"Don't count on me to apologise for doubting normal speech could make it's way to whatever you're using for brains." That is what should have reached Seltaire's brain. But it wasn't. Instead, the dark brown face mere inches from his snarled sardonically.

"Oh really? Well, I'd figured talkin' normally wouldun get through tha' thick skull o' yers." The snarl turned into a sneer as the Redguard took a step back and rose his voice. "Oh wait... yer a filthy skipper. Ya don't even use yer head, do ya? Only thinkin' with yer dikey."

"I ain't a pervert!" Seltaire shouted at no one, threw down the remains of the slaughterfish, and reached for the gold-hilted cutlass at his side. "Don't ya dare-" As he drew he began his threat towards the Redguard, who in his mind's eye was in front of him. But the actual path of the sword was right towards Jimri.

Ormil intercepted however, taking the spiny dorsal fin of the slaughterfish husk to Seltaire's sword arm as he tried to swing forward. "That's enough!" The spines pierced into his flesh and the sword clattered to the floor beside Jimril's chair, the sailor stumbling back to cradle his now bleeding arm. "There'll be none of that behavior in here or I'm throwing you out." Ormil declared as he dropped the fish. Seltaire was leaning on the mast post in the center of the inn, and looked up at Ormil. Then his eyes fell on his sword, and on Jimri. Those brown eyes widened and glimmered.

I... I tried to attack her... I tried to attack a woman... Even when drunk I never do that... Seltaire's face fell, and his gaze fell to the ground along with it. What's wrong with me?

"Are we clear, sailor?" The innkeeper's voice was a dull pound in his head, but prompted Seltaire to raise to his feet, inhale deeply, and looked at Jimri for a moment. "I'm sorry." Cradling his arm in the other, he walked out of the inn, and after shutting the door behind him, climbed up the side of the retired vessel. Once on the deck -in a familiar, homey setting- he sat down with a thud that would likely be heard by those inside. With fists and teeth clenched he shuddered.

What did he do to me?!

OOC: yay for crappy social skills being bolstered by having your mind meddled with!

"I ain't a pervert !" As Selataire spoke, Jimri froze for a fraction of second, dumbfounded by this non-sequitur. But shortly enough to notice him drawing his cutlass and starting a swing in her direction. Unsure of wether he would aim it at her or what were certainly hallucinations. if it's the hallucination, it's too close for comfort, she kicked her chair backward, quickly raising her other leg while falling, her heel aimed for the pirate's chin, too close to his chest to be hit by the blade.

Ormil's intervention caused her kick to miss by an inch, while she ended her fall in a backflip of sorts, letting the momentum from the kick carry her over and rolling back to her feets, ending in a slightly crouched guard. Displaying far more experience with acrobatics and unarmed fighting than could be expected of a mere artist.

As Seltaire seemed to recover a modicum of sense and offered an apology she relaxed her stance. Once he had left, she spoke to Ormil "I don't think he's really in fault. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I'm fairly sure there's hallucinations in the mix. Maybe some rest will help. Maybe I can mix something to help with it too. But I'd rather not try my hand at alchemy before a good night's sleep or two."

Kalort reacted instinctively as Saltaire made to attack Jimiri, leaping from his seat with a shout. Surprised at this sudden aggression from a man who had once chastised him for speaking ill to a woman, and even more surprised at the fact that it was Ormil, not he, who met the pirate and stopped him.

"Sorry." was all the pirate spared to Jimiri, who for some reason was now crouched on the floor behind Kalort, who hadn't seen her kick turn into a back flip. The Redguard glared at the back of the pirate as he made to leave, his jaw locked and fists clenched.

"I say, such vulgar behaviour." Ormil muttered as he reclaimed his seat and picked up a chicken leg. "I wouldn't expect you to mix with such people Kalort, I'm surprised."

"Your surprised? I'm surprised, since when did you turn into a bouncer?" He asked, his eyes still on the door where Saltaire left. He felt sudden rush of hot anger flush through his body, he couldn't tell if it was directed at Saltaire or his own shame that he failed to protect some one in danger. The anger turned into a sudden pang of guilt as his eyes fell on Church, still unconscious in the corner of the room.

"Well, I had to learn a few trick's didn't I? The last bouncer went missing a week before your little disappearing act. Haven't heard from him since, could be dead for all I know." An image of a strangely familiar Orc mixed with a bosmer floated in front of Kalorts mind's eye as Ormil spoke, a grizzly image which would forever haunt his dreams.

He's dead.. That monster killed him.

"Where are my weapons and armour?" he asked, changing the subject for fear of upsetting Ormil, although he very much doubted that Ormil would care, he had lost many friends in this thief war.

"In your room I would imagine, why? Your not seriously considering going after whoever kidnapped you are you?" The chicken leg rolled off the table as he looked up at Kalort with wide eyes, evidently fearing for either the Redguard's sanity or safety.

"Not just yet. But eventually, he has a lot to answer. But want to make sure I have a weapon ready the next time that pirate starts going off into his little violence filled dream world." He called over his shoulder as he left the group sat around the table and followed the familiar path to his room. It was exactly the way he left it, a broken bottle, a shattered chair and ripped sheets. All from the night he was taken by the mad man. Not that they mattered to him, but it was a cold reminder of past events he would rather forget.

It felt as if his very soul screamed out with joy as his fingers caressed the handle of his mace, he felt complete, no longer useless. An invigorating feeling. For a man not centred around violence he felt strangely lost without a weapon.

"Ok, I think its time for some rest, all of us." He spoke to the group at large as he re-entered the room. Ormil nodded in agreement and hurried off to a back room. "It's been a long.. I don't know how long, weeks? We should all get some rest. Church wont need his room and I don't want mine so anybody who wants a comfortable bed get a move on, I'll sleep in a bedroll in here. There's two other rooms adjacent to mine and a washroom bellow deck if any of you want to freshen up before hitting the sack."

"Yes yes, and my room is also available, I wont be staying I have to visit a contact in Bravil, I trust you will look after her wont you?" Ormil spoke as he entered the room, his arms wrapped around several bedrolls. Refering to his boat as a female as he always did.

"I'll look after her, don't worry." Kalort replied, taking the bedrolls and deviding them up across the floor, placing his own beside the bar, he could never sleep unless facing a wall for some reason. He liked to feel closed in.

"Good, I doubt she could survive any more abuse, poor thing. Two fires in two months, what are the odds? Honestly?" he muttered more to himself than any one as he went about collecting some things. "Now, I bid you all fair well, don't worry about the tab, you can work off all the money you owe me when the float has its grand re-opening." adding a little humour to his words, Kalort doubted any but he would pick up on the sarcasm.

"Good bye Ormil, we're grateful." Kalort called after him as he opened the door and stepped out into the cheerful daylight beyond, the sound of running water and singing birds contrasted with Kalorts dark brooding thoughts.



OOC: Sorry for the extreme delay, had a lot of trouble in RL recently, mainly uni but some other stuff to, I've been way to busy to post. Hope you all wont hold it against me though. I'll be moving time on once your all nicely rested so get ready for some action.

Dead?

Again..?

Honestly, I wanted to create a talkative character but I could find nothing to talk about. I don't want this RP to die but I lack the insight on what could be done.

I can't post till you do...

[OOC I'd say most prefered to wait for you to show up - three of us showed up in one hour after your post]

As Kalort mentionned a washroom Jimri raised an interested eyebrow Even after that washup in the sewer I'm not in any kind of condition I'd like to sleep in. As soon as Ormil had left she stood up "Excuse me, but I can't let pass a chance for a serious cleanup. Sure we've just had a bath of sorts, but I feel way too sweaty and grimy for my tastes.". Her eagerness hinting that the neeed for a cleanup might bit not purely physical.

Darting to the lower deck, she quickly found the washroom, noticing with unmitigated pleasure that if the place lacked a real bathtub, it had at least a stove and a ready supply of warm water upon it. Which she didn't waste any time to enjoy, discarding the pitifull remnant of her nightgown, now little more than a loose collection of shreds. A thorough soaping, scrubbing and rinsing later she felt way better - especially after a quick look to the tub's repulsively colored water confirmed a cleanup had really been needed...

Having dryed herself, she picked up her blanket again before getting up, rummaging through the various clothes brought forth to pick something comfortable, as she didn't feel in any kind of hurry to leave before having had a chance for some sleep. Which ended up with a choice oriented toward comfort rather than any pretense of elegance... A thick woolen nightgown, worn to an almost sinful softness and warmth from numerous washings and about four sizes too big, and the only footwear she found fit for her small feets : a pair of fur slippers, taylored to look like fluffy bunnies and dyed in a vivid pink. Kid's slippers, but they're warm and comfortable no matter how silly they look..

Jirmi sat back at the common table, enjoying the soft warmth of her outfit and not caring about the totally undignified picture she offered. "Now that leatherface is hopefully out of the picture - I just hope Occato's mages will just kill him. And maybe behead and stake him, then burn the corpse and smelt the ashes in few silver urns packed wiht Arkay's strongest blessings against undeath - it stills leave a big question unanswered. Has one of you any hint of what he was trying to do or how he picked his... guests... subjects... whatever we were to him ?

I mean, the jerk didn't ask me a single question, he just kept hurting me, thinking aloud and taking notes. But never once even speaking to me, just speaking to himself like if I was just... I don't know, some material he was working with. That means it can't be something I know. And as far as I know I haven't any sort of special origin or ability worth experimenting upon. Sure i'm young, fit and healthy, but there's no shortage of people as young, fit and healthy as me."

"Apparently you haven't learned how this works, scaly-wag. Your jurisdiction is on the high seas, but on land, we're in charge." The thick accented voice came from a rather burly Breton, who leaned on the table of the inn. Around him were two guards in leather armor, one of them a Redguard and the other a Khajiit.

"If they pu' dikeless men like ya in charge on land, it ain't no wonder I chose ta do my business on the seas." Seltaire replied smoothly, and several of his comrades and brothers of the sea laughed at the bar nearby. The Breton's face contorted with anger, as did his guards, and he slammed his fist on the table.

"When you pawn off your loot, you go through us. When you buy loot, you go through us. When you try to get the heat off your crew, guess who your captains go to; US!" The Breton fumed, and Seltaire ignored him, swigging from his flask.

"Do... you.... un... der... stand?" The Redguard asked in an agonizingly slow voice, his tone so dripping with malice it could smack a man into concussion. "Or... have... you... had... too... much... to... drink?" The man's skin was the color of cocoa powder, and he stank of sweat and sea salt, his large nose a mere inch from Seltaire's as he came close. He tilted his head to one side, mocking Seltaire.

The sailor tilted his head to the same side and held up his flask towards the man's nose. "Nah, I got ah few more shots still left in meh." Seltaire spoke softly. "And I unda'stand ya... I'm just choosin' to ignore ya." He cracked a toothy, cocky grin as he said this.

"Oh really? Well, I'd figured talkin' normally wouldun get through tha' thick skull o' yers." The snarl turned into a sneer as the Redguard took a step back and rose his voice. "Oh wait... yer a filthy skipper. Ya don't even use yer head, do ya? Only thinkin' with yer dikey."

"I ain't a pervert!" Seltaire shouted at the Redguard, threw down the flask, and reached for the gold-hilted cutlass at his side. "Don't ya dare-"

"Seltaire!" The strong voice of the First mate cut through Seltaire's roar, drawing his attention. The cutlass was at the Redguard's throat and all he had drawn was a measly knife, but the situation in the First Mate's eyes were not in Seltaire's favor. "Tha' is not the way we be'ave. Now git yer ass back ta the ship b'fore I report ya to the captain. An' if anyone else o' ya let these lads bait ya into a fight, I'll do the same to ye as well!"

Seltaire frowned, watching the events through his own eyes. As he sat there on the dock of the ship inn of the Imperial City, he realized what had happened inside, when he had nearly attacked Jimri. He had been reliving a memory of his past. But why had it come in pieces like that; why had it meshed with reality and nearly cost a woman her life? Seltaire got up and began to pace the deck with his swagger-step, though in the gentle rock of the boat on the Imperial bay it seemed as smooth as any man's walk on land. And the thudding of his boots would likely be heard by those inhabiting the ship.

Wha's happened ta my memories? Wha's happened ta my brain? Wha's wrong wit' my thoughts?! Why'm I thinking like this?! I usually don' cont'mplate, I jus' do! Bu' I can't do nothin'! The wack job who did this ta me is in jail, I can' get to 'im 'cause I don' understand this magical jail stuff. I don' know where he is, wha' the security is like.

I cannut even be sure he is be the reason fer-

"Tha' bastard is the reason fo' all o' this a'right! An' I gonna find ah way to get him, an' kill him wit' me own sword! He gonna die fer what he done to me!" Seltaire stamped the deck hard, hands in closed fists.

OOC: I'm happy to continue, but I've completely fallen out of these characters and this situation. Is anything going to happen, or is there any way we can be given the chance to start a new situation?

OOC: Something will be happening soon enough you'll see in either my next post or the one after, Pigeon you might want to watch out, your about to come back to society.. Typing my post up now.

I'm still game though my character is not turning up the way I wanted him to be.

PM me, tell me whats up and i'll see what i can do, he may turn out to be perfect for this RP yet, im opening up some factions in my next post, which is half done (its a long long one)

Kalort


The wooden floor provided a strange comfort to Kalort after an uncountable amount of sleepless nights on the stone of their demonic prison, it wasn't the first time he'd ended up on the floor of the bloated float, but it was the first time he'd willingly given up his bed after an exhausting ordeal. But the thought of trying to sleep in a confined space sent shivers of discomfort down his spine, he needed space for now.

The sounds of light footsteps could be heard gently muffled through the floor before Jimiri's lower half became visible between the maze of chair and table legs. Kalort frowned at the sight of what looked like brightly coloured rabbits on her feet, he hadn't been aware that Ormil had a soft spot for such strange items of clothing.

It became evident that he didn't nurse a soft spot for more strange garments as Jimiri became fully visible as she traversed the radius of the table and reclaimed her seat, she was wearing clothes that looked to big even by Kalort's standards, but it suited her small frame in a way the Redguard couldn't quite grasp, like a word which refuses to leave ones tongue.

He propped himself on his elbow and gazed at Jimiri with a smirk as she spoke, listening to her desires for the maniac, they where fair desires indeed. Each fate she described as one punishment wasn't quite fitting for such a demon though, nothing was. But she had the ball rolling at least, which was more than he could say, he was to tiered to even think of a fitting punishment for a petty thief.

"Have you ever considered working in extortion? Or organised crime perhaps? I don't doubt people from such backgrounds would cherish ideas such as yours my fair maiden." He said with a chuckle. "At any rate I agree, there is no fate good enough a punishment for him, but if death keeps him from the people of this world I'd be more than happy to lend my mace to the executioner."

The sounds of thudding and mumbling could be heard from the entrance to the boat, Kalort could only assume it was the pirates drunken hallucinations again, or perhaps another attack, but he felt more comfortable believing that a pirate was on the ship. A strange thing indeed considering in any other situation he'd promptly cut one such as Saltaire down. Or at least bludgeon him with something heavy and very blunt.

"He didn't ask me anything.. I felt him in my mind but he never asked a question. It felt more like he was calling out to someone else while in my head but never got the answer he was looking for. I think maybe the people who lost their memories may have had the answer he was looking for. I just hope he didn't get it, who knows what it could have been."

The thought that Tiberius may have unknown knowledge worthy of such a brutal perversion of his very own mind turned Kalort numb, where would he have learned such dire secrets? He couldn't possibly think of an explanation simple enough to answer such a question.

"I think that we should work on gathering information after we all get some shut eye, this city never sleeps so we wont have to wait until morning." It was true, the city never did sleep any more, the day was filled with trade, law enforcement and innocent civilians. The night.. The night was filled with crime, murder, extortion and corruption. The steps Ocato had taken to better his Empire has blackened its heart.

"I have connections with the local guard, I was once in the legion. But I think the best step would be contacting the thieves guild.. Maybe even the Scholars guild, I have an old friend who joined with the scholars guild to continue his research after magic was banned.. He's an excellent mage but his passion lies in archaeology. He has a shocking amount of information regarding nearly every subject, ears all over the province he has.

"If any of you guys could help it would be greatly appreciated.. But if you want to turn your back on this ordeal that's understandable as well, although that may be easier for some of us than others." he added the last few words guiltily thinking of Odessa, she seemed to be the most effected by the mage, she would have to live with the result of his deranged meddling for the rest of her days.

The mask of the mage appeared in front of him as he closed his eyes, his eye sockets hollow and filled with maggots, blood pouring from a toothless mouth, congealing on his chin before evaporating in putrid black smoke. Kalort suspected it would be an image which would accompany him in his sleep for many years, as he rolled onto his back and tried to usher in a new dream.



The Arcane Battle Grounds, Council Chamber, Mage tower.

"Has he been processed?" the tone was silky but there was no mistaking the anger threaded through it as he spoke through a haze of pipe smoke, his face obscured by shadow, the only feature those around him could make out was a pair of glittering eyes reflecting candle light and a large hook like nose.

"Yes sir, he has been transported to solitary already, the elf however remains behind."

"There's an elf?"

"Yes sir, a Dunmer, he was with the mage when he was arrested."

"Is he guilty?"

"No, he was unconscious but we have not yet learned his connection to the mage, if you allow us to speak to him we could perhaps unravel this mystery in a matter of hours.

Each mage around the room shot looks of incredulity to the Breton whom just spoke, the smoke seemed to still in the air and the light almost froze in its dance across the walls.

"Release him, we will keep an eye on him.. But the laws of our empire only allow us to process criminals, he has his rights and we have our rules."

"Very well.. Sir."

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

Rain pounded down on the white cobbled stone roads of the imperial city, many homeless grouped together in the doorways lining the streets, seeking shelter from the cold. They paid little attention to the two robed men pushing the body of a Dunmer from the back of a horse drawn cart into the pooling rain.

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


Solitary

The cold stone floor provided little cushioning to the skeletal like frame of the Altmer as he made contact, thrown down by two prison guards. Every item of clothing.. Including his mask, was stripped away from him when he arrived. One guard was still babbling incoherently from the face which looked back at him as the mask was removed.

"We'll bring you your food when we remember, filthy mage." One of the guards muttered, spitting to the floor beside freshly imprisoned Altmer before slamming the cell door shut. The sound of a heavy bolt locking echoed around the hollow room before stilling in the cold air.

He simply lay their on the cold stone for what felt like life times, gathering his thoughts, deep in meditation. A careless observer would probably assume he was dead. But in truth, he wasn't far from death.

His lungs rattled violently as he drew breath, slowly he began to raise his head from the floor. Blood was seeping from a fresh wound above his right ear, trickling down behind his jaw line and across his neck, the bead slowly changing direction as his body moved up straight.

"How long have you been here?" his voice matched the atmosphere of the prison he now resided, devoid of emotion and life. He was now sad cross legged on the floor, both wrists resting on a knee each.

"Minutes before you arrived my lord." a weak voice replied from behind the Altmer. The room was split perfectly between shadow an light, the barred window providing a fair amount of illumination around the Altmer and the door before him, but avoiding the shadow around the rooms second occupant.

"Did you bring my penance?" the same dead tone spoke to the unseen visitor to his cell. The sound of cascading waves hitting stone could be heard in the distance through the cell window.

"Yes my lord, It is with me." A small almost child like Bosmer moved from the shadows, slightly bow legged with a diminished almost translucent complexion to his skin. He stopped few step short of the mage, dropping to one knee and holding his hands out to the man.

"How fairs his efforts?" His long thin fingers reached out to the Bosmer's hands, gently wrapping around the straps of a leather mask. His skin almost seemed to tighten with apprehension as it made contact with the rough material.

"He recently located those who escaped, they await your order and they will retrieve the vermin." The Bosmer whispered, hiding his child like yet ferocious features from the gaze of his master, with fear more than awe.

"Where are they now?" The mask felt like a child in his hands, delicate, fragile and comforting. He began turning it over and examining it from every angle before looking back to the Bosmer.

"In the waterfront district, they are residing on the Bloated float inn, although one of their number has disappeared without a trace. We suspect the mages may have gotten to him already."

Lumps began moving under the Altmers flesh, almost as if he had all manner of creatures living within him. The Bosmer noticed, suddenly feeling even more unnerved by his masters hellish demonic nature, even a vampire like himself feared the mortal mage.

"Why wont you look at me?"

"Sorry master?" He blurted, panic fluttering around his dead heart. He suddenly felt very aware of the Altmer's eyes on him. They seemed to bore into the flesh like hot screws or steel arrows.

"You refuse to gaze upon your master." The hollow emotionless tone was more unnerving to the Bosmiri vampire than any malice filled voice ever could be, Sithis itself would be envious of the void populating the Altmer's chest. "Gaze upon me and hear my words.."

The silence almost seemed to echo with fear throughout the room, the Bosmer was visibly shaking now, if it where possible he would be dripping sweat from his pale diminished skin onto the dust strewn floor.

Slowly he turned his head, his eyes raking up the body of his master. Gazing at the skin stretched grudgingly over bone, his ribs seemed to jut out with his collar bones in and awkward almost non-mortal manner. Every now wand then something would move beneath the flesh, like a parasite desperately trying to escape its malnourished host. Dark shadows passed over his flesh, seemingly without a source of light or object to create such shadows. The Bosmers eyes kept moving, as if they where forcefully drawn to a source they would rather avoid.

Both pupils dilated in horror at the grizzly visage they where now locked on. His face was not that of a man or elf. His skin was as pale as snow, both lips full and pink. But that was where the normality ended. His cheeks did not exist, it looked as if somebody had cut the flesh around his gums and removed large chunks from the bottom of his cheek bones down to his jaw line. His eye sockets where black and hollow, no flesh could be seen inside, just a void like abyss, the flesh around the sockets themselves looked charred and burnt. His fore head had what looked like three ridges growing outward, no more than half an inch in height from, but each ran down the length of his face before meeting with his brow and nose, Or what used to be a nose. Now nothing remained save for some flesh tightly pulled over bone, almost like the catalidge had been removed on purpose judging by the scar tissue.

"Almerion, send Almerion.. I have faith in his art."

"Yes my master." The Bosmer muttered gratefully, following suit as the Altmer mage stood. He began backing away towards the window, stooped over in an awkward bow. The mage watched curiously from hollow sockets as the Bosmer melted into the shadows and a large amount of mist began floating out of the cell window. A rare talent.

Outside the Bloated float, Four hours after Ormil's departure.

The rain persisted unrelentingly throughout the region, Drowning the now corrupt city in its purifying water. Almerion loved the rain, it felt refreshing on his skin, but he mainly loved it for the amount of cloud cover it provides, it made day time strolls considerably more bearable.

"He has given the order, you are to proceed." A wrecked looking Bosmer said to the towering Nord, his diminished skin almost chameleon like next to the rain running down his face.

"Very well." Was all the Nord said in reply before stepping from out of the buildings shadows toward the Bloated Float. His hair, white and wire like, reached the small of his back, Tied into a furious looking tail by a reluctant looking length of silk. His beard matched his hair in colour and ferocity, reaching the bottom of his rip cage, it to was tied with silk, and it to was also sopping wet. He looked ancient but formidable. Taller than most Nords and broader than most Orcs. His left arm cased in the pauldron, bracer and gauntlet of an Ebony set of armour, The fingers on the gauntlet slightly lengthened and sharpened. This was the only armour to be seen on him. The rest of his attire was upper class clothing, Black silk tunic threaded with silver cotton. A large thick belt with an ebony clasp the size of a small hatchet head. His boots reached his knee's, and save for the rich leather material, wouldn't look out of place on a pirate. This was all topped off by a black velver travel cloak and hood, tied around his neck with a small glass clasp.

A group of seven robed figures followed behind him, appearing out of the shadows as if they where made from them. Each had their own ominous presence which added to Almerions, each carried a steel sickle blade or short sword.

"Master, there is a drunk on the deck of the ship, should we dispatch him before we proceed?" On of the robed figures said, gesturing toward an eight fingered pirate on the deck of the float.

Almerion didn't reply at first, he merely smiled a cold smile, lips curling upwards under the wild facial hair, his steel blue eyes wrinkling at the corners.

"No.. He is one of the ones we are taking as luck would have it.. He is the one I was sent to capture previously, I am not surprised he was one of the ones who escaped." He muttered, placing his hand on the chest of the vampire beside him who showed every sign of proceeding to kill him. "You go inside with the others. Take the ones we're seeking and escape. You know the meeting point if you are separated from the group. Proceed."

With that each member of his party abandoned him, running toward the ship with shocking speed, some attacked windows and made their way into the lowers decks, the others simply stormed the front door. Almerion remained outside however, calmly walking towards the sailor.

"Ah delightful that we should meet again after our last meeting." He said, his voice booming over the noise of the rain beating the ground, throwing his arms wide as if to welcome a long lost brother into the fold. Two guards could be seen running over a distant bridge to the docks, Almerion only smiled at this. He had anticipated a difficult job, he had been rewarded a night of ecstatic pleasure in the slaughter of others.

"You see, it rather seems you have left my dear friend and master a little too soon, he had intended to discuss more things with you, explore your history a little more. Destroy your mind."

"Stop right their! Raise your hands slowly or we will be forced to put you down!" One of the guards shouted, both where now mere feet behind him pointing a pair of arrows at his back.

"I will not raise my hands, until you read the charges against me, is it not my right as humble citizen of this fair empire?" Almerion spoke slowly and deliberately as he turned cautiously to the men, both palms held facing the sky to show he was without a weapon, his black silk gloves slowly changing to a darker shade as the rain began to soak in.

"You match the description of the man who slaughtered the guard captain but a week ago! You will raise your hands and come with us!" He carried on shouting, his face growing red as the blood rushed into it, from anger or effort or maintaining such a rude tone Almerion did not know, nor did he care.

"Very well." Almerion muttered as he quickly shot both hands upwards, each guard followed, both glowing purple, as the shot higher and higher into the sky. Both under the influence of Almerions levitation spell. The vampire turned back toward the pirate just as the sound of the guards crashing into the depths of the lake reached his ears.

"I'm terribly sorry for the interruption, it happens all to often. Now, where was I?" He spoke quickly, the anticipation of the fight quickly building up on him was impossible to contain. With a shout of rage he lunged forwards, swinging a colossal fist toward the Imperial pirate with more power than accuracy, just as the ship door began to re-open.


Kalort

The sound of smashing and shouting pulled Kalort abruptly from an already forgotten dream, he instinctively sprang to his feet, picking his mace up from the counter beside him. With a scream he jumped forward to a robed figure carrying the unconscious form of Tiberius to the door, only to be put down by another assailant.

Pain split through his skull, shattering his mind like a porcelain vase, he quickly shook it off however and sprang back to his feet. He twitched to the side a little as a sword was thrust out toward him, just missing serious injury but not enough to avoid a deep scratch on his shoulder. The vampire crumpled to the floor as Kalort retaliated with a blow to the head strong enough to split the mast of a ship, the weight of his mace doing most of the work for him.

"What's happening!" Kalot shouted into the dark, several candles where lit around the room but there where so many bodies obscuring the light he cold barely make out who was who. He span around searching for the figure carrying church to see the main door to the ship ajar, the wind blew in furiously, putting out the remaining candles aboard the ship. With a scream he ran forward to the door, shouldering another robed figure out of the way as he ran.

Another bolt of pain ran through him as one of the kidnappers skewed his bicep with a short sword, Kalort screamed ferociously as he wrenched his arm away, damaging it more than the initial contact with the blade had.

Lunging at the Vampire he managed to wrestle the blade from its hand, both men fell to the floor with a violent bang. Kalort managed to get a grip around his wind pipe and began applying ample amounts of pressure while feeling around for the dropped mace or short sword with his spare hand. The Vampire merely smiled as he tried to prise the red guards fingers from his throat.

"Why wont you die!" Kalort screamed in frustration, completely forgetting about his weapon as he began beating the creatures face relentlessly with a now bloody fist.

"I'm already dead my sweet!" The creature replied, his voice horse from Kalort efforts to suffocate him. Kalort stopped punching as he felt the cold sensation of steel against his leg, waiting not a second he reached down an retrieved the weapon and proceeded to run it through the side of the vampires torso.

"Help me! They have church!" Kalort screamed into the black room, pulling himself up with the aid of a near by table and recovering his mace from its hiding place in the shadows.

OOC: Sorry for the delay, i was waiting for the last reply via PM, now that i have it i can post up. The post is fairly terrible but its the best i could force myself to do while high medication for a recent siezure i had. I dont like bleeding from the ears so i'll keep taking them even if my work suffers for it ^.^

Now that last section (almerion and Kalort) was representing the time skip, you can RP it however you want, the past then after the time skip, the past then the time leading up to the time skip or just after the time skip, depends on how much you want to write or can write really doesnt it. Pigeon, that was you who got thrown out into the streets. You can decide what district your in since it happened four hours before now-present time, you could have wandered any where.

People on the Bloated float, have fun with the vampires, FC4 have fun with Almerion, IN/Peleus, you know what they want, you can either RP it yourself or i will RP the ones taking you, just let me know at the end of your post in an OOC =)

And dont you think leather face is much prettier without his leather face?

"Ah, Delightful that we should meet again after our last meeting." A booming voice caused the pirate to turn around by the rigging he had taken up sleeping occupancy in. It was a small nap, and he was never a heavy sleeper, but Seltaire had no idea just what time it was now. But when he gazed through the torrent of water to the speaker, the time of day did not matter.

A huge nord in black silks, with a single ebony armored arm and ribbon-tied hair stood there. Seltaire stared as the man turned to oncoming guards and conversed with them, before casually throwing them aside with magic. The sailor grit his teeth.

He remembered that man. Who he was and how exactly he remembered him eluded Seltaire, but he remembered that man. Seltaire vividly remembered the anger that rose from that man's actions in the past. "I'm terribly sorry for the interruption, it happens all to often. Now, where was I?" He spoke quickly, the anticipation of the fight quickly building up as he turned around. Seltaire raised an eyebrow, standing still with lips tight.

And then it happened. The large Nord's speed was remarkable, nearly inhuman, as he lunged upon the deck of the ship, a single fist flying towards Seltaire. But Seltaire had the home ground, as they were on the deck of a ship, where he was born and raised. The sailor strafed to one side, completely avoiding the inaccurate fist-slam and unsheathing his cutlass, the rain glittering over the jeweled handle.

"Tha' the best ye got ya pansy?" Seltaire snapped, legs spreading into a combative stance and his cutlass held at ready. "I think yer ribbin whip'd me, an' oh how it 'urt so." He sneered, not even considering asking who he was or what he wanted. He was an adversary, Seltaire was pissed, and that was all he needed to know.

As Kalort commented about her wishes for Leatherface, suggesting she might work for the organised crime, Jimri sneered "My ideas weren't about how to kill him. the soonest and most effective the better. Staking, burning and all, that's about making sure he stays dead. With what I've seen of his power, I don't trust the 'dump an executed ciminal into a common grave' routine to hold him safely. I'd rather avoid extortion or the like too - I would have a hard time looking mean enough for the job. And my tastes are a tad too refined for that line of work."

As he suggest to first get some sleep then poke their noses around for further information, she agreed wholehearthedly. "Count me in. I have a few contacts of my own, some in pretty heavy hitting circles. Money and politics rather than obscure magics and the like though. Maybe not what we need. But first and foremost, some sleep." Concluding with a jaw-splitting yawn as the warmth, mead and food combined with her fatigue to make a bed the most desirable of things...

As nobody seemed to have much to add, she stood up, "Well, I whishes all of you a good sleep", before quietly slipping out to one of the bedrooms. Leaving a stool leaning against the door and making sure the shutters were firmly closed. Once done, she went out of her borrowed nightgown and slippers and straight under the blankets, soon falling into the dreamless sleep of extreme fatigue. Somehting her last spark of conscious thought registered as a good thing.

Later in the night
despite being sound asleep, Jimri's keen hearing and the habits of a sometimes risky trade awake her. She couldn't tell for how long she had slept, though her whole body told clearly 'not enough'. But the noise could mean only one thing - someone was forcing the shutters open A short blade between the panels to lift the hooks. Poor security. Can't mean anything good for me. While the soon to be intruder finaly opened the shutters, Jimri didn't make any obvious move, seemingly still lasleep and only striiring a bit. Which left her left hand dangle, brushing what she expected.

At the same time, the glass broke appart and a robed figure forced his way through. the noise giving her a decent estimation of where he was, Jimri sprang into action, dropping any pretense of sleep. Her hand closed on the empty nighty bucket's handle and lifted it in a surprisingly fast motion, crashing it into the arm the unknown intruder raised barely in time to preserve his face...

Jimri rolled out of the bed, dragging the blankets along and letting them sprawl on the floor as she stood up, trying to figure out who her opponent was. Hum. The bastard's quick, and he's got a blade. Damn, that'll be tricky. Let's hope he's going for capture rather than kill.. As the shadowy figure lunged with his sword, Jimri wriggled out of the blade's path, pivoting on herself and forcefully putting an elbow into the man's chest. Apparently catching him off guard and cracking one or two ribs. Feels like he didn't expect me to be that quick and trained. But I'd better end this before he recovers. He's too good for comfort.

Nola awoke to the sound of footsteps outside the boat, her ears pricking slightly at the sound- she slept as sensitively as a cat. The ohmes uncurled herself- the previous night she had gotten better clothing for herself and Odessa- who could not be seen outside- simple breeches, boots and loose shirts.

Crawling silently to the window, she peered outside, only to watch as a vampire levitated to guards, catapulting them to their deaths. She froze.

She whirled, swearing ta'agran hisses under her breath. "Odessa! Everyone! Get up, get UP! He's here!" She ran to the half-breed, shaking her urgently.

"...He?" the woman said blearily, a confusing mix of emotions on her face.

Nola did not have time to spare for the poor woman's fragile mental state. She rushed to the other side of the boat, prepared to race off across the water to get away.

But she could smell it on the air... there were others here, she could sense them now. Grabbing the top of the window frame with her fingertips, she lifted herself off the ground and kicked out with both legs, smashing through the window. She dropped and prepared to jump out, magicka already swirling all around her, but something caught her around the waist. Before she could so much as scream, she felt the chilling slip of magicka down her spine, and her entire body went limp.

Terrified, unable even to look around, a bag was put over her head and Nola was dragged away, helpless.

-----------

"...He?" Odessa repeated questioningly, a peculiar mix of emotions within her. Who was he? What was going on?

You know who he is... that silken voice in her mind came again. He is... special.

She watched as Nola kicked in a window. Nola doesn't seem to think so... she found herself thinking.

That ohmes [censored] is too narrow-minded to comprehend! the voice snapped viciously.

Odessa recoiled from herself, shocked. Go to him... the voice urged. I can prove that it was not a waste...

What wasn't a waste?

Dencelle Oranne... the voice came. The breton harlet. Her frail mind appears to have been destroyed by the pain of it... but I remain, though parts of me- namely you- seem damaged. But I feel her strength, regardless... I am now ten times what I was... and perhaps he will want me now...

Dencelle. The name shook Odessa to her very core. That name seemed to hold so much meaning to her... and yet why? How? According to... herself... the woman was dead, all that remained were the parts of her body that had become fused to Odessa's...

And yet that name held power for her now.

Two men grabbed Nola, who stopped moving. A chill swept down Odessa's own spine; was the ohmes dead? Without thinking, she leapt on the nearest of the ohmes' aggressors, clawing at his face.

"ARGH! Someone grab her!" he screeched, and then Odessa went limp too.

Prisoner in her own body, she too was blinded and carried away, able to do nothing more than think... and feel...


OOC: Manu pointed out to me that I might wanna clarify. No successful attempts at rescuing these guys: they're on their way out.

As her opponent recoiled from the hit Jimri stepped back to giver herself some breathing space... before quickly stopping as she felt the wall at her back. Damn, not much room for mobility there.

Having her somewhat pinned down, the robed figure stepped forth unhuriedly, sword at the ready, snarling to her face "you'll regret that. I'll pin you to the wall and carve you up like a bosmer feast." As he finished his sentence the man lunged. The words gave Jimri an advance warning, letting her dodge the blade, though she felt a burning sensation along her ribs as it grazed her skin before hitting the wall with a lound thunking sound.

Before the man could react, Jimri struck, her hand chopping at his wrist. As he was still holding his blade firm, trying to pull it free from the wall, she was rewarded with cracking of broken bones and a loud curse. "you filthy bosmer trash, I don't need a sword to rip your throat and feast on your blood.". With a blinding speed he threw himself at jimri, pinning her against the wall and catching her in a strong embrace. A situation in which Jimri's small stature turned into an unexpected protection, her throat far below where he could reach, the vampire's fangs only slicing at her scalp. A vampire. Oh joy.

Bordering on panick, Jimri tried to wriggle her way free as the vampire tightened his embrace, forcing air out of her lungs. Feeling her strength falter, Jimri ressorted to dirty tricks. Reaching where she could, she grabbed at the man's pants, gripping and twisting his groin mercilessly.

The vampire released his embrace, panting with pain and reflexively bending over to protect his brutalized groin. An opening Jimri didn't waste a second to grasp, She grabbed the man's hair, forcing his head down while thowing a knee up, slamming the two together. A motion she repeated twice more before letting him sprawl to the ground, stunned. Pulling the shortsword from the wall, Jimri slashed madly at the vampire, litteraly carving him to pieces and stopping only when he turned to ashes.

Jimri paused a whort while, catching her breath and wiping the blood from her face. That's when she heard the sound of fighting elsewhere in the ship. Damn, it's not only for me. She quickly opened the door and sprinted toward the noise. Wearing only the vampire's shortsword and some blood, but too high on a mixture of fear and adrenaline to care.

Sorian was hardly asleep when a sense of dread awoke him. He didn't know why exactly was he suddenly so afraid, he just knew he had to move now.
I knew I shouldn't have remained here for the night, he cursed himself. But I just couldn't leave without having a chance at the Ohmes. Damn you and your appetites, Sorian!

In an instant he climbed through the window of the room he slept in. He was swift and reached the roof of the ship in moments.

He lied down on the wooden roof and looked down. He saw a swirl of figures approaching from all directions.
A co-ordinated assault. This doesn't look good.

Then he heard a silenced thud behind him. Instincts prevailed: Sorian roled on the floor; the hit that was aimed for his head glanced past him.
As he roled, he kicked at the legs of whoever it was attacking him from behind. He was successful in unbalancing his opponent.

His attacker fell to the ground. Sorian leaped upward and then throwing his weight, such as it was, down onto the enemy. A dagger he borrowed from the innkeeper was in his hand, slashing at his attacker's face.

But as he was about to plunge the dagger into the meat, the figure beneath him lifted both hands. One went for the wrist of Sorian's hand clutching the dagger, the other one at his throat.

Sorian had not expected that. Panic gripped him as he realized he is unable to breathe. The grip on his throat was incredilby strong. Before he knew it, black spots appeared in his vision and very soon a darkness came over him...

OOC: Sorry for the delay, I am so without energy these days it is horrifying. I don't think I've ever been so drained of the will to write before.

OOC: Just wanted to Thank you all for staying with me i think i'lll need to PM Pigeon though, and IN, its not actaully leather face (or now semi/skin/no eyes face without his mask) who is attacking Saltaire, its just one of his Pawns, Almerion the big friendly Vampire... well.. less freindly and more big i guess. Writing up my post now, looks like Its Just Kalort and Jimiri left until Pigeon shows up =)

OOC sorry missed the restart

IC
The cart pulled halted in the middle of the Temple district, ironically just outside the Temple of the One. The cart was occupied by a pair of robed figures, hoods up against the rain. They seemed nondescript but everyone on the street knew they the magi. It was the way the rain fizzled on their shield spells, evaporating and lending the two ghostly auras of steam. Those who could, vacated the street as soon as the ominous figures came into view. The only people left to witness the guardians of the city boot the unconscious body of a Dunmer into a puddle were a collection of homeless people.

Presently, the cart moved on and the starving desperadoes crowded the prone figure for a few seconds, it groaned. They left him quickly, he was still alive and semi conscious. Murder wasn't something even these street beggars would sink to. Besides, it was quite obvious that the ragged elf had nothing worth taking.

As the blurred shadows moved away from him, Farin moaned again, quieter this time. He'd been under paralysis for a while and he could finally feel the effects of the spell beginning to diminish. Another few seconds and he was able to move himself of the puddle, he began to inch himself towards the side of the street, growing steadily stronger as he moved. Within a minute he was standing, soaked to the skin and covered in detritus from the filthy streets. He began to stagger home, looking for all the world like an impoverished drunk and earning himself some filthy looks as he entered the prestigious Elven Gardens district where his apartment lay.

Minutes later he was standing outside, despairing as he stared at the firmly locked door of his home, fully aware that he no way of getting inside. He stalked the tall building, staring at the second floor, his floor. Despite the rain, he could make out a couple of drooping plants on the window sill, they had been deeply neglected during his month... months?... his time interned by the Leather Faced man. He'd banged hard on the door though he doubted whether he'd be let in even if his landlord was home... he was quite aware that he looked more like a beggar than a scholar. Finally, Farin approached one of the larger windows, it lead into the atrium he believed.
It's this or the rain
He thought as he removed some of his rags, wrapping them round his hand for protection. Luckily the window wasn't reinforced and shatter easily under the impact of his fist. Farin stood still for a moment, waiting tensely for an inevitable alarm from someone, surely he'd been seen breaking in so blatantly?

The alert never came and so, carefully avoiding the more jagged parts of his handiwork, Farin climbed inside...

An hour later he back out in the rain, clean now and comfortably dressed underneath a thick coat. His rapier, the main reason that he had returned to his home slapped against his leg, the sheath resting against a small pouch of septims. He headed for the market district, he would get board there for the night and set out in the morning. It wasn't safe here, he knew, his best bet would be to leave the country... eventually. His first step towards that goal would come tomorrow when he would leave the Imperial City for Chorrol.

Almerion

The pirate certainly impressed the ancient Nord, his Wiley cunning served him well even in his intoxicated state. Even so, it still wasn't enough to perturb the vampire. Though his arrogance would be his downfall.

"What language are you speaking exactly drunkard? I must admit I'm having trouble understanding that incoherent rabble." Almerion shouted over the downpour or rain slapping the wooden surface of the ship as he wrenched his hand from the splintered and cracked wood of the wall his fist connected with. "Though the sarcasm wasn't lost on me I'll give you that."

"Stand and fight cowards!" a Redguard screamed at the top of his lungs, running from the entrance of the bloated float and nearly colliding with Almerion. His eyes widened in recognition as he raised his mace to make a swing. He was to slow however, or so he found out as Almerion forced his fist into his chest, sending him tumbling backwards into the ship, almost effortlessly.

"Nuisance." Almerion muttered to himself as he paced toward the deck and its pirate.

He began circling the pirate like a predator tormenting its prey, staying just out of reach from the beautifully decorated blade now unsheathed in his hand. He had to hand it to him, his taste in haunts didn't reflect his taste in art.

The clasp of the vampires cloak came off with a single brush of his fingers, reacting to the gentleness of his touch and dropping off into his off hand easier than if he'd have forced it. Taking it over his un-armoured arm as it fluttered from his shoulders. He carried on circling the Imperial with hunger burning through his eyes, looking like a strangely deranged matador.

The floor creaked furiously as Almerion swiftly set towards Saltaire, whipping the cloak towards his face with one hand as he made to grab the handle of his blade with the other.


Kalort

The Redguard huffed furiously on the floor, trying desperately to force some air into his winded lungs to re-gather some strength and composure. The sounds of screaming could be heard bellow deck towards the rooms, Kalort's heart skipped a beat as he thought of Jimiri, Nola and Odessa. He wasn't sure if they even had weapons to defend them self with.

He immediately dragged himself up, panting like a wounded animal. Almost positive a few ribs where broken from the force of the Vampires attack. Never the less he ploughed on through the broken furniture, stumbling down the stairs to the sound of breaking windows.

Almost as soon as he was able to breathe as steadily as an injured man could he was bowled over by two robed men carrying two small bodies. They definitely belonged to the women of the group, but which?

His answer came sooner than he expected as he pulled himself up, only just being missed by Jimiri who was running past with a blood stained sword. Possibly chasing down the vampires who had taken Odessa and Nola, Or so he'd hoped.

"Jimiri! Wait, where are you going?" He called out, trying and failing to keep up and merely limping to a halt near the door frame.

Kidnappers

The bundle underneath his arm began to grow heavy as he ran down the water front streets toward the sewers, his muscles burned and protested at his efforts to keep the half breed in his grasp.

"Keep up Jonas, we have much ground to cover tonight if we are to be there before dawn." One of the robed figures in front of him hissed back toward him, briefly looking over his shoulder to locate Jonas.

They carried on moving, four pairs of feet pounding against the sodden earth outside the sewer grate before the sound of muffled steps soon turned to echoing voices.

"Where is Almerion, we should have waited for him. What if he fails?" Jonas spoke, his concerns for his mentor voicing themselves before he regained control of his mouth.

"Don't be a fool, Almerion doesn't fail. He will be their before we reach the exit I assure you. Now shut up and move over here!" The same robed figure up front spat back at him, this time not looking as he pushed loose bricks further into the wall.

Jonas moved forward obediently to the mans side and watched impatiently as more and more bricks where pushed into the wall. Occasionally one would move out, prompting the Vampire pushing them to pause momentarily before restarting.

Eventually a large section of the wall opened away from them, revealing a narrow tunnel. The tunnel contained nothing more than a few readily lit torches from earlier in the day when they entered the city through it. The walls where rock and earth, a few wooden beams around five metres apart all the way through the tunnel was the only thing stopping it from collapsing. It still had the compost like smell of freshly disturbed earth.

"Where are we heading?" Jonas asked as he stepped forward and retrieved a torch from the wall.

"Skingrad." The other replied, shouldering past him into the tunnel, closely followed by the others, leaving Jonas at the back again.






OOC: Sorry for the delay, I ended up going for a huge celebration in the City for St paddies day =) then yesterday was spent recovering said celebration...

I got serious writers block half way through this. I dont even know why. Could be better, but i could also be more patient.

All of you may want to check out the Update section in the OP, im about to add a list of playable factions, if you want to create a character for one of the factions let me know. And if you could provide a short description of your character for our cast section that would be appreciated

[OOC these things happens - two vampires for Kalort, one for Jimri, four running, there's only Almerion left if I'm not mistaken]

As the fighting inside the boat had seemingly come to an end, Jimri rushed toward the deck, running past Kalort. Might be injured from the way he's panting. As he asked where she was headed, she thought the answer I don't know, but didn't slow down to voice it.

She rushed through the door as fast as she could, sword held in a parry in front of her in case someone was coverin the door. The deck was close to empty, all she could figure out into the rainy night were four robed figures running away into the Waterfront's labyrinthine streets. But her attention was drawn to the fight occuring in the middle of the deck, Seltaire facing a hulking nord wearing an improbable mixture of noble outfit and gladiator-like gauntlet. Moving with far more speed and agility as someone of his bulk ought to and a gait that spelled 'martial artist'. What have I done that the Nines keep throwing things like that my way....

Rather than trying to slow down on the slippery deck, Jimri instead rushed toward them, her bare feets making only the faintest noise. As the man whipped his cape to the pirate's face, apparently trying to distract and grab him, Jimri fell into a sliding kick, aiming for the nord's ankles. Attempting to get him to the ground with hopefully a broken ankle, or at least distract him and maybe rake his legs with her borrowed sword. Cursing under her breath as despite the rainwater the decks not so smooth planking scraqed her bare skin.

OOC: About my previous post; Manu corrected me about Leather Face being there, but I just let Nola continue in the assumption that when all the powerful vampires arrived, so did he. Afterall, he is the big cheese behind it all, and it was very hectic.

"What language are you speaking exactly drunkard? I must admit I'm having trouble understanding that incoherent rabble." Almerion shouted over the downpour or rain slapping the wooden surface of the ship as he wrenched his hand from the splintered and cracked wood of the wall his fist connected with. "Though the sarcasm wasn't lost on me I'll give you that."

"Then perhaps ya need to hang wit' me crowd more often!" Seltaire jeered back. "Who knows, maybe yer undead ass could drink 'em under the table an' get ya some real respect!"

"Stand and fight cowards!" Karlot shouted as he ran onto the deck after some feeling robed men, only to get punched into the wall by the large Nord. Seltaire's grip on his sword tightened, and he turned in place, pivoting on his front foot and shifting with his back, as the vampire circled. He wasn't actually drunk at this moment, but sober. The swagger of sea legs never dies away.

The cape clasp came undone and Almerion continued circling Seltaire, holding his cape with obvious intention. Seltaire was already thinking of what to do when he charged, but the speed of the vampire made him falter. With the cape swirling about him and becoming his world, Almerion's hand was already nearing the handle of his sword when Seltaire took action, and charged forward, swinging the cutlass into the cape.

The sound of ripping cloth competed for supremacy with the pouring rain, as the sword sliced through the cape and the blade made contact with Almerion's hand, pressed into him by the wait of the charging Imperial as well. But another problem arose Seltaire had not factored in. His foot hit something cylindrical, causing him to tumble forward and turn in place, which twisted the blade out of Almerion's possible grip and instead sliced it across the vampire's hip, after narrowly swinging past Jimri's nose.

Seltaire hit the wet deck on his ass, sliding a yard before he came to a stop and planted his feet on the deck again, rose, and saw Jimri near the Vampire's feet. "Run ya stupid lass! RUN!" And then to draw attention away from her, Seltaire charged forward, blade looking like it sought to cut Almerion's left. But at the last moment his fingers and wrist would twist, sending the blade to the right.

Name: Jentina Ve’Sey.
Preferred Name: Jentina.
six: Female.
Race: Imperiton (Breton/Imperial)
Age: 22
Birthsign: The Lady

Character Focus: Alterior motives to gain the throne and rule Tamriel.
Skills and Abilities: Highly powerful witch/sorceress. Skilled hand-to-hand combatant.
Powers, Magick and Otherwise: Active Telekinesis and Astral Projection powers. Incantations for other spells memorized.
Class: Custom Sorceress Class.
Faction: Vampire's.

General Physical Appearance: Toned, lithe body. Olive complexion. Busty.
Facial Appearance: Plush lips. Flawless, matte skin. Larger, almond-shaped eyes that give her an innocent, baby-faced look.
Hair: Softly wavy, raven-coloured. Reach just a little bit below her briasts.
Eyes: Tiger-eyed. An intense green mixed with blue.
Weight: 116 lbs.
Height: 5’7
Tatoos/Scars+Any Other Distinguishing Features: One tattoo above her right eye, and a matching one below it. “Flamma Saeva” tattooed on her right hip.

Weapon/s: She usually only carries a dagger, but will sometimes take weapons off of fallen enemies should the need arise.
Clothing/Armor: The only true piece of armor that Jentina wears is the gauntlet on her left arm. She often wears an enchanted, custom made dress that shows off her 'assets' (as shown in the picture) The dress itself is enchanted with mysticism properties that absorbs some damage that is thrown her way.
[b]Inventory: She'll sometimes carry around an enchanted bag (bag of holding oblivion mod) with her witchcraft items inside. This includes her spellbook (although she rarely uses it, she memorizes most of her spells) her ritual book, candles, potions, scrolls, knives, etc.

Short Bio: Jentina was born the bastard daughter to a Breton waitress and the Imperial, Corvus Umbranox (before you all knew him as the 'Gray Fox' and his marriage to Millona.) When Jentina was younger, she was always fascinated by the works of Magicka. She always frequented the Arcane University (since she lived in the Waterfront District) and it was the Arch Mage who Jentina acknowledges as her "true father". When she turned 15, she officially joined the Mages Guild and was promptly allowed access to the University to study further. When this happened, this opened up a whole new chapter in Jentina's life - she was always told that dark magicka would be the downfall of the Empire, and that it's practice was forbidden throughout the land. Throughout the years of her studies at the University, Jentina had always secretly studied Witchcraft on the side. She never cracked open a book about Necromancy, however, because she felt the manipulation of dead bodies was disgusting and that there was no honor in not letting the dead rest. Her days were filled of innocent studies, and her nights were filled with witchcraft rituals and the practice of the dark arts. Throughout this, though, she never considered herself tainted by the dark arts because she only necessarily practiced so she could protect herself and become one of the most powerful women in the world. On Jentina's 18th birthday, she came home to find her mother's lifeless body sprawled out on the floor, surrounded in a ritual circle with candles on the five points of the pentagram. That's when the guards busted into her home, and arrested her for the murder of her mother and the practice of the forbidden arts. Even though she pleaded that she would never harm her mother, the fact that she was a witch faltered her pleas, and she was sentenced to be hanged after serving 5 years in jail. The night she was thrown into jail, was the night everything was changed for her. One year passed - and after dealing with that cruel-mouthed dunmer in the cell across from her - Jentina broke herself out of the jail. She summoned powerful, dark energies that blew apart the iron doors that held her for so long. Every single guard that came at her was killed, and hanged from the ceiling, their own intestines wrapping tightly around their necks. Nobody has heard from her since then - Jentina built her own house in the middle of the thick forest so that she could live in peace and continue her study. People mistake her to be a villain - she is not. She only does things that she feel are the right moves for her OWN benefit; she is selfish.