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

[Dantrag]

Alora

Alora stood with many others as they waited for the palace doors to open. The rooms in the palace were large enough to keep her from feeling claustrophobic, but something about the sterile stone made her feel uncomfortable, and the fact that the guards had made her leave Horos outside didn't help.

This was not what she had expected when she made the long trek north to Cyrodiil from her home woods. When she first arrived in this country, Alora had spent some time ridding a nobleman's land of dangerous beasts; mountain lions, wolves, bears, and the like. Apparently she did her job so skillfully that the Emperor heard of her talents. She went from refugee to honored guest with a simple piece of parchment.

At first, when she had received the letter, Alora thought that it had been for her alone. Now, standing in the palace, she knew the truth of it. The Emperor needed as many hands as he could while his domain tore itself apart at the seams. She honestly did not want to work for the Empire at all, but if it was the only way to end the many wars scattered all across Tamriel, then so be it. She just hoped she could put arrows through a few Khajiit heads before it was all over.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the doors swung open and all the sellswords filtered in. She positioned herself in the back, so that she would be dwarfed by all of the other, larger, races, and the attention would be away from her. The young bosmer hunter felt shy in this environment. All around the palace sat nobles in fine silks, eating fine foods off of fine silver. There was music and a jester. All of this together made her look at herself and realize that she didn't fit in here. When the doors opened, she fell in step beside a tall breton, scarred from many battles. Though he was not her kind, his clothes suggested that he was more comfortable outdoors. She kept pace with him, thinking that perhaps she had found a kindred spirit in this crazy city.