The Roots of Svelkreen, Shards of a Broken Empire Options

[Uleni Athram]

The Posting Order


Ahrenil -> Jack Cloudy -> Uleni Athram -> Saqin -> Grif11 -> Dantrag -> Lord Revan -> TheTrueCaboose







Licensed fools and madmen, tumbling maniacs and demented entertainers. They danced to invinsible flutes, sang without words. Their noise of celebration echoed in the barren halls of the Royal Palace of Cyrodiil, where the political tension is thick and the Emperor innerly ravaged with some unknown turmoil. The Elder Council, in a rare display of affection towards their ruler, hired this troupe to thin the miasmatic fog that gripped the Palace from out of nowhere.

Of course, they might've also hired this troupe to simply hide the fact that the Mulberry Smiler, an assassin with some reknown, was among them.

The Mulberry Smiler, aptly named because of his/her blue-red-green costume, splitted away from the main group. He/She brandished a box from his/her inventories, a box with intricate carvings of birds and dragons. He/She held it to the air with reverence, held it in the air so the feasting nobles may see it.

The rest of the troupe all lined up in two lines beside the Emperor, making way as the Smiler now took steps towards Martin, who looked on with amusement. That amusement grew with curiousity as the Smiler kneeled before him, head bowed, box held out for the Emperor to take. He indulged in the act and took the box. The troup began to jitter and chatter wildly and excitedly. The Smiler made an eager motion and the young Emperor opened the box.

Its contents was a silky paper with the words 'I accept' written by a fluent hand. A smile lit up the Emperor's features as the Smiler now danced with abandon, the rest of the troupe doing the same.


And then the door opened, mercenaries and hired thugs entering.

This post has been edited by Uleni Athram: Oct 7 2011, 09:04 AM

[jack cloudy]

Semir Grey

Semir walked calmly but with apparent purpose along the crowd that milled about in Daggerfall’s new merchant-district, mostly still unfinished. If he had cared to look to the west, he would still be able to see the ruins of the old district, destroyed like most of Daggerfall by the infernal Daedra. Semir cared not however. He had more pressing matters on his mind. Such as the man who had been following him since he’d left his house. He could be wrong of course, the street he walked on was a busy one, and Semir’s destination not unusual, not today. The king had an announcement to make to all citizens that cared to attend his address at the palace. Semir was one of many who planned to hear it. But still it nagged. The man or woman who followed him was always at the same distance from him. He sped up, so did his follower. He was forced to stop by a wagon blocking the road, and his pursuer found a sudden interest in the scent of freshly baked bread coming from the stall next to him.

The Breton cast a casual look at the window of Maurit’s General Sundries. The wares displayed behind the glass were not what drew his attention however, it was the scene of the road outside reflected in it that held his eye. There in the reflection, the person in the blue robe, face hidden by its hood. Still where he’d expected him or her to be. Still following.
“Alright. Time to make certain.” Semir thought to himself. His gaze swept up to the clock on the nearest belltower and, as if shocked by the revelation of the time, he quickened his steps and left the street. To any onlooker, he appeared as someone who had suddenly realized he was about to be late for an appointment, and had chosen to take a shortcut through the ruins of the old district.

There were no people on the street he now wandered. Likewise, there were no reflective windows or other opportunities to throw a quick unnoticed look at his follower. Semir kept his eyes on the road, taking a left here, a right there. It was a simple route, one that went well with his deception of being late for something. And more importantly, there was one particular ruin on his path he remembered to be a perfect ambush-site. There, less than three steps from his last turn, the ruins of an outhouse. Its rubble of wood painted blueish went almost perfectly with his own cloak. Semir ducked among it and hid. At this point, he had not yet decided whether he should speak to his pursuer, or go straight for the beatdown-interrogation combination. As the person in the blue robe passed, giving the outhouse only the most cursory of inspections, Semir remained hidden. The stranger stopped however, and a curse escaped his lips. His, for the voice was unmistakably that of a man.

“Where did he go? He couldn’t have left my sight, he couldn’t.” The man swore. Magicka gathered around him and now it was Semir’s time to bite back a curse. He rose from the ruins and went in low, kicking the man’s feet from the ground and locking both arms behind his back.
“Ok, no need to cast that detection spell my friend. Now would you care to explain who you are and why you’re following me? No obligation of course, unless you value your fingers.” Semir whispered in the stranger’s ears.
“compassion, compassion! I’m supposed to give you a message man, that’s all! Lucard’s the name!” The man shouted, clearly panicking. Semir increased the pressure on Lucard’s left pinky, not breaking it yet but getting close.

“Keep your voice down, Lucard! If that is your real name. If you were a messenger, then why didn’t you approach me? Why the whole shadowing-act?” Semir relaxed the pressure a bit. His threat had been made.
“I was supposed to make sure it really was you before handing it over. It’s one of those letters marked as private! You know, like the ones the girl writes to her lover who went off to fight in the war. Got lots of them these days.”

Semir sighed. A courier playing spy. Or a spy pretending to be a courier playing spy. Regardless of what was the truth. Semir did spot an envelope sticking from the man’s belt. He swiped it and opened it with one hand, still holding Lucard down with the other. Just reading the first paragraph was enough. The letter was for him alright. And hidden among the random sentimental crap of an old flame were his new orders.
“For god’s sake man. Just ask me for my name then! Don’t go following me as if you’re a thug hired by Orlando to beat up his business-rivals!”

Semir let go of the man who got up slowly while rubbing his joints.
“Sorry. So, are you Semir Grey?” Lucard asked.
“No.” Semir called over his shoulder as he walked off in the direction of the palace. The envelope was back behind the courier’s belt, but the letter it contained was now one of Semir’s own. That one was filled with real random sentimental crap. The one with the orders had safely vanished in a secret pocket.

The orders were unlike any he’d received earlier. They had led him from Daggerfall all the way to the Imperial City, where he was to receive further instructions. So now Semir sat among the nobles in the Royal Palace, making small talk as if one of them. And as far as the noble men and women around him knew, he was. They did not know him as Semir Grey and he wouldn't want them to. To them he was Simon Perdien, the lord of a small duchy in the southwestern corner of High Rock. Now he watched the dance carefully and when one jester approached the Emperor with a box, Semir feared he was about to witness an assassination. He was too far away to intervene though, and it wasn’t his job to do so anyway. Whatever the box contained, it was no poison or other implement of death. Whatever it was, it was something that pleased the Emperor Semir had never seen before. Then the doors swung open and a motley collection of hired swords entered. Semir asked a servant to refill his plate. This was going to be an interesting night.