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 managed to lose the usual servant in front of the nearest bathroom by requesting privacy and by implying that surely, the good man had something better to do? After all, what did Perdien need him for? After cleaning up he would go straight back to the banquet hall and it was impossible to become lost. Yet as soon as the servant rounded the corner and it had become obvious he wasn't shadowing him from a distance, Semir set off along an unused corridor.

Before entering the palace, Semir had already met up with another Blade in the city. Using the disguise of a laundry-cleaning bussiness, the woman had provided him with directions and had received a certain package from her Daggerfallian colleague. It was now that he would reap the results of their preparation. The mumbled advice led him to a section of the palace that had been heavily damaged in the Oblivion war and still hadn't been fixed. Notices hung on the walls, ropes sectioned off unstable walls and floors and most importantly, no one ever came here. No one except the workers, but they had been given the day off.

Semir's destination was another bathroom, one which was also cordoned off with a rope at waistheight and a large notice pinned to the door. The note said that the bathroom's ducts hadn't been cleaned out yet, the waterflow had been cut off and which way to go for the nearest functioning bathroom. Semir ducked under the rope and opened the door. The bathroom was indeed a mess, not to mention that a large gap in the wall gave him an unobstructed view of the city below. He kept his distance from the gap, one never knew if someone was watching. Semir locked the door behind him and got to work.

Using the clear water in the sink, left there by another operative in the palace, he washed out the dye in his hair, while also making sure that every last bit of dribbling jelly was gone. Simon Perdien's exquisite silk cloak served as a towel. Next was the clamp he'd placed inside his throat. Removing it was as unpleasant as inserting it had been, but from now on his voice would not be Simon Perdien's eternal wheeze, but his own deeper baritone. Replacing his outfit was the last and easiest step. The laundrywoman had arranged for the delivery of his usual outfit and equipment to this very bathroom, where it was hidden in a secret compartment under the rubble.

One last check in the mirror, and he set off again. With the combination of a second set of directions complemented with those in the letter he'd received at the banquet hall, he reached the meeting point without meeting anyone else on the way. Semir knocked on the door before entering.

"Good evening. I was supposed to come here?" He said as he opened the door. He was mildly surprised to find the Emperor sitting in the same room, among with a host of other people. Some he'd already expected, others he hadn't. He gave a simple and unrefined bow to Martin. There was no obligation for that act, since he wasn't officially on the man's payroll. But even as a simple mercenary, he would have to give his 'client' some respect. A mercenary without respect for those who paid him was a mercenary without work. Especially if the payer was as important as the Emperor himself.

He also nodded to everyone else in turn before leaning against the wall with his arms folded. The jester received an inquisitive eyebrow since he looked horribly out of place and completely ignoring that wouldn't do.
"Name's Grey by the way. From Daggerfall. If you can't remember, just look at my hair. Simple enough."