Unknown Adversaries



3E 427 - A Several Aylied ruins, Important sites for Archaeological research, Cave in. Flashes of bright light can be seen from the ruins before they fall.

3E 433 - Emperor Uriel Septim is assassinated.

3E 434 - After a year of hardship and strife, Aided by his loyal and faithful blades, as well as the Champion of Cyrodil, Martin Septim prevails over Mehrunes Dagon and the mythic dawn, ushering in the 4th era.

4E 010 - Ten years after Martin's sacrifice, Ocato is named Emperor.

4E 011 - The Champion of Cyrodil leads a Crusade against a rebellion in The summerset isles.

4E 012 - All trouble and doubt in the neighbouring provinces is swiftly quelled under the guidance of Ocato, and the might of the Champion, The new emperor gains the love and trust of his people.

4E 015 - After three years of peace and prosperity, the empire suffers its first blow, when the champion of Cyrodil, is murdered, found hanging from the Avatar of Akatosh. An official investigation is launched, several scorch marks are found on the Champions body, the priests and priestesses of the temple are taken in for questioning, they are found innocent, but show signs of being controlled by illusion magic.

4E 015 - Two short months after the shocking death of the Champion of Cyrodil, Arch Mage Traven is found dead, his body charred and burned. Although there is no official link between the two murders, many believe it was the same man, or woman, who killed them both. Mannimarco was named as a suspect.

4E 015 - The body of Mannimarco Is found outside the city walls, the legendary staff of worms skewed through his chest, propping him up against the ground. He is officially cleared of suspicion. His body is cremated by the mages guild to avoid any possible resurrections.

4E 015 - Three high ranking members of the elder council are found dead within the chambers, Imperial watchmen show signs of being controlled, they are suspended from duty until further notice.

4E 016 - Emperor Ocato receives letter containing a threat upon his own life, the letter containing this information is found upon his nightstand, no signs of forced entry of any intruders are found.

4E 016 - Ocato disappears from the public eye, growing increasingly erratic and paranoid, he orders the execution of all battle mages who have access to the imperial palace.

4E 016 - Ocato has all remaining elder council members executed for treason.

4E 017 - Ocato outlaws the use of magic, with the help of Dwemmer research, large orb like construct are erected throughout the Imperial city, they sense all magical energy and immediately transport anybody wearing the "bonder" ring to their location.

Mages guild is liquidated, all high ranking members become battle mages and the first line of magical enforcement against any unsanctioned magical use within the city.


4E 020 - After three years Ocato regains his confidence, until an attempt upon his life leaves him maimed and wounded, with his last shred of sanity stripped from him, he constructs a man made island several miles out to sea, all magic users are sent there for imprisonment and questioning under torture.
4E 025 - A large Vampire clan grows bold, taking root within the city, many fear them, but many use their services for their own personal gain.

4E 026 - Both the thieves guild and the Dark Brotherhood enter open warfare with the Vampire Clan, although there is no evidence of an alliance between the thieves and the brotherhood, many simply assume that they have an unwritten agreement to stay out of each others way until their competition is defeated. Many parts of the city fall into ruin and become the battle ground for these battle.

4E 026 - Many people begin disappearing in the night, naught is known about their disappearances.

* * *



Now

Deep within the bowels of the Imperial City, several bodies begin to stir in their cramped cage's; waking to find themselves within a dark room with a few streams of eerie green light passing through cracks in the walls and ceiling.

The walls of the room are damp and covered in moss, It is easy to tell that it was not intended as a permanent holding room for who ever captured them.
In a distant room the sounds of boiling water can be heard, mingled in with muffled screams and cry's.

Some are forced to endure excruciating pain, some are forced to watch as he slowly peels the skin away from living muscle, exploring the limits of the physical body and the mortal mind. Pushing the boundries of mental endurance to its limit and beyond.

The few prisoners around you do not make eye contact, nor do they try to. The ones who do look at you with fear or curiosity, for they have broken under the mad experiments of their strange captor.

Every noise, save for the now rhythmical beating of the muscle in you're chest, stops the mysterious captor returns to the room.

"Ah, I see you have awoken," He says, throwing his arms wide as if welcoming and long lost friend. "You are my most honoured guests, and I am you're most humble host.

"You must be wondering why you are here, and answers will be given; in due course. But for now, all you need to know is that each one of you play a pivotal role in my quest, and each of you will undoubtedly die in here." he finished with a grimace, walking over to the nearest prisoner.

The caged man looked up into his captors face, but could not discern any human features other than his eyes and lips, the rest where obscured by a leather mask, held in place by thick iron nails.

He meandered from cage to cage, casting the odd spell upon a helpless prisoner, never looking up from his notes, writing down with a sadistic grin on his face, his hand fluttering to and thro in the different movements needed for his experimental magic's.

"How does that feel? Does it hurt? Is it pleasing to you?" his cold voice spoke over the grunts of a writhing man on the floor. "You there, woman. How does it make you feel to watch this? Do you wish to take his burden of pain unto you're self to save him? Can you not bear to look?"

"Master, there is a problem in the entrance chamber, It seems they have finally located us." a man stepped out of the shadows, appearing almost as if he was made from shadows himself.
The leather faced mage contemplated his words with a look of dark malevolence in his eyes before lifting the spell on the sweat covered man before him and leaving the room.

The gaunt figure stood to the side as the mage passed, before walking forward and twisting a large iron wheel on the wall, simultaneously every cage opened, freeing their occupants.

Without a backwards glance he disappeared back into the shadows.

* * *

First of all apologies for the low quality of the prison scene where you finally find out who the captor is, I found it hard to write it in a way that included every prisoner rather than narrating to just one, but it gets the picture across.

Now, you play a prisoner who has just been freed, you do not have any items (just yet) since everybody was taken in their sleep, nobody sleeps in full armour with a sword by their side do they now?


Now in this RP some of us will have amnesia, I'm limiting the number to four for now, so far I have two, I need two more. If you want Amnesia send me a full character sheet and I will take out the parts I don't want you're character to remember, in time you may add other parts of you're bio back in, but only parts I decide on and parts I wish to be revealed.

If you decide to submit an Amnesia character I suggest you submit an alternate sheet to.

The Captor is searching for something within the minds our characters, the reason you have amnesia is because he has perverted the way you're mind works. It is all still their, but you're brain doesn't know where to look.

Now those without amnesia are safe for the most part because they do not have the information he desires. But you will be hunted like animals and tortured like traitors until he realises it is not there, so don't go thinking "Why join if I don't have amnesia? Theres nothing for me to do?" Because there will be plenty.


There are factions open, for obvious reasons the Mages guild is not available, any mage characters will have to be from outside the imperial city.

The factions available are

Thieves guild and dark brotherhood (working together)

Order of the shadow (a vampire clan with connections to the captor, more details on when you can join and who they are will be provided at a later date)

You don't have to join the factions since they will be used to progress the story either way.

The way the story is progressed depends on you're character, if he goes with the thieves guild it will be a good path so to speak, but if he works with the vampires he will be working with the captor.

The map we will be using for the Imperial City can be found http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j76/Titus-lord/TheImpeiralCity.jpg (all Credits go to Lord_Tidus for the exceptionally detailed and lore accurate sketch)



Rules

1. Try to use proper grammar and spelling , I'm not picky at all as long as I can understand what supposed to be said, This rule is for people who might mind. If you're not sure, type it up in word doc first then copy and paste.

2. Expect to die, this is a dark RP with a dark story with dark with dark things happening, don't expect to survive every encounter with you're enemies, be it NPC or PC.

3. Romance is ok by me, but please don't be disgusting, its all well and good Rping a six scene but having the actual post describe and inner monologue of thoughts and feelings from the person rather than the physical happenings of the sixual organs. it's a 13+ forum after all, don't want the moderators swinging the ban hammer about for any soft core erotica.

4. If you fight another persons character please do not write the outcome of them, that is for them to decide, if you write a good post with a good attack/tactic/spell etc, they may think that they deserve to lose and ear or a finger or an arm, no character control at all unless its pre-decided and discussed with the other party, and state that it has been discussed in an OOC.

5. If you're character is god, its ok if he is all knowing and every where at once, but he isn't so you aren't, if you're guy is all knowing, he should know a good kick up the ass is heading his way. Don't be all knowing.

6. Stay active, if you're not going to be active and you leave you're character in conversation limbo then it ruins it for others, please pm who ever you're character is with about it and give them a few details so they can write you into sabbatical with their next post. If you leave during a fight, I will allow character control to end the limbo. Severed heads all around.

Real life is great and all, but please just take 5 minutes to tell the parties involved in this RP that you wont be active so they can RP accordingly.

7. Vampires and werewolves are ok, I'm only going to accept very very well written ones. I had countless were-creatures sent to me in the last thread but only accepted IN because hers where the only ones I enjoyed reading about. The rest made me think of that god awful movies "underworld". Same goes with vampires. Even if its good, I'm still controlling the population of such creatures in this RP, so don't be offended if it does get denied, you could re-apply with that character if another vamp/wolf drops out and/or dies.

8. You can have as many characters as you wish, as long as you're capable of using more than one, I personally like to use 3-4 per RP (I think in circlet I'm on 4, adding two more if immortal approves) But that's my own prefrence, for this RP I'll be using maybe up to 6 characters once the story is well and truly off the ground, not all of them will be as frequently posted for but all will be needed for moving and controlling the plot.

9. Post and IC with you're sheet. I don't want to clutter up the thread' first two pages with nothing but character sheets like last time. Im posting a starting IC with the thread so theres no excuses about "I have nothing to respond to". If you're busy etc don't worry, just try to edit it into you're initial post when you can if nobody posts after you, or few people do.

10. Don't post a sheet without an approval, even if I say I'm thinking about it, if I'm not 100% about you're sheet, you're not 100% in this RP.


11. Ubering. The taboo subject, some people don't mind it, some people hate it. I don't mind it if its tastefully done with wiggle room for the other person, but I only accept it if its very creatively done. Don't try it if you cant handle it.

Sheet

Name: Please try to have something specific to a race, im not that picky really. Bretons tend to have French sounding names, Khajitt are named for their forthcomings/talents/physical differences, as are Argonians. Orks are named for their fathers, example Grobab Gro-[fathers name]. I really don't care to much aslong as I don't have to meed a khajiit named albert.

Race: Standard races, Mixed races allowed after you discuss it with me.

Gender: No mixed gender.

Age: Don't have to pin point it, decide say 20-25 or 25-30 or something. If you're an elf mention how old they look to, Vampires should look older than they are.

Birthsign: standard birth signs, don't go making up new ones now will you?

Physical description: If you don't want to get nitty and gritty with the details, please provide a picture. Add the height build and weight as well.

Bio History:
I need to know if you want amnesia, but I still need a character sheet.
If you intend to have amnesia I suggest a long bio so I can effectively edit those parts I don't want you're character to know just yet, if they are skilled at sword play, mention how he learned, if they are extremely flatulent, mention it.

About the character: Nope, no skills, Not the seven skills of oblivion, that doesn't work in real life so it doesn't work here. Just tell us what they like doing, what their personality is like, what they are skilled at etc. And "special" abilities should go here, including abilities gained from vampirism and lycanthropy. Even skills such as "He can balance a knife on the end of his nose while doing an irish jig" may prove relevant.

Weapons: The weapons usually used and carried with them.

Armour/Clothing: What are they wearing right now? And what armour do they usually use?

Misc. Items: Do you smoke a pipe? Drink tea? Play cards? They go here.


Regarding Magic in this RP

Ok so you all know its illegal, not lets explain it a little. It's illegale because all the murders of highly powerful people show signs of magic involvement. Ocato has received threats on his life, in a mad desperate attempt to catch the killer he has outlawed magic completely, hoping the killer will reveal himself with a wrongfully cast spells.

Magic can only be ditected and pinpointed at the same time, in each district is a huge Sphere where the guards towers once stood, these spheres communicate with each other and create a map grid of the city. They each sense magic and work out the distance between themselves and the caster and the direction he/she is In. After each orb works out the distance and direction they use the information to pinpoint the casters exact location within the city. Then, their immediately teleport any battle mages on duty to the area to apprehend the suspect.

Potions are legal, alchemy is controlled buy legal to practice. Potions which create invisibility are illegal, poisons are highly illegal.

Enchanted weapons are illegal, although I rarely accept people with enchanted weapons.

Casting magic will lead you to the man made island prison, nobody has ever escaped or been released from this jail. Their fates are unknown.


The remnants of the mages guild has splintered off to create a scholars guild of sorts, taking care of the mages guild's old duties which do not involve magic (archaeological, cartography etc)

IC post, reply to the Opening post above when you post you're character sheet please. Apart from illusionary with her half-breed, who will be found a few posts in.



Updates

Factions

The Dark Brotherhood

The ever mysterious group of cold blooded murderers and assassins, grudgingly allied with the thieves guild in their battle against the Vampire clan. I will be heavily moderating this group, if you want to be sure to get into this faction, don't send me a sheet about some idiot stereotype assassin, its dull.

The thieves guild

Wiley cunning and creative, the thieves guild are protected by the Darkbrotherhood, but even so they are struggling to keep their heads above water in their fight to retake the cities underworld from the Vampires.

The Vampire Clan

A clan of vampires, some from other regions of Tamriel, banded together and used as a tool by the mysterious leather face. Very little is known about them. What is known is murky at best. They are working for unknown reasons to oust the dark brotherhood and thieves guild from Cyrodil. Some speculate its for influence over politicians, others believe it is a war of misguided honour, some believe its blood for bloods sake. ( Again, heavily moderating this. I know Almerion comes off as the cheesiest vampire ever, but you will see why when more of his character his revealed. Think Uncle Curios angry brother.)

The scholars guild

The remnant of the old mages guild, banded together to protect the accumulated knowledge of their time, magic is no longer researched but such things as archaeology, castography, literature etc have grown and prospered since the abolition of Magic throughout the empire. They are based in the various ex guild halls of the mages guild.

The Cast and their characters

Solidor

Kalort - A loyal friend and fierce fighter when pushed. He is the close friend of Tiberius Church and a fellow survivor of the incident beneath the city. Once a proud member of the legion he is now a bitter deserter turned mercenary. He is usually gentle natured bashful and clumsy.

Tiberius Church - This part will be written when the lazy bastard wakes up? 6 pages in and he's still out cold. Gah

Almerion - A sadistic cruel and cold Vampire of the Vampire clan. Artistic and creative, he see's the torture and mutilation of men and elves as the highest form of art and the most beautiful music. He has a flair for the theatrical and enjoys plays and fine literature. He holds a great deal of disdain toward the Nord's, and identifies himself more closely to the Altmer.

Leather Face - A highly powerful demented mage, naught is known of his past save for one brief glimpse of his insanity taking route. Currently imprisoned in the Mage prison. Without his mask he looks more fierce than the Daedra scourge, and less human than even the most disfigured man.

Illusionary Nothing


FC4

Peleus

Manu

Evil Pigeon




If you have been missed out from the cast section let me know. I haven't forgotten the rest of you, I've just assumed that you have all dropped out.

Name: Jimri
Nickname:
Age: 45 (appears in her early 20s)
Race: bosmer
Gender: female
Birthsign: the thief

Mental Description: Jimri is a rather easygoing girl, with a shameless appreciation for the nice things that makes life comfortable. She hasn't the same appreciation for the law, but finds it easier to work within it's limit - stretching them a bit if necessary - rather than blatant illegality. She's a bit of a cynic, having seem more than her share of jaded nobles, greedy merchants, horny artists and the like. She's aware of the Green Pact and the Meat Mandate, but considers them irrelevant out of Valenwood.

Physical Description: Jimri is a somewhat small but pretty bosmer woman, with a nice visage lightened by two large green eyes and a warm smile. She's slim and well built, her body toned by a lot of dancing and riding (well, that's what she's telling, in reality it's more from climbing and practicing martial arts). Of course her current appearance isn't exactly at her best, with what littlle clothes she's wearing rather ruined, and her hair only marginaly better - tangled, sweaty and smeared with dirt.

Height: 5'4"
Weight: 90lbs
Hair: light brown with coppery glint, kept free and shoulder-length.
Eye Color: bright green

Armor/Clothing: rather ruined green silk nightgown - a pretty and flimsy thing that was never meant to be worn in this sort of conditions

Bio: Jimri is the third daughter (and sixth child) of a rather successful merchant, specialized in moving exotic articles between Cyrodill and Valenwood. During her adolescence, she was taught to hunt by her uncle, a traditionalist bosmer who wanted to be sure she knew of the 'true bosmer way'. She learned much in the way of sneaking around and moving into hard to reach places as well as some of living on the land, but it convinced her that the imperial way of life was far more to her liking. From her father's wealthy lifestyle she has picked up a taste for dancing and singing, getting good enough at it to earn a living from it.

As a daughter of a merchant specialized in exotic curiosities, she enjoyed the hospitality of more than a few nobles, poking her nose into their dirty laundry out of curiosity. Until the day she was caught by his father's banker in his own office, checking her father's credit line (he had refused her some present, stating he couldn't afford it. She thought it a lie and decided to check by herself..
Rather than sending her back to her father, the banker though he could use her skills.
Basically getting into someone's entourage as the sort of artistic company often found around wealth, then sneaking where she don't belong to either check facts or pilfer some debtor's items of value. To this end he used some of his somewhat shady contacts and associates to improve upon what she already knew while publicly supporting her artistic aspirations.
Jimri is now somewhat known as a singer and dancer, an artist any rich man can support to improve his receptions and display his wealth and taste. More conservative peoples tend to look down on her as a professional parasite and hanger on, not far removed from a courtesan.

About the character :
As befit to her cover as somewhat parasitic artist-turned-hanger-on, Jimri is an accomplished dancer and singer, though her repertoire include some that would be definitively frowned upon in conservative company. She's also a bit of an actress.

From her true trade, she's equally accomplished at moving unseen and unheard as well as climbing and jumping to difficult to reach locations. She's also able to deal with most locks and traps. As her cover don't leaves rooms for much in the way of weaponry, she has been trained in unarmed combat, and is somewhat skilled with short blades and thrown weapons, making up with speed and accuracy for what she lacks in size and strength.

To round up these skills, she has enough training with magic to cast some low magnitude detection spells and dispel magical traps along with some healing magic. Showing up scraqed and bruised from some questionable nocturnal activities would raise awkward questions.
Since Occato's prohibition of magic, she has started to learn about alchemy to make up for the lack of this magic without having to buy potions her cover has no use for.

From her childhood in Valenwood, she has kept an ability to eat with a smile things that would have more than a few self-styled though guy cringe in horror (tree grubs, liver just pulled from a freshly killed animal... that sort of things) and not be bothered by vermins such as rats and bugs. Which she sometimes uses to amuse herself with the horrified reactions it causes.

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As she heard the cage's doors open, Jirmi didn't move but rather opened a bit her eyes, discretely looking around to figure out what was happening. While not having the slightest idea about what that lunatic with his leather mask was looking for in her mind - except that as far as she knew it wasn't there - one things was sure : she didn't enjoy his 'hospitality' at all. Awakening from a comfortable feather bed into a moldy jail would have been bad enough, but what little of her jailor's tricks she had personally experienced was far worse than anything she had met...

I have to take my leave while he's out. But I've seen enough cats playing with mices to know better than to take an open door at face value from such a loon. But since that bastard is using plenty of magic in his games, this place is either shielded from detection or allowed to use magic. That gives me a chance to look things from another angle...

Discretely whispering an incantantion she hand't used since she had been close to the Imperial City, Jimri called forth a minute amount of magicka, letting her detect what active magic might lay nearby, especially what might be wards or magical traps.

Name: Seltaire Rushion
Nicknames: Sel, Silt, Tare the Hare

Race: Imperial

Gender: Definitively Male

Age: 20-25

Birthsign: The Warrior

Physical description: Seltaire is not built like one would expect of a warrior, standing at a mere five foot 6 inches. In fact, he sports more of a rogue's leanness, combined with an acrobat's lithe musculature and a touch of feline grace. He is well toned and when unclothed, one can easily make out abs, forceps, biceps, triceps, etc. One can also easily make out the myriad assortments of scars and scabs across his arms, chest, and back. His black hair is typically a mess atop his head, though not long enough to fall all over his face, and giving off an oily shine. He doesn't sport much on the side of facial hair, outside a sparse goatee. His skin is tanned enough that from afar one might mistake him for a Redguard, and his brown eyes are dulled at times, though glimmer with an inner life. The most notable feature, however, is the lack of a middle finger on both of his hands.

Bio History: (amnesiac)
Seltaire Rushion was a born pirate, falling out of the mother's womb onto the deck of a ship, headfirst. Some say that is to blame for his quick temper; others think it was just a catalyst for the temper to flare at an early age.

He never seemed to beef up much, but still matched many of the younger crewmen in strength, a fact many attributed to his Warrior birthsign. Mostly, though, he seemed to get faster and more agile, climbing about the ropes and sails like a monkey, and dashing about the deck as quick as a rabbit, lending him the nickname Tare the Hare.

He took to gambling a little while later, though not for long as he lost his place on The Weeping Woman as a result of one bad bet.

Somehow, he ended up in the Imperial City.

About the character: Seltaire is cocky and temperamental, and it shows in just about everything he does. Be it swordplay, knot-tying, running, or even burping, everything's a competition and he's not the most sportsmen of folk. He does, however, concede defeat on some of the more irrelevant matters. He does not take well to losing a swordfight, however, as it is his most prized skill. Stemming from his sailing days, his style is swaying and balance-heavy, utilizing a lot of acrobatics and dirty mind-games on the opponent. Despite his seemingly ill-mannered, jerkish appearance and general nature, Seltaire is actually quite noble, and often throws himself out there to help those who matter to any degree to him. He knows and follows the basics of etiquette and chivalry, but knows when niceties need to be thrown out the window. His temper is likely his greatest weakness.

Weapons: Usually he sports a steel cutlass with a bejeweled bell guard, given to him by a past captain he came to greatly respect. However, any saber, cutlass, dagger, or rapier is at home in his hand.

Armour/Clothing: Seltaire is comfortable in whatever he can get, and if not for society's proclamations of decency he would honestly wear nothing. Rags, lower class stitched trousers, a tunic of questionable repair; it's all the same to him. Typically, though, he's seen in a pair of dingy trousers of intriguing brown color, and a button-down tan tunic with long sleeves. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the tunic left half open, revealing his somewhat hairy chest. The most expensive parts of his outfit are the hard boiled black leather boots, and the boiled leather bracers on his forearms.

Misc. Items: Seltaire is often seen with an iron flask that carries Gods-know-what inside. In fact, the two are nigh inseparable, as he has it strapped to his left thigh for safe keeping. Otherwise, he doesn't carry much but a bit of gold.

IC: The screams... the muffled cries. He'd heard them before, different but at their heart the same. As he hung in the cage, Seltaire watched not the room, but the world of a memory. A ship on a clear, crystalline day, the blue of sky turned orange by the fires that were engulfing a schooner nearby. The captain walked amongst the prisoners, looking at each of them in turn. Those fit to work the crew were set about such. Those unfit faced torture at the hands of the pirates, for their amusemant and pleasure.

Seltaire smirked. The torture at the hands of a drunk pirate. Being one of those pirates himself, he could attest that such fate was a blessing from Stendarr compared to what he was enduring now, every day. He could not even fathom this man's methods. His breathing and heart raced as the leather masked man approached his cage every more, moving from one 'experiment' to another. Eight fingers gripped the bars in anticipation.

And then an exchange of words, the man leaving and the cages opening. The gaunt savior said not a word before he left, and Seltaire watched wordlessly, before looking at the cage. He half expected it to fall on him if he left it. But with balls of steel, Seltaire wasted only a second in this debate and prediction, before he tested it by stepping out. The door did not come down to claim his leg in its vicious jaws, and so the rest of him soon followed.

Standing outside of the cage brought an exhilarating rush of blood to the Imperial, and he barely contained a shout of joy. I need to arm myself, or something. Quickly he looked himself over, anolyzing the current state of matters. His current outfit was a set of dark brown trousers, and a tan tunic with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Leather bracers covered his forearms and boots his feet, but the shirt was torn in sections and blood stained, while the trousers had dark spots one could safely assume were also blood-borne. And he had no weapon. But ah! In a rush his fingers moved to undo the knot on his left thigh, and he removed the iron flask with a gleam in his brown eyes.

He truthfully wasn't sure what it was, plainly from the questioning expression on his face, but it felt right in his hand. It felt like it belonged there. He shook it tentatively, determining there was some sort of liquid in it, before unscrewing the cap and taking a swift swig. Lowering the flask from his lips, they parted into a delighted grin. "Ah, well at least I 'ave some rum." He muttered to himself in satisfaction, screwing the cap back on and retying it to his thigh. "Now, to find meself a bleedin' weapon."

IC:

The cold dank cell around her was not just a prison to her body; it was a cage to her spirit. The walls pressed in on her so, and with them came the grim knowledge that she could not leave, that her life was out of her own hands, and in the hands of the foul creatures that had captured her.

At first, it had been enough to bring bile to her throat, to make her hiss and spit and claw at the walls like the beast that she did not seem. But long days that seemed longer nulled her physical problems and forced her into the recesses of her mind, where she was strongest.

That was the reality of her past, and, waking now, it became the reality of her presence. She wrapped her hands around the bars, hissing in fury at the horrific scene before her, watching the insane experiments, the sociopathic questioning. It's not right! she screamed inside, but only a fury of snarling, hissing and spitting could be discerned. Most of it wasn't even discernable as Ta'Agra, her home language. It was just wild, unbridled fury.

Then the pale man stepped forth, and her hissing ceased. She quieted with a stillness rarely to be found, only her fingernails clicking against the metal bars as she drummed them against her cage.

"Master, they seem to have located us..." he said. Nola bared her fangs at him in a snarl at the word 'master'. But the mage ceased and left, and the pale man, expression unreadable, lifted their cages and left.

I don't trust him... she thought stubbornly, unwilling to escape as the gift of another, one who's motives could not be easily guessed. But this opportunity was greater than she could pass up, and the other prisoners might require her assisstance.

She dragged from her cell, her leg muscles to weak and shaky to support her just yet. Once out, she set about stretching, massaging her leg muscles and flexing her arms and shoulders. Once she had ascertained that she was limber, she shook like a cat and rose to her feet, tucking her dark hair behind her pale ears.

She cautiously approached two others in the room, a female bosmer and a male imperial. She composed herself, letting the wildness seep out of her and calmly said, "I'm looking for a way out. If you are too, I suggest we team up." Her amber eyes gazed at them solemnly.

Then, in the manner of an animal that has caught the scent of prey, she suddenly looked away, and began prowling around the area, eyes on the ground.

Seltaire looked at the woman who approached, who must have been some sort of Bosmer, as she was certainly short enough and elfy enough. But those eyes... and the fact that shortly after her statements she prowled around like a cat sniffing out a mouse, he couldn't be sure. Either she was bosmer, or she was a Khajiit breed he was unfamiliar with, or she was just not right in the head. Considering the situation, the later seemed most likely.

But he still couldn't put off the image of a cat, prowling about the rail of a ship in the dusk, watching crewmen work. For a moment Seltaire blinked at thin air, bewildered. And then the image was gone. And replaced by a look at the girl again. "If ye find a weapon or two, give a holler... or meow, or somethin'." He muttered the last few words in decreasing volume, as he had been motioning towards her with his hand, and now noted his fingers.

Or lack of one, to be exact. He turned his hand around in front of him, looking at them and counting. One, two, three, four.... wait, thumb isn't a finger, is it? One, two, three... As he was pointing at each finger with his other hand, the realization that a this other hand looked the exact same struck him, and he looked at it as well, turning both over. His fingers wiggled, but there was that one space between the first and second where there was a knuckle. But no fingers. One eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I think I should 'ave another finger here, but I ain't sure... An' I got no clue how the [censored] I lost it if I am supposed to." He remarked more to himself than anyone else, scratching his head with one hand while still looking at the other. After a moment his face changed from bewildered to angered, and then furious. Both hands closed into fists. "Tha' Daedra-twisted leather-faced bastard took me fingers!" He wanted to shout it, but knew he shouldn't, and it came out between clamped teeth as a vicious hiss of words.

Seltaire turned on the cage he once inhabited, looking it once-over before tearing at the bars with wild abandon. They were temporary cages, so not well built; some were rusty iron, some were oak wood and lashings, and some were rusting steel. His was wood and lashing, which was not easy to try and untie from the inside, especially with his captor coming every so often. But with the leather-man busy, and Seltaire now on the outside, his purpose wasn't escape.

A single bar slid free as he loosened the lashings holding it on, and he pulled out the long stick of wood with a grunt of rage. With a snort of exertion and a swing of the shaft he broke the end across the side of his cage, leaving it splintered. Hardly as deadly as he pleased, but better than blunt.

"Tha' man is goin' down. If anyone finds ah sword, I could use it better bu' this will do just as well." He told the others, looking around. "We should probably stick together. Any ideas past tha'?"

Nola looked up from her search long enough to hiss at the imperial, baring her sharpened canines. As she looked away, a keen eye might note that the corner of lips quirked up ever so slightly. She said nothing else as she considered her search.

There! she thought triumphantly, as a rat skittered by, a bone in its mouth. Lightning quick, she stepped on its tail, causing it to squeak in outrage and whirl on her, teeth bared. She released it and it darted off, leaving the bone behind. She picked it up and studied it, then bit it, pulling off a small chunk and narrowing it at one end. She spat out the other part of the bone.

It was rather convenient: she'd been thinking she'd have to actually take a bite out of the rat to get it. And blood only makes me tetchy...

She studied her handiwork. "It's not perfect, but it'll do..." she muttered. She glanced up at the imperial as he counted fingers. Again, the tiny smile could be found. A comment for all occassions... she thought wryly.

She slipped the improvised pick into her pocket, and waited for the other prisoners to get their bearings.

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

Name: Barzul

Race: Dark Elf

Gender: Male

Age: 73 (looks about 25 in human years)

Birthsign: The Shadow

Physical description: 5'8, 175 pounds, athletic / muscular build. He has dark long hair, red eyes and grey skin.

Bio / History: Originally from Vvardenfell, he was born and raised in Vivec in an average Dark Elf family. His parent's owned a store in the Hlaalu Quarter. He took fencing lessons as a teenager, and excelled in his class. He joined the Mages Guild and studied there for a few years before moving to the Imperial City and got a job there as a shop assistant. However he quickly grew bored with that and started looking for something more exciting. After few weeks he was approached by a Dark Brotherhood member, he was given a small contract which he needed to complete before joining. He never finished it because he was abducted.

Even though he remembers some of his past life, he has no idea how he got to that prison, or why he is there.


About the character: Skilled with a blade, he also knows some close quarter combat. He is quite skilled with alteration magic but he hasn't used it since he came to Cyrodill, due to it being illegal. Because he hasn't used his magic for so long, attempting to use it as this point would probably result in a failure.

He is usually very quiet, people see him as cold and distant.

Weapons: He created his own katana, he also usually carries a light dagger in his boot. Both of those are currently in his apartment, which is in the Waterfront.

Armour/Clothing: At the moment he is not wearing anything except common pants, no shoes, no shirt. He usually likes to wear light leather armor, or even just dark clothing. His clothing is always very light and open. He relies more on athletics and agility than armor protection.

Misc. Items: None

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

Sitting on the floor like a small baby, holding his legs tightly up against his chest, Barzul sat frozen. At first he had used the idea of escape to counter the psychological torture he went through in that place. But he soon realized his hopes of resque were meaningless, the leather faced mage was going to torture them until they died. He had been slowly increasing them gap between him and the reality, escaping to a private little world inside his head. He didn't talk anymore, he just sat there, all day long, in complete silence.

It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening, the cage seemed to be open. "Is this true? or is my mind playing tricks on me?" He wondered. At this moment the long forgotten ideas of escaping from this place rushed back to his head. Stunned and with a severe headache he stumbled out of the cage. He landed on his feat, even though his mind and spirit were broken, his reflexes were not. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. What the hell is going on?

He breathed deep a couple of times, then opened his eyes and took a look around. A strange imperial was standing near him, he seemed to be debating with himself about how many fingers one should have. Quite sure that this man was nothing but an illusion conjured up by his twisted mind, he looked the other way. What he saw there was even stranger, a petite girl, or a young woman was gnawing on a bone.

"What.. who.. are you people?" He stuttered, he hadn't realized how long it had been since he last spoke.

Jimri, unknwon prison cell

As her spell didn't show anything magical, at least on her cage and on the floor, jimri took a better look arouns. Seeing that some of the others prisonners had exited their cages withut ill effect, she decided it was time to do the same. After a few careful stretches, she felt sure enough of her limbs to jump down her cage, landing with the catlike grace of a dancer or martial artist. Also displaying more skin than she whould like with unknown strangers around as her only garment was a flimsy, short and somewhat burned and lacerated nightgown of bright green silk Well, they're torture pals rather than full blown strangers. And it's not like I have much choice... that nightgown wasn't much to begin with and it's even less now. Bah, I've danced in even less, and a chance for leaving this lunatic's company is well worth the embarassemant.

Once out Jimri took a few steps, sighing with relief at the chance to move unimpaired, once again stretching herself and making sure all body parts were there and acting as they should, wincing and grunting softly as injuries from leatherface's attention made theselves felt. grimacing as she felt the ground's moldy cold under her bare feets.

After having taken a look at those around her Odd bunch. An Ohmes thief or the like, an human sailor and a dunmer who might be some kind of fighter from his built and way to move. And me the cadger to complete the lot. A weird collection if there ever was one. But beggars can't be choosers.

As the dunmer sopke, Jirmi replied, doing her best to keep her voice level and matter-of-factly. "A set of this leatherfaced lunatic's toys, who might have a lucky break for a change. I don't have the slightest idea about what he might be looking for in our heads, but I don't feel like giving him a chance to resume his probings. I'd rather take my leave - the place is a rathole, the furnitures are crappy and the staff is even worse."

"I've been in better outhouses in Daggerfall, actually." Seltaire remarked back to the woman, looking her over before cracking a smile. "I can't agree with his hosting practices, or his decor, but I do agree with him on at least one thing." Amazingly Seltaire left his statement at that, not elaborating further when one would expect a dirty sailor-looking type like himself to embellish excessively. It left a little wiggle room for possibilities, but his meaning was still rather clear. He just had the decency to merely elude to it.

Turning to look at the Dunmer now, he cracked a more sinister grin. "Name's Seltaire.... Seltaire... Rushion. There... sounds 'bout right... Seltaire Rushion. I think... not sure on the last bit." Shrugging, Seltaire moved over to his cage again and began to move his eight fingers about the ropes of his cage, before he loosened yet another long shaft of wood. Breaking this in a similar manner to the last, he tossed it by the Dunmer's feet.

"Hope ya know how to use spears, mate. 'Cause it's all we got an' I need ta kill something. Preferably something with ah leather face."

As the sailor looked her over, Jirmi returned him a steady gaze, the sort who says 'I know you like what you see, but don't get carried over it'. something she had quite a bit of practice during both her training and her cover as an artist.

"Since we're into introduction, I'm Jimri. And even if I agree with you that being dead would be quite an improvement for leatherface, I'm afraid it's easier said than done. He might be a lunatic and a total jerk, but he seems to be quite a lot of mage. unless you get a chance to sneak upon him and catch him flat-footed, you'll probably find him quite a handfull. I'd rather look for a way to get out of this hole before even considering to pin him to a wall. I prefer to be out, live and disapointed than dead in here."

Nola appraised the sailor. His allusion, while crudely done, marked him as something more than just a simple lunkhead. "Hey, muscle-head," Nola said with a grin. "Or is it Seltaire? Nobody seems interested in talking to the kitty." Her amber eyes were bright with mischief... and alight with something darker.

But hey, if nobody's interested in talking to me, I'm not interested in talking to them... she thought with a shrug. She imagined it had as much to do with the fact she was fully clothed as anything else, but she wasn't sure she was as forgiving to the bosmer.

Need not get angry about it... she told herself, trying to ease her infuriation. It doesn't matter if people ignore you... in fact, its probably better that way...

But she couldn't seem to convince herself of that. Regardless, she continued on, "If someone feels kind, I could use a weapon, and I'm not strong enough to rip one for myself." I could with magic... she amended silently. But I'll keep that to myself for now. Even if Ocato doesn't have tabs here, that doesn't mean someone else does- nor that these people mean me no harm... "I also think we should consider getting moving," her eyes went to the door the gaunt man had disappeared through. "Afterall, it can only be so long before our kind hosts come to check if they're guests are comfortable."

She shook her head, and headed for the door. "And if anyone wants to know, I'm Nola."

As Nola made her presence more manfiest, Jimri felt a pinge of embrassment for having ignored her, but agreed that they'd better not linger around. Not exactly liking the repressed anger she could feel in the Ohmes's tone, she dexided that some apologies might help defuse things before they could turn sour.

"Sounds like a sounds idea - and sorry about ignoring you, but I did feel like you were maybe... shaken loose enough by our host's attention that I'd rather not risk disturbing you..."

She paused a bit, realising what she just said

"But I'm the kettle saying to the pot it's black, babbling and joking and doing my best to understate you as a hokerr when I'm probably the one kicked a few step out of touch. Let's move and get out, we can play 'who's the sanest' later."

Having expresed her opinion, Jimri moved toward the door, stepping lightly to avod making any noise, listening attentively for any sign of danger.

"...shaken loose enough by our hosts attention that I'd rather not risk disturbing you..." Jimri said, before pausing guiltily. She needn't have bothered; A hearty laugh was emanating from Nola, her eyebrows raised at the bosmer.

"Don't worry," she said as she laughed. "I swear, I couldn't have gone any more mad than I already was..."

Nola stood beside Jimri as she listened out. Discreetly, Nola sniffed the air- yet another thing that made her seem mad, but she was only calling on her birth right; a sense of smell which could identify those who were nearby. So far as she could tell, it was only the prisoners in their immediate vicinity... except...

"There's something out there," she informed Jimri in a low voice. "I don't know what... it isn't anything natural, of that I'm sure..." The very smell of it stung her nose as if the scent were on fire.

"Still..." she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "I won't know if its dangerous unless I get close enough for it to whack me on the head..."

She slipped out, paceing stealthily and keeping to shadows, but she moved slowly to allow the others to keep up if they wished.

"Great, I must have guessed it looked too easy. well, as the saying goes, no pain, no gain. Let's just hope the the rates will be better than what we're just out of...."

Upon that touch of black humor, Jimri followed, staying close to the other wall, moving with all the stealth she could muster, moving with the slightly crouched stance of a martial artist, ready to pounce on whatever Nola had qmzllzd, hoping it would be something bare hands could deal with.

something unnatural. If we're in luck it might a as puny as a skeleton or a scamp, but it could as easily be something way nastier.... As she formed those thoughts, Jimri realised with a mental shiver that the idea didn't bother her as much as it should have. The perspective of dying under the attack of some surnatural critter felt almost as a relief compared to the unknown mage's tortures. Feels like the bastard has effectively shaken me somewhat loose. Bah, there will be time to sort the pieces if I get through this alive. I'd better let the matter rest until I'm effectively out.

OOC: You guys couldn't have waited could you? Now where am I gonna start? Back in the cages or just randomly appear? :shrug: Anyway, just sent in my sheet to Solidor..

OOC: same here. If Solidor wants a good character, that takes time.

OOC: We are only just outside of the cages room, and half the group are still there. Also, we are waiting.

But sorry nonetheless.

"Sorry about not talkin' to ya kitten, but I always learned not ta disturb kitties while they went ah prowlin'." Seltaire replied to the feline woman as she moved towards the door, and he followed.

He was about to go through the door after her, when he noticed a shifting in the cage. Pausing, Seltaire looked at it, then looked back down the hall. "Oi! Ya lassies scout out ahead, I'll stay behind. Think we gots some other folks wakin' up here. If ya find trouble bring it back here so I can kill it." As he said this he gripped his makeshift spear tighter, turned, and looked about the room.

"Alright folks, it be safe ta come out."

OoC: Sorry about the short post, I have a lot to do today and I probably wont be able to write anything of a decent length until tomorrow.


Barzul picked up the crudely constructed spear and examined it, he grunted in approval and walked towards the door to follow the feline girl. "Oi! Ya lassies scout out ahead, I'll stay behind. Think we gots some other folks wakin' up here. If ya find trouble bring it back here so I can kill it." The strange sailor said. Barzul stopped to think, he still had a headache and was having trouble thinking logically, he decided that he didn't trust the sailor enough to turn his back on him so he didn't advance through the door. He took a step back and looked at Seltaire, and then at the cages. There was definitely someone still in there, who, or what it was, he didn't know.

Sheet

Name: Farin Hlaalu

Race: Dunmer

Gender: Male

Age: 23 (not entirely sure when elves mature... I figured they just had an extended prime)

Birthsign: The Steed

Physical description: At 5,9' Farin isn't unusually tall, nor is he very bulky, being thin and wiry though surprisingly fit and healthy thanks to his rambling hikes that take him all across Cyrodil. In fact on first impression alone, its quite difficult to tell that the rugged, floppy haired Dunmer is an academic though that can quickly become obvious through conversation. He often appears thoughtful and is prone to a dire lack of observation of his surrounds, especially now after his ordeal, caged and tortured by this unknown mage.

Bio History:
Farin was born the son of a minor Hlaalu noble on Vvardenfell, from early age the course of his life was rigorously controlled by overbearing and ambitious parents who saw their infant son as a ticket to the higher ranks of their House, whether or not the young boy liked the idea. To this end, Farin was dragged from an unusually early age into education. This education was wide, focusing on more practical arts such as combat, negotiation, magic ('til it was officially banned whilst Farin was 13) even some elements of stealth. This regimen was designed to mould Farin into a perfect house member; brave, cunning, shrewd. The mix wasn't complete however and Farin 's parents decided to add another trait to the mix, to set their son above the competition. A working knowledge of history, geography and other scholastic subjects which, they believed separated the nobility from the peasantry.

In reality, Farin didn't shape up to his parent's expectations, as he missed out on many of the social aspects required to become a high ranking member of House Hlaalu whilst he was closeted away studying. The studies themselves didn't go that well either as Farin proved himself an unexceptional diplomat and soldier (he is both uncomfortable in armour and a terrible shot, as well as being far too antisocial for a life of politics). His parents were disappointed with the outcome of their training and, at 18 when Farin came of age, he was sent away from his family to live in Cyrodil on a small monthly fund so that his parents could concentrate on raising his younger sibling.

Farin Flourished in Cyrodil, thatnks to his education he was a prime candidate for the newly formed guild of scholars that had recently occupied the old Mage's Guild buildings across Cyrodil. As a guildsman, Farin flourished, building on his earlier training, he studied to become a guild licensed cartographer, a job he was enjoying, though he had only been at it for a month or two before the abduction.

About the character:
Farin is a bookish, introverted man. He is often nervous when engaged in meaningful conversation, though this is partially due to a very mechanical training in the art of conversation which doesn't really apply to life. However, when he gets onto a subject he knows about (for example the geography of Cyrodil) he can talk the hind leg off a donkey. He enjoys his privacy though this extends being around people for extensive periods rather than conversing with them.

Part of Farin's love of Cartography comes from his love of the outdoors, one of the few things he gained from his weapons training as a child. He has been known to spend hours wandering the countryside, armed with his trusty sabre and a book for identifying flora and fauna. That said, he isn't much of an alchemist the rudiments from his youth, as well as some simple illusion spells that have come in handy. Though his early weapons training proved fruitless Farin has flourished as a swordsman since he joined a club for amateur duellists, designed for the members of the guild of scholars.

Weapons: Though currently unarmed, Farin has always favoured the light steel fencing sabre that he purchased when he first arrived in Cyrodil. The blade was specially designed for fencing and as such is too light to be very effective for blocking though it does allow Farin to fight with surprising speed and penetration on the offensive. Unfortuneately because the blade is so different to a normal sword, its quite difficult for Farin to make good use of other swords.

Armour/Clothing: Farin is currently dressed in what is left of his travel gear, which has been reduced to rags. The durable leather vest has survived the best and its the only piece of clothing that is still identifiable.

Misc. Items: Farin has managed to hold onto his family signet ring, as well as a pencil which is now a useless stub.

The rolling green stretched on forever infront of him, trees towered above his head and the Dunmer could distantly hear the sounds of birds in the distance as he wandered through the wilderness, sabre slapping against his leg. Farin was headed for a hill up ahead, the tower atop it seemed a good point for his surveying. The point was deep in the wilds of Colovia and Farin was weary of marauders and bandits, though he didn't really expect anything to come out of the woods to trouble him today,
Its somehow just too pleasant for trouble
He thought idly as he wandered in the pleasantly dappled sunlight that had made its way between the trees...

"Alright folks, it be safe ta come out."

Farin started as the words rang through his consciousness, he blinked and the greenery began to fade from his vision. As it did so, his eyes never left the ruined white tower atop the hill, its disappearance was inevitable however and it was replaced by a dark grey wall, covered with cages, the only light in this place seemed to come from from cracks in the walls and ceiling, an eerie green that reminded him vaguely of the dappled light of his previous location. A faint *plip* could be made out in the distance as water dripped down from the ceiling. Reality had become quite relative for Farin who had become increasingly isolated from himself over the past month as his captor's torments made reality less and less inviting, by the end it had taken some extreme punishment to raise him from his stupor. The voice, which had had a seaman's accent only managed to do so as it differed from that of his tormentor, the one with the leather face. It was no surprise then that it took Farin more than a few seconds to recall his surroundings. The place felt dreamlike, as though he was stuck in a nightmare, one that he'd had many times before. They always involved pain or suffering and that same tormentor...

Farin's blank, dreamy expression clouded slightly. The dream was somehow different this time...
Ah yes!
he thought, slipping into the inner monologue that had been his only conversation for quite some time. The door to his cell was open, Farin was convinced that this was quite unusual for his dream. Variety was unprecedented and Farin felt a surge of exitement as, for the first time he felt some enthusiasm about this particular dream. The opening from the cage was small and he had to crawl to get out. Until now, the everpresent pain that had been hidden beyond his subconscious managed to push its way into his awareness, buoyed by the effort of movement.

The white hot flash caused him to cry and collapse, halfway out of the tiny cage.
A few seconds passed...
Farin decided that his best option was to persevere and, ready for the spike this time he managed to painfully pull himself to his feet. Once there, the agony became more manageable and Farin found himself able to walk. He straightened and looked around the room, it hadn't changed much since his last observation, though there were two people standing in it now, an Imperial and a fellow Dunmer, both looking as bedraggled as he felt.
People! I haven't thought of them in a while...
The inner attempt at retaining his distance from reality failed and doubts as to the legitimacy of his situation as a dream began to crumble. He found the doubt unpalatable and, caught by indecision, decided to question these two about his situation;
"Hello"
He paused as he realised that the word had probably been lost to the croak of his underused voice, he started again, sounding out the words carefully as he grew used to his own voice once more,
"Hello... Is this real?"

Name: Tiberius Church.

Nickname: Tiberius or Church, the latter being the most used.

Race: Imperial

Gender: Male

Age: Late 20's

Birthsign: The Warrior

Physical description: Tiberius Church, an Imperial legionnaire by profession, has inherited the body of his father, a legionnaire of the legion. He is 5'10, around average height. His muscles are chorded and lithe, big enough to be strong and small enough to be agile. He is lightly tanned, not as olive skinned as most Imperials but nor is he as pale as other races of man such as the Bretons or Nords. His body is smooth and clean, devoid of any sign of injuries of the past, save for a brand on his wrist he does not remember receiving. His hair is medium length, wavy and very messy. But even so, it looks fetching to the right observer. He usually wears it tied back in a thin leather bandana, no wider than the leather straps used to make a sling. It is tied back behind his head and falls down to the base of his neck, where a number of light blue and green beads can be seen attached to the end. His most notable feature is his eyes, one is bright blue, the other is a cloudy meadow green. He has no idea why his eyes are such a colour since both parents and theirs before them have all nursed brown eyes. His nose is straight and thin, in equal proportion to the rest of his face, which save for his eyes, is almost perfectly symmetrical. His lips are thin to medium in volume, slightly parted all the time, a habit developed from unknown origins.

Bio History:
He knows he was in the legion, he remembers his close friend and colleague Kalort Torka, a Redguard he met early in his training in the legion. Most of the events after their friendship took off is a blur to him, fragmented conversations and images, nothing more.

The earliest memory after that is a training situation in an Aylied ruin, he only remembers it as a training operation after he went down after a flash of blue light and woke up surrounded by his commanding officers and other trainees.

Next the memories jump a few years ahead, he's holding a dying woman in his arms, around he neck in vivid detail is the leather necklace he wears as a bandana, his lightly sun kissed hand caressing her porcelain white skin as she slowly fades away to another memory.

A group of soldiers are grouped around a dead scamp, the scene is lit by the glowing tear in reality that is an oblivion gate, Kvatch lies behind them in ruin.

Waking up to Kalort's singing onboard a ship outfitted like a tavern, Karlot standing behind his room's window with a vacant grin on his face. "Today's a good day to live my friend, Business booms."

After that, pain and suffering. The jarred shaking of his body as all manner of magical elements pass through him. A clawing sensation at the back of his skull. A harsh voice whispering to him to relinquish the knowledge he seeks, another voice not his own, barely audible over the screams of pain, Telling him to resist.

About the character: He is quick thinking and well educated, he is usually the first to react in a volatile situation however, as his temper is somewhat hard to control. More assertive than his friend Kalort, he makes up for a number of bad traits in his friend, as does Kalort for him. He is often bitter (and now that he has lost his memory, it is unknown why) towards the legion and any government society of organisation for that matter.

Weapons: Usually two silver long sword, standard issue legion.

Armour/Clothing: His clothing is either a rag tag combination of cheap cottons and thread bare cloth, usually when in a seedy town or tavern, or when he just plain doesn't care. Or an upper class set of black soft cotton pants and matching silt tunic. He proffers fighting without armour, but still wears legion armour when on guard duty. When on special assignments he is allowed to provide his own armour, which is to say. None.

Misc. Items: A leather braided necklace with an assortment of light blue and green beads, worn as a bandana or head band.







Name: Kalort Torka

Nickname: Either his first or last.

Race: Redguard

Gender: Male

Age: Late twenties

Birthsign: The mage.

Physical description: Kalort is tall, standing at 6'2, Like most red guard he walks in the body of a warrior and fine swordsman. Although in the legion he is the former, he barely considers and skill with the latter. He is broad shouldered and heavily muscular, stronger than most red guard, even some Orc's he's met. But not many. Although he is not as fast nor agile as his Redguard kin. His nose is not very broad, it is thinner like his mothers, who is Imperial. Though not by much, it is long and shows signs of being broken before. He see's the world through light hazel eyes and speaks with a small yet thick pair of lips. His hair is long, down to the small of his back and braided, if unbraided it would probably fall further down. His braids are thin and usually tied back, but when off duty he lets them fall out of their restraints and dandle free. He has a large amount of scar tissue on his back, the remains of a burn wound on his right should blade.

Bio History:

Kalort Joined the legion in his father footsteps, where he met his soon to be best friend Tiberius Church, an Imperial from the same background, a legion father and overbearing mother.

Not one for fighting, contrary to his build and ancestory, he proffered being the "lover" not the fighter, never taking his role in the legion very seriously, to his friends distress. He will put up a fight, and a spirited one, if pressed however. He act blindly out of loyalty to his friends and would force any one of them aside to take a blade for them. He is somewhat slow to grasp situations and slightly dim witted, but this does not stop his some what rare intelligent contributions from coming to fruition. When the rest of his team in the legion where under stress and beginning to panic, he would remain calm and think out a simple yet effective plan to rectify bad situations, much to his team mates amazement.

After a long stint in the legion, he and five other came upon Kvatch during the first night of the Oblivion invasion, they where to late to save those within the city. But even if they where, Kalort doubts he would have done much to help. He and his companions, Tiberius included, managed to fight off wave after wave of Daedric spawn from the gate. After the waves became less frequent the legionnaires of the defencive left to find reinforcements, knowing that a patrol was due to arrive.

On their way to the Road however, Kalort was his by a fire ball of a Scamp which had wandered to far from the pack. His team mates quickly put the beast down but not before the damage was done. He protested at their foolishness by staying by his side and insisted that they help back at the gate. However they didn't, soon enough a patrol found them, the others in the group sent them in the direction of the rising tendrils of smoke that was now the once great city of Kvatch.

Shortly after this they where re-assigned to the Imperial city, guarding the bridge to the city from any Daedric forces. This proved to be fruitless however, since the most eventful thing to happen while stationed their was a fisherman being robbed of all his slaughter fish scales.

A year later they watched in horror as the sky burned and smouldered. When they reached the city they where greeted by a grizzly sight. Innocent men and children, civilians and soldiers. All lay dead in the path of the legion, for all Kalort and the others knew, the entire city was wiped out. All they could do was resist the Daedra and stop them from spreading to other district in hope that any suvivors could make it to the prison or arcane university, both locations which would be easy to quickly fortify against the beasts pouring from the gates within the city.

After hours of bloodshed and exhaustion, nearly every glimmer of hope had left their units hearts when the most extraordinary act of the divines happened. The avatar of Akatosh appeared in a bright blast of light, dispelling Dagon and his horde back to Oblivion.

Much to Karlot and Tiberius' disgust, they where not recognised by their efforts. The only one who received any recognition was the Champion of Cyrodil. In their eyes, if they hadn't have held the Daedra off for so long, they would have been able to re-enforce their forces in the temple district and stop martin from fusing his blood with the divines. Poor credit indeed.

Shortly after that Tiberius and Kalort left the Imperial legion for something else, they became mercenaries, free lancers. They stuck to their strengths and only took tasteful jobs, they charged less than the fighters guild by a lot, but not much less than the blackwood company. But needless to say, those not in the proximity of Leyawinn and its neighbouring cities soon began to rely in Kalort and Tiberius for certain jobs.

They had long since taken to using the bloated float as their head quarters, they had earned free rooms their after stopping a weak attempt to hijack the ship from a less than skilled group of thieves. It was only logical that they use a movable house to their advantage, if any body ever became their enemy and searched for them, they could just up anchor and leave.

It wasn't long after using the ship to house their operations that they where taken, all Kalort remembers of that night is a large amount of blood pouring from his head and a pair of ice cold hands dragging him from the blaze aboard the bloated float.

About the character: He is not as skilled with a sword as most in the legion, or some not in the legion for that matter. He prefers a weighted weapon such as a mace or an axe, but will use a sword if absolutely necessary. This being said however, he still has his training, and under extreme stress has proved himself to be a competent if not unwilling combatant. He prefers to be on good terms with most people, a trait which may one day betray him, seeing the good side in people even if its not there to be seen.

Many people believe his grip on reality to be some what divorced, this is however, as understood by Tiberius, an extreme sense of eccentricity not known by Kalort himself.

Weapons: Mace/sword, and material, and size.

Armour/Clothing: He wears medium to heavy armour in battle, he has no preferences in this area, it just depends what he can get his hands on after having lost his legion armour when he left the army. When in a non confrontational scenario, he often wears a dark blue suede shirt with light blue tying around the neck, and grey cotton pants along with some questionably tattered leather boots. He insists he only wears them because leather is a [censored] to break in.

Misc. Items: He carries a sketch of his father with him at all times, it is a charcoal version of a portrait his family received in honour of the first anniversary of his death after the oblivion crisis, it's in a bad shape at the moment, but he still finds it impossible to part with.



OOC: Sorry im late for my own party, but you know.. It took me a while to actually think of a character i could use in this RP, eventually i had to scrap the idea of using an existing character and start afresh. This is what i got, im half way through my IC atm but its 3.40 am so im going to retire and finish it first thing tommorow, then we can rick roll outa this place and actually touch on the story a little. But only a little, i want to tease you all with a very very nice twist for a while

Perfect. I must wait for another day while Solidor checks his PM to approve my char sheet. The others will be gone by the time I come in the RP.

OOC: I'll wait for you, Peleus. And Solidor hasn't made an IC yet, so we can't exactly get that far anyway, seeing as he's the boss.