The Shadow Under Fort Sutch, RP Playground Thread Options

[Acadian]

Buffy:

Buffy had never followed the sports page of the Black Horse Courier, so she was surprised to realize that Lycus was a former Arena grand champion. She had fought once in the Arena to earn ship passage home when she was seventeen - not quite old enough to join the Mages Guild. It was fortunate that her bow skills, honed since the age of eight by her apprenticeship to Master Daenlin, had proved sufficient. To have risen to such a pinnacle within the Arena spoke well of Lycus’ martial talents. She was glad when he joined the others, herself included, as they filed into the guildhall.

For the mystic archer needed a safe perch from which to unleash her spells and arrows. When alone, wrapping herself in the comfort of shadows accomplished this. And she could always disappear, summoning a distraction if required, slink away and reengage on her own terms. There was safety in solitude. Ironically, numbers nullified many of her tactics, forcing her to rely upon the armor and blade of allies to shield against foes, or at least distract them.

Once inside the guildhall, Buffy studied those wearing the blue band. Ylenno, Kayla and Tarrick all appeared to be light skirmishers, and Buffy was confident that their likely speed and nimbleness would prove invaluable. Her long ears had earlier overheard Kayla discussing potions with Westley. A skilled alchemist, it appeared. Hopefully, the Altmer retained some of her race’s affinity for destructive magicks as well.

It was Elaninde, Lycus, Westley and perhaps Oedipus, however, that Buffy hoped could provide a wall of steel. It was encouraging to learn from the team roster that Elaninde was a spellsword; what the Altmer lacked in sheer mass, she likely made up for with offensive spells.

[PhoenixGamer]

Elaninde:

Elaninde was just thinking about going inside the guildhall when Ylenno came out and said with a smile:

"That's right boys and girls." ""There'll be no lone wolves limping off. Things are already organized inside, and apparently we mercs have to be grouped together. To make things easier, I guess. Here."

He handed out a set of blue armbands and as Elaninde put her armband on her arm, she noticed Westley's ring and suddenly remembered that he was a werewolf. She remember seeing it as he was on his way up the stairs at the count's arms, and how she almost didn't get any sleep that night. Her thoughts were interrupted as Buffy started reading from the parchment Ylenno had handed her in a surprisingly courtly manner:

“To all who shall see these presents, greeting. Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the following intrepid adventurers, they are hereby bound together by bands of blue:

Elaninde, renowned spellsword.
Buffy of Bravil, Lamp Knight, Guild of Mages.
Lycus Desselius, former Grand Champion of the Arena.
Kayla, Daughter of Skyrim.
Westley Arctus, former member of the Anvil Guild of Fighters.
Tarrick Kratham, local of Anvil.
Ylenno, Bravilian Bushmaster.”

Elaninde was first amused of Ylenno's title, then shocked as Buffy read the last name on the list:

“The final member of our group is Oedipus Nebraska, Master of the Guild of Adventurers.”

As Westley asked when Oedipus would meet them, Kayla said in a suspicious tone:

"Wait a moment, ", "Not only were we, as a group, put together to explore this place, but we're having the head of the Adventurer's Guild come with us?"

Elaninde could, almost as if she read Kayla's mind, guess that the other Almter's next thoughts were:

"Somethings not right...", and Ylenno answered:

"Oh yes, this whole chain of events, this expedition, conviently 'grouping' us together, Oedipus joining us, its one big, dastardly move to specifically kill us all in a very horrible manner because we wronged Nebraska before in a previous life, and apparently he has one hell of a memory!" "I don't see why something like this isn't right, to be honest. Sure, its a massively delightful convienience, and being cautious is generally a good thing to be, but if you'd ask me, out of all the mercenaries that jumped on this Expedition, all of us are probably the most capable.

And its not a brag. Look at us, for gods' sake! We have a former Grand Champion of the Arena with us, and famed hero of Bravil too! And, dun dun dun duuuun, we have yours truly! So yeah, it won't surprise me for Nebraska to lump us with his personal guard to add for his maximum protection."

"But that's just my inner-genius thinking. And what I do know, is that I don't know. We'd be better off if we'd ask the man himself; come on, my sweet darlings, the Atrium awaits!" As they walked into the guildhall, Elaninde noticed the vast amount of different groups. From what she could tell, they were set up in a manner that would cancel out most of the weaknesses a group could have.

As they continued towards the Atrium, she was trying to analyse what the different people in her group could do:

Herself: She imagined she would mostly be on the front-line herself, trying to make the best out of her situation.
Buffy: Buffy was a lamp knight, and part of the Mages Guild, so Elaninde imagined she would stay a little bit behind, giving support to the ones at the front.
Lycus: Apparently a former grand-champion of the Arena, and therefore going in the front with herself. Hopefully he knew how to use the scimitar at his side as Elaninde had seen what the could do in the wrong hands.
Kayla: Kayla seemed to know a lot about these Snow Elves, and hopefully could be useful in that way.
Westley: Since Westley was a werewolf, he probably wanted to be on the front line as well and even though, if he suddenly lost control and transformed, Elaninde felt sure that the rest of the group could take him. Since he also have been a member of the Fighter's Guild, he must have some experience with both armed and unarmed combat.
Tarrick: She didn't know much about Tarrick, but hopefully he had some special trait that would make him a good asset.
Ylenno: The little bosmer was probably a dangerous opponent with that axe, and could probably slip away easily.

When it came to Oedipus, Elaninde figured she would just have to wait and see what his most obvious traits were.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus was one of the first of the group to enter the hall, but he did not miss Westley straying too far in the back of the group. The long-haired Lycanthropic Imperial glanced behind him quickly and saw the younger fellow grit his teeth as he was being stared by a small couple in the hall. He wasn't the only one. Lycus himself attracted a few stares and whispers. His enhanced hearing picked up various words like. "He's that barbarian that was slapped outside," or "He's quite the big guy."

Lycus looked at their direction, offered them a slight nod, which they returned back to him in respect and continued on with the group. He didn't quite understand completely why Westley allowed himself to care what others thought. From the time he was here, he noticed the man was anti-social, violent, and hostile. Almost attacking the woman who insulted his friends, when Lycus himself mustered the strength to not choke the life from her when he was actually attacked by the woman.

It was then that Lycus returned a look and saw a ring hugging around his finger. No . . .it can't be.

It is! Hircine's Ring!

The larger werewolf concealed a look of surprise as he walked along Ylenno, Buffy and Kayla. He wanted to glance back to make sure his eyes did not deceive him, but he already looked too much. He remained silent, lost in thought. He was given the fabled ring of Hircine, an artifact said to suppress a werewolf's bloodlust and give total control over their transformations.

But Westley had little control. He had a measure of it, yes, but not total. The ring holds back the desire to kill, and to hunt. And when the moons are full, the ring, if wrapped around the finger of the individual, grants them conscious of their every move. Killing innocent people can be avoided. This worried Lycus profoundly.

Westley has not made peace with his Lycanthropy. He tries to bottle the inner wolf. Lycus can sense this. He always knows how to seperate those who cannot come to terms with their condition and those who embrace and revel in it. He's heard stories of those who do not honor Hircine, or who spit upon his gift with regret and contempt. Those do not survive for long. They are either hunted down and killed by Hircine's command, or they get themselves in situations where they are killed by mortal men.

If the ring fails to give Westley aid, then Hircine is not pleased with him as Lycus initially was told before. Was it in his dreams? A vision? He could not tell. The words in his mind at the time were booming. Dark and commanding. The voice of a master who has spoken with his hound.

"I have another task for you, my loyal hound. I have a child, apparently miserable with all the blessings I have given him, who needs ... what is the euphemism? To be taught a lesson? A very serious lesson. Track down this rogue shifter, put him out of his obvious misery."

Lycus cleared his throat. The words were fresh on his mind, though it was spoken months ago when he was hunting in the Great Forest near the shrine of Hircine. He was a hunter. He knew predators do not hold themselves guilty of their kills, whether innocent prey or not. The world is injust, and the hunter who has a conscious must realize and accept this. Those who do not, those who are utterly dominated by their inner beast, act on instinct and abide by the fundamental nature of life. That there are predators and there are prey. There is no morality behind the laws of nature. No evil in the lion or the wolf or the bear, and no good in the hare or the deer or the goat. There is only survival. Survival of the fittest. Survival of the smartest.

He breathed in deeply, and released a long, low sigh. Westley is young. Lycus has been a Lycanthrope longer than he has and he understands why the young man may feel the way he does about what he views as a curse. His life was much different than his. While one who does not hold Hircine's favor, he yet shares the blood. Lycus respects this. There is always an alternative.

If he could have a clear mind(quite impossible for a Lycanthrope), and a willing spirit, he can be swayed and convinced that what he was given is a gift. Lycus knew he had to help a brother. As he himself was helped so many years ago when he was given Lycanthropy.

He knows that in the time in the fort will give them proximity. If Westley could manage to remain far from the High Elf woman. If the man does not comply, and continues to be shackled by his morality, they he would have to find a second alternative. He knows of a cure and can point him to the right direction.

If not . . .then Hircine's will must be obeyed. And Lycus knows that if Westley breathes his last breath, he is doomed to the Hunting Grounds. And one day when Lycus goes to paradise, Westley will be the hunted. Deep inside, the tiny speck of Lycus' understanding nature . . .hoped it would not come to this.

To ease his mind, he looked at Buffy. "You are the smallest Bosmer I have ever seen in my life. I am certain you hear this a lot, but I have came across many of your people. Surely you know this is an advantage when hunting your prey, yes? Or a foe."

He looked at her bow and crinkled his nose. "What does it mean to be a 'Mystic archer?'"

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Mar 14 2013, 12:51 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Tarrick

Nebraska is with us? Tarrick thought to himself as he tied the strip of blue cloth around his arm. Could be useful, that; he might have planned things to be safer for himself, and in that case then it's plain sailing for me.

On the other hand, it might be that Nebraska was a glory-hungry fool who would cheerily risk his life and the lives of others for the sake of something to boast about. He hadn't seemed that way in the briefing, but if he was, well, Tarrick could always just slip away from a fight; he was a sneak, not a brawler, after all.

They headed into the main guildhall, and the Redguard couldn't help but notice Westley looking a little uncomfortable.

"You nervous, Westley?" he asked him. "Don't think you need to be, seeing as you're built like a minotaur; you'd think if anybody in this group should be worried it'd be me."

He accompanied that statement with a gesture at his own wiry frame.

"No meat to take a hit on these fine bones," he added with a grin.

[Acadian]

Buffy:

“You are the smallest Bosmer I have ever seen in my life.” Buffy recognized the deep voice and turned to face Lycus. “I am certain you hear this a lot, but I have come across many of your people. Surely you know this is an advantage when hunting your prey, yes? Or a foe” His eyes traveled to the leafy bow protruding above the elf’s shoulder. “What does it mean to be a ‘mystic archer’?”

“I am a small target, yes.” Buffy smiled up at the human. “My style of archery is related to my size and the fact that even the finest archers need a backup to their bow – especially when forced into close quarters. I was apprenticed to the great archery master, Daenlin, from the age of eight. By the time I was seventeen, he realized I was as big as I was ever going to get and that I lacked the power, speed, endurance and quick reflexes to master even a small blade. Master Daenlin told me that I am the finest sniper he has ever seen, but an abysmal skirmisher. After speaking with the local Mages Guildmagister, they both agreed that magic would be necessary for me to avoid or survive melee combat. Several of the schools of magic can serve to this purpose, but I quickly learned that my talents for the arcane favored illusion and restoration.”

She reached up to one shoulder, and several small fingers absently brushed the leaves of her bow. “I could be called an archer who uses magic instead of blade to back up my bow. Just as accurately, however, I could be called a mage who uses a bow for direct damage instead of fire, ice and lightning. The powerful weapon on my back is both alive and attuned to me. It willingly compensates for my lack of strength by relaxing its recurve as I pull its silk. That allows me to comfortably manage its heavy draw. It also controls restoring its shape after firing, resulting in near silent shots.”

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus:

Lycus kept staring at Buffy with rising interest, and her bow just the same. She was petite. Her story on using the bow made sense to him. What she lacked in strength or speed, she made up in illusion and restoration. A potent combination that would be deadlier when put side to side with her fantastic archery skills.

He made a sound with his throat that sounded more like a grunt than anything else. There had been times where one boasted about their skills in combat or of themselves only to prove themselves incapable of living up to their inflated stories. He saw that Buffy was not one of these people.

He could detect honesty in her voice and saw that she was a simple, humble soul.

“I could be called an archer who uses magic instead of blade to back up my bow. Just as accurately, however, I could be called a mage who uses a bow for direct damage instead of fire, ice and lightning. The powerful weapon on my back is both alive and attuned to me. It willingly compensates for my lack of strength by relaxing its recurve as I pull its silk. That allows me to comfortably manage its heavy draw. It also controls restoring its shape after firing, resulting in near silent shots.”

He almost suspected as much. Women in general typically had trouble using larger bows, and sometimes used strength potions to aid them in hunting or combat. Some didn't even require potions and could easily use a bow for their desires. It is not as direct as a sword or an axe. Depending on her strength, a woman shooting a bow may not even have the penetrating power that a man could but may even stand as his equal in accuracy.

Buffy had magic on her side. Lycus had no reason to doubt her words about being tutored under one of Tamriel's finest archers. She was graceful as she was dangerous. He was glad to have her on his side.

He circled his head around her back, trying to inspect the bow with his eyes and refraining to intrude upon her space to touch it. It was an impressive-looking weapon. It suited her quite fine.

Lycus himself was not at loss for the use of magic. He was terrible in all the different variations and had experienced enough of magic when he was a slave to a Telvanni Household in Morrowind years past. His strength and focus came from natural energies concealed to most in the mists of time, used and studied by ancient shamans and indigenous tribes of Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Of course, it was a lost art used only by those directly attuned to the Old Gods or the ancient Daedric Prince, Hircine.

"I would not fault you for using magic. You'd fare better than I would in such use," Lycus said after a moment's thought. "An art that has dragged many a man to ruin." He looked at his weapons and the swords that decorated the walls of the guildhall. Out came the mumble. "Much like everything else in this world."

His eyes darted to the trophies lining the sides of the hall as he walked on by. His thoughts went back at the animals or other living things he had skinned or decapitated for the sake of converting the remains into trophies. He did not look at Buffy when he spoke to her once more. "You are quite the huntress, then. You have many victories in your hunt? Collect many trophies?"

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Mar 15 2013, 10:47 PM

[Acadian]

Buffy:

Buffy had noticed, during the brief time she had known Lycus, that the man could seem somewhat. . . detached, or even a bit aloof. She was therefore encouraged when he listened intently to her explanation of mystic archery. He even politely leaned closer to inspect her bow. She accommodatingly turned sideways so he could better see the weapon on her back, yet still talk to her face.

"I would not fault you for using magic. You'd fare better than I would in such use.” After a moment he added, “An art that has dragged many a man to ruin.”

She was tempted to assure him that her own sex was not immune to the darker temptations of magic. For Buffy had been the one to deliver ‘ruin’ to rogue mages like Caminalda and Earrana. The former was a frost maiden who preyed on traveling merchants near Brina Cross, and the latter, a bitter and dangerous former guild mage. Lycus seemed content, however, to scan the abundant weaponry displayed around the guild hall, so she held her tongue for the moment.

With so many disparate conversations in the busy room competing for the attention of her sensitive long ears, and Lycus’ face turned from her, she was unable to make out his next comment. She did see his eyes then travel up to the animal trophies lining the walls. This time his words were clear, “You are quite the huntress, then. You have many victories in your hunt? Collect many trophies?”

Remembering how much wardrobe she insisted on carrying, the elf grinned up at him then replied, “I’m afraid there’s little room in my saddlebags for trophies.” After a moment, she added, “When I take one of Kynareth’s forest creatures, it is either in defense of my mare and I, or to sustain myself. In the latter case, I honor the animal’s spirit by striving to fully utilize its bounty.” She gestured to the buckskins she wore to emphasize the point. “I’ll resist taking deer or boar unless I’m feeding numerous mouths. That’s why most of my food prey is rabbit or crab – not very exciting, I admit. I’m sure you know better than I, however, that for those of us who venture beyond the walls of Tamriel’s cities or even under the countryside’s many ruins, there’s no shortage of dangerous foes to maintain our skills.”

Buffy looked up and smiled at the dark-haired man. Her eyes were drawn to the dark cuirass and heavy sword belt around his waist that hosted numerous weapons. Since they were to be on the same team, she hoped to learn a bit more about him. “From where do you hail, Lycus, and what draws you to this expedition?”

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Kayla listened to snippets of the others' conversations while she mulled over her own thoughts. Lycus questioned Buffy over her skills as an Illusionist as well as her bow. While Kayla halfway listened, she ran her eyes over the different trophies displayed nearby. A Daedric dagger caught her eye. She leaned in closer to look at the design on the blade.

The edge of the blade seemed to be serrated with an edge of hatred, like most Daedric daggers. She turned her brown eyes to the tip of the blade. She had seen many different types of blades, as she was on the receiving end of most of them. Most swords had a convex tip, straight blade with the end rounded to a point. Just as common were the flattened "V" designs.

Kayla remembered when she had been stabbed by a blade with an asymmetrical point. She absently put her hand where the old scar would be on her stomach, above her navel. She leaned her weight on one leg and crossed her arms. She spotted a vase on a pillow on display and wondered what was so special about it. She read the inscription beneath it.

"Celdryn Minan'Kherus. Never heard of him." She murmured. She straightened up and came in on the last snippet of conversation. Lycus asked if Buffy ever kept trophies of her kills. Kayla thought that was an odd question, but at the same time, not totally illogical. She found women rarely kept trophies of their kills, whereas men needed the reminder of their triumphs. She herself never kept anything from her kills, except the knowledge that she had bested yet another vampire. And gold. She always kept the gold.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus:

The tall Imperial continued walking, listening to what Buffy had to say to him as the group went along. He wasn't the best conversationalist in Tamriel, but he retained some of his knowledge and wisdom along from his previous years before his mind and body-altering condition.

Buffy went to explain to him that she did not take lives unless she had a good reason to. In that case, taking the life of larger game such as deer or boar was only acceptable if she was not the sole person to gain sustanence from the flesh of the animal. To feed herself, she chooses to eat smaller animals such as rabbit or crabs.

Lycus could relate to a certain extent. He lived as a farmer and a hunter in these lands sometime ago before his gladiatorial career. Living in debt, he was unwilling to spend every bit of his coin on food or new clothes, and relied on his skills as a huntsman. He fed himself, his mother and his bitter and spiteful father in hopes of saving enough coin to pay for the expenses.

From what she told him, he could tell the small Wood Elf honored Kynareth and abided by the traditional respect to that particular Aedra. He understood the act of honoring the animal's spirit by using it's body for whatever beneficial use it may offer. In her case, for nutrition.

Lycus could not, however, share his sentiment regarding Kyne. Those who worship Kynareth and respect what she represents do not walk in the same path as Hircine. For Kyne is mother to man and beast, and Hircine is father to manbeasts. The "perversion" of all that is natural. Kynareth's rewards and blesses those who hunts for the sake of survival alone. Those who respect nature and all living things. Hircine, in contrast, rewards skinners, butchers, men who kill to survive and for sport. What matters is not the reason, but the act in and of itself. The blood course of a living hunt.

"Ah," he said silently after looking at her buckskins. "I see where you are coming from. I am a big-game hunter. Hunting is in my blood. I was under the impression you were a huntress."

Yet, he respected her ways and would not seek to brook an argument. The conversation died down a bit, and Lycus lost any words of interest. Buffy was curious about him, looking at his equipment. She then broke the silence and inquired about his origins and his reason to come along the expedition.

It was a common enough question that required a common enough answer. Glory? Riches? Fame? Lycus would fight for these things had he been the man he was years ago. But life has changed and things are much more simpler now. Less chaotic. He fished for a good answer in his mind, and realized he had to give a shorter version of why he truly was there.

"I come from these very lands," explained the Imperial. "Born and raised here in Cyrodiil from humble beginnings." He stopped to look back as Kayla was focused and drawn to a sword along the wall. He returned his attention to Buffy so that he could better answer her. He refused to look back at the other werewolf, or the small statuette of Hircine hiding in his pocket.

"I consider this a hunting expedition," he said quietly as he looked down to the human and elven skulls dangling from a belt from his recently purchased armor. "To find any great game that dwells beneath Fort Sutch."

[Uleni Athram]

Ylenno kept quiet while the rest of the group bantered between themselves. Lycus and Buffy discussed the ways of the hunter and the fine linings on archery combat, while off to the side, Tarrick and Westley talked about their builts. Elandine was her usual quiet self, and Kayla... well.

It didn't take a genius to know that she was irate at the rogue elf. The way that she avoided his gaze, a thin purse of a line where her lips should be, and generally giving the tall bosmer a respectful distance. Ylenno watched the altmer inspect the trophies of the Adventurers, and suspected that the object of her irritation may have been his rebuttal at her suspiciousness of Nebraska's joining.

The elf gave a shrug.

He really didn't see the reason why she would simmer at that, but people were people. You don't the know the position of their toes, so you wouldn't know how not to step on them until you do. That said, Ylenno thought that confronting her now and closing the gap would be.... intensely awkward. He didn't know how she would react, only that she'd probably sock him a good one on the mouth, and make things more awkward.


But Ylenno... Ylenno liked things awkward. It was simply his way of mending things by directly taking it on, and while the results weren't exactly favorable, he didn't believe on letting things burn themselves out.


So with a goofish smile on his face, he stroded towards Kayla and gave her a playful lowkick on the back of her knees.

"Hey there," he announced. "I noticed that you're seperated with your boy-toy over there." He pointed towards Westley as he gave her a smile.

"Something happened between you two? Your marital link severed with irritation at each other? Aahh, but Uncle Ylenno here is experienced with such things. I find that ... well, not really. I'm just here to iniate a random conversation like the others are doing right now. So, here's a random question to kick things of-"

He was interrupted by the red-eyed Breton appearing out of nowhere and standing really uncomfortably close at his back. So close in fact, that he could feel his breath on his neck. He would've turn around and shoved the creep away, but ... it was the malevolent voice again. It freezed him. He stared helplessly at Kayla.

"I'm afraid that this would be no time for small-talk, young master Sasalonia. We are waiting for you, and some other latecomers, but it will only be a matter of time before they arrive, and I suggest you and yours hurry over to the Atrium."

He disengaged himself behind Ylenno, and stood off to the side, facing the whole group while at the same time stopping them. Ylenno swirled and glared at him.

The lights of the guidhall, reflected below by the black mable floor, gave him a rather sinister yet handsome glow. Some of the darkness covered his face, and it highlighted his aristocratic features. The red eyes, however, stayed the same malevolent red, and for some reason, it glowed hotter and more intense than before.

And rather than a casual attire he wore earlier, now he wore an immaculate armor of gold and brass. It was highly intricate, with a design of two golden arms hugging him on the torso. He had two godless looking axes on his waist, golden too, and it was sure to be enchanted with gnarly magciks. Like his glowing red eyes, all of him shined brightly at the light of guild hall.

In short, he looked like a golden angel.

This 'golden angel' gave the group a kingly bow.

"I am Celdryn Minan'Kherus," the sheer maleficence of his voice snaked through the ha;; and silenced all other noise, piercing through each and every one of the group. Ylenno rubbed his forearm; he could be wrong, but somehow the temperature dropped and the atmosphere turned cold.

"Please, let me shepherd you to the Atrium. Along the way, maybe I could match names with faces."

[Elisabeth Hollow]

"I consider this a hunting expedition,"

Interesting, Kayla thought to herself. The man who worships Hircine is looking to hunt. Predictable. Kayla's inner dialogue was interrupted by her leg suddenly giving out beneath her. Had she not had her other leg locked, she would have stumbled. She looked around to see if anyone saw her embarrassment and saw Ylenno, grinning idiotically at her. Kayla slowly took in a breath to calm herself, but her efforts were thwarted when Ylenno opened his mouth.

"Hey there," he said, still grinning. "I noticed that you're separated with your boy-toy over there."

Kayla frowned as Ylenno pointed towards Westley. What?!

"Something happened between you two? Your marital link severed with irritation at each other?"

What??!! "We're not-"


"Aahh, but Uncle Ylenno here is experienced with such things. I find that ... well, not really. I'm just here to iniate a random conversation like the others are doing right now. So, here's a random question to kick things of-"

Before Kayla could cut him off herself with a sarcastic quip, a man around the same height as Ylenno completely invaded Ylenno's personal space. He stood what seemed as right up against the back of Ylenno and, irritated as she was at him, she hated to see that look on anyone's face. The voice alone seemed to keep Ylenno from doing what she knew him to do best, and that was talk. Kayla didn't blame him. As he spoke, she felt her shoulders tense up. The man had a voice that would make infants cry.

He alerted them that they were to be at the Atruim before giving Ylenno back his own breathing space. Kayla could sense the relief from Ylenno, but all the same, she put a hand on his shoulder and put herself between him and the red-eyed Breton.

Those eyes...

Kayla blinked to make sure she hadn't been mistaken. They were red, alright. She looked at the man's mouth as he spoke, looking for any indication of fangs. She put her hand on Dawnbreaker. It was silent. The man, whether he had red eyes or not, was not a vampire. She bit the inside of her bottom lip, her eyebrows knitting together. His armor was spectacular in design, the gold mixing with the brass in an impressive design. But what caught her eye was the axes, the light reflecting the edges beautifully. She cocked her head.

"I am Celdryn Minan'Kherus," the man said. Kayla felt her skin itch when he said his name. She crossed her arms over her chest. He wanted to know their names as well.

"I am Kayla." She said curtly. To show she was not intimidated, even though she was, she kept eye contact and held out her hand to shake his. "It seems Oedipus has a vase of yours. Come to get it back?"

[Uleni Athram]

Ylenno bristled silently as he eyeballed the golden armored Celdryn. Kayla stood between him and the other eerie man, and Ylenno would've certainly punched the pompous villain across the jaw were it not for the fact that it simply would've been a bad decision and, as loathe as Ylenno would've admitted it, the red-eyed breton looked fully capable of serving him his head on a plate. Didn't stop Ylenno from continously eyeballing him, though, which Celdryn pointedly ignored.

Kayla offered her hand in greetings, and Celdryn gave her a rather unnerving once-over and the royal-red stare stayed fixed at the hilt of her sword. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. The stare returned to Kayla's, and he bent over to cusp her hand with both of his. Never taking his eyes off of her, he bent over and instead of shaking it as was the normal custom, he sent a chilling kiss that sent waves of ice slithering up her arm, like worms ascending.

"My pleasure, Kayla of the North," he drawled with that voice of his. "Tell me truely. How did you attract the eye of the Lady of Limitless Energies? You bear her marking light about you, that much I can see."

He straightened himself and looked at the others of the group, pointedly at Westley and Lycus. Especially Lycus, as he regarded the Imperial as a lion heralding the sight of a menacing rival.

"Although the stench of Oblivion does not come solely from you. Here we have two sons. One smells of an inexperienced pup, barely grown of his fangs. The other.. mmm. A delicious predator, sweet as the poison that kills."

He nodded his head towards Lycus, staring intently at him, unblinking.

"I assume you are Desselius? The one who Melisandre pined over?"

[Acadian]

Buffy:

Before the small elf could continue learning more about Lycus, they were interrupted by a Breton that had appeared in the room. The man was dressed in elaborate gold armor and, as his gaze swept about the chamber, Buffy could see that his eyes were red!

Instinctively, she lightly touched her lower abdomen near one hip. Had the man been a vampire, she would have experienced at least one cramp at this range. Although relieved, she found herself edging closer to the protective dark steel and bristling weaponry of the human that towered next to her.

The Breton introduced himself to the group as Celdryn. His malevolent voice did not make her feel any better, despite the silken words he oozed as he addressed Ylenno, then Kayla.

Who was this man? He was certainly creepy enough to be the guild’s porter, yet he seemed to wield some authority here. Deputy guild commander perhaps? If so, she wondered of his qualifications – beyond the ability to intimidate. Why had Oedipus not introduced this man to the group and. . . where was the guildmaster?

The disconcerting Breton’s eyes then traveled between Westley and Lycus as he verbally compared them to animals! Finally, as if to add insult to injury or perhaps a stunning display of ignorance, the man addressed Lycus by the wrong name.

She held her tongue. Grateful to be standing under the shadow of Lycus, this was one time when the elf would not mind being overlooked due to her size. Should the Breton address her, would he call her a horse-eared miniature forest freak? Or worse?

Buffy furrowed her brow and decided that if this man held a position of authority, it certainly did not inspire confidence.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Celdryn never broke his unnerving gaze from hers, except to look her over and study her sword. He then did something Kayla did not expect. He gently grasped her hand with the two of his own and gave her outstretched hand a kiss that froze the blood in her body. Inwardly, she screamed in disgust. She fought the urge to yank her hand away, keeping her gaze on his, never wavering.

Not intimidated. Angry. Get angry.


"My pleasure, Kayla of the North. Tell me truely." Kayla took this opportunity to calmly pull her hand from his. She absentmindedly wiped the back of it onto her armor. "How did you attract the eye of the Lady of Limitless Energies? You bear her marking light about you, that much I can see."

Kayla did not feel the need to respond. She felt the need to shower. She felt the need to react in some manner other than silence. How did he know that she worshiped Meridia? Had Dawnbreaker's gem been revealed? She checked the leather flap covering it. No, it was still covered, but that doesn't mean it hadn't been uncovered at some point. Not to mention she had also announced her ties with Meridia when Lycus announced his ties with Hircine.

Kayla relaxed. That's what it was. That explained it. She allowed her gaze to break from him and glance towards where his attention now was, which was pointed towards Lycus and Westley.

Two sons... As far as she knew, only Lycus worshiped Hircine. Unless Celdryn was off in his musings again. Kayla saw Buffy shrink a little when Celdryn spoke. She put a protective hand on Buffy's shoulder as well, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She felt a bit more confident now. Confident enough to answer.

"To answer your question, Celdryn," she gave him her sweetest smile, taking her hand off of Buffy's should and crossing her arms over her chest. "Since you're so interested. The town I spent my childhood in was ransacked and slaughtered by vampires. They turned the children. I was the only one to survive." It felt...painful, to say it out loud. She put her left hand on Dawnbreaker's hilt for emphasis. "I was rescued and raised by a cult dedicated to Meridia." She raised an eyebrow, keeping the smile on her face. "Satisfied?"

[Colonel Mustard]

Edit: Ignore this, mixed up my tabs. Consider this a placeholder for a later update. Derp.

And here's the update.

Tarrick

Westley didn't seem all that conversant, shrugging off Tarrick's attempts at conversation with a noncomittal mutter. The Redguard decided to let the man ferment in his own surliness, and glanced over to see a Breton approaching them.

Tarrick, like all good thieves, trusted his gut. When the difference between discovering and concealment lay in what your subconcious was telling you, any thief worthy of the title knew that it was always wise to put your faith in instincts. And right now, his gut was telling him bad things about this Breton; it wasn't just the crimson eyes, disconcerting and creepy as they were, but something about his stance, his bearing and the air around him suggested something predatory, something vicious and hungry about the man. He could see Kayla and Ylenno seemed equally uneasy about the man as he approached them, and that was telling; if Ylenno was scared by the man, then he could really mean trouble.

He slipped up behind Buffy and Lycus, deciding the two of them would form an adequate barrier, and quietly asked; "Any idea who he is? Between you two and me, he...looks like trouble."


This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Mar 17 2013, 06:26 PM

[Acadian]

Buffy:

The Breton had rapidly addressed two of Buffy’s teammates before posing a question to Lycus.

Before the big man could reply, Buffy felt Kayla’s hand fall reassuringly upon her small shoulder and it was the Altmer who spoke, addressing the statements that Celdryn had made about her. If Kayla felt intimidated – like Buffy did – neither her words nor manner revealed it.

As the tall elf released her shoulder, Buffy heard a quiet voice behind her. "Any idea who he is? Between you two and me, he...looks like trouble." She turned her head to look up into the face of Tarrick.

Buffy shrugged and shook her head. She was unsure if there was danger here or not.

A glance down verified that her right fist displayed no visual warning of the emerald power it held at the ready. Being sandwiched between Lycus and Kayla, with Tarrick close enough behind to feel his breath on the top of her head, was comforting. She waited for the heavily armored Imperial next to her to reply to the Breton’s question that hung in the air.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus Desselius:

Before Buffy could reply to Lycus, a crimson-eyed Breton made himself known to the group. Calling himself Celdryn Minan'Kherus, the man was covered in golden armor with exotic symbols. He had an authorative aura about him, and a menacing look and tone of voice which Lycus felt had intimidated most of the members of the group.

Lycus himself was not unnerved. Years ago he would have been. As a young fearful man, he would be fearful. But he's been through hell and back, and faced enemies that would make a man's soul weep. It sufficed to say he wasn't afraid of Celdryn. But he was cautious.

The man had red eyes but he was no vampire. Lycus couldn't smell the curse of undeath upon him. And even if he did, he wouldn't be bothered. Who is he to judge when his own Lycanthropy would be considered a crime in and of itself? Who is he to judge when he also stalks the night in search for prey? He had no hatred for vampires, but he also did not respect those who tried to manipulate or use him. Or in some cases, feed on him.

Lycus focused not only on Celdryn, but others as well. He noticed how Kayla seemed . . .angry when the man kissed her on the hand and went on to link her relationship with Meridia. As far as he was concerned, she only told him and few other members present. He had a creeping suspicion that either one of them previously met the Breton and informed him or he had also took notice to Kayla repeatedly checking the glowing blade sheathed by her side.

Kayla touched Buffy on the shoulder and gently squeezed it while her other arm was set above her sword. She raised an eyebrow and revealed to everyone that her town was ransacked by vampires and the children were turned. It was not far-fetched that she would be recruited into a cult that hated the undead.

Meridia was the Daedra of light and infinite energies and one of the Princes considered not to be "evil". Kayla had no reason to hide her worship considering Meridia was a foe to everything that lived to spite Arkay, the god of death. Compared to the other princes, worship of Meridia would be considered somewhat acceptable.

Lycus tried to discern what the deal was with Celdryn. He had a predatory look about him and Lycus felt a growing tension between them. There was something off about him and Lycus would figure out the reason, though when he discovers it, he knows chances are he won't be threatened the slighest. He had friends who were cutthroats and barbarians of the worst kind, who now dined in Shor's hall in Sovngarde and men like himself who devoured others under the influence of the moons.

He had seen enough death to understand the value of life, and he would not make everyone his enemy unless he himself was threatened.

Tarrick squeezed in between the tallest Imperial and the smallest Mer. "Any idea who he is? Between you two and me, he...looks like trouble."

"Celdryn." Lycus said in a gruff voice, unable to take his eyes off the man. And Celdryn was unable to take his eyes off Lycus. It was as if a staring contest had begun, with neither bothering to look the other way. While Lycus remained quiet, it was the Breton who broke the silence.

"Although the stench of Oblivion does not come solely from you. Here we have two sons. One smells of an inexperienced pup, barely grown of his fangs. The other.. mmm. A delicious predator, sweet as the poison that kills."

Inexperienced pup . . .that much we stand in agreement, Lycus thought. Though the fact that he compared Westley to an infant dog and Lycus to a predator told him that Celdryn knew more than he needed to. Lycus had never told anyone about his Lycanthropy. The only beings in Tamriel who know of this are his wife and members of the Circle back in Skyrim, and of course the deceased who parted for the next life.

Westley was a different story. The ring on his finger was too obvious to be ignored. It marked him easy prey.

His mention of Melisande was enough to make Lycus tilt his head to the side. There could be many women in Cyrodiil named Melisandre, but only one came to mind. The former Witch of Glenmoril.

"I assume you are Desselius? The one who Melisandre pined over?"

The witches of Glenmoril had no presence in Cyrodiil anymore. The last ones were hunted down by the native competitive vampiric clan of Cyrodiil. And his wife was responsible for the demise of another. Melisande gave up her craft, as far as he was concerned. He met the woman once. She helped him recover when he was poisoned by hunters near the Corbolo River.

Lycus raised his head and confirmed his identity. "I am Lycus Desselius, yes," he said. "And what is your buisness here, Celdryn?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He stepped forth closer to the man, invading what most would call personal space. He flared his nostrils once and sucked the air around the Breton through his nose and held it in. "If you've come for the feast, I fear you are late. But I trust a man who would know the flavor of poisonous nectar and favors the flesh of succulent predators would not be inconvenienced." He paused, exhaled, and caught the scent of death in the man's breath. The same smell of spilled blood and entrails that Lycus awakens at times in the morning after the transformation. He could almost taste the rot . . .

A cocky smile drew on the hunter's face and now he stared even more. Almost as two Sabrecats in the wild fighting each other off with vicious eyes.

[Uleni Athram]

OOC: Here we go. Let's have some fun.

Ylenno kept to the side, tension roilling on his legs, hands twitching, eyes shining a little too clearly. He lowered his posture, as a cobra. Ready to strike whenever possible, and strike f***ing hard. Lycus answered the taunts of this Celdryn by getting up-front in his face, talking some stuff the elf didn't bother to understand, nonsensical to him as it was. What he did understand, however, was that there were two dangerous people staring each other down, faces inches apart. Everything about Lycus shrieked challenging, and Ylenno begrudgingly had to hand it to Celdryn; a well-built Imperial that could be easily mistaken as a short Nord invading his sense of space, and the Breton didn't even flinch or blink.

In fact... the creep seemed delighted.

All around them, things became quiet. Real quiet. A tense silence. Eyes glued to the two individuals, two smouldering fireworks just waiting for the flame and the oil. Ylenno has no doubt that Lycus is more than capable of defending himself against the Breton if things wind up a little too hostile. Guy was a Grand Champion after all, and held that position for quite some time.

But Ylenno, veteran of many brawls, knew that experience could only get you so far. It never guaranteed certain victory. It only raised chances in your favor. True lethality didn't come from some blood shed in the past or some endless drills out in an open field; it was most strongest in the adaptability of the current showdown. That, and the willingness to mess somebody up so bad they won't be a threat again. Lycus is sure to be aware of this, and Ylenno doubted Celdryn didn't too.

So Ylenno kept himself alert, ready to uncoil himself when the first strike was thrown.


Which, oddly, never came. These two guys seemed intent on exchanging barbs and eyeballing each other to submission. But the elf still kept himself in the same position, listening now to their showdown.

"I sensed the arrival of two of His wayward sons," Celdryn drawled, and the echoes of his deep, malevolent voice, if it could be possible, sounded more sinister, more threatening, more evil, akin to the charisma of a fallen archangel.

"When there was a scream in the night, and the moon thereafter was mirrored by the sacred vermillion shed a few leagues away from here."

And then Celdryn laughed. Ylenno tried his damndest, his very best damndest, to forget such a wretched sound. All at once he felt worms in his gut writhing and eating their way out when he heard Celdryn laughing.

"You are an astute one, oh yes. Amusingly so. Dining upon apex predators holds a certain irony to it, do you not agree? Hmm? The hunter becomes the hunted, and the eater is eaten. Ahhh, but the act itself holds a boastful benediction, an undeniable reality."

The Breton leaned in close at the side of Lycus' face, never taking his eyes of nor his smile, and a curiously dark-colored tongue hissed from his mouth, slithering like a snake, closing the inches between him and Lycus. It tasted the air, and would've licked the left ear of the Imperial were it not held back at the last moment.

Celdryn whispered.

"That the wolves are not always the ones who rule the forest. Go on, do continue to smile. Show off your fangs, 'brother'. Show me the teeth that devours at the end of the hunt.. But mine are sharper. Mine claws rend the lambs much easier. Wolves are not always the ones who rule the forest; there are lions there too."

He forced the Imperial away from his personal space with a growl that alternated like a sound of happiness and a gentle push. But the way Celdryn appraised Lycus was anything but gentle. In fact, Celdryn looked to Lycus as if he was ... meat. Either Cekdryn was very sure of himself, or he was just plain foolish for him to do that. But there was something else in those pools of sinister crimson. There was a promise there, Ylenno could see. A dark promise.

Celdryn looked to Kayla and remembered her little sob-story.

"Such tragic events. You have my condolences," he said to her, although his voice indicated that he was anything but. "We have dabbled here long enough. Nebraska awaits. Although I received three names today, I aim to recitify that later."

He stared at Buffy and gave her a lecherous wink.

"I know who you are, my beautiful Lady Dame, but I would like to hear your name uttered by your lips. I am honored that you grace us with your beauty.. Now come."

He turned on his heels and marched straight towards the Atrium, where inside, things looked like a military procession. All of the hired mercs were seated, with their assorted group, and at the far end of the hall. there he stood elegantly, a shining figure bedecked in steel-shining armor. Oedipus looked at their arrival and heralded it with a clap.

"Please, have a seat," the master of the Adventurers boomed, indicating towards a series of chairs near his position. "We are only waiting for the Green group now, and they shan't be longer."

With one last, contemptous look towards them, Celdryn bid them au revoir and went towards the platform, standing beside Oedipus a few inches back.

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus Desselius:

The air grew thick with malice and Celdryn began to speak again in mysterious sentences.

"When there was a scream in the night, and the moon thereafter was mirrored by the sacred vermillion shed a few leagues away from here."

Celdryn laughed.

"You are an astute one, oh yes. Amusingly so. Dining upon apex predators holds a certain irony to it, do you not agree? Hmm? The hunter becomes the hunted, and the eater is eaten. Ahhh, but the act itself holds a boastful benediction, an undeniable reality."

He leaned in closer now to Lycus, not daring to back away. His voice dripping with venom of a serpent, but holding the boldness of a lion. "That the wolves are not always the ones who rule the forest. Go on, do continue to smile. Show off your fangs, 'brother'. Show me the teeth that devours at the end of the hunt.. But mine are sharper. Mine claws rend the lambs much easier. Wolves are not always the ones who rule the forest; there are lions there too."

And Lycus smiled once more, and he whispered back in hopes that only Celdryn could understand. "Let no man say before a witness that the Hunt has not been called, nor the Rites declared, or the Ancient Offices observed. In the end . . .all live and die by the hunt. Even lions, my brother, are felled too, in the everlasting Chase. When fate beckons to a man, he has no choice but to be summoned."

Lycus saw now that Celdryn was not a man to be triffled with. He had a cunning and dark experience that not many in the world shared. And he new the fundamentals in the hunt. That even predators can be prey. This amused Lycus profoundly, for he himself had been hunted before.

The memories were fresh as ever. The citizens may herald him as Grand Champion of the arenas in Cyrodiil and the lost ones in Morrowind. But only a handful knew of his survival in Oblivion.

Memories came to him; falling from the sky as a twirling ragdoll crying out in confusion and fear . . .the water cold against his skin . . .the horns . . .the bears and the drivers . . .the rivers that run forever more with blood and a sun that is equal of color . . .the immense forest and large savanna, deep canyons, and the silvery moon.

Lycus blinked. He knew what horror it is to be hunted. To be prized for the skin he wears and the skull beneth his flesh. For he became the ultimate hunter by first climbing to the pinnacle as prey and there is no greater glory for prey himself to stand face to face with Hircine himself. In his own realm. In his own game . . .and survive. And be rewarded with the greatest gift the Huntsman can bestow upon a mortal man.

It was a tale he dared not reveal to anyone that was not worthy to hear. Some would laugh, label him a madman, stone him, imprison him . . .but the large scar across his chest made by Hircine's spear proved it. He was chosen among the most dangerous of Tamriel because of his strength, and pitted against the most talented hunters of Hircine's sphere.

In nature it was not always the survival of the fittest, but the survival of the smartest. In turning the tables against his pursuers, in bathing in the blood and bone of his foes and baptizing himself in the ritualistic honor of The Wild Hunt and only the flames could set him free.

Legend has it that one man escaped the Hunting Grounds, and was rewarded with the Savior's Hide for it . . .but Lycus never escaped but he was rewarded.

He looked to Celdryn once more and felt the same feeling of being prized for his hide and his skin. He felt a predator's gaze fall upon him once more. Celdryn is a predator. A hunter of his own kind and Lycus respected men like him, but respect did not grant leniency. Even enemies could show respect.

Lycus remained focused on Celdryn as his eyes went to Buffy. Celdryn to him was . . .worthy prey who can provide the sport he craves. One who's skull that could be skinned and washed and placed in his trophy room or who's spine could be collected.

He caressed his blade and moistened his lips instinctevely as he followed the man into the Atrium where Oedepius was. He took a seat as told, and had a serious look on his face as Celdryn stood behind the Master of Adventures.

For the first time, he was content he came to this trip. If Hircine smiles upon him . . .perhaps he can bring back the hide of a man and of another wolf. Perhaps.

[Acadian]

Buffy:

Lycus not only responded to Celdryn, but he closed the distance to within inches of the Breton’s face to do so. Like Kayla, he displayed no sign of being intimidated. If anything, he appeared to enjoy the challenge.

A twinge of embarrassment convicted Buffy as she learned that the name Desselius, used by the Breton was not an error. She had forgotten that many humans had not only their own name, but also a family or clan name. So Celdryn was neither ignorant nor ill-informed.

The two men, faces just inches apart seemed like two bucks during the dangerous rutting season. Finally it was Celdryn who broke the locked horns between them by turning his gaze to the smallest target in the room – herself!

He gave her a wink that that made the wood elf’s skin crawl. “I know who you are, my beautiful Lady Dame, but I would like to hear your name uttered by your lips. I am honored that you grace us with your beauty. Now come.”

His look and words made her feel like a morsel of venison. Small hands planted themselves on both hips and she jutted forth her chin. Her eyes narrowed and she was about to utter more than just her name when the Breton wheeled and headed into the next room.

Torn between relief and disappointment, the small elf followed the others into the next room where Oedipus Nebraska awaited. As far as what Celdryn knew about her, there was no mystery there. Buffy’s title was no secret; in fact it was quilled upon the very parchment she submitted for the expedition.

She shared a brief look of commiseration with Kayla as if to say, ‘I need to scrub my skin.’ Buffy had only been visually undressed, whereas the lecherous Breton had actually touched the Altmer’s hand with his lips.