Keanumoreira

^ That sounds like it could fit.

Abdul grinned, taking a swig of the rum with anticipation, "As long as we kill Alduin, you can count me in." The Argonian read the contract set before him, carefully skimming it for loopholes. He reveled at the idea of sailing the skies, and eagerly signed his name into agreeement. He slammed the mug down and turned to the corsair, "Let's kill the b*stard and send his soul back to Oblivion!"

Something isn't right. Fennec would have posted by now.

Are we still doing this thing?

2. Fruition So long as he had his staff, the architect was able to suppress the effects of aging. The project continued for some millenia with relative progress. Although jaded, the wizard was quite impressed with how well it was coming together, and couldn't help but to take pride in it. Before Zenithar's patronage, Magnus, in his misery, had neglected to observe his arresting creation. But freed from his torment, he began to recognize its peculiar distinctiveness. Struck by its inspiration, he wept, drawing his wife, the celebrated Kynareth, to his side. She implored Magnus for what was troubling him, and when he was finally able to do so, he said unto her, "I know not what to call it." Eventually, however, upon reflecting on Lorkhan's discovery all those ages before, he decided to dedicate his creation after himself. After all, an artist must sign his work, and so "Mundus" came to be. As the Beginning Place was the seed of his creation, Magnus placed it at the heart of Mundus and named it "Nirn", or "Dawn's Beauty", as was appropriate. But the project was not without its criticisms. Many of the et'Ada were angered with what they saw and confronted the draftsman about his monstrosity. It had already cost them two of their brethren, and for what? Magnus urged them to be calm, but they would not listen, and were it not for Kynareth, they might have very well destroyed his creation. She knew how much it meant for her husband that it remain intact, and in her infinite altruism, gave her life so that Nirn may bloom, quelling the rebellion and saving our world. Outraged, the engineer threw down his blueprints, cast aside his instruments, and took up his staff against Lorkhan. He condemned his brother to pay for the weight of his injustices: "Lorkhan, hear my cry and weep! For the crimes that you have committed against your brethren and I, you are hereby doomed to walk the length of this plane in eternal exile! May the judgement of my peers be swift and damning!" With Zenithar's blessing, Magnus imprisoned the Deciever in Adamantine Tower, where all the et'Ada once assembled to discuss the progress of the work of Magnus. Now, it served as the seat of judgement for a great betrayal. Magnus himself was disgusted at Lorkhan's trickery. Before freeing his brother from the staff, he used it to rip a hole in Mundus to Aetherius; this aperture eventually became the sun. Zenithar himself descended unto Nirn following his departure, and the Great Architect was never seen again.

Thank you. :) Since this is a creation myth, separated into different parts, I should be able to finish it.

1. The Misery of Magnus In the beginning, there was darkness. Before the tides of time, the et'Ada wandered aimlessly, searching the planes of nonexistence in search of refuge. But the void was barren, and wherever they searched, only darkness could be found. It was of little occurrence of how they, themselves, had stumbled upon that world. Many wondered if it were but a dream, a cruel illusion that held their minds captive, providing no respite. They were powerless, even then, and longed to know why. They ached for purpose, and so they set out to find it. After an arduous journey (the length of which could not yet be measured), and with nothing to be found, the et'Ada considered accepting their fate, for it was hopeless. But in this moment of uncertainty, they suddenly happened upon it. To speak in more truthful terms, it was Lorkhan, the deceiver, who took this credit -and later, its regret-. "Here!", he proclaimed, with a grin wider than his arms, spread out for his kin to behold, "here is the where of which we've sought to discover!" Puzzled, they asked him what he meant, for his kin could make no sense of what wasn't there. In frustration, their brother could not, in term, comprehend their ignorance. This, here, was the fruit of their labors, the spot of dawning, the point of genesis, from which all things could finally be. This was the Beginning Place. Were they blinded to this revelation? Could they not see it, as he had? But it mattered not, and he called forth his brother Magnus, the Great Architect, to begin his work. But Magnus, as he was old and decrepit, found his memory waning, and thus, requested a surface fit to record his plans. But his siblings brought forth nothing, and finding the void a most difficult fabric, he implored his brother for a solution. Akatosh ventured forward, volunteering to lend his assistance as best he could, given his formlessness. Finding it to be a vexing task, and with a fury so terrible, the mighty Akatosh unleashed his Thu'um, ripping the void from its idleness. Change swept the idle waters, disturbing and disruptive, a rippling so great that all was unraveled from what it once was, and so the tides of time were set in motion. Indeed, even Akatosh was different, allowing him to assume his true form as the Dragon of Time, the Father of the Metamorphosis. From his impenetrable scales, weaving time and space as one, he spun a most excellent fabric, and Magnus was pleased. Using his pen, he drew up the first schematics, and witnessed with awe as the all-being bent before its influence. Many eons passed (as they could now be counted), but the spirits, in their revelry, noticed not. This was at the expense of Magnus, for had he not toiled away for so long, and was thus not distracted, the poor architect may have been driven to madness. Aware of the passing of time, but of not an escape, his body began to waver. He became gibbous in his posture as he often bent over his blueprints for centuries at a time. His mind wandered, much like they all once did, and it was easy to stray from the path set before him. Alas, had Akatosh's gift become a curse! The wretched soul nearly collapsed beneath its strain. Concerned for his well-being, Lorkhan propped his body beneath a staff, urging him to continue his work. But it was Zenithar who recognized his labors, for the draftsman had suffered so much that his task was no longer feasible. Finding the selfishness of Lorkhan to be monstrous, that most gracious spirit sacrificed himself so that the burden placed upon poor Magnus may be lessened.

"What do you mean it's not possible?!" "Keep your voice down!" The Grey Fox peered over his shoulder nervously, "I can't, Abdul..." The Argonian crossed his arms, "You can't, or you don't want to?" "It's not that I don't want to Abdul. You have to realize..." As he turned away in disgust, the thief hurried to stop him, "you have to realize that what you're asking is insane..." He threw off his hand as he reached for his arm, "suicide, at best." Abdul flew around in a rage, "But you did it once before!" "But it wasn't me! By Nocturnal, many times do I have to say it!?!" There was a period of silence as a terrible tension stood between them, a tension so great that it threatened to throw a rift between them. Finally, with an aggressive sigh, Abdul turned to face him, "What in Oblivion happened to you? You were once the most powerful man in the empire, even more so than the Septiems themselves! And you're saying that it's impossible? There's absolutely nothing we can do?" "What can I say, Abdul? Perhaps." The Grey Fox sat on a nearby rock, suspended in thought, "But there's only so much that my organization can do with what little we know. We're living in troubled times." "Well, what do you know?" He looked up, "Other than that it's a powerful pen?" Looking down, he shook his head pitifully, "Not much I'm afriad." "And there's no one that can help me?" "If I don't know it, then no one else will, no. All I can tell you is that six carts are leaving this month. One from Solitude, Dawnstar, Windhelm, Riften, and two from Whiterun, perhaps splitting when they cross the Jerall's." Abdul gazed at the city intently, burning with purpose, "You think it could be one of them?" "It very well could be. But honestly, who in Oblivion knows? It could be a distraction; the pen might even be a fake, planted there to throw us off. There are too many variables for a definitive answer." "So I have to get lucky?" The Grey Fox nodded, "You have to get lucky." Abdul noticed as an odd looking object drifted through the twilight towards Whiterun. As he set off to investigate, the Argonian wished him farewell in the best way that he knew how, "Very well. So it shall be." As he re-entered the city, Abdul's eyes fell upon a skyship of a cyclopean size. Ignoring it for now, he noticed as a Redguard strode into the Bannered Mare, with Sivari not too far behind. Climbing the steps, he pushed the doors out of his way and noticed the two engaged in conversation. The corsair's question drew him closer. Abdul approached, "You'd be stupid if you didn't."

Welcome to the rp Ominous. I'm not really familiar with the whole airship concept, but I don't really see a problem with it.

The feast progressed deep into the night, and the nords continued to celebrate with much fervor and vitality. Abdul was feeling ravenous, but it wasn't food that the Argonian craved. After all, it had been hours since he cleaned his plate and nowhere in between did he feel it necessary to consume more. He was rather anxious about something. Of what, however, was his own to know that night. After another spell of silence, he rose from his chair as inconspicuously as possible. Carefully, he made his way to Sivari, noticing that the seat next to her was conveniently vacant. "Sivari," he said, putting on a fake face, "Listen, I think I'm going to retire for the night. I'm a little tired after today's events. If anyone asks, tell them that I'll be staying at the Bannered Mare." Noticing that the guest of the chair was returning, he once again rose to his feet, "But hey, I appreciate what you said about Aphina. It's been a long time since anyone has showed me any measure of kindness." He smiled softly, "And kindness is easily rewarded. I won't forget about it anytime soon." Abdul managed to slip through the palace doors without arousing too much suspicion. Pulling his hood over his head, he set out into the cold, winter night, roaming the streets alone. After awhile, he made his way to a short distance from the city. There, a fellow Argonian was waiting, torch in hand, cloaked in monk's clothing that concealed all but the lower portion of his face. Upon seeing him, the man offered his whispered greeting, "Abdul...the Hist tells me that you request my council." He groans slightly, "Is this the truth?" Abdul nods, "You got here quick. I'm impressed." The man laughs gently, "What can the Grey Fox do for you?"

Startled, Abdul froze as he suddenly found himself in Sivari's embrace. For all his years, the Argonian had forgotten the simple nature of a hug, what it meant to fall in someone's arms in times of need or companionship. Who was there for him when he wept without his love? Who felt pity when he was alone, without a soul to speak to? Who bothered to give a damn? No one. But this Khajiit, Sivari, in hardly knowing him, opened her heart to who was but a stranger. She showed empathy, she showed loyalty...she cared, when she didn't have to. He was incredibly touched. And in that moment, Abdul realized that he cared about her too. Wrapping his arms around her, Abdul couldn't help but feel relieved. Finally, someone understood his pain. When she pulled away, he didn't say anything; he was caught up in his thoughts, considering her advice as she spoke. During the feast, the Argonian sat in relative silence; he hadn't even touched the food laid out in his honor. He knew it was rude, especially in a court of any kind, but the Argonian wasn't in much of a mood to dine. Instead, for most of the night, he drowned out the guests, staring at the ring cradled in his fingers. He had dwelled so much on the past, blinded as for what the future held. Perhaps it was time to smile again. Perhaps he could give it a try. But just as was about to let go, a conversation from across the table had caught his attention. "There are many stories about them." Abdul glanced up as the Jarl spoke, a cup of wine precariously perched from his fingers, "Very powerful- considerably so." "They say that one has been found here, in Skyrim." One added, met by a melody of disagreement among his peers. "The lad isn't bluffing," said the Jarl, quelling the crowd, "and I hear it's bound for the Imperial City itself. Can you imagine?" He glanced over, catching Abdul's spying eye, "Cheer up my boy!" He raised a glass, "Today's a day to remember!" It was then that he gave his speech. Abdul looked over as Sivari smiled at him. He smiled back, placing the ring in his pocket. He thought it over, and when the words of the Jarl settled in his mind, Abdul certainly agreed, "It is, you're right." The Argonian nodded his head, "Considerably so..."