|
Post by FC4 on Oct 5, 2009 22:41:14 GMT
Characters: Must be approved by creator Content Rating: Adult Genre: Adventure The Dragon’s Secret [/b] “My first mistake was thinking I could control it. Hidden in shadows was truth; I was never in control! I cannot let it claim my soul!” –The last words of Elindral Zetren, Anti-Mage. StoryIt is the 433rd year of the Third Era, and Uriel Septim and his heirs have been assassinated by the Mythic Dawn, a mysterious cult that was until now unknown. Dark, fiery gates to the realms of Oblivion have opened throughout Tamriel, heralding the invasion of Mehrunes Dagon’s Daedric forces. A single man –destined to be Champion of Cyrodiil- has found the illegitimate son Martin, last of the Septim Bloodline, and now keeps him safe in the fortress of Cloud Ruler Temple. Several cities have already been directly assaulted by the Daedric hordes, but in the province of Cyrodiil only Kvatch has fallen. More cities in other provinces have not been so lucky. The situation is growing dire and the legion spread thin. High Chancellor Ocato of Firsthold, temporarily Head-of-State until Martin can be ritually anointed Emperor, is stressed in his new responsibilities. So, naturally, things only get worse. Unknown to anyone outside of his closest friends –which were few- Elindral Zetren has been studying. Secreting himself away in the depths of the massive Arcane University or his own personal tower somewhere in the Jerall Mountains, he has been researching. For many months, people have never seen him as he studies; each time they meet him again, they have noted Elindral to be more cold and distant than before. And in his last public appearance many began to question his mental state, as he was muttering to himself about something called ‘anti-magicka’. Whatever was addling him, three months into the Oblivion Crisis it finally drove him to the edge. Without warning, he burst from his extensive study hall screaming, every light source he passed flickering out and plunging the university into darkness behind him. Several battlemages tried to intercept and calm the frantic Altmer, only succeeding in physically brawling and losing in his rush from whatever he claimed was after him. The alarm had already been raised when he had made it to the University gardens, and Elindral desperately rushed into the sunlight that pierced the trees. Spells readied to incapacitate the magician, battlemages surrounded him and sought to calm him, assure him nothing was after him. Hysterically he gave his last words, only to scream out. His scream was followed by those of the battlemages, who found themselves engulfed by the shadowed forms that darted out from under the trees. Spells flashed chaotically, failing to reveal the forms but succeeding in stopping their advance. Some battlemages were not so lucky, as serpentine tendrils constricted them and consumed them, simultaneously consuming Elindral. The cries stopped as the dark forms sunk to the ground and faded away, leaving only confused, frightened battlemages with burn-like wounds where the forms had made contact. Later on, it was found that those within the hall Elindral shared, and all who he passed, had disappeared. And it had taken a good month’s worth of spellcraft just to perform that search, as a malicious force had lurked in the darkened halls and gave the Battlemages extensive trouble. Whatever it was, it was powerful and hated their magic. Those who found Elindral’s research in his reclaimed hall were silenced by Traven’s orders, and the research given to a select few to study in an effort to find out what happened. A select few trusted to responsibly handle the likely dangerous material. They soon found out that he was studying a force yet unknown, which he himself had named ‘Anti-magicka’ and personally practiced during his research. Those studying his notes surmised that this was a dangerous force, and proclaimed a need to find and kill Elindral. When asked, they provided a single journal entry. They are right, they were all right. I have changed. Changed so much. So angry, so unhappy, so distraught. I’ve allowed it to take control of me. Affect who I am.
I’ve realized now… that pain I feel is not from improper casting of the Anti-magicka. It’s the ripping of my own soul. The Anti-magicka, it has been taking from me in ways Magicka does not; the exertion I feel is not the same.
Why did I not foresee this? Why did I not realize sooner! I have to stop this, I have to undo what has been done. I need more magicka, more power, I have to before it comes for me, tries to take me all! I cannot stop with these enchanted trinkets Traven has given me. They are not enough.
I need more. More more more more As if Ocato has not had enough to deal with, he now has to ensure the death of a rogue ‘Anti-mage’. But with the Legions and Battlemages stretched so thin, he has been forced to resort to an age old art. Hiring a bunch of misfits to get the job done. The maps found Here will be used for the basis of our travels. Rules:-Standard rp rules apply. No character controlling or killing without permission. -Please strive to not make short posts, but avoid essays if possible. -Do not uber rp your characters. Do not hear things out of ear shot, yadda yadda. -I’m this Rp’s equivalent of God; I have the ultimate say, but I’m mostly just going to let you all take care of yourselves. -Post all sheets on the CS thread. There will be a limited number of Dragon characters. I’d like for one mortal to every one dragon, if possible. -Your character may, if I feel you could RP it well, be the holder of an Artifact. But be warned, possessing one may be more deadly than being without. -Some battles in this RP WILL get hectic. To try and avoid this, I stress highly that you wait for all players who are affected by your post to make a reply before you post again, even in the midst of a battle. Special rules for this rp:-This rp is likely to be slow. Some of our players cannot get on except for maybe once a week or so. As such, we are often waiting for them to post, which makes the rp slow. If you don’t have the patience for such a speed of Rp, then don’t join. If you don’t want to hold us up in your absence, then state that we may rp your character. -I will be controlling important NPCs and enemies until I hand control over to someone else. -In this Rp there is a ‘mental illness’ of sorts, called the Bloodlust. Currently, only dragons suffer from it, and the Bloodlust is faint and weak. Essentially, the Bloodlust is a fit of rage that sets upon the victim, driving them to kill anything; friend, family, lover, bystander. The strength of the Bloodlust in one’s mind determines the ability to resist the violent outbursts of thought, control the rage, and even selectively kill. The stronger, the harder; and the more blood must be shed to sate it. What drives the Bloodlust? None know, but as the story progresses we may find out. -The rule on Dragon shape-changes; I trust you to be responsible. The Transformation from Dragon to human and vice-versa takes some power, remember that. If I feel you have abused it, you will be PMed. NOTE: Older dragons will be able to shape-change easier than younger ones, due to years of practice. -Spoken Dialogue is to be in Quotation Marks, i.e. "Hi". Thoughts are to be in Italics. The new rule is concerning the Dragon Telepathic link. It connects all dragons, and they can communicate through thoughts, but it is not mind reading. To differentiate between thoughts and a message sent through the link, all telepathic messages between dragons are to be in Bold. I expect decent grammar and spelling from everyone. -Sometimes, I will be unable to run this rp. If that occurs, I will post saying the rp is dead, and there are to be NO MORE POSTS until I post again of its rebirth. -Every Dragon must have a weakness of some kind, one that would allow them to be killed. Characters will not automatically know a dragon's weakness, they will have to figure it out. OOC: Character sheet templates to be found in the Character sheet section, of course. For likely the first whole thread, I will be heavily influencing and guiding the story. After a bit of time, I'll be letting you guys handle most of the plot progression.
|
|
|
Post by FC4 on Oct 15, 2009 18:55:57 GMT
Ocato sighed as he sat upon the Emperor's Throne, the very center of not only the marble dais upon which it stood or the white marble circular chamber it resided in, but the center of a whole empire. Ocato was upon the elegant red silk cushions of a seat of power that for generations had been the greatest seat of power in Tamriel. And Ocato hated it.
The chair was comfortable -rightfully fit for an Emperor- but what he hated was not the seat itself, but what it stood for. If it had not been for the insistence of the Elder Council, Ocato would be standing beside it -where he belonged- rather than seated on it. But the Council as a whole felt that there must be a figurehead for the empire, as a throne empty would further prove the Empire was waning. So instead, Theran stood at the position of High Chancellor, being temporary High Chancellor while Ocato was forced to be temporary emperor.
As if the responsibilities of Emperor were not enough to be suddenly thrust on his shoulders, he now had to deal with a rogue mage wielding forbidden power! Once Elindral Zetren had gone rogue, Ocato had given Traven a good, long, stress-fueled talk. And he'd had to bring the situation to the Dragon Elders of the Council. Ocato did not fancy approaching them about such things, as it always left him with a feeling of ignorance that never sat well in an Altmeri heart. This discussion of Anti-magic, however, left him bewildered. The Elders had been curt and succinct with their discussion, making their will well known; Elindral had to be slain.
The Elders did mention recruiting a few of their Dragon kin to aid in the task, but so far not even the scholar they spoke of, who supposedly knew much of this 'anti-magicka', had arrived. Ocato rubbed his temples, thoroughly aggravated by the complexity of the issues at hand.
The remaining six Elder Councilors were outside of the White Gold tower at this moment, having been given descriptions of the adventurers Ocato and the Dragon Elders had sought out. Only three of these councilors were from provinces other than Cyrodiil; Eldral of Skyrim, Morris of Wayrest, and Simal of Valenwood. The others, much to Ocato's dismay, had abandoned the Council chambers to their respective provinces, choosing to locally oversee the Daedric invasion.
Until that day... that day when Uriel Septim and every known heir to the throne were simultaneously slain, the Empire had been prospering. There had been some issues with Ocato's homeland, Summerset Isle, and there had been the Blight in Morrowind, but otherwise the economy was steady, the Legion well trained, and the commonwealth satisfied. And then the Emperor and all heirs were slain, the Blades useless and the cult completely unknown until then. It was a terrible time to be a diplomat.
Gates to the hells of Oblivion were opening in every countryside of Tamriel, and the Imperial Legion -being the only standing army in the continent- had to answer the call to arms. But this was no rank and file enemy. There was no patterns, no ranks; the gates opened anywhere from next to cities to the middle of a mountain range. The Legion had been forced to spread out, cover the land, and face an enemy with superiority.
The results were groan-inducing. Local governments lost faith in the Empire, many of the Elder Council retreated to their homelands, and the unity of the Empire began to shatter. Trade plummeted, the value of local currencies surpassing the Imperial Septim and making Cyrodiil the poorest province in the Empire in month's span. And then Ald'ruhn fell.
The central power of a House proud of the ferocious might of their warriors, Redoran, and occupied by the legendary Emperor Crab Skar. Neither of these seemed to matter as the Daedra invaded, reducing the city to rubble within a day and crushing the hopes, dreams, and morale of Legionaires the empire over. Until then, the strength of the Daedric invasion had been underestimated, thought of as just another pest control issue. Now, everyone knew that the odds were heaped against them.
There was hope, Ocato knew, but that hope could never reach the public. Martin Septim, illegitimate heir to the throne, had been missed by the Mythic Dawn, and recovered by a warrior unknown to all but the highest positions in the Blades and Council. If they could get him here, to the city, with the Amulet of Kings in hand, they could possibly stop the invasion and save the empire.
Or so Ocato hoped. But the Dragon Elders assured him that if not taken care of, Elindral could become a force of greater damage to the empire than Mehrunes Dagon, and no Dragonfire could stop him. Ocato prayed this be false.
"You grow impatient, High Chancellor Ocato. You must calm yourself." Theran corrected the temporary Emperor, his aged human eyes regarding his leader with a trace of concern. Ocato nodded, sighed deeply, and released his grip on the armrests of the throne.
"You are correct, Councilor Theran. It's just... a lot on my mind." Ocato replied, breathing slowly.
"Understandably so, but as a figure of leadership for the Empire you must appear always capable. Even if you do not feel so." Theran instructed. Ocato smiled.
"I've said such to Uriel -Akatosh bless him- many times. Trust me, easier said than done."
|
|
|
Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 17, 2009 4:01:56 GMT
Will continued to inspect the Imperial Palace in silence, the dark blue discs of his eyes slow and methodical as they traced the shape of the great tower. As the rays of the midday sun washed over its length, the ivory surface of the tower seemed to come alive; an indomitable beacon carving a triumphant path through the cloudless canopy overhead. The grizzled beast of a Redguard both admired and envied the defiant endurance of the great structure.
With a knowing nod towards the tower, Will continued forward, through the mushroom ridden gardens of the Green Emperor Way. Dozens of Legionnaires in various states of alarm darted about the area, the chattering of their heavy metallic armours singing out like the chorus of battle.
"Excuse me, sir." The feminine voice that called out from behind him, while soft and delicate, seemed to have no difficulty cutting through the cacophony he had been addressing just a moment before. Will turned back to see a well dressed, middle aged woman of Imperial birth moving gracefully towards him. The woman's gentle green eyes ran up and down Will's form, before she smiled softly. "Might you be Bill Ross?"
Will must have cringed at the sound of the nickname, for the woman's expression quickly turned apologetic. "It's Will, actually," he replied, managing to produce an amused smile. "Bill...somehow, it just isn't me."
The Imperial donned a comfortable smile as well, nodding. "I'll be sure to note that in our records," she offered playfully. "My name's Lucrecia Decimus. I'm currently working with the Elder Council."
Will nodded in acknowledgement. "Nice to meet you, Councilor Decimus. I have to admit, I didn't expect anybody on the Council to be this pleasant. You know how politicians are."
"Unfortunately." The councilor turned around and gestured for Will to follow. "I'm afraid several members of the Elder Council recently left us in light of the Daedric incursions. Needless to say, the entire situation has left Chancellor Ocato in a rather...unpleasant, situation."
"I'll bet." Will crossed his arms over his chest, an interested expression on his face. "Is that why I'm here? Because of the situation with the Daedra?"
Lucrecia turned back, a hesitant smile on her face. "Perhaps it would be best if I allowed the Chancellor to explain things."
Will nodded acceptingly, as the two of them made their way inside the Imperial Palace.
|
|
|
Post by Vicorva on Oct 17, 2009 7:44:43 GMT
The air was chill; she could feel the hairs on her arms prickling. She wondered what the world might look like right now; the sky might be overcast and cloudy. The White Gold Tower would be a warm golden light against the dull grey backdrop.
Of course, she had no way of knowing that the sun was indeed out right now- she only had what she felt to go by. The damage that had been done to her eyes was undoubtedly completely irreversible. Certainly, the best healers in Cyrodiil had been unable to do anything.
She was wearing a beautifully crafted long red gown, embroidered with silver and perfectly cut to fit her trim form- although still loose enough not to make her feel self-conscious. Her mane of greying black hair was in a long plait down her back today, and she was even wearing a delicate ruby necklace. Though Zhira could no longer see herself, she liked to wear pretty things when she could. It was just the little something to remind herself that she was a woman. A warrior needed such things.
There was a soft yipping noise, a gentle 'woofing' followed by a pattering of four feet. Zhira's lips quirked ever so slightly. Her best friend, at least, could enjoy her sight. And that was enough for Zhira.
The dog was about middle-large size, shoulders tending to reach half-way up the thighs of most people. She had white fur dusted with sandy-gold, not unlike the tower they were now beside. Her ears were upright, if a little big for her and slightly lopsided. Her eyes were big and dark and happy, her fur tufted in strange places as it had not grown in properly. She was clearly once some breed of wolf-dog, bred for hunting and defending, but she was undersized for that, and a little too goofy in her appearance to strike fear into most people.
In fact, one of the reasons Zhira liked her was that she didn't strike fear into anybody.
"Woo!" Saffa called, panting madly. Zhira could practically hear her tail swishing frantically back and forth.
The walk up to the castle difficult, surrounded by gravestones as it was, and with steps some unknown distance away, but Zhira had been here before and didn't let that stop her. She moved slowly and carefully, and tripped up only once, while Saffa surrounded her, shouting encouragement in the form of "Woo! Woo! Woo!"
How ridiculous they must look, but Zhira didn't find herself bitter for it. If this was the Gods' will, then she would have to deal with it. She had been blind too long to continue hating herself and the Nine for what she had become. There was a purpose in everything.
Finally she came to the steps, while Saffa frolicked around her, sticking her bum into the air and then leaping up as high as she could and snapping at nothing. The clattering of metal on metal drew near. "Ma'am?" came a gruff voice.
Zhira turned as best as she could to face the legionnaire. It was as well that her eyes were hidden, for she would have been staring over his shoulder. "Are you- are you Zhira Okona?" his voice was hesitant, awed.
Zhira blinked in surprise that he knew could connect her name with her past, hid a smile with her hand, then said, "No need to sound so surprised- I'm just as human as you."
He laughed. "That's unlikely- I'm a Dark Elf!" he replied.
Zhira grimaced. "Sorry about that."
"It is no problem, citizen. My name is Captain Rades. I am to take you to the Elder Council. They wish for your assistance."
"Big surprise," Zhira muttered, then blushed when she realised who she was talking to. The dunmer was smiling reassuringly, however, before with a rush of pity he realised such subtle social niceties were now denied the exalted hero.
He took her hand with a consideration surprising in a Legionnaire, and rested it on his armour-clad arm. "Is this all right?" he asked.
"Better than holding on to your ass, I suppose."
The guard laughed. "I've made a grave mistake, then."
Zhira gave a fleeting smile in return. They started walking, Saffa bouncing along behind them.
They made their way slowly to the Imperial Palace. Zhira didn't know whether he was moving slowly out of consideration for her, or just because he didn't want to get back to rounds, but either way, she appreciated it.
At length, Rades asked, "Is it true? About how you were blinded?" Zhira said nothing. Rades sighed. "My apologies, ma'am, I had no right." She dipped her head in acceptance of his words, and Rades continued. "You are beautiful, Zhira Okona. I can see that your deeds have aged you beyond your years, but I'm a Dark Elf, and dunmer can see through false age better than any. A little white in your hair doesn't make you old- it makes you defined. It is a mark of what you have done."
Zhira said nothing. She suspected by the softer sound of their footsteps that they had entered the Imperial Palace. She could hear the muted sounds of Saffa sniffing everything she could find.
They came to a stop. "People haven't forgotten Dragonblood, you know, though they wonder where she's gone to. And now that I've met you, I don't think I'll forget Zhira Okona."
He lifted her hand, and she felt cool lips brush it. She could feel heat rise to her face as the gesture took her completely off guard.
He released her hand, and said, "It was an honour." And clattered away. Zhira stood there, listening to the sound of his armour clattering. Sometimes, the Gods were good. Sometimes you got to feel like maybe the whole world wasn't over afterall.
Not knowing whether he would be able to hear her now, she called, "You're pretty words won't turn me!"
She turned to open the door, calling Saffa curtly to her side. Then his voice came drifting back. "Next time, you can hold my ass!"
Laughing to the point of tears, and looking ten years younger for the radiance of her smile, she entered the Elder Council's chambers. Sometimes, life could be fun. But as the heavy quiet of the Council Room closed in around her, her smile faded. This probably wasn't going to be one of those times.
OOC: Longest post I've made in AGES! And I don't think it was entirely crap! Zhira FTW!
|
|
|
Post by FC4 on Oct 17, 2009 14:09:42 GMT
OOC: Sorry about the OOC thread IN. And by the way, that was an AWESOME opening post, loved it.
IC: Ocato and Theran turned together to see a woman enter, laughing. At her heels was a scruffy, sandy-white dog that looked like it had seen better days, fur tufted here and there and ears lopsided. For a brief moment Ocato considered reprimanding for the animal's presence; pets were not allowed in the Palace outside the Emperor's own. However as he looked at the dog sniff about, Theran reacted to the woman's entrance before he could speak.
"Zhira Okono." He proclaimed, cutting through the heavy silence that had made her stop her laugh. Ocato looked over the woman as Theran approached to introduce himself. She wore a rather appealing red dress and had her greying mane of hair plaited elegantly. She might have looked stunning for a Redguard, if not for her eyes being hidden behind a blindfold. She's blind... Dragonblood is blind, and I forgot this and focused on a stupid dog. This stress over the Empire is truly getting to me. Ocato reasoned.
"You are the first to arrive miss Okono. If you will come with me..." Theran held out his hand, brushing the fingers on her arm so that she knew of his hand's presence. "I will lead you from the door so others could come. We have a seat for you by the wall, if you would like."
Ocato watched as Theran talked with her, marveling at how he looked so calm, so cheerful. He knew everything Ocato did, and yet it seemed to not stress him in the slightest. But he doesn't have responsibility over it... I do. Ocato closed his eyes and used the fact that his current guest was blind to physically relax himself and regain composure. Now it was time to be the politician.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Selinus' sandals tapped along the stone walkway as he moved through the Green Emperor Way, hood of his brown monk robes covering his face. This was a necessary measure, as monk robes worn in this manner rose little suspicion, and having his hood down would cause it. The middle aged Imperial puffed his tobacco pipe, plumes of smoke rising over his vision. With his left hand he reached under his hood and touched his left eye.
The scars of past mistakes. We all bear them in our own ways. Selinus reasoned with himself, lowering his hand from within his hood. His head tilted up to set his eyes upon the White Gold Tower before him, gleaming brilliantly in the midday sun. Truly, an architectural masterpiece and perfect symbol for the Empire's seat.
Of course, it is merely a facade now. The Tower wasn't even built by men, but by mer. And the Empire stands far from tall and brilliant today. Somberly he looked back down from the tower and continued along the walk, his mithril staff's tempered steel tips tapping against the ground. He only stopped and looked up when someone approached him.
It was a tall man, standing roughly a third of a foot higher than Selinus' 5' 9" frame, and thicker built as well. Still as lean as Selinus, but the man sported broader shoulders and a more barreled chest. Commonplace for a Nord, he even had blond hair, kept short, and dulled blue eyes. Those eyes were the only true indication of the man's age.
"Selinus." The Nord spoke up, but the monk did not look up in turn to meet his gaze, and continued to puff at his pipe. He gazed at the man's chest, clad in frost-blue robes embroidered in gold.
"Eldral." Selinus responded after a pause in puffing to remove his pipe from his lips.
"We've been waiting for you. Two of the warriors have already arrived. Ocato is awaiting your presence." Eldral of Skyrim explained. "If you will come with-"
"I think I can find my own way, thank you Councilor." Selinus cut him off, now looking up at the Nord. Eldral cringed a little, disturbed still by what he saw beneath the hood despite seeing it often. It just looked... unnatural. "Your services are better used by others."
"Very well then." Eldral composed himself very quickly, smoothly recovering. "Then I will remind you, Esteemed Selinus, that smoking is not permitted within the throne room."
"Of course." Selinus bowed his head and tapped the pipe against one of the pillars that divided the Palace walkway from the graveyard surrounding it. The ashes of tobacco fell to the ground, and Eldral forced himself to just accept it, no matter how disrespectful it was. Placing the pipe back in his mouth, he opened with one hand a pouch that hung from his braided rope belt, then placed the pipe inside. "I was nearly finished with it anyways." He smiled, which did show beneath the monk hood.
"Good day to you, Councilor Eldral."
"Good day, Esteemed Selinus." The Imperial smiled still as he walked away, heading for the Palace doors. He stopped briefly before he entered, looking up to the sky. Akatosh, let them not be stupid enough to use traditional travel. He prayed, but when he could see nor feel a dragon in the skies, he turned into the Palace and closed the door behind him.
He had not chosen the dragons that would accompany him and these mortals on this expedition, but he hoped the Elder Dragons picked very well, because the last thing Selinus needed was a dragon landing in the city or near it. They were protected by the Empire, sure, but if the public saw such, the resulting panics might change things. And not in the favor of Dragons.
|
|
|
Post by Anticlere on Oct 17, 2009 15:54:20 GMT
Richard
Such a pleasant day.
A cloaked brown figure - one Richard du Blois - made his way towards the White Gold Tower, protruding from the rest of the Imperial City like a defiant finger. Richard couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of the Ayleids building such an enormous structure just as a means of flipping the finger at the Nine Divines. Not many would've probably thought of inappropriate gestures when looking at one of the most impressive buildings of Tamriel, but then he had a pretty unique way of seeing things.
Pretty ironical the Empire took up residence. I guess the name of the city just says it all - 'Imperial City', except it suspiciously looks a touch Ayleid. Though I guess the alternative of 'Stolen from the Elves City' doesn't work for the propaganda that well. His eyes gleaming in correspondence to his good mood Richard slowly made his way up the stairs, definately taking his time with moving to this mysterious meeting he was invited to, going as far as to stop and take a moment to look up at the titanic tower and whistle. No matter who built this thing, though, it's still damn impressive! And if the Empire ever wants to cross the border and become an evil overlord, all they need to do is paint it black... Imagine the costs, though. That's enough to make them stay bearable I bet.
Walking slightly past the entrance to the tower after losing himself in his frankly quite ridiculous thoughts, Richard was forced to stop, sigh and turn around. Making a fool of himself nothwithstanding, however, he was feeling quite satisfied with himself when he strolled up to one of the several people waiting by the massive doors, the only Breton. His eyes did, however, lose a bit of their gleam when the man looked at him with a face expression that suggested he would rather not see Richard here.
"So, um, hello?" A small smile crossing his rather melancholic-looking face, Richard outstretched his hand, expecting the other Breton to shake it. The man's only response, however, was a scowl, forcing the rather run-down spellsword to awkwardly lift his hand up after a moment and scratch his head. "I'm Richard, here uh, about the invitation, you know?"
"Richard du Blois, correct?" The frown on the finely dressed man's face only growing, he made a nervous nod that seemed to constitute for a courtly bow. "I am Morris of Wayrest. Esteemed Chancellor Ocato requested your presence... Why did he deem you worthy is beyond me, however I am instructed to take those invited to him immediately after they arrive. So please follow... and try not to touch anything."
Richard roled his eyes. How arrogant can you get... Many seem to think it to be a requirement for being a Breton politician. Or just a Breton at all. Waiting for a moment when Morris could most certainly see him from the corner of his eye the spellsword flashed a rather unappropriate gesture with his hand, causing the councillor (cheeks slightly blushed with irritation) to look back to an innocently whistling Richard.
As Morris turned away, grumbling something under his nose, Richard rolled his eyes again. Here's to hoping Ocato won't be like that. Though given he's an Altmer I wouldn't bet on it.
|
|
|
Post by Tom Bombadil on Oct 17, 2009 17:19:23 GMT
Advancing through the road between flanking rows gravestones, each of which composed of stone now marked by the epitaph of some congenial relation or magisterial official, Borsalmas Talpynyalas released a hacking cough which echoed in the form of a brief and sharp note of retaliation from the residences of the ambivalent interred populace. The graves, judged by some past resolution to be placed both near to and in the shadow of their predecessors, many of whom now resided within the looming White Gold Tower, were not regarded by the aged Altmer that made his path through them at an unusually brisk gait.
By any well-meaning citizen or fellow commoner passing near him, Borsalmas himself would have been perceived as nothing more than a common-rate bodyguard or man-for-hire; others may have supposed him a traveler of some sort who had become wizened to the portentous state of the roads during this day and age. From the perspective of the mer himself, he was simply dressed up.
Borsalmas lacked ownership of any form of regular attire beyond two sets of labourer's clothing. Now, finding himself en route to an appointment with a collaboration of some of the most important individuals in Tamriel, Borsalmas had seen fit to endeavour to increase the value of his appearance. For him, this entailed the extensive washing of one of his sets of clothing, as well as the rather unorthodox inclusion of his old chain shirt and gauntlets, which, if anything, served to increase his mercenary appearance.
Old Borsalmas's feelings and thoughts melded into a familiar mixture of angst and bewilderment. As far as his life's experience had taught him, the sort of fellows who lived in crumbling wooden shacks and bore chain shirts over shabby labourer's clothing and worked for six drakes a day were not the sort of fellows that were summoned to meetings by majestic councils, unless said member of the former description was on trial for some heinous evil, for which Borsalmas was fairly certain he was not being prosecuted.
He attempted to refrain from locking his eyes on the small group of people standing outside the doors of the Imperial Palace as he approached. It inferred to him the sense of awkwardness two people might feel mutually as they cross each other alone along a long stretch of empty hallway. To help accomplish this, he averted his glances occasionally with feigned interest to some peculiarity here or there about the graves. Once the duration of this absurdly difficult walk was over, Borsalmas having climbed the steps to the circle of walkway which surrounded the immediate walls of the structure of the White Gold Tower, a gray-haired woman emerged from the group of individuals standing outside the palace.
She had a look about her that betrayed a graceful aging process being owed to a lifetime in the more kind and prosperous face of Imperial society. This woman, a member of the Elder Council, in fact, as indicated by her stately attire, nodded formally to Borsalmas as she approached him.
"Borsalmas Talpynyalas?" she inquired curtly. Her tone was neither cold nor hospitable, and the distinct impression of a business meeting was laid upon the Altmer. "Yeah- yes, I'm him," Bors replied awkwardly, catching himself in an inappropriate informality, having been caught somewhat off-guard by the sudden greeting. The woman smiled politely and spoke again in a voice that cut through the chilly air with uncanny ease.
"We have been expecting you. I am Councilor Marca Avita. You are the fifth to arrive, if I am not mistaken. If you would kindly follow me, I will escort you into the Imperial Palace. Please keep your voice down once inside, and you will be received for an audience with Chancellor Ocato, along with the other invitees."
Bors forced an impromptu half-bow, taken as agreement by Councilor Avita. Without another word, she led the Altmer into the large doors of the palace. As he entered, Borsalmas briefly met gazes with the faded blue eyes of a man of Nordic descent, dressed in officious attire, implying his profession, who had been standing nearby, having just finished a conversation with another man that had entered the building. Neither made a remark on the other, and within moments Borsalmas was within the walls of the Imperial Palace.
"If I might ask," Borsalmas said quietly to the Councilor, who glanced at him in return. "I don't mean to argue, but, what is it I've got that makes you - the council, that is - summon me? Not much I could do fer you lot, I'm afraid." "I am not disposed to answer that question. Any details you want may be received from Chancellor Ocato momentarily." Bors didn't say anything else. He would have liked a bit more background as to why the tenant of a run-down shack was summoned before the meeting with the most powerful man in the Empire, but at this point, as he stood within the palace, that did not seem a plausible opportunity.
|
|
|
Post by Vicorva on Oct 17, 2009 17:53:09 GMT
OOC: I'm not cross, don't worry I am generally much more lacking in the kind of vicious temper I had in the youth of my rping. Generally. Oh, and Zhira isn't necessarily beautiful- someone semi-flirting with her like Captain Rades has been a rare occurance in her life, particularly since her blinding. But she'd be pleased to know Ocato thinks so too! IC: "Zhira Okono," came a voice. She knew it must be one of the councillors, but couldn't for the life of her remember which. "You are the first to arrive miss Okono, if you will come with me..." She tensed, muscles going rigid, then relaxed when she realised a hand was being offered. She accepted it, gripping it in her somewhat scarred, calloused hand. "I will lead you from the door so others could come," he continued. Zhira said nothing; she knew she was an inconvenience in this state, and would not contest that she was in the way. "We have a seat for you by the wall, if you would like." "That'd be nice," she replied, attempting to be civil. She'd never be good at political meetings- she was a Yellow Dog, and probably always would be. "Although this damned room is a giant circle, if I remember it. Finding my way out'll be hell. Saffa," she added. "Woo." came the reply, somewhat off-handedly. Saffa had just found Ocato's shoes, and was sniffing them enthusiastically. The mer looked vaguely repulsed, but seemed to be trying to retain his dignity by not shooing it away. Zhira, who could see none of this, was guided by Theran towards the wall seat, her brow creasing deeper by the moment. She felt as though a lump of metal were sitting inside her head, just behind her eyes. She stopped, her body tense. "Saffa," she said again. "Saffa, come here!" The dog whuffled noisily in response to Zhira, and farted in response to Ocato shuffling backwards slightly. "Saffa!" she repeated sharply. Her tone sent the dog skittering to her side, standing tense and alert at her feet, tail swishing, ears forward, searching for what was disturbing her master. The pressure was building, the metal behind her eyes growing heavier and heavier. "What- what is that?!" she asked Theran her tone alarmed. She turned her head this way and that, as if she would be able to see whatever ailed her.
|
|
|
Post by Vrek on Oct 17, 2009 18:01:12 GMT
It had been a quiet morning, so far. It usually was when Tyrol was preparing for his next outing. As it was, the only noise that moved across the small house was his own toes, rhythmically tapping against the ground, and his finger moving in concert on the tabletop. Before him lay several of his things, but the table was dominated by dozens of sheaves of paper, some covered in maps in various stages of completion, some completely blank of intentional marking at all.
The scout's gaze was pulled to a pile of maps, each depicting a different region in Cyrodill. Dominating each of these pages were several Daedric O's, which had grown to be the universal symbol for a Daedric Gate.
"How long will you be gone this time?"
Tyrol snapped his head up at the voice. Standing in the doorway stood an adolescent girl - his daughter. Tyrol could only offer a shrug at the girl, then spoke after a moment of thought, "I don't know. It certainly isn't my ordinary job," He said, indicating the Gate-marking maps, "'Else Captain Radas wouldn't have asked me to come to the Tower today... But since he asked me to come, it's likely I'll still be traveling." He said, answering his own unspoken question from earlier. He carefully scooped up the Gate maps, along with a few larger, more general maps, and slid them into a leather satchel, alongside the quills, ink and blanks pages that never left it. "It won't hurt to go prepared."
He slid the satchel over his shoulder, and tightened the straps. Tyrol's hands moved about the table picking off various things, notably his crossbow, which was strapped tightly on his left thigh, and a bolt quiver and a small blade, which were both around his right thigh. Every piece was tight enough to avoid being bothersome, but also enough so that even the heaviest of bumps and jolts would have difficultly bouncing them about.
Finally he slipped his feet into his boots, which he bound to his ankles with several ties up and down the leg of the boot. As he rose, just noticeably quicker then the average man would, the girl finally stepped out of the doorway, and gave the aging scout a hug. He returned it with a kiss on the girl's forehead and quietly said, "Be sure to take care of your mother when I'm gone." The girl just grunted at that line, which had become almost ritualistic. She knew all too well about Tyrol's marital problems, but she took it pretty well in stride, which Tyrol was proud of. With a heavy pat on the girl's back, which signaled the end of the hug, he said, "I'll be back before you know, I promise." With that he turned and stepped through the door.
---
The sun gleamed brilliantly off the White-Gold Tower in the sunlight, still seemingly defying the crumbling reality round it. To look up it from it's base and it would still look as if it were piercing the heavens. Tyrol didn't look, or even notice the Tower's majesty. It was an old sight that he grew up around, and had long since the magic it held over people who was seeing it for the first time was gone.
His home was in a district opposite to the entrance of the Tower, so he was making his way around to the front, surprised to see quite a few people gathered around the base of the Tower. What exactly was his job supposed to be? From here he could recognize a few people, politicians, he assumed. The Elder Council?
Even as he wondered this, a heavy elven voice called to him, "Mycroft!" Tyrol turned in time to see the armored Captain he often worked with in the recent past. It was Captain Radas who he went to with his job as a freelancing scout, mostly locating Gates. It was Radas who asked him to come here today, too, though he wasn't very specific on the occasion.
"Captain Radas," The scout nodded at him, then nodded at the people in the courtyard. "What is all this? And why do you look so happy with yourself?" He said, noticing the smirk on the Dunmer's face.
Instead of explaining himself he merely said, "Nothing to worry about. Now come with me." He pushed open the doors into the Tower and led him through the hall, not saying a word. The silence of the hall accentuated the grinding metal of the Dunmer's legionnaire armor, and the constant cl-cl-cl-clack that echoed off of Tyrol's metal cleated boots every step. Radas led him to a large set of doors in the inner wall of the hallway. He opened them, and ushered Tyrol inside, the closed the door as he left.
Tyrol looked curiously around the large room. This was the Throne Room. Just what was he doing here?
|
|
fantome
Novice
Moonlight becomes you....
Posts: 10
|
Post by fantome on Oct 18, 2009 1:15:44 GMT
Jo'Dar
As always, Jo'Dar had to readjust to the feeling of being smaller and much....furrier than her reptilian form. She pulled her pack from behind a tree and stepped out onto the main road. The city wasn't too far away now and there was a treasury just waiting to be ransacked. And what was that poking her; something in her pocket?
Jo'Dar pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. The penmanship was fancy and now smudged. Her white eyes scanned the document trying to remember where she had picked it up.
Oh yeah, the dude with the funny ears delivered it to me last time I was in jail.She scratched behind an ear with the tip of her tail. Who's Ocato? Hmm, hope the invite to the tower's still good. Might as well check it out.
|
|
|
Post by FC4 on Oct 18, 2009 2:10:34 GMT
Ocato looked, and was, thoroughly disgusted by the hound sniffing at his shoe. Mangy mutt. He was tempted to kick it away, but the thing was a wolf hybrid, it DID have some fang behind it. And it would put Dragonblood in a rather sour position with him. If it wasn't for the fact that dueling in the Throne Room (OOC: not the Council chambers!) was illegal, he wouldn't care if she got sour with him. He could defend himself.
But appearances mattered upon the throne, and it was merely a dog, after all. Ocato let it slide. Zhira seemed frantic about something, but just what it was, Ocato could not tell. Just as he leaned his elbow on the armrest of the throne and rested his fist on his chin, the doors opened, revealing a brown robed man walking with a ball-tipped staff. Ocato looked up as he walked in, the staff tapping the floor with an echoing quality. Hollow mithril... hooded monks' robe...
"Slouching does not suit an Emperor, Ocato. Especially an Altmeri Emperor pro-tempor." The words came out in a smooth, condescending tone, and that confirmed it for Ocato. He rose to a more proper pose for a leader of an empire spanning a continent, and looked the hooded figure squarely in the face.
"Selinus. A pleasure. We had expected you sooner." Ocato was not lying with this, they had. He was well aware of Selinus' true nature, and true name, as well. It was one of those secrets kept purely in the government. This same man with that same tone addressed Ocato in the shadowed Council Hall weeks ago, after Elindral's work was discovered. According to the Elder Dragons within the Council, he was one of the experts in this Anti-magic.
"Conventional travel can be very tedious and sluggish, Chancel-" Selinus stopped to correct himself. "Emperor Ocato. I see one of our group has arrived, but what of the others?"
"None as of this moment." Theran answered, guiding Zhira into a seated position. "I do not know what it is. Is something wrong?" He asked her, unsure what she spoke of. Selinus watched from beneath his hood, curious. Is she seriously blind? Now that was an outright oddity; a blind woman asked to accompany such a mission as this. However, again Selinus had not chosen any of his companions, especially not the mortals, so he had to just trust Ocato's judgment.
Truthfully he did, the Altmer was the most trusted mortal in the Empire by the Dragon Kin. As High Chancellor he served not only as adviser to the Emperor and head of the Council, but he also served as the connection between the Empire and the Dragon Elders; even though some of the Elder Council were Elder Dragons themselves. And he was the Imperial Battlemage. For a mortal, he was rather wise.
Selinus simply approached the throne, taking each small step of the dais carefully and deliberately. As he approached the left side of the throne, he leaned over the armrest and whispered. "I pray to Akatosh you have chosen well, Ocato." The Altmer stared into the hood of the monk robe as he was addressed, looking unflinching at the face beneath.
"As do I." He whispered back, and Selinus leaned away, turning to take position at the left of the throne and await his adventurers.
|
|
|
Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 18, 2009 3:10:59 GMT
Will remained silent as he followed Councilor Decimus through the heart of the Imperial Palace, a series of high, arching hallways always seeming to stretch out in every direction around him. As the two of them made their way wordlessly towards the throne room, Will couldn't help but notice the exquisite tapestries, paintings and examples of pottery that lined the halls of the Palace. Personally, he felt it was all just a bit too showy; a warrior at heart, he'd always leaned towards practicality as opposed to the aesthetic.
Which was the exact reason, at least according to his wife, why she always had the final say when it came to home furnishings.
After trailing behind the Councilor for a short while, they arrived before a set of grand metal doors, each of them bearing the mark of the Imperial Dragon on their surfaces.
"Here we are, the throne room." Councilor Decimus turned back to Will, a hesitant expression on her face. "Please remember, Mister Ross, that as of this moment, Ocato is the acting head of the Empire. As such, the situation calls for a certain finesse that-"
Will stepped forward, placing his hand firmly against the large door. "Don't worry, I think I can handle it," he replied, completely nonchalant, before shoving the door forcefully open. Councilor Decimus looked on helplessly after him, before facing one of the guards standing watch outside the doors. He simply shrugged, unsure, before the Councilor shook her head, and made her way back outside.
Will scanned the inside of the throne room as the great doors were shut behind him, noting a small handful of figures already present. Including an Altmer he could only assume was Chancellor Ocato.
"Nice place you've got here," Will remarked to the Altmer with a casual grin, nodding in approval. "A little over-decorated for my taste, but I'm sure it works fine for you." He stepped closer towards the throne. "Name's William Ross, but most folks just call me Will."
As he stood there, awaiting any response from Ocato, he took account of the other figures assembled there; a man in an old robe, standing near the Chancellor, as well as a seemingly dismayed Redguard woman, being tended to by another man, and apparently accompanied by a scruffy looking mutt of a dog. There was also a Breton standing close by, though like the man speaking to the Chancellor, and even himself, he supposed, his attire seemed rather unspectacular, within the context of the Palace.
Out of habit, Will tugged at the fabric of his long black trench coat, turning his attention back towards the Chancellor.
|
|
|
Post by Tom Bombadil on Oct 18, 2009 3:24:39 GMT
OOC: Blast, I missed Dark's post. Consider Borsalmas to have entered shortly after him.
IC:
Borsalmas and Councilor Avita proceeded towards the Throne Room silently. The Altmer walked a few feet behind the Imperial, vigilant of his new and extraordinary surroundings while cautious to keep pace with she who led him. Surrounding his councilor-guide was an air of remarkable neutrality. The councilor seemed to take neither pride in her duty nor indignity at the task of escorting a member of the borderline-destitute class. Their footsteps echoed in the hallway as they approached the entrance to the Throne Room.
One of the doors of the Throne Room opened just widely enough for the two to enter. Councilor Avita entered first, her hands behind her back.
"Chancellor Ocato, another of the invitees has arrived: Borsalmas Talpynyalas, local resident of the Waterfront District." Avita gestured for Borsalmas to enter, which he did hurriedly.
Borsalmas's eyes met with Chancellor Ocato, and he gave a respectful head-bow. "Chancellor," he said, a hint of poorly-concealed nervousness in his voice. His eyes scanned the room briefly. The occupants were all both unfamiliar and somewhat odd to the Altmer, with the exception of Theran, who was simply unfamiliar.
The first thing to catch his eye was the dog in the room. Against his will, Bors began to feel nervous - most dogs had that effect on him. They always had. The fact that there was a dog in the Imperial Throne Room alone befuddled him. This curiosity was, for the most part, dissolved upon the sight of the blind woman sitting by the wall.
What the hell? Borsalmas thought almost involuntarily at the sight of the woman. It was not the sight of the woman herself that offended him. Her face reminded her of the nature of most of the women he had dealt with in his past business affairs back in Narsis. His reaction was provoked - perhaps, he hoped, unnecessarily - by her blindness. Given the small number of people within the Throne Room presently, he presumed her to be one of the invitees. He could scarcely imagine why a blind woman would...
Borsalmas blinked, reprimanding himself for making a rather large jump to an odd conclusion. He would just have to see what Ocato had planned.
The other who caught his eye was Selinus. There was something familiar about him that drew Bors's attention. It was not a personal familiarity, like a forgotten acquaintance, but more of an instinctive one - the same feeling that might be stirred within a hare upon first spotting a wolf, the hare having a wolf's silhouette imprinted firmly within generations of hereditary memory. Borsalmas could not have explained the suspicion he felt any more than he presently understood it. He might have called it a 'gut feeling'. Something about the robed, cane-wielding man felt...well, just odd.
The only fellow that looked remotely as though he could relate to Borsalmas was the Redguard standing in front of him. A bit more energetic, but still closer to Borsalmas's spectrum than the rest, he estimated.
Realizing with an unpleasant start that he had just spent several moments gazing at the others in the room, Borsalmas cleared his throat, abashed, and looked to the high chancellor.
"Erm," he vocalized, glancing about the room once more, feeling rather awkward in his position in the entrance of the Throne Room. Councilor Avita said nothing behind him. Bors mustered up another utterance.
"What now, sir?" The phrase issued forth as a product of the efforts of a simple mer's mind's desire for quite a few answers that would require many words to be adequately phrased, none of which seemed to be appropriate first words to a high chancellor. Eloquently spoken, you great git.
|
|
|
Post by Vicorva on Oct 18, 2009 8:18:56 GMT
Theran helped Zhira sit down, trying to be gentle but in Zhira's rigid, agitated form he more or less forced her down. "I do not know what it is," he said in a low voice. If Zhira realised she was making a scene, she did not show it. "Is something wrong?"
Zhira gripped the fur of Saffa tightly. The dog, though it certainly had wolf ancestors in its past, was entirely domesticated now, and didn't snap at her for the irritation she was causing. She merely pulled away with all her strength, whining slightly, desperate to greet all the new people.
"It... I don't know..." said Zhira, her voice sounded very strange, and her skin was losing its natural colour. "I can't think what it is, but... something is in here. Something terrible. There." She pointed, though totally blind, unnerringly at Selinus with trembling fingers. With the movement, Saffa sensed a moment of weakness, and with a sudden surge broke out of Zhira's grasp, bounding joyfully across the room, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, towards the man Zhira had pointed at.
She sniffed enthusiastically at Selinus' feet, but didn't seem to find him any more interesting than the others. She went and greeted Will, Tyrol and Borsalmas in the same way, taking extra time with Borsalmas, who she sensed was extra-special, and then returned to sniffing at the hem of Ocato's robes, because Ocato had particularly interesting feet.
Zhira's body had wound even tighter when Saffa had broken free, but as no yelps of pain or terror had reached her, she let that pass for now. But now a frown was creasing her brow at what she herself had just done. She felt as if the world was going mad, and the weight in her head had grown heavier.
"Theran..." she said, gritting her teeth and trying to speak in a low, calm voice. She knew how insane she must seem. The Crazy Old Blind Woman, they'd think she was. Dragonblood had lost her wits with her sight.
"Theran, please, you must know what I'm talking about. I can't say I bloody well do, but whatever it is, it doesn't remind me of fun and games. Is it some kind of magic? Or... or Daedra?" The woman looked shaken-up and somewhat helpless.
She adjusted her dress with shaking hands, letting the skirts fall more elegantly so that they didn't crease.
|
|
|
Post by FC4 on Oct 18, 2009 14:16:06 GMT
Selinus watched each person enter with silent scrutiny, his eyes hidden beneath his hooded monk robe but the small frown of his mouth revealed beneath its shadow. This first one to enter, a Breton, looked, well... not like much of a warrior really, though he seemed decent enough. Though a bit jittery, as if he couldn't stand still. Usually a sign of someone born under the Steed, so perhaps he was a fast ranger?
The next person to enter looked even more hopefully. It was a Redguard man, clad in black leathers, old steel, and a trench coat. "Nice place you've got here," He remarked to Ocato with a casual grin, nodding in approval. "A little over-decorated for my taste, but I'm sure it works fine for you." He stepped closer towards the throne. "Name's William Ross, but most folks just call me Will."
Selinus smiled just a little, taking a liking to the warrior already. He looked to be capable with that claymore. Good choice.
But then another entered, an Altmer, but not acting like the usual High Elf. His haughtiness was dampened and he seemed uncertain of himself in the throne room, addressing Ocato. If he made an effort to improve his appearance the effort failed to show, he still looked like a rabble of a mercenary. Not so good choice... Selinus frowned again. These people better be better than they appeared, or they were all in trouble.
"For now, we wait. Not all of our attendies have arrived, Talpynyalas. If you wish to sit while you wait, there are benches along the perimeter of the room, which you are welcome to use." Ocato replied to the question the Altmeri warrior presented, motioning smoothly to the benches all around. I wish the rest would hurry. I would like to get this over with. He thought to himself, then scowled as that dog proceeded to sniff about his feet yet again. He leaned forward on the throne, looking over his knees at the dog. "Do you mind?" There was a surprising tranquility to his face and voice, rather than the snarl he was containing within his head.
Selinus was less affected by the animal when it came to him to sniff, looking down at it through his hood. Poor thing... poorly bred and poorly kept. Then again, the owner was blind, so grooming was not a practical chore for her. Selinus briefly bent down and pet his hand over the dog's fur as she left to attend to the smells of others, keeping his other hand still tight on the grip of his mithril staff. Then he felt it.
Theran looked where she was pointing her finger, a barely concealed frown on his face. She was pointing directly at Selinus. Calling him out as something terrible. The only possible explanation Theran could think of was that somehow, she was sensing the dragon. But how could she? Theran only knew because the Council had been told. They had also been told more dragons would come, but the identity of only Selinus was given. When Selinus turned to face the pointing woman, Theran froze.
Calmly, Selinus walked down the dais to the trembling woman, one eyebrow raised unseen beneath his hood. Just what was she pointing at him for? He sensed something, something magical, about this woman, but it wasn't strong enough to be a dragon. She wasn't one. None in this room were dragons. So then, what was this tingle he felt from her. He approached her, stopping before her and kneeling down, setting down his staff as he did so and folding his hands together over his chest. The sleeves of his robe concealed his hands.
"Is there something you require of me, m'lady?" Selinus inquired, still curious. He watched her carefully, gauging her reaction, analyzing. The blind woman just got interesting.
|
|