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

[Uleni Athram]

The secret chamber, known only by three men, now became cramped and the heat signature from each of the mercs that filed in radiated in uncomfortable waves. Legatus Horatius sweated in his armor, using a kerchief to soak the substance off. Emperor Martin Septim did not show any expressions alluring to discomfort or what not. The Smiler didn't care. Two people had his/her eye's attention, and that was the nord named Kelzar and a breton, naimg himsef 'Grey'. The Nord had a look of recognition of some kind in seeing him/her, and the Smiler thought of it as strange. The Breton, on the other hand, matches the face of the noble he/she splashed with jelly.

All of this was strange for him/her, to be honest.

The sculptured entity that was Martin stood from his seat and took an observation from each and every one of them, He gave Semir Grey an odd look; from the personal diaries of his late father, he mentioned some Blade agents sent to High Rock to solve some matter that turned out to be a bidding race to one of the most powerful artifacts in known Tamriel. One of the logs mentioned a sharpwitted man by the name of Semir Grey.

For a minute, Martin closed his eyes and touched where the Amulet should've been. He gave thanks to his father for bringing him atleast one trustworthy man. The others didn't seem like the traitor kind, but in this age one can never be sure. With a deep breath, he opened his mouth and let it all come out.


"I will not tell you how grave the situation Tamriel faces. I will not tell you how men walked the lesser path, and damned everyone near them. I will not tell you how I am saddened with all that has happened. I will not tell you, because you already know.

In your eyes, I see a familiar disease. A virus that mortals should never have eating away at their hearts. In your eyes, I see sorrow and loss. Bitterness. Some of you have suffered through other evils, but," here he looked intensely at a young Bosmeri, "I can see that some of you have suffered because of this chaos."

He took a deep breath. The Legatus watched him with some amusement, knowing that the young Septim was not the one with words.

"I ask you, then. Would you let others share the same faith? Let them taste unspeakable agony and ravenous desperation? Let children weep at the bodies of their lifegivers, before being dragged away? Let mothers bear witness to the sight of their dead children? Let fathers watch helpless as their families hang from gibbets? As your Emperor, I command you to heal this rift that separates us from peace."

And then, his serious demeanor became calmed by inner will. No longer was the Emperor who would send men to their deaths; no, here, before the mercenaries, was the reluctant priest who witnessed the fall of Kvatch.

Here, before all of them, was a broken man.

"But as your fellow man, I plead for you to help restore Tamriel to her beauty."


Martin was silent when he sat down, eyes staring blindly ahead and a knuckle on his chin. Some tears flowed down, but he did make any notion to wipe them off. The Legatus took this as the oppurtune moment to turn this melodrama into something serious and business-like.

"Alright," his Colovian voice was rough, probably from screaming orders. He produced a map from somewhere in his silver armor, looked at the still catatonic Martin, gave a shrug and laid it upon the desk. He stood awkwardly beside Martin, and beckoned all of the mercenaries to form a circle around him and the task.

The Smiler opted to hang upside down from the chandolier, eliciting an annoyed sigh from the Legate.

"Here is how it goes. You lot were chosen ones, praise be to the rubbery behind of Talos and all those nonsensical hoopla nosensical priests say in situations like these. So!" He pointed at Morrowind, specifically Mournhold the City of Lights.

"Morrowind'll be the first domino to fall. You know why? The Four-Score War we had with them should answer that question, but if that's not enough, then see here."

A metal-encased finger hovering above the legend of Black Marsh.

"Some of our spies in this dump of a land says that an artifact of immense power has declared its siren's call and the damned elves had been rallying all of their forces JUST to get a taste of it. Killing everyone and everything in their way. Stupid sons of guars reportedly razed an Argonian town 'because it stopped their movement speed'. War erupted, if you lot are too stupid to realize that simple matter.

Here's the part where you come in.

You are tasked with recovering this artifact before the Argonians and Dunmeri does. In the Waterfront, there's this uncompromising galley that will send you to Mournhold. You are to meet our spy there and take his reports.

Since dunmeri are lovers of their own kind, AND ONLY THEIR KIND you would need to cover up that ugly face of yours. We .. recovered some Ordinator gear from some willing veterans that retired. For the women and the lizards, we got some thick robes that should hide your feminine wiles from those sex-deprived, desperate lunatics.

Once you meet our spy and soak up knowledge from his reports, go from there. Take heed, however, that you will be on your own. Apart from the occasional spy that you 'might' meet, the Empire's influence cannot be thrust into the spotlight."

He cleared his throat.

"You have questions? If not, get out of my sight," he said, his glare urging-no, DEMANDING them to get on with their new task. The sooner, the better. And it would be a good chance to rid the Royal Palace of its mercenary infestation.
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NEXT ONE TO POST: SAQIN. (Post this after the main RP post so the next guy after you will know its his turn!)

This post has been edited by Uleni Athram: Oct 13 2011, 02:42 PM