Revan Part II- Cont., the storm on Nirm has.... Options

[Lord Revan]

The Archives have been updated, just some info on psychic focus and magnitude (explaination of psychic powers).
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He stopped to evaluate the progress of his craftsmanship. Revan had completed his helmet, the cuirass, pauldrons, and gauntlets of his new armor in this short time.

The helmet remained largely unchanged, its visor covered slightly less area though, but Revan was confident he could fight just as well with narrowed vision.
His cuirass was thicker all around than his former one. The parts of his torso that needed to move without restraint were protected by overlapping segments of a refined sapphire-like substance. A chunk of cobalt focusing crystal lay above where the wearer’s sternum would be.

The pauldrons resembled those of Dunmer chitin. Two small crystal fragments were embedded in identical slots that Revan had carved into them.
Another pass-over from his old armor was the gauntlet design, with a few exceptions. Like the pauldrons, both gauntlets had common focusing crystals integrated. Revan had lost his energy blades in the explosion; he hoped learn from that lesson and utilize the High Naryyn technique. I am half High Naryyn after all… He thought dryly.

The completed pieces lay neatly arranged on the floor beside him. Now that he’d stopped, Revan realized that he had not eaten in..... quite awhile.
“So, this is where you’ve been.” Rhys said as she sat down next to him.

Revan set down the yet-to-be-finished greaves. “I apologize for leaving you in bed, but I needed to do something constructive and you needed the rest.”

She glared at him theatrically, “And you don’t?” Striking him playfully in the chest, Rhys teased. “Who’s braver? The people in fancy armor or those that fight without it?”

“Don’t tempt me to prove you wrong, Rhys.” Revan replied with a smile on his face. “Or you might just run out of luck.”

Her own face adorned by the same expression. “You couldn’t touch me, let alone beat me in a fight.”
“Is that a challenge?” He asked as he stood up. “Because, I’ll take you up on that..... after I get something to eat.”

Rhys got up as well, “I won’t go easy on you just because you happen to be my friend, Ahtre’Mehrah.”

Rhys....

The Hvy. Destroyer Emphatic Judgment sat just outside the borders of Sadrith Mora. The capital-class ship dwarfed the Telvaani town beside it.

Rhys’ eyes wandered a bit, having only been to House Telvaani’s domain briefly before now, their distinct traits were still new to her.
Revan paid more attention to the sky and its occupants. Several frigates, destroyers and High Naryyn missile frigates patrolled the nearby airspace.

A small squad of interceptors was visible, swooping low over the sea in close formation. “Since you seem to know this place better, perhaps you should lead."
"Fair enough, though I believe non-Telvaani still require Hospitality Papers..."

"We're just two exceptions, that along with a couple dozen more won't drive some Telvaani lord nuts." She joked lightly.
"Believe me, some Telvaani are nuts to begin with. But that doesn't make them less interesting." Revan said in a tone that told he knew all too well.

The two noticed a gathering of Virtarak around a certain localation: the Sadrith Mora Slave Market. While being some distance from the gathering, Rhys could feel the mood. She promptly closed herself from the powerful emotions.

Revan extended his mental probe, taking in every element of the scene. "This isn't good." He muttured, before marching toward the spectacle.
Rhys followed, knowing what her companion meant. The Virtarak crowd was not armed, which was good, but they were displaying their views on the trade of "inferior races." The mob would advance, leap back in unison, and then advance further, all the while hissing threatening at the Telvaani guards.

As Revan approached the flock from behind, several broke off rapidly to scoop up their discarded weapons. Seeing this, he lashed out, causing said weapons to launch into the air. The Virtarak skidded to a halt, mid-sprint, making ready to leap after the flying rifles.

Rhys didn't want this to become violent anymore than Revan did. She projected her thoughts to the avian aliens. "Fighting isn't going to do any good; it will only give us more enemies when we need only one!"

The mob came to an abrupt halt in their cycle, their heads scanned the area for the speaker. When they noticed the two of them, one thought became very apparent. "This can not continue, but for now we shall stand down in our defense, Naryyn."

All Virtarak cleared out, leaving the only occupants as the Telvaani guards and the two Naryyn. The former appeared to be confused as to the sudden withdrawl. As Rhys and Revan walked past them to Wolverine Hall, Revan said to one of the guards. "A word of warning: don't be around here for the next few weeks; if you want not to be the target of the Virtaraks' fury."

The guards said nothing, so both moved on. "Do you think the Virtarak really will resort to violence?"
"Anything is possible," he replied. "We can only read the scroll, not rewrite it."

Both were silent until, Rhys muttured. "Some scuttle and saltrice would be really good right now."
Revan nodded, "Same here. Hopefully, there will be a buffet and no pay required..... otherwise we could just make some food go missing."

[Lord Revan]

Ok, I managed to break the cursed writer's block (this time). Moving things along a bit, so without further adu......
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Marthyn marched through the streets of Rifton; men and mer watched him warily as he passed. For the first time in a long time he felt the comfortable weight of a helmet on his head. But now he was absolutely faceless to the inhabitants of Nirm.
Clad in full armor, he was a head taller than the native people of this region, the Nords. Marthyn was alien; no way around it, on every street he passed through people took notice of him in his shining golden armor. As a psionist, a telepath more specifically, he was passively aware of all their surface thoughts and dispositions.

I’m not here to make an friendly impression, but these people might as well be screaming their thoughts in my ear; they’re so ignorant.... He thought, the cacophony of thoughts and ideas distracting him temporarily. Marthyn rounded the next corner to have something large and heavy collide with him.
Powered exoskeletal armor was an invaluable tool most of the time, but a good measure of its strength increase was required to stop falls, slow down, and other tasks where you needed to counter your increased inertia. This fact was made apparent when a passenger wagon came downhill found Marthyn to play the role of a road-side barrier.

The psionist, having failed to brace before-hand, was thrown off-balance and landed hard enough to cause the stonework street to buckle for the impact. Marthyn shook off the disorientation, noting that the wagon had gone to splinters from its failed hit-and-run.
Several boys came running down the street; Marthyn could already gather it was their fault the wagon had gotten loose during their playtime before he even got back to his feet. He got up to see a half dozen wide-eyed, slack-jawed adolescents watching in awe and some measure of fear as he rose, seemingly unharmed, from what would normally be a lethal accident.

They were young alright, early teens by Marthyn’s estimate, that fact made him grit his teeth in anger. Some girls were mixed in as well, mostly they were all human, and a couple Bosmer, but all were the starry-eyed short-lived kinds of natives. Marthyn didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know how this entire incident started..... and likely end.

He didn’t have anything against children in general, but Marthyn couldn’t stand the irresponsible, trouble-making sort, especially when their antics got in his way. His almost -almost- reached for the sidearm attached to his thigh. Marthyn reigned in his temper before he could take it out on someone..... painfully.
The children must have believed the trouble they were in would be much worse if they didn’t beat it; the psionist was willing to accept that and pushed the children and his anger out of his mind. He glanced at his suits status and was relieved to see the incident hadn’t done any moderate or severe damage.

Do parents here just let their children run amok here? Marthyn strode rest of the way to the chapel in the middle of town. People continued to stare at him as he went in. Well, I am an otherworldly entity that no one knows what to make of in the first place, now I’m walking into one of their sacred sites.
As soon as he finished that thought he realized that very few of the people present actually felt any kind of reverence toward this place or the concept it stood for. But like the children’s mischief, Marthyn let the shock go and leaned against the wall in one of the corners.

At that moment, Nara materialized beside him, perhaps her “lessons” were paying off after all. “You did better than last time; given time you could eventually mask your presence and move about undetected.” Marthyn said nothing, knowing the seer preferred him to reply as so.
He noticed something he hadn’t before; a seer’s eyes were typically reverse the norm for the Iso Naryyn: white iris and solid red sphere. Purebloods at least, most of them these days had some non-seer blood in them. But now Marthyn say some red appearing in Nara’s iris and white creeping into the rest; he couldn’t recall what those symptoms meant but it bugged him slightly.

“Why were you interested in Rifton? The Plys’Iea haven’t shown any interest in this place, because the Imperial forces would take minutes to launch a counter attack the cold-blooded lizards would ill-afford.” The psionist paused a moment, then added. “And no amount of sanctity will keep Markus or Syran from confronting us, so what are you waiting for?”

The seer did not reply immediately, instead, she gazed eastward for a moment. “The fleet of Arastus will be arriving shortly. If you hurry outside you should be one of the first to see them.”
Those words hardly registered in his mind before Marthyn pushed open the door to the chapel and stepped out into Rifton’s town square. The mountains on the border were veiled in mist, but now that he knew what to expect, Marthyn was able to feel the combined fleet in the distance.

Somewhere among them is my brother, I must face him again after trying to kill him. “No peace-making is necessary, Revan holds no resentment against you..... If anything, he has the same goal as you have, your words have opened his eyes to the truth of his birth.” Nara reassured him, both were drawing a lot of attention from passersby.

“He was born as a tool, a means to an end. Revan doesn’t deserve that burden, but I don’t think any of us has a choice except to play along with Syran’s plans.” Marthyn muttered, at first he had considered the source of his shame, now he pitied him.
“Your father did not go through this of his own accord; it took time for him to be swayed. Syran is the heart of this, in the end the Naryyn will be returned to glory or completely vanquished.” The seer said gently.

Marthyn nodded; he knew what Syran intended, to an extent anyway. She intended to use Revan as a herald to bring the Naryyn back together, but she had no love for what she looked at as a piece her own craftsmanship not her only son. “Whether by my hand or Revan’s, that manipulative little umbrella seller won’t live to enjoy in her victory when this is over and done!”

Nara nodded approvingly but said nothing; a larger crowd was beginning to form. People were getting curious about why they were focused on the Morrowind Border.