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Shadows of Darkest Soul (An Elder Scrolls RP)

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Hey guys. This is where the action will happen. :) Here is the Discussion Thread

As soon as either me or SoulofChrysamere approve a character sheet, I will put it here in Spoiler tags with the Username of those who it belongs to above it.

After the death of Almalexia and the departure of the Nerevarine from Mournhold, King Hlaalu Helseth decided that it would be prudent for him to retrieve the bodies of the two slain Tribunal and then show them to the public, proving that their "Gods" were nothing more than fakes. To meet this end, Helseth sent a search party to the High Fane in Mournhold to see if the rift made by Barilzar's Mazed Band was still open. To their surprise, it was. But to their dismay, they found the mutilated bodies of four of the Hands of Almalexia. Out of the shadows sprang the fifth, his mind lost to Sheogorath as he brutally attacked the Royal Guards guarding the team, killing them before they could react. A battle raged in the chambers of Almalexia as High Ordinators poured into the room, all trying to stop the rampaging Hand. The search party quickly disappeared into the rift of the Mazed band and disappeared. None of them were ever seen again. At least, not for a while, that is.





Zephyr Kronos









Hopefully I can get more character sheets in here for you to read. :)



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Adrynn Indarys, Ald-Ruhn, Redoran Council Chambers

Adrynn awoke, sitting up sharply, his dark ash gray skin covered in a fine bead of sweat. He threw the thick crimson covers off of him and swung his legs off the bed and held his head in his long fingered hands. The dream was still fresh in his mind, teasing him with things of darkness and nightmares. He took a few deep breaths and tried to clear the images from his mind.

"It's only a dream, Adrynn, it's only a dream. It doesn't mean anything," he told himself, still reliving the horrors of it. Shaking the memory of the dream from his head, he stood up and stretched, hearing his joints pop.

With that done, he reached into the nearby closet and pulled out his change of clothes and got dressed quickly, his nimble fingers fastening the buttons to his shirt with quick ease. After he pulled on his black leather boots, he grabbed the small stack of parchment and a small journal that lay on the desk beside the bed and made his way out of the spare room of the Council Hostel and into the Redoran Council Hall itself, seeing the Counselors of House Redoran around the table to his right, all in deep discussion. He made his way over to them and watched one in a deep red robe detach from the others and make his way to where Adrynn stood.

"Ah, Adrynn. Excellent, you're awake," Archmaster Athyn Sarethi said, a smile gracing his weathered face as he embraced Adrynn. "I trust all of your needs were met?" Athyn said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, Archmaster, they were. Thank you," Adrynn said, a smile coming to his lips as well. Athyn Sarethi had been Archmaster of House Redoran for two years now, ever since the Nerevarine had come to Vvardenfell and claimed his right as Hortator of House Redoran. In the struggle to fulfill the Prophecies, the Nerevarine had to defeat the former Archmaster, Bolvyn Venim in a duel in the Arena in Vivec. Needless to say, Venim didn't win. Since the Nerevarine had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, Athyn Sarethi was chosen to lead House Redoran.

"Well, now, Adrynn. What brings you to Ald-Ruhn from Bal Isra?" Athyn asked, wrapping an arm around Adrynn's shoulders and leading him off away from the other Counselors.

"This," Adrynn said, handing Athyn the stack of paperwork. "I've been getting reports of bandits along the road from Ald-Ruhn to Maar Gan and have come to fill out a request for more patrols along that route. I'll even offer some of my men if I need to."

Athyn looked over the reports, his weathered face falling into a scowl. "I've always wondered why bandits even bothered with trying to attack poor pilgrims travelling along that route."

"It's because they are headed to Maar Gan to the Shrine to pay their respect to the Tribunal. And usually they have a lot of gold, or can be ransomed for gold."

"Hmm, yes. Good point, Adrynn," Athyn said, his eyes scanning the reports some more. "I'll make sure to get this request through."

"Thank you, Archmaster," Adrynn said, a smile gracing his lips again.

"Oh, it's no trouble. You know that," Athyn said, patting Adrynn on the shoulder. "Have you heard any news from the mainland?"

Adrynn stopped. "I have not. Why, what happened?"

"Well, besides the rising of House Dres and the slow decline of House Indoril? There are rumors that Helseth is plotting against the other Houses."

"This is nothing new, Archmaster. King Hllaalu Helseth has always been greedy for more power."

"Indeed, but this is different. Something is afoot. Something that doesn't bode well for any of the Houses."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Adrynn asked, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the eyes of the man he owed everything to.

"Well, nothing right now. But, there is a task I have for you."

"What would that be, Archmaster?"

"We have received a request for you to come meet an Imperial Legion Commander who is stationed north of Ald-Ruhn. One Lecuaro Marczon, I believe. It seems he wishes to meet you about some important matter he's dealing with."

"When do I leave?" Adrynn asked, interested.

"Today. Prepare your things. You have a long walk ahead of you."

Adrynn saluted. "Yes, Archmaster."

OOC: Well, I think this has been a fairly good way to start the RP. SoulofChrysamere, I hope you can post soon. And guys, you can post what your characters are doing. I'll try to move the story along when we get everyone introduced.




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Tarrik Torgaddon/Clockwork City Hall of Theuda

His boots echo across the great hall of Theuda, his fingers twitching to his ever so torturing memories. A frown covers his face as he looks down the hall. His bastard sword drawn as he see's tally's his kills. Torgaddon paces the halls, his eyes scanning every corner. He sighs shifting his head to look behind him. He heard whispers of his name, every whisper a different voice. His head began to ache endlessly, the pain as if he would explode like a volcano about to erupt. He drops his sword, falling to his knee's slamming his armored hands to his ears. "What have I done...what have I done." He grasps the throned chain around his chest squeezing it with all his might. The memories of his comrades haunt his thoughts..he could still feel the hellish fire that graced his very skin.

Torggadon..grinned, the sounds were gone..his thoughts were his once again. Everything became quiet, he could not hear the voices call his name, nor could he hear the faint screams of his comrades. As he reclaimed his sword, he stood, pacing back and forth through the halls. His pace never slowed down, or sped up. In his mind he knew he was supposed to be here.
To wait, he does know how he come to be here. He only knew that he must stay until fate told him to move elsewhere.

As hours passed Torgaddon began to drag his sword beneath him. His pace never slowed down, but his breaths became deeper. Ash still filled his lungs, the scars of battle still left upon his body. He played the occasional I spy to pass the time in the hall, but never the less he still suffered. Another hour pass's, his legs begin to ache he resorts to dragging his feet beneath him. Until he spotted a fine little corner to his left just in front of the door that led to the central gear works. He slammed his self down on the corner, his head leaned back and his vision fading. The only thought that ran through his head. I'm sorry.

Edited by boneless1, 19 March 2011 - 11:37 PM.



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Edward Wildeve, Outside Ald-Ruhn

Edward moved slowly, he was tired, having walked a long way since his coming to Morrowind. He wrapped his cloak around himself tighter, the incessant onslaught of the sand-storm had been whipping him since daybreak. He looked to the horizon, moving a hand to try and protect his eyes. He could faintly see a tower and trudged towards it. It was Ald-ruhn but the streets were deserted, save for helmeted guards and those brave enough to rush through the streets, a result of the sand-storm.

He went into the first building he found, a mages guild and, breathing a deep breath of clean air Edward moved to a seat and sat down, laying his sword next to him.




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Central Elsweyr, North-East of the City Corinthe, Corinthe Marshlands/Savannah

It's not been long since Dar'ji'ra finalized her training and was sent out to the borderregions of Elsweyr. Her task was clearly lined out: "You are to travel to Rimmen once arrived there, make your way to the 'Cyrodiil Region' unnoticed and establish contact with one of our many cousins. He or she will be cooperative in making you accustomed to the local habits. Every full moon of Masser and new moon of Secunda a messenger will pick up your report & observations and/or deliver new orders."

"... deliver new orders." Dar'ji'ra thought.

That'd be something new. In all the years of training she had never heard of a "Jo'Dar" that ever received new orders or returned to Elsweyr for that matter. "They all gave up their life for the great clan mother and the well-being of all Khajiit & The Mane", at least that's what they say. Dar'ji'ra wasn't sure at all.
Anything she heard about the area outside of Elsweyr only bewildered her. Mages, Orcs & Argonians are not the nicest bunch. The dense jungle around Torval and Tenmar Forrest had been her home and proving grounds since she was taken from her clan.
She wasn't afraid but rather curious about Cyrodiil.

"Don't worry!", they used to tell her. "If you make it here any other place will be like Skooma in a pipe..." and Skooma in a pipe she did and knew all too well.
She'd give quite something for some nice Skooma right now. Hmm, sweet bliss. The amount of moonsugar she had with her would suffice to serve as payment in the first few days and other than that it might open a few closed doors.
Dar'ji'ra didn't worry.

It's not like I will stop being a Khajiit, she thought.

If there's a thing she liked she'd surely take it that's why she was sent to Cyrodiil in the first place.
She remembered The Mane shortly before she was sent off: "The Jo'Dar are the Kings among thieves. They will take your eyesight and you'll be too blind to see it. They will pull the words of a mage's tongue when he is muttering his magic. And they will put an end to all those whose ears are sweet from sugar..."

Back then it sounded very promising the adventure, the people but The Mane had managed to not tell her that after she had finished her training she would have to walk to Cyrodiil, for 'secrecy reasons'.

"Gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi" an inner voice echoed in her head, calming herself aswell as pushing away any thought that distracted her from the inhospitable environment.

"Muddy, misty, marsh-woods!" she yelled out, as she stepped into a quite deep puddle of water. A nice fare-well gift of the Corinthe marshlands so it seemed. As Dar'ji'ra looked up from her soaking wet leg the large hot dry-flats of the North opened up in front of her.
Rimmen was still a long way ...

North-Eastern Border of Elsweyr, Outskirts of the City Rimmen, Dusk

After two days and nights of neverending dry-flats & sandstorms Dar'ji'ra set eye upon the silhouette of Rimmen's Tonenaka. It stood out as a quite much darker tower-shaped building contrasting the bright dome-shaped lot of the buildings that made up the rest of the city. It is believed the Akaviri once set the foundingstone for this now prospering community.

As she neared Rimmen Dar'ji'ra had come along many plantations. They all looked like those which she knew from the outskirts of Torval.
Dar'ji'ra knew all too well what kind of crop they grew. Sugar. She wasn't antipathetic towards Skooma but the ill-effects it could have on non-Khajiiti had made her think twice and she now continued her own Skooma-habit only on an 'irregular' basis.
On the other hand the trade with moonsugar yielded a quite profitable sum of septims which could clearly be seen on a city like Senchal to the south or Rimmen which lay before her.

The bright white buildings were set alight by the fading daylight and were therefore paint-dipped in a pink-ish purple. Dar'ji'ra liked the scenery and decided to finally rest and stay for at least until the next moon arose.

Even though she was quite still a way from the inner-city the outskirts' dwellings were all built of bleached-white freestones with some structures in a multistorey layout. She stopped at the next tavern that didn't have "rawlith khaj" in its' name. I've seen more sand, dust and dry ground than I would have cared to in my whole existence. Remembering her way through the northern deserts of Elsweyr, she would not stand for anything she'll do if there was a smirkly grinning Suthay-Raht asking whether her trip was 'hot and gleeful'... It was, is and will be, she thought.

In fact, she travelled for so long not minding her outer appearance, she didn't notice that through all the sandstorms and floating dust her fur had picked up a sand-colored tan only broken by a few fairly visible lines that resembled her original dark pelt.

Looking up and down her dust-covered-self she shivered in disgust. *Roar* "Filth! Icky!" she mumbled as the tavern's door opened with a screeching sound.
As outside, the air was thick, heavy and hard to breath. The stench of Skooma and evaporations was so immersive Dar'ji'ra thought she could see the smell. A few customers were scattered around the room sitting on large piles of pillows using small stools for tables.
Nobody seemed to take notice of Dar'ji'ra's arrival. Nobody, except for the bartender, a small but ruggedly handsome Bosmer...

"Va khajjiti! Va renrijit budi rab!" he friendly greeted Dar'ji'ra in a very seasoned Ta'agra.

"Va bosmeri!" Dar'ji'ra replied, a bit surprised of the Bosmer's in-depth knowledge of the Khajiiti language.

"My name is Sardor. I'm the operator of this humble business." he continued in a polite and humble way. She didn't expect such modesty from a Mer left alone a Bosmer.

"I search rest and room, bosmer." Dar'ji'ra realized her rude barking towards Sardor and tried to give her request a friendlier touch: "I will pay greatly for expenses and accomodation." Well done, I'm one polite Ra'Kaht. She cynically remarked about her own coversation skills.

Sardor seemed surprised too but rather about the fact of Dar'ji'ra's use of language. He had thought her to be a nearly mute 'Senche' because of her height. As she looked down on him he felt Dar'ji'ra was almost two feet taller than himself and her blunt way of expression plus the prospect eager refunding by a Khajiit was more than enough to raise his suspicion.

"Of course! Accomodation it is!" he said, slightly insecure about who just stepped through his door. "We have a marvelous cabin upstairs and..."

"I'll take it." Dar'ji'ra interrupted him leaving a rock of moonsugar by the size of the bosmer's eye on the counter, adding: "This will serve for now..."

Sardor pointed her towards the upper storey of the tavern. "May I ask how long you intend to humble my establishment with your presence?" he called out behind her as she made her way up the stairs.

Nosy little meri, she thought. "Expect the same amount tomorrow and don't let me be bothered." she answered avoiding Sardor's question.

The door to her cabin creaked as Dar'ji'ra shut it from the inside....

Edited by Sarogath, 24 March 2011 - 08:09 PM.



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Kriak--Vivec, Telvanni Canton

Kriak's skin crawled with agitation at the prolific amount of people. Every neuron in his body was firing on overdrive. Every movement was registered and he logged it in his subconciensce. He felt infinitely out of place in this city of beggars in rags and statesmen in opulent robes. His simple attire and collection of hides contrasted sharply with his surroundings drawing dozens of stares. This wasn't even the foreign quarter where some stranger in animal hides would just be odd. This was Telvanni, where even dunmer from the other houses were looked down upon. A few spat towards him and their slaves stole quick smirks or grins as he subtly and deftly dodged the saliva.

Where is he? He said he'd meet me in the plaza. Kriak thought...

At last a Breton with long flowing silver hair emerged from a building built into the walls of the plaza emerged he had all the premiscuity of the Telvanni and only lacked the palor and eyes. He led Kriak into to a door, an alchemists banner fluttered nearby, he put in an old key inside the lock and turned revealing a cluttered, dusty shop filled with all manner of pickled and dried ingredients on shelves and in bottles throughout the room. At first glanced it seemed haphazard but trained eyes and some studying revealed a definite system to the arrangement of ingredients and solvents.

"What? A high Telvanni mage can't use magic lock his doors?" Kriak's sarcasm dripped.

"Stow it barbarian. This is a busine-"

Suddenly the willowy Breton was lifted in the air as he was held by the throat, "Don't you ever call me a barbarian again. I come to you to do business because you give the best price in this area but I will sail all the way to Sadrith Mora if need be and they'll pay better and offer less lip." The breton grasped his neck and doubled over to catch his breath as Kriak released him and threw his pelts on the counter. "500 septims, and not a coin less." He said as if the previous exchange had not happened and he layed several viles that shown in seemingly flourescent hues of green, red and purple on the counter. "And the finest poisons you're shop will ever see."

"What! Preposterous that's-that's outrage-" The Breton sputtered.

"That Argonian in Sadrith mora offered me 700 for the lot of it and even he's underpaying me. I hate traveling far from my hunting grounds which is why I'm doing business with you now pay up, you'll quadrouple your money and more besides."

"Very well." The Breton unlocked a small chest and began setting out septims in stacks of 50.



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Lecuaro Sulnair Marczon - Fort Floodgate

The deep, crimson red of the morning sun raced across the landscape that normal-looking day. The cliff racers soared through the sky, some daring the archers atop the fort towers to take a shot at them. The guars, alits, and kagoutis roamed about clumsily, as if oblivious to the conflict raging around them. It was another day on the frontlines for the rugged staff of Fort Floodgate.

Lecuaro was taking is daily morning constitutional along the southern end of the battlements. He inspected the walls, the soldiers' weapons, and how they were performing their duties. They were doing the best he could expect with the scant supplies that were sent out there. They hardly ever had extra weapons or armor or even food and water. Nonetheless, they made the best of it.

As the day advanced into the late morning, the normality of the day was taken away by lean, athletic messenger boy that dashed up to Lecuaro, who was returning to his quarters for his breakfast. Between gulps of air, he relayed an alarming message.

"The Dunmer rebels are charging the eastern wall en masse! The soldiers over there are getting pummeled, sir! They need help!"

The messenger's cry rang out across the whole southern battlement, and every soldier stopped his task and looked upon the boy in disbelief. Lecuaro, however, knew that immediate action had to be taken if the fort was to be protected. He drew is bow and shouted, "All men follow me!" as he ran for the eastern wall.

When Lecuaro and the reinforcements reached the beleaguered defenders, the ocean of chitin and netch leather armor below was astonishing. Endless waves of arrows came up over the walls, battering the armor and shields of the Imperial soldiers. Bloodcurdling war cries were being shouted and balls of all kinds of magical energies battered the walls. The legionnaires fought back though, hurling javelins and fireballs and sending their own waves of arrows down into the mass of Ashlanders. Lecuaro himself took up a relatively safe and covert position among a jumble of crates, barrels, and fallen rubble on the eastern side of the wall.

"They've never attacked with this many people before." He muttered to himself. "But...a force this large must have a defined leader."

Following his hunch, Lecuaro peered around a barrel and tried to find an Ashkhan or some kind of shaman or leader among the sea of Dunmer. After a couple minutes of fruitless searching, his eyes happened upon a figure in bright and decorative armor atop a guar. The figure seemed to be chanting and there appeared to be a heavy concentration of mages around him. "He must be a shaman or something. If I can take him out, I'll bet their wizards will lose a lot of their power." Lecuaro thought to himself.

He drew an arrow and nocked it. He then peeped up over the top of the crates and waited until he had a clear shot. There was one mage that was right between him and the shaman, and it wasn't moving. Lecuaro was about to lower his bow when suddenly, the interposing mage fell, an arrow lodged in his skull. Without hesitation, Lecuaro released his arrow. The razor-tipped missile streaked across the battlefield and found its mark. The shaman's head snapped back and he fell dead from the guar, Lecuaro's arrow lodged in his left eye.




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North-Eastern Border of Elsweyr, Outskirts of the City Rimmen, Sardor's Tavern

As Dar'ji'ra woke up it was a bright and shiny day. Looking out of her window she judged from the sun's height it was past midday already.
The cabin she had rented looked and smelled no more appealing than the tavern's lobby. She didn't care for that yesterday but now it was getting awfully obvious: Filth adds up. Her appearance did get worse over the night tossing herself around her own squalor and the tavern's seemingly innate odour. Dar'ji'ra suppressed a feeling of nausea. Her tail moved to cover her face and especially nose as she leaned out the window.

The street outside was busy with people. A market seemed to be on the way. Many Kahjiiti but to Dar'ji'ra's surprise many people were of non-Khajiiti origin, too.
I wonder whether they all are day-workers in the fields, she tought to herself.
Whilst she was looking over the crowd one particular individual appeared to be strangely 'out-of-place', yet still familiar. Straight across Dar'ji'ra's window sat a pitch-black housecat. It looked at Dar'ji'ra as it turned its' head in an angle and then smiled.

Not your ordinary house-cat, Dar'ji'raa thought. The house-cat then got on all fours, looked down the street and dived onto the ground, disappearing in the crowd immediately. Dar'ji'ra was buffled. Still exhausted from two days of travel she considered it a misinterpretation and decided to see what kind of aliments Sardor had in store. She grabbed an unassuming robe to cover he stenched self and to disguise her grizzly armor then she went downstairs.

Sardor wasn't to be seen anywhere. On the other hand yesterday's 'customers' were still around. Dar'ji'ra walked up to the barcounter stepping over a faded person. As she stood in front of the counter Sardor popped up behind it.

Sardor: "Welcome! Welcome to my humble abode!"

Dar'ji'ra: "You welcomed me yesterday already."

Sardor: "I did? Of course I did! I mean it's always nice to have steady customers."

Dar'ji'ra looked over the lot of people literally hanging about. "I can see that." she said being a bit irritated she hadn't made more of an impression in their last encounter.

Dar'ji'ra: "Does your establishment serve meals, too?" she quickly keept talking to prevent Sardor's forseable and aimless torrent of words.

Sardor: "Of course! Of course we do! What would you like? Our roasted mud-crab is very much anticipated..."

Dar'ji'ra: "Do you serve anything that has no shell?"

Sardor hesitated, looking down in an evasive way, "Well, if you put it that way..."

Dar'ji'ra: "Do you serve anything else besides mud-crab at all?"

Sardor answered with a cheerful "I can positively say we have no non-mud-crab-foods here!". Dar'ji'ra already thought something of the like. The hunger had a quite temper shortening effect on her.
She grabbed Sardor by his collar and pulled him halfway over the counter, "I paid plenty for one night of rest and a meal...", she extended her index-finger-claw and pointed between his eyes: "...I would be nicer when I had proper nourishment and a place to bathe myself."
His eyes were wide open. He had felt how easily Dar'ji'ra lifted him up behind his beloved 'counter-fortress'.

He broke into sweat & stuttered "I... can of course but...".

Dar'ji'ra growled. A sound that could rather be felt than heard. Sardor did well feel it as she pulled his face closer towards hers, "You know Khajiiti are carnivores, don't you?"
Sardor went pale and faded. She let go of his collar and he unconsciously dropped on the barcounter. Scram! Dar'ji'ra thought.
That was a quite unfortunate outcome of conversation, she needed worthier adversaries who'd not cower in fear as soon as she began to slightly threaten their lives.

"Well done! He'll remember that his entire life. *HeHe*" a voice spoke to Dar'ji'ra from behind her. She turned around only to find the tavern's door had opened.

"Down here! You too big version of a furball!"

Dar'ji'ra looked onto the doorstep and saw that same black house-cat she had seen out her window earlier.

"You are not very polite. I think I'd remember a somebody like you." the house-cat added.

By now she had realized it was no mere house-cat she was talking to but an 'Alfiq', a small but magically very talented breed of Khajiiti.
There was no grain of dust to be found on the Alfiq and it seemed to have a bubble shaped dome of clear air around it.

"I cannot recall of having asked your opinion." Dar'ji'ra answered.

"You didn't but I don't much care." the Alfiq ranted into Dar'ji'ra's direction. So much for politeness.

"May I ask your name?" Dar'ji'ra asked in an agitated voice.

"You may not and please spare me any pleasantries you intend to send my way." The Alfiq slowly moved towards her. Hardly in a menacing way since the Alfiq reached only her kneecap. "...but you may ask why I am in this place." the Alfiq continued.

"Well then, why are you in this place?" she asked following the outlined question. Dar'ji'ra recognized the insolent social conduct of a mage like only their kind displays it. Arrogance is always their downfall.

"I am here because I was sent to deliver a message. A rather tedious task so I'd be very grateful if we can get this over with."

You could have written me a note instead of pestering me with that annoying presence of yours Dar'ji'ra commented in her head.

"When you received your briefing, you were told that a messenger'd meet you at a certain timeframe. Believe it or not I'm that messenger." The Alfiq stood before Dar'ji'ra and looked up.

"It's neither the timeframe to report nor is this the place I was sent. You are rigorous but too early." she replied.

"Var var var!" the Alfiq ranted. "Orders change, as do times and a variety of other things... " by the time Dar'ji'ra had guessed the Alfiq to be a male and he continued, "...such as The Mane's mood or interest."

Dar'ji'ra looked at the miniature mage. Well the description fits The Mane she thought. "So my current orders are..."

"Hereby invalid!" He passed Dar'ji'ra a scroll out of nowhere it seemed "You are to follow those new instructions now."

"And for just how long are these new instructions going to be valid?" she wanted to know.

"I don't know. As you have surely guessed I'm a mage not a clairvoyant!" he turned around lifting his tail gazing back over his shoulder "I think we are done here and don't you linger around. You are in Rimmen one day and have already found one of the worst places to be...*tsk*" The Alfiq trodded out of door.

Dar'ji'ra felt like she was made a fool. Time seemed to stand still when the Alfiq was talking to her. Creepy mage-bunch. I don't like them & never will. she proclaimed for herself.
She looked at the sealed scroll she was given. It did not have a scratch. After all the way it must have come it still looked genuinely recent. Hmm, smells like The Mane, too. She broke the seal and read...

"The orders you received when you left Torval are forfeit. Your mission has changed in location and urgency of matter. It was decided Cyrodiil has become less important and focus must be set on outreaching regions. You are therefore required to move to Tear in Morrowind (or Dres as the local folk now call it) and forego as it was outlined in your first assignment: Make contact with one of our brethren, he or she will introduce you to the local habits. A chance of transport per ship can be seized in the city of Bravil bordering north-east Elsweyr. The vessel will sail out on a full Secunda and does not carry regular passengers."

Dar'ji'ra had heard stories about Morrowind but nothing more. Never had she meet anyone who had been there. Not a reason to not go there. she thought in juvenile boastfulness.

Rimmen had only been the beginning of her journey, so it seemed. Bravil was a days travel away. Dar'ji'ra would leave during the night, her favourite.

Edited by Sarogath, 26 March 2011 - 05:48 AM.



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Lecuaro Sulnair Marczon - The Eastern Wall

The loss of their shaman had an immediate and dramatic effect on the whole of the Ashlander forces. The mages' spells became weaker and more infrequent, and the general morale of the army seemed seriously damaged as the war cries stopped and the arrow volleys came less often and and most of the arrows didn't even clear the wall. It seemed that they would soon be forced to break ranks and flee, but then a new figure holding a bow and an arrow nocked mounted the guar.

The figure was looking in Lecuaro's direction, and took aim at the barrier that served as his shield. Lecuaro stayed down and began looking through the cracks between the crates and rocks, trying to find one that gave him a clear view of the bowman. At last, he found one that allowed him to view the bowman and that was large enough through which to shoot an arrow. Lecuaro assumed a prone position, positioned his bow horizontally in front of him like a crossbow, nocked an arrow, aimed, and fired.

The pointy projectile rocketed towards the archer and struck him right in the stomach -- not as clean a shot as with the shaman, but Lecuaro figured he'd either die from blood loss or get trampled by his comrades. Lecuaro had already nocked another arrow and was about to resume his hunt for important-looking targets, when he heard a strange noise come from the direction of the Ashlanders.

He peered around the left side of his barrier and, to his horror, he saw another shaman surrounded by a large cluster of wizards building up a huge ball of fire. The arrows from the Imperial soldiers harmlessly bounced off the shield that had been erected around them. After a few seconds, the shaman and the mages quit their conjuring stances and launched the huge ball of flame at the fort wall -- right in Lecuaro's direction.

Lecuaro's fear-induced paralysis released its grip and Lecuaro sped away from the wall as fast as his adrenaline-flooded legs could carry him. There was a terrific blast behind him and he was knocked off of his feet and thrown a good twenty feet back. After he ceased rolling and sliding, he lay still for a moment, and then shook himself to see if anything was broken or badly injured. Feeling nothing too bad, he rose and stared at the large gash where his makeshift shelter and a good portion of the wall used to be.

"How the hell did they summon the power to conjure something that big?" Lecuaro wondered as he ran back toward the battle. He reached the edge of the wall and crouched down behind a small pile of rubble that either survived the blast or was birthed by it. He was in the process of readying an arrow when he glanced at the top of one of the watch towers and spied five people that had until just now been missing from the fight: Sorinyarie, chief battlemage, and the other four most powerful wizards at the fort: Relbren Edmontere, Anenra Ritharyn, Gavus Larinus, and Kurgan gro-Gashra.

The quintet of mages threw up a shield and began to conjure a large ball of fire above themselves. After about ten seconds, they unleashed the spell on the Ashlanders below, but it wasn't just a ball of fire; it was a beam of fire. The fire beam seared through the Dunmer lines and headed straight for the second shaman and his mages. Their shield wasn't strong enough and the flame crashed through, incinerating the shaman and all of the wizards around him.

As heavy as the damage was that the fire beam inflicted, the rebels still did not flee. Instead, ladders appeared and were propped up against the wall. The inexperience in siege warfare of the Ashlanders was apparent, however. They had decided to deploy the ladders at a most inopportune time and even worse, the ladders were poorly crafted. Some of the imperial soldiers took up warhammers and axes and began to shatter the ladders one by one, sending the Ashlanders that were scrambling up them crashing back down to the earth.

As the last of the ladders was destroyed, a new and welcome sight appeared on the wall. From the opposite end of the wall, the catapult on which the fort's Redguard engineer Circon had been working rolled up to the battle with a big chunk of rock ready to be hurled. Circon and some of the other soldiers got the catapult into position, and then flung the boulder out into the crowd of Ashlanders.

The Ashlanders reeled at the sight of this new enemy device. Circon's catapult, with the help of a flurry of spells from Sorinyarie and the others atop the watch tower, drove the battered Ashlanders into a full scale retreat. The battle had been won, but the cost, both physical and psychological, was high.

The successful defenders whooped and hollered in celebration as the last of the Ashlanders disappeared from the horizon, but Lecuaro tuned them out as he walked the ruins of the eastern wall. That force was huge, much huger than what Lecuaro thought the Ashlanders capable of raising. As he surveyed the scorch marks, polka-dot patterns made by enemy arrows, and the general disarray of the fortifications, he couldn't help but think that that attack may have succeeded if they had been smart about their approach. After all, Fort Floodgate was still a new building and in many ways still not a proper fort. The walls were still lower than normal, and there weren't any keeps or watch towers that were actually built into the wall. There were no proper heavily fortified areas designed specifically for defensive purposes either. The fort was, however, still an impressive example of what just four months of non-stop construction could produce, and it was certainly the most imposing edifice in that area of the Ashlands.

After a couple minutes, Lecuaro shook these thoughts from his mind. He didn't need his men's jubilee suddenly turning to depression at the sight of their commander sadly moping about the wreckage. He took a moment to collect himself and then went to join the celebrating soldiers.



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Adrynn Indarys, Ald-Ruhn

Adrynn stepped out of the Skar, closing the creaking door and throwing a thick scarf around his face to filter the fine ash as it rained down in a thick storm. He strode down the street quickly, covering his eyes with a long fingered hand so he could see where he was going, though he knew the city like the back of his hand. He went down the steps and to the right, headed for the large shell that held the Mage's Guild. Opening the door, he stepped inside quickly, shaking off the ash and pulling the scarf down from his face. As his eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior, he noticed a distinct flash of steel. Looking to his right, he saw a beautifully crafted blade laid on the nearby table. Stepping closer to examine the sword, Adrynn noticed a cloaked figure sitting in the chair to his right. Figuring to whom the sword belonged to, Adrynn nodded in greeting to the man and headed downstairs.

Sweeping his eyes across the large room, Adrynn noticed many members of the Mage's Guild at work, some mixing potions, others with a nose deep in a book, and a couple praying at the Imperial Cult Shrine.

"Adrynn! There you are, you devil of a Dunmer!" a thin, over worked female voice rang out.

"Edwinna! Still at work, I see . . ." Adrynn said, a grin spreading over his face as he embraced the demure little Breton woman.

"You bet your grey hide I am!" she said with a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes. "Now where have you been? I sent you out to get that scroll two weeks ago!"

"I've been busy, Edwinna. I have a stronghold to run and a House to serve as well. You seem to keep forgetting that, my little friend," Adrynn said, winking at Edwinna.

The little Breton put her hands on her hips and looked up at the tall Dunmer, admiring the strong facial features and the deep crimson eyes he had. "I haven't forgotten one bit. But you need to keep your studies up if you want to advance any further in the Guild, Adrynn. You have such potential."

"I know, I know . . . That is why I brought you this," Adrynn said, handing Edwinna a scroll and some gold. "It's what you sent me to get. And the change from what you gave me to get it."

Edwinna's eyes lit up as she unrolled the parchment and read what it said. "Thank you Adrynn!"

"It's no problem. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be heading out," Adrynn said. "I have some House business to attend to."

"Oh, no problem, dear. Go right on ahead," Edwinna said, giving the tall Dunmer another hug before turning away and reading the scroll he had brought her.

Shaking his head with a grin, Adrynn headed upstairs, then out the door, wrapping the scarf around his face as he shut the door.

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