Redemption, part 2 Options

[jack cloudy]

Click here for Redemption Part 1


Alright, part 2. Still not much redeeming going on but whatever. Now instead of continuing the story, I figured I'd use this post for all the miscellaneous stuff. Things like a character list and the recap for part 1. So be warned that this post CONTAINS SPOILERS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!


RECAP FOR PART 1 Again SPOILERS!

One night, the palace is breached by unknown assailants. Following standard protocol for such events, the Emperor is secretly transported to the prison by his Blades. The Imperial Battlemage, Ocato, declines to join him, claiming that the situation is under control and that his services aren't needed.

Despite having reached the prison safely, the Emperor soon finds that he is still in danger. It is then that Uriel receives help from an unexpected ally. Angoril Bobardi reveals that the very cell he has inhabited for decades, contains a secret escape route that was built during the simulacrum at the order of Jagar Tharn. With this passage and the considerable magical prowess of Angoril, the Emperor manages to flee the deadly trap.

Also freed from the prison by Angoril is Maorlatta Orgnum, a young (by elf-standards) and somewhat naive girl who was arrested for the crime of sleeping in the park. Once free, she quickly makes herself scarce and eventually finds herself in the shack of an old fisherman who lives on an island in Lake Rumare. The fisherman seeks the help of the thieves guild to rid her of the manacles and prison outfit that would have every Legionnaire arrest her on sight. Unfortunately, the one assigned to pick the locks on the manacles informs Vicente Valtieri instead, who takes a personal interest in the girl’s talent for camouflage. Maorlatta is saved by the Redguard Sorian, a young and rather strange lad who keeps going on and on about something he calls an Ansei. The two team up to go treasure hunting in a nearby Ayleid ruin.

Meanwhile, Angoril returns to the prison. Pretending to be from the palace, he gets a vital clue from the Argonian private investigator Grey-Tongue. The Argonian sends him to Chorrol to find the source of the assassins distinctive red robes. To get to Chorrol, he summons a shiftgate, circumventing days travelling. From Chorrol the trail leads to Kvatch, a city whose precise location he does not know. Unable to summon another shiftgate with reasonable accuracy, Angoril seeks more mundane passage to Kvatch.

While Angoril is travelling, Maorlatta and Sorian hit the Ayleid ruin. After some trouble with a zombie, they strike gold and find an abandoned office with some intact artefacts. They attempt to sell the artefacts in the Imperial city, where they are intercepted by Grey-Tongue and then Vicente Valtieri. Sorian again makes the vampire flee. The next morning Maorlatta wakes up in the Imperial palace with no recollection on how she got there or what happened during her stay at Grey-Tongue’s house. Jauffre interrogates her in the garden at the top of the tower.







Redemption's persons of questionable importance

Main characters:
Angoril Bobardi: An Altmeri sorcerer who inhabited a cell in the Imperial prison, fully aware of the secret escape route. After leaving the prison, he makes it his task to track down the leaders behind the red-robed assassins.

Maorlatta Orgnum: A Maormer from Pyandonea, sent to Tamriel at the command of king Orgnum. Circumstances land her in the same prison as the Altmer. After escaping, she returns to the pursuit of her own goals, one of which is to become filthy rich.

Side characters:
Grey-Tongue: An Argonian private investigator. He is a friend of Hieronymous Lex and has been hired by the guard-captain in the past. Grey-Tongue is hired now as well by the city-guard to investigate the events at the prison and find Uriel’s corpse.
Guard-Captain Hieronymous Lex: Hieronymous Lex is the man put in charge of investigating the massacre at the Imperial Prison. Upon finding that Uriel Septim was seen entering the prison that night, he hires Grey-Tongue to help him uncover the truth.
Sorian: A Redguard who saves Maorlatta from Vicente Valtieri. A simple wandering swordsman with a slight Ansei-obsession.
Rajn Geydar: A Wood Elf who lives in Kvatch. At one point possessed a piece of the Balac-Thurm.

Others:
Guard-Captain Argelius: A colleague of Hieronymous Lex who describes him as the man to call when you need subtlety.
Bannon: A merchant who travelled with Angoril from Chorrol to Kvatch
Baleni: Daughter of Rajn Geydar
Doruk: The Bouncer who worked at Rajn Geydar's restaurant. Deceased.
Penald Baurus: Blade and bodyguard of Uriel Septim.
Berius: Lord Protector and Head of the palaceguard in the Imperial City.
Valen Dreth: A Dunmeri prisoner. Not the most pleasant sort.
Jennifer Renault: Blade, recently promoted to captain.
Glenroy: Blade and bodyguard of Uriel Septim.

Fenasim: A member of the emperor's Palace guard.
Mankar Camoran: The father of both Raven and Ruma. He is the leader of the Mythic Dawn and its prophet.
Raven Camoran: The ‘Hand’ of the Mythic Dawn, an organization with an unknown purpose. What is certain however, is that the Dawn wants Uriel Septim dead.
Ruma Camoran: The sister of Raven, she serves the Mythic Dawn as Priestess. In the same night that the attempt on the emperor’s life is made, she infiltrates the vaults beneath the Imperial palace to steal two artefacts.
Harrow: A member of the Dawn, Harrow used to be an Armiger stationed in Vvardenfell.

Ludius Bester: Member of Bester and Bester, the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests. He runs the office in lower Kvatch.
Aelwin Merowald: An old fisherman who lost most of his leg to Slaughterfish. Friend of Delmar Tunius.
Rajn Geydar: Owner of the Eight Provinces, a restaurant in Kvatch.
Ra’Jezhr: A Khajiiti lockpicker in the employ of the Thieves Guild, Ra’Jezhr is also coerced into serving the Dark Brotherhood’s interests.
Simanuel Rosendorf IV: The owner of a silk-plantation near Chorrol

Umbacano: An Altmer who lives in the capital city. A well-known collector of Ayleid artefacts.
Uriel Septim VII: The Emperor of Tamriel.
Brother Tanner: A priest who serves in the Kvatch-temple. Looks like a Septim.
Delmar Tunius: An old fisherman who lives on a small island in lake Nibenay.
Vicente Valtieri: A member of the Dark Brotherhood, he takes interest in Maorlatta’s talents at stealth, and desires to make her an assassin, with or without her cooperation.

Latta’s evergrowing list of people only she knows:
Levvelyn of Glashorn: The hero of a popular series who spends most of his books saving the world, slaying vicious monsters, duelling devious Altmeri warlords and chasing the girl.
Irrillys: A fictional princess of Pyandonea, she is Levvelyn’s love interest. Posesses an unfortunate talent for being kidnapped by devious Altmeri warlords.
Mettildi: The Maormer that taught Maorlatta how to fight, though his methods traumatized her to the point where she is mentally incapable of defending herself.
Master Zelthir: Another Maormer put in charge of educating Maorlatta. Master Zelthir is a well-known and highly respected healer.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Sep 22 2013, 07:36 PM

[jack cloudy]

Over two months. I really am losing it, ain't I? The good news I guess is that I have half a blade piece ready as well. The bad news is that I'm not sure if I should use it or skip ahead and do it more gradually in another flashback.

Going back to the last part. Giving Renault a first name, as well as having her not be a captain already, was a simple and barebones attempt at giving her more characterization than 'woman that dies first'. It also explains a bit more on how the Blades could be blindsided like they were in the game.
But for now, let's change perspectives again. Oh, and a small rant at the end.

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Chapter 8.4

Imperial City

With a hard pat! the brewing storm announced its arrival over Cyrodiil. A man watched from a balcony as the last patch of crimson twilight was devoured by the clouds and his robes became soaked with cold water. It was good weather, he decided. The harsh downpour drowned out the voices of men and drove the regular patrols to any cover they could find. That left the streets open for others. He winced as lightning blinded his eyes for a moment and the roar of thunder overwhelmed even the clatter of rain on stone and metal. Then his lips curled upwards in a smile. Yes, it was excellent weather, better than any he could have wished for.

More lightning tore the sky asunder. They were silent bolts, of the wrong colour and too short to connect with either cloud or ground. The man recognized that what he looked at was no lightning but just as that realization had dawned upon him, his sight was blocked by the arms and bodies of his comrades. They jostled for a place at the balcony, all dressed in robes identical to his own, the red darkening as it soaked to a rusty brown. The man scowled at the sudden crowding and raised his voice over the storm.
“Compose yourselves! Are you heralds of the Dawn, or mere children?!”

With a chorus of “Forgive us, master Camoran!”, the men stepped back and fell to a knee, leaving the balcony once more to him alone. Camoran squinted into the rain and hoped to find the eerie lights again but the glimmer had already vanished.
“It’s gone.” He muttered to himself.
“It came from the palace, master.” One of his companions shouted.
“I know, acolyte! Be silent!” The master bellowed back at the men, not knowing who had spoken and not caring.

The building they’d occupied, a large mansion within a walled-off garden, provided a perfect view of the Imperial residence. Tonight however, that visibility was all but gone. Even moreso than the encroaching darkness, the rain’s haze reduced the Imperial spire into a vague shadow. Only at the crack of lightning, did it stand out. But after days of observation in better weather, he knew exactly where to look. So he mentally retraced the unnatural light and swore under his breath. It had occurred directly beneath the Emperor’s suite.
“Pah, it’s just a little riot over there. I don’t see what it’s got you all riled up for.” An acolyte declared. This time he turned to see who had spoken. Even over the hammering rain he had heard the lack of reverence and the arrogance. His eyes sparked fire and his followers shrinked back, drifted aside from his gaze. All but one.

He settled his sight on the lone Dunmer that dared face his wrath. As he recognized the weathered face before him, he could barely hide his disgust.
“Just a little riot, you say. Your stupidity astounds me, Initiate. Since when do you declare yourself learned in the arts of the arcane? A riot you believe? It may be the right time for one, but why would a riot occur in midair outside the palace? Care to answer that?” He said and stepped closer to the man, carefully swerving around the books stacked in disorderly piles on the floor. He approached till the Dunmer was forced to look up, using his Altmeri stature to his advantage. The smaller man said nothing, but neither did he flinch under the angry stare.
“So silence is your answer. Fine then, I shall answer for you. Every year at coronation-day, rose petals are thrown from White-Gold Tower and light the air aglow.”
“It’s not coronation-day, Camoran.” The Altmer’s eyes narrowed further at the casual response.
“Indeed it isn’t, Harrow. But flowers are not the only thing that stir the Ayleid wonder. Someone just jumped. From Uriel’s room.” He whispered slowly, his words almost lost to the storm raging outside.

Harrow cheered, throwing his fist towards the ceiling.
“Hah! Then we are done here! Let us go now and celebrate our victory!”
Some of the other robed men, mostly Bosmer, raised their own fists. But all, even Harrow, lowered them when they saw the growing displeasure on Camoran’s face. Then, his fury exploded.
“You fool! Is your head only there for bragging?! Do you truly believe that such a fall would kill him? You were an Armiger, you must have encountered more than a few that could survive such in your homeland. Or did you spend your time in taverns playing with the women instead of performing your duty?” Though his words were harsh, they had the opposite result from what he’d intended. Now angered himself by the insult, Harrow snapped back at him.
“This is not Morrowind, Raven. Levitation is outlawed here. You should use your own head before critiscizing others.”
“Cease your tongue lest I cut it out and force it down your throat! This is the Septim we are speaking about. A law he made himself would not stop him when it came to preserving his life!” The Altmer shouted in anger. He saw Harrow’s hands fall to the slit that hid the knife beneath his robe. Though he held no fear for the Dunmer and relished the excuse to burn him to ashes, he remembered that Harrow was a murderer and his father would be displeased to hear that his son had disposed of the fetcher. It was far better to keep him around to take blame for any unpopular but necessary acts than to waste him on a mere whim.

The scent of charred flesh spread through the room and a mad cackling could be heard coming from no distinct direction. With forced calm, Camoran spoke. With each word, he drew his portal open further.
“The Prophet is not here, Harrow. And neither is the Priestess. If it is your desire to lay a hand on the son and brother of those who protect your miserable life, remember this. For whether you would succeed or fail, you will meet our lord. As the defecation of his beasts.”
An inhuman eye blinked and a toothfilled maw large enough to swallow a man whole strained to push through the tear between worlds Camoran had created.
“My apologies…master. I meant no disrespect.”

Raven scoffed at the apology. He doubted the sincerity of it but also knew that pressing further would cause him to lose face before his group. He couldn’t keep his portal open for much longer either, though he hid the strain it placed upon him. Already the corpsegod squirmed and fought his intrusion. So he dropped both the issue and the portal without a further word.
“Leave me. All of you.”
“One of these days, I really will kill the honoured user. And neither father nor Ruma will be able to stop me.”
Turning his back on them, Raven shook his head, angry both at the Dunmer’s insolence and his own failure to control his anger.

He realized that he’d wasted too much time dealing with Harrow. Knowing that he had to move quickly if the Emperor had managed to escape, he reached within the folds of his robe and drew out an eyepatch. He settled it before one eye, closed the other and looked again. To his covered eye, the rain, the stone walls and even the very land seemed to have vanished. What was left on the other hand, shone with a light of its own. The tower rose up towards infinity before him. Its walls were sheathed in dancing rainbows, so bright it hurt. He slipped his gaze down to the streets and scanned the buildings near the palace. Nothing. The only light that was not cast by the tower came from the few magical knickknacks collected by the various noblemen and other wealthy folk that lived nearby. He knew them all and nothing was where it shouldn’t be.
“The Septim would never abandon the symbols of his power. He knows the political ramifications if he did. So that means it was not the Emperor who fell. Good.”

If it hadn’t been the emperor then there was only one answer left. The assassination plan had been defeated. If so, an alarm would be raised.
“Which means that our main operation is at risk as well. Should I be frustrated, or happy?” He thought to himself and for a moment a sharp self-loathing took hold of him. He had hoped the intervention of him and his men wasn’t necessary, but he also knew he hated to stand idly while others performed acts of glory. He struggled with this inner dilemma for a long breath, then he sighed and again dug a hand into the folds of his robe. This time, he retrieved a small ebony rod. It was irregular in both shape and texture, smooth and damp like glass in one place and sharp like tiny knives in another.

Gripping it as if he was holding a dagger, he called upon the powers hidden within the artefact, envisioned a place and thrust at the air before him. Upon drawing back, the punctured air was not the cold of the stormy outdoors, but hot like a furnace and reeking of old wax and burnished copper. He placed his eye before the tiny portal and peered through. Like always, he compared it to peering through a keyhole. The resemblance was there, though keyholes wouldn’t cause bodily harm if its edge was carelessly touched while a portal would. He saw an empty corridor that spiralled downwards out of sight. It wasn’t what he desired. Camoran calculated where the corridor led and stabbed again. And again.

Pure blackness, a gate of diamonds woven like string. A hand, lying amidst bloodsoaked silk, its owner crushed beneath a housesized block of white stone. He flinched and sweat burst from his skin despite the chilling rain. His heart pounded against his ribs and his own hand trembled. With effort, and subconsciously grateful he had sent his troops away, he forced his thought back to reason and studied the hand closer. It was an ugly hand, thick and calloused like a miner’s, one finger missing from an earlier accident. His hand stopped trembling and his heart relaxed as he knew that this bloodied appendage wasn’t hers. It was a sacrifice to the Dawn, not a loss.
“If I’d sent Harrow into the vaults, that might have been him. Hah, only if everyone else had fallen before him. This is no time to daydream, Raven. Now then, where are you, sister dear?”

The dead follower was practically forgotten already as he moved his portal again. Snakes of clicking blades writhe and crawl all over the walls and floor of a long hall. A bridge of clouds cast over a bottomless pit. Eight women in red gathered before a blank wall. One of them is working a spell, muttering in the arcane tongues. Raven changes the angle so he can see her face and smiles. The woman possesses a face much like his own, though finer and lacking the harshness of his brow. He doesn’t speak till she finishes the spell and the wall flows aside like water.
“How fare thee, Priestess?”

The woman in red halted her followers with a gesture. She looked about till she saw the pinprick of rain in the otherwise dry corridor. Then she spoke, slowly and deliberate as each word was chosen with care.
“Several persons of valor have sacrificed their flesh to the Dawn and their names shall forever be remembered in the Prophet’s scrolls. The Septim’s traps are cunning, but they will not hold us in our quest. The first object is already ours and soon we shall come upon the second.”
She raised something and showed it to him, but the portal was too small to give him a good view. All he could make was that the item scattered the light as if made from glass and silver.
“So that is the famed coffer. Its shell is priceless, but the true treasure lies within. It is smaller than I expected though.” He thought to himself.

“I have come upon you with grim tidings. The servants of our Lord, who have waited so many years in the Dragon’s den for the Prophet, have fallen to treachery and betrayal. Pure were their souls, but their flesh has been corrupted.”
Raven picked his words with just as much care. Had it been a more informal setting, had they been alone, he would have called names. But he could not when others were listening. Even if they professed their faith in the Dawn, the men and women of the robes had been born and bred in an empire that reviled the allies his father once had and whose minions they now used. The Dawn would fall apart as minds corrupted by the Septim’s words and teachings would instinctively move away from their betters. So he hid his words and thoughts behind symbolism.
“Priestess and those who were chosen worthy to bring the new Dawn, know this. They are tainted through their proximity with the Septim. Their flesh has grown weak and their masks frozen. Even now the Septim guards his throne and sends his demons among us. Be on guard.”

The Priestess’ blinked, then scowled, then she lost herself to anger and shouted.
“Failed?! How dare they betray father’s trust! They said we could rely on them! That we wouldn’t have to lift a finger! What do you mean, failed?!” Raven cringed at the outburst. As the Dawn’s Priestess, she was not supposed to let her emotions rule her. Especially when they would make her imply that the Camoran’s were fallible. He knew he had to calm her down before she said too much but did not know how to begin. So he answered her question instead and buyed himself time to think.
“Berius. It must be him.”

“That lardfaced relic? Impossible! He’s still trapped in the fourth century.” Despite the seriousness of her continuing indiscretion and the nervous fidgeting of her followers, Raven let out a soft chuckle. She had just given him the key to dealing with the situation.
“That word is not to be used lightly, blessed Priestess. Do not forget that it was this ‘relic’ who defeated the Usurper. His bones may be old, his swordarm sluggish, but his mind is yet sharp. We would do well to remember that. We shall remember, and through remembrance the Dawn shall prevail. None shall speak words of weakness for we shall triumph!”

The woman’s features smoothed as his voice struck home. His words had sounded like a declaration of confidence to her followers but she knew what he’d really said. He saw her let go of her fury and grasp the calculation their father had fostered. She would make sure that those who had witnessed her momentary lapse would be silent, one way or another. None would speak of weakness.
“As always, the wisdom of your words cannot be denied. I shall double my rear guard. Do you require our aid? We can’t let the Septim escape.”
The offer was tempting. If she sent two or three of her followers, then he could find ways to silence them. Place them in the path of a guardsman, or perhaps even a Blade and claim their own incompetence and lack of faith as the cause. But he could not accept it. The Dawn’s hands were few, and growing fewer tonight. The vaults the Priestess had assaulted were murderous and there was no telling how many more sacrifices she would have to make to obtain the most important relic. They could deal with the survivors later.
“Your commitment to the cause is without equal, but we follow our Prophet’s will. The Priestess shall present the gifts, the Hand shall take the blood. Stay with your task as I shall stay with mine.”

She bowed to him and turned back to the opened wall.
“Of course. Your words are as ever true. I shall finish my task and gather the fallen. Once I am done, know that whoever I can spare will be yours to command. Good hunting, Hand.” She said before stepping into the darkness, her acolytes following like rubies on a chain.
“And to you, Priestess.” Raven replied and let the portal cease to be.

He went downstairs to the dining room where his own followers were waiting. They had closed the curtains and were gathered around a large map that had been spread out on the table. Coins were scattered on it. Tenth-pieces for guard-posts, half-pieces for their own observation-posts and a full septim marked each safe-house the Blades maintained in the city. He was glad to see they had not been wasting their time and had been going over the details of the various plans one last time, even though none of those plans would see use. Harrow stood in a corner away from the others. He had no ear for the murmurings and his eyes were focussed on the sharpening of his knife, not the map. But he looked up when he heard Raven Camoran step into the room and stepped forward with an eagerness to please that disgusted the Altmer.
“What is your desire, master?” He crooned with a voice dripping of poisonous honey.
“For you to die, treacherous snake. If you believe a little toelicking will make me trust you, you will find I am wiser than that.”

Raven said nothing and walked over to the bookshelves that lined a wall. From there he picked an old book and leafed through it. Behind him Harrow grit his teeth angrily and eventually went back to his corner and his knife. Raven read the pertinent sections quickly and then addressed the men.
“Unseal the armory. We’re moving out now.”
“You are right, sister. Berius is stuck in the fourth century and knows he can’t trust in the present. So I shall counter him in the same way. With fourth century information, not fifth.”

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OOC random words of randomness follow. Also, spoilers to the game.

So yeah, the Mythic Dawn. They're the bad guys of Oblivion and generally exist to be evil and get stabbed, burned and pincushioned by the heroic deliveryman. Now it's been a few years since I actually last played Oblivion beyond Kvatch and I only ever finished the game once, so I could be missing a lot of characterization that is actually in the game. The problem is, I don't know of that characterization so I'm basically improvising here.

To me, the Dawn never made much sense. They worship the lord of Destruction, while at the same time believing in a happy funtime paradise. The paradise of course turns out to be false because seriously, you're worshipping the lord of Destruction, not the lord of pleasant picnics amidst flowers and cute little bunnies of the non-vorpal kind. What did you expect?

They also don't do much onscreen outside the tutorial, recruit every hobbyist willing to buy their books regardless of the moral requirements they have and have a hideout whose presence is glowingly pointed out on a old monument. Which implies that this hideout has been around for a while (making you wonder why it is still a barebones cave instead of something more comfortable), or the Camoran's don't know the meaning of the words 'secret organization'. Oh, and when they do something, it is in the frontal attack by cannon-fodder way while loudly proclaiming your affiliation.

Back to the recruiting. They have one moral test that I am aware of. This is fine in itself since if the participant fails they get murdered and problem solved. But the test takes place in the secret hideout! What if said recruit decided to tell his families, neighbours and the 'Intelectual society of Daedric studies' where he went beforehand?


The same problems basically exist with the Blades. (watch Baurus' detectiveskills that basically amount to telling everyone he is a Blade then see who attacks him.) I guess in their case it can be summed up however as the requirement to keep the player relevant and front seats for the hero-role. That and I'm not supposed to think about it so much.




So, what do I plan to do with my version of the Mythic Dawn? That's a good question and one I'm not ready to answer. For starters however, I decided to raise up the religious part, give each Camoran a role in the pyramid and make them not be responsible for everything bad. I also want to adress the lord of Destruction and lovely my-little-pony paradise dilemma, but that must wait till later.

Other things include ditching the summonable armour. In the game it served no other role but to point out that this person is an evil Dawn loony and you could totally kill them without remorse. But for indentification purposes, I think the robes were good enough. The armour is redundant and I don't like it myself. It makes them too survivable (even though in-game I think it had as much armour-value as wet paper). The elite can have their bound armour (generic bound armour), but the grunts will have to do with simply not getting stabbed. The way a secret cult without infinite resources and who recruits from criminals and sociopaths might work.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Feb 24 2013, 03:21 PM