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.

*********************************

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]

Gunnar was certain there would be no volunteers ever since the first batch of mercenaries chickened out. Low pay, his rosy and Nordic ass. If those third-rate sells words would be honest with themselves, then they would admit that they were afraid of the Daedra that lurked in Brittlerock Cave. You would've thought that maybe they'd more than willing to banish Daedra to Oblivion but that was evidently not the case. The reputation of the grotto as a focal point of strange Daedric energies preceded it, it seems. If all else fails, and there were no hands willing to lend aid, then Gunnar was pretty certain they'd go in there with only the four of them. Against an enemy that held an unknown amount of manpower. Aenius can't hold off the magistrates in the City forever. Sooner or later they would need results. Results that would probably be of Aenius and the three guards being dead in various and brutal ways.

Personally, Gunnar was glad for it. Nay, eager for it. The doses he took were beginning to dull in effect, and it was getting harder to get a hold of a willing dealer. Time was, gold and a little bit of guardsman authority would get you a handful of Sugar but bow those dealers wanted something else in exchange. They wanted food and shelter now, and the old ways didn't fly no more.

Gunnar always snorted moon sugar for their calming effects. To keep the memories at bay. This Crisis failed to take him in the battlefield; now it tried take him in his sleep and dreams. Without the Sugar, insomnia threatened to take over. And the last time he didn't sleep...

A blur of gold in the backdrop of the grey city caught his eye. It was surprisingly a man in a set of dwarven gear, with a similarly dwarvish warhammer being hefted on his pauldrons. He walked with the orderly gait that could be only be attributed to a former Legionary. Gunnar, having his feet on both sides of the law, could sniff a soldier-boy miles away. This bronze-plated man was heading towards the Mages Guild, so Gunnar thanked his lucky stars.

"You there," he rumbled at the man, standing in his way. "You must've heard about the recent kidnappings perpetrated by the Dawn; well, we guardsmen are looking for helping hands. You look tough enough. Interested?"