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's attention was openly fixed on the new arrivals, something he thought he could afford since everyone else was doing the exact same thing. There were no familiar faces, though he could tell from the way the mercenaries held themselves that they were at the top of their bussiness. That, or overly confident. He settled for the former conclusion. While according to his sources, the Emperor was known to crack a joke from time to time, crashing the event with a gang of amateurs would be in decidedly bad taste.

His conclusion was further reinforced when one of the mercenaries pulled away from the main group and boldly strode for the Emperor's seat. Semir only needed one glance at that mask, even at this distance, to know who it was. Still, he kept his face impassively and let the knight slip from his gaze, pretending not to have noticed him.
"Celdryn Mon'Cheri. Damn, haven't seen him in years. My informants said he'd retired from the knightly order of Daggerfall. That didn't settle the rumours of him having been a private assassin, spy, king's illegitimate son, bound Daedra and whatnot." The Breton thought. Celdryn had never directly been involved in any of Semir's affairs. The knights high position however, had led to the standard investigation Semir conducted into anyone of even remote importance. Said investigate however, had been unusually lacking in success. All Semir could say with certainty was the Celdryn was as much a master of disguise as he was. The only exception being that Celdryn actually hid by becoming the center of attention while Semir blent in with those around him. That mask was what identified Celdryn, but no one seemed to know what hid beneath it.

Celdryn had reached the throne and loudly proclaimed his dissatisfaction. Semir could now afford to observe the ex-knight openly.
"Doesn't the lout know his place? That's our Emperor, Martin Septim he's talking to!" Semir swore under his breath. It seemed the thing Simon Perdien would say at this moment.
"If only those rumours were more. BUt no, just "I heard, they say" and more of that crap! I don't like it when a man never becomes more than a walking collection of rumours no matter how much I investigate."

His thought pattern was rudely interupted by the sensation of something wet, slimy and blue hitting his face.
"Gods! You filthy little rat! Gah, this vest is ruined!" Semir exclaimed, frantically waving his hands to wipe off as much of the jelly as he could. Around him, the unaffected nobles laughed. Not laughing, but still amused, the Dark Elf complimented the jester who had thrown the jellyballs. Semir noted to himself that it was the same jester that had gifted the box and wasn't part of the troupe.

More things happened. Celdryn backed off, the Champion of Cyrodiil arrived, or at least someone wearing armour credited to the hero, and said hero pressed an envelope in his hands. This last event annoyed the Blade to no end.
"So much for subtlety. What part of, "I prefer to observe this banquet undercover" did my superiors not understand?"


"You got the same note?" The Dunmer beside him asked as he opened an identical envelope. Semir paused from wiping the jelly, seemingly hesitating between opening the envelope and removing his slimy embarrasment. He settled for the envelope. The question was not one he wanted to answer. The Dunmer, and the other recipients of the note he could see, all appeared to be quite capable fighters. Simon Perdien was most certainly not.
"Hmm, you also in posession of a vineyard? Seems to be about mine. Says here that...They don't want my wine anymore?! Oh, unless I lower the price by..." A convenient blob of jelly dripped from his face on the paper, smearing out the ink into an unreadable mess.

He had no further need for the note. Even if he hadn't actively read it to its end yet, his eyes had taken in the entire paper and he was already reading on using the image in his mind. He needed to leave, someone desired his presence elsewhere. His, and most likely that of the blue-eyed Dunmer and the others he'd seen receiving an envelope. Suddenly the whole jelly running down his head turned out to be a blessing. It gave him a reason.
"Gah, please excuse me. I've got to step outside for a bit." He said, stepping away. Then, shaking his head he moved for the exit.
"Got to get a towel. How dare that jester insult me like that. And then the wine-export. This was supposed to be the day I make it big!" He muttered to himself for the ears of anyone who wanted to listen.
"Hmm, can't go to that meeting looking like a flabby buffoon. Not if it is what I think it is. Don't have any other suitable disguises ready either. No choice but to go as plain old Semir Grey then. Turns out I'm wrong, I'll just make up an excuse and leave."

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Oct 2 2011, 07:41 PM