Kidnapped! (Playground), RP Playground Options

[Uleni Athram]

Evil never dies. It simply evolves into another form of monstrosity. It's like a never ending tapeworm with one million faces that could transform into another million shapes, a repugnant and persistent predator that never stopped finding cracks to manifest itself. He always questioned himself how it could be done. How evil could finally be vanquished. The sheen of the wine glass, its shape made beautiful by the whispers of candlelight, gave him no answers for that, only a burning and shadowed reflection. He dug his eyes there, drinking deeply for visions as much as he did for relief an hour ago.

He let his eyes droop, and his calloused fingers massaged his wrinkling temple.

Times like these make him question whether he had the energy to lead. He was weary to the bone, and his world had no color anymore, only a distressing sepia of what ifs, could'ves and should'ves. When you run a marathon, and you see yourself run, run, run, there comes a time when you make a certain amount of distance.... when you make it further than you realized, you ask yourself if you could get a little bit of a breather. A little bit of a break.

He deserved it, didn't he? He survived the Crisis, didn't he? He fought against the baying hordes of Dagon and came out the triumphant one, didn't he?

The last thought broke all of his inhibitions and he roared a primal roar that bespoke of unending grief, inescapable confusion and unquenchable rage. With pitiable desperation he reached for the whole bottle instead of the glass, and gulped it all down, savoring the burning trail it made on his throat and chest.

He just turned 20 this morning and he already knew why men twice his age drank.

Damn the Crisis, damn the Daedra, damn the Dawn! Damn them all to a black, ancient void bereft of anything resembling hope! Damn them all!

With a surge of inner hatred and borrowed determination from the bottle, Aenius Gratian rose from his chair and stormed out of his tent-office hybrid, a gleam in his young but hardened eyes.
**

The Rebuilding of Kvatch, as was usual with anything associated with Imperial bureaucracy (particularly after a massive Crisis that left the Empire a bloody mess), was slow as a testudo formation on thin ice. The veterans, foremost among them the indomitable Savlian Matius, was busy in the Imperial City petitioning the Elder Council for real assistance, not promises that gets crucified the moment it leaves lips. The ones that were left for Kvatch's protection was mish-mash of hardened guardsmen and green horn recruits.

And they simply weren't enough to go around.

Thirty eight guardsmen tasked in the protection of several hundreds. It was head-bursting as much as it was laughable. It was fortunate that all of them were linked in this tragedy's aftermath and went beyond themselves to help each other; if it weren't, the guardsmen would simply be crushed under the pressure of protecting people several times their number. To help the beleaguered Watch, the civilians established an enclave of sorts, basing their headquarters in the collection of tents on the foot of Kvatch's hill. From his vantage point on the surrounding hills, the sun behind him, Acilius could see that there were several proper buildings erected there now, too. Probably halls of some kind where everyone would meet and gather around in.

Acilius memorized every detail and made notes.

He then joined the mass of humanity gathered there, on the lookout for the young Captain that was hiring mercenaries.

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OOC: Its been a while since I RP'ed, or wrote for that matter, and it shows. UGH! But anyway, let's do this!

[Uleni Athram]

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Aenius' first stop was the Mages Guild. A handful of their members, including a couple of veterans, managed to survive the initial onslaught and establish a restoring presence in the former refugee camp. With the former settlement now a small city in its own right, they were now busier than ever, they, like the guardsmen, have had their hands full with providing magical services and lending their mighty aid in the rebuilding of the city. Admittedly, they faced a certain kind of tribulation that Aenius and his fellows didn't.

Mistrust and a gnawing fear.

This sprung from the fact that this whole Crisis was started by a cult that used magic; a demonic kind of magic, set apart from the higher mysteries the Mages Guild practiced, but magic nonetheless. It was a slow burning venom that needed only the smallest of entry, and right now Aenius could see that while they were still co-operating, there was an obvious rift between the civilian populations and the magicians.It was a sad affair, really, but Aenius was confident that the mages could outdo the misgivings laid upon them with rigorous efforts to aid and prove that they were different from the Dawn; Aenius himself was no stranger to situations like these, where every eyes were set against him. But enough rumination, he thought, as he neared the temporary Guild Hall. It was wooden, three story affair with tattered, blue banners proclaiming it to be the residence of the wizards.

He could see that there was an Imperial apprentice handing out potions to passersby in a rickety kiosk marked with a poorly worded board that boasted "'Un Poshunz Fer 'Un Persan"; by the building's side was a heavily armored Khajiit teaching practical uses for basic spells to a crowd of people listening intently. Standing on a second floor veranda was an Argonian washing massive amounts of dirty blankets with a water spell before drying them off with a radiance of warm fire.

And although the Levitation spell was technically outlawed, he could see a jovial Bosmer running fast in mid-air, descending from place to place as he transported various items that would've took a certain amount of time delivering were he to use the ground as most mortal couriers did. They were a sight to behold, these mages. And a damn helpful one, too. He then sensed a presence walking towards him, and when he turned his head he beheld the approach of his gigantic second in command. He stood a good two feet taller than the rest of the crowd, but what can you expect from a seven foot tall, son of Skyrim? Aenius Gratian was bred to be a leader ever since he joined the Legion, but Gunnar Bjorksson commanded a different kind of authority. From his massive and muscular body decked in heavy Kvatch armor, to his great helm and greater battle-axe, this Nord that held off three Dremora single-handed easily smashed through the crowd to stand by the much smaller Imperial.

"No takers," Gunnar rumbled by greeting, "some of the mercs that did come said pay was low, risk too high. The more vocal ones got my boot. Ain't no one from the locals; understandable, building Kvatch after all."

Gunnar was what the old timers in the barracks called a "Second-Chancer," and it showed. He had the posture of a syndicate enforcer, not the straight and disciplined form of a Guardsman, and he regarded all those who looked on him with a nasty glare that dared. But while retaining his old habits from his years in the Orum Gang, Aenius was glad Gunnar was beside him. He might be intimidating, but at least he was genuine in his loyalty to Kvatch.

"Not surprised," the Imperial replied, after a moment of thinking. "But in any case, keep handing out the posters to anyone who looks promising. Tell Windios and Varena to gear up, too; who knows, maybe we can hook two or three sellswords today and start now."

Gunnar nodded his helmeted head.

"Understood. What about you. though?"

Aenius, keeping his attention to his second in command, said, "I'm going to see if the Mages Guild could spare any potions. We might also need a battlemage; the reports say the Dawn are hiding out in Brittlero- OOF!"

In his inattention to what's in front of him, Aenius never saw the blonde elf that stood in his path. He crashed into her with a resounding clang of metal against body, and the Imperial cried out in alarm and surprise. It took him a moment to get his bearings, since his surprise and reaction rattled him out more than the impact, but realizing that the entity he offended was much more smaller in size than he was, he immediately went to her aid.

"I'm so sorry, citizen, but I didn't see you were there. Are you hurt?"

From his back, he could hear the retreating footsteps of Gunnar and his mocking but good-natured chuckles amidst the general cacophony of the settlement.

He regarded the person in front of him with an apologetic expression. She was blonde, yes, but now he could pinpoint a race and nothing could refute the fact that the woman before him was a Valenwood elf. Had tanned skin, too.
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Acilius was now wearing a rice hat that concealed his face, and he was among the gathering of people that listened intently to the heavily armored Khajiit rambling on about the more diverse uses that one can do with basic spells. The Blades taught him that art of social stealth, and they taught him well. It was easy to blend in, and easier still to stalk the Guard Captain. It was child's play to spot him, as this Aenius Gratian walked with steely purpose, and besides, who else would wear a white cloak over a guard uniform? He saw the other guardsmen and they did not wore such a grandiose thing. This Aenius also had an ebony sword with a golden lion-pommel. Acilius was pretty sure that was not standard issue.

He watched the Imperial now as he conversed with a humongous person, this one also in guard armor, and then coughed to hide his laugh as the Captain crashed into a Bosmer. He strained his ears on their conversation, hopeful that maybe he could gleam something from it. He thought about directly talking to the man himself, but like the Blades taught him, trust no one and question everything. Particularly in this day and age where enemies wear the faces of friends. So he stalked him, and watched him.