5 years before the events of Morrowind...

A lone figure climbed the frigid rock of a lone mountain in Skyrim. The wind bites at his face, but it is no matter. He is searching for a temple, lost deep within this mountain. His name is Ravu Nervas, the Dunmer archeologist extraordinaire from Morrowind. An expert on Dweamer, Ayleids, and even the mythic age, he had heard rumors of something in Skyrim. Then he read the book, and he knew afterwards this holy relic existed. He had to find it. It was his Destiny.

The as he was hiking the mountain, his foot landed on an unfamiliar surface. It felt metallic compared to the stone of the mountainside. Ravu Grinned.
It would seem I have found what I have been searching for.
He took out a shovel from his pack and began to dig through the snow and ice. After about 10 minutes he found a golden surface, it had a large symbol, of which even Ravu did not know.
This is it. The culmination of my career. Everything I have done has been for this moment...
He laid his hand on the door and felt magic flow through him as it slowly opened...
15 years Later, 4E 7

When Ravu returned to Morrowind, he was drastically changed. One, he had gathered an immense amount of magical power, of no one knew an origin for. He no longer had any interest in archeology, and sold all of his things archeological to those who would buy them. He moved out into Vvardenfell and lives somewhere within the ashlands, possibly even inside Ghostgate. He also began to preach a radical message. Ravu's message was that the Gods of the Dunmer and the Gods of the imperials were weak and powerless.

At First, he didn't gather many disciples. Those who did join him, though, went from luckless men to powerful warriors, mages, or bureaucrats. No one knew how they came to this. After the return of the sixth house and the death of Alexmexia and Sotha Sil, even more joined him. Members of his cult became outstanding members of society, giving to the poor and had much more money than their jobs would pay.

Then the Oblivion Crisis came. When people expected Ravu's cult, who now called themselves the Pure, to fight back the Daedric hordes, they were nowhere to be found. The Oblivion crisis left Vivec dead and Nerevarine had disappeared. Morrowind needed a new government to rule in the place of the Tribunal. So, they decided to create "The Great Council", a council of 5 reprasentatives from all the great houses. The Great Council worked well at first, but soon became plagued with the rebuilding of Morrowind. The Council, because of biases towards their own house, could not agree on what to fix first. This made the repair of Morrowind slow, costly, and inefficient. Many towns still have scars from when the Daedra attacked.

A year after the Crisis, The Pure Returned from hiding, even more reclusive than before the Oblivion Crisis. Many members who were high up in the chain of command wouldn't even appear in public. The only one who would show himself was Ravu, who now wore bandages to cover his entire head and his entire body was covered by a flowing white robe. He now said that the council was inefficient, the Gods were cowards, and that he knew how to stop them. His new disciples became the main force of repairing a damaged Morrowind, lending their help to rebuild much more than the council. Even more people Joined the Pure, and the pure now had a large standing in Morrowind, Especially Vvardenfell.

In Vivec, where the council had reassigned power due to the destruction of almost all of Alexmexia, the pure lacked influence. Vivec was immediately repaired after the Crisis, and many more people moved into the city. The foreign quarter had become a refugee district for many who had become displaced by the Daedric invasion. Ordinators would kill anyone who supported the pure. But the air inside vivec was still uneasy. Riots became a weekly event, and many yearned for change in what had become a corrupt Council.

In the past month, mysterious happenings have occurred in Vivec. Black figures have come and have assassinated ordinators. Ravu began speaking of "How the path to Purity would soon begin". Nights became several hours longer than the day. Many people were having visions of hundreds being slaughtered by a dark force. The temple caught on fire, and as it burned down, many could hear a maniacal laughter as the smoke took the form of a skull.
Now, today, Ravu and much of his Cult have entered Vivec, to put the wheels of fate into motion.

In this RP, you can play as a member of the Pure (no high Ranking Pure Members, and I recommend only seasoned RPers play as a Pure member, due to the fact RPing one will be ore complex than a normal Character. People who choose to RP a Pure member will need to PM me saying they want to be a pure member so I can send them a doctrine for the pure that only pure members will get to see.) an Ordinator or imperial guard or just a citizen or adventurer who is caught in the traumatic events about to occur that will be known as "The Vivec Incident"

RULES
1: PM ME ALL CHARACTER SHEETS FOR APPROVAL
2:Romance is allowed, but nothing graphic
3: No Uber Characters or Character controlling
4: Please Read illusionary nothings "So you think you can RP" in the Important topics at the top of Fan Fiction before starting this RP, especially if you are new to RPing
5:Have Fun!

I will post up my character later today, but for now, please start sending me character sheets
Here is a quick template you can use to make things easier
Name:
Race:
Gender:
Age:
Faction: (The Pure, Ordinators, Other I.E fighters guild, Morang Tong, etc, or none)
Birthsign:
Class:
Apperance:
Height:
Eye Color:
Weight:
Hair Color:

Bio:

Personality:
Other:

Soon we shall begin this RP! Start sending Character sheets!

Yes, much better. I like the new Pure much more. I have few complaints whatsoever, and hope this will be a long and interesting RP. I will definately join :goodjob:

This part here though "Nights became several hours longer than the day. Many people were having visions of hundreds being slaughtered by a dark force." Seems a little much. I know the leader is supposed to be really powerful, but there seems little to no way he could actually make nights longer. Maybe make the days have really dark clouds, but not changing the rotation of the planet (If that is how days and nights work on Tamriell...)

Other than that, all is good. No further comments from my end. Expect my CS soon


EDIT: Perhaps once the Vivec incident is over, this seems like it has a very good sequel value

Name: Philior (Philippe) - see Bio for details
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Faction: None, though he knows some brawlers and people from smuggler gangs.
Birthsign: Lover
Class: A mid-level acrobat, with low magical knowledge (only because he's a Breton, really).
Apperance: Kind of underfed (skinny, modest muscle built), is clothed (plain low-level clothing) as and acts like a Bosmer
Height: Average Breton, 1m70 or about 5,6 foot
Eye Color: Hazel
Weight: 60 kg / 130 lbs
Hair Color: Naturally a light brown, matching his eyes, but dyed some tones darker.

Bio:
As a kid, his father lost him in a gambling bet to a Bosmer street circus collective. Since his mother had died after labour and his father was a miserable drunk and skooma addict, this didn't became to be the traumatic memory it might appear to be.
The Bosmer were kind to him, though they did everything to make him look like one of them. As a Breton, however, he now had outgrown his foster family... and the ears also never went unnoticed during street acts. Until his 17th, he could take part in the acrobatic acts, but from them, he had to leave the small circus and find other ways to make money.
After several small jobs, he ended up in criminality, mostly just dealing on the street or an occasional beat-up if someone owed him some money. By the time he was 20, he despised the way he had turned in, so he became a scholar. Having had no education whatsoever, his magic never really exceeded that of lighting candles or making some water boil.

Personality: Low self esteem, conflict avoiding, optimism and contentment he tries to keep to himself (afraid it might bother someone for whatever reason)
Other: He will never leave his cuddle Mr. Cuddles, it's the only memory he has from his mother (it's a hideous, deformed sheep).

Currently on him:
A bag with 50 drakes, some books, an iron dagger and Mr Cuddles wrapped in some cloth

Well, I guess constant dark clouds could replace making nights longer, so I can explain that.

And here is my character sheet.

Name: Quick-Tail
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Faction:Theives Guild
Birthsign: Steed
Class: Theif
Apperance: A tall, thin argonian, with large eyes, long snout, and A dorsal fin on the back of his head. His scales are a deep red and deep blue combonation.
Height: 6'5"
Eye Color: Argonian
Weight: 142
Hair Color: none
Equipment: Wears a full leather outfit, Light Iron shield, and carries around a Elven longblade

Bio: Quick-Tail was born to a poor family in the Imperial city. His parents were theives, and were high ranking Theives guild members. He was raised a thief, and quickly became a nimble thief in the theives guild. His father, who was his Doyen, was arrested and put in jail for life. He was 16 at the time. His mother raised him from that point forward. One mission, when he was 18, he abandoned his fellow thief in order to attend to his sick mother. The other thief was arrested, and Quick-Tail was shamed in the guild.

When quick tail was 20, he was transferred to the Morrowind Theives guild branch by the Gray Fox himself, because "Family Ties began to prevent Quick-Tail to do his Job Correctly" Quick-Tail was devastated to leave his family behind, for his mother was paralyzed from the waist down (She was attnted to by a close family friend) and his father was on limited parole and couldn't leave the imperial city. He couldnt even go to the waterfront to visit his Wife.

In Morrowind, Quick-Tail restarted his life inside the Vivec Forgien quarter and lives currently with a young Bosmer woman named Aylia and a middle aged Dunmer man named Trihas Telvanni. They all three operate as one of the Thieves guild's only remaining operatives inside of Vivec, and are especially active helping the desperatly poor inside the Forgien quarter.

Personality: Quick-Tail comes of as Rash, Arrogant, and often makes decsions too quickly. He is driven by what his heart says, and not on logic. This often gets him into trouble, since he rarely considers the consequences of his actions. Quick-Tail is incredibally loyal to those he holds close to him though, and would do almost anything for them.

Other:none

Well, my character then:

Name: Folven Hardil
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 162 (Appears upper forties, curse you elf years)
Sign: The Atronarch
Faction: Vivec Hunting Club- A group of middle aged men drinking in a room full of animal trophies. Sanctioned by the Fighter's Guild, most of them are retired members who no longer go on missions.

Class: Hunter
Skills: Marksman, Light Armor, Sneak, Field Cooking, Trap Making, and Navigating Wilderness

Appearance: A rather old Dunmer, he has dull gray skin with his fair share of wrinkles. No one would call him an elder, but he is old enough to have risen through many of the Fighter's Guild ranks, retiring at Defender at the age of sixty two. His once toned muscle has deteriorated into flab from too many afternoons of drinking and recounting old stories.
Hair: Silver-gray, cropped short. Flat on top and thin on the sides, the top of his head is beginning to bald.
Eyes: Red, usually half closed.

Mental: Folven has a very relaxed mindset, borne from years of apathy. He was once a very energetic driven young man, but now he is content to complain about politics and young people. However, his skill is un-doubtable, if less than his boasts would have you believe. He has had over a hundred years to practice his aim, and they have not been wasted.

Armor: An old set of chitin armor given to him by his Father, it has his name inscribed on the left boot and pauldron
Weapons: An old unstrung steel longbow with twelve remaining intact arrows
Clothing: Middle class garments, mostly tans and browns.
Miscellaneous: He has an old journal that he will show people as proof of his accomplishments, as well as a few medals he got from the Guild. He also has an empty Flin bottle.

History: Grew up in Vvardenfell, on a farm with his large family of nine. His father told him he was terrible at seeding and planting, and told him to go catch the family some food. He came back with two full grown guar, and was a hunter ever since. He joined the Fighter's Guild as a bowman, and had an un-exemplary and long career there.
He was not really a follower of the Temple, and didn't care much for the Nerevarine, Vivec, or anyone else involved in the entire incident. He was much the same way uncaring during the Oblivion Crisis; Vivec wasn't hurt, so he didn't really have much of an opinion on the matter.
Now, with all this Pure business, he is much the same way inclined. He was surprised to hear of the destruction of the Temple, but not really upset. He would rather just keep his life as it is. However, one of his friends is secretly a member and is trying to convince him to attend a meeting. He has his doubts, but may show up.

Name: Shabael Zelma-Al
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 1874
Faction: Refugee
Birthsign: Atronach
Class: Spellsword
Apperance: Shabael is a very old Dunmer. He has an arched back do to centuries of labor. His skin is very leathery and wrinkled. He has a faded blue-green tattoo of a flame over his left eye.
Height: 5' 3"
Eye Color: Red
Weight: 120 lbs.
Hair Color: Grey

Bio: Shabael was born to Ahemmusa parents migrating with their herds in 1E 2380. He grew up trained as a herder of Guar. Over time he was accepted as their Healer when they were on the move and he became proficient in many Restoration and Alteration spells. He married early in the second era and had 4 children. His time with the Ahemmusa was profitable to their standards. Then the third era came.

The third era hurt the Ahemmusa worse then any other ashlander tribe. Shabael had always been a believer in the nereverine prophecies but he never believed they would happen within his lifetime. It became almost impossible to herd far beyond the camp due to threat from the hidious monsters affected by the Corpus plague. Crops began to be affected by the Corpus as well. When his wife contracted Corpus and he was forced to kill her for the safety of the tribe in 3E 427 and he fell into a deep depression The ashkhan of the Ahemmusa died of corpus not long after that. The wise woman of his tribe Sinnammu Mirpal took control of the tribe. His depression became worse and would spend entire days inside his tent, only leaving to hear if Sinnammu had news of the nereverine.

Finally in 429 the nereverine himself came to the camp and was named Clanfriend. This inspired Shabael to get back on his feet once again. He offered the idea of evacuation to his fellow tribemembers. The next year they began the laborous ordeal of crossing the ashlands. Though many of the most gruesome monsters had vanished there still remained many more threats. They finally settled 30 miles east of Ald'Ruhn where they were able to trade with the local people. Things were starting to look good for them finally. They had the admiration of many of the citizens of Ald'Ruhn who had also been able to meet the Nereverine. Sadly this didn't last long. In 433 the Oblivion Crisis began. Once again it hit the Ahemmusa harder than most. The Ahemmusa were shattred when the Daedra attacked Ald'Ruhn. Shabael and 30 other refugees were able to escape from the ruins of Ald'Ruhn. The rebuilding of Vivec proved an attractive offer. Maybe now that the Tribunal were dead they would be welcome among the Dunmer once again. They were accepted with open arms into the St. Olms canton. Just as in Ald'Ruhn they provided hope to the many commoners and paupers living in the canton. However many of the houses didn't trust the Ashlanders much. After all they were barbarians.

The cult of The Pure spread like rapid fire through the ashlander refugees. One by one Shabael saw friends and even his one remaining son all of whom he had known for centuries turned away. Eventually the Ordinators kicked them out of the St. Olms canton and into the squalid Foreign District. Though Shabael refuses to give into the lure of The Pure he remains under constant vigilance and suspision.
Personality: Shabael is generally very quiet and reserved, even more so since the death of his wife. However he does interact very warmly and kindly with good friends.

Outside Vivec, sunrise 6:59

Ravu stood outside of Vivec and stood motionless in the breeze. 2 other men, conceled by white robes and bandages like him, stood by him. They were his seconds in command, Yerga Telvanni and Frovu Territan, two ashlander chiefs who were amoung the first to accept his truths. he grinned, but the bandage over his face concealed the smile. He looked to his left to Yerga. Yerga looked at him also. were they able to see each others faces, they would be looking each other in the eye.

"Are they ready?" Ravu asked

Yerga nodded, "Indeed." as he said that, two more men wearing black robes emerged from the nearby house.

Ravu turned around. "You know your task. Execute tthem."

The men nodded and dissapeared into shadow of the morning.

"Beautiful morning, isnt it?" Yerga asked

Ravu walked forward towards Vivec, "Yes. A lovely day for a revolution. Disperse now, we shall meet at our designated meeting point"

Forvu nodded, "Yes sir."



OOC:Short first post, but it sets up the mood. Begin RPing if you wish, and keep sending those character sheets!

Name: Elarian Anarys
Nickname: Greymane
Gender:male
Race:dunmer
Age : 175 (appears in his late 40s)
Birth sign:The Tower
Faction : fighter's guild (mostly because it gives him afig leaf of legality when selling his services)

Class:Sellsword (no, it's not a misspelling of spellsword) - Blades, Destruction, Light armor, Illusion, Acrobatics, Restoration, Sneak
Class Description: Sword for hire, a Tamriel-born relative of Earth's condotierre, the sellsword is a sword for hire, specializing in hit-and-run tactics, on dirty tricks rather than brute force. But there' more to to the job than killing : leading mens, plotting tactics and strategy and most important keeping a firm eye on the bottom line....

Appearance: A tall and muscular dunmer, in his late years but keeping in an impressive shape. His skin is somewhat weathered from years of being outdoors, but his face don't bears much mor marks of age.
Skin:dark grey
Hair colour:silvery grey
Hair style: rogue knot
Weight:160 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Eye colour:crimson
Scars/Tattoos:

Equipment:
Primary Weapon(s): dwemer claymore
Secondary Weapon(s): glass dagger

Armour: complete mithril mail armor
Clothing:comfortable suede travel clothes - when socializing, dark red trousers, white silk shirt and coat of dark red silk and gold brocade

Mental Description : Quite a cynic, Anarys is a mercenary through and thorough, mainly concerned with keeping his pockets full to finance his taste for grand living. But he maintains a tight grip on his temper, having seen too many idiots destroy themselves by overindulgence, laziness or blood-lust. He follows the mercenary's code (respect your contract, no pointless killing or destruction, an offence to your brothers in arms is an offence to you)


Biography: : Born in a merchant family in Morrowind, Anarys soon felt the desire to escape the dull life of a provincial merchant, and embraced the way of the sword. Getting embroiled in various troubles with the local authorities, he left his home town to embrace a mercenary career that carried him all over Tamriel, fighting along and against about just any military force to be found there. The Oblivion Crisis found him in Vivec, where he earned some fame for his role in defending the city. A repute of saviour of the innocent that rather amuses him, as he was mostly interested in saving his own life. Now that things are returning to normal, he finds himself increasingly idle. And increasingly in need of money...

Saint Delyn, 7:03

For Philias, this day would be different. Should have been, actually, but he overslept. If starting a new life wasn't exciting enough to make you get out of bed in time, what was? Then again, it wasn't his first. This time, however, he was going to make it on his own, no more being sent from person to person and only seeing progress in the refinement of the insults he receives.

The Dunmer who was about to find his scholar missing sure was the most intelligent he had served. He even seemed to be fond of Philias, as far as a Dunmer can be fond of someone like him, of course. Over the last year, he had learned Philias more magic than anyone before him… though, mostly out of practicality. "Philias, it seems as if I forgot my key. Open the door, will you?", addressing one of his friends, he would then mumble - loud enough for Philias to hear: "See, I learned him a new trick." And - oh what a coincidence - the otherwise to tightly locked front door would then have a lock barely worth of a middle class house and swing open... after about 3 tries. The old man never bothered to learn him any combat magic. "Oh, you must be joking! You're a way too good help around here to have you loose your hand to some deflected fire ball." he sputtered. Rarely did he see a Dunmer laughing so hard.

He packed all his belongings. He had to hurry, as the Dunmer would come dome down in less than 15 minutes. On the other hand, he didn't have too much to pack, not to say pathetically little: some books, 50 drakes, an iron dagger and Mr. Cuddles, wrapped in some cloth.

Mr. Cuddles had lost his tail to Philias's previous master. He was a real buttocks, and did business with some heavy guys too. He once transformed Mr. Cuddles' tail in a [not appropriate to say], just to piss Philias off. He begged him to alter it back to the normal tail, but he refused. Heart-torn and his eyes full of tears, Philias had to cut off the tail, since he couldn't just leave it in it's current 'state'. The twisted freak watched the entire scene with a grin on his face, then picked up the [thing], transformed it back and before Philias could snap it out of his hands, made it burn. The bastard got what he deserved, because without Philias's tactful interventions, his arrogance got him on the bad list of his heavy friends. Having missed a payment just by an hour, some brawlers busted in his home and made him cold. Philias, being his scholar (and a foreigner), got beaten up as well. He still has trouble sleeping, as both his chest and back have sore, slow healing wounds. Thinking back to the bastard's well deserved faith helps though...


OOC: Some feedback on if this meets up to the standards would be appreciated, as I have no idea.

Vivec, St Olms, 7.05 AM
Old habits, as well as the growing activity and noise from the Plazza, united to pull Anarys from his sleep. As he stretched and got up for some cleaning and dressing, hi thought drifted to his current situation. Which was unemployed, if yet a far cry from penniless.
At first it had looked like a straight job. The Hlaalu merchant-noble needed a bodyguard, and Anarys needed a job. Things went well, despite a number of close calls with irate trading partner. Until the miserly slime asked him to bully lesser merchant into accepting a trade proposition bordering on financial suicide. A task Anarys had not particular qualm with performing, as long as he was paid for it.

With his employer insisting that as an employee he was bound to obey every order from his employer, and Anarys adamant on being paid as a bodyguard and not a knee-breaker, things didn't go well. And ended with a quick dismissal. I even got my severance pay. He could hardly find an ordinator and complain I didn't break the legs he wanted me to...

As he got dressed, he decided a bit of caution might be a good thing, donning a light mail shirt under his coat, as well as keeping his claymore. He didn't think the Hlaalu trader would be angry enough to send some assassin his way, but slipping a word of his influx of coins into some mugger's ear was a real possibility.
Once fully dressed, he headed for the nearest tavern for a well deserved breakfast. While sitting idle and sipping some tea he left his mind drift about ways to get back to the trader. Narrow-minded, miserly penny-pincher. I know there's no pay in revenge, but I owe him... Catching him in an alley and beating him to a pulp as some rustic charm, but I'd rather aim for something more stylish... As his eyes moved to the inn's waitress, a smile moved to his face. Oh yes, I think I have a really sweet idea... I wonder if she his really his daughter, but the little minx would be a lot of fun even without slapping his father's face... And from the way she was clinging to me to hear my war anecdotes, it will even be easy. He'll regret the day he cheated me...
His mood now bright, Anarys finished his breakfast before heading toward the Hlaalu Canton, walking at a leisurely pace and enjoying the fair weather.

Quick-Tail, 7:10 am

Quick-Tail leaned against the wall outside the Foreign Quarter District in Vivec. He was waiting for his fellow thieves and comrades, Aylia and Trihas, to return from their hiests. The night before, the guild had been contracted by an unkown source and was given a large sum of money to perform a high stage theft in the city. Since Quick-Tail, Aylia, and Trihas were the best thieves in the city, they were the ones to do it. The three of them were to steal a famous Telvanni wivards staff, the ancestral blade of the redoran councilman, and 20,000 gold from the Hlaalu vault and place them within another councilman of another houses' private quarters. Apparently it was so that "We can bring in a large amount of Refugees into the city without ordinators stopping us", which made sense. If the councilmen were arguing over this theft, ordinators would be distracted stopping riots in the elvanni, Hlaalu, and Redoran districts than to check the refugees. The ordinators had began to not let refugees in because of overpopulation in the foreign quarter, but something in Quick-Tails gut told him this didn't have to do with any refugees.

Quick-Tail got his part of the job done first, hiding 20,000 Hlaalu Gold in the Redoran Vault. Quick-Tail did let himself "Use" about 1,000 of it though. No one would notice, right? Quick-tail had been waiting for an hour for his comrades, who should have been done by now. Something isn't right here... at least one of them would have shown up by now. Almost as if on que, Aylia rounded the corner of the Foreign district with a sly smile on her face. Aylia was even younger than Quick-Tail, since she was just 19. she had a pretty face and short copper hair that went down to her chin. She was wearing leather armour also, and kept her "Lucky" Glass shortsword with her on her thefts. He was interested in her romantically, but he bieng an Argonian and her a bosmer, he wasn't sure how it would work. The two were infamous for flirting, according to Trihas. He chuckled.

"Looks like I beat you again, Aylia. Of course, I shouldnt be suprised. Me bieng the better thief and all." Quick-Tail laughed and Aylia smiled a little bit and shook her head. "Whatever you say. we all know Im better." she laughed and Quick-tail laughed too. To most, they seemed to argue alot. But that was just their way of poking fun with each other. Sure, it was odd. But Quick-Tail didnt care.

"Stop! Thieves!" came a raspy voice from behind Quick-Blade, he swung around to see an ordinator, ebon mace shining in the morning sun, chasing them.

"Bugger! They must have seen one of us! Split up, quick!" Quick-Tail whispered, "Meet up at our plan be site in the arena sewers!" Quick-Tail sprined off towards some nearby stairs and Aylia rounded the oppisite corner.

I have a bad feeling about this... Quick-Tail thought

I'm srry I have to quit I'm in like 3 other rps

Folven Hardil was out of breath, tears running down his face, and laughing quite hard. His good friend and fellow Hunting Club member, Iryanil, had just told him the most entertaining story about a young lass he had tried to "get to know" some forty years ago. His Altmer friend's attempt had ended with him being pushed over the balcony of the Foreign Quarter and into the dirty water below. It had taken him the better part of an hour to get back home, and another three to get the stench out of his favorite cuirass.

Folven's great belly bounced up and down in time with his deep, booming laughs.

"You know, Iryanil, if I had a drake for every time one of the girls in Vivec turned me down, I wouldn't have to spend my time here. I'd be over in the palace having a drink with the councilors. Of course, I never got more than a well placed slap for my attempt."

"I'm telling you, Ir, if you want a wife, you need to get out of the city." A fellow member, Dolar Bero, told him "My Mrs. came from Balmora, and I tell you, she was jumping at the chance to go to Vivec."

"We've all seen your wife, Dolar, and we're not about to take advice from you." Iryanil's comment was followed by more laughter from the other four old elves sitting in the large room. Folven took another swig of Mazte from his glass, eyeing the Alit head mounted above the fireplace.

After another round of drunken comments followed immediately by choruses of hearty chuckles, Dolar stood up. He swayed back and forth as he said "Well, I really must-I really got to get going."

"I can hear the master calling; Darane never lets you stay out, does she?" Folvan asked; the alchohol obvious in his speech "But really, you can't get back by yourself, you'll wander into some stranger's house in the middle of the night. Here, I'll help..." Folvan struggled to stand, finally pushing himself up and out of the large lounge chair he had been straining.

"Alright, you too, we'll come drag you out of the gutter tomorrow morning." Another club member jested.

"Aw, we'll be fine." Folvan waved away the man's comments as he ambled over to the door. He reached for the handle on the wrong side, caught his error, and finally swung the entryway open.


The two Dunmer wobbled through the streets of Vivec unsteadily, the Ordinators eyeing them suspiciously.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love you, Folvan?" Dolar was leaning heavily against the large elf.

"You don't have to say it-"

"No, you just don't understand. I feel so bad; I kept this from you guys for too long. I want you to come to the meeting. I-I want you to come, and help us out." Folvan's friend fumbled over the words, sounding sincere in the way only the drunk can.

"Whataya mean, Dol? What meeting?"

"Don't tell anybody, Folvan, but I've been helpin' out those Clean guys the Ordinators are always after."

"You mean the Pure?" Folvan was confused; more so by the gratuitous amounts of Mazte in his system than his friend, but the remaining brain cells he had were stumped by what Dolvan had said.

"Yeah, and I want you to come help us out. The Houses don't know what they're doin' man, these Pure guys know what's going on. Here," He handed Folvan a small envelope, the seal already broken.

"Anything for you, Dol. I'll be sure to be there..." Folvan put the envelope in his shirt pocket, still stumbling along the Foreign Quarter canton, his friend's safe return forgotten.

The two continued through the narrow streets of Vivec all night, until they were found the next day in the St. Olms district. Folvan spent the rest of the day recovering from the night before, until he found the mysterious letter in his pocket, completely oblivious to how it got there.


OOC: Sorry about the length, I wanted to introduce my character and give him the means to get to the Pure meeting at the same time. Hopefully the drunken dialogue sounds okay.

IC - 7:30 - Vivec Foreign Quarter Plaza

Shabael slowly pened his eyes as the mumblings of other refugees began to echo in the great hall. In his tent were two other much younger Dunmer, Ashahulu and Dun-Il. He liked both of them but had suspicion that Dun-Il had been in contact with The Pure. As he finished getting dressed the tent flap opened and Sinnammu came in holding several small pastries. She handed one to each of them. "I can't believe our people missed out on something like this all these years!" Shabael took a bite out of it. Almost immediately a chill went down his spine. He handed the pastry back to Sinnammu and shook his head trying to get the flavor out of his mouth. The taste was sweeter than anything he'd ever had in his life. Not ready to be in a bad mood he got up and left, slowly being able to croak "I'm going to go get some real food". He limped along the many stalls of merchants who had set up shop for the refugees. He finally found a stall with various harvested vegetables. Shabael picked out a piece of saltrice and a plant he recognized from travellers as comberry and payed the man with drakes he had gained off bartering off his remaining Guar. He made his way through the maze of tents slowly enjoying his breakfast.

Quick-Tail, Vivec Foriegn quarter, 7:31 AM

Quick-Tail darted trough the insides of the foriegn quarter as the Ordinator chased him. he had been running for a good 15 minutes now, and was hoping to loose the ordinator in the mess of refugees in the great hall of the vivec foriegn quarter. What had once been a large hall of shops and stalls had become a hall full of tents, sleeping bags, and refugees who judging by the smell needed a good bath. Quick-Tail ran straight into the mess of people to try and avoid the ordinator. As quick tail was running, he ran into an elderly Ashlander man taking a stroll through the hall. He was apparently eating saltrice and what looked like comberry. The force of Quick-Tail bumping into the elderly man may knockk him off his feet, but he didnt care really. Quick-Tail quicky regained balance, turned around and yelled "Sorry Sir!" to the man and continued the run. The Ordinator had lost Quick-Tail in the mass of people, which was good news though.

Now that Quick-Tail was free of the ordinators pursuit, Quick-Tail took a moment to catch his breath Running that hard for a long time was draining, but Quick-Tail knew he couldn't stop for long. He jogged out of the foreign quarter and felt the su against his face agin. Oddly, what had started as a sunny day had begun to become cloudy. It looked like it could rain, maybe even storm, later judging from the clouds. They even looked somewhat ominous.

The clouds werent Quick-Tails biggest concern though. His biggest concern was to Find Aylia. then they would find Trihas, and leave the city before nightfall. The Ordinators knew their faces, and Ordinators rarely stopped a pursuit. Quick-Tail wasnt free forever, but he may be free long enough to get out of there. Aylia knew where they would meet up, so he ran there as quickly as he could. He stayed in the shadows and avoided people to stay out of the Ordinators sight. He thought one almost saw him, but it was a close call.

He walked into the Arena district and saw a Red-haired bosmer. Aylia. Wow, this was easier than I thought. he ran over to Aylia and shouted. "Aylia!" the bosmer turned around, "Oh thank Azura! I thought they got you!" she said. As Quick-Tail approched, Aylia ran and embraced him. Quick-Tail was suprised, but was happy she was embracing him, even though he was a good foot taller than her.

"Don't scare me like that again, ok?" she said. Quick-Tail chuckled, "Dont Worry, I wont." they embraced for a moment more, then separated.

"We need to find Trihas." Quick-Tail stated, "The ordinators are probably looking for all three of us. Whats the time?" Quick-Tail asked. Aylia looked carefuly at the sun.

"About Ten minutes before the sun Reaches its 8th point in the sky." She said. Quick Tail Nodded. "Lets try to be out of here in 2 hours."

Philias, Just outside of the Foreign Quarter, 8:23

The sky should look clearer outside of Vivec, he assumed. It was a pathetic attempt to comfort him, though. The sky wasn't clear, those cursed clouds seemed to have come out of nowhere, as to say "Philias, now you've done it." The thought of a tutting cloud made him find his inner joy again. Now I've done it, I sure have. - I must remember to figure out a plan next time I just throw away a perfectly good life...

"Philias? Why are you up so early? Not leaving are you? Ha!" the old Dunmer laughed, only answered by a guilty look. Philias looked away, he couldn't just straight out tell the old man why he was standing there in the kitchen, packing all he loved and all he needed, thought he needed. "Philippe," the Dunmer said - he had never used his Breton name, Philias was even surprised he knew what it was - "so the time has come. Or? you see it as the right time?" he was clearly out of words. Philias took a shallow breath: "Yes? master" "Huh, yes? yes indeed," the Dunmer muttered with a bitter smile. The Mer took a deep breath - something Philias had proven to be unable of - sat on the corner of the kitchen table and gestured to the open place next to him. Philias obeyed. "You were genuinely the best human - that word clearly came difficult to him - scholar I could have wished for, not the brightest, no? but your attitude was one to envy. - I can see why you are leaving. A young man like yourself wants to see the world, explore it, find it's boundaries and his own." Master, you have no idea how wrong you are. Philias thought to himself, even then addressing the Dunmer as his master. "If you ever need anything?", there was a change in his attitude, "don't? don't come back here." The Dunmer brusquely turned towards Philias, his eyes burning through those of the poor young man. "Go!" he shouted the Breton in the face, raising his hand. The hand hit hard on the cheek, only to continue to the door, almost invitingly. An innuendo only a Dunmer could pull off.

A stranger passed, giving him the most despising of looks. What would your mother say, sonny. he could hear the stranger think. His mother? his mother?... The corners of his mouth lowered, the sparkles in his eyes extinguished. He felt the urge to take out Mr. Cuddles and start to cry, but he didn't, maybe he should have had, some nice lady would come to comfort him, someone to tell his story to. Someone? someone at all.


OOC: Is the flash back clear enough or still confusing?

St Olm’s Canton 8.05 AM to 8.25

Once done with his breakfast, Anarys left the inn. Wondering about how to use the idle time he had. That’s an advantage of sorts of being employed. You’re not worried about what to do, but rather about how to do it… His idle walk took him outside, enjoying the sun and seabreeze while looking at the city’s animation. With crowd filling the streets and walkways, the banners hanging from the bridges and the ships plying the canols between the cantons, Vivec was a unique sight in Tamriel.

The worsening clouds pulled him out of his contemplation. Rain would detract from enjoying the scenery. Holding an annoyed sigh, Anarys brought back his thoughts to his situation. Soon concluding he should head for the Fighter’s guild. I couldn’t keep a serious training schedule while guarding that Hlaalu moron, I need someone skilled to spar with. And maybe they’ve interesting jobs waiting. I’ll have to push through the refugees but at least the plaza’s mostly clear…

Having decided his course, he walked away at a brisk pace. Finding as usual that having six feet of dwemer claymore strapped to his back made wonders to get some walking space. Without bringing unwanted attention from the ordinators, as he was distinctive enough for them to remember how much of a help he had been during the Oblivion Crisis.

As he came close to his intended destination, someone caught his eye. He couldn’t put a finger on the why, since the scrawny Breton sitting on the sidewalk wasn’t different from the press of refugee he was ignoring. Maybe because seeing a grown man on the verge of tears rubbed his distaste for crybabies the wrong way. Or maybe the instructor he had been more than once rose to a challenge.

No matter why, he sat confortably on the low wall bordering the walkway, his back to the buttress raising to the canton’s roof, facing the man. “Looks like you’ve got some seriously crappy days coming your way, outlander.”. His voice falling easily into the harsh Morrowind accent of his youth, his expression displaying only a trace of curiosity.

Philias, Foreign Quarter, 8:27

"Looks like you've got some seriously crappy days coming your way, outlander." A Mer suddenly appeared, sitting next to him. It was a Dunmer, middle-aged but built like a god. The only thing that was even more impressive was the giant claymore on his back.


"Oh.. H-hello" Philias said, keeping his eyes fixed on the pointy end of the claymore. [i]I don't want to end on th?t[/i/, he though. "My name is Philias? and I guess this is how someone looks who has just been proven wrong by the ring on his teacher's hand. May I know your name?"

OOC: slightly confused about the timing, PM me if it needs altering.

[I edited for clarity]
Anarys carefully kept hidden a surge a amusemant as the man's gaze stuck to his sword.
"I'm Anarys, from the Elarian clan. But I don't care much for honorifics, the only fortunes still attached to the name are those of wars." Which was a severe understatement, as it had fallen from clan to a family close to one thousand years ago. But he had long observed that nobility, or a bold enough pretense of it, opened more doors than it closed.

He looked at the man's cheek, noting the bruise and cut, commenting in a detached tone "Not much of a teacher to hit you to prove you wrong if he's not instructing you in combat. And even worse to let a cut to get infected where a bruise would do the trick."

Ravu, Pure Meeting Place, 8:25

Ravu stood in the ceremonial meeting place in vivec of the Pure: a secret room inside the once was temple districts waterworks. The room was dark, illuminated by only magical purple fire that gave it a dim glow. The Circle in the midle of the room had many runes craved into it, a skull placed in the diddle of it all. Several Pure high clergy surrounded him. New comers, all wearing many different things, began to arrive with Pure members wearing their white Robes. The meeting was to start in 5 minutes, right around the same time his Agents would reach their mission objectives. The theives he had hired were already causing havoc between the houses, and those thieves were now bieng chased by Ordinators. And now with the newcomers, almost everything in his plan was ready. He grinned. Soon, very soon, we shall acheave what we have all yearned for so much. He gave a deep, disturbing laugh.

"My people, i shall begin this meeting in 5 minutes. This will give any stragglers time to get in." he declared. As he said this, two black robed figures entered the room. Ravu smiled. "Ahhhh... friends, have you completed your mission?" The firstblack-Robed man stepped forward, "Yes Sir, the captain of the Ordinators is dead. He had an unfortunate... accident while eating an apple." Ravu smiled. Poison apples were such an elegant form of murder. The second man stepped forward. "Yes Sir. The fire in the foreign quarer has begun. The quarter will be burned down in an hour." he said. Ravu was delighted. His plan was going of without a hitch.

"Is it about time to start the meeting, sir?" Yergas asked him.

"Yes, the beginning of the end is about to begin." Ravu said. He walked to the podium, and raised his arms to gain attention from all the newcomers and disciples.

Name: Feslin Arvas
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 76
Faction: Hlaalu/Camonna Tong
Birthsign: Shadow
Class: Former Ordinator skilled in Illusion
Apperance: His hair is in a rogue-knot style, and he has a tattoo of a serpent on his right cheek. He's of average build if a bit lean. He wears of variety of outfits, at the time he's wearing his Hlaalu-style bone armor.
Height: 5'11"
Eye Color: Red
Weight: 170
Hair Color: Black
Equipment: He has a glass dagger and an ebony mace. He also kept his Ordinator armor from years ago, if only for the purpose of disguising himself, along with the set of Hlaalu-style bone armor he's currently wearing. He has a pack guar carrying his armor, clothing, and other survival items such as bowls, pots, flint and tinder, etc.

Bio: Born to two unknown parents in Othrenis who abandoned him for whatever reason, he was adopted by a Temple pilgrim and spent his early years travelling from religous site to religous site. His knowledge of the history and teachings of the Tribunal was astounding for his age, which was noted by higher-ups in the temple. Making his pilgrim father proud, he was taken to Vivec for training as an Ordinator. At the very young age of twenty (OOC: I'm assuming elves are nearly full-grown by then) he began patrolling as an Ordinator in the city. Noted for being clever, sneaky, and tricky he was given many undercover assignments, usually infiltrating heretical cults (he had even infiltrated a Nine Divines Chapel in his later years, a politically dangerous assignment). With the fall of the Tribunal, he, like many other Dunmer, fell into a period of apathy. He gave up his role as an Ordinator and immediately began working as a Hlaalu agent. When his willingness to commit both illegal and profane acts became clear his employers put him into the role they'd been scouting him for, an agent of the Camonna Tong. His most recent assignment was to accompany a skooma smuggler making a trade with a particularly dangerous local dealer in Vivec, particularly dangerous for him because of his years in the city as an Ordinator. While most of the Ordinators he worked with had also jumped the boat or commited suicide he knew someone would recognize him. He wanted to leave the city as quickly as possible.

Personality: Self-centered, cynical, and apathetic. He wants money, and nothing more. Cool-headed and rational, he's not one easily angered. He has a deep desire, one not even he is willing to acknowledge, to find something new to believe in. He wants that same feeling of fulfillment serving the Tribunal gave him.

Foreign Quarter, 8:32

Philias felt so small and meaningless, compared to this battle-hardened Dunmer. He was puzzled on what to say. The man didn't seem someone to make a light-hearted reply to. He'll tell me more, when he feels like it, Philias eventually concluded, I might as well keep the conversation going

"He caught me leaving him without saying a word. He made me realize how wrong I was to do so and then showed me the door? he's that kind of teacher. But in the end?", Philias abruptly stopped. Screams went through the dense croud like a wave crashing in on the shore. Philias waited for the Dunmer's look to cross his again before climbing up a fa?ade to get a better view.

He didn't have to climb very high - luckily, as he couldn't have reached the roof anyway - as just above the heads and canopies, providing shadow for the numerous stands, there seemed to be but one sea of fire. Flames were coming out of the windows, licking the wall dangerously and reaching for the roofs. The fire was spreading fast and it wouldn't take too long for it to reach them. "Anarys, sir, a fire, as you must have noticed. We should make a run for it. All streets but the one to the east seem to be blocked."

OOC: I won't be on for a while, so if you want, you can make me follow you where you want, you don't have to wait for my permission.

Folven read the letter once more, unsure of whether or not to follow its mysterious directions

'My Loyal Pure,

The time is neigh, soon the whole of Vivec shall be cleansed. The meeting shall take place within the old Temple District waterworks at sundown. All our brethren shall attend, and the Master's plans shall be lain bare for all to admire. This city that has been the focal point for the vile Houses shall soon be no more.

Praise His Name'

The elderly Dunmer could not believe it. He did not know how he had come by this letter, but the infamous Pure were planning to destroy his city! 'I have to stop this!'

Folven decided that he must attend; if nothing else then to learn their sinister plans so he could tell the Ordinators. He sat, deep in thought, by his fireplace for a long while. The letter did not tell a date, but he knew it had to be tonight. His mind made up, he took his travelling cloak from its peg and set out into the dying sunlight.

OOC: Time skip to later that night. The foreign quarter is on fire, Ordinators are on the alert, and the city is on lockdown. No one can enter or exit. The Pure meeting is about to begin.

Ravu, Temple district Underground, Pure meeting place, 8:30 pm

"My loyal disciples, I am pleased to tell all of you that the day of reckoning has come! Our power grows stronger by the minute! Tonight shall be the ight where we begin our cleansing! The Foreign qaurter is now in flames! Officials have locked down the city, so none may escape our plans! I now have a mission for all of you gathered before me, that will further forward our journey! Listen to what I say closely."

"Tonight, we shall sever the legs of Morrowind, and it shall not be able to escape us. but to do that, blood of the infidel must be spilled. The Ordinators, who have tried so hard to stop our plans, shall die tonight! All of you, my disciples, are to bring me a head of an Ordinator! Kill them! Their blood shall bring us closer, closer to purity!" Ravu yelled. He gave a hysterical laugh, as all the inner excitment of what was to come escaped him.

Quick-Tail, 8:30 PM, Arena district underworks

Quick-Tail was tired, frustruated, and wet. He had been hiding from all the ordinators all day, his hideout in the foreign quarter was currently on fire, and Trihas was still nowhere to be found. He couldn't escape the city because it was locked down, and to top it all off, he hadnt had a good meal all day. And Quick-Tail was hungry. The only thing that prevented him from snapping was Aylia, who was somehow keeping her cool despite the everything. He turned to Aylia.

"Have you an idea of what we should do next?" Quick-Tail asked through gritted teeth. Aylia sighed, "Chill out, Tail." Tail was how Aylia often referred to Quick-Tail, "We will find out what to do soon. Just stay quiet" Quick-Tail sighed. she was right. and her voice had a wierd way of calming him down.

"Hmm. Well, we need a way out of the city. Any Ideas?" Quick-Tail asked. Aylia shook her head, "No. Its alot harder since were in sewers," Quick-Tail nodded. "Yeah, probably getting out of here would help."

Aylia Slowly took out her shortsword, "Follow me, and stay quiet. We will get out of here."

Folven was not pleased. He had hoped that the Pure would have nice, clean meeting halls to do their business in. 'They talked so much about purity and cleansing, why not start with themselves?'

The large elf pushed others out of his way; both the strange robed men and the other normal people dressed like him. The room was dark. 'Too dark' He thought. The only light came from a strange, purple fire in the center of the crowd. The fire illuminated an even stranger circle, carved with ruins, and the most revolting part of the whole display was the skull atop the circle.

Also in the circle was another robed man. Or at least Folven thought he was a man. He could not be sure what he was exactly, for his entire head and face were covered with bandage. 'What happened to him?'

The room became dead silent as the bandaged man began to speak, the same booming voice he had heard when he first walked in "My loyal disciples, I am pleased to tell all of you that the day of reckoning has come! Our power grows stronger by the minute! Tonight shall be the night where we begin our cleansing! The Foreign Quarter is now in flames! Officials have locked down the city, so none shall escape our plans! I now have a mission for all of you gathered before me; that will further forward out journey! Listen to what I say closely!"

'The Foreign Quarter? In flames?! That is where the club is! That is where Ir and the others are right now!' Folvan quickly became distressed. He tried to leave the crowd, to get back to save his friends, but the densely packed people he had been so eager to get in front of earlier held him in. No one was looking at him, but he was trapped. The booming voice began once more.

"Tonight, we shall sever the legs of Morrowind, and it shall not be able to escape us. But to do that, blood of the infidel must be spilled. The Ordinators who have tried so hard to stop our plans shall die tonight! All of you, my disciples, are to bring me the head of an Ordinator! Kill them! Their blood shall bring us closer, closer to purity!"

The man's voice echoed once. Folvan stopped his struggle. The silence was broken by one, frenzied laugh. Then another. The bandaged man howled wildly, and the once still and silent crowd began hollering and shouting, jumping up and down in their blood crazy ecstasy.

'By Azura...Who are these people?!' His mental call was answered by one word, chanted over and over.

"PURE! PURE! PURE!"