Kalith the Magister - A Life in Oblivion, I'm back, baby, and with Oblivion! Options

[DarkHunter]

Thats right, back, in Oblivion, and ready for another go at all of your sanities/interest.

Kalith, The Magister.

A night in the cell. Thats what they had tagged on him for accidentally burning down an inn in a small town near the Imperial city. One night, maybe two they had said, along with a few hundred septium fine. He hadn't expected them to put him in one of the deep cells, and especially not to forget about him down there in the dingy, dark, cell. The skull and few other bones scattered about the room did nothing to improve his mood, and the cellmate across from him wasn't the most pleasant of company. He, of course, spent his now hours without number meditating, and preparing his spellwork, no use in falling out of practise for when they finally let him out of this Imperial-made hell. They had no right to lock him away, a respectable Breton mage like himself. Of course, it probably would have helped if he had joined with the local Mage's Guilds in the Imperial Provience instead of having his own small practise that had been carried over from the eastern provience of Morrowind. On Vvardenfell, the rules and watching upon the practise of magiks use had been far less scrutinised, and the more influential members of the Cryodillic Mage's guild were probably the reason he was still locked in this miserable place.

One Week Later

Well, he was to have nothing of it, and this fine night with the full moon's light shining gently in through the window was the perfect time to finally escape. He would do it. Attract the guards attention, subdue him with a simple spell, then unlock his cell and make a break for it. Then, something unexpected happened, a change in the wind, a foretelling of sorts, something had changed in the City, a sense of urgency, of death. Minutes later Blades, escorting the Emporerer himself, broke into his cell. Now what, he wondered to himself.


(Mind you all, I'll be updating randomly over the week.)

This post has been edited by DarkHunter: Nov 20 2007, 12:52 AM

[DarkHunter]

(An unfortunate double-post, but it seems replies are still wanting... )

They pushed him aside abruptly, heading toward the alclove in the back of his cell. If they planned to make a stand here, things must be going far worse in the castling and city above. of course he was to have none of it, but unfortunatly, they had resealed his cell on thier way through, and were already set to working on something in the rear of his cell. One of them was discussing with the third on how this paticular cell was supposed to be empty, it seemed that it wasn't just the warden that hadn't been informed of his unending imprisonment.

Somehow, when his attention returned from the pair, the Emporer had found interest in him. Soon enough, the Imperial Majesty had explained the situation in which he believed that they were in. Malkith, of course, dismissed the regents "prophetic dreams" as a superstitious aclaimation, a simple disturbed dream. The Blades, in the meantime, had opened a sort of secret passageway in his cell, and led the Emporer off through it, with a warning not to follow. As if reacting to the events to come, the moon was shaded by a passing cloud, a form of prophecy in itself if you will. Of course he had no belief in "divine messages" or fate being marked out for you. There was simply what you choose to do, and what others force you into doing, much as the Imperials had forged themselves as the strongest race, to conquer Tamriel as they had.

Despite the Blades warning not to follow, the chance at the most simple escape ever managed from an Imperial prison was far too tempting, and soon he was headed down the passage aften them. If only he knew, how much fate truly decides your destiny. He might have stayed in the cell, as only an hour later, the cell door was unlocked by the concerned warden, fate does not exsist indeed, Malkith, fate does not exsist, indeed...