The Shadow Under Fort Sutch, RP Playground Thread Options

[Uleni Athram]

The Shadow Under Fort Sutch
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Things were slowly going back to normal.

The momentous events of the Crisis were undeniable and unforgettable, but as time marched on ever forward, so too did the memories of fire and Oblivion slowly fade. The Empire, battered and bruised, laid low the Prince of Destruction and His unholy legions with the help from her sons and the Divines. They paid a heavy price, for the glorious line of the Septims ended with the shattering of the Amulet, and Martin's ascension to the splendors of Aetherius. The Ruby Throne lies unseated, the Crown unwore. The Scepter that commanded red legions to conquest commands them no more. The last divinity of Tiber's line stands petrified in the bloodlines' last moment of glory. A grave price indeed, one that would echo and change the Empire's fate forever, but it was a price they willingly paid. To maintain balance and order in the world of mortals. The populace all over the Empire contributed heavily into itz rebuilding. The toils of restoring the glory that was Cyrodiil slowly helped ease the shock and the horror. The Crisis would never be forgotten, yes, but in time it would be fade.

Things were slowly going back to normal.

From Bruma to Leyawiin, from Cheydinhal to wounded Kvatch, news spread of the collaboration between the three Guilds of Anvil. Even wounded Kvatch has heard, and the Empire bristled with curiousity and excitement. Even the other provinces took ear of the Expedition, headed by the famous Oedipus Nebraska, he who is renowned in the land for his deeds of daring. The eyes of this veteran adventurer has seen something in the darkness below Fort Sutch, and is eager to drag it into the light of discovery. All manner of characters and personalities are drawn to this expedition. The thrill of journeying forth in a strange land? The riches and rewards of fame it allures the world with? The discovery of secrets long buried by the ancients, whether it be damning or enlightening? Or the chance to create history with their own hands?

The Shadow under Fort Sutch detests the light from above, and will test those who invade if they are strong enough to even uncover its barest of secrets.....

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OOC: Okay, the introduction is finished. Since DE is the first poster, please, do your magic and let's get this show on the road! *roars*

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla felt a little insulted after Westley's sudden departure. She wondered if she had done something to offend him.

"But at least he drank the potion," she told herself. She sat on her bed at the inn with her alchemical ingredients spread out in front of her, as well as her potions lying in a neat line on the bed. She counted, recounted, and shuffled the ingredients around in front of her, first based on name, then by color, then grouped them together by the effects they had.

She sighed. To keep herself from acting like a fool, she had simply nodded to everyone at the table, feigned an upset stomach, and briskly walked to her room. She didn't turn to see if anyone cared, nor stayed to hear if they were concerned. She knew they weren't, as she was a stranger.

She recounted her actions that day. Braying like a donkey at the slightest bit of humor, teasing a joking with strangers. Some were animated and funny, other cool and calculating, and others just simply silent. Thinking back on the incident with the dog, she thought about what she SHOULD have done.

Anticipated Westley being wobbly and falling. Been quicker to catch him instead of letting him catch her by surprise. Instead of panicked, slowly wiggled herself out from under him, bit by bit, instead of all at once, flailing. She put her alchemical ingredients away and sighed. Everything she had, from her cure disease potions, to her tiny stack of form-fitting clothes, was from experience. Tighter clothes get caught less and are less likely to be grabbed. Only keep what potions and ingredients you need. Bring no excess.

She would have to watch herself around this group. If she went in with them, she couldn't make mistakes like she had tonight. Drinking, brawling, panicking, can get you killed. And she couldn't afford that.

What would her husband think? If he had time to think about her. The letter of consolation, if they ever did that, might come as a relief to him. She had a sizable sum put away for him if she ever passed, but that was more out of pity than love. And he knew nothing about it.

It wasn't that she wasn't fond of her husband, and he wasn't fond of her. The marriage was rushed in the months of their heated passions, and when it cooled, so had their feelings. But she kept up the pretense in an effort to fan the flames of the cooling embers of their marriage. The motions were stilted, the words lacked warmth, and the lovemaking simply wasn't there.

Maybe that was the curse of being a Mer. Human feelings come and go so quickly, but hers took long to warm and long to cool. She still felt a fondness for him, but at the same time, it wasn't like it was before.

Could they even be called husband and wife? They weren't joined by Mara, since she was thrown out of the temple by a prude priestess for being a worshiper of Meridia. There were no known rites for marriage in Meridia's lore, and her husband worshiped Talos. They simply decided they were married, and that was that.

"Why did I REALLY come?" Kayla asked herself. It wasn't for her marriage. Even though she was young, she knew that no amount of gold could spark a real, lasting love. Not the kind of love she desired.

She desired a warm home, outside city walls. A boy bringing her bugs and a girl hiding mice in her smock. Sword lessons and maybe magick lessons too. Sitting by the fire at night after watching the sunset with the person she loved, fingers intertwined, head on shoulder.

She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Westley's blood was specked on her face. She looked down at the rest of her clothes and saw that the blood had seeped into the side of her shirt. Disgusted, she tore off the dirtied shirt and put on an almost identical shirt, with a lower neckline. The pink scar showed even more. An inch of pink, protruding flesh screamed her failure at her, her failure to keep someone safe. She scrubbed her face in the washbasin.

Spotting a piece of parchment and a quill with ink on the table next to her bed, Kayla sat down and began to write furiously, dipping the quill in the ink every so often. The time began to pass quickly for her.