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!

[Acadian]

* Buffy *

With platinum hair spilling over both shoulders and halfway down her back, the squeaky clean elf was now attired in a forest green and loam colored mage tunic over breeches and boots of undyed buckskin. She sat enjoying some bread, cheese and a small goblet of Tamikas as she reviewed the area around Brittlerock Cave on her well-annotated doeskin map.

She was pleased that at least her need to restock some potions had been taken care of. The Breton woman Buffy had struck up a conversation with in the bath was so amused by the wood elf’s ability to summon a towel, that bartering a quick spell lesson for a small supply of restorative elixirs was the fortuitous result.

Once her light meal was finished, she rolled up the map and rose to her feet. Her hair was now dry enough that she restrained it into a loose ponytail using a thin strip of leather. As the meeting with Captain Gration to learn more about what his task entailed was not for some time yet, she decided to revisit the main area of the guild. Perhaps someone there might know more details of this kidnapping.

The Imperial that caught her eye there wore a dark cloak over similarly somber clothes. A sword rode at one of the man’s hips. His black hair was cropped quite closely in the manner popular among Legion soldiers. He was clean shaven with fair Colovian skin. The young face was rather unremarkable save for a pair of strikingly pale eyes. They were intense, but almost colorless.

As his gaze met hers, Buffy smiled politely then demurely looked away to avoid appearing flirtatious. Seeing Sigrid on the other side of the room, she exchanged waves with the beautiful and buxom Nord who served as the branch’s guildmagister.