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Post by Vicorva on Jul 16, 2008 19:51:05 GMT
Characters: Must be Approved Content Rating: Adult Genre: Guild/Freeform WARNING: A very long read! Blood of the Ancients- Rebirth PrologueAt the Dawn of Time, when the races were new and the Gods smiled upon their creation, magic was thick and strong within the world, a living entity that grew alongside the sentient peoples, becoming one with them. The people flourished as power bloomed within their blood, giving them strengths such as had never been seen before. But they grew greedy in their power, challenging those of lesser strength, using their magicks for their own gain. The Good Daedra looked on them with concern, for their power was great enough that they might destroy themselves and the worlds around them. The Bad Daedra looked on them with fear and jealousy, that they might turn their powers against them. The Aedra looked upon them with disappointment, for they used their power for ill when they could have done so much. The Tribunal were spawned by them, but hated them and forever feared being overthrown. And so the heavens and the earth, realms of all kinds, lay in disarray as the unique powers of the people permeated all aspects of life and unlife. Chaos reigned. Akatosh saw this, and heard the complaints of all Gods, and realised that this could go on no longer. He cursed those who's blood was magic, making that which was their strength also their undoing. Slowly, the bloodlines waned, the power disappearing from some as they fought to become normal and escape their fate, some lines dying out completely. And so the ancient days became less than history, old wives' tales told to children who dream of becoming great sorcerers or mages. The magical bloodlines became known as the Old Blood, beings of fantasy from long ago. But times have changed. The Old Blood has risen again, the power manifesting for the first time in the form of Zohara. The New Bloods have grown in power and strength, learning to manipulate magical energy that is not a part of them and are both more versatile and lacking in weakness. And Zohara has prepared to give the Old Bloods- and all beings- all of the support and assistance they might need. The SettingIt is the year 4E 1, a matter of months after the Oblivion Crisis. Cyrodiil¡¦s politics are still in the dirt, but for the moment Chancellor Ocato reigns with fairness. All celebrations have been held, and though there is still much reconstruction to do, everyone's spirits are high. This, however, is not what this RP is about. This is. Zohara, infamous Mercenary, has persistently gone to the Mages' Guild in the hopes of getting them to provide support for the rise of the Old Bloodlines and their inherent magic. Far from giving assistance, the Mages¡¦ Guild has outright refused to give credence to the Old Blood myth, and claim that Zohara's unique ability is merely fantasy and that her inability to reach the magicka spectrum is a well-documented side-effect of her Birthsign. The result is that the Old Blood myth is still in relative obscurity and Zohara has been forced to reach out to the world herself in an attempt at spreading the information to all people. The Mages' Guild urged all other factions not to recognise the Birthright Guild as a faction, and as such other guild view them negatively, as illegitimate competition. The exceptions to this rule are the semi-fantastical Dark Brotherhood and Thieves'Guild, which are unaccounted for. Character CreationThere are various types of characters available for this RP. Here are the basic templates: *Old Bloods- these are characters with magical blood, but who cannot actually use magic. (more below) *Other- this can be any other unique/rare/shunned magical being or condition. We don't want too many of these, but its always fun to have them. *New Bloods- These are 'normal' characters, but to whom magic is an option, usually. All characters (even those that fall into 'other') are considered New Bloods if they are not Old Bloods and are of a traditional race. Old BloodsOld Bloods are beings to whom the magicka spectrum is closed: magic infuses their blood, so they manipulate personal energies rather than magic itself. Old Bloods all have a single ability specified to their bloodline, and a weakness caused by the curse laid long ago to counteract that power (it must be related). The only instance in which an Old Blood can have a magical skill is when that skill is directly related to their power (for instance, healing power=restoration, but no other school of magic could be learned). I will give individual advice on certain old bloods and powers where necessary. Old Bloods will not know their Bloodlines, as the surviving lines deliberately stamped out their powers, and Old Bloods are considered children¡¦s stories. Exceptions can be those who are of Mainstream Bloodlines (who I will identify by their powers) You will be expected to find (and fabricate) information on your bloodline yourself. I will assist where necessary. Please do not abuse this power. Old Blood Mathematics:Old Blood + Old Blood = Old Blood, either of a single bloodline or of a 'new' bloodline resulting of the union. (all bloodlines, past, present and future, have already been documented by Farseers.) Old Blood + New Blood= Either old blood or new blood. Union of Old and New runs a high risk of losing Old Blood ability, but also of gaining New Blood ability. Old Blood + Very Special Other= Old Blood, of a 'new' bloodline, and probably race too. Finding OutThe Birthright Guild and its founder are quite infamous, despite being very new, and though knowledge of the Old Bloods is scarce, everybody knows the Birthright's claims to know of it. The Birthright Guild has set itself up in Benirus Manor in Anvil. The manor is huge, with rooms to spare, and built underground as well as above for even more space. Attached to the Guild in an adjoining building is the Birthright Inn, which is doing alright for itself, just enough to support itself and the Guild, recently with enough money to spare for the Guild to start employing. The Guild is currently recruiting- members and Guild Positions alike. Posters have appeared all over Anvil- indeed, all over Cyrodiil- that read: The Birthright Guild
We are a Guild offering training, room and board to all those who desire it We do not discriminate by class, race, age, skill or alignment We seek only to provide a family and an opportunity to all peoples As is their right from Birth. We offer training to both Old Bloods and New Bloods alike And specialise in information on unique powers, beings and bloodlines, and the Developments thereof. Anyone can become a member by speaking with any member of the Guild We also offer services to non-members in our on-site inn, The Birthright Inn.
Currently, The Birthright Guild are recruiting: Members, Guild Guards and Trainers.
Zohara, Guildmaster of the Birthright Guild. The GuildThe Guild can be entered from the front doors of the manor, or, by members, through the inner doors from the inn and the backdoor from the garden. Entering from the front door, the first room that is found is the entrance hall. This is large, with chairs lining the walls, and fairly well furbished. All doors lead to the entry hall. Leading on from the entry hall in four directions are: a large open doorway to the Training Hall, which is a large room with a sparring arena, basic equipment and armoury, and plenty of space, as well as a section for the Alchemy Lab in the corner. Another set of double doors leads into the Library- this is one of the largest libraries in Cyrodiil, and hosts all kinds of rare and common literature, but specialises in unique magicks and beings, as well as Old and New Blood information and history. A stairwell leads up to the first floor, which is a corridor lined with doors leading into bedrooms, each furnished luxuriously. The final door leads down to the cellar and accompanying bedrooms. The rooms down in the cellar are basically furnished. An important thing to note is the eery, glowing seal that is visible on the wall at night. Members are allowed everywhere in the Guildhall, currently, and eat in the Birthright Inn without needing to pay. Rules:I trust everyone to know them. Basic rules for this forum. We try and have fun in this RP, and mistakes are allowed, but expect to have to rectify them. Bringing your own side-plots is excellent: BotA always has been and always will be a huge hodge-podge of side-quests, but try not to make them too long or complicated, and try not to bring them all at the same time. It WILL be treated harshly if you bring a quest that forces the entire Guild to be involved, etc. Right then! Enjoy! Summary of Events:N/a. We'll wait and see, shall we?
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 16, 2008 21:24:40 GMT
Zohara sat in the entry hall of the Guild, in a char about half-way down the hall. Her nose was wrinkled, as it always did when she was deep in thought.
The Guild has been officially opened... she thought. We're fully staffed, but for trainers and guards. All the advertisements are out: the Inn is making enough profit for us all to live comfortably on.
But I'm still worried.
And she knew why, too. Would anybody really come? Afterall the stick she had recieved, after being discredited again and again.
'Zohara is a mercenary, not a philosopher! Clearly, her mind is not as sharp as her blade'
Oh, how she remembered those words. She also remembered throwing herself at the Master-Wizard who'd said it.
No amount of healing will fix a nose that broken... she thought smugly. Unless we get an Old Blood Healer at some point...
You know... if anyone actually comes...
There was a way to find out, to be sure. She'd found out about her bloodline, read about it in one of the many Old Blood books the Birthright Library held. Knowing what she was, and methods of training, had allowed her to gain control of her ability, so that it happened less randomly, and she could even use it deliberately to some degree.
All untrained Old Bloods suffered from weaker but uncontrolled powers. She'd been lucky to be raised in the knowledge of her ancestory, so that when her power surfaced, she'd been ready.
She remembered the passage even now... closing her eyes, nose wrinkling, she recalled the passage.
Indexed under Sight... further logged under Premonition. Undiluted Bloodline- Farseer. She recalled the process of finding it. It had taken a while, but it helped that she knew the name of her Bloodline: most did not have that luxury.
'The Farseer Bloodline were one of the First. They mated with no other Bloodlines, and the line thrived with a pure but basic power.
'The power itself is, of course, now long since died out, but Farseers always claimed that their line would live on forever. (for further information on Farseer prophecies see 'Present and Future' by Desec Farseer and 'What is Now?' by Anon. Farseer.)
'The power of the Farseer is to see into the future: the more powerful and controlled the Farseer, the further into eternity they could see.
The curse laid upon the farseer by Akatosh is said to have been Blindness: the penalty for any Farseer using their ability. It was quite common for Farseers to be completely blind, or perpetually locked in future-sight.
Training for Farseers, to gain control over their power, is simply learning to close their eyes when a (as recorded) 'niggling' feeling behind the eyes begin, and before vision is obscured by a flash of light.
Further training (advisable for any mentally powered Old Blood) would be meditation: gaining control over the mind in order to control the functioning of its power.'
Zohara opened her eyes. It had been a useful passage and, ten years ago when her power had manifested (she knew she had been the first Old Blood who's power had manifested since the powers had died out centuries ago)- she had read that passage and worked very hard to train herself and gain control over her power.
At first she had hated it, and hated the blind, defenseless it gave her when she used it, and worked very hard to ignore it, stop it from happening. But she learned to accept it eventually, the more she read, the more she understood, and she began to use it (sparingly, for she had no wish to go permanently blind). It had been infinitely useful during her life as a Mercenary, and was surely the only reason she was still alive.
She settled her mind into the state that was required for Premonition, and decided it was time to see what would happen next.
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Post by FC4 on Jul 17, 2008 15:47:02 GMT
We offer training to both Old Bloods and New Bloods alike And specialise in information on unique powers, beings and bloodlines, and the Developments thereof.
Glaen read that line again, focusing on it. Unique powers, and development thereof. Well, considering the muscular Nord was currently reading the script through a thin sheet of ice that layered the parchment, he'd have to say he had a unique power developing alright. Glaen rolled up the parchment in his pale hands, the ice that covered it cracking away to allow it to roll. It fell to his feet, but refused to metal on the cobblestones in his presence. The bench he sat on was a silvery blue color and gleamed brightly in the sun from the ice caking it.
Glaen couldn't explain it, but he had never had this sort of problem while back at home in the mountains of Skyrim. Maybe it was because everything was already frozen? It could have been the sudden rise of his abilities, causing the very air around him to chill to a wintery temperature, was because he was in Anvil. Small snowflakes fluttered around him constantly and his breath was visible as he sat there. Maybe his body was subconsciously seeking to combat the heat of Anvil?
If anything, that guild could answer his question. Glaen Frost-Beard rose from the bench and began to walk down the street. Each step caused the ground to cover in permafrost, and as he left the bench behind the ice began to melt, soaking as water into the ground. He couldn't even use his bow or sword right now if someone were to try to mug him; the elmwood was petrified by ice, and the sword had frozen into the sheath. Glaen could see the manor at the end of the street, and something hit his head. Plucking the object from his pale blond hair, it was a frozen leaf. Looking up, his crystalline blue eyes found that an entire branch of the tree grew over the street. And the branch was frozen perfectly, not even an icicle forming. Just a thin, perfectly blanketing coat of ice. More leaves fell around him, and Glaen crushed the one in his fist before frowning and continuing towards the Manor.
When he reached there, he turned back slowly to see the first step of the porch was beginning to defrost in the sun. And he felt cooler now, in the porch shade. Reaching for the knocker, his hand stopped when the metal froze over. The door followed, and inside one would likely see the cracks of the door frame slowly be overtaken by ice. Grabbing and yanking the knocker, the ice shattered and Glaen knocked it twice, before lowering his hand.
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Post by webster52402 on Jul 17, 2008 16:04:18 GMT
Humming happily to himself, Vantustius crouched in front of his little garden, tending to the small shoots of plants that were beginning to worm their way up the sandy soil. He loved it when he was in his garden, though it wasn't the largest thing ever. It was only a few feet square, with a few sparse plants growing here and there, but even that was miraculous considering the inhospitable terrain that he had chosen to build it on, forcing the plants to push through sandy soil despite being unsuited for this type of terrain, or indeed this climate.
But, Vantustius took wonderful care of these plants, as they were his life. They provided him food, they provided him a livelihood, selling to the alchemists in the Mage's Guild, and they provided him a hobby, something to take up his time in this world. So, it was a disaster to him when he saw his marshmallow plant's leaves turning brown, the stalk beginning to wilt and droop.
"No, little plant, I was relying on you!" He said miserably, pushing the drooping stalk up with one finger. It simply bent up with his finger, before sagging over in the other direction, like it was made of rubber instead of being a plant. "Aww... if you don't grow, I don't eat..." Vantustius muttered, one lip pouting out in a kid-like gesture. He sat and gazed at the little plant for a long moment, before he turned his head, looking secretively over his shoulder. "Ok, little plant, OK... I help you, you help me..." He whispered to it, as though it were living and could understand his words.
He leaned forward and cupped his hands around the little plant, his eyes drifting closed. Concentrating hard, Vantustius' face scrunched up, as though he were trying to force something out of him. Which, in actuality, he was, trying to push energy from his hands, into the little plant in his hands. "Come on..." He muttered, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. For a moment, he thought that his ability had left him, but suddenly, his senses became aware of the plant, became aware of its disease, its faltering nature...
But, a bit of energy changed that. His consciousness flowed into the plant, and for a brief moment, it was as though a web of energy appeared in front of his eyes, looking across it and noticing the small gaps, the weaknesses in it. "This won't do at all, little plant..." Vantustius said as though he were scolding the Marshmallow, before beginning his work. The broken strings were repaired, adding small snippets of thread that seemed to weave from his mind, formed of pure energy, into the net that lay in his mind. Thread after thread, weave after weave, he worked on repairing the little plant, which twitched and pulled itself upright in his cupped hands.
"Good, little plant..." He whispered, sweat rolling more freely down his forehead. His repairs done, it was time to start improving anew... Again, more threads erupted in his mind, weaving into the little plant, energizing it, speeding it up, healing it... And, as he concentrated, it began to sprout. Slowly at first, but then quicker and quicker, the plant sprouted up between his hands, rising ever higher and fleshing itself out, its leaves a bright, healthy emerald. The plant gained a new strength, blossoming and growing in a ludicrous amount of time, into a fully grown Marshmallow plant, after but a few moments, most of which's time was spent as a dying, sickly little stalk.
Vantustius gasped as he pulled his hands back away from the plant, feeling suddenly very, very tired. That always required a lot of effort out of him, he felt as though he had just got done running a lap of the Imperial City. "Hehe... Not so little anymore, little plant..." He said wearily, but happily. Wiping the back of his hand against his forehead, he set about harvesting the Marshmallow, returning to a cheerful little whistle. He was finally going to get to eat again! And boy, was he hungry!
OOC: *Slaps himself* I messed up my own character's name! Guess that's what I get for making it so complex. xD
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 17, 2008 16:28:08 GMT
"You're holding back on me, Johan," a small breton threatened. The situation would have been laughable, if not for the look in her eye. It was a look that brooked no argument, a cold gleam in her silver-blue eyes. The air around her seemed chill, as if she'd sucked all the happiness out of it.
"I- I'm not, Nika, I swear!" an Imperial replied. He looked to be about five years younger than her, but in fact he was five years older. When in this mood, all people looked like children beside Nika.
"It's Nikita Tam to lying scum, Johan. You're holding back. No Shadow will Hide you from the Fox's Doyen. Pay up, or I'll land you in prison." It wasn't an idle threat: prison wouldn't hurt the footpad, and she couldn't afford to be merciful to those disobeying Guild law. He did the job, and gave the results to his Doyen. He would then be given his share.
"I swear, damn it! I'm not lying!" he said, sweating. His eyes darted back and forth, like a rat in a corner look for an escape route. Liar's sign... she thought. She wasn't much impressed with his complete lack of control.
"The Guild doesn't take kindly to freelancers, Johan. I know you: I can see what you're like." Her gaze was hard. "Nothing is hidden from me..." she barely registered the change in her tone of voice. Johan stared at her in horror and then the link was made.
-So many images, flashing, changing, moving. His mother, his father, his sister. Joining the Guild. Killing a man. The lady in the Grey Mare he had taken a fancy to. Water, Sun. Grass. Picnic.- Alien images flashed through her mind, taking over. She tried to shake her head, to blink, to look away, but she couldn't. Couldn't tear her eyes away from the young thief's.
And then it was broken, and she was screaming, falling on the ground, hands on head, squirming in pain. Johan scarpered, but Nika didn't notice. She didn't know who she was, what was going on, what had ever happened. All she knew was the pain, streaming through her mind, ripping apart the barriers, getting past all walls, all defenses.
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It was an hour before the pain receded, and another hour hence that Nika remembered who she was and was in a fit state to try and work out what had happened, though she was still in a state of extreme shock. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.
She might have thought that it had been some kind of attack on her, except she was quite certain that it had been her doing it. It had come from her, she had felt it. She had seen into the thief's mind.
This was all too much for her. She couldn't go to the Mages' Guild- the Thieves' were still on pretty bad terms with them.
But she knew where she could go. It looked like it was time to make good on her offer to check out the new faction for the Guild. She would be visiting the Birthright Guild.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jul 17, 2008 17:09:01 GMT
Alderin snapped his fingers in the air before him, renewing the strong feather spell he'd cast to lighten the burden of his heavy pack. Damn books feel like they're made of iron! Some idiot Dunmer probably made the pages out of Corkbulb pulp, or something equally retarded. The Altmer rolled his eyes, sighing as he made his way gradually through the streets of Anvil. Dammit, why the hell am I always the one suffering for other people's incompetence!?
The Altmer, still relatively young for his race, had been drawn to the southwestern city by advertisements for a 'Birthright Guild,' some kind of faction that apparently offered services to everyone, with words like 'family' thrown in for good measure. While the Elf wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't a cult, it sounded like an interesting place to set up shop, perhaps one where he could set up a lab, begin work on some experiments. Travelling Tamriel was fun and good, but not having a permanent residence made it difficult to work on some of his larger projects.
Finally, Alderin found himself before the manor, a large, grand looking building, with what looked like some kind of inn attached to the side. Great. Probably have to deal with the vagabonds and protectionists all day. The Altmer was so busy admiring the structure, and imagining the accompanying complications involved, that he almost didn't notice the air growing colder around him, until he was nearly at the door, and almost shaking. What the hell is going on!? he thought, turning towards the door. I thought I was in Cyrodiil, not in-
The Elf's thought was cut short as he found himself looking upon, to his dismay, a brutish, barrel chested Nord, quite young by the looks of it, covered in skins and furs, no doubt. Well that's just great. Maybe he's drunk and lost? Alderin thought hopefully. Hesitantly, the Altmer approached the man, a curious look on his face. "So, you live around here...or something?" he asked, arching a single eyebrow. "Maybe just checking out the area...maybe?" Please?
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Post by FC4 on Jul 17, 2008 17:14:18 GMT
"I'm here concerning the Birthright Guild." Glaen replied smoothly, turning to look at the altmer from over his shoulder. The Elf looked like your stereotypical mage- preppy and snooty. He could hear it in the Elf's voice. His crystalline eyes regarded the elf with nothing but cool analysis.
"I hail from Skyrim. Are you a member of the Guild?" He asked, turning to fully face the elf. His freezing aura never died or dimmed, but remained constant. Glaen noticed the shivering and inwardly cursed. now would be a lovely time to have control of himself.
And with each passing moment before the door, the ice around the frame grew thicker.
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Post by Vrek on Jul 17, 2008 17:20:57 GMT
Jarrod smiled lightly as he watched the world run away from him, sliding towards the horizon away from him. He was sitting on a bumpy cart, rather content with life right now. To his left, his spear bumped up and down, sliding towards the open back end of the cart, as if seeking freedom on the fleeing road below him. Still smiling, he pushed the spear back into place.
He turned around, to where the world was coming, or where he was going, depending on how you looked at it. Behind him was a few stacks of crates, the cargo that was being carried on the cart. Behind the boxes was a middle aged man, sitting on a bench seat, driven the two horses that pulled the cart. The merchant had been a bit suspicious from the start, but he was warming up and enjoying the ride, thus why Jarrod was so happy. Echoing the merchants thoughts, it had been a good trip, he never had to use the corssbow sitting next to him on that bench on anything, neither Jarrod nor bandits or other troubles.
"Mr. Pontius!" Jarrod called out to the driver. "Yes, lad?" He called back, turning his head slightly to get a better look at the Dunedweller. "How much longer till we get there?" "Oh, 'bout half an hour, give or take. Look, you'll be able ta see it right over this nex' hill." True to his words, the cart pulled over the peak of the hill before heading down a shoddy stone road towards the city. Jarrod rose up a bit to get a better look at the city. It seemed to sparkle in the daylight, with light reflecting from the waves bouncing back into the city, making it seem to glow.
Sitting back, he pulled out a roll of parchment from his pocket. The Birthright Guild. Honestly, he doubted he was something as incredible as this, but he looked from all about to find something about his unstable mind. Some sort of mysticism or something, but most of the scholars he went to wouldn't have bothered from the start, as he could tell. Usually the echo of annoyance sent him storming away. Maybe this would prove to be better.
The cart continued rolling towards the city, and Jarrod rolled the paper and returned it to his pocket. He was going to the Birthright Guild, in the City of Anvil.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jul 17, 2008 17:48:15 GMT
Alderin's heart sank in his chest, and he didn't know whether or not it showed on his face. "No, I...I'm here concerning the Birthright Guild as well," he replied simply, slightly dazed. Well that's just great! Now I have to deal with this damn oaf! And...and why the hell can I see my breath!?
Alderin's gaze quickly shot towards the door of the manor, which was now being consumed by ice. "What the hell is going on!?" the Altmer cried out frantically, his eyes going wide with confusion and anger. He hated the cold. Then again, he hated the heat, too. And thunderstorms.
Quickly, the Altmer held his hands out before him, igniting a small ball of fire between his palms in an attempt to heat himself up. He felt a sudden wave of warmth wash over him, and he sighed in relief.
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Post by FC4 on Jul 17, 2008 17:52:55 GMT
In response to the warmth Glaen himself did not move. However, the air around him seemed to pulse with frigidness, as if trying to combat the heat and smother it. Glaen's lip curled into a small frown, and he shifted himself towards the benches on the side of the porch. The snowflakes had become more numerous in the air around him, but as he moved towards the bench the chill followed.
The door began to sparkle with slippery wetness, as Anvil's heat began to melt the thick ice slowly. In the entrance hall the floor would likely have begun to get a little damp, and rivets of water ran in minuscule rivers down the door.
"I apologize." he said simply, standing by the slowly freezing bench.
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Post by Tom Bombadil on Jul 17, 2008 17:56:08 GMT
A gangplank hit the wooden dock of Anvil Harbor with a loud 'whack' sound. Immediately following the descent of the plank came the imposing form of Count Saragos, his blue cloak flowing behind him as his black boot stepped off of the gangplank into the harbor.
His stone-like face was emotionless as he proceeded down the harbor. He came to an abrupt stop as a short, well dressed man approached him on the docks. The man was balding and wore a beaming smile, bowing low to the Count.
"Ah, his excellency, Count Saragos! I come on behalf of Count Umbranox, bearing his sincerest and warmest welcome to Anvil. We are very glad to have your auspicious presence here, sir!" Saragos closed his eyes and gave a nod-bow of his head in return, a courteous smile crossing his face. "And it is equally pleasant to be in the city of the illustrious Count Umbranox, my good man. Do tell the good Count that he need not fret over business matters- I am here on a personal venture. But please, send him by best greetings and wishes. Ah, and here, for your trouble-" The Count reached under his cloak and withdrew a small velvet pouch, which he handed the messenger. The man's countenance brightened instantly, and he bowed again to the Count. "Thank you, sir, thank you. And once again, welcome to Anvil!" With that, the man quickly departed from the harbor. Saragos smiled and proceeded down the docks.
Several days ago, word had reached him on Saragos that a Guild for the Old Bloodlines was underway. The Count had known about his own bloodline since he went by the name of Dain; his parents had passed down this knowledge to him, and theirs before them. Such a power wasn't exactly one to be made public, and their bloodline was only held as a title of minor prestige, outside the family. Only a very few people besides members of the bloodline knew of its power.
Count Saragos, however, held no such bloodline, officially. He was just a rich man from Hammerfell. Of course, this story may need to be changed when speaking with this Zohara character, but nevertheless, that was what was always told to every person he had met so far.
His brisk stride took him quickly to the gates into Anvil, where the guards hastily opened the gates for him. He nodded to them, proceeding down the white streets of Anvil to the Manor in which this new guild had allegedly been established.
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 17, 2008 17:57:20 GMT
Nika walked around a strange pairing of freezing Nord and skinny altmer. That's new... she thought, amused by his appearance. Nords are always complaining about how hot the rest of the world is... looks like this guy found a way to carry the snow with him. Good use of enchantments, I guess... SHe didn't look closely enough to check for signs of enchantments (being somehow incapable of casting spells and using magic, she'd had to learn signs by sight...), but then, her mind was on mroe important matters.
Like what the hell is wrong with me... she thought.
She knocked on the front doors, and waited, arms crossed, to be met with an answer.
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The niggling sensation grew, just behind Zohara's eyes. She resisted the urge to rub them, to scratch that itch, and kept them open. She could feel the light building, the power growing, and felt a small thrill of excitement that she was in control of her power.
But then there was a knock at the door... just before the light flashed, she shut her eyes, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Like all old bloods powers, it took somewhat to summon it, tiring her a little.
She stood up, shaking the vestiges of power from her head, and opened the door, feeling hope growing in her heart.
She opened the door and couldn't see anything. But... she sensed something at the edge of her vision. She looked down, and saw a small breton girl. She blinked at her.
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"Yeah... hi to you too," Nika said uncomfortably, but as she watched her, recognition grew and lit her eyes. "You- you're Zohara!" she said, her voice shocked.
The woman nodded her acknowledgement. "That I am," she replied.
Nika could hardly believe this. "I need your help... something's happening to me."
Zohara considered this, and nodded. Nika wasn't sure, but she thought the woman was impressed by her lack of formality. Nika herself was not. This was hardly worthy of a Bard. "You'll need to join first. Name on the ledger. If you know your bloodline, put that there too."
Nika nodded, and headed in, calling over her shoulder, "I'm Nikita Tam. Nice place you got here."
She heard the woman reply, "I'm Zohara, and I know. I just hope it stays that way..."
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Zohara felt a thrill of excitement at how easily her first member had come, but it quickly died away. She wasn't sure why, but she had a bad feeling about all of this. Like it was destined for sadness.
Was this some echo of premonition? Another effect of her farsight? Or was this just paranoia? She wasn't sure.
But there was one thing she did know. Old Bloods had a bloody, torturous history, most dying of their powers, going mad, or becoming involved in bitter feuds with one another. And she had invited them all- and more- to come and live under her roof.
She didn't need foresight to know that this was going to be tough. She only hoped that it would all have a happy ending. But she didn't think she could see that far into the future.
At least... I hope its that far into the future... she thought. She looked beyond, out at the unlikely pair waiting at the door.
"I;m Zohara, and this is the Birthright Guild," she told them. "What can I do for you?"
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Post by FC4 on Jul 17, 2008 18:00:14 GMT
OOC: Umm... hate to nag.... but Glaen kinda made ice build up around the door on accident... For like, my last three posts. :\
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 17, 2008 18:01:27 GMT
OOC:Right. Sorry about that. *Sigh* Zohara's strong. SHe can have opened it anyways. I don't feel like editing, sorry. I'm pretty low on patience at the moment. By the way, I'm fully not seeing any weakness in his powers. Them happening by accident is usual. THem happening so strongly all the time is not.
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Post by FC4 on Jul 17, 2008 18:04:06 GMT
OOC: I see... very well, but I won't completely ignore it. It's a reaction to the outside weather. Once he's inside and out of the heat, it'll calm down. I hope it's not a problem? IC: Glaen turned his head to see a Redguard woman look out the door to him and the Altmer. Apparently, in their exchange, a small girl had gone past them and entered. Glaen hesitated for but a moment, and then approached the door. One step was all it took, and the melting ice refroze around the side of the door frame. Glaen stopped, looking at the ice on the door for a moment. There was a sort of... indifferent hatred... in that gaze, until he looked to the woman. "I am sorry about the door. I am here concerning the joining of this Guild... I heard I might find help here."
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