The life of Nethemi Ocatu [WIP:P] Options

[Konji]

After a long time away from writing I'm ready to tell of Nethemi's life, starting with his birth, childhood and relative history, all the way to the reason and reasoning behind why he enered the Imperial prison.

Also just done 4 sides of A4 notes on his first few encounters in the ayleid ruins across the from the starting sewers...still haven't found what's at the end.

Watch this space.

This post has been edited by Konradude: Apr 14 2006, 09:56 PM

[Konji]

Well it's finally starting to pick up.


It was on my seventeenth birthday that the Arch-Mage strode into my master’s quarters. He had spotted me around the University, and had questioned his council about me, finding out the truth of my existence in his District. He struck down Cain without any accusations, nor did he give him time to plead his innocence in the matter – It was clear to him what had happened and had enraged him to the point of aggression. Cain died in his bedroom, flames cast inside him causing his blood to heat and drown the Imperial. The Arch-Mage had left calmly, sure that his actions would not be noticed, but the Emperor had felt a death in his city and had sent guards to the University.

The Legion had found a pallid and wretched figure soaked in blood, cradling a dead man in his muscular arms and weeping on him. As they dragged me off him I wept bitterly and called his name, pleading for him to return to this plane of existence and visit me.
It was no surprise when I was sentenced to imprisonment for the murder of Apprentice Cain Relabius – All the evidence the Guard needed was set in stone in front of them. For their mistake I forgive them, there were no other options available to them with no other leads for them to follow through. I was given my first ever pieces of clothing, some worn sandals and patched trousers that were too large for me, and placed in a jail to serve my sentence gracefully.

A Dunmer resided in the cell across the hall from me. I had yet to meet a Dark Elf in my seventeen years, and was not all too impressed with the sight that graced my eyes. Unreliable as my sight was, I couldn’t fail to see what sort of person he was. He was crooked, both in personality and appearance, and stank of a substance all too common on the waterfront – Skooma. Although I was partial to both the drink and the smoke of Skooma, the Dunmer’s stench was that of a concoction found in places lower than the sewers. He had mixed the illegal ingredient with the juice of Nirnroot – a plant disgusting in its own right. This mixture would make the relatively expensive skooma last twice as long, but it was thrice as harmful and tenfold more disgusting than the pure version.

He goaded me the instant the guards were gone, calling me an Altmer and threatening that the guards were talking of executing me. He was obviously drunk as well as stupid, making him all the easier to ignore, so I turned my back and sat down by the table set out for me – munching on the small snack readily available.