To Heir is Human III, Playground 1 Options

[jack cloudy]

Flint Ironwood, Bruma

It was a normal day at the Bruma Siege Division. Brids whistling in the trees on each side of the field, a crisp breeze and above all, creaking wood and earshattering explosion.
“Alright, water!” Flint Ironwood ordered, almost sounding bored. He had come to expect this result and he realized that was a bad thing. He shook his head as he watched the burning wreck of their latest mishap.

“Flogir isn’t going to like this.” He muttered to himself while the siegecrew formed a line and began to throw buckets of water on the fire. The aging Breton waited till the fire had been smothered before he dared approach the siege engine. From afar, he hadn’t been able to see just what went wrong. One moment, they pulled the rope that triggered the catapult, the next the whole thing exploded.
“At least no one has been injured this time. Looks like all the precautions are working. I still wished we could get this to work though.”

Up close, he failed to see anything that could provide a clue towards the cause of the latest disaster.
“Perhaps we just tried a bad canister. Not enough sand, perhaps? Or maybe the bolts let go too soon. Well geez, it could be anything really.” Flint wondered. He picked up a shard of glass from the ground but quickly released it again. He scowled and licked his burned fingers.
“Crap it all. Will this never work?”



Sorian, Colovian Highlands

“Your money or your life!” The Imperial bandit yelled at the Redguard and jumped onto the middle of the route. At the same time, his partner jumped on the road behind the Redguard . They both eyed their victim warily. They knew the reputation of Redguards, how they’d elevated swordplay to a central part of their culture. A Redguard on the battlefield was one of the worst opponents one could face.

But this Redguard was young, inexperienced. Even culture couldn’t substitute years of battle. They believed they could take the Redguard, yet they remained wary.
“I said your money or your life, boy!” The Imperial repeated. The Redguard gave him an angry glare in return.
“Tell me, have you been preying on travellers for a long time?” He asked demandingly. The Imperial saw this as his chance to intimidate the young Redguard.
“For years I’ve been the plague of these lands! Even the legion is fears me so much they don’t dare send any patrols after me! It would be smart for you to give up your money and walk away unharmed.”

The Redguard however, was not intimidated. He drew a curved blade with his right hand in a flourish and aimed it directly at the bandit’s heart. At the same time, he used his other hand to release the straps on his backpack which fell to the ground.
“My name is Sorian! Sorian the Ansei! If you are the plague, then I shall be your cure! Drop your sword and walk away from the path of crime! Repent, or face the souls of your victims in Oblivion!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. The Imperial’s partner took the opportunity to attack the obviously distracted Redguard from behind. He raised his axe high above his head and prepared to send it into Sorian’s skull.

Two whispers shot through the sky and both bandits dropped dead, leaving the Redguard standing in dumbfounded confusion.
“What is going on?” He thought. He then saw the feathered shafts of two bolts sticking out of the Imperial’s skull. Instantly, he looked from side to side, sword still held in front of him.
“who’s there?! Show yourself!” He yelled.

Behind a bush just off the road, Vasha shook her head.
“Foolish young man. If he doesn’t learn to watch his back, he’ll get killed.” She said to herself.
“Nevertheless, we’ve dealt with the bandits that have been such a hassle since last week. There is no need for us to remain and get involved with him any further.” She tapped a ring she wore on her hand which began to glow in a deep green.
“One…two…three.” Simultaneously, five pillars of black smoke erupted from behind various bushes.

Sorian saw the smoke and ran to the nearest bush.
“Who are you?!” He asked, but no one was there.




OOC: Revan, just for your information. The ring Vasha used is something I've decided on as a communication device. Varying on the number of taps, it displays different colours. In this case, green meant 'retreat'. The rings are connected. If one glows, all the other ones will glow in the same colour. Vasha probably has multiple ones. One is connected to the ones her team wears, the other to perhaps other teams or the Narza'Tai main command? Colour codes should change regularly, just in case.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Apr 26 2008, 10:05 PM

[jack cloudy]

Sorian, Chorrol.

From where he had his encounter with the bandits, it was less than half an hour walk to the Chorrol. Sorian felt relief when he rounded a bend in the road and the walls of the city came into view.
"Ah, good old civilization." He muttered. Before continuing any further, he wrapped a white handkerchief around the blade of his Shamshir, a sign of peace.

At the gates, he was stopped by the guards. Both Legionnaires looked at the Redguard's sword for a moment.
"You will have to turn that thing in during your stay in the city." One of them said.
"Sorry, but I have to refuse." Sorian replied politely. The Legionnaire, a middleaged Imperial, shook his head resolutely.
"Listen. All privately owned weapons, no matter what type and who holds them, are to be given to the guards for safekeeping. It is a simple measure that has reduced bar brawl lethality by 70 percent. Unless you can show me a permit, I'm not going to take no for an answer." The man explained and reached out for the Shamshir.

Sorian stepped back and put a hand on the hilt.
"I said I have to refuse. This sword is more than just a weapon. It represenst the traditions of my people, their history, their triumphs and their losses. This weapon is the soul of my ancestors." He said. The Legionnaire was losing his patience.
"Spare me the spiritual nonsense and just hand over that sword already!" He spat.
"I SAID THAT I HAVE TO REFUSE!!!"

Sorian looked frantically from one Legionnaire to the other.
"Oh, now I've done it. They've drawn their weapons. I don't get it. Why are they so uptight about this? No one asked for my sword in Hammerfell." He thought. With a sigh of frustration, he drew his Shamshir.
"I guess Cyrodiil is just a backwards province."
"Please, sheathe your blades, sir guards. I harbor no ill will towards you but if needed, I will defend myself."


OOC: He's going to get owned. The moron.


Vasha, Cyrodiil.

Vasha felt a slight shiver run down her spine as she materialized. Out of habit, she peered left and right, but it seemed as if no one had noticed her arrival. She jumped down from the ledge to the street, ten metres below her. She moved swiftly to the end of the alley, while absentmindedly smoothing the fabric of her simple pilgrim's robe. The sooner she managed to mingle with the masses, the better. She could not afford to draw any attention, not in the enemy's lair.

She cast a glance at the White Tower and scowled.
"I approve of the reconstruction efforts, but they should have let that relic rest. It's wrecked state would have served as a good reminder never to trust those you don't truly know." She thought.

As she neared the end of the alley, she could feel the vibrations of countless feet flow through the cobblestones. She soon emerged at a bustling street and dove into the crowd. She glanced at both sides of the street. One side was held by a group of Legionnaires, the other by an equal number of Home Guard. Both seemed to keep an eye on each other rather than the citizens. Vasha resisted the urge to sigh.
"The war has never ended, only the players and means of engagement have changed." She said to herself.
"After I've finished my bussiness, I'll inquire towards the latest activities of Agrippa."

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Apr 28 2008, 10:15 PM