Evil never dies. It simply evolves into another form of monstrosity. It's like a never ending tapeworm with one million faces that could transform into another million shapes, a repugnant and persistent predator that never stopped finding cracks to manifest itself. He always questioned himself how it could be done. How evil could finally be vanquished. The sheen of the wine glass, its shape made beautiful by the whispers of candlelight, gave him no answers for that, only a burning and shadowed reflection. He dug his eyes there, drinking deeply for visions as much as he did for relief an hour ago.
He let his eyes droop, and his calloused fingers massaged his wrinkling temple.
Times like these make him question whether he had the energy to lead. He was weary to the bone, and his world had no color anymore, only a distressing sepia of what ifs, could'ves and should'ves. When you run a marathon, and you see yourself run, run, run, there comes a time when you make a certain amount of distance.... when you make it further than you realized, you ask yourself if you could get a little bit of a breather. A little bit of a break.
He deserved it, didn't he? He survived the Crisis, didn't he? He fought against the baying hordes of Dagon and came out the triumphant one, didn't he?
The last thought broke all of his inhibitions and he roared a primal roar that bespoke of unending grief, inescapable confusion and unquenchable rage. With pitiable desperation he reached for the whole bottle instead of the glass, and gulped it all down, savoring the burning trail it made on his throat and chest.
He just turned 20 this morning and he already knew why men twice his age drank.
Damn the Crisis, damn the Daedra, damn the Dawn! Damn them all to a black, ancient void bereft of anything resembling hope! Damn them all!
With a surge of inner hatred and borrowed determination from the bottle, Aenius Gratian rose from his chair and stormed out of his tent-office hybrid, a gleam in his young but hardened eyes.
**
The Rebuilding of Kvatch, as was usual with anything associated with Imperial bureaucracy (particularly after a massive Crisis that left the Empire a bloody mess), was slow as a testudo formation on thin ice. The veterans, foremost among them the indomitable Savlian Matius, was busy in the Imperial City petitioning the Elder Council for real assistance, not promises that gets crucified the moment it leaves lips. The ones that were left for Kvatch's protection was mish-mash of hardened guardsmen and green horn recruits.
And they simply weren't enough to go around.
Thirty eight guardsmen tasked in the protection of several hundreds. It was head-bursting as much as it was laughable. It was fortunate that all of them were linked in this tragedy's aftermath and went beyond themselves to help each other; if it weren't, the guardsmen would simply be crushed under the pressure of protecting people several times their number. To help the beleaguered Watch, the civilians established an enclave of sorts, basing their headquarters in the collection of tents on the foot of Kvatch's hill. From his vantage point on the surrounding hills, the sun behind him, Acilius could see that there were several proper buildings erected there now, too. Probably halls of some kind where everyone would meet and gather around in.
Acilius memorized every detail and made notes.
He then joined the mass of humanity gathered there, on the lookout for the young Captain that was hiring mercenaries.
*********************************
OOC: Its been a while since I RP'ed, or wrote for that matter, and it shows. UGH! But anyway, let's do this!
***************
Aenius' first stop was the Mages Guild. A handful of their members, including a couple of veterans, managed to survive the initial onslaught and establish a restoring presence in the former refugee camp. With the former settlement now a small city in its own right, they were now busier than ever, they, like the guardsmen, have had their hands full with providing magical services and lending their mighty aid in the rebuilding of the city. Admittedly, they faced a certain kind of tribulation that Aenius and his fellows didn't.
Mistrust and a gnawing fear.
This sprung from the fact that this whole Crisis was started by a cult that used magic; a demonic kind of magic, set apart from the higher mysteries the Mages Guild practiced, but magic nonetheless. It was a slow burning venom that needed only the smallest of entry, and right now Aenius could see that while they were still co-operating, there was an obvious rift between the civilian populations and the magicians.It was a sad affair, really, but Aenius was confident that the mages could outdo the misgivings laid upon them with rigorous efforts to aid and prove that they were different from the Dawn; Aenius himself was no stranger to situations like these, where every eyes were set against him. But enough rumination, he thought, as he neared the temporary Guild Hall. It was wooden, three story affair with tattered, blue banners proclaiming it to be the residence of the wizards.
He could see that there was an Imperial apprentice handing out potions to passersby in a rickety kiosk marked with a poorly worded board that boasted "'Un Poshunz Fer 'Un Persan"; by the building's side was a heavily armored Khajiit teaching practical uses for basic spells to a crowd of people listening intently. Standing on a second floor veranda was an Argonian washing massive amounts of dirty blankets with a water spell before drying them off with a radiance of warm fire.
And although the Levitation spell was technically outlawed, he could see a jovial Bosmer running fast in mid-air, descending from place to place as he transported various items that would've took a certain amount of time delivering were he to use the ground as most mortal couriers did. They were a sight to behold, these mages. And a damn helpful one, too. He then sensed a presence walking towards him, and when he turned his head he beheld the approach of his gigantic second in command. He stood a good two feet taller than the rest of the crowd, but what can you expect from a seven foot tall, son of Skyrim? Aenius Gratian was bred to be a leader ever since he joined the Legion, but Gunnar Bjorksson commanded a different kind of authority. From his massive and muscular body decked in heavy Kvatch armor, to his great helm and greater battle-axe, this Nord that held off three Dremora single-handed easily smashed through the crowd to stand by the much smaller Imperial.
"No takers," Gunnar rumbled by greeting, "some of the mercs that did come said pay was low, risk too high. The more vocal ones got my boot. Ain't no one from the locals; understandable, building Kvatch after all."
Gunnar was what the old timers in the barracks called a "Second-Chancer," and it showed. He had the posture of a syndicate enforcer, not the straight and disciplined form of a Guardsman, and he regarded all those who looked on him with a nasty glare that dared. But while retaining his old habits from his years in the Orum Gang, Aenius was glad Gunnar was beside him. He might be intimidating, but at least he was genuine in his loyalty to Kvatch.
"Not surprised," the Imperial replied, after a moment of thinking. "But in any case, keep handing out the posters to anyone who looks promising. Tell Windios and Varena to gear up, too; who knows, maybe we can hook two or three sellswords today and start now."
Gunnar nodded his helmeted head.
"Understood. What about you. though?"
Aenius, keeping his attention to his second in command, said, "I'm going to see if the Mages Guild could spare any potions. We might also need a battlemage; the reports say the Dawn are hiding out in Brittlero- OOF!"
In his inattention to what's in front of him, Aenius never saw the blonde elf that stood in his path. He crashed into her with a resounding clang of metal against body, and the Imperial cried out in alarm and surprise. It took him a moment to get his bearings, since his surprise and reaction rattled him out more than the impact, but realizing that the entity he offended was much more smaller in size than he was, he immediately went to her aid.
"I'm so sorry, citizen, but I didn't see you were there. Are you hurt?"
From his back, he could hear the retreating footsteps of Gunnar and his mocking but good-natured chuckles amidst the general cacophony of the settlement.
He regarded the person in front of him with an apologetic expression. She was blonde, yes, but now he could pinpoint a race and nothing could refute the fact that the woman before him was a Valenwood elf. Had tanned skin, too.
*******************
Acilius was now wearing a rice hat that concealed his face, and he was among the gathering of people that listened intently to the heavily armored Khajiit rambling on about the more diverse uses that one can do with basic spells. The Blades taught him that art of social stealth, and they taught him well. It was easy to blend in, and easier still to stalk the Guard Captain. It was child's play to spot him, as this Aenius Gratian walked with steely purpose, and besides, who else would wear a white cloak over a guard uniform? He saw the other guardsmen and they did not wore such a grandiose thing. This Aenius also had an ebony sword with a golden lion-pommel. Acilius was pretty sure that was not standard issue.
He watched the Imperial now as he conversed with a humongous person, this one also in guard armor, and then coughed to hide his laugh as the Captain crashed into a Bosmer. He strained his ears on their conversation, hopeful that maybe he could gleam something from it. He thought about directly talking to the man himself, but like the Blades taught him, trust no one and question everything. Particularly in this day and age where enemies wear the faces of friends. So he stalked him, and watched him.
Gideon strolled along the road to Kvatch, the head of his Dwarven warhammer resting comfortably atop his right shoulder, where it could be brought to bear at a moments notice. He'd already had to use it once that day, fighting off an overly ambitious highwayman. In the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis the Legion had yet to fully reestablish their patrols, and so outlaws were a greater threat to travellers. He'd been told that mercenaries were being hired to fill the gap before leaving the Imperial City, after being given his orders from the Guild.
If he was honest, and Gideon always tried to be, there was more than a little appeal to the notion. He would never be allowed to rejoin the Legion, not after being dishonourably discharged for disobeying orders. But mercenary work, legally sanctioned, would be the next best thing.
Nodding to the guards as he passed, Gideon made his way towards the Mage's Guild. He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he saw what some of them were doing. His training had centred around combat, pocusing on healing, offense, and defensive spells. To see magic in ways he'd not been trained in always filled him with joy and wonder, if only from witnessing it as something more than a tool for battle.
Sighing, with just a trace of wistfulness, he shook off his thoughts. His orders were to report to the Head of the Kvatch branch when he arrived.
************************************************************
OOC: Urgh.
Gunnar was certain there would be no volunteers ever since the first batch of mercenaries chickened out. Low pay, his rosy and Nordic ass. If those third-rate sells words would be honest with themselves, then they would admit that they were afraid of the Daedra that lurked in Brittlerock Cave. You would've thought that maybe they'd more than willing to banish Daedra to Oblivion but that was evidently not the case. The reputation of the grotto as a focal point of strange Daedric energies preceded it, it seems. If all else fails, and there were no hands willing to lend aid, then Gunnar was pretty certain they'd go in there with only the four of them. Against an enemy that held an unknown amount of manpower. Aenius can't hold off the magistrates in the City forever. Sooner or later they would need results. Results that would probably be of Aenius and the three guards being dead in various and brutal ways.
Personally, Gunnar was glad for it. Nay, eager for it. The doses he took were beginning to dull in effect, and it was getting harder to get a hold of a willing dealer. Time was, gold and a little bit of guardsman authority would get you a handful of Sugar but bow those dealers wanted something else in exchange. They wanted food and shelter now, and the old ways didn't fly no more.
Gunnar always snorted moon sugar for their calming effects. To keep the memories at bay. This Crisis failed to take him in the battlefield; now it tried take him in his sleep and dreams. Without the Sugar, insomnia threatened to take over. And the last time he didn't sleep...
A blur of gold in the backdrop of the grey city caught his eye. It was surprisingly a man in a set of dwarven gear, with a similarly dwarvish warhammer being hefted on his pauldrons. He walked with the orderly gait that could be only be attributed to a former Legionary. Gunnar, having his feet on both sides of the law, could sniff a soldier-boy miles away. This bronze-plated man was heading towards the Mages Guild, so Gunnar thanked his lucky stars.
"You there," he rumbled at the man, standing in his way. "You must've heard about the recent kidnappings perpetrated by the Dawn; well, we guardsmen are looking for helping hands. You look tough enough. Interested?"
Cardius was at the Mages Guild quartersHe wore a dark tunic, black trousers, lightweight boots of the same color, and a hooded robe. His embroidered black robe was of rich weave, the cowl of which was raised, concealing in shadow his face. The overcast skies that allowed the sun only partial show cast the area in a gloomy atmoshpere. Down was the town of Kvatch.
What remained of it.
A sharp sabre rested in its sheath beside him, and on his horse was his Akaviri katana that was just as deadly. But it wasn't the only weapons he had at his disposal and he knew he would let his enemies know that, but by then it would be too late.
From reports and rumors, a Daedric Shrine lay beneath Brittlerock cavern. Northwest of Kvatch, the first town that suffered a blow from Mehrunes' Daedric Horse, the place would be an ideal safe haven for surviving members of the Dawn.
Their Prince banished, their leader slain, they were weak and vulnerable compared to what they were before. Scattered like sheep. Before they could grow as they once was Cardius was eager to make certain they were nothing more than a lost legacy of men and women who spoke dead oaths that will forever remain on dead lips.
It had taken a time of suffering with heavy losses, and an heir to the throne with a champion to put a stop to the Mythic Dawn. That was the official version-now he's part of an ongoing hunt for the last survivors of that strange and deadly sect.
From the stories being told, a child would imagine them to be monsters five meters high sucking the lifeblood out of the Empire. Now it turned out some of them still existed and were in action, and young men to grizzled warriors and mages went forth to do battle with them alone or in groups.
Could they really be so reduced, these fanatical Emperor-murdering villains that had so nearly held Tamriel in thrall?
Cardius expected as much. Still he couldn't underestimate his enemy. The Dawn had murdered the Emperor and his heirs in a day. In a day the foundation of the Empire had been taken out, snuffed out like a flame and what remains is chaos. There was no telling what could happen in the future, but one thing was certain.
Cardius could foresee by learning from the past.
The Empire in chaos? He moved in chaos, and from that he would help bring order.
Confusion? That could be perfected into bringing about clarity and clear focus to the Empire's next steps.
Fear? Fear was a tool that, if used correctly, could surrender a desired effect. Respect, order . . .
He'd start by taking out threats and the Mythic Dawn is a threat. A reduced threat but a threat nonetheless.
He made his way into the camp.
Aenius banged his fist on his mailed chest and gave the Bosmer, Buffy she called herself, the Legion salute. He had to admit, it was mostly for show. She had the look of magic user, alright, but she was different from the usual pencil-necks reconnoitering around with noses in tomes. From one thing, she wasn't from around here. That much was obvious; she looked at the local mages as strangers, not as fellows. And the second trait she had was... well, she had a healthy glow about her. Not an arcane one, but a natural hardiness that could only come from being in the field. Battlemage, perhaps? Maybe a spellsword? Didn't have any steel with her though...
In any case, first impressions were the key in everything.
He subtly puffed out his chest more and laid a mailed hand on his sword pommel. He caught the ray of a dull sunshine bleeding through a window and angled his face just enough to highlight the beautiful features on his face; namely, his aristocratic cheekbones and deep set blue eyes.
It was not meant to allure; it was meant to cement that he was a person of authority, of trust, and of reliability. A captain of the guard should look the part, after all.
"Well then, citizen Buffy," he said, "I hope Kvatch, such as she is, proves to be of use to you in your stay with us. Pardon my saying so, but I haven't seen you before here. Are you .. a spellsword for hire, perhaps?"
From his satchel he fished out a large sheet of musty paper. On its front were the large front letters, "BOUNTY IN BRITTLEROCK CAVE"
He handed her one.
"We're currently hirirng mercenaries in assisting us in the capture of the criminals responsible for the recent kidnappings going on. You look like an able ... err, mage. Maybe you're interested?"
He turned on his heels to walk towards the potion kiosk, when realized he didn't give HER a name.
"I'm Aenius Gratian by the way. Captain of the Guard."
Gideon cast a critical eye over the Nord that towered over him. Clad in the armour of a Kvatch guard, a veritable mountain of a man, with a weapon to match. But his manner and bearing were coarser than one would expect from a guardsman, displaying instead a bluntness more common among thugs, right down to the lack of an introduction. Typical among those who were hired muscle at one point or another. It certainly matched his stance; devoid of the crispness of Legion or even Guard training, but still emphasised his size. It was clearly meant to invoke fear rather than respect. But intimidating anyone with Legion training, especially a Battlemage, took more than bulk.
Meeting the Nord's gaze, he snapped to attention before replying. "That depends on the nature of the help you're looking for. But regardless, until I have reported to the Mages Guild, I cannot know if my duties will provide me with sufficient latitude to aid the Kvatch Guard. Should I find that I am given the opportunity to do so, I assume your Captain would be the one to speak to? Where would I find him?"
Aenius hmm-ed as Buffy told him of her skills. He wasn't surprised to know that she was versed as a scout; a majority of the Wood elves were, after all. But he was glad to know, and thanked the Divines, that not only could she loose arrows as an archer, she was an experienced user of the arcane too. Against the Dawn, magic was of great help. One never knew what kind of devilry they were in possession of, and it was comforting to know that Buffy could have the potential to dispel it before it got the better of them. She showed interest, even proclaiming her past work for the Legion.
Aenius held an apologetic hand.
"The pay would be 300 gold and the heartfelt thanks of victimized Kvatch. That's all we can offer, sadly; with the Rebuilding well underway, all finances, no matter how meagre, must go there. In fact," here he gave a grimace, "the bounty reward comes from my own meager salary. That should tell enough how dire the situation here is; and with the damned Mythic Dawn kidnapping people left and right, its enough to drive a man mad!"
He coughed. He didn't know the reason why he suddenly opened up on a total stranger. But there was something about Buffy that told him she understood.
"The task is honorable, yes. We're rescuing a young child from a remnant of the Mythic Dawn. I have reason to believe that this sect of the Dawn could very well be the last." He scratched his beard, a gleam in his young eyes. "If its true, then we may very well end the bastards that put us through so much pain. I can finally avenge..."
He coughed again.
"If you're interested, then please stop by my office later in the evening. There would be a briefing there, and more details would be informed to you; hopefully you won't be the only mercenary present."
He gave her a salute, signalling the end of the conversation, and went towards the potion kiosk.
****
Gunnar clenched his teeth and fists. Battlemage. One of the most promising mercenaries for this operation and he was a damned battlemage. He didn't like any warrior who got all fancy with placebo tricks; to his suspicious eyes, it was like borrowing power from devils and other sinister forces. Why take that route when a simple warhammer to the face could suffice?
The Nord handed the Battlemage the bounty poster.
"There would be a briefing in the evening; place would be the Captain's office, right down there, near Batul's blacksmithy. If you find yourself done with your business with the wizards, come over there and join us. Pay's not bad, and the risk's not too high if you keep your head down."
Supplies for the task would be ideal right now.
Cardius entered the Mages Guild facility where many guild members were housed. As an young-age Arcane University graduate, he didn't need to see the residents' expressions to know he was welcomed in their midst. Sigrid Firewalker appraised him with a fleeting look and a smile before she attended to the others. Cardius took a moment to look about his surroundings, and also took a moment to analyze himself, too, before he ventured any further.
The bunkroom was full of mages from all walks of life and practitioners from different schools. Alteration, Mysticism, Destruction, Illusion and all else. Cardius could tell a mage and his school by looking well at their clothes and even their demeanors.
He graduated as a very proficient spellcaster, particularly in the areas of destruction and illusion. He'd prefer not to confess to the others that he also had knowledge of ancient daedric powers seldom used in the world today. Knowing full-well the growing hatred for Daedra, and a righteous hatred, that is, he knew just how unwise it would be to reveal he had studied daedric spells and delved a bit into the forbidden arts.
Cardius did not know alchemy, however. Not to the degree that he would like, and so he relied on others to make some of his potions. Potions that would heal almost any injury was something he'd like. He could create these himself but there was no time to collect the necessary ingredients and procuring someone to do the searching was an ideal choice . . .especially since his manservant was occupied with keeping the castle in order.
"Lord Cardius," Sigrid said as he approached her. "I wasn't expecting you to be here so soon!"
"In these desperate times, my friend, we must move quickly and in haste lest the enemy get the better of us. How does the evening find you?"
"Very well," she said with a sigh. "We're managing. How about yourself?"
"Splendid," he said, taking his eyes to the counter stacked of potions behind her. "Do you have what I asked for?"
"Yes," Sigrid told him, and this brought a toothless smile to Cardius' face until she said, "the ingredients, I mean. The potions aren't yet ready."
He frowned. "That is unfortunate. I need them by early this morning. You couldn't hasten the production by then? I will pay you more than I should. Fair payment."
"Perhaps you'd like to clarify the need for such urgency?"
Cardius held his hands behind his back. "No."
She looked at him and held her hand beneath her chin. "I'll see what can be done."
Cardius nodded and bowed, "Gratitude."
The Imperial his way out, passing by the living areas of the Mages Guild.
Cardius took a seat in a table close by, settling himself comfortably as he mulled over about the task given. It was no breaking news that the Brittlerock Cave was a sanctuary for bound Daedra and Mythic Dawn agents. The Empire hired the likes of freelance bounty hunters and mercenaries to do the job. As an agent of the Empire, having worked and laid the groundwork for many years, he expected to be sent on this errand alone given his earlier accomplishments. There was little to complain, though.
More men and women working together against a common enemy had far more advantage than a lone agent. He was content with that. It meant he didn't have to do all the work himself even if deep down he wanted to take the fight to the Dawn, one by one. A Mythic Dawn-free Tamriel would be the next step to peace.
More enemies of the Empire will arise, but one group at a time . . .
The Imperial saw many mages come in and out of area to either purchase potions or ingredients or to learn new spells or to be at leisure. The former had seen many Daedric ingredients sold and bought. In the wake of the Crisis, the vendors had plenty of Oblivion-spawned goods, from Bloodgrass to Daedra hearts. Cardius had a fat order on the latter. The hearts of the Dremora warriors were valuable. Coin was well-spent in procuring them around Cyrodiil. The means of creating his potions while not lost, was delayed and reevaluated into another method given the death of his servant in the field while looking for the source.
One person who entered was a young-looking Bosmer woman. Among the rest she stood out the most given her short stature. But though she was short, Cardius knew it wouldn't take away from her possible skill or knowledge in things of the arcane. Nor would it remove her unique beauty.
Her leather-bound hair was a special blond and her eyes as blue as the waters of the coast. Her skin, unlike his own, was very sun-touched. It was quite obvious she took to the adventurer's life. If that didn't betray her, her green outfit did. Cardius could tell a field mage when he saw one, having been in the university for some time now. She looked modest enough and smiled at him in what he recognized as genuine politeness. She seemed to him aware of her surroundings, and looking at her eyes Cardius saw they had a sharp edge to them.
Looking at her made him think. Her appearance was familiar, not by sight but by reputation. True many of her kind were short and some of them made decent mages but he has heard of a blond blue-eyed Bosmer before . . .
"Excuse me," Cardius called out with a voice that wasn't loud for many to hear but just enough to get her attention. He gestured at the seat across from him. "Come, please take a seat. I must ask you something."
There weren't many in the room save for her, Sigrid and two others who spoke amongst themselves in laughs, playfully arguing on the nature of transliminal bridges.
Sleepy Magnus in the West was slowly giving way to the Twins from the East, and the skies were a tender indigo that had twinkling shadows here and there. Acilius was now seated on a log, in front of a campfire that had a bubbling pot of Colovian Gumbo. There were other fares to be had too, like goat's cheese, cans of liver spread, boiled eggs, and a healthy helping of fried rice. It was not a palette for kings, to be sure, but the Stars be damned if they weren't filling. The young half blood had already finished his fourth helping and was about to pig himself on a fifth one when he dimly spied an Imperial dressed in black attire. Acilius would've passed him for any other fool... were it not for the fact that he had an Akaviri katana strapped to his horse.
Immediately Acilius' hackles were raised as he jumped to the conclusion that the Order had sent another Blade to 'supervise' him. It rankled him to know that after all the blood, sweat and tears he shed, they still considered him a reckless Apprentice. A young blood inflamed by the passion of his early age.
But there was something off about this.. Imperial. Grim get-up notwithstanding, he carries himself like a lord or a prince, his gait suggesting power, but power of a different kind. His eyes were also... Intensely pale. From this distance he almost looked like he didn't had any pupil, colorless as they were.
Then, after a moment of careful observation, Acilius immediately settled into a calm trance and let the environment blend him.
There was no doubt about it.
This one was an Agent of the Empire, yes that much was obvious, but of a different department than Acilius.
He was... Cardius, if the young Blade remembered correctly from the files in Cloud Ruler, but Acilius doubted if that was his REAL name. He was no Blade; but an Inquisitor.
If Acilius' Order were the Empire's knives in the shadows, then the Inquisitors were the terrors lurking in darkness. They stamped out the Empire's enemies just as the Blades do, but some of their methods are... morally questionable at best.
And here was their poster boy, strutting about in Kvatch with purpose behind his steps. Acilius could guess what that purpose was, and if he was correct, then he dreaded it. He had no love for the Inquisitors, like some of his contemporaries, but if they were sent here to squash the Remnant of the Dawn... then there's nothing to do about it but accept it.
It left a bad taste in his mouth, but Acilius understands the concept of using monsters against other monsters.
He scanned Cardius and saw him enter the Mages Guild. Acilius sighed; since he now had a new target to inspect, he must stalk him.
Acilius had just left the Guild after eavesdropping on the boring conversation between the Captain and the elf called Buffy, and he was loathe to enter a place twice. It garnered unwanted attention.
Setting down his plate he followed the Imperial inside the Guild, all the while being careful not to broadcast his presence.
When they were inside, Acilius iniated a conversation about transliminal bridges with a cute little Imperial that had high cheeks, all the while keeping his other focus on the Inquisitor.
Acilius then laughed; partly because he wanted to see what would happen if he slapped the cheeks of the Imperial in front of him, and partly because Buffy seemed to be a magnet for clean shaven men with exotic swords.
When there was a lull in this arcane talk of bridges and aetherial rules, Acilius bid his Imperial au revoir and headed straight towards where Cardius and Buffy were seated. It was hard to listen in to their conversation, no thanks to the motor mouth with the high cheeks, but Acilius heard enough .
He sat on there table and gave them his most charming smile.
"Sawree tu inderapt," he said, the Hammerfellian accent rolling easily on his tongue. "But Ei herd dat'choo ver seining ahp fur dis Britalrak bizneez. Ar'choo mertenariz, az vill?"
He gave them a vague salute.
"Eim Poryphel dah Gaelent! Silsard fur air!"
Cardius never listened to the end of Buffy's sentence before she was interrupted by an armored man who called himself Poryphel the Gallant. The name itself was different but what stood out was his striking physical attributes which drew attention. The man was as tall as a high elf with the skin tone of a Redguard. Cardius would've blamed his skin color on the sun but the lack of any markings from Magnus made the Imperial conclude he was of mixed race. Like Cardius' face he had sharp bone structures. His hair was the color of snow and his eyes were an odd violet. He was fit, bearing strong form and musculature. His accent was not Nibenese nor Colovian.
The inquisitor remained focused on the man, and extended his hand to the empty chair. "Please," he said. "Take a seat. We were just discussing of the quest to Brittlerock."
Gideon took the poster from the Nord and smiled grimly. "If I kept my head down I'd still be in the Legion. Should my duties permit me, I'll be there." He bowed politely to the Nord before stepping around him and continuing on his way.
Finding who was in charge of the Kvatch Guildhall proved no challenge to Gideon. Courtesy, heavy armour, and a warhammer in hand, even in a non-threatening posture, created a very helpful audience. The mage, looking slightly shaken, pointed out a statuesque blonde Nord woman, by the name of Sigrid Firewalker. thanking the mage for his help, Gideon bowed politely and made is way over to Sigrid, introducing himself and handing over the letter he'd been given before leaving the Imperial City. Sigrid was not impressed by the contents.
"So, Raminus sent you out here? Gods alone know why. Before the Oblivion Crisis, the Kvatch Guildhall was known for the standard of our alchemy. Now I'm stuck rebuilding that, and what does the Council send me? Mages trained to fight, half of whom wouldn't know how to use a pestle and mortar if their life depended on it."
Gideon chuckled at that. "Regrettably, I do indeed fall into that category. Legion service does provide one with a rather focused skillset where magic is concerned. Though I hope that while I'm posted here I'll be able to learn something of the wider applications of magic."
"Huh, that's pretty much guaranteed. Right now we're using magic for everything we can. Partly because it's convenient, and partly because it keeps the locals happy. Or less afraid at least. Regardless, you shouldn't have trouble learning anything here, but frankly, I've got no duties I can give you right now. I can't even offer you a room, so you'll have to bunk with someone else, and you'll be sleeping on the floor."
Gideon shrugged. "That's what bedrolls are for. I take it, since you've no duties for me, that I can consider myself free to pursue mercenary work around Kvatch? One of the guards spoke to me on my way here. And to be blunt, I could use the coin."
"Feel free. The guild doesn't take issue with it, as long as you're not breaking the law. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a dozen matters to attend to, all of them annoying." And with a brisk nod Sigrid hurried off, leaving Gideon to consider the guardsman's offer. It seemed a good cause, and the legality could hardly be questioned, and he really did need the coin. Decision made, Gideon headed for the door.
------------------------------
OOC: Urgh, again.
Acilius got off of the table and sat down on the offered chair.
"Faenkyu," he said to Cardius, flashing him a toothy and sarcastic smile. "Mukhao natanoi pran ketpe! Gut manirs lidh tu gut prensheepz, serra!"
He plopped down and made himself comfortable, at ease now that the conversation had started, even though they didn't answer his questions and introduce themselves. It probably had something to do with his accent. A lot of people were put off by it, but Acilius had no choice.
"Loik Eih sid, I herd dat'choo ver seineng ahp fyr dis Britulrak bizneez. So Eih weel ripit da kwestun agin, dis taim plis anser! "
He coughed dramatically while adjusting the buttons on his shirt.
"Ahr. Choo. Mertenariz? Bikos eef saw, mebe vi kud hilp itch udder? Eihm seineng ahp fyr dis Britulrak bizneez end Eih wud laik tu no hoo Eih'll bi width wen da sheets gu dawn."
He looked to the windows and gauged the time. He returned his gaze to the two in front of him.
"Wee steal hab tuu ahrs bepur da ebning, das the bripping, begenz."
Powered by Invision Power Board (http://www.invisionboard.com)
© Invision Power Services (http://www.invisionpower.com)