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Post by Tom Bombadil on Jun 28, 2009 18:49:24 GMT
Babur had a lot of questions. And a lot of comments. He felt a repressed pang of desire to refer to Valenth with a particularly nasty word. But the fact of the matter, despite the incredible shock of the sudden change of course his life had taken, was that Babur now likely found himself within seconds of the end of his life, and now had a chance he could not in a thousand lives pass up on.
"I have three questions," he said simply, from his position of an upraised arm attempting to defend the now-absent skeleton from striking him. His eyes looked on the figure of Valenth, infinite wonder in the orc's eyes. He could scarcely believe that his life was about to end, but at the same time he had no time to let that fear sink in, or even contemplate the things he had read of many people before him contemplating in their last moments, like their life, or their circumstances. The last questions of your life...by the gods, man, make them count.
"One - in reference to your fallen enemies - how is it a god can die?" "Two - if your goal truly is to become a slightly more controlling version of Tiber Septim, how do you plan on overcoming the other deities that might object?" "Three-" he almost hesitated here, giving what might have been described as a sigh from a restricted position. "Three...are you truly Nerevar reborn?"
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Post by FC4 on Jun 28, 2009 18:55:31 GMT
Majulin had been just about to cleave apart a zombie shambling at him, when the flare of red light filled the sky, and the undead actually retreated. Perplexed, he turned to look at the circle of skeletons, and grit his teeth.
That man, walking down towards them now, around an army of skeletons like a king, was Valenth. The Nerevarine. The Traitor. He was suddenly blinded by a flash of green light, and then found himself frozen in place. Legs spread and center of gravity lowered, he rocked well with the ship, his sword held behind him parallel with one leg, looking over his shoulder at the Nerevarine with hatred in his eyes.
It didn't take long, however, for the rocking of the ship to knock over the paralyzed Dunmer. While he had paralysis resistance due to his ring... Valenth's was far too powerful for it to counter. The tiny resistance did allow his legs to slowly sink to the floor, though, as he lay on his back and still looked up at the Nerevarine.
He listened to every word of the Nerevarine, hearing that soothing voice and clinging to every word. Interrogating every Redoran high-noble on the Island. Destroying them body and soul. As the man described his three plans for them, Majulin found his lips capable of speech, and took the liberty willingly.
"Why?!" He cried out, his voice barely remaining calm. "Why would you do this to your own people? Raising our ancestors to slay their own kin and innocent people! Refusing your own people their right to the afterlife! Have you no honor or dignity?! There are better ways to free Morrowind from the Empire." Majulin, if he was not paralyzed, would have had his sword at the man's throat.
"Why resort to this?"
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Post by webster52402 on Jun 28, 2009 19:12:46 GMT
While everyone else saw fit to question the Nerevarine as he appeared, Artmer, who had been in a considerably less powerful position whenever he had been frozen in place, was more worried about actually remaining on the boat than anything. With him having been sagging against the deck railing, suddenly he found his entire body locked there, though his blow-addled mind struggled to come up with the reason why that had happened.
The rocking of the ship caused him to sway awkwardly, his body unable to adjust to the movement. One particularly good rock even managed to make his feet leave the deck, nearly sending him tipping over the railing to plunge into the sea. The sight of ashy water beneath him nearly caused his heart to stop, as if he spilled into the water now... He would die. He wouldn't be able to swim, and would simply sink into the depths of the sea, forgotten forever as he drowned, or was eaten by the creatures of the deep.
Luckily, he appeared to be in a position where his arms prevented that, and he settled back onto his feet in a moment, though his fear didn't abate in the slightest. Now he was facing down the Nerevarine himself, and his army of skeletons... Which was considerably more dangerous than a bit of water. Wincing inside as the other Dunmer broke out into a hotheaded tirade, Artmer settled for forcing his eyes closed - something that he was surprised he could do... Apparently he controlled his facial features as well as his lips - and simply praying that the man would vanish and leave them be.
Powerful souls? Artmer echoed in his head, trying to block the Nerevarine's insidious voice from his head. Maybe the others have powerful souls... But my soul isn't that powerful. They all have the spirit of an adventurer behind them, but mine... He thought bitterly, his dark thoughts only made darker by the presence of the Nerevarine before them. He had come here to get a bit of evenness, to learn not to be frightened, and to stand up against a foe that most people wouldn't, in his home... And he wouldn't even be setting foot on the shore. He would die, before he even got a glimpse of land.
Despair wrapped its icy fist around his heart, as he waited against the railing. What else could he do? The most powerful man in Morrowind had them at his mercy...
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jun 28, 2009 19:22:49 GMT
Valenth laughed. This was going to be a good ship full of questions, he reckoned. It made him happy that they actually had questions for once, instead of just standing there in gawking, awe-inspired fear and admiration. It'd be slightly more of a shame to steal their souls. Ah well.
He turned to Babur. "I see you have some questions, to which a few I have answers. Truly, it is nice to meet someone with an inquisitive mind that yearns for knowledge. You've chosen your last questions quite well, my high-minded Orsimer." He held up his fingers.
"One. I believe that if you take away the source of a god's power, than they are no longer invincible. Still powerful, yes, but not if you're more powerful. By controlling all of the power of the heart, and with the malice it was created with in the first place, I robbed Vivec, and Sotha and Almalexia, of their power." He paused, a moment a living creature would have used to breath. "And when I destroy Cyrodiil, bit by bit, I will not destroy them all in a flash; I will draw it out, make them cry to their gods, and when they do not directly intervene, their power will be gone; the citizens will have lost their faith in the fact that their gods have power, and instead will recognize me as a deity. And I will be merciful, at first. And when I have taken my rightful place as a true god, I will smite them, and bring my people back to the place of honor they deserve."
"Two. I believe I have just covered that; I will remove them from the picture entirely. The Daedra are truly the only ones I must worry about; the Nines never directly intervene, and their plots are prone to failure if the slightest thing goes wrong...for instance, the death of a hero. The Daedra have no such qualms, however. When I snuff out the dragonfires, it is entirely likely that they will invade. But I'll deal with that problem when it comes. "
"Three. At first, my friend, I did not believe so. I thought that I was merely a mercenary, a man in the wrong place at the right time, but I went along with it. What choice did I have? It sure got me out of prison. But now, who can argue with it?" He held up his right hand, a glimmering ring adorning it's bones. "I bear the Ring Moon and Star, yet I have not been smitten by some mysterious force. I have fulfilled the prophecy, I am the Hortator of all Great Houses, and the Nerevarine of the tribes. I have worn Wraithguard, Keening, and Sunder and slew the traitor. I removed the blight from Vvardenfel, ended the Corprus." He looked down, laughing and shaking his head. "It's just that now, I've brought the blight and corprus back."
He walked over to Majulin and pulled him to his feet, temporarily adjusting his paralysis spell in certain places to adjust him so he would remain standing. He dusted him off and backed away a moment. "Why why, look at you! The fire in your eyes, the hatred. I can see you have a confused view of my actions. " He did a high pitched imitation of his 'Why!?!'.
"Why what? I raise none of our ancestors. I raise only the pigs of the Legion, using them on their own outlander scum that has ruined our land! The fact that you think I'd defile our own ancestors, it sickens me. And I do not consider those Dunmeri that side with the outlanders our kin, nor are they innocent. The blight and the corprus will disappear at just the time that I bring the Dunmer back to glory, back to what we once were....Chimer!"
He turned and moved back infront of everyone. With a bright note in his voice, he asked. "So, any more questions before I reap most of your souls?"
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jun 28, 2009 19:28:10 GMT
It was at the very height of the battle, as Terra's arms began to glow with the ethereal light of magical energy, that she suddenly found herself frozen in place. The salvo of ice and fire she had been readying for the undead army aboard their ship suddenly died in her hands, and she found that all she could do was move her eyes and mouth.
Frozen in place as she was, Terra could not see Valenth as he addressed the others, her back towards him when the spell had struck. Nevertheless, she was perfectly capable of hearing his every word, and easily surmised just who and what was standing just behind her. At the sound of his haughty, arrogant and egotistical ranting, however, coupled with her current predicament, she launched into a quick rebuttal, making full use of the speech she had been allowed.
"You cocky, goldbricking son of a bitch!" she roared indignantly, her eyes bulging with a combination of frustration and rage. "You've got alot of nerve, prancing around and calling yourself a god, prick! You and your crappy undead, and your damned paralysis spells!" Though she could not actually see Valenth, her bright green eyes were strained to one side, as though she might actually catch a glance of him. "If you fought us without your cheap parlor tricks, then we'd see who'd be laughing, you jackass!"
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jun 28, 2009 19:37:12 GMT
Valenth laughed at the hot headed little girl. "You want to see me without my parlour tricks, little one? You wish to see what I can do without magic? I'll show you then. "
He strode over to her and turned her so she had a plain view of the area filled with undead. He nodded to her, walked back, and looked up towards the wheel, where Sleth was. He flicked his fingers and two things happened. First, the skeletons and zombies collapsed and slid over the edge of the ship. Second, Eij's paralysis spell broke. Immediately, the huge lizard leapt onto the deck, sword out and flashing. Valenth was quicker. He ducked under and around the blows and with two bony fingers smashed Eij's esophagus and air pipe. Still alive, Valenth spun him around, placed a foot on his back, grasping his sword arm and yanking it back. A silent cry came from the lizard, at which point Valenth spun him again, pushed him above the mast, and impaled him with his sword, which was out of his sheath and into his hands in a matter of seconds. Dark clots of black magicka flitted across the sword and up Valenths arms, into somewhere deep within his robes. He tutted and sheathed the sword. The argonian, still alive but just barely, had little time to think with his few braincells left before Valenth drew two fingers down where his shoulder met his arm, finely separating it. Blood spurted everywhere as the huge argonian fell to the ground, finally dead.
"You know, I would have figured that his soul would have been more powerful. That'll barely cover the expenses of magical coursework for apprentices at my academy. Oh well." He laughed. "Does that satisfy you, little girl?"
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Post by webster52402 on Jun 28, 2009 19:40:59 GMT
OOC: Done! Thanks for giving me a motive to speak up. xD
IC: The slaughter that the Nerevarine gave was... Despicable. As the Argonian fell, after such a heroic last stand, outrage welled up inside of the Dunmer, for a brief moment the Argonian's dark scales smoothing, forming black skin... It reminded him so much of how she had fallen, at the hands of the Corprus victims, still struggling against odds that were impossible to win...
And it brought out a bit of angry boldness inside of him, the same feeling that had gotten him onto this ship in the first place.
"... If you're doing this for the good of the people, why do you need a spell to control their minds?"
For a moment, Artmer was shocked, wondering where the voice that he had heard had come from. Only when his eyes raised to settle on the Nerevarine did he realize that the voice was actually his own. And though it shook with fear, it continued.
"Look at you. You spread blight, disease, and death across all of Morrowind. You have twisted the faith that everyone put in front of you, as the Nerevarine, a hero reborn... And turned it into madness. You kill the people that lifted you up to the position that you are in now, helping you through thick and thin. You snub the people that brought you the greatness you were given... Though you may claim it as your birthright."
Swallowing hard, the dunmer's eyes tried their best to look hardened... But the fear that would normally have his body shivering like a leaf in a hurricane wind pervaded all. "You snub the Empire and Cyrodiil, simply because you think the Dunmer have been snubbed. Yet we of House Hlaalu worked with them so very closely, in that castle of Ebonheart that you destroyed. They brought us wealth... And though they may be powerful, and they may see themselves as superior, we Dunmer still were not in a bad position. We still had Morrowind, despite its presence of Dagoth Ur. We still had our home... Though it was under siege."
"Then you... You who were supposed to deliver us, cursed us. Why are you better than Dagoth Ur? What is it that makes you so special? Because you're a god in the flesh!?! So was he! Because you're powerful!?! So was HE! Because you did all these heroic things? Ur himself wasn't a villain before the heart corrupted him! Because you're the NEREVARINE? Because you're a sham of a Nerevarine! You are no liberator, no hero! You have enslaved us again, consuming our very SOULS, because you think it's your right. You aren't some noble hero... You're worse than Dagoth Ur ever was."
His tirade finished, Artmer sat, shivering inside, against the railing. A bit of satisfaction pervaded him, though. Though he hadn't landed on Seyda Neen, and had been cut off from actually being of any help... Though he had lost so thoroughly in battle and had had to have relied upon the people around him... He still managed to tell the Nerevarine a thing or two before his demise, that would surely follow...
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jun 28, 2009 19:56:05 GMT
Helpless. Terra was utterly helpless, as Valenth casually turned her around like some damned doll, so she could watch the ensuing slaughter that was to come. In short order, the once Dunmer, now something both horrifying and disgusting, released Eij from his magical bindings, only to cut down the massive Argonian with what seemed like relatively little effort. Terra could only watch from the sidelines, her body defiantly stiff despite her own wishes, her eyes wide with anger and malice.
As one of the Dunmer amongst their group spoke to Valenth directly, Terra was busy, concentrating the culmination of her will in the slightest hope that she might break through Valenth's spell. Born under the sign of the Atronach, she had taken many spells in the past, and used their energy as her own. If only she could somehow turn Valenth's magical strength against him...she and the others might actually have a fighting chance. Artmer's heroic, even patriotic outcry, went unheard by Terra, as she blocked out her surroundings, focused only on her single task.
OOC: Whether or not she has any kind of hope in this endeavour is, of course, up to you, Chaos.
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Post by Vrek on Jun 28, 2009 20:20:38 GMT
Damned ring! Work! WORK! Reese struggling went unrewarded, as was to be expected. He had never really intended to have to directly cross wills with the Nerevarine, especially not this soon. Once again, Reese knew exactly how it felt to his victims, when they were powerless. Powerless... that's what made torture so effective, that feeling. Reese wasn't afraid to admit it, he was scared.
The feeling of the barrel he was leaned against felt strange, sliding under his hand, back and forth. He had been leaning down to rest, with just enough time to twist his body to get a look at the skeletal congregation, and the god, before being stuck in place.
He stared silently, doing naught but watching the whole thing. He was separate from the conversation, up until his face was splattered with the Argonian's blood. Even then, he couldn't think of anything to say, until Artmer made his speech. If he could have, Reese would have smiled. Instead he strained his eyes, to try to look directly at him, but the odd angle prevented it.
"Good job, boy." He congratulated him, before turning his eyes to Valenth. "I've got something to add aswell.... Why did you kill Cosades? You were a son to him."
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Post by Vicorva on Jun 28, 2009 21:43:07 GMT
OOC: Damn it! Totally left out. And I wasn't planning on winning; Dark was going to be dumped into the ocean in short order. An archer on a deck full of enemies doesn't last long. IC: For a brief, horrifying second, Dark-Feather had thought Valenth meant her. But it quickly became apparent that he meant the massive, legendary warrior. All too apparent. Something inside Dark snapped as she watched Valenth murder Eij. Nausea rose up inside of her, but did not threaten to overwhelm her, and the sense of despair that had descended so strongly upon her faded into non-importance. Pity for the Nerevarine welled up inside her, pity for what sort of shrivelled and scorned person might become so cruel as he was, how empty his life must be if he wanted nothing but power. She fixed her black eyes upon the Nerevarine- eyes so much darker than any normal argonian's- and tilted her head to one side, surveying him. The words came to her mouth unbidden. "I'm sorry for you," she murmured. "Your soul was golden, but now is the darkest of reds," she could see it there, curling around his heart, but the words seemed oddly detatched from her, as if spoken through her. She spoke so quietly, not demanding attention in any way, that it would have been no wonder if he hadn't heard her at all. And then she fell silent, and the peculiar mood that had overcome her faded, and she sensed the evil around them, and was so afraid that her whole body trembled. But she felt the strength of her Gods warm around her, and despite her fear and her trembling held her head as high as she could, and waited for whatever fate had planned.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jun 28, 2009 21:46:36 GMT
Valenth ignored the pathetic little man's outraged cries towards him. He turned to Reese, the fury palpable in his burning, sapphire sockets. Cosades...Cosades...COSADES. With heavy, angry footsteps he marched up to Reese, and grabbed him by the paralyzed neck, a tight yet not choking hold. He lifted the man into the air and removed his shawl, the full, menacing, burning dunmer skull boring it's sockets into the old man's eyes. A rage was there, a rage unknowable deep, and definitely pointed at more people than just Cosades. He slammed him against the captain's cabin door.
"You speak of Caius as if you know him, as if you know how I felt towards him! He was my only friend, the only one I could trust. Because of my unorthodox return to Vvardenfel, via a prison ship captained by Imperials, I was believed to be an outlander. This allowed me to mingle among the outlanders, however, see how they viewed the locals. The only one who treated us with any respect, treated me with any respect, was Caius. He WAS like a father to me, and I did NOT kill him. You think me cold and heartless. You believe I have no morals, no guidelines, no friends and no family. " He shoved his face into Reese's. "Well, Reese Mathes, Imperial Blade Interrogator, because of a lieutenant who thought he'd be helpful to my cause by removing an Imperial of importance to the Emperor from Vvardenfel, I do no longer have any friends. And that day the last of my heart was ripped out, and replaced with my thirst for power. My humanity died that day. And I'm glad of it. That lieutenant...it was 3 years ago he decided to remove Caius, before my plan went into effect. His screams still echo down the corridors of my palace. I'm not done with him yet. But you..." He tutted and grasped the finger bearing the 'Protection from Paralysis' ring. "I'll wash my hands of you today. " Valenth started to twist Reese's finger, slowly, until it would inevitably come off. After this, he cast a minor restoration spell to close the wound and backed away.
"Now," he growled, "Any more questions?"
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Post by FC4 on Jun 28, 2009 22:15:24 GMT
Majulin felt utter contempt for the man as he explained his behavior towards the Dunmer so fluidly. If he had been able to move, he would have brushed aside the man's aide to pick him up, would have cut off his arm for even touching him.
And for once, the weak Hlaalu Dunmer became a beacon of respect and honor to the warrior. So gut-filled, despite having no chances at all of surviving the rage of this man. So honorable, so true. His eyes moved to the Hlaalu Jack of all trades, and one could see the respect in that look. And then his eyes shifted back to Valenth.
"By harboring the souls of the Redoran heads, you have taken many of your own kin and disrespected their bodies and souls. Redoran does not side with the Imperials; we respect them for their battle-prowess and constitution, for their wisdom in negotiating with Vivec rather than continue facing the Dunmeri war power. For allowing us to be the only Empire province to be so free as to make our own laws and maintain our own religion, forcing the Nine to the side-lines." Majulin spoke calmly now, lacking the deep rage of before. More controlled.
And then it was lost. "But you take the souls of our ancestors and feed them into your magicks! You fill our people with disease! I don't care if this is legion scum you raise! You don't have to resurrect the body to mistreat the soul, Valenth." His mind went to the Warrior Priestess of Redoran, who's soul he now used for his own purposes. The souls of the Head councilors of Redoran. But his rage was contained more than before. Now, he controlled himself by feeling pride for his people; they stood up, and maintained their dignity in the face of this horror. They had not sided with him.
"Azura made us what we are, Nerevarine. You cannot undo the curse of a Daedra." He kept his eyes on the lich, unable and unwilling to flinch even as he had watched the Argonian be massacred in seconds and the Redguard lose his own finger. All his life, Majulin never stood down. All retreats were strategic. All surrenders, partial.
Do not lose hope. Do not grow weak. Never give in. Majulin repeated in his head, and he would repeat it at the moment before his last breath.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jun 28, 2009 22:55:53 GMT
Valenth laughed. "Oh, not many resisted me, young one. I only took those who stood in the way of progress for our people. They numbered about...two. Relations of yours, no doubt, they had a similar nature to you. But then, all the Imperials do. The empire likes to let us think that we have our own laws, our own religion, but still, they are slowly forcing our cultural identity into the mud. They wish to take our freedom, and have been slowly sliding into our province for a long time now." He laughed, a manic laugh. "And don't think that the souls I use are our ancestors; I would never desecrate them in that way. And when I am done with Vyre's, and Dravas', and Eij's, I may well return them to their bodies. I take only the souls of those who stand in the way of the future. And believe me, the future is coming. I've defied destiny once, and It can and will be done again. And what of Azura? There is a power greater than it, a power the Imperials keep locked up in their tallest tower, their strongest citadel. A power that is no more than parchment, constantly guarded by moths fluttering here and there, blinded in their world of darkness. I've seen it in my dreams, and I will find it. And I will wield it, and I will make right the wrongs to our people. And if I can't...I'll watch the rest of Nirn burn before I can't."
And with that he turned, walked five paces, and dissipated. In his place, however, falling from the sky, was a huge ball of flame with a solid core. The paralysis spell had, by now, worn off. The sea turned choppy and violent, and the ship was obliterated.
All aboard the ship lost consciousness from the impact and shock of the blast, sent tumbling into the inky black waves, just a bit from shore...
Early Morning, on a rocky beach somewhere south of Seyda Neen
When you awake, you are greeted with sand in your face and rocks under you, drenched from your dip in the sea. By some strange twist of fate, the sea brought you alive and well to the shore, though battered and bruised for it. All of your equipment is scattered across the shoreline; Ironmark is lying face down in a pool of his own blood, a large shaft of wood sticking from his gun. Crows crowd around him, beginning to pick at his still warm flesh. He died recently. The redguard who fought with him is working his way along the shore, checking bodies of the less fortunate, less important members of the journey. It can only be surmised that Valenth didn't take your souls because he was enraged and interested by the bunch of you. Looking at the dead is a grim reminder of your luck. You can see the burning remains of the ship that brought you on your ill-fated voyage wedged in a rocky outcropping a ways away, smashed almost beyond recognition.
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Post by Vrek on Jun 29, 2009 1:08:26 GMT
Reese still felt the pain in his hand all the way till the meteorite struck, but he was able to block it sufficiently enough to continue taking in the dialogue. Valenth knew who he was - that was frightening. He knew by memorization alone, the name, face, profession of a spy from halfway across Tamriel. Who could tell what else he knew, about anything?
Reese's eyes widened as Valenth finished his verbal bout with the Redoran. The moment he vanished, Reese begun to speak. "He's after-" Just as soon as he'd started the flaming ball fell onto the ship, launching him into the sea. The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was the icy sea driving through his back.
---
Cough. Always coughing. It felt strange this time. Different. Reese forced his eyes open, still coughing, to be greeted by brown, smelly sand. It stunk faintly of... ash. Blight.
Forcibly, the old spy forced himself up, still coughing to expel the water from his lungs. His arms barely holding himself up, Reese could barely look anywhere but from the sand, running up his fingers as his hands sunk deeper. His finger was gone.
Suddenly he remember where he was, why he was there. He could recall at the ship. Losing his finger - and his ring. He'd have to find another way to combat the charm spell. And - "The Elder Scrolls!" He shouted suddenly, remembering the Nerevarine's parting words.
He looked around for the first time. Carrion picking off the dead. Flaming ship blocking the backdrop of the magical dome. He focused on a bit of movement down the beach. The sleeping Redguard! Reese it to his feet, old bones and legs week from the struggle barely held him up. Nonetheless, he stood, and waved to get the man's attention. "Hey!" He shouted, barely able to rise above the cacophony of the carrion birds. "Have you found any others still alive?!"
They would need to get moving quickly. Valenth might send someone to check the wreckage, though he doubted the god's pride would let him. And they needed to hurry and find the Tools. Reese panned down the beach, until he turned completely, looking at where the tip of the Red Mountain would be, if it weren't shrouded by the thick air. They needed to rally all survivors, and salvage as much equipment as possible. They had less then a month. Not enough time.
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Post by FC4 on Jun 29, 2009 2:03:53 GMT
Majulin had no idea what power Valenth spoke of, but he did not believe it. He also did not believe that only two people stood and resisted the Nerevarine. And he failed to be convinced the Valenth used only outlander souls, and not those of kinsmen. Because he used Dravas' soul, and to Majulin, she was kinsmen. Valenth was splitting the Dunmeri people, a dishonorable act that meant he cared even less for his people by deciding many were unworthy.
A hero of the people was a hero for all his people. And Valenth was not that. But Majulin saw that he was so far diluted, nothing could convince the man otherwise. And then the fireball came.
Majulin remembered nothing, only a floating feeling as the sea swept him towards his home. All he could sense was the grip of his sword, one hand having slipped away. The other was naturally gripping the handle tightly. Like the sword belonged there.
When he awoke it was to the feeling of soft sand beneath him. Ashen sand, left from the belching smokes of the Red Mountain. The Dunmer blinked repeatedly before inhaling and lifting himself with his hands. The sword was still there, in his hand, and he calmly sheathed it as he stood on his knees. It took another moment for the warrior to raise to his feet.
A ship wreck... my stuff. It's all- Wait a minute... Majulin raised an eyebrow, before trodding over to a pile of debris.
YES! There is was. Elated, the warrior plucked out a sizable bundle from the rubble. It was a bundle of cloth nearly as big as he, but with a bit of fiddling at the top Majulin undid the tight wrappings and the ashrobe fell, opening to display all his gear, sans the shield and spear. Only when Majulin sat down to begin shaking out and drying his armor, and putting it on, did he look around.
Dead were everywhere, including the Knight they had been speaking with before. Birds littered the place as much as wreckage, cleaning up this bit of flesh and that corpse. They must have been here only an hour or two, considering how fresh Ironmark's corpse looked. Majulin was unphased, and continued adorning himself in the bonemold armor.
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