread, blanket, old black shirt with several cuts in it, pair of long silk gloves, loose black pants and ruffled skirt with purple lace trim on the bottom.

Pouch [right hip]: Purse with 125 gold, Zanna's burnt necklace and her pouch of 400 gold, two random rings, 8 lockpicks, small canister of stolen tobacco.

Other: Emerald necklace given to her by her mother which protects from disease around neck, silver dagger tucked in between self and pants on left hip.

Weapons: Steel Longbow, Enchanted steel blade [shock enchantment], Dremora Shortsword, claws.
Magic: Mara's Kiss [restore health, can be used on others as well as self], Flash Bolt [mid-level shock spell, cast on target], Wind's Companion [invisibility 65 secs on self. This uses up enough of her magicka she cannot cast anything else for at least a couple minutes], Dead Bolt [lock 30pts/add easy lock on target], Trespass [open level 50/average lock on touch]

History: Karst was born in Elsweyr, a product of an unlikely love between a Khajiiti wise woman and a Dunmeri man who was taken into the tribe after being rescued from the desert. Until the age of three, she was cared for and nurtured both by her mother and father, but also by her elder brother. When her brother left after his fifteenth birthday, she clung to her mother and father most of the time as the other kittens in the tribe picked on her for being a half-breed.

Another two and a half years passed in relative peace, Karst burying her little nose in the various documents that the tribe kept to pass most of her time. Sadly, as later turned out to often be the case for her, the simple happiness didn't last. Her mother fell ill with an odd curse and, over the next seven months, died a very slow and painful death. Her father held on another year despite his grief, trying to raise his daughter, but he could only go on so long. Karst's father died in his sleep one night and left her horribly alone in the world.

She lived an uneasy and bothered life in the tribe until she turned eleven. An incident with an older boy left her guilty of slaying one of her fellows and, despite the killing being in self-defense, it was a perfect excuse for the elders to do what they'd been itching to do for years: get rid of her. Karst was thrown out with only a week's supplies, exiled for merely defending herself.

Her life didn't go much better from then on, either. After a few failed relationships as a wanderer, Karst was taken in by, and subsequently found love in a Dunmeri nobleman in a small town in northern Elsweyr. Again, though she spent many a happy day and night with the man over the following year, it didn't last. Angered by such a respected and powerful member of their community not only romancing a Khajiit, but one of no noble blood or deed, the villagers rose up and stormed the manor at night. The next morning, Karst was forced to endure the sight of her love being publicly executed and, for fear of being killed herself, fled.

Heading north over the next few years, she viciously slaughtered bandits and highwaymen to vent her pain until coming to the town of Skingrad. She lived there for a month or so before a nobleman who she'd frequently stolen food from decided it'd be better to pay off the guards to harass her than to have her arrested. After a month, she snapped. One night, Karst picked the lock to the manor as she'd done before, but instead of stealing from him, she marched up to the bedroom and robbed him at dagger point.

Or at least she tried to.

The man spun around and disarmed her with a twist of her wrist, grabbed her dagger as it fell and rammed it into her collar. Though she remembers nothing after that point, the guards have told her they found her passed out in the manor, the only one alive. Even the servants were dead. Since then, she has been imprisoned in the Imperial City Prisons, where her sharp tongue, stubbornness and violent outbursts have made her a good deal of enemies, many of whom have done unspeakable things to her in return. Over the past seven years, Karst fought in the Arena to vent her anger at her captors and keep up her combat practice. Though she was forced to give up most of her winnings to the Legion, the only reason they agreed to allow her this small luxury in the first place, it offered her a chance to escape and breathe fresh air for a while, so she gladly welcomed it.

For reasons unknown, a mere couple months before the assassination of Uriel Septim VII, she was released, supposedly on the Emperor's orders, to go to Morrowind. From what she knew of it, Morrowind was a place she didn't exactly want to go, so when bandits attacked the Legion-guarded carriage that was transporting her, she fled to Kvatch where she lived until the beginning of the Oblivion Invasion.

Personality: Under normal circumstances, Karst is playful, energetic, carefree and witty. She boasts a strong will, a twisted and somewhat dark sense of humor and rather striking lack of physical shame. Karst is naturally tolerant of pain, able to endure amounts of it that would make most folk black out, a skilled marksman and swordswoman, excellent sneak and an extremely compassionate person to those who she thinks deserve it.

On the other side of the coin, Karst has problems with her temper and often speaks her mind when it'd be far better to be quiet. Displays of blatant arrogance and (what she views as) misuse of authority often garner fiery and violent reactions from the small woman. Though highly intelligent and quick-witted, she often does irrational and even incredibly stupid things in anger. She has a serious lack of confidence in herself in almost every way, is a frequent alcoholic and has a habit of judging people severely by first impression.

However, her biggest weakness by far is her emotions. At the best of times, she is subject to mood swings and broods sometimes for days after being angered. At the worst of times, she is manic-depressive and sometimes even suicidal. Despite all her weaknesses, though, Karst is a kindred woman and, if one earns her trust, a fiercely loyal friend.

Other Traits/Oddities:
- Despises arrogance.
- Enjoys pulling pranks.
- Drinks when depressed.
- Copes with certain kinds of trauma by masking it with humor. This sometimes leads to jokes at very inappropriate times.
- Karst's manner of movement is eccentric; the way she walks seems exaggerated and she occasionally makes odd hand gestures when talking.
- Her fingers are slightly longer than most humanoid creatures her age by about half an inch.

Misc Skills [Non-Combat]:
- Is a good cook, but never admits to it when complemented.
- Can be persuasive if need be, though she never claims to be smooth about it.
- Is good at creating medicines from raw ingredients, a skill she leaned from her mother when she was young.
- Has psychic potential that she cannot harness. Though she knows and accepts that she has it, the only use she currently has for it is the sort of sixth sense that it grants her, allowing her to sense and feel the emotions of those near her. This can often be as much a curse as it is a blessing, however.
_______
Name: Melanarde Annabell Dorayn
Nickname: Mel, Melani
Gender: Female
Race: Altmer/Dunmer [leans towards Altmer]
Age: 131 [looks 25-30, but is more equivalent to 45]

Class: Fire Adept
Class Focus: Magic
Major Skills: Light Armor, Destruction, Alteration, Unarmored, Long Blade
Minor Skills: Speechcraft, Enchant, Alchemy, Athletics, Mercantile
Birthsign: The Lady
Eyes: Red
Hair: Blond and Orange mixed, worn either loosely or in a ponytail. Comes to mid-back.
Skin Color: Pale Orangish-Yellow
Height: 6' 1"
Build: Moderately muscular, but still looks distinctly feminine. Her actual feminine features; the curve of her waist and size of her briasts, are not very substantial, though.

General Description: Melanarde is an elegant sight to behold; her silken clothing flows around her when she moves, occasionally shining in the light, her steps are light and graceful and her movements are fluid as water. Her voice is soft but firm, not commanding, but speaking of someone who expects you to listen to her, she has an exquisite vocabulary and a twinge of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

However, if you look more closely, you'll see she is not your average noblewoman. A glint of silver at the top of her blouse indicates the armored corset she wears, and her body is well-toned and muscled. Under the skirt, mail greaves and a knife slipped into her garter are worn over her strong, nimble legs. The clothes on the outside hide the warrior she truly is.

Primary Clothing: Long, layered silk skirt of various shades of orange, Orange silk blouse with ruffled sleeves, reinforced with leather in the chest, brown leather heeled boots. All have charms on them that make them fireproof.
Tattoo/Scars/Piercings: Elaborate fire tattoo running from her shoulder, wrapping around her arm and coming to her fingertips on left arm, many small burn scars all over her body, small gold navel ring.

Armor: Mithril mail corset worn as underwear, covers chest and torso, greaves of same material and occasionally worn Elven plate gauntlets.

Inventory:

[Pockets]: Embroidered orange handkerchief,

[Medium-sized Travel Pack]: Folded blanket, one week's worth of food, jug of rum, purse of 963 septims, various personal effects.

Weapons: Daedric Longsword sheathed at hip in similar design to Daedric Shortswords encountered in Morrowind, silver dagger slipped into her garter under her skirt.
Magic: Fire spells of all makes and ranges, flame-based healing spells that she created, various Alteration spells.
History: Melanarde is the child of Elanende and Vedalamus Dorayn, her mother an Altmer, her father a Dunmer. Because of this, she was born with very potent magickal potential and natural resistance to flames.

Her parents were not wed when she was born on the twenty-seventh of Evening Star in the middle of a rainstorm in the basemant of the Bruma Mage's Guild, but the mages that delivered her and helped her mother through labor swore not to tell anyone about this fact for the shame and humiliation it would bring to both parents and child.

Growing up, she usually lived in the Guild hall, spending most of her time as a little girl wrapped up in a blanket, reading by the fire. Through her reading, she gained a vast vocabulary by the age of fifteen and sometimes even had to explain her words to a few of the older mages. She wrote poetry and small stories that entertained and delighted even the most callus of men and she was a sweet, if somewhat bossy, young woman. Due to an unknown flip side of her fire resistance, though, the chill of Bruma often landed her in bed with colds.

As she grew older, her parents and their friends in the Guild trained her, and she took quickly to the schools of Destruction and Alteration, mastering many fire and lock altering spells, and a frost shield spell to keep her out of the sick bed, by the age of twenty-two. She continued her literary studies, poetry and writing as she got older, but her parents worried about the somewhat violent nature of some of her works. She developed an unhealthy fascination with fire as well, and would sometimes be heard screaming as she ripped off a flaming piece of clothing.

At forty-three years of age, she finally left Bruma and her parents, saying it was simply too cold for her, and moved to Skingrad, buying a small home just outside town with the money she'd saved from odd jobs done for the Guild and got a job as a bartender in the local tavern to pay for her own food and clothing.

After a year, she could no longer take the jeering and flirting of drunken tavern goers, though, and took up the blade, taking on freelance quests from, ironically, many of the same people she wanted to get away from in the tavern. After several years of success, she had a manor built in town with her earnings. When she met the count to arrange it, he was taken by her beauty, and as his own wife had been comatose for years, wanted company. He agreed on the terms that she spend dinner him. As they ate later that night, he told her of what had happened to him and how he had become a vampire and gave her an amulet enchanted to protect against Porphyric Hemophilia, saying he could never let such a thing happen to such a pretty woman. He also offered her a position clearing out vampires from nearby caves since the vampire hunters asked too many questions for his liking. Flattered by the treatment he gave her, she agreed, and over the years they occasionally spent and intimate night or two together. She cared for him, but despite sleeping with him, never fell in love with him. Janus, on the other hand, was mad over her.

Being the count's employee and bedmate came with its fair share of bonuses as well; she was given a daedric longsword he'd been keeping as a collectible and was made mithril armor that could fit easily and comfortably under her clothes, specially fitted to her body, and often wears the armored corset as underwear despite the coldness of the metal. In her free time, she studies the workings of fire magicka, and has, through many years of literally painful research, manged to make her body and clothes fireproof, and develop healing methods using flame energies. One side-effect of this, however, is that she gets sick from cold very easily and must keep warm at all times. Later, in boredom, she also got herself an elaborate tattoo on her left arm of flames, and pierced her navel.

Personality: In business and to those she doesn't know, she is manipulative, often insulting, and very self-centered. She will do about anything to get her way and always makes sure she gets the most out of deals, even if she has to do things that are less than morally sound to get them. She rarely gets angry, but uses taunts and insults freely with those she dislikes.

To friends, though, she is witty, cracks jokes, and is very relaxed and casual. Those who she invites into her home receive the finest of hospitality and are given nearly full access to all the commodities of her house, including her magickally heated and run shower and bath and are often served meals during their stays.

On her own, she often shuns clothing altogether and relaxes either in the bath with a book or someplace near [or in] the fireplace. She makes it no secret that she does this, however, and occasionally even answers her door completely nvde or in thin nightclothes or undergarments, or leaves a note on the door for people she's expecting to come in while she's in the shower. Some think she gets a sort of twisted joy out of the shock on people's faces when she does this, and they are most definitely correct.

When out in the community, she often spends time reading in the sun on harasses the churchgoers. On occasion, she stops by the tavern for a glass of rum.

Other Traits/Oddities:
- Obsessed with having her things neat and arranged
- Flesh and hair are immune to burning; sometimes relaxes in her fireplace
- Can be very blunt and insensitive at times, but at others is compassionate to a fault
- Often rash and impulsive, occasionally to the point of arrogance
- Is a totally different person once you know her than she is when conducting business
- Obsessed with fire
- Flesh, clothes and hair often smell faintly of burnt wood due to her habit of 'fire bathing'
- Extremely vulnerable to cold

Misc Skills [non-combat]:
- Exquisite cook; she's made meals for the count himself before
- Can use magicka to repair broken items. Cannot restore missing parts or sharpen weapons, however
- Persuasive, though not exactly smooth about it
- Makes perfume out of herbs for herself

ooc: Post to come for Melanarde soonishly. Like, in twenty minutes..

EDIT: OOC: I'll take that as a yes

Viuven shook his head slightly, his spines raising in a smirk as he watched Vivian and Mia. The Argonian hefted up his heavy pack and walked off towards the barracks. Memories assaulted him as he passed through the familiar wooden halls of Cloud Ruler Temple. Once in the private chambers, it didn't take him long to find the room he used to bunk in. Predictably, it was now occupied.

Figures. Where is this unit bunking, I wonder? If it's even a unit. From what Iris and Vivian and Karst said, the 'unit' is barely that. It's a mismatched group of... of what? Of odd mercenaries or assassins or alchemists or wizards... and a single Shadowscale, out of his element.

Viuven hissed softly as he banished the thought from his mind. He would find a niche in this unit; he was determined of that.


OOC: And guess who else is back!




*Crunch* *Crunch*

The warm sun beat down on the Dunmer's brow. He gathered his nondescript cloak tighter around him and tugged the hood down to shadow his face. Along one horizon, the dark crimson sky that signified a portal to Oblivion scarred the otherwise beautifully rugged landscape of Tel Aruhn. The gates to Oblivion were focused primarily in Cyrodiil, but they had been popping up all over Tamriel. Morrowind was no exception.

Rumor had it that Vivec himself had fought against the Daedric hordes, only to disappear into a gate and never return. Some said the mangod was trying to negotiate with Mehrunes Dagon for Morrowind's survival much as he did with Tiber Septim years and years earlier. Others said the mangod lay slain upon the black sandy beaches of Oblivion, baking in the heat of the lava.

This was not something the man preferred to think about. The buildings and towers around him that made up one of the Telvanni's greatest cities in all of Morrowind were grown purely with magickal prowess. Buildings grown out of magickally enhance plant life stretched up into the sky, spreading balconies like leaves and bridges built of living branches from one to another in a crisscrossing mazework that etched shadows across the hilly ground. The grass was short, if existent at all.

*Crunch* *Crunch*

Bright splashes of blood. Crimson eyes fading away, staring up at the sky as they unfocused into eternity. A robed man fleeing from the Telvanni guards. Time progressed like the flashes of a dream. A murder in the streets of Tel Aruhn. Fleeing for ones life from guards with weapons drawn. The stench of ozone as lightning bolts and balls of fire hurtled through the air like arrows of pure magickal energy. Water. Unconsciousness. A boat.

*Crunch* *Crunch* went Veyar's feet in the snow as he pushed aside the gates of Cloud Ruler Temple. His ceremonially decorated bonemould armor was covered in an oversized bluesteel robe that helped against the bitter chill of northern Cyrodiil's mountains. A bruise on his forehead was hidden by the cowl of the cloak, pulled tight against his head for protection against the buffeting winds.

The Captain of the Buoyant Armigers ascended the steps to the foyer and, without hesitation or ceremony, pushed open the door to Cloud Ruler Temple's great main hall.

Name: Do'Rhadi
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit ? Cathay-Raht
Age: 26

Height: 6 ft 3 in
Eye Color: Green
Hair Style: Short with a bandanna tied around his head.
Skin Color: Well fur; A light tan with very pale spots.

Class: Warrior
Class Focus: Combat

Major Skills: Martial Arts, Destruction, Blade, Light Armour, Security, Acrobatics, Athletics.
General Appearance: Do'rhadi possesses a muscled well built frame, that's been trained over the years and sculpted to be both fast and hard hitting. Almost always when you see him there is a alert, playful look on his face.
Tattoos/Scars: Only one scar straight down his spine almost tracing it.
Apparel Worn Most Often: Light leather armour with no pauldrons, arm wraps around his hands/paws leather greaves and leather boots.
Apparel worn least often: Green long pants and a white cotton shirt. Leather boots.
Weapons: Claws, Silver Saber enchanted with a moderate shock effect.

Spells: Shocking touch, burning touch, Freezing touch, Fireball, Lightening Bolt

Mental Description: Bright, Bubbly easy to get along with. Pretty much sums him up. Always willing to learn things and help others. Afraid of Spiders though.

Do'Rhadi had been occupied with Iris' plan and thought for a moment some more, they wanted to find spies that were watching the temple. It wasnt a hard concept to grasp but it was an interesting one. If they were watching, they would see the small group leave the temple. Even get a feeling that they were the target an as such would make haste to leave. The khajiit eyed the male argonian whom had joined them, he seemed to speak in a strange way, very confusing for him to listen and get something viable from the argonians speak.

Getting up Do'Rhadi went to the massive fireplace and sat down infront of it. Only to hear and feel the doors of the main hall open. Turning around alittle with his ears flattened slightly from the sudden sharp chill that entered the room. "Grrff.. Damn dark elves.." he muttered in Ta'Agra and turned back to face the fire.

''So many stars out tonight'' Teegus murmured, lying on his back, arms folded behind his head. ''I wonder how many are up there'' He tilted his head at the other Figure lying beside him. ''Who knows, probably billions'' She said, ''All I know is that we need to head back soon, the Marsh's are dangerous at night'' Teegus sighed deeply, ''Could we stay just a little while longer mother?'', she sighed. ''Oh, I suppose just for a little while longer'' Teegus smiled and looked back up towards the night sky. He loved laying outside, under the large tree, it was peaceful. An escape from reality.

His mother then stood, ''Dear, I need to go 'check' on something really quick, I'll be right back'' She kneeled beside Teegus, and gave him a small kiss on his muzzle. ''Stay here, alright kiddo?'' Teegus smiled and nodded, she smiled in return and walked off, leaving Teegus to be lost in his mind.

He did not notice it after several minutes, but suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched, and that mother had not returned. He slowly stood up to a crouch position, and looked around. ''Mother?'' He said, quietly to himself. He stood up and began moving forward, on the route his mother took.

''Mother?'' He called out. No answer.

He began to move faster, panic was brewing inside him. ''Mother!'' He cried again. He continued on, but was now running. Thats when he heard it. A weak, gasping noise, coming from around the tree's. He walked slowly, and peaked around it.

A body lay on the ground, wearing a pair of light blue tunics, and a white shirt. It was his mother.

''Mother!'' he cried and ran to her side. Her eyes were closed shut, and for a moment, he thought she was dead. Immediately tears began flowing out of his eyes, as he saw some sort of metal stake was plunged into his Mothers side. ''Teegus'' she gasped weakly, and attempted to move her hand up to him. He grasped it tightly, ''It's alright mother'' He cried, ''I-I'm here!'' She opened her eyes and looked at him. ''Run'' she said, ''They're coming!'' Teegus was to scared to do anything, ''It's alright mother!'' he repeated, she shook her head slowly, ''No'' she coughed, ''Run, please....Teegus....Run!'' her grip on his hand weakened, she closed her eyes. Teegus stood up, ''No!'' he sobbed, ''No!, No! no! no!'' he backed into a tree, there he noticed: he was tightly hanging on to a Red and Black bead necklace his mother had given to him.

He then heard a whisper, his head jolted to his left, and he thought he saw a shadow, moving in the trees. Another whisper, and another shadow began to appear until he began seeing multiple shadows. They were everywhere in the forest, moving towards his dead Mother.

Frightened, and traumatized, Teegus ran. Away from his mothers corpse, away from the whispers and shadows, away from the Black Marsh. He wanted to get away. Far away. But he stopped and looked back, and saw her mother once again, and the Shadows surrounding her body....

''Mother!'' He cried as he bolted upward. A cold sweat ran down his body. He was shaking horribly, trying to calm himself down from the nightmare, he began rubbing his forehead, fighting back tears in the process. Every night for the last twenty-two years, Teegus had that dream, that nightmare. The night of his Mothers death.

He then felt a horrible feeling in his throat, and his body forced him to dive for the bucket that was beside his bed. He relieved himself by vomiting into the bucket. Almost immediately afterword he felt better, and sat back up on the bed. How long had he been asleep? He sighed. I need a drink... He thought and slipped on one of his tan shorts. Then slowly stepped out of his room.

Olav was still seated near the table, Teegus walked towards him, ''I need a drink'' he simply stated. Olav examined him thoroughly, ''Yes you could'' he agreed, ''Looks like your having a bad night''. He stood up and went into the kitchen. Teegus sat at one of the tables and placed his head on it. And tried, really hard, to banish that memory, once more, from his mind.

Name: http://i125.photobucket.com/albums/p76/FC4888/art/Iris3.jpg
Gender: Female
Race: Dunmer
Age: 45
Class: Agent/spy
Skills: Destruction, Acrobatics, martial arts, restoration, Alteration, Illusion, Mysticism, acting

Appearance: Her eyes, red as the fires of Red Mountain. Her hair, Black as Ebony, straight, flowing over her shoulders, down to her waist. Her skin, a pale, elegant grey. Her face holds the innocence of youth. She is slender, not thin, but physically fit. A well curved form. Considered beautiful by most men.
Height: 5'7"
weight: 119 lbs
Clothes/ armor worn: A tight black, sleeveless boiled leather blouse. Underneath this, she wears a comfortable black shirt, long-sleeved. The sleeves are folded back up to her elbows, and the shirt covers her stomach, as well as come of her cleavage. A black silk skirt, knee length, with the sides slit up to her hips, to allow free movement, but still clothe. Black sandals.
Update: The long-sleeved black shirt is now missing the left sleeve, which was burned nearly all the way to her shoulder. So she only has a right sleeve now.
Pack: Gold, Morrowind map, Health potions. Her pack is black leather, and contains a secret compartment; opened only by a spell that she alone knows exists. It is a prototype enchantment, so often fails. Also, two specially enchanted rings, and an enchanted Mortar and Pestle, given to her by Vivec as a reward for a contract.
Weapons: none

Mentality: Prudent, as her Brother's teachings and her father's death have made her scorn the idea of men looking at her sixually. She views her brother as her role model, and sticks to the morals he taught her. She is thoughtful, caring, and very sympathetic of others. However, that caring woman hides beneath the mask of the spy, who is ever cautious, always weary. She does not trust others easily, as her career is based on breaking such trust. Does not make many friends, feeling her lifestyle does not allow her to get close to others. Not one for joking or flirting around often. She may sometimes come off as a nasty and vile woman, with a temper to boot.

However, she changes when in a fight. She becomes more carefree, humorous, and even flirtatious, playing with her opponent's mind. Snapping jests at her opponent and snide remarks, all while fighting. Iris also has a very odd view on killing, as she does not want to be the direct cause of death, but does not mind being the indirect cause. She also has her own inner demon, a deadly rage that does not often come forth, but when it does, Iris loses all moral control of herself, killing mercilessly.

Update: Iris has come to change mannerism now that she has befriended many of the group. Her caring, sensitive side is more often displayed than her more business-like, vile side. Her temper still flares, but mostly for reasons of loving protection of her friends or jealousy concerning Karst and Veyar. She has also found herself to be a little more flirtatious around... certain men in the group. Roger and Lora's deaths brought out a vicious, vengeful side of Iris that frightened the group. Still jealous about Veyar, she is now loving Zant. And forgetting her Prudent brother's teachings just for Zant.

Bio: Iris Marcy is the younger sister of Vivian Marcy. Her father died at the hands of a murderous gang of prosttutes when she was five, and her mother died two years later of disease. She spent her childhood on the streets, raised by Vivian and stealing to eat. She still had a good childhood despite this, as Vivian worked hard to make sure she had toys to play with, and she made friends with the local children easily. But she knew how hard Vivian worked to keep her happy, and thanked him every day for it, looking up to him as a role model.

As she grew up, Iris showed a natural affinity for magic, so much so that at age ten, the Mage's Guild of Balmora took her in as a student. Yet she always slept with Vivian in the streets, rather than in the Mage's Guild dorms. By 14, she noted Vivian paying more attention to local news about the prosttute murderers that were still at large. She began to spy on the guard quarters, looking for information, but found nothing. However, a year later, she decided that spying was her thing, and when Vivian allowed her to go off on her own, she gave him his goodbyes and thank yous, and began her career.

She has not seen Vivian since, but has now established herself as a skilled spy. She has numerous contacts within the underground world, and is quite famous as Marcy the Merciful, as she will not kill anyone. She killed one man, when he betrayed her, out of rage, and has always regretted it.

Update: Being found out because of the appearance of her brother, Her ploy as Myra has been dumped, and she now freely expresses herself as Iris. Also has a more modest shirt on beneath her blouse, which Veyar gave to her as a gift.

Name: Vivian Marcy
Race: Dunmer
Age: 50
Gender: Male
Class: Ex-Dark Brotherhood Assassin
Skills: Marksman, Blade, Sneak, Acrobatics, Martial arts, Athletics

General appearance: Deep, dark, blood red eyes, that seem to gaze into your very soul when you stare at them. Ebony black hair that shines like silk, hanging freely down to his shoulders. His face is lean, thin and long. His body is agile, fit, muscular yet lean. His skin is an elegant grey.
Update: Vivian's hair has begun to regrow thanks to Mia's potion. He now has hair nearly two inches long that sits atop his head in a windswept style, brushed behind his ears and coming at most to his chin. His bangs hang just above his eyes.
Height: 5' 8"
Weight: 130 lbs.

Clothing: Update Vivian has bought a new Hunter's vest, new pants, and new cloth wrappings, so he now wears his old outfit. The cloth wraps around his forearms and palms of his hands.
Armor: none
Weapons: A plain Oak Recurve bow, with no ornamentation on it. He also has Cheydinhal Guard Steel arrows, around a dozen of them. The Dagger of Discipline, a dagger that drains health. Vivian now has a sheath for his Father's serrated edged steel hunting knife, which he wears on his thigh like previously. On his other thigh he wears the Dagger of Discipline. Has about twenty steel arrows and ten elven arrows. His recurve bow is wrapped in leather to reinforce it.

Mentality: Vivian is a determined man, who will stand up for what he believes in. He is stubborn at times, prone to rage. Yet he is a kind man, though sarcastic and sometimes humorous. Loyal to his friends, looking out for their well-being before his own. But, he also has a dark side to him. He has developed a lust for bloodshed. The rush of the chase, the thrill of the kill, is like a drug for Vivian. The adrenaline of the hunt makes him want it more. When caught in a battle, he can often lose himself. Has a distinctive distrust of women, that has only come to wane now as he spends more time with the women in the group. He seems to have even grown a small respect for the women around him.

Update: However, the prudence that he forced upon himself from his father's death is beginning to be tested, as is his resolve. Believing that looking at naked women and thinking about women being naked to be wrong, he curses himself now for looking at Demona's nvde form and thinking about Mia naked. He sourly wants to get involved with Mia, but the reasons are currently more sixual than romantic, and he scorns such. Torn, he is distancing himself out of fear Mia/Demona is trying to seduce and use him.

Bio: Vivian Marcy is the brother of Iris Marcy. When he was ten, their father was killed by a group of murdering prosttutes. The killers had been doing chain murders throughout Vvardenfel for a few years, managing to avoid the authorities, and leaving a trademark lingerie piece upon their victims' bodies. Two years after their father's death, their mother died of disease, leaving the twelve year old Vivian to raise his seven year old sister on the streets.

Vivian had the constant pressure of being the fatherly figure for Iris. He made sure she learned proper morals, and ethics, and taught her to stay away from prostitution. Vivian and Iris often stole in order to survive, and their differences began to show as they aged. Vivian joined the Fighter's Guild in Balmora at nineteen, as a way to earn money for him and Iris. He should great skill with the bow, and decency with a blade. While he was off doing contracts, Iris was doing other things. Within a year, the two split ways, beginning their own careers.

At 25 Vivian managed to track down the killers of his father, and got revenge. In killing the three prosttutes, he found an exhilarating joy in ending their lives, and so began his days as a murderer. Initiated into the Dark Brotherhood shortly after, he has not made a name for himself, though he has become quite the killer. He has not made contact with Iris since they parted ways.

Update: Vivian was attacked by a Wrath of Sithis, for breaking a Tenet, and though he is now allowed back in the Brotherhood, he knows he cannot return.

IC: "I don't know where she got it, honestly." Vivian remarked back to Zant, turning when the doors opened unceremoniously a moment later. A man stood there, clad in Bonemold armor. The armor looked familiar, in the way the man was holding himself in it.

I know only one man around Cyrodiil in Bonemold. But there could be more. What was his name again?...

"Veyar?" Vivian inquired as a possible name arose from the depths of his memory, and the assassin quirked his head to one side a few degrees to further his questioning visage.

Iris' response was somewhat different. The knowing smile slipped right off her face. The rest of her body followed shortly after, as she turned in her chair to slip into the seat proper, resting herself and hiding her form behind the back of the chair. Ashen fingers wrapped around the ends of the armrests as she looked at the fire. He always leaves, and then he comes back. This is not going to help Karst at all if he keeps this up, and it certainly WON'T help me.

ooc: Okay, so it was more like three hours, but whatever!

Anyway, yes, you post your sheet in the first post of every thread, so go back and edit it into your postie.

ic: Karst continued to poke at the wood on the table in idle depression until she heard the doors bang open. She glanced up, taking in a glimpse of a figure a snow dusted blue robe. Probably just a message carrier. Nothing I need to bother myself with. She told herself, picking a little more at the table before her mind processed the face of the figure she'd seen and the glints of golden bonemold that stuck out where his boots and gauntlets showed. Her head shot up and she stared at the Dunmer intently. Suddenly, she realized he'd not been seen much in a while and wondered where he'd been. Shaking her head, she surmised she must have just not been paying attention to his activities.

Despite having feelings for the Arminger still, Karst was no longer sure what kind of feelings they were. She was also still a bit upset over his leaving her before, and so she just looked back down again, her ears tilting back another notch as she went back to abusing the table. If he wants to talk to me, he can come do so. I'm not gonna go fawning over him anymore. I'm tired of getting hurt. In fact, if he hurts me again, I'm gonna make sure he hurts too. Karst thought angrily, her eyebrows tilting in a bit more and her claw digging deeper into the tabletop.
_______

Melanarde smiled at his appreciation and obvious self control. She broke the smile into a grin and laughed softly. "Go ahead and dig in. Just because I'm a noble doesn't mean I have to be a prissy, snobby little witch. I like to think I'm a little more in touch with reality than most of noble status." She told him, then tossed her spoon on the table and just took a gulp of her soup. It warmed her guts and made her feel ten times better, seeing as she was freezing cold a few minutes ago. Bending over, she pulled a chunk off a loaf in her pack and bit into it.

"You don't owe me anything, kiddo. I'm glad to help. There's more soup in the pot downstairs if you're still hungry after that." She went on, taking another sip of soup and licking her lips off. After looking him over again briefly, she smiled again, a small smile that was almost invisible to the eye. "You got a name, or should I just call you kiddo for all eternity?" Melanarde asked and held out one hand. "I'm Melanarde. Mel for short."

Mia was just about ready to take Vivian away from the others when someone she had not seen for a long time walk in. Mia really didn't know what was going to happen now that the Dunmer had returned, but she knew it wasn't going to be pretty. There was enough drama in the group already without having someone make it worse.

Veyar Nydelvu
Cloud Ruler Temple Main Hall

Veyar dropped his satchel onto the floor by the door as he slowly pulled back his hood. He hardly expected to be greeted with open arms at this place anymore, especially if word had already come from Morrowind ahead of him. Hopefully not. If I can live out the rest of my days away from that I'll die satisfied.

"Hello." He said blandly to Vivian. The Dunmer walked slowly into the building. He thought he saw Iris poke her head out from behind one of the highbacked chairs that were gathered around the fireplace. Zant'arre was standing nearby, and Veyar gave him a brief nod. In Morrowind, a brother might kill a man for doing to his sister what I've done to Karst. I shirked my responsibilities. I didn't handle this right. Not at all.

Still... Veyar told himself, It had to be done.

That was what life always came down to, in the end. Doing what had to be done. Veyar walked over to Karst slowly. He could tell she was giving him the cold shoulder. If she were me, I would be doing the same to her right now, I imagine. "Karst..." He said outloud, stopping by the table. "I'm not going to leave again. It's done. All of it. It had to be done, and I'm sorry. If you'd rather not talk to me, I understand." His jaw clenched, Veyar sat down in a chair a few feet away, facing the fire. He pulled off his gauntlets and warmed his hands, glancing once at Iris in her chair and nodding.

A chair a few feet away from Karst was a chair a few feet too close to Iris, and she watched him sidelong as he approached the fire, her face still not moving from the gaze into the flames. She noted his nod by returning it with one of her own, though it was far more curt than his.

It's a damn good thing he understands, though he probably has NO idea and only THINKS he understands. But I can't trust myself to talk about something like that. Especially with Zant around.

There was tension in the air. Thick, taunt, and threatening, it made Vivian's neck hair stand on end and every instinct in the assassin cry to get out of the strike zone. He could most definitely sense the tension from his own sister, but he expected a lot of it came from Karst as well. He had half a mind to take out his dagger and cut the air, just to test that old saying while the opportunity was ripe.

"We should probably go now." He said softly to Mia, looking in the direction of the fire before heading for the door and opening it.

Mia nodded slightly at Vivian's words, and turned around. In her mind Mia didn't want to leave Karst behind with the man that broke the khajiit's heart twice, but knew that things would just get worse with the more people that were there watching. Walking outside, she was greeted by the freezing cold of the mountains. Instinctively, the girl hugged herself and went a little closer to Vivian. "I think this will be a wonderful evening don't you think?" she asked the Dunmer and smiled slightly despite the drama that was sure to unfold back inside Cloud Ruler Temple.

Mia didn't want anything to ruin this night, and hoped that nothing would.

Name: Timothy Delia
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Age: 17

Height: 5'10"
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Style: Black
Skin Color: Tanned, quite dirty.

Class: Street orphan (?)
Class Focus: Agility, stealth and cunning.

Major Skills: Athletics, Acrobatics, Hand-to-Hand and pickpocketing.

General Appearance: Lean and dirty, Timothy hasn't had a real meal ever, his hair is untidy but kept short, he's definitely unclean and walks with no real grace. His eyes often show fierce determination and a sort of cunning that can only be taught on the streets of a harsh neighbourhood. He has no real muscle tone.
Tattoos/Scars: A fair number of scars dot his body from knife wounds or from other fights.
Apparel Worn Most Often: A tattered and ripped shirt which is very dirty aswell as a pair of black cloth trousers in a similar condition.
Apparel worn least often: n/a
Weapons: A rusty butter knife which he sharpened to have an edge, it's still too blunt to pose any threat.

Spells:n/a

Mental Description: As a street orphan he grew up knowing how to survive in the harshest environments, he has a a huge amount of determination which keeps him going onto another day, Timothy isn't very bright, he's never read a book and has only seen a classroom in his dreams. Although he appears arrogant and confident, he is actually quite desperate for a better life, he fears his current one as he is threatened by death daily whether from another gang or from hunger. A violent boy, he takes to insults and threats to solve an issue often resulting in bigger problems.

IC:
Tim watched as she took a large gulp of the soup and he did the same, he couldn't remember ever tasting something like this. It was wonderful and he could already feel the heat going through his body. He leant back and smiled happily, he doubted he could eat another thing. "Wow Ma'am, you sure are nice, you're gotta be foreign around here as I've never known anyone as nice as you." He stated, as he lied down against the bed. This.. Is.. The life. he thought to himself; he'd never actually slept on a proper bed in a long time, especially one as comfortable as this. "Oh, my names Timothy, Tim for short, I don't know what my surname is, but just call me Tim."

Zant gave Veyar a polite nod as he said hello, but inside, the Khajiit was furious. This man had caused Karst so much distress, and for what? She needed comfort, especially when she already had something going on with her that was making her upset. If Veyar hurt her again.. He grit his teeth a moment and let out a long, soundless sigh. Violence would solve nothing. He reminded himself, clenching his firsts and shoving them in his pocket. He wasn't happy with Veyar right now, but that issue could be dealt with later. For now, the armored feline leaned against the wall and waited for the sparks to fly from one of the two women.
_______
Karst watched Veyar approach and stop by her in her peripherals, but didn't look at him. She was still an angry kitty.

"Karst.." Veyar began as he stopped. "I'm not going to leave again. It's done. All of it. It had to be done, and I'm sorry. If you'd rather not talk to me, I understand."

She listened, absorbed his posture, tone and words to memory, but didn't look at him still. "Don't patronize me, and yeah, it is done. All of it. I'm tired of having men toy with me like a little plaything." Karst said flatly, then turned to meet Veyar's eyes with calm, collected acid in her voice. "And I am not your plaything. You hooked me by being nice when I needed someone, anyone, to love me. I fell for you and, for a while, it was great. But you romanced me, [censored] me, then up and left me, and if you think for one goddamn second you can just say you're sorry and it'll all be okay, you can kiss my ass."

Karst emitted a growling sigh and looked back at the table. "And that's forgetting that you came back again just to desert me another time.." She mused, picking at the wood. Turning her gaze back to Veyar, she narrowed her eyes. "If you really want me back, you're gonna have to work for it. If you really love me.. then prove it. No more bull[censored]. No more lying. No more running off on me to go do Azura-knows-what off in who-cares-where."

Reverting her eyes to the splinters she was picking out of the table, she added venomously, "And until you're ready to do that, you can piss off. I'll be in town if anyone needs me; I need a drink.." Standing, Karst stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked upstairs to get her pack, coat and gauntlets. Those things equipped, she walked past Veyar, Vivian, Zant, Iris and Viuven and to the front doors. There, she turned and looked at Veyar one last time before leaving. "Come find me when you grow up."
_______
Melanarde nodded, her smile still holding at his gratefulness. She watched him lay down, a content look on his face, feeling a little bit of pride for what she'd done. It'd taken almost no effort on her part, and she'd made an impact on someone's life. She felt good.

"Thanks, Tim. It's nice to meet you, too." Mel said kindly, standing as she finished off her own soup. "I'm gonna go have a couple drinks and another bowl of soup downstairs. You just make yourself comfortable." She patted his leg once with her soft golden hand and slipped her gauntlets back on for warmth.

When she stepped out, she shivered; it was almost a whole ten degrees colder in the tavern than the room, even with a fire going in a hearth in the corner, and Melanarde could feel every single one. After refilling her bowl, the Altmer sat down at a table and tapped on it. "Olav! A rum, if you be so kind."

"How the hell do you know my name? I've never seen you before.." Olav asked a bit irritably as he fetched her drink.

"I was alive before your mother was born. I've been around long enough to learn a few names." Mel laughed dryly, "So.. Heard any interesting news about the whole Oblivion Crisis thing lately?"

Viuven-Ru
Cloud Ruler Temple main hall

Viuven-Ru returned to the main hall, and quickly stepped aside as a rather ticked little Khajiit sped past him. He stopped up short, watching Karst fume out of the building. The ensuing silence was thick enough to cut with a knife. For a moment, he felt like he should turn around and head back to the barracks. Having already found a bunk, Viuven had dropped his pack off and was now dressed only in his customary loose black robe.

From the tidbits he'd heard while approaching down the hall, Viuven knew Karst was talking to a man named 'Veyar'. It sounded Dunmeri. As his sharp gaze took in the room, there was only one additional person. A Dunmer was sitting in a chair, looking into the fire. That must be him. Viuven thought.

Viuven was a good man. He wouldn't let somebody stay down if he could help it, even if he had no understanding of the situation. Silent as a ghost, Viuven walked over to where the Dunmer sat and took himself a seat next to him.

"About what was that?" Viuven asked casually, glancing over the fellow. The man was wearing some kind of odd bonemould armor underneath his traveler's robe of a design Viuven had never seen before. When the Dunmer replied, Viuven felt his blood run cold.

"She's angry at me. She has a right to be." Veyar said. It wasn't the words that struck a chill with Viuven; it was the accent. The rough voice, though cultured, was obviously worn from breathing in ash for years and years. He's a Morrowind native. Viuven realized. While Viuven had never been to Morrowind, he had met native Dunmer from that land. He knew well how the Dunmer there treated his marshbrothers. But looking at this Dunmer - at his downtrodden expression - Viuven realized quickly that this man didn't hold the same racial sentiments that Viuven had encountered in the past from Morrowind natives.



Veyar Nydelvu
Cloud Ruler Temple main hall

Veyar watched Karst storm out silently. She had a right to be angry. Azura curse my luck with women! He thought to himself as he turned his gaze back to the fire. As with the warrior poet god I serve, my love life is sorely in dire need of help. Oh Vehk have you placed a curse upon the Armigers, that we may never find peace with a woman as you have never found peace with Almalexia? Should I turn my prayers to Almelexia, that the goddess of love might bless me and remove this curse that causes me to screw everything up? Veyar sighed softly, staring into the fire, and didn't even notice it when a tall, lean Argonian sat down next to him.

"About what was that?" The Argonian asked. Veyar tilted his head, turning to regard the man with ruby scales. Mentally he ran his mind over the sentence, rearranging it until it made more sense. Who was this man, then? Veyar's maroon eyes studied the Argonian. He was obviously in good shape, though not with the sort of bulk that Veyar had developed by toting around in armor for decades. The gently crook of his lips and the slight angle of the spines told Veyar that he was being open and trying to help. Unless he's a master of deception.

"She's angry at me." Veyar replied. He needed to talk to somebody, to anybody about this. Even though Vehk still lived in his heart and he could speak with his god, he needed a mortal being who could speak back audibly rather than by simply planting suggestions into his mind. "She has a right to be." He continued. "I seem to screw everything up with women. I want to think it's a curse, but part of me also thinks it's simply me. You probably heard what she said when she stormed out of here. Hell, the whole garrison probably heard."

"Prove to her love you hold, then." The Argonian said with a simple shrug. Veyar mentally took a moment to decode the man's words before replying.

"I am not quite sure how though. I know I should go and apologize, but she said I have to earn her love. What does that mean, though? You have to admit, my scaly friend, that it's pretty vague." The Dunmer glanced away as he spoke, and didn't notice Viuven's spines bristle slightly.

"Perhaps to her gift give? Show first care that do you about her. Perhaps cliche? But only tell time will as to how expect her you to prove. Seems hurt, her. What did you to her?" Veyar looked at the Argonian again, slowly getting the hang of understanding the man's mangled speech. As he thought about what the Argonian had said, Veyar realized, He has never had this kind of problem before. He thinks an apology and flowers will make it all up. No, it has to be more than that.

Veyar smiled and patted the Argonian on the shoulder as he stood, "Thank you, my friend, but I think I need some time to think about how to do this. It may not be possible at all. I've done some... very bad things." His eyes unfocused slightly as Veyar recounted the past and his trip to Morrowind, "We'll see, though." A glance at Iris, and Veyar could see what she was probably going to say written in her eyes. "You blew it! You do nothing but hurt her! Why don't you just apologize and then leave her alone?!" Veyar shook his head slightly, starting to walk away, "I have to at least try..." He mumbled.


OOC: The guy who has never had 'girl problems' offering advice to the man who has never had anything but girl prolems? Find out what happens next time on "As Nirn Turns"!

"Outside of the usual cold, I can't imagine why it wouldn't be." Vivian remarked smoothly, though his words were not as cold, eloquent, and smooth as usual. It was obvious he was nervous, and trying to control himself. And what man wouldn't be on a first date of his life, and with a Daedroth no less?

Regardless, he wasn't completely clueless, and took Mia's arm as they began to walk, to guide her as he'd seen countless men do around him before. He may have spent his life resenting women and avoiding them, but that did not mean he was clueless about how to treat them. It just meant he knew less than most.

"So, did we decide on any particular places to eat?" Vivian asked as they left the gates of Cloud Ruler Temple; he honestly couldn't remember if they had or not.
----------------------
Hearing his voice brought a mix of emotion to her. It was good to hear a fellow Morrowind native again, that rasping, ash-laden voice. She did hate being one of the few in Cyrodiil with that accent, and hearing the cleaner voices of the natives made her long for the island she had left only a month or so ago. Before all of this. Back when she enjoyed the double life of Myra the Phantom Maiden, and Iris Marcy the Mercenary Spy.

It was also a comfort to hear his voice again, that wonderful voice she found so much to her liking. But it came with a price; it meant he was back, back to tease and tempt her like he had before, by being so attractive and yet consistently ignoring her, even on the friend level. And then leaving, leaving her in peace only to return to torture her further.

No; the look in her eye was only partly what Iris was thinking. Veyar only knew the half of her thoughts. Again, he was blissfully ignorant of her. As he walked away she grit her teeth a tad, starring hard at the fire. The Argonian was unbelievably ignorant in his advice. Almost aggravatingly so. But to be truthful, even Iris couldn't say exactly what Karst wanted. Not when she was in this state.

"I need to do something." Iris muttered, leaning forward in the chair. "Paulus should be talking with Steffan right now, so we should be leaving in about an hour or so... Are you hungry? I could cook you something." Iris suddenly suggested, turning to look at Viuven-Ru.

Viuven-Ru
Cloud Ruler Temple main hall

Viuven watched Veyar go with an approximation of a human smile. He really hoped his advice would help the Dunmer out. He seemed like a nice enough fellow, and he deserved to have somebody to share his life with. He honestly believed what he had said to Veyar. Viuven had no clue that his advice was shallow and cliche.

For a moment he had forgotten all about his hunger, but when Iris suddenly suggested to fix something to eat, Viuven felt his stomach complain as if to say Hey you with mud for brains! Feed me!

Viuven stood and turned towards Iris, "Actually, good sounds that to me. Eaten haven't for many hours. If want you to fix something, appreciate muchly." Viuven paused, trying to rephrase his thoughts as he focused on his words again, "You do not have to, but would nice be." He finished with a toothy grin.



Veyar Nydelvu
Traveling into Bruma

Veyar exited Cloud Ruler Temple quickly. His head was starting to hurt after trying to decipher the Argonian's grammar. More than that, he needed some time to think. Iris had given him the cold shoulder as well, and he hadn't a clue why. Are all women like this? He wondered as he descended the mountain towards Bruma. He knew what he had done to Karst, and it was terrible. Perhaps Karst and Iris are close friends now, so she's upset at what I did to Karstine.

That, out of anything, made the most sense to him. Veyar clenched his teeth as he struggled to breath past the tightness in his gut, muttering prayers to Almalexia for guidance. Despite what the rumors said, he didn't believe that any of the Tribunal were missing or in harm's way. They were the gods that had guided Morrowind for centuries, and Veyar was not going to abandon them. Briefly, the temptation to incant the spell of Almsivi Intervention to whisk him away to Morrowind entered his mind, but he rejected the concept. To run away from one's problems was something a coward would do.

If anything, Veyar did not believe he was a coward. As he approached the city gates of Bruma, his crimson eyes searched the streets for any sign of a white Khajiit. At the same time, he looked around for a goldsmith or jeweler, but found none. Vivec guide me...

Teegus was relaxed as his body began to re-take his systems, banishing his upcoming panic-attack for another day. Only a matter of time... He thought.


"Olav! A rum, if you be so kind."


A voice boomed across the Inn, which shook Teegus from his relaxed state. His head bolted up right, "How the hell do you know my name? I've never seen you before.." Olav snapped back irritability, his gaze towards another table, near the rooms. Teegus followed it. "I was alive before your mother was born. I've been around long enough to learn a few names." The only person seated at the table said. She was a Dumner, or an Altmer, Teegus couldn't decide.

He squinted his eyes for a better look, and leaned his head forward. She had a Blond-Orange mixed hair, it looked incredibly long, Teegus guessed that it came down to her back. She looked as old as Teegus himself, but he knew that elves could live past two-hundred years, she had probably been around one hundred years before Teegus was born.

Olav returned from the kitchen, carrying a small tray on his shoulder, he approached Teegus and handed him a mug. ''Here you go, one Tamika Vintage 399, good good year'' He said, then headed over to the elf. ''And for you, rum'' He said it blandly and placed it in front of her, then stormed back into the kitchen.

Teegus look a long swig from his mug. The thick-graqe taste of the wine washed down his throat. He placed the mug back down and sighed contently, licking his lips. Now that's wine... He then noticed a small loaf of bread beside him, he was still hungry, and Olav was still in the kitchen, Teegus reached over slowly and grabbed it quickly, then ripped a small piece off and shoved it in his mouth.

OOC: I made some changes to my character sheet, most notciably the armour and class description. intro post will come before the day is done.

Name: Paulus Bock
Gender: male
Race: imperial
Age: 30

Height: 6'8
Eye Color: hazel
Hair Style: long, shaggy uncombed brown hair
Skin Color: tanned

Class: Imperial legion forester
Class Focus: Imperial legion foresters are some of the most highly trained soldiers in the legion, with only 15% of the applicants making it through training. A forester is trained to move quietly among outdoor terrain, even in armour. Their main mission is to find the location of a enemy to the Empire, be it bandits, rebels or the remnants of invading armys, and patrol the wilderness, usually the area near a city or village. Once the enemy has been found, the forester will return to their unit with the location, though in the event they are compromised, they are trained to handle their self long enough to reach their unit. When the actual combat beings, foresters will provide fire support with their longbows, unless a moment of oprtunity presents itself.

Major Skills: longbow, blade, tracking, sneak, block,



General Appearance: Paulus appears as if hes a hermit. He has a brown beard that goes past his chin, and has emotionless eyes, that seem as if their deep pits of nothingness. His cheekbones are high for a human. His width is suprisingly small for someone as big as him.

Tattoos/Scars: no tattos, large amount of scars on his knees, hands, and arms
Apparel Worn Most often: Paulus wears the newest innovation in Imperial armour manufacturing. Called "chamleon armour" by some, it is highly modifiable to allow the wearer to blend in with the terrain. The wearer must hand modify it using materials from the environment they work in. Its protective powers equal that of mithril chainmail. Paulus must constantly keep notes of the armours performance.
Apparel worn least often: civilian clothes

Weapons: Steel longbow, 50 steel arrows, Dwarfen battle axe(single hand) steel longsword, iron Sheild that buckles onto arm instead of being held by hand.

Misc items: a coil of rope, small carving knife (not meant for combat), a pouch of fifty coins, journal to keep track of his armour's performance.stick of charcoal for writing (think old pencil)
Spells: none

"Oh don't worry about it, it's hardly a problem." Iris waved away his insistence that she needn't cook. "I hear from some I'm a good cook, and I need to distract myself. Why not do two things at once? Feed you, and keep me occupied." She finished, turning away and briskly moving into the kitchen. She opened and closed barrels and cabinets, looking at the selections before it dawned on her.

Poking her head out from the doorway she held up two fingers. "Two things. One; are there any Argonian tastes I ought to be aware of, or are you fine with Cyrodiilic dishes? And two; I'm used to cooking with more... Morrowind-esque things like saltrice and nix-Hound. Just a warning."

Viuven nodded his thanks as Iris went off into the kitchen to busy herself cooking. He was grateful that she was willing to prepare something. Viuven hadn't expected to eat anything until the next morning, but as his body so dutifully told him, he was positively starved. Beside that, Jordanna had always said he was practically skin for bones. Viuven wasn't a large fellow by nature, just very tall. His muscles were thin and lean, barely noticeable underneath the volumous robe.

Iris' head popped back into the hall a moment later. Viuven almost laughed aloud when she asked him about Argonian dishes. He sincerely doubted Cloud Ruler Temple would be stocked with any of the marshland foods that he ate in his childhood, and even if they did, he didn't think anybody would appreciate the so-called 'stink' of the freshly cooked food wafting through the building. Viuven was well aware that most softskins had different culinary and sensory preferences than the People of the Root. He only hoped she knew that Argonians were primarily carnivores in their diet.

"No, anything prepare you with meat fine will." Viuven replied, baring his sharp fangs in a human smile. Imitating human and elven expressions had become almost second nature to him now, which was a good thing. Viuven could still remember when people used to tell him that he didn't express himself very well. Though he did, it was by Argonian standards and in ways that fellow marshbrothers and sisters would read, not softskins. Viuven had adapted, though.

"Had never food of Morrowind," Viuven continued, "Feeling I get always that going to Morrowind is bad idea for me. Dunmer like not often People of the Root."

"Oh... right then. Come on in the kitchen if you want to." Iris replied, withdrawing into the kitchen again to shift through the barrels and cupboards further. Smiling when she found some salted ham, she hoisted it out of the barrel and moved off towards the cooking fires, grabbing a knife along the way.

Once it was set on the fire grill she snapped her fingers, lighting the logs with a short flash of magic. As they crackled she adjusted the meat to get it better into the flames, and then rose, moving towards the cupboards again. "Spices, spices, wonder what spices they have stored here." She mumbled.

"Had never food of Morrowind," Viuven continued, "Feeling I get always that going to Morrowind is bad idea for me. Dunmer like not often People of the Root." She heard him barely from her position. Still, she responded as she searched.

"Oh, that's mostly the nobles, Telvanni, and highly traditional folk. They are in the minority nowadays, what with slavery being frowned upon in most of the Houses. Slave races are generally accepted by the common Dunmeri folks these days." She explained, finding some spices she figured were similar to the ones back home, and even finding some Morrowind spices, so set about gathering them and sprinkling them on the meat.

Viuven walked into the kitchen where Iris was rummaging around in the cabinets and shelves. She already had some kind of meat on the fire. He leaned against one of the counters and ducked his head slightly to avoid hitting one of the pots hanging there. Viuven's spines bristled at the term slave race, and one lip curled slightly, baring fangs.

"We slave races not." He said quietly, with a hiss. There wasn't much that could really irritate Viuven, but slavery was one of those issues. he knew well the situation his people were in, living in Morrowind. There was nothing he could do about it, though, which was what made it all the more difficult for him to think about it. When I hear about things like that, I just want to do something about it. Even though Iris says things are changing, I doubt it'll happen anytime soon.

Viuven's claws dug slightly into the wood beneath his feet. "Think you of I as possible slave? Think because not very smart that should to you I serve?" Viuven sighed, a long drawn out hiss, "No, no you offer this to do." He said, motioning to her bustle with the food, "Different than most, you. Much grateful."

Iris was about to bristle up herself, when he hissed the slave race title back at her and went on about her viewing him as a slave. Luckily for either him or her, he continued smoothly into an answer to his own question, that though grammatically was backwards, said exactly what she was about to snap. She stifled her anger like a child trying to stomp out an ember before the parents find out about playing with fire, and continued spicing the meat before she finally felt she could say something.

"Slave Races is just a collective term for all the races put in slavery. Argonians and Khajiits were not the only races you know. Humans were enslaved as well, and Dunmer were not the only mer to practice slavery." She rose from the fire and set the last cup of spice on the counter, before moving over to the table and sitting down across from Viuven-Ru. "It was mostly just Dunmer being all full of ourselves, like usually, though not as bad as Altmer granted. And just because your grammar is shoddy doesn't mean you are stupid. You actually get it rather close to perfect a few times." Iris smiled, glancing over to the meat to make sure it wasn't burning.

"So... where are you from, anyways? We typically don't get new folks coming right up to the Temple and barging in, so I'm guessing you're a blade?"

Viuven's nostrils flared as he smelled the meat cooking, and he tried to ignore the smell. There was nothing he disliked more than the smell of cooking meat. He was well practiced in ignoring the stinky culinary practices of the softskins, so tried not to let it show. Iris tried to make excuses about the issues of slavery and to tell him that other races were also enslaved besides the so-called 'beast races'. Viuven didn't believe her. Sure, he'd seen other slaves besides Argonians or Khajiit, but that didn't change the fact that human or elven slaves were still treated like humans or elves, not animals.

Fortunately, before Viuven could reply, Iris changed the subject. He was grateful to her for that. Viuven disliked arguing with people. Some said he kissed up to people, but he merely preferred to try not to insult people or make them upset.
Have I been doing better with my grammar? Maybe. I know I'm far more understandable than I used to be, before Jordanna helped me with the language. Viuven's own thoughts still didn't prevent the slightest tinge of ruby from gracing the emerald splotches along his muzzle, though.

"From Black Marsh." Viuven explained after Iris questioned his background, "Came eventually to Legion of the Empire. Necromancers fought well, so into Blades brought was asked to do. Before Crisis of Oblivion was." He hissed slightly, then glanced away. Viuven closed his eyes and brought his thoughts fully back on making himself understandable. "Was I in Leyawiin with other Blades when orders of transfer me to were brought. Not know why transfer... but do will make with situation as best as can."

Mia noticed Vivian being nervous, and gave out a little giggle. "Vivian, you are soo cute when you are nervous" She said and smiled. When he asked about where they were going to be eating, Mia shrugged. "Um.. to be honest there isn't many places around, except perhaps Olaf's.." she said and sighed. It wasn't the most fitting place for a dinner, but there wasnt much other choice at this time.

The Breton rested her head on Vivian's shoulder as they walked. "But it isn't going to matter as we have this time to ourselves" She couldn't help but feel Vivian shake a bit, and wondered if it was because he was cold, nervous or both. She couldn't figure out which, but thought it more to be a bit of both After all he was a Dunmer, and he was going on his first date. 'Vivian.. you are going to be fine, I don't bite, honest"