The Ghostfence rp: Playground 1 Options

[jack cloudy]

Well, here we go. This is the thread where the actual rp will take place. I suppose that I'll go first.
Note: Right now mentioning locations isn't important because odds are everyone will be in Balmora, but later on it might be usefull. Like when people split up and stuff.

Eno Arval, Balmora. (Gah, got his name wrong in the first post already. Not a good start)

"Next stop, Balmora! Please remember to collect your luggage before departing. Also watch your step and do not jump, levitate, ropewalk or do anything else that would be either obstruct your fellow travelers or be hazardous for your health." The caravan-master shouted. The trio of Siltstriders slowed down as their steps became shorter. Waving gently from side to side, they broke formation and each headed towards its own ramp where workers already stood prepared to receive them.

One passenger, a middle-aged Dunmer dressed in brown, looked up from the small flute he'd been carving.
"Ah, finally there. Balmora, it sure hasn't changed much since the last time I visited." He muttered and put away the scalpel he had been using.

The Siltstrider he was on came to a halt and a ramp was placed against its side, secured by hooks that were lodged between the creature's plates.
"You may now disembark. Thank you for accepting our service and we hope to see you again soon." The master said and gestured towards the ramp. The Dunmer nodded politely and got off.

"Now then. I should rent myself a Guar first before I join up with a caravan. What did the brochure say again?" He thought, taking out the leaflet he'd picked up in Ald-ruhn.
"Ah, here it is. A stall has been erected in front of the council house where one may register for transportation to Ghostfence, as well as rent Guars and buy supplies. Be advised that by order of the Temple, all must accept the task of ferrying two sacks of supplies intended for the construction-site. Those who have been assigned as escorts for their respective caravans are exempt from this duty." He read. In his mind, he made a quick calculation on how much more he could take with him without overloading the Guar he was going to rent.



OOC: Umm yeah. I suppose we can go and dismiss the whole 'two sacks' thing if you really want to. It was really just an attempt to make sure that at least some construction-critical supplies would be coming with the caravan.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Dec 23 2008, 12:18 PM

[bbqplatypus]

Apelles Velvus, Balmora

Apelles looked at the well-dressed Dunmer sitting rigidly at a table beside the massive stacks of crates and sacks full of supplies. His eyes were cast straight down at the supply manifest, which he was presently leafing through, a candle flickering beside him in the darkness. There were at least a half dozen Hlaalu guards standing around the supplies - insuring that they stayed exactly where they were.

Apelles cleared his throat. "Pardon me, sera, but...are you the quartermaster?"

The mer's eyes darted upward. "This isn't the legion, outlander. I'm a record-keeper, nothing more."

"Fair enough. I'll get right to the point then. My name is Apelles Velvus, and I'm going to be escorting the caravan tomorrow. I believe House Hlaalu has already ordered some provisions for my journey."

"Hmm...let's see...Velvus......." He flipped through the manifest. "Ah, yes. Here you are. Top row, third crate from the right. Happens to be right on top, with your name right on it. Lucky you. Uramulg - get him his supplies."

A large orc walked over to the crate in question, lifted the lid, hoisted the sack over his shoulder, and set it on the ground. Frankly, Apelles was surprised he didn't throw the thing at him.

As he walked away from the crates and opened the bag to view its contents, he became very glad that he didn't toss him the bag. For while most of it was pretty much what you'd expect - bread, meat, a canteen, some scrib jerky, and a sack of a hundred or so coins. But what caught his eye was something else entirely - an elegantly labeled glass bottle. He pulled it out of the sack and took a good look at the label.

It was a bottle of high-quality imported Cyrodilic Brandy - at least a thousand drakes a bottle.

Apelles wasn't a connoisseur by any means - he was more than happy to down the local swill. Greef, though not as good as the Imperial stuff, was at least a noble attempt at something resembling brandy. It got the job done and tasted alright, though he still preferred the Cyrodilic grape-derived variety.

But he knew the good stuff when he saw it - and this was the very best. Colovian, of course - all the best stuff is Colovian. Surilie and Sons, vintage 378. They had stopped making it about ten years ago and focused entirely on wine - a damned shame. It also made it more expensive.

For about a minute he just sat there, admiring the bottle. His trance was broken, however, when a stranger tapped him on the shoulder.

"What's that you got there?"

Apelles practically jumped out of his skin. He looked up to see a leather-faced Dunmer with red, penetrating eyes, clad in a full suit of chitin armor.

"That," Apelles replied, "is my bonus."

"Well," the Dunmer said dryly, "I hope you don't spend it all in one place."

"I don't intend to - this is the sort of thing you save for a very special occasion."

"That's certainly good news," he said. "I take it you're the Hlaalu who will be helping us escort the caravan?"

"That I am. The name's Apelles Velvus." He got up and extended his hand.

The muscular dark elf returned the gesture and gave a firm handshake. "Pleased to meet you, outlander. My name's Salms Ralas. I'm a Buoyant Armiger, and proud servant of Lord Vivec."

Apelles bowed his head slightly as a gesture of respect. "I appreciate your courtesy. I can assure you that I won't let you down."

"Hmm...I hope not. I assume you know the route?"

"Well, nobody's told me yet, but if I were to guess, I'd say we're going through the south gates of town, east to the Foyada Mamaea, and north up to Ghostgate. Though I wouldn't entirely discount taking the north road through Ald'ruhn. I know a few shortcuts through the rocks, cliffs, and foothills along that trail."

Salms paused for a moment. "Well, you certainly know your way around. But I don't think that's going to help you. No offense."

Just as Apelles was about to object to his statement, Salms raised his hand, signaling for him to let him finish. "Because the blunt and honest truth is that the situation is far worse than any of you could possibly imagine. The whole landscape is swarming with Dagoth Ur's abominations. They're attacking in groups. Setting ambushes. They've never done that before - not outside of Red Mountain. We lost twenty-four civilians and five Armigers out there during the last caravan. And there was one more - Thadas Rotheran - who came out of it...wrong. He was a gibbering wreck when we found him. He kept talking about - no...I won't repeat the things he said. They were all lies and delusions sent by the Sharmat...they had corrupted his mind.

"And it's been happening all the time. All the time. To everyone. No one is safe. I'm telling you this to warn you of what to expect. And also to warn you that the rest of the Buoyant Armigers won't be as kind to you as I have been. They would be resentful of any replacement of their beloved friends and comrades, but the fact that you're an outlander makes it worse for them. The truth is, I don't think much more of you than they do. The only real difference between me and them is that I am more polite."

Apelles just stood there for a few seconds, taking it all in. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice carrying a grave sense of seriousness. "I've...encountered ash monsters before. Not many of them - just a couple. Stalkers and ash slaves, mostly. And I've only had to fight them twice in my entire life - and when I did, it was from a safe distance. But I've seen and heard enough to know how...terrifying they are.

"We had four rules when it came to these things. One: if it doesn't see you, don't provoke it. Two: if you must fight it, never fight it alone. Three: never take on more than one at a time. And four: for gods' sake, don't let it touch you.

"If what you say is true, and they really have come out in numbers in the last few weeks, then I fear for the lives of you, me, and everybody in that caravan. I don't blame you for not believing I could be up to the task. This is more of a job for some kind of legendary godlike hero than it is for a mere man.

"You know, I might just open up that bottle of Colovian Brandy tonight. It could be the last chance I have to drink it. Care to join me?"

The Dunmer crossed his arms. "I'm not much of a drinker."

"A few sips couldn't kill you. Besides, I enjoy your company. It's no fun drinking alone. And I'd like to discuss this ambush business a bit more..."

This post has been edited by bbqplatypus: Jan 4 2009, 04:29 AM