As the water pushed them forward, Jimri felt the flow lowering. As she was hoping it meant that whatever water reserve flowed into the passageway was nearing it's end, as scream of unadvlterated rage behind told it wasn't - Leatherface was rushing behind them, gathering the water ofr a purpose unknow, but probably no to her liking....

A quick look over her shoulder showed leatherface, levitating above the water, disappearing from her sight as the water he had drained from the hallway was pushed forward, taking odd and unpleasant shapes that could only mean trouble...

As swimming didn't left her much option to dodge the incoming assault, Jimri picked the only possible one. Taking one good breath before diving as deep as she could, dragging Nola with her, hoping the water would shield them from the incoming assault. He didn't use lightning. I gues I can count me lucky...

An assumption that turned to be at least partly true, as the sudden rush of water crashed over her, driving her forward and down, bumping and scraping along the bottom. Before suddenly feeling herself dropping over a ledge and straight into a large round chamber, fortunately filled with enough water to soften her landing.

Jimri managed to raise her head abov the water for a fresh lungfull of air, before quickly looking around to orient herself. Seeing some light filtering through the water she looked that way, spotting an open iron bars door, and two slaughterfishes floating dead in teh water. She yelled aloud "down there's there's a gate and passage, go through here", before taking hold of Nola's clothes again, helping her through the passage, moving up before dragging herself and the battered and seemingly half-drowned khajit on a ledge.

A quick look around showed they were in a seemingly abandonned part of the sewer, fresher air and some light filtering from what must be an exot somewhere further. Unfortunately from this direction came also the sound of a large battle, over which emerged the screams of a khajit's voice "Run children, Run! The hunter aproaches, Skriva feel's it. And we are the Prey; Run children!"

Pushing herself standing, Jimri turned to Nola, a weak smile on her lips "I'd say it sounds like a good advice. Let's run.". Following her own suggestion, she started running toward the light, emerging into a large room where two parties were battling. A mixed race crowd clad in leathers, fighting against a lesser number of unarmed and unarmored peoples, who were seemingly getting the upper hand. Looks like thieves battling I don't know who. Nor do I care to investigate...

Forcing whatever strength was left in her bruised body, Jimri rushed to a sprint into the the melee's fringe, weaving and dodging on the run, aiming for the sunlight that showed an exit.

Nola was bleary and uncertain- she'd been half-drowned when Jimri had rescued her, and Sorian had begun to lift her as well. She couldn't hear anything that was going on as water rushed into her ears, until suddenly her senses twinged as a spell went off. Moments later the water around them whooshed away, leaving Nola standing shakily on the sewer floor besides Jimri.

Above it all, she heard a feline voice. Skriva? she repeated mentally, hope in her heart. She dropped all her spells and felt her strength returning to her slowly. Still shaken, she raced after Jimri, the small, elvish-looking khajiit running almost on all fours at times as she weaved and squirmed and dodged between the fighting, tired and stumbling though she was at times. She kept her eyes on Jimri's back, but she could see the sunlight forming a glowing line all around her.

Freedom... she thought, and steel filled all her mind. She would not be deterred.

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

The water disappeared, and Odessa found herself heaving the pirate on dry land. Surprised by the sudden weight, she dropped him, the pirate falling to the ground.

She looked at the fighting going on, all the unfamiliar faces, and it seemed as if she were caught in some bizarre place. For one brief moment, a morbid thought passed her mind; Perhaps life is the bizarre place, and I am not supposed to be here...

It made sense, somehow. The strange patchwork body she inhabited and the corpses of those others- all failed- passed through her mind. In this moment, she felt pity for them and their plight, as well as a strange detachment from the body she resided in. Perhaps the body doesn't matter, though... she mused, watching leatherclad men and women battle shadowed people. Perhaps my mind is my haven...

Don't be an idiot... a slick voice whispered- the dark voice of her 'scales'. Physical life is all that matters- your body is your only means of getting what you want...

And what do I want? she asked, confused. An image of the hooded and cloaked figure from her memories appeared again.

So you say... she replied. But I don't feel like I want him... I think I want to be free...

Fair enough... the slick voice answered. Leave the pirate; he'll only slow you down.

She looked down at the pirate sprawled at her feet, and nodded to herself, before rushing head-on through the battle and bursting forth into daylight.

IC:

The Khajiit Ohmes and Bosmer girl where following hot on his heals as he reached the metal bars of the exit. Protesting a little at his attempts they eventually creaked open, a large amount of dust and rust falling from the semi-seized hinges.

He threw himself and Tiberius outward running blindly through the glaring sunlight, eyes clamped shut in protest to the sudden assault of light on his senses. His stomach lurched horribly as he heard the sounds of water in front of him.

"The water front? Oh I've never been so happy to be in this pit of corruption in my entire life." He said out loud, falling to his knee's on the grass outside the sewer entrance, his muscles grateful for the sudden lack of activity as he sat heaving oxygen in.

Tiberius lay beside him, dropped haphazardly on the floor as Kalort fell, his face in the dirt, both of them sopping wet from head to toe. A large amount of people where gathering around the entrance now, some with looks of utmost trepidation, others with curious excitement. The noise of the battle echoed through the tunnel like entrance to the sewers, magnifying the sound for all to hear.

A horrible sound of a cold cruel voice filled the air.


OCC: short post sorry, i'm waiting for every one to get out before posting more indepth. Poor Saltaire, shame on you Lizard lady.

Sorian lost his grip on Nola when they plummeted through the air and fell into the water once more. When he reached the surface, Jimri had already dragged her onward.

Then he heard the words, apparently yelled by a Khajiit. Skriva? I know someone with than name. From the Guild? Who do I know? Only the fences.
But would a fence be off fighting in here?

Suddenly, Sorian tripped on something and fell to the ground. He looked; it was the Imperial sailor, Soltaire.

"You are one lucky bugger," Sorian said with a grin. He picked up the sailor, put him on his back and trodded in the direction he saw others move.

Sorian made haste but was conserving his strength all the same. He could now allow himself to be exhausted if there was need of fighting. Fortunately, that was not the case. The fighting remained behind and he soon spotted a patch of light ahead of him.

"We may yet live, friend!" he gasped to the sailor on his back who was apparently getting heavy every moment.

Soon he found himself in the open. When he saw where they are it made him gasp. His knees failed on him and he dropped the sailor to the ground, though the unconscious man remained on his back. As soon as he shook the man off himself, Sorian began to laugh histerically.

As Jimri rushed through the outskirts of the melee, she could see in front of her Kalort almost ripping open the grate standing between them and the exit before literaly throwing himself and his unconscious charge out. Getting a clear sight of the exit, she called forth her last shreds of strength to fasten her sprint a little more. I can't die so close, I won't let myself die, no matter what I have to do

As she came close to the exit, one of the unarmed combattant battling the thieves stepped between her and her goal. Probably reacting to her mad rush our of reflex rather than any deliberate decision to hold her in. Making as sharp a turn as she could, Jimrii dodged his punch while landing a kick into his leg, pushing herself to one side and the man on the other, his knee giving way with a satisfying noise.

She didn't stay to press the attack as she hadn't intended to kill him but only to clear the way for her and Nola. Instead she kep rushing to the exit, throwing herself out of the grate. Too dazzled by the brigh sunlight she failed to see Kalort and Church sprawled in front of the exit. Tripping on them, her speed carried her forward too fast to catch her balance. Her training turned what would have been an humiliating dirt-biting dive into a somewhat controlled roll.

Laying flat on her back, feeling battered and exhausted but immensely relieved she let out an almost manical burst of laughter. Cut short as she heard leatherface's voice coming from the sewer through the battle's noise. Damn he's really pissed. Let's hope Occato's pet Battlemages will show up before he gets out

The world was a bright orange now, an inexplicably aggravating orange that made Seltaire groan. He felt warmth beneath him. Warm and grainy. It was a substance he knew all to well as sand. Not the same cold, dark grave he had considered himself soon to inhabit. He also felt his clothes, and the weight of a sword at his hip. Good, she still there.

But where am I? Seltaire groaned as he began to regain consciousness, rolled over in the sand onto his elbows, and puked. The refuse was a mixture of water, a brown liquid that was likely rum of some sort, and stomach acids. However, the sailor failed to follow up with a second hurl, and instead got to his knees and opened his eyes.

He was sitting on a sandy beach. Staring at the water, the waters of Lake Rumare. It was an idea that filled him with joy, and Seltaire actually rose to his feet shakily, and ran towards the water's edge like a child at the beach. He proceeded to run about until he collapsed forward, legs kicking. From afar the events would be difficult to differentiate, but when he came back to the surface in a standing position he was holding a still alive, still squirming slaughterfish by the tail. As it wiggled he whipped it in the other direction to counterbalance the momentum. He held it up as he approached the group, for some reason not confused or phased by their existence where he happened to awaken.

"Anyone hungry?" The reply was a cold, cruel voice echoing out of the sewer tunnel, filled with malice. Seltaire looked at the large sewer tunnel and shambled over to it, before peaking his head in. "Well I didun bloody [censored]in' well ask ya, so shut yer cowhide face!" His accented Cyrodiilic rang out in the sewer, and as he turned around he kicked the iron gate back into place before smiling to the rest of the group.

"Anyone other than nail-eyes want sum fish?"

OOC As FC4 comes back... I go to chicago for a week :shrug: So yes I'm going to be gone until next thursday for a school trip to the US

IC:

Bemused as could be, Kalort watched as Saltaire dived near the water an re-emerged with a fish, acting more or less like a skooma addict on over load. Offering the fish to those down the tunnel as a meal.

"Saltaire, what in oblivion is wrong with you? Where have you been?" Kalort asked as the crowd of waterfront residence gathered closer still to the group. Some had clearly only just woken up and where wearing nothing more than a pair of threadbare pants, even though it was clearly high noon.

"Look!" One of the by standers shouted, pointing the entrance to the sewers, cutting off any reply Saltaire could have given. The leather clad warriors where running from the entrance, looks of horror on every face. The Khajiit Kalort heard shouting at the front of the group.

They where soon followed by the rest of their kin, more leather clad people began to emerge, but they where not moving of their own volition, they floated along like puppets, hovering inched above the ground with confused and fearful expressions. The leather faced man followed their exit shortly after, evidently he was the puppet master of this bizarre show, his magic controlling and bending their own free will and movement, one of the prisoners who had escaped with them was floating along side them, the Dunmer who thought he was in a dream by the looks of it.

"You will all be silent while I speak, I do not wish for more death today. Enough blood has been spilt in the few short hours since sunrise, I admit more from the enemies than my allies, but non the less, to much has been spilled." Some people visibly recoiled at the cruelty in his voice, evidently unnerved by the unnatural aura of power emanating from him.

"Enemies! You are the enemy! You stand for everything we fight against, you are the intruder upon this city!" Skriva spar, her fur standing on end as the razor blade like retractable claws shot out from the ends of her fingers.

"Oh I stand for everything you thieves and murderers stand for do I?" He laughed for the first time. It wasn't a human laugh, it had no warmth or joy. It was enough to chill the soul from a necromancer. "So I embody the law? Justice? I crush the unjust with the gauntlet of truth? How very astute of you, now if you do not mind. I wish to speak."

His eyes closed in frustration as a large whining noise filled the air, blue light began to glow within the large centurion like orbs on the city walls, Kalort flinched as they pierced his eardrums violently with their shrill screaming.

Several cracks shot through as several bodies materialised between the crowd of people growing and the mage and his puppet's. Some heavily armoured, some lightly robed. All had the kind of presence that instructed you not to [censored] round.

"You will lift this enchantment and hand your self over to the law for punishment, or your sentence will be decided now and without prejudice." One of them spoke, a highly official tone to his voice, everything he wore held a symbol of an open palm with the three destructive elements within them; fire, ice and lightning. These must have been Ocato's new arm of oppression.

"No, I think I will stay here and continue my speech thank you my good sir. You may flee now and save your self or die later, I am really not to picky." He spat, drawing in breath to carry on speaking as several bow strings from the armoured members of the new group where pulled taught.

"You will lift this enchantment and hand your self over to the authorities for punishment. This is your last chance, if you do not give your self up now you will be put down like a dog!" He spat back, almost mirroring the mans malice exactly.

"You dare?" Kalort began walking backward, picking Tiberius up and gesturing to the other escapee's to follow, he sensed danger on the horizon, he didn't want to be caught in the cross fire, especially between mages.

"I dare." he replied, one nod of the head and all hell broke loose. Arrows shot towards the mage, accompanied by all manner of spells thrown by the mages. The air stank of burning flesh, smoke from the spells clouded the scene for a few moments, Kalort's heart fluttered with anticipation as it began to clear.

Let him be dead, please let him be dead. began to play and replay itself over and over in his head as the seconds grew longer and silence reigned supreme, becoming a temporary mantra for the Redguard.

"Foolish." the cold voice spoke, his hand moving in a sweeping motion, the smoke immediately dissipated. Kalort felt an ice cold hand grip his heart as the voice floated over the crowd toward him.

How did he survive? He thought, before it became evident. The floating bodies around him each contained more than one arrow, several had burn marks all over their bodies. One had had the flesh burnt from his face, leaving no more than a blackened skull. All where dead, save for the Dunmer they had met in their prison, he floated unconscious beside the mage, unharmed.

The mage enforcers all betrayed looks of disbelief and shock at the survival, his total disregard for sentient life in order to save his own. Although that did not surprise Kalort in the slightest.

Without warning the bodies shot into the air, all eyes followed them. Enforcers and citizens alike. A grave mistake in the presence of the leather faced demon, Orbs of light began to fly from his hand's and began to spiral the group, casting an ominous glow on their pale robes and dark armour. The orbs soon became blurred light, forming strange shapes as they grew faster and faster.

"What manner of sorcery is this? What -" Was all their squads leader managed to say as the orbs stopped spinning and shot through his body and the bodies of his men, each had a large hold in their chest the size of a graqe fruit. Each body fell at the same time as the magic orbs disappeared, soon followed by the thieves guild members the leather face had launched into the air.

"Now, as I was saying - Oh for pity's sake!" He carried on quite calmly before the shrill whining of the orbs resumed and more bodies began to emerge out of thin air, a considerably larger group than before, almost triple the amount he had previously slain so callously. "What now?"

"You have murdered a group of law enforcement, your sentence has been decided. You will cease this sorcery and come with us or die." one spat, although visibly nervous after stealing a glance at the dead bodies around him.

"Your predecessor was audacious enough to make that threat."

"My predecessor was audacious enough to give you a chance to retaliate, I will not make that mistake."

"If I come willingly these tedious interruptions will stop?"

The mage regarded the demon before him for a few seconds, he showed every sign of making a sarcastic comment, but given the situation he bit his tongue and nodded.

"Very well, I go willingly." He said, holding his palms out facing the sky, close together as if awaiting to be shackled. "Oh my dear Skriva I am sorry I must leave so abruptly, terribly rude I know. Just let the Fox know I will be with him shortly." he added before he, the mages and the Dunmer prisoners disappeared into thin air.

Kalort stood flabbergasted by the events, physically rooted to the spot at the sight of the grizzly mutilated bodies before him. Scene of Kvatch shot into his minds eyes as he looked upon them with guilt and pitty. If he had stayed put and accepted his fate in that prison they may have been alive today.

Don't be stupid.. He's gone, no more people will die.. It's over. He thought, desperately trying to reassure himself. He looked around at the others beside him, Skriva looked distraught at the loss of her "children". The crowd of people had began to dissipate, some speaking words of reassurance, some where evidently saddened by the death. Others however gossiped like wildfire amongst themselves.

"Come one guys.. I have a place we can go close by, we should get cleaned up and I doubt any of you are up for travelling far." He said half heartedly, shouldering Tiberius' weight and walking off towards the bridge which would take him to the Bloated float.

"Go home children, tend to the wounded. Send a message to the fox, he is to go into hiding." Skriva muttered to the greatly depleted fighters around her, some stared at the ground in numb disbelief, others let their emotions run wild and screamed with tears running down their cheeks. "I wish to speak with these escapees. I will be at the bloated float." She added, before following a slight distance behind Kalort.


OOC: Ok so pidgeon is gone now, if you want to jump back into the RP then let me know i'll tell you your location. If not i guess he dies or someting.

Seltaire was about to reply when a swarm of leather bodies charged out, nearly bowling over the sailor and sending him to the ground. He rolled expertly onto his feet again and twirled to face the sewer entrance, a slaughterfish in one hand still alive and a gleaming cutlass in the other, gem-studded handle gleaming in the sun.

Bodies floated from the sewers, and as each thief was unwillingly harassed Seltaire's anger grew. "You will all be silent while I speak, I do not wish for more death today. Enough blood has been spilt in the few short hours since sunrise, I admit more from the enemies than my allies, but non the less, too much has been spilled." For a speech so grandly virtuous it was horrendously cruel in tone, and Seltaire forcefully cut the air in front of him. The Slaughterfish's head hit the ground, blood seeping out into the sand.

This'll be you, fer takin' my [censored]in' fingers! His lip curled. What fingers he had tightened around his cutlass. A step was made to charge.

"What in the name o' Talos!?" Seltaire roared as his path to his kill was blocked by shimmering masses, which then congregated to form several men in armor and robes, and a whine filled his ears. A large group of waterfronter's was gathering. Seltaire backed away, turned towards them, and then forcibly waved his sword back towards the mages.

"An'one care to fill me in on what them folks are?" he asked, but mostly got no answer as they sought to look at the scene. "WELL?!" Spittle flew as he roared, his voice raising sharply. He was being denied his target by these men, and they better have had a good reason for getting in his way...

"Ocato's mages. They appear when magic is sensed around the Imperial City and arrest the person responsible." One bosmer explained, and Seltaire raised an eyebrow at the elf before looking over his shoulder at the congregation of mages, watching in time to see the spells fly and a massive cloud form around the scene. Seltaire snorted derisively, before looking back to the Bosmer.

"Where's the inn?"

"Bloated Float. It's a boat docked permanently, can't miss it." The Bosmer replied, not taking his eyes off the scene behind the grizzled sailor. Seltaire simply grumbled a thanks and shouldered through the crowd with his cutlass out and a bloody, headless slaughterfish in hand.

As leatherface emerged from the tunnel, the whole group of thieves in puppetlike tow, Jimri sighed The game's over. Whatever I can dispell wil do as much good as a candle candle ou in a rainstorm. Though with that sort of power, I wouldn't be surprised if he was behind the odd murders who drove Occato mad. At least he has the power for it, though I haven't any idea of where he can get enough magicka for that trick. Maybe he's dosed to the eyeballs. And why in the Nine's names does he rants like a bad theater villain...

As the battlemages launched their assault, Jimri discretly casted her own spell, an healing incantation , sighing with relief as the magic's warmth spread on her skin, mending some of her various scraps, burns and sprained muscles. With all the crap flying, that little spell won't be noticed, and if I have a run to make, I'd rather do it fresh..

As Leatherface emerged unscathed from the assault - though the same couldn't be told of his puppets and unwilling shileds - and dispatched the battlemages in a matter of seconds, Jimri didn't even try to get away. The guy feels like he could give Mehrunes a run for his money, no point in trying to run from that, he wouldn't mind tearing the whole waterfront to get a runner. And with this lunatic's fondess for theatrics maybe he'll like me enough for a quick kill

Her fear giving way to and odd sense of detachment, she watched the events unfolding, only moving a bit to raise from her prone position and sit with her back to a barrel. Eyes widening in surprise as the mage surendered himself and vanished with the mages without a struggle. And this just out of bother ? It looks like he thinks he can get away with his arrestation. Seeing the kind of power he's wielding he might be right. I wouldn't be that surprised to hear that Ocatto's prison has been turned upside down a few days from now.

As Kalort mentionned a place nearby to get cleaned and sorted out, Jimri slowly raised to her feets, feeling the fatigue and pain from her ordeal sink in now that things calmed down and adrenaline was receding. "That's good for me - and if you have a mortar and pestle along with a selection of herbs, I might be able to make something to heal us."

Feeling the harbor's breeze on her skin, Jimri realized her scant clothing was now even less than in the cage, the flimsy fabic never designed for the sort of exercice she just went through. Not daring to look down to check the extent of the damage "And borrow some clothes too if you don't mind."..

Nola looked down at herself- now only wearing her trousers and a briastband, and replied to Jimri, "I'd help you out if I were in any kind of a better state, but as it is I feel slightly bare." She struck an exaggeratedly maidenly pose, mocking her own situation. Though she was quite indecent herself, Nola didn't really seem indecent, as if she were perfectly comfortable in no clothes- as if she were supposed to be that way. As it happened, that was almost exactly Nola' attitude to her own nudity, though she tended to wear more clothes rather than less. She had found, years ago, that caring about such things only caused embarassment and others to take even closer looks.

She gazed at Seltaire, who had awakened seemingly without prompt. It was good to see that the Sailor had indeed lived, but something did not quite add up right with the khajiit.

Her eyes swept to Odessa. Why hadn't she been bringing the pirate out?

-----------

Odessa was crouched on the ground, thick scaly tail curling around her legs, arms hugging herself. Her dark eyes were lowered to the ground. What just happened? she found herself wondering. What did I just do in there?

What she had done was that she had left Seltaire to his fate to save herself, not knowing or caring whether another might save him. Seeing the pirate here, now, she felt an acute pang of jealousy for her ruthlessness.

Is this what it feels like to shun others? she thought. Is this what you meant when you said hurting others was fun?. I don't find this fun. Not at all...

The pain goes away the more you do it... the voice assured her. You begin to be numb to it... then to take pleasure from it...

But what if I don't want to?

Oh, you want to... the voice replied silkily. Images of blood, of wounds, of gruesome torture came to the fore of her mind, a wave of enjoyment, of pleasure accompanying it. You were born to it, trust me...

Odessa sharply intook breath and closed her eyes, freezing in place as she was washed over with images of pain and torment. At that moment, she wasn't sure whether she was disgusted... or excited.

IC:

"Saltaire, I didn't see you leave." Kalort said to the pirate as he drew level with him outside the bloated float, the ship was not like he remembered it, the outside was blackened and charred, it looked like it had just survived a fire with its structural integrity intact. It was still a huge ship by normal standards, even in its scarred damaged state. Easily twice the size of the average galleon, although probably no good if it is actually used to sail anywhere. It was more of a novelty. "Guess we should go say hello to Ormil?"

He reached upward toward the top of the door frame and felt around for something for a few seconds before chuckling and bringing it back down with a key.

"Ormil isn't very good with security, heart of gold. But thick as a brick." He said to Saltaire as he unlocked the door. The smell inside was unfamiliar, it smelled like strong herbs and spices, It was entirely unexpected but the effect was pleasing.

"Get out! Get out! I've told you once I'll tell you again, we are closed for renovations!" Ormil shouted, his back to the door. Nursing a drink at a large table, obviously neglecting and renovation work.

"Ormil, For once, just be quiet and finish you're drink." Kalort said as he strode in, setting Tiberius down on a chair opposite Ormil.

"Kalort, what happened? The night they took you, there was a huge fire. I barely saved my ship, my entire stock was destroyed, I've replaced it of course but im still out of pocket. You have some explaining to do!" Ormil ranted, his face clammy with stress, his gaze hard and challenging. "And what happened to Church?" he added, almost as an afterthought as Kalort glared at him with cold fury.

"Who are you? I'm sorry but Kalort is here because he is welcome. I am not serving customers, you will have to leave." Ormil said to the Pirate as Kalort opened a door and peered inside.

"He's with me, theres some more coming soon, we've been through quite a lot and I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to wring you're neck to shut you up for once." Kalort said half heartedly before walking into the room.


"So.. How do you know Kalort? He's not usually one to mix with others, it's usually just him and Church doing mercenary work.. He used to be in the legion se-"

"That's enough of that old man, my past is my own. I will speak about it when I want to, now if you don't mind, fetch some drinks and food. Lots of food." Kalort interrupted as he brought a pile of clothes and blankets from the back room and dropped them onto another table. "Help you're self, theres plenty here to keep us all warm."

With that he began rooting around for a shirt large enough to fit him, eventually setteling on a vest like cotton top of a greenish brown colour, not exactly a fashion statement but it would do until he could get something a little more hard wearing. After that he pulled a blanked from the pile and tossed it around Tiberius then sank down into a chair with a groan and closed his eyes with a smile.

"I'm a foreigner to comfort it seems." Kalort muttered, His eyes opening as Ormil returned with a large tray burdened with containers of unknown liquid, each mug steaming flirtatiously. Kalorts taste buds erupted with anticipation and his stomach growled impatiently.

"Mulled mead." He said with a sigh and a smile as he took a tentative sip of the drink, Ormil returning yet again with a tray heavily laden with all manner of fruits and meats. "Thank you Ormil, I appreciate it."

"Oh don't worry, I'm glad for something to do." He said, perching himself back down on his seat. "I've been sat moping about wondering where to start, I'm not a professional, I don't know how to repair a boat. Where have you been Kalort? What happened? It's been weeks."


"It's a long story."

As Nola commented about her own lack of clothing, Jimri smiled back "Agreed, there's not much on you to take and give." She shrugged "At least I'm fit enough that I don't have to be ashamed of what shows up, but that sort of outfit invites all kinds of troubles. Most guy seeing such clothing - or lack of - would assume I'm on the hunt and not picky about the catch. Sure it's fun to give a tongue dressign and send the guy running with his tail between his legs, but it gets stale pretty soon."

As they walked to the Bloated float, Jimri's thought went back to a discussion they had down in leatherface's lair.

"Especially with the rumors floating around about bosmer women. I suppose that in your circle bosmer are more know as thieves and marskmen, or women. But as our mens are short on size, most guys assume they're also short on making us happy and think we're willing to toss ourselves about just any male more than five feets tall." Jimri grimaced as she continued "Pimps are fond of bosmer gals too - most aren't streetwise, they look good, don't catch diseases easily and Valenwood don't packs much clout with the Empire. That don't help with the repute."

As they reached the ship and made their way in, Jimri offered Ormil her most charming smile, deliberately ignoring the way his eyes tended to drift lower, before picking up a blanket and wrapping herself in and sitting down on a chair. She sighed with relief as she felt the warmth - it had been sunny outside, but the breeze on her dripping wet skin didn't let her recover from the underground lair's rather cool temperature.

Quietely sipping the mead, she sniffed the mixed spicy smells, speaking to Ormil as he came back with the food. "Do you have some lady's mantle, mugwort or aloe vera stashed here ? We've all had qome rought times and I can miw something to help recover with these. And somehting to clean ourselves would be fine too. A big, steaming hot bathub would be the perfect thing, but just water and soap would be enough. There's not much point in putting clean clothes on dirt."
To add emphasis to her words she stretched an arm from under the blanked, casting a disgusted glance at her sweaty, dirt and blood-stained skin. Some of it had resisted the swimming trip, and her fall on exiting the sewers had been no improvement.

As Nola followed Odessa and Jimri into the inn, and watched Ormil's eyes pop at more than just the strange nature of the lizard-woman, she sighed. "You're right, Jimri- we do look rather like a travelling brothel."

She threw the innkeeper, who she knew rather well, being a waterfront gal, a pointed glare. "Not that you'll make mention of that, eh, Ormil?"

Nola had to say, though, that although she herself was rather cynical, Jimri seemed positively jaded. Didn't she know that not all men's eyes drifted down? That often, they were too embarassed to look? Didn't she know that not everybody made comments or had to be fended off with sticks, no matter how pretty they were?

Despite her forceful personality and apparent confidence, Nola began to suspect low self-esteem- the sort of low self-esteem that comes from believing people are looking at you all the time, whether you believe yourself beautiful or not. Nola herself had suffered from that at points, but not so consistently as Jimri appeared to.

What you have to remind yourself is to be proud, not to point out your own short-comings or embarassments, she thought, remembering Jimri's constant mentioning of her lack of clothing. And not to believe people are always looking, because chances are it is as much in your head as out of it.

But she didn't feel she knew Jimri well enough to give her that advice.

----------

Odessa, already in turmoil from her earlier revelations about herself, found that Ormil was staring at her, now, and not at Jimri and Nola- and not for the shortness of her shirt, either.

No, he was staring, she was certain, because she was such a freak. 'What are you?!' a voice echoed in her mind, remembering the questions of many upon her freedom from the tank.

She went and sat beside Kalort, carefully adjusting her seating to compensate for her tail. She eyed the trays warily, not sure exactly what was on them or whether she would like them, but she felt safest, for the moment, beside the redguard.

IC:

"Do I ever my dear? I keep more secrets than people know. I could make a fortune selling information if anybody actually wanted to pay for it." Ormil replied to Nola, glad to see another familiar face arrive. "What has happened to you all? You look like you've been sent to the Slave fields and back!"

Kalort started choking on his food as he rushed to reply, eyes streaming as he gulped a mouthful of mead to wash the blockage away. Ormil gazed at him with raised eyebrows and a strange grin as Kalort beat himself in the chest coughing.

"You havent changed have you? Tell me what happened, I may be able to help." He pushed again, Like all Altmer he didn't know when to stop on the search for knowledge, but unlike most he was searching for gossip.

"Kidnapped, Tortured." Kalort coughed, wiping his eyes as he began to catch his breath. "We where taken and tortured. Some nut job mage. I doubt you could help unless you turn out to be the next avatar of Akatosh Ormil, that guy is some heavy duty mage, I've never seen such power, not even during the Oblivion crisis."

Ormil thought about this for a moment before leaving his seat to bar the door. Avoiding eye contact with every one as he disappeared into a backroom. A strange smell wafted out as he opened the door, something completely unfamiliar to Kalort.

"Strange Mer." He muttered to himself as he slid a steaming mug and warm blanket in front of Odessa. "Drink up, you've been to hell and back, it'll warm you're bones.."

"Now, keep this our little secret yes?" Ormil said as he re-emerged into the room with a wooden crate, the sounds of bottles bouncing off each other jingling through the room. "I've been smuggling potions and poisons for the thieves guild, might have some potions in here to fix any wounds, and hopefully this little beauty will work for Church." he added as the crate slammed onto the table before pulling a bottle out and examining it like a fine wine.

"Why does the thieves guild need poisons? I wasn't aware they where in the business of murder." Kalort asked, suddenly wary and suspicious of his old friend. "This is dangerous work Ormil. If the legion found out."

"The legion wont find out Kalort, it goes through three different people before me, untraceable. To many middle men from start to finish, See." He was now stood over Church pousing the contents of a bottle down his neck. If it where any one else Kalort would have pounced, but he trusted Ormil, although he some times proved to be a little over bearing. "And they need poison because they cant afford Silver. Iron weapons don't work on vampires, the dark brotherhood have enough weapons of their own but it's a tense alliance at best. The poisons work on vampires though, not as well as a normal man or woman, but it works."

Kalort felt half shocked half in awe as Ormil spoke about these organisations almost laxly. When they first met he couldn't even stand to read a paper mentioning the Dark brotherhood, paranoid old fool that he is.

"This is ridiculous, I thought you'd be in danger with the legion, all they would do is lock you up, whoever is up against the dark brotherhood and thieves guild will kill you if they find out."

"Its nothing. Help your selves children, I've got eight crates back there, they wont notice if one has a few less bottles than before, But don't expect anything strong, this is all third rate material, I imagine that some have gone bad aswell. Don't blame me if you find your self poisoned by a healing potion." Kalort flinched as he said this, considering he had just fed Church and unkown potion.

"What did you give Tiberius?"

"Fatigue potion. He's been tortured recently no? He has no energy left. Simple really, everything else can be fixed when he's awake to tell us what's wrong."

The Redguard's chest expanded and let out a long sigh as he slid down a few inches in his seat. All was silent for a few seconds as he thought about the recent events. If he had ever been told he would escape the clutches of a such a disturbingly powerful mages with such a rag tag group of miss fits he would have told some one to lay of the moon sugar.

"Saltaire. What happened to you after you left? We searched for you but the door you entered only led to a room with just that entrance, we couldn't find any secret passages.. I nearly crushed Nola looking for one as well."

OOC: Craptastic post but I've been awake since yesterday morning. Apologies.

Sorian emerged from the washing room, squeezing the water out of his long hair, when he heard the Altmer innkeep confessing being in employ of the Thieves Guild.
That makes two of us, thought Sorian, though he was not so dumb to say it out loud.

He came onto the ship with the other former co-prisoners. While most of them went for the food and drink, Sorian went for the washing basins. Others were captives for weeks, while he was taken less than 12 hours ago. That didn't make food his first priority. But if he ever wanted to have any chances with the fiery Ohmes, he would need to look his best and his hair was THE most important part of that.

He smiled as he espied Nola and Jimri together, apparently still discussing the same topic as when they were walking to the ship.
I've had my share of Bosmer women. Not much different than every other. Ah, but Khajiit... That would be something entirely different.

"You seriously underestimate the Thieves Guild, friend," he said to the Altmer, gesturing to the bottles he so freely distributed. "It's never just about money with them. It's about prestige. I hope you are on good terms with them, or you might find yourself in a pickle."

Sorian sat down at the table everyone else was, but angled his chair in a manner that would enable him to include the two women in his vision. He didn't pay much attention to the hybrid. The non-scaly parts of her were fine but as a whole he didn't find her interesting.
"Sorry, love," he spoke quietly, "but I like my women whole."

He picked about the food placed on the table and went to eat some graqes. As he chewed, he began to make a braid out of his hair with slow, determined movements.

Nola grinned at Ormil, glad to see the gossipy altmer. It made her feel as if the world she had known before imprisonment still existed. She arched one eyebrow when he brought out poisons, but a small smile was across her lips.

Until Kalort protested. She turned to the Redguard, hands on hips. "If Ormil doesn't help them, who will?" she demanded of the redguard. "The world is dangerous already. Someone needs to stand up to them, to do what they can, even if they aren't a fighter. If Ormil chooses to help by smuggling- an incredibly useful job, and low danger compared to the risks the rest of us take- then why scold him?" There was a fire burning in her eyes as she gazed fiercely at Kalort. "The Legion, unless you haven't noticed, are currently clueless, too busy chasing after honest, elderly enchanters and retired alchemists to actually deal with the real threats down below. So somebody needs to work in their place."

THe fire subsided in her eyes after a moment, however, and she began shaking as the weight of all her exertions bore down on her. Having on strength left she crumpled, leaning against the wall as she went for support. "Sorry, Kalort," she muttered apologetically, staring at the floor. "I just don't think you should scold a hero."

Despite what this group believed, Nola was not a thief. She was an Enchantress, a social mage, of sorts, who's skills happened to cross in places with those of the thieves, and who believed fiercely in freedom. It was no surprise, then, that she had joined the do-gooding thieves, though she was less at ease with the Dark Brotherhood.

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

Odessa accepted the blanket gratefully, but but her eyes were uncertain as she looked at the altmer. What were his motives in being kind to her? Her eyes went to Kalort. Or his? Or Jimri's, Sorian's, Nola's? What did any of the group care?

It's just weakness on their part... the voice whispered. If you wish to live, rise above it or use it to your advantage.

To my advantage? she queried.

The voice was silent for a moment, and then she remembered again the cloaked and hooded man. To your advantage, as he used our weakness to his.

She was silent, digesting the feelings, longings, and pain that accompanied that image, and the odd, faint quality that came to the voice in her head at the thought of it. Nobody seemed to be talking to Odessa, so she stayed silent, locked in her own thoughts, trying to come to terms with who and what she was.

As she sipped her mead, Jimri felt it's warmth spreading through her body, slumping a bit in her chair, feeling comfrotable and nicely lightheaded. She nibbled a bit at the food, picking the lightest meats and some fruits, doubting her stomach could take much after several days of near starvation...

As Ormil brought his potions, Jimri took a look at them, sorting those destined to heal before uncorking one to check it. And putting it back on the table with a somewhat disgusted look. "I don't know how much you get charged for these, but if that's more than ten to twenty drakes you're being ripped off. I'm not that good with potions, but at a guess I could make at least as good this apprentice's crap with five drakes of supplies a potion !

The poisons, I understand, they're outlawed, with death sentences pending, but the healing potions ? they're entirely legal. Of course, you need a license to brew and sell, that means the big fishes can keep their business a nice buddy club and kick out anyone who don't charge and arm and a leg for his wares. Just grease the a few palms in the right Commission and get the competition forbidden to do business..."

as Nola spoke in defense of Ormil, she commented "With the sort of puppeteering we've seen that bastard pull off, I doubt the Legion would have ever found him. They'd probably just go out conviced everything they saw was just fine and normal. Though that might a tad subtle considering what we've seen from leatherface... To be honest, with the raw power he showed off, he hardly needs to be subtle.

Though there's one thing I'd like to be sure of. Because he don't need to doesn't mean he can't be subtle"

She turned her head to face Odessa, who seemed to have withdrawn in her thoughts. "Even if he seems to be out of the picture, would you mind letting me have a look at that amulet you've picked up if we get in a place where magic can be used ?

It seems to have been a prized possesion of him, and a mage of his power and deviousness could put some very unpleasant magics to keep it safe from unwanted tamperings. I can't use magic in the Imperial City, but if we get a chance to get out of the City's magic spotters I could at least tell if it has been enchanted. And what with if it is."

As the others spoke, Seltaire was unusually silent. Typically, he would be injecting quips here and there about this and that. But for some reason he felt that urge, but just couldn't take it. Instead he was staring at one of the pictures hanging on the wall, his flask hanging loosely between his fingers and the bow bled out slaughterfish in the other hand. Lazily as they talked he would raise the fish and bite, taking a sliver of raw meat into his mouth and chewing on it. They went on about clothes, and potions, and Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood and vampires. But his mind stayed on one thing in particular.

Thieves Guild.

"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. His green eyes cruelly regarded the sailor, and Seltaire stared back into them, calmly biting off another piece of his fish.

Of course, Seltaire was completely unaware that there was, in fact, no breton standing in front of him at the table. Nor was there any need to raise his flask towards that breton, which is precisely what he did, and proclaim smoothly. "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." The sailor had a smug smile on his face as if he'd gotten the last laugh, and swigged from his flask.

The Breton's face contorted with anger. "Saltaire. What happened to you after you left? We searched for you but the door you entered only led to a room with just that entrance, we couldn't find any secret passages.. I nearly crushed Nola looking for one as well." Kalort's voice cut in, and suddenly the burly breton was gone, replaced by a dilapidated ship-inn filled with refugees of torture. For a moment the pirate looked uncertain as to where he was, or what he was doing, but then he noticed his current possessions, noticed Nola, and it dawned on him.

"Cat girl... fish... fish girl..." He muttered as he looked around the room. "Barely clothed girl... annoyin' Redguard with ah church... Rum." At this he promptly swigged from the flask again, tipping all the way back until his chair leaned and finally teetered back, sending him to the floor with the flask still on his lips and fish in the air.

"Okay... no rum." With uneasy sluggishness he rose, fixed the chair, and sat down, resting his drinking elbow on the table. "Someone say somethin'?"

OOC: Sorry for the late post. I've been waiting for others to finish up posting their ecape/journey to the inn (:state: Exorince)

But im sick of waiting, Im going to move time on a little. Im posting where we are now then doing another post to move time forward a little. Then we can get the story moving a little more.

OoC: :blink:

IC:

Barzul picked up the sponge and tried to clean some of the dirt on his chest and hands. His muscles ached, it had been a very eventful day, to say the least. He dipped the sponge in the water again, almost automatically, while he thought about everything that had been going on.

When he and the rest of the group escaped the tunnel, and at the sight of the sky, trees, and civilization, he almost screamed with joy. The horrible tortured he had endured suppressed by the overwhelming emotional rush. That didn't last long though, only moments after the escape he heard a all to familiar voice behind him. The mage came out of the opening, the group was tired and bruised and in no condition to defend themselves. Thankfully the powerful mage was interrupted by the imperial battle mages. Barzul stood in the back, no one noticed him, his mind raced, thoughts of fleeing, to just turn and run, entered his mind but disappeared quickly. To his surprise the insane mage surrendered to the battle mages and they took him away. Relived, and but a little freaked out, Barzul followed the group. Like a drone, he walked in the back, not speaking a word, it remained this way until they entered the inn. Avoiding the eyes of the grumpy innkeeper he muttered something along the lines of "I'm going to go wash up...", but no one seemed to hear so he just slipped quietly away from the group.

Barzul finished cleaning himself, he quickly gave up trying to clean his pants, they were ruined already. Not wearing any other clothes he tried get most of the water out of his hair before going back to the others. He picked up a mug of mead and sat down near the bosmer girl.

While waiting for Odessa's answer, Jimri noticed Slrtaire's very odd behaviour. The pirate seemed to prefer nibbling on a raw slaughterfish ? complete with all it's scales and innards ? rather than Ormil's food. Rambling and saluting with his flask at some unseen speaker. I don't know what's in this flask, but I'm in no hurry to sample...

As he gracelessly fell back with his chair before clumsily raising back and asking about a conversation he seemed to have barely noticed, even less understood, Jimri spoke. Slowing her speech and raising her tone to improve the odds he would hear properly. "Nobody said much. You sound tired enough that you'd better get some sleep before trying anything else."

That's when Barzul came back, from a serious cleanup judging from his damp hair. Which reminded her of the dirt and sweat still clinging to her skin. Casting a somewhat envious glance at him. ""Well Id say all of us probably need some real sleep too. What little I could get down there wasn't anything close to restful. Maybe a night's worth of sleep will get us clear enough heads to figure out what this leartherfaced piece of trash was trying to get from us or what we should do. Right now my thoughts are about as ordered as kitten-sorted yarn. Getting clean and dragging myself to a bed I can figure out, but not much more."

Seltaire gave Jimri a cocked eyebrow as she slowly replied to him in a raised tone. When she was finished, he stood up and walked up to her with the same swagger in his step he'd always had. If any of them knew Seltaire enough, that would be a sign that he was actually sober at the present time. His lower lip curled and he leaned towards her, though his face was still a good foot away from hers.

"I am tired." He spoke in the same slow voice, raising his tone, back to her. "Not retarded. I was just not paying attention." Strangely enough each word came out perfectly despite his accent as he spoke like this, and then straightened up to a proper standing position. If one looked him right in the eye though, they would find his returned gaze to be distant.

"Do... you.... un... der... stand?" A dark skinned man 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. 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. In reality, he was titling his head to the left and holding his flask just in front of his own nose, looking at the opposing wall. "Nah, I got ah few more shots still left in meh." Seltaire spoke softly, as if addressing someone mere inches from him. "And I unda'stand ya... I'm just choosin' to ignore ya." He cracked a toothy, cocky grin at thin air as he said this.

OOC: If anyone is wondering, I'm taking a card from Death of a Salesman in how Seltaire is accessing his memories. Hope I'm succeeding.

As Seltaire bent to her face, parodying her tone in reply, before resuming his antics, Jimri felt a growing irritation.

?Sure you were just an itsy teensy bit distracted and I'm oh so rude to have spoken like I did. Afterall, you're just swilling I don't now what like you're preparing to cross a desert, falling backward with your chair and getting up wobbling and muttering like a drunkard. Speaking to peoples who as far as I can tell don't exist. A conversation that's so slightly distracting that you're snacking of some whole raw fish, scales, bones and guts included...

Don't count on me to apologise for doubting normal speech could make it's way to whatever you're using for brains.??

While speaking, Jimri shifted slightly on her chair, discretly preparing to act in case the pirate's lunacy would take a violent turn.