[Austin Suggs]

The Wrong Walking Path

Part I: Into the World's Mouth

Last Seed 16th, 4E100

For the first time since long before the downfall of the Septim Throne and the return of the Aldmeri Dominion, all is quiet in Tamriel. Deep in the forbidden isle of Alinor, the endless Thalmor bureaucracy plots for the end of days; on the Ruby Throne, the eccentric Empress Morihatha II has devoted herself to reforming the Cyrodiilic Empire. Perhaps not today, and perhaps not tomorrow, but there is no doubt in anyone's minds: War is coming.

However, in the East, in Morrowind, dawn is on the horizon. Slowly, the scattered Dunmer are uniting again. In the west, House Redoran rules from the ebony citadels of Blacklight; in the south, the merchant-Houses of Sadras and Dres have rebuilt the ancient cities of Deshaan; House Telvanni has cut off almost all contact with the rest of Morrowind, vowing never to fall under the influence of the outlanders again.

The resettlement of Vvardenfell has only just begun, and as of now, the holy isle is rife with smuggler dens, heretical cults, rogue Telvanni, and revolutionary elements. Fishing villages and Temple outposts dot the coasts, but few dare venture beyond them. The Ashlanders report activity from Red Mountain; distant, unknown figures spotted at the foot of the mountain; strange noises, like discordant bells, echoing across the valleys and fissures.

Out of every rumor and myth about the island, though, one alone stands out. For reasons unknown, a small army of Imperial loyalists has amassed somewhere in the Ashlands, supposedly lead by the lost heir to the Septim Dynasty. Adventurers and mercenaries come from far and wide in search of them, seeking truth or money or honor. Perhaps they shall earn all of them; perhaps none. One thing is certain, though: Few return from the Ashlands unchanged.

For reasons of your own, you have joined the latest batch of recruits in the lost heir’s legion, gathered by the enigmatic Mr. Cosades in the town of Seyda Odai, the informal capital of the Bitter Coast, where you prepare to set off, deep into the wasteland.

tl;dr:

This is an action-adventure-horror-mystery roleplay set in post-Red Year Morrowind, co-GM'd by myself and the lovely Athell. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1509850-the-wrong-walking-path-a-morrowind-rp-signup-and-interest/

[Tyrone Haywood]

Taren Draylyn

The room was empty.

Taren sighed, grabbing a seat off in the corner. Cosades had rented the back room of a tiny bar, The Three-Legged Guar, to meet with the new recruits in. But, as usual, he'd find something of dire importance to do elsewhere, and Taren was the very first to arrive.

Technically speaking, Taren was neither qualified nor officially allowed to start the meeting himself (nor, for that matter, was he an actual member of the Legion), but it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to cover the old outlander. He didn't like to think of himself as sheltered, but he'd never met anyone with his boss's capacity for trouble.

For the most part, they had a fairly standard group. Chef (the last had choked on an ash yam), Logistics Officer (the last one was eaten by an Alit), healer (also eaten by an Alit, possibly the same Alit, no one knew for sure), another foot soldier (the casualty rate wasn't so bad, but desertion was always an issue), some kind of trap specialist (they'd had another, a long while back, but, well... You can guess what happened to him. It wasn't an Alit), maybe a few others.

Places like this made him anxious, more than he'd care to admit. The architecture was Hlaalu in origin; nothing like the rounded, smooth shape of Redoran and Indoril homes. All sharp edges and square walls (whichever outlander thought of making buildings square should be burned alive). He missed home more than usual; the Bitter Coast always felt so alien. Too wet, too green, none of the same sounds, none of the same tracks. The food, though, was the worst part. Who ate food that wasn't covered in ash? It was like yanking the blanket from a child's arms.

Taren tapped his feet and waited. They'd be here. Sooner or later. Eventually.