To The North, the warm-up RP Options

[Uleni Athram]

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Chorrol, 4E 200


Orange.

That was the color of the skies as Magnus drowned in the west, the final sunburst reaching its extremes in an effort to reclaim its seat in the highest heaven. From behind a veil of space in the east, Celdryn could see the Twin Moons usurping, slowly vanishing the orange with the blue touch of the incoming eve. Such a strange day, or dusk, indeed, to see the three observers in one, vivid moment. Suspicious townsfolk took this as an omen of things to come; indeed, from his conquered spot in the dome of one of the watch-towers, he could hear old naysayers preach on about momentous events that scour and scar all of Tamriel. He could also hear the buzzing of Chorrol.

Even as night stalks the skies, this city was busy as bustling Daggerfall in her drousy day. He turned to glance down and observed the ants as they carried on with their duties; one particular ant caught the green-piercing stare; a fat dunmeri clothed in fine silks, flanked by bored-looking Thalmor, the trio pushing their way towards the Castle. Celdryn watched the dunmer looked wearily at a certain spot in the courtyard; the Breton marked it in his mind and waited until the Twin Moons finally shared a seat on the throne of Magnus; watching from above as Celdryn finally made his move.

The midnight veiled the Breton as he jumped down the tower in one leap, landed expertly on the battlements. The guards posted here drunked themselves to a stupor; at least that would be the explanation they would have after they woke up from their spiked drinks. The ones that walked would no longer recognize the form of Celdryn; to them, he was just a brown lump in a dark setting. A harmless nothing. Fluttering of cloaks as he scaled the outer walls of the castle's closed gate. Reached the top, and glanced down at the courtyard.

There he was.

The dunmeri, now cloaking himself with a nondescript cowl and robe. The guards weren't there; probably bought off to disappear. The green eyes narrowed as the elf flailed his arms about like a madman, muttered some phrases in an alien tongue. The calm wind became enraged, shrieked like a banshee. Torches in the courtyard blew themselves out. Darkness now. Even the light of the Twins faltered as the courtyard became a pit of brooding blackness. Celdryn recognized it immediately as black magic. But to what purpose? And why here, in this very compromising spot?

He got his answer as white tendrils rose out of the courtyard's well, and hovered like hackle-lo smoke around the dunmer wizard, who now looked as if he snorted the sweetest skooma. From this distance, Celdryn saw the elf's nostril flare wide and the tendrils sought it out like it was being pulled... A long, audibe gasp of pure ecstasy from the dunmer. He flailed his arms again, muttered in that dark tongue, and the black mist disappeared along with the banshee wind. The dunmeri shuffled into the confines of the castle, and locked the entrance behind him.

Celdryn, seeing this, could not help but be interested. What manner of thing rose out of the well that the dunmeri snorted? Is it something sinister?

Or what?

He decided to find out. He jumped down with wraithlike grace and tiptoed to the well. The air around it seemed thicker; breathing became labour, as if something covered his nose. The brave breton fiddled with the well's lock for sometime, before he cracked it open and set aside the iron covering. He peered down. Pure darkness. From his satchel, he produced a glowstone; one of those useful tools made by the Dwemer. He dropped it in to test the drop; considerable, but not beyond his skill. He stood his bow against the well and his quiver also. No use for those ranged death-dealers to where he's going. He readied himself for the jump...
----------------

".. himself for the jump... And that is the end of the tale. I should reall-"

The enraptured crowd quickly voiced their complaints against the bard, demanding closure from the cliffhanger he cruelly set upon their curiousities. The owner of the Oak and Crosier had to rely on his loud voice and threats of expulsion to quieten them down on this fine evening. The poor bard, who was on the verge of being manhandled by the mob, shot him a grateful look. He then announced that he would continue the tale of the dashing rogue Celdryn Minan'Kherus tomorrow eve. And until then, here he scooped up his colovian fur helm that full of coins, he bid them au revoir. With the mob now turning to their drinks, the bard approached the counter and sat on a stool closest to the khajiit owner.

He flashed the cat another grateful smile.

"Thanks," he said, breathless from his tale, "I owe you one!"

The Khajiit shrugged and produced a frothing mug of chilled ale. The young bard took it and drank it to the last drop. The khajiit made a remark that had the bard laughing.

"Come now, Tal'Jhiro. A bard is born to seduce; but in order for his tales to have effect, it must sometimes rhyme with the bells of truth. And truthfully? I really did scaled the walls of a castle."

Tal'Jhiro looked at Celdryn with those amber orbs. He then decided that this breton can white-lie all he wants as long as he pays. The cat scooped up the payment and went to service another customer. Celdryn stood up, walked around the counter, and took a bottle of wine from the shelves. He returned to his seat and just as he was about to enjoy being stoned, a young teen of no less than eight winters approached. The kiid tugged on Celdryn's cloak. The Breton turned to face him, annoyed, but it vanished as he looked upon the enquiring eyes of the youth.

"Weh der dwagons undah dah well?"

"Tomorrow child. All shall be revealed.. Tomorrow."

The child didn't took the hint. He stayed, rooted to the spot, puppy brown eyes engaging the greens of Celdryn.

"Ohkay. But.. can I as' you a kweston?"

"Fire it up like you're a professional archer, boy."

A brief confusion on the child's grimy face before it was replaced by the undeniable curiousity found only in the innocent. But before the child could speak, what Celdryn could only guess as the mother appeared from nowhere and pinched the child's ear. Apparently, this child, name of Timothy, slipped out of the house JUST to listen to the tales of the local bard. Celdryn also received a verbal-lashing from the mother bear, who made sure Celdryn wouldn't 'preach his daedric lies' when little Timpthy was in the area.

When they both took their leave, Celdryn sighed. When he turned to his drink, he found it not on his hand, but on the hands of the stern-faced Tal'Jhiro, whose eyes spoke of much amusement at the Breton's suffering.

"Damn it," he cursed.

[Darkness Eternal]

Vaultren.

Kogobal had announced his desire for Vaultren to lead the way, and so he did. In the back of his mind he thought himself leader, then he remembered he was not in the Legion and he was not on tour with the Legion. Titus Mede II had excused his title of Tribune and placed him on watch. Most would certainly be flogged or imprisoned, but not him. Having influential allies was indeed beneficial. In any case, dealing with the Dunmer or the Breton could be dangerous and he would be wise to not enforce his own ideals upon them. The manner they looked at him told him enough that they distrusted him. Kogobal on the other hand showed genuine kindness, or at least respect. He had no personal qualms with any of them, for they offered him no true harm. Save for Celdryn who was the only one who attacked thus far.

His feet kept sinking beneath the snow as he marched on toward the cave. He used the trees and the landscape to recall the location of this cavern. He breathed deeply as he continued on with the group. True, the circumstances were not favorable and were less than desirable. But even amidst this all, Vaultren rejoiced in his misfortunes. He might of been a fugitive of the Thalmor, as of that week. He might of been injured in a fight with a maniacal Breton and he might of been drowned and crushed by an avalanche or lost in a blizzard, but he kept his frigid emotions and only smirked. Life was too grand and too long to be complaining. He still held his life and still had his riches and influence somewhere else, and that was all that mattered.

As always, Kogobal seemed to offer his ideas. He explained he held little knowledge in combat and sought to use more tactical approaches to any violent situations. He also inquired on the information of the cave they were now making their way to.

Vaultren pulled back the hood to reveal his cropped black hair which was dotted rapidly by the falling snow. He scoffed as he remembered about his time against the Bosmer bandits who made the cavern their home one time after the conflict with the Nordic raiders. "You need not worry about being inexperienced, most of the bandits of these areas are weary by the cold, unless they are Nordic of nature. My men and I were ambushed here once two years ago by Bosmeri archers after the conflict with the Nords. Poor creatures had as much cunning as a school of sardines. Those cowardly little shïts, they never even bothered to leave their cave!"

He wasn't sure if the others had laughed, but he found it comical. The tree-hugging savages attempting to use their base animals and archery to bring down the Legion soldiers. It was all amusing. He looked at Kogobal with a weary stare and began to explain. "The cave itself has three corridors that lead into the side of the mountain. The third corridor to the left, as I recall...leads to the exterior exit if taken upon. There is plenty of room to set up a small camp and the left over supplies may be used as firewood in the south halls.”

He paused to reconsider his path. He scratched his hair and erected a haughty breath. "Provided it has not been looted after all these years."

The tribune continued as he recalled the path to this place. "It would be best if we encountered others who were not willing to sink their blades into our flesh. Chances are, the cave might yet be uninhabited, but I've been wrong before."

They were walking over the Jerall Mountains now, heading deep toward it. There was evidence of a small battle that had taken place in the area. Fallen broken weapons and shields littered the snow. Burnt wagons and damaged crates could be seen a few kilometers away. It appeared nobody had even bothered to clean up the remains. In this weather condition, it was obvious why. Though this was a different battle altogether, and more of a raid rather than a skirmish. It appeared as if it had been some time since it occured, considering there were no bodies yet located. It was understandable; the Jerall Mountains was an insignificant spot: too few resources and too few people for the Empire to worry about. For all intents and purposes, this particular spot was forgotten by men and cleaned spotless by natural predators.

In the side of the mountain, there was a large opening that was surrounded by naked trees. The cave opening! Vaultren pointed over toward the direction. "There!"

He rushed over to the entrance of the dark abode, only to stand on the outside. "Best get inside before the storm. Sadly, it is not the most accommodating of places to rest. I would rather be resting in my villa, plowing my fields, collecting grapes from my vineyard and copulating with my beautiful servants."

Vaultren briefly winked to the Dunmeri woman, Alvara, before extending a gracious hand to admit the trio entrance. He fortunate to purchase a bottle of wine at the Khajiiti caravan. Not that swill that could be found in the local abysmal tavern. Though he would be cautious at that very moment, for he knew not what dwelled in the cave and he wasn't sure if the others even had torches to be able to see in the dark. He would have to hold onto his blade rather than his bottle of wine. At least for now.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 23 2012, 03:40 AM