Illana the Huntress, 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

The Imperial Bounty Hunter stood by, listening to every comment the old human said, and every negative retort the bosmer had to offer. The old man with his poetic rambling, the pessimistic bosmer with his own.

"Together, they will catch us with ease. But if we split, escape is a breeze. The Rumare may be deep, but its corners are shallow. If we get to the water, then they cannot follow." The old man said with confidence.

I am a good swimmer and an athlete, Illana told herself, using the water as a getaway will be easy.

"Just stop. Your half mad ideas would never work, human. I told you that from the start. There is no escape from here. There are over thirty well trained and fully equipped Aldmeri just waiting for an excuse to snap our necks out there. Over twice that are sleeping less than a hundred yards from here, and thousands more are camped out to the south." The bosmer said, his tone croaking and gruff. The way he looked at the others made Illana angry. So he rather die here than die fighting for his life?

Illana thought to herself again. We can always take a few Thalmor hostages for ourselves, can we? Even the mass numbers of Dominion ilk cannot stop a blade sinking in the throat of another.

The female Imperial looked at another khajiit share his own perspective, or rather, his sarcastic scorn at the Wood elf. She sighed and finally spoke out once more. Her hand emphasizing her words by cutting the air diagonally.

"It doesn't matter," she said in a low, sharp-pitched voice "if he doesn't want to try and leave this place, that is up to him. You can die a coward or at least fight for your right to live and your right to destroy your enemies. There is a chance we can escape. The man has made valid points."

She crossed her arms at her chest, looking up into the alluring two moons and the beautiful stars. Then she looked back at the Bosmer. "Point is, not everyone is going to get out of this alive. And if you want to survive, you have to dig in deep and see what your made of."

Ilanna shot a glance at the old man "Now, how do we get out of here?"

Varthlokkur, Fort Homestead


The old man spoke in a rhythmic fashion, his rough voice forming an informative poem about how the prisoners should break for the water, where they would be able to escape with ease. The Bosmer produced a harsh retort, lecturing the old man, and the rest of the prisoners who were crowded around him, on the fallacies of the plan. “Magic or no magic, the sentry rotation is foolproof. All of them report back to the camp through psyonic messaging. They'll know in minutes that we've escaped, and all can see in the dark. Even if we split their attention, there's not even two dozen of us. None of us are in shape to fight, even if we had our hands” said the Wood Elf. “The nearest Imperial patrol must be miles away; it would take a miracle for us to reach any of them before the elves ran us down.” His voice began to falter- he was doubtful. Varth could tell he was arguing with himself behind his eyes.

“It can be done” whispered Varthlokkur, resting his gaze upon the Bosmer. “There is doubt in your eyes; you know it can be done as well. Some of us will not make it today, but some of us will. If we choose to escape, only the strongest- or luckiest- will survive.”

Ermac

The orc listened silently as more of the camp began to speak up and make themselves heard. Some were listening, while some, he noticed, were trying to remove themselves mentally as far from the discussion as possible. For some people it is best just to not hope. I'd just rather hope for death than have no hope at all.

He paid close attention to the old hermit's words as he spoke of escape. "Friends, dear friends, listen close." The man rabbled. "We must be ready to escape our foes. Nothing is certain, but we have the key. Their locks will mean nothing, and we will be free."

The Orc thought about the man, he had a glint in his eyes that spoke beyond just madness. H actually thought they could do it. Either way, Ermac was content. Even if he rotted in his sell of internal damages or starvation, he would be with Zaraan again. But as he looked at the young, innocent, battered faces of those around him, in his heart sparked a fire to fight so that they could see the light of freedom. He tuned back in to the old man's babbles, he'd only been half listening.

"Their camp is dark, hidden from Imperial eyes. All spells make some light, and the elves are wise. Magic is their strength, but here the are bound. None shall use it to stop us, for the must not be found."

That was it. If the prisoner's manages to flee from their cages, even with their bonds on they could make a run for it. The Thalmor could give chase, but the further they went, the larger risk of being discovered by the Empire, meaning it would be a foot-race to the water, where they were all safe. Now Ermac was beginning to see what the old man was saying. There was a chance, if they could just join together and fight as one . . .

Suddenly, a Bosmer elf, who hadn't been facing the small party 'till now turned and faced the crowd, clearing his throat.

"Just stop. Your half mad ideas would never work, human. I told you that from the start. There is no escape from here."

He went on about how the plan wouldn't work, telling of the hundred or so guards south of here, sentry rotations, and the fact that as son as we made or move, the whole of the Dominion would be notified within minutes. All information that was questionable for him to have ascertained as merely a prisoner. Ermac took this all in, but when he weighed ut the pros and cons, the only alternative was sure death.

"It doesn't matter if he doesn't want to try and leave this place, that is up to him." It was a woman's voice now. You can die a coward or at least fight for your right to live and your right to destroy your enemies. There is a chance we can escape, the man has made valid points. Point is, not everyone is getting out of this alive. And if you want to survive, you have to dig in deep and see what yo're really made of. Now, how do we get out of here?"

"We have to work as a team. If we act as one, there is a chance no one will die." Ermac spoke up now. "Old man, I respect your youthful vigor, as that is not standard for men of our age. You do have a point, as convoluted as it may have been delivered. As far as you, Bosmer, there is a way out of here if you just hope. A dead branch will only kill the tree, we can't do this without your co-operation. If you are in it, then you must actually believe we have a chance. You spoke of sentries and rotations, well what if we get a prisoner's cell open by calling one over, maybe distracting him. Or, if we have a thief among us he can find a way out and we can start by capturing a guard during his leave.

"All of what I speak is useless unless all of you, and I mean all of you, will wholeheartedly participate. Now, who here knows of a way to get us out of these chains, for our hands are bound with enchanted bracers."

OOC: I'm trying to get things started. If the thief character isn't within the third to post after this, then someone post that the old man has fashioned a lockpick of sorts.

Karzon

Karzon overheard an orc speak, he had been fashioning himself a small pick from one of the nail studs during the Bosmer's rant as well as the old mans own speech. A small grin passed across his face as he was quietly fiddling with one of his own cuffs, checking the kind of lock that they had. A Cheap torque lock with the same maker of pins.. easily similar strengths to the pins if used correctly. "Thief is such a... shallow and broad term Orc. Much like asking if there were Barbarians amongst us. One might as certainly look to you." he said in his rough accent. "But alas you have someone of.. particular talents in this little group. Wouldn't call me a thief mind you.. would be far from the truth of things." he figured to leave things vague on that.

"Given time I can crack the torque locks on these shackles, especially since they are the cheap and nasty kind. It won't last past three sets maybe depending on how different each set is. But I could get a select few of us free to cause some damage and silently take down the guards before anyone notices." he looked to the bosmer. "I highly doubt all of these guards can report with psychic abilities, rarely encountered them back in Elsweyr guarding their embassies and such. Aside from justicars. So I doubt these fools here would sport anything like that. Outside would be a different story. So... aside from myself choose who you think is most useful to help in obtaining the keys and silencing the guards." The slate gray khajiit said, keeping the pin in his hand and close to him to avoid anyone attempting to steal it.

Isabelle Paige Courtessèu.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Paige had often found it strange how the little things in life sometimes had the biggest impact. As Lycus held onto her dainty hands, his firm grip and rough skin stirred something within Paige. She felt safer than she had done since before her capture and her whole body seemed to tingle with newfound hope. She never wanted to let go. Apparently neither did Lycus and for a mere few seconds the Imperial seemed to zone out, clasping her hand ever tighter as he held it for longer than necessary. Paige couldn’t understand what he might be thinking of, but refrained from asking. Unwilling to wriggle her hand free Paige simply held on in silence, smiling at the Imperial as he seemed deep in thought.

Lycus soon returned to the conversation and replied to Paige’s comments on his gestures with an agreement to disagree. Paige just nodded, too tired to force praise where the Imperial didn’t seem interested in receiving it.

Lycus then began to speak of his sister, explaining to Paige that his sister was some sort of Bounty Hunter, whilst at the same time paying Paige the compliment of not seeming “the type of woman to be in the same lot as low-lives and thieves”.

"But that is all you need to know, she would have my head if I said anything else." Paige wondered what Lycus meant by this. By no means was she going to enquire as to what it meant exactly for the sake of his head, but she couldn’t help ponder as to what the Imperial was hiding, could it really be so bad?

Paige was unsure of what to say. She had had no idea that such an aggressive character was amongst them, and only began to wonder what horrible stories the other prisoners might have. She turned her head to look at the other prisoners, each one with their own history and life, before capture. The whispers were more frequent now, Paige hadn’t been paying attention to what they’d been saying, but she’d notice the discussion increase, thankful that the guards hadn’t. Hoping that they were still talking of escape, Paige turned back to Lycus.

“I shan’t pry if you don’t feel you can tell me everything about your Sister. I respect that we have not long known each other. But what about you? What is your story?”

Paige didn’t want to break off conversation with the Imperial for the sake of discussing an escape. She already knew that she was more of a hindrance than any help and figured that she probably wouldn’t say much in any sort of debate anyway. However, she was now paying more attention to the groups chitter, trying hard to look like she was completely focussed on the Imperial at the same time whilst once again flicking her fringe away from her face.

Ermac


It wasn't long before his own voice fell that someone else's was heard. He found the source of the voice; an ash-gray khajiit. He could notice that he hands were in subtle motion as he spoke, and his heart lifted. Could it be? Could he have found his way out of his chains? Ermac quickly calmed himself down, he needed to be sound and alert, he needed to think of a plan.


Tha Khajiit was speaking now of nothing specific, introducing himself as "more than a thief,"


"Much like asking if there were Barbarian's among us. One might as certainly look to you."


The Khajiit had a good point indeed, with enough wit to rouse a smile on the Orsmier's face.


"But alas you have someone of.. particular talents in this little group. Wouldn't call me a thief mind you.. would be far from the thruth of things."


He elaborated through the mechanical tedious workings of their shackles, and how their composition allowed for 'easy pickings' so to say. Then, once he was freed, he spoke of the guards around then, stating that if we acted within the confines of the camp, we may have a good chance, considering the skill of those on patrol.


"So . . ." He finished up, his fierce catlike eyes shifting amongst us. "aside from myself choose who you think is most useful to help in obtaining the keys and slinging the guards."


Ermac looked at the group. The Thalmor couldn't have drug up a more ragged group of misfits. There were seven men and women, two Khajiit, and five mer. Two of which were distinctly Dunmer. Ermac was far from racially corrupted, but he knew that elves and cat's were the most stealthy.


"FIrst things first, we can't all move as one, we need to seperate into smaller groups, too many of us would hinder our speed and efficiency. More importantly, although none of us want to be in these binds, we may have to make a run for it while still in shackles, and then meet up with this Khajiit and who ever else will accompany him."


He scanned the small party. There were a lot of them, a good half on the other side of the old man. by the Bosmer who spoke up.


"Everyone near me, stay with me when we move, and you Khajiit can get the key from that sentry up there."


"You, the other Khajiit, you look nimble enough. Are you up to the challenge of getting the other guard? If not maybe you Redguard?"


He turned his head now to face the women. THey were both bruised and beaten, not in proper condition to do what Ermac had in mind, but the group needed a distraction.


"Ladies, please pardon my manners as well as my haste, but in order for this to work, we need sufficient distractions. I think both of you know what you need to do. The rest of us, wait until things fall into motion, then when we have the biggest oppurtunity, run for the water."


The plan was by no means good, or foolproof, but it was all they had. Ermac looked at his hands grimly, allowing the raw flesh where his hands should be remind him of what failure would mean.


OOC: Basically, Karzon and either Urjo or Waylas will capture Scow and Crimson Paladin while Paige and Illana do their womanly thang.

Lycus Desselius,10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

“I shan’t pry if you don’t feel you can tell me everything about your Sister. I respect that we have not long known each other. But what about you? What is your story?”

Lycus blinked a few times at the question that was presented to him. My story? It wasn't a story most people would be interested, let alone a tale that most would understand, or even care to. He tried to remember specific details of his long childhood and even adolescent years, putting the pieces back together in a long broken puzzle that could be rectified in just a few seconds time. What about my story that I can share? Lycus looked at Paige once more, trying to study the girl for a time before answering. Illana would not take kindly to him revealing family issues and personal information. Especially how tied her line of work was with his own.

In order to preserve anonymity and safety, he was careful to only explain and share what he was required to. He could easily drop the conversation and make up an excuse as to why he would need an exit, but he found the Breton girl fascinating, even if her caliber wasn't as "perfected" as his interests demanded. But he also saw it fair to give her his own backround after she shared her own. He sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"Where to begin?" he said whilst looking at the ground and then back at her. His eyes cornering to the side in a sign of reliving memories lost. "I was raised in the territory surrounding the Great Forest. My father retired after a lenghty time as gladiator champion and my mother finished her line of work as a Bounty Hunter after she became pregnant." he shrugged, scoffing to himself. He was prideful that his parents held such status in their lives, each opposite attracting. One fought for glory and honor, the other for fame and coin. Even so, their union both resulted in him and his sister to continue the family line.

Lycus stared at the magical binds around his wrists, his head turned to the group which plotted escape and his sister who sat among them. "Me and my sister where hunting when we were captured by the Thalmor."

He saw that the young breton wasn't maintaining the same interest as she was before. And he too quickly found himself wondering on something else, particularly the idea of escape. He was about to speak once more, until he heard a voice speak out.

"Ladies, please pardon my manners as well as my haste, but in order for this to work, we need sufficient distractions. I think both of you know what you need to do. The rest of us, wait until things fall into motion, then when we have the biggest opportunity, run for the water."

The only ladies nearby where Paige and Illana. Lycus knew they were talking about the plan of escape, but he did not know it would require this type of distraction. Illana was a attractive girl, when not attempting to behead a bounty or shooting arrows at another individual. In many ways, she was did not have an amable personality as her own appearance. She will not take kindly to that, he thought to himself. And sure enough, he saw her expression. A fiercer one than she had before.

****

Illana looked at the Orismer, who's beard notified her of his age. She folded her arms at the chest and stared coldly at him. "What?" she whispered a hiss. "I can only do so much. Flaunting myself is not what I had in mind."

Then again, it wasn't about her. It was about escaping. But adding to that was her chance for glory, the thirst of fame. The Thalmor where an enemy of the Empire, and her escape would reinforce her own growing fame. She could bask in the imagination in the stories the fearful would tell. Illana, the Huntress who cleaved the skulls of the Thalmor, who yanked their beating hearts from their chest. Or Illana the Huntress, the one who survived. Such things would not be mired with the taint of seductive whiles and gestures or lewd displays to attract the opposite gender of the High Elf race.

"Have the breton do it, she already caught my brother's attention. I am confident she can arouse the Thalmor long enough, even absent touch. You can offer me something else I am more inclined to enjoy. Perhaps severing a few Thalmor ears and heads."

Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil - 10^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

As Faendal expected, the old man's ravings had managed to inspire some kind of hope into the sorry band of prisoners. Despite his explanation- more of stating the obvious- the fools thought freedom was worth dying over. They didn't understand, they didn't know the things Faendal knew. Their ignorance, their useless hope, would soon get them killed, and the Thalmor certainly wouldn't stop with them. If they made a break for it and he didn't go, the Aldmeri would waste no time in executing him. 'Looks like they're set on it... Idiots.'

The Bosmer sat in sullen silence as the others kept on at their game. Some insulted him, others simply dismissed his warnings. Either way, they all had their minds made up: they were going to run tonight, and nothing he said would stop them. 'Well, if I'm dying tonight, I might as well die spitting those damn gold-skins in the face.' Faendal actually cracked a grim smile at the thought. 'Maybe...'

As the wood elf made his decision, the other prisoners continued making "plans" for their escape. 'Distractions, surprises, they don't know how Thalmor work, do they? There is no strategy, there is no ploy we can make. It all depends on how many we can take down, and how fast we can run. After that it's up to luck.' The old elf looked up at the stars. The Shadow was still right over head. 'Y'ffre guide us.'

Finally, the blathering ceased. The last one to speak, the orc, seemed like he was trying to take command. 'Good, we'll need people to keep 'em together once they start dying.' Another prisoner, the only Khajiit, held a makeshift lockpick in his paws, mumbling something about picking a few of their bracers. Faendal looked around, trying to decide for himself which prisoners would be most useful unbound. He eyed the orc that had spoken earlier, as well as the two Dunmer within their company. All three looked dangerous- their bodies might be weakened, but that look in their eyes was unmistakable. They could kill, and quickly. Many of the others might be useful, but those- and the cat himself- would be the best.

Faendal cleared his throat once more, drawing the prisoner's attention. He wore the same scowl as before, but his eyes were not angry or condescending. They were hard, like two pits of coal, but they were also determined. If there was no other way, he would command again. "Listen up, because I'm only saying this once. If you fools are so set on getting yourselves killed, I'll be damned if I let you do it alone. There is a way out, a way for us to escape, but it's not going to depend on distractions or fancy tactics. Our only option is to hit these bastards hard, then run like hell before they have a chance to realize what's happening."

The elf looked around, meeting each prisoner's eye as he spoke. Despite their haggard faces, he liked what he saw: the same determination he felt. "Many of you will die before it's over. That's a fact. But if you're going to run, then there's no looking back, no hesitation. You can't fight the Thalmor, and you can't save anyone else. All you can do- all any of us can do- is run as fast as we can away from this gods forsaken pit. The crazy bastard has a point," he nodded to the old man, still smiling at the center of the fort, "Our best chance is to split up and head for the water. Once we hit the other shore we're going to strike north, dodge any Thalmor patrols, and hope they don't catch up to us. From there we should be able to reach the Imperials, and freedom."

The old Bosmer coughed, his throat rasping from the effort of so many words. "I'll lead the group that heads west, towards Weye. You, orc, take the rest east, then see if you can cross the Rumare and make it to the Waterfront. Khajiit, you go with him, if you can swim." Faendal's lips twitched into a grim smile as he pointed to the cat. "Before we do any of that, however, we're going to need to get a few of our hands free. Start with your own bracers, Khajiit, then free the orc and that Dunmer." The Bosmer pointed to the tall elf that had spoken to him earlier. "Then, if you can, get the chains off the Redguard human. The rest of you will have to make do until we can get a key. Just be glad they didn't chain your feet."

Faendal's voice was about to give out, but he was almost done. After this it was all up to them. "Everyone on my side, congratulations, you're with me. Like I said, we're heading west. Everyone else, you're with the orc and Khajiit, going east. And if any of you want to see the sun tomorrow morning, you'll do what we say. There is no time for democracy. Questions will only get you killed."



OOC: Alright, that should move things along a little bit. Jonas, whenever you can make your intro post, you can assume leadership with Antlive and Sibera. Also, to clear up any confusion, Faendal wanted Karzon to try and free himself, Ermac, Varth, and Akhel, if he can, Sibera. Everyone else, sorry, but they are the most combat oriented characters, and we can't realistically free everyone before the break. If there are any other questions, comments, or further plans, feel free to discuss them in the sign up thread. Otherwise, we'll be getting to the actual escape as soon as we can.

Isabelle Paige Courtessèu.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Lycus seemed to take a long pause in order to consider his reply to Paige’s questions. Her interest seemed to have affected him somewhat, although by now Paige had figured him to be quite a secretive character and so expected no less than some uncomfortable silence whilst the Imperial considered how best to answer her. At last Lycus spoke up.

“Where to begin?” he asked rhetorically, “I was raised in the territory surrounding the Great Forest. My father retired after a lengthy time as gladiator champion and my mother finished her line of work as a Bounty Hunter after she became pregnant." Paige wasn’t at all surprised that his parents were also quite violent people, after hearing what he had to say about his sister. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder whether Lycus himself was so aggressive; he didn’t seem so, at least not to Paige.

"Me and my sister where hunting when we were captured by the Thalmor." Lycus looked down towards his cuffs and inspecting the binds that tied his hands together as he said it, but Paige’s attention had wondered astray and she was focussing more on the conversation of the other prisoners rather than the Imperial’s story.

"Ladies, please pardon my manners as well as my haste, but in order for this to work, we need sufficient distractions. I think both of you know what you need to do. The rest of us, wait until things fall into motion, then when we have the biggest opportunity, run for the water." It was an Orc that spoke, immediately giving Paige butterflies as he mentioned the idea of her charming the guards to help them escape.

’I can’t do that!’ She panicked internally. Scared that she would have to face the guards, and appear to have confidence that she evidently lacked. Illana, Lycus’ sister, spoke before Paige in answer to the Orc’s request.

"What?" she seemed to almost spit at the Orc in revolt, "I can only do so much. Flaunting myself is not what I had in mind. Have the breton do it, she already caught my brother's attention. I am confident she can arouse the Thalmor long enough, even absent touch. You can offer me something else I am more inclined to enjoy. Perhaps severing a few Thalmor ears and heads."

This made Paige feel even worse. ’have the Breton do it?!’ Paige knew that the comment was directed at her, and was now really worried. Torn between her will to escape and her completele lack of confidence Paige finally plucked up the courage to let the others know how far she was willing to go to gain her freedom. Flirting with guards was not on her agenda, for it was far too dangerous.

“I… I…. I don’t” Paige began, so timidly that she was hardly heard by the group at all, before being interrupted by a Bosmer from across the other side of the camp.

"Listen up, because I'm only saying this once. If you fools are so set on getting yourselves killed, I'll be damned if I let you do it alone. There is a way out, a way for us to escape, but it's not going to depend on distractions or fancy tactics. Our only option is to hit these bastards hard, then run like hell before they have a chance to realize what's happening."

Paige let out an audible sigh as the charismatic Bosmer dismissed the group’s chance of using Paige, who was possibly the least apt at flirting in the group, to escape. Instead it seemed as he continued his rallying speech that Paige wouldn’t have to do very much at all if the others got it right, and would simply have to follow them to safety. A much nicer plan as far as Paige was concerned, although she doubted she’d be able to keep up with others normally, let alone in her current state.

Paige let slip a little grin at the idea of escape, it wasn’t going to be easy, but at least the group had the courage to try, and the belief that it would work, too.

Tyranus Florentius

Ty had listened with an uncharacteristic silence as people voiced their own ideas of the escape plan. Personally, he didn't have much faith in any of them. Everyone had their own idea of how to get things done, and although the plan was beginning to show some structure, thanks to the Orc, Ty didn't feel all too optimistic about their chances. He had started to tune out when they started talking about distracting the Thalmor with women so they could all escape. 'Yeah, that would work just fine until you realize that Altmer guard is a woman, and then all your plans of seduction and groin kicking go out the window.'

Tyranus was glad to hear the Bosmer speak up and really take charge of the group. His plan was simple and sweet, and although it wasn't strikingly different from the previous plan, at least it wasn't too complicated. Ty wasn't sure about splitting up. He knew it was to minimize their presence and allow them an easier escape, but it was also to give the guards the option to go after one group over the other. Ty didn't want to be a part of the losing group, because they stood a much better chance if they were all together. 'But hey I'm a farm boy, what do I know?'

"I'll lead the group that heads west, towards Weye. You, orc, take the rest east, then see if you can cross the Rumare and make it to the Waterfront. Khajiit, you go with him, if you can swim." The Bosmer cracked a smile, which looked like it almost hurt him before continuing. "Before we do any of that, however, we're going to need to get a few of our hands free. Start with your own bracers, Khajiit, then free the orc and that Dunmer. Then, if you can, get the chains off the Redguard human. The rest of you will have to make do until we can get a key. Just be glad they didn't chain your feet."

"Hey, no complaints here," Ty said, holding up his manacled hands "As long as you warrior-types cover my ass you could gag me and I wouldn't care." The Colovian grinned as he said this, knowing some might take that as a golden opportunity.

"Everyone on my side, congratulations, you're with me. Like I said, we're heading west. Everyone else, you're with the orc and Khajiit, going east. And if any of you want to see the sun tomorrow morning, you'll do what we say. There is no time for democracy. Questions will only get you killed."

"Well hey what if it's a question like 'Does that look like a Thalmor scouting party to you?'" Ty asked, a smirk on his face "Questions like that save lives." Regardless of his teasing, the Imperial was glad to be in the Wood Elf's group. There were alot of people who looked like they could handle themselves, but the Bosmer looked like he could handle himself, his group, and an entire Thalmor squad. He wondered what he could do during the escape, besides run like a frightened rabbit. He might not be able to fight like the others, but he knew he could help in some way. He just didn't know how yet. 'Maybe I can be a distraction. I may not have the chest or the looks for it, but my annoying nature could probably never have such a practical purpose.' Tyranus didn't want to be some burdensome tag-along, he wanted to help everyone escape.

Varthlokkur, Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil



An excited feeling of glee was building up in the pit of Varth’s stomach. It was the feeling of knowing, knowing that he was going to escape, and spill more Thalmor blood. The others were giddy as well, making plans to split up and what not. The Bosmer who assumed control of Varth’s group ordered someone to unlock his manacles with a makeshift lockpick.

“If you get this cuffs off me, I can summon a creature that will help us escape” said Varth, turning towards the Khajit with the pick. “As for the women attempting to seduce the guards, I don’t see that as a likely option. The soldiers here will want to look good, especially when surrounded by their betters.”

Illana the Huntress and Lycus Desselius. 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.


Lycus moved away from the Breton as she began to mumble her own thoughts on attempting to seduce the Thalmor. He took a seat next to Illana as the others exchanged the plot of escape with each other.

"I'll lead the group that heads west, towards Weye. You, orc, take the rest east, then see if you can cross the Rumare and make it to the Waterfront. Khajiit, you go with him, if you can swim." The wood elf smiled painfully "Before we do any of that, however, we're going to need to get a few of our hands free. Start with your own bracers, Khajiit, then free the orc and that Dunmer. Then, if you can, get the chains off the Redguard human. The rest of you will have to make do until we can get a key. Just be glad they didn't chain your feet."

Lycus scratched his knee while Illana crossed her arms in mild defiance. They weren't sure if they were going to put their lives under the command of one of the individuals. Especially a stranger like the bosmer. But if they escape, they could simply tag along and forge their own destiny and glories. Illana looked at Lycus, who did not return a gaze. Instead he kept his attention focused on the younger colovian Imperial.

"Hey, no complaints here," he said, holding up his shackled hands "As long as you warrior-types cover my ass you could gag me and I wouldn't care."

Lycus considered himself a fighter. Though not as legendary in skills as members of the Fighters Guild or the Companions or even gladiator warriors. He knew how to use a sword and shield and even a spear, but he would not last too long under the magic of the Thalmor. Illana knew she wasn't as powerful or seasoned as the orc or the khajiit. But she knew she could take the steps to get there and perhaps even eclipse their own strength along the way. But survival came before competition and ambitions. Even so, preserving a legacy was also important to her. And as far as she was concerned, the Thalmor had something that she owns. Her property. My armor and my knife, she told herself, I need it back. It did not mean she would hinder the group's progress of escape, but she could hold her own. If I die, that would be my fate.

Before the plan would be set into motion, she inconspicuously surveyed the forces and everything around her that she could use to her advantage. And to her advantage, she discovered a few things that would ensure her own chance of surviving. But as confident as she was in her own prowess, would everyone else be of the same? The older individuals could pull if off, but the chance of leaving the place alive for the younger ones seemed slim. Especially the younger breton girl and the other Imperial noblewoman. But looks can be deceiving. That much was certain.

Well, there were worse things to happen to people than be lumped in the same group as an Orc. Hopefully the being didn't mind him taking over once they were out, he had lead people through Thalmor search parties and gotten them out alive back in Elsweyr, granted they had home territory advantage back there and so here was somewhat different but the principles stayed the same. As the Bosmer rattled off other things followed by the Breton woman with the Skirt chaser speaking up, starting something before stopping. He noted she lacked confidance in either herself or just her abilities, the other female this...Illiana? Her ego alone seemed to need a party of its own with the way she carried on about the idea of using her femininity to distract the guards. I highly doubt she even has the feminine nature to distract or flirt with men. Probably scares them into submission by being overt about her wants rather than play a game. Good in some ways but a turn off in others... he thought. Seen people like her though, she has the look of someone who is interested in their own Fame and Fortune. I doubt she will be remembered when she dies.

By this point he had slipped the makeshift pick into the first shackle lock on his wrists, he looked like he was scratching a bad itch or playing with his outfits sleeve. One ear trained to the pins while the other was trained to listen for other things, a form of multi-tasking he had perfected over the years when breaking into far more complicated and frustrating facilities that crawled with enough armed guards that if they all got together they could push the building wherever they wanted to go. The lock was trivial at best, the age combined with the cheapness of the construction made it childsplay to unlock them. Hearing that special click Karzon made no apparent visual identification to indicate he had broken one lock and moved to work on the other. Being ambidextrous was a true gift in this case as he wasn't fumbling around with a hand that didn't get much use in this sort of thing. A few seconds of fiddling with that lock and he had unlocked his shackles.

Though he had kept them on for appearences sake you couldn't tell if he had unlocked them or not. He looked to the bosmer "Before anyone moves, I will take out the Altmer who is their 'messenger' of sorts. Those of you who I unlock will need to take the others out quietly, Dunmer if you know any paralysis or Silence abilities to sling them at the rest of them to keep them quiet or out of the picture. If not...well.. I'm sure there is a trick up your sleeve." he grinned a little, having known Dark Elves to always sport some kind of little trick up their sleeves especially the ones inclined to do magic. He was surveying everyone though, his eyes scanning them all for everything they could do or potential capabilities, Illana seemed like a good suspect to free as well but he doubted she would have that....subtle..touch.

He motioned for the elf to come over "You said you're shackles were cutting into your skin, lets see if we can alleiviate that with a bit of cloth. Come over." he said, incase any guards were listening close. Hopefully these people knew how to follow an act and not botch it up.

Illana Desselius, 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.


Illana regarded the working Cathay-Raht with a inspecting-type stare. She watched in interest as he broke the first lockpick, her ears suddenly perking up at the sound of it snapping. He then began to fumble with the next one, attempting to mask his defiant skill. The second lock, however, served it's purpose when it broke the lock. A short and mostly unseen smirk crawled itself in the corner of her mouth. The first phase was complete. Now was left was the others. He cloaked his apparent freedom from bondage by still having it on his wrist. She noticed as he looked from person to person, as if he was studying them. She could take a hint from the situation itself. He's considering on who to free next, she realized.

When his eyes went to her, her own eyes grew slighly wider and insane, mimicking a desperate animal wanting to be liberated. He spoke to the elf and had him go over to where he was, obviously to secure his freedom as well. She sat patiently, looking up into the night sky and sighting carefully. Thalmor bastards, she laughed in her mind, let us see how well you can cope with a prisoner escape.

Varthlokkur, Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil

“Before anyone moves, I will take out the Altmer who is their 'messenger' of sorts. Those of you who I unlock will need to take the others out quietly, Dunmer if you know any paralysis or Silence abilities to sling them at the rest of them to keep them quiet or out of the picture. If not...well… I'm sure there is a trick up your sleeve” said the Khajit with the lockpick, a manic grin painted onto his face.

“Oh, I know more than a few tricks” replied Varth, the magical cuffs now unlocked, sitting on his wrists just for show. In their current position, they still cut off his supply of Magicka, but now that they were loose, and able to be removed with the flick of a wrist, he felt his power slowly seeping back into him. It felt good.

Varth’s crimson eyes scanned the fort, and the guards that they were going to betray. He had his plan, and he was ready. All he needed was the go-ahead. “I’m ready, let’s get this show on the road.”

OOC: Not a very good post, but it'll do I guess.

Fithvael, Fort Homestead Dungeon, Cyrodiil


Elven eyes caught the glimmer of torchlight in a small pool of blood. A rusty iron gate screeched open, sounding like the bells of hell in Fithvael's battered skull. "Get up you inbred scum!" Came the voice of a Thalmor guard, his torch casting a light off his gleaming golden armor. Fithvael's mowhawk was pull sharply, and the air escaped his chest as an armored fist thumped his chest.

"Now then, Fithvael Hlaalu-Rikkahvanskyrr. What sort of corruption is this, its a wonder you weren't put to death, not only polluting Elder blood, but disgracing a house of Morrowind with the barbarism of a Nordic surname."

The Thalmor spat on the floor in disgust, Fithvael just smiled. By this time, the cell was illuminated by three torches. Each old and misshapen rock covered in moss and mold could be seen, condensation or a nearby spring supplied the endless monotony of dripping water. The Thalmor guard made himself a tad more comfortable, sitting in a leather chair, propping his legs up and reading from what Fithvael could only guess was some sort of file on him.

"Its no matter though, once the High Command has heard I've captured a fugitive of the Dominon, you will die and shall be rewarded. You and your... Galloglaiche... more Nordic drivel, its endless with your kind i suppose... this paramilitary order has been responsible for the sacking of several supply lines through Southpoint, an insurgent movement within the Bosmeri tribes, as well as the brutal and cowardly slaughter of several Chief Officers. You will hang Fithvael, and your body sent to your kin as a warning."

A sharp pain shot through the flesh on Fithvael's back, a whip rending its barbed tentacles through his skin like the claws of a Senchay. With this, Fithvael looked into the eyes of the pompous, elitist, Thalmor Justiciar. "Should you send mah body back tah Skyrim, the only thing ya can count on... is yer head on a [censored]in' pike!" Fithvael's brogue of Nordic and his sharp Bosmeri-Dunmer accent surprised the Altmer.

"We are warriors," Fithvael continued, fire in eyes and wrathful passion in his voice, "The Galloglaiche of Arvaanskyr will cut a bloody swath through your ranks, as you cut down my people in Valenwood. Cowardly, ya called mah kin an' I. Your commanders in chief were responsible fer the deaths of thousands. Innocent men, women, and children. Yer own kin, mer in blood. I slew your precious chiefs, smiling... 'cause I knew, that the corrupted blood of the Thalmor had been spilt."

.................


Gates opened, shouts rang out, and a whole hell-storm of commotion came from within the Keep. Soon, Fithvael came out, thrashing and headbutting the guards. "You bastards! Get yer hands off me ya filthy kin-slayer! Talos gave you a place in this Empire, and it shall be his again, the Day of Reckoning will come and Ysmir's blood will course through Tamriel's Kings once more!" The heavy slam of an elven shield sent Fithvael careening down the stone steps and into the yard.

"Learn your place, inbred filth!" The Thalmor Justiciar shouted, slamming the door behind him angrily.

Crawling gingerly, Fithvael joined the other prisoners, "Evenin', names' Fithvael. Fithvael Hlaalu-Rikkhavanskyrr, Galloglaiche of Skyrim." He held his hand out to a Dunmer man, and nodding to a Breton woman, two imperials, an Orc, and a Khajiit. Across from them was an old Bosmer man, old and worn looking. Fithvael was 126, yet looked as though he were in his prime, mid-50's at least. God's only know how long this poor mer had been with the Thalmor, what he'd seen.

Illana the Huntress and Lycus Desselius. 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.


"You bastards! Get yer hands off me ya filthy kin-slayer! Talos gave you a place in this Empire, and it shall be his again, the Day of reckoning will come and Ysmir's blood will course through Tamriel's Kings once more!" A man shouted. Following his cry, a shield sent him sprawling into the couryard.

"Learn your place, inbred filth" The Thalmor shouted.

Crawling toward them, the...peculiar looking man spoke. "Evenin', names' Fithvael. Fithvael Hlaalu-Rikkhavanskyrr, Galloglaiche of Skyrim."

Illana kept her hands in between her knees, in an apparent futile position of submission. But her gaze was now averted to the newcomer. Fith-what? That sure is a mouthful, she thought. She looked at her own binds, which where now free thanks to the talented Cathay-Raht. She awaited anxiosuly to leave the fort, she was positively sure everyone was too. Unlike her, however, Lycus was not given fair treatement. The feline began to work on the other individuals. She noticed a hint of dissapointment in the manner he tensed his jaw and lowered his brow.

Lycus regarded the newcomer with a curiosity, but he was too timid or perhaps too quiet to even begin a conversation. He already had spoken enough, he took his interests in escaping alive. Even so, what caused concern was the nordic man had the name Hlaalu, which was a Dunmer name. Lycus knew enough of the Dunmer and their ideals of slavery long ago, though nothing much has changed of their culture. He looked at Illana and smiled faintly. She did not return a smile, but a expressionless stare. He could figure out what she was thinking. Whenever she lacked a smile, she was either thinking of lack of gold or something else that bothered her -- more speficially -- her family. He was willing to bet it was the latter. And he was hoping it would not come in the way of her attempts to escape. Both siblings awaited the plan.

Tyranus Florentius

Ty was getting impatient. A few of the other prisoners had gotten their cuffs off, so the escape was technically already going on. The very thought sent a spike of adrenaline through him, and he felt his palms start to sweat. He didn't think he would be getting his arms unbound, but as far as he was concered, uncuffing a newcomer like him would just be a waste of time and possibly lockpicks. The Colovian was fine with this arrangement, he may never know when to shut his mouth, but he was smart enough to know his own limitations. The most use he would get would be as a distraction, which evidently was not needed. 'So my job now is to wait for an opening, and go, I guess...' The Imperial furrowed his brow in thought as he looked around the side of the compound that made up his group, making sure not to obviously look at the individuals who were uncuffed. 'I get the whole preperation and timing thing, but this is just sitting around. If we're going to do this, we need to do it now.'

“I’m ready, let’s get this show on the road.” said the Dunmer, whose bindings had been unlocked. Ty felt a pit open up in his stomach, again waiting for fighting to break out. The waiting was the worst part. Once everything actually started he would be better, he knew what he had to do. It was either die in bondage or die fighting tooth and nail, and Ty would much rather go down with a fight. If he doesn't go, all his smart talk and resistance would be nothing but empty words, and Ty had to prove to himself, and the others, that he wasn't all talk. 'Granted, running doesn't indicate all that much courage, but it's a step over cowering in the corner waiting for the end at least.'

A loud commotion drew the young farmer's attention, and he saw a man being thrown out into the courtyard on the other side, by the other group. The man--mer?--had obviously put up a fight, and now seemed to be introducing himself to the other group. Ty chuckeld to himself and shook his head. 'Looks like someone besides me and that huntress over there likes to get beat by our captors.' He thought as he looked at the curious looking man. Tyranus couldn't get a close look at him, but there was definitly something odd about his appearence. However he was another one of those warrior types; Ty could feel the deadly vibes from his position. With a groan he realized that this man's sudden appearence would probably mean even more waiting until things got under way.

The young Imperial ran his hand through his hair before rubbing his jaw. He started to rub his eyes before his black eye protested with a stab of pain. Ty had forgotten about it, and now that he was once again aware the bruise annoyed him. He worried that it would swell and his eye close, which would severely limit his usefulness. Although he figured if it was going to swell closed by now it would've, young Tyranus placed the cold metal of his shackles against his eye. He could feel the magical silencing spell coming off of it, but he didn't mind. 'By the Nine, can we just get this over with? I'm tired of sitting around waiting for someone to make a move, they wait too long and my dumb ass might make one first....'

Lockpicking was the second skill Karzon had learned and was quite a natural at it. As it showed with him picking the binds of the Orsimer, Huntress and the Dark Elf. His makeshift pick had been damaged a bit to much from the varying pressures and pins from the torque lock. He stood to the back, looking to the others "May the Shadows embrace you.." he whispered as he stepped into the back of the room where it was most dark. His binds slipped off and silently placed on the ground.

Karzon looked up having spied the wooden supports used to construct the fort and bits of the seemingly inaccessible second floor still intact he formulated his plan. Using a crumbling support pillar as leverage Karzon climbed his way up and onto a sturdy bit of wood. At that point a commotio was heard, a...bosmee nord looking thing was thrown in with them. A good distraction it was as he made his way to another shadowed corner with this animalistic fluid grace that came natural to him. Karzon was perched on the wood as his mark convieniently walked undder him to relieve himself. Naturally karzon took advantage by wrapping his legs around the post and position himself so he was hanging off it. With that as the thalmor finished up karzon reached down with both hands and grabbed him. Pulling him up like a spider and breaking his neck. Before dropping the lifeless body, karzon reaquired his tool belt and dagger which the elf had taken a liking to. It didnt surprise him as said belt was made of fine Elsweyr Leather with the Khajiiti pantheon engraved into the leather with a rendition of Nocturnal engraved into the silver buckle. Carefully he let the body drop silently onto the ground in the puddle of pee. He cracked a grin remembering a joke some of his friends made about peeing in the dark. Now it was up to the the others to do thier part while he put his belt on and made his way silently to another spot to drop down on a guard, ebon dagger in hand.

OOC: My character is in fact a battlemage, but I thought I'd make it more apparent here and IC what his skills really extend to. He is a master Alterationist, with some Reincarnation magic receives for raising weak dead like wolves for around thirty seconds, and enemies like the Thalmor for no more than ten, considering he will be issuing a lot of magicka. He also has an especially Enchanted Staff [of Rite] -- no spoilers though , which he will go to find in the fort. Anyone can tag along and pick up their stuff, or just tell me to get it for them.

Ermac- Fort Homestead

Ermac was now unbound, and watched while things fell into motion. People were being freed, spells being silently procured, and the first of the Thalmor guards were beginning to drop supposedly unexplainably. He looked behind him, maintaining his calm resolve as through the fort doors bursted another man, badly bruised and beaten. He spoke through chipped teeth and bruised jaws, but that he said was inaudible to Ermac anyway, as he had dropped the binds and was concentrating on the power within him. He felt it formulate at his hands, while the raw flesh sowing on the fore side of them protested in pain. First came magelight out of his left hand, while a dark blue vortex was cast at a nearby Thalmor body by the Khajii, reincarnating its corpse. This alone winded him to the point where he was doubled over in weakness and evervation, so he called upon his bithsign, looking up at the stars, finding the eye of the Ritual.

"Mara, Goddess of love, grant me with a kiss of life," as he spoke, his body began to rejuvenate at his bruises and scars disappeared and the tendons in torn muscles and ligaments were once again laced together. Once he was yet again powerful enough to go on, and healed to his operational satisfaction, he channeled the rest of his health into Equilibrium, a very rarely used spell that transferred his health into magicka. With his remaining power, he summoned alteration energy that was transformed into pure courageous emotions, empowering the prisoners around him. Ermac was a master Alterationist, but knew he ouldn;t use the majority of his powers on the also mystically profound elven enemies, so decided to instead empower his brethren. It would have to suffice, for he was heading into the depths of the fort to retrieve his staff. It was one with a specific skill, a skill that he needed, but didn't have. He'd had the staff for nine years, and now was more important that ever that he had it.

"I'm going for the inside of the fort, whoever has belongings speak now or come with me!"

Illana the Huntress and Lycus Desselius. 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.


Illana cracked her neck, craning it to the left and right, causing an audible pop pop. She saw the khajiit begin his own assault against the Thalmor, skillfully rushing away from the group and begining his own series of plans. Illana was going to get up and take advantage of the distraction, but the voice of the Orc had stopped her.

"Mara, got of love, grant me with a kiss of life." As if a blessing from Mara herself, his skin began to rejuvinate, scars began to heal and wounds began to dissipate. He was refreshed and ready for battle. Illana thought to herself about using her own healing abilities: The Hunter's Wind. But then she struck against the idea. It would be better for her to sneak into the fort and kill the Altmer within, if she got her gear back, she could easily heal herself in the process. She would need the strength to evade the agents later on.

"I'm going for the inside of the fort, whoever has belongings speak now or come with me!"

Illana moved her savage hair to the side and spoke out to the Orc "I saw one enter the fort with my belongings. I will go along."

Lycus spoke out his objection "No, unless I go with you."

Illana shook her head. "You are still bound. I'm not. And they have something that belongs to me. To us."

"You cannot last long against the Thalmor." he further protested.

Illana looked at the Orc and nodded "Lead the way,"

She wasn't going to get involved with an argument, not when the plan was already in motion. The Huntress returned a gaze at the Imperial brother and sighed "I can only get so much. I will get you the journal and the spear back, but you will have to trust me on this."

Lycus did not reply. Illana looked down upon her older brother. She set her hand on his shoulder and smiled faintly. "Relax. I got this under my control."

Without much words, she awaited the Orc's move to go first. Lycus mumbled a silent prayer to Hircine, for himself and Illana. His eyes closed, his mind connected to the situation His prayer was silent, no one else could hear it, he imagined. "Lord of the Hunt, I pray to you. Give me and my sister the strength, speed and guile of the hunter. Your name shall be whispered with every Thalmor death."

Illana grinned, pointing her finger at the fort's entrance with a menacing voice. "Here we go...."

Fort Homestead

Errialor

The doors to the fort opened and several Thalmor, led by a Justiciar, dragged a mer into the yard. The prisoner defiantly shouted at his captors, something about Talos. The Altmer watched as predictably, one of the guards bashed the mer with a shield. Errialor knew little about Talos, other than that he once conquered Summerset and that the Empire worshiped him as a god. He himself didn't know what to think of Talos, although he knew that most Altmer despised him. As the Justiciar began to shout at the man, Errialor heard something from behind him.

"Quite defiant, that one." The soldier jumped and almost dropped his bow in surprise, and turned around to find a Thalmor mage. "Come with me, recruit." Errialor followed his superior down the crumbling steps of the fort, to the first floor, and out of the makeshift prison. His mind was filled with dread, as he was worried this had something to do with his past record, or perhaps he had done something wrong. As they walked away from the fort, he worked up enough nerve to speak up.

"Is there something wrong?"

The mage stopped and turned around "No, not with you. We just need another mer to guard the west side of the camp. Head there and keep your eyes out for Imperials for the rest of the night." Errialor silently sighed in relief.

"Yes sir," he responded as he headed towards his new post. It was unclear whether they felt he wasn't competent enough to guard the prisoners, or if they simply felt he would be more useful guarding the camp. Regardless, he himself was quite pleased with the turn of events: it would be much easier and quieter than watching the prisoners crying, complaining, or simply trying to harass the other soldiers. In addition, it was saddening to have to constantly watch those chained, broken souls. Out here, he could push it to the back of his mind and forget that there even were prisoners in the camp.

Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil - 10^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

'Nothing ever goes according to plan,' Faendal thought, regarding the Nord-Bosmer hybrid that had just been roughly dropped into their midst. Fortunately, the guards hadn't noticed the Khajiit's handiwork- four of their number were now without bracers. It might not be much, but it was a far sight better than where they'd been just ten minutes before. The Bosmer eyed the guards as they left the remains of the fort, his entire body tensed. If one so much as turned around, it would spell the end for any hopes of escape...

Fortunately, the Thalmor were not known for their attention to detail, especially of people they thought so beneath them. 'That's probably our biggest advantage: they never imagined we could pose any threat. Arrogant pricks.' The Bosmer coughed, his scarred arms still folded across his chest, chains rattling as his chest flared in pain. Faendal forced it down, determined to ignore the fire in his lungs. He'd been through worse. Much worse.

The old soldier caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Without turning towards it, Faendal shifted his attention to the far side of the fort, and the coiled form of the Khajiit, waiting there. Somehow, the cat had made it to the second floor of the old ruin, where one of their guards stood watch. The elf had to stifle a chuckle as the Khajiit pounced on the Altmer, snapping his neck before dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. The elf's lifeless body crumpled, splashing into a puddle of his own urine. His amber eyes stared blankly straight at Faendal. 'And so it begins,' the Bosmer thought, bringing himself to his feet. The orc, on the other side of the ruin, had taken the signal as well. The time for planning was over. Now it was time to act.

"I'm going for the inside of the fort, whoever has belongings speak now or come with me!" the orc called roughly, heading towards the interior of the dungeon. Faendal considered calling him back, but as two of the others moved to follow him, the old elf simply nodded. If they thought they'd be better off with their gear, so be it. Faendal, however, intended to stick to the plan.

The gruff Bosmer eyed the few, half starved members of his new platoon. The fools had no training, no experience, and almost no chance against the Thalmor. However, they were all Faendal had, and it was too late to turn back now. "Alright boys, you know what to do. Stay close, stay hidden, and don't let those bastards catch you!"

The old soldier took two strides to the center of the fort, picking up the grizzled hermit that still sat, smiling obliviously. "You're coming with us, human. Stick as close as you can. Or at least slow the plant-eaters down before you get killed."

The old man giggled, tapping Faendal on the nose with one arthritic finger. "Told you," the hermit chuckled, his cloudy eyes shining. Faendal didn't even have time to get angry. The shouting stopped him short.

"Hey! Prisoner, stop that!" One of the guards, a young, lanky Altmer, rushed in, hand placed threateningly on his sword. Two of his fellows flanked him, staring down the prisoners. After a brief pause, one of the three narrowed his eyes. He was looking directly at the orc's unchained hands.

"What in the-" the guard was stopped short as Faendal rushed the trio. The wiry elf dodged past the startled leader, jumping at the Altmer on the right. The Bosmer's elbow collided with his face before he could so much as cry out. Faendal struck out with his foot, kicking out the guard's knee with a sickening crunch. The Altmer collapsed with a cry of pain.

The other guards jumped back, drawing their swords, scowling at the Bosmer. Faendal crouched, ready to strike, holding his chained hands out in front of him. "Orc, go! My squad goes on, take yours down!" The two Altmer stepped closer, elven swords held high. 'Here comes the fun part.'


OOC: Eh, crappy post, but school has left me a bit drained today. The escape has officially commenced, so everyone feel free to start busting out your combat posts. My group will take care of the three guards, while Jonas' group heads down into the dungeon. After that, we may proceed to try and make it through the camp, or we may just head into the dungeon with you, and once we find the second exit we may or may not split up again. No matter what, we'll have one group go west, to pick up Scow and Crimson. Other than that, it depends on whether you guys want to break into small groups or just stick together.

Varthlokkur, Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil


Varth felt the battlemage’s subtle spell taking effect on his battered and hungry body. It felt as though someone was gently pouring hot, pure water over his spirit, spiking his adrenaline and clearing his mind, as well and clearing up a few bruises covering his flesh. He even smiled as the Bosmer leapt into combat, killing two Thalmor as the guards finally realized that their play things were escaping.

The Dunmer sat for a brief moment that felt almost like an eternity, though in truth it was not even a whole second, savoring the moment. He suddenly leapt from the ground, the shackles at his wrists falling uselessly at his side, the rush of magicka flowing into his body feeling like a tidal wave of power. Varth focused the oncoming power, and delved into the realm of Oblivion, searching for one of his favorite creatures.

The air itself sundered as a rippling blue portal appeared in front of the Dunmer, leaving a monstrous Deadra in its wake. It was a tall and sinewy biped, composed of what seemed to be black cords tautly intertwined. Where humans had their shin, this creature had another joint, similar to that of a Scamp or a Clannifer. Large, black talons protruded from its fingertips, and smaller, more curved ones adorned its feet. Its skull was larger than a human’s, with large tusks extruding from the corner of its jaw, which was filled with several razor sharp teeth.

“Kill” hissed Varth, an utter loathing soaked into his voice. His heart raced, filling his body and mind with such jubilant ecstasy. The black beast roared and leapt into the oncoming crowd of gold-armored soldiers, talons scoring purchase on several Altmer throats. The group of dozen or so Thalmor were getting closer, weapons drawn, prepared to kill the prisoners despite the conjured distraction.

A web of red light formed inbetween Varthlokkur’s fingers as he formed a furry spell. The Dunmer slung a crimson bolt of liquid light towards the oncoming elves, which exploded upon impact, catching several victims in its snare. They immediately turned against their fellow soldiers, burying blades and knives with such anger and force into one another as their minds broke under the spell.

Such distractions only affected a portion of the Thalmor however, and Varth knew that he would have to fight these bastards up close and personal, something he was greatly looking forward to. With the some of last reserves of his magicka, he began to weave a spell. Tendrils of darkness dripped down from the Dunmer’s fingertips, quickly taking shape and forming into a staff of visible darkness that was constantly changing and flowing ever so subtly.

A gold armored Altmer charged Varth, longsword raised high above her head. The Dark Elf feinted back like a snake, striking the woman in the side of the woman’s head with his staff, the weapon producing a sickly crackling noise as it made contact with the moonstone. The Thalmor soldier recoiled, but didn’t miss a beat, pressing the attack. Varth parried her incoming blow, and used the staff’s own momentum to spin the weapon around, and slide it across his opponent’s exposed throat. Flesh opened and blood spurted outwards, the Altmer sinking to her knees.

Varth felt a charge of elation and adrenaline as her soul was ripped from her body and sent to Atherius, but the relishing of his kill nearly cost him his life. Another Thalmor nearly took off the Dunmer’s head with a ferocious swing of his articulate mace. Varth darted out of the way just in time, only having the weapon graze his shoulder, a blossom of pain spreading down his midsection. The soldier’s skull exploded at the end of a vicious uppercut maneuver of Varth’s staff.

I can’t keep this up forever, I’m nearly winded even now. “We need to get out, now! There’s too many!” he shouted, his eyes taking a moment to scan for an exit for him and his prisoner companions.

OOC: Crappy post, but it'll do. I will exit through the fort

Fithvael, Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil



Fithvael may have been old, but he was quick and he could practically taste the excitement. He knew this was an escape, he even spied the bodies of several Thalmor guards. All the prisoners were preparing, each playing his or her own part, some casting minor spells and others picking locks. Some were even healing the injured. This'll be a hard run, thought Fithvael.

"I'm going inside the fort, whoever has belongings speak now or come with me!" An Orc shouted, Fithvael felt new life rush to his limbs, muscles tensing and blood boiling. "Eh there, if you set me free, I can help. I'm a warrior, mah sword an' armor were locked up in tha' keep. Undo my binds, and ah'll reek ungodly vengeance on these bastards."

Fithvael spoke to the Imperial woman, then noticing a peculiar thing. Fithvael's sharp ears picked up words being spoken by whom Fithvael could only guess was the woman's brother. It sounded as though it were a prayer to Hircine, Fithvael knew the God of the Hunt well. He even revered the Daedra Prince, to a point.

"May the Father of the Hunt watch over us this night." Fithvael said softly, then rising to his feet. "My binds, if you'll have me." Offering his bound wrists, Fithvael knew there wasn't much time, as the other prisoners were already giving the Thalmor hell. Especially the old Bosmer, I'll be damned!

"We need tah move, now!"