The Elder Scrolls: Aftermath [IC | OPEN]

by **The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness** » Sun Mar 26, 2017 5:43 pm

THE ELDER SCROLLS: AFTERMATH

Co-op: Uhh...

...he laughed and swung his sword, running into the rain of Kyne to slaughter their Ayleid captives, screaming, "O Aka, for our shared madness I do this! I watch you watching me watching back! Umaril dares call us out, for that is how we made him!" And it was during these fits of anger and nonsense that Pelinal would fall into the Madness, where whole swaths of lands were devoured in divine rampage to become Void, and Alessia would have to pray to the Gods for their succor, and they would reach down as one mind and soothe the Whitestrake until he no longer had the will to kill the earth in whole.

The Song of Pelinal, Volume 6: On His Madness

Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes
City Isle
Cyrodiil, The Empire

Letting out a sigh, the ruling Monarch of the Empire - or rather, what was left of it - swirled the wine in her glass as she looked at the White Gold tower from atop the balcony of one of her manors, outside of the Imperial City. She owned many, but this one was perhaps her favorite, for both its location and its history. Located outside of the Imperial City, on the City Isle, it gave her a more calm and natural environment, somewhat secluded from civilization but still close enough to the actual City for her to get there with little time. It's history was rather interesting, she had found. Previously, it had been built to serve as the Dominion's embassy outside of the Imperial City, on top of the ruins of what had once been some creation of the Ayleid. It had partially burnt down during the war her father had fought, and had never been restored - what few diplomats the Dominion would send were to be kept inside of the city's Elven Gardens district, kept under a close guard by the City Watch. Instead, her aunt, after ascending to the position of Regent, had it rebuilt into a private manor. Emptying her glass of its contents, Alessascia Cardes decided that that had been a very good decision indeed.

Taking one final look at the starry skies above, Emeveria went back inside, placing her glass down on the closest table as she found one of her servants, a Bosmer going by the name of Nivaerwen, quickly taking off the heavy fur cloak she had been wearing to keep herself warm. The nights had been growing colder by the day, and winter was most definitely coming soon. She smiled softly as behind her, the balcony door was closed and locked. No assassins coming in that way - at least not without alerting the guard, anyway. An unfortunate necessity, but then she supposed any reasonable person would lock their doors at night, regardless of potential assassinations or not, anyway. Changing into a nightgown, she went through her schedule for the next day. Come the dawn, following breakfast, she and her following would return for the Imperial City and the White Gold Tower, where she was to meet with several officials as usual, and a newly appointed general coming all the way from Skyrim more specifically. The man had been waiting on it for a few days, now, apparently, and while she could've invited him over to her manor instead like she had with others, but considering the man's fresh new position, she considered it to be a good idea to meet with him in a more public location - from atop her throne. Indeed, she was quite curious to learn more of the man, as well as to ensure his loyalty, unfortunately a rare good sometimes, these days.

The Bosmer having scurried off to her own little corner of the room to sleep - her guard having insisted that their Empress not be left alone for but a single moment - Emeveria lay down in her own bed, closing her eyes, breathing softly as she dreamed of a world without schemers, politics, rivals, and potential assassins. It was a world that had never really existed, and never would be, save for in her dreams. Not that that would stop her. What ambitions, what aspirations could one have without dreams, after all? Dreaming of a better Empire, a better world, the young empress slept, gaining what little rest she could get before another day at court would dawn, another day amidst the schemers and opportunists she had grown to loathe so much.

by **Ism** » Sun Mar 26, 2017 7:15 pm

Sir Amren Cylriod
City of Dawnstar
Skyrim

The rider urged his horse forward, the cobblestone road stretching forward a great distance a reminder of how far still he had to travel. He was not unsympathetic to his horse's plight of course, he was nearly as cold and wet as his steed, so heavy and long had the snowfall been. Even now it continued, lighter yes, but that was little comfort to a horse and rider out in the cold, barely pushing on through the thick snow. Looking around, seeing nothing but white all around him, with a few trees spread out at least, Amren had no trouble understanding why this wretched place was called The Pale. It be some time yet before the pair had reached the city of Dawnstar, a tortuously long time that could not end fast enough for either of them.

As they approached the city Amren dismounted, leading his tired companion into the stable. He felt bad for the stableman he found there, a young man who shouldn't have to lose a foot for a few bits of gold. He took the horse from Amren, after being paid of course, Amren even gave the lad a bit of extra gold. He was kind enough to give directions to the local inn to Amren, though he did wonder if he was being paid to do so. What were the odds that there was one inn in the entire city?

Still, the knight walked though the city, following the boy's directions as closely as he could, but one part of the path was blocked off by snow and ice, forcing him to find another route. Within minutes he was lost, but then he was in an unfamiliar city with ice and snow blanketing the streets. Fortunately he came across an unfortunate guard out on patrol.

"Excuse me, guard. Would you be so kind as to point me towards an inn?" Amren called out, perhaps a bit louder than needed but the wind was temperamental now, one moment roaring the next silent.
"The old Windpeak Inn is along the waterfront, just turn left up there and turn right once you hit the water, you can't miss it." She replied, gesturing to the intersection of roads not far ahead.
"Thank you very much for your help. Talos guide you."
"I think I'd rather talk to Kyne at the moment. Have a few words for her."

Chuckling at the joke, Amren continued onward, following the guard's instructions. It was the same inn the boy had sent him too, which struck him as awfully convenient. "Maybe the city really does have one inn." He muttered, half-joking. Regardless, he was happy to reach the inn and happier still to open the door and feel the warmth of a blazing fire. He walked up to the bar, finding it manned by an elderly Nord woman.

"Evening traveler, come for a bed hmm? We've got plenty." The woman said, briefly pausing before continuing. "Plenty of food and drink too of course."
"A bottle of mead and a room would be most appreciated madam. However, might I also ask a question of you?"
"You may, though I'm afraid I don't know much beyond what's here in the city and the tales all us wives tell."
"Uh, that should suffice. Do you know where Greta Byrd lives? I have it on good authority that she lives in the city."
"Aye, the Byrds have lived here for generations. Greta lives just four streets up and three houses in. Just turn left out the door."
"Thank you very much madam, you have been of great help to me. Here take these coins, the least I can do."
"Oh you're quite welcome. Your room is the second one on your right, and here's your mead. Enjoy your stay here at the Windpeak Inn."
"I think I will. Thank you again."

Amren took his drink and went into his room. He nursed it as he removed his armor, no mean feat without help. Eventually he was done and, after readying himself for sleep and finishing his mead, he went to bed. In the morning he would awaken and seek out Greta Byrd and, hopefully, retrieve the Gauntlets of the Crusader. Still, a sneaking suspicion in his gut told him it would not be so simple.

by **Brusia** » Sun Mar 26, 2017 8:58 pm

Drusus Scipionus
Imperial City

Drusus sat at a small desk in the Imperial City library, surrounded by several tomes of varying age on military history, strategy, and tactics. Part of him regretted arriving in the city early; wishing he had instead arrived just in time to receive his commendation and assignment from the Empress, and left before any of the politicians or other self-serving parasites who had visited him over the past few days had even had a chance to speak with him about the various political factions in the Imperial City and their aims, machinations, and attempts to sway Drusus to join them. Most had nothing of value to say, and he'd nearly cut the tongues out of a couple of men who thought they could buy his loyalty with gold, but a few of those who approached him did unfortunately make some good points. The Empire was in an extremely fragile state, there was no denying that, and it didn't seem the young Empress was doing much to improve the deteriorating situation. From what he'd heard, while Imperial legionaries like his men were fighting and dying on the fringes of the Empire with increasingly few resources to support them, the Empress was wasting much of the Empire's limited funds on extravagant parties for herself here in the Imperial City.

Drusus looked up from the book he was reading for a moment and rubbed his eyes. Life had been so much simpler a few days ago back when he was just a Legate in Skyrim; it was clear who the enemy was then, as Skycrown's forces at least had the decency to face you as they tried to kill you, and being loyal to the Empire was as simple as supporting and fighting alongside your fellow legionaries. Now things were becoming more opaque; fellow Imperials would stab in the back or kill you while you slept if they deemed you a political adversary, and it was hard to tell if being loyal to the Empire meant remaining loyal to those leaders who were currently running it into the ground, or supporting those upstarts who claimed they wished to provide more support to the legions and restore the Empire to its former glory. Drusus was used to absolutes, dealing with right and wrong, black and white; he hated all the shades of grey he now found himself having to deal with.

As he looked around at the countless volumes on hundreds of shelves that surrounded him, he was at least glad of one thing: that he had been given access to the Imperial City library. He'd spent every second he had to spare over the last few days reading and studying books on military history, strategy, and tactics. If he could spend the rest of his life studying in that library he would die a happy man, but it was not to be. As it was starting to get late, Drusus sighed and closed the book he was reading, then returned the tomes on his desk to their places on the shelves. He then proceeded back to his temporary room in the Palace to try and forget about the Empire's contemptible political situation for long enough to get some sleep; in the morning he'd be meeting with the Empress herself...

by **Rodez** » Sun Mar 26, 2017 9:10 pm

Braden Jurault
Hendrick Hall
High Rock

Braden smiled fondly as he gazed at Tristan and Elienne play in the courtyard far below. His two children were like little bugs amongst the ancient immensity of the castle's walls. The stonework watched over them while they wrestled playfully with Reman, one of the family hounds. The old and the new, together under one roof. Braden found the thought comforting as he glanced at the leaden sky, swirling with what looked to be a coming flurry. His house was not two generations old, having been founded from obscurity by his late adoptive father, an enterprising and capable hedge knight who had been raised to Baron after years of service to Camlorn. But these walls had stood for centuries. These walls had stood during the War of Bendr-Mahk and they had stood during the rampages of the Camoran Usurper. Braden felt that in this relatively calm corner of High Rock, behind these walls, his wife and children were probably much safer than in most other locales in Tamriel.

Feebly, the wind tapped the stained-glass window from which he observed his son and daughter. Braden could almost feel the chill, but he knew Elienne and Tristan probably felt very little. Sallona had wrapped them so tightly in fur coats that it was almost impossible to see their dark locks. Five year-old Elienne waddled around like a duck, gesturing wildly in what their father assumed was another futile attempt to boss around her little brother, who seemed quite content with Reman as his companion.

"You should really bring them inside," said a voice from the door. "Supper is nearly ready. You don't want to miss the buck you shot just this morning."

They embraced one another lovingly. Braden held Sallona in his arms for a brief moment, but pulled away all too soon for his wife. She sensed the disquiet immediately. "Did you open it?" she whispered.

"No." Braden's eyes flashed overt fear for the briefest of seconds. "No. I don't want to open that box, Sallona."

She threw him a sidelong look, brow furrowed in concern, brown Imperial eyes gazing at him with a critical air in the way that they did when she was frustrated with him. "It's from your father, dear. He put it down there because he wanted you to see it, you alone."

"My father grew to hate me, Sallona. Mother too, I think, before the end. They raised me and loved me and I loved them, but they never forgave me for what I did to Guillaume."

"I don't care about your half-brother," she declared, frankly and coldly. "I think your parents loved you at the end. I think they forgave you before they passed on. I think your father wants to tell you why, and I think you should listen." She stood on her toes to plant a kiss on her husband's lips. "Open the box, dear." Without another word, she departed, leaving her husband to brood in solitude.

Night had fallen by the time he decided to visit the crypt again. He moved swiftly and silently through the halls, eyes flitting about every time he turned a corner, even though everyone but the guards was asleep. A deep, pulsating fear pounded inside of him. Braden had served more than a decade in the Legion and was no coward, but this sensation was new. It wasn't the apprehension one felt before battle. It was an insidious dread that latched onto his very soul, gnawing and biting and eating at his confidence, his humanity. Only once before had he felt like this; three days prior, when he first approached the box.

Shadows leapt and danced about the scant torchlight as he reached the long winding stairs that descended into the crypt, so far down as to be a hundred feet below the dungeons. Braden removed a torch from its sconce and began his downward trek. Every few steps, he thought he could hear the twang of a bowstring, and the thump of his adopted brother's body as it hit the dirt. His pace quickened.

At last, the worn stone steps terminated, opening up into a relatively narrow yet preposterously long chamber. Against the walls on either side sat the tombs of the many lords of Hendrick Hall. It said something that the castle had withstood more years than any one family that had held it. The oldest tombs by the staircase were so worn away as to be unreadable, while they became more recent as they stretched away towards the back. Braden recognized the names on the finely carved graves as he shuffled down the aisle. There was Wickford, Panoit, Gaersly, the noble line of Bielles who had held the castle during the Oblivion Crisis, and the Royers after them. It seemed with each new conflict, local or otherwise, the castle had changed hands, be it through violence, trickery, or marriage. As he passed the trio of vicious Marcott lords, Braden resolved that he would forge something more permanent, even if the bloodline of the Juraults had technically expired with the death of his adoptive father. Braden would carry the name to his grave all the same, and his bloodline would continue.

Braden continued until he came to a sarcophagus at the very end. It was quite recent, with intricately carved scenes of battle flowing across unblemished white marble, with not a chip or crack to be seen as of yet. On top was carved a single name: Enmon Jurault, Baron of Hendrick Hall || 4E 278-339

Next to his father's name was a simple wooden box, which the old Baron had no doubt ordered placed there after his death. In it was placed a sealed envelope and what appeared to be a letter. Taking a deep breath, Braden reached for the letter and unfurled it.

Braden dropped the letter and seized the envelope, failing to notice the dragon seal of the Empire as he tore it open with quivering fingers.

He unrolled the scroll inside, and screamed at the name that gazed back.

Cardes.

Braden fled the crypt, his feet pounding against the dusty stones, keeping a panicked rhythm with his pulsating heart. Cardes.

Almost leaping forward, he took the ancient steps nearly three at a time, bounding up the twisting stairway like some crazed animal. His legs could not take him from that place hastily enough. Cardes. The name was eating him alive, lacerating his very soul. It cannot be.

But it was.

Up the stairs, through the ill-lit corridors he wandered, his pace slowing as he distanced himself from the box. He shoved open a door in the south tower, and found himself on the wall. The chill of the morning and the black cloak of night embraced him fully, like unwanted siblings. Braden slumped against the nearest crenellation and gave himself to despair.

But the night, ever his whispering friend, turned the despair into anger, and thence into resolve.

Cardes.

****

"Pappa, I don't understand why you're leaving!" The look on his daughter Elienne's face was one that spoke of her frustration with Braden's vague and sudden "business trip" to the Imperial City. Her lower lip protruded in a gesture of utter disappointment. Next to her, little Tristan started to cry.

Braden knelt and embraced both his children tightly. "Something has come up, my little one. Papa can't say no to this trip. It will be a few weeks. But then we'll see one other again, yes? Look at me, Elienne. Look at me. There we are . . you'll keep your brother safe?"

She nodded solemnly. "Nobody's gonna touch 'em!" she blurted.

"Good," he whispered. Braden planted a kiss on both children and rose to face Sallona.

His wife stood unmoving, her stoic pose betrayed only by her eyes, which were wet with concern.

Only she knows. He had communicated the fact of his parentage and imperial illegitimatecy to her the previous night, his father's last secret spilled out in hushed tones across the bed. She took it like she took all surprises: attentive and quiet. And then she had calmly backed his then half-serious proposal that he go to Cyrodiil to sort out the matter.

Sallona gave Braden a small smile and stood on her toes to kiss her husband. It was long and full; a trip to the Imperial City from High Rock and back again would take some weeks.

"Stay safe, by the Divines," she breathed into his ear. "That city is a pit of serpents."

Another promise I can't make, he thought. "I swear it," he lied.

His goodbyes completed, Braden mounted Muirene, his white charger, and motioned to the half dozen men-at-arms who were to accompany him that they should fall in behind him. Hendrick Hall had a garrison of near threescore men, so he would not be detracting from his family's protection to any significant degree.

The small mounted party made its way through the open gates. Braden turned in the saddle and raised his hand in a final gesture of farewell.

His men bore no standards or colors. To the casual observer, he could be any noble at all.

Moving at a canter, Braden led his men west towards the city of Camlorn, about a day's ride from his own castle. From there, he would take ship to Anvil, afterwards passing through Kvatch and Skingrad on his way to the Imperial City.

Braden drew his heavy cloak closer about him. He could feel the chill now.

by **Xah** » Mon Mar 27, 2017 3:11 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Whiterun
Skyrim

Whiterun wasn't a good place for smiths. Well, not exactly. Whiterun was an excellent place for a smith... if you happened to have access to the Skyforge and the proper contacts with the Companions or the ear of the Jarl. Haeigr had neither, and no-one had any use for even a talented smith when there was the kind of quality coming out of the legendary Skyforge just up the road. So because of this, instead of earning some proper coin and spreading her reputation, Haeigr had spent the last few days making nails, fixing trinkets and drinking mead, glowering at the bird-like statue that seems to loom over the town whenever she thought no-one was looking.

She knew of the Skyforge before coming here, but erroneously assumed that either she'd be allowed access, or that the locals would be happy buying merchandise off a travelling smith instead of their own. She had been wrong on both accounts and regretted not taking the road to Riften instead. The oxen were rested now though, and she's scrimped enough coin together to buy supplies and restock her small travelling forge, all that was left was to decide where to go next. It would be better to find another place to settle down, make herself a proper smithy and get back to crafting the kind of items that she enjoyed, but it was next to impossible to find a settlement of any suitable size that didn't already have its own smith. Haeigr had been avoiding the more northern Holds; she really didn't want the hassle of getting involved in what Skycrown was doing, and she refused to go to Haafinger and what she considered the 'easy option' of Solitude. This stubbornness would cost her, and she knew it, but still wouldn't change.

South it was then. Pass through Riverwood and try her luck there, then if that was a bust, further on towards Falkreath. She tapped her fingers against the anvil. There was always the possibility of crossing over into Cyrodil and seeing if Bruma had any better opportunities. A smile creased across her face, a Nord smith in Cyrodil might do very well, especially one with enough knowledge of Dwemer artifacts and metal to make a name for herself. Glancing westward, she let her mind's eye move across to The Reach. The temptation to do one more run into a Dwarven ruin appealed; maybe hire a few mercenaries with the prospect of some loot, get a bit more Dwemer metal and then see if the Imperials of Cyrodil could be tempted into buying some 'genuine' Dwarven arms and armour.

Getting her oxen and cart in order took little time and she left Whiterun without even looking back. Riverhold was her first destination, then Falkreath; if she could rustle together a few warriors, then The Reach was next. Otherwise it was Bruma and then... who knows? Haeigr had heard the Imperial City was quite a sight to see.

by **Zanera** » Mon Mar 27, 2017 2:56 pm

Tribune Allius Redfist
The Heartlands
The Estate of Another Uppity Noble

Allius could be lazy. Allius could send a few units to go attack yet another uppity noble's estate without ever having to have seen a square inch of that noble's land. But a traitor to the Empire hiring more traitors to the Empire in order to rebel against the Empress, and in the province of Cyrodiil itself, could not possibly fly. Lately this noble had decided that the protections against large bandit groups via the Imperial Legion wasn't good enough, and had began to build a large wall. That, or they expected the Legion to come knocking on their door one day, or that this noble's estate might be used as a headquarters from which to carry out strikes on the Legion or against rivals. The man had also hired himself a few mages, and some of the higher-class mercs one might get their hands on. It was an awfully petty thing. Apparently this fat 62 year-old had the balls of a freshwater sponge, so it must just be stupidity. The Legion is, and always will be, the enemies of traitors. And the Imperial Legion was an enemy nobody wanted to have.

There had been many uppity nobles lately. Plenty of people thought the current Empress was weak, and that when the infighting truly broke out, they'd try to get their own parcel of land. Allius didn't want the Empire to fall to a bunch of petty nobles and a few greedy politicians, and he'd do his best to put these nobles in their place. He just wandered when he'd stop getting orders to put down nobles and rebellions and when he'd start getting orders to take land and hold it for as long as he could against rival legions. That would be the day he disobeyed orders.

But right now there was one petty noble Allius was tasked with dealing with. The Shadow Legion even sent a few mages to combat the noble's mages. Allius had about two units of archers and several units of regular legionnaires. Allius opted to bring a couple small pots of hot oil. The walls were only a few feet high from what Allius could now see. There was no visible guard activity, which there should have been, and they would have been mobilizing right now. Guess they knew they were coming. Since there was likely a trap, Allius decided to get the flaming arrows out immediately instead of later. Hopefully there'd be a nice bonfire going where the noble's villa was. The order was given by the quaestors and flaming arrows sailed over the yet unfinished walls and hit various points on the villa. There was a bit of a fire going, but Allius wanted another volley to make sure. There was now activity in the form of servants running outside to douse the flames with buckets of water and get more water from a well.

Allius thought the fact that the mercs and mages still had not come. Allius had sent a couple units to cover any possible escape exits. There was the current height of the wall. They could be using the wall as cover, and would pop up to attack once legionnaires were up there and about to finish crossing the mortar and bricks. Ordering three flaming volleys on top of the immediate other side of the wall, the mercs' cover was blown when one found himself trying to beat out a fire that had ignited on his armor's cloth. A couple archers suddenly appeared and began rapidly firing into the legionnaires. There wasn't enough time for an archer duel. Sending a few units to begin crossing the wall, the second-story windows of the villa suddenly opened to let out firebolts and blizzards of ice. Legionnaires were either sliding around, frozen, or on fire. The Shadow Legion mages soon returned fire with firebolts straight into the open windows, hopefully starting fires inside the villa itself.

The battle was hectic, and Allius could barely find the right time to give orders, and soon Allius was fighting a mercenary himself. Soon there was the sound of fighting on the other side of the villa as well. The villa was being evacuated, with people being sent outside while the battle was raging, and other servants were carrying out armfuls of valuables. The villa was near-collapsing, and the second floor already looked ready to go. The battle was finally ending, and the last of the servants fled outside when villa began its collapse. The last mercenary was struck down, and the two units sent to the other side of the villa came around dragging the nobleman and two of his closest bodyguards. Allius surveyed the bodies of the mercenaries and looked at the legionnaires that were struck down and checked on the wounded. After a few minutes, he was ready to address the nobleman, who was on his knees and bloody.

"Think you're above the Empire, do you? Think power is but a few steps and a short campaign away? I suggest you remember that the Empire has been an establishment for a very, very long time. One woman led an army that freed the people that would make up Cyrodiil, a long time ago. One man led the empire to domination over Tamriel. A bunch of squabbling aristocracy and politicians might bring down this well-established and fair institution. You are on the high end of what the Empire has to offer to its citizens. The strong and brave men of the Imperial Legion protect you... So, why rebel against the Empire?" asked Allius, deciding to give a long-winded speech to this petty noble. The noble had nothing to say in return. He only looked at the ground.

"I'm sure I have little choice in these matters besides whether I let you, a traitor to the Empire and a threat to its very stability, live. Maybe you can go straight to the Empress. Tell her how you are fond of the protections offered by the Empire, and how you wish to yet be a noble, who will continue to help fund these protections with generous donations to the Imperial Treasury. Or, you will die, along with your bodyguards. Executed for your stark treachery."

The nobleman finally spoke up, looking up at Allius' face. "The Legion must be nothing but thugs for the corrupt government. Maybe it's about time people rebelled!"

"How old are you? 62? The Second Great War was...forty years ago? Alive during the Thalmor's pleasant stay in Cyrodiil, and old enough to join the Legion when the Second Great War started. Did you fight in the war?" asked Allius. The nobleman opted to go back to looking down.

"I'll admit, I'm too young to have fought in that war. But you are old enough to have fought in it before. Who fought against the Aldmeri Dominion? The Imperial Legion. Who helped re-institute the supremacy of Imperial law over our lands over the word of the Thalmor? Who helps protect the people against well-armed strongman bandit groups? Who helps maintain the stability of the fair and prosperous institution known as the Empire? The Imperial Legion. All you must do is pay taxes, and offer yourself to the defense of the Empire when its existence may be in peril. To do these is to aid the Legion in keeping the peace and stability of the Empire. Instead, you readied yourself for the Empire's collapse, and hoped to take over a small slice of land and call yourself a warlord. Does your previous venture not sound stupid now?"

"Perhaps. But now I have nothing. You've burned down my home. I have almost nothing left!"

"And your mercenaries killed several of my legionnaires. You had a debt, and perhaps you have justly paid it. Now, will you go to the Empress and swear fealty to her and the Empire, or will you die?"

"I want to live!"

"Then you will come with us, and you'll go to the Imperial City to give a proper apology before the Empress. What she wants to do with you, that is not my concern, and certainly not my jurisdiction, anyhow. Your bodyguards, however, as highly likely co-conspirators, will likely be going to prison, or will be executed. Did they kill any legionnaires?"

"I...I don't believe so."

Allius looked at a quaestor who led one of the units to capture the nobleman should he try to escape. The quaestor shook his head.

"Well, they have that going for them. But they're still traitors and petty co-conspirators. The Empress will likely be above giving them her forgiveness," Allius said, before turning back to his troops. "You have fought well today. Those that have died, have died serving the Empire, fighting against its internal enemies. But now, let's tend to the wounded so they do not become further casualties, and let's take these traitors to camp and have them tied to posts. We'll move out tomorrow."

The legionnaires began moving to and fro, getting what they needed to do done in the post-battle. Allius hoped he could write a letter to higher command to possibly get that nobleman to swear to the Empress, and those bodyguards a hefty jail sentence. If they decided to publicly execute them all in the Imperial City, then that was their sentence for being traitors to the Empire. For now, they needed to get the dead and wounded back to the camp, monitor the flaming ruins of the villa, move the servants someplace else, and dispose of the bodies of the mercenaries somewhere. A few minutes of battle lent itself to several hours of clean-up.

by **The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness** » Mon Mar 27, 2017 3:58 pm

Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes
The Imperial City
Cyrodiil, The Empire

Horseback riding was not something the Empress was particularly skilled at, nor was it something she enjoyed, but it was still something that had to be done, in the end. Just like attending court. Both of those things were rather unfortunate necessities, she had long since decided. At least today could be somewhat exciting, with the presence of that newly appointed general from Skyrim. Better than the usual group of petitioners that wished to speak to her and officials asking for her instructions on matters big and small, that was certain. She and her guards arrived at the White Gold Tower early in the morning. The streets of the Imperial City were already bustling with activity, people going to their work, getting breakfast, or going through any other parts of their morning routine, the people swarming the streets. Climbing out of the saddle, she went inside, to her private quarters there to get changed and prepared for what would be yet another long day.

Changing out of a rather simple looking set of armor that really didn't fit her, she held out her sword, wielded by her father before her, and long, long ago by the famed Pelinal Whitestrake to one of her servants - only for the poor woman to instantly drop the sword to the floor, almost collapsing to the ground with it, finding herself unable to carry it. Emeveria blinked, for a moment having forgotten about that peculiar detail of the blade. She frowned while getting helped into a regal, purple dress, quickly leaning in to pick up the blade from the floor, hanging it form a belt again. Giving herself a not-so-confident nod, she made for the throne room, guard and assorted following in tow.

Seating herself upon the Ruby Throne that had for ages been the seat of power of all that ruled the Empire, Cardes ran a hand through her hair, readjusting herself a little before, again nodding to herself while the court gathered. As expected, it would be a long day. Minor nobles asking for support in the way of money or Legion presence, others reassuring their allegiance to her, while others came with more complicated matters. People came, offering to work for her as an adviser - many of them seeming to be more intent on their own gain rather than anything else, and all of them finding their generous offers denied, the Empress' attention waning, growing tired of hours upon hours of the same thing over and over again. Emeveria blinked, snapping back into it as she heard a herald cry out the name of the person that could very well make this day at least a little more attention - the newly appointed general Drusus Scipionus being called into court. The Imperial shifted, leaning forward from atop her Throne as she waited for the man in question to come forward.

by **Brusia** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 12:24 am

Drusus Scipionus
Imperial City

Drusus' attempt to get a good night's sleep unfortunately met with little avail, but the old soldier was used enough to sleepless nights at this point that it hardly bothered him. After getting up from his bed and stretching a bit, he performed his usual morning exercises and prayers, then bathed and worked to make himself appear presentable for his upcoming meeting with the Empress. He then put on his tunic and donned his armor which, despite the scratches and dents it had accumulated over the course of countless battles, Drusus had still managed to burnish to the point where it glistened with a lustrous sheen that would rival even a brand new set of fine Imperial armor.

He left his room and grabbed a quick bite to eat from the kitchen before making his way to the Throne Room with plenty of time to spare. He stood at attention outside of the Throne Room for about an hour, until a herald called out his name; serving to inform him and the Empress that it was his turn to enter the court. He did precisely that, and proceeded at a steady pace towards the Ruby Throne, marching forward like a soldier in battle formation. He fixed his gaze forward, just as he was trained to do, and took in the site of the beautiful, ornate seat from which some of the finest men and women who ever lived ruled the Empire; and upon which was adorned the stunning gemstone which gave the Ruby Throne its name.

As he got closer, he began to see the Empress more clearly as well, and she certainly did not look like he'd expected. Instead of a strong, healthy looking ruler, the woman who sat before him looked frail and sickly; with a pallid countenance and a frame so thin that were she not dressed in exquisite finery and seated in the Ruby Throne, he'd have probably thought her a half-starved peasant. Were it not for her bright green eyes, Drusus could indeed see how some people would have trouble believing that this was the child of the victor of the Second Great War. Despite his surprise at the Empress' appearance, Drusus' emotionless expression didn't change for an instant; the benefit of many years of strict discipline.

He'd made certain to learn of the proper military procedure for addressing the Empress in the days prior, and when he finally reached the Throne, he followed the protocol to the letter. He first saluted the young Cardes while stating "Hail, Empress" then removed his helmet as a sign of respect, and placed it beside him as he bent down on one knee and bowed his head. In doing so, he'd also inadvertently revealed the numerous small battle scars on his face and neck which, along with the larger scars visible on the exposed parts of his arms and legs, he'd received in his many years of fighting. Such old wounds were common among soldiers, but as more and more of the Empire's Generals were men who'd achieved that rank through scheming and strong political allies rather than experience or ability, such injuries were likely becoming a rare sight in front of the Ruby Throne. Likely even rarer still was the unflinching discipline present in the man who was still as statue as he waited on bended knee for the Empress' permission to rise.

by **New Minahasa** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 4:28 am

Orzuk Chief-bane
Valmargur, High Rock

Cheers and shouts filled the Orc stronghold of Valmargur as a duel was prepared. On one side was the challenger; Warlord Orzuk Chief-bane of the Blacktusk Clan, and the other was the chief of the Valmargur Stronghold himself; Chieftain Snog gro-Grono, "The Crusher", of the Stone Maw Clan. Both Orcs exchanged stares as they began to uncloth themselves, wearing nothing but their underwears. No doubt this duel was to the death, as Orzuk sought to assimilate the Stone Maw into his own confederation of many Orcish clans. To maintain his honor, Chieftain Snog had to accept the duel, else he'd lose the trust and respect of his clan members inevitably. Such was the brutish tradition of the Orcs, that the other races of Tamriel would unsurprisingly refer them as 'savages'.

The fighters began to circle the arena, taunting and insulting each other. Orzuk used this chance to scrutinize his opponent's movements, as the other was busy taunting the warlord himself. Chieftain Snog gro-Gron was known amongst the Orcish clans and strongholds of Dragontail Mountains as one of the few strong and capable chieftains, evident by his past achievements.

His most popular deed was most likely the extermination of a Breton Knighthood Order dedicated for the sole purpose of the Orcs' extinction. The order was formed as a counteraction to the increasing amounts of raids against many Breton towns and villages committed by the Orcs. Snog boldly challenged the head of the order, a renowned Breton swordmaster, and utterly defeated him, crushing the Breton's face to almost a distorted form, earning him the moniker 'The Crusher'.

During Warlord Orzuk's conquest of the many Orcish clans within the Dragontail Mountains, Chieftain Snog was among those whom overtly opposed him. A few skirmishes had already ensued between Orzuk and Snog's followers, but it was until now that Orzuk had finally dare to challenge the Stone Maw's chieftain himself. No one knew why it took him so long to challenge Snog, but few said that the warlord was busy appeasing the Daedric Prince Malacath to gain his favour in the upcoming duel.

"I've been waiting for you for some time now, 'Chief-bane'. Have you finally took the courage to challenge me? Or did boredom finally come to you after hiding yourself in your puny little stronghold like a coward? Rest assured, the filthy place you call your 'stronghold' shall be the place where you will be buried!," shouted Snog.

"'The Crusher'. After this duel, I would make sure that every Orc would recognize you by the name 'The Crushed'," replied Orzuk.

Angered by Orzuk's statement, Snog immediately charged him head-on. The buffed up Orc, in his rage, gave Orzuk a strong swing. Orzuk speculated this move, as his opponent was well-known by his fiery temper, and was prepared to dodge it. Snog stumbled forward, his posture briefly unbalanced after focusing all his weight into that one swing. Orzuk used the opportunity and headlocked the Orc, using all of his force to slam him to the ground. The enormous force that drove him to the ground almost made Snog unconscious. He tried to rise from the ground, but failed repeatedly.

"On your feet, Crusher. I do not wish you to continue this fight in your current state. Now, stand up, before my mind changes!", yelled Orzuk, the crowd of Orcs cheering at him.

It took Snog a few good seconds before he could properly stand on his feet, although still fairly dizzy. Orzuk stood only several feet ahead of him, taunting him right in front of his face. The Orc's blurry vision began to recover, slowly but surely, and his ears became clearer. He could hear the faint mockery thrown towards him, and the disappointment slowly visible on the face of his fellow clan brothers and sisters, before a punch suddenly struck him in the face, his gargantuan body falling straight to the hard ground, the loud thump audible to the whole crowd.

The Orc crowd went wild as a random Orc stepped out, throwing an axe to the winner. "Finish what you started," was all he said before he turned on his back and walked away from the arena. It was the shaman of the Stone Maws, giving his loyalty fully to his new chieftain, the axe being the evidence. The crowd turned silent as Orzuk raised the axe, the wind blowing ever more intense, everyone holding their breath in anticipation.Thump. The crowd went wild once again as the axe was landed, and the Crusher's head separated from its body.

by **Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 5:42 am

Ingair Silinfhaer
Ruby Throne
White-Gold Tower, Imperial City
Cyrodiil, the Empire

Standing next to the Ruby Throne, Ingair let his hand caress the hard stone from which it was hewn. The stone felt cold under his hand, yet, it felt no different from any other stone. In his mind, the blind Elf tried to conjure a sort of perception, trying to imagine what the seat of power would look like. However, he could not. There were a few artefacts in the Known World that resisted nuanced magic like his own, and he knew the Ruby Throne was one of them. He was repelled by it, but duty-bound to keep by its side. His hand brushed over the arm rests, up the back, nearly touching the giant ruby laid into its top. Then, Ingair stopped, and took a few steps back. He pondered the throne. It was such an inconspicuous thing. It did not sit atop a pile of gold, and did not command strong magic or giant armies. Yet, its possession did have a certain power about it, beyond what material gains it could bring. It was a badge without benefit, that still had an impact. Of all the artefacts that Ingair had seen in his life, this throne was one of the more curious.

Then, he heard the doors open. The aura of the Empress could be felt throughout the room. Even though the Cardes girl was not the military giant her father had been, her presence still radiated from her being. It could be felt clearly as it filled the room, and with his mind Ingair followed the source approach the throne. He folded his hands before him, making a short bow towards her general direction. Now, he felt her company too; a contingent of Imperial Guards at her disposal.

“Your majesty” Ingair began, speaking in a fatherly, kind voice. He could not see if the Empress looked at him, but he felt her sitting down in the throne. The aura of the throne and the girl seemed to mix and meet, to cling together tightly. There was something unexplainable about the bond.

“I will call for your audience to come forward. There are many requests that need your attention. I fear… most of them will be the known bore”

As the day progressed, Ingair remained standing beside the throne, veiled a bit by the shadow it cast. Being a master of illusion, Ingair used various spells to make himself go unnoticed. He was not invisible, just not easily noticed. He made sure the Empress was seen ruling by herself, while he gave slight hinds behind her back. As the day progressed, he felt the girl slipping away from concentration, and he could hardly blame her. The day was long, and arduous, and the various nobles of the realm tried their best to make use of the girl’s age and her position. Ingair felt disgusted at their attempt. It was all so see-through, all so obvious. Even the young Empress often saw through the disguise, often without the aid of her Elf adviser.

When the name of Drusus Scipionus was mentioned, Ingair felt the girl snap back to attention. This troubled the Elf, who had done his best to teach the girl the merits of peace and prosperity. Her interest in military matters was worrisome, especially with all the precarious balances she had to keep. If her word rested on her legions, then there was much to fear, both for her and for her enemies. However, the appointment of a new general was always exciting, and Ingair tried to convince himself that that was the root cause of her excitement. As the general walked in, Ingair felt his aura fill the room. He had a commanding presence, that much was obvious. While Ingair could not see the man, he could make a few guesses. His aura told of a military man, of a history of violence. That violence radiated from him, giving Ingair a bad, bitter taste in his mouth. As the feeling was so present, Ingair took a step back, before finding the strength to face the feeling. He took another two steps forward, now positioning himself to the right of the Empress. From where he stood, he could more easily communicate with the Empress.

“Tell me… Does he have scars, your majesty?” Ingair asked. While his feelings were fine-tuned, he could not see faces, and he could certainly not tell scars. Yes, sizes and shapes mattered, and feelings radiated from a person like the heat from a fire, but these kinds of real-world consequences were of little notice to the Elf, who could only ‘see’ the world of emotions.

The question was not a hollow one. Ingair had heard of Scipious, the general. His stories were known far and wide, and had become the stuff of legend in the capital. The time Drusus had been in the capital had been abuzz with all kinds of fanciful stories. The local theatrical association had even performed a play in honour of his victories. Ingair had visited the play, but left half-way. He had work to do, and the celebration of so much bloodshed left him with a hole in his stomach. Ingair did not trust people who had such legendary reputations. From his own lifetime, he could remember enough humans who were celebrated beyond reason, and more often than not they had contributed to these legends themselves. Whether Drusus had scars would at least be evidence to the contrary. Of course, this left two possibilities: either Drusus was a liar, or he was a butcher. Two possibilities of equal fear to Ingair.

“If it is to your majesties liking” Ingair whispered under his breath “I could question this man myself” he said. Still hidden by a cloak of his own spells, he was wondering how the general would react to his scepticism. Of course, only if the Empress commanded him to. Otherwise, he would remain hidden, out of notice and out of sight.

by **Xah** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 6:24 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Falkreath
Skyrim

Falkreath was almost as much of a wasted trip as Whiterun had been, Haeigr mused, swirling the mead around in the bottom of her cup. An established smithy, customer loyalty and the ever-present mistrust of strangers, even fellow Nords; it was enough to generate a polite yet firm refusal to engage in anything other than make-work and tinkering. Fixing minor objects, fitting horseshoes and selling gewgaws paid for food and drinks, but was hardly what Haeigr had in mind when she became a smith. Riverwood had been more profitable, in that she sold a couple of steel axes and sharpened the large saw blade in the lumber mill. She had even been allowed access to the forge there. It was only later she learnt that the resident smith had broken his finger just the week before and the apprentice, whilst competent, was heavily over-worked. Realising the limited options there, she'd only stayed three days.

Haeigr had been in Falkreath for two days now, and it was only the possibility of hiring some mercenaries that had kept her here for so long. According to the innkeeper of the Dead Man's Drink (what a name for an inn!), a couple of soldiers for hire had passed through a week ago on their way to do some hunting in the nearby hills and they were expected back any day now. Once they'd returned, Haeigr was going to propose a trip into The Reach, and an exploration of the Dwarven ruins at Arkngthamz. A proportion of the loot should be enough to tempt them, even if the place was dangerous. Then she'd see about going into Cyrodil; Skyrim might be home, but something's were more important.

Sure enough, the next afternoon, the two fighters trailed back into town; cold, wet and looking to get warm and dry. Haegir waited for them to start their second cup of mead before sauntering over and taking a seat next to them. They were both typical looking Nords, still in their steel armour, well built and blonde with blue eyes. One had a scar running along his cheek whereas the other had his hair longer and pulled up into a top-knot.
"Can we help you?" the scarred one said, looking at Haeigr warily.
"I have a proposition for you both," she said, offering up a smile. "And I can guarantee a fair bit of profit for you."
"No offence woman, but you're not my type. I prefer my girls blonder and thinner," Top-knot replied.
Scarred Face smiled at his friend's words and gave Haeigr a measured look. "I might be convinced, depends on your going rate... and what you're willing to do."
Haeigr growled. "I'm not that kind of woman," she said sharply. "I'm a smith, and I'm looking for some mercenaries for a bit of exploration in a Dwemer ruin. Equal share of the loot guaranteed."
"Now that's an interesting proposition for sure," the first man said, nodding. "A bit dangerous too. How much do you know about these ruins?"
"Enough to avoid the traps and open the doors," Haeigr replied. "But I need help dealing with the creatures that always seem to lurk in those places. What do you say? My name is Haeigr Flamehair, and as bonus, I'll improve your weapons before we go."
The eyebrows on both the men raised. "We'd need to discuss it between us," the scarred one said. "I'm Mojarn, my friend here is Oenael. Are you staying here? We'll have a reply for you soon, by sundown."
Haeigr nodded. "Don't get so drunk I can't understand what you're saying then," she warned, smiling as they both laughed.

Sundown arrived and Haeigr stalked back into the inn, heading for the table where Mojarn and Oenael were sitting. "What's it to be then?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"We've got nothing better to do." Mojarn said. "So you can count us in. On the condition that we pull out if any of us feels like it's getting too dangerous. We're Nords, but we're not stupid, and those ruins have a rightful reputation for being death-traps."
"You've got a deal." Haeigr replied. She waved her hand to attract the serving girl. "Three meads, we've got a contract to celebrate." As the girl headed towards the bar, Haeigr sat and looked at the two men, eyes flashing with humour. "I'll sort your gear in the morning, but let's see if either of you can out drink me."

by **The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 8:10 am

Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes
White-Gold Tower, The Imperial City
Cyrodiil, The Empire

Her arms resting on the Ruby Throne, Emeveria peered at the approaching general, clad in armor that had obviously seen many a battle, but that still glistened, reflecting the light falling onto it - the man seemingly having put quite some effort in burnishing it. She quickly looked away from him for a moment, looking around court. Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, her gaze returned to the man known as Drusus Scipionus. He moved with a soldier's grace, that was to say, not a lot of grace at all. His steps were methodical and steady, the man moving as if he was marching to war. Not that he was, of course, the Imperial assured herself. Such a thing was not something one would do in a throne room, especially not with her guard present. Her eyes shot for one of the Oculatus nearby, clad in black leather armor, regardless, for but a brief moment. The appearance of a man with such a reputation, a military man that her father would have undoubtedly liked a great deal, was quite the exciting change of pace, that was certain.

She eyed him as he saluted her and knelt before her, removing his helmet and placing it down next to him as he did. As was proper, of course. She listened as to her right, Ingair spoke, his voice almost but a whisper. The Altmer seemed curious enough about the appearance of the general kneeling in front of her, and knowing him it was probably with good reason. Emeveria leaned forward a little more as she spoke, addressing everyone while at the same time responding to her adviser's question. "You bear your scars well, general," she began, leaning back a bit again, quickly brushing a strand of hair from her face as she did, "...and there are certainly more of them on you than on many others that come before me. Even your armor, glistening as it might be, carries with it the mark of many a battle." She blinked, her eyes darting up and peering around court again before she continued. "You may rise."

Motioning for Scipionus to get up on his feet again, she rested her back against the Ruby Throne. Her words had been true - the man had evidently seen much more in the way of battles of many other men and women carrying the same title he did, and that was not a good thing - not at all. Emeveria hummed softly in response to her Altmer adviser, opting not to appear as if she was in a conversation with him, while still acknowledging his words, and perhaps making it clear she had taken them into consideration. "So, General Scipionus, has your stay in the Imperial City so far been to your liking? And tell me, please. What news do you bring from Skyrim? I am told many things, but I would like to hear it coming from the mouth of a man such as yourself, for once. I am certain your account on it will be most interesting."

by **Ism** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 8:11 pm

Sir Amren Cylriod
City of Dawnstar
Skyrim

Birdsong pierced the chilled air of Dawnstar, rousing Amren from his sleep. His eyes opened, though the sunlight happened to enter the room in such a way to shine directly in his face, causing him to close them quickly, turning his head and raising his hand to block the light as he did so. He sat up in his bed, taking a moment to adjust to the light. However, the knight continued to lay there longer, channeling his restorative magics through his body, He had learned that doing so greatly lessened the aches that came from age and old wounds. He suspected that with enough skill, he could remove them entirely, but he was far from such a level of proficiency. No, he would have to bear the small pains for the foreseeable future, but they were not all bad, they reminded him of his own mortality, something too many lose sight of. Amren finally rose and began the even more time consuming task of putting his armor on.

Suited up, he finally left his room, closing the door behind him. He got some food at the bar, a bit of horker stew and bread, washing it down with water, though he bought a bottle of mead for later. It was a local brew, Amren was not one to support the Black-Briars. Finishing his meal he tipped the barmaid before braving the cold city outside. It was difficult, the snow and ice making travel slow, but he made his way to Greta Byrd's home. It seemed the Divines wanted him to succeed, a boon to his spirit, as he had barely knocked when the door swung open, a young boy standing in the doorway and looking up at Amren with his blue eyes. He wore a red shirt and brown trousers, the same color as his hair, with a furry jerkin and brown boots.

"What do you want?"
Amren chuckled at the child's bluntness, it was something of a trait he had found common in the Nords, one he enjoyed really. He always found the rituals of the Imperial nobility to be tiring, not that the Nords didn't have their moments, but the Imperials were on their own level. "I am Sir Amren Cylriod, Knight of the Nine, lad. Is this the home of Greta Byrd?" Before the boy could answer a woman appeared behind him. She was similarly dressed to the boy, sharing his blue yes too but having blond hair, though in place of a jerkin she was wearing a cloak, apparently made from a bear pelt. "I am Greta Byrd. What is this about?" The woman asked, pulling the boy back behind her.
"May I come in madam, I have much to discuss with you." Amren was hoping to settle this quickly, hopefully without freezing in the process.
"Very well, Sir, Amren, is it? Come in, have a seat by the fire. Ingar, go play with your friends for awhile."
"Alright!" The boy, Ingar said, before dashing out into the street and up to a house down the street. Following his departure Amren and Greta sat down by the home's firepit.

"Now, Miss Byrd, down to the business at hand. As I said, I am here on behalf of the Knights of The Nine. Are you familiar with my order?"
"I may have heard of it. You own some land in Whiterun right?"
"That is correct. However, this is the third incarnation of the Knights of the Nine, the former disbanding following the First Great War. One member fled to Dawnstar with a relic of Stendarr, the Gauntlets of the Crusader. His name was Olav Byrd, and I have it on good authority that he is your ancestor."
"Old Olav? Yes he settled here in Dawnstar; he's my great grandfather. He was a knight? I never heard anything like that. Or about this relic I'm sorry. But, there might be something in the house. Stay here for a moment."
Greta got up and walked away, descending stairs into the basement, before returning a few moments later with a book, clearly old and worn.
"Here, this is supposed to be Old Olav's journal, though I could never get the thing to open."
Amren took the book from her, finding the latch on the cover to be stuck, though he found there to be some sort of magical enchantment on the book. He dared not try to use magic on it, this called for more practiced hands. "Might I hold onto this, Miss Byrd? It is possible the Grandmaster of my order can open this, and it might lead us to the Gauntlets of the Crusader."
She was silent for awhile, mulling it over, but Greta ultimately agreed to give him the book. "I've no use for a book I can't read, but if you ever do get it open, I'd like it back, or a copy of the text at least."
"If it can be done, I'll make sure that happens. Thank you Miss Byrd, may the Divines smile upon you."
"And you, Sir Amren."

Book in hand, Amren left the Byrd house, stopping by the inn to recover some personal affects before reclaiming his horse from the stable, tipping the stableman and heading off. He had a long ride ahead of him, but at least he had a bottle of mead to make it more bearable. Taking a sip of the drink, he left Dawnstar behind him, and so his quest for the Gauntlets of the Crusader continued.

by **Brusia** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 8:38 pm

Drusus Scipionus
Imperial City

As Drusus knelt down awaiting the Empress' response he thought he heard a hushed whisper emanating from somewhere in front of him for a moment, but he couldn't make out what was being said and certainly wasn't going to breach protocol to lift his head and see who, if anyone, was speaking. When the Empress addressed him however, he did come very near to breaching that protocol out of surprise at the voice he was hearing. The woman spoke with a loud and commanding tone, with a clarity and nobility one would expect from an Empress, but which was difficult to picture emanating from the frail looking girl he had gazed upon as he had walked towards the throne. He appreciated the compliments she paid him, though he did not respond to them as speaking while knelt was also against protocol.

When the Empress instructed him to rise he picked up his helmet and slowly stood up from the floor, proceeding to stand at attention with his helmet held under his left arm. With his gaze again fixated towards the throne, he didn't see anyone near enough to the Empress to have whispered to her, and assumed he must've just imagined it. When the Empress asked if his stay in the Imperial City had been to his liking, he responded:

"Yes, Empress. The people here have been most kind, and I've very much enjoyed the opportunity to study in the Imperial City library." That much was true, he'd certainly enjoyed the library and the people had treated him kindly. The politicians of course were another story. When Cardes asked what news he brought from Skyrim, he proceeded to tell her the whole truth of the situation just as he had often given situation reports to his superiors, unaccustomed to sugarcoating situations as many of her advisers likely did. Speaking in a quiet enough voice that only the Empress and the people nearest to her could hear, he reported:

"As of my last briefing before leaving Skyrim, the situation there was becoming increasingly unstable. The Nords were angered by General Regulus' decision to assault their fortress, and Imperial spies in Skycrown's hold report that many rebel commanders have been pressing Skycrown to retaliate. Though I am not yet aware of any major rebel troop movements, I fear it is only a matter of time until Skycrown leads an incursion into Imperial territory to avenge their losses."

by **Rodez** » Tue Mar 28, 2017 10:04 pm

Braden Jurault
Aboard Alessia's Fancy
Off the coast of Cyrodiil

Groaning and shuddering, the hull of the old Breton merchantman seemed to convulse as if it were a living creature. Outside, the sky had opened up to pour forth the fury of several grey days, and the waves had crested high enough to knock men overboard.

Nestled in his cabin, Braden was pouring over old documents of his father's, the despair of his last night at Hendrick Hall turned to intense curiosity, even fascination. How had he come to be? It appeared the account of his adoptive father possessed only a few answers.

Braden put the parchment aside. Enough reading for the time being. Time to get what sleep you can. He blew out a quintet of candles and burrowed into his cot. The sounds and motions of a wrathful sea lulled him into an uneasy sleep.

****

Anvil

A rough hand shook him awake. "Oi mate, we've docked. Time teh get yer arse off my ship." Braden's eyes opened to behold the gap-toothed visage of the captain, which the Breton mostly recalled as the uproariously drunk figure who danced the jigs of a madman amidst the worst of the storms. Apparently the man functioned better when in the bottle, for by some miracle of the Nine, the ship was intact and not a soul had been lost.

Nodding, Braden forked over the agreed-upon number of septims as payment for the passage, which they had worked out beforehand. Within a few minutes, he had changed into an agreeable-looking green and met his guardsmen on the poop deck.

From the docks, little of Anvil proper could be seen, obscured as it was by the city's sea wall. But the castle, clearly visible, still stood proudly on its own little isle, the scars of the Aldmeri sacking forty years prior still visible in the form of faint burn marks and chipped crenellations. The waterfront row of ill-constructed establishments of ill repute was as busy as ever, bustling with sailors and the sorts of women who dealt with them.

Though perhaps not an impressive sight, it was a sentimental one. Anvil had been his home during the years between his Legion service and his inheritance of Hendrick Hall. It had, he realized, been a mere two years he had sold off the family home up against the landward side of of the seawall. He had met his wife, Sallona, here, and both of his children had been born within these walls. In those days -not so long ago at all- he had been a modestly prosperous merchant, an ex-legionary content to settle down and dabble in sea commerce. Instead, his father's will had made him a noble.

And his last letter made me something else altogether, he reflected wryly.

It was some time before they were ready to leave the waterfront. The horses had to be unloaded, and the supplies doled out as evenly as possible among his six guardsmen. There was reason enough to stay in Anvil for the day, but the nature of his journey meant that Braden was in something of a hurry. It wasn't quite noon; he didn't feel like dawdling the rest of the lit hours away, even if he did love this city.

The Bretons mounted their steeds and proceeded through the sea gate at a trot, down the winding cobblestone streets and past the red-tiled houses and shops characteristic of Anvil. I will have to visit on the way back.

After a few minutes they had reached the city gates proper, which were open for the midday market. Braden and his men joined the outflow of farmers and travelers who trod the road snaking through the sun-covered hills of the Gold Coast. Kvatch would follow, then Skingrad. After would come the Imperial City, where Braden would await whatever future lay in store for bastards who came home.

by **Xah** » Wed Mar 29, 2017 4:44 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Ruins of Arkngthamz
Skyrim

Haeigr slumped against the large tree trunk, gripping the bag of treasures to her chest tightly, her heart still pounding, the wound on her leg oozing blood onto the ground and her face wet with tears and... other liquids. She squeezed her eyes shut and let her breathing calm, trying not to see the faces of Mojarn and Oenael. Rain fell from the sky in a drizzle and the rustle of leaves in the light breeze caused Haeigr to start and look around. "Calm yourself," she muttered. "You got out. It's not your fault." The words sounded hollow, even if they were true to a fashion. The two warriors had known the risks. She waited a few minutes and struggled to her feet, her wounded leg, causing her to gasp in pain. This wasn't the way they'd entered, but she figured she could find her cart and the horses soon. At least it was morning. These woods would be a nightmare to navigate in the dark. Hefting the sack over her shoulder, she limped off.

Yesterday
It had started to go wrong from the start; leaving Falkreath had been easy enough but less than a mile down the road, the cart broke a wheel. The delay had meant that instead of reaching Arkngthamz by midday, it was far closer to dusk than any of them had liked by the time they had found the half-overgrown track and made their way to the site. It was then that they discovered that a small bandit group had set up in the area, using the entrance to the Dwarven ruins as a base of operations. Mojarn and Oenael proved their worth almost immediately, dispatching the frankly amateurish group with relative ease. What wasn't so good was the depletion of their stock of arrows; luck, fate or the gods had meant nearly all the arrows used had either broken or couldn't be found. Going into the ruins without a good supply of arrows wasn't ideal, however none of them wanted to delay long enough for Haegir to make some more and Haeigr didn't relish the prospect of arrow making anyway; a tedious, finger-numbing job she was quite happy to leave to fletchers.

Once inside the ruins, it had seemed their luck had changed. The bandits had evidently made some in-ways into the ruins and there was a respectable pile of Dwarven metal already collected. A cache was made to make things easier on the way out and the group began their venture further in. Some distance inwards and it was fairly clear that this section of Arkngthamz had been cleaned out, and cleaned out well, until they reached a locked door with evidence that the bandits had tried, and failed, to get any further. Haeigr was well versed in Dwemer locks, but this one had pushed her skills to the limit. Whilst the two warriors had a rest and something to eat, it took the smith almost an hour to finally figure it out and with a satisfying 'click', the door finally swung open.

Behind the door, all three of them gasped; the room was long, with another passage-way off about halfway down, but the far wall held a fine collection of Dwarven objects, along with gems of a radiant purple glow, several jewelled orbs and a strange device with a glowing red sphere at its heart. Before Haeigr could warn him, Oenael had said "Now that's more like it." and strode down the room. As quick as the eye could see, whirling blades emerged from the floor and scythed around, slicing the eager warrior's legs with their wicked looking edges. As the man fell with a scream, Haeigr located the red wheel that she knew would turn the trap off and managed to halt the blades before they cut Oenael into shreds. Mojarn ran over and tried to stem the flow of blood from the wreck of the other man's legs with bandages and their meagre store of healing potions. Whilst he'd been doing that, Haeigr checked the rest of the room, knowing that the Dwemer rarely just had one set of traps but she'd been unable to find any more.

With Oenael severely injured, they'd made the decision to collect what they could and leave; the items in that room alone would make it worth it and hopefully buy the services of a healer. Haeigr had swept the objects into a sack and it must have been that that triggered the next set of problems. The doorway through which they'd entered slid shut and two spheres dropped from wide pipes and transformed into humanoid like constructs wielding sharp swords and crossbows. Mojarn was forced abandon treating his friend and drew his sword, diving in to engage the nearest Sphere. Haeigr pulled out her hammer and followed him in, swinging the heavy weapon at the construct. The fight had been hard and tough; by the time the two automatons were felled, Haeigr had a crossbow bolt in her thigh, Mojarn was bleeding badly from several wounds on his arms and torso, and Oenael had made his wounds worst by trying to stand to help them. It took all their strength to lift Oenael and follow the only passage now left to them.

For the rest of that night, they'd spent hours searching for another way out. Whichever way they'd turned seemed to lead to empty rooms or gaping chasms, all the while Oenael growing weaker and weaker. Haeigr didn't know when he died, but it had only been after they decided to stop to rest that they noticed he wasn't breathing. Mojarn was reluctant to leave his friend's body there, but Haeigr had argued that whilst it was harsh, they stood a better chance to get out if they didn't have to carry him. They'd continued on until they'd reached a large, open room with the unmistakable glint of sunlight coming through a distant gap in the wall. At the last moment, disaster had struck once more. The sunlight was reflecting down a long tunnel, dug by some long gone burrowing creature and it was barely large enough for someone to crawl through. Mojarn insisted that Haeigr go first with the sack of treasures. Haegir had been all for leaving the bag, but Mojarn had argued that leaving with nothing would've meant Oenael dying for nothing.

As Haeigr climbed into the tunnel, pushing the bag before her, Mojarn had made a strange noise. She turned and saw the tip of a blade protruding from the man's abdomen and a shocked look on his face. Behind him was a stooped creature with an eyeless face and shiny black armour, a wicked looking sword in its hand. "Go," Mojarn said. "I'll hold it off." With that, he'd drawn his sword and swung back, gasping as the creature pulled out its blade. Haeigr cried out, but Mojarn insisted. "Get out of here!" I can see more coming!" Shaking her head, but knowing she could do little more, she'd crawled away, tears streaming from her face, wincing at every sound of combat from behind her. The tunnel led out, as they thought it would, and Haeigr had ran through the woods outside for as far as she could before her leg gave way. With luck, those creatures wouldn't follow her out.

The ox cart and the two horses were where they'd left them. Finding bandages, Haeigr treated her leg as best she could and got out of there. She'd gotten her prize, but it had come at quite the cost.

by **Zanera** » Thu Mar 30, 2017 12:41 am

Tribune Allius Redfist
Fort Chalman
Cyrodiil, The Empire

It was a long march back to Fort Chalman, but they made it back without worrying about further casualties, and so far none of the injured had found death yet, fortunately. Now proper hospital conditions and the more experienced healers could be provided to the injured, who'd soon find their cots to recover on. The dead, however, would have to be properly prepared to send home to their relatives. Allius would go to his desk to write the letters home to each of the men's families after he reported to the Legate. The legate was standing at the window of the fourth floor of the tower located inside the fort walls. The third floor would be the high-ranking officers' quarters/office. The fourth floor was the quarters/office of the legate, where Allius would be going to report to the legate.

The legate was an older man, an Imperial, with hair that was graying. He had served in the Legion for many years, although he was not old enough to have been in the Legion during the Second Great War. These days Allius did not know the legate's view on the Empire's current instability. He could be planning to side with a future warlord, he would try to do what he could when society might start breaking down, or he'd be a man a loyal Imperial citizen could rally behind to defend the stability of the Empire. Allius couldn't really mull it over. He needed to remember how the battle's course went and how he'd put what he remembered into words for the legate to hear. Allius didn't like sugarcoating things too much, but these days, sugarcoating was a bit useless anyhow, with the way things were going. The tales of the extravagant parties of the Empress had not failed to reach Allius' ears. The Empress, being Allius' ultimate superior and the leader of the Empire, was mostly spared from Allius' criticism. He was sure she had a reason for those parties that was better than simple personal enjoyment. No Emperor or Empress could be naive, because they simply couldn't be with the duties they beheld, could they?

Marching up the stairs, Allius finally made it to Legate Corlius Acravodia's office/quarters. Allius stood while the legate sat, and he gave his report to the legate as swiftly but as detailed as possible. The legate had many reactions but ultimately said after the report was finished," I doubt that noble will skip the chopping block. But you may try to write a letter, and I will pass it on along with the three men to the command in the Prison District."

The legate had little else to say besides that. He seemed very weighed down the past few weeks. Like there was much more than all the work ahead of him that was causing such tiring dread in him. Allius deigned to ask what was on the legate's mind, and he was told that there was a patrol of a few men missing from around Beldaburo, an Ayleid ruin. Allius knew that was only one of many things weighing on the legate's mind, but it was still important nonetheless. Allius offered to go and take his units to Beldaburo to investigate after a day's rest, and the legate agreed after some thought and a long stare. There was no knowing what was actually stirring in the mind of his superior, but it wasn't his position to prod him for any more answers.

Allius turned around and made his way to the mess hall for rabbit stew. At least he hoped there'd be rabbit stew.

by **The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness** » Thu Mar 30, 2017 2:17 pm

Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes
White-Gold Tower, The Imperial City
Cyrodiil, The Empire

"Excellent, excellent. I'm sure you've been able to read all about many an interesting thing. One could probably spend an entire life there, and still not have finished reading every dusty old tome to be found inside." Emeveria nodded at the man stood in front of her, a slight smile plying her lips. That smile, however, soon turned upside down as the general reported, getting a bit closer and speaking in a more quiet tone of voice. The news Drusus brought was not very pleasant - especially not considering the man's accomplishments and recent victory - but it had not been unexpected, similar news having reached her ears not too long ago, from her own, vast network of spies.

"As I have been told by some, then. Dark tidings. Would that such were not the case. You will return to Skyrim and head northwards soon, again, then, within but a few days time. I suspect your men will have need of you soon. Do not allow the Skycrowns to take but a single inch of land that is ours. Push them back as far as possible, if possible. We have suffered their presence for long enough, now." She gave a slow nod, her own voice quieting a little as she leaned forward. "We have to deal with too many people within our own borders already, conspiring not only against me but the Empire and any of its loyal servants for their own gains, attempting to destroy the foundations that keep this all together as they do. Make sure the Skycrowns do not manage to secure any victory at all. Drive them back, until they are no longer a problem if you can. We must not allow for more... silly thoughts to enter the minds of even more of our local nobility. You will receive the support of my Oculatus where possible, and will be given access to whatever resources you deem necessary, within reason."

Letting out a sigh, the Empress leaned back in her throne again, resting her head in the palm of her right hand, raising her voice just a bit. "I have little else to ask of you, general Scipionus. One of my advisers would wish to talk with you personally, if you want to indulge him. He will prove to make for an excellent conversation, I am quite sure. Other than that, I invite you for dinner tonight, before you make your return northward, although if you choose not to I shan't take offense."

by **Brusia** » Fri Mar 31, 2017 4:33 pm

Drusus Scipionus
Imperial City

The newly appointed General was surprised by the Empress' decisive response to his report on the situation in Skyrim; clearly she was not the weak-willed leader her political opponents made her out to be. It was clear that a major conflict in Skyrim was inevitable, and it was clear that the Empress intended to win it. Now Drusus just had to decide how best to prepare for and carry out a conflict upon which the future of the Empire may very well rest. No pressure. Fortunately, it seemed the Empress was willing to provide him with whatever resources he needed, even graciously offering the support of her Oculatus. When the Empress finished speaking, Drusus replied:

"Thank you Empress, I would be happy to speak with your adviser and honored to join you for dinner. May I ask where your adviser wishes to meet with me?"

by **Rodez** » Fri Mar 31, 2017 6:57 pm

Braden Jurault
The West Weald Inn
Skingrad
Cyrodiil, The Empire

With a crackle and a whoosh, the fire was rekindled from a few measly embers into a proper flame. Sniffing as he withdrew the poker, the innkeeper glanced at Braden. A portly middle-aged Imperial, the man's waxed mustachios seemed to twitch in mild annoyance. It's an hour past midnight and everyone else has retired, the look seemed to say. Bugger off.

But Braden seemed unperturbed. Reclined in the nearest of several chairs by the fire, he sat reviewing a recent edition of the Black Horse Courier. An interesting headline caught his eye.

"Say," he inquired of the publican, "Who's this general? Drusus Scipionus?"

"Oh him," the Imperial said, as if the man stayed regularly at his establishment. "Big Legion fellar. Won some victories in Skyrim or some such. Empress wanted to see him. You ask me though, we need men like that here in Cyrodiil as much as anywhere. Things are getting out of hand. Brigands on the roads; every count ready to carve out their own kingdom. Wasn't so much to fear twenty years ago." He shook his head in a general condemnation of the times. Braden was seeing that gesture more and more, whether in Kvatch, Skingrad, or anywhere in the Cyrodiilic countryside he had yet traversed. There was a tightness over the land, an uncertainty wherein thoughts of the future were best stifled with tasks of the present.

How true that is, Braden reflected on the innkeeper's assertion. He would've been in the earlier years of his Legion service twenty years ago. The Legion's objective in Valenwood had been brutally simple then: kill Bosmeri separatists, and then find more separatists to kill. Now I don't even know what it is I want.

Braden glanced at the cup of mead in his other hand. It was nearly drained. His guards were already asleep, and the drowsiness that weighed on his eyelids informed him that it was time to do the same.

Reaching into his tunic, Braden withdrew a septim and plopped it down on the end table as he rose from the chair. "For the drink and talk," he said simply. And that was that. In the morning he would depart Skingrad and embark on the final leg of his journey to the Imperial City. The parting words of his wife returned to him: That city is a pit of serpents. She would know; she had been raised there.

Braden had promised Sallona he would stay out of trouble.

Oops, he thought, shuffling up the stairs.

by **Zanera** » Sun Apr 02, 2017 3:20 am

Tribune Allius Redfist
Outside of Beldaburo
Cyrodiil, The Empire

Whichever scouts came back reported a Hircine cult in Beldaburo. They also reported that they were being hunted not unlike animals, and that whichever scouts didn't come back was likely hunted, and successfully killed as if they were prey and not men. There had been several disappearances around Beldaburo over a few weeks. The Legion would bless this curse through the sword, such was Allius' duty in the Imperial Legion.

Allius had sent out a few units of foresters out into the woods an hour before he marched his conventional units out to the Ayleid ruins. The last thing Allius needed was an expert guerrilla attack on his marching column. At the very least, the Hircine cultists could get distracted by the foresters while Allius' column marched their way into Beldaburo. Hopefully the hunters outside of the ruins would eventually be forced to return to their base of operations, where they'd be much easier to kill.

There had been one woman with a bow who had struck a legionnaire in the side with an arrow. A couple minutes of healing magic and regular wound-mending, and the man was in fighting condition. Luckily it was only a flesh wound. It had been quiet most the way. Sometimes there'd be strange sounds in the forest, but there was always strange sounds. Trolls, dreughs, and sometimes even the undead crept through the woods. But now Allius knew it to be Legion foresters and Hircine cultists creeping through the woods, hunting each other. Allius' jaw hardened. Hopefully he could get these legionnaires, archers, and healers through the forest without too much more trouble.

The entrance to Beldaburo was swiftly cleared by the archers, and the legionnaires were all brought to the fore. The door was opened, the shields of the legionnaires were locked, ad they strode through the door to find no resistance whatsoever. There was not a cultist in sight. These were worshipers of the Daedric Prince of the Hunt. Perhaps they had walked into their first trap. Allius ordered a small unit to stand guard at the entrance of the ruins with a couple archers. Rounding the first corner, an axe was brought down on the legionnaires' shields, but a quick thrust with a sword and the axeman was brought down. Dragging his body to the side, they continued marching to find a long length of walk with a chunk taken out the side of it, soaked with oil with a pot of fire hanging above it with measly twine. Allius had seen such a trap in Skyrim, but didn't see it replicated in Cyrodiil much.

There was an archer down the walk, starting to plink them with arrows. Allius ordered them to stand fast, and he ordered up an archer to shoot down the pot. The oil started to burn away, and an archer battle ensued. The sole archer was finally shot dead, and the oil burned away. Allius ordered his men down the causeway, where they were met with archer fire from below, especially on the part of the walkway where a chunk of the stone fencing was missing. A unit of archers was called to start sniping the archers, and the legionnaires were made to crab-walk down the walkway toward the stairs so they could protect themselves from arrows with their shield more effectively. They looked stupid, but at least they wouldn't look dead. Allius ventured to notice there was a couple cultists with a sword or axe waiting at the bottom of the stairs. His legionnaires rushed down the stairs towards them, but found themselves slipping on the stairs. The soldiers behind them learned quickly enough to take their time, but not before a couple soldiers died in the learning process. Soon this area was clear and almost every unit except for the one ordered to man the entrance of the ruins was in the ruins.

They began marching through the tunnel that lead from the lower floor, and they came upon a metal door, which was locked. There was a tunnel behind the door, but they couldn't see where it went. Allius decided that whatever surprise they had on these cultists was likely gone by now. He ordered the door bashed open, and a detachment of troops went through the door. The rest were to stand ready for any likely adversaries in the main tunnel. Allius followed his detachment of troops through the tunnel, and they found a slaughter room, with more blood and guts then should be allowed outside a body. There they also found a werewolf. A strong one.

Allius shouted down the tunnel for a few more troops while the ones that were already in the room tried not to get caught up in a whirlwind of teeth and claws. The thing was ravenous. Soon it took a more defensive attitude, then it was more or less subdued by the legionnaires. A silver sword would be more effective against a werewolf, but stab it enough times with an steel sword, and it'll die. Soon the thing was dead, but not without several men getting covered in cuts, bruises, and gashes. It was arduous, but that was another room cleared. Their lacerations were minor, so a quick healing break healed a few of the more worse-looking gashes.

They then marched into another room, and found another area with a column in the center. The legionnaires prepared for an ambush that came swiftly. One man was killed instantly, but was quickly replaced. The fight last about a minute but ended with a few dead cultists. The bodies of the cultists were dragged to the side, and the dead legionnaire was taken to the entrance room. The units continued forward and found themselves being assaulted from the left by a werewolf, the right by a few of cultists, and arrows from the openings in the wall in front. It was the ultimate trap for Hircine cultists.

Two legionnaires were struck down before they could properly react, and another two were struck down while they were reacting. The rest quickly poured into either the werewolf or the cultists, some taking arrows into their legs or feet. It was a dastardly trap, but it was admirable in its own way. The archers were soon trying to maneuver around incoming shots and firing their own bows at the archers. Once Allius' archers got the enemy's distracted, Allius helped push the last cultist from the right assault against a wall, the legionnaires simultaneously knocking him out and running a sword through his stomach. He would have received death from an Imperial blade eventually anyway.

A few of the legionnaires started to rush down the stairs on the right side from the hallway, and Allius shouted for them to come back, but not before one of them had their leg caught in a bear trap. Another metal clap and Allius himself rushed to the stairs, but stayed at the top. He couldn't help the DAMMIT!!! that escaped from him after a massive swelling of rage, guilt, and this shouldn't have happened was threatening to burst out of him. The soldier had fallen down after his leg had gotten caught in the bear trap, with his face landing on another one. The man looked...dead. Allius needed to say something constructive now, which came in the form of another angry outburst," YOU WILL NOT RUSH AHEAD UNLESS YOU ARE ORDERED TO, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. YOU ALL SHOULD KNOW THIS."

Allius grabbed each of the men that had gone racing down the stairs that had not found themselves in a bear trap and practically threw them towards the hallway. "You three can go and man the entrance of the ruins! Go! Now!"

The three legionnaires strode away perfectly ashamed, but after such a death as that, in a ruin such as this, a lesson needed to be taught immediately, and it needed to be driven into them. Allius got to clearing his head as he got behind his troops. He decided to send a couple units of Legionnaires around the bear traps with a few archers to clear out whatever was left down there, which Allius didn't think was much. Another unit got to work springing the bear traps, and once they were done, the rest of the units went down into the room.

There was a large pressure plate that undoubtedly had some cultists waiting behind it, and there was two hallway entrances that opened onto stairs that either lead to one area or two. Allius sent a couple of scouts into the tunnels and a unit to wait near the pressure plate. After three minutes, the scouts weren't back yet, and Allius had to assume that was two perfectly good men downed quietly. It also meant there had to be instantaneous communication between the two cultists that might have taken the scouts down. Which meant the two tunnels linked up. Two units were ordered to stand by each of the tunnel entrances and the unit by the pressure plate was ordered to advance, while several archers stood behind the legionnaires, ready to fire into any cultists there might be behind the sliding rock columns.

As soon as the rock columns started sliding down, arrows started to come through the opening. Fire was soon returned, and once the sliding rock columns were fully down a werewolf and a few melee-oriented cultists stormed through the opening, coming down hard on the legionnaires, who were trained to take the brutailty. When the encounter was done, the cultists laid dead, along with two regular legionnaires and an archer. It was a brutal encounter that had taken the lives of Imperial soldiers who had seen brutal things. With many men left, somewhat surprisingly, Allius was sure their deaths wouldn't be in vain, unlike one of the overly-eager legionnaires, who died strictly by his own folly. Although, perhaps it shouldn't have happened under Allius' command. Allius would make sure such follies would never happen again.

Continuing through the room, there was found to be another metal door. When tried, it was locked. Since Allius didn't think his legionnaires had any lockpicking qualifications (at least he hoped they didn't), he ordered the metal door bashed open. An archer scout was sent through, and he was able to report back. He had silently killed a cultist who had been waiting to strike with a bow and arrow, sending an arrow through the man's windpipe, presumably. The archer scout also said that there was another wall where they could shoot from, and that they had a view of the next large room. There was a small room going from the tunnels, which would lead into the large room, and the small room had another oil trap. Allius ordered a unit of archers into the walkway with the view of the large room, and gave the scout archer an unofficial commendation.

Returning to the large room the majority of the legionnaires were waiting in, Allius gave the order to march down the stairs, careful to include an archer up front on either one of the marching units, however just behind the initial shield wall. There were two cultists waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and since they were surrounded when the archers hit the firepot, they were easily taken care of. One decided to cast himself into the fire, shouting it that it was disgraceful that he turn into the hunted and killed by his past prey. There were a few more cultists waiting in the large room, whom were being engaged by our archers. The legionnaires, rushing in, quickly dispatched the cultists, with Allius sighing with relief upon seeing no men had died. He ordered a few men to take the scouting legionnaires' bodies back to the entrance chamber with the rest, and he ordered the archers down. Once all this was done, Allius was faced with only one door. It had the glowing tree design many doors in Ayleid ruins had.

Pushing it open, the legionnaires found themselves taking arrow fire, and one was felled by it. There were several enemy archers, protected by even more melee cultists. Allius swiftly ordered a testudo, the shield structure of which would at least absorb most arrow fire. With the design of Imperial shields, the archer units were able to return fire while the testudo slowly advanced. Eventually the enemy was driven into two different parts of the large room. Before the cultists could be totally divided, they decided they'd go down in unison if they had to go down. One melee cultist from each group decided it was best to turn into werewolves, and the melee cultists and two werewolves charged the testudo. Forced to break that specific formation, the legionnaires began a direct engagement. The archers provided support, but this phase of the battle was bloody. Eight legionnaires and an archer lay dead after the skirmish was over, from arrow wounds, or struck down by blades, or brought to their untimely demise by werewolf teeth and claws. Allius couldn't have done much more then he already had, after giving his orders and even aiding in the fight by stabbing a cultist in their right side and another through the left lung.

Allius ordered a break to heal the wounded, bring the bodies of the dead to the entrance chamber of the ruins, and to generally rest up. Allius spoke to many of the men after they were calmer. He made sure they drank from their waterskin, or had been drinking from their waterskin. Allius also found himself closing the eyes of a legionnaire who could not make it through the wound onto the other side of the healing process. Allius finally noticed how cold the ruin was this far in when he literally saw the man's last breath. And Allius noted how cold the man must have been when he went, indeed. Allius couldn't help the great, great sadness that swept through him. A man's life was a lot of weight to carry, and Allius commanded such men to lay their lives down under his orders. Looking at all the men still alive in the ruin, resting up and getting ready for more battles and traps throughout the ruin, Allius found himself assured that he was doing this for the people of the Empire. Daedric cultists such as these were naturally a scourge on the innocent. As a tribune in the Imperial Legion, it was Allius' duty to command these men through tough battles, so that they could come out victorious on the other side, and so that many, many innocent people may still live freely, or live at all, and that many more children may be born, and born free. If continuing through this ruin meant that many innocents may still live without fear of being hunted, and that the deaths of these soldiers may mean something more meaningful and profound than may be understood through words, than Allius was ready to command these men and clear this ruin of cultists.

Allius stood up confidently, asking the units if they were ready to move out. The officers curtly replied that their units were ready. Some of the wounded who were able to be healed quickly enough were back in fighting condition and ready to march further. The rest of the wounded would have to be seen to by the healers, lest they possibly die. Allius said, however, that if it can be helped, that if the current wounded could be put into stable conditions at some point, then perhaps one of the three healers could dispatch themselves back to the moving column of troops. Allius wanted to make sure if that there was a life-or-death situation at the wounded, then there was enough healers there to save the man's life. If the wounded were stable and would probably pull through, then Allius definitely needed a healer while the army marched further into ruins, should a life-or-death wounded situation arise there. They assented, and Allius ordered the troops to begin their movements.

The troops went through the tunnel and found themselves at a pressure plate and a large iron door. Through the bars, one could see a massive stone column trap. On the other side was two archers, as one would figure. As one would figure in this ruin by now, the archers brought themselves to the fore but just behind a shield wall without anyone's command as they stood on the pressure plate to open the door. The legionnaires and archers were all ready as the giant stone column slid back down. Each cultist received three arrows, either to the face or throat. Allius now had the task of timing this trap and getting every legionnaire over it without them getting killed.

After several gruelling minutes, Allius managed to cram 3/4 of the troops on the other side. Allius didn't like how separated he felt from his troops by this giant stone column trap. He also remembered the troops far away from Allius, who were supposed to be guarding the ruins' entrance. Allius ordered a unit to go and aid in guarding the entrance to the ruins. They looked awfully disappointed, but Allius didn't like the thought of werewolves breaking through and devouring the bodies of the dead legionnaires, or killing the wounded and healers Allius has just left behind. The foresters had been a gamble that might not have paid off all the way through.

Going up the stairs, Allius saw the first four legionnaires suddenly charge into the next room. Allius' nostrils flared just like his anger, but all Allius did at the moment was clench his jaw, and his fist around his sword. When he got up, he found that the legionnaires had pushed a couple of cleaver-carrying cultists into a bronze brazier cooking spit pit. There wasn't much of a trap, as it turned out. They had also not been wounded at all, and had efficiently taken out these two cultists. They had still rushed forward, and after what happened not too long ago, they still needed punished. Allius ordered them to go to the back of the column.

The legionnaires continued until they came upon another very large chamber. There was three people. One was unfortunately a mage, and the two others were rather strong-looking melee cultists. Things looked somewhat decent enough for what just might be the end of resistance in the ruin, when the three got over their surprise. The two melee cultists turned into two very big werewolves, and the mage turned out to be mostly a healer. The mage summoned a flame atronach, as if two werewolves who were always being healed of their wounds wasn't enough. An archer shot at the atronach while a legionnaire kept it distracted. Soon it was dead, and the mage was using much of his magical energy on healing the two werewolves. A unit made it around the two attacking werewolves and charged the mage down, who was frantically summoning flames untoward the charging and determined legionnaires. One werewolf went down while the other did a small lunge toward Allius, knocking down a few legionnaires and causing Allius to suddenly react. He felt something hit his foot after the action and he looked down to find the head of the werewolf rolling away. There were seven legionnaires dead, and they didn't have sightly fatal wounds. A healer scampered in and found herself very busy.

One of the archers mentioned that in one of the large rooms, with that wrought wall one could shoot through, there had been another across from them with much food supplies. A key was found on the mage, and opening the iron-wrought door, the archers soon discovered that their hunch was right. Searching the room further, a button was found on a wall. A push of the button and with the three stone columns sliding out of the way, and a pressure plate push later, and they found a quick way back to the previous large room. The dead were to be brought to where they were usually brought to during this battle. The wounded were tended to as swiftly as possible. Many legionnaires started carrying away as much presumably edible food from the cultists' storeroom as they could carry on their shields. Four wounded legionnaires had died, one from the previous large room and three from the very last large room. There was eleven dead legionnaires to add to the body count.

Allius saw everyone out of the latter part of the ruin eventually, everyone going back to the chamber at the very beginning of the ruins. When Allius finally strode into the entrance chamber he found many eating silently or resting. Allius decided to check the entrance of the ruins, and on the units that had been guarding it. Going to the entrance, Allius found a few more legionnaires had died defending themselves from two werewolves that suddenly attacked, meaning there was also a unit of foresters that had been wiped out. The final body count was 36 men, and however many foresters had died, which was likely about ten. Allius thanked each of the legionnaires that had been standing guard for their bravery against the werewolf attack and their willingness to protect their fellow legionnaires after it, also relieving them of their long watch. Then Allius went back into the ruin and decided to go up to each of his soldiers to tell them how honored he was to have them with him through the fight, even if they weren't conscience at the time of the thanking. Allius went to each of the dead and did his best to give them their final honors from their Tribune. Setting up watches for the entrance, Allius then went and stood against the wall. Soon he found his knees growing weak, and he slid down the wall. A few tears slid down Allius' face, and he finally went to sleep some time later.

by **Xah** » Mon Apr 03, 2017 1:10 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Bruma
Cyrodiil

Cyrodiil wasn't too bad, thought Haeigr. At least, this part wasn't. It was Nordish enough to feel like home and the perpetual snow gave it a wintery feel that Haeigr had missed whilst in Falkreath and Whiterun. The crossing through the pass from Skyrim had been relatively easy, although the cold had made her injured leg ache a lot. She was hoping that some of her recently obtained wealth would be able to hire her a proper healer, one who could use magic, to fix her leg up. Like a lot of Nords, Haeigr had a healthy mistrust of magic; she'd been to Winterhold and seem the mess that unrestrained magic could do. However, Haeigr was also pragmatic and recognised that magic was a tool, just like her hammer or the forge. Every tool had its use, and its mis-use. It wasn't a tool she was inclined to learn herself though, best leave that kind of thing to others.

Bruma was an interesting town; as the only settlement of note she would have had to visit it anyway, even if she wasn't intrigued by the prospect of a little bit of Skyrim transplanted into Cyrodiil. The wooden nature of its construction made Haeigr a little uneasy, even if the snow would make any fires easily controlled. Without a doubt there'd be a smith here, but Haeigr wasn't planning on staying. The people here would be far too used to her wares and her ethnicity wouldn't be the novelty bonus that she was angling for. Some of her gems bought the services of a magic-wielding healer who had her leg back to full use in no time at all. A few more coins got a warm room in an inn and some help in which road to take to head further into the Imperial heart and hopefully where a Nord smith with a Dwemer obsession would be better appreciated. The Silver Road it was called, which made Haeigr smile; if its prospect was as good as its name, she was onto a winner.

She stayed four days in Bruma, realising eventually that if she didn't leave, she'd exhaust her funds living a kind of nostalgia she was trying to escape. Getting her ox cart back on the road, she headed south.

by **Hastiaka** » Mon Apr 03, 2017 2:14 am

by **The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness** » Tue Apr 04, 2017 3:51 pm

Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes
White-Gold Tower, The Imperial City
Cyrodiil, The Empire

Slowly, the Empress nodded in response to the general before her. "Excellent. My guard shall escort you both to a more.. private room nearby. When you two are done they shall also escort you back to me for dinner, afterwards. With that, though, you are dismissed." Emeveria tilted her head, peering at one of the heralds by the doors. "That was everyone for today..?" Judging by the man's nod, Drusus had indeed been the last to be brought before her for today in court, and slowly she rose from the Ruby Throne, making sure her blade was still hanging from her belt as she did. Straightening her back, she found a servant rushing for her, quickly fastening her cloak around her shoulders for her. For a brief moment, she wondered what it'd be like to live without people doing even the most minor things, such as that, for her. It'd probably be better than... well, this.

She let out a sigh, a frown on her face. "I will make my retreat for now and deal with letters and reports sent my way in private. Some of you I will see again soon, others I will not, but regardless, I wish you all a good day," or what's left of it, anyway, "and may the Divines guide you." Giving a polite nod to all present, she quickly departed from the throne room, Bosmer servant and Oculatus guard in tow, soon finding herself climbing the steps of a spiraling staircase, ascending to another, more private, chamber of the White-Gold Tower to, indeed, go through more things directed to her. Letters, reports, and other similar things to be brought to her attention in a more secluded, less public setting - she knew how keen some of her investigators had been to keep much of the news they had to report away from the prying ears of court, to the point that by now she would often be briefed by them away from the city, on a private estate of hers. The Imperial sighed, again, as she slowly sat herself down in a luxurious and comfortable wooden chair in what served as her office, the desk in front of her covered with letters and reports addressed to her. Could it please be time for dinner already?

by **Ulls** » Sat Apr 08, 2017 11:36 pm

Silverhome on the Water,
Bravil,
Ariedothat

The mage was sitting at the bar at the rundown inn. The building, like the rest of the city, was poor but provided as a good hiding spot for Ariedothat. He had been living in the city for the past year as he had been tracking down any rumors of artifacts that match the description of the Key of Frostcrag. He had tracked the rumor to a cave out the outskirts of the city. Apparently there's a smuggler gang who have been operating in the area and the Reachmen had started to set his sights on the smugglers. He had a sneaking suspicion that his former colleagues will soon be on the trail for the artifact so he had no choice but to get going.

He finally got his last round and prepared for his journey. He hope that these smugglers will be at least somewhat reasonable despite him using his Illusion magic.

The Elder Scrolls: Aftermath [IC | OPEN]

The Elder Scrolls: Aftermath [IC | OPEN]

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